The Sheik & the Virgin Princess
Susan Mallery

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

“W hat kind of stupid does it take not to want to be a princess?” Cleo asked.

Zara Paxton ignored both her sister and the question. Stupid or not, what she wanted more than anything was to turn tail and run. This had been a really bad idea from the start.

“The mosaics on the east wall date back to the early 1100s,” the tour guide intoned as she pointed to the Bahanian palace wall covered with small tiles in a rainbow of colors. A few tiles had chipped over the past thousand years, but the majority were in place, detailing a lovely landscape of the ocean and a lush island in the distance.

“The scene is of Lucas-Surrat,” the guide continued. “The crown prince of the island has always been a member of the Bahanian ruling family.”

“How can you not want to know?” Cleo asked in a low voice. “Come on, Zara, take a chance.”

“Easy for you to say,” Zara pointed out. “We’re not talking about your life.”

“I wish we were. I would love to find out I’m the illegitimate daughter of royalty.”

Zara hushed her sister, then glanced around to make sure that no one in their tour group had overheard Cleo’s comments. Fortunately the others were more interested in what the guide had to say than any conversation between the two women.

Zara tugged on Cleo’s arm, pulling her to a stop. “Don’t say anything,” she said urgently. “We’re not sure what’s true. So I have a few letters. They don’t mean the king is really my father.”

Cleo didn’t look convinced. “If you don’t think there’s a possibility, what are we doing here?”

Zara didn’t have an answer for that. The “here” in question was a public tour of the famous royal palace of Bahania. Cleo had suggested they simply announce themselves at the front gate and demand to be let in. Zara had opted for the more subtle approach—hence the tour. If nothing else, she could get the lay of the land, so to speak. Her trip to Bahania had been impulsive, something she tried to avoid. Now that she was here, she was going to have to think through what she wanted to do.

“You make me crazy,” Cleo muttered, trailing after their group. “All your life you’ve wanted to know who your father is. You finally get some information on the man and suddenly you get all scared.”

Zara shook her head. “You make it sound cut-and dried, and it isn’t. I thought my mother had an affair with a married man and that’s why she wouldn’t talk about my father. If it turns out he really is the king, then life is a whole lot more complicated. I’m not sure I want to be a part of all this.”

“Which brings me back to my stupid remark,” Cleo said with a look of impatience. “Hello? This is your chance at the fairy tale, Zara. How many of us get to be transformed into a princess? Why on earth wouldn’t you jump at the chance?”

“Because I—”

“Princess Sabra! I did not know you had arrived.”

Both women turned to the man who hurried toward them. He was slight, in his mid-thirties and wearing some kind of uniform.

“I was told you would be arriving shortly. I had been watching for you, but must have missed you.” The man stopped in front of them and bowed slightly. “A thousand pardons.”

Zara blinked. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not—”

“I am new,” the man continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Please do not be angry. This way.”

Before Zara could protest, the man grabbed her arm and hustled her down a long corridor—one that led away from the tour group. She heard Cleo’s footsteps as her sister hurried after her.

“Zara? What’s going on?”

“I have no idea.” She tried to free herself, but the little man’s grip was surprisingly strong. “Look, you’ve made a mistake. I’m not who you think I am. I’m with the tour group. We’re just tourists.”

The man gave her a disapproving glance. “Yes, princess, but if you wanted a tour of the castle, you could simply ask your father, who is waiting for you even now.”

Father? Zara’s stomach tightened. She had a bad feeling about all of this.

They turned right, then left. She had a brief impression of large rooms, tile floors, beautiful statues and paintings, along with occasional glimpses of the blue Arabian Sea. Then they came to an oval foyer filled with half a dozen people. The man stopped and released her arm.

“I have found Princess Sabra,” he announced to the milling crowd.

Everyone turned to look at her. Conversation stilled. In the heartbeat of silence, Zara knew that something awful was about to happen.

Her premonition proved true.

A male voice yelled that they were imposters. People dove at them from all directions. Zara didn’t know what to do, and that indecision cost her breath when a large man threw himself at her. One second she was standing, the next she hit the hard, tiled floor with the impact of a train barreling into a brick wall.

Air rushed from her body. Her head banged against something unforgiving and the room began to spin. The next thing she knew, she couldn’t breathe and there was a gun pointed at her temple.

“Talk!”

The voice commanded her obedience. Zara blinked and tried to suck in a breath. Her lungs wouldn’t cooperate. The spinning increased, fueled by panic. She moved—or at least made the attempt—but her body froze. She inhaled again and this time air seeped into her lungs. Again and again she drew breath until she was able to focus. It was then that she realized her body wasn’t frozen, it was pinned by a large, angry man with the coldest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

Blue had always been her favorite color, she thought somewhat hysterically. It was the color of the sea and the sky. But the irises of this man held no warmth. Staring at him, she felt chilled down to her bones. Maybe even down to her soul.

“Talk,” he repeated. “Who the hell are you?”

“Zara Paxton,” she breathed.

The pressure on her temple increased. She swallowed when she remembered the gun.

“Are you going to shoot me?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Everything she’d read about Bahania had told her that the country was safe, forward thinking and a perfect tourist destination. Perhaps the brochures had been wrong.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, ignoring her question.

“My sister and I were touring the castle. A man pulled us away and insisted we come with him.” She hesitated, not wanting to say that he’d called her Princess Sabra and had mentioned seeing the king. That sounded too far-fetched to be believed.

Those cold blue eyes never wavered from her face. She didn’t doubt that he could read her every thought, so there was no need to go into detail. She noticed the man wore traditional Middle-Eastern garb, and that his Anglo features looked out of place.

They were nestled together intimately, his legs pinning hers, his chest flattening her breasts. One of his hands rested on her throat where he could no doubt feel the galloping of her pulse.

She licked her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” the man muttered as he slid off her and got to his feet.

Zara sat up slowly. She glanced around and saw that she was the center of attention—one of her least favorite things to be. Two burly guards were holding Cleo, but released her when the blue-eyed man instructed them to do so.

Zara got awkwardly to her feet. She still felt a little shaky and afraid. Cleo rushed to her side and they held each other. Zara pushed up her glasses.

“What happens now, Mr….” Her voice trailed off as she realized she didn’t know the man’s name.

“Rafe Stryker.”

He spoke several sharp commands in a language she didn’t recognize. The area cleared.

“Come this way,” he said, and started walking without checking to see if they would follow.

Zara had the idle thought that they could run for it, but where would they go? They were in a strange country, in a huge castle and she had no idea of the floor plan. As the guards had disappeared, it seemed unlikely that they were about to be arrested.

She glanced at Cleo, who shrugged. Together the two women trailed after the man in the long robe and traditional headdress.

He led them into a small office. After seating them in chairs, he perched on the corner of the desk and studied them both.

“There’s been some kind of misunderstanding,” Zara said when the silence had stretched on for too long. “I was telling the truth before. My sister and I were on the tour, and suddenly we were dragged away. Then you and those guards attacked us. I’d like to know what’s going on.”

Rafe Stryker rubbed his temple. “That’s what I’d like to know, as well. You two have any ID on you?”

Zara and Cleo exchanged a look. Did they really want to turn their passports over to this man?

“I’m not the bad guy here,” Rafe said, confirming Zara’s suspicions that he could read her mind. “I won’t take any documents out of this room. I simply want to make a few phone calls.”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Cleo said in a stage whisper. Her short blond hair was more spiky than usual, and the corners of her full mouth trembled.

Zara nodded. She had been worried about a lot of things when they’d talked about coming to Bahania, but being attacked in the palace wasn’t one of them. What on earth was going on?

They pulled their passports out of their purses and handed them over. Rafe picked up the phone on the desk and began making calls.

Five minutes later a young woman appeared with a tray of cold drinks and small sandwiches. She smiled as she entered and set the refreshments on the credenza by the window. Without saying a word, she bowed slightly and backed out of the room. Rafe was still talking, but he jerked his head toward the food.

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 headdress 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.

Chapter Two

“C ool! 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 watchdogs 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.

Zara made one attempt to pull free of his grip, but as she’d suspected, he didn’t let her go. No doubt he wanted to scare them into leaving. As soon as they were in private, she would tell him that he didn’t have to worry. She and Cleo would be heading back to the States as soon as possible.

They moved through the lobby toward the elevator. Zara tried not to notice the clean but slightly shabby furniture. Prints added color to the white walls. There were a few plants scattered around, but little else in the way of decorations.

She knew what he was thinking. She could read his thoughts as clearly as if they were her own.

“Just because we’re on a budget doesn’t mean we’re in it for the money,” she said in a low, angry voice when they stopped for the elevator. “You have no right to judge me or find me wanting.”

Those amazing blue eyes turned toward her. She met his gaze, despite the powerful force he exuded. Pride stiffened her spine and made her strong.

The elevator doors opened, breaking the spell.

“So do you know the king?” Cleo asked, oblivious to the tension between them.

“Yes.”

She laughed. “You’re not real chatty, are you? It doesn’t matter how mad you want to be. The truth is Zara is his daughter. She has letters and a ring. I think you should do your darnedest to prove them to be fakes. When you can’t, you’ll have no choice but to accept her for who she says she is.”

For the first time since they were led away from the tour group, Zara felt herself relax. Maybe it was a little too soon to think about running away.

“You have an excellent point,” she told her sister.

“I am more than a pretty face,” Cleo reminded her, as the elevator came to a stop on the fourth floor.

Zara turned to the man who still had a death grip on her arm. “Are you willing to look at the evidence? Despite already reaching a conclusion?”

“Absolutely.”

“And when you find out you’re wrong?”

“Let’s discuss that if it happens.”

Thirty minutes later Rafe was less convinced this was a hoax. He fingered the dozen or so letters Zara had shown him. The subject matter—especially the comments about the cats—made him suspicious. All the information could have been gathered by careful research. However the handwriting looked like Hassan’s, and the syntax was pure royal-speak. But what convinced him the most was the feeling in his gut.

Long years of experience had taught him to listen to his instincts—instincts that had saved his life on more than one occasion. He fingered the yellowing linen paper, then glanced at the stack of letters on the small desk in the hotel room. Despite his assumptions that Zara and her sister were looking to make an easy couple of million, there was a good chance he’d been wrong.

“Anything else?” he asked, turning his attention to the woman sitting on the bed next to the desk.

Zara reached into her carry-on bag and drew out a pad of paper. “Here’s a list of the jewelry I can remember my mother selling. It’s not a complete list because I’m sure she sold some before I was born or while I was too young to know what was happening. There’s also this.”

The “this” turned out to be a diamond band inscribed with the word forever on the inside. The tightening in Rafe’s gut got worse.

Zara sat facing him, her hands carefully folded on her lap. She wore a light cotton, peach sundress and sandals. Her long hair tumbled down her back. With her dark eyes and honeyed complexion, she looked a lot like Princess Sabra—Sabrina—the king’s only daughter.

Yeah, there were differences. Sabrina didn’t wear glasses and she had an air of confidence that Zara lacked. Still, the combination of the physical similarities and the evidence made him fairly sure Zara was exactly who she claimed to be. He couldn’t begin to imagine what was going to happen when the king found out.

“What stories did your mother tell you about your father?” he asked.

“She rarely said anything.” Zara shrugged. “When I would ask questions, she would just say that they couldn’t be together. He didn’t know about me and she wasn’t in a position to tell me about him. I used to ask if he would want me if he found out he had a daughter. She always said he would, but I never knew if that was her interpretation of events or if it was true.”

The information hardly helped. He glanced over at Cleo who had stretched out on the far bed, reading a fashion magazine.

“Do you remember your mother telling any stories about your father?”

Cleo smiled. “I’m not lucky enough to be related to royalty. Sorry.”

“Cleo is my foster sister,” Zara said.

“That’s right. Fiona brought me home when I was ten, just like picking up a puppy in a pound. I was housebroken, so she decided to keep me.”

Cleo spoke cheerfully enough, but there was a hint of darkness in her eyes. Rafe studied her pretty round face, taking in the wide eyes, blond hair and full, pouty mouth. She didn’t look anything like Zara.

Zara glared at her sister. “It wasn’t quite like that. Cleo came to us as a foster child, but quickly became a member of the family.”

This was more information than Rafe had wanted. “So you’re not blood relatives.”

Zara returned her attention to him. “No.” She opened her mouth as if she was about to speak, then shook her head and rose. “I can’t do this,” she said, and headed for the balcony.

Cleo sighed. “Zara’s been like this since we left Spokane,” she confided. “It’s one thing to say you want to meet your real father, but it’s another to have it happen. At least, that’s what she says. I think being related to royalty is pretty cool, but then, Zara’s always been the sensitive one.”

Sensitive? Rafe didn’t do sensitive. Why the hell had he been the one standing in the room when the guard had brought in Zara? Couldn’t someone else have attacked her and been responsible for this mess?

Muttering under his breath, he rose and stalked out to the small balcony that overlooked the tourist portion of the city. The late-May heat was a tangible creature, sucking air from his lungs and moisture from his body. Zara didn’t seem to notice as she leaned against the railing and stared off into the distance.

“I don’t want you to say anything to the king,” she said without looking at him.

“I don’t have a choice.”

That got her attention. She spun toward him. “Why? It doesn’t matter. He already has one daughter…he doesn’t need another one. Besides, I don’t think I’d be a very good princess.”

“You’d be fine.”

Rafe shifted uneasily. He didn’t like emotional confrontations with women who looked as if they might start to cry.

She swallowed. “You think maybe he’s really…” Her voice trailed off as she gestured to the letters he still held in his hand.

He knew what she was asking. “Yes, Zara. I think he could be your father.”

She turned her attention back to the city. “I didn’t think it would be like this,” she said quietly. “All my life I’ve wanted to belong to a real family. To have relatives and roots. But not here—with royalty. I wanted some normal, American family. You know the kind with a bunch of kids and maybe one or two eccentric relatives.”

She had a perfect profile. His gaze lingered on the gentle curve of her mouth and the length of her neck. Something flickered inside. Something that had nothing to do with his gut instincts and everything to do with being a man.

A faint breeze stirred, bringing with it the scent of her. A scent he remembered from when he’d attacked her. Even as he’d pulled a gun and prepared to defend the royal house of Bahania, he’d been aware of her feminine fragrance, not to mention her body beneath his.

She looked at him. “What if I can’t do this?”

There were questions in her brown eyes. Questions and pain.

“I could act as intermediary,” he found himself saying. “I could take the letters and the ring to the king privately. You wouldn’t have to be there, and no one else would have to know.”

She bit her lower lip. “Once you begin, there’s no turning back. I don’t like that.”

“You wouldn’t have come here if you hadn’t wanted this,” he reminded her. “You’re the one who started this in motion by going to the palace.”

“But wanting and getting are too different things. Maybe Cleo and I should just disappear.”

“If you do, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened.”

“Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad.” Zara hesitated, then nodded. “You’re right. I’m here. I want to know the truth. If you wouldn’t mind taking the letters to the king, that would be great. I’m not feeling brave enough to be rejected in person. Not that I could get in to see the king.”

Rafe didn’t know how the king was going to react, but he was fairly certain Hassan was Zara’s father. Which could create many complications.

She headed toward the room. “You should probably take the ring, too.”

She was so damn trusting. “How do you know I’ll return it?”

She stopped to stare at him. “Why would you keep it?”

He groaned. “You have no business traveling on your own.”

“I’m not. I’m with my sister.”

“The blind leading the blind.”

She drew herself up to her full height and glared at him. As he was six foot three, the top of her head barely grazed his chin. He wasn’t impressed by her erect posture or the fire spitting from her eyes.

“Cleo and I have done perfectly well without your help.”

“I can see that. Getting attacked at the palace was part of your plan all along, right?”

“That was your fault, not mine.”

“In a situation like this you have to be prepared for the unexpected.” Although she’d certainly caught him off guard.

Zara’s temper faded. “Do I really look like her?”

“Enough to fool a new guard.”

“But not you.”

“No.” He shifted from foot to foot. “I’m sorry I attacked you.”

“It’s all right. You thought there was a threat.”

Looking at her now he didn’t see how that was possible, but that was what he’d assumed.

She pushed up her glasses. “Do you think there’s really a chance I’m the king’s daughter?”

“What do you know about your name?” he asked instead of answering her question.

“Nothing. I mean I know it’s unusual, but if you’d ever met my mother, you wouldn’t be surprised. She wasn’t exactly the most conventional person on the planet.”

“Zara was King Hassan’s mother’s name.”

Zara shivered, as if she were suddenly cold. Rafe didn’t blame her. She might have come to Bahania looking for her father, but she was about to get a whole lot more than she’d bargained for.

Zara paced restlessly after Rafe left. “He said he’d call as soon as he saw the king,” she said, more to herself than to Cleo, who was still reading her magazine. “He said he could get in to see him this afternoon. What kind of man can just waltz in and see the king?”

“A man with connections,” Cleo said, then grinned at her. “Honey, you’re taking this way too hard. What’s the worst that can happen? You’ll turn out not to be Hassan’s daughter. Then we can enjoy the rest of our vacation and head home.”

Zara supposed it was just that simple, although there was a part of her that hated the idea of being fatherless again. Not that she wanted a king for her father.

“I didn’t think it would be so complicated,” she admitted, more to herself than to Cleo.

“It’s not so complicated. Nothing’s changed.”

Zara sank onto her bed and shook her head. Things had changed the second Rafe Stryker had tossed her to the ground. Not only was she seeing their position from someone else’s point of view, she couldn’t stop thinking about his incredible blue eyes and how her insides quivered when she was close to him.

“Who do you think he is?” she asked. “Rafe was dressed like a sheik, but he’s obviously American.”

“What does it matter, as long as he can do what he says.” Cleo tossed the magazine aside and rolled toward her. “Forget about him. Think about the palace instead. Wouldn’t it be great to live there? It was so beautiful.”

“It was big and scary,” Zara said.

Cleo sighed. “What am I going to do with you? This is a fabulous opportunity and you’re going to blow it by getting cold feet. We’re talking princess, Zara. You could be an honest-to-goodness princess. That doesn’t happen to people like us. It wasn’t that long ago that money was so tight we could only afford day-old bread.”

“I know.”

“You could be rich.”

“I don’t want to be rich—I want to belong. I want roots and relatives and a history.”

“You could have all of that and a tiara, too.”

Zara laughed. “Is that all you can think about?”

Cleo grinned. “Diamonds have a way of getting my attention.”

“You talk big, but in your heart you want what I want. Real family.”

“Maybe, but I’d settle for royalty.”

Zara tucked her legs under her. “Do you think Rafe works for the king?”

Cleo groaned. “Don’t you dare get all dopey about that guy. For one thing, you’re about to find out if the king of a wealthy nation is your father. You don’t have time to be distracted. Second, you have the worst luck on the planet when it comes to men. Don’t even think about it.”

“I know.”

Zara couldn’t disagree with either of her sister’s statements. She just might be starting an amazing adventure, and her ill fortune with men bordered on legendary. Still there’d been something about Rafe’s eyes.

“I wonder if he’s married,” she murmured.

Cleo threw a pillow at her. “Stop it. Think about being a princess instead.”

“All right.”

But as Zara shifted to stretch out on the bed, she pictured a tall, dangerous looking man with a gaze that seemed to see into her soul.

Chapter Three

I nstead of going directly to the king, Rafe detoured by his own office first. Once there he headed for his computer, prepared to research the possibility of Zara Paxton being King Hassan’s illegitimate daughter.

A part of him had already accepted her story, which made him uneasy. Except for the feeling in his gut, he had no reason to trust her. Was he getting soft? Had he been out of combat too long? Or were his instincts telling him the truth?

Forty minutes later he had a rough idea of the king’s travel schedule from thirty years ago. There weren’t a lot of details, but it was obvious that Hassan had frequently visited New York City. Rafe toyed with the idea of breaking into the financial records to check on jewelry purchases, but figured he would do better to ask the king directly.

Rafe reached for the ring he’d slipped into his pocket and turned it over in his hand. The diamonds glinted in the midafternoon light. They circled the entire band. Again he studied the inscription of the word forever. Had the king meant the sentiment? He’d never been one to keep a mistress or wife around for very long. He had only ever loved one of his three wives. Had Zara’s mother been the only other woman to truly capture the monarch’s heart?

There was only one way to find out.

Rafe called Hassan’s secretary and requested a few minutes for a private meeting. Fortunately, the king was running ahead of schedule. Rafe collected the letters, tucked the ring back into his pocket and headed for the rear of the palace.

His Highness, the king of Bahania, believed in first impressions. His office suite was the size of a football field and overlooked a topiary garden growing around a large white fountain. Four guards in formal dress stood in front of wide double doors overlaid with a gold coat of arms. Once inside the suite, three secretaries protected the king from those who wished to see him. Two-story-high windows overlooked the lush gardens surrounding the palace, while priceless works of art hung on the walls—both paintings and tapestries delighting the eye. And wandering around as if they owned the place were several cats.

Rafe nodded at the guards as he approached. They opened the outer doors for him. As he entered, a white Persian cat slipped out, pausing to rub against him long enough to deposit several white hairs on his trousers. Rafe gritted his teeth. He’d never been much of a cat kind of guy—he was a dog person. But this was not the place to mention that. The king adored his cats.

Two gray cats lay curled up on a sofa by the window. A calico had stretched out on one of the secretaries’ desk, using a stack of files for a pillow. Rafe ignored the felines and approached the center desk.

Akil, an older man who had served the king for many years, smiled in greeting. “Mr. Stryker. His Highness is waiting for you. Please go on in.”

Rafe touched his suit pocket to make sure the ring was still in place, then headed for the half-open door on the left. As he entered the king of Bahania’s private chambers, he bowed.

“Your Highness,” he said, and paused.

King Hassan sat behind an impressive hand carved desk. The king generally wore Western-style suits during his working day and today was no exception. The tailored lightweight wool garment had been made by hand in Italy, the fabric especially woven to resist the ever-present cat hairs shed by the monarch’s beloved felines.

“Rafe, what brings you to see me?” Hassan asked, waving his guest forward.

Rafe had to move a dozing Siamese from a chair before he could sit and was then forced to allow the animal to drape itself across his lap. He couldn’t wait to get back to his regular job. At least his boss didn’t have a thing for cats.

“I have an unusual situation to report,” Rafe began.

Hassan raised his eyebrows. The king was close to sixty, but still a youthful-looking man. A few gray hairs had appeared in his closely trimmed beard but there weren’t many wrinkles on his face. He could be stern and distant. Until the recent decision to form a joint air force between Bahania, neighboring El Bahar and the City of Thieves, Rafe had had little to do with the king. Acting as the security liaison for the City of Thieves had recently put Rafe in close contact with the ruler of Bahania. He had yet to form an opinion of the man, so he couldn’t predict his reaction to Rafe’s news.

Hassan leaned forward. “Situation? With security?”

“No. This is personal. I haven’t discussed this with anyone, sir. If you instruct me to keep this to myself, I will never speak of it again.”

Hassan smiled slightly. “I’m intrigued. Go on.”

Rafe hesitated. He was about to tread over some potentially dangerous waters. “A young woman came to the palace this morning. She was part of the regular public tour. One of the guards noticed her because she bears a striking resemblance to the Princess Sabra.”

Hassan nodded to show he was listening. So far he hadn’t reacted. Rafe continued.

“I spoke with the young woman in question.” He’d already decided not to mention the details of their meeting. “She recently discovered some papers which had belonged to her late mother. Letters, actually. She thinks they may have been written by you.”

Hassan’s face tightened. “Who is this woman? How old is she?”

“Her name is Zara Paxton. She’s twenty-eight.”

Hassan gasped as if he’d been shot. He held out his hands for the letters, and as Rafe passed them over he already had his answer. Hassan looked both elated and stunned. Both the name and the age had been significant to him.

While the king was distracted with the pages, he took the opportunity to set the cat on the ground and brush the hair from his lap.

Hassan opened each letter slowly and read it, then put it back in the envelope. Color drained from his face. When he’d finished, Rafe gave him the diamond ring. The king took it and closed his fingers around the stones.

“Fiona,” he breathed, then looked at Rafe. “The daughter. Where is she?”

“Zara is staying at a hotel in the city. Her mother died some years ago. Apparently, she had kept these letters with a lawyer. Zara only found out about them a few months ago. She thinks you could be her father.”

Hassan rose, with Rafe quickly doing the same. “Of course she is my daughter. Fiona and I were together for over two years. After all this time her daughter is here. My daughter.” He shook his head. “You say she looks like Sabrina?”

“They have the same coloring, the same general build. Zara is taller and thinner. She wears glasses.”

Hassan smiled sadly, obviously caught up in a memory. “My sweet Fiona was as blind as a bat, but vain. She would never wear her glasses. I used to have to lead her everywhere.” He headed for the door. “Come. I must meet Zara at once.”

Rafe grabbed the letters—Hassan still had the ring. “Your Highness, we need to talk about this first.”

The king turned to face him. “Why?”

“For one thing, you can’t know if she’s really your daughter.”

“True enough, although I suspect she is.”

He wanted her to be. Rafe read that truth in the longing in Hassan’s dark eyes. Rafe felt oddly protective of the woman he’d left back in the hotel.

“Zara is a little nervous about the situation. She’s not prepared to have her long-lost father be the king of a sizable country. There’s also the problem of the media. Until we know who she is, it’s best if we keep this information private.”

“I see your point.” Hassan nodded slowly. “What do you suggest?”

“A meeting in a neutral location. One of the big hotels, maybe. We can use one of the suites. Your security people can get you into the building quietly. I’ll bring Zara.”

Hassan glanced at his watch. “Have this arranged by four o’clock. I won’t wait any longer.”

Which gave Rafe less than two hours. Great. “Yes, Your Highness. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I’m going to throw up,” Zara announced as she stood in the center of the massive living room of the presidential suite at the Bahanian Resort Hotel.

To her left were floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the incredible Arabian Ocean. She’d already tried concentrating on the view as a way to calm herself, but the height made her head swim…and not in a good way.

The furniture in the suite was enough to make her uneasy. The living room held five sofas—five!—and a baby grand piano. There were also coffee tables and sofa tables. All this furniture, and there was still enough floor space to hold an aerobics class.

She and Cleo had yet to find their way through the entire suite. They’d gotten lost twice then had given up exploring, fearing that the king would arrive and find them trapped in a bedroom closet or bathroom.

“Don’t throw up,” Cleo advised. “It never makes a good first impression.”

“Thanks for the share.” Zara tried for a smile, but her face felt frozen and tight. Like she’d had too much Novocain at the dentist. “What are we doing here? Are we crazy?”

Cleo rubbed her hand along the back of one of the sofas. “I don’t know, Zara. I mean, I didn’t really connect this whole king-father thing before. But now it’s real and it’s scary.”

“Tell me about it.” Zara forced herself to sit. She chose a sofa that faced away from the windows. “At least Rafe arranged for us to meet the king here rather than at our hotel.”

Cleo managed a brief smile. “I’ll bet he’s never been in a two-star place before. Do you want to know that you’re the color of a sheet?”

“Not really.” Her stomach tightened. “What was I thinking?”

“That it would be nice to meet the family.” Cleo sank into a sofa opposite hers.

“You’re my family,” Zara reminded her. “Whatever happens here, I want you to know that. Anything else is just gravy.”

Cleo rolled her eyes. “If your father turns out to be the king, then I would say that at least rates him being an entrée. Oh, and if you are a real princess, I want you to promise to send your jewelry castoffs my way.”

Zara chuckled. “Deal. When my tiaras get old and dusty, I’ll toss them your way.”

“Cool. I could wear them to work.”

The thought of Cleo wearing a diamond tiara while working at the copy shop she managed eased a lot of Zara’s tension. She’d nearly relaxed enough to sit back in the sofa when the main door of the suite opened. Instantly her heart beelined for her throat and her entire body began to quiver.

“I can’t,” she breathed.

Cleo was at her side in a second, putting her arm around her and hugging her. “You can. If you have to throw up, rush for that plant and I’ll distract him with a knock-knock joke.”

Cleo’s outrageous instructions allowed Zara to suck in a breath and get to her feet. Rafe entered the room, followed by a man she recognized from the research she’d done. A man who was staring at her as if she were the most amazing creature on the planet.

The dark intensity of his gaze made her uncomfortable. Was this really happening? Was the handsome, older man really King Hassan of Bahania?

“Your Highness, may I present Miss Zara Paxton,” Rafe said, gesturing toward her.

Zara felt, more than saw, Cleo move away. She was vaguely aware of two more men entering the room. Security, she thought hazily, all of her attention focusing on the man who might be her father.

He was a few inches shorter than Rafe, but a couple of inches taller than her. He wore a suit and looked fit. His eyes were the same rich brown as her own, and when he smiled she thought she recognized the shape of his mouth.

“My long-lost daughter,” he intoned, stepping toward her and holding out his arms. “The child of my beloved Fiona. Welcome. Welcome home.”

Before she knew what was happening, she found herself caught up in the king’s arms, pulled against him and held tight. Zara tried to hug him back, but she couldn’t move. For the second time in one day, a strange man held her immobile.

She needed to escape, she thought frantically, and glanced around the room. Only Rafe seemed to notice her distress. He eased forward and gently disentangled the king.

“Perhaps we should all have a seat and discuss what has happened,” he said, urging Hassan toward a sofa.

“Yes, yes.” The king took hold of Zara’s hand and sat down.

Zara perched next to him feeling both uneasy and awkward. He was royalty. Was she supposed to bow or sit lower or what? She looked to Rafe for an answer, but he was busy settling Cleo across from them, then he picked up the phone and announced that it was time to serve the refreshments.

Zara returned her attention to the king only to find him staring at her. His attention made her feel even more nervous. She pulled her fingers free of his and carefully laced her hands together.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. “This is very strange. I’m sure Rafe explained about the letters. I don’t mean to be presumptuous or to get in the way. I’m simply trying to find out some information.”

Hassan sighed. “I see your mother in you. She was a true beauty. The most glorious rose in the garden of womanhood.”

Zara blinked and pushed up her glasses. While Fiona had always been lovely, Zara had inherited lit tle of her physical attributes and none of her charm. “Yes, well, I am tall like her.” She glanced at Cleo. “Oh, you haven’t met my sister. This is Cleo.”

Cleo grinned. “Foster sister,” she corrected. “Although I wouldn’t mind being able to say my daddy is a king, I won’t be able to claim that relationship.”

Hassan chuckled. “I welcome you to my country. Is this your first visit?”

“For both of us. It’s great. A little hot, but hey, that’s why they invented air-conditioning.” Cleo leaned forward. “I confess, you’re the first royal person I’ve ever met. How exactly am I supposed to address you?”

“Your Highness is the accepted form,” Rafe said hastily as someone knocked on the door.

The security guys went on instant alert. One of them headed for the door while the second one covered him. They stepped into the hallway for a minute, then reappeared pushing a tray of drinks and snacks.

“Now that’s just what happens when I go through a fast-food drive through,” Cleo murmured.

Hassan raised his eyebrows. “What is that?”

“You know. When you desperately want a burger and fries, but you don’t want to get out of your car? You can place the order and pay, then get your food, never once putting out more effort than rolling down the window. You have to try it.”

Hassan asked Cleo a few more questions. Zara admired her ability to be almost normal, despite the situation, then remembered that Cleo had a whole lot less on the line.

Rafe and the security men put the drinks and trays of snacks on the coffee table between the two sofas. Zara reached for a cola bottle, but her hands were shaking too much for her to unscrew the top. Rafe took the plastic bottle from her and unfastened it, then poured the fizzing liquid over a glass of ice.

“You’re doing great,” he said as he handed her the drink.

She hoped he was telling the truth. The urge to throw up hadn’t gone away.

Hassan removed Fiona’s diamond ring from his coat pocket and held it out. “I gave this to your mother on our one-year anniversary. I wanted to make sure she would never forget me.”

“I don’t think that was a problem,” Zara said, then cleared her throat. “Your Highness, this is all very strange to me. I think, before we go too far, we should find out if I’m really your daughter.”

“I already know. You look very much like Sabrina.”

“Who?”

“Princess Sabra. She prefers the American version of her name.”

Zara remembered the guard at the palace. “Okay, so I look like her. That doesn’t prove anything.”

“You have this.” He placed the ring in her hand and closed her fingers over it. “I know, Zara. Here.” He touched his chest. “That is all that matters.”

Rafe sat next to Cleo and took a soda for himself.

Hassan touched Zara’s cheek. “Your mother was younger than you are now when we met. I was young, as well. Very proud and certain of myself. I was visiting New York and wanted to see a Broadway show. Afterward, at a party, I met the cast. Your mother had captured my attention from the first moment she stepped onstage. I arranged for us to have a private introduction. She was as charming as she was beautiful. I believe I fell in love with her that first night.”

Zara had tried to be sensible and stay in control of her emotions, but hearing about her mother’s past tested her resolve. Fiona had rarely talked about that time in her life and never said anything about the man who had fathered her child.

“I’ve seen a few pictures from when she was a showgirl,” she admitted. “She was lovely.”

“More than that. She had dozens of admirers, but from the first there was something special between us. We only wanted each other. We were together whenever I could get away.” He smiled sadly. “I asked her to marry me, but she refused.”

“Are you kidding?” Cleo blurted, then covered her mouth. “Sorry.”

Hassan shrugged. “I was stunned, as well. However, I already had a wife. I offered to divorce her, but Fiona refused. She said she didn’t want to make trouble and she doubted that she would have been content to live in one place, even one as amazing as Bahania.”

“My mother did like to wander,” Zara said, a little dazed by all she was hearing. A king had offered to marry Fiona and she had said no?

Hassan studied her. “Was there…” He cleared his throat. “I often wondered who Fiona had married.”

“She didn’t,” Zara said quickly. “We moved around constantly and while Fiona always had dozens of friends, there was never a special man in her life. She used to tell me that she’d already fallen in love once and didn’t plan to do it again.”

Hassan closed his eyes briefly. “Yes. I gave her my heart, and when she left, she took it with her. I like to think she experienced the same with me. Perhaps not. We’ll never know.” He turned his attention back to Zara. “At the time I could not understand why she disappeared from my world, but now I know. She must have left as soon as she found out she was pregnant. She knew that I would have insisted we marry. Even if we had not, she feared for her child.”

Too much was happening too fast. Zara felt as if her head was already too full of information. “Why would she fear that anything would happen to me?”

“Bahanian law requires that a royal child be raised in the palace. I suspect Fiona feared that if I knew about you, I would insist you be raised here. If she didn’t marry me, she would lose you.” He sighed. “I like to think I would not have insisted, but I don’t know that it’s true. After I lost her, I would have given anything to have a part of her with me.” He touched her hand. “And now you are here.”

Zara smiled tightly as she held on to her glass of cola. “Yes, well, it’s all very strange.”

“How did you find me now?”

Zara explained about the papers the lawyer had sent. “Once I read the letters, I started to consider the impossible.”

“Zara insisted we take the tour,” Cleo announced cheerfully. “I wanted to walk up to the front door and knock. She said the guards wouldn’t have let us in.”

The king smiled. “Even one as charming as you, Cleo, might have had a little trouble getting past the royal guard. Although I suspect you have a way with men. I’ll have to warn my sons about you.”

Cleo flicked her wrist. “I’ve sworn off princes, Your Highness. They’re just all the same. Rich, powerful…it gets boring after a while.”

Zara rose from her seat and crossed to the French doors leading to the balcony. Rafe came up behind her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Would you be, under the circumstances?”

“Probably not.”

“Everything is so confusing.”

“There’s nothing to be confused about,” Hassan announced as he stood. “After twenty-eight years, my daughter has returned to me.”

“You make it sound so simple and I can barely catch my breath.”

Her father—she couldn’t believe that was possible—nodded. “This is unfamiliar to us both. Perhaps we should take the time to acquaint ourselves with the situation. I wish to show you my world. Bahania is a country blessed with great resources and people. You must see the beauty of it. We will start with you and Cleo moving into the palace.”

“All right!” Cleo clapped her hands together. “I think I’m going to like having you in the family,” she told the king.

Zara wasn’t so sure. “Our hotel is very comfortable,” she said. Both Hassan and Cleo looked at her as if she were crazy.

“You are my daughter,” Hassan reminded her. “As such, the palace is your home. You will be made to feel welcome. We will have time together.”

“Your Highness, you need to think this through,” Zara said. “I mean I know I look like your daughter and Fiona is my mother and you did have a relationship with her, but you have to be sure about this. Shouldn’t we take blood tests?”

“I know what is right and I know who you are.” He walked over to hug her. “After so very many years, you are where you belong. That is all that matters. Come, you will collect your things and move into the palace right now.”

Zara glanced around, searching for an escape. Her gaze settled on Rafe. For some reason he seemed the only sane person in the room.

“Are you going to be there?” she asked before she could stop herself. “At the palace? Do you live there?”

Rafe nodded. “For the next few weeks.”

Hassan stared at him. “That’s right. You will be at the palace. You have found my most beloved treasure and brought her to me. Therefore, I will entrust her to you.”

Zara slipped free of Hassan’s embrace. “I don’t understand.”

Rafe looked as if he’d just sucked a lemon. “Your Highness I don’t—”

Hassan cut him off with a shake of his head. “My mind is made up. I will only trust you with her safety. It will be a temporary matter, until you return to your regular duties.”

“Trust him for what?” Zara asked.

“Rafe will be your bodyguard. He will protect you with his life.”

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