The Prince and the Working Woman (Desert Prince Book 1) (3 page)

Especially her friend. “I barely recognized you. You are going to cause a stampede among the single men at the reception.”

“They will all be looking at you, Mona.”

“For about five minutes. And then it will dawn on them that I’m married and the eyes will start to wander to the beautiful bridesmaid.”

The compliment touched and embarrassed her.  She’d never inspired admiration in men, but after her marriage, she’d never tried either. When she gazed in the mirror a stranger stared back. The highlights and lowlights in her chestnut hair brought out her eyes. Anticipation tingled in her belly. Could she live up to the woman in the reflection?

Mona sat in one of the empty chairs. “Don’t forget the pedicure.”

“Who will see my feet?”

“You can’t wear shoes into the mosque for the blessing. And when you are dragged onto the floor for the belly-dancing…”

“What belly dancing? We never discussed this,” Mandy complained as she was pulled to a pedicure station. Granted Mona had taught them the sensual Middle Eastern dance moves during her year in Boston, but that was for fun and cardiovascular therapy. “I am not putting on one of those harem costumes.”

The Nadiarian wedding customs were so different from America.  Not that she had much experience. Her own backyard nuptials and barbeque extravaganza involved a pig roast and double kegs. The only one drunker than her father was her husband. He passed out before enjoying the marital bliss and blamed her for it the next morning. From there, the marriage went downhill.

“You seemed to be having a pleasant conversation with Hamid last night. He’s not that bad,” Mona said, but her voice sounded like a plea for confirmation.

“Well I put my foot in my mouth and he still offered me the job.” As a boss she could deal with him. As eye candy, she would probably sneak surreptitious glances when no one watched. She had a weakness for tall, dark and handsome although she would never admit it to her woman’s studies group. They’d voted her Most Likely to Emasculate a Man. But did she see him as a potential lover? 
Never say never
.

“So what’s your plan?” Mona asked.

“I don’t know. I think Hamid expects me to begin next month. How am I going to find a place to live?”  

“Stay in Nadiar and study our community center for a few weeks. Get the English version of the Gulf Times and see the apartment rentals in Touzar. Don’t use the internet. Those flats cater to foreigners and they over-charge.”

“I will be a foreigner.”

“But a government employee, not a corporate transferee.” Mona frowned. “I feel bad that we are leaving tomorrow. I could postpone…”

“Your honeymoon? No. But I will need to get my stuff…”

“We are going to the States anyway. I will pick up your things. Even the purple velvet couch if you want.”

Both woman cringed and then laughed.

“I couldn’t take it from Angie.”  Guilt tightened Mandy’s stomach. She hadn’t told their other roomie about the job yet.  Angie still had a semester of college left. Although they knew they would be going their separate ways this year, they never thought it would be seven thousand miles away.

“Are you all right?” Mona asked.

Mandy exhaled slowly. “I’m fine.”

“Then you are aware you just agreed to bright green toe nail polish.”

She rolled her shoulders. Did it really matter? “At least when I belly dance they will look at my feet instead of my hips.”

“With that curvy body of yours?” Mona asked incredulously. “And you say I’m naïve? What planet do you live on?”

“What do mean?”

“I have six brothers-in-law alone who would give themselves whiplash to see you shake your booty on the dance floor. And they won’t be following your feet.”

Mandy expelled an exaggerated sigh.  “You used to be such a sweet young thing. What happened to you?”

“I got an education from my American roommates.”

Mandy could debate who educated whom. The princess balanced feminism and femininity with utter charm. Perhaps she didn’t need to be militant to make her point.

Chapter Three

Hamid sat at a desk in the hotel suite. With all the fanfare at the royal residence, he passed on the breakfast invitation. He had never been a fan of weddings.  He didn’t see the point. Three of his brothers had married in their twenties. Two were divorced already and one should be. The truth about life in the palace was that women married for the money, popped out an heir or two to insure lifetime child support, and stopped showing any interest in their arranged marriages. Not that marrying for love had been any better judging by his friends.

He blamed the West for the unreasonable expectation of women in Touzar. A closed society was not possible in the age of internet.  Seeing the freedoms in Europe and America had brought an upheaval in his homeland.  Granted, he was a proud chauvinist who felt a woman’s place was in the home, but he was a realist too. Freedom wasn’t free. Women in the West paid with their sweat and blood.

Mandy came immediately to mind. Her application, sent over from his sister-in-law, revealed a woman who worked her way through college and she had not been adverse to taking menial jobs. Positions his countrywomen would never undertake in pursuit of an education. He had read through the resume both before and after meeting her, but his attention had never focused on her marital status until now.

Widow?

Not the checked box he’d expected for a 26-year-old woman. Did that
hard as nails
exterior develop as a result of a tragedy in her past? He didn't want to know. He didn't want an emotional bond with her. Only a hot and heavy physical one.

After shoving the papers back in his briefcase, he grabbed his tuxedo jacket. Time to head to the party. Despite diplomatic plates on the car it took an hour to make the three-mile trip. The marriage of two royal offspring made for countrywide celebration and gridlock.

Rashid, decked out in his penguin suit, met him at the side door near the entrance of the prayer room. "I thought you decided to skip it."

"Traffic." Thankfully his brother did not remind him that he was invited to stay in the compound. He chose to distance himself. "Where's Mandy?"

Rashid pointed across the room. "Over there."

"Where?"

"Right there next to Mona. In the black dress."

He saw the woman next to the bride with her back to him. What he didn't see was the black-and-white ponytail. She turned and caught sight of him. Her smile stopped time like a special moment captured on an old Polaroid photo. Thunderstruck, he could only stare.

Rashid pushed him. "They are waiting for you to start."

"Huh?"

"We went over this at the rehearsal."

Hamid couldn't remember his name right now let alone any instructions.

"She doesn't bite."

"Too bad," he muttered under his breath.

"She might make an exception for you if you don't stop gawking at her like a pervert."

He did not gawk; he merely admired the beautiful woman. Smoky makeup accentuated the unique green color of her huge eyes. He couldn’t call her Oreo anymore but she was delicious.  He moved alongside of her. She smelled of lemon and coconut; an odd combination that fed his hunger. He wanted to bury his face in her silky hair. Even cut and styled, it had a wild windswept look. Without her lethal heels he could look at the top of her head. Now this felt comfortable in a very uncomfortably aroused way.

“
Sabah el khir
,” Mandy said.

“Good morning to you. Learning the language? You won’t need it for the position.”

She toyed with a scarf in her hand. “I’ll need it to live there.”

“For what?” As the wedding party lined up, he moved closer.

“Grocery shopping.”

“You order online and the food is delivered, signed for by the
boab,
and brought to your door.”

“What’s a
boab
?

“Like a door man, only more. Every building has one.” Something he took for granted seemed alien to her.

“I’m going to need to speak to taxi drivers to get to meetings.”

“You’ll have a car and driver.” Her lips formed a surprised O. It was no more than any other employee at her level would have as part of the contract. Driving in Touzar required a special kind of patience. With her hair-triggered temper he pictured her as the poster child for road rage.

“Personal shopping?” she challenged.

Sadly in the today’s world, English was the language of money and the second language of almost every country. “Most sales clerks are bilingual.”

“Well I am going to study it because it is respectful to learn the language of my host country.’

“All right, I will buy that one. I’d be happy to help you study.”

Her soft laughter brushed over his neck. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Of course.”

“And I suppose you have a bridge across the desert you’d like to sell me.”

He threw his hand dramatically over his heart. “Do you doubt my sincerity?”

A golden glint of humor sparked in her eyes. “I’d take it more seriously in you were looking at my face instead of my girls.”

Hamid grinned. He wouldn’t mind a threesome with her and the
girls.
“I was admiring your beautiful butterfly necklace.”

“It’s a dragonfly.” She placed the beaded scarf over her head. The longer side draped from shoulder to shoulder, covering the tempting cleavage.

He groaned. “No.”

“It’s time to go in to the mosque. Shoes off and head covered.”

She not only knew but respected their customs. He admired that despite the fact that she blocked his
rousing
view. “We’ll finish this later.”

“Can I stop you?”

If he believed for one moment that she wanted him to stop, he would. He’d never forced his attention on a woman. But the hint of a smile said better than words that she planned to make it a challenge. He was up for it in more ways than one.

* * * *

The party that never ended. That was how Mandy would describe the reception. After the high noon blessing at the mosque, the guests were led to the reception area for an exciting show. The orchestra, made up of percussion and string instruments, with upbeat rhythms, had her tapping her toes. The whirling dervish, spinning brightly colored skirts, made her dizzy even while she was mesmerized.

The belly dancers followed. They gyrated around the room and pulled the female party goers onto the floor. Mandy could not escape. And to make sure no one missed her, one dancer tied a bright red scarf across her hips to accentuate every movement. Her only solace was that the other single ladies got the same accessory.

The men had it easy. They lined the perimeter of the room and watched. Gawked. A couple of them seemed to drool. But not one of them stepped out of line in any way. A half an hour of non-stop movement left her both exhausted and exhilarated. Struggling for breath, she made her way back to the table for a much needed rest. She pulled off the red scarf and tossed it at her date. Hamid smiled but she couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed.

The wait staff brought in the food.  The aromas of cumin, cinnamon and cardamom filled the air. Her stomach rumbled. Even as a vegetarian she found so many unique and delicious foods she could eat. She wanted to take the caterer aside and ask for the recipes. The unbelievable array of fruits alone boggled her mind.

Just when a normal wedding would be winding down, the older generation including the two kings and their security entourages retired. A live band came in and the party really began. Ballroom dancing was not forbidden in the Middle East but neither was it common. Dances like the hustle, the electric slide and the silly chicken dance had everyone hopping on the floor.

Hamid sat in the corner like a marble statue. Why didn't he just leave with the others? His younger brothers joined in as each tried to monopolize Mandy’s time on the dance floor. She felt like Cinderella at the ball. Except the prince was not charming and she did not turn into a pumpkin at midnight.

At 12:30, she dragged herself to her seat. She searched for the shoes she had kicked off an hour into the party. She was ready to turn in. How much longer before the guests said their goodbyes?

Hamid drummed his fingers on the white linen table cloth "Did you run out of men?"

Was he mad? "What?"

"Is there anyone left you haven't danced with?"

"Well, you for one. But I'm sure I could go back out there and find someone willing to dance with me."

"I'm sure you could find a number of men willing to do many things with you."

Bite your tongue. Remember he's going to be your boss.

No - it didn't work. She couldn't keep her mouth shut. "What's it to you? I asked you. Three times. I don't need to be hit over the head to understand that you were not interested."