“Perhaps you should…get off of me,” she suggested, not as forcefully as she could have.
“Perhaps I should.” And still he didn’t.
She was so close, and so tempting. It would be very easy to lay his lips over hers. There wasn’t time for a true, deep kiss, but even a quick brushing of his lips against hers would be delicious. It was entirely inappropriate to kiss one’s diplomatic aide. Even to think about taking such an action was improper. And yet he did think….
Outside the car, his bodyguards shouted to one another in Arabic, and bystanders yelled in excited English. The commotion seemed rather distant and was easily dismissed from his mind. Kadir watched the intriguing parting of lush lips just inches from his own, saw the flash of passion in dove-gray eyes and thought of more pleasant days. And more pleasant days to come, perhaps?
“Now may I call you Cassandra?”
She opened her mouth to say no. He could see and feel the no coming, just as clearly as he had seen her desire. In her eyes, on those lips…the no was right there. And then she hesitated.
“Perhaps when we are alone you can call me by my given name,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Of course, we shouldn’t be alone,” she added in a quicker voice. “Between your bodyguards and assistants and the press and the staff at the estate and—”
As if to prove her point, the car door opened swiftly. “The shooter escaped, Excellency.” Jibril very neatly ignored the compromising position in which he found his employer. “Fahd tried to give chase, but when it became clear the would-be assassin was gone, he returned.”
Kadir sat up slowly, and Ms. Klein—Cassandra—followed. She tried to straighten her mussed hair, but flying through the air and landing in the back seat of the car beneath him had undone the severity, and he suspected it could not be easily repaired. Her skirt had ridden up her leg, and the hem sat nicely high on her thigh, a pleasant diversion she quickly remedied.
Hakim and Tarif gratefully scrambled into the safety of the limousine, both visibly shaken. Neither of them had ever been in the military, and at the moment it showed. They were scared, and would not easily shake off the morning’s excitement.
“The duke has top-notch security personnel at hand, and they will begin investigating the shooting immediately,” Cassandra said in a purely business voice, as if she had not just been beneath him, as if she had not been inches from a kiss.
“That is not necessary,” Kadir said calmly.
“What do you mean it’s not necessary?” she asked, her voice almost sharp. “Someone took a shot at you, and you might’ve been killed. That is unacceptable.”
“No investigation is necessary, as I know full well who ordered that shot.”
Again she tried to straighten her hair. Again she failed.
“Zahid Bin-Asfour,” he continued. “I doubt he fired the weapon himself, but he surely ordered it done.”
“Terrorists will not be allowed a presence in Silvershire,” Cassandra said, as if her words alone could stop them.
Kadir leaned back against the seat as the car sped away from the museum. “That sounds very logical, but there is no logic in terrorism. Zahid took an old and precious ideal of tribe and unity and love of ancient culture, he took the concept of brotherhood and twisted it into a thing of hate and bloodshed. In the name of taking the people he claims to love back to a simpler yet harsher time, he is willing to kill anyone who disagrees with him. He wraps his own twisted need for power in words of heritage and dignity, and then he destroys both in violence and hate. Zahid Bin-Asfour is a criminal. A murderer and a drug dealer. There is no logic in his reasoning, Ms. Klein.”
“I’m sure you’re right, b-but…” She stammered, and blushed again. He was quite sure this woman never stammered.
Kadir leaned closer to Cassandra and whispered, “Ah, you are worried about me?”
“No!” she answered quickly. Then she retracted her denial. “I mean, of course as your escort your safety is my responsibility. I’ll order a new guard to add to your own, and adjust the schedule,” she said. “From now on no one will know of our planned activities in advance.”
“No additional guards,” Kadir said in a soft voice that left no room for argument.
“But…”
“No more.”
Cassandra took a deep breath and said nothing, but he expected she’d argue for an increased guard again. And soon. He would refuse again. While he was not foolish enough to ignore security concerns, he would not hide behind an army—not Kahani’s, and certainly not Silvershire’s.
He should promise her, and himself, that he would not behave so inappropriately again, that he would not think of kissing her—and more. He should vow to keep their relationship professional and distant, as was right and proper.
But he didn’t.
Her heart continued to pound because someone had shot at her. At least, that’s what Cassandra tried to tell herself, even though the shooting had taken place hours ago.
Al-Nuri and his entourage were back at the estate they called home for the time being, and she was waiting for Ms. Dunn to finish with an important phone call so she could have a word. Sheik Kadir didn’t want extra security, but he was going to get it anyway. If anything happened to him while he was in her care…If anything happened to him at all…
Cassandra was called into Ms. Dunn’s office, after waiting almost half an hour. She was so wound up, she began talking as she walked through the door and toward the older woman’s desk. “His Excellency Sheik Kadir is most anxious for a meeting with Lord Carrington. I understand that the timing is not best for Lord Carrington, but surely something can be arranged in a timely manner.”
Ms. Dunn leaned back in her large leather chair—all ninety pounds or so of her dominating the room in an eerie but unmistakable way. “Take a deep breath and relax, Cassie. The meeting Sheik Kadir desires will take place in due time, most likely.”
Ms. Dunn indicated that she could sit, but sitting was impossible when her heart was pounding this way and she could feel the blood rushing through her veins. Cassandra stood at the end of the wide walnut desk. “What do you mean, most likely?”
Assistant director for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a woman who had been in foreign service for more than forty years, Nola Dunn was an imposing figure. Cassandra had never spoken sharply to her before. It had probably been years since anyone had dared to say much more than “Yes, ma’am.”
Ms. Dunn did not seem annoyed by Cassandra’s brazenness. “When I gave you this assignment, I informed you that Prince Reginald met with Zahid Bin-Asfour shortly before his death.”
“Yes, ma’am, I recall that very well.” It was for that very reason that the terrorist was suspected in the prince’s murder.
“And you are also aware that Bin-Asfour and the government of Kahani are all but at war, and have been for a very long time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ms. Dunn placed thin arms on her desk and leaned forward. “What if Bin-Asfour isn’t responsible for the assassination of Prince Reginald? What if he and Reginald were working together, and the government of Kahani is behind the murder?”
“But…”
“Until we know with certainty that Kahani is in no way involved in the prince’s assassination, there can be no meeting between the Duke and your sheik. It has the potential to be a public relations nightmare. At the same time, we can’t treat Al-Nuri as if he or his country is suspect in the matter, not when all we have is a theory. Keep him happy. Promise him the meeting he desires will take place when the time is right. And keep him far, far away from the palace. Is that clear?”
Cassandra knew, without a doubt, that Al-Nuri was in no way involved in Prince Reginald’s murder. Even if his government had a hand in the assassination, he would not be involved. He was too good. Too kind and well-meaning. That was an argument she could not put forth at this time. Not without proof.
So she asked, “Why would Princ
e Reginald align himself with a terrorist?”
Ms. Dunn waved a bony hand. “It’s just a supposition, and an unlikely one at that. But until we know more, it’s best that Al-Nuri be kept a safe distance from the palace. And Lord Carrington.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ms. Dunn studied Cassandra up and down, her eyes cautious. “You were the target of a shooting today.”
“Al-Nuri was the target,” Cassandra corrected. There was quite a bit of difference, in her mind.
“Still, you were there. I’m sure it was a harrowing experience.”
“It was…” She thought about the confusion that had followed the gunshot; the way Al-Nuri had grabbed her with strong arms; the slamming of the car door that had separated them from the melee; the weight of his body on hers, and the way he had looked at her with those bedroom eyes. “It was distressing, that’s true, but the entire episode was soon over and no one was harmed.”
Ms. Dunn’s eyes actually twinkled. “I have great hopes for you, Cassie. You’re a tough girl, and you’re very smart. One day you could very well find yourself in this chair. For now I’m glad to have you on my team.”
Cassandra wanted to tell her superior that she preferred “Cassandra” to “Cassie,” and “woman” to “girl,” but she’d likely pushed her limits enough for one day.
Ms. Dunn neatly changed the subject. “The king had surgery earlier today. The tumor was removed, and the physician says the procedure was a success.”
It was privileged news, though likely not for long. “So he’ll recover?”
Ms. Dunn shrugged, but it was not a casual, uncaring gesture. “It’s too soon to tell. He remains in a coma.”
Cassandra wondered if there was a hidden message in Ms. Dunn’s bit of gossip. The future of the country was more important than the wishes of one man. In such uncertain times, any detail might be crucial—including keeping Al-Nuri and Lord Carrington separated until they knew more. She turned to leave the room, wondering how she’d keep Al-Nuri occupied for the duration of his stay. He was determined to have his meeting, and she couldn’t arrange it for him. Not yet, at least.
Ms. Dunn had told Cassandra she could one day be in that chair. It was everything she had ever hoped for. For the first time she reached deep and asked herself: Was that really what she wanted? Did she want to be like Nola Dunn? Powerful, intelligent, very much in the inner circle.
And also very much alone.
“Cassie,” Ms. Dunn called.
At the doorway, Cassandra turned. Oddly enough, the usually sour old woman was smiling. It was quite disconcerting.
“Mind yourself. Al-Nuri is a handsome devil and can be a womanizer, from what I hear. I wouldn’t have given you this assignment if I didn’t think you could handle him.”
“I appreciate the confidence, ma’am.”
Ms. Dunn waved a hand in dismissal. “Just be careful.”
Cassandra nodded, quite sure the warning had nothing to do with bullets and assassination attempts.
Late Thursday morning, Kadir received a short but informative phone call from Sharif. Mukhtar’s family had been rescued, and in the process a number of Zahid’s recruits had been killed. Two of the soldiers with Sharif had been wounded, but there had been no loss of life on that side of the fight. The terrorists were well settled into the series of old buildings, making it clear that Zahid was trying to reestablish himself in Kahani. No wonder he’d attempted to kill Kadir. No one would fight Bin-Asfour and his ambitions harder—except perhaps Sharif.
Kadir had been hoping that perhaps Zahid would be there when the raid took place, or that one of his men would give up information on his whereabouts. Neither of those hopes came true.
On Thursday afternoon, the lovely Cassandra Klein took him on a tour of well-tended private gardens at an estate north of the capital city of Silverton. They were pretty but unexciting, and Kadir could not get the important matters that ruled his life out of his head. Zahid Bin-Asfour. The meeting with Lord Carrington. Mukhtar’s violent end. The shooting at the museum, just yesterday morning. It was difficult to become excited about a rare flower when such events crowded his mind.
Fahd and Jibril had placed themselves on opposite ends of the neat garden Kadir and Cassandra explored, ready to defend their charge if necessary, but also lulled by the quiet and serenity of the well-manicured grounds.
Kadir stopped in the middle of the neat pathway and turned to face Cassandra. Now this was a sight that could clear all unpleasantness from his mind. He saw no imperfections on her face, no flaw on her carefully and conservatively clad body. There was a spark of passion in her eyes, as he had noted often in the past two days. Was there a man in her life who awakened that passion?
“Do you have a man in your life?”
She was so startled by his question, she actually twitched. “My personal life is really none of your business, Excellency.”
“I’m simply curious,” he responded. “A husband, a suitor, an affianced one…”
“No,” she answered curtly, blushing slightly. “I’m a single woman. My career is very important to me, and that leaves little time for…for…”
“Romance?” Kadir supplied.
“Whatever. Now, that’s all I intend to say on the subject of my personal life.”
That suited Kadir, since the fact that she was unattached was all he needed to know. He gladly changed the subject. “Do you like this sort of garden, Cassandra?”
She was startled by his use of her name, but a quick look around assured her that they were—for all intents and purposes—alone. “What do you mean? It’s just a garden. A very nice garden, of course. Aren’t all gardens of the same sort?”
He smiled, and again she blushed. “No, all gardens are not of the same sort. Not at all. Personally, I prefer a garden where the plants are allowed to grow wild, where to make your way along the path you must push around and beyond untamed growth. I prefer large blooms that are red and bright yellow and deep purple, bright colors that remind us that life is beautiful.” He studied the pastel flowers along the methodical path. “It takes a sturdy plant to survive that sort of gardening. These pale blooms would not survive in such a garden. They would be choked out by the brighter blooms that dare to reach for the sun. Their thin roots would be overtaken by thick, healthy roots that reach for nutrients and claim the soil with a vengeance.” He glanced down to find Cassandra studying him with wide, curious eyes. “A wild life is not suitable for something too delicate.”
It occurred to him, as he finished, that he wasn’t talking about gardens anymore. In the past his life had been wild and untamed. On some days it was still bright, but he’d become so entrenched in his job, so dedicated to his mission, that the colors had dulled somewhat. Dulled, but not entirely faded.
The danger to his life was very real, and while he could and did take all proper precautions, there was no way to make his life entirely safe. Cassandra Klein was a pale and delicate flower that would not survive in such terrain.
And, of course, she would never be called upon to try.
He wanted, very much, to kiss her. The desire to do so was improper, imprudent. It was definitely foolish. And yet, he did want a kiss. Maybe if he laid his lips over hers and took a proper kiss, he would taste the wildflower in her soul. Perhaps she was not as delicate as she appeared to be.
“I’m sorry you’re not enjoying the outing,” Cassandra said, her voice all business once again. “I can see that these gardens are not of interest to you. Tomorrow we’ll…”
“Barton College tomorrow,” he said with a smile, not bothering to tell her that certain gardens were very much of interest.
“But…”
“You said we would vary our schedule so no one would know where to find us. I wish to see Barton College tomorrow.”
Her shoulders squared. “All right. If that’s what you wish.”
He leaned slightly toward her. “And I will meet your mother?”
Ca
ssandra sighed and glanced away. “I suppose you will.”
“Good. We’ll leave early, and I’ll drive.”
“But…”
“I’ll drive,” he said again.
Kadir took Cassandra’s arm and led her down the well-manicured garden path, the scent of summer blooms filling the air, wondering as he walked toward Jibril how he would manage to separate himself from the dedicated security staff that was determined to protect him twenty-four hours a day. He was tired of the order of his own life. Tired of the dullness that had taken hold.
He longed to be a wildflower himself again, just for a while.
Chapter 4
Cassandra closed her eyes and tried to keep her stomach from completely leaving her body. Once again the sheik was messing with her insides, only this time it was his driving skills that had her feeling light-headed. She had never traveled this familiar road so fast.
She opened one eye and glanced at Al-Nuri. The man smiled widely, enjoying this insane trip. With the wind in his shoulder-length hair, sunglasses hiding those sinful bedroom eyes and wearing clothing much more casual than he normally wore, he looked like a different man.
He turned his head to her and the grin grew even wider. Oh, no, he truly was insane.
“Watch the road!” she commanded.
He did as she instructed, and she closed her eyes again.
Al-Nuri had very sleekly ditched his bodyguards this morning, leaving poor Tarif with a tale to tell—a tale of a long day of important phone calls that could not be interrupted, a tale of boring diplomatic work that required a full day alone in the estate office the sheik called his own for this trip. That done, Al-Nuri had slipped into Prentiss Redmond’s garage and appropriated a small black convertible—with Oscar’s assistance, of course.
At this rate they’d arrive at Barton College in half the time it usually took Cassandra to make the trip.
This road was a fairly good one, but it was in need of repair here and there, and it twisted and turned along a few stretches. Al-Nuri didn’t even slow down for the sharpest of curves, and the slightest bump took them airborne.
The Sheik and I Page 4