by Leslie North
Another two hours, and Tess stood in Tarek's outer office, waiting for his assistant to announce her. The secretary—or whatever he was—had to be forty if he was a day and looked vaguely disconcerted to be dealing with her. Maybe that was because of her nationality or her sex, or because she was Tess Angel. She didn't know. He spoke Arabic into the phone, and Tess caught her name somewhere in the middle. A moment later, he stood and opened one of the heavy, dark inner doors.
She stepped through.
Tarek's inner sanctum seemed all dark, elegantly carved wood. It looked a lot more modern than the rest of the palace. Bookcases, desk, chairs, and a conference table filled the space. A thick rug with a gold and blue medallion design covered the floor. The gurgle of water drew her attention to the right, and she discovered a small blue-and-white-mosaic fountain. A bookcase covered the wall behind Tarek. He looked up from his computer screen.
Tess slid a sheet of paper across his pristine desk. How does he get any work done with such a clean desk? Her own back home was carefully balanced chaos.
"What's this?" he asked.
"The first draft of a compromise. Signed by everyone at the table. At least that's what they told me. I don't read Arabic."
He studied it, his eyebrows flattening. "This pay raise will bankrupt the country."
"Nope. Read on. It's offset by two things: a visitor tax and a road improvement tax that'll come from imported luxury goods. The higher income for the workers means they have more to spend, or so your ministers conceded. They're the ones who worked out this deal. I was just there to be the alien in the middle, making them think they'd better get their act together. The part you're not going to like is that the workers also want more say in the government."
He glanced at the page again. "Representative government? That's working so well for your country right now?"
Tess crossed her arms. "From what your guys are saying, the younger generation needs to know they've got skin in the game. Meaning they need a seat at the table and you're going to have to do something. Stubborn resistance to change has brought down petty tyrants throughout history."
He stood and leaned his palms on the desk. "Petty tyrant—is that what you think I am?" His dark eyes flashed with specks of fire. Tess caught her breath and flushed hot. She wasn't sure any longer how much of that glint in his eyes was anger and how much something else.
"Tarek…?" She took a step back. "I brought you the deal your guys worked on."
He circled his desk and stalked toward her. She took another step back, and another, bumping her back against the wall, and she couldn't look away from him. He bracketed her body with one arm on either side and leaned in so close she could smell his scent, so familiar to her now.
"Petty tyrant," he said again softly. "I believe the palace still has a dungeon. Shall we go look, so I can show you exactly what a petty tyrant I can be?"
The image flashed in her head of herself naked in chains and Tarek standing over her, chest bare and a smile curving his lips.
God help her, she almost said yes to that.
Bad, terrible, horrible idea, Tess.
He was about to kiss her. And he looked angry about it. Lord, she wanted him again, but not like that.
She ducked under Tarek's arm and made a break for the door. "I have other things to do. I need to visit Phil this afternoon." She put her hand on the knob and paused. "I'm not telling you how to run anything, sheikh. You're the one who wanted to get your guys talking and get something done. Well, you got that. Now it's up to you. You know in your gut this is a good deal."
He waved her away and went back to his chair. "We’ll see about that. No one can rule well based on gut reactions. Every move has to be backed up with analysis and facts. Your instincts don’t hold much sway here, Tess Angel."
"My instincts have never led me wrong. You might try it sometime." She ducked out before he could answer—or come after her again.
And I am done trying to help out here.
Chapter Six
Tarek wished his office was soundproof so he could let out the roar of frustration that had built up during his conversation with Tess. He didn't know which was driving him crazier—her criticisms, that she might be right, or the way her passion had made her light up. Had lit him up. Just as it had last night.
He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face.
He'd lost complete control of his words with that nonsense about the dungeon. But she'd been about to say yes to his offer to put her in chains and utterly in his power. He would bet his life on that. And wasn't that a delicious thought—Tess tied not to a stone wall, but to a bed and unable to do more than cry out for his mercy as he tormented her with teasing kisses and by trailing his fingers over her smooth skin.
If she hadn’t dodged, he would have tasted her again, devoured her. Put all his pent up desire and frustration into kissing her. Against all logic and sense. She was dangerous, and he doubted she realized how she threatened to upend everything he believed in.
He shifted in his chair to ease the erection straining at his trouser fly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten so hard so fast. Or the last time someone had spoken to him the way she had, as an equal and as someone who owed and expected nothing but honesty. Perhaps his grandmother showed wisdom in wishing to keep Tess Angel here.
No…the sooner she leaves, the better.
That thought left him staring at his desk and a frown tight between his brows. Truth was, he did not wish her to go, not even with her charged words, which had a dose of truth in them. He wanted to keep her not only with him, but in his bed. He shoved the thought aside. It had been a mistake last night to allow his impulses to govern him. He would not do so again.
As if to prove it to himself, he turned back to the proposal Tess had brought him.
She was right about one thing—the world had changed, and so must his country, if it was to prosper. The compromise she’d helped form was a good one. He only had to implement it without bankrupting the country before spending could refill the treasury.
He reached for his phone and pressed the intercom button. "Farid, please order my lunch brought to my office today." It was time to set his mind to the task.
Tess leaned her head back against the car's plush leather, her eyelids drooping. She didn't feel as if she'd done enough today to be this tired. But then, only yesterday at this time, she'd been falling into a lake after having survived a plane crash and hiking five miles through the desert. Maybe a battle with a bunch of ministers, an argument with a king, and a visit to the hospital were enough after all.
And Tarek had made sure she hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Lord, the man was good in bed. But that one night was all she would ever have with him, so it was time to start thinking about her own future, not his.
Phil had been awake but woozy from pain medication and Tess had tried to distract him by describing the palace, the difficulties with the airport, and their rescue. She'd called his family and put him on the phone so they'd know he was safe. The twelve-hour time difference meant she woke them up, but they hadn’t seemed to mind once they heard her news. She'd also avoided talking about Tarek. The nurse had finally thrown her out after two hours.
On the ride back to the palace, she woke Julie, her second-in-command at Angel Productions with another phone call. Julie suggested a helicopter to get her to Dubai or Cairo, but Tess declined. She'd promised Phil she'd stay, and she wasn't at all certain she wanted to fly again just yet. At least, that's what she told herself as she turned away from the mental image of Tarek and his burning eyes.
To distract herself after she'd hung up, she looked out the SUV's window. They were passing through the center of the main city, Al Resab. Between the tall buildings, a grassy park—impossibly green—offered up winding sidewalks, a fountain, and what looked like an ancient obelisk. The park seemed unusually full considering it was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. Women sat and stood in groups, and some held signs
with Arabic lettering. The sight wasn't all that unfamiliar—a protest looked about the same in any language. She hadn’t recognized it the night before, but it was clear now.
Leaning forward, she asked the driver, "What are they protesting?"
He shifted in his seat and glanced back as if uncomfortable. Maybe the staff wasn't supposed to fraternize with royal guests. He had to slow to allow a dozen young women to cross the street, all of them wearing jeans and T-shirts and waving cloth banners.
At last he said, his English accented but clear, "The young women want access to more education and jobs and to be permitted to live independently, without a male guardian." After another pause, he added, his voice low, "My sister is there, somewhere."
Tess couldn't read his expression in the rearview mirror, so she asked, "You don't approve?"
He lifted one shoulder and one hand. "My father has disowned her. If the protest is unsuccessful, I don't know where she'll go. He won't allow her to come home, and she's unmarried. In Zahkim, she has no status, and no access even to university housing."
Tess fell back against her seat. She wasn't sure she would risk homelessness in pursuit of her principles. "She's brave. Will you tell her I said so, when you see her?"
"Of course, miss. Thank you."
"Sorry, I should have asked this before, but what's your name?"
"You may call me Dabir, miss."
Traffic eased, and Dabir smoothly accelerated. Now that she had him talking, Tess kept asking questions. Had he gone to college? How long had he been a driver for the sheikh? Where did his family live? It took a good twenty minutes to get him from strained answers to real conversation about the music he liked—he was a fan—and how he was saving both to get married and start his own limo service. She persuaded him to turn the radio on to his favorite station—the one non-government station—so she could listen to the local pop music.
By the time they pulled through the palace gates and wound up the long driveway to the main entrance, Tess was tapping her toes to an infectious beat. She'd have to incorporate this into an album, something world beat, but she didn't want to copy what others had already done.
Stepping out of the SUV and glancing up at the palace walls—all that stone—Tess's shoulders slumped. It was a wonder anyone could manage anything here. She felt tiny and tired and helpless before all the difficulties hiding behind these ornate walls. She found her way to her room, sprawled across the gold-trimmed bedspread and fell asleep.
Hunger woke her.
It was possible that the actual sound of her stomach growling had woken her, she thought, as she lay there listening to the low gurgles. Outside the windows, she could see a blue-black sky speckled with early stars. She must have slept through supper. Sitting up, she glanced down at her rumpled clothes, now twisted around her. She took them off, enjoying the cool air against her skin. If she had planned on going straight back to sleep, she wouldn't have bothered finding something else to put on, but her stomach was insisting on food.
She rummaged through the dresser drawers and found most of her own clothes, cleaned and folded better than she ever managed. Pulling out a T-shirt and a pair of cotton lounge pants, she dragged them on. Now to find some food. She gave some thought to using the phone to call for a tray as Tarek had suggested, but if she could find the room where she'd had breakfast, she could probably find a kitchen from there, right? And she'd love a chance to dig up her own snack.
It took a little more wandering than she'd expected. When she finally pushed through the kitchen door, she fumbled for the light switch and froze when she hit it. The room was huge. Steel counters gleamed in the light. A long island with a butcherblock counter top divided the room. Four stoves, three refrigerators, two walk-in freezers, and walls of cabinets left her blinking.
She'd never find anything in here.
She opened the closest fridge and found jars and bottles labeled in Arabic. The second fridge offered up dairy—butter, yogurt maybe, weird cheeses, milk—goat not cow, judging by the goat on the label. She sighed. Before she could move on to the last fridge, the kitchen door opened behind her. She spun, heart pounding at the prospect of being caught by the chef or another staff member.
Instead, Tarek stepped into the room. Her heart gave a hard thump.
Chapter Seven
For a moment, he had the same deer-in-headlights look on his face she was certain she wore. At the sight of her, he relaxed, though not quite to the point of smiling. A white T-shirt snugged close around his chest, outlining his muscles, reminding her of what lay beneath it, assuring her his body hadn't been a mirage. Tight jeans clung to his long legs. He almost looked like any other man sneaking into the kitchen for a midnight snack. She wanted to run her fingers through his rumpled hair, stroke his beard and soothe that cautious look from his eyes.
She smiled. "Great minds think alike."
"You missed dinner. I was worried." He seemed to be working hard to keep his words and expression as neutral as possible. The urge to upset his plan was almost overwhelming, but she would play along for the moment. Wait to strike until he least expected it.
"I guess the doctor was right about me needing rest. What about you?"
He shrugged and stepped closer to her. "I haven't slept through the night since this strike started."
"'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown?'"
"'What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect that private men enjoy?' to quote another Shakespearian Henry." His mouth twitched into a smile. "It sounds terribly self-pitying, doesn't it? I first read that at university, when I was dreading coming back to assume my position."
Tess waved at the fridges. "Well, I'm glad you couldn't sleep. I was starting to think I'd have to start tasting from random containers to find a snack, since I can't read the labels."
"What would you like?"
"An apple and some peanut butter, but I don't suppose you have those."
He turned to the cupboards and after only two tries, found a jar of her favorite comfort food. The apples, it turned out, were hiding in the third fridge. He tossed her one, and then went back in for something else. She eased past him, letting her hand brush his ass as she went by—just enough so he’d suspect it hadn’t been an accident. He jerked but didn’t comment and came out a moment later with carrots, sugar snap peas, and sweet peppers.
"Knives are in that block on the counter," he directed. Tess selected a paring knife for herself and a larger chef's knife for him.
A few minutes later, they sat across the island from each other. Tess spread a glob of peanut butter across a wedge of apple and crunched into it. Tarek dragged a carrot stick through some kind of white dip.
"I'm surprised you have peanut butter," Tess said.
"My chef must use it for cooking. I don't think he would recognize your snack as food. Whatever made you try that combination?"
"Growing up, it was only Dad and me. He'd take me with him on concert tours. He was a phenomenal musician and managed the business side better than most, but he knew nothing about feeding an eight-year-old. He'd pack all kinds of food on the tour bus, but it was a little hit and miss. So there I was one night—he's playing a sold-out concert in some big arena—and I'm on the bus all by myself, looking for something to eat. He'd packed caviar and olive tapenade and artichokes, none of which had any appeal to me. And apples and peanut butter. So that's what I ate, just like this, one chunk of apple at a time. It's been comfort food ever since."
His thick, black eyebrows rose. "You're in need of comfort?"
Tess sat straighter, licked her lips, and put her hands in her lap. "It's hard for me to apologize, and I think I might need to. I overstepped this morning. I shouldn't have called you a petty tyrant. I can't possibly know what your job is like."
Tarek collected dip on the curled end of a red pepper slice, but he didn't raise it to his mouth. His other hand reached across the island countertop until his fingertips brushed hers. A ripple of warmth washed up her
arm.
"You didn't overstep. I need to apologize, too. I reacted badly. You said things I've needed to hear for a long time, but none of my people can say them directly. My staff would be scandalized even to find me here in the kitchen, tending to my own needs." He moved his hand closer and covered her fingers with his. She flipped her hand over so it lay palm up and hooked her fingers into his. She ran her thumb across his knuckles and was gratified to see the tiniest shiver run through him.
"Tess…"
His eyes were autumn warmth, now, not snapping fire. She wanted to touch his cheek but knew in her gut it was too soon. Instead, she lifted a peanut-butter-slathered apple slice and held it out to him. He bit. Chewed. Tess tried to read his face, but it was a blank slate.
Finally, he swallowed and grimaced. "That's terrible."
Tess burst into laughter. She finished the chunk, not minding the bite he'd taken out, and made a show of smacking her lips. He smiled, shook his head, and offered her the pepper he still hadn't eaten.
She licked her lips, then used the tip of her tongue to swirl around the end of the vegetable. Licking it like an ice cream cone. Or a cock. His eyes darkened, and she smiled, put her mouth around the treat, and slurped off the dip. She could practically hear the fuck that ran through his mind. When she finally took a bite, he shuddered.
"That's delicious," she said. "What is it?"
"You’re killing me, Tess."
She put on her best innocent look and pretended she didn’t know what he meant.
They kept on feeding each other. He ate her apple plain—after one more bite with peanut butter to confirm his distaste—and she ate his veggies and the dip. She only reluctantly reclaimed her hand to slice the apple and spread the peanut butter. They finished and cleaned up together. Tess let her hand wander again as they stood at a sink to wash up.