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yellow gown….
    “Enchanté, mademoiselle,” the foreigner said with lazy delight as he was introduced to her. He smiled and his black mustache twitched. He was incredibly handsome, with eyes that were large and almost a liquid black. He was charming without beingcondescending or offensive. “You are a dancer, I believe? A ballerina?”
    “Yes,” Meg murmured demurely. She smiled at him. “And you are the representative of your country?”
    He quirked an eyebrow and glanced at Steve. “Indeed, I am.”
    “Do tell me about your part of the world,” she said with genuine interest, totally ignoring Steve and her brother.
    He did, to the exclusion of business, until Steve sat glowering at her over dessert and coffee. She shifted a little uncomfortably under that cold look, and Ahmed suddenly noticed his business colleague.
    He chuckled softly. “Steven, my friend, I digress. Forgive me. But mademoiselle is such charming company that she chases all thought of business from my poor mind.”
    “No harm done,” Steve replied quietly.
    “I’m sorry,” Meg said genuinely. “I didn’t mean to distract you, but I do find your culture fascinating. You’re very well educated,” Meg said.
    He smiled. “Oxford, class of ’82.”
    She sighed. “Perhaps I should have gone to college instead of trying to study ballet.”
    “What a sad loss to the world of the arts if that had been so, mademoiselle . Historians are many. Good dancers, alas, are like diamonds.”
    Her cheeks flushed with flattery and excitement.
    Steven’s fingers closed around his fork and he stared at it. “About these new jets we’re selling you, Ahmed,” he persisted.
    “Yes, we must discuss them. I have been led astray by a lovely face and a kind heart.” He smiled at Meg. “But my duty will not allow me to divert my interests too radically from my purpose in coming here. You will forgive us if we turn our minds to the matter at hand, mademoiselle? ”
    “Of course,” she replied softly.
    “Kind of you,” Steven murmured, his dagger glance saying much more than the polite words.
    “For you, Steven, anything,” she replied in kind.
     
    The evening was both long and short. All too soon, David found himself accompanying the tall Arab back to his suite at the hotel while Steven appropriated Meg and eased her into the passenger seat of his Jaguar.
    “Why is it always a Jaguar?” she asked curiously when he was inside and the engine was running.
    “I like Jaguars.”
    “You would.”
    He pulled the sleek car out into traffic. “Leave Ahmed alone,” he said without preamble.
    “Ah. I’m being warned off.” She nodded. “It’s perfectly obvious that you consider me a woman of international intrigue, out to filch top-secret information and sell it to enemy agents.” She frowned. “Who is the enemy these days, anyway?”
    “Mata Hari, you aren’t.”
    “Don’t insult me. I have potential.” She struck a pose, with her hand suspended behind her nape and her perfect facialprofile toward him. “With a little careful tutoring, I could be devastating.”
    “With a little careful tutoring, you could be concealed in an oil drum and floated down the river to Oklahoma.”
    “You have no sense of humor.”
    He shrugged. “Not much to laugh about these days. Not in my life.”
    She leaned her cheek against the soft seat and watched him as he controlled the powerful car. It was odd that she always felt safe with him. Safe, and excited beyond words. Just looking at him made her tremble.
    “What are you thinking?” he asked.
    “That I’m sorry you never made love to me,” she said without thinking.
    The car swerved and his face tautened. He never looked at her. “Don’t do that.”
    She drew in a slow breath, tracing patterns in the upholstery. “Aren’t you, really?”
    “You might have been addictive. I don’t like addiction.”
    “That’s why you smoke,” she agreed, staring pointedly at the glowing cigarette in his lean,