The next morning Mac had to be at the palace right after dawn again, to make sure there were no snafus with either the contest equipment or the security technology. There were only two days left and the staff were quiet and nervous, the air heavy with anticipation, or fear.
The final day of the contest tomorrow promised to cement—or sever—the friendships forged over the last few days between the ruling families of the different countries. For now everyone was getting on famously, but hopefully they wouldn’t throw temper tantrums if someone else won. Mac wasn’t sure how things worked in this part of the world, but they could get pretty ugly at a football game back home.
She was now one of about eight people doing the same job—checking and rechecking equipment that was already oiled or tightened or reset or whatever it needed—so she felt redundant and foolish. Apparently they didn’t trust her to do it by herself any more. And right now someone else was doing her real job up at the oil field, where she’d probably become redundant and superfluous.
She couldn’t wait to get back there and wear jeans and boots again, instead of the long silky getup she had on.
If her job was still there.
No man wanted to be rejected. Even by someone who was obviously attracted to him but needed to attempt to preserve what was left of her dignity. Royal princes were probably unused to being brushed off and might not take it well. If there was a pink slip in her locker when she got back she wouldn’t be all that surprised.
If they could manage not to get blown up, that was.
She turned down a hallway toward Mosir’s office to see if there was anything else he needed her to do before the events started, and her eyes fixed on a familiar silhouette marching boldly through the rows of columns.
Amahd. Her treacherous heart hammered loud under her frothy attire. Should she greet him as her employer? Discreetly look the other way? Smile as if to acknowledge the intimacies they’d shared?
She wished the stones beneath her feet would open up to reveal a trap door she could jump through.
His attention was focused on his phone—it looked like he was texting someone—and his face was like granite. His whole body posture looked like he was getting ready to ride into battle, which in a way he was, and she resolved to definitely not offer a cheery “hi.” But he was her boss, so she couldn’t ignore him, either.
She resolved to murmur a brave “good luck today,” or some similar lame pleasantry, but she didn’t even get the opportunity. He looked up from his phone, saw her, then spun on his heel and strode in the opposite direction, robe swishing around his powerful legs.
Ouch. She felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She’d hoped they could at least pretend to be polite. Apparently not. She’d just have to keep her head down and try to stay out of his way. Hopefully they’d still give her the bonus for working this contest and she could use that money to get them back home. She and Maddy could start over. They’d done it before.
Her phone buzzed, and she followed its summons into Mosir’s office. His face was drawn. “Sit down.” Four of them were there. “Gibran informed me that they’ve intercepted coded messages by a member of Darud the Twelfth’s staff. They’re trying to decode them right now, but since we don’t know what they mean we must be prepared for anything. I want you all on a rotation, every hour between our security stations and the contest.”
“Can you tell us who it was?” She rubbed her hands on her unfortunate silk skirt.
“I’m afraid I don’t know myself. Gibran doesn’t want word spreading. But anything at all suspicious, even a bird or insect that you don’t recognize, inform myself or Gibran immediately.”
A bird or insect? The palace had a beautiful garden filled with fruit trees and flowers at its center, and the palace was still alive with butterflies that had shown up for the Christmas wedding she’d attended when she came to interview. Still, she knew what he meant.
And truth be told, the reality that their mysterious enemy could be right here in the palace scared the heck out of her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Mac, why don’t you come join us?” Mac was checking some outdoor cameras near the garden when Ronnie swept up to her, glowing with pregnant joy, as usual.
“Oh, thanks, but really, I have to work.” She’d survived almost until leaving time, and gritted her teeth through the impressive sight of Amahd winning contest after contest—and not looking at her even once.
“It’s been quite a morning. We’ve managed to get all the guests fingerprinted. Some of them weren’t too happy about it!”
“I can imagine. They’re royals after all. Did you find out any useful information?”
“Not yet. They’re checking all the new prints against a fingerprint on the bomb casing.” Ronnie sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people working here at the palace. There must be four people doing each job. I rather suspect that they’re all extra security detail Gibran has brought in.” She whispered the last part. “At least I feel pretty safe right now.”
“In that case I might be the only real mechanic here,” Mac said with a lifted eyebrow. “So all the more reason not to abandon my duties.”
Ronnie leaned in. “I’m sorry Amahd upset you yesterday.”
“Sam told you?” Did everyone in the palace know Amahd had asked her to jump into bed with him?
Ronnie nodded. “You wouldn’t believe the crazy stuff Zadir pulled on me. He actually arranged a charity auction so he could buy dinner with me. Then instead of taking me to a local restaurant he bundled me on a jet and brought me to Ubar. I was fit to be tied.”
Mac’s mouth hung open. “That would have scared the heck out of me.”
“Me too! But there was just something about him. It felt…different. Even as I was scheming to get back to my regular, safe, boring life, part of me wanted to throw common sense to the wind and jump into his arms.”
“I’m not feeling that way at all right now,” admitted Mac. “Amahd’s been ignoring me all day like I don’t even exist.”
“He’s probably afraid to look at you.” Ronnie smiled. “I have a feeling he’s very disturbed by the effect you have on him.”
“There isn’t a whole lot to look at anyway when I’m covered from head to toe in this getup.” She indicated her long dress.
“You’d be surprised.” Ronnie lifted a slim brow. “These fine fabrics drape something wicked over a woman with curves—which you most definitely are.”
“Great. One more thing to worry about.” Mac shook her head. “But I think Amahd is definitely over me. I’ll consider myself lucky if I don’t get fired.”
Sudden concern filled Ronnie’s eyes. “You won’t quit, will you?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned. She’d be an idiot not to consider it. “On top of everything else, I didn’t realize that Ubar was so…dangerous.”
“It isn’t that bad, really. Once Gibran puts the instigator behind bars, the violence should stop completely. And you have to admit that Ubar has a special kind of magic.”
Mac sighed. “It is beautiful. I didn’t think so at first, as it’s so dry and treeless, but there’s something haunting about those distant views of mountains, and the way the sun sparkles on the bare ground. And because the plants and flowers are few and far between, each one is like a perfectly set gem.” She’d had these revelations while out riding with Amahd. Much better if she’d stayed hunched over the fittings at the oil fields or safely inside a storage closet.
Ronnie nodded, a slight smile crossing her mouth. “You have to come visit the plain where Zadir and I are building our home. At first glance it looks desolate and forbidding, but when you look closer you can see there’s an ancient riverbed filled with life of all kinds running right through it.”
“It sounds lovely. But I need to go check on some speakers.” She had to get out of here. Her chest was filling with strange emotion at the thought of leaving Ubar.
Even though she’d made no defi
nite plans to leave. And what was the big deal? Texas had plenty of big-assed deserts for her to wax rhapsodic over.
“Okay.” Ronnie tilted her head. “But don’t forget you’re always welcome to join us. We’re sitting right over there.” She gestured to a table where Sam and Aliyah were making some kind of paper flowers with Aliyah’s daughters.
“Thanks.” Mac pushed a brave smile to her lips. It had been fun being part of their cheery circle with Maddy for a brief time last night. Before Amahd ruined everything by letting her know she’d never really be one of them.
He was right, though. She wasn’t like these other women. Aliyah had grown up in Ubar and become the old king’s wife when she was still a teenager. Now as Gibran’s wife she moved around the palace with the ease and grace of one who’d grown up there.
Sam and Ronnie were both tall and regal, and no doubt moved like the queens they now were even before they’d ever heard of Ubar. And she’d seen their families at the Christmas wedding. Sam’s parents were both glamorous Hollywood actors and Ronnie’s mom was some kind of musical diva, so they were both descended from the closest thing to American royalty.
Mac’s mom worked in a 7-Eleven. And her dad worked…well, he didn’t really work. Not if he could help it. Her two brothers either. She could hardly picture them at the palace Christmas party. In fact the thought made her want to laugh out loud. And truth be told, she didn’t belong here any more than they did.
Amahd strode around the palace stables one more time, making sure the horses were properly taken care of after their long day in the hot sun. The contest today had been rather a rout, with him winning each of the four events he entered. He’d actually apologized to his brothers after the last one. He hadn’t meant to win all of them—it was nice to give their guests a victory or two—but the adrenaline surging through him had short circuited his brain and he’d thought of nothing but powering through to the finish as fast and hard as he could.
Which helped keep his mind off Mackenzie Malone. Heat surged through him at the thought of her. When he’s run into her in the hallway that morning he couldn’t think of a single polite or sensible thing to say—he couldn’t even think!—so he’d turned and run like a coward. Winning on the field of play hadn’t made him feel much better about that.
Why couldn’t he act normal around her? He was a civilized man, not a stallion in heat. The effect she had on him was starting to infuriate him. He could barely concentrate on the important events unfolding around them, because he kept scanning the area around him for a glimpse of bold red hair, or that dangerously curvy body.
She shouldn’t be here at the palace at all, and he couldn’t understand why she was. Yes, the prior mechanic had mysteriously vanished, but there were plenty of qualified men around—yes, men, who would provide no distraction to anyone—who could have checked and maintained the equipment while Ms. Malone was safely occupied out in the oil field, where the work was in fact far more precise and demanding and the equipment more valuable.
He suspected his sisters-in-law of meddling to get her here for the purpose of thrusting them together. But then how would they have conveyed their fiendish plot to Bubba and roped him into it?
He stiffened at the possibility that his own right hand man was involved in fixing him up—with an employee no less. Impossible. Perhaps one of his brothers was behind it. Both Zadir and Osman spent time at the oil fields and knew Bubba well enough to make the suggestion that Mackenzie was needed at the palace and give it an air of legitimacy. Perhaps their wives put them up to it.
The prospect that he might be the unwitting victim of a conspiracy featuring the whole family made his blood boil. And surely Aliyah, a soft-spoken Ubarite woman with all the traditional qualities he admired, could have talked some sense into them. But maybe she was too soft-spoken to voice her opinion as brazenly as her American sisters.
Amahd blew out a hard breath as he strode toward the palace, where yet another long, tiresome state dinner awaited. He appreciated the opportunity to get to know their neighbors, but surely a day or two would have been enough? Still, Gibran said they were very close to pinpointing the culprit, so hopefully it would all be worthwhile.
He headed toward his chambers on the west side of the palace, when a flash of red hair caught his eye and made adrenaline thud through his system. Mackenzie stood on a tall stepladder, adjusting something on one of the cameras in a long colonnade between the east and west sides of the palace.
He cursed the way her robe clung to her curves as she reached up. He wanted to avert his eyes, but the accursed orbs refused to focus on anything else. Why? It’s not like he’d never seen a woman with a body before. Or a redhead. Or a woman who rode with courage and style.
His feet slowed as he drew closer and he struggled to remind himself that she was a capable employee, doing her job—while being forced to wear unfamiliar and unsafe attire. She was not there to spark fantasies and heat his blood, and if any of that was happening, it was his problem, not hers.
He was tempted to walk right past her. Really, there was no reason not to. He was not compelled to greet every person in his employ when he saw them.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Malone.”
The formal greeting fled his tongue before he could stop it. Perhaps he wanted to prove to himself that he could communicate with her like a professional. Like a man in full control of his faculties, not a hungry beast struggling to keep his feelings under control.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Al Kilanjar.” Her reply had a trace of mockery in it.
As well it might, considering the very informal—even intimate—moments they had unfortunately shared.
“I do hope I’m not inconveniencing you.” She lifted a pale gold brow, taunting him.
“I was merely being polite. In greeting you, of course.”
“Naturally.” She lifted her chin. “And I hope I was nothing but polite in my response.” A fake smile lifted one side of her pink mouth a little more than the other.
Damn that mouth. It haunted his dreams at night.
“Indeed. But as I mentioned it’s not appropriate for you to dress like that. You could trip on the long skirt.” His voice came out a little rougher than he intended. But really, it was a safety issue. And her dress was a little too tight in the front, pulling across her full breasts, which was more than a little disturbing.
“I’m simply following the rules set out by superiors.” Now her voice contained a hint of exasperation. “Believe me, I’d rather be in jeans and boots any day.”
“Good. Then wear them tomorrow.” A vision of her riding, her jean-clad body moving with her powerful horse, swept over him like a wave of madness.
And she was still staring at him. Why? Her bold honey gaze unmanned him and deprived him of thought. He had to escape. “Now get back to work.”
“Get back to work?” She drew out the words with Texan flair. “You have a real nerve to say that when I’ve worked long, hard hours here for days. You’re a pompous ass, Mr. Al Kilanjar, you know that? You probably don’t, because you’re used to people who’ll tell you that the sun shines out of your ass—all your asses!—She gestured with her arm and he had a horrible vision of her falling off the ladder that made his heart clench and spurred him forward to catch her. “You, your brothers, and their majestic royal wives. You’re all just playing with me like I’m a doll here for your entertainment. Mechanic Barbie! Let’s see what happens when we team her up with Royal Ken. He can ask her to have an affair with him, then tell her to get back to work. It’ll be hilarious.” Her eyes flashed. Two bright spots of color had appeared on her cheeks.
Despite her obvious anger, she kept her voice low and controlled.
“Could you please do me the favor of coming down from that ladder?” He asked as calmly as he could manage. His foremost concern was for her safety. His heart thudded with anxiety.
Her chest swelled as she drew in a breath. “I’d love to, but strangely enough I’m actually do
ing something important right now. It might not be important to you personally, but it’s important enough that I’m not going to stop until it’s finished.”
She tilted her pert chin up, turned—pulling the fabric of her dress across her curvy backside—and reached up to the camera to finish securing the wire.
Amahd stared at her. She’d defied him. He’d asked her to do something, and she’d refused. He wasn’t angry, he was more…perplexed. Astonished. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had simply refused to do something he’d just asked them to do.
Even his brothers were polite and cordial with each other—taking nothing for granted after all the years they’d spent in exile away from each other. They’d grown close enough for him to put up with their teasing, but they’d never come right out and told him no.
Well, Mackenzie hadn’t said no in so many words. But she’d exuded it from every pore.
“Oh, you’re still standing there,” she said casually. “Could you hold these for me?”
She handed him a pair of needle-nose pliers. He stared at them in her hand for a moment, then took them. See? He was polite. He wouldn’t rudely refuse a perfectly reasonable request.
She screwed something back on until it clicked. “Done. Someone crimped the wire when it was installed. It should be fine now.”
“Do you suspect sabotage?”
“No. Simple incompetence is more likely.”
“You think our household staff is incompetent?” He bristled slightly, prepared to defend them, even though he’d had little to nothing to do with hiring them.
“Not since I’ve joined it.” She climbed carefully down the ladder and he fought a powerful urge to reach out and help her. “Funny, I don’t remember signing up for that.” She turned and surveyed him coolly. “I keep getting roped into things I hadn’t anticipated.” She lowered her voice a little. “But I suppose I should be grateful that at least you had the decency to ask if I was willing to have an affair with you.”
Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6 Page 75
