Cross the Stars (Crossing Stars #1)

by Venessa Kimball

  I look up at him, realizing I just cursed at royalty. “Sorry.”

  I busy myself again. “Hell, I don’t even know why a prince would be here the day of an attack or any other day. Seems like you would have other things to tend to. Other duties.”

  “A Prince of Jordan,” he says, seeming to correct my mistake.

  Slightly ticked at his finding it necessary to correct me, I move on to stacking the girls’ drawings strewn on my desk. “It doesn’t seem like the safest place for a royal to be. It might even appear irresponsible.”

  “Irresponsible? Ms. Wallace, I don’t think you know me well enough to pass judgement so quickly.” His tone is no longer pleasing and I realize I have hit a nerve.

  “On the contrary, I think I know a thing or two about the culture of royalty, be it here or in America, and very rarely do royals find it necessary to be so involved they risk their lives.”

  He nods and raises his chin arrogantly. “I find that unlikely, as you are just a commoner. And, I have found more reason to be here than originally anticipated.”

  He looks down at my fiddling hands. “And, if you are going to shoot your mouth off, make sure you have your facts straight. I have been here for the last three days, making sure the center was secured for your return.”

  I bite my lip, keeping from telling him to fuck off with his arrogance. “Oh.”

  His gaze dominates me still as I avoid it. “It seems if I had been the lazy type of prince you seem to know so well, you may not be standing here at this very moment.”

  While his arrogance is not seizing, he is completely right and somewhat sincere, to my surprise. “How responsible would that have been of me, Ella?”

  The accent attached to my name starts to melt my resolve, but not before I change the subject. Aimlessly, I stack and restack the same to piles of paper over and over again as I ramble. “I’m sorry there wasn’t much for you to observe today. I was just teaching them a song from my childhood. All morning they were quiet, like they were the first few days with me. I have this rule, I need to see each of them smile or laugh or even grin once before the end of the day. The only thing I could think of was to have them teach me a lullaby from their childhood. With most of the girls out today, because of...” I pause before bring finishing my sentence, tapping the stack of papers in hand and glazing over the event. “...what happened, I figure it would get all of them smiling if I shared one of mine.”

  Noticing him looking intently down at the piles of papers I have restacked countlessly, I release the stacks and fold my arms over my chest. “It seemed like a good idea and they all smiled.”

  My eyes connect with his full lips as he says, “There was plenty for me to observe, Ella. And, please, just call me Rajaa.”

  I slowly shake my head, thinking I shouldn’t be studying his lips with the intent of devouring them and I shouldn’t be so informal as to address a prince without his title. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  “What wouldn’t? To do something I have asked you to do?” His tone tries to dominate me; I really hate that macho attitude shit.

  “You are a prince. Having a royal presence among commoners is what you thrive on, isn’t it?” I figured my smart-ass remark would shut him up, but instead he folds his arms over his chest and grins at me.

  “You really know very little about royalty. It is comical actually, and kind of cute.” His laugh is amazing and his accent even more deadly to my resolve, but his mockery pisses me off enough to overcome them and hold a cold, hard stare. His grin quickly disappears as soon as he sees I’m not amused. “If I beg you to call me Raj, will you?” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Not a royal request in the slightest.”

  “Oh, so now it’s Raj.”

  His bashful grin reveals the smallest dimple on one cheek, before it disappears, becoming something weighty, bold, and completely hot as his eyes travel down my face to my lips. “Yeah, it’s Raj.”

  His seeking my lips pulls me back to the moment he covered my mouth with his hand, his body flush against mine, rough, urgent, immediate, but enticing and seductive as I think of him holding me now. Somehow I manage to stay coherent and tell him what I hoped I would have a chance to. “I need to thank you.”

  My comment seems to wake him from the magnetic web we are spinning ourselves in. “For?”

  “You’re right. If you hadn’t shielded me like you did, didn’t have your soldiers take the girls, we might not have made it.”

  He lowers his eyes and scratches the back of his neck. Modesty doesn’t fit him after our discussion, but my gratitude seems to have softened him. Keeping his hand on the back of his neck, he looks at me through thick, black eyelashes that contrast the light golden flecks dancing in his eyes. “Once I saw it was you ... I couldn’t leave you unprotected. Not after finding you again.”

  “Again?”

  It’s stupid, but I want his confirmation the mysticism surrounding our chance meetings here days ago and in D.C. are absolute.

  He doesn’t respond, just watches me as he slowly walks around the desk; my words keep me from losing all sense as he gets closer. “When you saved me, you had your hand over my mouth, keeping me from yelling. When we were in the room, waiting for the attack to stop, you said something to me.”

  Sailing on the memory, the touch of his hand over my lips and craving it more once it had gone, I don’t realize I have rested the tips of my fingers on my lips until they make contact. It has affected him; he focuses on my fingers, watching them run along my lip. Feeling self-conscious, as we both seem to feed on the brush of my fingers across my lip, the imitation of what his touch would feel like again, I tuck my hand under my other arm crossed over my chest.

  I see the tension within him as he resists pulling his eyes from my lips, meeting and matching my intoxicated stare, driven by something carnal. “Eh enta.”

  The tension deep inside quivers from the cadence of the syllables of his native tongue. His voice lowers as he steps closer. “It loosely means to know someone.”

  With the expectation of him telling me what I feel I already know deep in my soul, I look up at him timidly. “You know me?”

  Separated only by inches, the physical doesn’t exist. The amber eyes that speared me to that sofa back at the loft are back again with a vengeance and I swear I’m only held upright by them at this very moment.

  “I think you know the answer to that, Ella Wallace. Before the day I saved you, before you came here to Jordan. That night, the party, across the room when I memorized every inch of your face within seconds, ingrained in me for eternity. The elevator. I know you, Ella.”

  A ringing cell phone breaks apart the small world we were building for ourselves. He turns away and puts his cell to his ear. “Yes.”

  I don’t realize the sensation of holding my breath until his golden-brown eyes release me from the exquisite snare they held me in. I knew the guy at the fucking elevator was him.

  “No, just tell him to wait there.”

  I try to avoid eavesdropping on the conversation and search my desk aimlessly for any distraction when I notice my veil laying in a pile on my chair.

  Shit!

  I snatch it from the desk and quickly cover my head, realizing I have been without my veil in front of a fucking prince.

  As soon as he hangs up the phone, he turns back to me. “I’m sorry for the interruption. I...”

  He pauses mid-sentence, scanning the top of my head now, noticing the veil. He focuses on it for a long time, then looks away from me, running his hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry for my rudeness.”

  I realize while his apology might have been for the phone call at first, it has now doubled as an apology for breaking custom, a divide that is deep and one I might have made him forget briefly.

  “You haven’t been rude.”

  He walks back toward me, slowly, carefully now. “It’s just the veil...”

  I badly want to burn the fucking veil now and seriously contemplate t
aking it off when he explains, “You wore it the day I saw you in the courtyard. The first time I saw you here at the center. I was sitting in Mr. Stern’s office and I saw your veil through the window. I think it was the blue color attracting me to it, like your eyes.”

  He walks around the desk and comes to stand in front of me again. His physical presence gives rise to the tension coiling in my abdomen, pulling and pushing down the tremors he is creating for me with his retelling.

  “I didn’t know it was you right away until I saw the smallest ribbon of golden hair blowing in the wind, set free from the veil without being tucked back in place. I remember thinking, this woman isn’t from here. She is bold and carefree.”

  His native accent blends perfectly with the English prose he is weaving, pulling me in deeper into what he is saying. He shakes his head slowly, making sure not to loosen me from this link he is creating between us. “I didn’t know it was you until you turned just enough for me to see your face. The face that became rooted in me in D.C.”

  A small smile forms on his lips as he remembers, his brow furrowing with the struggle of what he is going to say. “I told myself that it couldn’t be you. The woman I saw that night, then on the elevator was a world away, lost in a place that didn’t suit her.”

  Slowly, Raj raises his hand and reaches for me. While I know I should pull away and preserve the divide between us, I am weak under the spell being invoked by something deeper than Muslim tradition and code.

  His touch is gentle, like the lightest feather pushing the veil away from me, down off my head to rest around my neck. “The veil is a symbol for a woman to maintain modesty among men.”

  The sound of him speaking is a sensuous song, while his heavy gaze, taking in every inch of my hair, my face, my lips, is an alluring dance he is tempting me to take with him. His eyes travel down the length of my hair, beyond the veil around my neck, to my body, fervidly sending shockwaves with just the lightest touch of the back of his hand against my bare arm.

  “Your boldness, across a room at a party, a glimpse of you in an elevator, in a courtyard beneath a veil, in my arms as I save you.” He looks down at his hand, like he is committing sin. “Standing inches from you now, why should it be kept hidden?”

  He seems to fight with this questions as his eyes slowly return to mine, holding me in this world where only we exist. “It shouldn’t be. Ever. Your boldness has possessed me, Ella, and I will never be the same.”

  His seductive scrutiny weighs on my lips, calling me closer, making my heart thrash with every audible beat as I refute the haunting notion of our chance meeting not once, not twice, but three on different ends of the world was somehow fated in an unforeseen pact between destiny and the universe. An Arab prince and an American outsider, min barra, to cross the stars, defy the rules, the codes of law dividing us, no matter the cost, no matter the risk. Still, his golden embers burn into my soul, daring me to surrender to this sublimely magnificent and cruel covenant.

  The harsh knock on the door break us apart, Raj backing away just as Tom comes into the classroom. He looks between us around the room, inspecting our being alone “Your brother is here, Rajaa. He would like to speak to you in my office.”

  He turns his watchfulness back to me. “Ms. Wallace, you should go to lunch with the girls.”

  Interrupted from our moment, I stumble over my words. “I was just coming. I’m sorry.”

  I attempt to detour Tom’s analysis of what we were doing along in here as I look back at Raj. “Thank you again for creating the program bringing me here. I would have never been able to come if you hadn’t been so passionate about the center.”

  Rajaa’s hands are casually tucked in his pockets, never revealing any sign of stress or tension with Tom’s scrutinizing stare, unlike myself. “Of course, Ms. Wallace. Thank you for being here for the girls. Let me escort you to the cafeteria.”

  Tom’s watchfulness becomes hawk-like as he makes a comment to deter him. “Rajaa, it isn’t necessary. Your brother is waiting.”

  Rajaa stops short of Tom. His tone is dominating and solid as he tells Tom, “My brother can wait as I walk Ms. Wallace. It is on the way to your office, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Tom seems to shrink at Rajaa’s demand to walk me. “Yes, you are correct.”

  The three of us silently walk toward the front of the center, Tom on one side of me and Raj on the other.

  “Mr Stern.” One of the medical staff peeks through a doorway we have just past. “Could I borrow you for a moment?”

  Tom seems to contemplate leaving us as the man regards the prince. “Hello, Your Highness.”

  He begins to bow, when Raj interrupts him, taking a small step toward him. “Please, just Prince Rajaa.”

  The man nods. “Yes, of course. Prince Rajaa.”

  “Tom, please see to what Mr. Gillis is in need of.” Raj comes back to me. “I will make sure Ms. Wallace gets to the cafeteria and I find my brother.”

  As we walk through the medical clinic corridor, his phone rings again. He declines the call and starts typing on the keypad. “I’m sorry. My brother, Zaid, has no patience.” The tension in his tone is palpable.

  I notice how Raj knew the man’s name. “You know some of the staff, I see.”

  He nods as he types. “Yes. Mr. Gillis is a good man. He has worked with Caritas for three years here, when the center was much smaller and my family was less involved.”

  He puts his phone back in his pocket and focuses on me. “I plan to be here more, under the recent circumstances.”

  The way he says circumstances has me questioning if it’s the attack or me that has changed his plans. Coming to the cafeteria doors, he reaches to open it for me just as his name is called. “Rajaa.”

  We both turn to look down the hall at the caller. He resembles Raj and I assume it is his impatient brother. The way his eyes are only focused on Raj leads me to believe this conversation is more urgent then he let on.

  “I should go. Thank you for escorting me.” I keep my comments short as I reach for the door and attempt to sneak away and out of the discussion between them, but I’m called on.

  “Is this the Ella Wallace?” I turn toward Prince Zaid, surprised he knows not only my name, but his question seems to hold a deeper knowledge of who I am. I sense Raj tense as his brother approaches us quickly now.

  “Yes, this is Ms. Wallace, but she needs to collect her students, Zaid.”

  Zaid ignores Raj’s attempt at dismissing me as he focuses on me. His eyes are much darker than Raj’s, almost black, as the pupils are lost within them. His touch is heavy as he places his hands on my shoulders. “Ella Wallace. It is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard so much about your act of bravery and selflessness.”

  I’m unsure how to answer, so I settle with a small, “Thank you, Your High...”

  “Prince Zaid,” he corrects me, then continues on with finishing his intended thought. “My brother, Prince Rajaa, has a similar character of selflessness, don’t you, brother?”

  Raj forces a smile and nods. “Yes, well, Ms. Wallace needs to collect her girls. They have much to learn.”

  Prince Zaid smile suddenly tightens into a smug smirk. “Of course.”

  He looks down on me, standing equally as tall as Raj. “I am sorry to keep you. I’m sure those girls have so much they can learn from someone like you. It is a good thing you were saved by my brother. Tell me, what did it feel like to be saved by a prince, Ms. Wallace?”

  I don’t like the direction of his comments, or his question, and sense his anger toward his brother has expanded to me for whatever reason. “The same way it would have felt to be saved by anyone else I suppose, prince or not.”

  My comment seems to have Prince Zaid’s undivided attention as the smirk on his mouth disappears. “Is that so? The same as anyone else?”

  He folds his arms over his chest, more offended than intrigued. Part of me wishes I would have kept my fucking mouth shut. Always my mouth getting
me in trouble. But the other part of me wasn’t going to let him intimidated me because of his status.

  Shit. If this gets back to Tom, I’m going to hear it.

  “I think your girls need you, Ms. Wallace,” Raj interrupts our exchange again. I look up at him and see the unease in his eyes. “Have a good day, Ella.”

  “Thank you.” I nod and pass through the door he has opened for me.

  As I walk toward Ana, the adrenaline from the unexpected confrontation with a Prince of Jordan has my stomach fluttering. When I get to the table, I sit and smile at the girls, attempting to hide my concern for the small pissing match I have started with Prince Zaid.

  Ana is watching me as she eats her Hummus and Shrak. She left two dolma for me, having eaten two herself, just as she always does. “What’s going on?”

  She is looking beyond me at the door, keeping the temptation to glance back at bay, knowing the two brothers may still be there.

  “What?” I ask, playing dumb.

  She leans in and lowers her voice. “Prince Rajaa observing you, then escorting you to the cafeteria some fifteen minutes later.” She pauses to wait for a response. When I don’t give her one, tearing off a piece of Shrak and dipping it in the creamy hummus, she probes further, “What is that about?”

  I pick at the grape leaves of the dolma as I fabricate a reason. “He wanted to thank me for letting him observe. He had a few questions, I thanked him for granting funding to get us here, and the opportunity to volunteer.”

  My hope that my added explanation has satisfied her fails when she asks for more. “And?”

  Noticing the cafeteria staff cleaning around our tables, I realize we have stayed past our lunch time. I look at Ana quickly. “And I thanked him for saving me.”

  I snatch the rest of the Shrak, wrapping it in a paper towel along with the leftover dolma.

  “Saving you?”

  I rise as her question lingers between us.

  “Wait, he is the one that saved you during the attack?” Her voice rises louder and I hush her to be quiet.

  “Yes.”

  Ana seems astonished by the leak of information. She sneers, “Well, I guess it isn’t every day you are rescued by a prince.”