A Golden Betrayal

by Barbara Dunlop

  “Prince Raif?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hey, Amseth,” the officer called to his partner. “I hear you’ve got a prince over there.”

  Ann couldn’t hear the partner’s answer.

  Then the officer turned back to Ann. “Can I see some identification?”

  She hesitated for a split second. Had someone reported her missing by now? Had Darby grown worried, or had someone at Waverly’s realized she was gone?

  But she had no choice, so she extracted her wallet and handed the officer her driver’s license.

  “Wait here, ma’am,” he said, turning to walk away.

  She glanced over her left shoulder, seeing Raif still standing with the first officer. They were too tall for her to see their faces, so she had no idea what was happening.

  The traffic whirred by, people craning their necks to see what was going on. She felt like a criminal. Which wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.

  The officer reappeared, handing her back her license. “Thank you, Ms. Richardson.”

  “You’re welcome,” she offered automatically, taking back the license.

  She slipped it back in her wallet, her mind at war with itself. This was her last chance. She could speak up now, or remain at Raif’s mercy. Was she stupid? Was she crazy? Was she deluding herself in thinking Raif was a fair and reasonable man?

  Just because he seemed to care about his family, and just because his father was sick, and just because he was sexy and funny and he’d behaved like a gentleman despite having diplomatic immunity and despite her enthusiastic kisses last night.

  “Have a good day, ma’am,” the officer finished, turning away. And just like that, her chance was gone.

  A few seconds later, Raif stepped into the driver’s seat. He slammed the door. His jaw was set. He started the engine, glanced in the mirror and pulled back into traffic.

  They were both silent for about two blocks.

  “For future reference,” he ground out, sounding unaccountably angry, “if anything like this ever happens to you again, you tell the cops you’re being kidnapped.” He slammed the heels of his hands down on the steering wheel. “What the hell is the matter with you, Ann Richardson?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted in a small voice.

  “Why didn’t you give me up?” he demanded.

  She shot Raif a furtive glance. “I’m not sure. You didn’t take advantage of me last night. And I guess I decided to trust in Roark.”

  Raif turned to stare at her.

  “Watch the road,” she reminded him.

  He turned his attention back to the traffic, pushing hard on the brake as they came to a red light. “You’re not making sense.”

  “You said Roark would want to take care of this discreetly.” She struggled to sound certain about her decision. “I know he has the legitimate statue, and I’m going to let him handle it his way. If he wants to call the cops, he’ll call the cops.”

  Raif seemed unsure of how to respond.

  * * *

  The walls of Raif’s cousin’s rental house were made almost entirely of glass. The house was an offset V shape, set on a rocky bluff, with a great room that angled away from the entrance hall. The great room was rectangular in shape, overlooking the ocean on one side and the pool deck on the other. The pool was empty, the deck furniture draped in weatherproof covers and sprinkled with a skiff of snow.

  Raif shut the door behind Ann, watching as her gaze took in the cream-colored sofa grouping and the polished maple tables. Through the glass beyond her, the ocean was restless, breakers coming in on the rocks below, while freighters, barges and the occasional yacht cut the water out in the channel. The sun was setting behind the Manhattan skyline, barely shining through the gray winter clouds.

  “What happened?” asked Tariq, as he moved through the kitchen. “And what’s she doing here?” Tariq’s gaze went from Ann to Raif and back again.

  “Change of plans,” said Raif. “Roark met up with us, but he didn’t bring the statue.”

  “That doesn’t explain what she’s doing here,” said Tariq.

  “He kidnapped me,” Ann offered.

  Raif couldn’t exactly deny it.

  “That was your plan?” Tariq demanded in disbelief. “To ransom Ann Richardson?”

  “I tried to keep you out of it,” said Raif.

  “Have you been with him since last night?” Tariq asked Ann.

  “All night long,” she responded. “He kept me locked in the penthouse, under guard, stole my cell phone, disconnected the others.”

  “Are you unfamiliar with the laws of the United States?” Tariq asked Raif. “Because, I can enlighten you. I had to memorize them in order to pass the bar.”

  “He has diplomatic immunity,” Ann pointed out.

  “That doesn’t excuse kidnapping.” Though Tariq was speaking to Ann, his rebuke was obviously for Raif.

  “She’s here willingly...now,” said Raif.

  “That’s a stretch,” Ann noted.

  Tariq moved to a wall and flicked on the lights. They glowed soft yellow in the gathering gloom, rebounding against the wooden floor and the high-beamed ceiling.

  “So, what’s your new plan?” he asked. “Do I need to call in a chopper so we can make a run for Teterboro?”

  “Roark says he’ll bring me the statue tomorrow.”

  “And you believe him this time?”

  Raif flicked a glance to Ann, silhouetted against the darkening glass. “I believe he wants Ann back. And I know it’s not in his best interests to involve the police.”

  Ann’s faith in Roark was misplaced. But Raif was counting on Roark understanding that he was trapped. There was no way out, except to give up the statue.

  “If he calls the police, they’ll deport you,” Tariq warned.

  “They’ll let me back in,” Raif countered.

  “Maybe you. But they’ll kick me out for good, and then they’ll disbar me.”

  Ann looked to Tariq. “You’re licensed to practice law in America?”

  “I’m a Harvard graduate.”

  “And you couldn’t talk some sense into this guy?”

  Tariq cracked a smile. “Nobody can talk any sense into this guy.”

  She nodded in obvious sympathy. “Lord knows I’ve tried.”

  “You two do remember I’m still here,” Raif drawled.

  “You’re the cause of all this,” said Ann.

  “You’re the cause of all this,” he retorted.

  She half turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I was minding my own business, doing my job, living my regularly scheduled life.”

  “What do you think I was doing?”

  “There’s nothing regular about your life.”

  Tariq chuckled.

  “You forget yourself,” Raif barked.

  “Apologies, Your Royal Highness.”

  It was Ann’s turn to glance from one man to the other. “You’re kidding, right?” Her gaze did another sweep. “You actually call him that?”

  “Absolutely,” Tariq confirmed.

  “It’s my title,” Raif huffed.

  “Not in my book.”

  “In Rayas,” Tariq said softly, “his subjects bow in his presence and wait to be spoken to.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Ann.

  Tariq shook his head. “It’s protocol.”

  Her eyes narrowed in Raif’s direction. “I guess I’ve been breaking protocol.”

  “Let me count the ways.”

  If they were in Rayas, he’d have had no choice but to punish her. While he was a good deal less formal than his father, theirs was an absolute monarchy, and deference to the royal hierarchy was vital to the good order of the country.

  She gave a shallow curtsy. “Allow me to apologize, Your Royal Highness.”

  “Mocking doesn’t count,” he pointed out.

  She grinned. “I don’t seem to be able to do this seriously.”

 
; “I was thinking about ordering pizza,” said Tariq.

  “Works for me,” Raif acknowledged. He was starving. “Any beer in the fridge?”

  “I’ll grab you one.” Tariq made for the kitchen.

  “This is surreal,” said Ann.

  Raif gave a shrug. “We’ll need our strength tomorrow.”

  Five

  Barefoot, clad in her ivory slip, Ann padded past the empty pizza box on the dining room table several hours later. Lying in bed at about 2:00 a.m., she’d suddenly realized the rented house probably had landline phones. She hadn’t found one in her bedroom, nor in the big living room. But, in the kitchen, she’d hit the jackpot.

  Standing on the cool terra-cotta tiles, she removed the cordless phone from its cradle. She dialed her home voice mail number and listened in relief while the signal rang through. She entered her code, but found that she didn’t have any messages. That was odd. She’d at least expected someone from work to have checked on her. Next, she tried Darby’s number.

  It was dark inside the house, but the glow of Manhattan filtered across the water and through the glass wall. Ann imagined Darby in her apartment, waking from sleep, shaking her head, glancing at her clock and then blindly reaching for her phone.

  “Hello?” came her sleep-husky voice.

  “Darby? It’s Ann.”

  “Huh? What? Ann?”

  Now Ann could picture Darby shaking her wits back into her head, raking back her messy hair, sitting in her bed.

  “Where are you?” Darby asked.

  “I’m in Long Island.”

  “Long Island? Why? What are you doing there? Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” Ann assured her. “It’s a long story. But has anyone missed me?”

  “Have you been gone?”

  “Just overnight.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t notice. But I would have missed you if I’d known.”

  “What about anyone at Waverly’s? Edwina? Did they ask about me?”

  “Nobody’s called me. And I haven’t seen Edwina. Why? Are you actually missing?”

  “I haven’t been home since Friday.”

  “Oh, you’re with a man?”

  “No, I’m not with a man.”

  Well, okay, Ann was with a man. But not the way Darby meant.

  “I didn’t go to the auction Friday night,” Ann explained.

  “You skipped work?”

  “I did.” Now that Ann thought about it, she supposed it was possible nobody had noticed she was gone. She was always in and out, back and forth between the main and smaller auction rooms, helping with the merchandise as well as in the back office with the paperwork. It was a little unsettling, but entirely possible that everyone simply assumed she was somewhere else.

  She heard a rustling in the background at Darby’s end of the phone.

  “All right,” said Darby. “I’m comfortable now. Go ahead.”

  “Roark surfaced.”

  “That’s great.”

  “It’s complicated. I really just wanted to let you know I was okay.” Though it sounded as though she needn’t have bothered. Nobody seemed to have noticed she was gone, never mind raised an alarm. “I can’t talk long.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. It’s after two, and I’m wide-awake now.”

  That was a fair point. Ann glanced around the big, dark kitchen and listened to the quiet of the house. What did it matter if she lost a little sleep?

  “I’m with Raif,” she told Darby.

  “The prince?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re spending the weekend with the Neanderthal who thinks you stole his statue?”

  “I’m not ‘spending the weekend’ with him.”

  “You said you hadn’t been home since Friday.”

  Another fair point. Why did Darby’s mind have to be so sharp in the middle of the night?

  “Okay, I guess I am spending the weekend with him. But not in bed.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I can tell whether or not there’s a man in my bed.”

  Not that she hadn’t thought about it. This particular man was one heck of a kisser. And, once you got past the arrogance and the felonies, he was an awfully sexy guy. He even had a decent sense of humor. And he was certainly entertaining in an argument.

  “Ann?”

  “What?”

  “You went silent there for a minute.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Were you picturing him naked?”

  Ann felt her face heat. Thank goodness Darby wasn’t in the same room. “No, I was not picturing him naked.”

  “Have you seen him naked?”

  “Is this really what you want to talk about?”

  “Sure.”

  Ann cracked a smile at that. “Fine. Let me be clear. Despite what the tabloids might decide to say, I’m not off on a clandestine affair. The man kidnapped me.”

  “Wait a minute. Back up. Are you in danger?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Man, we should have a code word or something.”

  “I’m sure. It’s going to be fine. He’s ransoming me to Roark for the statue.”

  “You want me to call the cops?” asked Darby.

  Ann braced her hand against the cool glass, Manhattan blurring in her vision. “No. I think it’s better for everyone if I see this through.”

  “You think?”

  “Okay, I know it’s better for everyone. And it’s going to be fine. Roark says he has the statue. Once Raif knows it’s legitimate, he’ll go home, and this will all be over. Honestly, if Raif wanted to do me harm, he had his chance last night.”

  There was a lilt of excitement in Darby’s tone. “Did he blindfold you? Toss you in the trunk? Tie you to a chair? No, wait, the bed. Did he tie you to his bed?”

  “He did not tie me to his bed.” Ann dropped her hand and turned from the window. “Not that he didn’t—” She caught Raif’s laconic pose, leaning against the kitchen doorjamb, arms folded across his bare chest, gray sweatpants riding low on his hips, one ankle crossed over the other.

  “—uh, behave like a jerk,” she said into the phone.

  Raif raised his brows.

  “Gotta go,” she said to Darby.

  “But this is just getting good,” Darby protested.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  “Who’s worried? I’m curious.”

  “Bye,” Ann repeated, pressing the disconnect button before Darby had a chance to say anything else.

  Then she deliberately set down the phone and glared at Raif. “How long have you been eavesdropping?”

  “Long enough,” he answered easily.

  Her mind scrambled to remember the details of the conversation. What had she given away?

  “Long enough for what?” she demanded.

  “Long enough to know you’re not picturing me naked.”

  She fought a rise of heat in her cheeks. “I’m definitely not,” she informed him tartly.

  “So you said.”

  “Yes, I did.” She had said that, and it proved that Raif naked was the farthest thing from her mind.

  His slow gaze moved from her tousled hair, to her bare shoulders, over her thinly veiled breasts, to the lace hem of her satin slip, all the way to her toes. Her skin tingled in his wake.

  His lazy, brown eyes met hers. “Wish I could say the same thing.”

  It took a split second for his words to sink in. When it did, a wash of desire bathed her skin. She wouldn’t acknowledge it. She didn’t dare acknowledge it.

  Rattled, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her mind. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

  “I heard you up.”

  “And?”

  “I thought you were probably calling a cab.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “So I discovered.”

  He straightened away from the doorway, moving slowly toward her, watching, like a sleek,
bronzed predator. Her heart thudded hard against her chest wall.

  “You realize, you did it again,” he chided.

  She swallowed, gaze glued to his movements. “Did what?”

  “You had a chance to save yourself, and you gave it up.” He moved inexorably closer.

  This time, the heat gathered between her legs. “I’m trusting Roark.”

  “Are you trusting me?”

  “No.”

  “Are you scared of me?”

  “No.” Unsettled? Yes. Aroused? Definitely. Frightened? For some reason, she wasn’t.

  He stopped in front of her. “You should be.”

  She tipped her head to look up at him, giving her short hair a toss. “Because of your infamous diplomatic immunity and how you might use it against me?”

  “In part.”

  “What’s the other part?”

  “That I’m going to kiss you.” His gaze turned molten. “And that you’re going to like it.”

  “I won’t,” she denied, swallowing, battling the memory of their last kiss, and the kiss before that. She could smell roses in the palace garden, feel Raif’s whiskered chin, taste his hot mouth.

  “You already are.”

  She mutely shook her head, not trusting her own voice.

  His lips curved in a knowing smile. “Your lips are soft.”

  “I’m sleepy,” she rasped.

  “Your pupils are dilated.”

  “It’s dark.”

  “Your nipples are hard.”

  She refused to glance down. “I’m cold.”

  He eased in. “I like you cold. And I like you sleepy. And I like you in the dark.”

  Oh, no. “Raif—”

  He placed his index finger across her lips. The touch was electric. It sent an instant jolt of desire to the far reaches of her body, and the air involuntarily sucked deep into her lungs.

  He moved his finger across her cheek, then cupped her face with his palm. She knew she should bat him away, tell him to stop, pull back and flee to her bedroom. But she was frozen in place.

  “I’m not going to tie you to the bed,” he whispered, leaning in.

  She couldn’t think of a single response to his words. She battled her own reaction, searched her brain for a way to dampen her passion. Succumbing to Raif was a colossally bad idea.

  “But our situation has changed. You can stay, go or tell me to get lost. You’re no longer my captive. I’m holding nothing over you. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be back on my Gulfstream, statue in hand, and—”