She sat down in a chair beside the table and only then realized she was still holding what was left of her hat. She glanced at it, frowning.
"Well, you know, it's not really my sport. I'm more a Dallas Cowboys fan," Kitty began apologetically, then gave a gasp of dismay as she, too, noticed Leila's hat. "Oh, my goodness, what in the world happened? That's a real shame."
Leila shrugged and placed it on the tabletop. "The wind blew it onto the field and the horses trampled it," she explained matter-of-factly as she poured herself a glass of the blend of pomegranate and grape juices. She sipped, and found it nicely chilled and just slightly fermented. She lowered her lashes, veiling her eyes, and casually added, "Elena's friend-Mr. Gallagher-got it back for me."
Kitty chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, that sounds like something Cade would do."
Leila flashed her a look of what she hoped was only polite interest. "You know this Mr. Gallagher-Cade -very well?"
"Not real well, no-mostly through Elena." But then Kitty gave a little smile and sort of waggled her shoulders as she settled back in her chair, reminding Leila so much of her favorite source of gossip, Nargis, that she almost laughed out loud. "He is a good-lookin' man, though, isn't he?"
"He is handsome," Leila said in a considering tone, then made a brushing-aside gesture with her hand as she picked up her glass. "But surely such a handsome man must be married."
Kitty shook her head, looking gleeful. "Uh-uh-he's not."
Leila glanced at her in surprise. "Really? Then…surely, someone special-a girlfriend?"
"Not that I know of." The expression on Kitty's face reminded Leila now of the palace cats-she all but purred. "Lots of girls, I imagine, but, nope-no one in particular. Elena would have told me if there was."
"But that seems very strange," Leila said, frowning. "What do you suppose is the reason? There must be some reason why a man of his age-he is what, thirty?"
"Thirty-six," Kitty promptly supplied. "I know, because Elena told me he's six years older than she is." Thirty-six…ten years older than I am. But that is good-
Startled by the thought, Leila guiltily slammed it into a drawer, hidden far away in the back of her mind.
"Perhaps," said Leila with a sniff, "he is not a good man."
"Cade?" The other woman looked taken aback, even mildly affronted. Then she chuckled. "I'm not sure how you mean that, honey, but if you mean 'good' like in decent, honorable-that sort of thing-then I can pretty much tell you there's probably not a better man alive. Cade Gallagher is so honest it's scary. Oh, I hear he's tough when it comes to business, but judging from the way I've seen him with Elena-" She interrupted herself to lean forward like a conspirator. "His parents are dead, you know, just like Elena's-they're all the family each other's got." She sat back with a little wave of her hand. "Anyway, as far as I can see, the man's got a heart like a marshmallow."
"Marsh…mallow?" The word was unfamiliar to Leila.
Kitty laughed. "It's a kind of candy-real soft and gooey, you know? And sweet."
Sweet? Leila chewed doubtfully on her lower lip. "Sweet" was not a word she had ever heard applied to a man before. Certainly not to one as rugged-looking as Cade Gallagher.
"Well," said Kitty with an air of finality, "I know Elena thinks the world of him-that's enough for me."
And, Leila realized suddenly, I think Elena thinks the world of you, too. She must, to have invited the woman to her wedding. This woman-Kitty-seemed like a kind person. A bit of a gossip, maybe, but Leila saw no real harm in that. The important thing was, she was Elena's friend. Elena trusted her.
Leila took a deep breath and made a decision. She sat forward, hands earnestly clasped. "Please-tell me about America. What is it like, between men and women? How is it when they are…" she waved a hand in a circular motion, searching for the word. "I am sorry, I do not know-"
"You mean, dating?"
"Yes." Leila let out a breath. "Dating." She had learned a little about the customs of Europe and England from classmates in boarding school, but what she knew of America came mostly from movies and very old television programs, and she was, she feared, badly out-of-date. "You must understand, here we have no such thing. What is it like? How, exactly, is it done?" And without her realizing it, her heart had begun to beat faster.
"What's it like?" Kitty gave a dry little laugh. "Not that I've had much personal experience lately, you understand, but from what I can recall, it can be anything from fun and exciting to downright awful. As for how it's done-honey, there've been about a bazillion books and magazine articles devoted to that subject."
"Oh, but please," Leila cried, "you must tell me. For example, must the man always be the one to…to…" Frustrated, she paused to frown and gnaw at her lip. She was not accustomed to feeling so awkward, and she did not like it one bit.
"Make the first move?" Kitty said kindly.
"The first move-yes!" Leila was almost laughing with relief. "Must the woman always wait for the man to do it? Or may the woman be the first one to speak?"
Kitty gave a merry laugh. "I guess that depends."
"On what?" She leaned forward, intent with purpose now.
"Oh, well…on your generation, for one thing. Now, my generation, they're pretty much stuck on the 'leave it to the guy to make the first move' tradition. Men my age seem to feel threatened by pushy women, for some reason." She sighed.
Leila wasn't exactly sure what was meant by "pushy women," but she forged on, eager to get to what she really wanted to know. Breathlessly, she asked, "And…Mr. Gallagher?"
It was hard to imagine such a man feeling threatened by anything, much less a mere woman.
"Cade?" Kitty had that look again, the one that made Leila think of the woman's animal namesake. She leaned forward as if she were about to reveal a great secret. "Just between you and me, I think that man focuses entirely too much on business. I think maybe if a woman wanted to get his attention, she might have to be a little bit pushy."
"Pushy?" Leila frowned. That word again. The pictures it brought to her mind didn't seem appealing to her.
"You know," Kitty said, lifting one shoulder just slightly. "Give him a little…nudge in the right direction. A push."
"Ah," said Leila, feeling as if a light had come on in her head, "you mean, not a real push, but a suggestion. And this is…permissible in America?"
"I don't know about all of America, but in Texas it is."
"Thank you," Leila breathed. "That is what I wanted to know." She placed her glass on the table and rose to leave, preoccupied and just in time remembering her manners. Turning back to Kitty, she said automatically, "It was very nice talking with you. I hope I may see you tonight at the reception?"
"Oh," said Kitty, looking solemn, "you can count on it."
As Leila was turning away, she saw the other woman pick up the paperback book she had laid aside when Leila interrupted her. She thought it must not be a romance novel after all, but perhaps a very funny one instead. Because, as she found her place and began to read, Kitty was laughing to herself, and the smile on her face stretched from one ear to the other.
Chapter 3
The hum and clatter of sound from the reception hall receded as Cade strolled deeper into the gardens, and was gradually usurped by the quieter conversation of the fountains. The music followed him, though, carried on the soft evening air like a sweet-scented breeze. At least it was western music tonight. Not country western, that would have been too much to hope for-but the classical stuff, something vaguely familiar to him. Mozart, he guessed, or maybe it was Beethoven. He never could keep those guys straight.
He had the gardens to himself tonight. Everyone seemed to be inside the grand ballroom, nibbling fruits and exotic Middle Eastern tidbits and awaiting the arrival of the king of Montebello and his entourage, including the recently restored crown prince, Lucas, who not so long ago had been all but given up for dead. Elena had filled him in on that story, and thinking of it now, Cade co
uld only shake his head. The whole thing sounded like something out of a spy novel to him.
He'd pay his own respects to the honored guests before the night was over, of course; he owed that much to Elena. But for now, he was seizing the opportunity for a much needed breath of fresh air. And some space -oh, yeah, that more than anything. There was something about this damned island, beautiful as it was, that gave him claustrophobia. He'd be glad when all the hoopla was over and he could get down to doing business with the old sheik. Hassan and Elena were postponing their honeymoon long enough to give him the intro he needed to smooth the way, but he was confident the negotiations would be easy sailing for all concerned.
As he stepped though the rose-covered arch that led to the promenade where yesterday he'd stood and listened to that strangely sinister conversation, he paused once again to light one of his cherished cheroots. This time, though, he didn't linger there but continued on down the tiled walkway, which was arrow-straight and flanked on both sides by rows of intricately carved columns and lit at regular intervals by torches. At the far end, through another arched portal, he could see where it opened out finally onto a cliff-top terrace overlooking the sea. Through the portal the sky still glowed with the last wash of sunset, and it seemed to Cade like the gateway to paradise.
He walked toward his destination slowly and with a pleasant sense of anticipation, savoring the taste of the cigar, enjoying the textures of the night and his aloneness in it, feeling the breeze curl around his shoulders like a cloak…stir through his hair like caressing fingers…
And something shivered down his spine. He'd felt something…something that wasn't really a touch. Heard something that wasn't quite a sound. And knew with absolute certainty that he wasn't alone in the promenade any longer.
He halted…turned. Froze. His heart dropped into his shoes.
Halfway between the archway and where he stood the figure of a woman paused…hovered…then once again moved slowly toward him. Tonight, she wore an evening gown of a delicate yellow-gold, something shimmery that seemed to glow in the light of the torches like a small pale sun. It had a high neck and long, flowing sleeves, a bodice that clung and skirts that swirled around her legs so that she seemed to float, disconnected from the ground, like a wraith or a figment of his imagination. Except that he knew she was only too real.
Strands of long black hair, teased by the same wind that made a plaything of her skirts, coiled around her shoulders and lay like a shadow across one breast. Something glittered in the twist of braids on top of her head…caught an elusive source of light and winked. He couldn't see her features in that purple dusk, but he'd known at once who she was. In a strange way, her body, the way she moved, seemed already familiar to him.
Leila almost lost her courage. The tall figure silhouetted against the evening sky and framed by gold-washed pillars seemed so forbidding, utterly unapproachable, like a sentinel guarding the gates of Heaven. But, oh, she thought as her heartbeat pattered deliriously in her throat, how commanding he looked in his evening clothes-how elegant, even regal.
And yet-the notion came to her suddenly, the way such insights often did to Leila-as elegant and at ease as he appeared, there was something about the formal dress that didn't suit him. As if his appearance of ease went no deeper than his skin…as if it were his soul that was being suffocated.
Almost…almost, she turned to run away, to leave him there with his solitude. For uncounted seconds she hovered, balanced like a bird on a swaying branch, balanced, she was even in that moment aware, between two futures for herself…two very different paths. One path was familiar to her, its destination dismally certain. The other was a complete unknown, veiled in darkness, and she had no way of knowing whether it might lead her to the freedom she so desired…or disaster.
She hovered, her heart beating faster, harder, and then, somehow, she was moving forward again, moving toward that imposing figure in evening clothes. She felt a strange sense of inevitability as the figure loomed larger, as she drew closer and closer to the American named Cade Gallagher. And it occurred to her to wonder if she had ever had a choice at all.
They were only a few feet apart now, close enough that one or the other must speak. But Cade only looked at her and went on quietly smoking…something too brown to be a cigarette, too slender to be a cigar. Reminding herself what Kitty had said, that in America-in Texas-it was permissible for a woman to speak first, Leila summoned all her courage and sent up a small prayer.
"Good evening-it is Mr. Gallagher, is it not?" She kept her voice low to hide the tremors in it. "May I call you Cade?"
"I wish you would." His voice was a husky drawl that shivered her skin as if someone had lightly touched her all over. He gave a bow, and she wondered if he might be mocking her. "Good evening, Princess-or is it, 'Your Highness'?"
"If I am to call you Cade, then you must call me Leila." She was glad for the shadowy torchlight that hid the blush she could feel burning in her cheeks. On the other hand, she hoped he would see the dimples there, and as she joined him, she smiled and tilted her face toward him and the light.
He waited for her to reach him, then turned so that they walked on together toward the terrace, side by side. Leila's heart was beating so hard she thought he must hear it.
After a moment he glanced down at her and said, "Shouldn't you be at the royal reception?"
She hesitated, biting her lip, wondering just how "cheeky"-it was a word she'd acquired during her school days in England-she dared be. Hoping he wouldn't think her insolent, she looked up at him through lowered lashes and colored her voice with her smile. "Yes, I should. And…should not you be, as well?"
He acknowledged that with a soft and rueful laugh. Emboldened, she added, "You are certainly dressed for it." And after a moment, bolder still, "You do look quite nice in evening dress, but…" She counted footsteps. One…two…
She felt his gaze, and, looking up to meet it, caught a small, involuntary breath. To get his attention, a woman would have to be a little bit…She smiled and said on the soft rush of an exhalation, "But, I liked what you were wearing yesterday-especially your hat. You looked quite like a cowboy."
She heard the faint, surprised sound of his breath as he looked down at her. "Yesterday?"
"I saw you in the garden," she explained with an innocent lift of her shoulders. "I was with my sisters, on the balcony outside our chambers. I could not help but notice you. You stood out, among all the others. I thought you looked…very American-like someone I have seen in the Western movies."
He gave a little grunt of laughter, but she didn't think it was a pleased sound.
She conjured up a new smile. "But tonight…tonight you look very different-elegant, very sophisticated. And, of course, very handsome."
He laughed uncomfortably. "Princess-"
She laughed too, in a light and teasing way, and before he could say more, hurried on. "But, you have run away from the reception and all the ladies who would admire you, to walk alone in the gardens…" She left it hanging, the question unspoken.
Cade brought the slender cigar briefly to his lips before answering. "I needed some air," he said abruptly, and there was a certain harshness in his voice now. They had stepped onto the terrace that overlooked the sea. He made a gesture toward the emptiness beyond the marble balustrade. "Some space."
A breeze from the sea lifted tendrils of hair on Leila's neck. She felt a shivering deep inside her chest. Space…
"Yes," she whispered, forgetting to flirt, for all at once her throat ached and she no longer felt like smiling.
They stood together at the balustrade in silence, shoulders not quite touching, and she felt the ache inside her grow. I shouldn't have done this, she thought in sudden and unfamiliar panic. This is terrifying. Perhaps I am not cut out to be a pushy woman.
Far below, waves collided gently with the rocky cliff, sending up joyful little bursts of spray. The rhythmic shusshing sound they made was familiar and soothing to h
er soul. She listened to it for several more seconds, then lifted her eyes to the almost invisible horizon.
"I understand, I think," she said quietly, leaning a little on her hands. "I come here often when I am feeling…"
At a loss for the word, she gave a little grimace and shook her head.
"Cooped up?" Cade softly suggested, watching the horizon as she did. She looked him a question, not being familiar with the expression. He glanced down at her. "Walled up…fenced in-"
"Oh, yes!" She turned toward him, her breath escaping in a grateful rush. "That is it exactly-walled up and fenced in. But what is this…coop? I do not know-"
He shrugged and turned his gaze back to the sea. "It's an expression they use where I come from. A coop is a kind of pen. They keep chickens in it."
"In Texas?"
"Yeah…" He said it on a sigh. "In Texas." After a curiously vibrant pause, one that fairly sang with unspoken communion, he jerked himself upright and away from the silence with a loud and raggedy attempt to clear his throat. "Other places, too. Pretty much any place they have chickens."
He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with a princess. One that, even in a designer gown, really did look like something out of The Arabian Nights. But talking about chicken coops, dopey as it was, seemed infinitely safer than that terrifying sense of…what in the world had it been? Affinity, concord…none of those words seemed adequate to describe what had just happened between them, between himself and this woman from an alien culture…a kind of oneness he'd never experienced before with another human being. As if, he thought with a shudder, she'd somehow found, and for that one brief moment touched, his innermost self. His soul.
"Texas." Her sigh was an echo of his. "It must be very wonderful." Hearing a new lightness in her voice, he looked at her warily. Torchlight played mischievously with her dimples.
She's flirting with you, Cade. The thought made him almost giddy with relief. This was familiar territory, something he was pretty sure he knew how to handle.
Virgin Seduction Page 4
