The Desert Rogues Part 1

by Susan Mallery

  For the first time in her life she had two men vying for her attention. Of course neither of them really cared about her—they were interested in getting a connection with the royal family. Of course, there might be a different motive—maybe the duke needed money for his aging manor house. Or Jean-Paul might want a loan to expand the vineyard. Whatever their reasons for pursuing her, she knew they had nothing to do with her as a person. So while her popularity was a change, it was especially unappealing.

  She turned the corner and headed for the door leading to the rooms she shared with Cleo. As she stepped inside, she called her sister’s name, but heard only silence. Cleo must be out—maybe with the fabulously handsome Prince Sadik. He had certainly taken notice of Cleo at the state dinner.

  Zara wandered around the spacious living room, then plopped down on the sofa. She could see the Arabian Sea in the distance. Already the sun was high in the sky. The temperature would be climbing, and soon it would be difficult for her to be out in the heat. But here in the palace the air was cool.

  Zara glanced around at the elegant furnishings, the expensive tapestries and the small wet bar in the corner. She knew if she crossed to it and opened the minirefrigerator, she would find an assortment of drinks, including her favorite sodas. The small cupboard above held different snacks. She could even phone the kitchen and ask that something be sent up.

  Bahania was a fantasy come true for her. In fact it was better than her fantasy. She was living in a palace, and if King Hassan really did turn out to be her father, then she was about to become a princess. So what if that made a couple of guys a little weird?

  Zara rose and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Restlessness filled her and she knew the cause. Rafe. She didn’t understand anything about him.

  She also knew that she was playing a very dangerous game with him. She’d learned a few things in the twenty-eight years she’d spent on the planet, and one of them was that men didn’t lie about certain things. When a guy said he didn’t do relationships, she needed to listen. The problem was, she didn’t want to.

  Zara sighed. Rafe had told her that she was a marriage-and-kids kind of woman and that he wasn’t a marriage-and-kids kind of guy. Her gut told her that he was telling the truth on both counts. Unfortunately, knowing he was a mistake didn’t take away his appeal.

  She wanted him.

  Some of the attraction was sexual. He made her think about things she’d never considered. For the first time in her life she was responding to a man based on chemistry. But there was more to it than that. She couldn’t dismiss everything as being due to hormones.

  She liked him.

  Zara put her fingertips on the cool glass. She wished it was otherwise, but wishing didn’t change things. She liked being with him, talking with him. She even liked it when they argued. He was straightforward and so masculine. He was kind, although she suspected he would hate that description. He was also attracted to her.

  She couldn’t remember the last time a man had been interested in her body with the same intensity Rafe showed. She could see his desire, as well as feel it. How was she supposed to resist that? The combination of sexual attraction and general liking weren’t a temptation she could walk away from. Around him she felt safe and yet strong. She’d never experienced that particular combination before.

  She had it bad for the man, but somehow she was going to have to find a way to get over him. No way was she going to allow herself to get her heart broken.

  “This is the sword an ancestor of mine carried during the Crusades,” King Hassan said when they paused in front of a long, dangerous-looking sword on a stand. Jewels and gold decorated the handle, but their beauty didn’t detract from the honed edge of the blade.

  Hassan gently touched the tip. “During some battles, blood ran like a river through the valleys of the Holy Land.”

  Zara stared at the antique weapon. She could imagine it covered in blood. “I didn’t realize that Bahania had been involved in the Crusades.”

  Hassan shook his head. “There wasn’t any fighting here, but the true believers traveled to keep out the infidels.” His expression turned serious. “It was a time of great unrest, and many died. Over the years, the royal family began to see that an attitude of tolerance was better for our people. By the sixteenth century, all were allowed to worship as each saw fit. We were very progressive.”

  “Apparently.” Zara knew that in the sixteenth century, Europe had been a land of intolerance, especially between those of different beliefs.

  “We were less progressive about women,” Hassan said with an apologetic tone. “The royal harem existed until my father’s time.”

  “I can’t imagine such a thing.”

  “While I can imagine it, I’m not sure how a ruling monarch would find the time,” Hassan said teasingly. “Matters of state keep me very occupied.”

  They continued to walk through the halls of the oldest part of the palace. Treasures filled every corner, including paintings, stunning mosaics, statues and carvings done directly into the walls and ceilings.

  A small gray cat strolled up to join them. Hassan bent over and picked up the feline, cradling it in his arms.

  “How are you, my precious one?” he asked, his tone low and affectionate.

  A small tag hung from a braided collar. Hassan touched the tag with his finger, turning it so he could read the name.

  “Ah. You are Muffin.” He shook his head. “Occasionally I permit school children to come to the palace and name the new cats. I frequently regret the visits.”

  Zara laughed. “You don’t approve of Muffin as a name for a cat?”

  “Not a royal one.” Still, he scratched the cat’s head and rubbed it under the chin. The tame creature purred, relaxing in Hassan’s arms.

  “How did you come to be so fond of cats?” she asked.

  “My mother enjoyed having them around.” He set Muffin back on the ground. “You are named for my mother. Did you know?”

  “Not until you told me. I’d looked up the origin of the name once and saw that it was a derivation of Sara but I didn’t think anything more than that. I figured my mother had simply liked the name.”

  Hassan led the way to an alcove. Large windows looked out onto an elaborate garden. Zara had noticed that Bahania was much more lush than she would have expected.

  She took the seat next to the king and tried to ignore the small group that had trailed them throughout the tour. Apparently Hassan didn’t go many places alone.

  “I was surprised to learn that Fiona had remembered me telling her about my mother.” He touched Zara’s hair. “Surprised and pleased. My mother also would have enjoyed knowing she had not been forgotten.”

  Zara didn’t know what to say to that. Fiona had never spoken of Hassan or his mother. The king seemed to read her mind.

  “If you only learned about me through her papers, obviously she did not tell you anything.”

  “I would ask questions,” Zara said, because it was true and she sensed it was something Hassan would want to hear. “I used to beg her to tell me about my father, but she never said a word. I didn’t know why.”

  “Your life would have been very different if she’d told either of us,” Hassan said. “I want to think I would have been willing to let her live her life without me as was her wish, but I’m not sure.”

  He stared into the distance. Zara knew he was seeing the past he’d shared with Fiona.

  “Tell me about your life as a child,” he said quietly. “Tell me about Fiona.”

  Zara shifted slightly on the bench. Even though the king’s entourage stayed out of earshot, she was aware of them lurking. There were a couple of assistants, someone who could only be a bodyguard and Rafe. His was the only presence she didn’t mind.

  “Fiona was always beautiful,” Zara began slowly. “Tall, elegant and so graceful. She could make the most ordinary task in the world look like an intricate dance. I wanted to be like her.”

&nbs
p; “There is a great likeness,” Hassan said.

  She laughed. “You danced with me at the dinner. I’m sure I trod on your toes at least once.” Zara’s smile faded slightly. “I inherited many good qualities from my mother, but grace wasn’t one of them. I had no talent for dancing, although she tried for years. I would attend classes and stumble my way through. Finally she gave in to my pleas and allowed me to spend my afternoons in the library instead of in her studio.”

  “Was there—” Hassan’s voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. “Fiona had a way about her. There must have been many men. Before you said there wasn’t anyone special, but she must have had admirers.”

  Zara suddenly sensed dangerous territory. Fortunately, she could tell the truth. “From time to time she dated. A relationship might last for a couple of months. But they were never serious. She told me that she had no interest in getting married. I think she’d already given away her heart.”

  Hassan shrugged. “I want it to be so. How could I not? Fiona was my one true love. If only she’d agreed to marry me.”

  Zara found that thought daunting. If her mother had married the king, then they all would have lived in Bahania. What would that have been like?

  She thought of Sabrina’s years growing up, both here and in California. Torn between two worlds. Would Zara have experienced the same fate? And what about Cleo?

  “Imagining a different life is difficult,” she admitted. “Fiona was telling you the truth when she said that she couldn’t live in one place for very long. We moved nearly every year. I never knew what she was looking for, but she didn’t find it. Or perhaps there was no goal, and the point was simply to experience different lives.”

  “We will never know.” Hassan patted her hand. “I have a matter I wish to discuss with you, my daughter.”

  His tone of voice sent warning signals zipping along her spine. Yet she found herself caught up in the words “my daughter.” His daughter? Had she really found her father? Despite the week she’d been in the palace, the concept was still difficult to believe.

  “Your Highness,” she said, not realizing she was interrupting him until it was too late and he was already staring at her. “What about the blood tests? Shouldn’t we take care of that. I mean, so that we can be sure?”

  “I am sure.”

  “Yes, well, this isn’t just about us. Your family will want to be sure. The government of Bahania will want to be sure. Your, ah, people will have questions.”

  His people? She couldn’t believe she’d actually said that. She felt like a bit player in a bad movie.

  “My people trust me,” Hassan intoned.

  “With reason, I’m sure. My point is why ask them to trust you on this matter? Why not let them know for sure?”

  The king considered her words, then nodded. “I’ll send my physician to you later today. He’ll draw blood and the appropriate tests will be performed. Does that satisfy you?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  She swallowed. Satisfied didn’t exactly describe the sudden roiling of her stomach. While she knew that confirming her relationship—or lack thereof—with the king was the right thing to do, a part of her didn’t want to know. The voice deep down in her innermost soul had already whispered the truth. Zara didn’t doubt what the blood tests would reveal, and when the truth came out there was no turning back. Her life would be changed forever.

  “Good. Now, I have also been considering your future. Once the blood tests have proven what we both already know—that you are my blood—then you will be known to all as my daughter.” He hesitated. “Sabrina frequently chides me for how I say things. She tells me that daughters are different from sons and require different persuading.”

  Zara had no idea what he was taking about, but he was making her nervous. “Just say it. I’ll try not to be offended.”

  “Perhaps that would be best.” Hassan beamed. “I would be most happy to find you a husband. I mean no disrespect, but you are very advanced in years not to be married. Of course your lack of a husband makes some things less complicated, so I am not displeased. If it has been a matter of finding the right man, I can offer several suggestions.”

  Zara opened her mouth, then closed it. She couldn’t breathe and she certainly couldn’t speak. Suggestions? As in he thought he could find her a husband?

  She reminded herself that he was the king of Bahania. No doubt he could do whatever he wanted.

  “I, ah, feel confident that I can find my own husband,” she said at last, the words trembling slightly.

  “You have not done so yet.”

  “I know. It’s complicated.” No way was she going to tell him about Jon and the broken engagement. And even though she’d told Rafe about her gay ex-fiancé, she didn’t think he would be telling her secrets to anyone—not even the king.

  “Now that you are in Bahania, you will meet different men. Didn’t you go riding with the duke of Netherton?”

  “Uh-huh.” And it had been a disaster. “I’m not exactly looking for a duke,” she told the king. “There’s also the issue of me returning home. What would I do with a husband then?”

  Hassan stared at her. “You are home.”

  Her stomach flopped over again. “What do you mean?”

  He cupped her cheek. “You are my daughter. You belong here—in Bahania. The palace is your home now. You will stay here until you are married. That is the way of things for the daughter of the king.”

  He squeezed gently, then released her. Before she could get her lips around a response, he was gone, leaving her gasping, confused and feeling very trapped.

  Chapter Ten

  “I can’t believe he’s serious,” Zara said as she walked back toward her room. “Does he really expect me to stay in the palace until I’m married? I have a life, a job, a home.”

  “I guess the king doesn’t see it that way.”

  Rafe held in a chuckle. He didn’t think that Zara would appreciate his humor. Not when he could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

  “Have you noticed how you spend a lot of your day annoyed?” he asked conversationally. “Didn’t we already do the huffy thing after your ride with Byron?”

  She stopped and glared at him. “I wasn’t in a huff then and I’m not in one now. It’s very easy for you to make fun of me. You’re not the one about to be held prisoner in the palace.”

  Rafe glanced around at the mosaics on the wall, the two cats strolling past and the antique table next to them.

  “It’s a little hard to get worked up about your living conditions.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Don’t be cute. You know what I mean. I have an entire life. The king thinks I should just drop it and become his…his—” she exhaled “—I don’t know the right word. His something.”

  “Daughter,” Rafe offered helpfully. “He wants you to be his daughter. You know, hang out with him, get to know him, live in his country.”

  “I have a career. I worked hard to get my doctorate. I have friends, plans. Should I just turn my back on everything?”

  “I don’t know. How great are things back in your world?”

  She looked away from him, which Rafe guessed was her way of dealing with the situation in a mature fashion. He prodded the small of her back to get her moving again.

  “I sort of understand,” he told her. “This whole royal situation takes getting used to.”

  She sniffed. “A lot you know about it. You get to come and go as you please. You can quit your job anytime you want.”

  She had a point. The thing was, he kind of liked her all fussy and crabby. She had a temper, but not an ugly one.

  “Think of the possibilities,” he told her. “You might start to like it here. You’ll get to go shopping, wear jewelry, hang out in the best places.”

  “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” she muttered. “You can’t possibly think I’m so incredibly shallow. It’s disgusting.”

  “
Well then, think about all the marriage possibilities. I’m sure Hassan would find you a terrific husband.”

  She stopped again and glared at him. “Ha-ha. I’m nearly doubled over with laughter. Aren’t you the amusing one?”

  He held back a smile. “Absolutely.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re not taking this very seriously. I’m talking about the entire fabric of my life being ripped apart and sewn back together without my say-so. I do not want anyone picking my husband, thank you very much.”

  Rafe didn’t want to think about her getting married, either, although he wasn’t about to explore that. As far as he was concerned it was hands off—regardless how much he wanted her.

  “You never know what kind of prince the king might dig up. And I do mean prince.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “You know that wouldn’t matter to me.”

  “I thought all little girls dreamed of marrying a handsome prince.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Mr. Bodyguard, I’m all grown up.”

  He’d noticed. Her being all grown up kept him awake nights. “You’re still innocent in the ways of the world.”

  She glanced around to make sure they were alone in the hallway, then lowered her voice. “This is about the whole virgin thing, isn’t it?” Her mouth tightened. “I can’t believe my being a virgin is becoming a bigger deal than it was. I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “Things could be worse.”

  “Or I could fix the problem. I’m having dinner with Jean-Paul tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll take care of my virginity then.”

  Rafe suddenly found it hard to swallow. “Zara, don’t be rash.”

  “I thought I was just crabby,” she told him. “Now I have to add rash to the list? Is there anything about me that you like?”

  There was plenty, starting with how she stood her ground when she was annoyed.

  She started walking down the hallway. “I can’t believe he expects me to simply move here permanently. I don’t know that I want to live in the palace. I don’t even know if I’m ready to pack everything up and move to Bahania. It’s too much, too soon. I need time.”