Читать книгу Undercover Sultan - ALEXANDRA SELLERS - Страница 12

Le Charlemagne was the name of a world-famous Rue de Rivoli shopping complex with fabulous shops on two levels. Above were seven floors of exclusive apartments. Overlooking the Jardin des Tuileries and the Seine, it was one of Paris’s very exclusive addresses.

The concierge watched with benign interest as the pair strode along the concourse towards the bank of private lifts. The lift Fred led her to gave access to the garage, main, mezzanine and ninth floors only. He used a plastic key, and when they arrived at the top they stepped into a vestibule where a guard sat in front of a small bank of TV screens. Behind him was the open door of a small kitchenette.

Mariel’s skin bumped with nerves as Fred greeted the man in Arabic, and she wondered if she had been wise to jump out of the frying pan with the stranger. He led her to the big double doors into the main apartment, while the guard’s gaze followed them with a mixture of heavy disapproval and sexual curiosity marking his face.

Catching his eye, Mariel winked at him. The man blushed and dropped his eyes. Fred, noticing his reaction, looked from the guard to Mariel with a deadly little glint in his eyes that promised to make her pay for that one, and she couldn’t stop the little expectant shiver that coursed over her skin in response.

Then they stepped across the threshold into a large, luxurious, oak-floored room, glowing with soft light, drapes open to expose a wall of glass that gave onto a wide terrace and a view of the lights along the Seine. The furnishings were in leather and a variety of rich and exotic woods polished to a gleam.

The predominant feeling was comfort. Mariel heaved a sigh and rubbed the back of her neck as some of the tension of the past couple of hours left her.