led to the fire stairs.
Fortunately, the woman's threat had come to nothing—except for Khan finally agreeing that Jamal was right.
He could not go on living in a hotel.
Sighing, he put down the cup of oily, cold coffee and got to his feet.
If he stayed in Dallas, he had to rent a place. A house. An apartment. A condo. It didn't matter as long as it was comfortable, well-located, and met with Jamal's approval, a dwelling his men could check thoroughly and easily protect.
Until his father's death, Khan had scoffed at that kind of thing.
Now, as his ministers kept pointing out, he could not afford to scoff.
He was responsible for his people and his nation. Who would take over, if something happened to him? He had no siblings. No children. Well, that was because he had no wife, which was another thing his ministers kept pointing out.
The bottom line was that if something happened to him, his ministers would determine who would rule in his place.
Khan had two cousins, second and third in line to the throne.
And that was the problem.
His mouth twisted.
The older cousin was addicted to gambling, drinking and whoring. The younger was a three year old child, with a greedy shrew for a mother.
And, damn, these were not things to think about tonight. He had enough on his plate.
He had to focus.
"Focus," he muttered, as he paced back and forth through the sitting room.
All right. He'd reached a decision. He could not yet leave America. His obligation was to Altara, and that meant concluding his plans for development of the new oil field.
First step, then.
Move out. ASAP. Tomorrow, if possible. He should have done it days ago. He remembered considering it but he'd never done anything about it because…
Because, he'd lost focus. That word, again.
And it was all Laurel Cruz's fault.
The woman occupied his thoughts. His dreams. And not for any pleasant reason. She was in his head because he'd never gotten her out of it, because it irritated the hell out of him that he'd imagined wanting to start all over again with her.
The truth was, he'd wasted a lot of time lately, only half-hearing what people said to him whether he was seated at a table in a plush boardroom or up to his ankles in mud while he inspected a drilling rig.
The verbal assault that first night? Bad enough. That kiss she'd insisted she despised except for that little giveaway sigh? Not good, either. But the thing at Travis's place, her going at him every bit as frantically as he'd gone at her, coming apart in his arms, hell, going crazy in his arms and then walking out on him after getting within a breath of telling him he was just what she'd called him that first time…
A barbarian.
"Focus," Khan said grimly.
Goddammit, he would.
Moving quickly, he crossed the sitting room, snagged his phone and the keys to the Rover, still parked in the hotel garage. Then he flung open the sitting room door.
The two men standing outside snapped to attention.
"My lord?"
"Did you want something, sir?"
Khan barely looked at them as he marched to the elevator, the bodyguards hustling after him.
"I'm going out," he said, his tone flat and all but daring them to argue. "Alone."
"Sir. Your driver—"
"I don't need him."
The lights above the elevator glowed discreetly as the car rose from the lobby floor. The bodyguards exchanged frantic glances.
"But, sir…"
"Come on," Khan muttered, jamming his finger against the call button as if that might make the elevator rise more quickly."
"My lord. You surely are not going out alone."
"Completely alone."
The men looked at each other again. One pulled out his cell phone.
"My lord. You cannot—"
He swung toward them. They were right, but he'd be damned if he'd let that interfere with his decision.
"Who am I?" he demanded.
The men paled. One looked as if he might fall to his knees. If the idiot did that, Khan thought coldly, he would have his head.
"Dammit, answer the question. Who am I?"
"You
Fortunately, the woman's threat had come to nothing—except for Khan finally agreeing that Jamal was right.
He could not go on living in a hotel.
Sighing, he put down the cup of oily, cold coffee and got to his feet.
If he stayed in Dallas, he had to rent a place. A house. An apartment. A condo. It didn't matter as long as it was comfortable, well-located, and met with Jamal's approval, a dwelling his men could check thoroughly and easily protect.
Until his father's death, Khan had scoffed at that kind of thing.
Now, as his ministers kept pointing out, he could not afford to scoff.
He was responsible for his people and his nation. Who would take over, if something happened to him? He had no siblings. No children. Well, that was because he had no wife, which was another thing his ministers kept pointing out.
The bottom line was that if something happened to him, his ministers would determine who would rule in his place.
Khan had two cousins, second and third in line to the throne.
And that was the problem.
His mouth twisted.
The older cousin was addicted to gambling, drinking and whoring. The younger was a three year old child, with a greedy shrew for a mother.
And, damn, these were not things to think about tonight. He had enough on his plate.
He had to focus.
"Focus," he muttered, as he paced back and forth through the sitting room.
All right. He'd reached a decision. He could not yet leave America. His obligation was to Altara, and that meant concluding his plans for development of the new oil field.
First step, then.
Move out. ASAP. Tomorrow, if possible. He should have done it days ago. He remembered considering it but he'd never done anything about it because…
Because, he'd lost focus. That word, again.
And it was all Laurel Cruz's fault.
The woman occupied his thoughts. His dreams. And not for any pleasant reason. She was in his head because he'd never gotten her out of it, because it irritated the hell out of him that he'd imagined wanting to start all over again with her.
The truth was, he'd wasted a lot of time lately, only half-hearing what people said to him whether he was seated at a table in a plush boardroom or up to his ankles in mud while he inspected a drilling rig.
The verbal assault that first night? Bad enough. That kiss she'd insisted she despised except for that little giveaway sigh? Not good, either. But the thing at Travis's place, her going at him every bit as frantically as he'd gone at her, coming apart in his arms, hell, going crazy in his arms and then walking out on him after getting within a breath of telling him he was just what she'd called him that first time…
A barbarian.
"Focus," Khan said grimly.
Goddammit, he would.
Moving quickly, he crossed the sitting room, snagged his phone and the keys to the Rover, still parked in the hotel garage. Then he flung open the sitting room door.
The two men standing outside snapped to attention.
"My lord?"
"Did you want something, sir?"
Khan barely looked at them as he marched to the elevator, the bodyguards hustling after him.
"I'm going out," he said, his tone flat and all but daring them to argue. "Alone."
"Sir. Your driver—"
"I don't need him."
The lights above the elevator glowed discreetly as the car rose from the lobby floor. The bodyguards exchanged frantic glances.
"But, sir…"
"Come on," Khan muttered, jamming his finger against the call button as if that might make the elevator rise more quickly."
"My lord. You surely are not going out alone."
"Completely alone."
The men looked at each other again. One pulled out his cell phone.
"My lord. You cannot—"
He swung toward them. They were right, but he'd be damned if he'd let that interfere with his decision.
"Who am I?" he demanded.
The men paled. One looked as if he might fall to his knees. If the idiot did that, Khan thought coldly, he would have his head.
"Dammit, answer the question. Who am I?"
"You
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