“Eugene,” Tamir greeted, his smile warm despite his frustration, his hand extended in greeting to his late father’s friend.
“Mir,” the man said deferentially, causing Olivia to do a double take. Standing before her was one of the most powerful men in the world, and yet Tamir overshadowed him in every way. Eugene Simmons’s eyes drifted to Olivia, the curious blankness in his face requiring an introduction.
“Hello, young lady,” he said kindly.
“Mr Vice President.” She might have been British through and through, but she’d done two semesters of her degree at Yale. She knew the ins and outs of the American political system, and she knew that the man before her was a stalwart of Capitol Hill.
“Please, call me Eugene.”
She flushed. It simply wasn’t possible. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Olivia Anderson.” She extended her hand, and was embarrassed to see that it was shaking slightly. The Vice President appeared not to notice, but Tamir did. In fact, he saw that her flesh was covered with goosebumps. Was she cold? Or overcome by nerves?
At least he now had her name.
“Did you enjoy the show, dear?”
“I did, thank you, sir. It was a masterpiece.”
“Indeed. An excellent production. Do you play an instrument?”
“Goodness, no!” She laughed. “I’m not musical at all. But I speak three languages.” She flushed to the roots of her hair. “I don’t know why I just told you that. I babble when I’m nervous.”
The older man nodded, a kind smile on his face. She didn’t dare look at Tamir.
“Are you a Liam Marsh fan?” The Vice President continued, brushing past her overshare.
“Oh, yes,” she responded with an enthusiastic nod. It sent her blonde hair flying about her face, and Tamir had to shove his hands in his pockets to resist the temptation to touch the silky curtain of gold.
“Are you?” Tamir probed curiously, his dark eyes forcing her to meet curious gaze. “Why?”
To her credit, she didn’t shy away from the probing look he was subjecting her to. “There’s something incredible about the juxtaposition of the macabre with the hopeful, don’t you think? They’re these incredibly gothic tales with a deep vein of morality and rightness to them. I always find the way he weaves narrative incredibly fulfilling.”
Tamir’s gut clenched. Olivia Anderson was herself a fascinating juxtaposition. Her body was built for pleasure, and he unashamedly intended to use it thus. But he hadn’t expected her to hold an emotional appeal to him. He hadn’t expected her to shy away from his position of influence and wealth. Nor had he expected her to enter into academic appraisals of the work of Liam Marsh with the Vice President of America.
His eyes scanned her face. He wanted to know everything about her. To understand intimately what made her tick. He wanted to know that he could arouse the same degree of enthusiasm from her as she’d just evinced whilst describing the performance.
“Eugene, thank you for the invitation this evening. I must escort Miss Anderson home, now. Are you still free for lunch tomorrow?”
The older man’s eyes sparked with understanding. His chuckle was benevolent. “Indeed, Mir.” He nodded towards Olivia and then headed to the door. Once the agents had left the room, and they were alone again, Olivia spun around to face Tamir.
“You realise you just dismissed the Vice President from this room?”
He shrugged. “He’ll get over it.”
“But… that was rude.”
“No. Eugene is like a second father to me. He could never be offended by my actions. He knows I hold him in the highest regard.”
“Oh.” Her tongue darted out, running along her lower lip. Tamir’s eyes dropped to it, and his gut kicked with desire.
“May I escort you home.”
Her eyes flared. “Absolutely not.”
“May I ask why not?”
She bit down on her lower lip. “I came here with Jack, for one thing.”
Tamir was surprised by the searing flash of jealousy. After all, Olivia was not his. Not yet. Their acquaintance was characterised by minutes, not months. “So? Can he not find his own way home?”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. I… I can’t go home with you.”
“I am not asking you to.” Not yet, anyway, he silently tacked on.
She lowered her gaze, focussing on a small mark in the rich red carpet. “I don’t believe you.”
God, she was sexy. He stepped closer, and was pleased when she didn’t step away.
Olivia’s breath was laboured; her whole body seemed to throb with a completely foreign sensation. The power and appeal of this man was like a drug, pulsing through her, making her limbs heavy, and her heart race.
“I saw you as soon as you entered the theatre this evening.” His words were a thick, quiet promise. An unspoken pledge of what he wanted to give her. “And I thought you were captivating.”
She shook her head, but her shoes seemed filled with lead, for all the power she had to step away from him. He moved closer again, his broad frame now so close she could almost feel the warmth emanating from his body.
“I’m not, I assure you.”
He pressed a finger under her chin, gently coaxing her face to look at his. Her sharp intake of breath was thrilling. She wanted him to kiss her. He’d known many women in his thirty four years. And he was an expert at reading their body language. Her eyes dropped to his lips, as though she were willing him to close the gap. And he would, in good time.
“Why do you say that?”
Her heart turned over in her chest. Her body seemed to hum with a fever pitch of need. Out of nowhere, she felt like everything in her life had brought her to this moment. Her blood was pounding through her veins so fast she could hear it in her ears. Like a drum beat of encouragement, it was drowning out her doubts and common sense.
“Huh?”
He lifted his thumb and padded it across her lower lip. “Why do you say you’re not captivating?”
Her moan was a husk of sound, but he heard it. His body tightened in response. “Because… I’m just… me. If anything, I’m very boring.”
He nodded, allowing his other hand to lift to her hip. He could feel her body through the thin fabric of her dress. He ached for more. So much more.
“I don’t believe it.”
Olivia couldn’t reply. Her mouth was too dry to form words. Her lips were parted. And her body, without her permission, pressed forward, connecting their torsos. Tamir’s eyes flared wide, his whole sense of need threatening to spiral out of control.
“Come to my embassy tomorrow,” he said darkly, aching to plunge his tongue between her parted lips, and show her what her body was capable of feeling.
Olivia would go to the moon with him, if he asked. In that moment, she wanted to stay in the little bubble that seemed to have engulfed them, and never break free. “Why?” She whispered, keeping her hands at her side, though they were tingling with the instinct to touch.
“Because I want you, Olivia Anderson.”
A frisson of dangerous attraction danced along her spine. She wanted him too. But it didn’t make sense. Nothing about this situation made sense. Her whole life, she’d done the sensible thing. Her job. Her life. Caring for her mum. Her boyfriend, or lack thereof. She’d bought a sensible flat when her role had become permanent… carefully laid steps that spoke of a precisely ordered life. This simply did not fit. She shook her head. She would have broken the contact, but Tamir moved his arm around her waist, holding her to him.
He could see that she was wavering. Between what she wanted; what her body needed, and what she thought she should say. How she thought she ought to behave. He lowered his mouth to hers, plundering her warmth with his tongue, taking possession of her senses with such power that she was totally surprised.
He did not touch her breasts, as he wanted to. Nor did he remove the fabric from her body. He kissed her with enough intensity for her knees to weaken a
nd her insides to clench. He felt her body buckle and he held her up, not breaking the kiss for an instant. His mouth on hers was insistent and demanding, full of sensual promise.
“This is just a kiss,” he whispered against her ear. “Imagine what it will be like when I make love to you. Imagine me moving inside you, driving you to orgasm after orgasm.”
Olivia wanted that. With all her heart, she desired it. It had been so long since she’d indulged her body in any kind of sexual pleasure. She looked around them, at the perfectly good room they found themselves in.
“No,” he laughed, reading her expressive face. “Though I appreciate your enthusiasm.”
Her cheeks flushed pink.
“I am long past wanting a quickie in a side-room of a theatre.” The word ‘quickie’ sounded wrong coming from him. His accent was so cultured, his tone so educated. “I don’t want to rush this. I want to explore your body all night long, without the possibility of being interrupted by anyone.”
Her stomach churned at the image he’d planted in her mind. But… it was madness. She shook her head, and forced herself to step away from him. She had a swan like grace to every movement. He watched her with complete appreciation.
“I can’t.” She ran her finger over the fabric top of a chair. “I just met you.”
He nodded. “So? Is the length of our acquaintance the only impediment you see?”
“No,” she shook her head. “Of course not. There are a lot of reasons that this is absolutely mad. But that’s certainly one of them.”
“Then come to my embassy tomorrow. Let’s get to know one other better first.”
Her eyes narrowed. “First? Why? So I’ll be more comfortable with… with… whatever happens?”
“Yes,” he responded with a curt nod.
“No,” she laughed, in spite of the way her body was tingling. It was too ridiculous. And far too tempting.
He frowned. He had not been expecting any objections from her. “Do you know anything about me, Olivia?”
She lowered her gaze. She knew plenty. “I spent a month in Talidar, two years ago.”
“Did you indeed?” His words were a drawl of surprise. “Why so?”
“I was appraising a collection in Liya.”
“Appraising a collection?” He prompted curiously.
“I’m an antiquities appraiser. I work for Christie’s.”
“I see.” And just like that, he did. Crucially, he understood her weakness, and how he could exploit it. He stepped closer, and put his arms around her waist. She had her back to him, so it was an easy matter to lower his lips and kiss the sensitive flesh at the base of her ear. She trembled in reaction, her body quivering in his arms.
She sucked in a deep breath. “I specialise in…” she moaned, as his fingers pressed into her waist, making her body ache to be closer to his. “I specialise in ancient collections. Egyptian, Arabic, and Talidarian.”
He spun her around in the circle of his arms. “Then come and see my collection.” His lips dipped to capture her mouth. “I promise it contains treasures you cannot even imagine.”
Her heart leaped, for he was holding out a carrot that was, if possible, even more tempting than he himself.
When still she didn’t agree, he sighed heavily. “Bring your friend, if you are worried I am not going to be able to resist dragging you away to have my way with you.”
Her lip twisted into a small smile, laced with self-derision. “It’s not you that I’m worried about.”
“No?”
She flushed, and shook her head.
Tamir was pleased. By her desire for him, and her willingness to admit to it. “Bring him. Allow him to act as your escort.”
“My escort?” She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “That’s a completely out-of-date concept.”
“Not where I’m from,” he murmured. “Someone like you deserves protection.” Especially from him. Out of nowhere, he saw her as a gentle doe, and he the buck, pursuing and hunting her for pleasure. It was an unpleasant image. He stepped away from her, ignoring the physical jolt he experienced at the distance. “And I’m happy to be old fashioned if it gets you to my home.”
Chapter Two
It was madness. She stood inside the imposing gold doors, staring around the cavernous space with eyes that were round like saucers. “Jack. This place is…”
“Ridiculous,” he responded with a grim frown, unsure if he was most impressed by the pure gold railings, or the enormous vases of flowers, or the paintings that hung along the walls that were obviously the creation of Renaissance masters. The floor was covered in marble tiles, and the vaulted ceilings were at least three stories high.
Olivia reached down and laced her fingers through Jack’s, taking immediate comfort from the contact with her friend.
“What’s the plan, anyway, Olivia?”
She shrugged, and toyed with the simple gold necklace she wore. She had dressed in a black pantsuit with a cream silk blouse, and a pair of heels. Her hair had been straightened then pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head. She’d kept her make up minimal. She’d deliberately dressed as she might have for a first visit to a prospective client. It was a form of armour, to wear clothes that screamed professional distance.
Because deep down, the way Tamir Al’ani made her feel was the most terrifying thing she’d ever had to face.
“The plan is to make yourselves at home in my embassy.” Tamir strode through the foyer, his eyes immediately dropping to the way Olivia was clutching Jack’s hand. She dropped it, a guilty flush brightening her complexion.
She had a moment, to observe him, as he crossed the tiles. He was wearing a slate grey suit, obviously designed for his frame alone. His shirt was a crisp white, and he had huge diamond cufflinks which, she suspected, were entirely real. His shoes were black, and polished to a high sheen. His dark hair was brushed back from his face, drawing attention to his golden tan and dark, brooding eyes.
Her heart immediately ratcheted up a notch, and breathing felt a laborious business. Jack ceased to exist. The embassy was just a room, not impressive in the slightest. How could anything be impressive in the vicinity of Tamir?
She didn’t smile. She couldn’t. Her mouth was filled with concrete dust.
“Jack,” He greeted the other man with a greater degree of formality than he’d had the night before. He was marking his turf. Olivia recognised it, and she might have been amused by it, except nothing about the quicksand she’d stepped into pleased her.
“Geez, I don’t know what to call you.” It was a disarmingly naïve admission from her friend, and Olivia smiled at him reassuringly.
“Tamir is fine,” the Sheikh said dismissively. His eyes were trained on Olivia’s face. He had no interest in her boy-band wannabe friend.
“Jack, I have some artefacts I’d like Olivia to take a look at. You are welcome to join us, or my assistant can give you a tour of the grounds.”
Jack looked at Olivia. “What would you like?”
“I’ll be fine, Jack. You go have a look around.” In truth, all she wanted was to be alone with Tamir. She hadn’t slept a wink all night. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but acting on instinct seemed to be the only option in that moment.
“Eleni,” he called, without looking away from Olivia. A tall, buxom woman dressed in a purple lace dress and a sheer purple scarf walked elegantly towards them. She wore sky-high heels that made a click click sound on the marble floor, and her dark hair tumbled out of the scarf, like big, shining curls. Jack, it was obvious, was taken with the woman from first sight.
“If you’ll follow me, sir.”
Olivia watched them go with a sense of growing anxiety. Though she’d brought Jack for protection, she’d dismissed him just as soon as she could.
“How do you know him?” Tamir’s words were tinged with coldness, pulling Olivia’s gaze back to his face.
“Jack?” She frowned. “We met years ago.”
> “How do you know him?”
She lifted her eyes to his face. Though his words were serious, she wasn’t intimidated. She felt oddly at ease with him. Her frown deepened. “His family had a collection that was offered for auction. My professor at university undertook the appraisal. I was top of the class. He asked me to go with him. And Jack was there.”
It was an answer that spawned a thousand more questions. “I see.” He didn’t. But he wanted to. “Have you been romantic with him?”
“Jack?” She laughed. He didn’t. So she sobered. “Sorry, it’s just… kind of gross to think about. No. We’re not like that. We’re just… great friends.”
He nodded, but a small shred of doubt lingered inside his chest. “I am glad you are here.” His tone was lighter, his words affable.
“Me too.” She looked up at him shyly. “How was your lunch with the vice president?”
Tamir had barely been able to concentrate, for thinking of Olivia. “Fine.”
“How do you know him?” She turned his own question back on the powerful Sultan.
“My father and he were at Notre Dame together.”
“Your father went to Notre Dame?”
“Why does this surprise you?”
“Oh. I just… I mean… I would have thought America was persona non gratae back then.”
His smile was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. The way it spread across his face, etching pleasure into his carved features made her stomach flip over. “No. We’ve always had a good relationship with the West. My country’s wealth does not come from oil. We are not war torn. We have diamonds and gold rich beneath the surface, and my forefathers ensured the harvesting of these was regulated by the royal family.”
“A monopoly?” She asked seriously, allowing him to place his hand in the small of her back and guide her through the foyer.
“Perhaps.” He was unapologetic. “We do not have conflict diamonds in Talidar. There is no exploitation of children, forced to work twenty-hour days to dig the earth for its riches. Ours is an industry that ensures the safe production of first-rate gems.”