Desert Rogues Part 2 (50 page)

“I want to be more like her,” she said fiercely, wondering if it were possible. Could a mouse be transformed into a beautiful and exotic bird?

“More like who?”

Tahira spun toward the voice and saw a man standing behind her. Her mind went blank for a second before she recognized Billie's brother Doyle.

“You frightened me,” she admitted, pressing a hand to her throat.

“Sorry. I saw you hiding back here and I came to find out why you're not dancing.”

Dancing? She winced at the thought. While she had taken lessons and practiced several times a week with the other girls at the school, she had found out during her one awkward dance with Prince Jefri that dancing with her friends was very different from dancing with a man.

“I have danced,” she said. “Once.”

“Let me guess. With your fiancé. But not with anyone else.”

She shook her head. “No one has asked and I'm not sure…”

Before she could complete her thought, Doyle grabbed her hand and pulled her close.

“You're not married yet, right? So I won't be beheaded for taking you out on the floor.”

His eyes were the most amazing shade of blue, she thought hazily. Like the sea by the coral reefs off the island. A deep blue that called to her and whispered secrets.

“Tahira?”

“What?”

He grinned and her heart flipped in her chest.

“You didn't answer my question.”

She blinked. “What did you want to know?”

“Are beautiful princesses-to-be allowed to dance with handsome strangers?”

She laughed, then felt herself blush. She wasn't beautiful, but he was kind to say so.

“You're not a stranger,” she said. “You're Billie's brother.”

“You say that as if it makes me safe.”

“It does.”

His expression darkened. “Don't believe that for a moment, princess. I can be very dangerous.”

His words made her shiver, but with excitement rather than fear. “I'm not a princess.”

“But you will be.”

For once she didn't want to think about that. “In time. But for now I am simply a girl.”

“Not a woman?”

She blushed again and ducked her head.

He touched her chin. “Sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Come on. Dance with me.”

Before she could answer, he pulled her into his embrace. His arms came around her and then they were moving to the music.

Tahira didn't know what to think, what to feel. No man had ever held her quite so close. Well, except for Prince Jefri. But he'd held her stiffly, while Doyle pulled her against him. They touched everywhere. One hand rested low on her back while the other claimed her fingers.

He was tall, but not too tall. She liked how strong he was and how she felt tiny by comparison.

“You're thinking too much,” Doyle complained with a smile. “I can hear your brain working. Which is disappointing. You're supposed to be so swept away by my charms that you can't think of anything but me.”

“How do you know I wasn't thinking of you?” she asked and was delighted when he laughed.

“Miss Tahira, no one told me you were a flirt. Did they teach you that at your convent school?”

Her? Flirting? Was it possible?

“Not at all,” she admitted. “The sisters would not have approved.”

He lowered his head until his lips were very close to her ear. “They don't need to know.”

His breath made her shiver. Deep inside her chest, a funny little feeling began to grow.

This was nice, she thought. More than nice.

Doyle pulled her even closer. “You smell good. What's the name of your perfume?”

She looked at him. “I'm not wearing any.”

In less than a heartbeat, his expression changed. Something dark flashed through his eyes.

“Don't tell me that, Princess,” he said, his voice low and almost angry.

“I don't understand. What's wrong with me not wearing perfume?”

“No woman should smell that good on her own.”

“Oh.”

She had no idea what he was talking about. Was he angry? Talking to men was more confusing than she had ever imagined. When she was with Jefri she had to search her mind for something to say. With Doyle, she didn't worry so much, but she was still confused about the outcome.

They danced together in silence for a few minutes before he said, “So you're really going to marry him.”

“What?”

She looked up and saw Prince Jefri dance by. She turned her head so she couldn't see him.

“Of course. He does me a great honor by requesting my hand in marriage.”

“Uh-huh. Has he?”

She glanced at Doyle. “Has he what?”

“Proposed. You know, down on one knee, vowing to love and honor 'til death do you part.”

“Oh. No. Not like that.”

He hadn't said anything, really. One morning the sisters had come in and told her it was time to leave. So she'd packed her things and had been brought to the palace.

“The king told me,” she said.

“That's romantic.”

“Ours is a marriage of arrangement. I had hoped, of course, that I would be offered to one of the princes, but I didn't dare dream it would really happen.”

Doyle stared at her. “Tahira, you're not a commodity. You don't have to wait around to be offered to someone.”

“Why are you angry?”

“I'm not. I just don't understand how someone like you can sell herself so short.”

“Someone like me?”

“You're sweet and funny. Pretty as hell. It's annoying that you're so damned honored to be given to someone like him. You could have a whole lot more.”

Several things distracted her. First, Doyle's energy. He obviously cared, which surprised her and pleased her. Also, he'd sworn. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard anyone use actual swear words before. Last, but certainly not least, were his words themselves.

“He's a prince,” she said. “How could I do better?”

“You could marry someone you love.”

Love? “But I
will
love him. In time.”

“How do you know?”

No one had ever asked her that before. “I just do.”

It had always been that way. All her life she had known there was a chance she would marry one of the king's sons. To that end she had studied and prepared, always hoping. Yes, at first she and her husband would be strangers, but in time, they would fall in love.

“It's the way things are,” she insisted.

The music slowed and Doyle led her off the floor. “Life isn't that tidy. You're banking your whole life on something that may or may not happen. Wouldn't you rather fall in love with someone first and
then
marry him? Or maybe you don't have to get married at all. What about that? You could explore the world. Get a job. Live.”

He made it all sound possible, when she knew it wasn't. “I'm going to marry Prince Jefri.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to.”

As soon as the words were out, she wanted to call them back. She covered her mouth with her hands and stared at him.

“No, you don't,” he said quietly.

Her eyes began to burn. “You don't understand,” she said as she lowered her hand to her side.

“Actually, I do. Come. Dance with me again.”

She started to move away, but then he took her hand and she found herself being led back to the floor.

Had to, want to, what did it mean? She
wanted
to marry Prince Jefri. She'd wanted it all her life.

“Stop thinking,” Doyle whispered against her ear.

He pulled her closer. She let herself relax against him. Gradually her mind stilled and there was only the music and the man.

 

Jefri stood in the shadows and watched Tahira dance again with Doyle. They'd been together nearly an hour. He tried to find some measure of jealousy within him, but he could not. All he felt was guilt every time the girl laughed.

She never laughed around him, never smiled, barely spoke. He knew the fault lay with him. Had he tried to draw her out or tease her? Had he worked to make her smile? Of course not—he'd been too busy blaming her for not being Billie.

Speaking of which…he turned his attention from Tahira, to the woman who occupied his mind. She danced with the British prime minister. As he watched, the older man threw back his head and laughed.

Jefri's reaction was as quick as it was powerful. He wanted to stalk across the room and rip her from the other man's arms. He wanted to insist that no one dance with her, speak with her, touch her. Only he should be allowed such privileges. Yet he could not. He was bound to another.

He looked between the two women. So different, he thought. They had nothing in common save their gender. Given the choice…

But there was no choice. Once he'd asked his father to find him a bride and his father had chosen Tahira, events had been set in motion. Events that could not be changed, regardless of his own needs and feelings. What was desire in the face of honor? He was a prince and a sheik. If his word had no value, who and what could he be?

“I
hadn't thought I could design my own clothes,” Tahira said as she laid out a length of fabric. “When Billie mentioned it, I didn't even know where to begin, but the sisters taught me to sew years ago, so I know the basics. In my trips to the bazaar, I've been able to pick up some wonderful lengths of cloth.”

She smiled. “What do you think of this one?”

Jefri glanced down at the fabric draped across the coffee table. Thin lines of gold shot through the deep red material.

“It's very nice,” he said, not knowing what else to tell her.

Tahira's smile faded. “You don't like it.”

“I have no opinion. If you like it, then make something.” He tried to sound kind and interested, even though he hadn't been listening to much of what she'd said.

“But if you don't approve.” Her mouth twisted. “You think my hobby is foolish.”

“Not at all.” Boring, maybe, but not foolish. “Tahira, whatever delights you delights me.”

“Billie said it was important for me to find some interests,” she told him. “Things that would occupy my time. You're so busy with your responsibilities. Not that I'm complaining, of course. I would never complain.”

“I know that, child.”

Tahira would never complain, never speak out against anything he might want to do. She was obedient, soft-spoken and kind. In the past month since the ball and his realization that he had no choice but to keep his word, Jefri had made a serious effort to get to know her. She was all he could have asked for and nothing he wanted. Worse, Billie had befriended her so every time he was with Tahira all the girl talked about, aside from clothes, design and fabric, was Billie.

“I'm glad you are settling in and finding things that bring you pleasure.”

Her eyes widened and she looked away. “I'm only interested in pleasing you, Prince Jefri.”

“Of course.”

“Is there something else you require of me?”

“No.”

She reached for another bolt of cloth and began to explain what she would use it for. While he tried to listen, his mind drifted to his flight training that morning. He'd lasted all of four minutes against Billie. When they'd met up again on the tarmac, she'd given him a quick smile of congratulation.

“You're doing great,” she'd told him.

“I thought I'd get good enough to beat you,” he'd admitted.

“No one gets that good.”

She'd grinned then, and he laughed and for that moment in time, the world had been right. Then she'd turned away as if she didn't know him. As if they had never been lovers.

He understood her need to withdraw. The pain of wanting and not having was too great. But even though he respected her decision and agreed with it, for him, nothing had changed. He still ached when he saw her. He still dreamed about her. He could still pick her out in a crowd simply by the delicate scent of her skin. He listened to the rapid click of her high heels in the hallway and had even taken to seeking out Muffin knowing that Billie was always near her dog.

There were nights when he decided he would simply take her and disappear. He told himself they could find refuge in the desert, living out quiet, happy lives away from the real world. Except he knew he could not claim to care about her if he also sought to clip her wings. Billie had been born to fly.

Which left him trapped in circumstances that seemed intolerable.

“You will excuse me,” he said, cutting Tahira off in midsentence.

She blinked in surprise. “Yes. Of course.”

He walked out of her suite and headed for the business wing of the palace. He ached in a way he wouldn't have thought possible, and knew the pain would never go away. When Billie left Bahania, she would take his heart with her. Such a thing could not be allowed.

The guards outside the large carved doors nodded as he approached. Jefri stopped in front of the desk inside.

“Is my father in?” he asked the forty-something male assistant.

“Of course. I'll let him know you're here.”

Jefri was announced and stepped into his father's large office.

The king of Bahania sat on an old sofa by the window. Several cats lay around the room. Two curled up on different chairs, while one had stretched out in a spot of sun on a bookcase. Jefri picked up a gray short-haired cat and set it on the ground, then brushed off the cushion and took its place.

“This is a surprise,” the king said cheerfully. “I assume you have no crisis to report? The air force still flies?”

“Yes, Father. We have improved greatly. The Van Horns have done an excellent job.”

“Good. They have lived up to their reputation.” His father leaned back in the sofa and smiled. “What can I do for you, my son?”

Jefri drew in a deep breath. “I cannot marry Tahira, Father. I have tried. For the past month I have spent time with her, learning about her. We have taken walks, long drives, spent afternoons picnicking by the sea. She is a lovely young woman with all the qualities I requested.”

The king frowned. “Then what is the problem?”

“I cannot care about her. I am in love with someone else.”

His father patted the cat on his lap. “I see,” he said at last. “And that young woman would be?”

“Billie.”

“Ah.”

Jefri couldn't tell what his father thought by his expression or the tone of his voice. Perhaps he should explain more.

“I do not believe it is within my power to make Tahira happy,” he said. “She needs someone who will see her for herself, and not for what she can never be. I will do whatever I must—settle money on her, send her to college. I want her happiness more than anything.”

“Have you discussed this with her?” the king asked.

“Not yet.”

“What if she decides her happiness lies with you?”

“Then she is mistaken.”

His father glanced at him. “She has lived in the palace for nearly six weeks. People have noticed, speculated. If you were to cast her aside now…”

“She is not being cast aside,” Jefri insisted. “There has been no formal engagement.”

“Tahira has considered no life except that as your wife. Promises were made. Will she not see this past month as courtship?”

Jefri stared out the window. Of course she would. How else could Tahira interpret events?

“She does not love me,” he said.

“How do you know? Have you asked? Are you going to break this girl's heart and destroy her life? She is only here because you asked for her.”

Jefri felt sure his father wanted to tell him something, but that he would not speak outright. So what was the clue? Something about Tahira. Did the girl love him? She could not. Surely she saw how wrong they were for each other. Or did she expect so little that an unhappy arrangement was enough?

Too many questions, he thought in frustration.

“This cannot be,” he told his father.

“This must be,” the king said.

Jefri rose to his feet. “I will find another way.”

His father said nothing as he stalked out of the room.

The king watched his youngest son leave. When the door had closed, he smiled.

“It is safe. You can come out now.”

Something moved under the wing chair. Two small brown eyes glanced around cautiously.

“He is gone,” the king said, then patted the space next to him on the sofa.

Muffin jumped up and cuddled close. The king stroked her back.

“You see,” he said. “Everything is going according to plan. It is just a matter of time until we have exactly what we both want.”

 

Tahira sat in the garden, doing her best not to cry. But it seemed the harder she tried not to, the more her eyes burned.

Something was very wrong. Somehow she had displeased Prince Jefri. But what had she said or done? All she thought about was what she could do to make him happy. She listened dutifully as he talked about flying and jets, even though all the technical information made her head ache. She did her best to enjoy all their visits to museums and parks. She had asked several times and he always said he didn't mind that she was spending her free time designing clothes.

So why were things between them even more strained than they had been at the beginning? And why had he spent the past two days avoiding her?

“Beautiful women shouldn't cry.”

Tahira jumped when she heard the words. She turned on the stone seat and saw Doyle walking toward her.

She hadn't seen him in nearly two weeks, and that one encounter had been a brief conversation at a family dinner. Even knowing it was wrong, she couldn't help being delighted to see him now and she hoped he would have time to talk with her.

“I'm not crying,” she said even as she wiped away the tears that had trickled down her cheek.

Doyle sat next to her on the bench. “What could possibly make you so sad?” he asked.

“Nothing. I'm fine.” Now.

She looked at his handsome face, the easy smile that always made her lips curve up in return. She wanted to get lost in his dark blue eyes and never find her way back.

“So how's my favorite princess?” he asked as he took her hand in his.

“I'm not a princess,” she said, trying to tug her fingers free.

He didn't let go.

She glanced around to make sure they were alone. She could not be seen holding hands with a man other than Prince Jefri. Not that the prince had ever tried to. When she realized they were in a secluded part of the garden, she allowed herself to relax and enjoy the warm touch of Doyle's skin against hers.

“So what's the problem?” he asked as he brought her knuckles to his mouth and kissed them.

She felt the warm contact clear down to her toes. He'd kissed her hand! Just like that. While talking! As if…As if…

She couldn't even think. No one had ever done that. Of course no one had ever kissed her anywhere before.

Why? Why had Doyle done that and why had the contact made her tingle?

“W-what was the question?” she asked.

He grinned. “Why are you hiding out in the garden and trying not to cry?”

“Oh. That.”

She pulled her hand free of his embrace and held in a sigh. “Prince Jefri doesn't like me very much.”

“Huh. That doesn't sound good, what with you two practically engaged.”

She stared at him. “What do you mean, practically?”

“Has he proposed?”

“Well, no.”

“Are you wearing a ring?”

She glanced at her left hand. “No.”

“In my world, that means you're not completely engaged. Is it different here?”

Tahira hadn't thought of it that way. “But there is an understanding. I was raised to marry a prince. Jefri asked for his father to arrange a match.” Her shoulders slumped. “I fear he is disappointed in me.”

“No way.”

“It's true. We have nothing to talk about. Things aren't very comfortable.” She wanted to mention that the prince had never once held her hand or tried to kiss her, but she couldn't bring herself to admit that to Doyle.

“You don't have a lot of experience with the boy-girl thing,” he told her. “Maybe you're making things out to be worse than they are.”

She didn't think so. “I was too sheltered,” she said. “I wish I were more like your sister. Billie has a career and accomplishments. She's so confident.”

“She's okay,” Doyle said. “Why can't you have a career if you want one?”

“Because.”

“There's an answer.”

Tahira didn't know what else to say. “I would have to go to college.”

“So?”

“But that would never be allowed.”

“Why not?”

Two simple words. Two words with the power to alter the very fabric of her world.

Could she? Was she allowed to express preferences and make choices?

“I was raised to marry a prince,” she repeated.

“Times change. It's a new century, kid, and you can be a whole lot more than some guy's possession if that's what you want.”

She didn't know what to think. The possibilities overwhelmed her.

“I never thought…”

“Then it's time to start thinking.” He grinned. “I do have to warn you, though. Once you leave the palace, it's a big, bad world out there and guys like me are going to want to eat you up for breakfast.”

She frowned. “What?”

He leaned close. “I'm talking about men, Princess.”