The Prince of Pleasure (7 page)

The rest was high on his list of Things to Live Without.

Conversation, for one. The attempt at  start-of-day chatter which led, inexorably to questions  about spending the day together, or making plans for the evening, and even though he was not the kind of guy who bedded a woman and then walked away without looking back, he didn't like the expectation that the relationship would involve plans for the day or the evening.

Laurel murmured in her sleep.

Khan looked at her.

She was turned toward him.

Her lips were slightly parted. He could feel her breath warm against his skin.

One arm was flung across his chest.

Her leg was angled against his, her knee pressed lightly into his thigh.

Cramped muscles. Lighted room. Mattress so short his feet dangled off the end. Add in that early morning appointment, the prospect of start-of-day chatter, and it was, most assuredly, time to get out of here…

His expression softened.

He pressed a kiss to Laurel's hair.

Then he put his head against the pillow, drew her closer, and drifted off to sleep.

Laurel woke slowly from a dreamless sleep in Khan's arms.

The night had ended; the soft pink light of early morning streamed through the bedroom window.

Her lover was asleep behind her, his hard, beautiful body spooned against hers. One arm lay curved over her; his hand cupped her breast. She could feel his chest rising and falling as he breathed, and the warmth of his exhalations on the nape of her neck.

A tremor went through her.

She was twenty-eight years old, and not a virgin. She'd had other lovers. Not many. Two, if accuracy mattered. They'd both been nice men and she'd enjoyed being with them, enjoyed sex…

But it had never been like this.

 Khan was a perfect lover.

Excitingly strong, yet wonderfully tender. Demanding of everything she was, but giving of all he was in return. He never found his own completion before she found hers… and she had found it, over and over.

Just remembering how they'd made love excited her.

The feel of his hands on her breasts. The whisper of his mouth on her thighs. The feel of him inside her, all that amazing fullness, the sensation of stretching, opening, lifting herself to take all of him in…

Laurel closed her eyes.

She was turning herself on—but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, because she could feel Khan coming awake.

There was a subtle change in his breathing. In his heartbeat.

And in the rest of him.

The head of his penis was at the juncture of her thighs. She could feel him coming erect, swelling, seeking her.

Her response was instantaneous, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan of pleasure, but he must have heard her because she felt mouth curve as he pressed it to the nape of her neck.

"Good morning," he said softly.

 "Good morning," she whispered.

"I like starting the day like this. Me in your bed, you in my arms."

She liked it, too. That was as amazing as his love-making. She'd never let her lovers stay the night in her bed. Sex was sex. When it was over, it was over.

His fingers toyed gently with her nipple. She moaned again and shifted her backside into the cradle of his thighs.

His breath caught.

"Laurel," he said his voice as rough as gravel.

She reached back, slipped her hand between them, and stroked him. He hissed with pleasure. His hand joined hers, held it for a moment, then pushed it aside. His fingers moved on her. In her.

She cried out.

"Do you want me?" he whispered.

She turned her face against his arm, lightly bit his bicep. He growled something in a language she didn't understand…

And drove into her.

She came as he did, so quick, so hard that, for a heartbeat, she felt herself suspended between life and death.

His name spilled from her lips and he drew back, then thrust into her again. And again. "Khan," she sobbed, "yes, yes, yes…"

He groaned, and as she shattered around him, he spilled himself inside her.

For a long moment, she lay spent within his embrace. He kissed her hair, the sensitive place where her throat and shoulder joined. She sighed, and he turned her gently in his arms so that they were face to face.

Her heart lifted at the sight of him.

Could you call a man beautiful? There really was no other way to describe him, even this early in the morning. His hair was tousled, his jaw was even more darkly stubbled than last night, and his lips wore a smile that went straight to her heart.

"Hello," he said.

Why did she suddenly feel so shy? It had to be because of what she'd been thinking a few minutes ago, that she had never shared her bed with a man before.

She smiled. "Hi."

He stroked his thumb over the arc of her cheekbone.

"You okay?"

She blushed. "Yes."

He grinned. "Ah. A five star recommendation."

She laughed, which she knew damned well was what he'd intended. It was ridiculous to feel shy after what had just happened, after what had happened during the long, wonderful night, and she fell straight into the game.

"Six stars, your highness, but don't let it go to your head."

Khan put a finger under her chin, lifted her face to his, and kissed her.

"Did you sleep well?"

"I must have. I mean, I don't even remember falling asleep. One minute, we were talking, and the next—"

His eyebrows rose. "Is that what people call it here in Texas?"

"Is that what they call…?" She laughed again, a belly laugh, this time. Whoever knew that you could make love and then lie in a man's arms and laugh?

"You have a lovely laugh,
shalal.
"

"What does that mean? Shalal? Is it a word in your own language?"

"Yes." He smiled. "It means…" He paused. "It is difficult to explain in English. It is the name of a flower that grows in the foothills of the Finarian mountains, a flower that is as resilient as it is beautiful."

"Oh, that's—that's lovely."

 "You are what is lovely," he said, brushing his lips lightly over hers. "I only wish we'd got off to a better start."

Laurel laid her hand against his cheek. He turned his face and pressed a kiss into her palm.

"That night at
El Sueño
was my fault."

"That's very sweet but it was mine, entirely. And what happened last week, at Travis's…" He shook his head. "When you know me better, you'll know that I am never like that, never so out of control." His eyebrows rose. "I can almost see the wheels turning in that beautiful head of yours. What are you thinking, sweetheart?"

She considered telling him how incredibly exciting to it was to know she had the power to make him lose control—but there was something much too intimate in that kind of admission.

"I was thinking," she said lightly, "that you sound like a true Lord of All He Surveys."

"No," he said, quickly, "that isn't who I am. I know it seems that way, but—"

"Khan." Laurel kissed his shoulder. "I'm teasing you."

"Yeah." He let out a long, slightly weary breath. "I know. But I don't want you to have the wrong idea about me."

"You mean," she said, widening her eyes, deliberately slipping into the Texas drawl she'd worked hard to lose in grad school,  "you're not His Royal Highness, Sheikh Khan ibn Zain al Hassad, Crown Prince of Altara, Defender of its Ancient and Honorable Throne, Protector of All His People and—what was it? Lion of the Finarian Hills?" 

"Leopard," he said, "you have to get those big cats right," and he smiled, knowing she was trying to take back the things she'd accused him of  the night they met… which didn't change the fact that he suspected  she still believed at least some of them were true.

But then, why wouldn't she?

What she saw of him was the face he showed the world.

Part of it was tradition.

He came from a centuries-old line of kings who had wielded absolute command over their people. Even his father, who had come to the throne in the mid-20
^th
century, had lived by that code. It was the way he had ruled.

Khan believed in tradition, but not in the kind that gave one man the power of life and death over others. He was the first of his line to listen to his ministers' concerns, to hold open meetings with his people, to consider modern technology necessary.

He knew there were still those among his own people who would have gladly turned back the hand of time, if he'd let them.

So, yes, part of the impression the world had of him was based on what it knew, or thought it knew, of Altara's past.

But part of it was his own doing.

He had found, early on, that the only way to survive a world in which paparazzi haunted his every move, in which  fools wanted to stand in the spotlight of his damnable celebrity, was to ignore that world.

 If that meant appearing aloof and permitting people to believe what they wished about him, so be it.

How else to deal with idiots like those women in the elevator last week, or the guy who'd followed him into the  men's room at a restaurant a few days ago and asked for an autograph while they stood, side by side,  at the urinals?

How he'd wanted to provide that autograph in yellow, all over the fool's shoes!

As a result, he'd come to cherish the people with whom he could be himself, but there'd never been a woman in that group.

Now, there was.

Laurel made him feel like a man instead of a figurehead.

At eighteen, female adulation had been heady stuff, but it had stopped being that a decade ago. He'd grown disgusted with being a possible 'catch' as a husband, or a celebrated notch on the bedpost.

With Laurel, he wasn't a king or a prince or even a sheikh. They were simply a man and a woman, although how long they'd have that pleasure before the media jackals interfered was anyone's guess. They'd find out about Laurel and then they'd snap at her heels the way they did at his.

They'd turn their cameras on her, follow her, the gossip crazies and the just-plain-vanilla crazies like the woman who'd come to his suite last night…

Hell! How could he have forgotten?

Khan rolled away from Laurel, shot to his feet, and grabbed his clothes. "I completely forgot that I have an appointment this morning. Forgive me. I'll take a quick shower, if you don't mind, and—"

"Oh. Oh, of course. I understand."

"Good. I'm glad that you do because…"

Wait a minute. There'd been a world of meaning in those few words. He turned and saw Laurel sitting up, her back to him, the covers clutched to her throat.

What a fool he was!

"Laurel."

"That's okay," she said quickly, "you don't have to explain. Really, I underst—"

"Dammit," he growled. A second later, he hauled her, none-too-gently, into his arms. "You think this is a brush-off?"

She didn't answer. What could she say that wouldn't sound pathetic? She was a grown woman. Taking a man to your bed in today's world didn't mean he was signing on forever, or even for a second night.

"Look at me," he demanded.

She took a breath and raised her eyes to his face. It was time for a clever remark, a sophisticated laugh, something that would make it clear he didn't owe her any explanations or allegiance because he didn't, but the lie stuck in her throat.

"I'm a big girl," she said quietly. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"I don't
have
to explain myself to anybody," he said, with all the princely arrogance she'd accused him of. "But I want to explain myself, to you." Carefully, he tucked a dark curl behind her ear. "One of the joys of being somebody like me," he said with forced lightness, "is that you attract devoted followers."

"Trust me, your highness," she said coolly. "I have no intention of—"

"You," Khan said, "are a very prickly woman."

"I am an independent woman, and I assure you, I am not—"

He kissed her to silence.

"A quick lesson in the realities of life in the fast lane," he said, when he finally raised his head. "I'm talking about the kind of devoted followers who… How shall I put this? The kind who collect restraining orders like Olympic athletes collect medals."

Her eyes widened.

"What?"

 "There are always people who want someone they consider a celebrity to give autographs. Or pose for photos. Annoying, when you are your nation's representative and not a rock star, but harmless." His mouth twisted. "It only becomes a problem when people with mental issues decide you are their reason for living."

"And that's happened to you?"

"Once," he admitted, "in the past. Now, I seem to have caught the attention of a woman with problems here in Dallas."

Laurel's face paled. "Did she try to hurt you?"

"She tried to—to entice me. I know it sounds amusing—"

"No, it doesn't. I have several clients—women—whose husbands and boyfriends can't decide if they want to seduce them or kill them."

"Yes. Well, I guess you can't always tell until things start to escalate. Not that I think this will," he said quickly. "She's more an annoyance than a threat."

"What did the police say?"

"I haven't contacted them."

"But you must!"

Khan shook his head. "Altara doesn't need that kind of publicity. Besides, there's nothing they can do. That's what I was saying. She hasn't really done anything actionable."

"Yet," Laurel said.

He shrugged. "The odds are that she won't."

"You're talking to a lawyer, remember?"

Khan smiled and dropped a light kiss on her mouth. "How could I possibly forget?"

"I'm serious. You should have some kind of protection. That's what I always advise my clients. In your case, because of who you are, you need a security detail. Bodyguards, in shifts around the clock."

"You and Jamal would get along fine," he said dryly. She raised her eyebrows in question. "My head of security. I sent for him because of this—this problem."

"If you sent for him, where is he?"

Khan almost laughed. 

A little while ago, she'd been shy about waking in his embrace even after they'd spent the night making love.

Now, he was holding her in his arms, both of them naked. And she wasn't anything close to shy. She'd gone from the woman he'd spent the past hours with to the woman who'd confronted him at the Wilde ranch.

And he loved it.

In fact, it was turning him on.

Any second now, and she would know it.

He told himself to concentrate. On Jamal. On bodyguards. On anything but the feel of her, the sexy contrast between her softness and her determination to make him admit he was wrong.

"Khan!" She scowled, gave him a look that surely meant he was being impossibly foolish. "Don't look at me that way."

"What way?" he said, all innocence. .

"As if you find what I'm saying, I don't know, amusing! It's a serious question. If you have a security guy, where is he?"

"At my hotel. If I need him, I can reach him in a second."