by Gail Dayton
She led him past the desk, past the plush brocade chairs, past the opening to the dimly lit bar, to the elevators between the potted palms where she pushed the up button. Rudi's second thoughts kicked in.
Not that he objected to the idea of going up to Ellen's room and "getting to know her better." But he did not know her. She probably was no terrorist. Then again, she might be. Or she might be a thief, with a partner upstairs waiting to cosh him over the head and steal everything he had in his pockets, which by now was not much, since he had been away from the family coffers for more than a week.
Or she might be the best thing he had ever happened across in his life.
He was used to women throwing themselves at him, wanting to be seen with him for his name, or his money, or because they liked the way he looked. Their motivations had always been transparent to him, and he'd usually been willing to give them what they wanted—a little pleasure for the moment, a little thrill, a little pampering. They were easy. So easy that lately he hadn't bothered.
But this woman was different. She intrigued him. She challenged him by holding her secrets so close. She was all mystery and potential and wide-open possibility.
In which case, he did not want to ruin it by rushing into sex with her. He wanted to know more, know everything about her, how she thought, what made her laugh and cry. That took time. If he went upstairs with her now, Rudi very much feared he wouldn't get that time.
"Ellen, why do we not go into the bar? Have a drink. Talk." He tipped his head toward the dark, cavelike entrance.
Something that might have been surprise flashed in her eyes before it vanished behind that sexy, enigmatic smile. Rudi began to hate that smile.
"Why?" She slid her hand up his arm to his shoulder and trailed her fingers down his chest.
"I wish to talk to you." He caught the hand resting on his chest and kissed her fingertips. Then he touched the corner of her mouth.
Her smile slipped, just a little.
"I want to find the woman behind that smile," he said. "If we go upstairs, I do not think that we will do very much talking."
"Probably not," Ellen conceded with a tip of her head. "But what if there's nothing to find?"
"I cannot believe that. Not with the devil peeking from deep within your eyes."
An expression that was almost alarm flickered in those hazel-green eyes. Then her smile went hot and sultry, and Rudi's entire body stood at attention.
"Talking isn't the way to meet that devil." Ellen took both his hands in hers and backed onto the elevator, drawing him with her. "We can talk later."
"Promise?"
The elevator door slid shut. Ellen brushed against Rudi as she reached past him to press a floor button, and he shuddered at the light touch. His hand settled at her waist.
"I promise," she said.
Rudi had to think a minute to recall what she was promising.
"If you still want to talk, we can talk all you want. Later."
The floor lurched slightly as the elevator stopped and the door rumbled open. Holding his hand, Ellen led him into the hallway. About halfway down, she paused in front of a room.
She looked up at him, the sweet sadness back in her smile. Her hand settled soft on his chest again, and she stretched the mere inch necessary to touch her lips to his cheek in a warm, tender kiss that melted all Rudi's internal organs together.
She glanced away to slide the keycard in the lock. It flashed green and she turned the handle, then looked back up at him.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, "but it's for your own good."
Alarm flashed through him. Was she a terrorist after all?
Then the door was open and Omar, his valet-cum-bodyguard, was hauling him into the room. Frank, the rent-a-bodyguard from the service his family used in New York, stood behind Omar, with a third burly guard beyond.
"Thanks, Miss Sheffield," Frank was saying. "I knew if anybody could find him, you could."
Ellen's smile was gone, replaced by a businesslike scowl. "I wouldn't have had to, if you bozos hadn't lost him in the first place."
"You are a bodyguard?" Rudi goggled at her.
"I'm a security consultant. Frank and George are bodyguards." She indicated the two locals. "See if you can keep up with him now."
And she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her.
The woman of his dreams had come on to him just to track him down for his family and return him to the dubious safety of his bodyguards.
Rudi started to laugh. He had to—she had outwitted him so cleverly. She had won this round.
But the game was not over yet.
And she had promised him they could talk later, if he wished. Rudi definitely wished to talk much more with Miss Ellen Sheffield.
Two
Ellen Sheffield was the best at what she did.
At least, she used to be, before she met that too-handsome-for-her-own-good son of a sheikh. His movie-star face kept popping into her head, complete with that obnoxious grin. The one that made him look even more handsome. No matter how hard she tried to dismiss him as a lightweight, tell herself the grin was goofy and the man uninteresting, his voice would whisper in her mind's ear, A person cannot drink oil. And she'd wonder if he still wanted to talk.
Because, however many times she told herself she didn't want to see him, she couldn't forget that he had actually wanted to delay going upstairs at the hotel. He'd invited her into the bar. He'd seen past the mask to the person behind her polished facade, the first man to bother looking in years. Maybe ever.
When she was little, she'd been merely "the Sheffield boys' sister." Then she'd grown breasts, and her brothers' friends had done nothing but stare at them. Until her brothers beat them up.
None of the boys in high school had dared ask her out, and with a policeman for a brother, none of the men in the academy had, either. So she'd had no preparation for Davis's practiced seduction when she'd met him at a book signing just after she'd finished her course.
Ellen sighed. Davis had been such an overwhelming experience that she'd agreed to marry him before she realized what kind of man he was. Before she realized what kind of woman he wanted. He wanted a decorative, expensive toy to show off to his friends, not a person. Ellen's opinions, desires, thoughts and wishes had all been dismissed as unimportant. Her career was immaterial. Davis expected her to drop everything and dance to his tune.
When she'd broken the engagement, his "friends" had moved in, all of them wanting the same thing: a beautiful woman to show off. She'd learned then how to use her appearance as a tool, a weapon against them. That skill had benefited her career, both in the police department and since. Vic Campanello, her partner on the job and her current boss, called her his secret weapon. Which was why she'd been tapped to find Prince Rudi the Gorgeous.
She didn't want to think about him, didn't want him popping into her head. He might have noticed the devil in her eyes, but he couldn't care anymore.
Not now, not after she'd put him back into his gilded cage.
Ellen got out of the cab and slammed the door. Then she overtipped the driver because she felt guilty for taking out her guilt on his cab. She had not betrayed Rudi, or Rashid, or whatever the man wanted to call himself. She had probably saved his life. He had no business wandering around New York on his own, not with terrorists stalking Qarif's ruling family, of which Rudi was most definitely a member.
The terrorists had been a problem in Qarif for most of Rudi's life, but lately things had changed, according to Campanello. The old leader had been captured, and the new, more militant leader had vowed vengeance for the captivity, even though he was probably the one who'd tipped the authorities off.
Rudi might be used to the terrorist threat, but that didn't mean there was no danger. Ellen's job was to protect him from that danger, and she had absolutely no reason to feel guilty for doing her job.
Summer flowers bloomed in beds lining the paths, but they might as well have been weeds for all
the attention Ellen paid them as she headed into Central Park. She checked her watch and picked up her pace. If she didn't hurry, she'd be late for her meeting.
Swainson Security had been hired to provide security for a music video to be shot in Central Park sometime in the next month, and she was supposed to meet with the producer, the director, the group's manager and whoever else thought they needed a finger in the pie, to check out locations. She much preferred this kind of work to tracking down spoiled dilettantes. Though she had to admit that finding Rudi had been a challenge. She did enjoy a good challenge.
Campanello had told her this morning he had a new assignment for her, one that would begin immediately after this meeting. Maybe it would offer something tough enough to keep her mind off Qarif's prince. The fact that the boss wouldn't tell her what the new job was, however, made her suspect that it might have something to do with said prince.
Ellen ground her teeth, then curled her lips up in what she hoped resembled a smile more than a snarl as the band's manager turned to greet her. Time to go to work.
Rudi stared at the piece of paper in front of him on the polished table without actually seeing it or anything it said. It was Wednesday. Hump Day, as they had called it when he was in college in Texas, and probably everywhere else in the United States. If he could make it past Wednesday, it was a downhill slide to the weekend. Only, the weekend would be no better, trapped as he was by his bodyguards and big brother Ibrahim.
Rudi felt Ibrahim's glower and ignored it. He pulled his hand inside the sleeve of his djellaba and discreetly scratched his thigh. Ibrahim had insisted on traditional dress for the negotiations today, to remind the other parties just who they dealt with. Rudi stuck his hand back out and took yet another sip of water. Maybe he could escape to the rest room for a few minutes, if he drank enough water.
He had no idea why he had to be at this forsaken meeting anyway. It was not as if he could contribute anything but another body. Ibrahim's wife or one of his children now in New York could contribute as much. Rudi would happily trade places with Kalila and escort the children to museums and even opera, while she sat in on her husband's meetings. They were about finance and numbers, dollars and marks and yen and things he knew nothing about. Did not want to know about.
Give him a piece of ground, a "Christmas tree" rig and a couple of roughnecks to handle the steel, and he could bring in the well. He could even tell you if the piece of ground might produce anything, whether water, oil or gas. But high finance could kill him. If Rudi got any more bored, his heart just might forget to beat, fall asleep just like the rest of him. Although if he actually dozed off, Ibrahim would be the one to kill him.
He had sworn off thinking about her. This resolution had lasted about as long as every other resolution he had ever made. Maybe an entire hour. He needed something to do that would keep him awake, so he began to plot his revenge on Ellen Sheffield. Most of the plots involved isolated tents in the desert, paved with thick, soft carpets and plenty of pillows, and thin, gauzy, semitransparent clothing. Better yet, no clothing at all.
Not that the plots would ever come to fruition. It had been ten days since Ellen had turned him back over to the loving, suffocating arms of his family like a runaway schoolboy, and he still had no hint how to find her. Her company "did not give out personal information," as he had been told several times over by the annoying, perky-voiced receptionist. His dream girl might have been just that—a dream—for all he was able to learn about her. He had held her in his arms, only to have her vanish like a mirage in the sands.
"What is your opinion, Prince Rashid?"
One of the suits around the table asked him a question, and Rudi had no idea what he was supposed to have an opinion about. Even if he had heard the discussion, he would not have understood it. He moved his leg out of reach of Ibrahim's potential kick under the table.
"I am in complete agreement with my brother," he said, which was true. Ibrahim knew about this kind of thing. Rudi wished he would take care of it and stop making him sit through this agony.
Finally, after another eternity of congratulations and chitchat and backslapping, the deal apparently made, the meeting ended. Rudi headed for the elevators, only to be halted by his brother calling him back.
"Rashid, are you not joining us for lunch?" Ibrahim looked surprised, maybe even wounded by Rudi's apparent defection. "To celebrate the success of our negotiations. Come."
Allah forfend. Rudi stifled his shudder. He could not take another hour of high finance, not another minute. He had been to lunch with these men before. He knew what they talked about.
"Forgive me, brother. It has been a long morning, and I feel a bit under the weather."
"Are you ill?" Genuine concern colored Ibrahim's voice.
Rudi was grateful once more that he was merely the seventh son of his father, and not the ninth and youngest. If young Hasim stubbed a toe, the flags in Qarif went to half-mast. Ibrahim would have panicked.
"Merely tired." Rudi said. "I will catch a cab back to the hotel."
"You will take the car. And Omar."
"Very well. I will take the car." Rudi did not mention that Omar was back at the hotel with a severe case of traveler's trouble, and had only consented to stay in bed because of Ibrahim's own bodyguards. This could be his chance to make a break for it.
Maybe they would send Ellen after him again.
Rudi was whistling by the time he reached the garage.
He slouched in the back seat of the bulletproof, bombproof, escapeproof car, and plotted his escape. Without Omar, or any of the rent-a-bodies, it ought to be relatively easy. He had received a phone call from Buckingham, saying that everything was ready and just waiting for him. He could get the driver to drop him at the hotel, catch a cab to the heliport and take a helicopter to the airport. He could be gone without anyone knowing it. Perhaps they would send Ellen after him again. Perhaps he would allow her to find him.
But not in Buckingham. No one knew about Buckingham, and that was the way he wanted it.
Then he sat up straight, his attention captured by a woman in the park as the car inched along in the near-noon traffic. It was Ellen. It had to be. No other woman could possibly possess that precise combination of sun-kissed hair and million-dollar legs.
She was talking with an odd collection of mostly men. Or rather Ellen stood near them while they talked. She did not seem to be paying much attention, looking at her surroundings, until one of the men put his arm around her. Ellen moved away from his arm, but listened to what he had to say, nodding now and again.
The car moved a few feet ahead, leaving Ellen and the rest of the group walking slowly the other way. Rudi turned to watch, swearing when his view was blocked by a horse and rider.
In that instant, a plan sprang full-grown into his head. He had always wanted to sweep a woman off her feet and carry her away on horseback, like his great-grandfathers had surely once done. He was even dressed for it, in his desert robes.
"Stop." Rudi didn't wait for the driver to comply. The car was barely moving as he opened the door. "I will be back in five minutes, perhaps ten."
He caught up with the horseback rider in a few quick steps, wondering if he ought to rethink his plan. This horse seemed to have little in common with the fiery animals in his father's stables. He caught the beast's rein, startling a little shriek from its rider, a slightly plump, barely pubescent girl with braces and red frizz under a white helmet.
"Hello, might I borrow your horse?" Rudi borrowed Ibrahim's Oxford accent. It seemed to play better dressed as he was. "I wish to surprise my fiancée." The lie rolled easily from his lips. "By sweeping her away in the manner of my ancestors."
The girl gulped and giggled. Rudi captured her hand. "Surely someone of your sensibility would be willing to assist in my romantic endeavors." His ploy seemed to be working on the horse's rider.
"I've only got an hour to ride," she said.
"I only need the barest minute." R
udi glanced over his shoulder. Ellen and her party were retreating deeper into the park. In a moment they would be out of sight. "Please. My heart will be devastated if you do not allow me the use of your steed for a paltry space of time." Maybe those English literature classes he had suffered through had done better work than he had thought.
"My heart is in your hands." Rudi pressed a kiss to the child's hand, and she giggled again, looking past him at a cluster of other riders who had pulled up to stare gape-mouthed at the scene he was making.
She sighed. "Okay. But just a minute." She slid awkwardly from the horse's back.
"Allah bless you for your generosity." Rudi kissed her cheek, knowing it would impress the girl's audience, then swung into the saddle.
The horse recognized a knowledgeable hand on the reins and took exception. It preferred being in charge. But after a brief, stern scolding, Rudi reminded the animal of its manners, and it did as he demanded.
Payback would be sweet indeed.
Ellen walked back toward the fountain with all the video people, only half listening to their chatter of angles and dollies and dance steps as she mentally placed barricades and personnel across park paths and lawns. So hard did she concentrate on blocking out all the extraneous noise that she didn't hear the hoof-beats until they were almost on top of her.
The sudden thunder brought her whirling around to see a horse bearing down on her, on its back a man in the billowing white robes of a desert nomad.
"Crazy son of a—" The producer had no time to finish his oath before diving aside.
Too surprised to move, Ellen watched the man lean toward her, saw his arm stretch out. Before she could react, he'd snatched her from her feet and hauled her up onto the horse in front of him. Her mind was so muddled, she could only think what an impressive feat he'd just accomplished.
