“I wasn’t referring to a forgery.”
“I’m a U.S. citizen,” she said. “My name is Julia Margarite Nash. There’s no way you can change that.”
“Yes, there is.”
Harrison struggled to understand Ahmed’s logic. They didn’t have nearly enough time to change Julia’s name.
Ahmed gave Harrison a searching, speculative look. “We get her a diplomatic passport. From the British High Commission.”
Harrison rocked back, words failing him.
“What?” asked Julia, easily picking up on the unspoken tension between the two men.
And then she understood, and her eyes lit with hope. “Ohhh. Your get out of jail free card.”
“No way,” Harrison barked, and they both blinked at him.
He couldn’t get married in a Bedouin settlement in the middle of the Arabian desert. His grandmother would have a heart attack for one.
“It would solve your problem,” said Ahmed. “Even if they caught her, they couldn’t hold her.”
“A marriage certificate is not some cold, utilitarian document you sign to get a good piece of identification.”
“We’d get divorced,” Julia offered. “Right away if you want.”
“There’s protocol,” said Harrison. “My family.”
“Brittany,” said Julia with a sigh, the hope going out of her eyes.
“Never mind Brittany. I’m Lord Harrison William-”
“Arthur Beaumont-Rochester, Baron Welsmeire,” she finished for him.
“It’s not a curse,” he told her. “But it is an obligation.”
“I understand,” said Julia. “Forget about it.”
Ahmed compressed his lips, and Harrison could feel the man’s disapproval.
“The decision is not mine alone,” he tried to explain. Divorce was strongly frowned upon by the royal family and the Church. Harrison could taint his marriage to Brittany, their future children, perhaps even his family’s title.
“I said to forget about it,” Julia repeated. “We’ll find another way.”
He opened his mouth to argue again, but then he caught her expression. She wasn’t angry or upset. She was genuinely letting him off the hook.
He gave a nod. “Ruwais,” he said.
“Suicide,” Ahmed muttered under his breath.
Harrison glared at him.
Packing up the Jeep for the run to Ruwais, Julia fought hard to keep her fear at bay. Ahmed must have been exaggerating the danger. Otherwise, Harrison wouldn’t be willing to drive her across the desert.
She understood Harrison’s position. He had to get married in St. Paul’s Cathedral amidst the pomp and circumstance expected of a man of his station. He owed it to Brittany, and he owed it to his family. His behavior had been nothing short of heroic in this, and it was unfair of her to expect more.
The rich lived by a different code of conduct, and she had to accept that reality.
She squelched her disappointment and promised herself everything would be okay. They’d take back roads across the desert. They had plenty of fuel, plenty of water, and food to sustain them on the journey.
They wouldn’t have to stop in any towns, so the odds of anyone recognizing them were practically nil. The odds of Muwaffaq running into them on the road again were similarly small. There was no point in ruining Harrison’s life when there was another perfectly good option.
He could drop her in Qatar, and she’d make her own way to London. From there, it was a simple flight to any number of cities on the eastern seaboard. She’d be fine.
They got in either side and buckled up. They’d conserve fuel by forgoing the air-conditioning once again. But this time, Julia had light cotton clothes. She’d also brought along a translucent head scarf in case they came across any travelers. She’d draw less attention to herself if her head was covered, and it would help camouflage the fact that she was a Westerner.
The Jeep was packed tight with the supplies they’d need. They also had two spare tires, extra belts and a small tool kit.
Harrison turned the key and started the Jeep.
Julia tightened her ponytail and stared determinedly down the dusty road. Ahmed had described the route to them. It was pretty much due south, though they’d have to eventually veer east. But they’d wait until they were well clear of Abu Dhabi to avoid the increase in traffic around the capital city.
Julia waited for the Jeep to move.
She waited.
She glanced over at Harrison.
His jaw was clenched, and he was staring at some unseen point on the horizon.
She squinted ahead.
He shut off the Jeep.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He twisted in the bucket seat, crooking his knee around the gearshift. “If we do this…”
If? Weren’t they about to leave? Like, right this minute?
“You can’t tell a soul.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. Was he worried about the consequences of transporting a fugitive?
“I mean it. When I get married next year in London, our divorce is between me, you and God.”
Divorce?
“And we do it as soon as possible.” He pulled the key from the ignition and reached for the door handle.
“Wait!” She grabbed his arm.
“What?”
“Are you saying you changed your mind?” Was he offering to marry her?
“Yes.”
“What about Brittany? All that stuff about your family name and obligations?”
“I’m not about to kill you to protect my family name.”
“But you can’t be-”
“What good is protecting my family name,” he continued as if she hadn’t even spoken, “if doing so costs me my family honor?”
“You don’t have to do this, Harrison.”
It was a grand gesture. It was an amazing gesture. But the odds of success were with them. They could drive through the desert and accomplish exactly the same thing, without screwing up his life.
“Yes, I do,” he said.
“No, you-”
“Yes.” His tone was implacable. “Ahmed is right. I marry you, and you’re home free.”
“But you’re not.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Harrison.”
“I said I would manage.”
“I won’t let you do this.”
His dark eyes became uncompromising. “You’re in the Middle East, Julia. A willing bride is not a prerequisite to a successful wedding.”
She felt her spine stiffen. “You wouldn’t.”
He opened the door to the Jeep. “Watch me.”
Chapter Twelve
Curled up in a corner of her Emirates Palace hotel room in Abu Dhabi, Brittany watched the early-morning waves roll in on the white sand beach of the peninsula. There was a storm brewing out there somewhere, because the wind whipped the palm fronds, and white foam sparkled under the rising sun.
As they had the past two nights, Alex and Brittany had checked into one hotel with Harrison’s credit card, then stayed in a second one using cash. There was no way to know if the police were still following them, but they’d try to give Harrison a few more days to get Julia out of the country before they returned to Cadair.
After that, well, it was back to normal life.
Brittany was experiencing increasingly conflicted emotions about that. She wanted Harrison to propose-what woman wouldn’t? But there was something about Alex, something she had to deal with, something that called to her on an untamed, sensual level.
They’d danced the night away at the Emirates Palace club last night. And, for what was probably the first time in her life, she’d been completely uninhibited on the dance floor. In London, and on official trips with her family, there was always the danger of reporters snapping a picture and writing an unflattering story.
But, last night, in a crowded club, deep in Abu Dhabi, with an anonymous, American lawyer, she’
d known the dancing was only about the moment. And it had been brilliant.
A soft knock came at her door, and she rose in the white, embroidered robe. It had been less than ten minutes since she’d called room service for coffee and pastries-just another example of the hotel’s impeccable service.
But when she opened the door, it was Alex, looking sexy and casual in a white, mandarin-collared shirt and lightweight black slacks.
“I didn’t want to call and wake you,” he said.
“Coffee’s on the way.” She stood back to let him in.
“You feeling okay this morning?”
It had been 3:00 a.m. before they’d called it quits last night. A combination of adrenaline, tropical cocktails and, in her case, runaway hormones had kept them lively through the late night. They’d finally ended with a jazzy waltz beneath the lighted palm trees by the hotel’s west pool, where, for a second, she’d thought Alex was going to kiss her.
But he didn’t.
“I’m fine,” she told him now. And she was. Her short sleep had been deep and satisfying.
He smiled down at her as he entered the hallway, voice going low. “Have a good time last night?”
“I did.”
“Different than your regular balls?”
“A little,” she allowed, as the door swung shut behind him.
He waited for her to move, then followed her through the entryway to the cozy set of ice-blue chairs clustered around the wide, arched window.
She sat down, arranging the delicate robe around her legs, half tempted to let it fall open.
Was he attracted to her? He’d seen her in a bikini yesterday and in a slim, little black party dress last night. Fundamentally, he’d behaved like a gentleman throughout. But, every once in a while, she thought she caught a flare of heat in his eyes.
She’d caught more than a few unaccustomed flares of heat in her own body. Alex was an incredibly attractive man, one of those men who looked better and better as you got to know them and they let you see their range of intelligence and emotion. He was also very different from the men she’d met in her past.
Sometime last night, she’d realized the difference was that he didn’t care about impressing her. After a lifetime of fawning gentlemen, there was something exciting about the one who did whatever the heck he wanted, whether she approved or not. Which, in a strange way, gave her permission to do the same thing.
So she let the robe fall open, showing off most of her right leg. Then she curled her feet beneath her on the wide, soft chair, not even caring that the position nearly exposed her bare hip. There was something exhilarating about the pose, and something even more exhilarating about Alex’s avid gaze.
He stared at the smooth, softly tanned leg. “You know,” he began in a quiet voice, “you are not what Harrison thinks you are.”
Okay, she’d bite. “What does Harrison think I am?”
Alex’s attention moved to her eyes. “Some decorative appendage without a mind of her own.” He sat forward in his chair, taking in the complete length of her body. “You, sweetheart, definitely have a mind of your own.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” She shifted, and the robe inched up.
He reached across the space between them. Then he traced his fingertip from her midthigh, over her knee and down her calf.
Her muscles contracted and her breath caught.
“This work often?” he asked mildly, lifting his finger from her ankle.
She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant.
He looked into her eyes. “For getting men into your bed.”
“I’ve never had a man in my bed.”
The second the words were out, she realized what she’d admitted.
Alex squinted. Then he rocked back. “Come again?”
She didn’t know what to say.
“Brittany?”
“Too much information?”
“How old are you?”
Her embarrassment quickly turned to annoyance. It was hardly a crime to be a virgin. “I’m twenty-five.”
“Yet, you’ve never…” He lifted his hands in a gesture of confusion. “You’re stunning as sin. You practically killed me on the dance floor last night. And that bikini would get you on the cover of any magazine in the world. How on earth…”
What? She was supposed to take every offer that came her way?
“There are two kinds of men in my life,” she told him bluntly. “The kind that are afraid of my father, and the kind that would run to the tabloids. Who was I supposed to sleep with? Tell me?”
“For the record,” he said, “I picked up the ball on your little seduction there, because I thought you knew what you were doing.”
“I’ve been sleeping in my own bed,” she countered. “Not hiding under a rock. I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“I can’t sleep with you, Brittany.”
“Why not?” Okay, that hadn’t come out exactly as she’d planned. She might be inexperienced, but bitchy and demanding didn’t seem like a particularly effective seduction technique.
She wasn’t sure exactly when she’d decided to seduce Alex. She wasn’t in a hurry to lose her virginity, and she certainly wasn’t desperate. It was just that he was Alex. And there was something about him. And she knew if she didn’t do this she’d spend the rest of her life wondering.
“One word,” he said in answer to her terse question.
She waited.
“Harrison.”
“Do you honestly believe Harrison will care if I’m not a virgin on our wedding night?”
“Harrison will care very much that it was me.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t thought about that.
“Yeah.”
“He’d fire you?”
“I’d quit.”
Okay, that wasn’t good. She tucked her leg beneath the robe where it belonged. “Guess I’d better go back to repressing.”
“That would be good.”
She bobbed her head for a moment. “Too bad. I kind of liked having a wild side.”
“You could turn Harrison down.”
“And have a fling with you?”
“And do anything you want. Just because you’re programmed to find a titled husband doesn’t mean you-”
“Programmed?”
“What would you call it?”
“Harrison and I have many things in common.”
“Like money, titles and property holdings?”
“Like religion, politics, art and mutual friends.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“He’s a lovable man.”
“Does he make your heart beat faster, your skin prickle with heat, your toes curl?”
That wasn’t a fair question. Those things made for a good fling, not a good marriage. Marriage was more than mere physical attraction.
“Because, if he doesn’t, sweetheart,” Alex drawled, “it’s going to be a bloody long marriage.”
She pulled herself forward in the chair. “Why do you care?”
The question seemed to stop him. Seconds ticked by. “I don’t know,” he finally said.
“Are you protecting Harrison?” she asked. “Are you afraid I’ll make him a bad wife?”
Alex’s gaze dropped to where her robe gaped open.
At the touch of his gaze, her heart beat faster, and her skin prickled with heat.
“No,” he finally said in a voice that was low and tight with emotion. “I’m afraid I’ll have to quit my job anyway, because I won’t be able to stand watching the two of you together.”
Brittany’s heart thudded deep and hollow. She could swear she heard it through the silence that boomed in the room.
“So,” he breathed and rose to his feet, his eyes focused on the cleavage revealed by the robe. “I guess, since that’s the case, I’m in. Your call.”
She slowly rose to face him. Could she sleep with Alex then marry Harrison? It was what she wanted, but she couldn’t shake the sense of be
trayal. Ironically, though, it seemed like a betrayal of Alex rather than of Harrison.
“I can’t,” she managed.
Alex smiled, reaching out to gently stroke her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Of course you can’t.”
“But I want to.” She owed him her honesty, at least.
He cupped her cheek. “So do I.”
She closed her eyes and rested against his open hand, its warmth bittersweet. Her own hand rose to his wrist, wrapping around its thick strength and holding on, desperately afraid to let go of the moment.
He took a step forward, smoothing her hair with his other hand. She inhaled the hiss of his breath, subconsciously leaning into his scent and his strength.
Then his lips touched hers, and hot emotion swamped her, cresting along her limbs, flushing her skin.
She kissed him back, and the world fell away.
He opened his mouth, and his hand slipped around, anchoring at the back of her neck, holding her close while he kissed her thoroughly, deeply, expertly.
She took her own step forward, bringing their bodies together, and his arm went around her waist, while hers snaked around his neck. The knot in her sash rubbed free. Her robe slipped open. And his raw cotton shirt abraded her tender skin.
Sparks of desire shot down her spine. Want pooled in her belly, and need softened her bones, making it difficult to stand.
Alex’s lips left her mouth. They trailed down her cheek to the crook of her neck, to the tip of her shoulder, pushing the flimsy robe until it slipped down her arm. He pushed the other side, and the fabric whispered down to pool at her feet.
He drew back to look, eyes dark with desire.
He groaned once, then scooped her into his arms and crossed to the bed.
The air whispered over her bare skin. His hands were hard and solid against her. His arms were strong, his body sturdy. She wasn’t engaged, and they were both adults, and they were perfectly free to make this decision.
He laid her down, then straightened away, his eyes determined and defiant as he worked his way down the buttons of his shirt. She watched him, mesmerized as he stripped it off. His chest was impressive, dark and broad, sculpted with muscles that corded into his shoulders and neck.
His hands moved to his slacks, popping the button, drawing down on the zipper.
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