Annette Blair

by Holy Scoundrel

  "Arcane," he'd said, solemnly.

  "Arcane," Travis had echoed.

  Caleb had nodded.

  "Easy for you to say," he'd muttered, "even if nobody's sure what the hell it really means—unless you're complaining about that title pulling in more babes than any one man can handle."

  It was the truth, but nobody had ever dared be that blunt about it. Nobody was ever blunt, when they dealt with a prince.

  In a heartbeat, his mood had soared from zero to ten.

  "Oh, I can handle them," Khan he'd said, modestly, "but if you guys play your cards right, I might just direct the overflow in your direction."

  The Wildes, good-looking and rich and known for the ease with which they attracted women, had burst out laughing. Khan had, too, and after that, there were no barriers between them. In fact, once they knew how he felt about his string of titles, they only used them when things got slow and they wanted to piss him off.

  The only timeshe used them was when a little show of power was needed, and that wasn't very often.

  Over the years, Khan had developed the ability to control virtually all situations with a look, a word, a natural air of quiet command. He never lost control, not in business, not in politics, not in bed.

  For a man with his responsibilities, control, self-control, was everything.

  And that was precisely why he was so annoyed right now.

  For a man who never lost control, he hadn't done very well tonight.

  The Wildes had thrown a small, very civilized party for him tonight. He should have been inside the house, enjoying it.

  The woman had eliminated that possibility.

  A two minute incident, the kind of thing he'd normally have simply ignored…

  Khan drew a long breath, then expelled it.

  Okay. Maybe his reaction had been understandable. He was tired. . Exhausted, after flying through endless time zones, then spending the day in meetings.

  What he needed was a night's sleep…

  Or perhaps a woman. Sex. The relief of tension that came of spending himself within a warm, willing body…

  An image flashed through his mind. Dark, soft curls. Enormous blue eyes. A full, rose-pink mouth.

  Dammit!

  Why was he thinking about her? He probably wouldn't even have noticed her if Travis hadn't pointed her out.

  They'd been walking him through the huge living room, Travis introducing him to the select group of guests. He'd made small talk with a couple of congressmen, the CEOs of two oil companies, the COO of a third

  Then, Travis had put his hand lightly on his arm.

  "There's someone you need to meet," he'd murmured, jerking his head toward a brunette who'd just come through the door.

  Khan's first reaction was that the woman was striking but not the type he found attractive. Not that it mattered. This was a business event, not a social one. Still, he was male, she was female, and automatic assessments were, he supposed, inevitable.

  She was tall and slender. He liked his women petite and curvy. She wore a severely-tailored suit and—what were shoes like that called? Pumps. That was it. The other women were all wearing silk dresses and delicate sandals. The only outstanding things about her were that the suit was expensive and the shoes had skinny heels high enough to make her already long legs look even longer.

  "Who is she?" he'd asked, as Travis led him toward her.

  "Her name is Laurel Cruz. She's an associate at Maxwell and Mayberry. Big law firm—the 'Maxwell' is Senator Joseph Maxwell. He's been out of D.C. for a few years but he's still got the right contacts, and Laurel's his right-hand man."

  By then, they'd reached her.

  "Right-hand woman," she'd said, with not even a trace of humor.

  Travis had grinned, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek.

  "Uh oh," he'd said lightly. "Rough day in the legal trenches?"

  "Most of them are rough," Laurel Cruz had replied, shifting her gaze to Khan, appraising him with cool blue eyes.

  "Laurel, I'd like to introduce you to our guest of honor—"

  "Khan al Hassad. Yes. I know who he is."

  That was how it had all started. The way she'd spoken, not to him but about him, as if he weren't even there. The disdain in her voice. Her deliberate avoidance of his title—and why in hell that she had bothered him, given his own feelings about titles…

  He'd felt his belly knot.

  The woman disliked him.

  He had no idea why and, frankly, he didn't much care. He had only to remain polite. He was here as his country's representative, and he was well-schooled in diplomacy.

  Smiling, showing nothing of his feelings, he'd extended his hand.

  "Miss Cruz. It's a pleasure to—"

  "It'sMs. Cruz, and if you want to meet with the senator, I suggest you phone our office for an appointment."

  Khan had held the smile, but with some effort.

  "Pardon me?"

  "You're here on oil business."

  "I am, yes."

  "Surely you want help from our satellites, perhaps access to our seismic technology, and the senator has friends in high places."

  Khan's smile had vanished. "I'm afraid you've jumped to conclusions, Ms. Cruz. I am not interested in help from the senator or his friends. I've come to discuss Altara's oil development plans with those best suited to advise me."

  "I must admit, I'm surprised by your willingness to admit you need advice from anyone."

  "Laurel," Travis had said in a low voice, "the prince is my guest."

  "Of course." Her smile had been saccharine-sweet. "But aren't we all supposed to address him as 'king'?"

  "Try speaking directly to me," Khan had said coldly. "You'll get better answers."

  "I doubt that."

  Travis had groaned. "I'm sorry, man. I don't know what—"

  "Don't apologize on Ms. Cruz's behalf, Travis." Khan's eyes had narrowed to icy slits. "And don't try to silence her. I'm fascinated. She is obviously a woman with strong opinions."

  "And you're not accustomed to women with opinions," "Laurel Cruz had said, her eyes as cold as his, "or, at least, to hearing those opinions expressed.

  Another time, he might have laughed.

  His newly-appointed Minister of Education was a woman. His personal assistant, who was privy to all the secrets of running the kingdom, was a woman. He was about to appoint a woman to head up the newly-instituted Ministry of Health.

  "How nice," he said, with a twist of his lips that bore little resemblance to a smile, "that you are so well-informed."

  Travis had cleared his throat.

  "Listen," he'd said briskly, "I hate to break this up but—"

  ""Women like mearewell-informed. And that's going to be the eventual end of you and men like you."

  "Jesus, Laurel," Travis had hissed, "what's the matter with you?"

  "Nothing's the matter with me," Laurel Cruz had snapped. "I'm simply making the most of an opportunity to ask questions."

  "I have not heard a question yet," Khan had growled.

  "Well, here's one. Do you ever think about the people who grovel before you, Mr. al Hassad? Probably not—but if you do, have you ever wondered if they do it out of choice—or because it is what you and your kind expect?"

  Khan had felt a vein in his temple start to throb.

  "And what, exactly, is 'my kind,' Ms. Cruz?"

  "You expect subservience," she'd said, answering her own question instead of his, her chin lifted, her eyes shot with cold fire. "Blind obedience. Being treated as if you own the world, especially by women. Men like you, Mr. al Hassad, are barbarians!"

  By then, she'd been breathing hard. Khan had barely been breathing at all. What he'd been was half-crazed with rage.

  He'd taken a step forward. She'd taken a step back. As far as he was concerned, that was the first good thing that had happened since Travis had made the mistake of introducing them.

  "I am addressed as Prince Khan," he'd said,
his voice low and hard. "Or as Your Highness. And if we should ever have the misfortune to see each other again, you will also remember that you are to show me the respect I am due." One step more and his body brushed hers. Despite his anger, he felt the fullness of her breasts, smelled the light floral scent of her hair. That he was aware of her as a woman drove his rage even higher. "If we were in my country, you would do those things on pain of death—and what a pity it is we are not."

  The still-functioning part of his mind had wanted to laugh at the stupid, cheesy lies—but when the color drained from her face, he'd felt a kind of bitter triumph. He knew she was trying to come up with some kind of response, but she failed.

  It was time to walk away.

  "My regards to the senator," he'd said, and he'd moved past her, through the remaining knot of guests, and stepped through the open French doors to the patio.

  Travis had come after him.

  "Khan. I'm sorry about that."

  "Forget it."

  "You're our friend. Our guest. And Laurel—"

  Khan had whirled toward him.

  "What was that all about?"

  "Well, she's an attorney. A hotshot attorney. And—"

  "And, what does that have to do with anything?"

  "She's into human rights. Women's rights. Maybe you read about an incident here a year or so back. A bunch of cretins who'd come here from a place nobody could pronounce or find on a map, raped a woman. A girl, really. She was, I don't know, fifteen, sixteen. Anyway, she was a bloodied, beaten mess. Somehow, she got home to her folks—and her brothers killed her because they said her rape had dishonored the family."

  "And?" Khan said coldly. "I am responsible for this?"

  "No, of course not. See, while Laurel was in law school, she worked with the Justice Project. They're the ones who try to get—"

  "I know what they do," Khan said impatiently. "They work to set aside the sentences of those who've been wrongly imprisoned."

  "Yeah. Well, Laurel started up something similar, except her idea was to get justice for victims like this poor girl."

  "I can almost hear you saying 'but.'"

  "But," Travis said, "there was some kind of hush-hush diplomatic intervention in Washington, way up the food chain, on behalf of a couple of small, wealthy, oil-rich countries. Laurel's funding was shut down; the couple of D.C. politicos who'd shown an interest in what she was doing suddenly went deaf, dumb, and blind—"

  "In other words, yes, Iamresponsible because I am from a small, wealthy, oil-rich country."

  "No!" Travis threw out his hands. "All I'm saying is, if you try to see this from Laurel's side of the fence—"

  "Am I the ruler of some hellish piece of earth whose name nobody can pronounce?" Khan had said in white-lipped fury. "Does my nation treat women that way? Do I have anything to do with such barbarism?"

  "Of course not. But—"

  Khan had raised his hand. "Travis. It wasn't your fault. Let's drop it."

  "Sure," Travis had said, after a long, deep breath. "Okay. We'll drop it. Come back inside. Have a drink. Let me introduce you to some other people."

  "In a minute."

  Travis had started to say something. Then he'd shrugged, clapped a hand on Khan's shoulder, and gone back inside the house.

  Twenty minutes, perhaps more, had gone by, and he was still on the patio, anger burning a hole in his gut.

  He hated what had just happened.

  And hated that it had happened before.

  Not the same sort of accusation, no, but he'd been judged by outsiders who didn't know him or his nation or his people. He'd been spoken of as if he were a medieval monster.

  And yes, he knew there were places were women were still thought of as property, treated as second-class citizens, that though his father had never physically abused his mother, the way autocratic way he'd dealt with her might well be the reason she'd run away and died in the sudden sandstorm that had sent her car spinning, finally burying it in the ever-shifting, endless sands of the desert…

  What was he doing?

  So what if Laurel Cruz thought she knew all there was to know about him? So what if she believed his cultural beliefs were those of a barbarian?

  The only barbaric thing about him was that a few minutes ago, he'd thought of her and sex in the same instant, but what could you expect of a man who'd been going, nonstop, for God knew how many hours?

  Exhaustion was equally barbaric.

  He needed some rest. A long, hot shower instead of the quick under-the-spray, out-of-the-spray thing that had been all he'd had time for in the bathroom on his private plane. He needed some time alone where he could be himself, not a man cursed with a hatful of titles.

  He took a deep breath. Ran a hand through his hair. Straightened his maroon silk tie, his dark blue Savile Row suit jacket.

  Good. Excellent. He was much calmer now.

  All he lacked was a smile, and he managed that just as he walked into the living room. Caleb, Jake and Travis were waiting, looking as if they were ready to pick up the pieces.

  "Khan?" Jake said. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine."

  "You sure? Because we can end everybody home—"

  "No. Why would you do that?" He glanced around him. Excellent. No one was looking at him, which surely meant that no one had noticed the little scene that had taken place earlier. And Laurel Cruz was gone. That was even better. "Give me a minute to wash up. Then I want to meet the rest of your guests."

  "Sure. The downstairs lav is—"

  "I remember where it is." Khan clapped Jake on the back, flashed smiles at Travis and Caleb. "I'll be right back."

  What he needed was to splash his face with cold water, because he wasn't quite as calm as he'd insisted. If he were, he wouldn't have found himself looking for the Cruz woman…

  And there she was, in the foyer, standing with her back to him as she put on a tan leather jacket.

  Did she somehow sense his presence? She must have, because she went still. Then, slowly, she swung around and looked at him.

  Her eyes widened.

  Just for an instant, she looked wary.

  Then she clutched the edges of her lapels. Her chin rose, her gaze zeroed in on his. It was a combative stance, and she erased any doubt when she flashed him a smile filled with contempt.

  He could almost feel his blood pressure climb for the sky.

  To hell with this, he thought grimly, and started toward her.

  It was sheer pleasure to see that look of contempt change to one of fear. She was a woman with foolish opinions, he thought grimly, but she was not a fool.

  She swung away from him, went quickly to the massive front door, opened it, and stepped out into the night.

  Khan followed her.

  She was heading for a red Honda parked in the gravel driveway. By now, she was damn near running but he was bigger, stronger and faster.

  It was no contest.

  He reached the Honda with seconds to spare.

  "You were right," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

  "Get out of my way!"

  "Don't you want to know what you were right about?"

  She reached in her pocket, took out her keys, started to point them at the car. Khan plucked them from her hand.

  "You said I always get what I want. Then you called me a barbarian."

  She started past him, back toward the house. He grabbed her by the shoulders.

  "Let go of me," she gasped. "Let go, damn you, or I'll—"

  "And what I want right now," he said, "is this."

  Laurel read what he was going to do in his eyes, in the way his muscles tensed, in the way he looked at her mouth.

  Then he lowered his head to hers.

  Terror sent her heart racing.

  "No!"

  He laughed. She pushed against his chest, tried to twist her face away, but it was useless. He thrust one hand into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and it was all over.

 
; The best she could do was steel herself for his kiss, meant to punish. To subdue. To reinforce what she already knew about men like him, that he didn't give a damn for anyone but himself and the few exalted souls he considered his equals.

  She tensed, waited for his mouth to assault hers.

  Wrong.

  He brushed his lips over hers, did it again, then settled his mouth against hers in a kiss that was gentle and soft.

  He slid his hand down her spine, drew her against him, lifted her into him. And he went on kissing her, kissing her until a breathless little sound escaped her throat, until she felt her lips soften, mold against his, part under his…

  That was when he put her from him.

  She blinked. And found herself staring up into eyes the frigid green of a winter sea.

  "Possessed by a barbarian," he said in a low voice. "What a hell of a fate to suffer."

  She wanted to say something witty or, at least, insulting. She couldn't. Her mind was a blank. All she could do was watch the Prince of Altara stride past her, get behind the wheel of a black Land Rover, and gun the engine to life.

  The Rover sped off, leaving a spray of gravel in its wake.

  THE BEGINNING

  EXCERPT

  Bluegrass State of Mind

  Kathleen Brooks

  A Bluegrass Series Novel

  PROLOGUE

  Her bare feet pounded down the concrete stairs. Her panty hose were ripped from snagging the cold metal strips on the edge of each stair. Her feet stung with every step she took. She heard the door above her open. She pushed herself faster. She couldn’t let him catch her.

  She jumped the last stair on the sixth floor, the impact of the jump reverberating up her body. She felt as though she had stopped breathing two floors ago. Her lungs burned as she forced her legs to move faster. Her hand was sliding along the railing to brace herself as she raced down the stairs at breakneck speed.

  She heard him yell her name. She turned around to see he was now just one floor away. The look cost her dearly as she missed a step and had to slow down to steady herself.

  Her heart beat in turn with each slap of her foot. Faster. Louder. She just had to make it to the garage. He would kill her if she didn’t. He called her name again as if she were a disobedient child. He was taunting her, triggering her fear. Her heart felt as if it would explode as she ran faster and faster down the stairs.