Chapter 1 #3
“Although if there are stairs involved, I reserve the right to reconsider.”
“There are no stairs involved.”
“Excellent. I’ve reached the point in international travel where escalators feel ambitious.”
His low laugh followed me out of the meeting room.
***
A woman from Tariq’s household staff met me a few minutes later.
“I’m Farah Saleh, Sheikh Tariq’s household manager. I’ll show you to the guest wing.”
Farah escorted me through a controlled elevator lobby and waited while I retrieved my suitcase.
I rolled it myself because there were limits to how quickly a woman from Omaha should become accustomed to people carrying everything for her.
The private elevator opened into a foyer larger than my apartment.
I stopped with one hand wrapped around the suitcase handle.
The foyer had cool cream stone, pale wood, soft fabric, and huge windows.
Farah led me toward the guest wing.
My bedroom had a wall of glass facing the city, a bed large enough to host a diplomatic summit, and a bathroom with a soaking tub positioned beside another window.
I immediately decided there were some forms of luxury I could understand without professional analysis.
The sitting room opened off the bedroom.
My entrance door locked from inside.
A house phone sat on a side table beside a card listing direct numbers for the residence desk, cars, and hotel services.
Farah showed me the elevator access panel.
“Your key will allow you to reach the hotel and lobby whenever you wish,” she said. “You won’t need permission or an escort.”
I wouldn’t have to pass through Tariq’s private rooms, either.
“Would you like assistance unpacking, Ms. Campbell?”
I looked from my suitcase to the room and back again.
“No, thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Dinner can be served whenever you wish.”
I nearly hugged her.
“I may love this hotel.”
Her smile remained beautifully professional.
“I’ll let the kitchen know you’ve arrived.”
After she left, I changed absolutely nothing about myself because sitting down seemed dangerous.
If I sat down, I might wake up Thursday.
Instead, I wandered back toward the shared residential sitting area.
The terrace doors stood open to the evening.
Hot, humid air touched my bare arms when I stepped outside.
The city stretched below, enormous and bright, but my attention went past the towers toward the Gulf.
The water was still blue, even with the sun dropping lower.
The color deepened toward the horizon while streaks of peach began forming around the light.
A narrow planter ran along the terrace wall, filled with small pink flowers trembling in the breeze.
I moved closer.
After a day of marble, glass, enormous screens, executive suites, and people who seemed capable of arranging transportation by thinking firmly in its direction, the tiny flowers made me smile.
“They’re bougainvillea.”
I turned.
Tariq stood in the doorway.
He’d removed his suit jacket.
That was all.
He still wore the same crisp shirt and tailored trousers.
It shouldn’t have made him look more dangerous.
It did.
“I was wondering.”
“You like them.”
“They’re pretty.”
He looked from the flowers to me.
“You spent the afternoon inside one of the most expensive hotels in Dubai.”
“I noticed.”
“And these are what stopped you.”
“They’re pink.”
His brows rose.
“That’s your professional assessment?”
“No. Professionally, I’d need at least three meetings before approving pink.”
He gave that low laugh again.
I smiled anyway.
He stepped onto the terrace, not close enough to touch but close enough that I could smell clean fabric and something subtle from his skin.
My stomach tightened.
I turned back toward the water.
“Thank you for the room.”
“You’re comfortable with it?”
“Yes.”
“If that changes, tell the residence desk and they’ll move you to an executive suite.”
“Thank you.”
“My rooms are through there.”
He indicated the opposite side of the residence.
I followed the motion.
One corridor and one set of doors separated his rooms from mine, much less distance than I’d expected.
Heat slid slowly beneath my skin.
I had the uncomfortable feeling Tariq knew exactly where my thoughts had gone.
“Breakfast is available whenever you wake,” he said.
“Does the kitchen understand that might be sometime next month?”
“They’ve managed more difficult requests.”
“I’m beginning to believe that.”
“You should sleep.”
“I should.”
Neither of us moved.
The breeze lifted the skirt of my dress lightly against my knees.
He glanced down, only for a second.
My nipples tightened anyway.
When Tariq looked back at my face, his eyes were darker.
That definitely wasn’t jet lag.
“Good night, Chrissy.”
He’d called me Chrissy.
The deep way he said it sent a warm pulse straight between my thighs.
“Good night, Tariq.”
He held my gaze for one extra beat.
Then he stepped back and let me pass.
I walked to the guest wing without looking behind me, closed my bedroom door, and leaned against it.
His rooms were right down the hall.
I had five more days in Dubai.
And five days suddenly felt like a very long time to be sleeping that close to a man I’d spent all afternoon trying not to imagine naked.