Sheikh's Scandal. Lucy Monroe
with her if he were so inclined.
Regardless, while Sayed had not been celibate for his entire adult life, he had been for the past three years.
Once Tahira had reached the age of majority and their betrothal had been announced officially, his honor demanded he cease sexual intimacy with other women. No one else seemed to expect it of him, but Sayed didn’t live according to any viewpoint but his own.
However, his celibacy might well explain the intense and highly sexual dreams. Three years was a long time to go without for a thirty-six-year-old man who had been sexually active since his teens.
The knowledge that his sexual desert would end in a matter of weeks after he married Tahira gave him little comfort.
He could no more imagine taking the woman he still considered a girl, despite her twenty-four years, to bed than he could countenance giving in to his growing hunger for Aaliyah Amari.
LIYAH WATCHED HER father from the distance of the cavernous lobby.
If she wasn’t sneaking in unnecessary glimpses of the emir, Liyah was straining for yet another impression of Gene Chatsfield. It was ridiculous.
Unable to deal with her attraction to Sayed in any other way than to avoid direct contact, she was no closer to coming to terms with the reality of her father, either.
And she felt like a coward.
Hena Amari had always been vocal in her praise of what she considered her daughter’s intrepid and determined nature. Neither of which were at the forefront of Liyah’s actions right now.
She needed to get her first meeting with Gene Chatsfield over with. If for no other reason than to tell him of her mother’s death.
She sincerely doubted anyone else had done so. It wasn’t something that human resources would have mentioned to the owner of the entire hotel chain.
The Chatsfield San Francisco had sent a beautiful bouquet of purple irises to the funeral; however, these were probably organized by Stephanie Carter and that was no indication their proprietor knew of his chambermaid’s death.
Liyah watched as Gene stepped onto the elevator, no doubt headed to the penthouse-level suite he always occupied when he was in London.
The empty suite. Because his fiancée was out shopping and not expected back until after teatime.
Now would be the perfect time for Liyah to make herself known to him. Things with the hotel were running smoothly; there had been no further complications with the sheikh’s visit.
And what was Liyah doing here if it wasn’t to fulfill her mother’s final request?
Unlike her half sister Lucilla Chatsfield, Liyah didn’t want to make her career at the family hotel and certainly not simply to please her father. He hadn’t exactly been supportive of Lucilla’s career, his one child who had made it clear she was not only interested in the welfare of the hotels, but worked hard for the Chatsfield. Instead, her father had hired a man with a ruthless reputation and, if the rumors were true, Giatrakos was extending his own personal brand of punishment not only to Lucilla, but to the remaining Chatsfield siblings. The man was a dinosaur when it came to workplace ideals.
Besides, Liyah had no fantasies that Gene Chatsfield would publicly acknowledge her. Not after a lifetime of him not doing so.
Theirs would always have to be a private relationship. The Chatsfield name had spent enough time in the tabloids. Gene would never willingly be party to dragging it through the red ink of more media scrutiny.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in meeting his twenty-six-year-old daughter.
His payment of support, as modest as it had been, all the way through her college years indicated he felt something toward Liyah. If only obligation.
Just like her obligation to Hena’s memory.
Right. It was time.
Taking a breath to calm her suddenly racing heartbeat, Liyah untucked her mother’s locket from beneath her blouse. She’d worn it every day since Hena had given it to Liyah on her deathbed.
Curling her fingers around the metal warmed by her skin, Liyah took courage from the love and memories that it would always evoke and keyed the elevator for the penthouse level.
A few minutes later, Gene Chatsfield opened his suite’s door, holding a mobile phone against his chest and wearing a puzzled expression on his features. “Yes, Amari?”
Something cold slithered down her spine at her father’s use of her last name. But what else was he supposed to call her? He probably didn’t even know her first name.
That would change in the next hour.
Dismissing the inevitable nerves, Liyah schooled her features into her most comfortable mask of unruffled dignity. “Mr. Chatsfield, I would appreciate a few moments of your time.”
“If this is about your employment here, I have to tell you I trust my human resource and senior housekeeping staff implicitly. It’s no use you looking for special favors from the proprietor and, quite frankly, in very poor taste.”
“It’s nothing like that. Please, Mr. Chatsfield.”
For a moment, Gene Chatsfield looked torn. “Come in,” he said, “and sit down. I just need two minutes.” After the briefest of gestures to the sofa in the lounge area, Gene hovered in the doorway to the room beyond.
“I’m sick of it, Lucca.”
Faintly embarrassed and very uncomfortable to be present for such a clearly personal conversation between Gene and his son, Liyah looked around the room. Beside a large, comfortable chair was a side table that held a glass of what looked like whiskey and a newspaper. The headline screamed across the room. Lucca Chatsfield Does It Again!
What might have once been the amusing antics of a world-renowned playboy—a stranger to her—it now sickened her to know that these scandalous exploits were from her own flesh and blood. She had unfollowed @LuccaChatsfield, wanting no more distractions or information about her family.
“Just keep it off the internet, and for all our sakes, stay the hell away from Twitter,” Gene growled into the phone before cutting the call dead and turning his attention back to Liyah.
If anything, his frown turned more severe, clearly ready to tackle what he saw as another problem. “While I’m aware I must have a certain reputation among the chambermaids, my days of dallying in that direction are years in the past.”
Liyah couldn’t hide the revulsion even the thought of what he was implying caused. “That is not why I’m here.”
Inexplicably, he smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. My fiancée is a possessive woman.”
And he was a former lothario with a past he no doubt wanted to keep exactly where it was. Buried.
“You know, this was a bad idea. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again, but she was leaning toward the idea that maybe...really, it wouldn’t.
No matter what Hena had wanted.
“Nonsense. You’ve interrupted my afternoon for a reason. Come in.” He stepped back and indicated with an imperious wave of his hand that she should enter.
“Are you sure you’re not the emir around here?” she muttered under her breath as she did as he bid.
Apparently, he heard her, because he laughed, the sound startled. “You are no shrinking violet, I’ll give you that, Amari.”
“My name is Aaliyah, though I usually go by Liyah.” It sounded more American, even if the spelling was pure Middle Eastern.
“We are not on a