The Desert Rogues Part 1

by Susan Mallery

  “No. I’m deliberately trying to understand.”

  She stood and walked to the balcony, standing with her back to the sea. She didn’t think he was being mean. A part of her wanted to believe that Rafe found her attractive. She sighed. Was this before or after aliens landed and delivered the secret to the universe?

  “I never had much luck with dating,” she said, staring at a spot over his head. “I was too tall, too smart and too skinny. Plus with all the moving around, I never exactly found a place where I fit in. I didn’t date in high school, and in college I was slow to make friends. About the time I finally had a group of people I trusted and a few boys who might have been interested, my mom died. Not only did I have to deal with that, but Cleo moved in with me. We had the combination of our loss and our fear of being discovered and her taken away. That pretty much nipped any potential relationships in the bud.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She wanted to ask why. No doubt he was simply being polite. No doubt she should excuse herself and head back to her room. Except she enjoyed standing in the dark, talking with him. As Cleo was forever reminding her—she was way too much of a dreamer.

  “I moved to Washington State to attend graduate school,” she said. “So it was a while before I met people and got settled. There were a few guys, but no one special. Then I met Jon.”

  Rafe stretched his legs out in front of him. “Why don’t I like this guy?”

  “I don’t know. He was very nice. Charming. Funny. He was an administrator at the college. We got along really well.” She hesitated. No way was she going to tell Rafe that there hadn’t been any passion between them. At least not on his side. “He changed me,” she said instead. “I can’t explain it. He made suggestions about my clothes—things that helped me feel more attractive.”

  Rafe stared at her. “A guy had suggestions about your clothes? I assume this was more than asking you to take them off.”

  “Of course. He never—” She pressed her lips together. “We didn’t exactly, you know.”

  “You weren’t lovers.”

  She closed her eyes, then forced herself to open them and meet his steady gaze. “No. We were not.” She cleared her throat. “But there were other compensations and when Jon proposed, I accepted.”

  Rafe sprang to his feet. “You married the guy?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He stalked over to the railing and stood next to her. Really, the man was unreasonably tall. She hated that she had to tilt her head to look at him.

  “We were engaged for a time.”

  “How long?”

  “Two years.”

  “Two years!” His voice exploded into the quiet of the night. “Are you kidding?” He spoke more quietly. “You were engaged to this guy for two years and you never slept with him.”

  “We wanted to wait.”

  “For what? Nuclear winter?”

  “Some people prefer the sanctity of marriage.”

  Rafe shook his head. “This afternoon you were complaining that if you were really a princess you would never get the chance to have sex. That doesn’t sound like a ‘sanctity of marriage’ argument to me.”

  She sighed. “All right. Perhaps I didn’t agree with what we were doing, but I could hardly force the man. By that time I was twenty-six, nearly twenty-seven and I was very ready to see what all the fuss was about.”

  “Did you confront this bozo?”

  “No. Three weeks before the wedding, Jon told me that he wanted to break off our engagement. He’d been wrestling with some issues that could no longer be ignored.”

  Rafe swore. “He was gay, right?”

  Zara’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”

  “The guy helped you pick out clothes. Most men can barely dress themselves and if it’s more complicated than a navy-blue suit or jeans, forget it. Plus, going two years without sex, especially when he had a hot fiancée who was more than willing—it doesn’t make sense any other way.”

  Hot? Zara wanted to ask him if he’d really said the word. Did Rafe think she was hot? Her? She’d never really developed breasts, not serious ones like Cleo’s. She was tall and skinny, not short, curvy and irresistible. She must not have heard him correctly.

  “So what happened when he told you?” he asked.

  It took her a second to figure out what he was talking about. “I was crushed,” she admitted. “And humiliated. The university is in a small town. Everyone knew, and it didn’t take them long to find out why. When I was ready to start dating again, I felt like every guy worried that I’d turn him gay.”

  Rafe chuckled. “Not likely.”

  “I guess, but I’d also reached an age where being a virgin was strange. The situation is only getting worse with time. The last two men I went out with disappeared when I confessed all. What if I really am Hassan’s daughter? I’ll never get a date again and if I do, no one is going to sleep with me. Being a virgin princess is not my idea of a good time.”

  Rafe laughed. He threw back his head and enjoyed the moment, ignoring her sniff of indignation.

  “Easy for you to have a good chuckle,” she grumbled. “You aren’t the one who could live her life in a fishbowl. You aren’t the one who has to explain this after a few dates.”

  “You know, you could just wait for marriage,” Rafe offered helpfully.

  “I don’t think I’m ever going to get married,” she said. “Not if I don’t date, which is getting more and more difficult. It’s only going to be worse, now. Besides, I thought it might be nice to have a little experience. I’m not interested in sleeping with an entire football team, but I would like to see at least one guy naked before I die.”

  Rafe couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. For one thing, he didn’t think there were any more twenty-eight-year-old virgins left. Which proved Zara’s point—not that he was about to tell her that. For another, he was damned tempted to volunteer his services. She was welcome to see him naked anytime she wanted. She could even touch. Of course then he would want to touch back, and that was only going to lead to trouble.

  “You have the strangest look on your face,” she told him.

  “I’ll bet.”

  Just thinking about her looking at him was making him hard. This whole situation was going to be nothing but trouble. He could feel it down to his bones.

  “You’re going to have to be careful,” he said. “Once word gets out that you’re Hassan’s daughter, everything is going to change.”

  She turned and faced the water. “We don’t know that I am his daughter.”

  “Do you really have doubts?”

  She slowly shook her head. “I want to, but I know it in my heart.”

  “I agree with you on that one. Which means the media is going to be all over you. You’ll become the flavor of the month, and that’s going to bring out all kinds of men. They’ll want to take advantage of you.”

  He winced as he spoke the old-fashioned phrase, but didn’t know another way to say what he meant.

  Zara smiled. “I have nothing to offer. Being Hassan’s daughter isn’t going to change that.”

  “You’re wrong. You’ll have connections to the royal family. Your father is a king, you’ll be a princess. I’m sure Hassan will make you rich in your own right.”

  She rested her forearms on the balcony and leaned forward. “It sounded better from half a world away. Back home I could dream about the possibilities. Now it’s all just scary.” She turned her head and glanced at him. “I don’t suppose I could persuade him not to give me any money.”

  “I don’t think so. The king is pretty stubborn.”

  “Great. So I get to be popular for all the wrong reasons. How am I supposed to know if the people I meet like me for me or because I’m Hassan’s daughter?”

  “I can’t answer that.” He would be far better at planning a kidnapping or takin
g out a foreign government.

  Zara nodded. “It’s really late, and we should both try to sleep. You’ve been really sweet to stay out here and talk to me, but I’m sure you’d rather be in bed.”

  She’d read his mind, he thought. Unfortunately they were thinking about two different kinds of “in bed.” She meant alone and he wanted to be with her.

  “Good night, Zara.”

  “Night.”

  He waited until she walked back into her bedroom before sitting back on the bench. As he stared at the stars in the desert sky, he willed his body to return to normal.

  But the need was slow to leave him and it was nearly dawn before he finally closed his eyes and slept.

  The Princess Sabra…aka Sabrina…did not make good on her promise to lend her new sister clothes. Instead, the following afternoon shortly before two there was a knock on the suite door.

  Zara stopped pacing long enough to watch Cleo answer it. So far she’d had a short but intense meeting with her father, and someone from his office had delivered a thick pile of reports, books and brochures on Bahania and the ruling family. Zara couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going to get grilled on the information sometime later.

  “Maybe it’s the guy who’s gonna give you your pop quiz,” Cleo said cheerfully as she opened the door.

  But the people who waited in the hallway obviously had nothing to do with tests or questions. Three loudly speaking, broadly gesturing French women entered the suite followed by servants pushing large clothing racks. Someone brought in a pallet of shoe boxes. There were also dozens of shopping bags filled with lingerie and knits and hat boxes.

  “I am Marie,” a petite redhead said as she approached Zara and smiled. “Ah, you are the one. I see the likeness.” She winked broadly. “Nothing is to be said yet, I know. You can trust Marie. And this beauty is your sister.”

  After squeezing Zara’s hand, Marie glided over to Cleo and embraced her. She fingered Cleo’s short, spiky hair.

  “The color is amazing. Natural I am thinking, yes?”

  Cleo nodded. Her blue eyes widened as she took in all the clothes. Marie followed her gaze.

  “Ah. You have noticed my humble offerings. Princess Sabra called this morning and explained that you two had need of everything. And there is the dinner tonight. You must look perfect.”

  Zara had been doing her best not to think about the state dinner. King Hassan had promised that there would be a protocol meeting later that afternoon. Zara preferred to skip the entire event, but the king wouldn’t hear of it.

  She looked at the racks of clothes. There were formal gowns, plus more casual clothing. “I don’t understand. I’ll admit that Cleo and I each need a dress, but you’ve brought a lot more than that.”

  Marie beamed. “The princess insisted that you completely redo your wardrobes. She said you were from a much colder climate and were not prepared for the heat of Bahania.”

  Zara pressed her lips together. At least Sabrina had been tactful. What she could have said instead was that the woman who might be her new half sister dressed in bargain-basement chic. Zara didn’t think she’d ever spent more than a hundred dollars on an outfit, with the possible exception of one of her suits. Cleo preferred in-style and cheap to classics that would last more than a season.

  Zara moved to the rack and fingered a pink chiffon dress. Her movements caused the price tag to flutter slightly. She gasped and hastily released the fabric. The dress cost twelve thousand dollars. Twelve thousand dollars. That would practically pay for a new car.

  “We can’t,” Zara said, tucking her hands behind her back. “This isn’t right.”

  Cleo frowned. “Zara, what’s the problem?”

  Zara nodded at the rack. Cleo looked at a couple of dresses, sighing audibly when she brushed against a midnight blue velvet gown. Her breath caught a second later. She looked at her sister.

  “I prefer to spend my take-home pay on rent and food, but everyone has different priorities,” Cleo said brightly, but Zara could see the shock in her eyes.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Marie looked confused. She exchanged an unintelligible conversation with her two assistants. Zara had taken French in high school, but her only memories of the language included telling someone her name and asking the time. Not that she would be able to understand the answer to the question.

  Marie motioned to the clothes. “You are not happy with the quality of our things? I assure you, these are the finest designer originals. The styles are both contemporary and flattering. If you would be so kind as to tell me what I can change, I will do so.” She appeared more worried than annoyed.

  “It’s not your clothes,” Zara said. “We can’t afford these ourselves, and I’m not comfortable accepting them as a gift.”

  This statement produced more rapid-fire French, which ended when Marie clapped her hands together. “Ms. Paxton, Princess Sabra was very explicit. You and your sister were to have all new clothes. The bill was to go on the palace account. If you refuse, she will think you were not satisfied. She might decide to dismiss me. Without the patronage of the royal family, my boutique would not survive.” She shrugged. “So you see, you must accept her gift. For my sake.”

  Cleo inched close. “It’s a darned good argument.”

  “One I’m not sure I believe,” Zara whispered back.

  “We have to have dresses for tonight. What if we just take those and tell her we’re too tired to shop for anything else?”

  Zara nodded. Cleo’s plan made sense. She supposed that as the king’s daughter she would be expected to dress a certain way. Obviously her outlet mall days were behind her. But she couldn’t make too many changes at once without going crazy.

  “Let’s start with dresses for tonight,” Zara told Marie. “That may take a while. We’ll deal with the rest of it later.”

  Marie sighed with obvious relief. “Yes, of course.”

  She clapped her hands. Several bags and one of the racks disappeared. Her assistants began sorting through the shoe boxes.

  “Princess Sabra guessed on sizes. She trusted my judgment in what would be appropriate. We’ve brought shoes and evening bags, as well.”

  Marie began flipping through dresses. She tossed several toward one assistant and other dresses toward another. Then she ordered Cleo and Zara into their bedrooms to try things on.

  Zara found out right away that Marie and her assistant didn’t believe in modesty. Zara found herself standing by her bed and wearing only her panties. She tried to casually cross her arms over her small chest, but neither woman noticed. Instead they were discussing the various attributes of the dresses.

  “You are very thin,” Marie said. “You can get away with something more dramatic.” She reached up and pulled Zara’s arms to her sides and frowned at her chest. “Your breasts are small, but we can help that with a bit of padding, yes?”

  Mortified beyond words, Zara could only gulp air. Marie didn’t seem to notice. Instead she fingered Zara’s long hair and smiled. “We will put this up, I think. You don’t wear much makeup. With your skin it is not necessary. But tonight, a little extra will make you shine. Now for the dresses.”

  They whipped them on and off her with lightning speed. Beaded gowns, velvet dresses, garments made from silk so delicate it was more like gossamer wings. At last Marie found one she liked and allowed Zara to look into the mirror. She nearly fell over.

  The dress was a halter style, beaded and gold. The color shimmered with each movement, catching and reflecting light. But what stunned Zara was the front, which was cut down nearly to her waist. Straps of heavy fabric covered her breasts, but if she turned too quickly, she popped out, like bread from a toaster.

  Marie clucked. “We would have to take this in a little and use the tape.”

  Zara felt practically naked. “Tape?”

  “It goes on the side of the halter, to keep the fabric pressed against your skin.”

  “Ah, how do y
ou get it off?”

  Marie stared at her as if she were incredibly stupid. “You rip it quickly. It barely hurts.”

  Zara tried to smile, although she was feeling a little nauseous. She had a bad feeling that what might barely hurt Marie would render her unconscious.

  “Maybe a different style would be better,” she murmured.

  They went through a half dozen more dresses until they found a simple slip dress in iridescent bronze silk. The material skimmed over her body, giving the illusion of curves, except on top. The color made her skin glow and she felt almost dressed.

  “I like this one,” she said, wishing there was a way to add about two inches to her chest.

  Marie nodded her agreement. “Yes. It’s very pretty. There are some bronze sandals.” She snapped out an order and sent the assistant scurrying.

  Zara looked at herself from all angles. “This is great. Maybe I should ask Sabrina if this dress is all right,” she murmured, hoping her new almost-sister wouldn’t scratch her eyes out instead of giving an opinion.

  “She will love it. While you do that, I’ll check on your sister.”

  “Great.”

  The dress was exactly the right length, Zara noted as she followed Marie back into the living room. The assistant handed her a pair of strappy, high-heeled sandals that fitted perfectly. Zara stepped out into the hallway, then paused when she realized she didn’t have a clue as to where she was supposed to go. How did people in the palace keep track of each other? Was there a palace operator or maybe a beeper system?

  Before she could figure out what to do, a door opened a few feet down the hall. She almost wasn’t surprised when Rafe stepped out.

  “What is it with you?” she asked before he could speak. “Do you have a light that goes off in your room if I leave mine?”

  He looked her up and down. “You look nice. Is that for tonight?”

  His compliment made her feel all soft and gooey inside. Then she remembered the very intimate conversation they’d had the previous night and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be embarrassed or not. Rafe felt like the only normal person in the tornado that was her current life.