Читать книгу Engaged To The Sheikh - Sue Swift - Страница 10

The sharp-eyed brunette approached the concierge desk and said to the woman seated there, “Uh, can I ask for some help?”

Lilith Peterson, aka Lissa Bessart Piers, scrutinized her. That depends upon the kind of help you want, she thought. She didn’t like the brunette’s briefcase, her gray pinstriped pantsuit or her overly lacquered hair. Most people who came to La Torchere were on holiday and looked it, but this woman was all business.

Instead of challenging her, Lissa schooled her features into a hospitable smile, in keeping with her role. “Of course,” she said. “How can I help you?” She smoothed the lapel of her jacket.

“I’m trying to find a guest,” the brunette said.

“We maintain the security of all our guests. Are you a guest here, Ms….?” Lissa raised politely inquiring eyebrows.

“Yes, of course,” the brunette said, a little too quickly. She offered a hand. “Marta Hunter.”

Lissa touched the woman’s fingers and let go. She didn’t want extended contact with Marta Hunter. A strong grasp could trigger any of Lissa’s array of magical abilities. She didn’t want to inadvertently cast a curse or start a fire.

More than being the ordinary concierge Lilith Peterson, Lissa Bessart Piers was a member of the royal family of the enchanted realm of Silestia. Because she’d cursed her spoiled, disobedient niece seven years before, Lissa felt a responsibility to remain in Meredith’s life, making sure Merry remained safe while she worked to lift the curse.

But Lissa’s disguise as a concierge carried obligations, such as caring for the needs of La Torchere’s guests. She said, “Good morning, Ms. Hunter. We haven’t met before, have we?”

“I arrived early this morning on the first ferry of the day.”

“Welcome to La Torchere. How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for the sheik, Prince Kamar ibn-Asad,” Hunter said.

“Oh, I recall making a breakfast reservation for Mr. Asad’s party,” Lissa said. “If you move along, you should catch them in The Greenhouse.”

Upon seeing it for the first time, Selina thought that The Greenhouse deserved the appellation edifice. A massive glass structure with fanciful Victorian-style domes and turrets, it not only housed a casually elegant café but a glorious collection of tropical greenery.

It was crowded with plants, which in her apartment remained measly little sprouts. She had a nice pothos vine at home, but here a pothos wound heart-shaped leaves the size of dinner plates high around the bole of a graceful palm, fully twenty feet into the moist, scented air. Ferns that struggled to survive in D.C. grew to prehistoric heights here.

Masses of orchids, sporting exotic colors, shapes and fragrances, were set in banks around mossy stones. A natural-looking spring flowed through The Greenhouse from a waterfall at one end to a pool at the other, surrounding a slate-floored “island” where a group of linen-draped tables were clustered.

Holding her grandfather’s arm, Selina, cautious in new sandals, negotiated a rickety bridge to the island. When she’d purchased the red dress, she’d bought other clothing to last her for the week, including the denim shorts and T-shirt she now wore with the slippery-soled sandals.

Safely on the rough gray slate, she looked for and found Kam Asad seated at a large table. Like her grandfather, he evidently liked to read, for several newspapers were spread over the white cloth. His cell phone sat next to a silver pot. As she watched, he refilled his cup before turning a page of the paper.

A polo shirt stretched across Kam’s truly admirable torso, showing muscled forearms. The emerald-green shirt set off his amber skin and thin gold watch. The only other item of jewelry he wore was his diamond stud, a rakish touch.

She couldn’t check out his legs because they were under the table. But when she and her grandfather approached Kam’s table, he stood until Jerry had seated her. His legs matched his arms in terms of their fitness, and she had to admit that Kam was a total stud muffin. If he weren’t such a jerk, she might even be attracted to him.

“Good morning, Selina, Jerry,” he said. He handed her a menu before pouring her a cup of tea.

His old-fashioned chivalry disarmed her, and she said, “Good morning, Kam,” as courteously as she could, even though she didn’t drink tea. She assumed that he had developed his tea habit while at Cambridge.

Opening the menu, she scanned the breakfast selections. “Too bad I don’t like breakfast. There’s a lot to choose from here. Even potatoes.” She winked at Kam.

“You will never forget that incident with the vodka, will you?” He leaned back in his chair with an uneasy smile.

Jerry kicked her under the table, and she said, “Um, consider yourself unforgettable. It’s not a bad thing.”

He visibly relaxed. “Why do you not like breakfast?”

She shrugged. “It’s just such a strange meal. Except for fruit, almost everything is carbohydrates or fried. It’s as though you’re not allowed to eat anything healthy in the morning.”

“Cereals are healthy. Are there not some of your corny crunchies on the menu?” He waved at a passing server.

“I doubt it. At this point we’re just designing the ad campaign. The cereal won’t be on the market for some months.”

“When I traveled to Japan, I ate soup with tea in the morning. It seemed quite healthful.”

“Soup and tea? I’ll have to try that sometime. But for now, I guess I’ll just have a croissant and coffee.” She slid the menu in the direction of the server.

“And you, sir?” the server asked Jerry.

Jerry ordered a full breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast, while Kam, like Selina, ordered a croissant. “And fresh fruit compotes for the lady and me.” He smiled at her as the server left.

She smiled back at Kam. “Thanks. What did you do in Japan?”

“What I am doing here. Opened diplomatic relations, rented an embassy, found markets for our diamonds.” Though he’d lowered his voice, Prince Kam had evidently accepted that Selina was Jerry’s confidante.

“We have a few minutes before our orders arrive, so…” Jerry opened his briefcase and took out a stack of printouts.

“Yes, let us get to business.” Kam looked toward the paperwork. “Are these from your multiple listing service?”

“Yes.” Jerry slid the printouts across the table to Kam. “I weeded out the obviously unsuitable properties, but—”

Jerry broke off when Kam’s gaze left their table to focus on the bridge to the café. He said something in Arabic that sounded vaguely irritable before flipping over the printouts so no information showed. He said, “Let me handle this, all right?”

A brunette with narrow, pale features and a chin-length bob neared, whipping out a small black box from a side pocket of her gray pantsuit. Thrusting it at Kam’s face, she clicked a button. The box began to whir, and Selina guessed it was a tape recorder.

“I’m talking with Prince Kamar ibn-Asad, emissary from Zohra-zbel, labeled by People magazine as the ‘sexy sheik.’ Prince Kamar, are you here in Florida to close a deal involving diamond futures on the world market?” the brunette asked.

“I beg your pardon.” Kam gently moved the box away from his face, pressing the button to stop the recorder. “I am not in the habit of discussing business with women I do not know.”

The brunette stuck out her hand. “Marta Hunter, from the National Devourer magazine.”

“Ms. Hunter, I am not authorized to make a statement for your magazine. Please forgive me.” Kam’s voice was polite, but he barely touched the woman’s hand.

“Our readers have a right to know if your country’s machinations will alter the world diamond market.”

Kam raised his brows. “I am not involved in any machinations, I assure you. I am only eating breakfast with my friends.” His gesture encompassed Selina and Jerry.

“And you are…” Marta Hunter’s avid gaze fixed on Selina.

Remembering the need for security, Selina said with a smile, “I’m just someone who’s eating breakfast.”

Kam grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

“I smell a story here,” Hunter said.

“I smell tea here.” Although she preferred coffee, Selina picked up her cup and sipped, waiting for the reporter to leave.

The server, laden with filled plates, came to their table. “Shall I set another place?” She eyed Hunter while setting out the breakfasts, including Selina’s coffee.

“No,” Kam said. “This lady was just leaving. Ms. Hunter, are you a guest at this resort? I was told that only guests and employees were allowed on this island. Otherwise, I would not come here.”

The server scrutinized the reporter. “If you aren’t a registered guest, ma’am, I’ll have to call security. They’ll escort you to the ferry.”

Hunter reared back defensively. “I’m a guest here, just like these folks.” From another pocket, she hauled out a card key embellished with the candelabra-shaped resort logo.

Kam grimaced. “Can’t you get rid of her?” he asked the server, who paled.

“You’re in a difficult position,” Selina said to the server, mentally chastising Kam for again mistreating staff. “Sorry.”

“Just our luck,” Jerry said. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag, Kam. We might as well come clean.”

Selina stared at her grandfather. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kam’s brown eyes widen. The server fled.

“Yep,” Jerry said. “She’ll get us dead to rights.”

Kam exchanged an uneasy glance with Selina, who sensed that one of her grandfather’s surprises was about to be unveiled.

“Ms. Hunter, my granddaughter, Selina, and Prince Kamar have been corresponding via e-mail for some months.”

Marta’s eyes bugged out, and she clicked on the tape recorder. “Keep talking! Keep talking!”

“There’s not much more to say.” Jerry picked up his fork. “You must understand that negotiations between our families are of a very sensitive nature. We’re willing to give you an exclusive if you respect our privacy until arrangements are concluded.”

Selina gaped at Kam.

Kam gaped back. What on earth was the old man implying? That he, a prince of the House of Zohra-zbel, courted Selina Carrington?

She was a pretty enough woman, but before heaven, she was trouble on a plate. Though he’d dreamed about her gorgeous neck last night, she was exactly the kind of female he’d never consider as a wife. He shuddered to imagine Selina and her smart mouth at a state dinner.

Truly, he didn’t intend to wed at all, at least not until his royal duties required it. He knew that at some point in his life—hopefully in the distant future—his father, the king, would arrange for Kamar’s marriage to a suitable girl. She would be a virgin of good family, of course, and the union would bring political advantage or riches to the House of Zohra-zbel, the royal family of the Diamond Mountain.

Selina was beautiful and smart, but she was a nobody. Not marriage material. Never.

“An exclusive? What terms?” Marta asked Jerome Carrington.

Carrington gestured expansively. “You leave us alone until after the wedding, and you get the whole story before anyone else.”

The reporter’s cold green eyes narrowed. “How do I know you’ll keep the bargain?”

Kamar found his voice. “You don’t.”

“Without some assurances, no deal. As far as I’m concerned, the two of you are fair game.” Marta dug into her pocket and took out a cell phone.

“That’s enough.” Kamar stood. “My friends, I am sorry. Let us go back to our suites and I’ll make other arrangements to meet later today.”

“The suites? You’re in the suites?” Marta flipped the phone open and began punching buttons.

Kamar sighed. “Add the breakfast to my bill,” he said to the server.

As he left The Greenhouse, escorting the Carringtons, he could hear the pesky reporter talking on the phone to her superiors.

When they got outside, he exploded. “What in The Almighty’s holy name was that about?”

“Don’t yell at my grandfather,” Selina snapped. “He had a good reason for saying what he did. Um, you did, didn’t you?”

She turned to Jerome, who put a finger to his lips. “Not here, and not now. Kamar, can you find us someplace private to talk? Not our rooms. That woman knows where we’re staying.”