The words came out of his mouth as if he had no control over them. Yet he found the thought... pleasant. Pleasant, but strange. It was not his habit to jump into bed with women he did not care about. Physical pleasure without emotional content seemed... useless to him.
But if he moved her next to him, under his personal eye, she would temper her behavior. He had no doubt in his mind that she would. On the whole, the pretense of an affair was an ideal solution, allowing him to keep the true reason she remained in his palace secret.
If the lie became the truth... Well, he would not object.
"I don't suppose I can talk you out of that," she said. And then she continued muttering, words he barely heard.
"What exactly is a 'scurvy swab'?" he asked. His tutors had not taught him such insults.
"It means 'handsome gentleman.'"
He did not trust the sweet smile accompanying her answer. "If you insist on attempting to escape when you are to be released in a few days, then I am required to keep a close eye on you," he informed her.
She gave a lengthy, full-body sigh. Some of her will to fight her captivity appeared to escape with the drawn-out breath. "I'm beginning to see your point. I guess I don't want to get shot or spend six weeks here. You're right. Daddy won't leave me here long."
Odd. She had never called her father "Daddy" before. Not even when the man had been here with her. At least she began to accept his logic.
"I simply ask you to act in a reasonable way, Miss Oldrich. Treat this place as you would your home."
She seemed deflated, accepting. Almost tired. "You can call me Noelle, Walid." She shrugged, and then folded her arms across her chest, holding herself tight. "Maybe I overreacted. Being kidnapped does that to a girl. I'll try to be as patient as I can."
There. She had come around. Excellent. She would cause no more trouble. Nor do anything interesting, like fire off sharp retorts to his demands, or jump off balconies.
He had won. So why this vague feeling of dissatisfaction?
"My palace is at your disposal. Make use of it. I will give instructions that you are my honored guest, to be obeyed in all things. You do not have to endure the humiliation of being a prisoner so long as you behave in a reasonable fashion, and you will soon leave this place to return to your home."
"I get it." She looked at the floor guiltily. "Sorry for making problems."
Well then. Good. They had settled the matter. "I understood why you took the course of action you did. This incident shall remain in the past, where it belongs. Let us forget it and move forward. Perhaps you will join me for dinner tomorrow night."
"I'd like that," she said.
After she had been escorted back to her rooms, he settled down to answer his email before retiring to his bedchamber. A sense of rightness filled him as he did so. All would be well. Her father would pay his debt and Askar would be saved.
And he would not be forced to face some of the more difficult decisions that would present themselves if he did not solve this issue in less than three weeks.
Most things in his life went according to his plans. Why should this situation be any different?
Only later did he remember that he had meant to order her things moved into the room that adjoined his own. How had he forgotten that?
*****
He totally fell for it, said Bonnie Read, in Noelle's head. You played him like a sea shanty and he totally forgot to move our room closer to him. Awesome!
Ugh, just let me sleep. Just a little longer, answered Noelle, cuddling into the snowy white pillow she hugged in her arms.
You call yourself a pirate? Dawn was hours ago.
Damn, would she be glad when her psyche got back into order and this Bonnie kid was gone for good. Then she could go back to her normal, ordinary life. Her head would be quiet and empty again.
Er, that didn't come out right.
The bed was just so comfy, and her arms ached. The climb out the window had taken a lot out of her. As soon as she'd gotten back to this room, she'd practically face-planted into the bedspread. She'd just managed to get into her silk pajamas before plummeting to sleep.
I'll just leave the pirating to you, she told Bonnie.
You're kind of a good actress when you want to be. Maybe we can use that. Bonnie's voice was admiring.
We just did, Noelle responded, while yawning and rolling over. Okay, so the kid wasn't going to let her sleep. Might as well get up.
Any bright ideas for what we do now, Miss Pirate?
That's Your Highness Pirate to you. Pirate princess, remember? Bonnie sounded much less haughty when she continued, I'm not quite sure. Can we make him walk the plank?
Would if I could, Noelle answered, staring up at the blue and gold ceiling illuminated by the morning sun.
Truth was, all she could think of was Sheikh Walid's stupid, handsome face, flickering between anger, disbelief, and some other emotion she couldn't identify. Was it concern? Hard to say. No one had ever been concerned about her before.
When he'd shoved her against the wall... leaned in close... He may have meant to intimidate her, but she didn't find anything about him intimidating. Sure, he had a foot of height on her, and was just plain sexy as hell with his wide shoulders and big, big hands. But somehow, when he did his growly lion roar, all she heard was a pussycat meow.
The thing that pissed her off the most was him being embarrassed of her. They way he'd turned away from her...
"I cannot have you running around. I have important guests." Repeating his words in a funny voice might have been childish, but it felt oh so good. Some of Bonnie must have rubbed off on her. "And you're not important at all. I'm a big stupid sheikh."
Wait. Running around.
Hmmm, she thought. No. No, never mind.
What? You have an idea. Out with it. That's an order from your captain.
I don't have an idea. But I do have my best ideas while I'm running, she said.
Let's run, then!
I don't know. My running clothes are pretty tight for this culture.
She felt Bonnie roll her eyes. What's he going to do, kidnap us?
Good point, she admitted. Time to get out of bed and start the day...
*****
She'd forgotten how good it felt to just run. To let her body do what it was designed to do, what every muscle wanted.
The guards at the door of her room hadn't stopped her. Seemed like Walid hadn't lied about her having the run of the palace. The guards did, however, make a call through their walkie-talkies whenever they saw her. When she left her room, they called. And then followed her at a discreet distance until she was in sight of the next set of guards, wherever they happened to be.
The cool morning air blew against her bare skin in the artificial breeze made by her speed. She placed one foot in front of the other, the motion carrying her forward, strong and proud. Her heart pumped happily; her arms moved in a fluid, repetitive dance. Her feet hit the ground in a flawless rhythm.
She was strength, power. She was the wind, and she blew where she wanted to. Nothing could stop her. No one could stop her.
Awesome! shouted Bonnie, with her eleven-year-old enthusiasm.
Noelle could picture her, wiry kid with no sense of embarrassment, her arms upraised at the prow of a speeding ship on the high seas.
Awesome, she agreed, as she sprinted for just a bit, planning a route that followed the inside of the palace walls. She'd forgotten just how much fun it was to run outside. She'd only done it a couple of times since her disaster term at college.
Angelique did not approve of her running at all. It wasn't elegant, Angelique argued.
Of course not. It wasn't supposed to be elegant.
But Angelique's scowls and subtle jabs had worn her down. When her stepmother had bought her a treadmill, Noelle had thought it was a compromise. Maybe it had been a way for her stepmother to minimize her humiliation at the indignity of having a stepdaughter who sweated in public.
Everywhere, basically.
Basically, yes. But I'm a pirate princess. I can get us out of here.
If you want the lay of the land, we need to get up there, she thought, glancing up at the tower that dominated the palace.
Better idea. We lure one of the guards into a dark room.
And how do we do that?
Do I have to think of everything? Bonnie asked. Maybe you could flash him your boobs or something. Then, we knock him out and take his gun.
Right, because I'm capable of that, countered Noelle, passing one of the aforementioned guards. A huge man with muscles so big he probably couldn't brush his own hair due to the flexing.
Bonnie was undeterred. Then we take his uniform.
Uh, there are female guards, you know, Noelle pointed out.
Quiet. We're going to need a fake mustache.
Fake mustache? Bonnie, this isn't a Saturday morning cartoon... And I can't believe I'm having this argument with a voice inside my head.
Noelle rounded a blind corner, slowing her speed just in case someone was coming the other way.
She slowed even more when she saw the cozy little scene taking place in the courtyard.
Hey, isn't that the cool sheikh?
Noelle frowned inwardly. I thought you wanted him to walk the plank.
Bonnie shrugged. He's big. He'd made a good first mate. He just needs a sword. And to get out of that dress.
Sheikh Walid, his back turned to her, was not wearing a dress, but a traditional white robe, belted around his slim waist with a golden sash. His head covered in a matching white and gold scarf tinged with azure, he looked long and lean, like an exotic prince straight out a movie. Which he was, of course, except there was no movie magic involved. This was not a costume.
He grasped the hand of a man who wore a similar robe, but who was much shorter, and had a few pounds on Walid. The other man's thick black beard completely failed to shroud his disapproval when Noelle caught his gaze.
For a second, she didn't get what she'd done to earn the disgusted look in his eye. Then she noticed the four women standing respectfully behind him, covered in acres of sky-blue fabric from head to foot.
She became suddenly aware of her bare arms and naked calves. Of her hair peeking out from beneath the Ferrari hat she'd gotten at the Austin Grand Prix last year.
I cannot have you running around... Important guests...
Ah, shit.
Walid turned to look at what had caught his guest's attention. And saw her. His face, unlike his companion's, did not flash rage. No, his eyelids dropped low, hooding any feelings he might have shown, holding them in.
The other guy started spewing words in rapid, loud Arabic. If she had to guess, they were not compliments.
Run, run! shouted Bonnie.
Not a bad plan, she agreed, pouring on the speed. Time to get out of there. As fast as possible.
There. Up ahead. A door into one of the main buildings of the palace. She could duck inside, then work her way back to her apartment.
Noelle had barely closed the door behind her when a hefty woman came after her with a meat cleaver.
Three
THE BLOOD-TINTED steel thunked down, brute force slicing through thick leg bone, through flesh, sinew, and marrow, to embed itself an inch into the wooden cutting board about a foot away from her. Noelle jumped at the thud, her panting coming from more than just the running.
A wide female face filled her vision, the deep-set black eyes power-drilling into her very soul. She pressed her back into the wooden door, one hand frantic in its search for the doorknob she couldn't seem to find.
The electric drill eyes squinted at her for an instant before drawing back. From a better perspective, she saw puffed pink cheeks, lines around the mouth, and dark hair with a few silver streaks pulled back into a tight bun.
"Um," Noelle said. "I'm just passing through. Is there another door I could use? Maybe?"
The cleaver wielder grabbed the corner of the apron covering her dusky, shapeless dress. The apron might have been white once. Now it was covered with crimson stains, and a couple purple ones--Noelle did not want to know what that was about.
About twenty women stood in the long shaft of a room, every one of them frozen in the middle of some task. One had her arms elbow deep in white goop. Another had a green stalk in each of her fists. Two more carried a large pot of brown soupy stuff to set it on a countertop.
A kitchen. She was in the palace kitchen. And Meat Cleaver did not seem happy to have her day interrupted.
"Princess?" asked a high-pitched voice from somewhere beyond the wall of face.
Finally, someone with some sense around here, exclaimed Bonnie, and Noelle nearly shushed her before remembering that no one else could hear the voice inside her head.
Keeping an eye on Meat Cleaver, Noelle groped behind her until her hand hit cool metal. The doorknob. Fantastic. Time to get out.
"Hmm, sorry to bother you. I'll just--"
Meat Cleaver snapped a word over her shoulder and the kitchen sprang back into life. Instantly the room filled with sizzle, slamming, arguments in a language Noelle didn't understand... Even the wafting smells of cooking now hit her, as if they'd also paralyzed on Meat Cleaver's command.
"Miss Oldrich," barked out Meat Cleaver, and Noelle steeled herself to get ripped a new A-hole. "What can we offer you? We have whatever you wish, though our surroundings are humble. Coffee. Tea. Cookies."
Meat Clever said the word cookies with all the warmth of a drill sergeant. Noelle nearly dropped to give her twenty. Instead, she held up a hand. "I'm good, thanks. I'll just head..."
It's not nice to refuse cookies, said Bonnie. I mean, hospitality.
And that was the exact moment Noelle's stomach choose to erupt in a volcanic gurgle.
Meat Cleaver issued marching orders and Noelle soon found herself seated at a stainless steel table, on an uncomfortable metal chair, young women wasping around her with pert efficiency. Plates appeared, piled high with nutty pastries dripping with honey water, soft buns, and purple jam--which explained the violet stain on Meat Cleaver's apron--and, to Bonnie's enthusiastic delight, at least seven kinds of cookies.
Finally, a young lady barely out of her teens set a tiny cup of thick coffee in front of Noelle, with a little jug of creamy milk. The woman was dressed from loosely wrapped headscarf to flowy chiffon ankle in the peculiar shade of powder-puff pink that screamed, "Hey, I'm a girl!" She clasped her hands together and bit her bottom lip as she stared at Noelle with something like wonder.
Caffeine. That pushed her over the edge. The nutty, spicy smell of the coffee seduced her mouth into watering. She couldn't help but give in. Oh well. Don't want to insult them.
She grabbed a bun, slathered it with butter, and tucked in. The carb-o-riffic treat melted in her mouth like a luscious cake.
Meat Cleaver lowered herself onto the opposite chair. What? Was Meat Cleaver going to eat with her?
"More coffee, princess?" Powder Puff asked. "Let me get it for you."
"I haven't finishe--" The words broke off in Noelle's mouth. She had drained the coffee in a single gulp, without realizing she'd even started.
She handed her cup to Powder Puff. "Thank you. It's delicious. But I'm no princess. My father's just rich."
Powder Puff vibrated in place, clutching the cup with both hands. Words spewed from her like an unstoppable train. "You are the princess Inaya Al Hurra reborn and you will find the treasure and you will marry Sheikh Walid and the land will be rich and happy."
"Uhhhhh..." said Noelle.
Treasure! said Bonnie.
"Miss Oldrich," growled Meat Cleaver. "Please excuse Faridah. She is young and gets excited about small things."
The stocky woman crossed her arms over her considerable chest and glared at Noelle, her mouth in a bitter line. H
ad she done something wrong?
Bonnie rolled her mental eyes. Duh, she's the ship's cook. She's watching you because she never gets to see people eat her food and she wants to know if you like it.
"This is amazing," Noelle said, around a mouthful of her second bun. She wasn't lying. She'd eaten in some of the best--and the most expensive--restaurants in the world.
Meat Cleaver grunted. And somehow Noelle got the idea that the sound was as close as the woman got to pure pleasure.
"No kidding," she went on. "Chefs who yell at people on TV cook for me on a regular basis, and this might be the best bread I've ever had. What's your name?"
"Suzette."
"Like the crepes," offered Faridah, who still stared at Noelle, shiny-eyed, just waiting for her to need something else.
That lady said treasure. Find out about the treasure, ordered Bonnie.
But Noelle didn't have to. Faridah practically exploded with info. "Please, princess, you must rescue Sheikh Walid. It is why you are in this place at this time. He is a good man and needs your help."
"I'm pretty sure he doesn't. And I'm not a princess. Please call me Noelle. I really prefer it."
"Inaya Al Hurra was not a princess when she married the prince," Faridah countered. "It is the same with you and the sheikh."
"My niece." Suzette cocked a thumb at the younger woman. "My sister's child. Such strange ideas. What can I do?"
Noelle made sympathetic eyes at Suzette. Despite the large woman's apparent irritation, she couldn't help noticing that Suzette didn't make a single move to stop the younger woman. Had she fallen for this princess crap, too?
Faridah pulled a chair up to the little table, and she even managed to do that with excitement. "I knew who you were when I saw your crown. It looks just like the Palm of Askar. It is a sign that you are a descendant of Inaya Al Hurra, returned to us in our time of need."
Oh, so now she wasn't just a princess, but a very specific princess. And the mystery of why her replica of the Askari crown had been on her coffee table. Faridah must have been the one to unpack her stuff.
Desert Sheikh vs American Princess Page 3