Cinderella and the Sheikh (Hot Contemporary Romance) Page 8

  "Libby. Love." His tone was soft as a cool breeze across the sand. "Did a man betray you? Perhaps the man who called you 'princess'?"

  She shook her head, clamping her jaw shut.

  "Were you someone else's princess once?"

  The silence between them lasted for a long time, but Rasyn seemed content to wait forever. Finally, Libby found her voice. "My father. He died when I was little. I barely remember him, but my mom told me all about their marriage. They fit together so well they could finish each other's thoughts."

  "And you want this for yourself."

  A deep breath of night air stilled her wild feelings. "We could never be that way. We're too different."

  Rasyn put his arm around her shoulders. Her treacherous body relaxed, seduced by the sensation of being protected and cherished. She let him draw her down to rest her head on his chest.

  Together, they looked up at stars brighter than Libby had seen in her life. She'd never realized how much the Manhattan lights obscured the night sky. She'd always imagined the Milky Way as a tiny body that you could see through a telescope. In the desert, it dominated the night, a vast white path of millions of stars, slashing through the darkness.

  "What makes you think so?" Rasyn's voice was distant.

  Libby swallowed. "It's not enough that you love me. Or even if I loved you back. They were totally honest with each other. They depended on each other's strengths. We just don't match each other. Everything about us is different. I'm just a waitress. You're—"

  Rasyn waved a hand dismissively. A slight irritation showed in the way the corners of his mouth turned down. "I do not need you to list our differences again. If we cannot be as your parents were, it will be another way for us. In the end, it is not important."

  It is important, she thought. And it's important that you don't listen to me. As if my concerns don't even matter.

  She gave up trying to talk sense into him and just lay in his arms, fighting the romance of being under the open sky with a desert prince right out of a fairy tale.

  As long as she kept saying no to marrying him, everything would turn out fine.

  ***

  As darkness fell the next day, Rasyn guided the Range Rover into Waha with one hand on the steering wheel and the other propped on the driver's door, feeling that the world was going his way. Libby, exhausted by their adventure, made sweet sleepy murmurs as she dozed against the passenger door.

  Thanks to Parliament's law and her signature on the marriage license, he'd cleared the path for Imaran without making his cousin feel like second best. He trusted that his relationship with Uncle Anwar would eventually recover. So long as he recovered from his illness.

  As for his unsuspecting bride, he could only hope that she'd get over the ridiculous notion they were not well matched. If she only knew that the last thing he wanted was a woman who could help him rule Abbas, she'd understand.

  Rasyn wheeled the truck into the narrow alleys that would lead to the palace's private back gate, but he wasn't in a rush to return to the palace and the world it represented. He pulled the vehicle to a stop at the curb and flicked on the overhead light.

  Libby's dark lashes rested on smooth cheeks rosy from the sun. Her chest rose and fell in a slumbering rhythm, her full pink lips slightly parted in exhaustion. Even dusty, her auburn hair fell in attractive waves around her face.

  What was this ache that made him want to rub his chest? Perhaps pretending to be in love with her was affecting him. True, she was no princess, but he'd stopped thinking of her as a servant a long time ago.

  Now, she was just... his. His Libby. She represented a life of peace with his family, and perhaps, he realized with a start, a family of his own. A dark-skinned boy with her green eyes. A black-eyed girl with creamy skin. Children who could take advantage of the best of two worlds without being weighed down in the responsibilities of either.

  He couldn't stop himself from lifting a hand to run it down the soft curve of her jaw. She woke with a little sigh, cat-stretching into the leather seat.

  "I am sorry. I did not mean to wake you."

  She blinked oasis-green eyes at him. "Are we there yet?"

  He shook his head. Instead, he ignored the question in her striking eyes and twisted the key, making the engine turn over.

  The Range Rover's headlights shot illuminating beams on the cracked plaster of the wall ahead of them. Rasyn's breath stopped at the sight of the posters there.

  "Is that—"

  But Rasyn didn’t hear the rest of her question. He'd left the vehicle, letting the door slam. The closer he stepped to the wall, the more his heart knocked against his ribcage.

  The poster featured a woman frozen in an action shot, her auburn hair pulled into a serviceable ponytail. She wore a plain khaki skirt and a gleaming white cotton shirt. But most noticeable was the wide grin on her face as she kicked a half-flat soccer ball toward a group of dusty, excited boys. A grid of these pictures had been pasted over the entire wall. His mind spun, trying to interpret the meaning of it, but losing the battle.

  "Rasyn." He couldn’t lift his gaze away from the poster, not even when he heard a slight edge of panic in Libby's voice. "Oh my God, Rasyn, that's me at the orphanage. I don’t believe it. Why am I on a poster?"

  The twist of Libby's hand fisting into the fabric of his shirt broke the spell, leaving him fighting for composure.

  "You asked what it felt like to have your face on a wall. Now you know."

  Libby folded her arms across her chest, in an unconscious protective gesture. "It's weird. What does it mean?"

  He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn't feel. "You are part of the royal family now."

  "I'm not marrying you."

  He clenched his jaw in irritation at her continued refusal. He had played the part of the besotted lover perfectly. How could she not be completely in love with him after all the attentions he paid to her? She almost deserved what he'd done yesterday.

  Almost.

  Wrestling his frustration under control, he turned to meet her stunned, green-eyed gaze. "This means that I'm not the only one who loves you. You have won the hearts of the people of Abbas."

  What ordinary people thought wasn't important, he told himself. Parliament considered her a liability.

  He couldn't even guess what Prince Hani would do to her tomorrow.

  Chapter Ten

  "You are chewing your lipstick off again." Even Rasyn's warm breath on her ear couldn't distract her from the butterflies in her stomach as they sat in the formal reception chamber. Today, the insects seemed to have teeth and claws as they batted around inside her.

  She nodded and pressed her lips together. As soon as they were still, her fingers began to twiddle. When she clasped her hands tightly, her foot began to bounce.

  Rasyn looked as handsome as ever in a black suit and silver-gray tie, and as relaxed. Too bad none of his ease was wearing off on her. She'd barely slept, eaten nothing, and couldn't stop her nervous jiggling, which was probably making wrinkles in her conservatively cut blue silk dress.

  All the air in her chest escaped in a sigh. She was about to ask Rasyn the time when the massive wooden door swung open.

  Prince Hani? Libby shot to her feet. Rasyn followed at a more casual pace.

  But Imaran strode in, wearing a military dress uniform, two lines of medals on his chest. Libby sighed again, and sat.

  "Cousin." Rasyn crossed the room to greet Imaran with the customary cheek-kisses. "Who is this?"

  She hadn't even noticed the close-shaven, black-uniformed man who followed at Imaran's shoulder.

  "Surely you have met Sarmad Adish. Chief of Abbas Surété.

  Rasyn greeted the man with an easy laugh. "I doubt any of us are in danger from Prince Hani."

  Imaran's smile didn't reach his eyes. "The chief is here in case His Highness wants to press charges against Miss Fay."

  The words slashed through her like an ice storm. She couldn't seem to blink as she wa
tched Rasyn's eyes narrow.

  "You can not be serious." His level tone stilled the air.

  "Deadly," Imaran countered.

  "I will not allow it."

  "Then consider the alternative. If His Highness wants to arrest her, we can not stop it without causing a diplomatic incident. We would have to allow him to take her to Damali. This way we can place her under house arrest and commute the sentence to exile. Unless you want to see her in a Damali public prison."

  She hugged her arms to her chest. Some part of her was grateful for Imaran's cool analysis of the situation. The rest of her shivered.

  "He's right," she said, feeling like her lips were turning blue.

  Rasyn's midnight eyes flashed as he turned to her. "Never."

  She knew she should go to him, but if she took a step, her legs would fold under her. She held out a hand. Reading the signal, Rasyn came and took it. She clung to his grasp as if trying to absorb his strength.

  "Don't let them take me to Damali." She tried to raise her voice above a whisper—and failed.

  "I will not permit anyone to hurt you."

  His confidence made her stand a little straighter. For once, she thanked heaven for the way he seemed to be able to charm anyone into anything. Maybe he'd be able to charm her out of this mess.

  Of course, if he'd left her in New York... She shrugged away that dangerous thought. No point in blaming Rasyn. The past couldn’t be changed now.

  She loosened her grip on his hand, wishing she could hang on, but remembering that it wasn't appropriate for an unmarried couple to touch in public.

  Rasyn didn’t let go. "You are mine now. Where you go, I go."

  "'Yours now?'" What did he mean by—

  The swinging of the intricately carved wooden door interrupted her thoughts. Libby's empty stomach churned in acidic waves.

  His Highness, Prince Hani of Damali, walked in, his hands clasped behind his stiff back, the pleat of his dark trousers knife-straight. At the elderly monarch's shoulder hovered a hawk-nosed servant. The significant bulge under his arm made Libby go cold.

  "Your Highness." Imaran bowed.

  The prince ignored him and fixed his gaze on Libby. The moment of truth. At her side, Rasyn stood tall. All the casual easiness he'd shown since coming to Abbas had vanished. Instead, his chin lifted in a proud tilt.

  She squared her shoulders and met Prince Hani's gaze head-on. She would accept whatever punishment was necessary, but she was going to do it with the dignity that Rasyn's faith in her deserved.

  Before the prince could speak, Rasyn did. "Your Highness, on my honor, I apologize for the unintentional injury that has been caused. I will pay any price you demand, but I cannot permit any harm to come to my wife."

  If Rasyn's almost-arrogant tone had surprised her, his last words nearly knocked her to the floor.

  "Your wife?" Prince Hani raised a salt-and-pepper eyebrow.

  She wrenched her hand out of Rasyn's grip. Protecting her was one thing, but sabotaging his shot at the throne was another. She stepped toward the prince, putting distance between herself and Rasyn. "It's not true, Your Highness."

  "You do not know our customs," Rasyn said to her. "So I will forgive you for calling your husband a liar in public."

  He reached into his breast pocket with one elegant hand. A hand, she noticed, with a gold ring on the third finger. Tingles of dread tripped down her spine as she stared at the light glinting off the ring while he drew out a folded paper and handed it to the prince.

  The paper she'd signed in the desert. For her visa, Rasyn had said. No, wait. He hadn't said that. Not exactly...

  "Imaran will be the next leader of Abbas," Rasyn continued, his tone steady. "You need never see us again."

  No. No. Her closed throat wouldn’t let her get the words out.

  Prince Hani scowled down at the document. "In Damali, this would not be recognized. In civilized countries, a witness must confirm the signature."

  Rasyn didn't flinch, or even show irritation at the implied insult. "Abbas clings to the old ways in some things. The marriage is legal here. Nothing else matters."

  Libby went numb. Nothing else matters. Other countries didn't matter. Prince Hani's opinion didn't matter. Neither did an insignificant little thing like her consent.

  Even through the haze that dulled her senses, Libby noticed the veins in Imaran's neck popping out. "Cousin, are you insane? Why would you marry her? She is nothing. And she will cost you everything."

  To her surprise, it was Prince Hani who spoke. "Can't you guess? He loves her. I would have done no less for my Sanurah."

  "Then you understand," Rasyn said.

  From the tightness of his lips, Imaran didn't. He glared at her with an evil-eyed stare.

  "I would speak to your wife," Prince Hani said.

  Rasyn hesitated for a moment, then moved aside. She found herself looking up into Prince Hani's face. Lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes, lending him an ageless wisdom. Close up, she also saw deep purple circles, a sign that sleep hadn't been easy for him lately. Concern for his wife seemed to weigh him down.

  All was her fault. "I'm sorry," she said.

  Bracing herself, she closed her eyes and raised her wrists in front of her, offering them for the click of chilly metal handcuffs.

  But it didn't come. Instead, she felt herself being pulled into Prince Hani's embrace. The air whooshed out of her lungs, leaving her breathless and confused.

  It was a second before she could breathe again. "Your Highness?"

  The prince kept his hands on her shoulders. His jaw tightened, as if he were trying his best to swallow back some undignified emotion. "Hafida, you must call me 'idd' now—'grandfather'."

  He heard a hiss, like air being sucked in through clenched teeth. Imaran. His face was petrified in a blank mask.

  But it was Rasyn's expression that surprised her; there was something dark and disapproving in his black gaze. What had she done wrong?

  "I don't understand," she said.

  Prince Hani took her hand in both of his. His strong and gentle grip reassured her. "Then I will explain. The best doctors in Damali tell me that if my Sanurah had taken a single sip of that soup, she would be dead now. I am far from angry. For the service you've given me, I consider you a granddaughter. Anything I own is yours. And all the world will know it."

  Libby struggled to process this new information.

  His Highness twitched one finger, and the burly guard reached into his jacket—straight for the threatening bulge there. Instead of a weapon, he removed a velvet box.

  Prince Hani snapped it open. Fiery jewels winked with dancing light. Scarlet rubies mingled with ice-white diamonds on a heavy-looking necklace and matching drop earrings. They would make any woman look truly regal.

  Her mind reeled as he pressed the jewels into her stiff fingers.

  "These are for me?"

  "This is only the beginning of my gifts to you, hafida."

  "I can't take these." She thrust the box back at him, noticing that her hands shook with the effort. "All I did was stand up too quickly. It was an accident."

  Prince Hani gripped her shoulders, making her straighten. "It was the hand of heaven." His dark eyes gleamed with emotion. "Just as it was the hand of heaven that led you to your husband."

  She looked over her shoulder at the man who was now her husband—at least within the borders of Abbas. For an instant, she imagined she caught an angry scowl on his handsome face—but then it was gone, replaced by the charming smile she knew so well.

  Chapter Eleven

  Blood thrummed in Rasyn's ears. Pacing his apartment showed weakness, but agitation kept him active. He told himself that Prince Hani's opinion didn't change Parliament's law. His marriage still freed him from the threat of the succession. His gift to Imaran.

  The door to his apartment creaked. He didn’t have to face the door to sense who was there. Imaran was off entertaining the Prince of Damali, so it could o
nly be one person.

  As if he would have mistaken her rose-tinted scent anyway.

  A deep breath stilled him. He was married to her now. She'd just escaped an evil fate. He was supposed to be happy about this, he reminded himself.

  "Love." The pet name reminded him of happier times. Yesterday, in fact, when everyone disliked his fiancée and regretted their engagement.

  Libby didn't meet his gaze, but faced the marble fireplace instead. Her arms were tucked tightly against her chest, lifting up her generous breasts. "Should I even bother saying anything? Would my opinion make a difference?"

  He frowned her direction. What was she talking about? She had Prince Hani in the palm of her hand. Why was she complaining?

  "I told you everything would work out. That they would see you the way I do," he said. That was the hell of it. He'd never see her as just a servant again.

  Hmmm. Maybe he could use that. Spread the word that she only wanted his money. But he drew back from the dark thought. She didn't deserve such a reputation.

  "You don’t have anything to say? Not a word?"

  He stared at her stiff back. "The prince has forgiven you. What more could you want?"

  "Oh, I don't know." An uncharacteristic tone of sarcasm colored her voice. "Maybe a man who doesn't treat me like an animal to be bought and sold?"

  What was she talking about?

  "I say 'man,'" she continued, in the same tone, "because you, Rasyn al Jabar, are not my husband. This 'marriage' is a joke and isn't legal in the United States or any other country where the government has half a brain. I thought I was visiting North Africa, not the Dark Ages."

  Ah. So that was it. The marriage. In truth, he agreed with her. However, the future of Abbas was more important than her freedom of choice. "Love—"

  She whirled on him, cutting him off. "What can you possibly say to make this okay? Even you can't come up with an excuse for taking away my basic human rights."

  He'd never seen her so angry. In her rage, she looked magnificent. The acid fire of her sea-green eyes seared the air. The hot flush of her cheeks—Rasyn felt his blood rush south.