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She wouldn’t have to think about her own problems if she could help someone else with theirs. Going toward him, she said in halting, jumbled high school French, “Excusez-moi, monsieur, est-ce que je peux vous aider—?”
The man turned, and she gasped.
No wonder she hadn’t seen him at first amid the shadows. He was black-haired, black-eyed, in a black suit. And his eyes were the blackest of all.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was a low growl, in an accent she couldn’t quite place, slightly American, slightly something else.
The stranger was so handsome she lost her voice. She wished she hadn’t come over. She didn’t know how to talk to a man like this.
It’s not his fault he’s handsome, she told herself. She took a deep breath, and tried to smile. “I’m sorry. You just looked sad. I wondered if I could help at all.”
His expression became so cold, it was like ice. “Who are you?”
Beth wondered if she’d offended him. Men could be so touchy, as prickly as a cactus on the outside, even when they were all sweet beneath. At least that was her experience with her male friends, all of whom called Beth a “pal.”
“My name is—” She caught herself just in time. She coughed. “Edith Farraday. Doctor Edith Farraday,” she emphasized, trying to give him a superior, Edith-like look.
His sensual lips curved. “Ah. The child prodigy, the cancer researcher from Houston.”
“Yes,” she said, surprised. “You must work for the sheikh?”
That seemed to amuse him.
“Every day,” he said grimly. “Why aren’t you in the ballroom?”
“I got bored. And it was hot.”
His gaze lowered to her red gown, which was far too small for her. Involuntarily, she blushed. She yanked up the neckline, which barely covered her generous breasts. “Yes, I know the dress doesn’t fit. They didn’t have anything in my size.”
He frowned. “They were supposed to have every size.”
Beth rolled her eyes. “Every size from zero to four. It was either this or my hoodie and jeans, and those were wet. It rained this afternoon when I was walking around the city.”
He looked surprised. “You didn’t rest in the hotel today like the others?”
“What, beauty sleep, so I’d look extra pretty when meeting the sheikh tonight?” She snorted. “I already know I’m not his type. And this was my only chance to see Paris. I’ll be sent home tomorrow.”
“How do you know?”
“Because his handlers don’t know what to do with me. Plus, I’ve waited in that ballroom for hours, and the man still hasn’t done me the great honor of crooking his mighty finger in my direction.”
The man frowned. “He was rude?”
“It’s fine, really,” Beth said brightly. “The king’s not my type, either.”
The handsome stranger looked nonplussed. “How do you know? You obviously haven’t done any research on him.”
Beth frowned. How did the man know that? Did it show? “You got me,” she admitted. “I know I should have looked him up on the internet, read up on his likes and dislikes and whatnot, but I only found out about this two days ago, and I was just too busy working before the plane left yesterday...”
He seemed shocked. “Too busy?”
“Frantic.” She’d had to rush to set up the thrift shop’s spring sale before her boss had grudgingly agreed to let her take her first vacation days in a year. Beth coughed. “At the lab, I mean. Super busy at the lab.”
“I imagine. It’s important work you’re doing.” The man waited, obviously expecting her to continue. But beneath the intensity of his gaze, all her carefully memorized explanations of Edith’s highly technical research fled from her mind.
“Yeah. Uh. Cancer is bad.”
He stared at her like she was an idiot. “Yes. I know.”
