Valentine Vegas Gigolo Sheikh by Teresa Morgan

Author:Teresa Morgan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance
Published: 2012-10-13T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter nine

In his New York office, the world lay at Zaqwan's feet. Far below, streets criss-crossed in a grid. People as small as dust motes followed orderly paths. Cars proceeded in a regular fashion.

Forty-three stories up, nothing could touch him. It was the way he liked things.

Up until now, he thought, as he stared out the glass.

Now one of those tiny little dots held all the power in his life. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Stacia Keating. Or, he hated to admit, feeling for her.

Even though she was far away—or perhaps because of it—he had been unable to concentrate on business. She distracted him, presenting a puzzle he wished to solve, and yet, wanted to contemplate all his life. The contradiction of her continued to intrigue him, and it had begun to affect his work.

More than anything, he wished to know where she was and what she was doing. Who was bringing her to completion now.

Surely after what they'd shared, she wouldn't go to another man. He still felt her hot mouth sucking him with unfeigned enthusiasm—no, that was a lie. He didn't feel it, but he remembered. Oh yes, he remembered. And he remembered that wicked little smile on her face when she thought she'd mastered him.

She nearly had.

His mind had wandered off during a conference call on Monday. He had been required to make a potential Japanese distributor for Ittari fragrances repeat herself, to his regret. On Wednesday, he had forgotten a meeting completely. Yesterday, he had actually poured himself his now-standard five o'clock rum and Coke before realizing he had actually already done so.

That had been when he knew he could no longer continue this way, and had called this meeting.

At precisely 3:30, Kayson French, the head of his security team, knocked on his office door.

The outfit French wore now was very different from the bartender's uniform he'd worn in Vegas. With no major assignments today, he'd chosen his preferred style of clothing: low-cut Levis, cowboy boots polished to a high shine, and, underneath a six-hundred dollar sports jacket, a faded AC/DC tee-shirt three sizes too large for him. The shirt had once fit him perfectly, Zaqwan remembered. French had been a doughy young man when they'd met. In their initial interview, when Zaqwan had asked French why he should hire him, the man had stated that no one would ever suspect he was Zaqwan's security.

Zaqwan had seen from the moment French walked into his office that the man's problem had been that no one had ever taken him seriously. He couldn't blame the world for it, based on French's appearance, but he knew that if he were able to get French to live up to his potential, he would earn a useful unswerving loyalty.

He had decided to give French a chance, and to set an intense standard for him to live up to. Zaqwan had never regretted it. The baby-faced young man had a talent for melding with a crowd. Over the last few years, French had left behind his insecurities and become a confident man.

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