Nate needed her to get his laptop. He wanted to check for evidence of how the money had been taken. He had his suspicions, he’d said, but he couldn’t tell her. Not yet. He didn’t think it was safe. Khaled had it with him, and the best chance to retrieve it would be for her to attend the charity event he was hosting.
Penny, Nate’s secretary, was on the guest list but had fallen ill.‘You can pretend to be her. If we’re lucky no one will check.’
So Lily had dug out her one good dress, taken the hour-long train journey from London, followed by twenty minutes in a taxi, all the while nervously practising a plausible speech which in the end hadn’t even been needed. With the barest of checks, she’d been allowed in.
Accessing the private part of the house had, however, proved to be altogether more difficult.
After mingling on the ground floor she’d sidled towards the main staircase. Only to be halted by a besuited, polite, but totally intimidating guard.
She’d needed a plan B.
A line of French windows had been thrown wide, allowing cooler air to flow in and overheated partygoers to stroll out. Lily had joined them on the terrace where, by luck, she’d found an alternative route to the first floor.
It had been tricky, but she’d actually made it into the Prince’s private quarters, and there had sat Nate’s laptop, in broad view on the desk.
She’d moved it to the table by the window and, because she’d lost the folding tote she’d brought for the job, had been searching for something to carry it in when she’d heard voices along the corridor.
There’d barely been time to race to the dressing room and close the door behind her before the Prince had walked into his suite.
Now here she was, surrounded by rows of expensive tailoring that had a delicious scent of citrus and spice, wondering how to get out unnoticed.
She almost leapt from her skin at the trilling of the bedside phone.
Khaled reappeared, a towel slung low around his hips. He took the call, looking directly at her hideaway as he spoke. Lily lurched back. Her elbow collided with a row of shoes, catapulting two into the air. She caught them just before they slammed into the door and puffed out her cheeks in silent relief.
Khaled replaced the receiver.
‘It appears we’ve reached an impasse.’
His voice was a low, rich rumble. She remembered that sound: its timbre, its pitch, the perfect English with its precise, upper-class diction. What she didn’t remember was the curious tingling it sent along her spine.
And just who was he talking to?
She squinted through the gaps in the doors. Was someone in the lounge beyond the bedroom?
‘My car is ready and I need to dress. So either I pretend I don’t know you’re in there, and risk a scene when the door is opened, or you come out now and spare us both the drama.’
Lily went hot and cold all at the same time.
He knew she was there.
The Prince stared at the dressing room, then with an exasperated sigh strode towards it. The door was flung wide and there he was, staring right at her: taller, broader, and so much morenakedthan he’d appeared from behind the safety of the slats.
‘Miss Marchant, what a pleasant surprise.’ His icy tone suggested he felt the exact opposite. ‘Please, do join me.’
He made no attempt to move aside, so her nose almost brushed his bare chest as she slid from the shadows and into his bedroom.
Blinking in the brighter light, she raised her eyes to the Sad Prince—to six foot three of powerfully built, barely dressed, angry adult male looming over her. He wasn’t looking particularly sad right now.
If ever improvisation skills were needed...
‘Hello, Khaled,’ she said jauntily. ‘We must stop meeting like this.’
His brow knotted. ‘I don’t see any similarity. As I recall, last time it was your cloakroom you were hiding in, and I definitely had not broken into your rooms.’
He reached for the shoes she still clutched.
‘I also didn’t steal anything from you. What are these for?’ He held them aloft before tossing them onto the bed. ‘A souvenir of your visit?’