The Sheikh’s American Assistant: Qadir Sheikhs Book Two Page 2

  “Who are you?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Their words tangled up with each other, and he stopped. “Go ahead—”

  “Just say why you’re here.”

  “If you want to—”

  “I don’t—”

  “I think it would be better if—”

  “I need to know who I’m in the car with—”

  Baqir reached out and put a single finger over her lips. Then he reached up and turned on the overhead light.

  The woman blinked in the sudden brightness, then shot a glare at him, dark eyes fiery. She reached up and put her hand over his—heat, pure heat—and pulled it away from her mouth. Her cheeks were pink from her flight and maybe the tumble into his lap. Baqir’s own skin, every inch of it, felt warm and sensitive. He fought to keep the grin off his face. She looked so angry, but his stopping her mouth was the only way that they’d hear each other.

  “My name is Baqir,” he offered. “What’s yours?”

  “Makayla Riggs.” She said the words quickly, like they might be too much for him. Like she was revealing a secret she hadn’t intended to reveal. Well, neither of them had intended to be in the back of the SUV together. Baqir had hoped to be charming his way into the al Baians’ private rooms by now.

  The name Makayla Riggs paired with the slight accent that had underpinned her words caught his interest. “You’re American?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And you—”

  “My apologies for interrupting,” the driver said. He met Baqir’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Your father is looking for you.”

  “One moment,” Baqir said to Makayla. “I have a lot of questions for you, but I should set my father’s mind at ease.”

  She gave him a sharp nod, and Baqir pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his father’s private cell.

  “You’ve gone missing.” Hasim, Baqir’s father, answered the phone with a light accusation. “Should I be worried?”

  “Of course not.” Baqir laughed. “I only stepped out to clear my head.”

  “Stepped out to where? I don’t see you outside.”

  A prick of guilt stung the bottom of his stomach. “I took the car. But there’s no need to worry. I’ll be there for dinner tomorrow.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Baqir stole another glance at the mystery woman. Her shoulders were tense. As he watched, she gave a stiff turn of her head to look out the window. She was holding it together, though. From the way she’d been running, he hadn’t expected that.

  Who was she, and what should he do now?

  “Baqir?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “The phone must have cut out,” Baqir hedged. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

  “I said, I’ll see you at dinner. Will you be bringing any guests?”

  It was an innocent question, Baqir was sure of it. His heart didn’t know the difference. It pumped a cold wash of adrenaline through his veins. Surely, his father didn’t know. He’d only had her in the car a few minutes.

  No. Of course he didn’t know.

  “Just me. Unless you want me to find someone else to improve the company.” Baqir laughed, and his father’s laugh echoed down the line. “I’ll see you then.”

  “Be safe,” Hasim said, then disconnected the call.

  Baqir put the phone back into his pocket.

  Makayla looked down into her lap, the gentle curve of her neck calling to him. He wanted to run his fingertips down the soft skin there. He wanted to undo the neat bun at the nape of her neck and see how long her dark hair was. He wanted to twist it around his wrist, take it in his fist…

  Makayla flicked her gaze back up to his. “Are you planning on dropping me off?”

  “I’m not sure that would be the best idea, if you’re being pursued.” If someone was after her, it might not be the best idea to drive away with her from the front of the al Baians’ home, either. But Baqir had her in his car now. He’d rescued her from certain capture. He had a responsibility to her now. “Come back with me, and we can talk.” It would be better that way. In his quarters at the palace, they could sort all this out without any prying eyes.

  As if she was reading his thoughts, Makayla cut her eyes to the front of the car, where Adham drove with both hands solidly on the wheel. She cleared her throat. “I don’t see that I have much choice,” she said wryly. “But I’d…appreciate the conversation.”

  “Yes,” he said. “It could be very enlightening, given the events of the evening.” Baqir hedged what he wanted to say, but this was mostly for Makayla’s sake. He trusted Adham implicitly. And even if he didn’t, what did it matter now? Adham had been the one to drive him to the al Baians’ estate. He’d been the one to pull the car over so Makayla Riggs, an American maid, could fall into Baqir’s lap.

  He adjusted himself as discreetly as he could, the phantom weight of her still in his arms. The boxy maid’s uniform did absolutely nothing to disguise the determined grace of her movements and the delicious curves of her body.

  “How was—” A smile flickered across her face and disappeared. “How was the rest of your evening?”

  In other words, How did you come to pick me up in the al Baians’ driveway?

  “It was…” It had been boring. That was the truth. Baqir had entertained himself to the best of his ability at yet another royal gala. There weren’t very many each year, but every event attracted the same people as those that had come before. In Qadir, only a small circle of people vied so competitively for attention from the royal family.

  What had been rare about this gala was that the al Baians had attended. In the past few years they’d withdrawn from the gala circuit. Baqir had heard through the palace grapevine that the pair had spread word that they were so close to the royal family that they preferred private visits, which was laughable. The al Baians might have been popular with the people of Qadir. That didn’t mean they had the ear of King Hasim or his children. He wondered if it was a coincidence that they’d decided to show off their relationship with the king at the first gala after the theft of the royal family’s jewels from the national museum. As if wanting to deflect suspicion. Or hear more gossip.

  Baqir didn’t want to get into it in front of Adham. He had the exhilarating sense that Makayla might have information about it. About them. And there was no way that she’d offer it while anyone else was listening in. A person who’d hesitated for so long over an offer of help when the al Baians’ security guards were hot on her heels wouldn’t give anything up easily. He was sure of that.

  Makayla was still waiting for his answer.

  “It was pleasant enough, in its way,” he offered diplomatically. It had obviously become much more exciting when he’d seen Makayla running.

  She shot him a look that brimmed with curiosity, lips parting. But then she pressed them together and faced ahead. Baqir took in a slow breath. This was becoming the longest ride home of his life. The al Baians’ estate hadn’t been nearly this far on the drive over.

  The questions he had for her teemed at the front of his mind. Who was Makayla Riggs? What was an American doing working as a maid for the Qadiri upper crust? How had she learned to speak Arabic? And what had made her bag so precious to her? Makayla clutched the handles of the worn backpack in both fists.

  Finally, after several centuries of careful driving through the evening traffic in the Qadiri capital, Adham turned onto the main access road for the palace. Out of the corner of his eye Baqir saw Makayla perk up. The palace? Her lips formed the words, but she didn’t give them voice.

  She sat up even straighter when they turned halfway down the main road onto a smaller private road that wound around to the back of the palace.

  By the time Adham pulled up at the back entrance and leaped out to open the door for her, her lips were parted in surprise.

  Baqir climbed out on his own, jogged around the other side of the SUV, and offered Makayla his arm.

  She reached out a tentative hand and placed it on his elbow, then looked up at the palace towering above them. “Oh, my god,” she said softly. “You’re that Baqir.”

  He couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. “Welcome to the palace. Would you like to come inside?”

  3

  Yes. Yes, she would like to come inside, even though Makayla’s body and mind were still ringing with the very fact of Baqir. The sight of him had struck her like a mallet striking a gong.

  It had been a long time since a man’s face had stolen the breath right out of her lungs. No—it had never happened before. Not like this. His tux wasn’t any hardship to look at, either. At her old job back in the States—the one she’d taken a leave of absence from to come here—the office had been a parade of men in ill-fitting separates. This suit was custom-made. Makayla barely knew the first thing about men’s fashion, but the fabric looked different. Better. Every line complimented some part of Baqir’s body.

  And she could tell he had an incredible body beneath the tuxedo. The lines of it made her mouth water. Even the way he stood in the courtyard, utterly at ease, sparked something deep at her center that reminded her of her first-ever crush, all the way back in elementary school. It had seemed like such an all-consuming force at the time.

  That had been nothing compared to how she felt right now.

  Baqir. She should have known his name, should have recognized it, if only by the fine, regal lines of his face. The slice of his jaw looked like it could cut her. The photos she’d seen hadn’t done him justice. She tried to think cool thoughts in the direction of her cheeks. It had to be partially the adrenaline, right? That’s why this felt so bright and clear and inevitable.

  “Inside,” she said,
her tone strange and formal. “I would like that, yes.”

  She’d known he was wealthy. That much was obvious when he leaned out the back of the SUV, which was being driven by a member of his staff. But being dropped off at the inner courtyard of a full-blown palace was on another level. The al Baians’ home had always seemed a bit flimsy, as if their constant renovations and purchases had somehow cheapened the very walls of their house. By contrast the palace looked like it had stood for a thousand years and could stand for a thousand more.

  It probably had stood for a thousand years, come to think of it. But Makayla was drawing a complete blank when it came to Qadiri history. History didn’t seem very relevant when she was standing next to a prince who was firmly from today.

  Her heart hammered, the sound carrying up into her ears.

  Baqir put his hand on the small of her back and whisked her into the big entryway at the back of the palace. Makayla’s hands trembled around the straps of her backpack. She’d had to swing it off when she leaped into the SUV, and it was awkward to carry it this way, but what else was she going to do? Shrug it onto her shoulders while a prince of Qadir was ushering her into his palace as if she were a lady?

  She did not feel like a lady. Not with the rough fabric of the maid’s uniform scratching against her skin and the clammy sweat of her dash away from the house still damp against her neck.

  They stepped into a foyer that gleamed with polished wood and elegantly tiled walls and into a silence she wouldn’t believe possible if she weren’t standing in it. An unbelievable softness. There was no one in the hall, but as they walked, she heard a quiet murmur behind them.

  “Sheikh Baqir is back in the palace,” the voice said. The driver, following them in to make sure they were all right. Following Baqir in. He didn’t say a word about a guest. They stepped back into another pocket of silence.

  Makayla’s thoughts whirled into that silence. What was the youngest sheikh doing at the al Baians’ estate? Was he with them, or did he see their true colors? How much did he know about her father? Each question shoved to the forefront of her mind, demanding an answer. She couldn’t choose between them. The need to know what had happened to her father burned brightest of all, but she couldn’t just blurt it out, could she?

  They turned one corner, then another. Climbed a flight of stairs, then another. At some point the floor went soft beneath her feet—carpeting. Expensive carpeting. These halls must have plenty of traffic each day, but even beneath the sensible rubber-soled shoes she wore, she could feel how cushy it was.

  Makayla opened her mouth to compliment him on the carpet, but…no. She needed to get a grip on herself. She was in the palace. With a prince.

  They’d entered a suite of rooms—an apartment. The foyer they’d stepped into was a smaller version of the foyer they’d come in through at the palace entrance. This foyer opened into a large, elegant sitting room with smooth leather sofas and a thick rug covering the floor. Makayla could see at least two hallways branching out into the rest of the apartment, though apartment seemed too pedestrian a word to describe the suite. Her eyes dropped to the lush white carpet that pooled beneath the sofas. She could imagine how nice it would be to take off her shoes and curl her toes into that rug. Makayla’s whole body sighed to sink into the sofa.

  “Is this…your room?” Your room, as if they were a couple of teens and the sheikh had taken her up to his bedroom.

  “This is my apartment, yes.” Baqir dropped his hand from her lower back, and the awareness hit her too late: she’d been thoroughly enjoying that touch. His fingertips had been warm through the fabric of her dress. Now that they were gone, Makayla wanted to tip backward until he was forced to catch her. She had no doubt he could sweep her up into his arms effortlessly. She shook her head, trying to shake the thought from her mind. There was no way she was going to fantasize about swooning into Baqir’s arms. She’d already practically jumped into his lap in the car earlier, and she wasn’t the type to faint.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asked.

  She stood up straight.

  “Yes, thank you,” Makayla said, finally managing to get the word out. This apartment was too beautiful for words. The al Baians’ mansion had been…well, it had been expensive. But Baqir’s apartment felt luxurious. Maybe that was because Hasara was miles away. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “Do you have Diet Coke?”

  Baqir cracked a smile. “You have unique taste,” he said. “Some of the finest liquor in the country is right here in this room, and you want soda?”

  She considered this. Diet Coke had been her drink of choice in college. The al Baians hadn’t kept any such thing in the house, for whatever reason. Even if they had, Hasara would only have used it as another way to lord herself over the staff. The lack had only solidified her certainty that they were terrible people. And now that she was here, ensconced in Baqir’s apartment, she did in fact want a Diet Coke. “Yes. I do.”

  “I’ll have one sent up.” Baqir pulled out his phone and tapped out a message. “In the meantime, have something stronger. It’s been an evening.”

  She couldn’t argue with that.

  Baqir moved past her, and she caught a hint of his scent in the air—something like spice and soap and, inexplicably, the last blaze of a sunset. If she’d met him anywhere else—at the bar back in her old college town, maybe—she might not have been able to stop herself from pouncing on him. Given the circumstances, the dirty thoughts flying through her mind weren’t an option.

  He crossed the sitting room to a drinks cart parked near the fireplace and lifted a tumbler from one of its lower shelves. Baqir’s hands were deft, spinning the top off one of the glass bottles that stood in a neat row on top and pouring himself a finger of something that looked dark and delicious.

  Baqir poured her a matching tumbler of whatever it was, then motioned for her to sit on one of the sofas. It felt…oddly intimate, letting herself fall back into the cushy leather.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed all by themselves. She snapped them open instantly and straightened up, heat blazing across her cheeks. “I—I mean, you have great furniture,” she told Baqir, who looked at her with curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

  With her free hand Makayla busied herself with tucking the backpack up close against her leg. It had been such a near thing, her escape. The al Baians’ mansion had always swarmed with security. They’d been so close on her heels, and this bag…

  “Thank you,” he said. “Relax. Have a drink.”

  It was a real struggle. Makayla wanted to relax more than anything. Her feet ached from a long day of work at the al Baians’ mansion. Her body ached from the tension of her flight. But putting her feet up on the sofa and stretching out wasn’t really an option. Not with a prince staring her down.

  Makayla settled for raising the glass and peering through the liquid. It was amber-colored, she saw, like actual amber made liquid.

  “You can trust it. I promise.”

  She lowered the glass.

  Baqir raised his own and took a pointed sip. “It’s good.”

  “I trust it.”

  Could she possibly feel any more drunk than she did right now just from his presence? Maybe the liquor would steady her nerves. That would be convenient.

  Makayla raised the tumbler to her lips and took a big sip.

  Fire. Fire. The burn of the alcohol hit the back of her throat, and she coughed, eyes watering. “Wow. Wow.” It was pure—that much was true. Too pure for her tastes. “That’s…strong.”

  Baqir regarded her over the top of his own glass, amusement flashing through his eyes. He took another measured sip of his drink while Makayla coughed and spluttered and felt like an idiot. She swallowed the last of the burn from her throat and put the tumbler carefully on the table beside the couch. No need to light the whole place on fire with that stuff.

  The prince across from her followed suit, his glass empty. “So.” He leaned back, one arm thrown nonchalantly over the back of the sofa facing hers. “What were you doing running out of the al Baian residence like your life depended on it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Have I given shelter to a thief?”

  Courage. She needed courage. This could all go so wrong, in so many ways. Makayla picked up the tumbler from the table and tossed the drink back. This time, she was ready for the scorch of the liquor across the back of her throat. This time, she used that scorch to steady herself. If she could stand the drink, she could stand revealing this risky secret to Baqir.