Laura Wright - The Sultan's Bed

Zayad swung left at the farm stand and headed toward Dove Cove. He would only take a few hours of exercise on the warm sand, as he needed to return to the duplex. He had much to accomplish, including keeping his true mission a secret to those around him. His council, like the men he had brought with him—save Fandal—believed his purpose here to be one of rest and relaxation. Of course, they did not question his living quarters or his interest in his neighbor. They dared not. And Zayad expected that they would remain devoted servants for his two-week stay.

Ah, yes, he thought. Two weeks with no questions, no interruptions and no diversions.

A pretty blond attorney with a voluptuous body and angry eyes the color of the hot Emand sand at sunset flashed into his mind. His sister’s roommate was tough and spirited, and if he had more time, he might consider pursuing an affair with her.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

His father had once said, “A man is not a man without restraint. Especially in matters of the state.”

Sea air blew in through his window, but Zayad did not calm in its caress. The irony was too plain. His father, the great sultan, had overlooked his own counsel when coming to America.

Should he expect any less from his son?

Jane Hefner was to food what Manolo Blahnik was to shoes.

Perfection.

Mariah took another bite of the sublimely delicious, strangely refreshing basil ice cream and sighed. “Tell me again why you have to leave?”

Jane folded a pale yellow shirt with faultless precision and gently placed it between two pieces of parchment in her suitcase. “The restaurant wants publicity, so it’s me to the rescue. And teaching some pampered movie star how to make veal piccata and garlic mashed potatoes for her next film might sound like a chore to some people, but to me it’s—”

“A dream come true?”

Jane laughed. “Hey, it’s Cameron Reynolds.”

“Right.” Mariah sat on the bed, folded a pair of jeans for Jane. “You understand that you’re forcing me to eat a week’s worth of frozen dinners?”

Jane eased the jeans from Mariah and refolded them. “Dry fish sticks, watery mashed potatoes, mushy pea-and-carrot medley and fig compote?” She shrugged. “I don’t see the problem.”

“You may be a genius in the kitchen, but you have absolutely no compassion on my poor stomach.”

“I know. But I’ll be back before you know it.”

Mariah paused, realized how pathetic she sounded with all the Miss Lonely Hearts prattle. Seemed she relied on her friend too much. After her divorce from Alan, she’d clung to Jane as a sister, as a friend—the way she had when they were kids, when her parents had died and her feeble grandmother had given her a home but little else.

Mariah fell back on the bed. “Can I just say that your boss is pretty ballsy for making you go on such short notice?”

“It’s cash, M.”

Jane’s sudden serious tone and slight grimace made Mariah pause, ease up on the semiphony guilt trip. She knew Jane was saving up to open her own restaurant. It was her dream. And as her friend, Mariah wasn’t about to be anything but all-the-way supportive. “All right, but if your boss doesn’t compensate you big time for this, you know I can always sue him. Or, hey, I have a friend down at the board of health and he’s really into closing down Italian restaurants.” Mariah leaned on her elbows. “I think his brother was taken out by the mob or something.”

Jane laughed, shut her suitcase. “Thanks, M. I’ll think about it.”

“No you won’t. You’re too damn nice to think about it.”

She grinned. “So, I hear our new neighbor’s moved in. Have you met him yet?”

Mariah rolled her eyes. “Have I met him? You could say that.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say I was in rare form—there were bruises and razor-sharp banter on the menu.”

Jane laughed, sat down beside her. “Is he good-looking, or a toad like the last one?”

“Why are you asking me all this? You’ve met him, too.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Sure you have.”

Jane shook her head.

Mariah blinked at her. “Maybe you said hi in passing or something, because he knows you.”

“He knows me? What are you talking about?”

“He asked about you when he bumped into me—well, when I bumped into him. He wanted to know when you’d be home. It was like you’d met and talked and he was more than ready to ask you out.”

Jane sniffed. “That’s bizarre. Maybe Mrs. Gill told him about us, and after he met you he wanted to meet me…some neighborly, friendly kind of thing?”

“I dunno.” Mariah shrugged. “But whatever his story is, be careful. He’s trouble.”

“Why?” Jane slid her feet into a pair of pink flip-flops that were placed neatly by the foot of the bed. “Because he’s tall, dark and handsome?”

“For a start.”

All humor dropped away from Jane’s pretty face. She put a hand on Mariah’s shoulder and took a breath. “Listen, M, someday you’re going to have to see the world and every man in it with fresh eyes.”

Mariah bristled, looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Yeah, all right, I do. But that day’s not today.”

“Okay.” Jane gave her a huge hug and said, “I’ll call you,” then stood, grabbed her suitcase and left the room.

After she had gone, Mariah headed into the kitchen to make herself one of the aforementioned TV dinners and contemplate her next move in the custody case she was working on. Her client’s ex was smart and had hidden his affairs well. It was going to take some serious digging to find anything she could use.

When the breaded fish and compote were ready, she went outside and sat at the pretty picnic bench Jane had set up on the brick patio. The backyard looked lovely bathed in the night’s light. Moon, stars, a few clouds…and soggy carrot-and-pea medley.

Ah, did it get any better than this?

“May I join you?”

Mariah gave a tiny jump, then glanced over her shoulder. Her new neighbor was walking through his patio doors toward her. He looked unbelievably handsome in the moonlight, with that dark-eyes-dark-hair-dark-tailored-clothes thing happening. He was also clean shaven, and it made all the sharp angles in his face look harder and sexier.

Her heart kicked to life in her chest, but she held fast to a calm exterior. “I have some square fish and a few peas left, if you’re interested.”

His mouth curved into a smile as he sat opposite her at the picnic table. “I am not very hungry, but thank you.”

“Just checking out the backyard? Or were you looking for someone?”

“Perhaps a little of both.”

“Jane’s not here.”

His gaze went thoughtful. “I did not say I was looking for Jane.”

“You didn’t have to.” Her tone sounded dry and acerbic, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He said, “Perhaps I was looking for you.”

Her heart literally fluttered. Foolish, foolish girl. “And why would that be?”

“Perhaps I wish to know more about this—” he studied her with a lazy, hooded gaze “—fiery woman who lives beside me.”

Fiery! She nearly blushed.

Nearly.

“Well, there’s not much to tell,” she said, running her fork back and forth through the fig compote.

“I doubt that.”

Lord, he had extraordinary eyes—so black, but flecked with gold. A woman could get lost in those eyes if she wasn’t careful. Good thing Mariah was careful.

“Listen,” she said with more regret in her tone than she would have liked. “I’ve got a ton of work to get to, so I’ll say good—”