“No. There is no time for that.” His hand was on her door, his big masculine body poised to enter her room. She’d worked for him for four years. She knew he was strong and big and not in the least bit soft, but she’d never quite felt the intensity of his body until this moment.
A rush of flame slid through her at the thought of facing her boss in her pajamas, but she pulled the door back and let him in. She’d seen him in less, after all. To him, meetings in various stages of undress were completely acceptable.
He came inside, all darkness and intensity and coiled strength as he paced across her floor. She could only watch as he moved like a trapped panther in her small space, her heart thrumming at his nearness and beauty.
Emily tried to smooth her hair. And then she crossed her arms when she realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. Not that she was in any danger of wowing Kadir al-Hassan with her B cups, but she’d be more comfortable if she was wearing one of her suits. Fully bra-ed and covered from neck to knee.
He stopped pacing and turned to face her. If she hadn’t been watching him, she wouldn’t have believed the look of surprise that crossed his face. Her cheeks flamed even more and she wrapped her arms tighter around herself.
“Did you need me to draft a letter for you? Make a call to the States? It’s still early there, and—”
“No.”
Emily shifted from foot to foot. The papers scattered across the floor irritated her sense of order. And Kadir, a prince, standing before her in trousers and a custom-fit shirt while she was a disheveled mess in her pajamas, did not bear thinking about.
His pewter gaze slipped over her and his expression grew tight. “I have disturbed you.”
“I fell asleep on the couch.” God, could she be any more inane?
He moved closer to her, and she felt his presence like a wave. A giant, engulfing wave of heat and sharp masculinity. This was not her urbane, sophisticated boss standing before her. This man was a prince of the desert, a man who stood on the edge of a precipice between civilization and the wild, untamed dunes.
She gave herself a mental shake. She knew better than that. He might be an Arab male, but that didn’t make him uncivilized. That was as ridiculous as saying all Americans wore cowboy hats and said yee-haw.
Kadir was a man. Just a man.
Her pulse raced even while she had the oddest sensation of her blood beating heavily in her veins. And her brain whispered back to her that Kadir al-Hassan was not just a man by anyone’s definition.
“You are...rumpled, Miss Bryant.” He said it almost wonderingly, and a flash of irritation rolled through her.
“Well, I was asleep. And you usually phone if you want something.”
He shoved a hand through his hair then, and she saw that he was not quite himself. Not the cool thinker she was accustomed to dealing with.
“We are going to Kyr.”
She felt the force of those words deep in her gut. In four years, he had never once gone to Kyr. If she hadn’t looked it up on a map, she’d have almost thought it didn’t exist. But it was there, a slice of sand on the Persian Gulf. It was oil rich, as were so many of the countries in that region, and ruled by a king. By Kadir’s father.
She had never spoken to the king until today. Until he’d phoned his son while they’d been riding across Paris and Kadir had handed her his phone, as he so often did when he didn’t want to deal with anyone. She could still hear that raspy voice, the note of command as he’d told her he wished to speak to his son. He had been imperious and polite all at once, though she had not fooled herself that politeness would win out should she attempt to take a message.