Her Sheikh Protector

Well, what do you know? Amazed by his sudden change of heart, she was too thrilled to ask why and take the chance of messing things up.

“Uh, no, not to my place.” She wasn’t registered at a hotel but didn’t want him to know she was staying on Marie Claire’s couch. “How about we meet at your hotel? Where are you staying?”

Tight lines formed around his eyes. “Let’s compromise. There’s a club … pub … bar, I guess Americans would say, called Arthur’s Rive Gauche. It’s rather more elegant than I would normally choose for conversation and it’s wildly popular, but I’m sure we can find a quiet corner. Why don’t I meet you there at half past five?”

“That’ll be fine. Great.” She made a move to rise, wanting to show him she could be perfectly civilized by shaking his hand. But she hadn’t even made it to her feet before the dizziness returned and threw her back into the cushions.

“Stay seated,” he insisted. “I’ll search out the concierge and have him bring you a plate of food. Eating may give you a much-needed temporary energy boost. However, I have no hope of it stilling your temper or mouth.” He cocked his head and waited for her to make a comment.

When she didn’t, he added, “A little sustenance might at least provide you with enough strength to take a cab back to your hotel. Allow me to arrange it, Miss Hunt?”

She closed her eyes and leaned back—for only a moment. “All right, but please call me Rylie. And thanks.”

“You must be joking, brother.” Shakir lounged in one of the club chairs of their hotel suite several hours later, with a bottle of dark ale in his hand and a smirk across his face. “Rylie Hunt had the nerve to accost you and bloody well accuse you of murder?”

“You should’ve seen the look in her eyes,” Darin told him. “It was enough to raise the hairs on the back of even your tough paratrooper’s leather neck.”

Shakir sat up straighter. “You don’t think she could be some kind of spy or lookout for the Taj Zabbar family, do you? It would make a kind of perverse sense. I know if I was into subterfuge and covert warfare, using a woman who has reason to hate the world would be perfect. Who knows what lies they could’ve told her in an effort to make her bend to their will.”

Darin gave it a moment’s consideration and quickly discarded the idea. “Not this woman. I have the feeling she could spot a liar from a mile away, and I doubt anyone on earth could bend her to their will. But I’ve agreed to meet with her. I need to uncover what she already knows.”

“Bad move.” Shakir screwed up his mouth. “You can’t seriously mean to get close to this woman. She could be dangerous. Why would you agree to do such a thing?”

“I felt sorry for her.” But that wasn’t strictly the truth. He’d felt something, all right. But the something was pure, unrefined and nearly uncontrollable … lust.

Theoretically, his sudden all-consuming erotic need should’ve been tempered by his empathy for her situation. After all, his life had been altered irrevocably with that explosion the same as hers. But the trouble with theories was they weren’t real life. In reality, despite what he should have felt, he’d searched his memory and couldn’t come up with a time when a stranger, or anyone at all, had affected him with quite this much seething passion.

He wasn’t sure why, either. She was a little too tall, a little too thin and a little too loud for his taste. Her overall appearance reminded him of what he’d always considered the looks of a spoiled girl from America’s western lands. Over-the-top—in every way. Not in the least his normal type of companion when it came to the opposite sex.

His brother was still seated, staring absently at the half-empty beer bottle in his hand. “This is not a good idea.” Shakir shook his head forcefully. “Even if she isn’t working with the Taj Zabbar, let’s suppose one of them spots the two of you together. That might give rise to a lot of false assumptions. False assumptions that could be life-threatening—to her or to you.”

“Don’t worry,” Darin told him, letting his voice carry a cavalier tone he was certainly not feeling. “I’ve suggested our meeting take place in a pub that’s popular with the locals but is out of the way for conference attendees. No one will spot us there.”

Later that same night in the dimly lit lobby bar of Darin’s hotel, Sheik Newaf Bin Hamad Taj Zabbar hung up his satellite phone when he spotted his distant cousin Samman Taweel walking his way. The young, hollow-eyed fellow weaved past several empty tables heading straight for him.

“Sit.” Sheik Hamad gestured to the chair across from him with the glowing tip of his Cuban Cohiba Behike. “I assume you left a compatriot to watch Darin Kadir. Is this so?”

“Yes, my sheik. The target you asked me to watch has seemingly retired to his room for the evening. One of the other men you hired is watching his door.”

“Very well. Then tell me what you observed of our target’s behavior at the conference reception.”

This distant cousin was far from brilliant. But Hamad had not hesitated to employ the dull but desperate man, because desperate men follow instructions exactly. Since the Taj Zabbar clan was finally on the cusp of exacting their ultimate revenge for the subjugation and humiliation they’d endured for centuries, he needed men like this one. Hamad knew better than to take a chance on hiring outsiders when his clan was close to their goals. The money was flowing. Let the retribution begin.

But patience was the key. For now, his goal was to detect new ways of embarrassing and humiliating three of the most important young Kadir men, the sons of the most powerful Kadir elder. Three of the Taj Zabbar’s greatest enemies.

Hamad wasn’t worried. Like this cousin, those rising Kadir stars didn’t seem like any great geniuses. And Hamad would accept nothing less than full capitulation from them in the end. He had little doubt his clan’s retribution would come to pass exactly as he’d planned. The entire Kadir clan would soon suffer in the same ways as the Taj Zabbar had suffered throughout hundreds of miserable years. He was counting on it.

Cousin Taweel’s hoarse yet respectful voice broke into his thoughts. “At the reception the target approached a pretty young woman and the two sat down together. They spoke for several minutes and then, before abandoning her, our target arranged with a concierge to see to the woman’s comfort. Food and taxi service back to her hotel.”

Hamad thought such behavior unexpected for the disciplined and rigid eldest Kadir son, and all exceptions from the ordinary worried him. “Did Kadir and this woman seem to be close friends? Did you find out who she was?”

“They appeared to be on most intimate terms, my sheik.” As he spoke, a tic appeared near an eyebrow, telling Hamad of his conservative cousin’s obvious disapproval.

Hamad didn’t consider either the disapproval or Kadir’s behavior important.

“I was told the name of the woman is Hunt. From America.”

Hunt. What would one of the Hunts be doing at a shipping conference? Hamad did not care for the idea. Had Darin Kadir invited the woman here to share information?

The Taj Zabbar elders had decided on temporary surveillance of the Kadir brothers rather than an outright attack. Extreme secrecy was essential for their revenge to succeed. Plans still had to be finalized and everything had to remain undercover until it was too late for their enemies to stop the schemes. But if it were true that Darin Kadir already suspected the Texas explosion was not an accident, his life would shortly come crashing to an abrupt end. It was Hamad’s duty to make it so.

Leaning back, Hamad tried easing his tension by chewing on the cigar. He felt positive that each detail in Texas had been dealt with cleverly, that nothing had been left to chance. The shipping facility explosion had been judged an accident, exactly the way Hamad planned it. Of course, he had anticipated the blame for the accident to accrue to Kadir Shipping instead of to Hunt Drilling the way their foolish American law enforcement believed. But the results were nearly the same. Kadir business interests had taken a loss, both financially and in reputation. All in all, it had been an excellent first shot in the Taj Zabbar’s war of retribution.

Hunt Drilling was only unfortunate collateral damage, as the Americans would say. His sources told him the Hunt organization had been fatally weakened and that the remaining Hunt family felt extraordinary anger toward the Kadirs. Had that changed?

Hamad needed to understand this new development. His plans could well depend on finding out what the Hunt woman knew—or thought she knew.

The flame had gone out of his cigar and he used the tip to make his point to the cousin. “I want to talk to this Hunt woman. Is it possible to find out where she is staying? Can you question her taxi driver?”

The young Taweel lowered his eyelids and shook his head slowly.

Growing impatient, Hamad tapped his cigar against the tabletop. “I will put out a few requests. Perhaps we can locate her hotel yet tonight. In the meantime, you are to remain with Darin Kadir. When he leaves his rooms, do not let him out of your sight. If he meets with that woman again, I want to be notified. And then, bring her to me.”

“You may be requesting an impossible task, my sheik. What if the woman does not wish to come?”

The cigar tip tapped rapidly against the table as Hamad held frustration in check. “Then you must insist. Or …” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Just see that you bring her to me.”

It was nearing 2:00 a.m. when Hamad Taj Zabbar placed his last phone call of the night. Frustration had decimated his posture since he had sent his cousin away an hour earlier. His shoulders were strung tight from the strain.

The Hunt woman was not registered in any hotel in the city. Due to the late hour, Hamad had been forced to give up his search. It was possible she’d registered at any number of inns, bed-and-breakfasts or hostels, and he would never be able to hunt through every one.

Unaccustomed to not winning each skirmish he entered, Hamad rubbed his temple, vowing that his failure to locate the Hunt woman right away would be only a minor setback.

Hamad felt confident that even his dull cousin could bring her to him at the first opportunity.

Taweel had better.

The next morning Darin rolled his feet out of bed and hung his head in his hands. What a long night it had been.

Dreams of drowning in vibrant blue-green eyes had kept him tossing for hours on end. He’d been lost in luxurious layers of auburn curls. Soft and shiny, so smooth against his skin. Like a bath in velvet.

What a fool he was. The urge to pound his fists into his empty head drove him to stand. Perhaps a shower would help. As he walked to the bath, it became clear he had better dredge up some of his infamous impassivity. It should come easy for him, as he’d been accused of being aloof and detached for most of his life.

Right now he could use some of that lethal remoteness. He’d not needed anyone, save for his two brothers, since his mother’s death. Women were friends, business associates and overnight flings, and this was no time for his libido to begin overruling his head. The middle of his first covert operation for the family would be the worst time to undertake a romantic relationship with a woman he barely knew.

While cranking the cold water on high, Darin thought of a brilliant plan. As soon as he stepped from the shower, he would find out as much as he could about Rylie Hunt’s background. No one could withstand his kind of scrutiny. No one. He was positive that the more he learned about Rylie the more this crazy obsession of his would wane.

Yes, a good plan. Such a good plan that he began to whistle. Until … he stepped into the shower and a shot of freezing water hit him flat in the chest.