memories of his father were much more ambivalent. But there was no need for Laurel to discover the undercurrents that lurked beneath the mask he carefully preserved. So he focused on the facts. “My parents met in Paris.”
“How romantic.”
It was the conclusion he’d expected—no, led—her to draw. His mother had also thought it romantic. His father had called it fate. Neither romance nor fate had been enough in the end.
The night they’d met, Laurel had asked him whether he believed in fate …
It was Rakin’s turn to turn away. The sunset blazed along the skyline.
“It was spring time.” The words forced themselves past the tightness in his throat.
“Even more romantic.”
Without looking at Laurel, he continued to weave the tale that had become a legend of tabloid lies. “My parents returned to Diyafa for a lavish wedding, and I was born less than a year later.” That had been the end of the romance and the beginning of his mother’s harsh reality. As his father had the male heir he wanted, the sheik no longer needed to woo his wife. Duty, rather than desire, had kept his parents together until their deaths.
Rakin found he had a startlingly intense need to see Laurel’s face. Forcing a smile, he swiveled on his heel. Her eyes held a soft, dreamy look. “I’d love to visit Paris in the spring.”
“And walk along the Seine.” Rakin knew all the clichés.
“How wonderful to fall in love in a city that celebrates lovers.”
“That too.” His parents’ story had great spin, Rakin decided savagely. The lie still lived.
She tipped her head to one side and the last rays of the sun glinted off the diamond earrings that dangled against her neck. “And I’d like to visit Diyafa, too.”
It was the cue he needed.
But instead of telling her about his grandfather’s plan to oust him, Rakin glanced at his watch. “Our table booking is not far off. I’ll tell you more about the country of my birth over dinner—and afterwards we’ll do what everyone does in Vegas—gamble.”
As he’d anticipated, the dreaminess evaporated, then she said, “The higher the stakes, the better. Don’t forget I have every intention of gambling the night away.”
The stakes were rising for him, too. So why had he not taken the opportunity that she’d offered? Why hadn’t he told her what he needed? A wife to neutralize his grandfather’s threats? A part of him recognized that he was being drawn into the fantasy he’d created for a woman he found himself liking more and more with every hour that passed.
A whole day had already passed. Too soon they would be leaving Vegas and the opportunity to negotiate her cooperation would be forever lost. He could no longer delay.
It was time to return to reality.
And get himself a wife.
Picasso at the Bellagio was one of Rakin’s favorite restaurants.
“Bellagio is a village on the shores of Lake Como,” Rakin told Laurel after their plates from the main course had been cleared away, and dessert menus left for them to leisurely peruse. He’d secured a table overlooking a balcony and the lake beyond so that Laurel would have a good view of the fountains dancing to the music.
“George Clooney has a villa at Lake Como, doesn’t he?” Laurel’s smile had an impish quality as she turned from the fountains back to him. “I’d better add that to the exotic places I want to visit.”
“You’re that keen to meet Clooney?” Rakin wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be annoyed by her mischievous interest in the movie star—especially since before his grandfather’s latest threats he’d been as eager as Clooney to avoid marriage and babies. And despite conceding to marriage, babies were forever off the agenda—not that his grandfather needed to know that.
She gave him an artless glance. “Isn’t every woman?”
This time he did laugh. “You’re a tease!”
The artlessness evaporated. Only to be replaced with a sincerity that he found infinitely more disturbing. “Not really,” she confided, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Only with you. I’ve never flirted in my life—yet with you it’s easy.”
Her candor was disarming. And the husky note in her voice thrummed through him, playing all his nerve endings to devastating effect. He didn’t dare allow his eyes to stray lower in case her action had caused the provocative neckline to reveal even more tantalizing glimpses of skin. Instead, Rakin unfolded his napkin, placed it on his lap and said lightly, “I thought all Southern women were born flirts.”
“Not me.” She glanced down at the dessert menu in front of her.
He could’ve argued that she was learning fast. Yet Rakin suspected that she had little idea of the effect she was having on him. He was more interested in her than he’d been in any woman for a long, long time. At first, his interest had been piqued by Eli’s comment that she’d make the perfect wife for the predicament he found himself in. Then he’d found himself really liking her. And now—
Well, now, his interest was growing in leaps and bounds.
Impossibly long lashes fluttered up as she glanced up from the menu. “I’ve been attempting to flirt with you because … I feel safe.”
The naked honesty of her statement shook him. All attempts at maintaining the lighthearted banter deserted him.
“Aren’t you going to order dessert?”
To his surprise, Rakin realized he’d set his menu down on the table. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what Laurel had said.
“You find it easy to flirt with me?”
“It must be because you’re Eli’s friend.” This time the smile she gave him was sweet rather than flirtatious. “I know you’re trustworthy.”
The brief flash of annoyance he felt surprised him. “Because Eli said so?”
“Well, he never actually said I could trust you. But he wouldn’t be friends with you if he didn’t trust you implicitly—Eli’s not the kind of man to waste time on liars and frauds.”
“So you accept Eli’s endorsement—rather than your own instincts?”
Laurel hesitated.
“No, don’t think too much.” Placing his elbows on the edge of the table, he steepled his hands and gazed at her over the top. “I want an instinctual response—not one vetted for kindness.”
“I do trust you.”
The expression in her eyes told him she’d astonished herself. Keeping his attention fixed on her, he demanded, “Why?”
“I don’t know.” She said it slowly, her gaze flickering away, then back to him as though drawn by some power she could not resist.
“It
