The Sheik and the Virgin Princess (2 page)

Zara took that as a sign that it was permissible for them to partake of the offering. She and Cleo stood and moved to the far side of the room.

Cleo, always hungry, eyed the snack. “Think they’re drugged?”

“I’m beginning to think we’re caught up in a badly made spy movie,” Zara admitted, trying to ignore the way she trembled. Adrenaline surged through her, making her want to run and hide. “But I doubt they went to all the trouble to drug the food.”

Cleo shrugged and reached for one of the glasses. She sipped, then sighed. “Lemonade. It’s perfect.”

Zara’s mouth watered and she found herself sipping the ice-cold liquid. While Cleo munched on a tiny sandwich, Zara studied the small office, along with their host.

The room was modern, with a computer against the far wall and a fax machine. The only window overlooked a courtyard filled with a garden of different flowers and fruit trees. Linoleum covered the floor, not the tiles they’d seen on their palace tour.

Her gaze slipped back to the man on the phone. Zara couldn’t tell much about his body due to the long flowing robe covering him, but she’d felt his strength as he’d pressed into her, holding her captive. His accent sounded American. He had blue eyes, and while his skin was tanned it wasn’t dark. What was Rafe Stryker doing in the Bahanian royal palace and why was he pulling guns on unsuspecting tourists?

As if sensing her attention, Rafe turned toward her. Zara told herself to look away. Even as a blush climbed her cheeks, she couldn’t seem to make herself move. It was as if he’d mesmerized her. Her body stilled, her heartbeat slowed, and once again she could feel the weight of him on top of her.

No emotion flickered in his eyes. His firm mouth didn’t give away his feelings, nor did his body language.

Finally he shifted and hung up the phone. Zara felt as if she’d been released from a spell. The shivering returned, along with the sensation of being exposed.

“So what’s a nice schoolteacher like you doing in a place like Bahania?” Rafe asked.

His voice—deep and strong—made her swallow. “I’m not a schoolteacher, I’m a college professor.”

He shrugged as if to say “what’s the difference?”

Cleo sighed. “Zara worked her butt off to get to full professor. You’d better not mess with her about that.”

Cleo made her announcement in between sandwiches. When Rafe turned his steady gaze to her, Cleo instantly took a step back.

“I mean it,” she said sounding brazen, all retreats to the contrary. “For all we know, her father is the king. You don’t want to get him mad at you, right?”

“King Hassan is your father?”

Rafe asked the question with just enough amusement to make Zara wince. She put down her drink and squared her shoulders. This had gone on long enough.

“Here’s what I know. My sister and I are American citizens on a public tour of the palace. For reasons no one has explained, we were forcibly taken away from our tour and led into a private area. There we were attacked. Now you’ve taken possession of our passports. I want them returned immediately, then I would like us to be escorted from the palace.”

“Zara!” Cleo frowned. “What about the king?”

“This isn’t the time,” she said, not looking at her sister, instead focusing on Rafe Stryker, who hadn’t appeared the least bit impressed by her speech.

He surprised her by holding out their passports. But other than that, he didn’t make any attempt to grant her wishes.

Zara grabbed the documents and tucked them into her purse. “May we leave now?” she asked.

“Not until I hear the whole story.”

“There isn’t a story.”

“There’s the letters,” Cleo said helpfully. “Zara has these letters from King Hassan to her mother.”

Rafe carefully watched the two sisters. Cleo, the younger, was short and blond, with the curvy kind of figure that made most men’s mouths water. Rafe dismissed her. He was far more interested in the tall, slender brunette who claimed to be the daughter of a king.

He could see how the guard had mistaken her for Princess Sabra. Zara was only a couple of inches taller. Her coloring was the same, as were her features. Both she and the princess had large brown eyes, and the shape of their faces was remarkably similar. However, the American schoolteacher wore glasses, while the princess did not. And even though he’d been in close contact with Princess Sabra, never once had his body reacted to her. However, his few moments of nearness to Zara Paxton had left him…intrigued.

Zara sighed. She pulled the chair a couple of feet away from the desk, then settled onto the seat. Still holding her lemonade, she reached into her large purse and drew out a stack of letters.

“My mother never told me who my father was. There were no pictures, no personal effects. She didn’t even share many stories about their time together. I assumed he was a wealthy married man. You see, she’d been a dancer and very beautiful. Men were always interested in her.”

Zara smiled slightly, as if remembering something that brought her pleasure. The smile faded as she fingered the letters.

“There were several pieces of jewelry. My mother sold most of them over the years to supplement our income. She died eight years ago, and I figured that any information about my father died with her.”

“Why did you come here now?” he asked, even as he wondered how much she intended to ask for. Had the plan been her idea or her sister’s? At what point had she realized she had more than a passing resemblance to Princess Sabra, and when had she decided to use that to her advantage?

“My mother kept these letters along with several other personal mementos with an attorney. I only discovered their existence a few months ago when he sent a bill for storage. I requested the things be sent to me instead. Once I read them, I realized…” Her voice trailed off.

“That you might be the king’s daughter. May I see the letters?”

Zara shook her head. “You know what I’d really like?”

About five million dollars, Rafe thought cynically.

“I’d like to go back to my hotel and forget this ever happened.”

“What?” Cleo sounded outraged.

Zara ignored her. “There’s been a mistake. I don’t want to be here. Can you get us out of the palace?”

Rafe considered the possibilities. Either she was having second thoughts about her plan, or she wanted time to come up with a better story. Or she was preparing to go to the media. Better that he not let her wander around on her own just yet.

“How about if I take you back to your hotel myself? As a way of apologizing.”

“Just show us the nearest exit and we’ll be fine.”

“I’d prefer to escort you. I insist.”

Zara didn’t look too happy, but she nodded her agreement. Rafe excused himself while he went to change his clothes, promising to return in ten minutes.

“What are you doing?” Cleo asked the second they were alone. “Why do you want to go back to the hotel? Zara, this is your chance to meet the king.”

Zara set her drink on the desk, rose and paced to the window. “Don’t you get it? Couldn’t you tell by the way he was looking at us? Rafe thinks we’re here for money.”

Cleo grinned. “Isn’t that one of the perks of being a princess?”

“I’m serious. He doesn’t believe us. He thinks we’re going to blackmail the king or something. It’s horrible.” She folded her arms over her chest.

All the times she’d imagined coming to Bahania, she tried to think of everything that could go wrong. She’d pictured the king telling her she wasn’t his daughter. She’d thought about having him admit to being her father and not wanting anything to do with her. She’d even figured he might think she was crazy. But she’d never thought anyone would think she was in it for the money.

“Why couldn’t Mom have fallen in love with a banker or an executive? Why did it have to be the King of Bahania?”

Cleo didn’t bother to respond. Zara knew her sister thought she was crazy for not simply marching up to the king and announcing she was his long-lost daughter. As if Zara had any chance of getting close to a member of the royal family. Besides, Cleo didn’t understand her ambivalence about the whole situation. Things had looked a lot clearer from five thousand miles away.

The door opened and Rafe entered. “Are you two ready?” he asked.

Cleo glared at Zara, as if daring her to say they could go. Which was unnecessary, because Zara wasn’t in a position to speak. In his traditional head-dress and robes Rafe had been tall and intimidating. Dressed in a well-cut business suit, he was simply gorgeous.

His gold-blond hair had been cut military short, a style that looked both severe and sexy. He had a strong jaw, a perfect mouth, and while his eyes were still cold enough to freeze air, they were also doing odd things to Zara’s insides.

She’d never felt herself melting in the mere presence of a man. But even as she stood there, she could feel her bones dissolving. It was impossible to move, let alone have a coherent thought.

She’d come halfway around the world to find the man who might be her father. In the space of an hour, she’d had second, third and fourth thoughts, been thrown to the ground, held at gunpoint, accused of being a gold digger and struck by lightning. All this and it wasn’t even
noon
.

“Cool! A limo!”

Cleo beamed with excitement as they exited the palace through a side door and saw the waiting transportation. Zara tried to work up an equal amount of energy at the thought of riding in such an expensive car for the first time in her life. Unfortunately, all her extra attention was focused on continuing to breathe. Being too close to dangerous, not to mention mysterious, Rafe Stryker left her gasping.

What was wrong with her, Zara wondered. Why was she reacting this way to the man? Yes, he’d attacked her, throwing her to the ground, and that would have rattled anyone. But she should be over it by now. Unless her brain had somehow been scrambled during the altercation. Maybe that was it—she had a brain bruise.

Cleo slipped into the limo first. Unfortunately, she took the seat behind the driver, which left Zara to slide across the seat facing front. Rafe settled next to her. She scooted all the way to the corner so there would be plenty of room between them. She needed the distance to keep her thoughts from scattering.

“I should have stayed home,” she said aloud, before she could stop herself.

Rafe glanced at her. “It’s too late now.”

She didn’t want to think about that. The car pulled away from the palace. Cleo leaned forward and stared out the darkened window.

“It really is pink,” she said, her voice laced with awe. “I read that people call it the pink palace when we were doing our research, but I thought they were kidding.”

“It’s an effect of the marble,” Rafe told Cleo. “Something about the way the light hits it.”

“I like it,” Cleo announced. She leaned back in her seat, one hand stroking the supple leather. “I just wish we’d seen some of the royal cats while we’d been on the tour. We read about those, too. Does the king really keep dozens of cats in the palace?”

Rafe nodded. “They are considered a national treasure.”

“Lucky cats,” Cleo said, and grinned at Zara.

Zara tried to respond in kind, but her lips weren’t cooperating. She’d barely managed to slow her heart rate to something other than the speed of light. Now she concentrated on taking deep, cleansing breaths.

“How did you do your research?” Rafe asked.

Cleo shrugged, her pretty face completely open. “Mostly on the Internet. Zara’s at the University, so she looked in some books there, but I checked online. I have Internet access at my work. It was pretty easy. There’s a ton of information on the history of the country and the royal family. We downloaded pictures and everything.”

Zara winced. Cleo was only making things worse, but Zara couldn’t tell her that. Not in front of Rafe. He’d already decided they were gold diggers. Now he would think they were using technology to gather information to aid their scheme. Not that she could blame him. If she looked at the situation from his point of view there really wasn’t another explanation.

It was time to go home, Zara thought. She’d been crazy to think this would ever work. Even if King Hassan was her father, she wasn’t likely to have any contact with him—there would be too many watch-dogs in place. She’d survived twenty-eight years without a father; she certainly didn’t need one now.

The limo pulled up in front of their hotel. Zara remembered neither she nor Cleo had told Rafe where they were staying. The realization that he could get that information so easily made her shiver and reinforced her decision to leave. She wanted to go home where she felt safe. In Bahania she would only ever be out of place.

Rafe climbed out first, then held the door open for them. Zara forced herself to be gracious as she thanked him for the ride.

“You’ve been very kind,” she said. “We won’t be troubling you again.”

But he didn’t climb back into the car. Instead he took her arm and led her into the modest hotel. “I think we have more to discuss,” he said, not giving her an opportunity to protest. Cleo trailed along behind.