Desert Rogues Part 2 (56 page)

“I will be sure to pass along your offer. Chicago is very different from Bahania.”

“I agree. For one thing, there aren't any words to describe how cold that wind can be in the winter.”

“We have no such discomfort here.”

That was true. The weather in paradise was pretty darned good.

“You're not very close to your family,” he said.

Daphne nearly spilled her champagne. Okay, so it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that she didn't fit in with the “real” Snowdens, but she was surprised Murat would say something like that so blatantly. After all…

The light went on in her head. “You mean I live far away,” she said.

“Yes. They are all on the East Coast. Is that the reason you chose to settle in Chicago?”

“Part of it,” she admitted. “I handle the constant disapproval better from a distance.”

“Aren't your parents proud of what you have accomplished?”

“Not really. They keep waiting for me to wake up and get engaged to a senator. I'm resisting the impulse.”

She spoke with a casualness, as if her family's expectations didn't matter, but Murat saw the truth in her blue eyes.

Pain, he thought. Pain from disappointing them, pain from not being accepted for who and what she was. Daphne had always been stubborn and determined and proud. From what he could see, little had changed about that.

Her appearance had been altered, though. Her face was thinner, her features more defined. Whereas at twenty she had held the promise of great beauty, now she fulfilled it. There was an air of confidence about her he liked.

She leaned forward. “I've spent the past couple of years studying pet psychology.”

“I have not heard of that.”

She smiled again, her full lips curving upward as if she were about to share a delicious private joke. “You'd appreciate it. The field is growing rapidly. We're interested in why animals act the way they do. What set of circumstances combine with their personality to make them act aggressively or chew furniture or not accept a new baby. That sort of thing.”

He couldn't believe such information existed. “This is what you are doing now?”

“I'm getting into it. I've learned some interesting things about dealing with alpha males.” She tilted her head. “Maybe I could use the techniques to tame you.”

“Neither of us is interested in me being tame.”

“Oh, I don't know.”

“I do.”

“You're certainly sure of yourself.”

“The privilege of being the alpha male.”

She continued to study him. Awareness crackled between them. He could smell the faint scent of the soap she'd used and some other subtle fragrance he associated only with her.

Wanting coiled low in his gut, surprising him with both its presence and its intensity. After all this time? He'd always wondered what he would feel if he saw her again, but somehow he'd never expected to have a strong need to touch her, explore her, take her.

He wanted to lead her into one of the many harem bedrooms and make her shudder beneath him. Funny how so much time had passed and the desire hadn't gone away.

“You're looking very predatory,” she said. “What are you thinking?”

“I was wondering about your art. Do you still make time to do your sculptures?”

She hesitated, as if she didn't quite believe that was what he'd been thinking, then she answered.

“I still love it, but time is always an issue.”

“Perhaps I should provide you with clay while you are here. You can indulge your passion.”

“How long do you intend to keep me in the harem?”

“I have not yet decided.”

“So we really do need to talk about Brittany.”

Just then the large golden doors opened and several servants walked in pushing carts.

“Dinner,” he said, rising to his feet.

“If I didn't know better, I would say you did that on purpose.”

He smiled. “Even I can't command my staff with just a thought.”

“Why do I know you're working on it?”

“I have no idea.”

 

Murat had left the menu up to his head chef, and he was not disappointed with the meal. Neither was Daphne, he thought as she ran her fork across the remaining crumbs of chocolate from the torte served for dessert.

“Amazing,” she breathed. “I could blow up like a beached whale if I lived here for too long.”

“Not every meal is so very formal,” he said, enjoying her pleasure in the food.

“Good thing. I'll have to do about fifty laps in the garden tomorrow.” She picked up her wine and eyed him over the glass. “Unless you plan on cutting me loose sometime soon.”

“Are we back to that?”

“We are. Murat, I'm serious. You can't keep me here forever.”

“Perhaps I wish to resume the traditional use of these rooms.”

He held in a smile as her eyes widened. “You are
so
kidding,” she said, although she didn't sound quite sure of herself. “I'm not going to volunteer.”

“Few women did at first, even though it was a great honor. But in time they came to enjoy their lives. Luxury, pleasure. What more could you want?”

“How about freedom and autonomy?”

“There is power in being desired. The smart women learned that and used it to their advantage. They ruled the ruler.”

“I've never been good at subterfuge,” she told him. “Besides, I'm not interested in working behind the scenes. I want to be up front and in the thick of things. I want to be an equal.”

“That will never be. I am to be king of Bahania, with all the advantages and disadvantages that go with the position.”

Daphne sipped her dessert wine. Disadvantages? She hadn't thought there could be any. Even if there weren't, it was a much safer topic than what life would be like in the harem.

“What's so bad about being the king?” she asked.

“Nothing bad, as you say. Just restrictions. Rules. Responsibilities.”

“Always being in the spotlight,” she said. “Always having to do the right thing.”

“Exactly.”

“Marrying a teenager you've never met can't be right, Murat, can it?”

His gaze narrowed. “You are persistent.”

“And determined. I love her. I would do anything for her.”

“Even displease me?”

“Apparently,” she said with a shrug. “Are you going to behead me for it?”

“Your casual question tells me you are not in the least bit worried. I will have to do something to convince you of my power.”

“I'm very clear on your power. I just want you to use it for good.” She set down her glass and leaned toward him. “Come on. It's just the two of us, and I promise never to tell. You can't have been serious about her. A young girl you've never met?”

“Perhaps I wanted a brainless young woman to do my bidding.”

Daphne stiffened. “She's not brainless. And she wouldn't have done your bidding. You're trying to annoy me on purpose, aren't you?”

“Is it working?”

“Pretty much.” She sagged back in her chair. “I don't want you to be like that. I don't want you to be the kind of man who would marry Brittany.”

“Do you think I am?”

“I hope not. But even if you are, I won't let you.”

“You can't stop me.”

“I'll do whatever is necessary to stop you.”

His dark eyes twinkled with amusement. “I am Crown Prince Murat of Bahania. Who are you to threaten me?”

Good question. Maybe it was the night and the man, or just the alcohol, but her head was a little fuzzy. There had been a different wine with each course. She'd only taken a sip of each, but those sips added up and muddled her thinking. It was the only explanation for what she said next.

“You're just some alpha-male dog peeing on every tree to mark his territory. That's all Brittany is to you. A tree or a bush.”

As soon as the words were out, she wanted to call them back. Murat stunned her by tossing back his head and roaring with laughter.

Still chuckling, he stood. “Come, we will go for a walk to clear your head. You can tell me all your theories about domesticating men such as me.”

He walked around the table and pulled back her chair. She rose and faced him.

“It's not a joke. You're acting like a territorial German shepherd. You could use a little obedience training to keep you in line.”

“I am not the one who needs to stay in line.”

“Are you threatening me?”

As she spoke, she took a step toward him. Unfortunately her feet weren't getting the right signals from her brain, and she stumbled. He caught her and pulled her against him.

“You speak of domestication, but is that what you want?” he asked. “A trained man would not do this.”

The “this” turned out to be nothing more than his mouth pressing against hers. A kiss. No biggie.

Except the second his lips brushed against hers, every part of her body seemed to go up in flames. Desperate hot need pulsed through her, forcing her to cling to him or collapse at his feet.

They kissed before, she remembered hazily. A lifetime ago. He'd held her tenderly and delighted her with gentle embraces.

But not this time. Now he claimed her with a passion that left her breathless and hungry for more. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her up against his hard body.

She melted into him, savoring the heat and the strength. When he tilted his head, she did the same and parted her lips before he even asked. He plunged inside, stroking, circling, teasing, making her breath catch and her body weep with desire.

More, she thought as she kissed him back. There had to be more.

But there wasn't. He straightened, forcing her to consider standing on her own. She pushed back and found her balance, then struggled to catch her breath.

“Brittany will be in New York by now,” he said.

The sudden change in topic caught her off guard. Weren't they going to discuss the kiss? Weren't they going to do it again?

Apparently not. She ordered herself to focus on Brittany. Murat. The wedding that could never be.

“I meant what I said,” he told her. “There
will
be a Snowden bride.”

“You'll need to rethink your plan,” she said. “Brittany isn't going to marry you.”

He stared at her, his dark eyes unreadable. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She braced herself for an argument or at least a pronouncement that he was the crown prince, blah, blah, blah. Instead he simply nodded.

“As you wish,” he said. And then he left.

 

Daphne didn't fall asleep until sometime after two in the morning. She'd felt too out of sorts to relax. While she told herself she should be happy that Murat was finally seeing reason about Brittany, she didn't trust the man. Certainly not his last cryptic agreement. As she wished what? Was he really giving up on Brittany so easily? Somehow that didn't seem right.

So when she woke early the next morning, she felt more tired than when she'd gone to bed.

After slipping into her robe, she hurried toward the smell of fresh coffee wafting through the harem. A cart stood by the sofa.

Daphne ignored the fresh fruit and croissants and dove for the coffee. The steaming liquid perked her up with the first sip.

“Better,” she said, when she'd swallowed half a cup.

She sat down in front of the cart and picked up the folded newspapers. The first was a copy of
USA TODAY.
Underneath was the local Bahanian paper. She flipped it open, then screamed.

On the front page was a color picture of her under a headline announcing her engagement to Murat.

“I
'll kill him!” Daphne yelled.

She set down her coffee before she dropped it and shrieked her fury.

“How dare he? Who does he think he is? Crown prince or not, I'll have his head for this!”

She couldn't believe it. Last night he'd been friendly and fun and sexy with his talking and touching, when the whole time he'd been planning an ambush.

She stomped her foot. He'd
kissed
her. He'd taken her in his arms and kissed her. She'd gotten all gooey and nostalgic while he'd known what he was going to do.

“Bastard. No. Wait. He's lower than that. He's a…a camel-dung sweeper. He's slime.”

She tossed the paper down, then immediately bent over to pick it up. There, in perfect English, was the announcement for the upcoming wedding along with what looked like a very long story on her previous engagement to Murat.

“Just great,” she muttered. “Now we're going to have to rehash that again.”

She threw the paper in the air and stalked around the room. “Are you listening, Murat?” she yelled. “Because if you are, know that you've gone too far. You can't do this to me. I won't let you.”

There was no answer. Typical, she thought. He's done it and now he was hiding out.

Just then the phone rang.

“Ha! Afraid to face me in person?”

She crossed to the phone on the end table and snatched it up. “Yes?”

“How could you do this?” a familiar female voice demanded.

“Laurel?”

A choke shook her sister's voice. “Who else? Dammit, Daphne, you always have to ruin everything. You did this on purpose, didn't you? You wanted him for yourself.”

It took Daphne a second to figure out what her sister was talking about. “You know about the engagement?” she asked.

“Of course. What did you think? That it would happen in secret?”

“Of course not. I mean there's no engagement.”

How on earth had her sister found out? There was a major time difference between Bahania and the American East Coast. “Shouldn't you be in bed?”

“Oh, sure. Because I'm going to sleep after this.” Her sister drew in a ragged breath. “What I don't understand is how you could do this to Brittany. I thought you really cared about her.”

“I do. I love her.” Probably more than her sister ever had, Daphne thought grimly. “That's why I didn't want her marrying Murat. She's never even met the man.”

“You took care of things, didn't you? Now you have him all for yourself. I can't believe I was stabbed in the back by my own sister.”

Daphne clutched the phone. “This is crazy. Laurel, think about it. Why on earth would I want to marry Murat? Didn't I already dump him once?”

“You've probably regretted it ever since. You've just been waiting for the right opportunity to pounce.”

“It's been ten years. Couldn't I have pounced before now?”

“You thought you'd find someone else. But you didn't. Who could measure up to the man who's going to be king? I understand that kind of ambition. I can even respect it. But to steal your only niece's fiancé is horrible. Brittany will be crushed.”

“I doubt that.”

“I never should have trusted you,” Laurel said. “Why didn't I see what you had planned?”

“There wasn't a plan.” Except making sure Brittany didn't throw her life away, but Laurel didn't have to know about that. “I told you, I'm not engaged to Murat. I don't know what the papers are talking about, but it's a huge mistake.”

“Oh, sure. Like I believe that.”

“Believe what you want. There's not going to be a wedding.”

“Tell that to my heartsick daughter. You've always thought of yourself instead of your family. Just know I'll never forgive you. No matter what.”

With that, Laurel hung up.

Daphne listened to the silence for a second, then put down the phone and covered her face with her hands. Nothing made sense. How could this be happening?

She had a lot of questions, but no answers, and she knew only one way to get them.

She stood and crossed to the heavy gold doors.

“Hey,” she yelled. “Are you guards still out there?”

“Yes, ma'am. Is there a problem?”

“You bet there is. Tell Murat I want to see him right now.”

She heard low conversation but not the individual words as the guards spoke to each other.

“We'll pass your message along to the crown prince,” one of the men said at last.

“Not good enough. I want his royal fanny down here this second. And you can tell him I said that.”

She pounded on the door a couple of times for good measure, then stalked back into her bedroom. Suddenly the phrase “dressed to kill” took on a whole new meaning.

 

Murat finished his second cup of coffee as he read over the financial section of the
London Times.
Then the door to his suite opened, and his father stepped in.

The king was perfectly dressed, even with the Persian cat he carried in his arms. He nodded at the guard on duty, then walked into the dining room.

“Good morning,” he said.

Murat rose and motioned to a chair. The king shook his head.

“I won't be staying long. I only came by to discuss the most fascinating item I saw in the paper this morning.”

“That the value of the Euro is expected to rise?” Murat asked calmly, knowing it wasn't that.

“No.” The king flipped through the pages until he found the local edition—the one with the large picture of Daphne on the front page. “Interesting solution.”

Murat shrugged. “I said I would have a Snowden bride, and so I shall.”

“I'm surprised she agreed.”

Murat thought of the message he'd received from the guards outside the harem. Even though he suspected they'd edited the content, Daphne's demands made him smile.

“She has not,” he admitted. “But she will. After all, the choice of fiancées was hers alone.”

“Oh?”

“I told her there would be a wedding, and she said Brittany would not be the bride. That left Daphne to fill the position.”

“I see.” His father didn't react at all. “Do you have a time line in place for this wedding?”

“Four months.”

“Not long to prepare for such an important occasion.”

“I think we will manage.”

“Perhaps I should go to her and offer my congratulations.”

Murat raised his eyebrows. “I'm sure Daphne will welcome your visit, but may I suggest you wait a few days. Until she has had time to settle in to the idea of being my wife.”

“Perhaps you are right.” The king stroked the cat in his arms. “You have chosen wisely.”

“Thank you. I'm sure Daphne and I will be very happy together.” After she got over wanting him dead.

 

By ten that morning Daphne was convinced she'd worn a track in the marble tile floors. She'd showered, dressed and paced. So far she'd been unable to make any phone calls because of the stupid time difference. But she would eventually get through to someone and then Murat would taste her fury. She might not be the favorite Snowden, but she was still a member of the family and her name meant something. She would call in every favor possible and make him pay for this.

“Of all the arrogant, insensitive, chauvinistic, ridiculous ideas,” she muttered as she walked to the French doors.

“So much energy.”

She spun and saw him moving toward her. “I hate that you do that,” she said. “Appear and disappear. I swear, when I find that secret door, I'm putting something in front of it so you can't use it anymore.”

He seemed completely unruffled by her anger. “As you wish.”

“Oh, sure. You say that now. Where were my wishes last night when you were sending your lies to the newspaper?” She stalked over to the dining room table and picked up the pages in question.

“How could you do this?” she asked as she shook them at him. “How dare you? Who gave you the right?”

“You did.”

“What?” She hated that she practically shrieked, but the man was making her insane. “I most certainly did not.”

“I told you there would be a Snowden bride and you declared it would not be your niece.”

“What?” she repeated. “That's not making a choice. I never agreed with your original premise. Where do you get off saying you'll have a Snowden bride? We're not ice cream flavors to be ordered interchangeably. We're people.”

“Yes, I know. Women. I have agreed not to marry Brittany. You should be pleased.”

Pleased? “Are you crazy?” She dropped the papers and clutched at the back of the chair. “I'm furious. You've trapped me here and told lies about me to the press. I've already heard from my sister. Do you know how this is going to mess up my life? Both of our lives?”

“I agree that marriage will change things, but I'm hoping for the better.”

“We're not getting married!” she yelled.

Instead of answering, he simply stared at her. Calm certainty radiated from him in nearly palpable waves. It made her want to choke him.

She drew in a deep breath and tried to relax. When that didn't work, she attempted to loosen her grip on the chair.

“Okay,” she said. “Let's start from the beginning. You're not marrying Brittany, which is a good thing.”

He had the gall to smile at her. “Did you really think I would be interested in a teenager for my wife? Bringing Brittany here was entirely my father's idea. I agreed to meet with her only to make him happy.”

Spots appeared before her eyes. “You what?” No way. That couldn't be true. “Tell me that again.”

“I never intended to marry Brittany.”

“But you…” She couldn't breathe. Her chest felt hot and tight and she couldn't think. “But you said…”

“I wanted to annoy you for assuming the worst about me. Then when you offered yourself in Brittany's place, I decided to consider the possibility.”

Offer? “I never offered.”

“Oh, but you did. And I accepted.”

“No. You can't.” She pulled out the chair and sank onto the seat. “I know you're used to getting your way, but this time it isn't going to happen. I need to be very clear about that. There isn't going to be a wedding. You can't make me, and if you try, you'll be forced to tie me up and gag me as you drag me down the aisle. Won't that play well in the press.”

“I do not care about the press.”

She grabbed the paper again. “Then why did you bother telling them this?”

He sat down across from her. “Make no mistake. My mind is made up. We
will
be married. This announcement has forced you to see the truth. Now you will have time to accept it.”

“What I accept is that you've slipped into madness. This isn't the fifteenth century. You can't force me to do what you want. This is a free country.” She remembered she wasn't in America anymore. “Sort of.”

“I am Crown Prince Murat of Bahania. Few would tell me no.”

“Count me among them.”

He leaned back in his chair. “You never disappoint me,” he said. “How I enjoy the explosion. You're like fireworks.”

She glared at him. “You haven't seen anything yet. I'll take this all the way to the White House if I have to.”

“Good. The president will be invited to the wedding. He and I have been friends for many years now.”

At that moment Daphne desperately wished for superpowers so she could overturn the heavy table and toss Murat out the window.

“I'm going to speak slowly,” she said. “So you can understand me. I…won't…marry…you. I have a life. Friends. My work.”

“Ah, yes. About your work. I made some phone calls last night and found it most interesting to learn that you have left your veterinary practice in Chicago.”

“That was about making career choices, not marrying you.”

“And you have been very determined to keep me from your niece. Are you sure you do not secretly want me for yourself?”

She rolled her eyes. “How amazing that you and your ego fit inside the room at the same time.” Although her sister had made the same accusation.

It wasn't true, Daphne reminded herself. Murat was her past, and she was more than content to keep him there. She hadn't spent the last ten years pining. She'd dated, been happy. He was a non-event.

“I haven't thought about you in ages,” she said honestly. “I'm even willing to take an oath. Just bring in the Bible. I wouldn't be here now if you hadn't acted all caveman over my niece. This is your fault.”