The Sultan's Bed
Zayad swung left at the farm stand and headed toward Dove Cove. He would only take a few hours of exercise on the warm sand, as he needed to return to the duplex. He had much to accomplish, including keeping his true mission a secret to those around him. His council, like the men he had brought with him—save Fandal—believed his purpose here to be one of rest and relaxation. Of course, they did not question his living quarters or his interest in his neighbor. They dared not. And Zayad expected that they would remain devoted servants for his two-week stay.
Ah, yes, he thought. Two weeks with no questions, no interruptions and no diversions.
A pretty blond attorney with a voluptuous body and angry eyes the color of the hot Emand sand at sunset flashed into his mind. His sister’s roommate was tough and spirited, and if he had more time, he might consider pursuing an affair with her.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
His father had once said, “A man is not a man without restraint. Especially in matters of the state.”
Sea air blew in through his window, but Zayad did not calm in its caress. The irony was too plain. His father, the great sultan, had overlooked his own counsel when coming to America.
Should he expect any less from his son?
Two
Jane Hefner was to food what Manolo Blahnik was to shoes.
Perfection.
Mariah took another bite of the sublimely delicious, strangely refreshing basil ice cream and sighed. “Tell me again why you have to leave?”
Jane folded a pale yellow shirt with faultless precision and gently placed it between two pieces of parchment in her suitcase. “The restaurant wants publicity, so it’s me to the rescue. And teaching some pampered movie star how to make veal piccata and garlic mashed potatoes for her next film might sound like a chore to some people, but to me it’s—”
“A dream come true?”
Jane laughed. “Hey, it’s Cameron Reynolds.”
“Right.” Mariah sat on the bed, folded a pair of jeans for Jane. “You understand that you’re forcing me to eat a week’s worth of frozen dinners?”
Jane eased the jeans from Mariah and refolded them. “Dry fish sticks, watery mashed potatoes, mushy pea-and-carrot medley and fig compote?” She shrugged. “I don’t see the problem.”
“You may be a genius in the kitchen, but you have absolutely no compassion on my poor stomach.”
“I know. But I’ll be back before you know it.”
Mariah paused, realized how pathetic she sounded with all the Miss Lonely Hearts prattle. Seemed she relied on her friend too much. After her divorce from Alan, she’d clung to Jane as a sister, as a friend—the way she had when they were kids, when her parents had died and her feeble grandmother had given her a home but little else.
Mariah fell back on the bed. “Can I just say that your boss is pretty ballsy for making you go on such short notice?”
“It’s cash, M.”
Jane’s sudden serious tone and slight grimace made Mariah pause, ease up on the semiphony guilt trip. She knew Jane was saving up to open her own restaurant. It was her dream. And as her friend, Mariah wasn’t about to be anything but all-the-way supportive. “All right, but if your boss doesn’t compensate you big time for this, you know I can always sue him. Or, hey, I have a friend down at the board of health and he’s really into closing down Italian restaurants.” Mariah leaned on her elbows. “I think his brother was taken out by the mob or something.”
Jane laughed, shut her suitcase. “Thanks, M. I’ll think about it.”
“No you won’t. You’re too damn nice to think about it.”
She grinned. “So, I hear our new neighbor’s moved in. Have you met him yet?”
Mariah rolled her eyes. “Have I met him? You could say that.”
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say I was in rare form—there were bruises and razor-sharp banter on the menu.”
Jane laughed, sat down beside her. “Is he good-looking, or a toad like the last one?”
“Why are you asking me all this? You’ve met him, too.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Sure you have.”
Jane shook her head.
Mariah blinked at her. “Maybe you said hi in passing or something, because he knows you.”
“He knows me? What are you talking about?”
“He asked about you when he bumped into me—well, when I bumped into him. He wanted to know when you’d be home. It was like you’d met and talked and he was more than ready to ask you out.”
Jane sniffed. “That’s bizarre. Maybe Mrs. Gill told him about us, and after he met you he wanted to meet me…some neighborly, friendly kind of thing?”
“I dunno.” Mariah shrugged. “But whatever his story is, be careful. He’s trouble.”
“Why?” Jane slid her feet into a pair of pink flip-flops that were placed neatly by the foot of the bed. “Because he’s tall, dark and handsome?”
“For a start.”
All humor dropped away from Jane’s pretty face. She put a hand on Mariah’s shoulder and took a breath. “Listen, M, someday you’re going to have to see the world and every man in it with fresh eyes.”
Mariah bristled, looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Yeah, all right, I do. But that day’s not today.”
“Okay.” Jane gave her a huge hug and said, “I’ll call you,” then stood, grabbed her suitcase and left the room.
After she had gone, Mariah headed into the kitchen to make herself one of the aforementioned TV dinners and contemplate her next move in the custody case she was working on. Her client’s ex was smart and had hidden his affairs well. It was going to take some serious digging to find anything she could use.
When the breaded fish and compote were ready, she went outside and sat at the pretty picnic bench Jane had set up on the brick patio. The backyard looked lovely bathed in the night’s light. Moon, stars, a few clouds…and soggy carrot-and-pea medley.
Ah, did it get any better than this?
“May I join you?”
Mariah gave a tiny jump, then glanced over her shoulder. Her new neighbor was walking through his patio doors toward her. He looked unbelievably handsome in the moonlight, with that dark-eyes-dark-hair-dark-tailored-clothes thing happening. He was also clean shaven, and it made all the sharp angles in his face look harder and sexier.
Her heart kicked to life in her chest, but she held fast to a calm exterior. “I have some square fish and a few peas left, if you’re interested.”
His mouth curved into a smile as he sat opposite her at the picnic table. “I am not very hungry, but thank you.”
“Just checking out the backyard? Or were you looking for someone?”
“Perhaps a little of both.”
“Jane’s not here.”
His gaze went thoughtful. “I did not say I was looking for Jane.”
“You didn’t have to.” Her tone sounded dry and acerbic, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He said, “Perhaps I was looking for you.”
Her heart literally fluttered. Foolish, foolish girl. “And why would that be?”
“Perhaps I wish to know more about this—” he studied her with a lazy, hooded gaze “—fiery woman who lives beside me.”
Fiery! She nearly blushed.
Nearly.
“Well, there’s not much to tell,” she said, running her fork back and forth through the fig compote.
“I doubt that.”
Lord, he had extraordinary eyes—so black, but flecked with gold. A woman could get lost in those eyes if she wasn’t careful. Good thing Mariah was careful.
“Listen,” she said with more regret in her tone than she would have liked. “I’ve got a ton of work to get to, so I’ll say good—”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
His brow lifted a fraction.
“I help women who’ve been treated badly in their marriages get what they deserve.”
“Interesting. And what do they deserve?”
“It depends. But first and foremost, respect. If they’ve given up their careers to take care of the home, I help them gain financial stability. If they’ve been cheated on during their marriage, their self-esteem robbed from them, I help them find a new life. Which is just like the case I’m working on now—”
Mariah came to a screeching halt. What was she doing? This man was no friend, no confidant, and here she was about to tell him the ins and outs of her case.
“What were you about to say, Miss Kennedy?”
She stood and grabbed the remains of her dinner. “Nothing, just that I’m working on a case and I’d better get inside and get to it.”
She started to walk away, but he stopped her. “Miss Kennedy?”
She turned. “Yes?”
“You do not like men, do you?”
Walls shot up around her like steel plates. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “You make them sound like the enemy.”
She lifted her chin. “In court, they are.” And in life, her life, she thought, they weren’t terribly far from that. She gave him a little wave. “Good night, Mr. Fandal,” she said and headed into the house, where she could think and breathe again.
Moments later she had rid herself of “dinner” and was walking into the bathroom. What she needed was a long, hot bath, to get that man’s questions, comments and deliciously probing gaze out of her mind.
Hate men! What a notion.
Sure, she didn’t trust men, she thought as she turned on the hot-water tap and let the tub fill up. There was a big difference.
Peeling off her clothes, she spotted her reflection in the mirror and took a moment to look herself over. The view surprised her a little. Under those bargain power suits of hers lay a pretty nice figure.
Her hands found their way to her flat stomach, up her rib cage to her large breasts. Her skin was pale and so sensitive, and as she ran her fingers over her nipples, she wanted to cry. She hadn’t been touched in four years, and even then it had been seldom, as Alan had been far too busy making his mistress happy to help his wife find some pleasure.
She bit her lip. The truth was, she didn’t hate men at all. In fact, if the right one came along, she was ready to go crazy with desire. But the fear in her heart was stronger than her need, and she couldn’t imagine that changing anytime soon.
She turned away from the mirror and stepped into the hot bath.
Zayad cursed and pitched the bag of microwave popcorn across the room. The corn was black as night and had thoroughly stunk up the two-bedroom duplex he would be calling home for the next two weeks.
“I could hire a staff, Your Royal Highness.”
Zayad turned, his back to the kitchen counter, and eyed his aide and the closest thing he had to a friend—the man from whom he had borrowed his last name. “No, Fandal. I have told you there can be no show of wealth and consequence. And do not call me ‘Your Highness.’”
“Yes, Your—” Fandal lifted his chin. “Yes, sir.”
Zayad turned around, opened the cupboards, found nothing as simple as the popcorn was purported to be and moved on to the refrigerator. “I was hoping to bring something with me when I meet with my sister this evening. An offering, a meal. But alas, I am without.”
“Flowers are usually well received, sir.”
“I am to meet my sister, Fandal, not court the lovely Miss Kennedy.”
“Of course, sir.” With a quick bow of understanding, Fandal went to the bag of ruined popcorn and began to clean up the mess.
Court the lovely Miss Kennedy? Zayad sniffed. His mouth was without restraint. Perhaps because he could not get the woman out of his head after their little discussion in the yard. It was most irritating. She had looked so soft, so appealing, as she verbally annihilated her client’s ex-husband.
“May I say that the golden-haired woman seems unlike the women in our country,” Fandal remarked with just a hint of warning in his tone.
“She is at that.” Blond, fair, a lioness with claws outstretched. But something warned him that once tamed, once her anger was released and desire ruled her body, Mariah Kennedy would not let go those claws. “Not that I would pursue it, but I imagine an affair would not be casual with her. I fear that most American women want far more than a lover.”
“Is it not true for all women, sir?”
“Not the women of my acquaintance.”
“There was one.”
The words had slipped from Fandal’s lips far too easily. Zayad stopped short, his blood thundering in his ears at the memory of the woman who had left his company and that of her son with little regret. Turning around, he stood over a sheepish Fandal. “As you know, Meyaan did not want a true marriage. She did not want to share my life—or her son’s, for that matter. She wanted to benefit from my power and the comfort allowed by the riches of a sultan.” His chin lifted, though his ire sank deeper into his belly. “And she received both. But in the end I was the victor. I received the far more precious gift.”
His face still ashen from his foolish remark, Fandal had the good sense to turn the subject to Zayad’s child. “And how is His Highness?”
“Redet is well, happy at school.” Getting far too mature at thirteen. Zayad missed his little boy.
Just then a loud thud reverberated off the walls. Zayad and Fandal ceased talking. Glancing around, they listened for a clue to its origin. When none came, Zayad uttered, “What the hell was that?”
Fandal shook his head. “I know not.”
A woman’s cry came next.
“Stay here,” Zayad commanded. “I will go.”
“Your Royal Highness, it could be dangerous.”
“It is from next door. It could be my sister.”
“I will go with you.”
But Zayad was already at the door. “Do not leave this house, Fandal, or you will find yourself swimming back to Emand. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And say nothing to the others.” Zayad was out of his house and at Jane and Mariah’s door within seconds. He knocked swiftly, but there was no response. He gripped the door handle, but it was locked.
His chest constricted and he did not think, only reacted. He stepped back and lunged at the door with all of his strength. The lock pitched but remained intact. He tried again. Then again. Finally the lock collapsed and he was inside.
Three
“…I know I should have photographs of him with that other woman, but I can’t find a thing, Miss Kennedy. Please call me back, okay?”
Through the pain in her wrist and ankle, Mariah listened to the end of her client’s message, then the beep of her answering machine.
Nude, angry and lying in quasifetal position on the bathroom floor, Mariah sincerely wished she’d installed a telephone next to the bathtub. Such luxury had just proven itself a necessity, as she’d slipped trying to get out of the tub and into Jane’s room for the phone.
Wondering if she could roll over, get her weight on her good leg, she rose slightly and made the effort. But when sharp pain whipped up and around like a tornado in her ankle, she collapsed.
What the hell was she going to do? Lie here all night like a fish? Maybe inch her way across the bathroom floor, down the hall and into—
Just then Mariah heard something. A crash. Downstairs. Wood splitting. She sucked air, and her pulse jumped in her blood. Not good. Robbery and incapacitated naked girl did not go well together.
She tried to work herself up into a sitting position, but her wrist and ankle hurt like hell, and she was slow.
There were footsteps on the stairs, a rustle outside the bathroom door. A thought poked into Mariah’s brain—one she clung to for dear life. Jane. Maybe she’d forgotten something.
She called out, “Jane!” I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”
“Do not be alarmed. I am here to help you.”
Sick, gut-tight fear gripped Mariah, made her forget the pain screaming up her ankle.
Not Jane.
Had she locked the bathroom door?
“I have a knife and a baseball bat in here,” she shouted, scanning the room for anything that resembled those two items. Emery board, toilet plunger… “And I’m not afraid to use them.”
“I am sure that you could do great damage if provoked, but I am not here to hurt you, Miss Kennedy.”
Was it Mr. Sexy Accent?
Mr. Next Door?
Oh my God.
“Don’t come in here,” she warned, more afraid of him seeing her naked than she was of him attacking her.
She was such an idiot.
“Miss Kennedy, I heard you scream.” He was right outside the door now and probably unstoppable.
“I’m fine.” She sounded embarrassingly hysterical. “Nothing’s wrong. I just saw a mouse and—”
“I do not believe you.”
The door squeaked open.
“Oh my God, don’t come in here—”
He didn’t listen. “Perhaps you need a doc—”
“Dammit!” Completely nude and in a most unflattering position, she tried to roll into the bath mat. “Get out. Get out.”
“You are hurt.”
“I’m also naked. Get out.”
He went to her, knelt beside her. “I would never take advantage of such a situation.”
She glared up at him. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”
A glimmer of humor lit his eyes. “Smart girl.” He grabbed a towel and draped it over her. “But I give you my word this is no attempt at seduction, merely a rescue.”
“I don’t need to be rescued.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Listen, Mr. Fandal, this is my house and I want you to leave.”
“Who will help you if I leave?”
“I’ll think of someone or I’ll get out of here myself.”
“Crawling around on the floor like a lame pup?”
“Did you just call me a dog?”
Zayad gave an impatient groan, flashed his gaze to the ceiling. Never had he known a woman like this one—obstinate, headstrong, ready to injure herself further in the name of pride. He was not used to following the orders of others, but with her he felt it would be far more productive. “If you prefer to wallow in your mulishness, I shall stand behind the door in case you have need of me.”
“No. Thank you. Seriously I appreciate the gesture, but you can leave. I’m fine.”
He stood up, walked out of the bathroom and waited behind the door. “I shall stand behind the door until you realize you need my assistance.”
She snorted. “Well, you’ll be waiting all night for that, buddy.”
Moments later he heard her groan with pain.
“Miss Kennedy?”
“I’m fine. Just fine.”
Seconds later there was another cry of pain and a soft thud.
“Still fine, Miss Kennedy?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head, walked back into the bathroom. “I do not enjoy playing games. You will not send me away again, and I will help you until more suitable help arrives.”
“There is no suitable help.”
“Your roommate is not home yet?”
“No.”
“But she is returning soon, yes?”
“She’s actually going to be out of town for a week teaching some Hollywood bimbo how to cook.”
Alarm moved through Zayad. He had not heard her correctly. Jane gone for one week. Impossible. He had but two weeks to know her, make her understand her past, her family’s history, see if she was ready to return to her homeland and take up her duties as princess. How could this happen? How could he have allowed his plan to be thwarted?
Frustration swam in his blood. What was he to do now? Follow her? Rent another home in Los Angeles for one week, then return to Ventura with her?
He glanced down at the woman who needed his assistance. With great care he eased her into his arms. He had to take care of this situation first and quickly, then find a solution to his woes with Jane.
Head against his chest, Mariah groaned. “This is so humiliating.”
“What is? Falling down or being nude?”
“Oh, of course the naked part.”
A grin tugged at his lips. “Miss Kennedy, you have nothing to feel ashamed of. Your body is beautiful, lush, and your skin is softer than silk. It took great effort to tear my gaze from you, but as you were hurt, I felt compelled to do so.”
He watched her eyes widen and her lips part.
Chuckling, he lifted her up, bath mat and all, and headed out of the steamy room. “Praise be. I have found a way to keep you quiet.”
Four
The pounding in her ankle aside, Mariah was still reeling from Mr. Next Door’s compliment as he carried her down the stairs. She knew she shouldn’t be reeling. In fact, she should have told him that his cheesy lines about her lushness and soft skin sucked and then given him a good slap.
But the thing was, she didn’t want to think that what he’d said was a line. He’d looked at her with such devilishness, such sincerity, it had nearly had her wrapping her arms around his neck and demanding a kiss. And not just any kiss. From him she wanted open mouth, a little sweep of the tongue and maybe a nibble or two on her bottom lip.
Oh, it had been too long. She felt like an old, ratty plum on a tree, desperate to be picked, saved from a pruney future. Dangerous waters…
“Where are you taking me?” she asked him.
“To bed.”
There it was—the deep end of those dangerous waters. “Mr. Fandal—”
“I think it is now appropriate for you to call me Zayad.”
“And I’m thinking, after the whole bare-butt incident, it might be best to preserve some boundaries.”
“And you think formality is the way to do this?”
Not a clue. “Let’s not get off track here. We were talking about you taking me to bed.”
“That’s correct. Not to get undressed and join you, but so you may rest as I call the doctor.”
She wilted—just slightly. “Oh.” Not that she would allow herself to contemplate such a thing, but it sure would be nice to be wanted.
When he reached her bedroom, Zayad whipped back her white cotton sheets and placed her gently on the bed. “I will only be a moment,” he informed her. “I must make a phone call to the doctor, then I will return.”
“My doctor doesn’t make house calls.”
“No. But mine does.”
“Yours?” She stared up into that rough, intense and highly sensual face and wondered just who this new neighbor of hers was. Had his own doctor on call—and at eight o’clock at night, no less—had a fancy accent, worldly expression, tailored clothes, highly intelligent eyes and was impressively quick with a comeback.
A stab of pain the size of New Jersey suddenly invaded her ankle. She dropped her cheek to the pillow, closed her eyes and moaned. When she opened her eyes again, Zayad was halfway out the door.
“Hey, Zayad?”
He turned. “Yes?”
“How did you know this was my room?”
A slow, almost fiendish smile drifted to his lips. “Careful deduction. You do not seem a risk taker to me, so the first-floor bedroom seemed correct.”
Sad but true.
“And then there was your computer, law books and yellow legal pads.” He pointed to her many Hockney posters littering the white walls. “The artwork. This is you.”
The law books and such, she understood, but the artwork—that startled her. In all the time they were married, Alan had never even asked her about her love of Hockney, much less noticed if she had a connection to it. “Why is the art me?”
His gaze swept the room and he took a thoughtful breath. “Firstly, you live in a town that boasts a beach-like feel, as many of Hockney’s paintings do. You are also very colorful, Mariah, and there is an interesting humor about you, as well.”
She just stared at him. He got all that in two meetings? Oh, yeah, this guy was dangerous all right. “That was some pretty swift deducing from doorstep to backyard to bathroom to bedroom.”
He grinned, haughtiness filling his black gaze. “I am said to be intuitive as well as highly intelligent.”
“And maybe just a bit arrogant, too?” she added with a pained smirk.
“Oh, no, Mariah,” he said without humor this time. “I am far more than a bit.” And with that he turned and left.
Thirty minutes later, after a complete examination of her wrist and incredibly swollen ankle, the doctor—who was so young Mariah wondered if he’d had his first shave yet—told her in the same accent as her neighbor’s that her wrist was badly bruised. But her ankle?