by Sue Swift
As Selina’s smile stretched wider, her grandfather entered the room and took the bar stool next to hers. He’d also freshened up and wore a loose polo-style shirt with khaki shorts.
“Oh, I’m glad to see you both here, already getting acquainted,” Grandpa Jerry said.
“I wouldn’t say we’re acquainted…yet,” Selina said sweetly.
Jerry patted her arm. “Sellie, I’d like you to meet Kam Asad.”
A flush rose beneath the Clooney clone’s swarthy skin. “You’re—”
She held out a hand. “Selina Carrington.” She smirked at him, enjoying his discomfiture. “So you’re Kam Asad. My grandfather tells me that you’re in the market for—”
“Shh!” He put a finger to his full lips. “This is high security.” He scowled at Jerry. “You told her?”
Selina liked him even less, if that was possible. No one dissed her grandfather in her presence without a slash from the knife-edge of her tongue.
“So what if he did, Mr. Superspy?” she asked. “What’s so high security about buying a house? I noticed you jibber-jabbering away on your cell phone a few minutes ago as if you had no secrets at all.”
Kam Asad’s flush deepened. “I was speaking in an Arabic dialect of my people. It is doubtful that anyone in this hemisphere understands it.”
An Arabic dialect of my people. Yeah, right. Who was this dude, Rudolph Valentino? “Cell phones aren’t exactly high security,” Selina said. “Anyone could be listening in—”
“Let’s start over.” Jerry, ever the suave salesman, interceded. “Selina, this is Kamar Asad. As you know, he’s in the market for some property in the D.C. area. Kam, this is my granddaughter, Selina.”
Selina corralled her naturally sarcastic mouth, saying only, “Pleased to meet you.” She extended her right hand.
“A pleasure for me, also.” Asad shook her hand once, then dropped it as though she were Typhoid Mary.
She glanced at her grandfather, well aware that inside Jerry’s mind, he was humming, “Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match,” to the accompaniment of wedding bells.
She hoped that he wasn’t too stuck on the idea of seeing her with Kam Asad. There was something of the untamed, the wild, lurking behind Kam’s facade, she thought, before immediately chiding herself for her silly fantasies. Kam Asad was an ordinary man, even though he obviously thought he was a cut above the herd. But she knew better. All men were alike under the skin, whether or not that skin was handsome or ugly, old or young.
Selina didn’t like handsome men. She didn’t like any men, really, and few women, but she disliked handsome men most of all.
A memory of another too-handsome man flashed through her mind, but she banished it immediately to the furthest recesses of her brain.
The only man she did like, her grandfather, now nudged her with a gentle elbow. But before Jerry could speak, Jam’s reappeared with Kam’s martini. Sliding the glass onto a coaster on the bar, she said to Jerry, “Good evening, sir. Can I get something for you?”
“Whiskey or even a scotch,” Jerome said. “What brands do you pour?”
While Jerome Carrington and the bartender chatted about fine whiskies, Kamar took a moment to reexamine the granddaughter, Selina. He’d noticed her as soon as she’d walked into the bar and had planned to meet her after finishing his conversation with his father’s foreign minister.
Selina’s hair, an unusual shade of red-gold, would make her a standout in any gathering, he mused, and all the more so in the dimly lit bar. Though recently washed and still damp, her gleaming hair lit the night like a torch, swinging loose along her slender neck like a silken scarf.
He was a sucker for the long, bare throats of sexy American women. His lust for them approached an obsession. Perhaps it was because the females of his country were always shrouded, but American girls, with their anytime, anyplace, anywhere approach to lovemaking attracted him like no other women. Did Selina Carrington’s red hair reflect her sexuality? He promised himself that he’d find out, and soon.
She wasn’t afraid of male attention, either, judging by her attire, a feather-trimmed dress constructed of scraps and shreds of red fabric that floated and fluttered while concealing few of her body’s slender curves. Her unplanned trip had also prevented her from bringing makeup, and her petal-perfect complexion, set off by a few stray freckles, heightened her natural, sexy allure.
She’d be a worthy bedmate if she hadn’t come with her grandfather. Kamar liked women—many women—but he didn’t believe in fouling the nest. He never conducted liaisons with business contacts or their families. The world was his playground, and he’d found many willing partners. He didn’t fool around close to home.
A beautiful girl like her, there was probably a man in her life already.
And she was mouthy. Many American women were. Often a smart mouth on a woman repelled him, but Selina’s rosy lips were pretty enough that he’d prefer to silence her with a kiss.
Then again, here was Jerome Carrington. So, with a sigh, Kamar mentally classified the stunning Selina and her beautiful neck as off-limits.
But he could still talk to her, couldn’t he? “American women are usually such busy girls,” he told her. “It was kind of you to accompany your grandfather on this trip.”
She shrugged, and her low neckline dipped even further. “Grandpa Jerry thought I should get away.”
“Get away? From who or what?”
“I work for an ad agency, and we just presented one of our major clients with a new campaign.” Her smile was thin. “This was the first time I was responsible for the entire project.”
He didn’t care about her job, but girls liked it when one showed interest in their pastimes. “And what was this project about?”
“It’s an advertising campaign for a cereal called Corny Crunch.”
“Did you say horny crunch?” He gave her his most flirtatious smile.
“Like I haven’t heard that, oh, at least twenty times before.” Selina stirred her drink.
He’d try again. “What kind of, um, advertising campaign did you plan?”
“Breakdancing corn chips in cargo pants down to their ankles.” She grinned at him. A real smile this time, not a fake one.
Progress, he thought. “Very charming. But why would anyone over the age of twelve buy these horny crunchies?”
Her smile broadened. “They have lots of fiber and even some oats. That’ll lower your cholesterol. You ought to be thinking about that at your age.”
There was such a thing as too mouthy, Kamar discovered. “At my age? For your information, I have but twenty-eight years.”
“Oh, shouldn’t everyone think about maintaining good health?” Selina turned to her grandfather, who ambled closer, sipping whiskey from a cut crystal tumbler. “Grandpop, what do you think of Corny Crunch?”
“A great product,” he said. “Selina’s ad campaign will sell millions. Another coup for the marketing goddess.”
“Oh, so now you are a goddess,” Kamar said. “I should have known.”
She arched a perfectly plucked brow at him. “Why?”
“You have the demeanor of someone…exalted,” he said. “Goddess attitude, you might say.”
“Ouch.” Selina clapped a hand to her face with a mock frown. “I guess I deserved that.”
“You certainly did.” Her grandfather glowered at her.
Kamar smiled. “Speaking of business, when shall we begin?”
“How about tomorrow morning?” Jerome Carrington asked. “We’ll meet in the dining room at nine.”
“Aren’t there several restaurants in a resort like this one?” Selina asked.
“The barkeep will know.” Jerome caught the bartender’s eye. “Where’s the best place for breakfast?”
“There are a number of choices, sir. There are four restaurants and two cafe’s at La Torchere. The poolside cafe can become noisy with children at play, so I would recommend The Greenhouse for breakfast.”
“The Greenhouse?” Selina tilted her head to one side. “That sounds fun.”
Kamar frowned. “I do not know if I want to eat my breakfast in a greenhouse.”
“Why not?” Selina asked. “I’m sure they don’t grow potatoes in there.”
She caught the bartender’s eye, and both girls laughed. Azhib, he thought. Wonderful. Within a few hours of his arrival, he’d convinced two women he was a fool. And he was stuck here until a deal for the property could be struck.
“Do you know what’s going on here? Because I’m at sea.” Jerome looked from his granddaughter’s face to the bartender, and then to Kamar. “What’s this about potatoes?”
“Nothing,” Kamar said sourly. “The Greenhouse will be fine—9:00 a.m.?”
“I’ll make a reservation,” Jerome said, eyeing Kamar with an uneasy expression.
“Oh, no problem, sir.” Janis removed Kamar’s empty martini glass. “I’ll leave a note for the concierge before I go off shift. What would the name be?”
“The Asad party.” And without another word, Kamar stalked off.
“What bug’s up his rear?” Jerome asked.
“Maybe a potato bug,” Selina replied, and both women exploded with gales of laughter.
Chapter Two
Selina admired stability and safety, needed it, really. She worked hard to keep her life and everything in it well-organized. Her pumps, always leather and always polished to a dull glow, were neatly matched and hung two-by-two on her shoe tree in perfect order. She always bought bras with matching panties—two pairs, so one was always clean and at the ready—and folded them carefully in her lingerie drawer with their mates. Likewise, tap pants and camisoles. She bought outfits, not separates, and never ordered a la carte.
Grandpa Jerome, the only father she had and the most important person in her twenty-three-year-old life, was the opposite. Unless a maid picked up after him, his closet was total chaos. His secretary often remarked that she had a lifetime job because “Jerry doesn’t know where I keep the checkbook.” Indeed, his desk would remain a mountain of garbage if she didn’t arrange it.
Selina didn’t like the unexpected. Grandpa Jerry thrived on it.
Selina hated surprises. Grandpa Jerry liked to throw surprise parties and sweep her away on unplanned excursions. Like this one, to an exclusive resort on Florida’s Gulf Coast. Less than twelve hours ago, Grandpa Jerry had shot into her cubicle at VIP Publicity, grabbed her jacket, held it open for her and said, “Come on, little Sellie. Grandpa’s got a fun surprise for you.”
Since Selina had sought refuge in his home at age fifteen, Grandpa Jerry had said those words many times, and she’d come to trust that his surprises would be fun. Trips to the zoo, to museums, to shops. Sometimes the museums would be in Rome or the shops in Paris.
And now, her magic pixie of a grandfather, claiming she worked too hard, had swept Selina to Florida. On the plane, he’d admitted that he was brokering a real estate deal and that Selina’s presence would enliven an otherwise dull jaunt.
Selina wasn’t so sure. Now, getting ready for bed in the penthouse suite atop La Torchere, she brushed her teeth with the toiletries supplied by the resort before donning their thick terry cloth robe. She left her bathroom to meet Jerry in the living room of the suite. “I don’t know quite what I’m doing here,” she told her grandfather.
“You’re here to keep me company.” Jerry lounged on the sofa in a similar robe worn over a pair of checked pajama pants. He’d already left his mark on the suite. Recent copies of the Wall Street Journal and the Washington Post littered the coffee table in front of him, and sheaves of computer printouts detailing various D.C. properties were scattered on the couch’s cushions.
“Your client doesn’t want me here. What’s so top secret, anyway?”
Jerry hesitated. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but he’s a sheik.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. With that accent? And don’t sheiks live in desert tents with camels?”
“Not this one,” Jerry said. “Kamar and his brothers were all educated in England—Cambridge, no less. His country has one of the world’s most productive diamond mines. They recently opened diplomatic relations with the United States and purchased an embassy building in D.C. Now Kamar’s looking for the ambassador’s residence.”
“I’m impressed,” Selina said. “This is quite a lucrative set of deals for you.”
“And it does have to be top secret.” Jerome shuffled papers together into a messy stack. “If the location of the residence becomes public knowledge, the safety of the ambassador could be compromised.”
“Oh, so that’s why the snotty sheik was so upset with me.” Selina sat on a side chair.
“You were pretty hard on him.”
She huffed.
“You were mean, Sellie. I’ve never known you to be mean.”
“You should have seen him with the bartender.”
“What was the bit about the potatoes?”
“He was razzing the bartender about the vodka,” she said. “Only wheat vodka, nothing made from potatoes. He was quite specific. Who does he think he is, James Bond?”
“A man has the right to choose his poison. I thought Kam was trying to be nice to you.”
“He was trying to redeem himself. Unsuccessfully, I might add. He’s affected and arrogant. The man can’t love himself enough.”
Jerome was silent for a second, then said, “Sometimes people who can’t love themselves enough suffer from a lack of love from others. Like you.”
She swallowed against her dry mouth. “I’m loved. You love me, right?”
“I adore you, but we both know that’s not enough. When was the last time you were involved with a man?”
“Hey, I date all the time. You know that. You call on Saturday night to check on me. I don’t call back until Sunday morning because—”
“Because on Saturday night you’re out breaking hearts.”
Selina grinned.
“Yes, you date,” Jerry continued. “But do you ever become involved?”
She compressed her lips. “So I’m picky.”
“Sellie, baby, you’re beyond picky. Don’t you think it’s time you got over Donald?”
She dropped her face into her hands and mumbled, “Grandpa Jerry, I was in therapy for seven years. My head’s been shrunk so much I’m surprised you can still see it. I’ve meditated. I’ve rolfed. I’ve yoga’ed. I’ve sought enlightenment and personal growth every-where I could. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever get over Donald. Or what Mom did.” She hadn’t seen her mother or her stepfather for years.
Leaving the couch, Jerry knelt by her side. “If you don’t get over it, they win.”
She nodded, rubbing her temples where a headache had started banging at her brain. “I know, but I—”
“Try.” Her grandfather took her hand. “Try. I won’t be around forever—”
“Why, where are you going?” Selina raised her head, her insides turning wintry. “Pawtucket, maybe, or Poughkeepsie?”
He wiggled her chin. “Laugh all you want, sweetheart, but I’m an old guy, and getting older every minute. You need to be with a man your own age, not some old fart with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.”
Selina scoffed. “You’ll outlive all of us.”
“No, I won’t. Promise me, Sellie, that you’ll make an effort.”
Sobered by her grandfather’s seriousness, Selina said, “Okay, I promise. Sometime. I’m still young, okay?”
He fixed her with a stern look, though his eyes twinkled. “Be nice to the sheik.”
“The snotty sheik?”
He laughed. “People magazine calls him the sexy sheik.”
“He does have a certain George Clooney appeal, if you like the type.”
“Do you?”
She squirmed. Grandpop was hitting a little too close to home. She didn’t want to talk to him about the kind of men she liked. Too
weird. “Maybe.”
“Well, why don’t you let that maybe turn into a yes? At least give that little maybe a chance.”
She chuckled. “Maybe I will.”
He hesitated, then asked, “Sellie, are you truly happy?”
“Sure I am. I have a great job, a great home and you.” She hugged him around the shoulders. “Why should I want more?”
“There’s more to life, and you know it. But for now, be nice to Prince Kamar.” He winked. “Especially since I want to take quite a large wad of cash out of his wallet.”
She sighed. “For you, any thing… even Prince Kamar.”
Chapter Three
The sharp-eyed brunette approached the concierge desk and said to the woman seated there, “Uh, can I ask for some help?”
Lilith Peterson, aka Lissa Bessart Piers, scrutinized her. That depends upon the kind of help you want, she thought. She didn’t like the brunette’s briefcase, her gray pinstriped pantsuit or her overly lacquered hair. Most people who came to La Torchere were on holiday and looked it, but this woman was all business.
Instead of challenging her, Lissa schooled her features into a hospitable smile, in keeping with her role. “Of course,” she said. “How can I help you?” She smoothed the lapel of her jacket.
“I’m trying to find a guest,” the brunette said.
“We maintain the security of all our guests. Are you a guest here, Ms…?” Lissa raised politely inquiring eyebrows.
“Yes, of course,” the brunette said, a little too quickly. She offered a hand. “Marta Hunter.”
Lissa touched the woman’s fingers and let go. She didn’t want extended contact with Marta Hunter. A strong grasp could trigger any of Lissa’s array of magical abilities. She didn’t want to inadvertently cast a curse or start a fire.
More than being the ordinary concierge Lilith Peterson, Lissa Bessart Piers was a member of the royal family of the enchanted realm of Silestia. Because she’d cursed her spoiled, disobedient niece seven years before, Lissa felt a responsibility to remain in Meredith’s life, making sure Merry remained safe while she worked to lift the curse.