The Sheik and the Virgin Princess (10 page)

“Come on, Zara. You can tell me. How did an attractive, sexy woman like you avoid the come-ons of all those professor types?”

Sexy? He thought she was sexy? Before the zing could turn into something bigger and better, she reminded herself that he was being nice to her because it was his job. If Rafe was interested in one of the Paxton sisters he would be far more likely to go seek out Cleo. Men had been sniffing around her since Cleo had turned fourteen. While her sister had been on every guy’s wish list, Zara had spent her weekends alone.

“There have been fewer come-ons than one might think.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She glared at him. “Are you deliberately trying to humiliate me?”

“No. I’m deliberately trying to understand.”

She stood and walked to the balcony, standing with her back to the sea. She didn’t think he was being mean. A part of her wanted to believe that Rafe found her attractive. She sighed. Was this before or after aliens landed and delivered the secret to the universe?

“I never had much luck with dating,” she said, staring at a spot over his head. “I was too tall, too smart and too skinny. Plus with all the moving around, I never exactly found a place where I fit in. I didn’t date in high school, and in college I was slow to make friends. About the time I finally had a group of people I trusted and a few boys who might have been interested, my mom died. Not only did I have to deal with that, but Cleo moved in with me. We had the combination of our loss and our fear of being discovered and her taken away. That pretty much nipped any potential relationships in the bud.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Absolutely.”

She wanted to ask why. No doubt he was simply being polite. No doubt she should excuse herself and head back to her room. Except she enjoyed standing in the dark, talking with him. As Cleo was forever reminding her—she was way too much of a dreamer.

“I moved to Washington State to attend graduate school,” she said. “So it was a while before I met people and got settled. There were a few guys, but no one special. Then I met Jon.”

Rafe stretched his legs out in front of him. “Why don’t I like this guy?”

“I don’t know. He was very nice. Charming. Funny. He was an administrator at the college. We got along really well.” She hesitated. No way was she going to tell Rafe that there hadn’t been any passion between them. At least not on his side. “He changed me,” she said instead. “I can’t explain it. He made suggestions about my clothes—things that helped me feel more attractive.”

Rafe stared at her. “A guy had suggestions about your clothes? I assume this was more than asking you to take them off.”

“Of course. He never—” She pressed her lips together. “We didn’t exactly, you know.”

“You weren’t lovers.”

She closed her eyes, then forced herself to open them and meet his steady gaze. “No. We were not.” She cleared her throat. “But there were other compensations and when Jon proposed, I accepted.”

Rafe sprang to his feet. “You married the guy?”

“Not exactly.”

He stalked over to the railing and stood next to her. Really, the man was unreasonably tall. She hated that she had to tilt her head to look at him.

“We were engaged for a time.”

“How long?”

“Two years.”

“Two years!” His voice exploded into the quiet of the night. “Are you kidding?” He spoke more quietly. “You were engaged to this guy for two years and you never slept with him.”

“We wanted to wait.”

“For what? Nuclear winter?”

“Some people prefer the sanctity of marriage.”

Rafe shook his head. “This afternoon you were complaining that if you were really a princess you would never get the chance to have sex. That doesn’t sound like a ‘sanctity of marriage’ argument to me.”

She sighed. “All right. Perhaps I didn’t agree with what we were doing, but I could hardly force the man. By that time I was twenty-six, nearly twenty-seven and I was very ready to see what all the fuss was about.”

“Did you confront this bozo?”

“No. Three weeks before the wedding, Jon told me that he wanted to break off our engagement. He’d been wrestling with some issues that could no longer be ignored.”

Rafe swore. “He was gay, right?”

Zara’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”

“The guy helped you pick out clothes. Most men can barely dress themselves and if it’s more complicated than a navy-blue suit or jeans, forget it. Plus, going two years without sex, especially when he had a hot fiancée who was more than willing—it doesn’t make sense any other way.”

Hot? Zara wanted to ask him if he’d really said the word. Did Rafe think she was hot? Her? She’d never really developed breasts, not serious ones like Cleo’s. She was tall and skinny, not short, curvy and irresistible. She must not have heard him correctly.

“So what happened when he told you?” he asked.

It took her a second to figure out what he was talking about. “I was crushed,” she admitted. “And humiliated. The university is in a small town. Everyone knew, and it didn’t take them long to find out why. When I was ready to start dating again, I felt like every guy worried that I’d turn him gay.”

Rafe chuckled. “Not likely.”

“I guess, but I’d also reached an age where being a virgin was strange. The situation is only getting worse with time. The last two men I went out with disappeared when I confessed all. What if I really am Hassan’s daughter? I’ll never get a date again and if I do, no one is going to sleep with me. Being a virgin princess is not my idea of a good time.”

Rafe laughed. He threw back his head and enjoyed the moment, ignoring her sniff of indignation.

“Easy for you to have a good chuckle,” she grumbled. “You aren’t the one who could live her life in a fishbowl. You aren’t the one who has to explain this after a few dates.”

“You know, you could just wait for marriage,” Rafe offered helpfully.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get married,” she said. “Not if I don’t date, which is getting more and more difficult. It’s only going to be worse, now. Besides, I thought it might be nice to have a little experience. I’m not interested in sleeping with an entire football team, but I would like to see at least one guy naked before I die.”

Rafe couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. For one thing, he didn’t think there were any more twenty-eight-year-old virgins left. Which proved Zara’s point—not that he was about to tell her that. For another, he was damned tempted to volunteer his services. She was welcome to see him naked anytime she wanted. She could even touch. Of course then he would want to touch back, and that was only going to lead to trouble.

“You have the strangest look on your face,” she told him.

“I’ll bet.”

Just thinking about her looking at him was making him hard. This whole situation was going to be nothing but trouble. He could feel it down to his bones.

“You’re going to have to be careful,” he said. “Once word gets out that you’re Hassan’s daughter, everything is going to change.”

She turned and faced the water. “We don’t know that I am his daughter.”

“Do you really have doubts?”

She slowly shook her head. “I want to, but I know it in my heart.”

“I agree with you on that one. Which means the media is going to be all over you. You’ll become the flavor of the month, and that’s going to bring out all kinds of men. They’ll want to take advantage of you.”

He winced as he spoke the old-fashioned phrase, but didn’t know another way to say what he meant.

Zara smiled. “I have nothing to offer. Being Hassan’s daughter isn’t going to change that.”

“You’re wrong. You’ll have connections to the royal family. Your father is a king, you’ll be a princess. I’m sure Hassan will make you rich in your own right.”

She rested her forearms on the balcony and leaned forward. “It sounded better from half a world away. Back home I could dream about the possibilities. Now it’s all just scary.” She turned her head and glanced at him. “I don’t suppose I could persuade him not to give me any money.”

“I don’t think so. The king is pretty stubborn.”

“Great. So I get to be popular for all the wrong reasons. How am I supposed to know if the people I meet like me for me or because I’m Hassan’s daughter?”

“I can’t answer that.” He would be far better at planning a kidnapping or taking out a foreign government.

Zara nodded. “It’s really late, and we should both try to sleep. You’ve been really sweet to stay out here and talk to me, but I’m sure you’d rather be in bed.”

She’d read his mind, he thought. Unfortunately they were thinking about two different kinds of “in bed.” She meant alone and he wanted to be with her.

“Good night, Zara.”

“Night.”

He waited until she walked back into her bedroom before sitting back on the bench. As he stared at the stars in the desert sky, he willed his body to return to normal.

But the need was slow to leave him and it was nearly dawn before he finally closed his eyes and slept.

The Princess Sabra…aka Sabrina…did not make good on her promise to lend her new sister clothes. Instead, the following afternoon shortly before two there was a knock on the suite door.

Zara stopped pacing long enough to watch Cleo answer it. So far she’d had a short but intense meeting with her father, and someone from his office had delivered a thick pile of reports, books and brochures on Bahania and the ruling family. Zara couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going to get grilled on the information sometime later.

“Maybe it’s the guy who’s gonna give you your pop quiz,” Cleo said cheerfully as she opened the door.

But the people who waited in the hallway obviously had nothing to do with tests or questions. Three loudly speaking, broadly gesturing French women entered the suite followed by servants pushing large clothing racks. Someone brought in a pallet of shoe boxes. There were also dozens of shopping bags filled with lingerie and knits and hat boxes.

“I am Marie,” a petite redhead said as she approached Zara and smiled. “Ah, you are the one. I see the likeness.” She winked broadly. “Nothing is to be said yet, I know. You can trust Marie. And this beauty is your sister.”

After squeezing Zara’s hand, Marie glided over to Cleo and embraced her. She fingered Cleo’s short, spiky hair.

“The color is amazing. Natural I am thinking, yes?”

Cleo nodded. Her blue eyes widened as she took in all the clothes. Marie followed her gaze.

“Ah. You have noticed my humble offerings. Princess Sabra called this morning and explained that you two had need of everything. And there is the dinner tonight. You must look perfect.”

Zara had been doing her best not to think about the state dinner. King Hassan had promised that there would be a protocol meeting later that afternoon. Zara preferred to skip the entire event, but the king wouldn’t hear of it.

She looked at the racks of clothes. There were formal gowns, plus more casual clothing. “I don’t understand. I’ll admit that Cleo and I each need a dress, but you’ve brought a lot more than that.”

Marie beamed. “The princess insisted that you completely redo your wardrobes. She said you were from a much colder climate and were not prepared for the heat of Bahania.”

Zara pressed her lips together. At least Sabrina had been tactful. What she could have said instead was that the woman who might be her new half sister dressed in bargain-basement chic. Zara didn’t think she’d ever spent more than a hundred dollars on an outfit, with the possible exception of one of her suits. Cleo preferred in-style and cheap to classics that would last more than a season.

Zara moved to the rack and fingered a pink chiffon dress. Her movements caused the price tag to flutter slightly. She gasped and hastily released the fabric. The dress cost twelve thousand dollars. Twelve thousand dollars. That would practically pay for a new car.

“We can’t,” Zara said, tucking her hands behind her back. “This isn’t right.”

Cleo frowned. “Zara, what’s the problem?”

Zara nodded at the rack. Cleo looked at a couple of dresses, sighing audibly when she brushed against a midnight blue velvet gown. Her breath caught a second later. She looked at her sister.

“I prefer to spend my take-home pay on rent and food, but everyone has different priorities,” Cleo said brightly, but Zara could see the shock in her eyes.

“My thoughts exactly.”

Marie looked confused. She exchanged an unintelligible conversation with her two assistants. Zara had taken French in high school, but her only memories of the language included telling someone her name and asking the time. Not that she would be able to understand the answer to the question.

Marie motioned to the clothes. “You are not happy with the quality of our things? I assure you, these are the finest designer originals. The styles are both contemporary and flattering. If you would be so kind as to tell me what I can change, I will do so.” She appeared more worried than annoyed.

“It’s not your clothes,” Zara said. “We can’t afford these ourselves, and I’m not comfortable accepting them as a gift.”