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He turned and was about to send the reporter away for being so rude when his breath caught in his throat. The woman before him was not traditionally beautiful. While she did have long, blond hair that was the color of spun gold and blue eyes that reminded him of cut sapphires, she was barely five feet tall and curvier than he usually liked. Yet, there was something about her that stirred him deeply. Perhaps it was those soul-searching eyes or the amused quirk of her lips, but he was pretty sure the thing that drew him most was the defiant jut of her chin, the way she seemed to be daring him to cross her. It didn’t seem to make her pause in the least that she was standing before both a billionaire and royalty.
And that was a damn sexy turn-on.
“Excuse my manners then, Miss Sinclair.”
“Just call me Amanda,” she said, sitting down in a chair and pulling out her recorder. “I’ve given up on any pretense of formality.”
He arched his eyebrow back at her, intrigued again by her flippancy. After all, it was so rare for him to feel amused by anything. Women could be alluring…for a time. It was just that so few ever held his attention. Even if she were just here on business, Miss Sinclair was off to a promising start.
“Would the Sentinel be happy with that, Miss Sinclair?”
“I told you we could be informal.”
“Then if we’re being informal, I have to confess that I love the way your last name rolls off my tongue, Miss Sinclair,” he said, enunciating each syllable slowly to help convey his point. “Still, I’ve rarely had a reporter come and question where I was even standing in the interview. What’s your story?”
“That’s not part of the interview,” she said, her tone clipped. “I think the only thing that is would be a plethora of airhead questions about what the best sushi dish will be and how you were able to get Lagerfeld to set up a store for you. I have that all prepped. You give me the pat answers, and I can be out of here in five.”
“Where would the fun in that be?” he purred, as he circled her chair. She sat up straighter, and the way he was clearly getting under her skin only encouraged him. “Let’s do a bit more quid pro quo.”
“Well, I’m not Clarice Starling, and you’re not Hannibal Lecter, so I’m not sure that’s what I want to do,” she said.
“You know some actual honesty would be more interesting than ‘puff-piece bullshit,’ as you put it.”
“I didn’t say that,” she said, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. That hint of pink only served to make his heart race and push blood to places farther south.
“But you were thinking it,” he added as he passed behind her again. Reaching out, he swept her hair back from off her shoulder. Dear Allah, it felt like silk against his skin. “I’m thinking it too. I’ve done at least two dozen of these this month, and we both know I’m not going to tell you anything you can’t get from the press release or that hasn’t already been said by my press agent.”
“Exactly, so if you would just give me whatever spiel you need out there, then I’ll be happily back to my room.”
“Oh, so you’re staying here?”
“I’m sure I’m not the only reporter here who’s being spoiled,” she said, tilting that chin of hers back up at him. “You’re sparing no expense to wine and dine potential critics and naysayers. Are you nervous about the speculation? The thoughts that tourism to Abu Dhabi doesn’t merit a spectacle like you’ve created?”
He stopped sauntering and leaned back against his desk. “That’s not the usual question someone from this beat would ask.”
“Maybe they want to, but all of them are too scared and keep kissing your ring,” she said, her chin jutting up sharply.
Her blue eyes sparkled with intensity, and he wanted nothing more than to sweep everything off of his desk and have his way with her. At least she’d be more rewarding for him, help him ease off more tension that Svetlana had. He was on edge; that was all. If Svetlana had been up to her reputation, then he wouldn’t be taking a second look at this plump reporter.
“Then tell me more. What do you actually think about the casino and resort?”
“I just flew in yesterday. So far, I do find the pool the best spot. It’s hot as hell out here, and I don’t have any patience for it. I think there’s sand in every crevice of my body and definitely in my mouth. I don’t think I was ready for Abu Dhabi at all. I used to think that one family vacation I had once in Texas was too much. This is like trying to murder me in a sand sauna.”
“Alright, so the pool’s a hit. You don’t care for the rest?”
“I haven’t had time to window shop with designer labels or see shoes I can’t possibly affor
d. I also am not a huge sushi fan.”
“We have traditional Middle Eastern and French dishes as well. These are all Michelin chefs who are beyond amazing,” he countered.
“Yes, and yet you named it Ali Babba’s. That’s beyond cheesy,” she objected, wrinkling her nose up in a way that was equally annoying and adorable.
“To be fair,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “my PR department decided that naming it something that could be a nod to tales that Americans and other Westerners would know would help with tourism. You’d be surprised how hard it is to get Westerners out here, even though we’re a completely safe area.”
“Well, most Westerners can’t tell Dubai from Abu Dhabi if you held a gun to their heads,” she admitted. “But this is completely off the record. You have to admit that it’s a terrible name.”
He nodded, rejoicing in her candor. It was so rare for even the press to be forthright with him. “I wasn’t in love with it. I wanted to name it after my little sister, but the focus groups were against it.”
