The Return of the Sheikh - By Kristi Gold Page 0,1

club chairs. “If you wish to be seated, I will come for you when the emir is prepared to see you.”

Provided the man actually decided to see her.

After the assistant executed an about-face and disappeared through the doors, Madison claimed a chair, smoothed a palm over her navy pencil skirt and prepared to wait. She surveyed the guards lined up along the walls with two positioned on either side of the entry. Heavily armed guards. Not surprising. When a soon-to-be-king was involved, enemies were sure to follow. She’d initially been considered a possible threat, apparent when they rifled through her leather purse looking for concealed weapons before she’d entered the limo. She highly doubted she could do much damage with a tube of lipstick and a nail file.

Madison suddenly detected the sound of a raised voice, though she couldn’t make out what that voice might be saying. Even if she could, she probably wouldn’t understand most of the Arabic words. Yet there was no mistaking someone was angry, and she’d bet her last bottle of merlot she knew the identity of that someone.

Zain Mehdi reportedly didn’t know the meaning of restraint, evidenced by his questionable activities. The notorious sheikh had left his country some seven years ago and taken up residence in the States. He’d often disappeared for months at a time, only to surface with some starlet or supermodel on his arm, earning him the title “Phantom Prince of Arabia.”

That behavior hadn’t necessarily shocked Madison. Many years ago, she’d met him at a dinner party she’d attended with her parents in Milan. Back then, he’d been an incurable sixteen-year-old flirt. Not that he’d flirted with her, or that he would even remember her at all, a gawky preteen with no confidence. A girl who’d been content to blend into the background, very much like her mother.

She didn’t do the blending-in thing these days. She intended to be front and center, and if she managed to succeed at this assignment, that would prove to be another huge feather in her professional cap.

When the doors opened wide, Madison came to her feet, adjusted her white linen jacket and held her breath in hopes that she wouldn’t be dismissed. “Well?” she asked when Deeb didn’t immediately speak.

“The emir will see you now,” he said, his tone somewhat wary. “But he is not happy about it.”

As long as she had the opportunity to win him over, Madison didn’t give a horse’s patoot about the prince’s current mood. “Fair enough.”

Deeb opened the door and followed her inside the well-appointed office. But she didn’t have the time—or the inclination—to study the room further. The six-foot-plus man leaning back against the massive desk, arms folded across his chest, his intense gaze contrasting with his casual stance, now captured her complete attention. Publicity photos—or her distant memories—definitely didn’t do Zain Mehdi justice.

With his perfectly symmetrical features, golden skin and deep brown eyes framed by ridiculously long black lashes, he could easily be pegged as a Hollywood star preparing to play the role of a Middle Eastern monarch. Yet he’d forgone the royal robes for a white tailored shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a pair of dark slacks. He also wore an expression that said he viewed her as an intruder.

Madison tamped down her nerves, shored up her frame and faked a calm facade. “Good evening, Your Highness. I’m Madison Foster.”

He studied her offered hand but ignored the gesture. “I know who you are. You are the daughter of Anson Foster, a member of the diplomatic corps and a longtime acquaintance of my father’s.”

At least he remembered her father, even if he probably didn’t remember her. “My sincerest condolences on your loss, Your Highness. I’m sure the king’s sudden passing came as quite a shock.”

He shifted his weight slightly, a sure sign of discomfort. “Not as shocking as learning of his death two weeks after the fact.”

“The emir was traveling when his father passed,” Deeb added from behind Madison.

The sheikh sent his assistant a quelling look. “That will be all, Deeb. Ms. Foster and I will continue this conversation in private.”

Madison glanced over her shoulder to see Deeb nodding before he said, “As you wish, Emir.”

As soon as the right-hand man left the room, the sheikh strolled around the desk, dropped down into the leather chair and gestured toward the opposing chair. “Be seated.”

Say please, Madison wanted to toss out. Instead, she slid into the chair, set her bag at her feet and made a mental