“How generous of you to notice.”
“Is that a yes?”
Amanda limped toward him. “It is indeed.”
Nick looked at his watch, then at her. “Say it, then. I’m in a hurry, thanks to you.”
“And I’m out a camera, a dress and a pair of shoes, thanks to you.” It wasn’t easy to maintain your dignity with one shoe three inches higher than the other, but Amanda was determined to manage it. “I’m going to send you a bill for—” she paused, furiously adding the numbers in her head “—for nine hundred and eighty dollars.”
“Really.”
Damn him for that annoying little smirk! “Yes,” she said with a smirk of her own, “really. That camera was expensive.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was.” He folded his arms and raked her with a glance, his gaze settling, at last, on her face. “I’m just surprised that your dress and shoes would be so costly, considering what little there was of both.”
Actually, Nick thought, that was overstating it. A wisp of red. Two slender straps. A pair of high-heeled sandals that made her legs long and endless…
One sandal. The other was broken, now that he took a closer look. That was the reason she’d lurched toward him. Still, those legs were as long and endless as he’d remembered. As long and glorious as they’d felt, wrapped around him when he’d tumbled her down onto the bed.
The feel of her beneath him. The soft thrust of her breasts. The scent of her hair. The taste of her mouth…
Nick frowned.
Terrific. He’d found a conniving little schemer in his bedroom, and just remembering what she’d felt like in his arms was enough to send his hormones into a frenzy.
Disgusted, he walked past her and paused before the mirrored wall that faced his bed, supposedly to straighten his tie when what actually needed straightening was his libido.
What was the matter with him? All right. Amanda Benning was beautiful. She was as sexy as sin. So what?
All his women were beautiful and sexy, but he hadn’t stumbled across any one of them hiding in his bedroom, snapping photos with a camera that would have made James Bond envious, then coming to life in his arms when she’d decided the situation was desperate enough to require a distraction.
This was a setup. Nick was positive of it. What else could it be? His little sister, complaining about the furnishings of his apartment? It didn’t ring true. Dawn never noticed her surroundings unless it was the once-a-year encampment their father demanded of her, and she only noticed then because she hated the heat, the dust, the inconvenience of sleeping in a tent.
As for Amanda—if she was an interior designer, then the moon was made of green cheese. And, dammit, she brought out the worst in him.
First he’d mauled her. No point in pretending, not to himself. He’d come on to her with the subtlety of a freight train, and never mind all his rationalizations about playing her game, or teaching her a lesson, or whatever nonsense he’d used to justify wanting to kiss her.
Then he’d come to his senses, started to let her go, but ended up trying to seduce her instead. That didn’t make sense, either. Why would he try to seduce a woman whose motives for being in his bedroom were, at the very least, questionable?
And then there was the icing on the cake. The way he’d talked to Dawn, as if he really were the tottering ghost of old Rudy Valentino. Just thinking about it was humiliating. Nicholas al Rashid, stepping straight out of an outdated Hollywood flick, complete with flaring nostrils, attitude, and macho enough to make a camel gag.
The only thing he’d left out was the shoe-polish hair.
Yeah, he thought, yeah, he’d made a fool of himself.
And for what? Because he’d found Amanda Benning in his bedroom? He’d destroyed her disk, broken her camera. Abdul would give him a report on her in a little while and then he’d put the fear of God in her.
Nick’s mouth twitched. The fear of his lawyers, to be specific. One well-worded threat and she’d be out of his life for good.
The world was full of women, lots of them as beautiful as this one. There was nothing special about her. His mouth thinned. There hadn’t been anything special about her seven years ago, either, when his panic over Dawn was all that had stood between him and insanity—
“…an itemized bill.”
Nick scowled at his reflection, turned and looked at Amanda, who’d come up to stand behind him. “What?”
“I said, I’ll send you an itemized bill if you don’t believe that I paid almost three hundred dollars for the dress.”
“There’s no need for that. Abdul—my secretary—will write you a check before you leave tonight.”
“Good old Abdul,” Amanda said pleasantly. “Still crawling around on his hands and knees, is he?” Her chin lifted. “Tell him to get busy, then, because I’m going straight out the front door the instant I get down—”
“No.”
“No? But you just said—”
“You’re not leaving so quickly, Ms. Benning.”
“On the contrary, Sheikh Rashid. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not leaving quickly enough.”
“You will leave here after I’m done with you. Dawn?” Nick smiled. “People are asking for you.”
“Oh. But you said—”
“I know what I said. I’ve changed my mind. I’d prefer not to have to try to explain your absence.”
“What’s the matter?” Amanda said nastily. “Are you afraid people might be put off if they knew you were in the habit of locking women in your bedroom?”
The sheikh smiled at his sister. “Just behave yourself.”
“Just behave yourself,” Amanda said in wicked imitation. “What does that mean? Is she supposed to walk two paces to the rear?”
“Go on.” Nick kissed Dawn’s cheek. “Go downstairs and tell our guests I’ve been momentarily detained.”
Dawn hesitated. “What about Amanda?”
Nick’s smile thinned. “I’ll take care of her.”
“Dawn?” Amanda said, but Dawn shook her head and hurried out of the room. Abdul seemed to materialize in the doorway.
“There you are, Abdul,” Nick said.
“My lord.”
“Has it arrived?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Nick nodded. Abdul bent down, then straightened up with two elaborately wrapped boxes in his arms.
“On the bed, please.”
The little man walked to the bed and put the boxes down. Then he bowed his body in half and backed out of the room.
“Those are for you.”
Amanda looked at the things lying on the bed as if they might start ticking.
“A dress,” Nick said lazily, “and a pair of shoes.”
“Are you crazy?”
“I would be, if I let you slip away without confirming your reasons for being here.” He jerked his head at the boxes. “I guessed at your sizes.”
“I’m sure you’re an expert,” she said coldly.
“And,” he said, ignoring the taunt, “I did my best to describe the style of your things to the concierge.”
“How nice for the concierge.” She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “But you should have told her to order them in her size.”
“In his size,” Nick said with a little smile, “but I doubt if they’re quite to his taste.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me before, Sheikh Rashid. I said I wanted a check to pay for my things, not replacements.”
“And you shall have a check. But I’ve no intention of letting you go just yet, Ms. Benning. Dawn’s things won’t fit you. And I certainly won’t permit you to insult my guests by moving among them while you look like something no self-respecting cat would drag home.”
Amanda’s brows rose. “If you honestly think I want to go to your party—”
“I’m not interested in what you think, honestly or otherwise. But I must attend my party, as must my sister. And, since I need to keep you here for another few hours, I hav
e no choice but to subject my guests to your presence.”
Heat swept into her face. “You are the most insulting man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”
“Ah, Ms. Benning. That breaks my heart.” Nick pointed a commanding finger at the boxes. “Now, take those things into the dressing room. Change your dress and shoes. Fix your hair and do whatever is required to make yourself presentable. Then you will emerge, take my arm, stay at my side all evening, comport yourself with decorum and speak to no one unless I grant permission for you to do so.”
“In your dreams!”
“If you do all that, and if your so-called interior design credentials check out, you will be free to leave. If not…”
“If not, what?” Amanda’s jaw shot out. “Will you lock me in the dungeon?”
His smile was slow and heart-stopping in its male arrogance. “What a fine idea.”
“You—you…”
Nick looked at his watch. “You have five minutes.”
“You’re a horrible man, Sheikh Rashid!”
“I’m waiting, Ms. Benning.” He looked up, his cold silver eyes locked on hers. “Perhaps you require my assistance.”
Amanda snatched the boxes from the bed and fled into the dressing room. Angry tears blinded her as she stripped off her dress and kicked her shoes into a corner. Then she opened the packages and took out what Nick had bought her.
The dress looked almost like the one he’d ruined, except it had surely cost ten times as much and seemed to have been fashioned of cobwebs instead of silk. The shoes were elegant wisps of satin and slid on her feet as if they’d been made for her.
Nick rapped sharply on the door. “One minute.”
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bright. Her cheeks were pink. With anger, she told herself. Of course with anger. And it was anger, too, that had sent her heart leaping into her throat.
She ran her fingers through her hair, bit her lips to color them. Then she threw back her head, unlocked the door and stepped into the bedroom.
Nick was leaning back against the wall, arms folded, feet crossed at the ankles. He gave her a long, appraising look, from the top of her head to her feet, then up again. “I take it the dress and shoes fit.”
His tone was polite, but when his eyes met hers, they were shot with silver fire. She could feel the heat swirling in her blood.
“I despise you,” she said in a voice that sounded far too breathless.
He uncoiled his body like a lazy cat and came toward her. “Liking me isn’t a prerequisite for the night we’re about to spend together.”
“We aren’t,” she said quickly, even though she knew he was baiting her, that he was really just referring to the time she’d be with him at his party. “There’s no way in hell I’d spend the night with—”
He bent and brushed his mouth over hers. That was all he did; the kiss was little more than a whisper of flesh to flesh, but the intake of her breath more than proved she was lying.
She knew it. He knew it. And she hated him for it.
“The Sheikh,” she said, her eyes cool.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Sheikh, starring Rudolph Valentino. It’s an old movie. You’d love it. Be sure and rent the video sometime.”
Nick laughed. “I can see we’re going to have a delightful evening.” He held out his arm. She tossed her head. “Take it,” he said softly, “unless you’d rather I lift you into my arms and carry you.”
Amanda took his arm. She could feel the hardness of his muscles, the taut power of his body through his clothing—but mostly, she could feel the race of her own heart as he led her out of his bedroom and to the wide staircase that led downstairs.
CHAPTER FIVE
AMANDA knew all about making an entrance.
Her father, a California businessman who owned a department store and had hopes of building it into a chain, had put his three beautiful little daughters in front of the cameras whenever he could. They’d promoted everything from baby clothes to barbecue grills.
“Lick your lips, girls,” he’d say just before he’d walk them out. “And give ’em a big smile.”
The small-town lawyer she’d married had turned into a publicity-hungry politico looking for national office before she’d had time to blink.
“Smile,” he’d say, and he’d put his arm around her waist as if he really cared, just before walking her into a room filled with strangers.
Her stepfather, Jonas Baron, was the exception. Jonas owned almost half of Texas but he didn’t much care about entrances or exits. He never sought public attention but he couldn’t escape it, either.
Still, nothing could have prepared her for what it was like to make an entrance on the arm of the Lord of the Desert.
“Oh, hell,” Nick said softly when they reached the top of the stairs.
Oh, hell, indeed, Amanda thought as she looked down.
A million faces looked back. And oh, the expressions on those faces! All those eyes, shifting with curiosity from the sheikh to her…
She jerked to a stop. “Everyone is watching us,” she hissed.
“Yeah.” Nick cleared his throat. “I should have realized this might happen. It’s because I’m late.”
“Well, that’s not my fault!”
“Of course it’s your fault,” he growled.
“I’m not going down there. Not with you.”
Nick must have anticipated that she’d move away because his free hand shot out and covered hers as it lay on his arm. To the people watching, it would have looked like a courtly gesture, but the truth was that his hand felt like a shackle on hers.
“Don’t be ridiculous. They’ve all seen us. As it is, tongues will wag. If you run off now, there’ll be no stopping the stories.”
“That’s your problem, Lord Rashid, not mine.”
He looked at her, his eyes narrowed and hard. “You’re my sister’s oldest friend.” Slowly, he began descending the steps with Amanda locked to his side. “And you’ve come to pay her a visit.”
“I’m the immoral creature who led her astray. Isn’t that what you mean?”
“You haven’t seen each other in ages, not since—when?”
She looked at him. His mouth was set in a polite smile.
“How charming,” she said coolly. “You can speak without moving your lips.”
“When did you and Dawn last see each other?”
“Two weeks ago, at lunch. Not exactly ‘ages’, is it?”
Nick’s hand tightened over hers. “Just keep your story straight. You’re Dawn’s friend. You’ve kept in touch over the years. She heard you were in town and invited you to her birthday party.”
They were halfway down the steps. Amanda looked at all those upturned faces. The only thing lacking was a trumpet fanfare, she thought, and bit back a hysterical bark of laughter.
“Did you hear me, Ms. Benning?”
“I heard you, Lord Rashid. But I’m not visiting New York. I live here. I know you’d prefer to think I live in Casablanca and that I’m a spy.”
“What I think, Ms. Benning, is that you watch too many old movies.”
“What am I supposed to say if people ask why you and I came downstairs together?”
It was, Nick decided, an excellent question. “Tell them…tell them I hadn’t seen you in a long time.”
“Not long enough,” Amanda said, smiling through her teeth.
“You and I were catching up on old times.”
“Ah. Is that some quaint Quidaran idiom that means you were trying to jump my bones?”
Nick stopped so abruptly that she stumbled. He caught her, his arm looping tightly around her waist.
“Listen to me,” he growled. “You are to behave yourself. You will smile pleasantly, say the proper thing at the proper moment. And if you don’t—”
“Don’t threaten me, Lord Rashid. I’ll behave, but not because I’m afraid of you. It’s because I’ve no desire for ugly pub
licity.”
“Afraid it might ruin your image?” he said sarcastically.
“Being seen with you will be enough to do—What are they doing?”
The question was pointless. She could see, and hear, what all those people down there were doing. They were applauding.
“They’re applauding,” Amanda said, and looked at him.
Nick gave her a smile so phony she wondered if it made his mouth hurt.
“I know.”
“Well, why are they—”
“The applause is for me.”
She looked down again, into that sea of smiling faces, at the clapping hands. Then she looked at Nick. Definitely, that smile had to be painful.
“They’re clapping for you?” she said incredulously.
“Must I repeat myself?” A muscle tightened in his cheek. “It is the custom.”
“The custom?”
“Do you think you’re capable of making a statement, Ms. Benning, instead of following each question with another? Yes. It is the custom to applaud the prince on his birthday.”
“Well, it’s dumb.”
Nick laughed. Really laughed. “It is indeed.”
“Then why do you permit it?”
He thought of a hundred different answers, starting with three thousand years of history and ending with the knowledge that had come to him only after more than a decade of trying to push his country into the twenty-first century—the simple realization that not even he could accomplish such a thing quickly.
He could tell Amanda Benning all of that, but why should he? She wouldn’t understand. And the odds were excellent that if he did, she’d rush to sell that morsel of news to the highest bidder.
As it was, he was doing everything possible not to think about her trying to sell the sordid little tale of what had gone on in his bedroom. Surely his lawyers’ threats would stop her. And if that didn’t do the trick, he’d deny whatever she said. But would he be able to deny the memory of those moments to himself? The feel of her in his arms? The taste of her on his tongue?
Of course he would, he thought calmly.
“I permit the applause,” he said, “because it is the custom.”
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