Romancing the Crown Series

by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)

  * * *

  Hassan had arrived at the restaurant frustrated. The Rahman Oil Refinery business office had been too busy for him to sneak into after Elena's departure. People working late came and went with too much regularity for him to make his way unnoticed up to the third floor. He had been able to get a closer look at their security system, though. There were cameras posted at all entrances and exits, but he now knew their positions and they could be avoided.

  Tonight, if at all possible, he would sneak into the building and search Elena's office.

  He'd called the restaurant from his hotel, requesting a secluded table and ordering dinner so they would not have to wait. He wanted this evening to proceed smoothly. Elena had arrived at the restaurant moments after Hassan, and he'd stood in the doorway and watched as she stepped down from that pickup truck that did not suit her. Her vehicle was not sleek, or feminine, or sexy. It was practical and boxy. Perhaps that was the woman she wanted to be, but she could not fool him. She was much more complicated than the truck implied.

  At that moment, as Elena had emerged from the red truck, his frustration had fled. And he had become absolutely fascinated.

  When she was silent, Elena Rahman looked like any other exotic beauty. Great cheekbones, captivating eyes, luscious mouth, a perfectly formed body he had to make an effort not to stare at. Put her in shalwar kamees and a veil and she would make an ideal Arabian princess. He could see her in green and gold. Green to bring out her eyes. Gold at her throat, her wrists, and in her hair, to accent the warmth of her skin.

  But when Elena spoke, she was all-American. Intelligent, outspoken, full of curiosity and a bright love for life. He adored her voice, and the way she gestured with her hands when she spoke. The first time he had made her laugh—a wonderful full, deep laugh—he had been struck with the need to make her do it again. More than anything, he wanted to see her face break into that amazing grin. One more time.

  For a little while, he almost forgot that he was here to spy on her. They shared a tasty dinner at a private table. He talked about his family, at her urging, and she talked about Texas. The time flew by, and he only wanted more. More time, more laughter. More Elena.

  No matter what, he could not forget why he was here. There was more at stake than his fascination with a beautiful woman. The world was full of beautiful women. He knew that well.

  Dinner had been delicious, the conversation had been delightful, and now it was time to move on. He was not ready to let Elena go. Not yet.

  "Dance with me," he said, rising to his feet and offering his hand. A combo had been playing for the past half hour, their music low and ordinary, softly unobtrusive. Since the first note, he had wanted to take Elena in his arms and dance with her. A few couples danced on the small dance floor, occasionally talking as they moved in time with the music.

  Elena stared up at him and raised her finely shaped eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

  "I asked..." Ah, he had not asked, he had commanded. It was a bad habit of his, or so his sisters told him. "Would you please dance with me, Elena Rahman?"

  She laid her hand in his and stood. "Of course," she said sweetly. "But if you want to dance in Texas, you really must go to the Evangeline Ballroom."

  "Why is that?" he asked as he led her to the dance floor. She walked close beside him, fitting well at his side.

  "Because while this is very nice, it isn't at all Texan." At the edge of the polished floor, she turned to face him and lay her hand on his shoulder.

  "Perhaps you will take me while I am here."

  "Perhaps," she said, sounding uncertain as they began to move to the slow music. She kept her body away from his, moving stiffly, making sure there was a decent space between them. Her eyes remained on his chest, perhaps his chin. She definitely did not care to look him in the eye.

  He should leave things as they were. Friendly but not intimate. Casual. He wanted her to relax with him, not be on guard whenever he was near. In order to glean the information he needed, he might need to earn her trust. A friend was easier for a woman to trust than a man who had his sights set on having her in his bed.

  But he didn't think they could be friends. His fingers, resting at the small of her back, raked casually along her spine. She shivered. Deep and subtly, but he felt it. Already he was in tune with her. He could almost feel her heartbeat. Elena was delicate, at moments almost fragile, and still she had an unexpected strength about her.

  As they made a slow turn, their bodies moving in sync, he pulled her close. The pressure he exerted was easy, gentle even, but Elena had no choice but to rest her body against his. For a very brief moment she resisted, her muscles tensing and her breath catching, and then she relaxed. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her hips aligned to his. After another moment, her head dropped to his shoulder. Soft and gentle, she rested against him.

  He wanted her. He didn't care that she knew he wanted her. Nothing could happen, nothing could come of this, but he wouldn't deny that already this woman had slipped under his skin.

  "I envy you," she whispered.

  "Why?"

  "Your brother, your sisters." He felt her breath, warm and intimate on his shoulder. "Your parents. The wa you talked about them tonight, it's clear you're very close. That's nice."

  "I told you," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "My father and I argue all the time."

  She didn't respond, but continued to dance as if the exchange had not taken place.

  So Hassan pressed. "You said nothing about your family. I know your father owns the refinery. What about your mother?"

  "She died when I was a baby," Elena said, her voice low.

  "You were an only child?"

  She nodded.

  "How?" he asked. "How did she die?"

  "Car accident," Elena said. "She just...lost control and ran off the road. I don't know anything about her, except for how she died. My father didn't like to talk about her, and I eventually learned not to ask. It hurts him too much to talk about her, so I don't know anything about her life. What she liked, what she didn't like, if she wanted more children." Her fingers rocked absently against him. "All I have is this one picture that I found in an old box of photos, years ago. I hid it, because I was afraid that if my father knew I had that picture he'd take it away."

  Elena lifted her head and looked him in the eye, at last. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for the conversation to turn maudlin. I'm tired. It's been a long day." She tried a smile that didn't have its usual brilliance. "Maybe we should call it a night."

  Hassan didn't want to let her go, but in truth he still had to check out her office before he could even think about going to bed. "If you wish."

  He saw it again, that vulnerability Elena tried so hard to hide. She might be CEO of an oil refinery, she might be a modern, liberated woman. But she was also a woman who had secrets. A woman who needed a friend.

  "Elena," he said gently, not stopping the dance just yet. "Is there a man in your life?"

  Something on her face hardened, just slightly. "Why do you ask?"

  "Tonight was supposed to be about business, an apology for my blunder this afternoon. But if I want to see you tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that.. .1 was wondering if I should be looking over my shoulder for an angry suitor."

  "No," she said, the tension in her face softening, a little. "No one to look over your shoulder for."

  He smiled at her. "Good."

  "Don't do that," she said, bringing the dance to an end and dropping her hand from his shoulder.

  "Don't do what?" He didn't release her. Not yet.

  She sighed and did not answer. "You know, it might not be a good idea for us to.. .do this every night."

  "Do what?"

  "Socialize."

  She was right, of course. He already felt too close to her. Too close to do his job? No, of course not. Close enough to make his assignment more difficult? Possibly. "Think of our time together as an opportunity to acqua
int a visitor and potential investor to your fine state. Show me Texas, Elena. Take me to this Evangeline Ballroom and any other place you think I should see. Who knows, if I invest in your refinery I might be compelled to take up residence here in Texas."

  Elena smiled and shook her head. "I can't see you living here."

  "Why not?"

  "Evangeline is much too tame for you, I suspect."

  "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

  "Tomorrow morning," she said, stepping back so he had no choice but to release her. "Eight o'clock at the office."

  "And tomorrow night?"

  She turned her back on him, and as she circled about he heard her say, "We'll see."

  * * *

  There were five messages on her answering machine. All from Kitty. Each message said the same thing, in varying degrees of urgency. "Call me when you get in, no matter what time it is."

  Elena kicked off her shoes and walked toward the kitchen with a smile on her face. Tired as she was, she knew she wouldn't be falling asleep anytime soon. A diet soda and a few pages of the book she'd been reading, maybe that would stop her head from spinning.

  Hassan Kamal was everything she did not want in a man. Tamiri, for one, an old-world man like her father. Oh, he was of another generation, but he still had those archaic ideas about women, she was sure. He had been absolutely shocked to find that a woman was CEO. What on earth would he expect of a woman he was involved with?

  Not only that, he was one of those demanding types. He didn't ask, he commanded. Dinner tonight Dance with me. Another annoying trait of an old-fashioned man who expected his women to obey his every word. Heaven forbid that a female should have an opinion.

  And he was too good-looking. Guys who looked like that were never easy to get along with. They were too accustomed to getting their way with a smile that made women's insides go topsy-turvy and their brains go to mush. Add to that fact that he was a sheik, a Tamiri prince, and you had a guy who was most definitely accustomed to getting his way. He had probably never heard the word "no."

  So why did she like him anyway? Why was she actually considering seeing him again tomorrow night, and the night after that, and every night until he flew back to Tamir?

  "Elena," she said to herself. "Looks like you're a sucker for a pretty face, after all." She shook her head in disgust.

  While she stood with her head in the refrigerator, the phone rang. She snagged a caffeine-free diet soda and reached for the wall phone as the refrigerator door swung closed.

  "Hello."

  "You didn't call me!" Kitty said accusingly.

  Elena laughed. "I just walked in the door."

  "Is he with you?" her friend whispered.

  "No! Of course not."

  Kitty sighed. "Too bad. Well, other than the fact that you came home alone, did you have a good time?"

  "Yes," Elena said, a wide smile spreading across her face. "It was very...nice." Very nice. Nicer than she'd expected.

  "Nice. Is that the best you can do? Did you wear the red dress?"

  "Yes."

  "Did he love it?"

  Elena smiled. "I think so." Her smile died. What was she thinking? Hassan Kamal was a playboy, and she was the first woman he'd met in Texas. If he was trying to romance her at all, it was probably so she'd be receptive to his business proposal. She was such a putz! "But it was just dinner," she said, trying to sound distanced and cool. "Tomorrow things will be strictly business again."

  "Now, that's a shame," Kitty said.

  "Good night," Elena said firmly. "See you in the morning." She hung up the phone and opened her diet soda. She had taken one swallow before the phone rang again.

  "Hello?"

  "Are you sure that hunk didn't come home with you?" Kitty said. "He's standing right there, isn't he? He's probably got his hands all over you, while you're pretending to be alone. You're just trying to get rid of me so you two can have a really good time."

  Elena laughed. "Good night, Kitty." She hung up without waiting for another question from her nosy friend.

  Almost immediately, the phone rang again. Frustrated, Elena picked up the receiver. "No," she snapped, "I did not bring the hunk home with me. No, he is not standing here with his hands all over me. Yes, I had a good time, but it wasn't the kind of good time you're thinking about. For God's sake, Kitty, if you think the man is that desperate and needy, you jump his bones."

  She waited for Kitty's usual tart response, but all was silent. Someone, not Kitty, breathed. Her heart fell. Oh, no.

  "I just wanted to make sure you got home all right," Hassan's deep voice crooned into the phone.

  Elena closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Yeah, thanks." Should she try to explain?

  "I had a wonderful time tonight."

  "Me, too." Until I embarrassed myself over the telephone...

  "You are a very good dancer."

  Bless him, he was going to ignore what she'd said when she'd answered the phone. "You, too." Her body relaxed, and she almost melted against the wall.

  "And Elena," Hassan continued in a lowered voice. "I am not desperate orneedy, but if you would like to.. jump my bones, I'd be happy to cooperate."

  Crap. "Kitty called a couple of times," Elena said softly. "When the phone rang I thought...it was just...I didn't mean..."

  "Good night, Elena," Hassan said, saving her from her ramblings. Heavens, she could hear the smile in his voice. It lingered, even after he hung up the phone.

  Chapter 3

  1 he building was dark, the parking lot deserted. Hassan waited, his back against the wall, as he listened for a few long minutes. Nothing moved. The only sound was the distant thrum and hiss from the refinery down the road, which operated twenty-four hours a day. The refinery was well lit, but none of the illumination from the plant reached the main admin building. And still he waited, motionless and quiet.

  When he was satisfied that no one else was in the area, he slipped toward the front door of the office building, keeping his back pressed to the wall so the camera that was pointed at the parking lot would not catch his image. His black trousers and knit shirt blended with the night, his leather boots were silent on the concrete sidewalk.

  By the dim illumination of the parking lot lights, he quickly picked the lock on the front door. There was no sign of an alarm system, and still he held his breath. The door swung open, and all remained silent.

  Once he was away from the door, he snagged the flashlight off his waist and flicked it on. There were no cameras inside the building, not that he had seen on his earlier visit. In fact, security was incredibly lax. As one who had lived with some element of security all his life, he was appalled. The lack of guards, cameras, and an alarm system only strengthened his suspicions that Elena was not involved with the Brothers of Darkness.

  But that didn't mean the information that Rahman Oil served as a front was wrong. And whether she was actively involved or not, there might be something in the CEO's office that would point him in the right direction.

  He took the stairs, since he remembered seeing cameras in the elevators. He reached the third floor in no time, and stepped into the eerie hallway where Elena's office was located.

  The door to her office was secured, and again he picked the lock without difficulty.

  Rashid likely thought his little brother had no skills that might be considered useful for a spy. Little did he know that Hassan had discovered his propensity for analyzing how things worked early on in life, and had been picking locked doors around the palace since the age of eleven. An engineer who could not master a simple lock was a poor excuse for an engineer.

  With moonlight streaming through the windows, Hassan no longer needed the flashlight. And with the windows uncovered, he ran the risk of being seen if he left it on. He switched off the light and hung it from his belt, while he went directly to Elena's private office. Once there, he sat in her chair and flicked on the computer. The screen came to life, along w
ith a box for her password.

  He cursed, and tried typing in a few words. Rahman. Elena. Jumanah. He smiled as he remembered the way she had enjoyed her dessert. Chocolate. All rejected. He sat back in her chair and relaxed, thinking about his evening with Elena. In spite of her feminist attitude, he suspected she would choose something personal for her password. Something from the heart. He opened the top drawer of her desk, and by the light of the computer screen carefully rifled through the contents. Pens, paper clips, stationery with the name E. J. Rahman emblazoned across the header. In the right side top drawer, several files were stacked, one atop another. He flipped through the files. Numbers. Quotes. All business.

  The top left hand drawer was more of a jumble. Rubber bands, a bracelet with a broken latch, stamps, a box of mints. He was about to close the drawer when he caught a glimpse of something flat in the very back of the drawer.

  He grabbed the edge and slowly pulled the paper out and turned it over. A picture, larger than wallet size but not five by seven, it was at least thirty years old. The colors in the photograph were faded, the blouse the woman wore a bright green that even he knew was long out of style. And there was something strikingly familiar about that pretty young face.

  Hassan knew, as he looked into faded green eyes that reminded him of Elena, that this was her mother. The smile looked familiar, too. He turned the photograph over again, and saw that a name had been scribbled across the back in faded ink. Lydia Parker.

  Laying his hands on the keyboard he tried Parker first, and was denied. Typing Lydia into the password box gained him access.

  For more than an hour he browsed through Elena's files. Nothing sinister jumped out at him. By looking through the personnel files he discovered that many of her employees were from Maloun, but there was nothing ominous in that fact. It was only natural that Yusuf Rahman would want to hire immigrants from his home country.

  Had Elena unwittingly hired men who were in league with the Brothers? How deep did their penetration go? It was impossible to tell from the innocent files in her computer.

  He signed off and returned the photograph of Lydia Parker Rahman to the drawer, being careful to place it just as he had found it. As he did, he saw another small photograph stored in the back of that drawer. Hassan pulled it out, and when he turned this picture over his breath caught in his throat.