Her Sheikh Protector. Linda Conrad
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Darin Kadir now.”
He gestured to a small group of men nearby. “There, with several other gentlemen who also attend every year.”
“Um, which one is he?”
Staring at her as if she were a bug who’d crawled up on the food table, the Frenchman gave her the once-over. Rylie knew she must look like she’d been sent through the spin cycle. Her singed hair, cut short after the explosion, had grown back in crazy curls, far beyond anyone’s help. Her black dress was on loan from Marie Claire and too big. And her shoes were discount-store specials she’d bought right before leaving Texas.
Once upon a time, at her five-nine height, men had given her the once-over with a question mark, their gawking gradually evolving into lusty leers. But now that she had lost so much weight, she’d seen those same looks contorting into indifference or pity. And sure enough, the expression on the conference concierge’s face when his glance landed on her loose dress and then popped back to her eyes turned to anxious concern.
“Are you all right, mademoiselle?”
She swiveled to study the group of men standing nearby. A Kadir family member was actually close enough to touch. At last she would start getting answers. But with her eagerness also came light-headedness as the colors in the room began bleeding together. Conversations ran down the walls like water.
Suddenly unsteady on her feet, Rylie nevertheless straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little jet-lagged. Now which one was Mr. Kadir?”
After he pointed out a rather distinguished-looking younger man in a well-tailored suit, the concierge excused himself and wandered off. Rylie tried thinking of a way to wangle an introduction.
She leaned against the hors d’oeuvre table, reaching for calm and at the same time studying her enemy. The ringing in her ears began again in earnest. Starting at midlevel with the man’s dark gray suit, she let her gaze roam up Darin Kadir’s body to take in the wide shoulders. He must be well over six foot two. A good four or five inches taller than she was. She noted the expensive maroon tie knotted perfectly at his throat and above it the hard, square-cut jaw. The skin on his face, hands and throat had a golden glow that to her seemed far too dashing in the dim cocktail-party lights. His hair was that shiny raven color she’d never before believed could be for real. But on him … well, it was all too real.
He flicked a glance in her direction. She caught sight of midnight-black eyes, scrutinizing the party with keen intellect and a sensual but cold sort of perusal that many women would die for. He looked like a raptor about to pounce on prey. Rylie’s knees wobbled as she put her hand out to grab on to the table like a lifeline.
Darin Kadir had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching him as his business associates began leaving his side, searching for the drink table. Was someone from the Taj Zabbar family close by? He absently touched the gun hidden under the suit coat at his back before glancing around the room once again.
He’d already learned the Taj Zabbar had sent family and business representatives to the conference this year. But so far, he had not run into any of them.
Catching sight of a tall woman standing at the food table watching him, he tried to decide if she was someone he had met before. She was obviously not part of the Taj Zabbar. Not with that curly dark red hair and fair complexion. But she did look vaguely familiar.
At that moment the woman’s eyes closed and her legs appeared to give out. She went limp, slowly slipping toward the floor. He was at her side in an instant. Before he knew it, his arms were around her waist. He’d grabbed her intimately without as much as asking her permission.
She mumbled something he couldn’t understand.
“Are you unwell? Can you stand on your own?”
She felt too insubstantial in his arms. All bones and skin and only a few bumps and curves in the right places to prove she was a woman. Not liking this forced involvement with a complete stranger, he nevertheless held on, hoping she would soon take charge of her own body.
“I … I guess I need to sit down.” Her voice was as weak as a day-old tea bag.
Darin half carried and half dragged her to a quiet corner where a small overstuffed sofa sat vacant. He would rather the dwindling crowds at tonight’s reception did not see this situation unfolding. He wanted no rumours. No questions. He’d been trying to blend in. In his opinion, rescuing a woman who was probably drunk would not be the best way of staying in covert mode and gaining information about the Taj Zabbar.
He tried to drop the deadweight of her body to the soft cushions, hoping to leave her in a comfortable position while he went to seek out the concierge. Someone else should take charge of her situation. But before he could let go and step back, she threw her arms around his neck and dragged him down beside her.
She clung to his arm like seaweed on the rocks during a squall. “You’re Darin Kadir?”
Blinking at him frantically and then pinching her lips, she gazed over at him with singularly bright blue eyes. The color of the Mediterranean on a cloudless day, they bore into his with an expression that at once seemed dazed, confused and questioning. But as he looked again, he noted another, more shadowed emotion in those oceans that he could only guess at as rage—seething and deep. And directed at him?
Darin flinched and snapped his arm away from her biting fingers. Gazing into her face, he expected to have a hint of recognition. If she knew him, he must know her, too. He didn’t. But what he did recognize was an unexpected kick of lust. Fascinated, he noticed she was beautiful, even considering the sharp angles of her too-thin cheeks.
“Yes. I’m Darin Kadir. Do I know you?”
“No.” She spoke with more strength than he would’ve thought her capable of. “But you should. I’m your partner.”
“Partner?” He sifted through his memory, trying to come up with his connection to this stunning but strange woman. “Sorry, you need to fill me in. What’s your name?”
“The name is Hunt, Kadir. Rylie Ann Hunt. I’m the new president of Hunt Drilling.” Her eyes pinned him with a look that could’ve burned through stainless steel—incongruously making him think of superhuman strength.
As her name was beginning to register, she spat out a much stronger sentiment, sending a swift punch of regret directly to his gut. “At least what’s left of it after you tried to blow us all straight to hell.”
Horrified by her own lack of self-control, Rylie pressed trembling fingertips to her lips, wishing she could take back the words. Why had she said that? She’d meant to be cool and conceal her true feelings. At least until she could coerce information from this man.
The festering bitterness boiling inside her was suddenly out there for the entire world to see. Her infamous impatience left her wide open. Would she never learn?
Darin leaned away from her, and his expression changed from what had appeared to be mild interest to a pucker of pure displeasure. “Miss Hunt, have you had too much to drink?”
Only a minute ago her overactive mouth was spouting off too much, and now she couldn’t seem to get a word out. She shook her head fiercely and swallowed several times.
“No? Then I suggest you choose your words with more care.” He stood, towering over her.
If looks could kill as easily as a chemical explosion, she would already be dead and in her grave.
“I am sorry for your loss,” he said, dragging his sentence out on a harsh hiss. “But why would you say …”
Letting the words die in his mouth, he quickly glanced around the room and then tilted his head toward her. “Red Hunt was a well-respected oilman. He will be missed by the industry and his business associates.