The Sheikh’s Accidental Heir (Sharjah Sheikhs Book 2) Page 2

  Raising his hand, Ahmed held it in front of him. “Now you sound too much like him.”

  Khalid’s mouth pulled down. He was starting to look too much like their father, too. His figure had thickened slightly—married life was turning Khalid into a dull husband. They all shared the same heritage of their father’s dark hair and eyes—but Khalid seemed… happy.

  Ahmed frowned at that thought. Happy was not a concept he courted—he wanted excitement, he wanted to live before their father tied all of them to the lives he had planned for them. Ahmed squirmed in his seat. He was growing impatient with being the youngest—the last one Father ever thought about, the one who had nothing to do other than let his older brothers learn the business like Zaid or start having grandchildren as Khalid seemed intent on doing.

  He was here in America, far from his father’s disapproval, and he had a lovely woman willing to dine with him. And perhaps more—American woman were wonderful in how they went after their own pleasure like a man. He glanced around and saw Melanie, back at work again, supervising a new tray of some tiny treats that were to be passed around. He watched as she worked her way around the room. She did not look his way, and he knew she was trying hard not to.

  Ahmed sipped his water and waited for Khalid to take up his lecture again. But his brother surprised him by slapping a hand on Ahmed’s shoulder and standing. “You should find yourself a wife.”

  Ahmed gave a snort. “So says the married man, who only wishes to see others chained. I am satisfied with my life as it is.”

  Khalid shook his head. “Choose on your own, brother, before Father chooses for you.”

  “Oh, he will have to marry Zaid off first, and then he will pay attention to me—perhaps. Until then…well, until then I will live life to the fullest.”

  “Meaning you will find trouble for yourself and the family.” Khalid shook his head. “Father’s patience is not endless. And neither is your life. Find something you want, Ahmed. And go after it. Father will never respect you until you learn first to respect yourself.”

  Khalid strode off to Zaid’s side. Ahmed turned away from him—his older brother was wrong. Someday Ahmed would earn their father’s respect. Just not today, given what he was planning.

  The party seemed to be winding down—guests were taking their leave. Khalid and Zaid still worked the room, and Ahmed sat where he was, frowning at his water and wondering why Khalid’s words stuck under his skin like a sliver of glass.

  Find something he wanted?

  Was he not always doing that? And always having his father or his brothers tell him that was not a fit thing for the son of the Sultan of Sharjah? Of course, that only made him go out to find yet another thing to irritate his father. He knew he enjoyed that a little too much—it had been his only hobby growing up and the only way to ever get his father’s attention. Well, too late to break such a habit now.

  He grinned suddenly. Besides, it gave his father more to do—Father adored nothing more than a good lecture.

  “Standing, he set his water down, smoothed his suit and headed over to shake the hands of their last guests.

  Turning to Zaid, he said, “I think the caterer is ready to shut it down, so we should probably call it a night.” And please get yourselves back to your own rooms.

  Zaid frowned, but it was obvious Khalid wanted to leave—no doubt to have a long talk with his wife who waited for him. Ahmed put on the innocent smile he had perfected over the years—as if he had no plans at all. But he was very much planning on an evening he would not soon forget—one with the lovely Melanie.

  2

  “You waited!” Melanie couldn’t hide the surprise or excitement in her voice when she found her gorgeous sheik waiting just outside the hotel. One look at him and she’d figured him as a flirt—he had that look in his eyes, part mischief and part trouble and way too attractive. She also knew her own weakness—she loved bad boys.

  He gave her an easy grin, one that had her heart speeding up and left her palms damp. “Did you think I wouldn’t show?”

  “Admittedly, yes. You seem the type who’d have a steady supply of women eager to spend time with you.” His dark eyebrows pulled tight and a touch of hurt lightened his eyes. She stared back at him, daring him to try a line on her.

  Slowly, the spark came back into his eyes. He’d changed from his suit into jeans and a black polo that he wore open at the neck. She could see a touch of curling, dark chest hair peeking out and golden-brown skin. His dark hair had a touch of wave in it and reached almost to his shoulders, framing his strong face. A neatly trimmed beard followed a firm jaw line, emphasizing solid features. Earlier, he’d looked bored—and she’d pegged him as the son who hated business. The playboy son. Now she wasn’t so sure. There seemed to be hidden depths to Ahmed.

  He spread his hands wide. “While I will admit that yes, most women seem to throw themselves at me.” He paused to look her up and down. “I do enjoy a bit of a chase.”

  “So, what, I’m a rabbit now?” She mimicked his gaze, looking him over. “To your wolf?”

  Taking her arm, he led her to a black sedan that seemed to be waiting for them at the curb. “Well, you know what they say about rabbits.”

  Melanie blushed, but she met his stare. “What—they taste like chicken?”

  He laughed. The driver held the door for them. She glanced at it. Was she ready for this? How long had it been since she’d last been on a date? She brushed at her black trousers—she hadn’t even had a chance to change. She glanced back at Ahmed. She was pretty sure she could guess where this was heading, but dammit, she was tired of being too responsible, too hard working and being the girl who never had any fun.

  Going out with Ahmed—a real prince, the son of the Sultan of Sharjah—was at least going to make for a great story someday. Weren’t her friends always telling her she was always following the rules—and not really getting anywhere because of that?

  Throwing caution to the wind, she stepped into the car and slid across the backseat. The leather smelled new, gave like a dream and there was enough room to almost call this a New York apartment.

  Ahmed slipped in beside her, saying, “Just so you know, I don’t care for salad.”

  She gave a laugh. “So, what did you have in mind?” She couldn’t believe she was in the car with an Arabian sheik and suddenly realized her words sounded more like a come on. “I mean, were you thinking pizza? We’ve got great Greek, but maybe that’s too close to home.”

  He smiled and the leather creaked as he shifted a little closer. “I trust you haven’t had dinner.”

  Melanie glanced at the driver. Traffic was thick this time of night, and they’d be lucky to get into a good restaurant. “My dinner is usually leftovers from the trays we were serving.”

  He shook his head. “That is not a meal. What if we have dinner prepared for us back at my personal suite by Michelin Star chef, Michael Stubon?”

  “I thought you wanted a real New York experience?”

  “Is that not an experience? I am sure it will be delightful.”

  “Sounds like it, and dinner prepared by Stubon is tempting, but I’ve got another idea.” Leaning forward, she gave the driver the address to Katz’s. The car pulled out into traffic, and the driver wove through the cars like a pro.

  Melanie glanced over to find Ahmed watching her. She was pretty sure he didn’t know she wasn’t just a worker at MM Catering. She owned the business, but he’d spoken to her as if she was just one of the staff members. She liked the idea of being…well, being Cinderella for an evening. With a real prince and everything. Depending on how things went, she’d decide later just what more he needed to know.

  So she asked him about his brothers, about his life back home, about his business interests in New York. He waved off the last question, talked with a touch of admiration about his two older brothers—as if he didn’t want to admit he cared for them, even though he did. She thought she saw something more in him than just a pl
ayboy prince.

  But then he’d give her that crooked smile of his—the one that lit a slow light in his eyes—and she was pretty damn sure he was trouble on two legs. Muscles under the shirt suggested a body custom made for sin. His dark eyes would be any girl’s downfall, and the charm he had going was a weapon that would melt any woman’s heart.

  Fun only, she reminded herself. She didn’t need man-trouble, but a fantasy night out was not a bad thing.

  The sedan pulled up in front of the address she’d given the driver. She got out without waiting for anyone to open the door. Ahmed frowned at that, but she came around, grabbed his hand and pulled him into Katz’s Deli.

  The place was packed, but Katz’s was generally packed at four in the morning or four in the afternoon. She dragged Ahmed to seats at the counter. He was glancing around as if he wasn’t sure about any of this, but Sybil was working—the woman looked as if she’d been here for sixty years, and that might be the truth.

  “Whadda ya have?” Sybil asked in a shout that carried over the clatter of dishes and the noise of the hard walls in the diner.

  Melanie glanced at Ahmed. He waved for her to go ahead. She ordered the pastrami on rye and knockwurst—there were other things on the menu that were a New York blessing, but Katz’s pastrami was hand sliced, perfectly seasoned and just about melted in your mouth. Ahmed glanced around again, but no one was giving him more than a glance. Not with a lady in real diamonds and a fur—worn even on a summer evening—at one table in a hard-backed chair, a few Goth punks clinging to their outdated retro eighties look, a couple of taxi drivers who’d stopped in and sat near a window to keep an eye on their cab, and a few custom Brooks Brothers suits who looked like they were straight off Wall Street trading floors. Katz’s catered to anyone with the money to buy a meal.

  Ahmed started to ask about herself, but the food came out on heavy china plates, served with coffee they hadn’t ordered—Sybil liked to tell you what you needed with your meal. The bill was slapped down, and Melanie swapped half the pastrami onto the knockwurst plate. “Eat it while it’s hot like this.”

  She cut off a hunk of his knockwurst and shoveled a forkful of bliss into her mouth. She closed her eyes and let the tastes wrap around her tongue—crisp meat seasoned by a decades’ old grill, with a touch of grease. What was more New York than this? Opening her eyes, she saw Ahmed watching her, elbow propped on the counter and a smile curving his mouth. “You are a sensualist.”

  She waved her fork at the plate. “And if you don’t eat, Sybil is going to come over here and make sure you do. A growing man like you needs good food.”

  He gave a laugh but picked up half the pastrami sandwich, with its meat dripping out the sides. Melanie waited. Ahmed took a bite as if it was just food—then he stopped and his eyes widened. He chewed, and Melanie knew he was discovering the miracle of Katz’s. It wasn’t just that the meat was cooked to falling apart perfection or that the rye bread came to the table soft and warm. It was the mustard and spices and how everything balanced.

  Ahmed let out a breath. “I see why everyone must come to New York at some time in their life.”

  They ate everything, washed the meal down with hot coffee that Sybil kept steaming. She beamed at them to see them eating like teamsters. Ahmed paid the bill and left a more-than-generous tip that left Sybil calling after them to come back soon.

  Strolling out into the muggy, evening air, Melanie pulled in a breath and put a hand on her stomach. “I’m going to have to do an extra lap at the pool this week to make up for that.”

  Ahmed laughed. “Ah, but the evening is not done. Come, we’ll walk.” He took her hand and they strolled down the street. The sedan dutifully followed, slowing traffic behind them, gaining angry horn honks.

  Unable to stand that, Melanie said, “I should be getting back.”

  “To work?” Ahmed turned to face her. “Really?”

  She bit her lower lip. “Hey, bills to pay.”

  He glanced up at the sky and then at her. “You must come with me for a nightcap, yes? And I texted Stubon. He should leave dessert for us. You cannot let that go to waste.”

  “Well, if you put it like that.”

  With a hand on the small of her back, he guided her to the sedan and Ahmed gave the name of a newer, smaller boutique hotel. Melanie had been curious about the place—she hadn’t been inside. The lobby impressed with small alcoves and seating areas, all of them perfect for intimate business meetings. The bar had been tucked to one side, and the check-in counter seemed more like a desk. The elevator smoothly took them to an upper story, and Ahmed let himself into his room. She was even more impressed that he hadn’t bothered with bodyguards—but with his build, he probably knew how to look after himself.

  The sheik’s suite put the penthouse where they’d held the business gathering to shame. A small foyer opened into a large sitting room with tall, two-story windows looking out onto a terrace that overlooked the Manhattan skyline. Stairs led up to a loft-style second floor with a hint of a giant bed.

  The dining room boasted a long, shiny ebony table surrounded by straight-backed chairs, formally set with china, chilling wine and candles that had just been lit. The room still smelled of spices and something else—but the award-winning chef who had prepared whatever meal was not to be served was nowhere to be seen. She hoped he hadn’t left in a huff. But the lights of the city distracted her, and she headed to the windows.

  “Wow. You can see everything worth seeing—even the Empire State Building. At street level, it’s too easy to forget the light show that stretches across the skyscrapers as soon as the sun goes down.”

  “A commanding view, yes?” He sounded proud of the fact, as if somehow he’d arranged this just for her. In a way, he had.

  Pulling out a chair, he gave a small bow. “Please, have a seat.”

  Turning, Melanie glanced at the table and came over to it. She could smell vanilla and a hint of spice clung to the air—cinnamon and clove. She sat down, and Ahmed pulled a bottle of wine from the table to fill two glasses.

  He handed one glass of the golden liquid to her.

  “Here’s to a wonderful night,” he said, holding up his glass.

  She raised her glass. “Cheers,” she answered. She sniffed and sipped the wine. Dry but with an oaky aroma and a smooth finish. She gave a low hum of appreciation.

  “You are familiar with Montrachet?” Ahmed asked.

  “I worked a diamond wedding anniversary and the husband not only could afford the world’s best chardonnay, he was liberal with servings. It’s fantastic. I only tasted it that once, but I swore I’d be able to afford a bottle someday.”

  He smiled and sat.

  Dessert turned out to be custard that had been left on ice at the table. That’s where the smells were coming from. A bowl of fresh raspberries sat beside the custard, revealed only when Ahmed whisked away the silver covers that had been hiding the delicacies. Each bowl of custard sat it its own small ice bucket. He served her and she dove in—she’d never been one to pass up a dessert.

  Closing her eyes, she let the mix of vanilla and spices roll around her mouth—she caught a faint hint not just of clove but a touch of brandy in the custard. Just a faint taste. It was perfect. She instantly wanted the recipe.

  “Good?” Ahmed asked.

  She nodded, a hand over her mouth. She swallowed and said, “Perfect. I almost hate to spoil the custard with fruit, but I need to try it that way, too.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He couldn’t have sounded more satisfied with himself if he’d cooked it himself.

  They ate and sipped the wine, which worked perfectly to clear the palate and add complexity to the dessert. She asked him what he’d seen of New York, and she was shocked that he’d seen nothing. “How long have you been here?”

  He shrugged. “Two days of meeting after meeting after meeting. My brothers drag me from one office tower to another. I don’t even get glimpses, since I’
m usually in the middle of our limo.”

  She stared at her empty bowl and wrapped a hand around the stem of her wine glass. He’d given her a lovely evening—and it had been fun. She had precious little of that in her life. Looking up at him, she gave a nod. “Okay, you get two days. I’m not booked, and I’ll have to make a few calls, but we can do the Brooklyn Bridge, Statue of Liberty and the 9/11 Memorial tomorrow. And a play—you have to take in a play if you’re in New York. The day after, we’ll stroll Central Park, eat hot dogs and hit the Met.”

  He stared at her, eyes dark and wide. He didn’t say anything. She turned her wine glass a few times. “That is, I mean…if you want and you can get the time—”

  He put his hand over hers. “I will make the time.”

  “Your brothers—your business? It’ll be okay?”

  He gave a nod. “If you can make the time to show me your New York, I can make the time to be a gracious guest. But only if, in turn, you will allow me to pamper you as you never have been before—the best food, the finest clothes…you have but to ask for anything and I will grant it to you. For two days.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss onto her palm. “For two days, we will belong to each other. We will enjoy life, yes?”

  Melanie’s hand tingled under his touch. Her palm dampened, and her pulse thudded quick and hard. She parted her lips and sucked in a breath. She’d always been the girl who always played by the rules—and where had that gotten her? Well, the business would be fine for two days—George, her assistant, would see to that. Two whole days of fun. Two days of being a guide for a sheik and being treated like a princess. It was a better deal than any Cinderella had ever had.

  Turning her hand in his, she gripped his tightly. “And let’s enjoy each other without any unnecessary complications.”

  His ran his thumb over the back of her fingers. He stood and pulled her to her feet. “That is a deal I am more than happy to make.” Pulling her close, he kissed her.