Gambling With the Crown

by Lynn Raye Harris

  Emily closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Okay, this was a setback. But she could deal with it. She would deal with it. There was no other choice.

  “I do know what you mean, Emily. But I like teasing you.” She glanced at him and saw he’d tilted his head to watch her. “Your skin is the most interesting shade of pink right now.”

  Emily wanted to drag the covers over her head. “It’s the sunlight coming into the room. And all this gold on the ceiling.”

  It was a lousy excuse, but hey, she wasn’t going to admit she was thinking about him naked—about her wrapped around him naked—was she? Nooooo, not happening.

  “Of course it is,” Kadir said. He laughed softly as he went into the bathroom. Naturally, he did not close the door and she could hear the water falling against the tiles as he started the shower. She imagined Kadir sliding those briefs down his thighs and stepping under the spray.

  Her sex throbbed with heat and need and she closed her eyes, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths. It was only the second day of their sham marriage.

  And already her purpose grew muddled and her will teetered on shaky ground.

  *

  Emily showered and dressed in the least sexy dress she could find in her wardrobe—which, she had to admit, didn’t mean much. This dress had a square neck that didn’t show any cleavage and a swirly skirt that flared out thanks to a tulle underskirt. But it was still formfitting through the bosom and it hugged her curves like Kadir had this morning. Emily forced that thought from her mind as she stood in front of the mirror and surveyed the outfit.

  The dress was chic and lovely, a vibrant turquoise, and she paired it with the lowest heels she could find in the closet. They were perhaps four inches high and nude. Not much lower, but somewhat easier to walk in than yesterday’s snakeskin platforms.

  “Not quite as sexy as I’d hoped, but still very unsuitable.”

  Emily spun to find Kadir in the door to the dressing room. He was dressed in traditional robes—a dishdasha—and the dark kaffiyeh of Kyr. Golden ropes—the igal—held the headdress in place. He looked every inch a sheikh, and so very unlike the boss she was accustomed to. There was something almost primitive about him now, though she chided herself for thinking so. Clothing did not change a man. This was his culture, not a costume donned for effect.

  And yet it was having an effect on her.

  She smoothed her fingers over the silk of her dress. “I like this dress.”

  “As do I. You look lovely, though you will certainly elicit disapproval from the old guard for being so vibrantly female.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “You said some people would not approve of me. I hope you aren’t setting me up for a huge breach of decorum so that every single person in Kyr will despise me.”

  He frowned. “I would do no such thing, Emily. You are still my wife. Your unsuitability rests primarily on your not being Kyrian. But yes, there will be those who are shocked by your clothing, your passion for me and your bright inner fire. They are the ones who will not approve.” He came toward her then, and she realized he was holding a velvet box in his hand. “You are missing some things,” he told her as he opened the box and set it on the table beside her.

  Emily gasped at the sparkling diamonds nestled against the black velvet. Her gaze lifted to Kadir’s. “I can’t wear those.”

  He frowned. “Of course you can. You will wear them.” He took the diamond-and-platinum necklace and fitted it around her throat. She turned so he could clasp it, her heart beating wildly in her chest as his fingers skimmed the bare skin of her neck. The necklace fit close to her throat but it was only when she turned around that she realized it was a collar. And it glittered as though someone had turned on Christmas lights.

  “This is too much, Kadir.”

  “Not for my wife it isn’t.” He ruthlessly went about clasping on a matching bracelet. And then he handed her a pair of diamond drop earrings that she fitted into her ears with shaking hands.

  “Won’t I look a bit gaudy for daytime?”

  His eyes roved over her. “Not at all. You will look amazingly beautiful.”

  She glanced down at the bracelet—a sizable platinum-and-diamond concoction that caught the light and sparkled as crazily as the necklace—and realized what was missing. A wedding ring. Unless, maybe, they didn’t wear them in Kyr?

  As if he knew what she was thinking, Kadir produced another box from somewhere. A smaller box. This one he opened away from her. And then he set it aside and lifted her left hand. When he slid the giant diamond on her finger, she actually felt light-headed.

  “This is insane. Someone will bash me over the head and take this stuff. And then you’ll be right back where you started.”

  He laughed softly. “You are a princess of Kyr, Emily. No one is going to bash you over the head.”

  She shivered as she stared at the ring. It was lovely, but a bit more ostentatious than she was accustomed to. The thought hit her that it was something her mother would have loved. And that was not a pleasant thought.

  “I don’t like this, Kadir. It feels…wrong somehow.”

  He took her by the shoulders and held her firmly. His eyes bored into hers. He was so very handsome, so commanding, and she felt herself melting beneath those eyes. “It’s just a few days, habibti. You can do it. You may even have fun.”

  His head descended and she closed her eyes. When his mouth brushed over hers, she nearly swayed into him. Instead, she put her hand against his chest, though she wasn’t sure whether it was to stop him—or to stop herself from leaning in closer.

  The kiss was brief, an intense meeting of tongues that both shocked and aroused her, and then he pulled away and she found herself looking up into glittering eyes that had darkened several degrees. “For luck,” he said.

  Emily blinked. “We are alone,” she answered almost breathlessly.

  “I am aware of this.”

  “You kissed me. That’s not part of the agreement.”

  He lifted an eyebrow imperiously and she realized that while he might not technically be her boss any longer, he was still a sheikh. And a prince. How many people argued with a prince?

  His fingers ghosted over her cheek before dropping away. “You still don’t quite understand. We are in Kyr, habibti. And you are my lawful wife. My property to do with as I wish.”

  Emily trembled deep inside. Because, for a moment, she wondered what it would be like for him to do whatever he wished. But she couldn’t let him think she was growing soft. She drew herself up.

  “I very much doubt an unsuitable wife is your property. If she were, she might be more suitable, yes?” Feeling a moment of inspiration, she lifted her hand and ran her fingers along his hard jaw. His eyes darkened and her breath caught in her lungs. “I own you, Kadir. This is why you brought me here. I own you, and your father will not approve.”

  He didn’t say anything and her heart pounded while she waited for him to react. She couldn’t tell what thoughts were crossing that brilliant mind of his. But then he laughed and relief washed through her.

  “Touché, Emily.” He took her hand and drew her to his side. “I believe you are ready now.”

  He led her out of the room and down a long hallway where servants scurried to and fro. He didn’t walk too fast, for which she was thankful since he’d stripped her of her sensible shoes, and she found herself peering into ornate room after ornate room as they strode by.

  The royal palace of Kyr was filled with priceless objects—marble and gold statues, intricately carved furniture, paintings, tapestries, and the most colorful rugs she’d ever seen. Some of them were huge and must have taken many years to weave. She knew enough about Oriental carpets to know they were not made on machines. Hundreds of women would have labored for many hours a day on the works of art gracing the palace floors.

  Outside the soaring windows, the sky was a blazing, clear blue. The horizon shimmered with heat and the brown mountains in the distance appe
ared to wobble at their bases. Emily could see tall palm trees and a camel train plodding along. It was starkly different from anywhere else she’d been with Kadir thus far.

  But it had a compelling beauty of its own and she wondered at Kadir’s seeming discomfort about returning to Kyr. Had his life in the palace been lonely? Harsh? Or maybe it was just boring and he much preferred his life now.

  She found herself suddenly wanting to know more about him, about who he’d been as a child and why he seemed so intent on presenting his father and the royal court with a bride of whom they would not approve. Because if she knew anything at all about him, it was that he was brilliant and capable. He would handle inheriting a throne with the grace and skill with which he handled every business encounter she’d ever seen him in. Kadir was a born leader.

  But Kadir wasn’t going to give her a chance to ask any questions just now. Instead, he steered her into a giant room filled with milling people—who instantly stopped what they were doing and sank to their knees as a man in a uniform bellowed something. She would have gasped at the sight if not for Kadir giving her a warning look.

  It was extraordinary to see so many people drop so quickly, to hear the rustling of their clothing and the hush that spread over the room. Emily’s belly clenched tight as Kadir said something in Arabic. A second later, people rose, their gazes landing on her.

  “Keep your chin up,” Kadir murmured, tucking her arm into his and anchoring her to his side.

  “What is this?” she whispered back as panic began to unwind inside her.

  “The daily audience. My father cannot attend, of course, and he’s asked me to do so in his stead.”

  “Audience? Does this mean you have to sit somewhere and receive them one by one?”

  “No. This is a formality. Their petitions to the throne are filtered through the functionaries and addressed by the king and council in session. Rarely, one of them receives a private audience. This is merely for appearances.”

  Appearances. Emily gazed out over the crowd and felt her heart thrumming against her chest. Not because she wasn’t accustomed to attending large gatherings with Kadir, though she was usually standing behind him with a notebook and pen, but because she was so visible. And garnering more than a few stares.

  “I don’t think they like me,” she muttered.

  Kadir smiled. Somehow, it seemed as if it was for her alone. She told herself it was just a part of the mirage.

  “That is the plan, is it not?” He squeezed her hand. “Now come, let us mingle. And don’t forget to hang on my every word.”

  “Except I won’t understand a thing you say,” she grumbled.

  He dipped his head toward hers, his breath whispering against her ear. “Then you can gaze at me lovingly instead.” His lips skimmed her cheek and sensation streaked down to her sex. It was shocking and alarming at once. If they weren’t in public, she would…

  Emily blinked. No, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t do a damn thing.

  She forced herself to smile up at him, aware they were the center of attention. “I’ll do my best, Your Highness.”

  He stopped his forward motion and gazed down at her, his brows drawing together. “Your Highness? I thought we had an understanding.”

  She stood on tiptoe—odd to have to do that in heels, but there it was—and whispered in his ear. “Just reminding myself what’s really happening here. You are the prince. I’m the hoochie mama.”

  He shook his head. “And here I thought I understood English. What is this hoochie thing, Emily?”

  She could almost laugh at his confusion. Except the words hurt. She didn’t know why she’d said them in the first place, or why it stung so much—no, that wasn’t true. She did know. They made her think of her mother. Of what others had said about her mother when she’d run away with her lover.

  Emily gave him a bright smile to hide her discomfort.

  His eyes flashed hot. “You are not a hoochie mama. Or a whore, if I understand the meaning correctly.”

  She could feel tears pricking at the backs of her eyes. She should not be surprised he’d understood. “It was just a joke, Kadir.”

  His expression was fierce. “I won’t allow you to make jokes like that. Not about yourself. Not when it upsets you.”

  She hadn’t expected him to be so perceptive. Her impression of Kadir did not include sensitivity—or a desire to protect her. Once more, she had to revise her opinion of him. Her heart throbbed. “It’s nothing. Forget I said it.”

  He tipped her chin up with a finger. Beyond him, she could see the people milling about almost impatiently. But Kadir didn’t seem to care as he focused the power of his gaze upon her. He still looked fierce, and her heart swelled with feeling.

  “You are my wife. A princess. You are beautiful and valuable. Don’t forget it.”

  Emily throat was tight. “I won’t.”

  But as Kadir led her into the crowd, his hand tight on hers, all she could think was that this was an act between them. A performance. That was what she couldn’t forget. He did not mean to make her heart pound or her emotions roil with his intensity. He simply did it because that’s what he always did to women. He conquered with words, with looks, with touches.

  She could not allow herself to be conquered.

  Emily decided to throw herself into her role as Kadir began to speak with different people. She would not fail him. She stayed by his side, smiling at people and chatting to those who spoke to her in English. Some people seemed uncertain what to think of her, but some of the women were openly curious and made no efforts to hide it.

  Emily was relieved she was not the only woman in Western clothing or the only one wearing jewels. Some of the Kyrian women dressed in jeweled abayas; some covered their hair, and some did not. They were friendly and polite and she found herself interested in them and they in her. She did not sense that they disapproved of her or despised her. In fact, many of them seemed to enjoy talking with her.

  Eventually, however, as the afternoon wore on, she and Kadir were surrounded by several older, serious-looking men who seemed content to pretend she did not exist. Emily frowned and tried not to concentrate on how much her feet were starting to hurt or how much she missed her low heels.

  All she wanted was to sit down, but Kadir showed no signs of slowing. The men ignored her completely. After the warmth of the women, it made her feel unwelcome—and uncharitable. When she could take it no more, she put her hand in Kadir’s to get his attention.

  He stopped speaking instantly and turned to gaze down at her, a question in his eyes. If she were Lenore, she would have pouted and stuck out her lip, but Emily couldn’t bring herself to behave that way. She was a good girl, not a self-centered drama queen.

  Still, he expected her to be unsuitable. So she would do her best, especially as this small audience seemed tailor-made for such a performance.

  “I’m bored, Kadir.”

  She could feel the men’s gazes hardening and she knew they understood English perfectly well. Kadir’s dark brows drew down. She wasn’t sure if he was amused or irritated at her little outburst.

  “And what would you prefer to do, my love?”

  Emily’s heart throbbed as she stepped closer to him and trailed a finger up his arm. “I think you know, darling.”

  This time an eyebrow arched. “Do I? Perhaps you should tell me what you want.”

  She stood on tiptoe and put her lips against his cheek. It was naughty and exhilarating and she liked it far too much. “I suppose I should say I want you desperately, but those awful men can’t hear me now so I’ll just say that my feet hurt and I’m tired of feeling shut out of this conversation.”

  He caught her around the waist and dipped his head to her ear. A shiver ran down her spine when his breath caressed the shell of her ear. “I wish you really did want me desperately. Because I’d love to strip you, Emily. Strip you and lick you from head to toe.”

  She almost backed away from him. Except tha
t would give away the game and she couldn’t do it. Not only that, but she didn’t want to do it. She liked the way it felt to have him so close. Her sex flooded with wetness as a thrill shot through her, filling her with heat.

  “You’re a bad man, Kadir.”

  His voice came out as a growl. “You have no idea, Emily. No idea.”

  “Oh, I think I do. Just not from inside information, so to speak.”

  He nipped her ear and she gasped. Her body throbbed.

  “The moment you want that inside information, I’m yours. Now go, before I do something the likes of which will scandalize Kyr for the next fifty years.”

  Emily backed away slowly as his hands slid from her body. She stood there for a long moment looking at him, and he at her, her body aching in ways she’d forgotten. His eyes blazed and part of her, the part that sparked and burned, suddenly wanted to catch his hand and lead him away with her.

  “Emily?”

  His voice was filled with promise—and with just enough of a question to break the spell. What was she doing standing here and staring at him as though he was the last glass of water in the desert?

  Emily turned and fled. When she reached their room, she went into the bathroom to lean over the sink and splash her face with cold water. If she didn’t cool this fire raging inside her, there was no telling what she might do when Kadir turned up again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  KADIR THREW THE phone down in disgust. He’d called Rashid again, and again Rashid had not answered. It was five days since they’d arrived in Kyr, and there was no sign of his brother. What was Rashid doing? Had he changed his mind about coming? Was he just going to let the throne go without a fight, or was he making a statement by taking his time?

  If Rashid did not arrive soon, it would be too late. Their father was growing weaker by the hour. And more insistent that Kadir divorce Emily and take the throne. Kadir was furious and frustrated. But he had to acknowledge that perhaps he was well and truly trapped. If Rashid no longer wanted to be king, if he’d decided he was finished with their father, with Kyr and even with Kadir himself, there was nothing Kadir could do but accept the responsibility.