a hand. “Marta Hunter.”
Lissa touched the woman’s fingers and let go. She didn’t want extended contact with Marta Hunter. A strong grasp could trigger any of Lissa’s array of magical abilities. She didn’t want to inadvertently cast a curse or start a fire.
More than being the ordinary concierge Lilith Peterson, Lissa Bessart Piers was a member of the royal family of the enchanted realm of Silestia. Because she’d cursed her spoiled, disobedient niece seven years before, Lissa felt a responsibility to remain in Meredith’s life, making sure Merry remained safe while she worked to lift the curse.
But Lissa’s disguise as a concierge carried obligations, such as caring for the needs of La Torchere’s guests. She said, “Good morning, Ms. Hunter. We haven’t met before, have we?”
“I arrived early this morning on the first ferry of the day.”
“Welcome to La Torchere. How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for the sheik, Prince Kamar ibn-Asad,” Hunter said.
“Oh, I recall making a breakfast reservation for Mr. Asad’s party,” Lissa said. “If you move along, you should catch them in The Greenhouse.”
Upon seeing it for the first time, Selina thought that The Greenhouse deserved the appellation edifice. A massive glass structure with fanciful Victorian-style domes and turrets, it not only housed a casually elegant café but a glorious collection of tropical greenery.
It was crowded with plants, which in her apartment remained measly little sprouts. She had a nice pothos vine at home, but here a pothos wound heart-shaped leaves the size of dinner plates high around the bole of a graceful palm, fully twenty feet into the moist, scented air. Ferns that struggled to survive in D.C. grew to prehistoric heights here.
Masses of orchids, sporting exotic colors, shapes and fragrances, were set in banks around mossy stones. A natural-looking spring flowed through The Greenhouse from a waterfall at one end to a pool at the other, surrounding a slate-floored “island” where a group of linen-draped tables were clustered.
Holding her grandfather’s arm, Selina, cautious in new sandals, negotiated a rickety bridge to the island. When she’d purchased the red dress, she’d bought other clothing to last her for the week, including the denim shorts and T-shirt she now wore with the slippery-soled sandals.
Safely on the rough gray slate, she looked for and found Kam Asad seated at a large table. Like her grandfather, he evidently liked to read, for several newspapers were spread over the white cloth. His cell phone sat next to a silver pot. As she watched, he refilled his cup before turning a page of the paper.
A polo shirt stretched across Kam’s truly admirable torso, showing muscled forearms. The emerald-green shirt set off his amber skin and thin gold watch. The only other item of jewelry he wore was his diamond stud, a rakish touch.
She couldn’t check out his legs because they were under the table. But when she and her grandfather approached Kam’s table, he stood until Jerry had seated her. His legs matched his arms in terms of their fitness, and she had to admit that Kam was a total stud muffin. If he weren’t such a jerk, she might even be attracted to him.
“Good morning, Selina, Jerry,” he said. He handed her a menu before pouring her a cup of tea.
His old-fashioned chivalry disarmed her, and she said, “Good morning, Kam,” as courteously as she could, even though she didn’t drink tea. She assumed that he had developed his tea habit while at Cambridge.
Opening the menu, she scanned the breakfast selections. “Too bad I don’t like breakfast. There’s a lot to choose from here. Even potatoes.” She winked at Kam.
“You will never forget that incident with the vodka, will you?” He leaned back in his chair with an uneasy smile.
Jerry kicked her under the table, and she said, “Um, consider yourself unforgettable. It’s not a bad thing.”
He visibly relaxed. “Why do you not like breakfast?”
She shrugged. “It’s just such a strange meal. Except for fruit, almost everything is carbohydrates or fried. It’s as though you’re not allowed to eat anything healthy in the morning.”
“Cereals are healthy. Are there not some of your corny crunchies on the menu?” He waved at a passing server.
“I doubt it. At this point we’re just designing the ad campaign. The cereal won’t be on the market for some months.”
“When I traveled to Japan, I ate soup with tea in the morning. It seemed quite healthful.”
“Soup and tea? I’ll have to try that sometime. But for now, I guess I’ll just have a croissant and coffee.” She slid the menu in the direction of the server.
“And you, sir?” the server asked Jerry.
Jerry ordered a full breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast, while Kam, like Selina, ordered a croissant. “And fresh fruit compotes for the lady and me.” He smiled at her as the server left.
She smiled back at Kam. “Thanks. What did you do in Japan?”
“What I am doing here. Opened diplomatic relations, rented an embassy, found markets for our diamonds.” Though he’d lowered his voice, Prince Kam had evidently accepted that Selina was Jerry’s confidante.
“We have a few minutes before our orders arrive, so…” Jerry opened his briefcase and took out a stack of printouts.
“Yes, let us get to business.” Kam looked toward the paperwork. “Are these from your multiple listing service?”
“Yes.” Jerry slid the printouts across the table to Kam. “I weeded out the obviously unsuitable properties, but—”
Jerry broke off when Kam’s gaze left their table to focus on the bridge to the café. He said something in Arabic that sounded vaguely irritable before flipping over the printouts so no information showed. He said, “Let me handle this, all right?”
A brunette with narrow, pale features and a chin-length bob neared, whipping out a small black box from a side pocket of her gray pantsuit. Thrusting it at Kam’s face, she clicked a button. The box began to whir, and Selina guessed it was a tape recorder.
“I’m talking with Prince Kamar ibn-Asad, emissary from Zohra-zbel, labeled by People magazine as the ‘sexy sheik.’ Prince Kamar, are you here in Florida to close a deal involving diamond futures on the world market?” the brunette asked.
“I beg your pardon.” Kam gently moved the box away from his face, pressing the button to stop the recorder. “I am not in the habit of discussing business with women I do not know.”
The brunette stuck out her hand. “Marta Hunter, from the National Devourer magazine.”
“Ms. Hunter, I am not authorized to make a statement for your magazine. Please forgive me.” Kam’s voice was polite, but he barely touched the woman’s hand.
“Our readers have a right to know if your country’s machinations will alter the world diamond market.”
Kam raised his brows.
