Acquiring Trouble

the quiet, predictable life she’d built for herself.
    That thought held less appeal than usual.
     
    ……………

 

    Excerpt from The Prince of Pleasure
    Copyright 2012 by Sandra Marton
     
    CHAPTER ONE
     
    His name was Khan ibn Zain al Hassad .
    That was what he called himself though in truth, his name was much longer and more elaborate.
    In private, he winced at the sound of it. What man of the 21st century wanted to be known as His Royal Highness, Sheikh Khan ibn Zain al Hassad , Crown Prince of Altara , Defender of its Ancient and Honorable Throne, Protector of His People, Leopard of the Finarian Hills?
    All those antiquated titles…
    Yes, he was proud of them. The blood of kings and warriors ran within his veins. It was just that the titles often preceded him. People bowed and scraped before they knew if he was worth the bowing or scraping.
    Not that any man was worth that.
    His father had always frowned and said his attitude came of having had an American mother. Worse, he'd attended an American college, an American university. Two American universities, to be accurate.
    In a sense, the old man had been right. Being half North American, Khan understood the need to move forward. Being half Altaran , he understood the importance of tradition.
    Both parts of him knew that titles could be intimidating.
    They could also make people fawn over him.
    People who wanted to sell him things he didn't need or desire, who wanted to borrow money and, worst of all, people who wanted to bask in what they saw as his reflected glory.
    Added to  that were the all women who thought it was original to gaze at him from under lowered lashes and whisper, And ar e you  a leopard in bed, my lord?
    At eighteen, the question had been a challenge he'd been more than eager to prove, but he was thirty now, his father was dead and his life was one of responsibility and discipline. He was a king, even if he still preferred to call himself a prince.
    Khan's green eyes narrowed.
    And there were fools out there who called him only a fantastically rich playboy.
    It infuriated him.
    He was the leader of his people. 
    Maybe rock stars enjoyed being sought after for their celebrity. All right, maybe he'd enjoyed it, too, years back, but he was older and wiser. Still, the gossip blogs and Page Six and People and half a dozen other gushing magazines loved to send photographers after him, to write lies about him, and to call him…
    The damned word set his teeth on edge.
    They called him 'gorgeous.' Such a lurid word, one you might use to describe a sunset or a mountain vista but to ascribe it to a man…
    His looks were meaningless.
    In truth, they had nothing to do with him.
    Take a father of a certain height, a certain body type, a man descended from conquerors. Combine his DNA with that of a stunning supermodel.
    Unless something went very wrong, you'd end up with a man who looked like him.
    Six foot two. Leanly muscled body. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs. Thickly-lashed eyes the color of emeralds, square jaw, high cheekbones…
    Add in all those anachronistic titles…
    Khan's jaw tightened.
    The only thing about him that was his, entirely his, was his fortune.
    Forbes called him one of the ten richest men in the world. He suspected it was true but the only reason it mattered was because, unlike his looks and his titles, he had earned that fortune on his own.
    Well, he thought, smiling a little as he stood on the terrace of the Texas mansion called El Sueño , well, not exactly.
    The truth was, his old friend Travis Wilde had earned it for him.
    The only credit he could take was for having been smart enough to have handed Travis the relatively modest inheritance his mother had left him, a decade ago.
    "Do something with it," he'd said.
    Travis had glanced at the check, then at him.
    "Something safe?" he'd said, with a grin. "Or something risky?"
    Khan had laughed.
    "Have I ever done anything that was safe?"
    Back then , he had not .
    He'd lived for risk. For the adrenaline high that came of sky diving, of kayaking rapids nobody sane would go near, of jumping out of  hovering helicopter into virgin snow and schussing down from what was surely the edge of the world..
    But that had changed.
    His father had died. Nobody had expected such a thing, not for years.
    Running the kingdom of Altara had fallen to Khan.
    His Council of Ministers had told him not to worry. They would take care of things.
    Khan's mouth thinned.
    And they