Loud voices outside the vehicle cut through the air and her fellow passenger’s voice dropped to a sharp whisper. “Yes. We will speak further at the palace, Adalyn. It isn’t far.”
“Palace? I thought we would be working in a clinic environment. And I’d stay at a hotel.”
“I do not sleep at a clinic.”
“Right … Sorry …” Of course he wouldn’t sleep at a clinic. Why had she thought that? Because it was familiar. Because that’s how things worked where she practiced … at her clinic. But this place was not New Orleans.
“Later I will explain.” His words clipped the frosty air with short, abrupt sounds. If she could still see her breath, his words would’ve probably floated away in blocky cubes, formed by hard right angles and razor edges.
The front car doors opened, the suited men climbed in and for seconds she could see him under the light of the dome, but he’d already turned away, cutting off the conversation with body language. It was a technique she often used, or had used enough to recognize it.
He fixed his gaze out his window, though at what she couldn’t guess. Nothing, unless he had the night vision of a cat.
The status of her rescue mission suddenly seemed like a charade, as capricious and dangerous as a ride in anything with wheels. Like the large vehicle she was in. It started rolling and banished all other thoughts from her mind—just as cars always did for her. Even now, years later, having to ride in a car felt like a forced march to her own execution.
The only thought that stayed with her as she analyzed every bump and turn for the telltale feeling of a wreck in progress was: What had Jamison gotten her into?
It couldn’t have been more than a couple of miles’ travel, but it took ages. By the time they stopped, her jaw hurt from clenching and she felt just a little light-headed from her breathercise.
Khalil climbed out as soon as the vehicle stopped rolling, before Adalyn could even really get a glimpse of him. “See her settled in the suite adjoining mine.” All she could make out was a tall man with dark robes and the traditional dress that by turns intrigued and worried her.
Once those words were out—and in English, no less—he immediately switched over to his native tongue, leaving no doubt that he wasn’t speaking to her. Well, the sooner she got to her suite, the sooner she could sleep and, she prayed, stop shaking …
Khalil tugged on a clean shirt. A dress suit. At this hour … Since he’d been in Merirach, he hadn’t worn much but the robes, at least when he was in the palace and bound to the demands of his position, but Western dress would probably set her more at ease.
If he was honest, it was more than that. The robes that tradition dictated reminded him what he was doing there, and the responsibility he carried. Of who he was supposed to be. Not himself. But now, dealing with her, he didn’t want to be Sheikh Khalil of Akkari, Regent of Merirach, he wanted to be Dr. Khalil Al-Akkari—the son not born to rule. Maybe it would help them both deal with the situation if they came at it as equals.
Tomorrow he’d have to go back to the robes that helped people in his host kingdom identify him as the current regent, and she’d have to become used to seeing him in them.
Knowing Jamison’s history meant he knew the history of his chubby little sister, too. Jay always referred to her as the world’s biggest introvert. A homebody who considered a trip to the library or bookstore to be her portal to all things exotic. Anyone would be leery of traveling to a country so recently out of a civil war, but someone who never traveled—not even on the best of circumstances—compounded the size of the favor he’d owe her for agreeing to come such a long way to help him out.
It was late so he skipped the tie—he wanted familiarity, not formality. Just to be courteous.
The other courteous thing would’ve been to send one of the family jets to retrieve her, at least then she would’ve arrived sooner and had an easier journey, but that would’ve just triggered questions from his elder brother. Malik always had questions. The sort of questions Khalil had no desire to answer. And if things worked out with Adalyn, questions he’d never have to answer.
He stepped through the door to the adjoining room where she’d been settled, and froze in his tracks. Her back was to him, all supple skin on display, so pale he’d swear she’d never even heard of the sun. The only thing covering her was a scrap of white cotton panties stretched over the plump little cheeks on display as she bent over the bed and dug around in the suitcase for clothes.
She’d had the same idea to change.
She just hadn’t been as quick about it as he had.
She really wasn’t the chubby little girl he’d seen in pictures …
Khalil’s mouth watered so sharply that his jaw ached.
He swallowed, shocked by the pang of want that shot through him.
Smooth, slender and curved … she looked like a cool, life-giving oasis in a barren landscape.
Not yet aware that he’d entered, she continued by straightening with another scrap of white cotton she shook out and pulled over her head.
Khalil closed his eyes, a baby first step that allowed him a small measure of control of his body, control he needed to force a half turn away from her. When he knew he’d be facing the wall, he opened his eyes again, but he could still see her in his peripheral vision.
Damn.
He closed them again. It was either that or give in to the powerful urge to look. Clearing his throat was the best warning he could think of to soften the surprise of his arrival. “I apologize, I should’ve knocked.”
She squawked and then there was a thump, along with some other commotion he couldn’t identify. If it had taken effort to look away, it took even more not to look back.
“Should I come back?” he asked, because he had to do something …
“Yes!” The word erupted from her and set him in motion. As he reached for the door, a more tentative babble came from behind him, “No, wait. You can stay, just don’t turn around for a minute.”
She muttered something beneath her breath, disgruntled words he couldn’t make out. If she was anything like her brother, those words wouldn’t be fit for company anyway.
Khalil stayed in place and stared hard at the carved wooden door.
Count the lines in the wood grain.
Don’t think of the mostly nude woman behind him.
And for God’s sake, don’t look.
He lost track of the lines and had to start again. Keeping control of his mind and actions was easier when he wasn’t tired, but he’d been in the palace for nearly a week this time around … Tired wasn’t a strong enough word for what he was—he was exhausted in a way that even heart-accelerating doses of caffeine couldn’t help.
“You can turn around. I guess I’m decent.” She didn’t sound at all certain.
When he turned back, it was to overly bright eyes and pink cheeks. He locked his gaze to hers in another effort to exert control over his baser impulses. “You don’t look like your picture …” Which was not the way he’d intended to start this conversation.
“Sorry.”
Why was she apologizing? He was the one who’d barged in.
She tugged at the bottom hem of her short dressing robe, the fidgeting making clear her response: sorry was a verbal fidget.
In the picture he’d seen, she’d been at least thirty pounds heavier and the victim of an unfortunate complexion issue. She’d worn glasses and had kept her hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. She’d