The Golden Valkyrie Page 5

  They’d reached the bedroom door, and he opened it with a little flourish. “This is your room,” he said, leaning lazily against the doorjamb. “There’s an adjoining bath. I think you’ll be fairly comfortable.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “I’m right next door, so if you need anything, just call.”

  “I’m the one who’s supposed to be able to hear you if you need me,” she said unthinkingly, and then could have bitten her tongue.

  It was too much to expect him to let that pass. His face took on an expression of cherubic innocence. “Does that mean you’ll come if I want you to?” he asked, gazing limpidly into her eyes. “Perhaps we’d better have them put in a connecting door. It would save considerable wear and tear on the carpet from the traffic back and forth.”

  “You know I meant that you were to call if you were in danger,” she said sternly, trying to frown disapprovingly into that mischievous face.

  “Unfortunately, I did,” he said morosely. “We’ll be dining at eight and then going somewhere later to dance. Since this is your territory, Alex and I will let you choose.” He made a face. “Just don’t make it any place where we might run into one of Alex’s business chums or any political bureaucrats. He’s promised me that the party last night was the final little social duty we’d have to suffer through, but I don’t want to put temptation in his path.”

  Honey frowned. “Don’t you think that it would be safer to have dinner in the suite? It will be difficult maintaining any degree of security in a crowd.”

  “But I can see that you’re a woman who thrives on challenges,” Rubinoff said lightly. “I feel completely safe in your capable hands.” He turned away, and then looked over his shoulder to say, “Wear your hair down. We wouldn’t want you to look too businesslike, would we? It might remind Alex that you’re here to guard, not entertain, us.”

  He was gone before she could reply, and there was still a lingering smile on her face as she slowly closed the door and leaned against it bemusedly. Then she gave herself a little shake and straightened slowly. What was the matter with her? She was as languid and dreamy-eyed as a teenager who’d been asked to her first prom by the captain of the football team. Where was the cool insouciance that had been her shield and buckler for so long? It had taken less than an hour for Lance Rubinoff to raise in her a bewildering mixture of emotions. The physical magnetism she could recognize and understand, but what of that odd melting tenderness? He was as stimulating and intoxicating as those margaritas that Nancy had offered her as liquid comfort.

  Just when she became convinced that the slightly mad, impish dilettante was the true Prince Rubinoff, he allowed her a fleeting glimpse beneath the glittering facade to the personality beneath. It was like trying to unravel the clues in a complicated and masterly crafted mystery thriller. And she’d always had a passion for mysteries. It was the primary reason she’d entered her profession. Well, this particular mystery might be more addictive and dangerous than any she had solved to date. She would have to guard her own emotions as assiduously as she would guard Rubinoff and Alex Ben Raschid.

  She strode briskly toward the bathroom door Rubinoff had indicated. She had left her suitcases downstairs at the reception desk, in the last-ditch hope that she could convince Rubinoff to abandon his blackmail ploy. She would have to call down and have them sent up. But first she’d shower and wash her hair. She cast a cursory glance about the bedroom.

  She supposed it could be considered as luxuriously elegant as the rest of the suite, but it was definitely not to her taste. The cool-looking blue carpet contrasted perfectly with the rich cream taffeta spread on the king-sized bed. The Louis XIV chair in the corner of the room was cushioned in the same patterned cream taffeta. It was all very fastidious, expensive, and icily impersonal. Evidently this stiff, aloof beauty was what the hotel management considered suitable for its most august guests. Personally, she preferred a little more informality and color in her surroundings, and she had an idea that Lance Rubinoff did too.

  As Honey entered the spacious blue-and-white bathroom and began to strip off her pants suit, she firmly dismissed Rubinoff from her consciousness. He had been occupying her thoughts far too much lately. She pulled the pins from her hair and let it tumble down her back in wild silky profusion. There was certainly no possibility of her leaving her hair loose just because that wild, impossible man liked it that way. No possibility at all.

  THREE

  “DID I TELL you how beautiful you are this evening?” Lance Rubinoff murmured in her ear as he took her black velvet wrap and seated her with graceful panache at the small table. “Your hair shines like silver against that black velvet. I’m glad you wore it down.”

  Honey fingered a long tress almost guiltily. “It had nothing to do with you. I just decided that there was no use antagonizing Alex unnecessarily.” She touched the skirt of the simple black velvet sheath she was wearing. “And my intention was not to be beautiful, just discreet.”

  Rubinoff’s lips quirked and one eyebrow arched mockingly as his gaze ran over her lingeringly. The dress in question may have been modest in cut, with its bateau neckline and long tight sleeves, which ended at her wrists, but on Honey’s full, graceful figure it took on a tactile sensuality that was causing every man in the crowded smoky room to stare at her with distinct lasciviousness.

  “Sorry, sweetheart, you didn’t succeed,” he drawled as he dropped into a chair next to her. “There’s no way you could fade into the background no matter what you wore.” His gaze ran around the room appraisingly. “This is quite an unusual place. Do you come here often?”

  Honey shook her head, her own eyes following his about the room. “It’s not my kind of scene,” she answered. “But I thought you might find it amusing.” She smiled impishly. “And you certainly won’t run into the governor or the mayor here.”

  “No?” Rubinoff asked quizzically, and looked about him with renewed interest. “Have you brought us to a den of iniquity? It appears fairly innocuous.”

  The Starburst was a disco whose decor and loud, pulsating music fully lived up to its name. The only illumination in the large room was provided by the elaborate pyrotechnics beneath the clear plastic panels of the dance floor. The brilliant center ball of scarlet was constantly exploding into starlike fragments and then reforming once again into its shimmering, pulsing core. When combined with the throbbing music and intimate darkness, the atmosphere was curiously erotic.

  “It’s not that bad,” Honey said absently. “It’s just a meat market.” A frown clouded her face as her gaze anxiously circled the room. “Where is Alex? I thought he was right behind us.”

  “He stopped in the lobby to make a phone call. Don’t worry, no one’s kidnapping him from beneath your eagle eye. What’s a meat market?”

  Honey felt the tension gripping her relax, and she leaned back in her chair with a little sigh of relief. “You haven’t heard that particular bit of slang before?” she asked. “It refers to a bar or disco whose patrons are a trifle overly aggressive in their pursuit of the opposite sex.”

  “Very descriptive,” Rubinoff said idly, watching the gyrating couples. “I gather that there are more moves on the sidelines than on the dance floor?”

  “Exactly,” Honey said with a grin. “I thought you’d feel right at home here.” She tilted her head and gazed at him curiously. “That’s the first time you’ve asked me to explain the meaning of any colloquialism. Your grasp of the vernacular is really exceptional. Both you and Alex sound like born and bred Americans.”

  “Alex and I were practically raised by a Texas oil roughneck by the name of Clancy Donahue,” Rubinoff explained with a reminiscent smile. “And his colloquialisms were often a good deal bluer than yours, sweetheart.”

  “Wasn’t that a rather unusual choice of tutor for a royal prince and the heir-apparent to a sheikdom?” Honey asked, leaning forward, her face alight with interest.

  “Not if you knew Karim Ben Raschid, Alex’s grandfather,” Ru
binoff said dryly. “He’s a wily old cutthroat with a healthy respect for American know-how and a fierce determination to keep what’s his. Not an easy task, when the plum’s as rich as Sedikhan. There have been border skirmishes there as long as I can remember, and the diplomatic maneuverings can be more dangerous than the battles themselves. Clancy was a mercenary, a smuggler, and God knows what else, before he turned up in one of Karim’s oil fields twenty years ago. Karim turned us over to his tender mercies when Alex was twelve and I was ten, with instructions to do whatever was necessary to turn us from boys into men.” His eyes were dancing. “Clancy’s methods were a trifle unorthodox for princely training, but that suited Karim. He taught us everything from guerilla warfare to the art of bringing in a gusher. I went on my first full-fledged border battle when I was fourteen. Clancy certainly made things interesting.”

  “Didn’t your own parents have anything to say about that?” Honey asked. “I would have thought that they would object to Karim’s putting you in danger.”

  His lips curled in a cynical smile. “Tamrovia needed oil, like every other country. Karim knew just how to pull the right strings to get what he wanted, and what he wanted was a companion for Alex of equal birth and status to temper that Ben Raschid arrogance.” He shrugged. “It was the wisest arrangement for everyone concerned. I was a thorn in my parents’ serene, conventional lives from the moment I was born. I was always more at home in Sedikhan than Tamrovia, and Alex and I grew up as close as brothers.”

  “And what of Clancy Donahue? Is he still in Sedikhan?” Honey asked, her gaze on Rubinoff’s face in the flickering lights, which illuminated his face, only to return it to shadow in the next instant. Had there been a touch of bitterness behind the cynicism in his expression?

  “Clancy?” There was no question of the affection in his face, even in the dimness of the room. “Oh, yes, Clancy’s a permanent member of Alex’s household now. He generally accompanies him everywhere. He was mad as hell when Alex made him stay behind on this trip.” He chuckled. “He tends to get a little overprotective and has a tendency to cramp Alex’s style.”

  “I think he should have brought him along this time,” Honey said, frowning. “If he won’t accept my protection, there may come a time when he’ll need all the help he can get.”

  “We’re doing very well without him,” Rubinoff said lightly. “And Alex was very receptive to you at dinner. Perhaps he’ll even allow you eventually to instigate some minor security measures on his behalf.”

  Honey shook her head skeptically. “Charming as your cousin was to me, I don’t think he’s about to tolerate me in any capacity but as a dinner companion.”

  The evening thus far had proved to be surprisingly pleasant, and she had found herself amazingly at ease with both Rubinoff and Ben Raschid by the time they’d finished dinner. It had been a fascinating exercise just to observe the cheerful badinage between the men and attempt to detect the subtle undercurrents that ran beneath the surface of the mocking raillery. She could well believe Rubinoff’s claim that Alex was like a brother to him. It was all there to see once you peered beneath the masks they wore—respect, humor, tolerance, and genuine affection.

  The bonds that had forged their relationship were so strong and long-standing that one would have expected Honey to feel like an outsider. Strangely, this was not the case. Rubinoff had gently drawn her into the magic circle, and Ben Raschid had followed his lead with the mocking arrogance she was beginning to associate with him. By the time they’d left the restaurant, she was on a first-name basis with both men and felt a camaraderie that she would never have believed possible a few hours before. She was vaguely conscious that Lance was deliberately dampening down that vibrant sensuality and giving her the time and breathing space he’d promised her, and the knowledge filled her with an odd breathless warmth.

  “You thought Alex was charming?” Lance asked with a black scowl. “I wanted you to like him, but you weren’t supposed to find him charming, damn it. I was the one who was supposed to dazzle you with my rapier wit and virile attractiveness. It’s clear that I’ll have to apply myself more assiduously to the project.” He hitched his chair closer to her own, until his hard muscular thigh was pressed intimately against her own, and put his hand on her knee. “Now do I have your complete attention?”

  Honey firmly removed his hand and placed it back on the table with a tolerant little pat. It was impossible to be angry with him when he was gazing at her with those wistful blue eyes that still held a glint of little-boy devilishness in their depths. “I have an idea that you’ve had a great deal too much attention from women in your career, Lance,” she said lightly. “I wonder if you even remember their names.”

  “Not many of their names,” he admitted frankly. “They’re all a bit of a blur after a while.” Then, as he saw the frown beginning to cloud her face, he covered her hand with his and said gently, “They didn’t mean anything to me. How could I be expected to remember them, Honey? What I feel for you is entirely different.”

  She lowered her eyes to their joined hands, her lashes hiding the sudden jolt of pain at his callous remark. “I’d be something of a fool to believe that, wouldn’t I?” she asked huskily. “Next month you’ll probably be saying that to some other woman.”

  There was a flicker of anger in the blue eyes looking into hers. “I don’t lie, Honey,” he said curtly. “I don’t know why or just how the way I feel for you is different as yet. I’m still a little confused on that score, but I do know that I’ve never felt anything quite like this before. When I lifted that tablecloth and found you curled up like a luscious kitten, staring up at me with those big violet eyes, it was as if someone had hit me in the stomach.”

  “Chemistry,” Honey said firmly, still not looking at him. “What else could it be?”

  “How the hell do I know?” he asked moodily. “If it was chemistry, why did it feel so right to have you with us tonight? It was as if you’d always been there across from me and always would be.”

  Her eyes flew up, and for a moment she forgot to breathe as she met the hot intensity of his. So she hadn’t been the only one to feel that strange sense of belonging.

  “Would you like me to go make another phone call?” Ben Raschid asked politely. Neither of them had seen him approach, but he was suddenly standing at their side, with an expression of amused resignation on his face and a distinctly sardonic smile on his lips.

  Honey could feel the color rush to her face, and she tried to withdraw her hand from Lance’s. “No, of course not,” she said a little hurriedly. “We were beginning to be a little concerned for you. You’ve been gone a long time.”

  Lance firmly foiled her attempts at removing her hand from his by possessively tightening his clasp. “Yes, we’ve missed you,” he said absently, not taking his eyes from Honey’s face. “Why don’t you leave, so that we can miss you again?”

  “Lance!” Honey exclaimed, shocked at his rudeness.

  Ben Raschid only chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling as he shook his head reprovingly at Rubinoff before dropping into the chair opposite them. “Presently,” he drawled. “At the moment I have the urge to sample the delights of this unique establishment Honey has seen fit to bring us to. On my trip from the foyer to the table, I was accosted by three women, two of whom offered to buy me a drink. The third wanted me to dance. Are most Houston women this aggressive, Honey?”

  “Only at meat markets,” Rubinoff answered for her, reluctantly looking away from Honey to glance at Alex with a wry smile. “I don’t think he needs a definition of the term after his recent experience, Honey. I’m surprised you didn’t accept one of the invitations, Alex. Didn’t any of them look good to you?”

  “There was a rather ravishing little redhead,” Ben Raschid said. “But I decided to look the field over before deciding.”

  “A redhead.” Lance shook his head ruefully. “I should have known. Why bother to even browse, Alex? You know that you’ll choose the redhead
anyway.” He turned to Honey and explained. “Alex has had a passion for redheads since we were boys.”

  “It won’t hurt to make her wait a bit,” Alex said lazily, and he imperiously signaled a passing waiter. “She was a little overeager. What will you have to drink?”

  Honey had finally managed to wrest her hand from Lance’s grasp, and she unobtrusively scooted her chair a few inches away from his. She was finding that hard muscular thigh so close to her own very distracting. “Just ginger ale for me,” she answered.

  While Ben Raschid gave the orders to the waiter, Lance lifted a brow inquiringly. “Don’t you ever drink anything stronger?”

  She shook her head with a wry grimace. “Not since I discovered the peculiar effect it has on my tongue. It causes it to waggle excessively.”

  “Fascinating,” he murmured. “I must remember that. A few drinks and I’ll know all your secrets.”

  Suddenly, a well-manicured hand cut through the space between them and slapped down a fifty-dollar bill. They both looked up, startled, at the woman standing beside the table.

  “That’s for you, darlin’,” the woman slurred, swaying slightly and smiling at Rubinoff with a smug alcoholic leer. “And there’s more where that came from. No one can say that Joanie Jessup’s not willing to pay generously for what she wants.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lance said blankly. “Were you speaking to me?”

  “You bet your boots,” Joanie Jessup said, laying one unsteady hand on his shoulder and beaming at him. “You’re the lucky man tonight, Red. I’ve had my eye on you since you came into the place. Damn, you’re a handsome brute.”

  “Thank you,” Lance said warily. “That’s very kind of you. Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

  Honey had first been so taken by surprise that she could only stare open-mouthed at the boldness of the woman. Joanie Jessup was in her early fifties, on the plump side, and sported an elaborate bouffant blond coiffure. She was expensively if a trifle garishly dressed in a pink décolleté cocktail gown. She was also very obvously under the influence. Then, as Honey gazed from Lance’s stunned, wary face to the woman’s drunken leer, she suddenly giggled helplessly. Lance shot her a glance of extreme displeasure.