The Sheikh's Son. Kristi Gold
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The moment Piper met his gaze and he grinned, she immediately glanced back to search for a bathroom or another blonde but didn’t find either one. When she regarded him again and found his focus still leveled on her, she started fiddling with her cell phone, pretending to read a nonexistent text.
Great. Just great. He’d caught her staring like a schoolgirl, and she’d just provided a big boost to his ego. He wouldn’t be interested in her, a nondescript, ridiculously average brunette, when he had a tall, well-endowed bombshell at his disposal. He could probably have any willing woman within a thousand-mile radius, and she wouldn’t be even a blip on his masculine radar. She took the mirror out of her purse and did a quick check anyway, making sure her bangs were smooth and her mascara hadn’t gone askew beneath her eyes.
And going to any trouble for a man like him was simply ridiculous. History had taught her that she more or less attracted guys who found her good breeding and trust fund extremely appealing. Nope, Mr. Hunky Stranger would never give her a second look....
“Are you waiting for someone?”
Piper’s heart lurched at the sound of his voice. A very deep, and very British, voice. After she’d recovered enough to sneak a peek, her pulse started to sprint again as she came up close and personal with his incredible eyes. Eyes that were just this shade of brown and remarkably as clear as polished topaz. “Actually, no, I’m not waiting for anyone,” she finally managed to say in a tone that sounded as if she was playing the frog to his prince, not the other way around.
He rested his hand on the back of the opposing chair, a gold signet ring containing a single ruby circling his little finger. “Would you mind if I join you?”
Mind? Did birds molt? “Be my guest.”
After setting his drink on the table, he draped his overcoat on the back of the chair, sat and leaned back as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Then again, this was probably the norm for him—picking up someone in a bar. For Piper, not so much.
“I’m surprised you’re not keeping company with a man,” he said. “You are much too beautiful to spend Saturday night all alone.”
She was surprised she hadn’t fainted from the impact of his fully formed grin, the sexy half-moon crescent in his chin and the compliment. “Actually, I just left a cocktail party a little while ago.”
He studied her curiously. “In the hotel?”
She took a quick sip of her drink and nearly tipped the glass over when she set it down. “Yes. A party in honor of some obscenely rich sheikh from some obscure country. I faked a headache and left before I had to endure meeting him. That’s probably a good thing, since for the life of me, I can’t remember his name.”
“Prince Mehdi?”
“That’s it.”
“I happened to have left there a few moments ago myself.”
Lovely, Piper. Open mouth, insert stiletto. “Do you know the prince?”
“I’ve known him for a very long time. Since birth, actually.” He topped off the comment with another slow smile.
She swallowed around her mortification while wishing for a giant crevice to open up and swallow her whole. “I’m sorry for insulting your friend. I just have an aversion to overly wealthy men. I’ve never found one who isn’t completely consumed with a sense of entitlement.”
He rimmed his finger around the edge of the clear glass. “Actually, some would say he’s a rather nice fellow.”
She highly doubted that. “Is that your opinion?”
“Yes. Of the three Mehdi brothers, he is probably the most grounded. Definitely the best looking of the whole lot.”
When Piper suddenly realized she’d abandoned her manners, she held out her hand. “I’m Piper McAdams, and you are?”
“Charmed to meet you,” he said as he accepted the handshake, and then slid his thumb over her wrist before letting her go.
She shivered slightly but recovered quickly. “Well, Mr. Charmed, do you have a first name?”
“A.J.”
“No last name?”
“I’d like to preserve a little mystery for the time being. Besides, last names should not be important between friends.”
Clearly he was hiding something, but her suspicious nature couldn’t compete with her attraction to this mysterious stranger. “We’re not exactly friends.”
“I hope to remedy that before night’s end.”
Piper hoped she could survive sitting across from him without going into a feminine free fall. She crossed one leg over the other beneath the table and tugged at the hem of her cocktail dress. “What do you do for a living, A.J.?”
He loosened his tie before lacing his fingers together atop the table. “I am the personal pilot for a rich and somewhat notorious family. They prefer to maintain their privacy.”
A pretty flyboy. Unbelievable. “That must be a huge responsibility.”
“You have no idea,” he said before clearing his throat. “What do you do for a living, Ms. McAdams?”
Nothing she cared to be doing. “Please, call me Piper. Let’s just say I serve as a goodwill ambassador for clients associated with my grandfather’s company. It requires quite a bit of travel and patience.”
He inclined his head and studied her face as if searching for secrets. “McAdams is a Scottish name, and the hint of auburn in your hair and beautiful blue eyes could indicate that lineage. Yet your skin isn’t fair.”
She touched her cheek as if she had no idea she even owned any skin. “My great-grandparents were Colombian on my mother’s side. My father’s family is Scottish through and through. I suppose you could say I’m a perfect mix of both cultures.”
“Colombian and Scottish. A very attractive combination. Do you tan in the summer?”
A sudden image of sitting with him on a beach—sans swimwear—assaulted her. “I do when I find the time to actually go to the beach. I’m not home that often.”
“And where is home?” he asked.
“South Carolina. Charleston, actually.” She refused to reveal that she currently resided in the guesthouse behind her grandparents’ Greek Revival mansion.
He hesitated a moment as if mulling over the information. “Yet you have no Southern accent.”
“It disappeared when I attended an all-female boarding school on the East Coast.”
He leaned forward with obvious interest. “Really? I attended military academy in England.”
That certainly explained his accent. “How long were you there?”
His expression turned suddenly serious. “A bloody lot longer than I should have been.”
She suspected a story existed behind his obvious disdain. “An all-male academy, I take it.”
“Unfortunately, yes. However, the campus was situated not far from a parochial school populated with curious females. We were more than happy to answer that curiosity.”
No real surprise there. “Did you lead the panty raids?”
His smile reappeared as bright as the illuminated beer sign over the bar. “I confess I attempted to raid a few panties in my youth, and received several slaps for my efforts.”
She was consumed by pleasant shivers when she should be shocked. “I highly doubt that was always the case.”
“Not always.” He leaned back again, his grin expanding, his dimples deepening. “Did you fall victim to the questionable antics of boarding-school boys?”