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MILLS & BOON
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
A fter a long day of working in the delivery room, Emma Kennedy was ready to spend her evening with her feet propped up, the TV on and a bowl of ice cream in her hand. Okay, yes, she would probably eat something decent for dinner first but the ice cream was a must. It had been that kind of day.
Nothing had happened all morning, then right at noon, four women had decided to deliver. One had been a terrified teenager, and Emma had stayed with her as much as possible. At twenty-four, Emma had been closest in age of all the nurses, although a lifetime of experiences away from the street-wise, body pierced and tattooed patient.
Emma opened her mailbox, pulled out the cable bill and a flyer for a sale at Dillard’s, then walked toward her apartment.
She was tired, but content. It had been a good day. A happy day. One of the things she loved about her job was the joy new mothers experienced when their babies were born. Being part of the process, even on the periphery, was all the thanks she needed. When she thought about all the—
Emma suddenly stopped in the hallway. Two men in dark suits stood by her front door. They looked respectable enough—clean, short haircuts, polished shoes—but they were definitely lurking.
She’d taken several self-defense courses over the years, but she wasn’t sure how helpful the information she’d learned would be against two large men.
Glancing first left, then right, she calculated the distance to her nearest neighbor. How long would it take her to run to her car, and what kind of reaction she would get if she screamed?
One of the men looked up and saw her. “Ms. Kennedy? I’m Alex Dunnard from the State Department. This is my associate, Jack Sanders. May we have a moment of your time?”
As the man spoke, he pulled out an ID card complete with picture. His companion did the same. Emma abandoned the idea of bolting and approached her front door.
The pictures matched the men and the cards looked official enough, but it wasn’t as if she’d seen a State Department ID before and would know the difference.
Alex Dunnard slipped the ID back into his jacket pocket and smiled. “We have some official business to discuss with you. May we come inside, or would you be more comfortable if we met at the coffee shop on the corner?”
Emma noticed that neither option allowed her to get out of talking with them. Which was crazy. What would the State Department want with her?
She gave them the once-over and decided to let them in. Her Dallas suburb was safe, quiet and ordinary. No doubt these men had the wrong person. Once they straightened that out, they would be on their way.
“Come on in,” she said, inserting her key in the lock.
They followed her into the smallish living room. It was already dusk, so she turned on both floor lamps and the light in the hall, then motioned to her sofa.
“Have a seat,” she said as she plopped down in the club chair opposite.
As she set her purse on the floor, she noticed several stains on the front of her brightly patterned scrub shirt. The pale green pants were also dotted and streaked. Occupational hazard, she reminded herself.
Alex perched on the edge of her sofa, while the other gentleman stood by the sliding glass door.
“Ms. Kennedy, we’re here at the behest of the king of Bahania.”
Alex kept on talking, but Emma was too caught up in the word behest. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard someone say it in normal speech. It was more of a book word. Then the rest of the sentence sunk in.
“Wait a minute,” she said, holding up her hand. “Did you say the king of Bahania?”
“Yes, ma’am. He contacted the State Department and asked that we locate you and then offer you an official invitation to visit his country.”
Emma laughed. Oh, sure. Because that sort of thing happened all the time. “Are you guys selling something? Because if you are, you’re wasting your time.”
“No, ma’am. We’re from the State Department, and we’re here—”
She cut him off with a wave. “I know. At the behest. I got that part. You have the wrong person. I’m sure there’s another Emma Kennedy floating around who has lots of personal contact with His Royal Highness, but it’s not me.”
She looked at her modest apartment. If only, she thought humorously. Maybe a small money grant or two could have taken care of her student loans. And she desperately needed new tires for her ten-year-old import. Oh, well. In her next life she would be rich. In this one she was just a single woman struggling to pay the bills.
Alex pulled a piece of paper out of his outer jacket pocket. “Emma Kennedy,” he read, then went on to list her birth date, place of birth, her parents’ names and the number on her passport. A passport she’d had since she was eighteen, young, innocent and foolish and had thought…Well, she’d thought a lot of things.
“Just a second,” she said, and rose to walk into her bedroom.
Her passport was tucked in the back of her sock drawer. She pulled it out and returned to the living room where she had Alex read the number again. It matched.
“This is creepy,” she said. “Look, I don’t know the king of Bahania. I’m not sure I could find Bahania on the map. There really has to be some kind of mistake. What would he want with me?”
“You are to be his guest for the next two weeks.” Alex stood and smiled. “There’s a private jet standing by to take you to his country. Ms. Kennedy, Bahania is a valuable ally in the Middle East. Like their neighbor, El Bahar, they are considered the Switzerland of that region. These progressive countries offer a haven of peace and economic stability in a troubled part of the world. They also provide a significant percentage of our country’s oil.”
Emma might have only taken one political science class at college, but she wasn’t stupid. She got the message. When the king of Bahania invited a young Texas nurse to vacation in his country for a couple of weeks, the United States government expected her to go.
Was she being kidnapped?
The idea was both insane and terrifying.
“You can’t make me go,” she said, more to hear the words than because she believed them. She had a feeling that Alex and his friend could make her do just about anything.
“You’re correct. We would not force you to accept the king’s invitation. However, your country would be most grateful if you would consider granting him this request.” He smiled. “You’ll be perfectly safe, Ms. Kennedy. The king is an honorable man. You’re not being sold into a harem.”
“The thought never crossed my mind,” she told him hotly, even though it had. Sort of.
A harem? Her? Not on this planet. Men didn’t find her especially appealing, and she…Well, she avoided matters of the heart. She’d fallen in love once and it had been a complete disaster.
“This is a great honor,” Alex said. “As a personal guest of the king, you’ll be staying at the famed pink palace. It is quite extraordinary.”
Emma walked back to her chair and sank down. “Can we stop for a second and reflect on the reality missing from this situation? I’m a nurse. I deliver babies for a living. Unless the king has a pregnant wife or something, why on earth would he be interested in me? I’m assuming if you know my passport number, you also know I’ve only been out of the country once and that was six years ago. I live a quiet life. I’m boring. You have the wrong person.”
Alex’s good cheer didn’t waiver. “Two weeks, Ms. Kennedy. Is that so much to ask? Those volunteering for military service give much more.”
Oh, darn the man. He was going for guilt. She really didn’t like that. Her parents had been experts at it and she hated the sense of having disappointed anyone.
“I’ll accompany you to Bahania,” Alex continued. “To assure your safe arrival. Once you’re settled, I’ll return to Washington.” He paused. “You’re being given a wonderful opportunity, Ms. Kennedy. I hope you’ll consider it. If we can leave for the airport in the next hour, we will be in Bahania by sunset tomorrow.”
Her mind swirled. “You want me to go with you right now?”
“Please.”
Emma glanced from Alex to his friend by the sliding glass door. She had a bad feeling that if she refused, she would be taken against her will. Not exactly thoughts to warm her heart. It looked as if she were going on a trip.
Two and a half hours later, Emma found herself sitting on a luxurious private jet as the lights of Dallas disappeared below. She had a large suitcase in the cargo bay, a small overnight case next to her feet and, as promised, Alex Dunnard in the seat across from hers.
She still wasn’t sure how it had all happened. Somehow Alex had gently ushered her through the process of calling the hospital for time off, packing and leaving a message for her parents that she’d gone away with a friend. The white lie had been his suggestion, made so that her parents wouldn’t worry.
Then she’d showered, changed and found herself in a limo the size of a football field. Now she was on a plane and sitting in leather seats so soft and comfy, she wouldn’t mind having the material made into a jacket.
On the bright side, if she was being kidnapped, it was by someone with money and style. The downside was that she’d managed to put her entire life on hold for two weeks with exactly two phone calls and a request that her neighbor pick up her mail. What did that say about her world?
Before she could decide, a uniformed young woman approached. “Ms. Kennedy, I’m Aneesa and it will be my pleasure to serve you on our flight to Bahania.”
Aneesa rattled off the expected flying time, mentioned a stop for gas in Spain and offered selections for dinner.
“When you’re ready to retire for the evening,” she continued, “there is a sleeping compartment for your use.” She smiled. “Along with a bathroom, complete with shower.”
“That’s great,” Emma told her, trying to sound calm. As if this sort of thing happened to her all the time.
“Shall I serve dinner?” Aneesa asked.
“Uh, sure. Why not?”
When the attendant had disappeared to what must be the plane’s galley, Emma turned to Alex.
“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on here?” she asked.
“I’ve told you all I know.”
“That the king wants me as his guest for two weeks,” she summarized.
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know why?”
“No.”
Not exactly helpful.
She returned her attention to the countryside below and wondered if she would ever see Texas again. Then, determined not to wallow in unpleasant and scary thoughts, she pulled out the entertainment guide and pretended interest in the various DVDs available for her viewing pleasure.
A half hour later, the meal was served. The food was beautifully prepared and delicious, if Alex’s speed of consumption was anything to go by. Emma picked at the baked chicken dish and refused wine. She studied her travel companion—a well-dressed man in his mid to late forties. Nice looking, married—if the wedding ring was anything to go by. Did Mrs. Dunnard mind her husband flying off at a moment’s notice? Had it been a moment’s notice for him or had he known about the trip in advance? And why on earth did the king of Bahania want to meet with her?
More questions she was unlikely to get answered. When she tried pumping Alex for information, he remained pleasant but uncommunicative.
One restless night in a luxury cabin, several time zones and a pit stop for gas later, Emma didn’t know any more than she had when she’d stepped onto the plane in Dallas. The difference was they were coming in for landing at an airport on the edge of the desert.
She stared out the window and tried to keep her mouth from falling open. The sights beneath were so beautiful they nearly took her breath away.
Turquoise-blue water lapped up against a pure white beach. There were miles of buildings, lush foliage and sprawling suburbs that gradually gave way to the endless beige and browns of the desert. Emma could see pockets of industry, large buildings that appeared ancient and what looked like dozens of parks throughout the city before the plane banked and headed for the airport.
They landed with a light bump, then taxied to a low one-story building. As Alex picked up his small overnight case, Emma fumbled for her purse.
She was escorted onto the tarmac where the late afternoon was warm, sunny and dry. And bright. After the confines of the plane, she found the sunlight nearly blinding. Three steps later, she entered a pleasant room where a man in uniform actually bowed when she presented herself and her open passport.
“Ms. Kennedy,” he said, flashing a smile, “welcome to Bahania. May your journey be pleasant and blessed.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, wondering if everyone was always so polite. Not that she was going to complain. She could get used to this level of service.
The surprises weren’t over. Minutes later Alex escorted her to another large limo. Inside she found a bottle of champagne sitting on ice and a small bouquet of flowers.
“For me?” she asked as Alex sat next to her.
“I doubt the king meant them for me,” he told her.
Good point. Emma sniffed the roses. When Alex pointed to the bottle of champagne, she shook her head.
“I didn’t sleep,” she admitted. “Between being exhausted, the strange circumstances and the time change, the last thing I need is liquor.”
She already felt woozy enough.
As they pulled out of the airport, Alex began to talk to her about the city. He pointed out the financial district, the old shopping bazaar, the entrance to the famous Bahanian beaches. Emma did her best to pay attention, but the longer they were on the road, the more she regretted her decision to come. Sure, Bahania was beautiful and all, but she’d just traveled halfway around the world with a man she didn’t know to meet a king she’d barely heard of, and aside from her traveling companion and the king, no one on the planet knew where she was.
It was not a situation designed to make one relax.
Forty minutes later, the limo drove through an open gate, past several guards and what felt like miles of manicured grounds. She stared out the window until she saw the first hints of the fabled pink palace.
“This is so not happening,” she murmured, still unable to believe this was real.
The limo pulled up in front of the entrance. At least she assumed that’s what the arched doorway and alcove big enough for a marching band was for.
“We’re here,” Alex said, confirming her suspicions.
She glanced at him. “What happens now?”
“You meet the king.”
Great. If there was a survey at the end of this, she was going to mention Alex’s lack of information as one of her complaints.
The limo door opened. Alex climbed out, then stepped aside so she could exit. Emma smoothed down the skirt she’d changed into on the plane and sucked in a breath for courage. It wasn’t close to enough, so she wasn’t surprised to find herself shaking as she stepped out in the warm afternoon.
Several people stood by the palace: Alex, the limo driver, a few uniformed men who could have been servants, but no one who looked like a king. So did royalty wait indoors for their visitors? Shouldn’t Alex have briefed her on that sort of thing?
Before she could ask him, there was a movement to her left. Emma turned and saw a man step out of the shadows. He was tall, darkly handsome and almost familiar. Then the sun hit him full in the face and she gasped in stunned amazement. It couldn’t be. Not after all this time. She’d thought…He would never…
The combination of shock, lack of sleep and food, and jet lag, conspired to increase her heart rate from nervous to hummingbird speed. The blood rushed from her head to her feet in two seconds flat. The world spun, blurred, then faded completely as she collapsed to the ground.
Prince Reyhan glanced at his father, the king of Bahania, and shook his head.
“That went well.”
Chapter Two
S everal servants rushed toward the fallen woman. Reyhan brushed them aside and crouched beside Emma. He took her wrist in his hand and felt her pulse.
Rapid, but steady.
“Call a doctor,” he said firmly.
Someone went scuttling to do his bidding.
“She didn’t hit her head,” a young woman told him as she gently touched Emma’s forehead. “I was watching as she fainted, Your Highness.”
“Thank you. Are her rooms prepared?”
The woman nodded.
Reyhan gathered Emma into his arms. She lay limp, one hand pressing against his chest, the other dangling by her side. Her skin had paled and her breathing slowed.
He took a moment to study her long lashes and the fullness of her mouth. The thick, red hair he remembered hung in loose waves around her face. So much was the same, he thought. No doubt if he counted, he would find that there were still eleven freckles on her nose and cheeks.
How much had changed? Even as he silently asked the question, he found he didn’t want to know. He rose and walked into the palace.
The king fell into step with him.
“At least she remembered you,” his father said.
“Obviously with great joy.”
“Perhaps she fainted with relief that you were to be together.”
Reyhan didn’t bother answering. Emma hadn’t seen him in six years, and from what he’d been able to find out, she’d never made any attempt to get in touch with him. He had no idea what she recalled of their brief…relationship, but he doubted her fainting had anything to do with relief.
The guest quarters were on the second floor. Reyhan went directly there, wondering if his father would mention that other arrangements could have been made. Fortunately, the king remained silent.
Reyhan swept inside the suite of rooms he’d had prepared for Emma and set her on the sofa. A maid hovered in the corner.
“Find out when the doctor will arrive,” he said.
The woman nodded and picked up a phone from the small table in the corner.
Reyhan returned his attention to Emma. She lay perfectly still. She hadn’t moved at all while he’d carried her.
He sat next to her on the sofa and took her hand in his. Her fingers were cold. He brought them to his mouth and breathed on them.
“Emma,” he murmured. “You must awaken.”
She moved her head slightly and moaned.
“The doctor will be here in fifteen minutes,” the maid told him.
“Thank you. A glass of water, please.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Someone else could have carried her,” the king said from the seat he’d taken across from the sofa. “Someone else can care for her now.”
Reyhan narrowed his gaze. “No one touches my wife.”
His father rose and crossed to the door. “It has been six years, Reyhan. Are you sure you still wish to claim the title of husband?”
Wish it or not, it was his. As was she.
Emma felt as if she were swimming against a very strong tide. But instead of water, she was trapped by air she had to push through to reach the surface. Thoughts formed and separated, her body felt heavy. Something had happened. She remembered that much. But what?
A cool, smooth surface pressed against her mouth as a strong, male voice demanded, “Drink this.”
She parted her lips without considering refusing the request.
Water slipped into her mouth. She drank gratefully, then sighed when the glass was removed. Better, she thought, and opened her eyes.
Oh, my—it was him! Her eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on her. She could feel the heat and strength of him as he sat next to her on the sofa. His hip pressed against her thigh. One of his hands held her own, while his dark gaze trapped her as neatly as a cage held a small bird.
Reyhan.
She wasn’t sure if she said the name or merely thought it. Was it possible? After all these years?
She blinked and wondered if this was nothing more than a vivid dream. Only, her luck wasn’t that good. No, the truth was he was real and she was in his presence, which didn’t seem possible. It had been six years, she reminded herself again. Six years since he’d used her and tossed her aside. Six years since she’d hidden at her parents’ house, crying for what could have been, secretly waiting for him to come and claim her, only to find out she’d waited in vain. He’d never come, and eventually she’d returned to her life—older, wiser and emotionally battered.
“So you return to us,” he said, his low voice rumbling like distant thunder. “I don’t remember you fainting before.”
She bristled at the assumption that he knew things about her.
“I don’t faint,” she told him.
“Recent events suggest that you do. It was a long trip. Were you able to sleep at all?”
He spoke so casually, she thought in amazement. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if it had been a few days rather than years since they were last together.
Outrage blossomed into fury. She wanted to yell at him, to scream or maybe even throw something. But years of being told that a lady didn’t show her anger made it difficult for her to do more than glare.
Reyhan lightly touched her cheek. “I see by the shadows under your eyes you did not sleep on the plane. At least not for long. Hardly a surprise, I suppose. You were not told why you were brought here. As I recall, you were always impatient and eager to find out things.”
Her attention split neatly between his words, which annoyed her, and the light stroking of his fingers against her skin. When his thumb grazed her lower lip, she was stunned by a jolt of awareness. The sensation cut through her like lightning, heating and melting everywhere it touched.
No! She would not react, she told herself. She wouldn’t feel anything. She refused to. If this man really was Reyhan, then he filled her with nothing but contempt. He was beneath her notice.
One corner of his firm mouth turned up slightly. “I see you want to spit at me like an ill-tempered kitten,” he murmured. “There is anger in your eyes.” He glanced at her fingers. “No claws. I doubt you can do much damage.”
Then he stunned her by kissing her knuckles.
She felt the warm brush of his mouth clear down to her toes. The hot, melting sensation grew until she wanted to purr like the kitten he’d mentioned. She thought about—
“Stop that right now,” she said, snatching her hand back and folding her arms across her chest. The instruction was meant for both of them. In the past twenty-four hours, her world had taken a turn for the confusing, but she was determined to figure out what was going on. Which meant staying focused on the task at hand and not getting caught up in being in the same room as Reyhan.