The Park's Empire: Handsome Strangers...: The Prince's Bride. GINA WILKINS
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probably think an angel visited them in answer to prayer.” Lazhar raised their linked hands to his lips and brushed a lazy kiss against her knuckles. “And they’d be right.”
Emily couldn’t catch her breath to respond. His warm mouth barely grazed her fingers, but she felt the impact down to her toes. And the heat simmering in his eyes made her heart stutter in reaction.
The car slowed and braked to a stop. She tugged her fingers from his, glancing out the side window to see a small sign swinging over an arched doorway, the soft rose-colored neon spelling out Pilar’s.
“Where are we?”
“At a friend’s club.” The bodyguard pulled open the door and Lazhar exited, turning to hand out Emily.
Emily stepped out beside Lazhar and waited while he spoke in Spanish with the bodyguard. They were joined by three men from the black sedan that pulled up and parked behind the Mercedes limousine. Emily hid an amused smile. She hoped they weren’t planning to fade into the background, because the four tall, burly men would never be mistaken for anything other than what they were—men whose duty it was to guard the prince of Daniz.
The liquid, musical Spanish conversation flowed around her but she didn’t understand a word of the discussion. While she waited for them to finish, she glanced with curiosity first up, then down, the cobbled avenue. The city street they stood on was narrow and winding, lined on each side with stone buildings five-stories high, each festooned with wrought-iron balconies dripping with trailing flowers and greenery. The sweet scent of climbing roses mingled with lavender and spicy carnation to drench the night air with perfume.
Lazhar might claim this evening was strictly business, she thought, but for her, it was a dream come true. Daniz seemed very exotic and foreign to her and the sights and smells of the principality were seducing her senses.
And then there was Lazhar himself. The handsome prince was proving to be much more than a charming face with royal connections. If she wasn’t careful, she thought, she’d find herself falling in love with the man beneath the royal trappings.
And that would be a disaster. He would soon be marrying someone else, a woman with a pedigree to match his lineage and the training to become the queen of Daniz. Loving him would guarantee her a broken heart.
The car door slammed, the sound drawing her attention back to Lazhar just as he finished speaking with the burly bodyguards.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he murmured. He took her arm, his fingers warm, the calluses faintly rough against her skin.
“Is everything all right?” She glanced over his shoulder at the two men following close behind them.
“Everything’s fine.” His hand left her arm to rest on her waist and he moved her ahead of him through the door held open by one of the bodyguards. “They wanted to leave two men outside to watch the entrance in case the photographers followed us. I convinced them to come inside and enjoy the music and food.”
A wave of sound greeted them. The unmistakable strum of twelve-string guitars accompanied the staccato rap of boot heels against bare wood floors, nearly drowning out the murmur of voices, muted laughter and click of glassware.
“Lazhar! Welcome, my friend.”
Emily stepped back as a big bear of a man wrapped Lazhar in a hug and planted a kiss on each cheek.
“Joaquin,” Lazhar laughed and returned the hard hug.
“I haven’t seen you for at least two weeks. Where have you been?” the man demanded.
“Out of town. I’ve just returned, and I brought someone to meet you and to see Pilar dance.” Lazhar caught Emily’s hand and drew her forward. “Emily, I’d like you to meet Joaquin. He owns the club.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said politely. Joaquin had black eyes and a strong nose above a curved black bandido mustache that drooped over his upper lip, giving him a ferocious look. Given his size and the rest of his demeanor, she would have found him intimidating if not for Lazhar’s warm endorsement.
“It’s a pleasure to meet any friend of Lazhar’s, especially a friend as pretty as you are.” He winked at her.
“I hoped we’d be able to see Pilar dance,” Lazhar said. “Is she here?”
“Yes, she is, but…” Joaquin shrugged one massive shoulder. “A new costume isn’t working and she’s temperamental tonight. Who knows what her performance will hold.”
“Pilar only dances better when she’s upset,” Lazhar said with amusement. “And temperamental is Pilar’s normal mood.”
“Si.” Joaquin grinned, his teeth flashing whitely against his coal-black mustache. “My Pilar is a woman of strong emotions, not a woman of calm and serenity—which only makes the flamenco more passionate, eh?” Without waiting for a response, he gestured at a waiter. When the young man quickly approached, Joaquin issued orders in a spate of Spanish and the waiter bustled off. “Now,” Joaquin continued, giving them his full attention once more, “your usual table is being prepared. If you’ll come with me?”
He led them through an archway at the end of the entry hall and into a large, low-ceilinged room. They wound between crowded tables arranged in a semicircle around an open space of bare hardwood floor.
Lazhar was greeted with familiarity by more than one person as they crossed the room and each time, he acknowledged them with a smile and a greeting that included their name.
Emily wondered if Lazhar was a regular visitor at the club for his arrival didn’t cause the speculation and exclamations from the crowd that she’d seen at the casino.
“Do you have time to join us for a drink?” Lazhar asked Joaquin as he seated Emily at a horse-shoe-shaped booth, upholstered in burgundy leather, on the far side of the room.
“Let me check on the kitchen staff and if all is well, I’ll be back to catch Pilar’s performance with you,” he promised, taking Emily’s hand in his. He bent and kissed her fingers with an old world courtesy that was entirely natural. “It is a pleasure to have met you, Emily.” He released her and grinned at Lazhar. “Emily will make a beautiful bride.”
“Yes, she will.”
Startled, Emily couldn’t gather her wits to ask Joaquin what he meant by his parting comment until he was gone. Before she could call him back, he was intercepted by a waiter. Their brief conversation ended with the young man nodding and hurrying away. Joaquin had gone barely three steps more before a customer caught his attention and he paused to chat with the two couples seated at the table.
“I don’t think he’s going to make it to the kitchen very quickly,” she commented.
“Not likely,” Lazhar agreed. “He treats every customer as if they’re a family friend and they love him for it.”
“What did he mean by saying that I’d make a beautiful bride?” she asked Lazhar, half-turning to face him on the leather seat. He sat beside her, one arm resting along the top of the booth, his fingers within touching distance of her nape. A candle flickered in the center of their table, adding its faint glow to the dimly lit room, but still, his face seemed shadowed, his gaze enigmatic.
“I think he was stating the obvious,” he said smoothly. “You’re a beautiful woman. It follows that you’ll make a beautiful bride when you marry.” He glanced away from her at Joaquin, who was now three-quarters of the way across the room, still chatting with customers. “Joaquin is part-Spanish, part-Danizian, and he tends to assume that all young, beautiful women will marry someday.”
“And you think that’s all he meant?” Emily was distracted by Lazhar’s matter-of-fact, almost casual observation that he thought her beautiful, but she remained uncertain about Joaquin. Still, she couldn’t imagine what other meaning could be attached to the club owner’s parting comment.
“What