Kat Martin - Against the Sun

“That’ll work just fine.” He pulled an envelope out of the breast pocket of his navy blue coat, opened it and withdrew several sheets of paper. “These are notes I made on some of the protocols you and your people will need to learn. If you’re ready, we might as well get started.”

His blue eyes ran over her, but the heat was no longer there. Still, just looking at all that masculinity packaged so nicely made her skin feel warm. She told herself whatever minor attraction she felt to Jake Cantrell was unimportant. And that all of this would be over in just a few days.

Walking away from him, she sat down behind her desk. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Two

The lady was hot, no doubt about it. Jake knew a lot of pretty women, but Sage Dumont had something besides a beautiful face and what appeared to be a spectacular body. No, she wasn’t just pretty. She had a certain presence, a kind of aura about her. In the marines, the guys used to say a woman had It. That inexplicable quality that drew a man when his brain told him to run like hell the opposite way.

Fortunately, Sage was a Dumont, and to Jake that screamed high society, rich and spoiled. The lady might be great for a night or two in bed, but beyond that, he hadn’t the slightest interest.

One thing he knew. She might be engaged, but she wasn’t in love. A woman didn’t look at a man the way she looked at him when she was in love with someone else.

He couldn’t help pitying the unlucky bastard she was going to marry. Jake was just damned glad it wasn’t him.

Settling in one of the two cream leather chairs across from where she sat behind a sleek, black-granite topped desk, he unfolded several printed sheets of instruction.

“Let’s start with some general background,” he said. “I’ll make it short and to the point. If you know this already, stop me.” He glanced at her, saw he had her full attention. “Saudi Arabia is a monarchy bordered by Jordan, Iraq, Kuwait, the Persian Gulf and Qatar.”

“I know where it is.”

“But you’ve never been there.”

“No.”

“Then maybe you don’t know that if you aren’t Muslim, you can’t go to Saudi Arabia without an invitation, nor can you leave without permission.” He checked to see if she was getting bored. “To give you some idea of the kind of people you’ll be dealing with, visitors to Saudi Arabia have to abide by sharia law. You can be imprisoned for possessing alcohol, pornography, drugs or even pork. Thieves still have their hands cut off, and capital crimes are punished by public beheadings.”

Her face went a little pale.

“It’s a different culture,” he went on. “They don’t think the way we do. That’s the first thing you need to know.”

She took a slow breath and started nodding. “All right. What else?”

“Knowing their names isn’t enough. You’ll need to find out how they want you to address them. If they’re members of the royal family—and there are six thousand of those—you’ll address a male as Your Highness. Unless he’s in line for the throne, in which case you would say Your Royal Highness.”

“I’ll get whatever information we need.”

“Saudi men don’t usually shake hands with women. Let them make the first move.”

“All right.”

“Do you own a skirt that comes below your knees?”

Her lips faintly curved. “Not this season.”

“Then buy some. And be sure your arms and shoulders are covered. What you have on is fine, but the skirt needs to be longer.”

“These people are coming to my country—I’m not going to theirs. I don’t see why I should change to please them.”

“How bad do you want to make this deal?”

It meant everything. If she closed this purchase, she could prove to her grandfather that she was the person to take over as president of the company when Michael Curtis resigned next year.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said.

“I need the details of their visit. How long they’ll be staying. Which hotel they’ll be in, what security measures are being taken.”

“We’ve booked them into the presidential suite at the Four Seasons. They’ll have the entire twentieth floor. It’s a five-star hotel and it’s close to the office. I was planning to leave security up to their own people.”

“Bad idea. They don’t know the city or the hotel. I can take a look if you want, see what might need to be done.”

“All right, yes. That sounds like a good idea.”

“And you’ll need to inform the local authorities of the visit.”

“Already done. Everything’s covered.”

They spent the better part of another hour going over the protocols, things like not waving someone forward with your fingers, which an Arab might do to summon a dog. Or making the okay sign, forming a circle with your thumb and forefinger, which meant you were giving the person the evil eye.

Sage was exhausted by the time Cantrell unfolded his tall frame from the chair. Damn, the man was big. He had feet the size of snowshoes and big hands, as well.

She didn’t let her mind wander in the direction that led her.

Instead, she thought that for a bodyguard he seemed fairly polished and intelligent. His clothes were perfectly tailored to fit his tall, broad-shouldered frame. His suit wasn’t a two-thousand-dollar Armani, but it hadn’t come off the rack at J. C. Penney’s, either.

He glanced down at the heavy watch on his wrist. “Why don’t we take a break?” he suggested. “You haven’t had lunch. We can meet back here in an hour, get started again.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I thought we were finished.”

Cantrell’s mouth edged up, a hard mouth, but sexy. “I hate to disappoint you, but we’re just getting started.”

Sage looked at the stack of notes on her desk, thought of the endless preparations she still needed to complete to get ready for the Saudis. “I’ve got appointments all afternoon. I won’t be finished until at least seven o’clock tonight.”

“All right, I’ll pick you up here at seven. We’ll catch some dinner and continue where we left off.”

She gazed up at him and inwardly groaned. She was exhausted from working the long hours necessary to prepare for the negotiation. Now she had to deal with Jake Cantrell.

To say nothing of the tug of attraction she felt whenever she looked at him. Or worse yet, when she felt him looking at her.

She wouldn’t act on any of it, of course. She was committed to Phillip. Which reminded her to call and tell him she wouldn’t be able to see him tonight. They would have only tomorrow evening to say goodbye before he returned to Edinburgh, where his North Sea drilling operations office was located.

Reluctantly, she returned her attention to Cantrell. “I’ll be ready when you get here,” she said. And wished she’d be going home to get some sleep instead.

* * *

Jake left the office and climbed into his Jeep. He’d bought it two months ago, a replacement for Sassy, the old, beat-up one that had served him so well over the years. The new Jeep was also black, but shiny, and had a canvas top without holes. He’d had it up all summer so he could run the air conditioner, which actually worked.

He cranked the engine, thinking of the evening ahead. What the hell had he been thinking? Yes, he needed to work with Sage as much as he could before the Saudis arrived. He sure as hell didn’t need to take the woman to dinner.

Yet there was something about Sage Dumont that interested him. He tried to think of her as the spoiled rich socialite she undoubtedly was, but somehow it didn’t seem to fit.

He reminded himself that she was engaged, and that cooled his ardor a little. Not enough.

He wondered what kind of man she had chosen to marry, and how she really felt about him, then reminded himself it was none of his damned business. Disgruntled that he had taken the assignment at all, he left downtown Houston and drove to his office in the University District, where he did freelance work for Atlas Security.