What? They weren't from Walid? Or, more likely, Thale?
"When I said I don't care, that's not what I mean." She gestured toward the stack of parcels. "This is very kind. But my relationship with you is more important. I want to apologize. I want to make it up to you."
Not that she had any idea how to make it up to Faridah, not when she didn't have her freedom or her pocket money. It wasn't like they could go dancing until dawn and pick up guys on the Oldrich tab. Her arms felt like steel blocks. Not arms at all, but shiny, immovable metal.
"Faridah, ditching you in the market was wrong and I'm sorry. I--" What? What was she supposed to say? I'm sorry I'm not your legendary princess reborn, come to save you all from whatever it was I'm supposed to save you from. Oh, and by the way, your sheikh is a criminal jerk who is holding me against my will. So, no, I wouldn't rescue him even if I knew how. "I hope you'll forgive me. I want to be friends."
"Certainly, mistress," came the reply, icy enough to put Princess Elsa's frostiness to shame. "We are friends, if that's what you want. Is there anything else you would like?"
"Okay, I guess I deserve this for how I treated you." She was trying to be the bigger person here. Why couldn't Faridah see that? Why did Faridah insist on holding her to some impossible standard that no one could ever live up to? "Thanks for bringing these."
I like her, said Bonnie, once Faridah had gone, leaving nothing but the stack of boxes and the scent of fresh peaches behind her.
I like her too, but I think she hates me now.
She'll like you again after you rescue Walid.
"What happened to us escaping?" Her voice dripped with frustration.
Wait, had she just said that out loud? Crap, she was talking to herself. What was worse? Talking to a pirate princess in your head or with your lips? She held back an epic sigh.
Oh, right. I forgot about that part, admitted the pirate princess.
Stay on target. I need you, she ordered her imaginary voice.
Who sent us presents? I love presents! enthused Bonnie.
Noelle pressed her index and middle finger to the bridge of her nose. She couldn't have had a nice, mature adult imaginary friend, could she? Nooooo, it had to be a preteen for her.
Oh well. No way would she get Bonnie back on track until they opened the packages. Besides, who didn't love presents?
She pulled the first box off the pile. It was the length of a forearm, but only an inch deep. Also, the box had a gaudy flower print and an intricate bow, tied with silvery ribbon.
She could have used some scissors. Of course all the sharp objects had been removed from her room. She'd done a thorough search. Not even a letter opener.
She hadn't gotten a manicure since she arrived, so at least she had a nice long nail to slide under the tape that sealed the box flaps shut.
Parting the rich ruby tissue paper revealed a beautiful item, and the person who had sent it to her.
Mr. Lodhi-Rajput.
The scarf was made of pure gorgeousness. Light as the bubbles in champagne, it seemed to catch an infinitesimal breeze in the air, one that she didn't even notice.
She touched it to her face like a stupid-ass actress in a toilet paper commercial. Dumb, dumb, dumb... but the fabric was so soft and delicious. Cotton candy spun into a liquid you could wear around your neck.
How much would her overspending "friends" pay to have one of these? Or a closetful. She could picture it right now, separating them from their money, and having them thank her for it. The pleasant tingle she'd felt at his shop started again. No wonder her dad got such a rush out of business.
Too bad she never intended to come back to Askar once she finally got out of here.
Faridah had been beyond right when she said this was a gift from someone who had a lot less than she did. Even if she wasn't coming back, she could make sure Mr. Lodhi-Rajput got a bigger gift in return. Being on Faridah's good side would have made that easier. Instead of getting her help, Noelle would have to draft someone in her dad's company who could get things done. A lot of people in her dad's company knew how to get things done.
Too bad she wasn't one of them herself.
Presents, said her inner eleven-year-old, as if Santa had arrived and the adults were lingering over coffee.
She opened another box carefully, in case it contained anything as delicate as Mr. Lodhi-Rajput's scarf. She pulled out a hand-blown vase twisted together from glass in shades of brown from deepest chocolate mocha to toasted gold.
Ooooh, pretty, said Bonnie, as Noelle held up the glass to the light to make the tiny sparkles in it dance.
She'd heard about Askar's famous hospitality, but this bordered on insanity. She'd admired the stunning piece for an instant as she passed that glass shop in the market. How had the shopkeeper even noticed?
Another box; another present. This one a lovely dark wood box, inlaid with mother-of-pearl tiles in an intricate pattern of flowers intertwining. She recognized it, too. She'd told the merchant how nice it was, how talented the designer.
Each gift turned out to be something she'd admired on her field trip to the souk. Scarf, vase, box. A couple pieces of pretty jewelry. The merchants had just given them to her. Because she'd said she liked them.
It wasn't the first time she'd gotten gifts from businesses--mostly designers who wanted her to wear their stuff in public and tell everyone about it. But there didn't seem to be anything manipulative or cynical about these presents. She couldn't help any of the owners at all. She'd liked the things, so they'd appeared for her.
She lifted the final box. She hadn't complimented any other items in the market, so where was this flat parcel from?
Oh crap. The only other shop she'd gone into was the last one she'd visited. From there, she'd tried to escape to the U.S. embassy. She had given one final compliment, sort of.
Something under her ribs clenched as she revealed what she knew would be there. Her tongue decided it was a great time to stick to the roof of her mouth.
Oh, that thing, said Bonnie. The other stuff was good, though.
The glare of the red satin corset almost hurt her eyes. The lingerie hadn't gotten any subtler than the first time she'd seen it. Everything about the garment (and calling it a garment was pretty generous) screamed sex at the top of its lungs.
Sure, she'd had a couple boyfriends. Four, actually. Had sex with them, and enjoyed the feeling of closeness to another person. Loved the orgasms. But the guys had dribbled away. Gotten interested in other people, or at least gotten less interested in her.
Cameron, who she'd been most serious about, and had seemed to be serious about her in the six months they'd dated, had suddenly accepted a job offer in another city. If he'd asked her to go to Vancouver with him, she would have. He didn't. And that had been it for them.
Not great for a girl's ego.
So what the hell was she supposed to do with this? It wasn't as if she wanted to sleep with any guy here. She only wanted to torture one.
A flash of scarlet in the mirror across from where she sat caught her eye.
Something in her made her stand, hold the satin against her chest, and look full on into that mirror. At least the thing was the right size for her. Looked like it would hug her curves like it was painted on, actually.
If she did want to seduce a guy, all she'd have to do was put it on. Any hetero guy would have it off in a second. But, again, she wasn't in the seduction business. Only the torture racket.
Or... A devious idea sidestepped into her brain. Maybe those two things were closer than she thought.
Gazing into the mirror, Noelle held the corset tighter to her waist, tossed her blonde hair, and started mentally picking out a shade of lipstick.
Seven
WALID GAVE A quick nod to the two female guards outside the door to Noelle's apartments as he let himself into his own. Were guards still required? She had been peaceful the last few days. Right up until he found her kissing his brother, of course.
<
br /> She had not prevented his employees from doing their duties, had not interfered with the smooth running of the palace or the country, had not disturbed him in any way. Not since the interview with her parents.
The clock was nearing midnight, and he had an important meeting with the environmental engineering firm involved with the Nahr pipeline. But his mind would not slow. Instead, it filled with Noelle, and so he loosened his tie and settled behind his desk.
If he had been a man to drink, this would have been the time.
He had appreciated the quiet of the last few days, until his brother had arrived. Walid had been able to accomplish many tasks without the interruption of Noelle's escape attempts, knowing she was safe and near. His meditation practice had benefited from the assurance that Noelle had relaxed into her vacation and was content to wait until her father sent the money he owed. The only intrusion into his thoughts had been a sense of doubt that no amount of meditation could assuage. He could identify the doubt easily, but not its cause. The emotion seemed connected to Noelle in some way, but not how.
He had not even needed to fold her into his arms at night to keep her from disturbing his rest, which was a relief. And a regret. Her back had fit precisely to his chest, her thighs locked to his own like puzzle pieces.
Over the past year, his sleeping patterns included several rounds of wakefulness each night, during which he would plan strategies for overcoming Askar's issues. So her attempt to disturb his rest that night had failed--he had already been awake and considering climbing the tower for a meditation session.
What whimsy had led him to her bed, he did not know. He had not recognized himself. But her presence had soothed him into the deepest sleep he had enjoyed since her father had failed to make his first loan payment.
Having her in his arms, in safety, had been like knowing Askar itself was secure, and had given him the peace to relax. Warm and soft and fitted to him as though there were no other place she would rather be. That night, her bed had been an oasis of calm and they had been at peace. Connected.
But she had been quiet lately. Had avoided him since the interview. An interview he had begun to see in a different light, thanks to his brother.
Thalatha had filled in the missing data for him. Noelle had not relaxed so much as sunk into depression. Not the quiet of peace, but the quiet of the grave.
He had never intended to cause her harm or distress. Had he done both?
He had always prided himself on his logic, on using his meditation practice to create a distance between his emotions and his reactions. He corralled his thoughts with care, as one might train a valuable stallion.
Now, he realized, tossing off his suit jacket, that he missed Noelle's rebellions, her attempts to escape. The devious plans of her devious mind. Having to constantly rise to her challenges. She certainly kept a man's life interesting.
A shuffling sound came from the room adjacent to his own. Had Noelle recovered from her depressed state? What would she do next? Perhaps some kind of distraction, such as an unharmful blaze designed to draw attention away from an escape attempt. Or another disguise. Or something he would never think of, born in the depths of her deceitful mind.
While his thoughts spun on the axis of Noelle, he realized every molecule in his body had clenched in pleasant anticipation.
A sensation suffused him, pouring into him. As clichéd as the feeling seemed, no other way to describe it existed. His whole self warmed to her. He liked her. In his mind, in his heart, and in his body, he liked Noelle Oldrich.
He had never liked any woman more. Her intelligence, beauty, bravery, and undeniable creativity.
He had looked into Thalatha's claims about her father's treatment of her, of his interference in her attempts at independence, and found ample evidence. While Thalatha suggested this meant Oldrich wouldn't pay the money he owed, Walid disagreed. If Oldrich wished to control his daughter's life, he would wish her back as soon as possible.
Perhaps in the next few days. It had to be soon. Time was quickly running out. Six days until the cause would be lost. Any longer and he would not be able to pay for the Askari sections of the pipeline. The project would collapse, possibly taking his newly re-forged relationship with his brother with it. Ithnan had taken pains to have the pipeline moved to benefit Askar as well as Zallaq. Askar defaulting on the agreement would be ungrateful at best, permanently damaging at the worst.
More could be destroyed than the Nahr pipeline. The peace between Askar and Zallaq could be at risk. Lives could be lost.
In the meantime, he mused, the best way to prevent Noelle from escaping was to end her desire to escape. She needed a distraction, a challenge. One that put her mind and her creativity to work while discouraging her from jumping out windows.
He had the perfect solution, in fact. One that would keep her mind occupied indefinitely. The perfect distraction for her and her pirate princess.
From a hidden drawer in his desk, he drew out a protective tube. Once, a great treasure had been stolen from his country. This had been left in its place, to distract invaders.
It could perform the same task again. This time with Noelle Oldrich.
*****
A knock on Noelle's door demanded entrance. Not the hallway door, the one that joined up her room to Walid's apartment.
As imposing as the knock was, at least he had knocked. Since her door didn't have a lock on this side, he really didn't have to. He could have just barged, looking like he was the master of all he surveyed. Because he sort of was. Master of everything but her, actually.
Well, let him come. She was ready for him this time.
She took a deep breath and drew a cloak of belligerence around herself before turning the brass knob.
He stood there, in his shirt sleeves for once. He still had on a tightly buttoned suit vest that clasped him from ribs to abs, but his sleeves were rolled up in a kind of casual elegance. Obedient black hairs emphasized the muscled curves of his forearms.
Yowza. Her throat threatened to dry up... But no. She was going to be in control of this encounter. Time to take back her power.
She pouted with all the insouciance she could muster, which was a lot, and regarded him from under sleepy eyelids.
He blinked at her. Of course he blinked at her. There wasn't a hetero guy on earth who wouldn't blink at her in this outfit.
"Oh, hello, Walid." She said it lazily, as if she had no idea what had sponged all the words out of his head.
He snapped his fallen jaw back up. One of his eyes twitched. "What are you wearing?"
She showed him her back as she did a model's walk over to the comfiest chair in the room. She heard her stiletto heels click on the marble and smiled to think how the shoes had been named after an assassin's dagger. She was certainly using them as a weapon tonight.
When she thought he'd gotten a good look at her rear, barely covered by the scarlet satin panties, she whirled and flopped down into the chair.
"What are you wearing?" he said, and she almost felt sorry for him, the way his teeth gritted together. Looked painful.
"This old thing?"
He stuck one hand into the depths of his pocket. An attempt to look casual. "You will not seduce me this way."
She rested her chin on one hand. Bored. "I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last drink of water in the desert."
The quiet in the air between them became tight and heavy. Filled with something. She didn't know what it was, but she knew he controlled it all.
Walid took his time to sit on the couch opposite her, moving with a slowness that wasn't like his normal brisk style. The way he flicked the switch on the lamp next to him, throwing a pool of yellow light across the shadowed floor, made warmth creep up her neck.
When he was facing her, he stared her down. She couldn't look away. "Why not? I know you feel the attraction between us, as I do."
She flashed back on the kiss in the limo. She'd been ready to go at it then. He'd shoved
her aside.
She could play the slow card, too. In pretend shock, she put her hand where her boobs met, spreading the fingers wide so he didn't miss anything. "Oh, Walid, I didn't know you felt that way. I'm sorry, I just don't return your feelings. Perhaps you'd better go."
He cocked his head to one side and she could feel him judging her. Not her body, her behavior. Bastard.
"I would believe you, if I did not know better." These words were spoken, not with anger, but as if he was intrigued, a naturalist talking into the camera about the interesting traits of an unknown species. "Why do your parents imagine you are not clever?"
What do you mean? The words froze in her throat. She couldn't pretend that he wasn't right on the money. The way he was looking at her now, if she tried to lie, he'd know.
He saw through her. Dread filled her until it threatened to drip from her pores. She'd only had one weapon against him--sex. Now, was it gone?
But as he watched her struggle to answer, the gold in his eyes seemed like touches of compassion. He might have a policy against lying, but she knew her secrets would be safe with him.
The deep breath she took probably made her bosom heave in her bodice, but he kept his gaze on her face.
As much as she wanted to look away, she returned that gaze. "I'm pretty much a useless person, Walid. I'm a failure at everything. If I get involved in a business, it takes a belly flop into the crapper."
His expression tightened in confusion.
"They go under," she clarified. "I mean every business I've been involved in, or even tried to help, starts to fail when I sign up. I just don't have dad's skill at it. So I can't start a business or get involved with a company. Can't even get a job. And I am staying so far away from charities--except for donating, of course."
Walid leaned back. She hadn't been aware of him inching forward during her speech, soaking up every word. "Or perhaps someone has sabotaged you at every turn. Someone who should have encouraged and advised you."
Her mouth felt like it had filled with moisture-sucking baby powder. What he was saying... she'd thought those thoughts before. And rejected them. She knew exactly the someone he was suggesting. But you'd have to be a straight-up psycho to make sure your own kid failed constantly. No one would do that. No one.
Desert Sheikh vs American Princess Page 11
