by Diana Palmer
"Okay."
But he didn't call the next day, or even the next. Affairs of state, Brianna decided, must have claimed his full attention since his return. She tried not to listen to the news channels, but the temptation was too great. She suffered through political news and medical news and disasters just for an occasional glimpse of the king of Saudi Mahara. Once they showed him in his robes of state with a falcon on his arm. There was a very pretty young Arab woman in a designer suit with him. Brianna saw her take his arm, and she felt sick all over when the newscaster added that the woman was the widow of Ahmed's eldest brother, who had died many years ago in a yachting accident. Her name was Lillah, not Yasmin, so Brianna knew that it wasn't his sister. He was smiling at the woman, and she seemed very possessive of him. That was the last newscast she watched. She knew then that she was being an idiot. Ahmed had made it quite clear that he wanted nothing else to do with her. She might as well start living her life again.
The first step in that direction was to get her old apartment back. Now, with just herself and Tad to share it, there was no need for elaborate living quarters. Fortunately it still hadn't been rerented, and she was able to obtain it at the old rent.
Tad liked it better, mainly because there was a young man who lived on the same floor who became his shadow and idolized him―Nick, the boy whom Ahmed had befriended.
Brianna was still sad, but as the days passed, she began to enjoy life again, although not in the same way as before. She couldn't complain, she told herself.
She'd had an adventure with a king, and she had her beloved young brother back.
She really couldn't ask much more of life.
At work, she was promoted to assistant status and given a job working for one of the vice presidents. She'd hoped she might get to work with David Shannon, Meg Shannon Ryker's brother, who was a live wire and a delightful person. But instead, she was shifted to the office of the vice president of finance, Tarrant Blair, a rather crusty older man with a wife and four kids and a mind like a math calculator.
She didn't enjoy the job very much. Even less did she care for the way Mr. Blair treated her. He had no consideration for her time. He would think nothing of asking her to work overtime, despite the fact that he knew her young brother was home by himself, and when it wasn't read necessary. He had plenty of time to get his work done during the day, but he came in late quite frequently and spent an unbelievable amount of time on the telephone with his stockbroker.
"How are things going, Brianna?" Meg Ryker asked her one day when she'd stopped by the office to meet her husband Steve for lunch.
"Oh, fine, just fine," she lied. "I'm very happy about my raise in salary."
"How's Tad?"
"He's doing very well."
"I suppose the two of you are having a lot of fun catching up on the time you've missed together?"
Brianna grimaced. "We were. This new job requires so much overtime that I'm pretty well worn-out when I get home. It's challenging, though, and the extra money is wonderful." She smiled.
She didn't fool Meg, who continued to converse merrily until Steve showed up.
Once she got her husband out of the building, she pulled him to one side.
"Why does Blair have to keep Brianna after work so much?" she asked bluntly.
"Doesn't he understand that she's only just gotten her brother back from the dead, not to mention what she went through when Ahmed was being guarded so closely? And she still has not recovered from the aftermath of that situation," she added meaningfully.
He scowled. "Blair shouldn't require any overtime at all. He isn't the busiest man on staff."
"Couldn't you check?" Meg coaxed, tracing a button on his suit coat.
He smiled, bending to kiss her softly. "Yes," he said, "lean check."
She smiled back, her eyes adoring his face. "That's why I married you."
"Because I kiss so well," he agreed, bending again.
"Because you're so concerned for the welfare of your employees," she corrected, the words muffled against his mouth.
"Exactly." He forgot what they were talking about for the rest of the lunch hour.
But when he returned, he had a private conversation with Mr. Blair, one which he challenged the other man to repeat on pain of firing. After that, Mr. Blair no longer squired Brianna to stay after work, and his telephone calls with his broker became a thing of the past.
Three weeks after Ahmed had left town, Brianna was almost her old self again. She'd put the whole situation behind her and was ready to face the future. There was a man in her department who seemed to like her. She wished that she could encourage him. But there was no sense of excitement in her chest when he looked at her. Wherever she looked, in fact, she seemed to see liquid black eyes looking back at her.
She felt particularly remorseful one Friday afternoon when she dragged herself into the apartment, looking as if she'd just lost her last friend.
"You're positively mournful," Tad muttered. "Honestly, sis, you just can't go on like this."
"I'm only tired, Tad," she said evasively. She smiled, moving into her bedroom to change into jeans and a loose, floppy, colored shirt. "How are the lessons going?" she asked when she rejoined her blue-jeaned brother in the living room.
"My tutor says I'm bright and eager to learn," he said mischievously. "And that if I work very hard through the rest of the school year, and probably the summer," he added ruefully, "I'll be able to rejoin my age grade next fall. They've done lots of tests. He'd like you to give him a ring and go by and see him one afternoon at the board of education office." He pursed his lips. "He's thirty-eight, single and pretty passable to look at. I told him you were a ravishing model-type girl with no bad habits at all."
"Tad!"
"I didn't," he confessed, grinning at her. "But you might like him."
"It's early days yet," she said, averting her eyes. "What would you like for supper?"
"Macaroni and cheese," he said immediately. He followed her into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry about how it worked out," he told her. "I know you're having a hard time getting over Ahmed."
She stiffened at just the mention of his name. "No, I'm not," she assured him. "I'm doing very well indeed since Mr. Blair suddenly decided to do his work instead of talking on the telephone all day."
"I noticed. It's nice to have you home. But..."
She turned and ruffled his dark hair. "I like having you at home. I'm perfectly happy and well adjusted. Now get out of here and let me work, okay?"
"Okay."
He went reluctantly back into the living room and started to turn up the television. But the buzzer rang and he went to answer it. Brianna knew that it was probably Nick. She was banging pots and pans and didn't hear Tad's excited voice. She did hear the opening of the door i few minutes later.
"Is that Nick?" she called over her shoulder as she took a pan of rolls out of the oven and sat them on the stove, reaching to turn off the oven.
"No," a familiar deep voice replied quietly. "It is not."
Chapter Eleven
Brianna felt her heart race madly into her throat. She froze where she stood, afraid to believe what she heard. "Ahmed?" she whispered.
"Yes."
She turned, her big blue eyes wide and unbelieving. He looked drawn, as if the weeks had been a strain. There were three men with him, big, tough-looking Arabs who took up positions in the living room where Tad was staring at them in fascination. Ahmed was wearing an elegant three-piece navy pin-striped suit with a white silk shirt. He was impeccably groomed. But then, she remembered, he was a king.
"Hello," she said hesitantly, uncertain about how to address him. Did she call him "Your Majesty" or curtsy?
Her uncertainty showed plainly on her face, and he winced.
"I... would you like to sit down?" she asked. "In the living room... ?"
"Brianna," he groaned.
She moved back a step, struggling for composure. She plaster
ed a smile on her face. "Tad and I saw you on the news," she stammered. "I'm glad they caught everyone. And your sister, I... They said that she wasn't involved. You must be very glad."
"Yes." His voice was suddenly dull, lackluster. "Very glad."
She glanced toward the living room. Tad was talking animatedly to one of Ahmed's men, who was smiling and answering him very pleasantly.
"Tad's doing fine," she remarked. "He's catching up quickly with his schoolwork."
"And you, Brianna?"
"Oh, I'm fine, too, as you see," she said. The smile was beginning to hurt her face. "Would you like coffee?"
"That would be nice."
"Your men...?"
"They are content."
She fumbled down a cup with a crack in it and quickly replaced it, rummaging through the cabinet and her meager store of dishes to find something that would do for a king to drink out of.
He came up behind her, catching her cold hands in his. "Don't," he pleaded huskily. "For the love of God, don't treat me like some stranger!"
"But you are." Hot tears stung her eyes. She closed them, but it wouldn't stem the sudden flow. "You're a king...!"
He whirled her into his arms and bent, taking her mouth hungrily under his, oblivious to the shocked stares from the living room or Tad's voice intervening, diverting.
Tears drained down into her mouth and he tasted them. His lean hands came up to cup her face, to cherish it while he kissed away the tears and his tongue savored the sable softness of her thick eyelashes.
"So many tears," he whispered, his lips tender. "Salty and hot and sweet. They tell me, oh, so potently, that you love me, chérie."
She felt his mouth covering hers, and for a few seconds, she gave in to the hunger for him, the long ache of waiting. But she couldn't forget who and what he was. She drew demurely away from him and lowered her face.
He claimed her hand, holding it to his chest, where his heartbeat was strong and quick.
"They showed her on the television," she said quietly.
"Yasmin?"
She shook her head.
"Ah. Lilian."
She nodded.
He tilted her eyes up to his indulgent ones. "And you thought... Yes, I see what you thought, this sudden color tells me."
"She's very lovely."
"She is not you," he said simply. He touched her face as if he'd forgotten what she looked like, as if he was hungry to look at her. "I did not telephone you because it is too difficult to make conversation over the coldness of an ocean. I had to have you close to me, like this, so that I could see your eyes, feel your breath as you spoke to me."
"I thought that once you were back home again, all this might seem like a bad memory to you," she said.
"I have not slept," he said quietly. "I have worked for the release of my sister. There have been charges and countercharges, and many members of the military had to be dealt with to prevent there ever being a recurrence of this coup attempt. I have been busy, Brianna. But not so busy that I could ever forget the taste and touch of you in my arms."
"That's nice."
He tilted her chin up, searching her sad eyes. "You said that you loved me enough to risk marrying me. Do you still?"
She hesitated. "Ahmed, you're a king," she said. "I could... I could be your mistress," she whispered, lowering her shamed eyes. "I could be a part of your life that way, and you wouldn't be risking anything. There are so many people in your country who don't like Americans."
"I do not have a mistress," he said gently. "I do not want one. I want you for my wife. I want you to bear the heirs to my name, my family, my kingdom."
"They would be half-American," she pointed out, worriedly.
He smiled. "So they would. How politically expedient. Not to mention the benefit of having an American wife in the complicated thread of international affairs." He traced a line down her cheek. "I have made the necessary announcements, calmed fears, outtalked adversaries and placated doomsayers. All that I have accomplished since I left "here. And I have arranged our wedding." He kissed her shocked mouth. "Even the vice president of your own country has promised to attend. So has Lang," he added dryly.
"It won't be just a small church wedding," she murmured fearfully, gnawing on her lower lip.
"Stop doing that," he coaxed, his thumb freeing the soft flesh. "You will make it sore and I cannot kiss you. No, it cannot be a small wedding. It will be a wedding of state. Televised around the world." He kissed her horrified eyes closed. "You will have a gown from Paris. I will have them send a couturiere to the palace to fit you."
"A couturiere," she echoed. "To the palace. The palace?"
He brushed his mouth tenderly over hers. "I am a king," he reminded her. "Most kings live in palaces, unless they are very poor kings. I am not. My country is rich. My people are cosmopolitan and our economy is excellent. We have only the occasional student protest. Once we had to deport some foreign students, but we later learned that they were deliberate troublemakers."
"I'm just ordinary," she protested.
He smiled. "So am I. Just ordinary."
"I'd be a queen," she said, just realizing it. Her eyes were like saucers. "Oh, dear."
"And Tad a prince," he reminded her. He glanced toward the living room. "Can you really not picture him in a crown?" he teased. "He would have the finest tutors in the world, and the best education we can afford for him. Oxford, if he likes."
She wondered if she was dreaming. Her eyes slid over his beloved face. So much misery, so many tears, and now here he was and he wanted her.
"There's, uh, there's just one thing," she said jerkily.
"Yes?" His smile was tender, indulgent.
She looked up. "Do you... can you... love me?"
The backs of his fingers drew slowly down her cheek to her mouth, under her chin, her throat. "These words should be spoken only in the privacy of a bedroom," he said solemnly. His dark eyes held hers.' 'Be patient. I have never said them."
Her lips parted, because what was in his eyes made her feel humble.
"Say that you will marry me," he coaxed. "Say the words."
"I... will marry you," she answered.
He smiled. He kissed her forehead with exquisite tenderness. "Now," he whispered, "it begins."
She had no idea what it would involve to marry a head of state. She and Tad were whisked away to Mozambara, the capital city of Saudi Mahara, like birds on the wind, leaving everything behind and all the details of closing up the apartment and shipping furniture to Ahmed's men.
Tad was given his own suite of rooms and a personal servant to look after him. He was dressed in the finest clothing, had access to the court physician if he so much as sniffled, and a tutor was immediately engaged for him. His head spun at the sudden luxury that surrounded him. His every whim was immediately satisfied.
That worried Brianna, who managed an audience with the king to complain about it. They were never alone now. They were constantly chaperoned and protocol was strict and unrelenting.
"He's going to be spoiled," she moaned when Ahmed dismissed her fears.
"He should be spoiled," he informed her with a smile. "He has had a savage time for a boy his age. Let him enjoy it while he can. And please stop worrying."
She glanced around the throne room. It always seemed to be full of advisers and visiting potentates and politicians. "Can't we even have dinner alone together?"
He pursed his lips and his eyes were sensuous as they searched hers. "Another week," he promised, "and we can be alone together all we like." His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered there. "I dream of it every night, Brianna," he added breathlessly. "I dream of you."
"And I of you," she said huskily.
He drew in a long breath. "Could you leave now?" he asked pleasantly. "You are quite soon going to have a visible reaction on my composure."
She cleared her throat. "Sorry."
She turned and left, nodding politely to several curious men
near the door who smiled at her.
The days were long. She was fitted for the wedding gown, which was so expensive with its imported lace and specially made fabric from Paris that she thought privately she could probably buy a yacht for less. It was a marriage of state, though, and this was necessary. Everyone said so. The queen Brianna must be properly dressed. Queen Brianna. She shook her head. That was going to take some time to get used to.
She spent some of her time with Tad, and the rest daydreaming about her forthcoming marriage in the lush garden with its fish pond and flowers. Just looking at Ahmed from a distance made her heart race. Soon, there would be the two of them together, with no prying eyes. She grew breathless at just the thought.
The great day finally arrived. She was dressed and a bouquet of orchids placed in her cold, trembling hands. Tad smiled at her reassuringly, as richly dressed as the handsome bridegroom waiting at the huge altar in the church.
There were newsmen and cameras everywhere. And the crowds were huge. The people of Saudi Mahara seemed not at all unhappy to welcome their new American queen.
She hoped that their welcome was sincere, and not forced by the many armed guards who surrounded the area.
She kept her eyes on Ahmed as she entered the church. It was the longest walk of her entire life, and she was terrified. The terror grew as she began to recognize some of He people in the front pews, people she'd only ever seen on television newscasts. But she made it, her nerves in disarray but her head held high and her carriage perfect.
Ahmed's pride shone out of his black eyes as she joined Mm at the altar. He took her hand in his and they knelt before the high clergyman who was to perform the ceremony.
Later, she remembered very little except that the beauty of it made her cry.
When they exchanged rings, and then ere pronounced man and wife, she began to cry. Ahmed cupped her face in his hands and looked at her with an expression she knew that she would carry to her grave, oeld in her heart forever. He bent and kissed away every single tear, while their audience watched in rapt approval.
It was a fairy-tale wedding. Brianna entertained congratulations from visiting dignitaries until her hand hurt and her voice began to give way.
