Nick rapped sharply on the door. “One minute.”
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bright. Her cheeks were pink. With anger, she told herself. Of course with anger. And it was anger, too, that had sent her heart leaping into her throat.
She ran her fingers through her hair, bit her lips to color them. Then she threw back her head, unlocked the door and stepped into the bedroom.
Nick was leaning back against the wall, arms folded, feet crossed at the ankles. He gave her a long, appraising look, from the top of her head to her feet, then up again. “I take it the dress and shoes fit.”
His tone was polite, but when his eyes met hers, they were shot with silver fire. She could feel the heat swirling in her blood.
“I despise you,” she said in a voice that sounded far too breathless.
He uncoiled his body like a lazy cat and came toward her. “Liking me isn’t a prerequisite for the night we’re about to spend together.”
“We aren’t,” she said quickly, even though she knew he was baiting her, that he was really just referring to the time she’d be with him at his party. “There’s no way in hell I’d spend the night with—”
He bent and brushed his mouth over hers. That was all he did; the kiss was little more than a whisper of flesh to flesh, but the intake of her breath more than proved she was lying.
She knew it. He knew it. And she hated him for it.
“The Sheikh,” she said, her eyes cool.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Sheikh, starring Rudolph Valentino. It’s an old movie. You’d love it. Be sure and rent the video sometime.”
Nick laughed. “I can see we’re going to have a delightful evening.” He held out his arm. She tossed her head. “Take it,” he said softly, “unless you’d rather I lift you into my arms and carry you.”
Amanda took his arm. She could feel the hardness of his muscles, the taut power of his body through his clothing—but mostly, she could feel the race of her own heart as he led her out of his bedroom and to the wide staircase that led downstairs.
CHAPTER FIVE
AMANDA knew all about making an entrance.
Her father, a California businessman who owned a department store and had hopes of building it into a chain, had put his three beautiful little daughters in front of the cameras whenever he could. They’d promoted everything from baby clothes to barbecue grills.
“Lick your lips, girls,” he’d say just before he’d walk them out. “And give ’em a big smile.”
The small-town lawyer she’d married had turned into a publicity-hungry politico looking for national office before she’d had time to blink.
“Smile,” he’d say, and he’d put his arm around her waist as if he really cared, just before walking her into a room filled with strangers.
Her stepfather, Jonas Baron, was the exception. Jonas owned almost half of Texas but he didn’t much care about entrances or exits. He never sought public attention but he couldn’t escape it, either.
Still, nothing could have prepared her for what it was like to make an entrance on the arm of the Lord of the Desert.
“Oh, hell,” Nick said softly when they reached the top of the stairs.
Oh, hell, indeed, Amanda thought as she looked down.
A million faces looked back. And oh, the expressions on those faces! All those eyes, shifting with curiosity from the sheikh to her…
She jerked to a stop. “Everyone is watching us,” she hissed.
“Yeah.” Nick cleared his throat. “I should have realized this might happen. It’s because I’m late.”
“Well, that’s not my fault!”
“Of course it’s your fault,” he growled.
“I’m not going down there. Not with you.”
Nick must have anticipated that she’d move away because his free hand shot out and covered hers as it lay on his arm. To the people watching, it would have looked like a courtly gesture, but the truth was that his hand felt like a shackle on hers.
“Don’t be ridiculous. They’ve all seen us. As it is, tongues will wag. If you run off now, there’ll be no stopping the stories.”
“That’s your problem, Lord Rashid, not mine.”
He looked at her, his eyes narrowed and hard. “You’re my sister’s oldest friend.” Slowly, he began descending the steps with Amanda locked to his side. “And you’ve come to pay her a visit.”
“I’m the immoral creature who led her astray. Isn’t that what you mean?”
“You haven’t seen each other in ages, not since—when?”
She looked at him. His mouth was set in a polite smile.
“How charming,” she said coolly. “You can speak without moving your lips.”
“When did you and Dawn last see each other?”
“Two weeks ago, at lunch. Not exactly ‘ages’, is it?”
Nick’s hand tightened over hers. “Just keep your story straight. You’re Dawn’s friend. You’ve kept in touch over the years. She heard you were in town and invited you to her birthday party.”
They were halfway down the steps. Amanda looked at all those upturned faces. The only thing lacking was a trumpet fanfare, she thought, and bit back a hysterical bark of laughter.
“Did you hear me, Ms. Benning?”
“I heard you, Lord Rashid. But I’m not visiting New York. I live here. I know you’d prefer to think I live in Casablanca and that I’m a spy.”
“What I think, Ms. Benning, is that you watch too many old movies.”
“What am I supposed to say if people ask why you and I came downstairs together?”
It was, Nick decided, an excellent question. “Tell them…tell them I hadn’t seen you in a long time.”
“Not long enough,” Amanda said, smiling through her teeth.
“You and I were catching up on old times.”
“Ah. Is that some quaint Quidaran idiom that means you were trying to jump my bones?”
Nick stopped so abruptly that she stumbled. He caught her, his arm looping tightly around her waist.
“Listen to me,” he growled. “You are to behave yourself. You will smile pleasantly, say the proper thing at the proper moment. And if you don’t—”
“Don’t threaten me, Lord Rashid. I’ll behave, but not because I’m afraid of you. It’s because I’ve no desire for ugly pub
licity.”
“Afraid it might ruin your image?” he said sarcastically.
“Being seen with you will be enough to do—What are they doing?”
The question was pointless. She could see, and hear, what all those people down there were doing. They were applauding.
“They’re applauding,” Amanda said, and looked at him.
Nick gave her a smile so phony she wondered if it made his mouth hurt.
“I know.”
“Well, why are they—”
“The applause is for me.”
She looked down again, into that sea of smiling faces, at the clapping hands. Then she looked at Nick. Definitely, that smile had to be painful.
“They’re clapping for you?” she said incredulously.
“Must I repeat myself?” A muscle tightened in his cheek. “It is the custom.”
“The custom?”
“Do you think you’re capable of making a statement, Ms. Benning, instead of following each question with another? Yes. It is the custom to applaud the prince on his birthday.”
“Well, it’s dumb.”
Nick laughed. Really laughed. “It is indeed.”
“Then why do you permit it?”
He thought of a hundred different answers, starting with three thousand years of history and ending with the knowledge that had come to him only after more than a decade of trying to push his country into the twenty-first century—the simple realization that not even he could accomplish such a thing quickly.
He could tell Amanda Benning all of that, but why should he? She wouldn’t understand. And the odds were excellent that if he did, she’d rush to sell that morsel of news to the highest bidder.
As it was, he was doing everything possible not to think about her trying to sell the sordid little tale of what had gone on in his bedroom. Surely his lawyers’ threats would stop her. And if that didn’t do the trick, he’d deny whatever she said. But would he be able to deny the memory of those moments to himself? The feel of her in his arms? The taste of her on his tongue?
Of course he would, he thought calmly.
“I permit the applause,” he said, “because it is the custom.”