Chapter 1
Ellie Swanson had not signed up for this.
Yes, she’d agreed to run Happy Maids while her boss, Liz Harper Nestor – took a well deserved honeymoon after remarrying her gorgeous ex-husband Cain. And, yes, she was perfectly capable of supervising the fourteen or so employees on Happy Maids’ payroll for the four weeks Liz would be in Paris. But she wasn’t authorized to make a change in the company’s business plan, as the man across the desk wanted her to do.
“I’m a friend of Cain’s.”
Of course he was. Tall and slender with perfect blue eyes and black hair cut short and businesslike, Mac Carmichael wore his tailored navy blue suit with the casual ease of a man accustomed to handmade suits, fine wines, and people taking his orders. Just like Cain.
“And he told me his wife’s company was the best in town.”
“But we’re a weekly cleaning service. We don’t place maids in clients’ homes.”
“You should.”
A bead of sweat rolled down Ellie’s back. The air conditioning had broken the day Liz left. But Ellie could handle the heat and humidity of June in Miami. What she couldn’t abide was failure. Her first day on the job and already she was turning away a client. An important client. A client who could not only tell Cain that Happy Maids hadn’t come through for him; he could also tell all his wealthy friends – the very people Liz would be marketing to when she returned.
Ellie leaned back on the chair, tapping a pencil on the desk blotter. “Explain again what you’re looking for.”
“My maid quit unexpectedly. I need to hire a temporary replacement while I interview for another one.”
“I can send someone to your house a few times a week to clean,” she said hopefully.
He shook his head. “I have a daughter and a son. They need breakfast every morning.”
“Then I’ll be happy to send someone every day at seven.”
“Lacy gets up at five.”
“Then I’ll have someone at four.”
“I work some nights.”
Ellie gaped at him. “You want the maid to be a nanny too?”
He caught her gaze. His sinfully blue eyes held hers and she fought the urge to swallow as pinpricks of attraction sparkled along her nerve endings.
“And live in.”
She gasped. “Live in?”
“I also pay very well.”
Ah, the magic words. A victim of domestic violence herself, Liz had gotten involved with A Friend Indeed, a charity that helped women transition out of their abusive homes and into new lives. It was a natural fit that Liz should begin employing the women from A Friend Indeed until they got on their feet. Ellie had actually been the first client Liz had hired through a meet at the charity. The company needed every job – especially the good paying ones – to provide work for all the women who wanted help.
Mac rose from his seat. “Look, if your firm can’t handle it, I’ll be on my way.”
He turned to the door.
Stop him!
She bounced out of her chair. “Wait.”
He faced her again. This time she did swallow. His eyes reminded her of the ocean in the dead of summer, calm and deep, and perfect blue. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight pouring in from the window to his right. High cheekbones angled to blissfully full lips, the kind that made most women take a second glance and wonder what it would be like to kiss him. It should have been pure pleasure to look at him. Instead, the scowl on his face caused Ellie to doubt the intuition that guided her life.
“Yes?”
“I –“ Why had her intuition told her to stop him? She didn’t have anybody who could work as a maid/nanny. Most of Liz’s employees had kids of their own and homes to get back to every night. They couldn’t live in. And that’s what he needed.
“I – um – maybe we can work something out.”
His scowl grew even darker. “I don’t work things out.”
No kidding. She didn’t need intuition to tell her that.
“I want someone today.”
Don’t let him go.
She groaned inwardly, wondering why her sixth sense was so insistent on this. But accustomed to listening to the intuition that had saved her life, she couldn’t ignore it.
“I’ll do it.”
His scowl shifted into a look of confusion. “You?”
“I know I’m behind the desk today, but I’m only filling in for Cain’s wife Liz. She runs the business herself, but this month she’s on her honeymoon. I’m more than capable of cooking, cleaning and caring for children.”
His eyes held hers for another second or two. Then his gaze dipped from her face to her pretty red dress, and Ellie suddenly regretted her decision to wear something as exposing as the short strapless creation made more for having lunch with friends on a sunny sidewalk café than working in an office. But not having air conditioning had made the choice for her. How was she supposed to know a client would show up?
He smiled and all the air whooshed out of Ellie’s lungs. The temperature in her blood rose to an almost unbearable level. She could have melted where she stood. If this guy lived up north, snowflakes wouldn’t stand a chance against that smile.
“We have air conditioning, so you might want to change into jeans and a T-shirt.” He took a business card out of his jacket pocket, scribbled on the back and handed it to her. “That’s my home address. I’ll meet you there in an hour.” Then he turned and walked out the door.
Ellie collapsed on the office chair. Damn it! What had her intuition gotten her into? Now she not only had all of Liz’s work, she also had a full-time job. More than full-time! She had to live in!

Publisher: Harlequin Romance

Release Month: August 2010

Purchase URL: eHarlequin.com

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This post was submitted by Susan Meier.

‘Place your bets, mesdames et messieurs.’
Sheikh Tahir Al’Ramiz glanced around the gaming table, at the crowd watching him with rapt attention, eager to see his next move. His gaze trawled past the stack of chips he’d won in the last hour.
A waiter hovered with a fresh bottle of champagne. Tahir nodded and turned to the woman pressed so eagerly against his side. Blonde, beautiful, accommodating. She’d turned heads from the moment they entered Monte Carlo’s opulent old casino.
She moved and the fortune in diamonds encircling her throat and dripping down her superb cleavage scintillated in the chandelier’s mellow light. Her stunning evening dress of beaded silver was testament to the effect wealth and a world class couturier could achieve.
She smiled, the sort of intimate, eager smile women had been giving him since adolescence.
He passed her a flute of France’s finest champagne and leant back in his seat, finally acknowledging what he’d felt all evening.
He was bored.
Last time it had taken him two days to tire of Monte Carlo. This time he’d just arrived.
‘Last bets, mesdames et messieurs.’
Stifling a sigh, Tahir caught the croupier’s eye. ‘Quatorze,’ he said.
The croupier nodded and moved Tahir’s chips.
A hush fell as the crowd sucked in its collective breath. People on the other side of the table hurried to follow his lead, placing last minute bets.
‘Fourteen?’ said the blonde, eyes widening. ‘You’re betting it all on one number?’
Tahir shrugged and lifted his glass. Idly he noted how the faint tremor in his hand made the surface of the wine ripple.
How long since he’d slept? Two days? Three? There’d been New York where he’d finally closed the media deal and stayed to party. Then Tunisia for some all terrain racing, Oslo and Moscow for more business, then here to his cruiser in the marina.
Was his lifestyle finally catching up with him?
He tried to dredge up some interest, some concern, and failed.
With a flourish the croupier set the roulette wheel spinning.
Slender fingers gripped Tahir’s knee through the fine wool of his trousers. His companion’s breathing quickened as the wheel spun. Her hand slipped up his thigh.
Did she find the thrill of gambling, even by proxy, so arousing?
He almost envied her. Tahir knew that if she were to strip naked and offer herself to him here and now, he’d feel nothing. No desire. No excitement. Nothing.
She flashed him another smile, a sultry invitation, and leaned close, her breast pressing against his arm.
He really should remember her name.
Elsa? Erica? It eluded him. Because he hadn’t been interested enough to fix it in his mind? Or because his memory was becoming impaired?
His lips quirked briefly. Unfortunately his memory still functioned perfectly.
Some things he’d never forget.
No matter how hard he tried.
Elisabeth. That was it. Elisabeth Karolin Roswitha, Countess von Markburg.
Clamorous applause roused him from his thoughts. A cushioned embrace engulfed him as the Countess von Markburg almost climbed onto his lap in her excitement. Soft lips grazed his cheek, his mouth.
‘You’ve won again, Tahir!’ She pulled back, her eyes glittering with excitement. ‘Isn’t it marvellous?’
He moved his lips in what passed for a smile and raised his glass.
Tahir envied her that simple rush of pleasure. How long since he’d experienced that? Gambling didn’t do it for him any more. Business coups? Sometimes. Extreme sports? At least he got an adrenaline rush when he put his neck on the line. Sex?
He watched another woman approach. A dark haired seductress wearing ruby drop earrings that brushed her bare shoulders and a dress that would have her locked up for indecency in a lot of countries.
And he felt not a flicker of response.
She stopped beside him, leaned down, giving him a view right down her dress, past unfettered breasts to her navel and beyond.
‘Tahir, darling. It’s been an age.’
Her lips opened against his and her tongue slicked along the seam of his lips. But he wasn’t in the mood.
Fatigue suddenly swamped him. Not physical tiredness but the insidious grey nothingness that had plagued him so long.
He was tired of life.
Abruptly he pulled back from her hungry kiss. It was months since they’d been together in Buenos Aires yet it felt a lifetime ago.
‘Elisabeth.’ He turned to the blonde still glued to his side. ‘Let me introduce Natasha Leung. Natasha, this is Elisabeth von Markburg.’
He nodded to the waiter who produced another champagne flute.
‘Ah, it’s my favourite,’ Natasha purred, standing closer so her thigh slid against his. ‘Thank you.’
Over her shoulder Tahir caught the croupier’s expressionless gaze.
‘Place your bets, s’il vous plait.’
‘Quatorze,’ Tahir murmured.
‘Quatorze?’ The croupier’s impeccable reserve couldn’t hide the astonishment in his eyes. ‘Oui, monsieur.’
‘Fourteen again?’ Elisabeth’s voice rose shrilly. ‘But you’ll lose it all! The chances of getting the same number again are impossible.’
Tahir shrugged and, alerted by a discreet ring tone, dragged his mobile phone from his pocket. ‘Then I’ll lose.’
At the look of horror on her face Tahir almost smiled. Life was so simple for some.
He looked at the phone, frowning when he didn’t recognise the number displayed. Only his lawyer and his most trusted brokers had his private number. This wasn’t one of them.
‘Hello.’
‘Tahir?’ Even after so long that voice was unmistakeable. Tahir surged to his feet, dislodging both the women clinging to him.
‘Kareef.’ Only something truly significant would make his eldest brother call him out of the blue and after so long. He turned his back on the table, gesturing to his companions to stay where they were. The crowd around him parted, as it always did, and he strode across the room to the privacy of a quiet corner.
‘This is an unexpected surprise,’ he murmured. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
Silence. It stretched so long the back of his neck prickled.
‘I want you to come home.’ Kareef’s voice was as calm and familiar as it had always been.
But the words. They were words Tahir had never thought to hear.
‘I don’t have a home any more. Remember?’
A tiny part of long-dormant conscience told him he took out his old bitterness unfairly on Kareef. His brother wasn’t to blame for the disaster that was Tahir’s past.
He clamped his mouth shut.
‘You do now, Tahir.’ Something in his brother’s voice sent a tingle of premonition down his spine.
‘Our revered father would have something to say to that.’
‘Our father is dead.’
The words rolled like thunder in Tahir’s brain.
The brute who’d ruled his people and his family so corruptly was gone forever.
The tyrant who’d betrayed his wife with a string of whores and mistresses. Who’d ruled his tribe by fear. Who’d thrashed Tahir time and again to within an inch of his life. Then had his thugs take over when Tahir grew old enough to defend himself against his father.
The man who’d exiled his youngest son when he’d finally done what the old sheikh had probably secretly wanted and overstepped the mark completely.
Tahir had never been able to please his father, no matter how he tried. He’d spent his boyhood wondering what fault of his inspired such hatred.
But he’d long ago given up caring.
Tahir turned to look across the elegant room and its throng of late night pleasure seekers. In his mind’s eye it wasn’t the glamorous crowd he saw, the flirtatious and curious glances or the opulent display of wealth. It was Yazan Al’Ramiz’s bloodshot eyes, his bristling moustache flecked with spittle as he ranted and bellowed. The violent pounding of his clenched fists.
Surely Tahir should feel something, anything, at the news his tyrant father was dead? Even after eleven years absence the news must evoke some response?
A yawning void of darkness welled inside where once emotions had lodged.
He supposed he should have questions.
When? How? Isn’t that what a child asked about a father’s death?
‘Still, I don’t feel a burning desire to return to Qusay.’ His tone was as blank as his mood. There was nothing for him in the land of his birth.
‘Damn it, Tahir. Stop playing the arrogant unfeeling bastard for a moment. I need you here. Things are complicated.’ Kareef paused. ‘I want you here.’
Something unfamiliar roiled deep in Tahir’s belly.
‘What do you need?’ Kareef had always been his favourite brother. The one he’d looked up to, in the long ago days when he’d still tried to emulate his elders and betters. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘No problem,’ Kareef said in a curiously strained voice. ‘But our cousin has discovered he isn’t the rightful king of Qusay. He’s stood aside and I’m to take his place on the throne.’ He paused. ‘I want you here for my coronation.’
* * *
Tahir walked slowly to the roulette table.
Kareef’s news was momentous. To discover their cousin had been made king in error was almost unbelievable. He was no blood relation to the old king and queen, but had been secretly taken in by them while they grieved the death of their real son. If it had been anyone other than Kareef telling the story Tahir would have doubted the news.
But Kareef would never make such an error. He was too careful, too responsible. He would make the perfect king for Qusay. Either of Tahir’s older brothers would.
Thank merciful fate their father wasn’t alive to inherit the throne! As brother to the old king and leader of a significant clan he’d been too powerful as it was, too dangerous. Having him rule the whole nation would be like letting a wolf in amongst lambs.
A heart attack, Kareef had said.
No wonder. Their father had liked to indulge himself and hadn’t limited himself to one vice.
Tahir approached the gaming table. He saw his barely touched champagne and the two women waiting for him, both undoubtedly eager to give him whatever he desired tonight.
His lips curled. Perhaps he was more like the old man than he realised.
‘Tahir!’ Elisabeth’s voice was a shriek of delight. ‘You’ll never believe it. You won! Again! It’s unbelievable.’
The babbling crowd hushed. Every eye was on him as if he’d done something miraculous.
Before him, piled high, were his winnings. Far larger than before. The croupier looked pale and rigidly composed.
Eager feminine hands reached for Tahir as his companions sidled close. Their eyes were bright with avarice and excitement.
Tahir slid some of the most valuable chips to the croupier. ‘For you.’
‘Merci, monsieur.’ He grinned as he scooped his newfound wealth safely into his hand.
Tahir lifted his glass, took a long swallow and let the bubbles cascade from the back of his tongue down his throat.
The wine’s effervescence seeped into him. He felt buoyant, almost happy. For once fate had played things right. Kareef would be the best king Qusay had known.
He put the glass down with a click and turned away.
‘Goodnight Elisabeth, Natasha. I’m afraid I have business elsewhere.’
He’d taken but a few steps when the babble of voices stopped him.
‘Wait! Your winnings! You’ve forgotten them.’
Tahir turned to face a sea of staring faces.
‘Keep them. Share them amongst yourselves.’
Without a backward glance he strode to the entrance, oblivious to the uproar behind him.
The doorman thrust open the massive doors and Tahir emerged into the fresh night air. He breathed deep, filling his lungs for the first time, it seemed in memory.
A hint of a smile played on his lips as he loped down the stairs.
He had a coronation to attend.

Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises

Release Month: July 2010

Purchase URL: www.amazon.com/Scandal-Majestys-Love-Child-Harlequin-Presents/dp/0373129289/ref=sr_1_21?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1267002885&sr=1-21