own royal airport. But with Sharif’s accident, Zayed’s plane had been given a military escort to ensure his safe arrival. The country couldn’t lose two kings, not in a fortnight.
Heavy security awaited them as they deplaned. Armed soldiers, as well as undercover security in dark suits, lined the tarmac.
Rou sucked in a breath as she stepped from the plane into the late-afternoon sun. Heat rose from the black tarmac in scorching waves. It might be late October but the temperature hovered in the nineties and her gray wool suit felt suffocating now.
“It’s hot,” she murmured when Zayed turned to look at her where she still stood on the stairs.
“It’s actually cooler than it was just weeks ago.” He reached out a hand to her.
Rou glanced at his hand and then up into his face. He was still distant, still reserved. She told herself she should be pleased by the distance—she couldn’t encourage intimacy of any sort—but she worried about him now, and she didn’t want to do that, either.
Reluctantly she put her hand in his, and nearly jumped at the hot, tingly sensation of his skin against hers. It took all her concentration to make it down the steep stairs without falling.
Distance was good, she told herself, gripping her briefcase in the other hand. Distance was necessary.
On the tarmac Zayed gestured to her briefcase. “Leave that. Someone will bring it.”
“But it’s my computer and files. I need it.”
“Security must check all bags and luggage before anything is permitted to enter the palace grounds.”
“Oh. Okay.” She handed him the briefcase. “But I will get it back as soon as possible?”
“As soon as possible,” he promised before handing the briefcase to one of the security detail waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
The drive to the palace in the armored car with the bulletproof glass was quiet, but it wasn’t a comfortable silence. They were sitting side by side on the soft leather seat and the seat had too much give and Rou felt as though she was sitting far too close to Zayed, but there was really nowhere else to go. He was big, and his shoulders broad, and his legs—long and muscular—crowded her own.
She could feel him even though he wasn’t touching her, and the more aware of him she was, the warmer she became, and the warmer she became, the faster her heart beat.
Why did she have to do this around him? Why couldn’t she treat him like any other man? Why did she care that she felt so dowdy and gawky and dull?
Because a little part of you likes him, a small voice answered inside her.
A little part of you wants him to like you back.
Ridiculous! she silently flashed, cutting off the little voice. He’s shallow and unkind, selfish and untrustworthy. Why would I like him?
But when Zayed’s head suddenly turned and he fixed his gold gaze on her, her stomach flipped and her chest grew tight and she drew a quick, panicked breath, terribly dizzy.
This was such a bad idea coming here with him….
“This is Isi,” he said, nodding to the buildings and landscape beyond the window, “Sarq’s capital city.”
Grateful for the distraction, she turned her head to have a better look at the city that gleamed beneath the hard glaze of sunlight. So many of the buildings appeared new, and fountains and palm trees lined the wide, elegant boulevards. Whereas there were robed women on the streets, there were also a surprising number in fashionable Western dress.
Their caravan of armored Mercedes limousines turned down a long drive bordered by towering stuccoed walls covered in lush purple-and-pink bougainvillea, while soaring palm trees dotted the drive with puddles of sunshine and shadows.
The cars stopped as massive wood-and-iron gates, gates that had to be easily ten feet tall or more, swung slowly open and then they were passing through the gates and around more walls until Rou got a glimpse of a sprawling pink building marked by fanciful domes and arches.
“The palace,” Zayed said gruffly.
She glanced at him, saw the mixture of pride and pain in his face and turned back to the view of the elaborate compound.
The entrance, marked by exquisite carved columns and a gold-painted dome, was suddenly filled with white-robed staff. They lined the entrance, bowing, welcoming Zayed home.
A prince’s welcome.
Security opened the car door and stepped back so that Zayed could exit. She’d expected him to move on toward his staff, but once again he turned to her first, helping her from the car and waiting for her to adjust her suit skirt and jacket before they moved forward.
Once she was ready, they walked inside, between the silent, bowing staff, and through the carved columns into the cool, serene interior.
Whereas the exterior of the palace was pale pink like a delicate flower, the interior walls were painted white and the ceiling a mosaic of gold and blue. Columned hallways led in every direction and priceless sculpture filled the airy halls. It was spectacular, and Rou, who had visited her share of palaces, had never seen anything so wonderful, or so exotic. This was like something from Arabian Nights, or a Hollywood film set.
“It’s amazing,” she breathed, as Zayed turned to her after greeting key staff. “This is where you grew up?”
His lips curved ruefully, the first smile since the phone call earlier that morning in Vienna, and something in his smile made her heart turn over. His smile hinted at the boy he’d once been, a boy she suspected he rarely acknowledged. “This is home,” he admitted.
She felt another quick stab of feeling, a strange protective emotion she didn’t understand. “You are a prince, aren’t you?”
His smile slowly faded. “You wouldn’t know it from the way I behaved. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No! Not at all.” She put an impulsive hand on his sleeve, shocked that he so misread her, but when Zayed glanced down at her hand, she realized she’d committed a faux pas. Commoners probably weren’t allowed to touch the royal family.
Embarrassed and uncomfortable she pulled her hand away, clenched it into a fist and hid it behind her back. “I should get to work. Just show me to a desk and I’ll wait for my computer.”
Zayed turned to one of his staff, spoke in a language she didn’t understand and then turned back to her. “Arrangements have been made for you to use one of our family suites.”
He saw her expression and added, “Don’t worry. It’s no longer in use and it has good light, plenty of space where you can work and access to a small private garden should you need some fresh air.”
The servant in the white robe stepped forward. “If you will come with me, my lady,” he said formally, bowing to her.
The room Rou was given wasn’t merely a room, but an entire suite of rooms, one of those elegant compounds down a columned, arched corridor. Late, lingering sunlight poured through the arched
