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THE MAN WHO walked into that parlor as if it, too, should cower before hi, but he wasn’t quite the same one who had confronted Cleo in the street—and not only because he’d changed his clothes, she thought

This version of the Sultan of Jhurat s that altered that fierce face of his and

Her heart pounded hard, like a fist against her ribs

“Please,” he said in a pleasant tone of voice, lounging there in a sleek buttoned black shirt over a pair of loose black trousers, neither of which erous than he had in that alley It was as if he’d traded in a scie was still the same She’d never in her life met anyone so male “You must call me Khaled”

As if they were friends As if it was possible that one could be friends with a man like this Cleo doubted it He was far too intense, far toocolossal

“Uh, okay Khaled”

He looked as if he could eat a thousand Brians for breakfast and still be hungry

She looked at the rooht ease the clench of that bright heat inside her But it didn’t, no matter how many lovely silk pillows decorated the delicately pretty couches, or howdown the walls into the exuberant sconces No matter that smile on the sultan’s darkly ferocious face as he looked at her now

“Does this er?” she asked Politely And only then realized she was frowning

He threw his head back and laughed It was heart-stopping Cleo felt as if she’d fallen down hard and knocked the breath straight out of her lungs

“I’ll confess to overreacting,” he said, that astonishing laughter still rich in his dark voice “It is an older brother’s prerogative, surely”

He nodded at some unseen servant—and this was the sort of over-the-top place, preening with dra ballroo epic historical events she couldn’t identify, that ined—and sure enough, a tray appeared before therant tea and an array of treats, sweet and savory alike, as if he was trying to tempt her