by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
Nawar, the Malounian woman Yusuf Rahman employed, was accustomed to preparing traditional meals. She had done so tonight. Her fresh-baked pita bread was always wonderful, and there was a generous plateful of it on the table tonight.
Elena didn't eat many meals at her father's house. Their contact, always just a little bit strained, was confined to the office these days. They both seemed to be more comfortable with their professional relationship than their personal one.
Yusuf Rahman was a stern father, and in the past several years he spent less and less time at the Rahman Oil refinery. But he knew the business, and so did Hassan. The three of them talked business over lamb, cucumber salad and stuffed grape leaves.
Elena knew her father had no tender feelings for the Royal family of Tamir, but he hid his sentiments well tonight, and was gracious and cordial.
Even though he sat directly across the table from her, Elena didn't look at Hassan any more than she had to. The words he'd spoken when he'd pulled into the service station stayed with her. My woman. Never before. Not about this. That last statement was almost an admission of dishonesty, one she didn't care to dwell on, at the moment.
Hassan didn't look at her often, either. And the glances he cut in her direction were quick, almost furtive. There were times he seemed dismissive. Was this condescending attitude all for her father's sake?
When the meal was finished, Yusuf offered tea and cigarettes. Hassan accepted the offer of tea and passed on the cigarettes, thank goodness, as they made their way down the wide hallway to the study.
Like the rest of the house, Yusuf Rahman's study was perfectly ordered and suitably cold. His desk was massive, his chair and the sofa against one wall covered in the finest leather. The books on the bookshelf behind his desk were eclectic. There were industry manuals, of course, as well as history books and biographies and a small collection of poetry in Arabic.
Nawar carried the tea and three cups in on a silver tray, and Yusuf dismissed the servant and said that his daughter would pour. Elena did so, not looking up as she filled the three delicate cups.
"Mr. Rahman," Hassan said as Elena did her duty as hostess. "Could you direct me to the washroom?"
"Down the hall back toward the dining room. Second door on the left."
Hassan nodded and exited the room, and before the door had closed behind their guest, Elena's father turned on her. "If only you could find yourself a man like that one."
"What?" she asked, jerking her head up and splashing tea onto the silver tray. "You've always said terrible things about the Tamiri."
He waved off her objection with an impatient hand. "I didn't say Sheik Hassan was the man for you, I said you should find someone like him. A traditional man. An Arab whose values are conservative. A..."
"A man who thinks of me as only a woman," she interrupted sharply, handing her father his cup of tea. "Hassan Kamal is a chauvinistic, antiquated..." she practically sputtered as she searched for the right word. "Man," she finally finished. And I adore him. She sighed and picked up her own cup of tea.
"I should have sent you to Maloun to be raised, after your mother's death." Yusuf narrowed his steely eyes. "By allowing you to be brought up in this country, I have ruined you."
She'd heard this before. "Lucky you, you got a CEO out of that particular mistake."
Maybe Cade was right. If she moved on she wouldn't be able to step into the top spot, at least not right away, but perhaps it was time to consider such a move. Her father viewed her as a disappointment. He had put her in this position because she was his daughter and would listen to his advice. Was she anything more than a hardworking figurehead?
"Are you actually considering allowing Mr. Kamal to buy into the company?" she asked. Her voice remained calm, but her heart jumped into her throat. At the moment, she didn't know if having Hassan around on a permanent basis was a good idea or not.
Yusuf grabbed a cigarette from his top desk drawer and lit it, taking a long drag and blowing out slowly. "I am considering the proposition."
"You said you would not do business with the royal family of Tamir," Elena said softly. "What changed your mind?"
"Two things." Her father smiled as he lowered himself to the chair behind the desk. "First of all, it is always best to have one's enemies where one can keep an eye on them. Secondly," he sighed. "Money. Cash money."
"I am not opposed to taking on a partner," she said, "but we are in good shape, financially. Why..."
"The Malounian National Trust is in need of funds," he snapped. "For new schools," he added with a wave of his hand. "I think it would be a great joke to take money from the Kamal family and send it directly to the Trust. If the price for such a joke is that Sheik Hassan makes the occasional appearance to play at being a partner, so be it."
"So you'll say yes."
He hesitated and took another long drag. "Not tonight. I want to think about it some more, perhaps ask Khalid and Akram what they think of the idea."
Elena glanced toward the closed door. Where was Hassan? He'd been gone too long. "Will I have any say in this?" she asked.
"I think not. You obviously don't like the man. I wouldn't want your personal feelings to play a role in your decision."
It was just as well that her father thought she didn't like Hassan. It was better than the alternative—better than allowing him to know the truth. "You'll let me know as soon as you decide?"
"Of course," he answered as the click of Hassan's returning footsteps sounded in the hall.
"You don't have to walk me to the door," she said as Hassan pulled the truck into the parking lot. "It's late, and I have an early day tomorrow."
"I won't stay," he said, ignoring her halfhearted protest. As Hassan left the truck he glanced around the parking lot, almost as if he were looking for someone. His spine was rigid, his jaw clenched. All through dinner and the discussion after, he'd been charming, loose, every bit the devil-may-care rich boy she'd thought Hassan Kamal to be before she'd met him. But the moment they left the house something changed. No, everything changed, from his posture to his facial expression to the way he looked at her. On the drive home, instead of charming conversation about the refinery business and the beauty of Texas she'd been faced with a silent, brooding Hassan.
He took her arm and escorted her through the front door, his eyes flitting this way and that. "What kind of security do you have in this building?"
"Minimal," she answered, pointing to the cameras that were positioned above the entrance and down the hallway toward the elevator. "But sufficient. We've never had any trouble here."
"No security guards?"
"There's a service that drives by frequently at night, but no full-time guard."
He mumbled a few indecipherable words beneath his breath, something harsh and foreign and most likely vile.
"All right," she said as they stepped into the elevator. "What's wrong?"
He glanced at the camera in the elevator. "Nothing."
"You're acting so..."
He silenced her with a kiss that was quick and deep and tasted of desperation. When she opened her mouth to finish her statement, Hassan kissed her again, more thoroughly this time. Something inside her melted. Her anger, maybe, her unwillingness to forgive.
When the elevator stopped at her floor, Hassan took her arm and led her into the hallway. He hovered over her protectively.
He didn't say good-night when they reached her door, but stood behind her while she unlocked the dead bolt with her key.
"You need coffee," he said as she stepped into her home.
"Your kind of coffee?" she asked. "I won't sleep at all if I drink so much as half a cup."
"All right," he said, leaning against the doorjamb. "/need coffee. My kind of coffee."
She couldn't make herself close the door in his face. "All right. The kitchen is yours."
He only glanced at the bouquet she had tossed on to the couch, and even though his jaw clenched he said nothing. As he he
aded for the kitchen, Elena collected the flowers from the couch. They were beautiful, she had to admit, and still fresh, thanks to the vials of water attached to each stem.
By the time she entered the kitchen, Hassan was already working on the Arabian coffee. She didn't say anything as she collected a vase from the pantry, filled it with water, and laid the flowers on the counter to cut each stem above the water vial. As she dropped a lily into the vase, she asked softly,
"What's wrong?"
He hesitated, then answered curtly, "Nothing I can talk about at this time."
Elena didn't turn to face him, but continued with her chore. She thought about pressing for more, but decided not to. At least he hadn't tried to lie and tell her that everything was fine.
Hassan put the coffee on just as she finished with the last bloom, a bright orange tropical-looking flower she couldn't name. When she turned, he was there.
"You really do look lovely tonight," he said, his voice low and deep.
"I hate this dress," she said, plucking at the full skirt. "It's probably the only thing I own that my father doesn't find offensive."
"He doesn't treat you fairly."
"This from a man who didn't have any qualms about commenting in front of half a dozen people that I'm just a woman?' she snapped, unable to help herself. She expected more from Hassan than she did from her father and his cronies. She expected them to hurt her, but Hassan.. .he was supposed to be different.
"You know why I said that."
"Yeah, but that doesn't make it hurt any less."
He reached out and started to touch her, and then pulled his hand back. "A woman like you should not allow yourself to be hurt by a man like me. By any man, in truth."
"Now that we're alone you try to make nice," she said, trying to remain untouched. "Ijust..." she shook her head. "I don't know what to think anymore. About this. About us."
"I am afraid that you will never forgive me," he whispered, reaching down to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
She gave him a small smile. "Kitty said I should, you know. She thinks you have potential." Her smile faded. "It's just that I've dealt with that only a woman crap all my life. I didn't expect it from you, even if you were just playing along to get on my father's good side."
He took a step closer, pressing his body to hers. "There are things about me you don't know."
Her entire body went cold and her heart dropped to her knees. "You're married."
"No!"
"Dying," she whispered.
He shook his head. "No. I'll tell you everything, when the time is right. Will you trust me until then?"
Elena Rahman didn't trust anyone, not completely. She lived on guard, she relied on no one but herself. She'd lived that way for so long, she wasn't sure she knew how to trust.
"Please," he whispered.
The need to trust was there, as strong and undeniable as Hassan's need to be trusted. "Yes."
Hassan's mouth covered hers, hungry and demanding, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with everything she had to give.
She didn't know how much time they had left. If her father refused Hassan's offer, would the playboy sheik go looking for another refinery to invest in? A business far away from Evangeline? Of course he would.
Elena took her mouth from his, reluctantly and slowly. "Stay the night," she whispered.
"I can't."
"You drive me crazy," she admitted. "You make me so angry, sometimes." She threaded her fingers through his hair. "And yet I hate to let you go."
"Then don't."
Hassan lifted the skirt of her shapeless black dress, allowing his palm to skim up her bare thigh. That was all it took for her body to begin to throb. He touched her, and she craved more. He kissed her, and she felt that caress all through her body, pounding through her veins.
His fingers climbed higher, teasing her through her panties, then pushing them aside to touch her intimately and arouse her to new heights. A new tremor shifted and danced through her blood.
While she held Hassan's head in her hands and kissed him deep, his other hand slipped beneath her skirt. Strong, gentle fingers skimmed beneath the waistband of her panties and stroked her hip. With a gentle nudge the panties were pushed down and fell to the floor.
"Elena?" So much was asked and answered in the whisper of her name.
She murmured a response, a contented uh-huh that Hassan caught with his mouth as he lifted her straight up and off her feet. One black pump fell to the kitchen floor, and she kicked the other one aside as Hassan carried her from the kitchen and into the hallway. Her bedroom waited at the end of the long hall.
He held her close, and her arms were firmly circled around his neck. To keep her balance, she wrapped her legs around his hips, brought his arousal closer to the place where she throbbed for him.
With a growl Hassan stopped, spun Elena around, and pressed her back against the wall. Her blood screamed and her center ached, wanting more, wanting everything he had to give, now. She heard the rasp of his zipper and then he was inside her, thick and fast and deep. She closed her eyes and held on tight. He pounded against and into her, fierce and uncontrolled. He drove deep, and she came fast and hard, crying out as her body shattered and trembled. On the waning waves of the intense response, Hassan climaxed with a shudder of his own, a growl and a throaty cry in husky Arabic.
For a moment they stood there joined and trembling, as their hearts tried to find a normal rhythm once again.
"What have you done to me, hayati?' Hassan asked as he slowly and gently placed her on her feet.
"Hayati," she whispered. "What does that mean?"
"My love," he answered without hesitation, placing his palm on her cheek and resting his forehead against hers.
She smiled. "Stay the night," she said, for the second time.
The way he held her, the way he called her my love, she knew he wanted to stay. She knew he didn't want this night to end any more than she did. But he growled an answer.
"I can't."
* * *
The Rahman estate was dark, but there was a sophisticated security system protecting the house itself, and motion detector lights in the front yard that had come on as Hassan and Elena had left after their dinner with the old man. Hassan knew that if he tried to near the house now, as Rahman slept, he would trigger the alarms and the lights and he would learn nothing.
Dressed in black and stepping carefully, Hassan walked the perimeter of Yusuf Rahman's property, studying the house and looking for signs of security he had missed. Did El-Malak have an armed guard who kept a low profile?
As Hassan studied the house, his mind slipped back to Elena. What would she do when she discovered that her father was a terrorist? And what would she think when she learned that Hassan had been the one to discover El-Malak's true identity? She would hate him then, she would not be so quick to offer forgiveness.
Their relationship was strained, but Elena loved her father. If not, then why did she try so hard to please him? Why did she want his approval so badly if not in the name of a daughter's love? And she did want that approval. She craved it, though she would never admit so aloud.
Only one question remained. How much did she already know?
Finally, Hassan caught sight of what he'd been looking for. A man was posted at the back entrance, all but hidden by shadows and overgrown foliage. The guard wore a weapon, a gun of some kind housed in a shoulder holster, but he was relaxed, leaning against the door at his post and smoking a cigarette that glowed red when he inhaled. Hidden by a thick hedge, Hassan dropped to his haunches and peered through a break in the leaves, looking for more security guards or a routine of some kind.
The water treatment plant Hassan had broken into a few nights earlier was headquarters for the Brothers, he knew that much. The brand of cigarettes Rahman smoked were the same as the butts Hassan had found in the ashtray in one of the pump rooms.
The weapons there were an indic
ation that something was in the works, something big, and the men in the water treatment plant that night spoke of a war. They spoke of an army.
With the scent of Elena on his skin and three cups of strong coffee in his blood keeping him alert, Hassan settled in for the duration.
Chapter 12
Confusion wasn't a condition Elena was accustomed to. When it came to business she knew exactly what she wanted and the way she wanted it done, and she was prepared for every contingency. Sometimes things went wrong; that was business as usual. Problems never bothered her, since she expected and was prepared for them.
But she'd been without a personal life for so long that she didn't know how to handle indecision in that area. She didn't know how to handle the battle going on in her heart. She certainly didn't know what to do with a man who made love to her like he couldn't ever get enough, and then walked away.
Hassan confused her. He wasn't the type of man she'd ever dreamed of being attracted to. Like it or not, he was too much like her father. Old world. Demanding. Too macho for his own good. But Hassan had something Yusuf Rahman did not: A good heart. She knew it, even when he infuriated her.
So where was he? He'd left her too early last night, insisting that he had no choice but to go. She'd expected him to be waiting here for her this morning, ready to take another tour of the refinery, but she'd been here for more than four hours, and there was no sign of Hassan.
The door to her office burst open, and her father, openly irate, stalked into the room. "Well, where is he?" Rahman snapped. "What does he have to say that cannot be discussed on the telephone?"
"Who?" Elena asked, wide-eyed.
"Sheik Hassan, who else. Where is he?"
"I don't know. He's not here."
Rahman went to the window and looked toward the refinery. What could only be called a grumble roiled from his throat. "He will be. Kamal called me at home, and said he needed to meet with me right away. I tried to encourage him to discuss this business over the phone, but he refused." Again, the grumble. "I should have hung up on him. Just because he's royalty he thinks he can issue demands and have everyone jump to comply. Yes, I should have hung up on him and showed him who was in charge, here."