to be dusted down as they were removed from the shelf. When he compared any of them to a girl too honest for her own good and as natural as sunlight, he was tempted to swear off women for life. She might not know it, but Lucy Tennant was as rare a find as a flower in the desert. And like that flower he had carelessly trampled her underfoot.
For Lucy the drive to Maktabi Communications was an education in itself. There was clearly order in Isla de Sinnebar, and a respect for the history and tradition of the ancient land that went as far as a camel lane on the six-lane highway. There was a respect for the environment too. Lucy had yet to see a single piece of litter, or graffiti, and the wide, perfectly constructed roads were lined with vivid banks of flowers.
Flowers in the desert, Lucy mused, settling back in her seat as the cab she’d taken from the airport turned onto a slip road, heading for the city, and one rampant lion waiting somewhere close by. The thought that she was getting closer to Mac with every yard the cab travelled had an inevitability about it that made her quiver with excitement and doubt her own sanity all in the same instant. Instinctively cradling her stomach, she wished she could reassure her baby that this was for the best, and that whatever happened her mother would protect her.
The cab drew to a halt outside one of the buildings with gleaming white spires she’d seen from the air. It was even more magnificent from this perspective, and absolutely huge. Maktabi Communications was written over the entrance, and there was a flagpole outside with a large standard fluttering. Her stomach clenched as she identified the rampant lion and scimitar she had last seen on Mac’s ring. How at home that emblem seemed here in this land of power and wealth and glittering exoticism. Now everything made sense about Mac’s striking looks. And nothing made sense, Lucy thought, noting the guards on the door. Doormen, she might have expected—but soldiers?
Fortunately, she had changed from the shy, self-effacing girl who, having left the family home, had gained her first lesson in what she could achieve in Monsieur Roulet’s kitchen, her main lesson in Val d’Isere and, with the gift of life inside her, had transformed utterly, to the point where she wasn’t about to be put off by guards on the door.
‘I have an appointment,’ she told one of them pleasantly, quoting the name of the man who had so reluctantly spoken to her on the phone. Before the guard even had time to ring through and check she brought out the crumpled card. Mac’s card. The card Mac had signed so carelessly before passing it on to Tom,
Thank goodness she’d kept it. It acted like a magic wand. The guard saluted and then reached for the door. He stood stiffly as she walked past him into the vast marble-floored entrance.
Power, Lucy thought, staring up in wonder at an atrium that must have qualified for one of the biggest in the world—if not the biggest. Power was her overriding feeling as she looked around. This whole fabulous white, steel and glass building that Mac called his office thrummed with power. There was a desk at the far end of the lobby manned by immaculately dressed men in white robes and flowing headdresses. Even in her smart suit she felt self-conscious as she click-clacked her way across the marble floor towards them. Everything about the building, including their work station, was low-key and high-tech, while she was too unstylish to be either. But with her baby at the forefront of her mind she was able to explain her business clearly, and after a little wrangle between the two men one of them, with the utmost courtesy, showed her to a low-backed sofa where she was to wait.
And wait.
She visited the restroom twice. She bathed her face in ice-cool water and gazed at her face in the mirror. Nothing had changed. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked haggard. She wished she could be one of those effortlessly glamorous people who could wait around and still look as fresh as a daisy, but even at this early stage of pregnancy her energy seemed to be sapped beyond anything she could have anticipated. Of course, it might have helped if she could have something to eat or drink, but she daren’t leave her station in the lobby for longer than a few minutes in case she missed Mac.
Having checked at the desk to be sure there wasn’t anyone she could see who might bring her one step closer to him, Lucy returned to her seat. There were magazines to read on a low glass table, but she would never have been able to concentrate long enough. The idea had always been to get into the building and then find Mac. She’d been prepared to wait for as long as it took, but could have had no idea she would wait quite so long.
So she’d take this opportunity to set her thoughts in order, Lucy told herself firmly. She wasn’t going to give up now. When she’d first arrived and shown Mac’s card, one of the men on Reception had seemed impressed and had even stood to greet her, but the other had given him a hard stare and so he had sat down again. She guessed the unhelpful man was the man she had spoken to on the phone. She also deduced that Mac was expected soon and that all she had to do was wait. That Mac was immensely rich had never been in any doubt, but that quite so many barriers would be raised when she tried to see him had been a surprise. Perhaps his company was working on something crucial to the government, Lucy reasoned, glancing at the soldiers outside. Her stomach growled insistently as she studied her surroundings. It was a reminder that she hadn’t eaten properly since the previous day and that she had to be more responsible now she was eating for two.
She passed some more time marvelling at a national flag picked out in gold above the reception desk. As she studied the incredible workmanship in the scimitar and rampant lion a wave of quite irrational fear swept over her. It was a struggle to brush it aside, but her imagination was notoriously extreme, and pregnancy hormones were clearly adding to her jumpiness. She glanced at her watch and sighed to see another half an hour had passed. Getting to her feet, she approached the desk.
‘My apologies,’ the awkward man said insincerely with an elegant flourish of his hands.
‘How much longer, do you think?’ Lucy said anxiously, feeling a wave of dizziness sweep over her. She glanced back across her luggage sitting forlornly in the lobby. She still had to book into her hotel and didn’t want to lose the room.
‘That I cannot say,’ the man told her with a shrug.
‘Then may I wait outside Mac’s office, please?’
This garnered a withering look. Lucy’s shoulders slumped, but then she tensed, hearing the entrance doors behind her sweep open. There was a guttural cry in Sinnebalese and then a clatter of arms as the guards shot to attention.
Mac had arrived. She didn’t need to turn around to know it was him when she could sense him in every fibre of her being.
As the pad of sandalled feet drew closer, and the scent of spice and sandalwood filled the air, her mind cleared, but her body let her down, and just as everything shot into clear focus, all of it making complete sense—the rampant lion—the scimitar—the royal standard—the fact that Mac was not easy-going, sexy Mac at all, but someone else completely—she sank into a faint on the floor at his feet.
CHAPTER TEN
SHE woke in a luxurious bedroom and took account of her surroundings carefully before moving a muscle. It was a large, airy, sumptuous room. A brocade quilt in shades of ivory and gold had been stripped away from the crisp white sheets and folded neatly before being placed on a seat at the end of the very large bed. Blinds had been drawn so that the room was in shade, and at the far end two men were conferring in muted voices. They were both dressed in Arabian robes, but even in the shadows the older man’s robes were blindingly white, while the younger, taller, broader, much more imposing individual was wearing robes of royal blue. Of course, Lucy thought hazily, Mac probably had blue blood too.
As full consciousness returned to Lucy everything was instantly clear. Mac was a king. No wonder they wouldn’t let her see him.
