The Royal's Obsession

by Sophia Lynn

  She pulled herself away. For a moment, she thought he would lean in to kiss her again, but instead he only watched her, his eyes as black as obsidian and intense.

  "I'm heading out," she said, tossing some cash on the bar for their drinks. "I … this has been lovely, thank you."

  Instead of replying, he simply touched his chest over his heart, and then his lips, never taking his eyes off of hers. Something about that gesture tore her apart, and she knew that she had to get out of there before she made another stupid mistake.

  "Good night," she murmured, and fled for the entrance.

  ***

  The cab ride home was blessedly uneventful except for the nearly archetypal New York cab driver who had far too much of an opinion on all things political. She nodded politely, and after she paid him off, she went up to her tiny apartment and locked the door behind her.

  "What am I doing?" she asked the empty apartment. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was only a little past midnight. At the very least, her sister Beth, out on the west coast, would still be up.

  "Hey, sweetie. How's it going? Did you end up going out like you told me you were?"

  If she were feeling a little less tired, she might have resented the fact that her sister thought that she was enough of a shut-in that she would have stayed home. Honestly, she had almost talked herself out of going so many times that Beth wasn't far from right. However, she had gone, and now she had a story to tell.

  Beth sat through it, gasping and groaning by turns. Finally, her sister laughed. She could imagine tall dark Beth sitting in her LA apartment, shaking her head over her silly little sister.

  "Wow, when you decide that you want to go out, you really do it in style, don't you?"

  "What do you mean?" Angie asked caustically. "He was probably a scam artist working the room. And honestly, if you put it into perspective, it worked. After all, he got a drink from me."

  "Oh, little sister, at the very least, you had a good evening. The last thing I wanted was for you to sit in the house getting more and more anxious about the job interview tomorrow."

  Angie was a little startled, but then she realized that her sister was right.

  "Well, I'll say one thing for Prince Charming," she admitted. "I haven't thought about the job interview at all tonight. Of course now I am, and now I am afraid that I am not going to be able to sleep at all—"

  "Aww, Angie. Are you really doing all right? It's just … you've been sounding kind of rough lately, and I know it hasn't been all that long since Peter …"

  Angie sighed. "No, I don't blame you for being tired of me like this. Heck, I'm tired of me like this. This is something that I am tired of being, but I am taking steps to fix it, you know? Or at least, I think I am taking steps to fix it. I'm only twenty-four, I'm too young to be this bitter. I mean, heck, at least I could have waited until thirty."

  "Well, you should be sad and angry as long as is good for you," Beth said quietly. "You won't get anywhere by denying your emotions after all. It's just that you're always going to be a little ray of sunshine, and I don't want you to forget it."

  "That's really sappy, sis," Angie teased, but her heart was warmed by her sister's support. She could never be as loving and open as Beth, but she appreciated the fact that Beth was always there for her.

  "Well, you know what I am here for, sweetie, Just have a good interview tomorrow. Get some sleep. I just realized how late it is out there."

  Angie laughed as she hung up the phone. Her interview clothes were laid out for tomorrow, so it was a matter of simply changing into pajamas and cleaning the makeup off of her face.

  As she crawled into bed, her thoughts drifted back to the man who had smiled at her in that expensive trendy club. Had he been a liar? Was he truly a prince? What had he thought of that kiss that she had given him?

  The questions buzzed around her mind. For a moment, she wished that she had taken his card after all. Then she could have learned all about him. Maybe then she could have figured out more about what lay behind those gorgeous black eyes.

  She shrugged it off. It was a single moment in her life, even if it was one that seemed like it was going to linger. At the very least, it could be a happy moment, and she certainly had had few enough of those lately.

  As she drifted to sleep, however, her mind did think of his handsome face close to hers, about the warmth of his hands next to her skin, and what he might have looked like under those well-tailored clothes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Majid al Said was finally realizing that his job in New York might be over. As he scanned over the inventories and the schedules his efficient secretary had sent him, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief that things were drawing to a close.

  He had been in New York for close to six weeks, overseeing the return of some artifacts that had been taken from Adima more than two hundred years ago. The half dozen artifacts that he had been intending to take back had multiplied, however, and now with more than two hundred pieces looking for a return to their Adima homeland, the process had stretched out.

  "But today should be the last of it," Bashir said helpfully. "After you bring on the archivist to oversee the rest of this, you should be able to return to Adima."

  "It's about damn time," Majid sighed with relief. "New York is fun, but I'm ready to return home."

  The first week he had spent in New York, everything had been fresh and new. The parties had seemed loud and enjoyable, and of course it had been nice to be the center of so much attention. However by the end of the first week, it was already old hat, and he had gotten down to business, eager to be home.

  Last night’s outing had been a whim. Something at the back of his head told him that he should head out that night, and that little voice was seldom wrong. It hadn’t been wrong last night, either.

  He had expected to go have a drink and perhaps chat with some people. What he hadn't expected was for a beautiful blonde spitfire to all but fall into his arms.

  When he thought of her beautiful blue eyes and shining blonde hair, something had seized in his heart. He had thought she was lovely from the moment she nearly tumbled into him, but then she had opened her mouth, and he didn't know what to think.

  As a sheikh and a statesman, Majid spent far too much of his time around people who would never tell him the truth. Politicians lied as easily as they spoke, and he knew it. To meet a girl and to realize that she was being completely honest with him touched him in a way he hadn't expected.

  It was altogether too clear that she had been hurt at some point. There was something wounded about her, something dark that hovered behind her. However, over all that was her shining strength and determination. She might have been knocked down, but she wasn't knocked out.

  Instead, she came up swinging, and she sat at the bar with him, drinking and talking and unafraid.

  He wished again that she had been willing to take his number, or at least to give him hers. He might have been willing to stretch his visit to New York out a little longer, or perhaps he could have convinced her to come back to Adima with him.

  Still, perhaps it was for the best that he left his perfect golden girl here in New York. It was an encounter that was brief and perfect, and perhaps he should simply be satisfied with that.

  "Will I be interviewing the archivist?" he asked Bashir, who frowned politely.

  "Well, that is something that we can put off on the staff, but the truth of the matter is that it will be far better if …"

  "If I do it personally, I understand," he said with a sigh. Bashir was very much invested in things being proper and appropriate. He couldn't blame his secretary, but sometimes, there were some things that he thought might be better off delegated.

  No matter. He would interview this applicant, who looked stunning from everything her resume said. Then he could hand the packaging and cataloging of the collection over to her, and he could be back in Adima in less than a day.

  Though New York was w
arming up to what seemed to be a beautiful spring, he couldn't help but miss Adima’s dry heat and spare beauty.

  In his office, he waited for the archivist, going over her resume again. She had been out of the field for almost eight months, but her credentials were impeccable. From her cover letter, he could tell that this work was her passion as well as her career, and that usually boded well.

  He lingered over her name. Angela Marsh. There was something very familiar about that name, but at the moment, he couldn't place it. It nagged at the edge of his mind, right up until the time Bashir came in to announce the candidate.

  He rose to offer her his hand, but as he did so, he realized who it was who was following Bashir into the room.

  Instead of the gorgeous golden dress she wore the night before, she was very properly attired in a sharp skirt and blazer set, a blue blouse under the blazer that perfectly matched her eyes. Her golden hair was twisted back in an elegant knot, and the neat heels she wore gave her just a bit of extra height.

  From the way her eyes widened, he could tell that she recognized him too, but she stayed utterly still as Bashir announced her and made himself scarce. She took his hand, and he noted absently that hers was warm, her grip firm. They held on a little longer than they should have, and when they let go awkwardly, Majid could not stop himself from chuckling.

  "Well, here we are," he said wryly.

  "You were telling the truth," she said, and he suspected that she was keeping her voice level by sheer force of will. "You are a prince."

  "More appropriately, I am a sheikh, a son of the desert and the mountain," he said with a slight smile. "I mean, you can probably find that out if you Google me."

  "Well, I thought Googling was something you did if you wanted to go on a date with them and not get murdered," she shot back. "I didn't know I was meant to do it after every single encounter at a bar."

  "Ouch," he said. "Was I truly so forgettable?"

  Her gaze softened immediately, and he didn't think that it was because she thought she had insulted her potential new employer.

  "No, not at all …" she said quietly. "Look, this may feel a little strange, but…"

  For a moment he was convinced that she was going to excuse herself from the situation, but again, Angie surprised him.

  "But this is a job I really need for a number of reasons. I guess that maybe after last night, you can guess some of them. If you don't think that you can give me a fair shake, that's one thing, and I'll get back onto the wanted ads. However, if you think there is any chance I'm a good fit for this job, I want to apply."

  He was already shaking his head. "Under no circumstances am I willing to let you leave here without at least assessing your skills," he said firmly. "With that in mind, shall we get started?"

  Her face lit up for a moment before settling back into more professional lines. In that moment, Majid found himself enchanted all over again. She was a pretty woman when she simply observed the world around her with calm eyes. When she lit up with joy, however, there was a beauty in her that gleamed like gold, something that no sorrow could ever tarnish or hide.

  "Yes, I would like that."

  "Very well. All right, Ms. Marsh, let's talk about where you went to school …"

  Throughout the interview, between being impressed by her answers and considering how he thought she would mesh with the project, the familiarity of her name came up again and again in his mind. She called herself Angie, and he suspected that everyone in her life did. However the name that had stuck in his head was Angela Marsh, one that he was sure he had read before, sometime recently.

  As he went down his list of questions, he saw her fold her hands calmly in front of her. A part of them simply noticed that she had beautiful hands, small, neat, and slender. Another part of him zeroed in on the fact that there was a band of pale skin around the ring finger of her right hand, right where an engagement ring would have sat. The final piece of the puzzle clicked together.

  They had been going over her extensive history with projects like his collection, but now Majid stopped still, staring at her.

  She blinked at him, suddenly self-conscious.

  "Is … is there a spider on me or something?"

  "No, but … were you … excuse me, but were you the bride who donated her wedding reception and catering to the homeless shelter for young teens?"

  He saw a moment of pain cross her face before she smiled determinedly at him.

  "Yeah, that was me," she admitted. "I guess you read that one in the Times, huh?"

  Majid was staring at her as if she had grown a second head, and she sighed.

  "It's not that strange of a decision," she said defensively. "They told me that they weren't going to refund me anything, so I figured, why not give a party to some folks who really deserve one and who haven't been having a very good time of it."

  "In all fairness," he said, "You weren't having a very good time of it then either."

  She shrugged.

  "I admit that I was feeling pretty awful, but you know? I didn't wear the dress I picked out—thank god that could be returned—but I did dress up, and I did get to go see some awesome kids dance their cares away for a few hours. They had a good time. It felt good to give people some fun and a hot meal. It was what I could do with what I had."

  "Oh, I wasn't criticizing at all," Majid said, still watching her rather wide-eyed. "I'm just … impressed that you could take something that was … well, take a canceled wedding and turn it into something generous for the people who had less than you."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Would you rather the food have gone to waste?"

  He laughed a little. He had, she thought, a rather nice laugh.

  "I'm trying to make you sound like a freak, aren't I?" He shook his head.

  "Maybe a little bit, yeah …"

  "I'm sorry. Let's get back to the interview."

  When she had come in, her heart had just about stopped when she found out who was running the show. Then, when he started to ask her questions, she realized that this wasn't necessarily a disaster. He kept his questions professional and cogent. She got to talk about what she knew best, and she got to share what she would do with his collection, which was deeply fascinating to her.

  Her job as an archivist was designed to protect artifacts and collections just like his. The fact that the precious things of his culture and history had been recovered after all this time touched her heart in a way that she tried to put into words for him.

  "When I was young, my family moved around a lot, " she found herself saying. "Dad was an admin in the Navy, and that meant that we traveled all over the place. A year here, six months there. It kept us on the go. I liked it, in some ways. I got to meet all sorts of interesting people and to see so many things. However, it gave me a real reverence for the idea of home. These things that you have been collecting and getting ready to have shipped back to Adima, well, it feels as if those are things that are trying to return home. I want to help them. "

  For a long moment, she was shocked at what had come out of her mouth. She was stunned that she had said all of that. She must sound like a lunatic. She looked at Majid, who had gone as still as a statue. She was just bracing herself to be thanked for her time before being shown the door when he stood suddenly. God, but the man was tall.

  "Welcome aboard, " he said, offering her his hand.

  Her eyes went wide. She just stared at him for a second, unable to believe that she had been given this opportunity. It was unprofessional in the extreme, but she asked him almost timidly, "Really? "

  Majid's grin was white and sharp. Suddenly she remembered the smooth operator from the club, and the way his charm had made her feel as if she were dancing on air.

  "On one condition. "

  "Name it, " she said immediately.

  "That if you want to kiss me again, you will tell me about it, " he said with mock solemnity. "The last time you did that, I was not able to enjoy it as much as I sh
ould have. It was simply too hurried. "

  "Oh, would you have liked to linger more? " she asked. The moment she did so, she knew that she had made a mistake. There was something dangerous here. She knew that the situation was a risky one. It was too easy to get pulled in, carried away.

  Majid came around the desk towards her. She knew that she should have been backing away, but instead she stood stock still, staring up at him. She realized that his black eyes were fastened squarely on her lips. Without thinking of what she was doing, she licked them, making him smile.

  "Linger … yes, that is a good word. So is savor. So is toy with …"

  She swallowed hard because right now, all she wanted to do was to lean up to him and kiss him again. A small and insane part of her brain insisted that she had not had enough before. They had not kissed long enough, they had not touched enough.

  Instead, Angie made herself take a large step back, holding up her hands.

  "All right, " she said, sounding a great deal more brisk than she felt. "We need to put the brakes on. If I'm correct, you just offered me a job. I really hope that job wasn't contingent on my ability to flirt and to look good in a gold dress? "

  Majid looked horrified that she had even mentioned such a thing.

  "Of course not! "

  She grinned. "Good. I didn't think so. Then I'm your employee, and we're going to have a proper employee–employer relationship. I'll do my work, you'll tell me how to do it better, and I'll live up to your every expectation. How's that? "

  He looked distinctly regretful about that, but chastened, he nodded. They shook hands as solemn as judges, and his easy smile returned.

  "I have a few things to take care of here. If you go down the hall and take a right, Bashir will get your paperwork set up for you. "

  "Thank you, Mr. al Said, you won't regret this. "

  "Sheikh. "

  She blinked. "I beg your pardon. "

  "The proper term of address for those in my employ is Sheikh Majid. It is how things are done in Adima. "

  "Sheikh Majid …" she tried experimentally. The distance that she had gained in calling him mister abruptly disappeared. This title was something else. It was ancient, and there was a sense of lordliness about it, nobility and honor.