Cinderella and the Sheikh (Hot Contemporary Romance)

by Teresa Morgan

  One of the uniformed guards said something to her in thickly accented English, but she couldn't even try to understand his words. He might as well have been shouting down a dark corridor in another language. After trading a glace with the second armed man on the opposite side of the double doors, he pounded a fist on the wood.

  After a moment, Prince Hani came to the door. Through the haze that blurred her vision, she noticed that he was still in his tuxedo, the ends of his white bow tie dangling down his shirt front. He took a single glance at her, said some words that she didn’t attempt to make out, and ushered her inside the royal apartments, seating her gently on a gilded couch.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Libby?" Princess Sanurah, in a creamy satin pair of pajamas, emerged from a doorway.

  "There's something wrong with her, I think." Prince Hani's voice echoed as if he stood in a tunnel.

  Libby felt Princess Sanurah take her hand. "She's frozen. The poor thing's in shock. Didn't I say we should have told her what we were going to do before announcing it to the world?"

  Libby's numb lips began to move, as if she wasn't in control of them. "I wonder if it would be okay if I stayed with you for a while until I can go back to New York," she heard herself say. "I wouldn't be any trouble. I don't have any money, but I could work in the kitchen or something. I'm good at that."

  Prince Hani and Princess Sanurah stared at her wide-eyed and open-mouthed, until she wondered what she had said to offend them. She felt her hand began to warm under Sanurah's touch. "Libby, what's wrong? Please tell me what happened."

  Prince Hani's back went ram-rod straight. "Why isn't Rasyn with you?" He spit out the word 'Rasyn' as if it tasted like bile.

  "Oh, him." She barely heard her own voice over the echo of Rasyn's words in her head. "I divorced him."

  "Libby." Prince Hani's tone was almost an order. "Tell us what happened."

  As she told the whole story, from their first humiliating meeting to his soul-crushing admission to his cousin, Sanurah's grip on Libby's hand tightened and Prince Hani's face reddened as he paced the Persian silk rug.

  "I will have him arrested." Prince Hani planted his hands on his hips. "Why did I do away with the death penalty?"

  "What a betrayal." Sanurah shook her pretty head.

  "He made me feel loved." She felt the burning promise of tears at the back of her throat. "But he never loved me."

  "He acted like a man in love," Prince Hani said.

  Sanurah put her arms around Libby. "It was only acting. You weren't acting, though, were you? The pain will fade, Libby. You'll find someone worthy of your love."

  "I don’t love him." Her own voice sounded like it came from underwater.

  Sanurah looked at her, finely plucked eyebrows drawn together in concern and question.

  "I never loved him," she assured them. "I knew we couldn't have the kind of relationship that my parents did. So I didn’t love him. Loving him wasn't an option. I would never have let myself fall in love with him."

  "But you looked at him like..." Prince Hani's voice trailed off when his wife shot him a dark look.

  "My heart is safe. I pushed him away and kept my heart safe."

  Safe. And cold. And alone.

  But what damage would Rasyn have done if she hadn't?

  She felt Sanurah's arms loosen around her. "Well then," the princess said, "I guess that's good."

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Where is that girl?" Uncle Anwar spoke in Arabic, scowling at Rasyn from his hospital bed. "It's been two weeks. Don't you have her back yet?"

  "I told you she's still in Damali." Rasyn failed to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

  "That was yesterday," Anwar said. "I expected that you would get her back by now. Kidnapping or something. But if she is fighting you, good for her. A woman without fire is nothing."

  Mixed with Rasyn's frustration at his uncle's irritability was pure relief. Anwar's strength grew daily. The doctors said that he needed to rest and shouldn't return to his duties anytime soon, but the King had begun to throw them out of his bedchamber and insist that the diplomatic dispatches be brought to him.

  His recovery had begun the day he'd met Libby. Rasyn suspected this was no coincidence.

  "And Imaran has abandoned us," Anwar said casually.

  He bristled, but he had to admit that his uncle had a point. "He's gone to the desert to clear his head."

  Anwar narrowed his eyes in a stinging gaze. "You're still making excuses for him."

  He couldn't hold back the words any longer. "You're still holding him accountable for his father's actions."

  "No, I'm holding him accountable for his own. You think of him as you did when you were children. Something happened to him between then and now. He grew into a selfish man with a sense of entitlement, Rasyn. I bear some responsibility for that. I didn’t watch over him as I should have. It's time for you to open your eyes to what he is. He's not suitable to rule."

  "And I am? I'll remind you that I was willing to do just about anything to get out of that responsibility. Including ruining—" He caught himself before saying something stupid.

  "Ruining her life?" Anwar leaned forward, the crisp hospital sheets of his bed falling off his chest as he did so. "You were doing so for the best of reasons. My regret is that I did not listen to your reasons before this. I seem to have a lot of regrets lately. Don’t let the same thing happen to you, Rasyn. You care for her."

  "I love her." He'd realized it in the limo on the ride back from Damali. It had been coming on so gradually that he hadn't been able to identify what had put him over the edge. Somehow, over the past weeks, her presence, her kindness and her unpretending enthusiasm for life had become necessary to his happiness. Now it looked like happiness was now beyond his reach. "But it's over."

  "It's not over. Go, get her back."

  Rasyn shook his head.

  "You've been an ass, nephew. But surely there's something you can say—"

  Rasyn cut him off and stood. "I won't talk her into something that she doesn't want. The one good thing that I did in all of this was that night in Damali when I told her the truth. I will love her all my life, but I will never persuade her to do anything again."

  ***

  When Rasyn emerged from his uncle's sick room, he called to one of his guards. "Get me the prince of Damali on the phone."

  The man gave a slight bow and began to... do whatever it was that meant Rasyn would be speaking to Prince Hani shortly. With a start, Rasyn realized he had no clue what that was.

  "Wait." The guard froze on the spot. "What's your name?"

  The guard hesitated. "Latif, Your Highness."

  "Latif," Rasyn repeated. "You've guarded my back for several years and I doubt I've ever thanked you for it. I want you to know that I deeply appreciate what you do."

  Latif's chest puffed out a couple of inches. "There is no need, sir."

  But to Rasyn, it seemed that there was.

  ***

  "I will not send her to you." There was no mistaking the ice in Prince Hani's tone, even over the phone line.

  "I need to see her one last time. To set her free from me."

  His Highness' laugh was mirthless. "The last time? I doubt it. She rules the country that neighbors yours. You'll see her at diplomatic events for the rest of your life."

  He couldn’t hold back the well of curses that bubbled up inside him. It was true. And it was torture. For the rest of his life, the woman he loved would sit across from him, always present, forever divided.

  "I only wanted what was best for Imaran. Libby would have benefited. She would never have had to serve anyone again."

  Prince Hani's rich laugh reached through the phone lines. "If you think that royalty aren't servants, you should try even harder to stay off the throne. I pity your subjects. As for me, every day I think of the common people and how I can make their lives better."

  The prince continued. "You seem to think that your su
bjects are the people who attend fancy receptions. I assure you that those are an insignificant minority. Most of the people in your country work hard simply to put food on their tables. Abbas is a country of farmers and shopkeepers. The third highest source of employment in your country is tourism. You, Rasyn al Jabar, are the king of servants."

  The king of servants. He fought a desire to pound his head against the marble top of the telephone table.

  He looked up into the mirror on the wall. His own black eyes looked back at him, dull and vacant above purple, sleepless circles. Had those eyes ever really seen anything around him? He'd thought his cousin would appreciate his sacrifice. He'd thought Libby would be grateful for the material things he could offer her once his need for her was no longer required.

  He'd been wrong on both accounts.

  Libby balanced his energy with caring, his persuasion with compassion, his independence with her desire to connect with people. With her at his side, he could have faced ruling Abbas. Now, he would have to do it alone.

  "I may be the king of fools," he told Prince Hani.

  ***

  Libby frowned at the book propped on her knees, trying to resolve the swirling Arabic script into comprehensible words. Just one more line, she promised herself, leaning into the soft pillow at her back, then sleep.

  Maybe tonight she wouldn’t dream of him.

  She sighed. Now that was a useless thought. So long as she stayed in this rich palace of gold-crusted furnishings, hidden gardens and blue mosaic tiles, she would dream of Rasyn. He'd taken her from the world where she belonged and dropped her into a fairy tale. Then made it into a nightmare.

  Everything around her, from the gilded four poster bed where she sat, to the tops of the swaying palms at her balcony reminded her of him. This was his world.

  No, it was her world now, too. She'd fallen in love with her new home. She had friends here and responsibility for an entire country. She had to find a way to live here. She clenched her jaw and tried to concentrate on her studies.

  Learning to follow the text right to left hadn't been too much of a problem, but she kept mixing up the fatha accent that made the 'i' sound with the kasrah accent that made the 'u' sound. Or was it the other way around?

  She'd nearly muddled her way through the passage when she thought she'd heard a noise in the sitting room of the apartment. Sanurah had taken to visiting at odd hours. Pulling a silk robe over her nightgown, Libby slipped out from under the sheets.

  Instead of Sanurah's elegant figure, Libby's gaze met the black eyes that figured in both her best and worst dreams.

  He stood tall and proud as the day they'd met, though the arrogant edge of that day seemed dulled. His exotic scent rode the night breeze let in by the open French doors of her balcony. She fought her body's traitorous urge to throw her into his arms. Instead, she pulled up the memories of every kind word he'd ever said to her—all of it meaningless—and seethed with anger.

  "Libb—" Rasyn's tone would have convinced anyone else that he was genuinely surprised to see her. She knew better to believe anything he said. "I mean, Your Highness."

  "What are you doing in my room?"

  "I apologize." Another thing she knew he didn't mean. "I had no clue that the apartment Prince Hani assigned me connected to yours."

  His words made her chest tighten with concern. At least she thought it was concern. The apartment Prince Hani assigned him? What did that mean?

  She raised her hand to stop his deception. "I don’t care," she lied. "I don't know what the prince means by giving us adjoining rooms, but it was a mistake and my side of that door will be locked from now on."

  Rasyn nodded, his dark hair another one of the night's shadows. "I have something that you need."

  "I doubt that." The venom in her words surprised even her.

  He disappeared through the door that connected their apartments and re-entered with a legal-looking document in his hand. He held it out to her. She took it with a vow it would be the last thing that she accepted from him.

  "Divorce papers," he said.

  "What are you talking about? All I had to do was say—"

  A wave of bitterness threatened to burn a hole through her stomach. Was she the stupidest woman in the world? Even after he'd revealed the depth of his deception, she'd believed him, believed that saying 'I divorce you' three times was enough to dissolve their marriage.

  "You lied about that, too." She laughed at her own gullibility. "I can't believe I ever trusted you."

  "You cannot be serious." His face darkened. "You trusted everyone else, but never me. I was forced to watch while you made connections with everyone from the palace servants to my own uncle. You once told me that you would never let yourself fall in love with me. I suppose that was my warning. Tell me, is your heart closed to all men who wish to love you, or only me?"

  He wanted to love her? For an instant, her heart—

  Libby clamped down on her emotions. He could manipulate her so easily. It had to end.

  I locked my heart away from you, she wanted to scream. And I was right.

  Instead, she barely kept from grinding her teeth. "I won't be manipulated by you anymore."

  "It's true. I lied to you. Perhaps you will never forgive me. But why did my lies not make you fall in love with me?"

  "I could never love you. We could never be partners. We're not right for each other."

  "I think that I was not good enough for you."

  "How can you say that? You're educated, handsome, smart and loyal—when you want to be." She clamped her mouth shut before she went on with her laundry list of the man's good points. After everything that had happened, how could she still believe that he had any?

  "So I am good enough for you—then the truth is that you secretly believe you are not good enough for me."

  "I don't—"

  She didn’t finish the sentence, but broke off when Rasyn strode toward her. Without warning, the air electrified. Sensual memories flashed through her mind with stunning intensity. His naked skin on hers. His scent covering her. The heat of friction between them. The release of their passions.

  He looked down on her, his black eyes like holes in the night, pulling her toward their endless depths. The heat of his body drew away the evening's chill, but the temperature wasn't what made her shiver.

  A few small inches separated them. The wind caught her robe and brushed it against the fabric of his jeans. For Libby, time slowed. In that endless frozen instant, she couldn't think of anything but how close his body was to hers.

  She stared at his sensuous lips, slightly parted as if to dip down and steal—or demand—a kiss. Fire lit her belly at the thought of his unshaven cheek rasping the skin of her neck. Or her inner thigh.

  A light gust twisted a lock of her hair down over her eye. Rasyn raised his hand and swiped it out of her vision.

  Libby trembled, knowing that even the tiniest caress of those strong fingers that had given her so much pleasure in the past would push her over the edge and into his arms.

  “Are you sure we are not right for each other? Will you deny yourself this pleasure for the rest of your life?” Rasyn stepped back.

  The air between them cooled.

  Other memories washed over her. Every lie he'd ever told her. The effortless ease with which he'd manipulated her.

  She ran her fingers over the divorce papers. "I'll have these translated before I sign. At least there's one thing I can thank you for. The valuable lesson in not trusting people."

  A muscle in his jaw clenched. "Of all things, I regret that the most. Take your anger out on me, but do not lose your open heart, even if you never open it to me."

  Libby was so angry she nearly swore at him. "Why would you want anything to do with my heart?"

  A long moment passed before he spoke. "Can't you guess? Somewhere in acting as though I was in love with you, the lie became real for me."

  Love. The word, on his lips, made her stomach turn ov
er in queasy rebellion. There was only one reason he would say such a thing.

  She took a calming breath before speaking. "How convenient that marriage with me would reunite Abbas with the Sabr Valley. And admitting that we aren't divorced is an excellent ploy to convince me of your sincerity. Now get out of my room."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sitting in the same room as him was slow torture, like a dull headache that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much aspirin a person took. The only thing that kept Libby to her studies in Prince Hani's well-stocked Western-style library was the knowledge that she was now responsible for the health and happiness of the hundred thousand citizens of the Sabr Valley.

  Becoming responsible for her new people offered her the hard work she longed for. She had to learn Arabic so that she could communicate with them. She wouldn’t let anything come between her and being a good servant to those people who lived in her newly formed country. For them, she would put up with Rasyn sitting twenty feet away, pouring over his books, and with his long discussions of leadership with Prince Hani.

  The prince claimed that Rasyn had asked to study statecraft under him. King Anwar was recovering, he had said, but it took all his energy to rule—with none to spare to train Rasyn to take his place.

  So, Libby studied next to him, sometimes with her tutors and sometimes alone, in silence, except for the creaks of the ancient-looking ceiling fan that circulated stale air around the oval room stacked two floors high with leathery spines. She didn't speak to him, but she was always aware of his presence, even with her back turned. Even the crisp crinkle of the pages he turned stole her attention from the grammar she tried to absorb.

  The sound of his deep voice in seemingly endless discussions with Prince Hani always distracted her. As it did now, with Hani pulling up a chair to join Rasyn at the mahogany table where no less than a dozen books lay open on their spines.