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By the time they pulled through the palace gates and wound up the long driveway to the main entrance, Tess was tapping her toes to an infectious beat. She'd have to incorporate this into an album, something world beat, but she didn't want to copy what others had already done.
Stepping out of the SUV and glancing up at the palace walls—all that stone—Tess's shoulders slumped. It was a wonder anyone could manage anything here. She felt tiny and tired and helpless before all the difficulties hiding behind these ornate walls. She found her way to her room, sprawled across the gold-trimmed bedspread and fell asleep.
Hunger woke her.
It was possible that the actual sound of her stomach growling had woken her, she thought, as she lay there listening to the low gurgles. Outside the windows, she could see a blue-black sky speckled with early stars. She must have slept through supper. Sitting up, she glanced down at her rumpled clothes, now twisted around her. She took them off, enjoying the cool air against her skin. If she had planned on going straight back to sleep, she wouldn't have bothered finding something else to put on, but her stomach was insisting on food.
She rummaged through the dresser drawers and found most of her own clothes, cleaned and folded better than she ever managed. Pulling out a T-shirt and a pair of cotton lounge pants, she dragged them on. Now to find some food. She gave some thought to using the phone to call for a tray as Tarek had suggested, but if she could find the room where she'd had breakfast, she could probably find a kitchen from there, right? And she'd love a chance to dig up her own snack.
It took a little more wandering than she'd expected. When she finally pushed through the kitchen door, she fumbled for the light switch and froze when she hit it. The room was huge. Steel counters gleamed in the light. A long island with a butcherblock counter top divided the room. Four stoves, three refrigerators, two walk-in freezers, and walls of cabinets left her blinking.
She'd never find anything in here.
She opened the closest fridge and found jars and bottles labeled in Arabic. The second fridge offered up dairy—butter, yogurt maybe, weird cheeses, milk—goat not cow, judging by the goat on the label. She sighed. Before she could move on to the last fridge, the kitchen door opened behind her. She spun, heart pounding at the prospect of being caught by the chef or another staff member.
Instead, Tarek stepped into the room. Her heart gave a hard thump.
Chapter Seven
For a moment, he had the same deer-in-headlights look on his face she was certain she wore. At the sight of her, he relaxed, though not quite to the point of smiling. A white T-shirt snugged close around his chest, outlining his muscles, reminding her of what lay beneath it, assuring her his body hadn't been a mirage. Tight jeans clung to his long legs. He almost looked like any other man sneaking into the kitchen for a midnight snack. She wanted to run her fingers through his rumpled hair, stroke his beard and soothe that cautious look from his eyes.
She smiled. "Great minds think alike."
"You missed dinner. I was worried." He seemed to be working hard to keep his words and expression as neutral as possible. The urge to upset his plan was almost overwhelming, but she would play along for the moment. Wait to strike until he least expected it.
"I guess the doctor was right about me needing rest. What about you?"
He shrugged and stepped closer to her. "I haven't slept through the night since this strike started."
"'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown?'"
"'What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect that private men enjoy?' to quote another Shakespearian Henry." His mouth twitched into a smile. "It sounds terribly self-pitying, doesn't it? I first read that at university, when I was dreading coming back to assume my position."
Tess waved at the fridges. "Well, I'm glad you couldn't sleep. I was starting to think I'd have to start tasting from random containers to find a snack, since I can't read the labels."
"What would you like?"
"An apple and some peanut butter, but I don't suppose you have those."
He turned to the cupboards and after only two tries, found a jar of her favorite comfort food. The apples, it turned out, were hiding in the third fridge. He tossed her one, and then went back in for something else. She eased past him, letting her hand brush his ass as she went by—just enough so he’d suspect it hadn’t been an accident. He jerked but didn’t comment and came out a moment later with carrots, sugar snap peas, and sweet peppers.
"Knives are in that block on the counter," he directed. Tess selected a paring knife for herself and a larger chef's knife for him.
A few minutes later, they sat across the island from each other. Tess spread a glob of peanut butter across a wedge of apple and crunched into it. Tarek dragged a carrot stick through some kind of white dip.
"I'm surprised you have peanut butter," Tess said.
"My chef must use it for cooking. I don't think he would recognize your snack as food. Whatever made you try that combination?"
"Growing up, it was only Dad and me. He'd take me with him on concert tours. He was a phenomenal musician and managed the business side better than most, but he knew nothing about feeding an eight-year-old. He'd pack all kinds of food on the tour bus, but it was a little hit and miss. So there I was one night—he's playing a sold-out concert in some big arena—and I'm on the bus all by myself, looking for something to eat. He'd packed caviar and olive tapenade and artichokes, none of which had any appeal to me. And apples and peanut butter. So that's what I ate, just like this, one chunk of apple at a time. It's been comfort food ever since."
His thick, black eyebrows rose. "You're in need of comfort?"
Tess sat straighter, licked her lips, and put her hands in her lap. "It's hard for me to apologize, and I think I might need to. I overstepped this morning. I shouldn't have called you a petty tyrant. I can't possibly know what your job is like."
Tarek collected dip on the curled end of a red pepper slice, but he didn't raise it to his mouth. His other hand reached across the island countertop until his fingertips brushed hers. A ripple of warmth washed up her arm.
"You didn't overstep. I need to apologize, too. I reacted badly. You said things I've needed to hear for a long time, but none of my people can say them directly. My staff would be scandalized even to find me here in the kitchen, tending to my own needs." He moved his hand closer and covered her fingers with his. She flipped her hand over so it lay palm up and hooked her fingers into his. She ran her thumb across his knuckles and was gratified to see the tiniest shiver run through him.
