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“I know,” Lazhar acknowledged as she stepped into the hall and he closed the door. “What’s this?”
“This?” Emily held up the small electronic day-planner.
“Yes, that.”
“It’s my planner.”
“I know what an electronic day-planner is, Emily, I use one myself. What I don’t know is why you’re taking it to dinner.”
“It’s easier to carry than a notepad and pen. If your mother or sister discuss any details they think should be included in your wedding, I can jot down notes so I won’t forget.”
“Emily,” Lazhar halted her by the simple method of closing his hand around her arm. “This is just a casual family dinner. You don’t need to take notes.”
“But….”
“No buts.” He slipped the Palm Pilot out of her hand and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “You can take all the notes you like tomorrow, but for tonight, forget about work, okay? My mother is looking forward to meeting you, and Jenna to seeing you once again.”
Emily sighed and gave in. “All right. But if you really want this wedding to take place in six months, then I must start the preliminary work tomorrow. And I need to contact my office first thing in the morning to check with my assistant and verify that she isn’t having any problems with clients that I need to resolve since I left without talking to anyone. Early tomorrow, I must get back to work,” she said firmly as he tucked her hand through his arm and resumed their walk down the corridor.
“Of course,” he assured her.
But the amused glint in his eyes and the grin he gave her made Emily shake her head. “Just remember, you’re the one who said he wanted a wedding celebration put together in a very short time,” she said.
“I know. I promise I’ll let you take all the notes you want tomorrow.”
An hour later, Emily was thoroughly charmed by the queen, who insisted that Emily call her Caroline, and she was reminded again how much she’d liked Jenna Eban when they’d met at her friend’s San Francisco wedding.
“Have you seen Angela since her wedding?” Emily asked over dessert.
“Twice,” Jenna nodded. “She was in Paris with her husband three months ago and I met them there for the weekend. And I flew to San Francisco six months before that to stay with her for a week.”
“And both times she brought home a plane load full of new clothes,” Lazhar commented, a smile tilting his lips as he sipped his wine.
Jenna shrugged. “We shopped,” she admitted. Her dark eyes were bright with mischief. “It was Paris and San Francisco, after all, how could we not shop?”
“Easily,” her brother said. “Your closets were already full. What did you do with all the clothes you must have thrown out to make room for the new ones?”
“I donated them to charity,” Jenna replied. “Mother and I packed two boxes and took them to the Sisters of Mercy Hospital for their annual fund-raiser. The nuns were delighted to get them.”
“I’m sure they were. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them had never been worn.”
“Not true!” Jenna shook her head. “Absolutely not true. I didn’t give away anything that I hadn’t worn several times.”
Caroline smiled at Emily. “Lazhar always teases us about the number of gowns we buy, but we’re often photographed and the press has an amazing ability to remember if we wear an outfit more than two or three times.” She sighed. “It’s a shame, really, because I’ve had to give up some gowns and suits that I truly loved.”
“Except for her Chanel suits.” Jenna put in. “She can’t bear to part with them.”
“They’re classics,” Caroline said firmly. “And I have to draw the line somewhere. Besides, I really adore those suits.”
“It’s not easy being a queen,” Lazhar said to Emily, his deep voice filled with affectionate teasing as he grinned at his mother.
“That’s true,” Caroline said promptly. “Your family is well-known in San Francisco, Emily, and I’m sure the society photographers follow you. Do you have this problem?”
“Very rarely. Now that I’m an adult and no longer live at home, I seldom attend functions with my father. But when he requires the family’s appearance at one of the charity dinners or fundraisers that the Parks company supports, I try to make sure I never wear the same dress twice.”
“How do you do that?” Jenna asked.
“I taped a list to the inside of my closet door and write down dates, events and what I wear to each one.”
“Emily likes to make lists,” Lazhar commented.
“I like to be organized,” she corrected him calmly, determined to ignore the shiver of attraction she felt each time he smiled at her.
“Mother and I make lists, too,” Jenna added. “Except my maid keeps track of what I wore where and when. Mother’s secretary keeps a running total for her.”
“I have a staff of two terrific women at the office that keep track of my business appointments,” Emily commented. “I’d be lost without them.”
“It’s the same for Jenna and I, as well as Lazhar and his father. Our commitments to appear at functions on behalf of the crown are a part of our family business,” Caroline said. “Without staff to assist us, we’d be hopelessly lost in no time.”
“Do royal functions take up all of your time?” Emily asked, curious.
“A great deal of it,” Caroline responded. “I always make time to spend with the family, of course. And Jenna has cut back on some of her volunteer work because she’s become more involved with the day-to-day running of the palace stables since my husband asked Lazhar to take over as head of Daniz security.”
“Mother also spends one day a week at the Sisters of Mercy Hospital,” Lazhar said. “Volunteering in the children’s ward.”
“I trained as a pediatrics nurse before marrying Abbar,” Caroline explained to Emily. “And although my other duties make it impossible to have a full-time career outside the palace, I like to keep my hand in at the hospital.”
“And she gets to hold the babies.” Jenna winked at Emily, a mischievous smile lighting her face. “I think that’s the real reason she never misses her time at the hospital.”
“Until you and your brother give me grandchildren, I have every intention of cooing at babies in the maternity ward every chance I get.”
Jenna rolled her eyes, Lazhar chuckled, and their mother serenely sipped her coffee, ignoring them both.
Just like an ordinary family, teasing each other over dinner, Emily thought. Only this family lives in a royal palace and their husband and father is the king. She found it amazing that they were so warm and approachable. Lazhar was relaxed and open, teasing his younger sister, affectionately attentive to his mother. The cool businessman she’d first met in her San Francisco office was absent, replaced in this private setting by a son and brother who clearly loved his family.
She was having trouble keeping her perspective. It was increasingly difficult to think of Lazhar as a client when everything about him seemed to have been tailor-made to fit her private dream of the perfect man.
He’s not perfect, she told herself firmly. This is the guy that tricked you into boarding a plane and then flew you to a foreign country without first asking your permission.
A small voice reminded her that Lazhar had an understandable reason for doing so, but she ignored it. She needed reasons to convince her foolish heart that Lazhar wasn’t a perfect prince. She’d take what she could get.
Emily was still contemplating the unwise attraction she felt for Lazhar when they left the palace for the Daniz casino. They’d said goodnight to Jenna and Caroline after dessert—Caroline leaving to look in on her husband and Jenna off to join friends at a small birthday party. Emily had hoped Lazhar’s sister would join them to provide a buffer between herself and the prince, but Jenna waved goodbye with a promise to see them the next morning.
Fortunately for Emily’s peace of mind, Lazhar seemed intent on playing tour guide as the black Mercedes limousine wound through the narrow streets. The city seemed even more exotic and foreign to Emily under cover of night, the narrow streets sometimes shadowed, sometimes brightly lit.
“The casino provides employment for many of our citizens as well as generating income for the monarchy,” Lazhar said as they turned a corner onto a wide avenue.
A short block away, the avenue ended in the circular driveway facing the casino.
“It looks like photos I’ve seen of the Opera House in Paris. Is there a connection?” Enchanted, Emily smiled with delight and looked at Lazhar for confirmation.
“The architect was Charles Garnier, who also designed the Paris Opera House and the Monte Carlo Casino in Monaco.” Lazhar leaned closer and his fingertip brushed her cheek, just to the left of the corner of her mouth. “When you smile, you have dimples.” His voice was distracted, his gaze intent.
Emily forgot to breathe. Warmth lingered where the tip of his finger had touched her. “I know. You haven’t noticed them before?”
“I noticed. But they aren’t always there.”
A tiny frown of confusion pleated her brow. “They aren’t?”
“No. Only when you really smile, like you did just now, do they appear.” His voice was deeper, the smooth tones roughened and faintly uneven.
“I didn’t know,” she murmured, held by the heat in his eyes and the slow, repeated brush of his fingers against the spot near the corner of her mouth. He bent nearer, his big hand cupping her chin, his fingertips gently covering the frantically beating pulse in her throat. He was going to kiss her. Emily desperately wanted him to; her lashes lowered, her gaze fastened on his mouth as he drew closer.
The car stopped moving.
Despite the opaque glass that separated them from the driver and bodyguard in front, Lazhar heard the passenger door open and knew that he had only seconds. He forced his fingers to leave Emily’s silky, warm skin and eased away from her. Her lashes lifted and she stared at him, clearly disoriented.
“We’re at the casino,” he murmured, watching her. The bemusement cleared from her eyes and she glanced over his shoulder just as the door opened behind him.
“So we are.” Her cheeks were flushed but her voice was calm, composed.
Lazhar wished he were as cool but frustration tightened his muscles and he had to quell the urge to pull the door shut, take her in his arms and to hell with the crowd gathering outside. Instead, he slid out of the car and turned to hold out his hand to Emily.
The thigh-high slit in her gown’s skirt allowed a tantalizing glimpse of shapely leg, ankle and strappy heeled sandals as she took his hand and let him draw her out of the limo. The casino security staff stood in a semicircle, creating an oasis among the elegantly dressed crowd of onlookers.
Someone called to Lazhar and he lifted a hand, smiling with cool ease before tucking Emily’s hand through his arm and bending closer. “The security staff will escort us into the casino. Don’t worry, just keep walking and smile and wave.”
Lightbulbs flashed, excited Danizians and tourists called hellos as they moved quickly across the forecourt and through the wide bronze doors into the casino’s huge foyer.
The security staff, each holding a walkie-talkie in their hand and wearing headpieces that allowed them to hear, escorted them across the marble floor to a series of arched doorways.
Emily’s eyes widened as they paused at the top of the shallow stairs just past one of the rocococarved doorways. Before them stretched the main floor of the casino. Carpeted in plush red, with enormous Waterford crystal chandeliers suspended from the domed ceiling, the gaming tables a mix of turn-of-the-century mahogany and state-of-the-art machines, the Daniz Casino was awash in a glittering, shifting crowd of tuxedo-clad men and designer-gowned women.
The air hummed with excitement and tension.
“Oh, this is marvelous. What fun.” She turned to Lazhar, smiling with anticipation. “I love it.”
“I’m glad you approve.” He nearly groaned with frustration. He wondered how long she’d want to play? How long till they would once again be in the dark privacy of the limo and he could touch her again, taste her as he wanted to? “What do you prefer? Cards? Roulette? Dice?”
“I have no idea.” She smiled at him again before her fascinated gaze drifted over the scene before them. “I’ve only been to Las Vegas a couple of times and I tried my hand at blackjack, but only because the friend I was with played.”
“Friend?” The swift stab of dark jealousy took Lazhar by surprise.
Chapter Four
“Yes, my friend Jane and I were there for a wedding convention last year.” She looked up at him. “You remember Jane, don’t you.”
Relief washed over him. “Yes, I remember Jane.”
“Lazhar?”
The casino manager, his tall lean body elegant in a black tuxedo and a welcoming grin on his swarthy face, strode quickly up the steps from the gambling floor. The guards stepped aside, allowing him to enter the small oasis of space their circle created around the prince and Emily.
“Esteban.” Lazhar held out his hand. “How’s business this evening?”
The manager’s handshake was brief but firm. “The house is doing well, as usual.”
“Good to hear. Emily, this is Esteban Garcia, the man who controls the casino. Esteban, this is Emily Parks.” Emily was friendly but no more than polite as Esteban bowed over her hand and returned her smile with a glint of male appreciation. She glanced at Lazhar. When she lifted a brow in inquiry, he realized that his jaw was set, his fingers curled into fists and he had the distinct urge to punch Esteban for smiling at her and holding her hand for seconds longer than he thought was necessary.
What the hell is wrong with me? He’d wanted many women, but he’d never before felt this combination of possessiveness and lust.
He flexed his fingers, purposely relaxing tense muscles. “Emily would like to play,” he said, his voice bland. “Perhaps the roulette wheel?”
“Certainly.” Esteban took one of the handheld walkie-talkies from a guard and spoke into it, his fluent Spanish liquid and musical. He handed the small transmitter back to the guard. “It’s arranged. Would you like to play in a private room upstairs or down on the floor?”
Lazhar looked at Emily. She was half-turned away from them, her face animated as she drank in the sight of the colorful crowd shifting under the glittering lights, her gaze following the activity on the casino floor with obvious interest. “Downstairs—I think Emily will enjoy the excitement of the crowd.”
“Very good.” Esteban gave a quiet command and the guards moved down the shallow, carpeted steps. “If you and Miss Parks will come with me, Lazhar…”
A ripple of excited whispers followed in their wake as the three crossed the huge room, the guards clearing a path in front of them with Lazhar’s personal bodyguard following behind.
Lazhar was accustomed to celebrity status and the attention his presence always received. He accepted it as part of the downside of being born into the royal family. But tonight, he was more aware of being the focus of all eyes because of Emily. Would the attention worry her? Annoy her? Scare her? How would she handle it?
He needn’t have worried, he realized a few moments later. Emily dealt with the attention with calm serenity. Most of the casino guests were intent on their own gambling, but a small crowd of onlookers gathered around the roulette table where Esteban himself manned the wheel. Lazhar seated Emily on one of the tall, low-backed stools upholstered in red leather and took the seat beside her.
There were four other people at the table, three men and one woman. The men nodded briefly in greeting, while the woman’s gaze flicked assessingly over Emily and lingered for a moment on Lazhar before returning to the wheel on the table in front of them.
“Roulette is easy to learn.” Lazhar rested his arm on the back of Emily’s chair and leaned close to her, his lips brushing the delicate shell of her ear. “Esteban will give you chips.” He gestured at the stack of playing chips on the table in front of each player. “You notice that everyone has different colored chips so the dealer can quickly identify the bets.” He nodded at Esteban and the dealer deftly counted and then slid two handfuls of blue chips across the table to Emily. “Now you place your chips on the numbered squares on the table, wherever you’d like.”
Emily looked up at him. “How do I know which numbers to choose?”
“Some players have lucky numbers they always play. Some believe in intuition and playing their hunches for the night.”
“I don’t have a lucky number and my intuition is silent. So how do I pick a number?”
“Tell me the first number that comes into your mind—quick, don’t think about it.”
“Seven,” she said promptly.
“Now another number.”
“Twenty-two.”
“Okay. Now pick any combination of those numbers between one and thirty-six—add, subtract, whatever—and put chips on those numbers.”
She stared at him for a moment, a small smile curving her lips. “Does that work? Will I win?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea. It was my grandfather’s system and he swore that it worked for him.”
