The Sheik and the Virgin Princess (4 page)

“I know.”

Zara couldn’t disagree with either of her sister’s statements. She just might be starting an amazing adventure, and her ill fortune with men bordered on legendary. Still there’d been something about Rafe’s eyes.

“I wonder if he’s married,” she murmured.

Cleo threw a pillow at her. “Stop it. Think about being a princess instead.”

“All right.”

But as Zara shifted to stretch out on the bed, she pictured a tall, dangerous looking man with a gaze that seemed to see into her soul.

Instead of going directly to the king, Rafe detoured by his own office first. Once there he headed for his computer, prepared to research the possibility of Zara Paxton being King Hassan’s illegitimate daughter.

A part of him had already accepted her story, which made him uneasy. Except for the feeling in his gut, he had no reason to trust her. Was he getting soft? Had he been out of combat too long? Or were his instincts telling him the truth?

Forty minutes later he had a rough idea of the king’s travel schedule from thirty years ago. There weren’t a lot of details, but it was obvious that Hassan had frequently visited
New York City
. Rafe toyed with the idea of breaking into the financial records to check on jewelry purchases, but figured he would do better to ask the king directly.

Rafe reached for the ring he’d slipped into his pocket and turned it over in his hand. The diamonds glinted in the midafternoon light. They circled the entire band. Again he studied the inscription of the word forever. Had the king meant the sentiment? He’d never been one to keep a mistress or wife around for very long. He had only ever loved one of his three wives. Had Zara’s mother been the only other woman to truly capture the monarch’s heart?

There was only one way to find out.

Rafe called Hassan’s secretary and requested a few minutes for a private meeting. Fortunately, the king was running ahead of schedule. Rafe collected the letters, tucked the ring back into his pocket and headed for the rear of the palace.

His Highness, the king of Bahania, believed in first impressions. His office suite was the size of a football field and overlooked a topiary garden growing around a large white fountain. Four guards in formal dress stood in front of wide double doors overlaid with a gold coat of arms. Once inside the suite, three secretaries protected the king from those who wished to see him. Two-story-high windows overlooked the lush gardens surrounding the palace, while priceless works of art hung on the walls—both paintings and tapestries delighting the eye. And wandering around as if they owned the place were several cats.

Rafe nodded at the guards as he approached. They opened the outer doors for him. As he entered, a white Persian cat slipped out, pausing to rub against him long enough to deposit several white hairs on his trousers. Rafe gritted his teeth. He’d never been much of a cat kind of guy—he was a dog person. But this was not the place to mention that. The king adored his cats.

Two gray cats lay curled up on a sofa by the window. A calico had stretched out on one of the secretaries’ desk, using a stack of files for a pillow. Rafe ignored the felines and approached the center desk.

Akil, an older man who had served the king for many years, smiled in greeting. “Mr. Stryker. His Highness is waiting for you. Please go on in.”

Rafe touched his suit pocket to make sure the ring was still in place, then headed for the half-open door on the left. As he entered the king of Bahania’s private chambers, he bowed.

“Your Highness,” he said, and paused.

King Hassan sat behind an impressive hand carved desk. The king generally wore Western-style suits during his working day and today was no exception. The tailored lightweight wool garment had been made by hand in
Italy
, the fabric especially woven to resist the ever-present cat hairs shed by the monarch’s beloved felines.

“Rafe, what brings you to see me?” Hassan asked, waving his guest forward.

Rafe had to move a dozing Siamese from a chair before he could sit and was then forced to allow the animal to drape itself across his lap. He couldn’t wait to get back to his regular job. At least his boss didn’t have a thing for cats.

“I have an unusual situation to report,” Rafe began.

Hassan raised his eyebrows. The king was close to sixty, but still a youthful-looking man. A few gray hairs had appeared in his closely trimmed beard but there weren’t many wrinkles on his face. He could be stern and distant. Until the recent decision to form a joint air force between Bahania, neighboring El Bahar and the City of
Thieves
, Rafe had had little to do with the king. Acting as the security liaison for the City of
Thieves
had recently put Rafe in close contact with the ruler of Bahania. He had yet to form an opinion of the man, so he couldn’t predict his reaction to Rafe’s news.

Hassan leaned forward. “Situation? With security?”

“No. This is personal. I haven’t discussed this with anyone, sir. If you instruct me to keep this to myself, I will never speak of it again.”

Hassan smiled slightly. “I’m intrigued. Go on.”

Rafe hesitated. He was about to tread over some potentially dangerous waters. “A young woman came to the palace this morning. She was part of the regular public tour. One of the guards noticed her because she bears a striking resemblance to the Princess Sabra.”

Hassan nodded to show he was listening. So far he hadn’t reacted. Rafe continued.

“I spoke with the young woman in question.” He’d already decided not to mention the details of their meeting. “She recently discovered some papers which had belonged to her late mother. Letters, actually. She thinks they may have been written by you.”

Hassan’s face tightened. “Who is this woman? How old is she?”

“Her name is Zara Paxton. She’s twenty-eight.”

Hassan gasped as if he’d been shot. He held out his hands for the letters, and as Rafe passed them over he already had his answer. Hassan looked both elated and stunned. Both the name and the age had been significant to him.

While the king was distracted with the pages, he took the opportunity to set the cat on the ground and brush the hair from his lap.

Hassan opened each letter slowly and read it, then put it back in the envelope. Color drained from his face. When he’d finished, Rafe gave him the diamond ring. The king took it and closed his fingers around the stones.

“Fiona,” he breathed, then looked at Rafe. “The daughter. Where is she?”

“Zara is staying at a hotel in the city. Her mother died some years ago. Apparently, she had kept these letters with a lawyer. Zara only found out about them a few months ago. She thinks you could be her father.”

Hassan rose, with Rafe quickly doing the same. “Of course she is my daughter. Fiona and I were together for over two years. After all this time her daughter is here. My daughter.” He shook his head. “You say she looks like Sabrina?”

“They have the same coloring, the same general build. Zara is taller and thinner. She wears glasses.”

Hassan smiled sadly, obviously caught up in a memory. “My sweet Fiona was as blind as a bat, but vain. She would never wear her glasses. I used to have to lead her everywhere.” He headed for the door. “Come. I must meet Zara at once.”

Rafe grabbed the letters—Hassan still had the ring. “Your Highness, we need to talk about this first.”

The king turned to face him. “Why?”

“For one thing, you can’t know if she’s really your daughter.”

“True enough, although I suspect she is.”

He wanted her to be. Rafe read that truth in the longing in Hassan’s dark eyes. Rafe felt oddly protective of the woman he’d left back in the hotel.

“Zara is a little nervous about the situation. She’s not prepared to have her long-lost father be the king of a sizable country. There’s also the problem of the media. Until we know who she is, it’s best if we keep this information private.”

“I see your point.” Hassan nodded slowly. “What do you suggest?”

“A meeting in a neutral location. One of the big hotels, maybe. We can use one of the suites. Your security people can get you into the building quietly. I’ll bring Zara.”

Hassan glanced at his watch. “Have this arranged by
four o’clock
. I won’t wait any longer.”

Which gave Rafe less than two hours. Great. “Yes, Your Highness. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I’m going to throw up,” Zara announced as she stood in the center of the massive living room of the presidential suite at the Bahanian Resort Hotel.

To her left were floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the incredible
Arabian
Ocean
. She’d already tried concentrating on the view as a way to calm herself, but the height made her head swim…and not in a good way.

The furniture in the suite was enough to make her uneasy. The living room held five sofas—five!—and a baby grand piano. There were also coffee tables and sofa tables. All this furniture, and there was still enough floor space to hold an aerobics class.

She and Cleo had yet to find their way through the entire suite. They’d gotten lost twice then had given up exploring, fearing that the king would arrive and find them trapped in a bedroom closet or bathroom.

“Don’t throw up,” Cleo advised. “It never makes a good first impression.”

“Thanks for the share.” Zara tried for a smile, but her face felt frozen and tight. Like she’d had too much Novocain at the dentist. “What are we doing here? Are we crazy?”

Cleo rubbed her hand along the back of one of the sofas. “I don’t know, Zara. I mean, I didn’t really connect this whole king-father thing before. But now it’s real and it’s scary.”

“Tell me about it.” Zara forced herself to sit. She chose a sofa that faced away from the windows. “At least Rafe arranged for us to meet the king here rather than at our hotel.”

Cleo managed a brief smile. “I’ll bet he’s never been in a two-star place before. Do you want to know that you’re the color of a sheet?”

“Not really.” Her stomach tightened. “What was I thinking?”

“That it would be nice to meet the family.” Cleo sank into a sofa opposite hers.

“You’re my family,” Zara reminded her. “Whatever happens here, I want you to know that. Anything else is just gravy.”

Cleo rolled her eyes. “If your father turns out to be the king, then I would say that at least rates him being an entrée. Oh, and if you are a real princess, I want you to promise to send your jewelry castoffs my way.”

Zara chuckled. “Deal. When my tiaras get old and dusty, I’ll toss them your way.”

“Cool. I could wear them to work.”

The thought of Cleo wearing a diamond tiara while working at the copy shop she managed eased a lot of Zara’s tension. She’d nearly relaxed enough to sit back in the sofa when the main door of the suite opened. Instantly her heart beelined for her throat and her entire body began to quiver.

“I can’t,” she breathed.

Cleo was at her side in a second, putting her arm around her and hugging her. “You can. If you have to throw up, rush for that plant and I’ll distract him with a knock-knock joke.”

Cleo’s outrageous instructions allowed Zara to suck in a breath and get to her feet. Rafe entered the room, followed by a man she recognized from the research she’d done. A man who was staring at her as if she were the most amazing creature on the planet.

The dark intensity of his gaze made her uncomfortable. Was this really happening? Was the handsome, older man really King Hassan of Bahania?

“Your Highness, may I present Miss Zara Paxton,” Rafe said, gesturing toward her.

Zara felt, more than saw, Cleo move away. She was vaguely aware of two more men entering the room. Security, she thought hazily, all of her attention focusing on the man who might be her father.

He was a few inches shorter than Rafe, but a couple of inches taller than her. He wore a suit and looked fit. His eyes were the same rich brown as her own, and when he smiled she thought she recognized the shape of his mouth.

“My long-lost daughter,” he intoned, stepping toward her and holding out his arms. “The child of my beloved Fiona. Welcome. Welcome home.”

Before she knew what was happening, she found herself caught up in the king’s arms, pulled against him and held tight. Zara tried to hug him back, but she couldn’t move. For the second time in one day, a strange man held her immobile.

She needed to escape, she thought frantically, and glanced around the room. Only Rafe seemed to notice her distress. He eased forward and gently disentangled the king.

“Perhaps we should all have a seat and discuss what has happened,” he said, urging Hassan toward a sofa.

“Yes, yes.” The king took hold of Zara’s hand and sat down.

Zara perched next to him feeling both uneasy and awkward. He was royalty. Was she supposed to bow or sit lower or what? She looked to Rafe for an answer, but he was busy settling Cleo across from them, then he picked up the phone and announced that it was time to serve the refreshments.