by Jennie Lucas
“The builder tried to make it look older, Moorish in design, but with those art-nouveau elements in the windows…I’m guessing it was built in the 1920s?”
He gave her a surprised look. “You got all that from a single coffee-table book?”
Her cheeks colored slightly. “I might have spent a few hours lingering over books at my favorite couscous restaurant.”
He grinned at her. “Well, you’re right. This was built as a hotel when Morocco was a French protectorate.” He looked at her approvingly. “There’s no way Bree is smarter than you.”
Her heart fluttered. In spite of her best efforts, she was still beaming foolishly beneath his praise as he led her past a shadowy cloistered walkway to the open courtyard at the center of the palace. The white merciless sun beat down in the blue sky, but the center courtyard garden was cool, with lush flowers and an orange tree on each corner. Soft breezes sighed through palm trees, leaving dappled shadows over the burbling stone fountain.
“Josie?” Kasimir was staring at her.
She realized she’d stopped in the middle of the courtyard, her mouth open. “Sorry.” Snapping her lips shut, she followed him across the courtyard to a hallway directly off the columned stone cloister.
He held a door open for her.
“This will be your room,” he murmured. She walked past him to find a large bedroom with high ceilings, sumptuously decorated, with two latticed windows, one facing the courtyard, the other the desert. “You will need something to wear while you’re here.”
“No, really,” she protested. “All I need is a washer and a dryer—”
He opened a closet door. “Too late.”
Peeking past him, she saw a huge closetful of women’s clothes, all with tags from expensive designers. She said doubtfully, “Whose are these?”
“Yours.”
“I mean, where did they come from? Were they…left here by your other, um, female guests?”
“Female guests.” His lips quirked. “Is that what you call them?”
“You know what I mean!”
“I wouldn’t come all the way to Marrakech for a one-night stand.” His smile lifted to a grin. “Why would I bother going to the trouble?”
“Yeah, why,” she muttered. Her husband could seduce any woman with a smile. He’d melted Josie into an infatuated, delusional puddle with a single careless, stolen kiss.
She scowled. “Look. I just want to know if I’m wearing clothes you bought for someone else.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “They were purchased in Marrakech for you, Josie. Specifically for you. And if you don’t believe me…” He gave her a wicked grin as he opened a drawer. “Check this out.”
Her lips parted as she looked down at all the lacy unmentionable undergarments.
“You’ll never have to go commando again,” he said smugly. His eyes met hers. “Unless you want to.”
She swallowed, then turned away as her cheeks burned. “Great… Thanks.”
“And for your information,” he said behind her, “I would never bring a female guest here.”
She didn’t meet his eyes. She was afraid he would notice how she was trembling. “I’m the first?”
“Ah,” he said softly. “But you’re more than a guest.” Reaching over, he tucked a tendril of her hair off her face. “You are my wife.”
As his fingertips stroked her skin, she felt his nearness, felt his powerful body towering over hers. Swallowing, she turned away, pretending to look through the expensive items in the closet to hide her confusion.
“Well?” he said huskily. “Do you see anything you like?”
Her heart gave an involuntary throb as she looked back at him.
“Yes,” she said in a low voice. “But nothing that’s right for me.”
His blue eyes narrowed as he frowned. “But they’re your size.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?”
She swallowed. “Look, I appreciate the gesture, but…” She stopped herself in her tracks, then blurted out, “They’re all just too—fancy.”
He drew back, blinking in surprise. “Too fancy?”
She nodded. “I like clothes I can be comfortable in. Clothes I can work in.”
He looked at her. “But you wore that all night?”
She looked down at her tight wedding dress. “Well. I just put this back on. I slept naked.”
Kasimir swallowed. “Naked?” he said hoarsely.
“Look, I really appreciate your sweet gesture, but until I can wash my own clothes, couldn’t I just borrow some of your old jeans?” she said hopefully. “Maybe an old T-shirt?”
The shock on his handsome face was almost comical. “You’d rather wear my old ratty work clothes than Louis Vuitton or Chanel?”
Not wanting to examine too carefully the reasons for that, she just nodded.
He snorted. “You’re a very original woman, Josie Xendzov.”
Josie Xendzov. Her heart did that strange thump-thump again. “So people have always told me.”
“So what work are you planning to do around here, Princess? Dig trenches in the dirt? Change the oil in my Lamborghini?”
“You have a Lamborghini?” she said eagerly.
His lips curved. “You don’t give a damn about designer clothes, but you’re impressed by a car? You can’t even drive!”
She shrugged. “My father had a Lamborghini when I was six years old. He had it shipped up to Alaska, delivered to our house in the middle of winter. The roads were covered with snow. Impossible to drive the Lamborghini with those wide performance tires.”
Kasimir nodded. “You’d slide right into a snowbank.”
“So Dad let me pretend to drive it in the driveway. For hours. I remember it was dark, except for flashes of the northern lights across the sky, and I drove the steering wheel so recklessly. Pretending to be a race-car driver. We both laughed so hard.” She blinked fast. “It was the first time I ever really heard him laugh. Though I heard he used to laugh all the time before my mom died.” She looked down at her feet. “I miss my family,” she whispered. “I miss my home.”
For a moment, he didn’t move.
Then his warm, rough hands took her own. With an intake of breath, she looked up, waiting for him to tell her Black Jack Dalton had been a criminal who didn’t deserve a Lamborghini. She waited for Kasimir to mock her grief, to tell her she should put the memory of childhood happiness away, like outgrown toys, discarded and forgotten.
Instead, Kasimir put his hand on the small of her back, pulling her close as he looked down at her.
“So you have a fondness for Lamborghinis, do you?” he said softly, searching her gaze. “They’re not too fancy?”
Josie looked up at his ruggedly handsome face. Every inch of her body felt his touch on her back. She shook her head. “Nope,” she whispered. “Not fancy.”
“In that case…” With a wicked smile, he reached out to stroke her cheek as he said softly, “I know just what I’m going to do with you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO HOURS LATER, Josie’s body was shaking with fear.
Her hand trembled on the gearshift. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
“I’m not making you do anything.”
She’d changed out of her tight dress, but in spite of wearing Kasimir’s old rolled-up jeans and a clean, slightly tattered black Van Halen T-shirt, she didn’t feel remotely comfortable. She’d showered, too, but that hadn’t done her much good, either. Her forehead now felt clammy with sweat. The two of them were in the enormous paved exterior courtyard of the palace. In his Lamborghini.
And for the first time since she was a child, Josie was in the driver’s seat.
“You wanted to learn how to drive,” Kasimir pointed out.
“Not in your brand-new Lamborghini!”
“Snob, huh? So it’s suddenly ‘too fancy’ for you after all?”
“You’re laughing now. You’ll be crying when I
crash it straight into your pool.”
He shrugged. “I’ll buy a new one.”
“Car or pool?”
“Either. Both.”
She gaped at him. “Are you out of your mind? These things cost real money!”
“Not to me.” Reaching over, he put his hand on her denim-clad leg. She nearly jumped out of her skin before she realized he was only pressing on her knee. “Push down harder on the clutch. Yes.” He put his other hand over hers on the gearshift. “Move it like that. Yes,” he said softly as he guided her. “Exactly like that.”
Josie gulped, her heart pounding in her throat. She accelerated, then stalled. She stomped on the gas, then the brakes. She spun out, again and again, kicking up clouds of dust.
“You’re doing great,” Kasimir said for the umpteenth time, even as he was coughing from the dust. He gave her a watery smile, his face encouraging.
“How can you be so patient?” she cried, nearly beating her head against the steering wheel. “I’m terrible at this!”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said gruffly. “It’s your first time.”
Resting her head against the steering wheel, Josie looked at him sideways. Since she’d met Kasimir, it had been her first time for lots of things. The first time she’d ever been recklessly pursued by a man who wanted to marry her. The first time she’d felt her heart pound with strange new desire. The first time she’d ever been wildly, truly infatuated with anyone.
She looked down at the huge diamond ring on her finger, seeing the facets flash in the light. The first time she’d fully realized the depths of her bad luck, that she was married to a handsome prince, whose secretly kind heart would unfortunately never pound that way over her.
Never ever, her brain assured her.
Not in a million years, her heart agreed.
His phone rang, and he looked down at the number. “Excuse me.”
“Sure,” she said, relieved to take a break from driving, or whatever her tire-screeching, bloodcurdling version of driving might be. She stretched in her seat, yawning.
Then she noticed how Kasimir had turned his body away from her to speak quietly into the phone. He got out of the car altogether, closing the door behind him.
Who on earth was he speaking to? Josie’s eyes narrowed. Clearly someone he didn’t want her to know about. Was it information about Bree? Or—cripes, could he be talking to another woman, making plans for a romantic getaway as soon as he was safely rid of her?
She quietly got out of the driver’s-side door.
Kasimir had turned away to speak into the phone. In a very low voice. In Russian. “My brother’s private jet left for Russia? You’re sure?” He paused. “And she’s still with him? Very well. Get out of Oahu and head for St. Petersburg. As soon as you can.”
Hanging up, Kasimir turned around. His eyes widened as he saw her standing beside him in the dust-choked driveway.
“What was that about?” she asked casually.
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“You haven’t found my sister?”
“Nope.” He gave her a careless, charming smile. Lying to her. Lying to her face! “You’ve almost got the clutch down. Ready for more?”
She didn’t move. “I studied Russian in school,” she ground out. “For six years.”
His expression changed.
“You found Bree,” she whispered, hands clenching at her sides. “She was on Oahu. And you didn’t want me to know.”
Kasimir stared at her, then resentfully gave a single nod.
Closing her eyes, Josie took a deep breath as grief filled her heart. “She was on Oahu. All the time we were there, we could have just driven across the island at any time and picked her up?”
“If we’d gone the moment you arrived at my penthouse—yes.” Her eyes flew open. His cold blue gaze met hers. “We weren’t married then. You could have walked away. I had no reason to tell you.”
With a little cry, Josie leapt towards him. She pounded on his chest. “You bastard!”
He didn’t move, or try to protect himself. “I don’t blame you for being angry,” he said softly.
“So that’s why you brought me here?” Wide-eyed, she staggered back. “Damn you,” she whispered. “How selfish can you be?”
He looked at her. “You already know the answer to that, or else you’re a fool.”
But she was. She was a fool, because she’d believed in his compliments and lies! Turning on her heel, she started to walk away.
He grabbed her wrist, turning her to face him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To St. Petersburg,” she flashed. “To save her, since you won’t!”
“And just how do you intend to do that?” He sounded almost amused. “With no money and nothing to barter?”
She tossed her head. “Perhaps your brother is interested in trading for his old family homestead!”
She heard his ragged intake of breath. “You couldn’t do that.”
“Why not? It’s mine now. Thanks for marrying me.”
His hand tightened on her wrist. “That land belongs to me—”
“I signed a prenup, remember? It protected all your possessions and fortune you brought into our marriage. But it also protected mine!”
His blue eyes were like fire. “You—you, the last honest woman—would try to steal my land? And give it to my brother?”
“Why not? You stole my first kiss!” she cried, trembling all over. She looked away, blinking fast. “It should have been something special, something I shared with someone I loved, or might love someday. And you
ruined it!” She turned on him fiercely. “You lied to my face from the moment I came back to Honolulu. You won’t go save Bree until you legally get my land? You say you can’t trust me? Fine!” She tossed her head. “Maybe I won’t trust you, either!”
His expression was dark, even murderous. “Yes. I lied to you about your sister’s whereabouts. And yes, kissing you was a mistake.” His grip on her wrist tightened as he looked down at her. “But don’t act like a traumatized victim,” he ground out. “You enjoyed our kiss. Admit it.”
“What?” She tried to pull away. “Are you crazy?”
He wrapped her in his arms, bringing her tight against his hard body. “Claim what you want. I know what I felt when you were in my arms,” he growled. “I felt your body tremble. You looked at me with those big eyes, holding your breath. Parting your mouth, licking your lips. Did you not realize you were giving me an invitation?” Cupping her face, he glared at her. “It is the same thing you are doing now.”
She swallowed, yanking her chin away as she closed her mouth with a snap. She blinked fast.
“Maybe I did want you to kiss me. Then,” she whispered. Wistfully, she looked towards the wrought-iron gate, towards the road to the Marrakech airport. “But I don’t anymore. All I want now is for you to let me go.”
For a moment, the only sound was the pant of her breath.
“Is being married to me really so awful?” he said roughly. “Was—kissing me—really so distasteful to you?”
She took a deep breath.
“No,” she said honestly. She couldn’t lie. She pushed away from him. “But I can’t just wait around here for weeks, hoping she’s all right. If you’re in no hurry to save her…I’ll make a deal with someone who is.”
“You’ll never even make it to Marrakech.”
“I’ll hitchhike into town,” she tossed back. “And hock my wedding ring for a plane ticket to St. Petersburg.”
“You’ll never even be able to talk to him!”
She stopped. “My phone,” she breathed aloud. “I’ll call my sister’s number. Either she will answer it, or Vladimir will. The battery is dead but I’ll plug it in and…” Triumphantly, Josie glanced behind her. Then she saw his face.
With a gasp, she started to run towards the house.
She was only halfway across the inner courtyard, racing for her bedroom,
when he came up behind her, scooping her up with a growl. “I won’t let you call him.”
She struggled in his arms. “Let me go!”
“Vladimir will never have that land.” Beneath the swaying palm trees of the sunny courtyard, next to the soft burbling water of the stone fountain, he slowly released her, and she felt the strength of his muscular form as she slid down his body. He gripped her wrists. “It’s mine. And so are you.”
She shook her head wildly. “You can’t keep me prisoner here. I’ll scream my head off! One of your servants will…”
“My servants will say nothing. They are loyal.”
It was impossible to pull her wrists out of his implacable grip. Tears filled her eyes.
“Someone will talk,” she whispered. “Someone will hear me. We’re not that far from the city. I’ll find a phone that works. Or email. There’s no way you can keep me here against my will.”
Kasimir looked down at her, then his eyes narrowed. He abruptly let her go.
“You’re right.”
She rubbed her wrists in relief. “You’re letting me go?”
His sensual mouth curled in a devastating smile. He looked every inch a ruthless Russian prince, his blue eyes icy as a Siberian winter. “Wrong,” he said softly.
Frightened of the coldness in his eyes, Josie slowly backed away. “Whatever you’re planning, it won’t work. I’ll escape you…”
Their eyes locked, and shivers went through her.
“Will you?” he purred.
And coiling back like a tiger, he sprang.
* * *
Kasimir heard the loud whir of the helicopter flying away as he stood on thick carpets over the packed sand in his own grand tent, the largest and most luxurious in his camp, deep inside the Sahara Desert.
He looked down at his prisoner—that is to say, his dear wife—sitting on his bed. Tied up with a soft silken gag over her mouth, Josie was glaring at him with bright sparks of hatred in her eyes.
His eyes traced down her body. She still wearing his black T-shirt and oversized jeans from Marrakech, but from the flash of lacy bra strap, he knew she was wearing the sexy lingerie he’d given her underneath. His body tightened. He said softly, “What am I going to do with you?”
