by Donna Young
His once thick, black hair had long ago turned silver and hard-earned crevices mapped his face. The result of years spent outdoors in the unforgiving elements, she imagined. But it was the smaller lines that crinkled at the edge of his eyes that told Sarah a little about the man underneath.
“Would that be MacAlister whiskey, by any chance?” she teased, a little surprised that Bari drank at all.
Bari stared at her for a moment, then laughed. A boom of a laugh that startled more than a few people in the vicinity and started a scurry of conversation.
“As a matter of fact, it’s not.” Bari winked charmingly. “But only because Jarek’s supply was low. And what little he had, I’ve already taken for my own personal use later. One must have a vice or two, don’t you think? To keep life interesting.”
“Yes. I believe I do.” She raised her glass to his for a silent toast. “Are you visiting long, Sheik Bari?”
“I am only here for a day or so, then I return to where I belong. With my people.” He paused, taking in her coiffed hair and bandaged arm. Finding the contrast curious.
So this is the woman that had caught his nephew’s eye. He had heard things from those in the palace—those that still felt it their duty to keep him informed.
Things that intrigued him enough to find out the truth himself.
“I’ve heard that we came close to meeting the other day,” he said casually, feeling little guilt over his tactics.
“Yes, we had a slight problem with the Al Asheera. But we managed.”
Pleased that she brushed off the experience with little comment and less drama, Bari couldn’t resist prodding just a bit.
“Saving my grandnephew is more than a slight problem, Sarah.” Taking advantage of his position, he bypassed etiquette and used her first name. “Our family owes you a great debt.”
They both knew what he offered. It would be hard for him to deny any request from her now that he said the words.
“You owe me nothing, Sheik Bari,” Sarah replied, her pride hitching her chin high enough to make a statement without being insulting. “I did what needed to be done to protect a child.”
INTEGRITY. Courage. Kindness. Sarah Kwong had all three. Shen raised his daughter well, Bari summarized.
“Jarek seems concerned over this agreement with Jon Mercer. This need for publicity,” Bari prodded, then covered a hint of a smile by taking a sip of whiskey.
He caught Jarek’s profile out of the corner of his eye and understood his nephew enough to know that Jarek was keenly aware of their conversation. Bari gave himself five minutes before his nephew made his way across the floor.
“Jarek has more important issues that require his attention than words I might put to a piece of paper,” she responded evenly.
A flash of temper sharpened her green eyes, tightened her mouth. But it was the hurt that stiffened her shoulders, which intrigued him.
The feelings were deeper than he first thought between the two. Only those who cared could be wounded by mere words.
Obviously, their path would not be an easy one. If love was genuine, it had a penchant to torment those affected. But when conquered and embraced, Bari mused, there was nothing more exquisite on this side of paradise.
Hadn’t it been that way with his Theresa?
“You will have to come visit my small caravan before you leave,” he decided, already anticipating the wedding and more grand nephews and nieces.
One of the greatest pleasures of being old.
“I would like that very much, Sheik Bari,” Sarah replied, smiling. He hadn’t asked, but ordered. But still with her words, she turned his command into a request.
Bari laughed once more, charmed by her impertinence. “Good, good. I’ll have Quamar make the arrangements.”
He also made a mental note to press his son, Quamar, for more details. And if that failed, he would call Jon Mercer himself. His connections with world leaders had not lessened after he abdicated his throne. They just remained private meetings between friends.
“ARRANGEMENTS FOR WHAT, Uncle?” Jarek interrupted. When Bari raised his eyebrow, Jarek realized he hadn’t quite kept the irritation from his voice.
“Your Majesty.” Sarah gave him a small curtsy.
“Sarah.”
Moss-green satin skimmed her slender frame, leaving her back bare from the nape of her neck to the delicate concave just beneath her spine.
She wore her hair swept up in an elegant French twist that left the long, graceful slope of her neck exposed to the many masculine eyes in the room.
Jarek had given carte blanche to Anna when she ordered Sarah’s wardrobe. But at this moment, he didn’t know whether to thank her or curse her for doing the job so well.
“Your ball seems to be a success, Your Majesty.”
“And how would you know, Miss Kwong, since you’ve only just arrived?” he questioned.
“You…you watched for me?” Surprise flickered across her features, made her stutter.
“No,” he lied without qualm. Jarek found her discomfort quite charming and made a mental note to do it again sometime soon.
Bari coughed lightly. “I’ve invited Sarah to visit me when she is finished here, Jarek.”
“With the caravan?” He shook his head. “That is impossible. It is too dangerous with the Al Asheera active in the desert.”
“You believe I cannot keep Sarah safe?” The rebuke came swiftly, but with no anger. Bari nodded toward the bandage on Sarah’s arm. “You could do better?”
“Yes,” Jarek responded tightly, but a flush of embarrassment crept up the back of his neck. He didn’t need to be reminded of what happened on the cliff. “Jon Mercer has made Miss Kwong’s safety my responsibility.”
“I can take care of myself. And I have already agreed to Sheik Bari’s invitation,” Sarah added evenly. “But I appreciate your concern.”
“Maybe if you appreciated my position, we wouldn’t be having this discussion—”
Suddenly, Rashid broke from the crowd. “Hello, Grandpa Bari. Papa.”
“Rashid.” Bari hugged the young boy to his side.
Sarah noticed the sheen of tears in the older man’s eyes as he kept the prince close just a moment longer than necessary.
In spite of the tough demeanor, it was obvious Bari loved his family and his people.
Rashid pulled away from the embrace, quickly, as young boys tended to do. “You look beautiful, Sarah.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Sarah performed a deep, formal curtsey. “You look pretty handsome yourself,” she said, then winked.
“May I have this dance?” The little boy’s shyness caught at her chest. “I’ve been taking lessons.”
“I would be honored,” she replied softly.
When Rashid held out his arm, Sarah wrapped her hand underneath. With a smile, he escorted her onto the dance floor.
He stopped in the middle, then after a small nod to the orchestra, he bowed. Sarah curtsied.
“He planned this. Look, the orchestra is changing their music,” Bari observed with a small chuckle. “He must have been practicing this particular piece with his dancing instructor.”
Rashid took her left hand in his, then rested his other on the soft curve of her waist. Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder.
The room quieted into a thoughtful murmur as one by one, the guests stopped and watched the young prince lead the American journalist in a flawless waltz.
“My Theresa used to say that few moments were more beautiful than a desert at dawn or more precious than the new day it brought with it,” Bari murmured. “I think if she were watching your son and Sarah right now, she would agree that this is one of those moments.”
Jarek didn’t argue, couldn’t if he had wanted to. A rush of emotion clogged his throat, making any statement impossible.
When the dance had ended, Jarek excused himself.
Because he was king—and because he rarely did—Jarek disregarded protoco
l and joined his son and Sarah on the dance floor. Jarek caught the surprise in Sarah’s gaze, and the small tightening of her hand around Rashid’s shoulder.
Did she think to protect his son from him?
“Impressive, Rashid.” Jarek bowed his head to his son. “I think you’ve charmed most of the ladies here at the ball.”
Rashid glanced around his father, his eyes widening. “I do not have to dance with them, do I, Papa?”
Jarek smiled, understanding his son’s sentiment. “No, you do not. Not at least until you are older and it becomes your duty.”
Rashid nodded, his brows knitted. “If it is my duty, I will perform it without complaint, Papa.”
Jarek patted his son’s head. “Well right now, the only thing you have to do is find your Grandpa Bari. He wants to talk with you some more.”
Jarek, too, had noticed the tears in his uncle’s eyes. The slight reluctance to let the young prince go.
“I will find him.” Rashid turned to Sarah and gave her a deep bow. “Thank you for the dance, Sarah.”
She bowed her head. “A pleasure, Your Highness.”
Rashid raced across the floor. Both Sarah and Jarek laughed. “Sometimes I forget he’s only six,” she mused.
“Yes, so do I,” Jarek admitted, before offering his arm. “May I have this next dance, Sarah?”
When she hesitated, he whispered teasingly, “Afraid?”
“No.” But her back stiffened, telling him she wasn’t happy.
The orchestra struck up another lovely waltz and he swept her out onto the dance floor.
“We’ve got an audience,” she observed. Once again, they had drawn attention from the guests.
“You had a bigger one with my son.”
“I guess I did,” she mused.
“May I ask you something?” Jarek asked, just before he led her into a slight whirl.
“Yes.”
“When I walked up to you and Rashid, you placed your arm around him as if to protect him from me. Did you think I was going to punish him for dancing with you?”
“I wasn’t sure,” Sarah admitted, honestly. “I know you’ve forbidden my socializing with him.”
“I wanted you to stay away from him to protect him Sarah, not to hurt him,” Jarek explained. “Although I think I failed on both counts. Already he’s grown to love you. It will hurt him when you leave.”
“It will hurt us both, I think.”
Jarek realized there wasn’t really any way to avoid the inevitable separation.
“You dance very well.”
With relief, she welcomed the change of subject. “Thank you. My parents take the occasional Alaskan cruise, so they can dance the night away aboard a ship. And get free lessons.”
Jarek chuckled, catching Sarah by surprise.
“I’ve seen quite a bit of you during my research. Never have I seen you smile. Or laugh,” she commented, her gaze on the curve of his mouth. “You should do it more often.”
“A smile is very personal, sometimes even intimate. Something I tend to keep hidden from the outside world.”
Sarah stiffened. “Well, that certainly put me in my place.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it as an insult, Sarah.”
“It’s not entirely your fault,” she admitted on a sigh. “I think when it comes to you, I’ve become hypersensitive.”
“You really do have the world fooled, don’t you?” Jarek murmured, finally understanding what Quamar was telling him earlier that day.
“How so?”
“By reputation, you are a tough, hard-bitten reporter.”
“I can be.”
“But you’re not. Outside your skin is like fine silk,” Jarek murmured, next to her ear, enjoying the shiver that raced through her. “When you don’t think people are looking, you wear your heart on your sleeve.”
“Somehow I don’t feel you are paying me a compliment, Your Majesty.”
“I’m not sure I am,” Jarek agreed. “You must leave, Sarah. Soon, before what started in your bedroom and continued in my office cannot be controlled.”
“You want me, but you don’t like me, is that it?”
“I don’t dislike you. I just cannot have you,” Jarek replied. “It would be impossible.”
“Not impossible. But complicated. We’re not talking marriage here. Or even a long-term affair,” Sarah reasoned. “Is this all because of your late wife? Do you still love her?”
“No.” Jarek stiffened. “This has nothing to do with her.”
But his reaction told her something different. There were feelings there, deep feelings. “If you really think that, then you are not as intelligent as I thought you were, Your Majesty.”
The song ended and Sarah deliberately stepped out of his arms and curtsied. “Thank you for the dance, Your Majesty.”
“Sarah,” he warned, keeping a firm hold on her hand. “You cannot leave the floor angry, or we will draw unwanted attention.”
Sarah nodded once, telling him she understood, but the hand on his arm curled in anger as they stepped to the side of the dance floor.
“Your Majesty, may I interrupt?”
The man was slender in build, with thinning brown hair and dull brown, heavy-lidded eyes.
“Miss Sarah Kwong. I’d like you to meet Murad Al Qassar. Murad owns the shipping company that handles all of our crude oil.”
“Mr. Al Qassar.”
“It is a pleasure, Miss Kwong.” He kissed her fingers. Sarah had to resist the urge to tug her hand away. “I’m glad I could talk to you both together and offer my apologies.”
“Apologies?”
“I was informed today that one of my employees, Roldo Costa, made an attempt on your lives.”
“Not quite. Roldo Costa had been murdered. His body was left at the palace wall. But whoever fired that rifle was very much alive.”
“Rest assured I will be performing a complete investigation into this matter, Your Majesty. And I will keep you informed of any progress we make,” Murad insisted.
“You can notify my cousin, Quamar, of any details you uncover.”
“As you wish.” Murad’s gaze slipped to the bandage on Sarah’s arm. “I had heard that you saved our young prince from certain death out in the desert. Obviously, it is true.”
“The story sounds more dangerous than it really was,” Sarah replied tactfully.
“You are being modest, Miss Kwong. Those of us who live here know that small children are more vulnerable to the dangers of the desert. Prince Rashid was very lucky you were there to protect him,” Murad said, before looking at the king. “Both of you.”
“Yes, he was,” Jarek agreed, not wanting to be reminded again of how he’d almost lost them both. “My apologies, Murad, but I promised Miss Kwong a stroll through the garden.”
“I understand, Your Majesty. It is a beautiful garden,” Murad responded, then quickly bowed his head. “A pleasure meeting you, Miss Kwong.”
“Thank you,” she replied, her smile stiff.
Neither man remarked on the fact that she did not return the compliment.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK Papa said to her? She looks angry.” Rashid watched his father and Sarah leave the dance floor.
“What makes you think she’s angry?”
“Her eyes get squinty when Papa makes her mad.”
“Really?” Bari studied the couple for a moment and had to agree with his nephew. Sarah Kwong wasn’t happy. But that wasn’t as telling as Rashid’s question.
“So what plans are you hatching, young man?” Bari asked.
Rashid glanced up at him. “I’m not planning anything, Grandpa. I was just watching Sarah and Papa.”
Bari smiled, but he wasn’t fooled. The boy was a carbon copy of Jarek and Bari’s brother, Makrad. And more clever than both together.
Makrad would be proud.
“You like her, don’t you?”
“Yes. She is my friend now,” Rashid answered easily, secure in
the knowledge. “Even if she doesn’t like Papa.”
“And what does that mean, exactly?”
“She promised to always be my friend,” Rashid confessed. “I told her that Papa and I don’t have friends.”
“I think she likes your papa, too,” Bari suggested, understanding. Being Royal tended to isolate. It was the nature of the beast.
“How can you tell?”
“A guess.” Bari wiggled his eyebrows at his great nephew. “But a very good guess.”
Rashid nodded in understanding. After all, he was following the same guess. “She is leaving soon.”
“Yes, your papa told me.”
“Maybe if he had time to get to know her more, he’d ask her to stay longer.”
“What are you thinking, Rashid?”
“You loved Grandma Theresa very much. Everyone says so.”
“They do?”
“Yes,” Rashid insisted. “They said you loved her so much, you made Grandpa Makrad king so you could be with her in the desert. That’s why my papa became king.”
“Your papa was destined to be king no matter what, child. Just as you are destined to be, after your papa.”
Rashid nodded, accepting what he’d known since birth. “Uncle Quamar told Papa that one cannot fight their destiny.”
“He is right.”
Rashid smiled, then watched his father take Sarah out to the garden. “Uncle Quamar said sometimes destiny needs something else, too.”
“And what is that?”
“A helping hand.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jarek led Sarah over the terrace and down into the garden. Within moments the stuffiness of the crowded room slipped away.
The evening was cool, the moon high, but the stars—normally far away—seemed closer, almost within touching distance.
“I don’t remember asking for a stroll.” Her comment was just short of accusing, the sting of rejection still not forgotten from a few minutes earlier.
“Really? I must have been mistaken,” Jarek replied easily, then with a quick nod, commanded Ivan and another Royal Guard to give them some privacy.
Within moments, the guards blocked the path, giving the couple respite from the outside world.