“Really,” she said with what she hoped was the right mix of politeness and boredom. “How nice.”
A waiter floated by with a tray of champagne. She grabbed his elbow, swapped her now empty glass for a flute of bubbly and took a drink. Her head felt light. Well, why wouldn’t it? She hadn’t eaten in hours.
“I wonder, Ms Benning…would you have time to fit us in?”
Thank you, God. Amanda frowned. “I don’t know. My schedule—”
“We’d be grateful if you could just come out and take a look.”
“Well, since you’re friends of the sheikh—”
“Old friends,” the woman said quickly.
“In that case…” Amanda opened her evening purse and whipped out a business card. “Why don’t you phone me on Monday?”
“Oh, that would be wonderful.”
Wonderful didn’t quite do it. Incredible was more like it. She fought back the desire to pump her fist into the air, made a bit more small talk and moved on to the next group of guests.
Before long, her cards were almost all gone. Everybody seemed to want one now that they knew she was Amanda Benning, the sheikh’s designer. It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. She’d have been his designer if Dawn’s plan hadn’t backfired.
“Ms. Benning,” someone called.
Amanda smiled, relieved a waiter of another flute of champagne and started toward the voice. Whoa. The floor was tilting. She giggled softly. You’d think a zillion-billion-million-dollar penthouse wouldn’t have warped—
“Amanda.”
A pair of strong hands closed on her shoulders. She looked up as Nick stepped in front of her. Wow. His head was tilting, too.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
How come he wasn’t smiling? Amanda gave him a loopy grin. “How ’bout you, Nicky? Are you envoy—enboy—enjoying you’self?” she said, and hiccuped.
Nick marched her through the room, out the door and onto the terrace. It wasn’t deserted as it had been before. He clutched her elbow, kept her tightly at his side as he walked her past little clusters of guests.
“Hello,” he kept saying. “Having a good time?”
“Hello,” Amanda sang happily. “Havin’ a goo’ time?”
Someone laughed. Nick laughed, too, but his laughter died once they turned the corner of the terrace. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded in a furious whisper.
Amanda blinked owlishly. It was darker out here. She couldn’t see Nick’s face clearly, but she didn’t have to. He was angry, angry that she’d finally been having fun.
“Half my guests are marching around, clutching your address and phone number.”
She giggled. “Only half?” Champagne sloshed over the edge of her glass as she raised it to her lips. “Jus’ let me finish this and I’ll—Hey,” she said indignantly as he snatched the flute from her hand. “Give me that.”
“Who told you that you could hand out business cards?”
“Who told me? Nobody told me. I didn’t ask. I wouldn’t ask! People don’t need permission to hand out business cards.”
“They do when they’re in my home.”
“Tha’s ridiculous.”
“I won’t have you bothering my guests.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, I wasn’t bothering anybody.” She laughed slyly. “Matter of fact, your guests are eager to meet me.”
“I’ll bet they are.”
“Ever’body wants the sheikh’s designer to do their house.”
“You’re not my designer,” he said coldly. “And as soon as they realize that, your little scheme will collapse.”
“A minor teshnic—technic—a minor inconvenience.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re drunk.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“No, I’m not,” she said, and hiccuped again.
“Have you eaten anything tonight?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Amanda lifted her chin. “I was too busy drinking wine.”
Nick said something under his breath. She looked at him.
“Was that Quidaran again? Must have been. I couldn’t understand it.”
“Be glad you didn’t,” he said, his voice grim. “Let’s go, Ms. Benning.”
“Go where?”
“You need a pot of strong coffee and a plate of food.”
The mention of food made her stomach lurch. “No. I’m not hungry.”
“Coffee, then. And something for your head before it starts to ache.”
“Why should it…?” She caught her breath. “Ow,” she whispered, and put the back of her hand to her forehead. “My head hurts.”
“Indeed.” Nick pulled her into the circle of his arm and led her to the end of the terrace.
“Is that a door?”
“That’s what it is. Let me punch in the code.”
The door swung open. Amanda took a step and faltered. Nick lifted her into his arms, carried her inside, kicked the door shut and switched on the light. She threw her arm over her eyes. “Agh. That’s so bright.”
“I’ll turn it down. Okay. Sit here. And don’t move.”
She sat. It didn’t help. Her head spun. Or the room spun. Either way, she felt awful.
“Nick?”
“Here I am. Open your mouth.”
She opened an eye instead. He was holding out a glass and four tablets.
“What’s that?”
“I know you’d like to think it’s poison, but it’s only water and something that’ll make your head feel better.”
“How abo
ut my stomach?” she said in a whisper.
Nick grinned. “That, too. Go on. Take them.”
She took the tablets and gave them a wary look. “Are they from Quidar?”
Nick didn’t just grin, he laughed. “They’re from a pharmacy in Bond Street. Come on. Swallow them down.”
She did. He took the glass from her.
“Now, put your feet up.” His voice sounded far away, but he was right there, beside her. She could feel his hands, lifting her. Shifting her so her head was propped on something. A bed? A pillow?
His lap.
“Where are we?” she mumbled, and opened one eye.
“My study,” Nick said.
The room was small, with an interior door that she assumed led into the rest of the penthouse. It was cozy, she thought. Everything looked lived in: the threadbare old rug, the battered leather sofa and the equally battered desk.
“Dawn didn’t show me this.”
“No.” His voice hummed with amusement. “She doesn’t have the combination, so it wouldn’t have been on the dollar tour. Shut your eyes and let the tablets do their job.”
She did. For five minutes. For an hour. Time passed; she had no idea how long she lay there. A hand stroked her forehead and she sighed and turned her face into it.
A knock sounded at the door.
Nick lifted her head gently from his lap. She lay back, eyes closed, heard a door open, heard him say, “Thank you,” heard the door swing shut.
“Coffee,” Nick said. “Freshly ground and brewed.”
“It’s wonderful to be king,” Amanda murmured.
“Wonderful,” he said dryly. “Can you sit up?”
She did. He held out an enormous mug, filled to the brim with liquid so black it looked like ink.
She took it, held it in both hands. “It’s hot.”
“Clever of you to figure that out.”
“It’s black.”
“Clever again.”
“I like cream and sugar in my coffee.”
“Drink it,” he said, “or I’ll grab your nose and pour it into your mouth.”
He looked as if he might do just that. Amanda drank, shuddered, and drank again. When the cup was empty, she gave it to him. He refilled it, looked at her, sighed and put it down on the desk. Then he took a chair, turned it backward, straddled it and sat.
“Better?”