Книга - Claimed For The Sheikh’s Shock Son

Claimed For The Sheikh's Shock Son
CAROL MARINELLI


The sheikh’s seduction… …has a lifetime of consequences Desert prince Khalid never loses control… With one exception: his illicit night of passion with captivating dancer Aubrey. Khalid was shocked to discover Aubrey was a virgin. Yet after returning to his kingdom, nothing compares to the bombshell that she’s had his secret child! Claiming his son is non-negotiable for this proud prince… But claiming Aubrey will prove a much more delicious challenge!







The sheikh’s seduction...

...has a lifetime of consequences

Desert prince Khalid never loses control...with one exception: his illicit night of passion with captivating dancer Aubrey. Khalid was shocked to discover Aubrey was a virgin. Yet after returning to his kingdom, nothing compares to the bombshell that she’s had his secret child! Claiming his son is nonnegotiable for this proud prince... But claiming Aubrey will prove a much more delicious challenge!

A royal love story with a secret baby twist!


CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!


Also by Carol Marinelli (#u464b438d-9f05-5073-9497-56ddc80b4585)

Their One Night Baby

Claiming His Hidden Heir

Billionaires & One-Night Heirs miniseries

The Innocent’s Secret Baby

Bound by the Sultan’s Baby

Sicilian’s Baby of Shame

Ruthless Royal Sheikhs miniseries

Captive for the Sheikh’s Pleasure

Christmas Bride for the Sheikh

The Ruthless Devereux Brothers miniseries

The Innocent’s Shock Pregnancy

The Billionaire’s Christmas Cinderella

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Claimed for the Sheikh’s Shock Son

Carol Marinelli






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-08769-8

CLAIMED FOR THE SHEIKH’S SHOCK SON

© 2019 Carol Marinelli

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Dear Alex,

with love, always. xxxx


Contents

Cover (#u93875198-6254-5a7e-a6d5-51e9e2a03b66)

Back Cover Text (#u58174d61-761a-5173-891b-3cef8c7911bb)

About the Author (#u790f4a37-d3df-5477-a1ca-0d11f4f8a38b)

Booklist (#u9bcdab31-2ea5-5883-8677-2b9df5fcf4ef)

Title Page (#u8344c4b4-afdc-5a90-8d0a-0cc22794f232)

Copyright (#ub06cde51-fc6f-5e4e-a848-9dc84f9b0188)

Dedication (#u1ff0dd89-6dbd-5cf1-a8eb-6d5bfb7e6ac5)

CHAPTER ONE (#u03c17949-9909-5a14-8722-10a1416a50be)

CHAPTER TWO (#u91856ee2-5f16-5b94-babc-9500e52bd450)

CHAPTER THREE (#ub9b610c9-8e88-53d1-8297-ff9368d95950)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u414cb4bf-c112-555c-ae35-eab00b8da75a)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#u464b438d-9f05-5073-9497-56ddc80b4585)


‘WILL YOU BE speaking at the funeral, Your Highness?’

The questions from the paparazzi started even before Sheikh Prince Khalid of Al-Zahan had stepped out of the luxury vehicle.

Jobe Devereux’s funeral was tomorrow. The press and television crews were gathered outside the late, great man’s Fifth Avenue home, capturing images of visitors arriving to pay their condolences.

Some visitors walked slowly, keen to be photographed and seen, others put their heads down and hurried from their cars to the residence.

Others opted to use the trade entrance.

Khalid did neither.

He had flown to New York from Al-Zahan and at the family’s request had come directly from the royal jet to Jobe’s home. Tomorrow Khalid would be clean-shaven with his thick, black hair freshly cut and he would be wearing a suit. Tonight, though, having come from a retreat in the desert, he was bearded and his tall frame was dressed in dark robes. Khalid was a striking man—tall and slim yet muscular too. Despite his impressive physique he moved in an elegant, unhurried fashion towards the home that he knew well, ignoring the paparazzi’s questions. For Khalid, the presence of the press had barely registered and certainly he didn’t deign to respond. His mind was elsewhere, for he had lost not just a business partner but someone he both valued and respected.

Yet they persisted.

‘Will Chantelle be seated with the family?’

‘Might there be some unexpected guests?’

‘Your Highness, is it true that the King of Al-Zahan is soon to announce your marriage?’

The last question jarred, not that Khalid showed it. But at home the pressure on him to marry was immense. That it was now being aired here in New York, the place he considered his bolthole, now rendered the pressure inescapable.

The door was opened by the housekeeper and as he stepped inside it was clear that even prior to the funeral, Jobe had pulled in quite a crowd. People were mingling and spilling out from the reception room where groups stood talking. Drinks were being served as if the funeral had already taken place.

Khalid was not here to socialise, though, and was taken straight through to Jobe’s study.

‘I’ll let Ethan know that you’re here,’ the housekeeper said. ‘He’s just speaking with the senator.’

‘Tell him there is no rush,’ Khalid said.

‘Is there anything I can get for you?’ she checked, ‘He shouldn’t be long.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Khalid said, but as the housekeeper headed out the door he called to her. ‘Barb,’ Khalid said. ‘I am sorry for your loss.’

She gave him a watery smile. ‘Thank you, Khalid.’

It was a relief to be here in the study and away from the hordes. Khalid could, of course, be polite and make small-talk—his royal status demanded it. He was in no mood to, though.

How odd that one room in a house so far from home could hold so many memories. Jobe’s globe had always been a draw for Khalid. It had been an antique when Jobe had purchased it and Khalid would look at all the old countries now gone, while his island country, independent from the mainland, remained.

And it was from this very decanter that Khalid had first tasted alcohol. On that desk that the first tentative sketch of the Royal Al-Zahan Hotel had been drafted.

It was just a year off completion now.

An impossible dream, first born in this study.

Khalid picked up a heavy paperweight and recalled Jobe, for once awkward, tossing it between his hands as a far younger Khalid had opened the study door.

‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jobe? Even my own kids do.’

But Khalid called his own father by his royal title and bowed to him on arriving and leaving, so he struggled to accept the informal greetings in the Devereux household.

‘Sit down, son.’

Khalid took a seat when he would have preferred to stay standing, for he was certain he was about to be disciplined. At sixteen he had been in New York City for close to a year and he and Ethan had discovered fake IDs and girls.

Yes, there were plenty of reasons Ethan’s father might want to have words with him.

‘There’s no easy way to say this.’ Jobe cleared his throat. ‘Khalid, you need to call home.’

‘Is something wrong with the twins?’ Khalid asked, for he knew his mother was due to give birth any day now.

‘No. Your mother gave birth to twins this morning, but there were complications. Your mom took a turn for the worse and could not be revived. I’m very sorry to tell you this, Khalid, but your mom is dead.’

It felt as if the air had been sucked out of the study and though Khalid determinedly didn’t show it, he felt as if he could not breathe. It simply could not be, for his mother was so alive and, unlike his stern father, she smiled and laughed and loved life. Queen Dalila was the very reason that Khalid was here in NYC.

‘Call home,’ Jobe said. ‘Tell your father we can head straight to the airport and that I will accompany you back to Al-Zahan.’

‘No.’ Khalid shook his head, for Jobe did not understand that Khalid had to arrive aboard the royal plane. ‘But thank you for the kind offer.’

‘Khalid.’ Jobe spoke with exasperation. ‘You are allowed to be upset.’

‘With respect, sir, I know what is allowed. I shall call the King now.’

Khalid awaited privacy, but Jobe remained in his seat and then, to Khalid’s mind, did the oddest thing. Jobe Devereux put his elbows on the mahogany desk and buried his face in his hands.

Jobe, Khalid realised with both bemusement and strange gratitude, had found telling him hard. It had hurt Jobe to break the news, and he hurt for their mother, and his two-year-old brother, Hussain, and for the twins just born.

Then he heard the voice of the King.

‘Alab,’ Khalid said, calling him Father.

A mistake.

‘I am your King first,’ he reminded Khalid. ‘You must never forget it, not even for a moment, and especially in dark times.’

‘Is it true?’ Khalid said. ‘Is she dead?’

The King confirmed the grim news, but said there was much consolation that an heir had been spared. ‘We celebrate that this morning another heir to the Al-Zahan kingdom was born.’

‘So she had a boy and a girl?’ Khalid checked.

‘Correct.’

‘Did she get to see them?’ Khalid asked. ‘To hold them? Did she know what she had?’

‘Khalid, what sort of question is that? I was not with her.’

That he hadn’t even found out had Khalid fold then, and an agonised breath shuddered out of him that the King heard.

‘There will be no tears,’ the King said sharply. ‘You are a prince, not a princess. The people need to see strength, not their future King acting like some peasant who weeps and keens.’

As Khalid was being reminded he was royal, and so above emotion and pain, Jobe came around the desk and placed his hand on Khalid’s shoulder. Jobe did not know what was being said, for Khalid spoke in Arabic, yet his hand remained, even when the phone call had ended.

‘I’m so sorry, son. You’ll get through this. Abe and Ethan lost their mom too.’

‘They had you, though.’ It was the most honest admission.

‘So do you, Khalid,’ Jobe said, for having himself spoken to Khalid’s icy father he knew the young man would get no true support at home.

Here in this study Khalid had wept for his mother.

For a short while he had been sixteen and flailing, scared and desperately sad, and Jobe had allowed him to be.

Jobe Devereux had been the only person ever to see him cry for, even as a child, tears had been forbidden.

Khalid had been an only child until he’d been a teenager and his brother, Hussain, had been born, lifting from him the full weight of being the only heir. Now there were twins but no mother to love them.

Yes, Khalid had cried.

But by the time the royal plane had arrived the mask had been back on and it had never, to this day, slipped.

‘Khalid?’

He realised that he had not heard Ethan come into the study and turned and offered his condolences to his business partner and friend, although they could never have been considered close.

Khalid was not close to anyone.

‘Thank you for coming, Khalid.’

‘Of course, I was always going to be here for Jobe’s funeral.’

‘I meant tonight. It’s appreciated. How long are you here for?’

‘Till the day after tomorrow.’

‘You have to leave so soon?’

‘I am increasingly needed at home,’ Khalid said.

‘Well, it was good of you to come.’

‘Enough small-talk, Ethan.’ Khalid cut straight to the point. ‘What’s going on?’

‘A lot,’ Ethan admitted. ‘And it cannot get out.’

‘You know it will go no further.’ Khalid was one of the few who could be trusted with bombshell news. He would never gossip—Khalid was far too remote and royal for that—and so Ethan told him what had been revealed since his father’s death.

Jobe Devereux’s life had been interesting, to say the least, and had played out in the press for all to see. His sons, Abe and Ethan, had seen it all.

Or had thought that they had.

‘There was an account we didn’t know about,’ Ethan told him.

Khalid listened as Ethan revealed they had found out that Jobe had had a penchant for gambling and showgirls. As it turned out, those long weekends away that Jobe had frequently taken hadn’t always been spent at the Hamptons; instead they had been taken in Vegas.

Sin City.

‘Are there debts?’ Khalid asked, for he always dealt first with business.

Ethan shook his head. ‘No, he was actually ahead, but this wasn’t an occasional thing, Khalid. There were alot of women, oh, and a marriage we didn’t know about.’

‘A marriage?’

‘Between his first wife and my mother, it turns out he was married to a woman named Brandy for all of seventy-two hours.’

‘Ancient history,’ Khalid dismissed.

‘Perhaps, but it’s ancient history that might resurface tomorrow.’

‘Jobe’s reputation can handle it.’ Khalid’s words were calm and measured as he poured oil on troubled waters. ‘And so can you. Of course, anything that is recent may prove hard on his current partner.’ Khalid checked his facts. ‘He got back with Chantelle before he died?’

‘Not really.’ Ethan held out his hand in a wavering motion. ‘But they were together on and off for quite a few years.’

‘Ethan,’ Khalid calmly responded. ‘Everyone has a shadow side. And that Jobe kept mistresses, and was married briefly, is hardly going to come as too much of a surprise, surely? Jobe led a colourful life and we all know how much he loved women.’

‘Women, yes,’ Ethan sighed, and Khalid could see his friend’s discomfort and knew he was about to hear the real reason he’d been asked to come by in advance of the funeral. ‘For the last four years my father has been sending a considerable monthly sum to an Aubrey Johnson...’

Now Khalid frowned, for this indeed came as a surprise. ‘Jobe was having an affair with a man?’

And on this dark sombre night Ethan actually laughed. ‘No, Khalid. Jobe wasn’t gay.’

‘But Aubrey is a man’s name.’

‘Not here it isn’t, it’s a unisex name. Believe me, Aubrey Johnson is definitely not a man.’

Ethan handed him some photographs.

No, Aubrey was certainly not a man.

She was barely a woman.

Aubrey Johnson had a curtain of blonde hair and china-blue eyes, but her pretty, delicate features were overwhelmed by elaborate stage make-up, with false eyelashes and painted red lips. Her petite, toned figure was shown to effect in a crimson, sequined leotard.

And nothing else.

‘How old is she?’ Khalid asked, his deep voice hoarse with disappointment.

‘Twenty-two,’ Ethan said. ‘She’ll be twenty-three next month.’

Jobe had been seventy-four.

‘She’s a dancer,’ Ethan said.

‘I’m assuming we’re not talking ballroom...’ Khalid started, and then answered his own question as he looked at the next image. From barely a woman to all woman, she wore a tiny, revealing dress and elaborate make-up and his jaw gritted at her provocative pose.

‘She’s also an aerial trapeze artist, apparently,’ Ethan said as Khalid flicked through the photos of Aubrey. ‘Though not a very good one,’

‘Why do you say she’s not any good?’ Khalid frowned.

‘Well, she’s not a big name or anything. Ms Johnson lives in a trailer park and does a routine over the gaming tables. And when she’s not performing it would seem she’s my father’s...’ Ethan couldn’t finish. ‘She was barely eighteen when the payments started.’

What the hell had Jobe been thinking?

Khalid could not stand to think that the man he had so deeply admired would be involved with someone so young. No, he could not accept that from Jobe. ‘Could there be another explanation?’

‘If there is, we’re doing our damnedest to find it.’ Ethan shook his head. ‘But no.’

‘Could she be his daughter?’ Khalid persisted, still not wanting to think the worst.

‘No.’ Again Ethan shook his head. ‘My father was a generous man and if he’d known he had a daughter she would not be living in a trailer park. If the money was for a benevolent reason he had trusts and charities set up for that but the payments to Ms Johnson came from the buried account—he didn’t want anyone to know.’

‘It’s better that you do,’ Khalid said. ‘Before it gets out.’

‘Look, if there’s scandal brewing, Abe and I will deal with it, we just don’t want anything to hit at the funeral tomorrow. We want our father to have a dignified send-off.’

‘Of course.’

‘We’ve made security aware of the names of these women and they are to be kept well back—’

‘No, no,’ Khalid interrupted. ‘You are to let them into the funeral.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Ethan stated. ‘We are not turning Jobe’s send-off into a Vegas show.’

‘Ethan, I thought you invited me here for advice.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Do you want a scene outside with the cameras where you have no control?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then add these women to the guest list. If they arrive, have security watch them and my detail shall keep an eye out too. You focus on saying farewell to your father. And remember, if any of them do turn up it might just be to pay their respects. No one should be denied that chance.’

‘No.’ Ethan let out a long breath, but it hitched when Khalid spoke on.

‘If they are at the funeral they are to be invited back to the private wake.’

‘No way! That really is just for family and close friends.’

‘You don’t need me to tell you to keep your enemies close, Ethan.’

‘And risk his wake being turned into a circus?’ Ethan gave a shake of his head, but he knew Khalid well enough to know that he never offered rash advice and so, rather wearily he nodded. ‘I’ll speak to Abe.’

‘This will all be sorted,’ Khalid reassured him. ‘Your father might have had some secrets, but he was inherently a good man.’

‘I know.’ Ethan nodded. ‘Look, thanks for being here. It would have meant an awful lot to Jobe.’

‘Your father meant a lot to me,’ Khalid said.

With that out of the way, they went through the details for the next day. Khalid’s royal title had been omitted from the order of service at his own request.

‘You’re sure about that?’ Ethan checked, as Khalid stood to leave.

‘Absolutely. That was always the best thing about being here,’ Khalid admitted to Ethan. ‘I wasn’t treated as a prince, or next in line to be King. Here I was just Khalid.’ He grew serious then. ‘Tomorrow you are to focus on remembering your father. Any problems are now mine to deal with.’

Ethan gave a grateful nod, for he knew that Khalid would take care of things.

As formidable as he was to outsiders, Khalid looked after his own.

‘What about you, Khalid?’ Ethan asked as he walked him out of the study.

‘What about me?’ Khalid frowned.

‘If everyone has a shadow side, what’s yours?’

‘You really don’t expect me to answer that, do you?’ Khalid said, and opened the door.

Of course not.

For no one really knew Khalid.

Here the press described him as a playboy, but that was inaccurate for he did not play.

At anything.

His emotions were always kept strictly in check and he allowed no one close to him, even in bed.

Especially in bed.

For his own reasons he had chosen not to have a harem. He loathed how his mother had suffered when his father had taken himself there. How he had taunted her when another infant had been sired and he could tell her the ‘problem’ with her failing to provide more heirs was clearly not his.

Those children had no status and were considered unrelated to Khalid, and he did not want those ways to be his own. So he had rejected the harem, but here in New York he dated sophisticated, experienced women who accepted there would be no feigned tenderness.

It was sex.

Khalid’s absolute lack of affection was paid for in diamonds, gifts and sometimes plain old hard cash.

Tonight he had plenty with him.




CHAPTER TWO (#u464b438d-9f05-5073-9497-56ddc80b4585)


NEW YORK, THE CITY of Dreams.

And for Aubrey Johnson, New York was also a city of might-have-beens.

How she wished she were here under different circumstances, but instead of arriving in Manhattan to study music, as she had once hoped to, Aubrey was here to say goodbye to a man who had given her a chance.

Only she hadn’t taken it.

The day had only just begun and already Aubrey was tired. She was at the very end of an ear infection and the flight from Vegas through the night to JFK hadn’t helped matters.

Jobe’s funeral was at midday and that it was a private, very high-profile funeral to which she hadn’t been invited didn’t deter Aubrey. She knew a few tricks and would try to get in, but if not, then she’d pay her last respects from a distance.

It felt important to be here today.

Aubrey headed for the restrooms and there her denim skirt, sandals and loose top were replaced with a black slip dress that she had borrowed from a friend.

It was a little too big for Aubrey’s slender frame, but she had a shawl to wear over her shoulders. She pulled on black pantyhose and court shoes. The clothes that she had taken off were neatly folded and packed into her slim black shoulder bag. Aubrey would not be paying for storage.

She took the AirTrain and then the subway and, following the instructions her friend had given her, found herself on a very busy street on a crisp spring day in Manhattan.

Aubrey stood for a moment soaking it all in, her head tipped back as she gazed up in awe at the tall buildings, but she was soon jolted by the sea of people walking determinedly by. Aubrey headed into a large department store and headed up a level to an in-store coffee shop and bought a well-deserved drink.

She had budgeted carefully for today.

For the last few weeks, having seen on the news that Jobe was nearing the end, she had been trying to put a little away whenever she could. It had been hard. Her ear infection had meant her balance was off, and so she’d been unable to do trapeze, and the tips were less when waiting tables. Still, she’d saved enough to buy the cheapest return flights for her and her mom to attend the funeral.

But Stella had refused to come, insisting she wanted to stay home.

Aubrey’s mom was a Vegas lifer and loved it. Or she had loved it.

Now she never went further than the porch of their trailer, and that was only after dark.

Aubrey made her coffee last then, when it was done, she popped a mint and an antibiotic pill and took the escalator down to the make-up counter. There she tried lipsticks on the back of her hand until the assistant came over and asked if she could help.

‘I hope so,’ Aubrey sighed. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for really. I don’t usually wear make-up...’ That wasn’t true, Aubrey wore several inches of it each night when she performed, but if her friend was right then the assistant should offer a make-over. Sure enough, she was soon invited to take a seat on a high stool, except Aubrey hesitated.

It felt wrong.

‘I wear stage make-up,’ she admitted.

‘So you’re looking for a more natural look?’ the assistant asked.

‘Yes, but...’ Aubrey took a breath. The young woman was around the same age as herself, and no doubt relying on commission and hoping that Aubrey would make some purchases after the make-over. There was no chance of that and Aubrey admitted the truth. ‘I actually can’t afford to buy anything,’

Their eyes met for a moment, but then the assistant gave her a small smile. ‘At least you’re honest.’ She shrugged. ‘Let me give you a make-over anyway. Hopefully we’ll pull in a crowd and both come out winning.’

Soon she was sitting on the high stool. ‘So where are you off to?’ the make-up artist asked, glancing at Aubrey’s black attire. ‘A funeral?’

‘Yes, for a family friend.’ Aubrey nodded. ‘Though it’s going to be very well-heeled. I don’t want to stand out.’

‘It must be the day for funerals. Today’s Jobe Devereux’s—’ Her voice halted when she felt the heat sear in Aubrey’s cheeks. ‘That’s where you’re headed?’

Jobe was New York City royalty and so, when Aubrey nodded, the make-up assistant knew exactly what her customer was up against. ‘Let’s get to work, then,’ she said. ‘I’m Vanda, by the way.’

‘Aubrey.’

Vanda plugged in some flat irons and smoothed out Aubrey’s wavy blonde hair before taking a very close look at her face. ‘You have the most incredible bone structure.’

‘You should have seen my mother’s,’ Aubrey said. ‘She had the most amazing cheekbones.’

‘Had?’

Aubrey didn’t answer. Her mom insisted that her injuries were kept quiet, and even far from Vegas still she didn’t reveal how her mother’s looks had been ravaged in a fire.

‘So...’ Vanda asked another question as she worked. ‘If you wear stage make-up, what do you do?’

‘All sorts,’ Aubrey admitted. ‘I dance in some shows and do a bit of trapeze...’

‘Get out!’

‘Nothing too glamorous,’ Aubrey was honest. ‘Anything and everything really...’

Anything and everything to avoid going into the oldest profession in the world.

It beckoned to Aubrey, of course it did. When the rent was overdue, when the shifts at work dried up...when her mother, disfigured in a fire, needed her meds. But Aubrey had found other ways to make ends meet.

Jobe Devereux’s money hit her account each and every month.

And each and every month the very generous sum had been spent.

Aubrey had let him think that she was studying music and Jobe, estranged from her mother and a busy man, had never checked.

He’d trusted her, Aubrey guessed, yet instead of education the money had gone on surgery, doctors’ bills, medication, rehabilitation, more surgery...

More medication.

Even her mom thought that she was on the game. It was never said outright, of course, but it was Aubrey who took care of the bills and Stella never asked where the money came from.

Aubrey had had serious offers—and some rather glamorous ones too—but she’d declined them all. In truth, she mistrusted men. Her mother had been an escort, that was how Aubrey had come about. Her mom had, for a brief time, been a showgirl, but when parts in the big Vegas shows had got fewer her mom had done what she’d had to to make ends meet.

Until Jobe had come into her mom’s life there had been a parade of men through their home, and it had left Aubrey both cynical and scared of sex. Despite the skimpy outfits and provocative moves, she had never been so much as kissed, let alone anything else.

‘Don’t let history repeat itself,’ Jobe had told her.

The simple fact was, Aubrey was too terrified to, even if needs were starting to must—especially now that Jobe was dead and the money would stop.

Still, despite her reluctance, there was an awful feeling of inevitability to it.

That thought had Aubrey’s eyes suddenly screw tightly closed, which wasn’t ideal when eyeliner was being applied. ‘One moment,’ she said, and took a deep breath, doing what she could to pull herself together.

‘It’s okay,’ Vanda said. ‘We’re just about done here, just your lips left to do...’

Aubrey opened her eyes to find that there was quite a crowd now gathered around the counter, all watching the transformation take place.

And it really was a transformation.

Vanda held up a mirror and Aubrey’s eyes widened when she saw herself. ‘I look...’ She swallowed.

‘You look amazing.’ Vanda smiled.

‘No.’ Aubrey was struggling to find the right word. The make-up was subtle and neutral and her eyes looked so big and blue. Her blush beige lips looked soft and pretty, and so unlike how they did with the deep crimson she was more used to. ‘Sophisticated.’

‘You’re going to blend right in,’ Vanda said, and then glanced down at Aubrey’s rather cheap dress, but decided there was nothing that she could do about that. ‘I’ll give you a sample size of the lipstick so you can top up before the service.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Have you seen how many customers I now have?’ Vanda said. ‘I really hope today goes as well as it can for you.’

So did Aubrey.

She might appear streetwise, but she was terrified.

* * *

Crowds were gathered and the security was tight, with the street cordoned off, but it did not deter Aubrey. She walked towards the barrier and spoke to a uniformed security guard. ‘My driver took me to the wrong drop-off,’ she attempted, but was immediately cut off with a question.

‘Name?’

‘Aubrey,’ she mumbled. ‘Aubrey Johnson.’

‘Wait there.’

There was no chance of getting in, Aubrey knew that. She certainly wouldn’t be on the guest list. Still, she was used to slipping into concerts and things and had hoped to find a chink in security’s armour, a group to tag onto, or even a less-than-vigilant security guard.

No such luck.

He was talking into his mouthpiece and, knowing that she wouldn’t be on the private guest list, Aubrey’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a vantage point that might give her at least a view of the casket. She wanted to say goodbye, she really did, not just on behalf of her mother but for herself.

‘This way, Miss Johnson.’

She turned around at the sound of her name and blinked in surprise as the black velvet rope was pulled back and she realised that she’d been allowed through.

It was a mistake.

Of that she was certain.

Johnson was a common surname after all, but Aubrey took good news when it came.

‘Follow that group,’ the security guard told her.

Aubrey did so, climbing the stone stairs and then standing in line to sign the book of condolences before heading in. She kept her head down, worried that security might realise their mistake, because she was rather certain that she shouldn’t have been allowed in.

And that was how Khalid first saw her.

Alerted that one of the mystery women was here and about to sign the book of condolences, Khalid scanned the line.

His eyes drifted past her twice, but then a gentleman stepped back and he saw her.

From the way she had been painted, from the photos he had seen, Khalid had rather expected a less demure figure.

She was tiny.

A mere wisp.

Her blonde head was bowed down and around her slender shoulders there was a lace shawl that she clutched with one hand.

Khalid made his way over to the line-up. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to the people who stood behind her, and promptly stepped in. They didn’t argue, and not just because it was a funeral. Despite the fact he was today clean-shaven and wearing a black suit, there was still a commanding air to Khalid that had people instinctively defer to him.

In his country they would, of course, have knelt.

Aubrey was far too worked up to notice the movement in the queue behind her.

It was his scent that reached her first.

Khalid always smelled divine—al-lubān, or frankincense as it was known here, had been subtly blended with oil of guaiac wood from a palo santo tree that had been gifted to the palace. To that there was added a note of bergamot, cardamom and saffron, all blended in the Al-Zahan desert by a mystic, exclusively for Khalid.

It was subtle yet captivating.

So much so that when it reached Aubrey her head rose like a meerkat’s and she turned to its source. A man towered over her, so she had to look up from the black tie she first glimpsed. Up to the thick white collar of his shirt and to his throat and strong jaw.

And when Aubrey first met his burning gaze, everything she knew she forgot.

She forgot not to make eye contact.

And she forgot that she generally did not trust men.

In the moment that their eyes met, she simply forgot.

Khalid’s features remained impassive, yet despite his calm demeanour he instantly felt her allure. From the china blue of her unblinking eyes to lush, full lips, she was captivating. She wore far less make-up than she had in the tasteless photos. Well, a touch too much blusher perhaps, but Aubrey really was exceptionally beautiful; there was no doubting that. Khalid could see how a man could be beguiled.

He refused to be.

‘I believe,’ Khalid said, ‘that it is your turn to sign.’

His voice was rich, deep and accented, and to Aubrey, for a second, his words made no sense, but then she remembered. Oh, yes, the condolence book. She turned from the assault to her senses and picked up a heavy silver pen. Her hand was shaking as she wrote her name.

Aubrey Johnson.

For her address... Well, she left out the trailer park and just put Las Vegas, then she forgot the beautiful stranger behind her and pondered over her message.

What could she say?

Thank you for making Mom feel like a queen and for the trips and the fun times...

Of course she could not put that; his long affair with her mom had been a faithfully kept secret.

Thank you for believing in me...

Aubrey would have liked to write that, but knew she could not. Or...?

Sorry I lied.

Jobe had insisted that she take this chance, and not follow a more familiar, familial career path, for her mother and Aunt Carmel had both made their living on the game. Would Jobe have forgiven her if he’d found out that she’d used her scholarship money for her mom’s medical care?

Aubrey would never know now.

And so she wrote a short line and then put down the pen, and Khalid watched as she moved on before reading her words.

Dearest Jobe, thank you for everything. You were wonderful. Xxx

The thought of her with Jobe revolted him.

Khalid picked up the pen she had just held and wrote exactly what he would have before his eyes had held Aubrey’s.

Allah yerhamo.

May God have mercy on him.

Those words felt more pertinent now.

‘Your Highness.’ One of Khalid’s security detail was at his side and discreetly told him that another guest on the watch-list had arrived. And then more news must have come into his earpiece, for he added, ‘And another.’




CHAPTER THREE (#u464b438d-9f05-5073-9497-56ddc80b4585)


AUBREY WAS GUIDED to a pew and she smiled at a rather overly made-up woman and took a seat beside her, then sat silently looking at the dark oak coffin covered in a huge spray of deep red roses.

Tears sparkled in Aubrey’s eyes as she thought of a man who really had been one of a kind and very loved. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who thought so. Aubrey had never seen anything like the turnout for Jobe’s funeral. She looked around at the congregation gathered to say farewell to him. They were an eclectic bunch. From kippahs to hijabs. From military uniforms to medical staff, and alongside New York City’s elite were cops and, she was sure, a few mobsters too.

And then her eyes were drawn to the latest arrival. Well, how could they not be? All eyes were drawn to the woman walking in.

She had legs right up to her neck and wore black, although not an awful lot of it, and there was rather a lot of crêpe décolletage on display. Her bottle-blonde hair was backcombed, and around her shoulders she wore a rather tired feather boa that, like its owner, looked as if it might have seen better days.

Aubrey was rather certain she knew her and tried to place her name. Brandy. That was it. Aubrey couldn’t think of the rest of her name, but knew that she was a bit of a Vegas legend. She didn’t know her directly—Brandy was from before her mom’s time and had been a true ex-Vegas showgirl and ran a dance school now.

The congregation seemed to suck in its collective breath, but it didn’t seem to bother Brandy. She just swanked her way in on those endless legs as she was directed to the pew behind Aubrey, not remotely concerned by the air of disapproval.

As Aubrey glanced behind she blinked, as she recognised another of the women, and then she looked again at the made-up woman next to her.

Was she perhaps another of Jobe’s exes? It dawned on Aubrey that she had been guided to this pew for a reason.

Oh, my, what happened in Vegas wasn’t staying there today!

Aubrey actually had to smother a burst of laughter, but as she put her hand up to cover her mouth, she realised she was being watched, and found herself looking into the narrowed eyes of that stunning stranger.

He really was terribly beautiful.

More beautiful than anyone she had ever seen.

He stood in the pews reserved for family. Exquisitely suited, his glossy dark hair was brushed back from his forehead and Aubrey’s eyes roamed his face, taking in the details.

Just this morning, when Vanda had complimented her on her bone structure, Aubrey had immediately referenced her mother. For the rest of her life, Aubrey knew, she would now reference him, for the blend of his features was unsurpassed. Caramel-skinned with an aquiline nose, his prominent cheekbones were somehow countered by sensual full lips that were not smiling. If anything, the look he gave her was less than friendly, yet Aubrey found that she could not tear her gaze away.

He did.

As someone spoke to him, he looked abruptly away, yet Aubrey remained entranced and could not stop watching him as the family arrived.

Ethan and Abe were accompanied by their gorgeous wives. Aubrey had kept up to date, via the tabloids, on Jobe’s sons.

Aubrey could not though work out the family’s relationship with the handsome stranger. And it wasn’t to do with his dark skin, more that he did not shake hands with the brothers or kiss their wives, he did not greet them warmly and yet they all seemed relieved to see him.

Jobe’s partner, Chantelle, seemed to follow his guidance and slipped into the seat he gestured to and then gave him a nod of thanks. She gleamed with diamonds. Her neat black coat was the perfect canvas for the most amazing golden blonde hair that was so completely perfect that, to Aubrey’s trained eye, it just had to be a wig.

Yes, Aubrey knew rather more about Chantelle than the rest of the Devereux clan.

She had been the reason Jobe had ended things with her mother.

The service soon started and it really was incredibly moving. The readings were beautiful and the eulogy, which was delivered by Abe and followed with a verse from Ethan, had tears welling up in Aubrey’s eyes.

She must not cry here! Aubrey did not want to draw attention to herself and so she swallowed her tears down and watched as the stunning stranger rose.

He was going to speak.

Aubrey glanced down at her order of service.

Thoughts and Poem

Khalid

She turned the page, wondering if his surname was on the next one, but, no, there was nothing more to indicate who he was.

Aubrey watched as he walked up to the lectern. Gosh, he was tall. And his black suit, among hundreds of black suits, stood out—it was just so superbly cut, and sat so well on his broad shoulders. As he moved the microphone up to accommodate his height she saw that he wore cufflinks, and Aubrey wasn’t used to that.

He was just so groomed and polished and, for a short moment, so silent that even a crying baby fell quiet.

Khalid held no notes.

‘Jobe first welcomed me into his home one Thanksgiving,’ Khalid said. ‘I was at school with Ethan, who told me that his father insisted I not spend Thanksgiving alone. We all know the power of Jobe’s warm welcome. He was generous and thoughtful in so many ways, and from the smiles I have seen here today, he brought a lot of happiness to many. Yet Jobe would not forgive me if I failed to mention that he was also cutting, ruthless, arrogant...’

The congregation started to laugh as the mild insults continued and his words were both well delivered and accepted.

Aubrey was more than grateful for the chance to watch this intriguing man.

Khalid made the congregation laugh, yet he, himself, did not smile.

He was completely steady, utterly composed. Detached even? Yet his words felt like a necessary caress at the end of an exhausting day, something to lean on as you fell apart.

‘Jobe helped many people find their light and shine,’ Khalid said, and Aubrey welled up as memories rained down.

Holidays.

Mom, happy and laughing.

The violin that he had bought Aubrey was still her most treasured possession.

Aubrey had been so certain she would not cry that she hadn’t even brought a tissue, but when Khalid read a poem in Arabic she crumpled. She had never meant to draw attention to herself. Had just wanted to pay her last respects to Jobe. But the flowers, the people, the memories of better days... Before Chantelle. Before the fire that had ravaged her mom’s looks. Before, when she’d had dreams.

Before...

And as Khalid translated the poem into English, his eyes drifted to Aubrey.

Her head was down again but there was a frantic edge to her as she used her shawl to wipe her tears, and Khalid found that he wanted to check in on her. To walk over after his reading and see that she was okay. Ridiculous, of course, and not an impulse he would be acting on, but seeing her sitting so alone and distraught, in that moment it was how he felt. Thankfully, one of the women from the Vegas contingent took from her vast cleavage a handkerchief and, having tapped Aubrey on the shoulder, handed it to her and then rested her hand on Aubrey’s shoulder.

As Jobe had once done for him.

Yet his voice did not become husky, neither did it waver as he translated the poem to perfection.

Khalid was, after all, a man of thirty. A man who had, at the age of sixteen, faultlessly delivered a full eulogy at his mother’s funeral in front of world leaders. He had been trained for this sort of thing from the cradle and it came as second nature now.

Stepping back from the lectern, he nodded to the casket and retook his seat with the family.

Seamless.

Faultless.

Closed.

* * *

Khalid was staying at the same hotel where the wake was being held and arriving there after the service he took the elevator up to his suite.

Soon he would head back down and greet the guests, and keep an eye out, as he had promised Ethan he would, but for now he took a moment alone and gazed out at the view.

It was the end of an era.

Not just Jobe’s passing, but his time spent in this amazing city.

It had always galled his father that he’d come here, but his mother had insisted. Khalid used his jet like others might take a cab, yet the time he spent here was already becoming less. He and the Devereux brothers were building a hotel in Al-Zahan, which was consuming. And with Khalid soon to marry and assume more royal duties, there would be fewer trips.

These days he was rarely maudlin but the loss of his mother he felt again as he looked out on New York City in spring. ‘Oh, Khalid,’ his mother had said long ago, ‘there is nothing better than walking through Central Park, holding hands, kissing in the sun...’

‘You held hands and kissed?’ He had been fifteen and stunned by his mother’s revelations. ‘With a man other than my father?’

‘Khalid...’ She’d laughed. ‘I have never held hands with your father, neither do we kiss. Oh, abnay alhabib...’ she implored. ‘Oh, beloved son, I have fought for you to walk in the sun and laugh as I did when I was a young princess. One day you will be King but for now, promise me you will have fun.’

Khalid had tried to.

There was another heir, and two more had been on the way.

He could breathe, his mother had told him, before duty called him home for ever. His cold heart had just started to thaw under the hazy New York sun when she had died.

Khalid missed her very much today.

His phone buzzed and for once it wasn’t the palace but Ethan, asking where he was. Remembering his duties, Khalid peeled some money from a clip to tip the drivers and bar staff and then headed down to the wake.

* * *

In the main, it was a very Upper East Side crowd that had been invited back, but to her great surprise Aubrey had found herself being guided into a black car and driven to a hotel, and now she stood in a plush room labelled ‘Private Function’.

Brandy and the others had commandeered the hotel bar and Aubrey was wondering if it might be better to head out there and join them.

Waiters were doing the rounds with trays of drinks and delectable food, but, though hungry, Aubrey declined to accept as her stomach was too knotted up to accept and her hands were too unsteady to be around glass.

Aubrey could feel the daggers being shot in her direction and felt her cheeks burn amidst curious stares. She had done her absolute best not to stand out, but amongst the elite, of course, she did. Her friend’s dress was just a little too polyester and a little too big, and the same friend’s shoes a touch too long and wide. There were low, polite conversations going on all around but Aubrey stood alone until one portly gentleman came over. He didn’t mince his words. ‘You knew Jobe how?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Aubrey responded. ‘I didn’t catch your name.’

He blustered for a moment and then went back to his wife and Aubrey again stood alone.

Chantelle worked the room, thanking the guests for their attendance, presumably accepting condolences while sharing small anecdotes, but she gave Aubrey a wide berth.

Aubrey again declined a drink from a passing waiter and was wondering if it might just be simpler to leave. She was already seriously questioning the wisdom of coming back for the wake when a very elegant woman came over and proffered a kind smile before reducing Aubrey with words—‘I think you’ll find your friends are all at the bar.’

It was the final straw. With her mind made up that she was leaving, Aubrey headed for the doors, but unfortunately, as she did so, the brothers turned from the group they were speaking with and she came face to face with one of the sons that she knew from the tabloids to be Abe.

‘Miss Johnson.’ He offered a thin smile and a vice-like handshake but even if his stance was polite, his black eyes were unfriendly and the message was clear—You are not welcome.

‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ Aubrey offered, surprised that he knew her name and realising it hadn’t been chance that she had been allowed into the service. Perhaps they knew about Jobe and her mom after all. ‘It was a lovely service.’

He didn’t respond.

‘I was actually just leaving,’ Aubrey said.

‘Perhaps that would be for the best.’

Ouch.

Khalid now came and stood at her side, like a security guard, Aubrey thought, and it angered her, for they all clearly thought she was either trouble or not good enough to be here.

Aubrey was actually now tempted to accept a drink from the passing waiter just to throw it in Abe’s face, to tell him that his father had never looked at her or her mother with such contempt. She was suddenly sick of the Devereuxes and their closed ranks and minds, and tired of being looked at as if she’d brought in dirt on her shoe.

Khalid could feel the tension rip through her, and privately he considered it deserved—Aubrey had been nothing but polite and discreet and had clearly been about to leave.

It was too late for that now, though, for Chantelle had arrived.

Ah, Chantelle.

Khalid inwardly sighed.

She had never quite made it to wife and remained bitter about that fact. Her hair was coiffed to perfection as always, yet her face was flushed from champagne and, if there was such a thing as too many diamonds, Chantelle, to Khalid’s mind, was just that.

‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ she said to Aubrey. ‘I’m Chantelle, Jobe’s partner.’

Khalid felt his jaw grit a little. Chantelle had been Jobe’s date on many an occasion, yes. But the great man himself had kept her at arm’s length before his demise.

‘I’m Aubrey,’ she said, and held out her hand. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’

Aubrey’s hand wasn’t accepted.

‘The correct thing to do, at an occasion such as this,’ Chantelle hissed, ‘is to say who you are and your relationship to the deceased.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Aubrey said, refusing to let on she was terrified. ‘I wasn’t aware of that—it’s my first funeral.’

And Khalid, who rarely smiled, especially on a day like today, found that he was suppressing one, as Aubrey sidestepped the demand for more information as to who she was.

Yet Chantelle, having spent a week locked out of Devereux discussions and attorneys, having spent a week being less than magnanimously told that while she could join the family at the service, the fact was she wasn’t one of them.

The Devereuxes were bastards to those not their own.

And Aubrey, alone, stood in the volatile thick of it.

‘So where have you travelled from?’ Chantelle asked, assuming correctly that Aubrey wasn’t from the East Side.

‘Vegas.’

‘Oh.’

Yes—oh.

Just. How. Old. Is. She? Chantelle’s eyes screamed as she spoke. ‘Do you get to Manhattan much?’

‘It’s my first time here,’ Aubrey answered.

‘And you know Jobe, how?’

He had a long affair with my mother, Aubrey was tempted to sweetly reply. He adored her and treated her like a queen. They used to play strip poker in our trailer. Not while I was there, mind. Jobe was a gentleman like that. He really was. I only found that out the other day when my mom was reminiscing. I was there, though, when he drank cheap whiskey while my mom cooked him spiced chicken wings. They were his favourite, not that you’d know.

He helped with my homework. You’d twist that and make that sound sleazy, but it never, ever was. He took us to Disney and to see the Hoover Dam and we went in a helicopter over the Grand Canyon. Me! A girl from a trailer park who’d never had a daddy, let alone been on a holiday, flew over the Grand Canyon in a helicopter.

They loved each other and my mom never took a single red cent. Not even when she got so burnt, so broken she couldn’t afford her bills, still she didn’t let him know. She wanted him to remember her as the beauty she had been and the love they had once had.

But, of course, Aubrey didn’t say any of that.

She had nothing left in the tank. Fuelled on no sleep and a single granola bar, suddenly she felt a little sick and also terribly close to tears when Chantelle, her eyes bulging, finally snapped. ‘Who exactly are you?’

Aubrey could feel all the eyes on her. She had no idea what to say and was ruing her decision to come. Her heart felt as if it had moved up to her throat and she wanted to turn and run.

Khalid could feel her silent agony as she stood before the inquisition.

While his brief was to protect the Devereux family from Aubrey, his instinct was suddenly to protect her from them. As much as he loved them, Khalid knew their might and, aware of their ruthlessness with outsiders, he stepped in. ‘Aubrey is here with me.’

Aubrey blinked as he spoke and dared not turn to him; instead she watched as Chantelle turned from angry, to confused, to mollified, right before her eyes.

‘Oh...’ Chantelle’s pursed lips parted in surprise. ‘I must apologise. I didn’t realise.’

‘Why would you, Chantelle?’ Khalid responded. ‘I never discuss my private life.’

‘So, how long have you two been—?’ Chantelle persisted, but Khalid would not be interrogated by anyone and interrupting the question he turned to Aubrey. ‘Come on.’

Oh, the blessed relief of walking out of the wake with Khalid by her side where it felt no harm could come to her. She liked it that he did not take her hand or snake an arm around her waist, just because the scenario he’d created possibly meant he could, and in the foyer Aubrey turned and faced him, and was suddenly shy. ‘Thank you for that.’

‘It’s no problem.’

‘I just didn’t know what to say...’

‘You don’t have to explain your dealings with Jobe to me.’

Dealings? Aubrey frowned at his choice of word, unsure quite what he meant. ‘Well, thanks again.’ She offered her hand and perhaps that was the wrong thing to do, for he did not accept it, though for a reason Aubrey hadn’t thought of—‘Isn’t that a little formal when we’re supposed to be a couple? Chantelle is just over there.’

‘Oh, yes.’ She nodded and pulled her hand back, and then nerves caught up and generated the most stupid thing Aubrey could possibly say. ‘Perhaps I should have kissed you instead?’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Khalid responded.

She flushed in embarrassment at her stupid words but then he stepped in and saved her there to. ‘Aubrey, even were you my date there would be no affection between us and Chantelle would know that.’

‘Oh.’ She smiled in relief and even made a little joke. ‘So, no public displays of affection. Noted.’

Khalid was about to correct her—no, no affection. Period.

But that would have led them into dangerous waters indeed, for she might ask him to clarify just what he’d meant by that.

And Khalid would love to clarify.

They stood in a busy foyer, yet it felt as if only they two were there. There was warmth in the air between them and there was an awareness too great to share with a stranger on a funeral type of afternoon.

Khalid realised then that he had been wrong earlier about her wearing too much blusher, for colour now spread on her pale cheeks. He understood the effect was because of him. Or, rather, them. For though Khalid did not blush, of course, there was heat elsewhere. The effect of Aubrey on him had been unexpected, for she was not to his usual, sophisticated, taste.

And, as they stood there, Aubrey found that she wanted to know the name of his scent, and to know how the silk of his suit felt to touch. And she wished now that he had snaked a hand around her waist, just to know brief physical contact with this imposing man. And for Aubrey, those feelings were so unfamiliar that suddenly she had to get away.

He was simply too much.

The whole day had been too much and the antibiotics had made her feel sick. She felt overwhelmed and, not so much dizzy, more that she just had to sit down, so she flicked her eyes from his gaze and thanked him again.

‘My pleasure.’

Such a rare pleasure, Aubrey thought as she went and sat on one of the plush lobby chairs and tried to summon the energy for the journey home.

Well, not home—her night would be spent at the airport. Aubrey was just wondering how long she could stretch out sitting here before being moved on when she saw his dark suited legs and even without looking up she just knew it was him.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

‘I will be.’ She nodded. ‘I just needed to sit down.’

‘Are you staying locally?’

‘No, I’m headed for the airport,’ Aubrey said, a little taken aback when he sat down on one of the plump seats beside her.

‘What time is your flight?’

‘Nine.’ She didn’t add that it was at nine a.m. tomorrow but she could see concern in his eyes. ‘I’m just a bit wiped.’

‘Perhaps because you haven’t eaten?’

‘I have, there was loads of food...’

‘No,’ Khalid said, surprising himself that he had noticed, but he had seen her decline the hors d’oeuvres each time the waiters had come around. ‘You didn’t eat anything.’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘My stomach was in knots.’

‘Would you like me to have something brought to you...?’ He was about to raise his hand and summon someone, but she halted him.

‘Really, I’m fine, just a little tired—I’m getting over an ear infection and I flew through the night to get here.’

Khalid lived a luxurious life, but did understand that not everyone travelled in the style that he did. She was, he guessed, more than a little tired. He watched as she managed to stand and he glanced at her shoes, which were slightly too large, and then up to her face, which was suddenly slightly too pale.

‘Well, it was nice meeting you,’ Aubrey said, and all Khalid knew was that he did not want her walking off, weary, hungry and sad.

‘Wait,’ Khalid said, and of course she swung around. And now he had to think of a reason for calling her back. ‘Aubrey, do you want to go for a lie down?’ He saw the flare in her clear blue eyes and immediately realised she had misinterpreted his words. He didn’t blame her, for even Khalid was having difficulty qualifying what he had just said.

‘Excuse me. What I meant was that my suite will be vacant for a couple of hours.’ She gave an owl-like blink of her huge blue eyes that forced Khalid to explain better. ‘I have to see the family back to the house, then stay for drinks and, no doubt, dissect who was who at the funeral...’

‘Such as me,’ Aubrey said, and for a second she thought she saw a flicker of a smile grace his lips, but then decided that she must have imagined it for that glimmer had gone.

‘I have already explained to them that you are with me.’ Khalid could not quite believe he had offered her the use of his suite. Even his lovers did not get freedom to roam like that. Yet she moved him in unexpected ways. ‘You are more than welcome to use my suite for a couple of hours before you go to the airport.’

God, but a lie down sounded nice, Aubrey thought, and then remembered she hadn’t been born yesterday. ‘I don’t think—’

But he interrupted her. ‘The choice is yours. I doubt I shall be back till late this evening, so there would be plenty of time for a sleep before you head off.’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘My role today is to take care of Jobe’s friends and I believe you are one of them.’

‘But why would you trust me?’

‘Trust you?’ he checked.

Aubrey saw his frown and wondered if she had used a word he did not comprehend. ‘I might trash the room, take off with your things,’ she explained further.

But, no, Khalid knew very well what she’d meant. ‘Why would you do that, Aubrey?’

He was so measured.

And so very withheld.

Aubrey didn’t even know what she meant by withheld, except that was the word that sprang to her mind.

He did not jump to provocation.

It was as if nothing could possibly faze him but, most importantly, he did not faze her. Oh, Khalid was overwhelming to her senses, and more male than any man she had ever met, but there was not so much as a flicker of fear making itself known. And while heading up to a stranger’s bed might seem less than wise, it certainly beat lying on the airport floor. As well as that, Aubrey had been born with a radar attached.

It was how she survived.

With Khalid there were no red flags waving and Jobe had clearly thought the world of him.

There was something else, though—this man intrigued her. From the way he had stepped in and saved her from Chantelle’s inquisition. The way he had offered her food.

And now rest.

Aubrey didn’t trust men.

As a little girl her mom had told her to put a chair against her bedroom door at night and as a not much older girl she had stood on a stool to get ice for her mom’s bruises from the freezer.

Khalid, she was aware, brought down her defences, for she wanted to trust this man.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and her voice was a little croaky and the flush was back to her cheeks as she graciously accepted his kind offer. ‘But only if you’re sure?’

‘Of course.’ He handed her a card for the suite and told her the floor. ‘If you’re gone when I get back—’ He was interrupted by the shrill call of his name.

‘Khalid!’

‘Yes, Chantelle.’

And he gave Aubrey the tiniest eye-roll before he turned to the approaching woman; he shared with her his irritation.

It was like being handed the sun.

‘We’re heading back to the house,’ Chantelle said. ‘Aubrey, I do hope you’ll come...’

Best friends now, Aubrey thought, but Khalid swiftly dealt with the invitation.

‘Aubrey shall not be joining us. She has a headache.’ He met her eyes and instead of the sun offered her gold. ‘Rest now.’

As simply as that, Aubrey escaped.




CHAPTER FOUR (#u464b438d-9f05-5073-9497-56ddc80b4585)


SHE TOOK THE elevator to the designated floor and then found the necessary door, and stepped into heaven.





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