ROMANCE: THE SHEIKH'S GAMES: A Sheikh Romance (51 page)

“Oh. Okay, thank you.” She buzzed him in, and opened the door, but left it on the chain.

In the cold light of day he was, if anything, even more handsome than he’d been at the club. Unnervingly so. He was standing in the hallway in a black tee shirt and worn jeans, looking like someone’s birthday cake. He held the phone out and she reached through the gap and took it.

“Thank you.”

“Two things,” he told her, “and then I’ll go. First, I put my name and number in there in case you ever need help. This isn’t a come-on, it’s genuine. My sister had a stalker and it shattered her peace of mind for years. If I can help, I will. Otherwise you can ignore it; no harm, no foul.”

She didn’t reply.

“Second. Please consider talking to someone. I also put the name and number of my sister’s counselor in there. Again, there’s nothing attached to it. But she helped Joanie.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He frowned and pitched his voice low. “Are you okay right now?” he asked. It took her a moment to get his meaning.

“You mean is he here? No, he’s not. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” Sophia was embarrassed. “Just a minute.” She closed the door and unchained it. “I’m sorry. I’m still rattled about last night. I shouldn’t be; he still shows up where he’s not welcome. Would you like to come in?”

“No. I’m not going to intrude. That wasn’t my intention.”

“I just made a fresh pot of coffee. You’re welcome. Really.” She was so ashamed at having behaved as if this guy was the enemy when the truth was that he was the only person who had ever unreservedly stood between her and Phil. Everyone else, even her family, had been ambivalent about the situation at least occasionally.

“If you’re sure. I don’t want to be part of the problem.”

“You’re not. I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for what you did. You had no way of knowing how violent he might have been, but you stepped up. I really appreciated that. Please come in.”

“Thanks.” He followed her to the kitchen. “I’m Daniel, by the way. Daniel Buchanan.”

“Sophia Eklund. But you know that. Silly of me. Please sit down. I got up early and went to the bakery on the corner, so there’s a pecan coffee cake. I hope you like them.”

“Love ‘em,” he said.

She poured two cups of coffee and set the coffee cake on the table. There was an uncomfortable silence as they whitened their coffee and Sophia cut slices of coffee cake, but then they both started talking at once.

“I’m sorry. You first,” he said with a laugh.

“No, guests first.”

“I was going to ask if you’re comfortable talking about that guy. If not, it’s okay, that’s your business. But if you did…” He let the thought trail off.

Her first instinct was to say no, she wasn’t particularly comfortable. But again she was reminded that he had done for her what no one else had ever done. Maybe she owed him an explanation.

“I met him about four years ago,” she began. “He was a blind date. We hit it off, seemed to like the same things. But later I began to realize that he’d been lying about the things he liked just so we’d have things in common.”

Daniel was nodding as he listened. “And once you were hooked, he tried to make you change and like his stuff, right?”

“Yes! Oh my gosh, is that what happened to your sister?”

“Yeah. It’s a control thing, I guess. I don’t get it, really, but I gather it’s not uncommon.”

“He made me think that everything I liked was shit, that I had no taste, no intellect. Sometimes I’m no even sure what it is I do like anymore. I haven’t listened to music in months.”

“What did you listen to before you met him?”

“I liked oldies.”

“Like how old?”

“Forties, fifties, sixties.”

“Beatles?”

“Oh yeah!”

“Good. You need to listen to them again. They’ll remind you of who you are.”

“I got rid of all my CDs when we lived together. But I can buy some new ones. That’s a good idea,” she said, feeling more hopeful. “So what do you like to listen to?” she asked, figuring he’d say country rock, or metal, or maybe electronic music.”

“Mostly classical these days. You look surprised. Did you think I’d say ZZ Top or something?”

Sophia laughed. “I didn’t know what to think. I’ve never actually met anyone like you.”

“Oh, the tatts and all?”

She nodded. “It’s a little scary.”

“Yeah, I guess. Souvenirs of my misspent youth.”

“Were you a reform school boy?”

That made him laugh. He threw back his head and laughed out loud. His teeth were strong and white. Sophia had never seen anyone with sexy teeth before.

“I was a prep school boy. This is all in reaction to a very conservative upbringing.”

“Prep school? Private?”

“Yup. Andover and then Cambridge. My folks wanted me to go to Yale, but I dug my heels in and held out for another country.”

“You are just full of surprises.”

“You know what they say about books and covers,” he reminded her.

“Let me get you some more coffee.” As she poured she said, “So what do you do? Lawyer? Doctor?”

“Lord no. I own a tech company.”

“Not Buchanan BioTech?”

“The same. You’ve heard of it? I’m surprised.”

“The company I work for insures it. You’re pretty diversified if I remember correctly.”

“You do,” he told her. New stuff is like candy to me. Right now we’re working on 3D medical printing, and it’s fantastically exciting. We can print new skin for burn victims. It’s like science fiction, but my company is doing it.” As he spoke about it, his eyes lit up and it was clear that he believed passionately in what his company was going. Listening to him was exciting.

Finally he said, “I’m sorry, I get wound up about these things. I don’t mean to go on and on.”

“No, honestly, it’s so interesting. I had no idea.”

He shifted the conversation over to her job which, by comparison seemed humdrum, yet he listened with the same rapt attention she’d felt while listening to him. She hoped he wasn’t faking it. And as she wondered that, she began to feel uneasy again.

He must have seen it in her eyes, seen her withdraw a little from the conversation. “I’m sorry, is there a problem?”

“My life isn’t all that interesting. Not by comparison.”

“Why compare it?”

“You can’t possibly be interested in what I’m saying.” She meant it to end the conversation, but it came out as an accusation, and he caught it.

“I should go. I’m making you uneasy, and that’s the last thing I want to do.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just… I don’t know what’s real with people anymore.”

He nodded. “The odd thing is that if you’re very rich, or very famous, it’s the same. You never really know what people want from you. You take care, Sophia. Remember, if you need any help, I’m here, and so is Doctor Forster.” He tapped her phone, grabbed one last slice of coffee cake, and strode to the door.

Sophia was transfixed by his sweet, round backside, a feeling that was utterly at odds with her anxiety, and it made her laugh out loud.

He half turned. “What? Did I sit in something?”

“No. I’m sorry. It would be difficult to explain.” At least without turning about fifteen shades of crimson. She jumped up and followed him to the door. “I appreciate what you’ve done.”

“You’re welcome. See you.” He slipped out and was gone before she could say what she really wanted to say which was, “Stay. You turn me on. You confuse me. Go. But stay.” And, “I want you.”

Thank goodness he moved quickly. She shut the door and leaned against it, a big, goofy smile on her face. She didn’t want to feel this way about any man right now, but it felt a little sweet at the same time.

Daniel had entered his name in her phone with “ICE” next to it. ICE? She had to look it up on the Internet, and discovered that it meant “In Case of Emergency.” It was what some people did when they made entries in their contact list. ICE meant that those were the people to be called if something bad happened to the phone’s owner.

She sat down and added ICE to her parents’ entry, and to the one for her aunt Elaine, who lived in San Francisco. Then she looked Daniel up and found that he had a Wikipedia entry. She’d never known anyone who had a Wikipedia entry.

Daniel Gavin Mathieson Buchanan was thirty-four years old. He had a distinguished pedigree, being the son of Thomas Stewart Buchanan, a real estate tycoon descended from the Earls of Buchanan in Scotland, and Carolina Mathieson, the daughter of actress Philippa Paige and producer George Mathieson. He had one sister, Joan Mary Buchanan Roth.

Daniel had been married at seventeen to an Irish girl he met at Cambridge, much to the dismay of both families, but the marriage, which was, by all accounts, very happy, ended tragically when Siobhan Buchanan died in a riding accident less than two years later.

“Oh how sad,” Sophia murmured.

Daniel threw himself into work, founding a medical research lab named Drake Scientific where they did research on brain injuries and how to prevent and treat them. Five years later, the company was bought by a huge biotech company, and Daniel rolled the money over into Buchanan BioTech. It was estimated that by age thirty, Daniel Buchanan had been worth a billion dollars in his own right.

“Holy shit,” Sophia said. “Holy shit.”

She read about his family life, including a terse version of his sister’s stalker incident, as the author of the page called it. It made her sick to read that after several years of harassment, Joan’s stalker tried to kill her in a knife attack at the family home in Martha’s Vineyard, but Daniel and his father stopped the man who was now behind bars.

She wished she hadn’t read that part.

Daniel’s hobbies were racing cars, classical music (he was an accomplished pianist!), martial arts, and sailing. He’d been the producer for his grandmother’s last film, Stars of the Southern Cross, a film about a woman who had been sent to a penal colony in Australia in the late eighteenth century, and who had lived to be nearly one hundred and had fought for aboriginal rights. Ms Paige had died only days after the film was greeted with critical praise at Cannes. Daniel was noted for being, not precisely reclusive, but very reserved, and disinclined to speak to the press unless he had something to promote.

He was a romantic figure; Sophia could feel it about him. She had the sense that women, and probably some men, threw themselves at his feet regularly. Then she remembered what he’d said about how, when you’re rich or famous, you never know what people really want from you, and she realized that, kind as he had been to her, he probably only wanted to extend aid and support to a woman who had suffered the same sort of trauma as his sister.

In short, he was being a nice guy. She shouldn’t read any more into it. And that, she thought, was a shame.

Several weeks passed uneventfully. Phil seemed to have disappeared, for which Sophia was grateful. She knew though that at the end of the month he’d probably try to intrude on her life again. Her birthday was the twenty-seventh of May, and Phil had never forgotten about it when they were together. She had more than enough reason to believe that he would try to contact her under the guise of wishing her a happy birthday. But rather than sitting at home fretting about what form his intrusion would take — she had not forgotten Joan Buchanan’s stalker — she decided to be proactive. She phoned Daniel.

“I feel very odd calling you, but the thing is that next Friday is my birthday, and I believe Phil is going to try to make contact. I don’t want to stay home alone, but if I go out somewhere I’m afraid he’ll follow me. I’m not sure what to do, and I thought maybe you’d have some suggestions?”

“I do. Why don’t we go to dinner together? I’ll happily run interference for you. Please invite your parents too, and make it a party. He’ll be more intimidated by their presence since he probably still wants their approval.”

It was a good idea, disappointing only in that a small part of Sophia had hoped to be alone with Daniel. But he was right. “I’ll do that. Where shall I have them meet us?”

“I’ll come and pick you up, so have them come to your place.”

“I really am sorry to impose.”

“It’s not a problem, he promised. “I’m happy to do it.”

She phoned her parents and told them the plan, omitting the part about Daniel being a billionaire. She didn’t want to deal with that reaction.

But Daniel didn’t make it easy to be low profile. When he came to the door, and escorted them out to his car, it was a limo waiting for them. The restaurant he took them to was one of the most expensive and exclusive in the city, and he’d arranged for champagne and a special birthday cake for her as well as a big bouquet of pale pink roses.

“This is too much,” she whispered to him as they sat down. “I didn’t expect—”

“I know. I just thought you deserved a carefree birthday, and something special.”

“I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“You can always pay kindness forward,” he told her. “That keeps it going.”

He was a good host, too, charming her parents, telling funny stories, asking them about the things that were important in their lives. He was a genuinely nice guy, and Sophia felt blessed that he had taken the time and effort to be nice to her.

On the way out, though, after a perfectly lovely evening, things took a turn that was less lovely. As they exited the restaurant, Phil appeared, pretending to be passing by. “What a coincidence. Hello Vicky, Harold.”

“Phil, how nice,” her mother said as Phil gave her a kiss on the cheek. “How have you been?”

He shrugged. “Missing our girl,” he told her.

“Let’s go, Mom.”

“But Sophia…”

“Seriously, Mom, the car is here. Let’s go.” She grabbed her mother’s arm and propelled her toward the limo.

Phil just stared.

In the car, Sophia’s mother said, “That was not very nice, Sophia. I thought we raised you better than that.”

“Mom, he’s stalking me. How can you ask me to be nice to him?” she demanded.

“Oh honey, if you’d just be more patient with him—”

“No.”

Everyone turned to Daniel. “No, he hasn’t earned patience, Mrs. Eklund. My sister had a stalker like that. People told her she should be nicer to him, more patient, that she should have tried harder to make the relationship work. In the end, he attacked and nearly killed her. She was in the hospital for a month with savage knife wounds.”