Lucy Monroe - The Chatsfield Collection Books 1-8

* * *

Sayed had a wholly unacceptable and unprecedented reaction to the lovely chambermaid’s words and actions.

His sex stirred, images of exactly how he would like her to serve him flashing through his mind in an erotic slide show of fantasies he was not aware of even having.

The rose wash over her cheeks and vulnerable, almost hungry expression in her green eyes told him those desires could be met, increasing his unexpected viscerally sexual reaction tenfold. Hidden by the fall of his abaya, his rapidly engorging flesh ached with unfamiliar need.

Sayed’s status as a soon-to-be-married man, not to mention melech of his country, dictated he push the images aside and ignore his body’s physical response, however. No matter how difficult he found doing so.

“Thank you, Miss Amari,” Sayed said, his tone imperious by necessity to hide his reaction to her. He indicated the woman assigned to tend his domestic needs. “This is Abdullah-Hasiba. She will let you know of any requirements we may have. Should you have any questions, they can be taken directly to her, as well.”

Miss Amari’s beautiful green gaze chilled and her full lips firmed slightly, but nothing else in her demeanor indicated a reaction to his clear dismissal.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Dipping her head again in the tradition of his people, she then turned to his servant. “I look forward to working with you Miz Abdullah-Hasiba.”

With another barely-there dip of her head, the much-too-attractive hotel employee did that thing well-trained servants were so good at and seemed to just melt away.

Sayed had a baffling and near-unstoppable urge to call her back.

CHAPTER TWO

STILL GRAPPLING WITH the fact she’d forgotten her father in the presence of the emir, Liyah knocked on Miz Abdullah-Hasiba’s door.

She hadn’t even taken the chance to meet Gene Chatsfield’s eyes for the first time. How could she have missed such a prime opportunity?

She was here to observe her father and ultimately make herself known to him. Liyah had not come to the Chatsfield London to ogle a Zeena Sahran prince.

Aaliyah Amari did not ogle anyone.

The door in front of her swung open. The unexpectedness of it, even though she’d been the one to knock, further emphasized how disconnected from her normal self Liyah was.

Wearing a dark apricot kameez embroidered around the neck and wrists with pale yellow thread, the emir’s personal housekeeper clasped her hands in front of her and bent her head forward. “Miss Amari, how may I be of service?”

“I wanted to make sure you and the emir’s other female traveling companions have found your accommodations acceptable.”

“Very much so.” The older woman stepped back and indicated Liyah should enter her room. “Please, come in.”

“I do not want to take you from your duties.”

“Not at all. You must share a cup of tea with me.”

With no polite way to decline, and frankly not inclined to do so, Liyah followed the other woman to the small sofa on the other side of the deluxe room. As much as it might bother her, Liyah could not deny her fascination with the emir.

At least, not to herself.

The Middle Eastern tea service Liyah had purchased on behalf of the hotel—along with the ones for the sheikh and his fiancée’s suites—sat in the center of the oval coffee table.

Miz Abdullah-Hasiba poured the fragrant hot drink from the copper-and-glass pot into the short, narrow matching cups with no handles. “This is a treat.”

“Yes?”

The housekeeper nodded with a smile. “Oh, yes. We do not travel with glassware as it is too easily broken.”

“Naturally.” Liyah waited for the housekeeper to take a sip before following suit, enjoying the sweetened warm beverage and the bittersweet memories it evoked.

Her mom had insisted on beginning and ending each day with a cup of mint tea augmented by a touch of honey.

“Nevertheless, the Chatsfield is the first hotel on the emir’s current European travel itinerary to have thought to provide the traditional tea service.”

“They will only be found in your room, the emir’s suite and that of his fiancée, I’m afraid.”

The older woman smiled. “Your grasp of our culture is commendable. Most hotel staff would have put the tea set in the room for the emir’s secretary.”

Liyah did not shrug off the praise, but neither did she acknowledge it. She was more aware of the Zeena Sahran culture than the average Brit or American, but anyone observant would have taken note that the housekeeper had been booked in the most deluxe room beside the emir’s fiancée’s suite.

“His secretary is actually junior office staff, I believe,” Liyah observed.

“She is. The emir follows the old ways. By necessity, his personal administrative assistant is Duwad, a male.”

“Because your emir cannot work late hours in his suite with a woman, married or otherwise,” Liyah guessed.

“Precisely.”

“So, this is a business trip?” Very little had been said in the media about the nature of the emir’s current travel plans.

“For the most part. Melech Falah insisted Emir Sayed enjoy a final European tour as it were before taking on the mantle of full leadership of our country.”

“The king intends to abdicate the throne to his son?” She’d read speculation to that effect, but nothing concrete.

“One might consider that a possible course of events after the royal wedding.”

Liyah approved the other woman’s carefully couched answer and did not press for anything more definite. “Our head of housekeeping was scandalized at the thought of booking a separate floor for a sheikh’s harem.”

“Ah. She assumed he would be bringing a bevy of belly dancers to see to his needs, no doubt.”

“That may have been her understanding, yes.” Liyah herself had assumed something similar, if not quite so fanciful when first told of the harem.

The Zeena Sahran housekeeper laughed softly. “Nothing so dramatic, I am afraid. The emir is ever mindful of his position as a betrothed man.”

Not sure she believed that, but having very little practical experience with men and none at all with their sex drives, Liyah didn’t argue. She did know the rooms she’d prepared had all been for different female staff members of the prince’s entourage.

Most of the rooms that would ultimately be occupied were slated to house the emir’s fiancée and her mostly female traveling companions. Her brother was supposed to be accompanying her, as well, and had booked a suite on the presidential level near the emir’s.

Not quite as grand, it was nevertheless impressive accommodation.

After a surprisingly enjoyable visit with Hasiba—as she insisted on being called—in which the housekeeper managed to convey unspoken but clear reservations toward the future emira of Zeena Sahra, Liyah left for a meeting with the concierge.

He and his staff expected her input on a finalization of entertainment offerings to make to the sheikh over the next two weeks.

* * *

Liyah came out of the royal suite, pleased with the care the chambermaid assigned to the emir’s rooms had taken.

The vases of purple iris―the official flower of Zeena Sahra―Liyah had ordered were fresh and perfectly arranged. The bowls with floating jasmine on either side of the candelabra on the formal dining table did not have a single brown spot on the creamy white blossoms.

The beds were all made without a single wrinkle and the prince’s tea service was prepped for his late-afternoon repast.

She headed for the main elevator. While staff were encouraged to use the service elevator, she was not required to do so. The busiest time of day for housekeeping and maintenance usually coincided with light use on the guest elevators.