The maître d’ arrived. “Miss Danvers?” he questioned. When she confirmed her identity, he continued.
“The prince awaits you.”
Shocked by his punctuality, she sniffed back a smirk. Wow! What a surprise. A prince who’s on schedule, early even. Usually she arrived at a meeting place ahead of time to review and form an exit strategy if things went belly up.
He’d beat her to it.
Score one for His Royal Highness.
Poised before the entryway, she tugged her suit jacket firmly into place, the routine movement temporarily settling the pair of kangaroos jumping on trampolines inside her stomach. Inwardly she recited the mantra, you can do this, you can do this. Thank goodness she’d taken the time this morning to choose her wardrobe carefully.
Scanning the room, her gaze scrutinized every male, trying to single out the one person whose demeanor resembled royalty. The examination ended as a tall man stood. He held his head high, his profile rigid and virile. You couldn’t mistake his majestic demeanor for anything other than royalty. His long, tapered fingers buttoned his suit jacket. The sounds of the restaurant faded into the background as she continued to stare. The corners of his lips lifted, exposing optic white teeth against his tanned skin and exerting enough sexual punch to nearly bend her in half.
Her jaw dropped open.
It was him.
Blinking twice, she endeavored to swallow those two partially dissolved antacids. The word problematic danced in her brain.
Her gaze slid boldly over him, sizing him up, assessing his value as not only a friend to her mission but an adversary as well. Her first impression: Sally’s information proved accurate. Handsome playboy Sheik indeed, he certainly fulfilled the fantasy. Womanly hormones dormant since Bobby’s death sputtered. What? She wasn’t the type of woman to go all wobbly-kneed at the sight of a good-looking man.
Her scrutiny continued.
Immaculately dressed in his black, perfectly tailored Brioni suit, the opulent material highlighted and hugged every well-defined, decadent muscle. His rugged shoulders appeared over a mile wide, blocking her view of everything but him.
You don’t get those types of muscles riding a desk.
No, His Royal Highness was a primer for the alpha male sect, a seasoned warrior.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she continued her evaluation. She’d made a mistake, categorizing him as a pampered prince. This man could strike lightning fast, just as his code name Viper suggested. That is, if he were Viper.
Playboy, my butt.
As an agent, she intermingled with her share of macho men, but this man invoked potent magnetism to the max. Slim hipped and gorgeous, he rivaled a top-of-the-PayScale model.
Stay vigilant! Her internal mentor whispered over and over. There’s more to him than meets the eye . . . much, much more. His chiseled jawline covered by a thick afternoon shadow added to his sensual allure. A tense muscle ticked the swift rhythm of his pulse. Why? What was making the handsome prince nervous? Her eyebrow shot up. Events in his homeland or something else? And if it was something else, was that something nefarious?
Giving him a thorough once-over, her gaze raked every square inch of him. Standing well over six feet, an uncivilized domination ebbed from him. Sinful domination. Transfixed by his powerful persona, she blew out the puff of breath she’d been holding since he’d stood. This man conquered things. Not just women, but men, global companies, and countries. His acute masculinity summoned her body, compelling her to answer its primitive demand. Carnal awareness zinged into her feminine core. Rein it in, Candace, you’ve got no time for this. Keep your eye on the mission.
As she drew nearer, the naughty vision of rose petals strategically placed flicked her gaze below his belt. Damn that Sally! Heat flooded her cheeks as that erotic image flashed.
Oh, my God!
Oh, my God!
What the hell was wrong with her?
Get a grip!
His eyebrow shot up to his hairline as he noticed where her attention had been focused. Embarrassment shot through her. Wanting to die on the spot, she prayed the floor would open up and swallow her. And, to make matters worse, the corners of his lips drifted into a hotter-than-hell smile that packed a bonfire of sexual flare. A seismic wave of heat crushed her. No wonder women fell for this guy. They couldn’t help themselves. She’d certainly made a fool of herself already.
His assets ran the full gauntlet—handsome as the devil, money, and power. The equivalent of every woman’s fantasy. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was as dry as the B’Quarian desert. She licked moisture into her parched lips.
His gaze tracked her tongue’s progress.
That naughty smile of his widened.
Oh my!
He shifted his weight, cocking his leg in a lazy stance.
Her steps wavered.
His smile broadened.
Her heartbeat soared into the stratosphere as his penetrating inspection continued at a snail’s pace. Up and down, up and down, she pressed her fingers to her lips to draw his attention away from her body. His thorough perusal depleted her composure.
No nonsense, Candace! You haven’t got time in your schedule for this!
A small disturbance at the entrance of the restaurant snapped his gaze from her and shifted to a group of men entering the restaurant.
His bodyguards perhaps?
With narrowed eyes, he trailed them as they assumed their posts around the perimeter, his intense stare unreadable, harnessing an inflexible edge. Ohhhhhhh! This puzzling man harbored secrets—deep-seated secrets. Withdrawing his phone from his pocket, he spoke in a low, tense, majestic voice. Spoke . . . no that wasn’t the correct term, he commanded. Her head rotated slightly and trailed their progression before refocusing on him.
Who were these men?
If not his bodyguard, then what? A threat?
Her hand slid along the outline of her purse, tracing the profile of her Beretta as she theorized every possible scenario.
She locked her knees, straightening her spine as she stepped forward, preparing to defend the prince and herself if necessary. Just like the Girl Scouts, her new motto was ‘be prepared.’
An ebb of uneasiness stirred within her as she continued to monitor the men. Friend or foe? She waited for some indication from the prince. A shoot out, here, in the middle of a busy restaurant, would produce a high body count. A massacre. A lot of innocent people would die. Her gaze flashed from the intruders back to him. That invitational, magnetic half-smile was back in place.
Was he as relaxed as he appeared? His white knuckles gripping the back of the chair proved otherwise. They were of one mind. Danger lurked in the room.
Of course she understood his uneasiness. In these troubled times, any house of royalty had to be on alert. Every dark corner posed a threat. An assassin.
Assassin . . . the reflection conveyed a chill up her spine. She despised that word, along with the word terrorists, and all the chaos they imposed on the world. They’d already attacked his homeland. People he knew had died in the attack. Hell, people she knew had died as well. Exactness and stringency were essential for the completion of this mission. Her mission. After all, she couldn’t risk anyone finding out her identity or theorizing she was anything other than the wedding planner.
Once again, his methodical gaze zeroed in on her, crawled over her, from the tip of her fire engine red Jimmy Choo’s up to the hem of her sleek red power suit, his appraisal continued with unnerving slowness until it reached her face.
Their eyes locked.
Within the depth of those gorgeous misty-jade eyes, heat flared. The degree of his inspection, both frightening and electrifying, enhanced the warmth infusing her body.
Viper. That partic
ular code name continued to tug at the corners of her memory. Dang it, where had she heard that name? Nervously, she chewed her bottom lip, concentrating on the man in front of her.
Using a single finger, he tugged at his collar, loosening his tie, prominent tendons standing out in his neck. Jet-black hair, sun-softened with golden streaks, lay in ultra-chic layers before brushing his collar at the nape. In the soft light of the restaurant, those highlights gleamed. Fisting her fingers, she battled the acute urge to ruffle those ultra-lustrous strands and test their silkiness, instinctively knowing his hair would be rich in texture, rivaling heated satin.
His cell phone rang, and he glanced at the screen, holding up one finger as he texted a brief message. Her gaze bounced between his eyes and his lips. The testosterone wafting off him, like a sexual miasma, enthralled her, messed with her laser-focused mind. She shook off its effects, zeroing in on the men stationed around the room. He strode up to her, long legs eating up the distance between them in a few strides. Good God. Up close . . . He was just so . . .
Some sort of inner turmoil clogged the depths of his greener than green eyes as he continued staring. It didn’t detract from his virility, if anything, it fine-tuned it. What plan or concept churned in that regal mind of his? God, the way he studied her . . . it was a visual cross-examination freezing her to her spot.
The acute heat drained out of her cheeks and pooled between her thighs, setting her entire body on fire, making it impossible for her to reason clearly.
The sudden crash of china and glass shattered the spell holding her so entranced. Alarmed, her head swiveled toward the commotion, her body robotically drifting into a fighting stance. A chagrined, red-faced waiter scrambled to pick up the ceramic pieces of the smashed dinner plates and silverware littering the floor around him, while the patrons of the restaurant clapped at his misfortune. The men on the perimeter remained in place, their painstaking scan sweeping the crowd, their earpieces becoming visible when they turned toward the ruckus. Thankful for the disruption, she concentrated on the reason she was here. The sheik’s sister’s wedding.
Not happening.
With him this close, her cognizance evaporated like the early morning mist.
An unwanted distraction of mega proportions, how was she supposed to function with him around her every minute of every day?
Impossible.
And what about that barbaric shrewdness streaming from him? She pictured him leading an army of men into battle, his desert robes flying out behind him, scimitar raised above his head, the hooves of his black stallion pounding into the sand. Candace, Candace, wherefore art thou? Anchor yourself, for God’s sakes.
Ice cold fingers of dread gripped her heart . . . squeezed. Nagging warnings bounced around in her brain as elemental fear, as grave as a viper’s bite, coursed through her veins.
She shuddered.
She was a mess.
Over a man she’d just laid eyes on.
Maybe a shrink would help.
And as hard as she struggled, she couldn’t quash the feminine yearning he stirred within her. Just by standing there. Geez.
And then . . . and then . . . he winked. Actually winked, as if she were some groupie. Really? Her stomach plummet to her toes. Wow! Talk about presumption. Did he really think it was that easy? That all he had to do was glance at a woman and she’d cave? I don’t think so. She wasn’t one of his women. Wasn’t about to become one.
So why are your nipples puckered as hard as pebbles? Riddle me that, Candace.
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. Dealing with him was going to be . . .
He stepped closer, so close, his designer cologne wafted around her like an ocean of potent virility. Every one of her senses hit red-alert status.
Now inches away, he waited—aristocratic, magnificent, and ominous. Once again, his lips lifted, flashing an impeccable smile.
Regaining some control, she fought the urge to answer his smile with one of her own, physically tapping it down, mentally scolding herself for her lapse. This was business. Deadly business. Better keep your head, girl, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of treachery. And treachery had many faces. Some as striking as this drool-worthy prince.
Instantly sobering, she reminded herself not to mix business with pleasure.
Ever.
She’d already learned that weighty lesson. Her heart and head still bore the psychological scars of her mistakes.
And that’s what made this situation even more problematic. One look at him and a woman’s thoughts instinctively arched to sex—bone-melting, explosive, hours of burning-up-the-satin-sheets sex. Sweat misted her forehead as her mind conjured erotic images of them, naked, entwined within a massive bed. Damn those rose petals!
Sally’s accurate description hit the nail right on the head. He was one hot item. Now, she understood all the hype. He warranted all the hype. He’d earned his reputation.
Unintentionally, her focus zeroed in on his beautifully carved lips. His top lip was plush, the demarcation of his frenulum distinct. But his bottom lip imprisoned her. Thick, sumptuous, designed with the sole task of taking a woman to the height of pleasure. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her toes curled in her heels.
Feminine warmth billowed into a dense, luxuriant heat as she envisioned how those lips, those captivating, lush lips, would feel pressed against hers as they teased, covered, and subjugated her. Madness. Absolute madness on her part. If he touched her . . .
She blinked.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Nobody said anything about touching! Who do you think you are? Some femme fatale he can’t resist? Come on!
Rubbing her hands up and down the sleeves of her jacket, she tugged her mind out of some harem nirvana where she envisioned women in sparkling belly-dancing outfits draped around him, feeding him grapes. SOS! Send someone to collect me before I embarrass myself!
She tossed the grape nonsense out of her head and extended her hand. He grasped it, and in one elegant movement, turned it over, bowed from his waist, and kissed her palm.
Ambrosial.
Steamy.
Torrential heat exploded within her. She shivered, befuddled by the mere touch of those succulent, moist lips she’d fantasized about only seconds ago.
Why was it so freakin’ hot in here?
For an extended moment, her mind appeared befuddled. She couldn’t speak . . . didn’t know her own name.
Within seconds, his hesitation cut through her floating state of euphoria. Had he expected her to bow or curtsey?
Oh. My. God. He’d expected her obeisance. Way to go, Candace.
He released her hand, his tight smile reflecting the depth of personal insult. Oops, her very first royal faux pas. She’d have to be careful. He gave off the vibe of a man who didn’t tolerate mistakes.
“Your Royal Highness, I’m Candace Danvers, Jasmine Goyer’s business associate.”
To his credit, he recovered nicely. “Mrs. Danvers?” he questioned, his voice a throaty, cultured purr as he glanced at her left hand. “I’m looking forward to working with you on my sister’s wedding. I must apologize for my father’s absence. I’m afraid his attention is demanded elsewhere.”
Yes. It is.
She lifted her gaze a fraction and descended into the green abyss of those mesmerizing eyes. “It’s . . . it’s Ms. Danvers, your Royal Highness,” she corrected, stuttering like a kindergartener on their first day of school But, she surmised, this feeling of being struck by lightning was entirely his fault. His charisma bounced the needle off the charts.
He tilted his head to the side, locks of that luscious hair spilling with the movement. “So, you are not married?”
That raspy voice, with its come-hither quality, immobilized her like a curare dart shot from a blowgun.
; Her world began to spin. Reaching out, she flattened her palm on the table next to her to steady herself.
“No.” Surely, he’d researched her. Knew about her husband’s death before he walked in here. And yet he was testing her. For what reason?
“My husband was killed last year,” she volunteered, coloring fiercely.
His facial features softened as some emotion skittered across his face. Anguish? Pity? “I’m sorry.” He grasped both her elbows, inching her closer to him. Into the sweeping masculine aura surrounding him.
Instantly she felt protected. Her. A CIA operative who dealt with the vilest criminals of the world.
His words, so sincere, so full of emotion, made her wonder if he understood pain. Had he endured a loss of the same magnitude?
Realizing the intimate position of their bodies, he removed his hands and stepped back, dropping his hands to his side “I’m sure we’ll work well together.”
The way he pronounced together produced another ripple of heat. Why did she have the notion he wasn’t talking about his sister’s wedding? Shaking off the tantalizing cobwebs, she blinked, then refocused on him towering over her. Again, she tumbled headfirst into the fathomless sea of his green eyes. Like an unsuspecting swimmer, she quickly became ensnared in the rising tide. The verdant irises haloed his pupils, creating the stunning illusion of an abysmal tropical sea. Those eyes! The turbulent undertow of his inspection hauled her in.
Trouble! Trouble! Trouble! On so many levels.
“Ms. Danvers?”
That voice—with its cardinal seductiveness—was lush, baritone, carnal, and created a shiver the size of a tractor roaring through her. A tiny sigh escaped her lips. His eyes flew to her face, and the fire she spied stunned her. Careful, Candace.
He glanced away, breaking his magnetic hold on her. Backing up, he turned, circumvented the table, and politely pulled out her chair.
For the Sheik's Pleasure (Sheiks in Love Book 2) Page 3
