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His laugh was indulgent, not in the least self-conscious. “Thought that’d piss you off.”
“I’m just confused,” she corrected, closing the wardrobe door and easing down onto the bed.
“That Marook fella insisted I get you all set up. Said you’d be starting work immediately an’ that you’d be grateful for the head start.”
“So you went through my stuff?” She demanded, her sense of having been invaded increasing.
“Nah. Ebony did,” he corrected, referring to one of the other concierge staff. Sally was mildly mollified.
“A heads up would have been nice,” she remarked, laying back on the pillow and staring up at the ceiling.
“Yeah, tell me about it. But this whole booking happened pretty darned fast. Look. Liv, I know you’re a pro. Just … take really good care of this guy. The Dashani royal family’s got a lot of princes and princesses in its midst and they’re worth a packet. Wouldn’t mind picking up some future business from them.”
Secure in the knowledge she was unobserved, Olivia rolled her eyes. Johnny thought of two things. Money and women. And the Dashani royal family certainly provided an opportunity for money. “Sure, Johnny.” She rung off as soon as she could and sat back up again.
Her hair had been clipped into a tight bun all day. She removed each and every bobby pin with a grateful sigh. The relief from allowing her hair to flow loosely down her back was immense. She bathed quickly and dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a grey singlet, then climbed between the crisp white sheets.
Olivia drifted off to sleep on a wave of distraction. While she was modest and down to earth, she was not stupid. Olivia knew that something about the way she had been put together made her an object of men’s interest. And while she’d become adept at the game of flirtation, she’d never really met anyone who’d set her heart racing. Until that moment, her interaction with the opposite sex had been more about the effect she had on men.
Being on the flipside of the coin was not an experience she was relishing. Particularly not given that she had to work for the man in question.
Marook had told her to be prepared for anything, but it was still a surprise when the hotel phone began to scream in the middle of the night. She woke with a start, her heart pounding and her breathing ragged, then flicked the light on. It took a moment for her eyes to focus and her mind to catch up with where she was, and on which assignment.
Then, she remembered.
The Sheikh.
She grabbed the phone up quickly. Her voice was husky when she spoke, “Good evening, sir. How may I help you?”
“It is morning.”
Olivia lifted her brows heavenward. He might have been technically correct, but it was in the very early hours of the morning; a time when she was usually escorting clients home and making sure they were tucked up safely in a drunken, yet not comatose, stupor.
“Yes, sir,” she agreed calmly.
“Come to my room.” The order was given with the complete confidence of a man who was always obeyed.
“Yes, sir.” She hung the receiver up with a wry grimace. Men like Zamir didn’t employ common civility. Why would he? Where he came from, his words were gospel; his instructions to be implicitly followed.
She scrambled out of bed and finger combed her hair then reassembled it into a neat bun. Instead of changing out of her outfit, she pulled on a button up shirt and slipped her feet into a pair of heels. A spritz of perfume and a slick of lip gloss and she was just about as good as she was going to get at two o’clock in the morning.
The hallway was far quieter than it had been the evening before. Only a handful of security men stood sentry, and Marook was nowhere to be seen. She opened the lift and pressed the button for the Sheikh’s floor.
She knew that her access to his floor would be momentary. A button at his end would give her a small window of opportunity. Such restrictions were familiar to her. He was not her first high-profile guest to utilise the high-tech security of The Infinity hotel.
When she entered his palatial suite of rooms, it took her a moment to find him. He was sitting at the piano, his fingers resting on the keys, but perfectly still. No sound was coming from the instrument.
“Good morning, sir.”
He looked sidelong in her direction without speaking, and then turned his attention back to the keys. He began to play, a slow song that was both beautiful and inexplicably sad. Olivia felt a bereft breeze shift across them.
While he played, she observed. His shoulders were broad, and his back straight. He was not just tall, he was built like an ancient warrior. As though he could live in the desert unaided, and survive any possible threat.
But he played like a haunted prodigy.
Olivia took a step closer on impulse, and he stopped, closing the lid of the instrument with a louder-than-necessary snap.
He turned around on the chair but didn’t stand. His eyes bore into her for such a long time that Olivia felt a ridiculous impulse to fidget with her fingers.
