The Sheik and the Virgin Princess (9 page)

A sensible woman would have ducked back into her room. Zara knew that she was naturally sensible, that her sister was not, and most of the time Cleo had way more fun. Maybe it was time to see how the other half lived.

She took a single step toward Rafe. “I couldn’t sleep. I guess it’s all the excitement.”

“That makes sense. It’s been less than twenty-four hours and your entire world is different.”

Had it only been a single day? She felt that she’d known him much longer.

He motioned to the bench they’d shared before. “Come on. I’ll tell you a bedtime story.”

The low intimacy of his voice sent shivers up her spine. Rafe wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met. He was strong and took charge: very different from the academic sort she was used to.

She moved to the bench and sat. Rafe settled next to her, not crowding her, but sitting close enough for her to be incredibly aware of him. He breathed deeply, each inhale filling his chest. In the semidarkness, his blue eyes looked more black…and bottomless. She studied the shape of his strong jaw and the way the stubble growing there emphasized the hollows and planes of his features.

He shifted slightly, causing muscles to ripple. She thought about the feel of his body on hers when he’d attacked her and the way he’d held a gun to her head.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Earlier today you were dressed in traditional garments, yet you had a gun and were in the palace. You know the king well enough to get in to see him just by asking. You’re an American, yet you’re obviously comfortable in this foreign country.”

He shrugged. “I’m just a guy doing his job. Currently that means keeping you safe.”

“You know what I mean, Rafe.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m not going to tell you.”

“I’m a good security risk.”

He turned to face her, his dark eyes lasering into hers. “I don’t know that yet. Until I’m sure, I won’t be spilling any state secrets.”

His intensity made her squirm. “Do you know any?” she asked lightly.

His teeth flashed as he smiled. “Just the one about turning straw into gold.”

“That’s an important one.”

He briefly touched her shoulder. “Don’t take it personally,” he said. “If you stick around long enough, you’ll find out who I am and what I do. For now it’s enough that you know that I usually work for Sabrina’s husband.”

She’d felt the pressure of his fingertips all the way down to her fingers. A distinct tingling there made her want to make a fist.

“Can you talk about what you did before that?”

He leaned back into the bench. “I spent a few years with a private paramilitary organization. They contracted with the government, taking care of things that couldn’t be legally sanctioned.”

She blinked. “Things like what?”

His smile faded. “Let your imagination run wild. Small wars, finding terrorists, preventing kidnappings.”

He spoke matter-of-factly. As if he’d simply helped a group of kids to cross the street. Zara knew it was much more than that. Whatever he’d done had been dangerous and scary—a far cry from her quiet, academic life.

“And before that?” she asked.

“I was in the army. I went to college on an ROTC scholarship, then I spent ten years serving my country.”

She glanced at his short hair and his straight posture. She could imagine him in uniform, leading troops into battle. No doubt he’d been cool under fire.

“It’s a long way from the military to the wilds of Bahania,” she murmured. “Do you miss it?”

“The States or the army?”

“Either. Both.”

“Sometimes. I was too much of a rebel to advance much more in my career. I got out while everyone thought I was a hero. As for missing the States, there are places I’d like to see again. I don’t have an actual home I long for. I’ve always been one to move around.”

That sounded familiar. She’d lost track of the number of times Fiona had made them move. “What about family?” she asked.

Nothing about Rafe changed, yet she would have sworn that an invisible wall came down between them.

“No family,” he said easily.

He had to have some kind of family somewhere. He hadn’t just hatched under a rock. But her years with Cleo had taught her that there were some things people didn’t want to talk about.

Was he married?

The question appeared in her brain, but she couldn’t force the words out. They implied an interest, which, while it might be true, made her uncomfortable.

“Any kids?” she asked instead.

Rafe shifted so that he angled toward her, placing one arm along the back of the bench. His fingers were millimeters from her shoulder. She almost couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not married, Zara.”

The statement danced against her spine like hot water sizzling on a stove. She felt herself blushing, then figured it was dark enough that it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be able to tell. Or maybe he would, she thought, glancing at him and quickly looking away when she caught him staring. He was the kind of man who just might notice everything about a woman.

“I didn’t ask about a wife,” she clarified, as if he would be fooled.

“Of course not.” He flashed her another smile. “So tell me about your life before becoming a princess.”

She groaned. In the past few minutes of conversation she’d managed to forget her predicament. “Cleo already mentioned that I’m a college professor. I teach women’s studies at a university in eastern Washington state.”

“Tell me about your mom.”

Zara’s entire face changed. Rafe watched as the embarrassment fled, replaced by a look of love so private that he nearly looked away.

“She was amazing.” Zara sounded wistful as she spoke. “So beautiful and talented. She was a dancer for years. After she had me, she taught dance and got involved with community theater. Eventually she started directing.”

“Do you look like her?”

“No.” She drew her knees to her chest, careful to keep her nightgown and robe covering every inch of her, then rested her chin on her knees. “I suppose I’m tall like her, and skinny. But she had curves, which I do not. And she was graceful. I can barely walk through a room without knocking things over.”

“Tell me about growing up.”

Her mouth pulled straight, then twisted. “We moved around a lot. I think my mom had a giant case of wanderlust. Part of it might have been to keep King Hassan from finding her, but most of it was that she liked to be in different places. I think in a perfect world, she would have been part of a dance troupe that traveled all the time.”

“But she wasn’t. And she had a child.”

Zara nodded, her long, wavy hair swaying slightly with the movement. Earlier that day, she’d worn her hair back in a braid, but tonight it was loose. Rafe found himself wanting to slip his fingers through the strands to find out if it was as soft as it looked. He wanted to breathe in the scent of her hair, of her body, and taste every part of her with—

He grabbed hold of his wayward desire and firmly quashed it. Zara was his responsibility. No way was he going to give in to an urge, no matter how strong.

“She really tried to stay in one place,” Zara told him. “But it wasn’t her nature. She used to apologize when she needed to move on. I was constantly the new kid, which was really hard for me. I didn’t make friends easily. So I escaped into books. Growing up I learned to lose myself in a good story. I spent a lot of time in the library.”

Her world sounded lonely. He could relate to that. “What about dance classes? Didn’t you say your mother was a teacher?”

She laughed. “She was a fabulous instructor, but I wasn’t kidding about being a klutz. For a while my mom took it as a personal insult that her own flesh and blood couldn’t perform a few basic dance steps. Eventually she decided to give up and stop torturing us both.”

“I doubt it was that bad.”

Zara sat up enough to make an X on her chest. “I’m not lying. It was horrible. Cleo did better than me at dance class, but she was never that interested.”

“How did Cleo come to be with you?” he asked.

Zara shrugged. “Cleo always makes a joke about it, talking like she was a puppy picked up at the pound. Unfortunately, it’s not all that far from the truth. I don’t remember the details—I was only fourteen and not really paying attention. There was some kind of temporary crisis in the foster care system with too many kids and not enough homes. An appeal was made to the public. My mom thought it would be fun for me to have a younger sister. One day Cleo was there.”

She smiled slightly, as if at a memory. “We didn’t really get along at first. She was ten and angry at the world. She never knew her father, and her mother did drugs and couldn’t keep a job. Cleo grew up in shelters and on the street. She used to hoard food and refuse to talk. At night she would cry in her sleep. The next time Fiona moved us, Cleo came along and that was it. There was no formal adoption. Eventually Cleo and I became close. We might not have a lot in common, but we were each other’s best friend.”

“The state never came looking for her?”

“Not really. I’m still not sure what happened—if her paperwork got lost or if they couldn’t find us. By the time Cleo was fourteen we were in Arizona, then California after that. Fiona died when I was twenty. Cleo was sixteen. We stayed together, doing our best not to draw attention to ourselves. We were afraid Social Services would take her away until she turned eighteen. Fortunately no one found out.”

“You raised her by yourself?”

Zara laughed. “Cleo would get really annoyed if she heard you describe it that way. She was pretty grown-up. Way more street smart than I’ve ever been. She lived with me, and we looked out for each other.”

“You must have been in college by then.”

“I was. Fiona had insurance, which surprised us. She wasn’t usually that much into the details. It was enough to pay for the rest of my education and Cleo’s, if she’d wanted to go to school. But she wasn’t that interested. Instead she went out and got a job.”

Hers was a normal world he couldn’t relate to. Rafe supposed at one time he’d lived in a suburb with parents and maybe a dog, but he couldn’t remember anything like that. All he could recall was being alone.

“What made you decide to go into teaching?” he asked.

“I didn’t know what I wanted to do,” she admitted. “When I applied to graduate school, I got into a program where the grad students teach a freshman class. It was my first experience in front of a group. Initially I was nervous, but then I found I really liked it.”

He wondered how many of her students had a crush on her.

She raised her head and stared out into the darkness of the sea. “I live in farm country,” she said quietly. “Lots of rolling hills of wheat and canola. There isn’t all that much to do and the closest big city is nearly a hundred miles away. I can’t imagine a place more different than Bahania.”

“Or the palace,” he reminded her.

“I don’t want to think about it. This isn’t anything I’m prepared for. I have no social skills or diplomatic training. What if I offend some important person and create an international incident?”

“They’re harder to create than you might think. The greater danger is that some sheik is going to take a liking to you and kidnap you.”

She laughed. “Oh, yeah, that’s so likely. Besides as my temporary bodyguard, you’re supposed to prevent that sort of thing.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Which was the truth. Equally true was his desire to kidnap her himself. A couple of weeks in a private paradise would go a long way toward easing his throbbing need. Rafe studied Zara’s delicate profile and wondered why this particular woman got to him. What arrangement of scents, sights and sounds made him want to forget his permanent rule of never getting involved with anyone who wasn’t a player? Reminding himself that she claimed to be innocent—and why would a woman lie about that?—not to mention the daughter of a king, ought to be enough to keep him in line.

“Speaking of sheiks…” She turned and looked at him. “Why were you dressed in traditional desert clothes earlier today?”

He didn’t want to answer that question, so he distracted her with one of his own. “Why are you a virgin?”

Zara’s feet hit the balcony floor with a thud. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that,” she said, horrified, humiliated and barely able to speak. Heat flared on her face. Once again she was grateful for the darkness. “It’s a very personal matter and not one I’m willing to discuss with you.” Or anyone.

Rafe didn’t look the least bit intimidated by her outburst or chagrined by her response. “You’re the one who brought it up,” he reminded her. “It’s not the sort of information a guy forgets.”

“Well, you should forget it. It’s none of your business.”

Unless he wanted to make it his business.

A zing of anticipation zipped through her midsection. What if Rafe found her…attractive? Zara dismissed the thought as soon as it appeared. Daydreams were fine when one was alone and the object of one’s musings was a famous movie star. But this was real life. She had no business fantasizing about someone who actually existed. Especially not someone like him.