LITMIR.BIZ

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

       Chapter One

       S he couldn’t fail the queen. She just couldn’t.

      As the high-speed elevator dropped ten floors in a matter of seconds, Lady Amira Sierra Corbin felt a bit dizzy. She’d considered this mission from the queen an honor as she’d flown to Chicago from Penwyck. She’d been excited, eager and never entertained a doubt for one moment that she wouldn’t be able to meet Marcus Cordello. But for the past three days she’d been thwarted by his secretary.

      Monday, she’d been told he was unavailable for two weeks. No one could be that busy.

      On Tuesday, deciding to be assertive, Amira had confronted his “keeper of the gate” and maintained she would sit in the waiting room until Mr. Cordello had a spare moment.

      Apparently, he’d never had a spare moment.

      Today Amira had appeared at his secretary’s desk early in the morning and hinted that the matter she wanted to discuss with Mr. Cordello was extremely confidential and could change the course of several people’s futures. Still the secretary wouldn’t budge. But her expression had softened a little as she’d explained that Mr. Cordello had meetings out of the office until Friday, and then he would be leaving the city for a week.

      Now Amira glanced around at her fellow passengers on the elevator. She fitted right in, in her violet tailored but feminine suit that was the same color as her eyes. Her shoulder-length, wavy, blond hair was pulled back and arranged at the nape of her neck in a sedate chignon, and her patent leather, high-heeled pumps and handbag were suitable for an early October day in Chicago.

      Even thinking about the “windy” city in which she’d landed couldn’t distract her from her mission. Where was Marcus Cordello at this moment? Still closeted behind the steel doors to the rear of the secretary’s desk? In meetings that would last through the evening and night? Somewhere else in the city where he was making deals and adding to his fortune? All she knew about him was that at twenty-three, he was a multi-millionaire. He owned this hotel and, as she’d so frustratingly discovered in the past few days, he was surrounded by a staff who catered to and protected him.

      She had to see him. He might be a prince and the next heir to the throne of Penwyck!

      The elevator doors swished open and Amira stepped into the sumptuous hotel lobby with its marble floor, Persian carpets, asymmetrical flower arrangements and groupings of love seats and chairs arranged for tête-á-têtes. It was dinnertime and the reception desk was busy with businessmen checking in for the night.

      Her stomach grumbled and she felt a bit woozy as the aroma of steak and garlic drifted from the restaurant in the corner of the lobby. How long had it been since she’d eaten? Not that she couldn’t order room service anytime she wanted, but she’d been so nervous about this meeting and frustrated by the waiting that she’d done no more than nibble the past few days. This morning she’d had a pack of crackers and a cup of tea before setting out for Marcus Cordello’s office suite on the twentieth floor. Afraid she’d miss her chance to see the man if she went for lunch, she’d sat in the reception area all day, reading the paperback in her purse.

      As she approached Interludes, the hotel’s finest restaurant, she realized she was starved. Pulling open the heavy glass door seemed to tax her, but it was the crowd of people there that made her realize how extremely tired she was. There were at least ten people milling about, and the bar area was crowded.

      As the maître d’ looked at her expectantly, her ears began to ring.

      “I’d like a table for one.” She hoped he could slide her into an empty spot someplace.

      “And your name, please?” he asked, picking up his clipboard.

      “Amira Corbin. Can you tell me how long a wait I’ll have?”

      “At least a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes.”

      Amira didn’t think she’d ever felt so hungry or tired in her entire life. Tears pricked in her eyes as she felt a bit woozy again.

      She was aware of footsteps and a tall man coming up behind her, but all she could think about was the wait, or a ride up in that elevator to her room and another wait. Her three days of waiting. Her failure as an emissary of the queen.

      The room began to spin as the maître d’ gave his attention to the

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