The Desert Rogues Part 1

by Susan Mallery

  “Pretty much.”

  “Will you carry the groceries when we go to the supermarket?” Cleo asked.

  “You won’t be doing grocery shopping,” Rafe told her.

  Zara was still focused on the whole “go with her everywhere” concept. “I don’t have a very interesting life,” she admitted. “You’re going to get bored.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  They crossed the street and walked toward the entrance to the hotel where she and Cleo had stayed. Was this tall, dangerous man really going to shadow her, day and night? Was it possible?

  “You know, you could just meet us at the palace,” she said. “We can take a cab.”

  He didn’t bother answering.

  A bodyguard? It was too weird to believe. Of course there was a chance that King Hassan might be her father, which put the whole bodyguard dilemma in perspective. Her life had suddenly taken on the unreal qualities of a visit to a fun house.

  Zara had seen some physical similarities between herself and the king, but she hadn’t felt any kind of emotional connection. He’d been so sure and she’d wanted to head for home. It was one thing to be ten years old and long for a father to sweep into her life and give her the stability she’d always wanted. It was another to be grown-up, with a life of her own and find out she might be related to a ruling monarch.

  When they reached the hotel, Rafe escorted them to their room. Once there, he actually checked the small space before allowing them to enter.

  “Because terrorists might want to kidnap me?” she asked, slightly bemused as he stepped aside to let them in.

  “Because I’m good at what I do.”

  His blue eyes were just as cold as they’d always been, but now she found them less scary. Perhaps because he was her only link to sanity in this impossible situation.

  Cleo headed into the hotel room. Rafe briefly touched Zara’s arm to detain her.

  “I’m going to make some phone calls while you pack,” he said, pulling a cell phone from his coat pocket. “Don’t let anyone in the room but me.”

  “Is there a code word?” she asked.

  “Troublemaker.”

  “I like that. I’ve always been a good girl.”

  “It’s my job to make sure that doesn’t change.”

  “Don’t tell Cleo. She’s always getting in trouble.”

  “Cleo isn’t my concern.”

  “Figures.” Zara glanced down the hall to make sure they were alone, then lowered her voice. “What if I don’t want to go live at the palace?”

  “If you’re Hassan’s daughter, that’s where you belong.”

  She asked him because there was no one else. And because she trusted him to tell her the truth. “If I am, it’s going to change everything, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t answer. For several heartbeats they simply stared at each other. Zara became aware of a heat generated by the powerful man in front of her. Despite the strange situations she’d encountered in the past few hours, Rafe was a haven of safety. Which made no sense—the man had pulled a gun on her that morning.

  She had the most ridiculous urge to cuddle up next to him, to feel his strong body pressing against hers as his arms held her close. She wanted to hear the steady beat of his heart. She wanted him to—

  “You’d better get your packing done,” he said. “I’ll have a car here in twenty minutes.”

  Zara stepped into the room. Obviously, she was the only one having any kind of fantasies. It was a little disheartening, but not a big surprise. Men had never been very interested in her that way. Maybe it was the glasses.

  She pushed at the wire frames as she moved toward her suitcase tucked in a corner of the room.

  “Isn’t this incredible?” Cleo asked as she came out of the bathroom, her arms filled with cosmetics. “We are going to be in a palace. I can’t believe it. I bet our rooms are amazing. Just that little bit we saw on the tour was fabulous, and those were the places where they allow the public. It’s probably even better in the private quarters. Zara? What’s wrong? You don’t look excited.”

  “I’m in shock. All of this is happening too fast.”

  “Yeah, but it’s great.”

  Zara wanted to say that she didn’t agree, but she knew Cleo wouldn’t understand. To her sister the situation was simple. The king of Bahania might be Zara’s father—let’s have a party. Zara was more concerned with the reality of trying to fit in to that kind of a world. While she and her mother had never starved, they’d certainly never had a lot of money. Her idea of a luxurious vacation was one where she didn’t have to cook.

  “I’ll deal with it later,” she told herself as she packed her clothes and put her toiletries into a carry-on bag.

  When Rafe knocked on the door ten minutes later, they were ready to go.

  “We can carry these down ourselves,” Zara said as he entered the room.

  Instead of responding, he opened the door wider. Two men entered and picked up their heavy suitcases as if they were empty soda cans. Cleo looked at her and shrugged.

  “Okay,” her sister said. “So the rich and royal live different. I can adjust!”

  Zara followed her to the elevator and wasn’t the least bit surprised when they walked outside and found a limo waiting.

  “Because a car isn’t good enough?” she asked, sliding into the back seat.

  “I didn’t know how much luggage you’d have,” Rafe told her.

  The two men finished with their bags and slammed the trunk. As they walked toward the front of the vehicle, one of them slipped off his jacket. Zara saw a shoulder holster as he shifted onto the front seat. She glared at Rafe who sat across from them.

  “They’re armed?”

  “Standard precaution.”

  Not in her world. The small college town where she lived and worked barely required her to remember to pull the key out of her car ignition.

  “Try not to think about it,” he said. “Once you’re within the walls of the palace, you won’t have to worry about any of that. You’re safe, and I’ll be close by.”

  How close? she wanted to ask but didn’t. Somehow those words took on a whole new meaning where Rafe was concerned. Instead she glanced at her watch and realized that a mere eight hours ago she and Cleo had been eating breakfast in their hotel. Who knew a world could change so quickly?

  “Tell me about the royal family,” she said to distract herself. “What are they going to think about me?”

  “I doubt they’ll be too surprised. Hassan is known as a man who likes women.”

  “Are there other illegitimate children?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  He looked comfortable in his leather seat. That morning he’d been dressed like a desert nomad. Now he wore a suit, but he was trusted with her safety.

  “Are you armed?” she asked.

  “You have plenty of other things to worry about,” he told her.

  She took that as a yes.

  Cleo rubbed the soft seat. “There are princes, right? Four of them?”

  Rafe nodded.

  “Any of them married?”

  “Cleo!” Zara glared at her sister. “We’re not here to make trouble.”

  “I’m not interested in trouble. I’ve given up on men, remember. I just thought this is my one opportunity to meet a real prince instead of just reading about them in magazines.” She returned her attention to Rafe. “Are they young and good-looking?”

  “They’re in their late twenties and early thirties,” he said. “I’m not in a position to comment on their appearance.”

  “I suppose if one is a wealthy prince, appearance isn’t all that important.”

  Zara eyed her sister’s short blond hair and curvy figure. “They’re going to love you,” she said mournfully. “Try not to complicate the situation.”

  “I swear.” Cleo made an X over her heart.

  Zara wasn’t impressed. Cleo might not go looking for trouble, but it could very well com
e looking for her. After all, Cleo attracted men the way magnets drew metal. She’d had her first date sometime in her first year of high school and had rarely been without a boyfriend—until recently, Zara reminded herself. Cleo had sworn off men a few months before. She wondered if that resolution would withstand the prince test.

  They drove through the streets of the city. Traffic slowed their progress, and Zara had the urge to jump out and get lost in the crowd. With her luck she would trip and break something important.

  “King Hassan isn’t married now, is he?” she asked.

  “He’s between wives,” Rafe answered.

  “I thought so. I did some research on the Internet. I remember reading that there are four princes, plus Princess Sabra.” She frowned. “The king says she goes by Sabrina, right?”

  “Yes. What else did you learn?”

  “Just about everything,” Cleo said, interrupting. “Zara is the queen of research. She could tell you the top three exports of Bahania, the gross national product and a lot of other boring facts designed to put a room of insomniacs to sleep.”

  Zara ignored her. “I’m a college professor. Research is a big part of that.”

  “What’s your subject?” he asked.

  Cleo leaned forward. “Women’s studies. Our little princess-to-be is something of a feminist.”

  Rafe winced.

  “I’m not rabid about it,” Zara protested. “To change the subject to something more relevant—you need to persuade the king to agree to a blood test. We have to be sure that I’m his daughter.”

  “I think it’s a little late for you to back out now,” he said.

  Cleo gave a long-suffering sigh. “You’ve wanted this all your life. I can’t believe you’re questioning your good fortune.”

  “Thinking about finding my father and actually finding him are two different things.”

  The limo turned onto a private drive and passed between two large gates. Up ahead through the trees she could catch glimpses of the famed pink palace—home of the Bahanian royal family.

  “Really different,” she breathed as the panic seeped in.

  There were servants in the palace. Servants and guards and priceless treasures. All of this had probably been discussed on the tour, but Zara had been too nervous to pay attention. Of course anyone thinking about a palace would assume such things existed, but she hadn’t been thinking, either. At least not sensibly. So here she was, being led down a long corridor, led by servants and passing guards. It was enough to give a healthy person a heart attack.

  Even the normally bubbly Cleo was subdued as they walked and walked, passing huge rooms filled with Western-style furniture and open areas with pillows and cushions instead of chairs and sofas. There were statues and fountains and tapestries and cats. Many, many cats.

  Zara had heard about Hassan’s love of felines, but she hadn’t realized they had their run of the palace. At least the cats were clean and well behaved, she thought as one approached and sniffed the luggage.

  Finally their party stopped in front of a large door in a corridor of many doors. The head servant of their group—an attractive woman in her late forties—opened the door and motioned for them to step inside. Zara turned to Rafe and impulsively gripped his arm.

  “Are you going to be close by?”

  She managed to get out the sentence before her body registered the heat of him radiating through his suit jacket sleeve. Her bones started to feel that melting sensation again, which was almost more than she could stand. It wasn’t enough that she was entering a world as unfamiliar to her as another planet. No, she also had to be incredibly sexually attracted to a man for the first time in her life.

  Rafe’s blue eyes stared into hers. She prayed that he couldn’t know how she was reacting to him. His pity, not to mention the rejection, would be more than she could handle today.

  “You’re my responsibility,” he told her. “I’ll be around and you’ll be fine.”

  “What if I’m not?”

  He smiled. A warm, friendly sort of smile that made her muscles quiver—because the bone melting wasn’t bad enough. Then he gently pushed her toward the door.

  “Go on,” he said. “You might like it.”

  “Liar.”

  But there was no turning back. She drew in a deep breath and prepared to enter a new world.

  They had not been assigned a room—instead there was a suite at their disposal. Zara’s first impression was of space and beauty. Cream-colored walls soared up at least fifteen feet. Opposite the door, floor-to-ceiling windows and glass doors allowed a view of the deep blue Arabian Sea beyond the large balcony. She had the brief thought that the water was the same color as Rafe’s eyes, then she told herself not to go there—it would only be dangerous and potentially humiliating.

  Two sofas and several chairs formed a conversation group around a large square table made of inlaid wood. Large pillows were piled up in the corners of the room. Tapestries in deep blues and rose covered the pale walls, and underfoot an intricate tile pattern formed a maze.

  “You each have a bedroom,” the woman said, motioning to identical doors on either side of the vast living room. “His Highness thought you would prefer to be together, but if you would rather have separate quarters, that can be arranged.”

  She looked at Zara as she spoke. Zara glanced at Cleo, who shrugged.

  “This is fine,” Zara told the woman. “The room is lovely.”

  “If you will tell me which luggage goes in which room?”

  Zara pointed to her two suitcases. A different servant took them to the left. Cleo’s were taken to the right. Zara trailed after her bags and found herself in a massive bedroom.

  A four-poster bed stood in the center of the room. Two steps led up to the high mattress. Double doors led to the same balcony she’d seen from the main room. An oversize armoire held a television and DVD unit. Drawers below offered a selection of American and foreign movies.

  Dazed and with her senses on overload, Zara moved into the bathroom where she nearly fainted with delight. A private walled garden grew at the edge of the tub. Sunlight dappled the tile floor, illuminating a long vanity and double sinks. The shower could easily hold five or six people, and there were baskets of shampoo, lotion and soaps, all from expensive boutiques. It was girl heaven.

  Zara turned and saw the head servant waiting expectantly. “It’s beautiful,” she told her. “Everything is lovely.”

  The woman smiled. “I will tell the king you are pleased. Would you like us to unpack for you?”

  Zara thought about her discount clothes and the ratty state of some of her underwear. “Um, no. Thanks. We can manage.”

  The woman bowed and left, taking the other servants with her. It was only then that she realized Rafe hadn’t followed her into her room. Where was he staying? Not that she needed to concern herself with the arrangements. No doubt the palace had plenty of room for her temporary bodyguard.

  “Can you believe it?” Cleo asked.

  Zara stepped into the living room. “What’s your room like?”

  “Come see. It’s amazing. It’s something out of a movie or a dream.”

  Cleo’s room was identical to Zara’s, right down to the baskets of soaps and lotions. Cleo climbed the two steps and threw herself on her bed.

  “I’m never going home. This is fabulous. When I grow up, I want to be the daughter of a king, too.”

  Zara laughed at her sister’s pleasure. “Wait until you see the harem.”

  Cleo sat up, her eyes wide. “There’s a harem?”

  Zara held up her hands. “I don’t know. I was kidding. I didn’t read anything about it. I have no idea how old the palace is, but it’s possible.”

  “I’m going to ask the king the next time I see him.” Cleo flung herself back on the mattress. “I can’t believe I’m saying that. The next time I see the king. How did you get so lucky?”

  Zara didn’t answer. While she, too, was overwhelmed by the l
uxury of the suite, she still felt uneasy about being in the palace. Everything was so unfamiliar. At least she and Cleo had each other.

  A knock on the door drew her into the living room. She found herself hoping it was Rafe, checking up on her. Her heart beat faster at the thought, but when she pulled open the door, the person waiting in the hall was a woman.

  Zara opened her mouth to say hello but had to close it without speaking. All rational thought fled. Her mind filled with thoughts, went blank, then exploded with questions.

  The woman standing in front of her looked to be about her age. They were of similar height, although Zara was a couple of inches taller. But it was her face that captured Zara’s attention. The shape of the eyes and the mouth. The angle of the cheekbones. The similarities were striking, although the mystery woman was far more attractive. Zara’s stomach plunged for her toes.

  “You must be Zara,” the young woman said. “I see what my father meant when he said we could almost be twins. At the very least, it’s obvious we’re sisters.”

  They both had dark hair. Zara nervously pushed up her glasses. “So you must be Princess Sabra?”

  The woman nodded. “Call me Sabrina.” She slipped past Zara and stepped into the suite. “Nice room. I heard you have a sister, but she’s not really your sister? Is that right?”

  “I’m Cleo.”

  Sabrina turned toward the voice, saw Cleo entering the living room and smiled. “Well, we don’t look anything alike. Is your hair really that color? It’s gorgeous.”

  Cleo fingered her spiky blond hair. “This is me. I tried being a redhead for a while, but blond roots look really weird, let me tell you.”

  Zara closed the door. She didn’t know what to think or say. This was her half sister. Princess Sabra…aka Sabrina. She was stunning in her elegant clothes. She wore slacks and a silk blouse that looked expensive. Zara fingered her own bargain cotton dress. Geometric gold earrings caught the light and there was a huge diamond on Sabrina’s left ring finger. She moved with an elegant grace that reminded Zara of her mother. Fiona had been forever trying to teach her to glide rather than stomp, but Zara had never learned the lesson.