A Taste of Heaven (Billionaires' Secrets Book 3)

by Jennifer Lewis

  She took a swig, surprised at how good it tasted. “We’re going to survive this.”

  “Damn right we are.” He took a gulp from another bottle. “And show those bastards they can’t take down an Al Kilanjar.”

  “Who do you think it is?”

  He shook his head. “Our country hasn’t had a war with any of the neighbors in decades. Ubar’s been a sleepy throwback to another era while the countries around us have exploited their oil and prospered. My brothers and I plan to bring Ubar up to speed and there are some traditionalists who are cranky about reforms we plan to make, but I don’t think they’re angry enough to kill us. Traditionalists usually still have respect for the ruling family.”

  “Perhaps it’s someone with an economic interest.” She wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

  He stared at her for a moment. “Quite possibly. But that’s the least of my worries right now. Let’s go make a shape.”

  They laid out anything they could find in the plane that wasn’t nailed down—magazines, toilet paper, pages from her notepad, seat cushions, curtains—and joined them together with a network of footprints, until they’d made the plane a target at the center of a circle about fifty feet across.

  As they walked back to the plane she felt a weird sense of accomplishment, and a sudden breeze provided a rush of relief. Maybe they’d get out of this thing alive after all. “Damn, that wind feels good.”

  But when she turned to look at Zadir, he was frowning. “Wind can be a friend or an enemy.”

  “Why?”

  “Sandstorms.” As they climbed up through the door, the gusts started to toss around the objects they’d laboriously placed. Soon magazine pages fluttered and toilet paper took flight. Then the first grains of sand stung her arms and legs.

  “Quick, get inside.” Zadir helped her in and closed the door.

  She looked out the window as sand blurred the view of more sand. “We’re really screwed now, aren’t we?”

  “It’s merely a setback.” He rested his hand on her upper back, which provoked an instant physical response, tightening her nipples under her blouse and sending a shiver of awareness to her fingertips. She cursed her body and the mind she was obviously losing. He slid his hand lower, to her waist. “I have an idea.”

  “Oh?”

  “Come this way.”

  3

  He guided her along the tilting aisle. Inside the plane the air was cooler than outside, and the plush leather seats and expensive detailing of the private jet looked incongruously luxurious compared to their harsh surroundings.

  “They may have taken all the food and water, but we have hundreds of towelettes.” He picked up a sachet from a full box, ripped it open, and shook out the damp white cloth inside. “Refreshment awaits you.”

  She laughed. How could she not? “You’re good at looking on the bright side.”

  “It’s probably my fault that we’ve been stranded here so I’d be happy to atone by cooling your skin.”

  “I can do it myself, thanks.” She took a handful of towelettes, still smiling.

  He was already stripping off his T-shirt, and she averted her eyes from the arrogant display of tanned muscle that was his back. Did he expect her to undress too? She decided to wipe off her arms, where a fine layer of sand made her skin look ashy. The cool sensation of the wipe—which was probably loaded with alcohol and very drying—was wonderful on her sticky, hot skin.

  “Good, right? Would you mind doing my back? I can’t reach.” He demonstrated that the thickness of his own biceps made it impossible for him to reach the middle of his back.

  She gulped. “Okay.” She opened a fresh towelette and drew it slowly down the hollow of his spine. Goodness. She had never done anything like this with a man she didn’t know intimately. And her longest relationship had been with a boyfriend who was ticklish and didn’t relish being touched unnecessarily.

  When the towelette had absorbed the heat and salt from his skin, she unwrapped another one and started to wipe his right shoulder.

  “What do you do, when you’re not stranded in the desert?”

  “I’m an architect.”

  “What kind of buildings do you design?” His muscles rippled slightly as he spoke. His body was beautifully proportioned, sturdy and masculine as a classical statue.

  “Stark minimalism, I’m afraid.” Which was lucky, or she’d be tempted to commission a statue of Zadir Al Kilanjar for her garden.

  “Don’t apologize. I’m a fan of minimalism myself. I almost bought a Kouichi Kimura house last year, but someone beat me to it.”

  “No kidding?” She rubbed another towelette over his left shoulder. “Kimura’s houses are beautiful, but I mostly do larger buildings, offices, government buildings, that kind of thing.”

  “You prefer to work on a grand scale.”

  “I do. I try to take commissions that will still be there in a hundred years. Unless the money’s too good to pass up, of course.” She sighed. “That’s why I’m flying to Bahrain to meet with Mr. Al Makar.”

  “You’re going to design Najib’s house?”

  “I haven’t committed yet. If he’s going to give me free rein with design and budget, I’ll seriously consider it.”

  “He’ll be a fantastic client. Though perhaps I shouldn’t tell you that. I need a residence for myself, and I suspect you would be the perfect designer.”

  She paused in her stroking. “I really don’t do many houses.”

  “This is more of a palace. As you already know, I inherited a third of my father’s kingdom, and in his wisdom he saw fit to give me the emptiest, most desolate tract. There’s not a single building on it, not even a shed.”

  “A blank canvas.” She stroked again, trying to distract herself from thoughts of building a palace. Palaces lasted hundreds of years—if no one killed the monarch and destroyed it, of course.

  “Yes, and you’d find me a very tractable client. I have no idea what I want except that it needs to fit the desert setting and have the smallest carbon footprint possible. You must give me your card.”

  She laughed. “You sound like I’m about to get off this plane and walk away.”

  His shoulders shook with laughter. “If only. What’s your last name?”

  “Baxter, Veronica Baxter. Please call me Ronnie.”

  “I’d love to pretend I’ve heard of you, but I’ll plead ignorance.”

  “I’ll admit your plea. I won an American Institute of Architects award last year.”

  “I’m impressed. And I need a palace.”

  “At least you hope you do. We have to get out of here first.” She stroked the back of his neck, disturbing the strands of dark hair there. They’d both cooled down enough to stop sweating, but her core temperate kept rising due to proximity to this breathtakingly handsome man—who’d saved her life.

  He reached around and took hold of her wrist gently but firmly. “We’re going to be fine. You do believe that, don’t you, Ronnie?”

  She drew in an unsteady breath. “I think so.”

  “They’ll send out a search party.” He still held her wrist. She thought that maybe she should try to tug it back, but she didn’t. “We’ll be drinking champagne by tomorrow afternoon, probably.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “Stay here.” He rose, and again his brusque command made her raise a brow, but she took the opportunity to rub a cool cloth over her own neck and shoulders, under her blouse. Zadir retrieved their Evian bottles from the no doubt rapidly warming fridge and handed hers to her. She took a sip. “That tastes better than the most expensive champagne right now.”

  He grinned, revealing that cute dimple. “I guess adversity makes you appreciate the important things.”

  “Our plane would have landed by now.”

  “A long time ago. It’s night.” He gestured to the window, where darkness eclipsed the swirling sand. The cabin still had small lights on along the floor and ceiling. Probably batte
ry powered. “I’m sure people are wondering where we are.”

  “I hope they are. Do you have a wife or girlfriend to worry about you?” She half hoped he did. That would make it easier for her to stop noticing every artistic curve of his physique.

  “Nope.” He took a swig of Evian. “It’s times like this when I wish I did. Even my brothers won’t wonder where I am. They’re not expecting me back in Ubar for two days. How about you? Do you have someone to worry?”

  She looked down at her bottle, then thumbed the smooth glass at the top. It was Friday night. “Except for your friend Najib, who’s pretty busy with his wedding, no one will even notice I’m missing until I don’t show up at my office on Monday. Even then, my assistant will probably assume I’m meeting with a client and forgot to tell her.”

  “You don’t have any family?”

  “Not really. No one that would miss me.” She didn’t remember ever feeling like she’d had a real family. She wouldn’t know how to make one if she tried.

  “Don’t look sad. We’re going to be fine. I find it hard to believe you don’t have a husband or boyfriend.”

  She cocked her chin. “I’m married to my work.”

  “Oh.” A mischievous smile snuck across his mouth. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Why?” She lifted a brow.

  “I’d like the architect for my palace to be utterly devoted to the project, of course.”

  “I haven’t said I’ll design your palace.”

  “Indeed you haven’t, but I can be very persuasive.”

  “You haven’t even seen my work.”

  “I feel confident that it’s stunning and memorable in every way.” The way he said the words, slowly and softly, with a deft appraisal of her face and body, made her feel as if he was talking about her. Worse yet, she liked it.

  Which was ridiculous. Men didn’t exactly fall at her feet. She was tall and skinny and was the only black girl in the world who didn’t have a butt. And she was cold and stuck-up, or at least that’s what people said. She knew it was just shyness.

  “You’re sweet.” She smiled. She was lucky to be stuck with someone nice, let alone gorgeous, out here in the desert.

  “Sweet enough for you to let me soothe your skin with these luxurious wipes?”

  Her skin heated further the prospect of his big hands on her. “Okay.”

  4

  Ronnie couldn’t believe she was sitting in a private jet wearing only a bra on top. But the cool wipes were working magic, which Zadir made more intense by blowing softly on her damp skin.

  It was as close to bliss as you could get when you were trapped in a desert wilderness in a crashed plane.

  “Were you surprised when you suddenly inherited a kingdom?” She’d started to feel relaxed around him. “I read in a magazine that originally your oldest brother was supposed to inherit.”

  “It was a total shock and not a pleasant one. I wanted to give the kingdom back to my brother Osman. He convinced me that we could all work as a team to bring Ubar into the modern world.”

  “Is it backward there?”

  He laughed. “We prefer the word traditional. But the truth is that lot of the population is illiterate, and lives much the same way they have for a thousand years. We’re starting to tap into the natural resources so we can release a lot of wealth to improve life for the people and catch up with the other countries in the region.”

  “Your father wasn’t interested in exploiting the oil?”

  “He had plenty of money to fulfill his personal needs from the high taxes he imposed on everyone. He lived for pleasure and didn’t worry too much about anything else.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you really miss him.”

  Zadir’s hands stilled on her back. “I don’t miss him at all. I barely knew him. He had little time for children. And if the rumors are true, he had my mother killed when he grew tired of her.”

  “What?” She tensed, wanting to turn and see his expression but not wanting to intrude. She could hear emotion in his voice.

  “Divorce is illegal in Ubar. If a man grows bored with his wife, he can cheat and be looked down on by his peers, or he has to somehow dispose of her.” His voice had lowered to a growl.

  “I hope you’re planning to change that rule.”

  “It’s at the top of the long list of things we intend to address. We have to proceed cautiously, or we’ll have a revolution on our hands. Luckily my brother Osman is a natural diplomat, so he’s good at knowing what to present and when. My brother Amahd is in charge of bringing the country’s oil and gas resources to market. He’s been in oil exploration for some time so he knows what he’s doing.” His hands now moved confidently over her back again. She shivered as he pressed a new, cool towel to a sensitive spot on the side of her waist.

  “What’s your role in the future of Ubar?”

  He paused again. “To be determined. I’m a real estate investor. Not much use for that in a place where the only real estate is mud-brick houses people build with their bare hands. So far I’ve been focusing on education and how to bring regular schooling to the children. Right now we’re leaning toward some kind of Internet solution.”

  “Education is important, but it sounds like you should also be creating infrastructure.”

  “You mean houses and buildings?”

  “And roads. Surely you’ll need all of them to support the oil development.”

  His fingertips rested right at her waist. She could almost hear his brain working. “You’re right. The population is scattered. They don’t live in tents so much any more, but little houses here and there in the hills. We’ll need to bring in skilled labor from outside to train people as well.”

  “You’ll need to build a town.” Her skin prickled with possibilities that had nothing to do with the handsome man behind her. What architect didn’t dream of creating a town from the ground up?

  “I suppose you’re right. And I suspect you could help me with that.” His hands almost circled her waist. Her breathing had quickened, but she tried not to get too excited.

  “You imagine correctly. In fact it would be a dream commission.”

  “As soon as we get out of here—and attend to our business in Bahrain—you must come visit Ubar and explore the possibilities.”

  “I’d love to.” She shivered slightly as he pressed a new wipe against her neck. “I think I’m cool enough now. There’s no need to keep stroking me with those things.” With all the excitement there was a real danger she might explode into flames.

  “The temperature’s dropping. The desert can get quite cold at night.”

  “Right now that sounds good.” As long as it didn’t get so cold that they had to huddle together for warmth. She wasn’t sure she could stand much more proximity to Zadir. And now, with the enthralling possibility of creating a whole town hanging in the balance, she had every reason to keep their relationship professional.

  Zadir rose. “I’m going to go tinker with the radio again. These cabin lights mean there’s still some kind of power. And if I can find a way to turn on some emergency outside lights, I’ll do that, too. We might be easier to spot in the dark than during the day with enough light.”

  “How long do you think these lights in the cabin will last?”

  He shrugged. “We’ve had time to get the lay of the land, so we’ll be fine until morning if they go out.”

  She watched him walk, shirtless and dangerously gorgeous, back across the tilted plane to the cockpit. She pulled a clean shirt from her bag and slipped into it. With everything in her carry-on, she was perfectly prepared to be stuck somewhere for a night, with water and snacks and a change of clothes. She changed her underwear and pants quickly, too, now that Zadir was occupied. She might as well feel fresh.

  There was almost no chance they’d be rescued tonight. If a control tower was tracking their flight path and saw that they’d crashed, rescuers would have arrived there by now.

  She checke
d her phone, but there were still no bars so she turned it off to conserve what was left of the battery life. How odd to be in the twenty-first century, in the middle of a continent ringed by cities, and be as completely cut off from civilization as if they were stranded on a desert island.

  The grim thought propelled her from her chair and into the cockpit with Zadir. Usually she liked to be alone, but right now she needed human contact, maybe just to reassure herself that she wouldn’t spend her last hours in this plane.

  “Any luck?”

  He was crouched on the floor, the pilot’s headphones over his ears, broad back bent over something. “I’m trying to see if the pilot cut some wires that I can patch back together. A lot of this technology looks advanced from the outside but is pretty primitive once you peek under the dash. I’ve found one loose end, and if I can figure out where to connect it, we might be in business.”

  “What can I do to help?” She hated feeling useless.

  He pushed the headset aside so one ear was exposed. “Talk to me. Your voice soothes me.”

  “You don’t seem like you need soothing. You strike me as very calm.”

  He looked up, a wry smile on his face. “I’m doing my best to stay cool.”

  “It’s working. What does get you rattled?”

  “Losing out on a great deal.” Then he frowned. “And any interaction with my father used to get me wound up. That’s why I learned to avoid him. He shoved us off to boarding school abroad, then wanted us to pretend he was the greatest dad in the world on the rare occasions we saw him.”

  “I know that scenario.” The confession surprised her, but it felt right.

  “Your dad was like that, too?”

  She swallowed. “Very much so. My parents got divorced when I was three and I saw him once a year at the most after that. He’d invite us over, then we’d be at a loose end while he played tennis or something. He felt that sending money to support us was enough to make him the father of the century.”