“Tiger?” Abernathy asked in bewilderment.
El Kabbar made an impatient motion with his hand. “Never mind, it’s a long story. Just see that she’s protected. I also want a complete dossier drawn up on her, down to the brand of toothpaste she’s using at present.”
“How soon do you want it?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.” He ignored the other man’s stifled exclamation. “Did you say she’s playing in San Francisco day after tomorrow?”
“According to the list of concert dates in the magazine. It’s the last concert on the tour.”
“I have some loose ends to tie up here, but I should be able to get away by tomorrow morning. Have your man report to me at the Fairmont tomorrow afternoon at five.”
“They might not be able to complete a dossier that quickly.”
“They’ll do it,” El Kabbar said grimly. “They’ve been milking me for the last six years—it’s time they produced. I’m extremely displeased with them.”
Abernathy swallowed nervously and stood up. “I must get back to the office and make a few telephone calls. Do you have any further instructions?”
“That’s all.” Then, as Abernathy started for the door, he added, “No, wait. Find a way of contacting Mrs. Zilah Seifert. I believe she and Daniel are cruising in the Caribbean on their yacht Windsong.” He smiled sardonically. “Let her know the lost lamb has been found. She has a peculiar fondness for this particular lamb.”
Abernathy nodded briskly. “I’ll see to it. If there are any problems, I’ll phone you in San Francisco. Good day, Sheikh El Kabbar.” He strode hurriedly toward the door. This time he was allowed to leave and he closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief.
It was foolish to be nervous around the man after so many years in his service, but the sheikh could be a very intimidating man. Abernathy wouldn’t like to be in the detective’s shoes if he didn’t come through with that dossier on schedule. For that matter, he wouldn’t want to be in Pandora Madchen’s place either. The sheikh’s emotions were exceptionally strong and volatile where she was concerned. Personally, he found it much more comfortable to be ignored by the man except when needed.
Philip leaned back in the chair, his eyes going compulsively to the magazine he’d thrown so carelessly on the desk. Lord, she was beautiful now. Even in that grotesque wig she shimmered with allure. But then, he had known she would be beautiful eventually because as a child she had possessed an enchanting grace and loveliness. Strange that he hadn’t noticed it more often when she had tagged around after him like an eager little puppy. He supposed he’d always been vaguely conscious of that glowing promise, but it had been all but obscured by her fire and intensity. He wondered cynically if that intensity was still as strong. Perhaps she had found, like most beautiful women, that society requires nothing more of her than a tempting body and an accommodating nature.
For some reason that thought sent a surge of rage through him, and he reached impulsively for the jeweler’s box on the far side of the desk. He flipped it open and stared down at the medallion, trying to subdue his anger.
He had given her the medallion to safeguard her when she was a child running wild around the village and encountering danger at every turn. Everyone recognized the rose and sword as the in signia of his house, and it had placed her automatically under his protection and possession. She had accepted the fact that she belonged to him. She knew he didn’t give up what was his. Not ever. Yet she had returned the medallion without even the courtesy of a note. What the devil did she mean by that gesture?
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he reached out to touch the gold of the rose. With the Pandora he had known six years ago, he would have been able to guess. Sometimes he had felt so close to her, he could almost read her thoughts. Now he couldn’t be sure. Beauty had a way of corrupting anything it touched, and Pandora had lived with the knowledge of her own exceptional beauty for years now. Perhaps she had changed.
If that was the case, her sending the medallion could mean any number of things. Invitation, rejection, reconciliation.
Of course she had changed. Everyone changed with time and experience. And the Pandora who was smiling out of the picture with such smoldering sensuality had obviously gained a lot of experience along the way.
Well, he’d find out how those changes would affect him very soon. Because, even if she didn’t realize it, she still belonged to him. He had only to decide in what capacity.
TWO
THE RECTANGULAR JEWELER’S box was lying on her vanity table when she walked into her dressing room after rehearsal the next evening.
Pandora recognized it at once, and for a moment the breath stopped in her lungs. So soon? Philip never hesitated once a decision was made. She had known he’d react at once—she’d even counted on it. Still she was stunned. She walked slowly across the room and flipped open the lid of the box, already knowing what she’d find there. There was a small card lying on top of the medallion. Her hands were shaking as she picked it up and read the bold script.
“It’s not that easy. There’s a car waiting in the alley outside the stage door. Don’t keep me waiting.”
No signature. There was no need for one. Both the tone and the handwriting itself were poignantly familiar. It’s not that easy. She would have laughed aloud if she hadn’t been afraid she would burst into tears. There was nothing easy about this situation. She had never been so frightened in her life. Yet beneath that fear was an exuberant joy that was growing with every second. She was going to see him. Dear, sweet heaven, after six years without him she was going to see him again!
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She mustn’t get so excited. She had to convince Philip she was as sophisticated and blasé as the other women he took to his bed.
She’d be fine in another moment. She had learned to disguise her feelings in the past two years. She would be able to fool Philip if the masquerade didn’t last too long. She would have to accomplish her purpose quickly.
She opened her eyes. Her reflection in the lighted vanity mirror was not reassuring. Her dark eyes were enormous in her white face. What if Philip didn’t think she was even pretty? Other people seemed to, but beauty was a matter of taste. She felt panic rise in her. What if—No, she wouldn’t let herself have these doubts. Move. Philip was waiting. The game was about to start. She wished she hadn’t thought of that. She had always been too impatient to be any good at games. Philip was the one who excelled at them.
She unpinned her wig, threw it on the vanity, and took off the nylon wig cap. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders in a silver cloud. That was better. She must concentrate on being alluring and block out all those doubts. She turned and strode hurriedly toward the tiny adjoining bathroom.
Thirty minutes later she stood before the mirror again, gazing at herself critically. The makeup was just right, enough to accentuate her features and give her an air of sophistication, but not enough to look cheap. The square neckline of the black velvet gown she was wearing was so low that it barely covered the tips of the breasts swelling from its soft folds. Too sexy? It was a little obvious, but there was no way it could be too sexy for what she had in mind. She turned away from the mirror before any more doubts could weaken her resolve and walked quickly from the dressing room.
In a short time she was standing before the door of Philip’s suite at the Fairmont. The door swung open at her first knock. He was dressed in white slacks and a collarless shirt in a forest green shade that turned his eyes to deep turquoise. He was just the same: the high cheekbones, the sensual mouth, the tanned hardness of his lean, tough physique. The air of leashed power that surrounded him was the same as well. She felt a curl of excitement in the pit of her stomach and had to stifle the impulse to walk into his arms and nestle there. Home. She was home again.
“That orange monstrosity is a wig, thank God. Abernathy was wondering if you’d dyed your hair,” Philip said tersely. “At least you look civilized.” His glance t
ouched on her creamy breasts. “If not precisely modest.”
“Am I allowed to come in, or would you like me to stand out here so that you can continue tearing my appearance to shreds?” Her voice was light and mocking. She only hoped her expression was equally composed. “Hello, Philip. It’s good to see you again.”
“Come in.” He turned away. He was angry. Six years ago that fact would have devastated her and it disturbed her even now. “And while you’re at it you can dispense with the polite chitchat. If you were so happy to see me, it wouldn’t have taken you six years to renew our acquaintance.”
“There were reasons.” She followed him into the room and closed the door. She laid her black evening bag on the low chest to the left of the door and smiled sweetly at him. “Isn’t it enough that I’m here now? I may have been a little slow, but I did contact you eventually.”
“No, it’s not enough.” He crossed the room and dropped into the cane chair by the window. “And what the devil did you mean by sending me the medallion? I don’t take back that particular emblem. You know that. It’s not just a pretty piece of jewelry.”
She nodded serenely. “Yes, I know. That’s the reason I returned it. We both know it’s a symbol of possession. I found I didn’t like the idea of being owned.” She shook her head reprovingly. “Really, Philip, the system you have in Sedikhan is feudal. I wonder that I didn’t object before to wearing it like a meek little vassal.”
“The vassalage system evolved because it was beneficial to both parties. It provided service to one and protection to the other.” His lips tightened grimly. “I don’t recall that you objected to being under my protection when it suited you.”
“But that was because I was a child.” She smiled again. “I understand the barter system much better now.”
His eyes narrowed. “Was that supposed to be loaded with implications? Don’t try to be subtle, Pandora. You never were able to pull it off.” There was a quick leap of anger in his eyes. “You never used to want to play word games.”
“I never was capable of it. There’s a difference.”
He studied her for a long moment. “You’ve changed,” he said slowly.
“I’ve grown up. We all do eventually.”
“Let’s find out just how much you’ve changed.” He held out his hand. “Come here and let me look at you.”
She felt her heart give a little jerk. She only hoped her reaction hadn’t shown in her face. She moved forward, swaying with deliberate grace. She felt a little shock as she slipped her hand into his. “I hope you think I’ve improved,” she said lightly. “That little scarecrow had a long way to go.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled. “I had a certain fondness for that scarecrow.” He pulled downward with sudden force, and she found herself on her knees before his chair, looking up at him with startled eyes. His gaze was suddenly on the lush cleavage revealed by the low neck of her gown. “Though I can see a couple of advantages to the new you.”
She wouldn’t blush. “I’m glad. I suppose old habits are hard to break.” She met his eyes. “I still want to please you.”
His thumb began tracing a lazy pattern on the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist. “That’s not an old habit, that’s a new development. I don’t recall your ever caring whether I was pleased or not.”
Her lashes lowered. “I cared.” Oh Lord, how she’d cared.
There was a sudden note of anger in his voice. “Look at me, dammit. You remind me of a blasted Khadim.”
She kept her eyes fixed on the middle button of his shirt. “But you like Khadims.” Her tone was gently teasing. “I remember that very well. There was always one on the horizon or one disappearing into the sunset. From what I read in the newspapers, you still use their services or that of their Western counterparts. Some of them are very lovely. Am I as pretty as they?”
His thumb abruptly ceased its movement on her wrist. “Are you inviting comparisons?”
She didn’t answer. Her throat was so tight she didn’t think she could speak.
“I take it silence is assent?” His voice was no longer curt, but a silky drawl. “That puts a different light on our little meeting. Interesting. But then you were always that, Pandora.” He released her wrist and leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t you get up and go sit on that couch across the room? I think putting a distance between us would be a good idea at the moment. A proposition like that has a distinct physical effect on a man that tends to cloud his judgment. I believe we need to resolve a few points before we take up the issue you’ve raised.”
“If you like.” She stood and crossed the room. “Though I’d have thought you would be accustomed to this sort of thing.” She sat down on the couch and gave him a brilliant smile. “It’s not as if I’m asking for any kind of commitment from you. We’re both adults and know what we want.”
“Do we?” He smiled cynically. “I know what I want. I’ve known since you walked into the room, but I’m not sure I know what you want.” He paused. “Are you going to tell me why you ran away six years ago?”
She shrugged. “I left a note.”
His lips tightened. “A note that contained two sentences: ‘Don’t look for me. I’ll come back only when I’m ready.’ Very melodramatic. Didn’t it occur to you that it was also a little inconsiderate?”
For a moment her control broke. “No more than it did to you when you sent me away,” she said fiercely. “I told you I didn’t want to go. You wouldn’t listen to me. I told you—” She broke off. “But that’s all in the past. It’s not important now.”
His lips curved in a curious smile. “For a moment there I thought it did matter to you,” he said softly. “My mistake.” He stretched his legs out before him with the deceptively lazy grace of a stalking cat. “So what have you been doing all these years?”
She glanced away. “Nothing much. I had a few jobs. I managed to survive.”
“You don’t intend to confide in me?” He clucked reprovingly. “And we’re such old friends, Pandora.”
“It’s not very interesting. I wouldn’t want to bore you.”
“On the contrary, I’d be very interested.” He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “All right, let’s move on to more recent history. Let’s talk about Luis Estavas.”
Her eyes widened. “Luis? But how—”
“Or perhaps you’d like to tell me about your weekend with that Texas millionaire, Ben Danford.” His expression hardened. “Or your current live-in companion, Neal Sabine.”
“You’ve had me investigated,” she said, her eyes wide with incredulity.
“You’re damn right I did,” he said harshly. “You stole those six years from me. I had a right to know who you were spending them with.”
“Stole!” She shook her head. “You’re impossible. Those were my years, my life, not yours.” She was so indignant that for a moment she didn’t realize what a lucky break this was. Philip had done her work for her. She wouldn’t have to drop any subtle hints about her shady past or dangle poor Neal in front of him. She was already established as a woman of the world thanks to Philip’s possessiveness. She tried to hide her relief beneath a careless laugh. “My men friends have been delightfully amusing.” She paused. “And quite protective. Life can be difficult for a woman on her own.”
“Financially?” He lifted a brow. “I understood rock stars made exceptionally good money.”
“They do while they last.” She made a face. “And good musicians can have lasting and lucrative careers. Unfortunately, I seem to spend money as quickly as I make it.” She touched the velvet of her gown. “I like pretty things, and I have no illusions about my talent. I have a good, strong pair of lungs, style, and a body that’s appealing enough in the scanty costumes Neal dresses me in. I’ll coast along another year or so, but in the end I’ll be replaced by a new craze.”
“Still, you’re very watchable. I think I might like to see you perform.”
She tried to hide the
sudden alarm she was feeling. He mustn’t do that. She revealed too much of herself when she was on stage. “You don’t like rock, and I’m hardly good enough to change your mind. You’d be disappointed.”
“You’re very realistic.”
“The life I’ve lived hasn’t encouraged anything else. I’ve learned to look for certain”—she paused delicately—“rewards in my relationships.” She gave him the smoldering look Neal had taught her for publicity photos. She did it very well by now. “That’s the real reason I sent you the medallion. I thought we might come to an arrangement. You’ve always been very generous to women who please you.”
His face was impassive. “You know I don’t indulge in permanent associations. You were streetwise even as a child, and I never tried to hide my relationships from you. I haven’t changed.”
She laughed. “Does that report from your detective agency indicate that I’m looking for commitment?” She shook her head. “Permanency doesn’t have any appeal for me either. It just so happens I have a three-month break after the concert tomorrow night and I thought we might spend it together.”
His face was watchful. “Let’s be very clear, shall we? You’re offering to become my mistress for the next three months, with no strings attached, in exchange for my”—his lips curved in a mirthless smile—“generosity?”
Her throat was dry. “Yes. Does the idea appeal to you?”
“Oh yes, it appeals to me. You’re a very beautiful woman, and I’ve always liked a businesslike approach in my Khadims.”
Khadim. There was no special emphasis on the word, yet it cut like a knife. She held her smile in place with an effort. “I remember that. Then are we in agreement?”
“Perhaps.” His expression was intent. “There’s something about your very tempting offer that makes me vaguely uneasy.”
“Uneasy?”
“Perhaps it’s my pride smarting. Maybe I enjoy having a woman put up at least a pretense of desiring me before the negotiations start.”
And the Desert Blooms Page 2