“Yes.” Her smile was laced with irony. “But that’s not always been the case.”
“Do you have a lover, Olivia?”
Her eyes flew wide in her startled face and her breath caught in her throat. She coughed and spluttered, then lifted a hand to cover her mouth, all the while her big green eyes accosted him for his impertinent question.
“That is seriously not your business,” she said, finally, when able to speak.
“I am paying a lot of money to make it my business.”
“No. You are paying me to facilitate your life; not to reveal the finer details of mine.”
“Are you so ashamed of this man that you will not discuss him?”
Her eyes sparked with a heated emotion; and Zamir was charged with an answering emotion.
“Nothing about my personal life has anything to do with you.”
“I asked because you will not be seeing him for the time I am here. I wondered how he might cope.”
She stood up and began to place the teacups back on the tray, her mouth set in a resolute slash.
“Leave it.” His words were softly spoken but firm as cement. “That is not your job.”
“Nor is making you tea or sitting with you and being interrogated about my personal life,” she remarked waspishly.
And Zamir found himself having to hide a smile despite his frustrations. “You surprise me.”
“Yeah? Really? You haven’t met many women who tell you to butt out?”
“No,” he agreed with a soft laugh. And it was a dangerous sound, because it sent something off in her gut. A vibration of desire that she recognised and would have, in an alternate universe, have loved to indulge. He stood and curled his hands around the tray. “I told you to leave this.”
Olivia ignored the pounding of her heart; the flushing of her pulse and the burning in her abdomen. She released the tray and took a step backwards. “I trust you’ve been entertained sufficiently for this evening?”
He considered asking her to stay.
He considered telling her to stay.
But he did not.
She was right.
The sombre thoughts of Ra’if were no longer forefront in his mind. She had done what he’d needed. He placed the tray back down and fixed her with a stare that was far from an ending. “You may go, for now.”
CHAPTER TWO
The ceiling of her hotel room was covered in thirty-seven swirls in the plaster work. Olivia knew because she’d counted them over and over and over again the night before. With each recitation, she’d hoped sleep would claim her before the end.
It hadn’t.
She took a large gulp of her third coffee and straightened her shirt. Beyond her room, the day looked glorious. Christmas was on its way, and back home in Australia, Liv would have been getting around in flimsy cotton dresses and wide-brimmed hats by now. But in Vegas, the weather was finally turning cold and Olivia was relishing it.
She focussed on the weather, and not him.
His eyes had glowed like fire and ash when he’d said goodbye to her the night before.
And she’d sat across from one of the most powerful men in the world and spoken to him as though he was just a random man she’d met in a bar.
Her stomach swirled with regret.
Johnny had trusted her with this job, and she wasn’t completely sure she hadn’t done something ridiculously stupid.
A knock sounded at her door and she almost spilled her coffee down her shirtfront. “Coming,” she called, fixing another pin into her bun. She rarely wore makeup, but the disrupted night had taken its toll on her appearance. She’d smoothed a small bit of concealer beneath her eyes and brushed some bronzing powder across the bridge of her nose to bring some colour back to her complexion.
With butterflies battering her insides, she slipped her shoes on and padded towards the door.
“Good morning, ma’am,” one of the security agents greeted her in heavily accented English. “His highness’s car is ready.”
Olivia was perplexed. “I understood he – his highness – didn’t have plans for several hours.”
The man shrugged and stepped backwards, indicating she should follow him.
“One moment.” She moved back into her room and grabbed her handbag. It was small and she wore it strapped across her chest so that her hands were kept free. Her glasses were a Las Vegas essential, even in winter. She slipped them onto her face, drained her coffee and then moved back to the door.
“Ready,” she smiled tersely, wishing her stomach weren’t squirming with anxious anticipation. So she’d see him again. So what? She worked for the man. She had better get used to the idea of being in his intimate circle.
And then she’d better get used to the fact that she wasn’t.
Because, like all her clients, he would leave and forget all about her. She was a stop-gap measure in his life, as she was in all of their lives. Indispensible – for a time.
The security guard didn’t speak at all. He pressed the button to call the lift, and they rode it to the underground basement in silence.
A small hive of activity awaited them.
And at its centre was Zamir Fayez, tall, confident, regal and commanding. He was casually dressed, in dark denim jeans and a black shirt. He looked every bit as delectable as the Hollywood celebrities she’d handled, if not more so. He spoke with Marook, and though he perhaps knew she’d arrived, he didn’t look in her direction.
“I want only you and her,” he said stiffly, in his own language. To Olivia’s ears, it was an intriguing sound. Deep and husky, with a musical tone.
“Two or three men is the established protocol, sir.”
Zamir shook his head. “One man. The driver. You. Her. That is all.”
Marook nodded. He would have preferred to maintain their usual security standards but the Sheikh was determined to avoid word leaking to the press, and Marook understood that.
“Alisan,” he nodded to the car, and the man beside Olivia moved forward swiftly. “You will accompany us.” Marook’s eyes scanned the crowd. “Miss Henderson.”
And now Zamir did look in her direction. His amber eyes locked to hers for a full three seconds; her stomach knotted and her throat worked overtime to swallow. Their eyes were locked in an electrifying battle; brimming with energy and sparking off one another.
It was over as quickly as it had started. He broke the intense stare, calm and unaffected, as though he hadn’t felt the same bone-weakening throb of awareness.
Behind them was a black range rover with heavily tinted windows. Two of the henchmen opened the doors and the Sheikh moved easily into the front passenger seat. The driver took up his position, leaving Marook and Olivia to sit in the back of the luxury vehicle.
Of course, there was an equal probability she would be behind him as not, and it just so happened that Marook moved to sit behind the driver. It became apparent almost immediately that it was so he could speak more easily to Zamir.
But it left Olivia free to observe him in the side mirror of the car. His face was clearly visible to her, and she couldn’t help but look. It was a fascinating face. Hard planes and angles and a cleft in his chin. A firm brow and thick, lustrous hair.
They spoke in their language, effectively boxing Olivia out of any conversation. She barely minded.
If anything, it helped to underscore the difference between them. And there was a difference. In wealth, position, power; everything. It had been so easy to forget that the night before! Just the two of him, alone in his hotel room, she’d looked on him not as a prince, but as a man.
And she’d wanted him as a man.
Her heart turned over at the frank admission she could no longer deny. Desire was one thing. A crush another. But this was a rush of need the likes of which she’d never experienced before.
She closed her eyes behind the dark frames of her sunglasses and let out a breath.
When she opened them again, her gaze was drawn to t
he side mirror.
And he was looking at her.
Unapologetically, his golden eyes were considering her face, studying her, as she’d done to him. And her heart galloped accordingly in her chest. She looked away quickly, focussing on the streetscape beyond the car.
“Is your room acceptable, Miss Henderson?” He cut Marook off mid-sentence, returning easily to her language.
She resisted the instinct to lean forward a little. It reeked of nerves, and she would not let him know how he set her on edge. “Perfectly, sir.”
“Good.” He turned back to her in the mirror and his eyes burned with the same intensity as they had in his hotel room.
The butterflies in her stomach began to tumble into one another.
The car travelled far from the built-up suburbs of Vegas, out into the dusty desert. Red sand stretched for miles with occasional tumbleweeds and clumps of straw-like grass punctuating the steady vista. Occasionally they’d pass a rancher’s house or a gas station, but for the most part, it was just acrid desert.
Eventually, the driver slowed and steered them to a set of almost military-seeming gates. He held a tag up to an intercom and the gates opened a few seconds later.
Here, desert gave way to oasis. Green lawn stretched like magic on either side of the paved driveway. It swept over a gentle crest and then gave way to a turning circle around a landscaped garden. Beyond it, a plantation style home nestled into the lawns, with a wide porch, dormer windows, and a set of three steps leading to wide French doors. Plants in pots were placed with the appearance of casual disregard on the deck, and they were fruiting trees. Citrus, she guessed, thinking longingly of her mother’s small grove back home.
There was no sign to announce what purpose the business served, but it definitely wasn’t residential.
Curiously, she looked to Zamir in the mirror and felt a lurching of compassion. His face was tight, his eyes scanning the building with an obvious sense of wariness. Wherever they were, he did not savour the task ahead. His nerves became her nerves.
“Wait here.” He spoke in English, but he addressed all three of them.
He stepped out of the car before the driver could get around to open the door. And he moved up the steps with a steady determination, despite his obvious dread.
Like all medical facilities, it smelled of disinfectant and discomfort. Even the expensive and tasteful furnishings couldn’t obscure the security measures. Every door had three locks and the glass panels were braced with metal grids. The nurse’s station at the front desk had a panic button and discreet security cameras.
“I am here to see Sheikh Ra’if Fayez,” he said darkly.
“Good morning, sir,” she responded, scanning the computer screen. “This way, please.”
She was a woman in her thirties with shining brown hair and a pleasing figure. She wore the kind of nurse’s uniform that he’d seen in movies. A crisp white dress with a folding collar and a nametag that said Delores.
“I will speak to his physician first.”
Delores paused. “Oh. I see.”
Zamir, used to being obeyed instantly, narrowed his eyes. “I trust this will not be a problem.”
“No, no. I’m sure it won’t be.” She bit down on her lower lip, and her eyes seemed to linger on his face. “Would you mind waiting while I find him?”
Zamir’s nostrils flared as he expelled a breath of disapproval. He had selected this facility for its reputation of unparalleled excellence. But now? His first impression was far from favourable.
Delores was turning beetroot red in front of him, and she almost passed out with relief when footsteps approached them from behind.
“Ah, Doctor Swan,” she smiled broadly. “This is His Highness Sheikh Zamir Fayez.”
“Ra’if’s brother.” The man nodded, and Zamir was glad. Glad that someone at least knew what was going on. The doctor was older than him, perhaps in his fifties, with hair that was silvering at the temples and a middle-aged paunch at his waist. His eyes were a crisp blue and his cheeks were marbled with pink veins beneath his pale skin.
“How is he?”
“He’s only been here a week, sir, and the beginning stages of recovery are the most difficult.”
“Recovery,” Zamir couldn’t help repeating. His anger was a force that he’d grappled with for many years.
“Yes, recovery. Addiction, sir, is a disease. A disease your brother will struggle with for the rest of his life, no matter how good our outcome is here.”
Zamir tilted his head away while he worked to regain control of his mood. “And how thorough do you expect the outcome to be?” He said, when he could trust himself not to express his own thoughts on Ra’if’s addictions.
“It is too early to say. This is not his first overdose.”
Hearing Ra’if’s failures discussed in black and white terms was shocking to him. He was used to dealing with staff who employed euphemisms and deferred to the Sheikh’s loyalty to his older brother.
“No,” he agreed simply. What more could he say. “Take me to him.”
Doctor Swan nodded. “Yes.” He moved down the hallway with a shuffling gait. The windows to one side let in the soft Autumnal sunshine. Closed doors stood sentry on the other side.
Doctor Swan, Delores and Zamir came to a halt outside one such closed door. It had a small discreet number painted into the woodwork, otherwise it was indistinct from all the other cream doors.
Doctor Swan inserted a code into the electric keypad then put his hand on the door.
“All the rooms are locked?”
“Yes,” Delores answered his question. “Used to be by key but we switched to electric out of concern for patient safety.”
Zamir arched a brow, silently urging her to continue.
She glowed pink beneath his unnervingly steady watchfulness. “In the event of a fire, you know, I can release all the doors from the desk.”
“That’s right,” Doctor Swan agreed. “All of the doors are controlled by a central computer. Some of our patients are allowed more freedom, and their doors are unlocked at set times in the day.”
“And my brother?” Zamir intoned flatly.
Doctor Swan’s look was sympathetic. “Your brother is new to us. He won’t have such freedom for quite a while. Perhaps not ever. It will depend on his willingness to work with our programs.”
He was born to rule a Kingdom, Zamir thought with a dull ache in his gut. Not to be locked up like a rodent in a cage.
The door pushed inwards and it took Zamir’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dark. The curtains were drawn, and the lights off. The room itself was large, with a bed, a sofa, and a door that he could only presume led to a bathroom. The curtains were spaced frequently enough to suggest that there were nice windows beyond, though Zamir was certain they too would be faced with bars to prevent escape or the smuggling in of contraband.
In the middle of the room, lying on the bed, was the hunched figure of the once-great Ra’if. Zamir couldn’t look at him without a painful sense of despair. This man had been a hero of his all his life. Even as boys, Zamir had worshipped him. For Ra’if could make everything better.
“Brother,” he switched to their language as he moved deeper into the room. There was a displeasing odour. When he scanned the room for its source, he saw vomit on the timber floor.
“Delores, call housekeeping.”
She bustled out of the room, and Doctor Swan locked the door behind her. “Purging is not uncommon when addicts first arrive. It’s a result of the withdrawal.”
Zamir ignored the doctor. He was staring at Ra’if as though he could decipher him somehow. As though, beneath the sallow skin and thinning hair, and arms that popped with veins, a face that was pocked with scabs, he could see the man he loved.
Ra’if’s eyes were shut, but his breathing was fast. He was not sleeping.
“Ra’if,” Zamir repeated, standing in front of him and crossing his arms across his chest.
With obvious reluctance, Ra’if opened his eyes. Where they should have been white, they were so yellow it shocked Zamir more than anything else. He stared past Zamir, at the wall.
“How do you feel?” Zamir asked.
“Fuck you,” Ra’if answered in his own language.
Zamir shook his head. It was pointless. He crouched down in front of his brother. “You are a prince of Dashan. You must remember that.”
“Fuck off.”
His anger was a palpable force. Were he stronger, he might have leaped from the bed and attempted to fight Zamir.
“I will come tomorrow.”
“Why?” A bleak question, and his eyes shut again.
“Because you are my brother.” He stood and put a hand on Ra’if’s shoulder. The thinness was appalling; he was barely a clutch of bones contained by sagging skin. “And I am yours. Let these people help you, Ra’if.”
“Is that a command, your highness?” His words groaned with resentment.
“Yes.” Zamir walked away from him and towards the door. Doctor Swan unlocked it at the moment a team of housekeeping staff arrived.
The fresh air beyond the room was a welcome relief. “I want his windows opened and his room cleaned regularly.” Zamir, impotent to make his brother better, took control of those matters he could shape. “He is royalty, for God’s sake.”
Doctor Swan had heard this speech from thousands of people, over the years. “He’s a celebrity! Don’t you know who he is? My brother is worth millions! My daughter is a supermodel!” Everyone who came through the gates of the prestigious Evergreen Rehabilitation Clinic was someone. Rich, famous, important, or a combination of all three.
But drug addiction and its effects were harsh levellers. Here, no one was immune from the ravages of suffering and withdrawal. “We will do everything we can to help your brother.”
Zamir wanted to rail against this man; to rage at him and shout. But such a display would have been beneath him. “Fine,” he said thickly. “I will return tomorrow.”
The Sheikh's Convenient Mistress: What he needed from her went well beyond the call of duty... (The Henderson Sister Series Book 2) Page 3
