âKamal,â Ali breathed. âI canât think when you kiss me like this.â
He smiled. âI am glad.â He brushed his lips to her neck and heard her gasp. âTell me that my touch does not make you want more.â
âKamalâI donât know if this is right.â
âOf course it is.â
âFor you, maybe. But Iâm not so sure about me,â said Ali.
âThen let me show you that this is right for both of us.â
âWithout regard for tomorrow?â she asked. âI just canât.â
He let out a long breath as he released her hand, letting her go. She hurried down the hall.
Kamal closed the door, then walked into the living room. He had hoped by this time to have his feelings for the American nurse under control. But if anything, he was falling more under her spell.
It was just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man. If one was looking for love.
Ali Matlock wasnât. At least not right now. Sheâd decided to take a break from romance and concentrate on her career. So sheâd traveled halfway around the world from Texas for the job opportunity of a lifetime. She was working in a hospital built by a sheik who definitely fell into the rich-man category. She could earn triple the average stateside salary for a nurse. And the best part was the opportunity for adventure in magical, mysterious, mystical El Zafir.
As she inventoried supplies and equipment at the nursesâ station in the Labor and Delivery Department, she heard the third-floor elevator doors whisper open. Kamal Hassan, the countryâs crown prince and the sheik whoâd just crossed her mind, stepped out. He was elegantly handsome in his designer suit. Probably out of it, too.
Not that she would ever know. Although five months ago heâd kissed her in the moonlit palace garden. But history had taught her to be wary of menâespecially a sheik who kissed an engaged-to-be-engaged woman.
He stopped to speak with one of the workmen putting finishing touches on the recently completed hospital, giving her a chance to study him. With every last dark, wavy hair in place, the prince was approximately six feet two inches of tall, dark and handsome. Black eyes smoldered with intensity in an arresting face featuring a straight aristocratic nose, carved cheekbones and olive skin. He had a wonderfully shaped mouth, and boy, did he know how to use it. The memory made her heart skip at the same time she reminded herself to beware of princes wearing designer suits.
Sheâd met his formidable aunt, Princess Farrah Hassan, in January when the woman had visited the Texas E.R. where Ali worked. The woman had been visiting Sam Prescott, of Prescott International, a wealthy friend of the family. While there, sheâd experienced chest pain that turned out to be nothing. Farrah had insisted Ali accept an all-expense-paid trip to El Zafir in March to talk about a job in the hospital her nephew was building. It had been impossible to refuse the woman even though Ali had no intention of accepting the position. Sheâd attended an international charity auction hosted by El Zafir.
Although enchanted by the job and the country, sheâd refused the Princessâs offer. Because at the time sheâd been in love. Past tense. Past history. Past caring. Now she was only interested in her career. By God, if she couldnât have love, there would be adventure. Wasnât it handy that she could combine the two in El Zafir? Career and adventure, that is.
And she couldnât shake the uncomfortable feeling that a key player in her adventure was standing a couple of feet away. Because of that kiss? Her stomach jitterbugged when she remembered what his lips had felt like against her own. But she would bet he hadnât given her a single solitary thought since that night. It was highly unlikely he even remembered her name. Why would he? She was from the wrong side of the tracks by American standardsâway off the royal radar. Which begged the questionâwhy had he kissed her?
He finished his conversation, then looked in her direction. âHello.â
âYour Highness,â she said, clutching her pen until her knuckles turned white.
He walked toward her and stopped, his gaze never leaving hers. The scent of his aftershave drifted over the stack of boxes separating them. That and the clipboard on top of the stack was all that stood between her and the heat of his body. Her palms started to sweat.
âItâs nice to see you again, Alexandrite.â
She winced. âThank you, I think. Remind me not to underestimate your powers of recalling inconsequential details, like a name no one should be burdened with.â