Qadir nodded to himself as he read the screen. All was well. Not that he expected less, but confirmation was always pleasant. He saved the information. His phone buzzed.
“Yes?”
“Sir, there is a Victoria McCallan to see you. She has no appointment but insists it’s very important.”
Qadir’s male assistant didn’t sound convinced of the fact. Qadir hesitated. Victoria was Nadim’s secretary. Why would she need to come here? Still, the woman had never bothered him before. He could afford to give her a few minutes of his time.
“Send her in.”
Seconds later an attractive blonde walked into his office. “Thank you for seeing me, Prince Qadir. I know you’re busy.”
He offered her a seat, but she shook her head. “I prefer to stand.”
He rose, as well. Interesting. “How may I assist you?”
Victoria drew in a breath. She was visibly nervous, although she seemed to be trying to hide her upset.
“I want to talk to you about Maggie,” she said. “I know about your deal.”
Any natural instinct to aid turned cynical as he eyed the woman. Maggie had innocently shared the information of their deal with someone she perceived to be friend. Now Victoria sought to use that information for herself. Typical.
His brother Kateb was right—too many women were out for what they could get.
He waited for her to continue.
“Maggie isn’t going to handle this well. She’s not girly. She doesn’t do the hair and makeup thing. She doesn’t have the right clothes.”
“But you do.” He wasn’t asking a question.
“What? Of course I do, but that’s not the point. She’s blunt and funny and sweet. She cares about people. Going out with you means getting mentioned in the papers. Maggie isn’t going to like that.”
Women didn’t often confuse Qadir, but he now found himself at a loss. “You are concerned about your friend?”
Victoria’s gaze narrowed. “Of course I care about my friend. Why else do you think I’m here?”
Her question hung in the air. He saw the exact moment she realized what he’d been thinking. Her back went stiff. Her mouth thinned.
He waited for her to start defending herself or even yelling at him. Instead she sucked in a breath and continued.
“My point is, Maggie is playing out of her league. You need to make sure she doesn’t get trashed in the papers. And don’t spring stuff on her. She’s never done anything like this. She’s going to have to figure it out while she goes. This is a tough time for her. She’s dealt with a lot of loss in the past few months.”
Victoria obviously knew about Maggie’s father. He wondered if she knew about the old boyfriend.
As he listened to Victoria talk he realized he had never considered Maggie’s feelings about the situation or how she would react to being thrown into his world. He’d seen her as someone he liked and enjoyed spending time with. He knew her to be honest, which made her the perfect candidate for his pretense. He should have considered whether his plan might hurt her in any way.
“She needs a makeover,” Victoria said.
Qadir stared at her. “A what?”
“A makeover. Maggie’s pretty, but she’s the country mouse. She needs a new wardrobe. And someone to teach her how to wear makeup and do her hair. Maggie’s proud and sweet. She doesn’t deserve anyone asking why someone like you would bother with someone like her.”
He didn’t like Victoria saying that. “No one who knew Maggie would ask that question.”
“I agree, but we’re not going to be dealing with people who know her, are we?”
As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. “I will see to it.”
“Good. Look on the bright side. How often do you get to meet a beautiful woman who has no idea how great she is?”
Victoria was right, although he found himself hoping Maggie didn’t change too much through the process.
“There’s one other thing,” Victoria said as the nervousness returned.
He waited.
She raised her chin. “You can’t hurt her. She doesn’t deserve that. You can’t use your position or power against her.”
Annoyance filled him. “You challenge my integrity?”
“Among other things.”
“I am Prince Qadir of El Deharia. No one questions me.”
“Then this is going to be a bad day for you.”
“I can have you deported.”
“I don’t doubt that. Maggie is my friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.”
She trembled. He could see it. Yet she didn’t back down. She faced him, knowing she could lose her job and be sent home in disgrace.
His opinion of both women increased favorably. Victoria for being so willing to protect her friend and Maggie for inspiring such loyalty.
He wondered if Nadim had ever noticed the firebrand lurking behind Victoria’s blue eyes. It was his cousin’s loss if he had not.
Qadir walked around the desk and touched Victoria’s shoulder. “I will not hurt your friend. Maggie is doing me a favor. I have no intention of making her regret her decision to help. We have a business arrangement. Nothing more.”
Victoria shook her head. “That’s what she said. It always starts out sounding so sensible, right up until someone gets hurt.”
* * *
“But I don’t want to,” Maggie said, a distinct whine in her voice. “I don’t like shopping.”
Qadir laughed. “You are the first woman to ever say so.”
“I’m sure there are other women who don’t like to shop,” she muttered, wondering if she could fling herself out the limo’s rear door and survive the impact. She would probably end up with a few scars but they would be better than an afternoon spent shopping. She shuddered at the thought.
“If you are to spend time with me, you need an appropriate wardrobe,” he told her. “You came prepared to work on cars, not date a prince.”
She knew he was right. She didn’t have any clothes to wear to all the events he’d mentioned. She needed a decent wardrobe to be able to fit in. But shopping?
“Can’t we use the internet?”
“No.”
“We could send them my measurements. Wouldn’t that work?”
“No.”
“But there—”
“No.”
She slumped back in her seat. “This really sucks.”
He laughed.
They pulled up in front of the exclusive boutique where she and Victoria had come before. Maggie had a feeling they weren’t going to be checking out the consignment room.
“Not here,” she told him. “It’s too expensive.”
He turned to her. “Maggie, do you know how much I’m worth?”
Not even a clue. “A lot?”
“Exactly.”
She eyed the store. She didn’t want to go in, but then she didn’t want to go to any store. “Okay, but they offer a palace discount. Make sure you use it.”
He was still laughing when they walked inside.
Last time she’d been here, she and Victoria had moved through the large boutique without being acknowledged by a single assistant. Now it seemed as if every employee descended.
“Prince Qadir, you are here. How lovely to see you.”
“Prince Qadir, as always you brighten our day.”
“How may we help you?”
“What can I show you?”
Maggie slipped behind him for protection.
Then a tall, elegant woman of indeterminate age glided toward him.
“Prince Qadir,” she said in a low, cultured voice. “You honor us with your presence.”
“Thank you, Ava.” He turned to Maggie. “This is Ava. She owns the store. She’ll be helping us today.”
Ava smiled at Maggie and took her hand. “Welcome, my dear.”
Maggie wanted to slink away. Ava was one of those perfect women who looked like she would never wear anything tha
t didn’t match or had a stain or was sensible.
“Maggie is very special to me,” Qadir said. “But not much of a shopper. She needs a complete wardrobe. One that prepares her for anything. However, I will warn you—she will resist this process. I’m counting on you to convince her all is necessary.”
Ava smiled at Maggie. “My pleasure. Come, child. We have much to do. Let’s get started.”
Maggie felt like the fly being led away by the spider. She wanted to yell back at Qadir not to leave her alone with this woman, but she knew he wouldn’t take her seriously. He thought this was funny. Which was just like a man. Someone should pinch and poke him while forcing him to wear stupid clothes. Then they’d see how much he liked it.
Ava led her to a large dressing room where they both stood in front of the three-way mirror. Maggie looked and felt frumpy next to the other woman. She sighed.
“What would you say your style is?” Ava asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Casual, I’m thinking. You’re not the sort of person to ever really enjoy wearing a dress.” She turned Maggie so she was facing the mirror sideways. “Hmm. You have a perfectly good figure, but those jeans do nothing for you. I have a couple of styles in mind that will make you look spectacular.”
Maggie stared at her. “Jeans?”
Ava smiled. “Very expensive designer jeans, child. With the right accessories, a beautiful blouse and jacket, jeans can be worn many places. A casual dinner, a luncheon. Nothing with the king, of course.”
Ava walked around her. “While I would normally want to put one of Qadir’s young women in pretty dresses, that won’t do for you. You’ll just be uncomfortable. We’ll do pants as much as we can, then separates. You’re going to be stuck with dresses for evening wear, of course. There’s no getting around it.”
Maggie thought of the ball gown she’d worn and how it had made her feel. “Sometimes a dress is okay.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I can really wear jeans?”
Ava smiled. “I promise.”
It was kind of funny how at that moment Ava transformed from a spider into someone really, really nice.
* * *
Three hours and Maggie wasn’t sure how many outfits later, she found herself sitting in front of a mirror at a very upscale beauty salon. She knew the place had to be pricey because they’d offered her a latte, bottled water or cocktail before discussing her hair. No one had ever offered her a cocktail before cutting her hair. Of course the way her stomach was jumping, getting tipsy didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
“Not too short,” Qadir said as he stood behind the chair, next to the stylist—a short man with a ponytail. “I like her hair long.”
“I agree.” The stylist, whose name Maggie couldn’t remember, ran his hands through her hair. “She has a natural wave. I want to layer it so we can see the movement.”
Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Does anyone care that I hate my natural wave?” It was one of the reasons she wore her hair as long as she did and always tied it back. To hide the natural wave.
“Not really,” Qadir said with a smile, then bent down and kissed the side of her neck.
“But it’s my hair,” she murmured without much energy. She was too caught up in the tingles racing through her body.
It had been a nothing kind of kiss—the only kind Qadir seemed to give her. A light brush, a meaningless peck. Kisses for show. Kisses that stole her breath away and made her want to…to…to something. Kiss more. Kiss back. Beg. Instead she was forced to sit there quietly while they continued to discuss her hair.
In the end, they chose the layered style they’d talked about, along with subtle highlights.
“Could I be blond?” Maggie asked. “I’d like to be blond.”
Qadir turned the chair so she was facing him. “You are beautiful just as you are.”
Beautiful? He didn’t mean that, did he? “But I’m getting highlights. Going blond is practically the same.”
“Not to me.”
“Should we have the whole ‘this is my hair’ conversation again?”
“I will not be listening.”
He leaned in and kissed her. On the mouth. Firmly.
She told herself it was just so the people in the hair salon would gossip about them. She told herself it didn’t matter to her at all, one way or the other. It was just a kiss.
But it felt like a lot more.
His lips were warm and firm, taking and offering at the same time. He braced himself on the arms of the chair so they weren’t touching anywhere but their mouths. Still, that was enough to make her whole body sit up and take notice.
He moved his mouth back and forth before brushing her lower lip with his tongue.
Instinctively she parted for him. Anticipation made her tense. When he slid inside, she wanted to squirm closer, to take whatever he offered. Instead she lifted her hand to his shoulder and felt the strength of him.
His tongue touched hers. Sparks flew in every direction. He circled her as they began a dance so exciting, so erotic, she found it difficult to breathe.
She’d been kissed before hundreds of times. She’d made love. She’d experienced desire for a man. But nothing had prepared her for the hunger that consumed her whenever Qadir kissed her.
Wanting began low in her belly and spiraled out, filling every cell with a need that almost frightened her. She felt control slipping and worried she would beg him to take her right there, in the chair, in front of anyone who happened to be watching. She felt breathless and out of control. It was frightening…and yet she never wanted him to stop.
At last he pulled away. Something hot and bright burned in his dark eyes. She had a feeling he could see the same in her. Passion, she thought. Heady and unfamiliar, but more compelling than she’d ever thought possible.
“You are a surprise,” he murmured.
“I could say the same about you. Of course it could be a prince thing. You might take special classes and be taught techniques not known to mortal man.”
“I am mortal and there is no special training.”
Which meant it was just him. A slightly scary thought.
“I must go. The car will return and the driver will wait to take you back to the palace.”
“Okay.”
“I look forward to seeing your transformation this evening.”
“We’re doing something tonight?” Not that she minded.
“A play.”
“Right. You mentioned that. I should probably get a calendar.”
“I’ll have my assistant print out a schedule.”
That made her smile. “I’ve never dated by schedule before. Maybe he should include suggestions on what I should wear. Formal, informal, strictly casual.”
“If you like.”
She started to say she’d been kidding, but then realized having that information would help. “Theater is dressy, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She thought about the clothes they’d bought earlier that afternoon. “I have a couple of things I can wear. What’s the play?”
“A musical. Les Miserables. The king’s favorite.”
“Has he seen it?”
“Many times. He’ll see it again tonight.”
“Oh. He’s going, too?”
“We’ll be in his box. It will be a good opportunity for him to get to know you better. As the woman I’m dating.”
With that he straightened and walked away.
The stylist returned. “He’s so hot. You’re really lucky. Are you all right?”
Maggie shook her head. The king was going to be there tonight? In the same box? Was she expected to talk to him?
Stupid question, she told herself. She would have to carry on a conversation and pretend to be Qadir’s girlfriend and what if the king asked about her being good breeding stock? How was she supposed to answer?
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered.
> “I get that a lot,” the stylist said as he wheeled a cart close and reached for scissors. “Deep breaths. You’ll be fine.”
* * *
“I can’t do this,” Maggie said as the limo pulled up in front of the entrance to a very large, very old building. “I can’t breathe, I can’t think. This was all a mistake. If I’d already accepted money, I would return it. Seriously, pick someone else. Fainting will not make the king like me.”
“You’re exaggerating your condition,” Qadir said, not sounding the least bit sympathetic. “You said you like musicals.”
She glared at him. “What does that have to do with anything? I can’t meet the king.”
“You already have.”
“As a nobody. You’re being deliberately difficult and for the record, I don’t like it.”
He laughed. He actually laughed.
“You’ll be fine,” he said as he stepped out of the limo and held out his hand to assist her.
“It’s all fun and games now,” she muttered as she followed him. “Let’s see how amusing this is when I throw up on your expensive handmade shoes.”
He had the nerve to chuckle again, then he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her into the theater.
Maggie concentrated on walking in new shoes and breathing and trying not to think about the way her stomach flopped over and over and over. Look at the architecture, she told herself. Admire the clean lines, the soaring ceilings, the whatever the sticky-out parts were called by the corners.
Actually, now that she was paying attention, she realized the building was beautiful. Elegant and oddly feminine, if such an imposing building could be called that. There were mosaics and huge chandeliers, gilded pillars and archways. A staircase that seemed to glide up to heaven.
“What is this place?” she asked.
Instead of answering, Qadir came to a stop and turned her to her right. She stared at the handsome couple in front of them, then gasped when she realized it was them.
The large mirror showed her Qadir was as good-looking as always. Strong, tall and elegant in a tailored tux. The woman next to him wasn’t half-bad, either, and the most amazing part was it was her.
The haircut had brought out the waves she hated, but somehow now they didn’t look so geeky. Instead they were almost loose curls flowing to her shoulders. The makeup she’d been shown how to use made her eyes larger and mouth bigger. But it was the clothes she really liked.
The Pregnant Bride Page 8
