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The man who had brooded silently the whole drive back from the desert, and then walked away from the car without so much as a look of thanks or acknowledgment in her direction, was beckoning her again.
Olivia had half a mind to ignore his call.
Except that her job was to be what he needed, and she knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he needed her.
“Good evening, sir,” she said on autopilot.
“Good morning,” he responded.
“Let me guess,” she was already standing and pulling pants over her slender legs. “You would like some tea and conversation.”
He was quiet. “Actually, I would like something much stronger.”
Than what? Tea or conversation? She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the distracting thought.
“Of course, sir.” She disconnected the call and finished dressing, then slipped out of her room.
He was waiting inside the door, when she arrived at his suite. “Good morning.”
“Oh!” She was surprised to see him so close. “Hello.”
He looked at her for a long time, and Olivia didn’t feel comfortable to say or do anything. There were times when he resonated with the power of majesty that was inherent to his upbringing; this was one of those times. He was regal and commanding; a true prince.
“I rarely drink,” he said finally.
“Nor do I,” Olivia said, thinking guiltily of the penchant she had for exceptional champagne and fine scotch. “Okay, that’s not completely true.” She smiled at him nervously. “I don’t ever drink while I’m working.”
His expression was distracted. “Make an exception.”
“Oh.” She put aside her awe at his royal persona and looked at the man instead. “You’re upset.”
His expression was a thundercloud before he suppressed it. “No.”
“Yes,” she contradicted softly. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
He shook his head. “Because I don’t want to,” he said finally, but the long pause made her doubt he knew what he wanted.
“Fine. Then let me make you a tea …”
“I don’t want a damned tea,” he snapped. His eyes clung to her lips and he knew then that he wanted her. He wanted to make love to her until all thoughts of his brother’s addiction and fall-from-grace were erased from his consciousness. He wanted to make love to her until only pleasure filled his body.
“What do you want?” She asked huskily, as though perhaps she’d read his mind.
“Let’s start with a scotch.”
Olivia had worked for enough clients who drank scotch to know that nothing in the mini-bar would answer his tastes. She moved silently to the receiver and placed a call to the desk downstairs. With a few words, she’d ordered a bottle of their oldest liquor, then turned back to face Zamir. “It’s on its way.”
He nodded. He had known, from the first moment he met her, that she was beautiful. But he hadn’t understood how desirable she was. He moved with a slow purposefulness towards her. Or was it just that he needed human contact, and she was there? Did he care that it might cause problems? Did he care that it might confuse her? He wasn’t sure he did.
“You have worked for Thomas Ellery,” he said, confusing her with his swift change of subject. He stopped walking only an inch from her. He was so close she could see every lash that framed his eyes in detail.
“Yes,” she said. It was a matter of public knowledge; he had been one of her highest profile clients, and she’d been photographed with him frequently.
“He is known for his interest in women,” Zamir drawled thoughtfully.
Olivia blinked and lowered her eyes, fanning her lashes across her cheeks.
“And before him, there was Cy Yates,” he murmured, referring to the lead singer for the hottest boy-band in the world.
