The Desert Rogues Part 1

by Susan Mallery

  Rafe stood in the hall. He’d changed into a tuxedo, which fitted him perfectly. No doubt his association with a royal family required formal wear.

  Her gaze lingered on his handsome face, most especially his mouth. She could instantly recall how his lips felt on hers and the way she’d trembled in his embrace.

  Rafe smiled. “You look good.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  She winced as soon as the words passed her lips. Could that have sounded more stupid? But Rafe didn’t say anything to make her feel bad. Instead he stepped into the living room and glanced at his watch.

  “We have to be at the reception anteroom in ten minutes.”

  “If that’s a comment about me being late, you can forget it,” Cleo said breezily. “I’m hardly the kind of girl to be late for her first chance to meet real, live handsome princes.”

  Cleo glided into the room, her eyes bright with humor and anticipation. Zara had been caught up in wondering if anyone she knew had ever actually been in an “anteroom” when she registered her sister’s appearance.

  On the one hand, she’d meant what she’d said about Cleo’s beauty keeping people distracted so they wouldn’t notice anything else. On the other hand, she felt like the country mouse come to town.

  Cleo’s cobalt-blue dress clung to every luscious curve, no padding required. The shimmering fabric caught the light, reflecting and dazzling as Cleo’s breasts strained to the point of threatening to spill out. It wasn’t enough of a display to be in bad taste, but it was enough that men were going to be catching their breath in private expectation.

  Eric had styled Cleo’s short hair into soft curls that framed her round face. Sapphire and diamond earrings decorated her ear lobes, while a matching bracelet glittered around her wrist.

  Zara waited uncomfortably for Rafe to fall under her sister’s spell, but after a brief word of greeting, he turned away from Cleo and motioned for the door.

  “If you ladies are ready?”

  Could he really not be attracted to Cleo? Zara remembered his arousal and felt a thrill of excitement. Had she finally found a man who was interested in her for her? Then she reminded herself that Rafe wasn’t interested in her at all. He’d made it completely clear that he didn’t do relationships.

  He held out an arm to each of them. Cleo instantly snuggled close, while Zara felt slightly awkward as he escorted them down the hall.

  Her sister laughed. “Rafe, you’re armed.”

  “I’m cautious.”

  Cleo looked around him. “Zara, the man takes his job seriously. You might want to remind your watch-dog here that you wouldn’t object to a man asking you to dance. Or is that a security breach?”

  “Zara is free to do as she wishes,” Rafe said calmly.

  “Oh, I see. As long as she can do it with you watching.” Cleo raised her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have taken you for that kind of guy. Somehow you strike me as someone who wants to be in the middle of the action, not standing on the sidelines observing.”

  Zara knew that Cleo didn’t mean anything by her conversation. She didn’t know about the kiss so she couldn’t see how embarrassing her comments were. Still Zara wished there was some way to change the subject. But before she could try anything, they turned a corner and entered the anteroom.

  Over a dozen people stood in small groups, chatting with the ease of those who know each other well. The moment the three of them entered the arched doorway, the room went completely silent. Zara found herself the uncomfortable center of attention.

  She glanced around, taking in several tall, dark and handsome men who most probably were the princes and her half brothers. Sabrina was there, standing next to another tall, good-looking man. Her husband? There were official looking types wearing tuxedos and medals or ribbons, along with elegantly clad women. In the center stood Hassan.

  The king smiled broadly when he saw her. After handing his drink to one of his sons, he walked over, both hands extended.

  “Zara. You are perfectly lovely this evening. I see you allowed me the pleasure of seeing you in a tiara. It was made for my great-grandmother’s twenty-fifth birthday and has always been a favorite of mine.”

  Still holding her hands, he leaned close and kissed her on her cheek. Then he turned his attention to Cleo and greeted her.

  Zara noticed that everyone was still watching and that somehow Rafe had moved to the far side of the room where he spoke with Sabrina’s husband. Sabrina didn’t look very happy. Her gaze kept drifting to the tiara, and Zara wondered if her wearing it was significant in some way.

  She found herself being introduced to the king’s four sons. They were polite enough, but obviously far more interested in Cleo. In a matter of minutes two of them had pulled her sister away and were arguing over who had the pleasure of dining with her.

  Hassan moved closer. “You look nervous, my daughter. Do not be concerned. This is a small event.”

  “I can’t help being concerned that your definition of small is different from mine.”

  Hassan dismissed her concerns. “There are only a few hundred people here tonight.”

  Zara thought she might faint. “A few hundred?” That was way too many. “You’re not going to say anything about me, are you? I mean about who I may be.”

  “Of course not. I want you to get used to being here first.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen.” She looked longingly toward the door. “Maybe this should wait until after we’ve taken blood tests and have received the results. You know, just to be sure.”

  Hassan chuckled, then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “My delightful child, I am sure.”

  He led her around the anteroom and introduced her to everyone. Faces and names blurred. She thought that Sabrina’s husband, Prince Kardal, seemed a little more friendly than his wife. The ambassador of El Bahar had actually kissed her fingers. Talk about strange.

  Just when she was able to breathe easily and tell herself that she might be able to survive the evening, a servant in formal dress appeared and announced that it was time for them to move into the main reception room.

  Hassan led the way, heading for two ornately carved, arched doors. Unfortunately, her hand was still tucked in the crook of his arm, which meant she had to lead with him. Zara thought she might faint. She glanced around until she saw Rafe. He gave her a quick thumbs-up, before moving into line. She saw Cleo between two of the princes. Her sister looked blissfully happy.

  Somewhere beyond the closed doors she heard music and conversation. Then the doors swung open as if by magic and they walked into a glittering ballroom.

  There seemed to be a few thousand people rather than just a few hundred, but Zara supposed that was because she wasn’t used to being the center of attention. So many faces, she thought as the entire crowd turned in their direction. Intellectually Zara knew it was because of Hassan and his family, not because of her, yet she couldn’t help feeling as if she were being judged and found wanting. Then the people closest began to curtsy or bow, depending on their gender.

  Curtsy? Zara swallowed. Should she have done that when she’d seen the king? What about with the princes and with Sabrina. Her stomach flopped around in uncomfortable spasms as worry made her clench her teeth. How many laws had she and Cleo already broken?

  Someone spoke to Hassan, and the king turned away. Zara used the opportunity to slip free of him. Her thought was to duck back behind the royal family, but before she had taken more than a step, Rafe was at her side.

  “You might want to pretend you’re enjoying yourself,” he murmured in her ear as he nodded at someone he knew.

  She sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Let’s just say that personal guests of the king don’t usually walk into a room looking as if they’re about to have a root canal.”

  “Actually, I’d rather have the dental work without Novocain than be here.”

  Rafe placed his hand on the small of her back. �
�Sorry but that’s not an option. Prepare yourself to meet everyone who is anyone in Bahanian circles.”

  Her heart rate increased, and her palms began to sweat. “I can’t. I never remember people’s names.”

  “Try to find something distinctive about them as a memory aid. Things like Count Crook has a crooked nose.”

  “Is there a Count Crook?”

  “No. I was making up an example.”

  She looked at him. “What happens if I break into hysterical laughter?”

  “I’ll be forced to throw water in your face.”

  She imagined herself wet and dripping. It wasn’t an attractive visual. “Okay. I’ll try to keep the hysterics to a minimum.”

  “Think about the king. He’s delighted to have you here. You wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  She was far more concerned about the possibility of throwing up, but before she could share that with Rafe, Hassan had returned to her side. He ushered her into the crowd and began introducing her to people.

  Zara got lost after the first three names. She tried Rafe’s technique, but none of these perfectly groomed folks had distinguishing features. Every woman was more beautiful than the last, each man more refined and gentlemanly. Hassan was careful to say she was the daughter of a friend, but his tone of voice implied there was some secret between them. Zara hoped that no one thought she was his new mistress.

  Zara nodded throughout the introductions. Rafe was always close, but not close enough to talk to. She smiled at men in traditional sheik garments, women in designer gowns, dignitaries in Savile Row suits, all the while hoping no one could tell she was from some podunk town in the Pacific Northwest and that before tonight she’d never worn a dress that cost more than a hundred dollars.

  “Zara, I’d like you to meet the duke of Netherton,” the king said as they paused in front of a fair-haired man in his mid-thirties.

  “Your Highness, always a pleasure. Ms. Paxton, an honor.”

  Like several men before him, the duke brought her hand to his mouth and lightly kissed her fingers.

  He was tall and blond with blue eyes. The description also fit Rafe, but he and the duke had little else in common. Where Rafe was broad and obviously muscled, the duke had a more slender build. Rafe’s blue eyes were dark and forbidding, although tempting. The duke’s eyes were light, his expression faintly cynical.

  Zara wanted to duck and run. Instead she forced herself to smile. “I’ve never met a duke before. What is the correct way to address you?”

  “Call me Byron.” He winced slightly. “No poetry jokes, please. My mother was a fan of Lord Byron’s work.”

  Zara’s hackles rose slightly. The duke had been so smooth, she almost hadn’t noticed the fact that he assumed she wouldn’t recognize the name and be able to place it. She told herself not to take the fact personally. No doubt many people didn’t know who Lord Byron was or how his romantic poetry had made an entire generation of women swoon.

  Another man joined them. Hassan made introductions. Jean-Paul of a French last name she hadn’t quite caught, murmured to her in a seductive tone of voice. He was darkly handsome. While he didn’t have a title, he wasted no time in mentioning the family chateau that had been around for nearly five hundred years, along with vineyards and many wonderful paintings that she “simply had to come see.”

  Right, Zara thought, trying to see the humor in the situation. Next time she was touring through France she would stop by.

  “May I bring you some champagne?” Jean-Paul asked.

  Byron lightly clasped her hand in his. “Actually, she had already agreed to accompany me to the bar.”

  Hassan grinned broadly. “I will leave you two to fight over the lovely Zara.” He patted her cheek, then strolled away.

  Zara glanced around for Rafe and was pleased to see him hovering in the background. She sent him a silent plea for rescue, but he either didn’t get it or didn’t feel up to interfering. Instead he followed as both Jean-Paul and the duke led her to one of the bars set up in a corner of the room.

  “Sparkling water,” she said when it was their turn. Both men looked disapproving.

  “Not champagne?” Jean-Paul asked.

  “Not tonight.” She needed to keep a clear head to navigate the potential disasters, not to mention that she already had the beginnings of a headache.

  “I understand you recently met the king,” Jean-Paul said when they’d all been served and had stepped away from the bar.

  “Yes. My sister and I have only been in Bahania for a short time.”

  “You’d never met him before?” Byron asked. “There hadn’t been any contact between you at all?”

  “No.”

  Jean-Paul nodded encouragingly. “You are so lovely, Zara. Tell me what you do when you are not here charming us all with your smile?”

  She nearly gagged. Did he expect her to buy in to that line? “I’m a professor of women’s studies at a university in the Pacific Northwest.”

  Byron took a step closer, attempting to edge out the Frenchman. “Is there anyone special in your life?”

  Jean-Paul took a step closer. “There is now.”

  Zara moved back a bit.

  Byron ignored him and focused on her. “I have enjoyed my many visits to your delightful country. I spent nearly a year there after I graduated from Oxford.”

  Jean-Paul stroked her face. “The only thing nearly as appealing as a woman such as yourself is the sight of the vineyards in the summer, after a light rain. The grapes sparkle in the sun. I cannot describe the smells—rich earth, the vines, their fruit. Like Bahania, France is a feast for the senses, eh? Not like a cold, dreary island.”

  Byron took her arm and drew her away. “Have you been to England? Our manor home is open to the public every Wednesday and alternate Saturdays. You might have seen it. The London residence is private, of course. If you—”

  Jean-Paul took her other arm and tugged. “Have you seen the view from the garden. It’s delightful and reminds me a little of France.”

  Byron tugged harder. “She doesn’t want to go with you.”

  Jean-Paul frowned. “She doesn’t want to stay with you.”

  Zara set down her glass before she spilled anything and jerked free of both of them. “I’m not a chew toy,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I would very much like to have a word with my sister.”

  She turned on her high heel and stalked away. If Fiona were still alive, she would have winced at Zara’s unladylike movements, but desperate times called for expedient behavior, Zara thought. She ducked into the crowd, trying to put as much room between herself and the two pit bulls as she could.

  She hated their pretension and their false compliments. Most of all she hated that a week ago, they wouldn’t even have acknowledged that she was alive.

  “If you’re looking for Cleo, she’s over there.”

  Zara realized that Rafe was still next to her, keeping up easily, parting the crowd when necessary. She slowed down.

  “That was awful,” she said, turning in the direction he’d indicated. “I can’t believe how those two acted.”

  “They find you appealing.”

  She looked at him. “Oh, please. Somehow they’ve figured out the truth. They don’t care about me. They want a royal connection.”

  “I’m not sure the duke needs one.”

  “Then he needs something else.”

  “They’re both rich and eligible.”

  She stopped and glared at him. “I don’t think either of them would appreciate you championing his cause.”

  “They might if it worked.” He moved closer. “So maybe you catch their attention by being Hassan’s daughter. Is that so horrible? They might both turn out to be great guys.”

  She hated that it was so easy for him to imagine her with someone else. Just standing there close to Rafe made her remember what it had been like to kiss him. It made her want to do it again. Being in his arms had awakened her to a passion
she’d never experienced before. Being in his arms had made her feel safe, and that was a commodity that she appreciated now more than ever.

  “If you don’t understand that it matters to me why they’re interested, then I can’t explain it.”

  She turned and headed toward her sister. Cleo was standing very close to one of the princes. Even from twenty feet away Zara could feel the heat flaring between them. At least someone was having a great time tonight.

  “Hi,” Cleo said when they approached. “You remember Prince Sadik. I guess he’s your half brother.” She leaned toward the prince. “Which makes the two of us absolutely no relation at all.”

  Her new half brother bowed. “Zara. I had hoped to have the opportunity to get to know you. Perhaps later you will honor me with a dance?”

  Zara nodded. “Sure. No problem.”

  She waved goodbye and managed to escape without stumbling. When they were out of earshot, she turned to Rafe.

  “Dancing?” she hissed. “There’s going to be dancing?”

  He laughed. “Just you, Jean-Paul and Duke Byron. I can’t wait to watch.”

  Chapter Eight

  When Prince Sadik appeared at her side for his dance, Zara nearly wept in relief. She’d just spent a horrible ninety minutes dancing with men she didn’t know—mostly Jean-Paul and Byron. Not only were they treating her like a prize desired by a rival, but rather than talking to her while they danced, they spent their time glaring at each other. Maybe they should simply tango together and leave her out of it.

  “How are you enjoying yourself?” Prince Sadik asked as he led her around the dance floor.

  “It’s been lovely,” she lied through slightly clenched teeth.

  The prince smiled. “Your sister has said you have some reservations about being a part of the family.”

  Zara sighed. “Don’t worry. After I strangle her, she won’t be talking at all.”