The Prince of Pleasure (9 page)

"When did you go to work for the senator?"

"Well, he offered me a job right out of law school, but I wanted to work for
La Verdad
, at least for a little while. So, he waited a year, and then tried again."

"That time, you said 'yes.'"

She laughed. "He made me an offer I couldn't refuse. He said, if I came on board, he would assign me what would seem like hopeless cases."

"Wow." Khan rolled his eyes. "Who could resist such a lure?"

"And he promised he'd let me take pursue any case that dealt with women's issues to an adjudicated conclusion, because that was my specialty at
La Verdad.
"

"Was that when you tried to get a grant for a foundation that would provide legal help to abused women?"

"You know about that?"

"Travis told me."

"Right about then, yes." She sighed. "Talk about losing your political innocence…"

Khan kissed her hand. "So, you went to work for the senator's firm. And you specialize in women's issues."

"Yes."

"And you are happy there?"

Her face lit. "Wonderfully happy. I'm researching a case now that I'm really excited about. It could have far-reaching implications for immigrant women with no papers who are abused…" Laurel laughed and buried her face against his shoulder. "Just listen to me! You asked about my first apartment and I end up telling you my life story."

"I want to know your life story," he said, a little gruffly. "I want to know everything about you."

It was the truth, and it shocked him.

He had never been a man given to too much interest in the life stories of his mistresses. That they were beautiful and intelligent and fun had always been sufficient…

Until now.

He frowned.

"So," he said briskly, "tell me about that first apartment. What could you possibly have found that you could afford with eighty dollars to your name?"

"A share."

"A what?"

"When I said I was looking for a place of my own, what I really mean is that my name would be on the lease. I knew I'd have to share. But I was lucky. One of my classmates knew about  an apartment downtown. It was perfect, and we took it."

"We?"

"Four of us. There was lots more space than in a dorm. Three bedrooms A big kitchen—"

"Three bedrooms. And four people." Khan played with her fingers. "So, two of you shared a room?"

"Yes."

A muscle flickered in his jaw. Had she been the one who'd shared her room? Her bed? Was there a man in her past who'd been lucky enough to have lived with her?

"I see."

She looked at him. 

"You're jealous," she said, with barely concealed delight.

"No." His eyes narrowed. "Yes. I damned well am."

She leaned in close, put her lips to his ear.

"Well, you should be. I was the one of us who shared a room. A king-size bed." She paused. "But it wasn't two of us. It was three."

"Three?"

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Oh, the look on his face…

"Yes. Me. And a friend from school. Her name was Meryl. And, of course, Butch. He insisted on being with us."

"Butch," Khan said in a strangled voice.

"Butch." She paused. "Meryl's Springer Spaniel."

She tried to look wide-eyed and innocent. It didn't work. She giggled, and Khan growled, grabbed her, and kissed her. When he finally took his lips from hers, she sighed.

"I think I'm going to make you jealous more often, your highness."

Her voice was soft and sexy, and Khan decided that even if Tara/Versailles was truly awful, he would sign the lease.

Anything, so he could leave the world behind and be alone with the most exciting woman he'd ever met.

********

He'd been wrong about the house being a cross between Tara and Versailles. 

That would have been an improvement over what it really was.

Not just big, as he'd expected, but huge, and with embellishments that would surely make any respectable architect weep.

As in the photos, the house dripped porticoes and porches and balconies, all supported by colonnades and pillars and trellises.

And that was only the exterior.

The interior was…

"Unusual," Khan finally said in a choked voice, after Adele Simpson unlocked the massive double doors and motioned them into the entry hall.

Enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling; heavy red velvet draperies covered the windows. Gilt cherubs vied for space with bisque shepherdesses on a sea of claw-footed tables.

"A monstrosity," the realtor said cheerfully. "Why not be honest, your highness? I would never show this to you if you were looking to buy something, or if you wanted a long-term rental, but for a week—"

"A couple of weeks. Perhaps, uh, perhaps a little more than that."

"The point is, on a short-term basis, you won't do better than this. You won't even do as well. You need enough rooms for your staff,  plus privacy and security. Well, you saw that high wall that surrounds the house, the electronic gate… and there are  motion sensors and cameras on the grounds, the windows and doors are all alarmed, and there's a kind of control center behind the dining room, from where everything can be monitored. Would you like me to walk you through?"

Khan shrugged. "Might as well."

Adele Simpson led them briskly from room to room.

"A cattle baron built it for his fourth wife. She left him for a gentleman who owns a diamond mine in South Africa, and the cattleman moved on to wife number five. She sued for divorce after a year or two, her lawyers got the house as part of the divorce settlement, and they put it on the market at a price nobody, but nobody, will pay."

Laurel rolled her eyes. "Not all lawyers are smart.

Khan laughed and drew her closer.

The rooms went from ugly to just plain poor taste—until they reached the east wing of the house, and the master suite.

"I think you'll find this a little different," the realtor said. "My understanding is that the owner's fifth wife insisted he have the suite redone before she agreed to marry him." She smiled as she opened the door. "Not that it had any long-term effect on the marriage."

"Oh," Laurel said, very softly.

Oh, indeed, Khan thought.

They were in a sitting room, done in black and white; ahead, a door stood open, revealing a bedroom furnished in the same colors. White carpet. Black bed linens. Sheer white curtains at French doors that opened onto a balcony.

"Well," Khan said, smiling, "wife number five was not entirely foolish. Very well. I'll take it. Draw up the necessary papers and forward them to me at my hotel."

Adele beamed.

"Certainly, sir. For what duration shall I make the rental?"

It was an excellent question.

He looked at Laurel.

She was standing at one of the windows, looking out over the grounds. It was growing late in the day; the sun was dropping on the horizon and its rays glimmered in her dark hair.

Something inside him tightened.

"Sir? How long a lease shall I—"

"A month." A muscle in his cheek flickered. "On second thought, make it for two months, and with a renewal clause."

The realtor smiled. She and Khan shook hands and then she excused herself and took her phone from her pocket.

"
Shalal
. You're deep in thought."

"Sorry," she said, turning and smiling at him. "I was watching the sun set. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Beautiful," he agreed.

He held out his arms. He saw Laurel's eyes fill with a brilliance that was the equal of the sun.

"Come to me," he said softly.

The realtor was still in the room; she saw him gather Laurel close and he knew it, but he didn't give a damn about propriety and privacy right now.

All that mattered was Laurel.

It had been a long day.

Very long.

Agreements to read. Papers to sign. Lists to go through. 

"Check," the realtor said briskly, each time she gave Khan another bit of information to approve or disapprove from what seemed an endless assortment of things that, as far as he was concerned, lacked any real meaning.

He maintained his patience until she asked how many cords of wood he wanted delivered for the six fireplaces.

"I have no idea," he said calmly.

Too calmly. Laurel knew it instantly. Apparently, Adele Simpson didn't.

"I need some idea, your highness," Adele said, and flashed a brightly professional smile. "One cord? Two? Four?"

Khan drew himself up to his full, very impressive six feet two inches of taut male arrogance.

"Do I strike you as a man who keeps track of how much wood is burned in a fireplace?"

"Well, probably not, sir, but—"

"Then why ask me such inane questions?"

The realtor blanched; Khan, irritated as he was, saw it. He muttered something under his breath, apologized for his temper, and suggested that any other such questions would be best asked, and answered, once he'd lived in the house for a few days.

"Certainly, sir. Of course. The house will be ready for you by morning."

"By tonight."

"Yes. Absolutely. By tonight."

Laurel half-expected the woman to click her heels and salute, but Khan extended his hand, she shook it, and the afternoon of house-hunting was finally over.

"I have not been paying my P.A. enough," he muttered, once they were finally alone in his Land Rover.

Laurel gave her lover what she hoped was a benign smile.

"I'll bet he's going to be happy to hear that."

His smile was the equal of hers. "She. And yes, I'm sure she will."

"Your personal assistant is a woman?"

Khan raised an eyebrow as he turned the ignition key.

"The last I noticed, yes, she was."

"But I thought—I mean, I assumed—"

He leaned over, planted a quick kiss on her lips.

"Assumptions can be dangerous things, sweetheart. You figured she was a he because you are quite certain you know all there is to know about my country's antiquated customs."

"No," she said quickly. Then, she sighed. "Okay. Maybe I have some misconceptions."

"Some." Khan checked the mirror, then pulled the Rover away from the curb. "But you're not entirely wrong. Much had changed in my country but there is still more that needs doing."

"The changes that have already taken place… are they yours?"

He reached for her hand, curved it over the gear shift knob beneath his.

"My father was a good man, but he believed in the old ways." He glanced at her; a rueful smile tilting at one corner of his mouth. "He was many of the things you accused me of being, not out of a lack of caring but out of the conviction that the way things have always been is the way they must continue."

"He was a traditionalist, you mean."

He nodded. "I understand the need to honor tradition—but there has to be a line between those things that should stay the same and those that should be set aside. And sometimes, even when my ministers and I agree on change, they warn me that I must be careful not move too quickly."

"Because?"

"Because it isn't enough for me to want change for the kingdom, the people must want it, as well."

"I don't see how anyone can't want to move forward."

"Change makes people feel uncertain."

"Change is what the world is all about."

He smiled. "Spoken like a true American."

"If nobody ever took a step into the future, think of what life would be like."

"You mean," Khan said solemnly, "my personal assistant would be a man."

 "Go ahead, make fun of me. But some of the things I saw, growing up, some of the things I see as a lawyer…" Laurel drew a breath. "Sorry," she said, with an apologetic little laugh. "The senator says I go overboard once in a while."

"The senator is wrong." Khan drew up at a light; the hotel was just ahead. He brought her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Fire burns within you, sweetheart. It's part of what makes you the woman you are. And I would never make fun of you. How could I, when you mean—you mean so much to me?"

She looked at him.

"Do I?" she said, hating herself for the question.

His eyes met hers.

"Yes," he said his voice rough. "You mean—"

"Hey! Your majesty!"

Something banged against the Rover. A hand, holding a microphone. Laurel cried out in alarm and shrank back in her seat.

"Goddammit," Khan growled.

The light changed; he stepped on the gas pedal and the car shot ahead.

"Are you all right?"

 It was a stupid question. One glance at her white face was all the answer he needed.

The tires squealed in protest as he took a hard right at the next intersection. There was a parking garage somewhere along this street…

There it was, just ahead.

Another hard right and he kept going, driving the Rover up ramp after ramp until they reached the top level, all but deserted at the end of the workday. He pulled into a space, turned off the engine, undid his seat belt and Laurel's, and pulled her into his arms.

"It was just a reporter," he said softly.

She nodded. He closed his eyes as her hair slid against his jaw.

"They're like animals, running prey to the ground."

"Jackals, he murmured." I agree."

A tremor went through her. He held her even closer. After a minute, she leaned back in his arms. Color had returned to her face and some of that fire he so loved blazed in her eyes.

"You need a good lawyer," she said. "To sue the pants off bastards like that!"

"First amendment rights," he said lightly. "Remember?"

"Is that what your attorney said? Because he's right, but you could scare the hell out of those idiots."

"A lovely thought, sweetheart, but we both know how such a suit would go."

"Still, as an attorney—"

"As an attorney," Khan said, stopping her with a quick kiss, "I understand how you feel. But we both know the laws are made by the people and for the people, which means no law is going to please all the people."

She smiled, as he'd hoped she would. Then she cocked her head.

"As an attorney? You mean—"

"I have a J.D. from Harvard."

"You're full of surprises, your highness," she said, playfully batting her lashes at him.

He grinned.

"I thought an education in the law, particularly North American law, might be helpful someday. And I was right."

Laurel toyed with his collar. She loved seeing his tanned throat, the hollow where his pulse beat.

"How?"

"Well, for instance, I can present logical arguments to my ministers when they try to tell me that the female of the species is not meant to vote." He laughed at her shocked expression. "I'm teasing you, sweetheart. We've had voting rights for women for fifty years… but there are many, many times when understanding your legal system and your constitution has been useful to me." He paused. "Being a sheikh, a king, a prince, whatever title Altara chooses to give me, isn't all about riding white stallions into the desert sunset."

Laurel felt her cheeks heat.

"I never accused you of that,"

"No," he said lightly. "That was one you missed."

She sighed. The warmth of her breath put a knot of longing right in the pit of his belly.

"It's a nice image, thought," she said softly. She put her mouth to the hollow of his throat. "Very sexy."

"Laurel," he said in a warning tone.

She smiled and looked up at him.

"So, no big white stallions?"

"Not exactly." Khan tucked a curl behind her ear. "I have horses. Arabians. I breed them."

"Aha."

"Aha, what?"

"Aha, I could have pushed that stallion button the night we met!"

He thought of an easy comeback, one that involved sex, but he didn't use it. Instead, he found himself wanting to know something about her buttons, those that made her who she was.

The little she'd told him about herself wasn't enough.

"Speaking of buttons… I pushed one a while ago, didn't I?"

She thought of denying it, or pretending she didn't know what he meant, but she did know. He was talking about that quick reference to losing her parents, and to her childhood.

She'd known Khan for only a couple of weeks, but she felt as if she'd known him a lifetime.

Still…

"Okay, he said, "me first. An exchange of facts. You know, button for button."

That won him a smile.

"For instance… The House from Hell reminds me of where I grew up."

"The House from Hell? Very nice. I like the alliteration. But I refuse to believe there's another place like it anywhere in the world, especially one that would be home to a prince."

"That's because you haven't seen the palace in Kharda. Our capital city. Marble. Crystal. Maybe it isn't exactly like Hell House but that's only because it's hard to separate one degree of ostentation from another. I mean, marble halls and French chandeliers are pretty much the same everywhere."

"See one chandelier," Laurel said, straight-faced, "you've seen them all."

Khan laughed. "Exactly." He clasped another dark curl, let it wind around his finger. "Your turn. Where did you grow up? In the country? The suburbs? The city?"

"The city."

"This city?"

Yes." She looked at him. "Actually, in a barrio in this city
,
" she said, a faint quality of what sounded like I-dare-you creeping into her voice. "People call it that because it sounds lots sexier than calling it a slum."

Khan nodded. "Time for another 'aha.' And you're right. It's always easier to use exotic names for things that make you shudder."

"It drives me crazy," she said, heat replacing the I-dare-you edge. "If only more people would acknowledge that."

"More people being…?"

"The media. Politicians. Social workers. People with power."

Khan decided it was time for another quick brush of his lips over hers.

"You mean," he said, "your version of our sheikhs and princes."

She smiled. What an amazing man he was! No wonder she—she liked being with him.

"Nicely done, your highness," she said, and kissed him.

"That's nicely done, too," he said, and deepened the kiss.

"We're in a public place," she whispered breathlessly.

"An empty public place." His hands cupped her breasts; she moaned as his fingertips feathered over her nipples. "I need to touch you," he said, his voice low and rough. "Now. Right now."

He captured her mouth with his; his arms tightened around her. A groan rose in his throat. All he could think about was being inside her, and he knew that what he should be thinking about was getting her into the hotel without another incident. 

He could deal with the SOBs who haunted his life but he'd be damned if he'd let them drag her into the maelstrom.

He clasped her shoulders. Put her from him. Rested his forehead against hers.

"I'll call Jamal and tell him we're coming in through the service entrance. We'll give him ten minutes to set up some kind of diversion."

Laurel laid her palm against his cheek. It was almost the end of the day; there was light stubble on her lover's jaw. She loved the feel of it against her hand.

Loved it even more against her breasts and thighs.

Heat shimmered to life low in her belly.

"And what will we do with those ten minutes, Lord Khan?"

His laugh was wonderfully low and sexy. 

"I'll try and think of something."

And there, in the dark confines of the Rover, he did.

********

Whatever scheme Jamal had come up with, worked.

They made it to the rear entrance of the hotel, were hurried into a waiting service elevator by two of the bodyguards, and rode straight up to Khan's floor.

All the other suites had been emptied of guests, Jamal said. He had made the arrangements.

Khan nodded his approval.

It was what he should have done right away, taken over the entire floor, but he despised that kind of thing. He knew it was easy for the media to call it affectation rather than the need for security it actually was.

Once inside the sitting room, the door locked, Jamal and two of his men outside, others stationed at the elevators and stairwell, Khan took Laurel in his arms.

"We haven't eaten in hours," he said softly.

Her lips curved in a smile.

Are you hungry?" she said, just as softly.

His eyes grew dark. "Only for you."

"Yes," she whispered, "oh yes."

It was all the answer he needed.

They'd made love in the parking garage, or as much as the restrictions of space would permit.

He had feasted on her mouth.

Tasted her breasts.

Brought her to climax with his hand.

Pleasuring her had also pleasured him, but he wanted more.

Laurel, his lover, his woman, naked beneath him. Sobbing his name. Begging for the release only he could bring her. As he led her into the bedroom, he realized he had been waiting for this through the endless day.

Now, with the time finally here, he didn't want to rush. He'd always enjoyed  prolonging the last moments as long as possible but with Laurel, it had become more than a way for him to be in control because yes, she was right about some of the things she'd said of him, and being in control was, he knew, one of them.

Making the moment she came apart in his arms last as long as either of them could stand it was about watching her eyes blur as he took her to the edge of the world, about feeling the thud of her heart against his, about hearing her cry his  name.

In the end, making love with her had nothing to do with technique.

It had to do with emotion. With Laurel.