the first.
“One can’t complain about the service,” Maggie murmured as Qadir lifted his glass. She took hold of hers and raised it, as well.
“To new beginnings,” he said. “Let us give them a chance.”
“A sneaky toast.” Still, she touched her glass to his, then took a sip.
The wine was nice. Light and maybe crisp. She didn’t really know the right terms. She knew she liked it and that she would probably faint if she knew how much it cost.
“Perhaps this will go more easily if we get to know each other better,” he said, looking at her over his glass. “Tell me about your family.”
“There’s not much to tell,” she admitted. “I’m an only child. My mom died when I was a baby. Dad always kept pictures of her around, but I don’t remember her. It was just the two of us.” She smiled. “I didn’t mind. I couldn’t miss what I’d never had and my father was great. He was one of the kindest men I’ve ever known. He took me with him everywhere, which is where I learned about cars. I grew up playing around them. I got in the way constantly, but then I learned how to help. It was a lot of fun. I learned math by helping with invoices. My dad made everything fun.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He was. He cared about people and loved his work. We lived in a typical middle-class neighborhood. The houses were all the same and the kids played together. I was never into dolls or playing house. I was out with the boys. That was fine when I was young, but became a problem later. I didn’t fit in either place.”
She still remembered the horrible summer when she’d started to get curves. As minor as they were, they still made her feel as if she didn’t fit in with the guys who had always been her friends.
“Feeling out of place made me hang out at the garage even more. It was the only place I felt comfortable.”
She took another sip of wine. “Things got a little better in high school. I started seeing boys as something other than friends and they didn’t seem to mind that I knew more about cars than they did. I never got really close to any of the girls, though.”
She’d tried a few times, but hadn’t known what to talk about. Makeup and clothes didn’t interest her and she’d been too shy to admit to her crushes—a conversation point that might have allowed her to bond with the female half of the population.
“I would think the girls were jealous,” Qadir said.
Maggie laughed. “I wish, but no. Then I started dating Jon. He lived next door. We’d been friends for years. One day I looked at him and everything was different. He asked me out and that was it. Being a couple allowed me to fit in. He was good to me. My dad liked him. We were together all through high school and while he went to college.”
“Your relationship ended recently?”
“A few months ago.”
Qadir studied her. “You are still in love with him.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m not,” Maggie said quickly, knowing it was true. “I miss him. He was my best friend forever. It was hard losing my dad, then Jon. I miss belonging and having someone to talk to. But I’m not in love with him.”
Which made her behavior that night even more unforgivable.
Stop thinking about it, she told herself. Especially here, with Qadir.
Qadir didn’t look convinced so she decided to change the subject. “What about your past?” she asked. “Yours must be more exciting, what with your being a prince and all. Don’t women throw themselves at you wherever you go? Doesn’t it get tricky, stepping over all those bodies?”
“It can be tiresome,” he admitted, his eyes bright with humor.
She leaned toward him. “I want details.”
“There aren’t any of interest.”
“No great love lurking in your past?” she asked before she remembered the mention of the mysterious woman the night she’d arrived.
Qadir picked up his wine, then put it down. “When I was very young—still in university—I met someone. Her name was Whitney.”
“Was she from here?”
“England. I went to university there, although I did some graduate work in the States.” He shrugged. “She was lovely. Smart, determined. She wanted to be a doctor. We fell in love. I brought her home to meet my father. I thought everything had gone well, but when we returned to England, she told me she couldn’t marry me. She wasn’t willing to give up her dreams to be my wife.” He glanced at Maggie. “There are … restrictions that come with being a member of the royal family.”
Made sense, she thought. “Whitney wouldn’t have been able to practice medicine.”
“Among other things. She’s now in her final year of residency,” he said. “She’s a pediatric neurosurgeon.”
Something that never would have happened if she’d married Qadir. “You still miss her.”
“No. I respect her decision and I wish her well. It was a long time ago. We’ve both moved on.”
Maggie was willing to believe he wasn’t pining for Whitney. Qadir didn’t seem the type to pine for anyone. But were there regrets?
Knowing about his past made him seem more like a regular guy, she thought. But was that a good thing or a bad one?
Qadir watched the play of emotions in Maggie’s eyes. She was trying to put Whitney in context. Perhaps he should not have told her, but there was something about Maggie he trusted.
She wasn’t like the usual women in his life. While she was certainly attractive, she lacked a sophistication he was used to. She didn’t play games. And she knew more about cars than any female he’d met.
He started to tell her that when he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a photographer easing along the far wall.
“An excellent opportunity,” he said as he reached for Maggie’s arm and pulled her toward him.
“What?”
Instead of answering, he kissed her. He had barely touched his mouth to hers when a flash went off. There was a flurry of activity as the restaurant staff raced for the photographer, no doubt to drag him outside. Qadir hoped they didn’t take away his camera.
Even though the event had ended, Qadir continued the kiss. He liked the feel of Maggie’s lips, the softness, the way she yielded. At times she was tough and in control, but now, she was all female—finding the true power of giving in.
He moved his hand to the back of her neck, where her long hair teased him. She smelled of soap and an elusive female essence that made him want to explore all of her. Need stirred.
He wanted to deepen the kiss. He wanted to taste her and claim her and hold her. He wanted to feel her body next to his, even if all they did was kiss. But this was not the time or the place. Reluctantly he withdrew.
Maggie blinked several times. “Was there a flash?”
“I saw a photographer approaching. I wanted to give him something worthwhile.”
She drew in a breath to steady her pinging nerves. “You did.
Definitely.”
The next morning Maggie had barely pulled on her robe when she heard someone pounding on her door. She walked through the living room of her suite and pulled open the door.
Victoria stood in the hallway, one hand on her hip, the other shaking a newspaper. “Do you know what’s in here?” her friend said, pushing past her and walking into the room. “Do you have any idea?”
With that Victoria slapped the paper down on the dining