Protecting His Princess (13 page)

Mikhail nodded. “Maybe I can manage to have a life with her and a life to myself.”

The men shared stories about their wives and lovers, some admitting having both wasn’t worth the expense and effort, others talking about their second and third wives, and how it had made their life more complicated, but worth it.

“And what about you?” Mikhail asked, drawing Harris into the conversation. “Living in Germany, you must have a different perspective.”

He’d been content to listen, both to the conversation in front of him and those around him. Mikhail had invited him for a reason, to check him out and make sure he was for real, but perhaps also to get a sense if he could be trusted. If Harris didn’t offer anything toward the conversation, he was losing his chance to build a relationship with the emir. “I’ve had to be careful. In the past I’ve gotten the attention of gold diggers and status seekers. It’s one of the great parts of my relationship with Laila. She comes from wealth. Besides most of the relationships I’ve seen, at least the ones that are worth working for, one woman is more than enough. I don’t see how I’d keep up with more than one.”

“Are you calling my sister a handful?” Mikhail asked, amusement in his tone.

“A handful implies I need to handle her. That’s not the case. She has a life and a world of her own, and I’m glad to be part of it.” Speaking the words was easy because he spoke the truth.

“You’re happy with her being independent? Fine that she’s living in America?” one of the men asked.

Harris wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. A woman who was dependent on him, needy to the point of not functioning alone, didn’t appeal to him. “It works for us,” Harris said, careful not to insult any of the men around him.

“If she gets out of line, beat your wife once, and then she’d know not to cross you,” Tariq said. “Maybe twice if she’s especially willful.”

Harris controlled his temper and the angry retort that snapped to mind. Salem had to be baiting a reaction. Many of the men appeared uncomfortable. Why weren’t they saying anything? Were they afraid to speak out against Al-Adel and his network of terrorists? Did anyone else know of the connection between Salem and Al-Adel?

Mikhail took a sip of his drink. “What goes on in a man’s household is his business. But I think good Arabic women know their place without the need for fists.”

Harris tasted bitterness on the back of his tongue. Growing up in a household where his mother ruled and strong, capable women were admired, he didn’t agree with a woman needing to “know her place” or with ever, ever using his hands against a woman. A wife deserved to be touched one way by her husband: with loving, worshipful hands.

The image of running his hands over Laila came so quick, he didn’t have time to censor it. He’d never touched the bare skin of her stomach, but he’d guess it was soft, like the threads of her hair running through his fingers. He physically ached to touch her.

When he forced his mind back to the distasteful conversation, Mikhail was laughing at something one of the men had said. “My mother is a good woman. When she becomes your wife, you won’t have to do any training.”

His mother? Harris had missed an important part of the exchange.

“Tariq has been patient, and his patience is running out,” Mikhail said.

Tariq Salem? Mikhail was planning to match his mother and Salem? It would destroy Laila to see her mother in that man’s hands. He’d admitted he treated a woman violently or at least was willing to. Why would Mikhail want his mother in Salem’s hands?

Political reasons, Harris guessed. To establish strong ties between Qamsar and the Holy Light Brotherhood. Was Mikhail that desperate for power that he’d offer his mother? If he was willing to hand over his mother to Salem, what was he willing to do to Laila?

* * *

Laila stayed awake until eleven, reading a romance novel on her e-reader. Half following the story, half waiting for Harris, she left her balcony door unlocked hoping he would show up. She hadn’t heard anyone else in the hallway for the past few hours. Had he returned to the compound, or was he still out with Mikhail celebrating?

At midnight she gave up and changed into her pajamas. She slipped into bed and pulled the covers over her. Was Harris okay, or had something gone wrong at the party? It was a good sign that Harris had been invited to the emir’s gathering, but Mikhail’s temper could be volatile, and he had no tolerance for disloyalty, even suspected disloyalty. Did Mikhail believe something was amiss and want to keep Harris close while he checked into his suspicions? The desert was an easy place to lose someone, intentionally or not. What if Mikhail hurt Harris? He didn’t have other allies to help him.

Laila took a deep breath and reassured herself. Harris could handle himself. He was smart and resourceful.

She awoke to the sound of her name and a hand brushing her hair away from her forehead. She recognized Harris’s touch, knew his smell.

“Sorry to wake you. I didn’t want you to think I forgot about you,” he whispered.

The need for sleep fled once Harris was in her room, beside her on her bed. She rolled onto her back. He’d come to see her despite the late hour. “What time is it?”

“Three o’clock”

She stretched her legs under the sheets, trying to shake off her tiredness. “Did the party go well?”

“It was interesting. I have some information to follow up on.”

“That’s good,” she said. “You could have called or texted me.” She’d left her phone on the bedside table for that reason.

“I wanted to see you.”

Her heartbeat broke into a sprint at his words.

“How was your night?” he asked.

She struggled to remember the dessert party. Now that Harris was in her room, her mind was absorbed with him and how close he was to her. “The food was amazing. Aisha is so happy to be getting married soon.”

“I’m glad you had fun. Do you want me to leave so you can go back to sleep?” he asked.

She didn’t. She wanted him to stay. It was wrong to ask something of him that could get them into trouble. Not only that, she wasn’t sure what being alone with him would imply to him. She didn’t want to take things fast, but she didn’t want to call them to a stop, either. If he left her alone now, she would regret it. “Why don’t you stay?” she asked. “We can talk. Make yourself comfortable.” Was that clear? Or did women use those words to coyly invite a man to sleep with them? She was out of her element. Again.

“I’m not propositioning you,” she added.

“I know that.”

“I want to spend time with you.”

“Hey, Laila, please stop worrying. I understand. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. I won’t take advantage of a beautiful half-asleep woman in her bed.”

She should have known Harris wouldn’t have interpreted her invitation as an offer for sex. She didn’t have to worry about things like that with him. He got her. He understood.

Harris pulled off his shoes and tossed them on the floor. He loosened his tie and unfastened the top button. He pulled the wicker chair in the corner of the room closer and took a seat.

“You can lay here with me if you want,” she said, surprised at her boldness.

Harris hesitated a few moments before standing and circling the bed. He sat beside her, staying on top of the blankets. He adjusted the pillows behind his head so he was reclined.

“Do you want to hear about the night your brother had planned for himself and his friends?” he asked.

“I’m guessing it was wilder than a large sampling of desserts, teas and coffees. I heard a rumor from one of the women at the party that Mikhail wants big send-offs for his final nights as a bachelor.”

“That’s a good way to put it. Another way to put it is that your brother should not pass judgment on anyone else for drinking, smoking, dancing or gambling.”

Laila hadn’t expected the party to be demure, but she hadn’t guessed the extent of the activity. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m serious. It caught me off guard. It reminded me of a scene from an American fraternity house on a Friday night, except far fewer women.”

Laila had never been to a fraternity house, but she’d seen movies. “There were women at the party?” If Aisha found out, she would be angry.

“Yes, and they weren’t family or friends. I’m guessing they were hired companions.”

“Was Saafir there?” Laila asked. Based on the book they had found in the library, her brothers could have some relationship she didn’t understand. Maybe Saafir and Mikhail were on the same page regarding their intentions for Qamsar.

“No, he was absent, and no one mentioned him.”

Laila had grown up sheltered, but she knew men sometimes overindulged behind closed doors, and despite what Mikhail might preach and the rules he applied to his own house, he did his share of breaking those rules. “What did you do?” she asked, feeling a twinge of unreasonable jealousy.

“I talked to as many people as I could and found out everything they were willing to tell me. Which in some cases were their drunken escapades as youths.” He grinned at her. “I had to share some of my own stories, of course, of growing up with two brothers in Germany.”

“How much did you have to stretch the truth?” she asked.

“Except for some details, it wasn’t hard to come up with interesting stories. I kept them PG-rated. I didn’t want your brother to overhear and deem me unsuitable for you.”

“Did Mikhail ask again about our engagement?” she asked. She hadn’t gotten a sense of why her brother had invited Harris.

“He did. In a way. Mostly he and his buddies shared with me their views of a woman’s role in marriage.”

Laila almost scoffed. She could imagine that conversation. “Did they use the word
subservient
or was it just implied?” she asked wryly.

“The actual word might have been used a few times.”

“What did you say about that? You couldn’t have disagreed too loudly.” Mikhail recognized Harris’s culture and expectations would be different, but he wouldn’t take kindly to open opposition.

“I tried to be as quiet as possible, and when I had to speak, I kept my comments neutral.” His face turned serious. “I also overheard details about Mikhail’s plans for your mother. I debated not saying anything, but if you have this information, it might help you convince her to leave Qamsar with you.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. This couldn’t be good news. If it was, Harris would have blurted it out.

“Mikhail intends to have your mother marry a member of the Holy Light Brotherhood. Or at least, someone who had ties to it.”

Laila stared at him. Her stomach turned. Her brother wanted her mother to remarry this soon? It would follow tradition to pair her mother with a suitable husband, but her mother was happy. She was taken care of, and she deserved more than a couple of years to grieve for her husband. “He wants her to marry a man from a terrorist group? No. No. You can’t let that happen.”

Harris met her gaze, fire snapping in his blue eyes. “The plan is to get her out of here before that, or anything else bad, happens.”

He set his hand over her arm. It was a comforting touch she needed. She could have shrugged him off, or she could have pulled away. Relying on Harris to be there for her, to keep her and her family safe, had become part of her day-to-day reality.

Anger at her brother incensed her. “What is wrong with him? Why would Mikhail do that?” Laila asked.

“He’s misguided. Maybe he wants to have ties to Al-Adel. Maybe he and Tariq Salem have some other relationship.”

The man’s name was Tariq Salem. Laila had never heard of him, but she already hated him. “Saafir will be furious if he finds out,” Laila said. Unless he was on board with the decision. She couldn’t picture it, but nothing about the past couple of weeks seemed real to her. Saafir’s name was in the book with the Holy Light Brotherhood symbol on the cover.

Harris was watching her closely. “It won’t happen. We won’t let your mother marry a terrorist.”

“When can I talk to my mom about leaving Qamsar?” Laila wanted her mother out of harm’s way. If she could confide the truth to her mother, her mother could be more careful.

“At the soonest we have to wait until the emir’s wedding to tell your mother our plans. If we need to get her out sooner, I’ll pull every string I can to make that happen. For now we stick to the original time line. When we get the information we need, we’ll tell her we have to leave.”

Laila pictured her mother’s reaction. She’d have to leave most of her things, but it would be for the best. Would her mother see that? If she was destined to marry a terrorist, she’d have no choice. Convincing her mother should be a matter of logic. “You’ll let me know when I can talk to her?”

“Of course,” Harris said, squeezing her arm lightly.

Along his jawline, the blond hair of his stubble gave him a roguish appearance. She wanted to trace her fingers along his face. She curled her hands into fists and kept them beneath her pillow. She couldn’t help sliding closer to Harris. “I heard who Mikhail had planned to marry me off to.”

“Are you disappointed that won’t be happening?” Harris asked carefully.

The opposite. She was relieved. “Not at all. The man is an absolute troll, and I would have hated being his wife. He would have been a difficult man to love.”

Harris appeared pleased. “I’m glad you have options now.”

A world of options she’d never had before had opened up. Laila had assumed an arranged marriage would work, but perhaps the reality was harsher than she’d imagined. At the same time, she felt the urge to defend it. “My parents had an arranged marriage, and they were deeply in love.”

“It’s great that it worked out for your parents. They were lucky.”

“My father had enough status and resources to take a second wife, but he never did. Do you know why?”

“Your mother wouldn’t have liked it?” Harris asked.

Laila smiled. “That’s true. She would have hated it. But in our culture, a man can only take multiple wives if all wives are treated equally. My father said he could never have loved another woman the way he loved my mother, and in that way, his wives could not be equals.”