sheikh that Liyah came to an abrupt, embarrassed stop.
It was too late, though.
Sheikh Sayed’s espresso-brown gaze fell on her and remained, inquiry evident in the slight quirking of his brows.
Considered unflappable by all who knew her, Liyah couldn’t think of a single coherent thing to say, not even a simple welcome before moving on.
No, she stood there, her body reacting to his presence in a way her mother had always warned Liyah about but she had never actually experienced.
Part of her knew that he was surrounded by the people traveling with him, the Chatsfield Hotel staff and even her father, but Liyah could only see the emir. Discussion around them was nothing more than mumbling to her ears.
The signature scent of the Chatsfield—a mix of cedarwood, leather, white rose and a hint of lavender—faded and all she could smell was the emir’s spicy cologne blending with his undeniable masculine scent.
Her nipples drew tight for no discernible reason, her heart rate increasing like it only did after a particularly challenging workout and her breath came in small gasps she did her best to mask with shallow inhales.
His expression did not detectably change, but something in the depths of his dark gaze told her she was not the only one affected.
“Sheikh al Zeena, this is Amari, our chambermaid floor supervisor in charge of the harem floor and your suite,” the head of desk reception stepped in smoothly to say.
Being referred to by her last name was something Liyah was used to; meeting a crown prince was not.
However, her brain finally came back online and she managed to curl her right hand over her left fist and press them over her left breast. Bowing her head, she leaned slightly forward in a modified bow. “Emir. It is my pleasure to serve you and your companions.”
* * *
Sayed had a wholly unacceptable and unprecedented reaction to the lovely chambermaid’s words and actions.
His sex stirred, images of exactly how he would like her to serve him flashing through his mind in an erotic slide show of fantasies he was not aware of even having.
The rose wash over her cheeks and vulnerable, almost hungry expression in her green eyes told him those desires could be met, increasing his unexpected viscerally sexual reaction tenfold. Hidden by the fall of his abaya, his rapidly engorging flesh ached with unfamiliar need.
Sayed’s status as a soon-to-be-married man, not to mention melech of his country, dictated he push the images aside and ignore his body’s physical response, however. No matter how difficult he found doing so.
“Thank you, Miss Amari,” Sayed said, his tone imperious by necessity to hide his reaction to her. He indicated the woman assigned to tend his domestic needs. “This is Abdullah-Hasiba. She will let you know of any requirements we may have. Should you have any questions, they can be taken directly to her, as well.”
Miss Amari’s beautiful green gaze chilled and her full lips firmed slightly, but nothing else in her demeanor indicated a reaction to his clear dismissal.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Dipping her head again in the tradition of his people, she then turned to his servant. “I look forward to working with you Miz Abdullah-Hasiba.”
With another barely-there dip of her head, the much-too-attractive hotel employee did that thing well-trained servants were so good at and seemed to just melt away.
Sayed had a baffling and near-unstoppable urge to call her back.
STILL GRAPPLING WITH the fact she’d forgotten her father in the presence of the emir, Liyah knocked on Miz Abdullah-Hasiba’s door.
She hadn’t even taken the chance to meet Gene Chatsfield’s eyes for the first time. How could she have missed such a prime opportunity?
She was here to observe her father and ultimately make herself known to him. Liyah had not come to the Chatsfield London to ogle a Zeena Sahran prince.
Aaliyah Amari did not ogle anyone.
The door in front of her swung open. The unexpectedness of it, even though she’d been the one to knock, further emphasized how disconnected from her normal self Liyah was.
Wearing a dark apricot kameez embroidered around the neck and wrists with pale yellow thread, the emir’s personal housekeeper clasped her hands in front of her and bent her head forward. “Miss Amari, how may I be of service?”
“I wanted to make sure you and the emir’s other female traveling companions have found your accommodations acceptable.”
“Very much so.” The older woman stepped back and indicated Liyah should enter her room. “Please, come in.”
“I do not want to take you from your duties.”
“Not at all. You must share a cup of tea with me.”
With no polite way to decline, and frankly not inclined to do so, Liyah followed the other woman to the small sofa on the other side of the deluxe room. As much as it might bother her, Liyah could not deny her fascination with the emir.
At least, not to herself.
The Middle Eastern tea service Liyah had purchased on behalf of the hotel—along with the ones for the sheikh and his fiancée’s suites—sat in the center of the oval coffee table.
Miz Abdullah-Hasiba poured the fragrant hot drink from the copper-and-glass pot into the short, narrow matching cups with no handles. “This is a treat.”
“Yes?”
The housekeeper nodded with a smile. “Oh, yes. We do not travel with glassware as it is too easily broken.”
“Naturally.” Liyah waited for the housekeeper to take a sip before following suit, enjoying the sweetened warm beverage and the bittersweet memories it evoked.
Her mom had insisted on beginning and ending each day with a cup of mint tea augmented by a touch of honey.
“Nevertheless, the Chatsfield is the first hotel on the emir’s current European travel itinerary to have thought to provide the traditional tea service.”
“They will only be found in your room, the emir’s suite and that of his fiancée, I’m afraid.”
The older woman smiled. “Your grasp of our culture is commendable. Most hotel staff would have put the tea set in the room for the emir’s secretary.”
Liyah did not shrug off the praise, but neither did she acknowledge it. She was more aware of the Zeena Sahran culture than the average Brit or American, but anyone observant would have taken note that the housekeeper had been booked in the most deluxe room beside the emir’s fiancée’s suite.
“His secretary is actually junior office staff, I believe,” Liyah observed.
“She is. The emir follows the old ways. By necessity, his personal administrative assistant is Duwad, a male.”
“Because your emir cannot work late hours in his suite with a woman, married or otherwise,” Liyah guessed.
“Precisely.”
“So, this is a business trip?” Very little had been said in the media about the nature of the emir’s current travel plans.
“For the most part. Melech Falah insisted Emir Sayed enjoy a final European tour as it were before taking on the mantle of full leadership of our country.”
“The king intends to abdicate the throne to his son?” She’d read speculation to that effect, but nothing concrete.
“One might consider that a possible course of events after the royal wedding.”