“No.” She avoided him still, craning her neck to look around. “I’ll take a taxi, thanks.”
Even her Arabic had strange twists on the consonants, the French influence draped over every inch of her. She looked around, then headed toward a set of doors off to the side. The manager’s office.
“Salari.” His voice came out a growl, and he grabbed her wrist, whipping her around to face him. Sunglasses still covered those bright hazel eyes that had held him captive from the moment he laid eyes on her when they were thirteen. The shock on her face sent a pang of regret through him. “There are no taxis. It’s the car or nothing.”
“Then I choose nothing.” Her full lips thinned to a line.
He deflated slightly, a sigh escaping through his nose. “We’re adults now. Surely you can overlook the past simply for a car ride to go see your brother.” He paused, looking her up and down, wishing she’d take those sunglasses off so he could see behind the veil. “You have a future sister-in-law now. She’s dying to meet you. Just get in the car.”
Salari glanced over her shoulder, then strode toward the shiny sedan Kalif had brought. He followed behind her cautiously as she went up to the trunk and waited.
“Let me get that for you,” he said, but she shook her head.
“Just open it. I can get it.”
He clenched his jaw, opening the trunk with a grimace. All eyes were on them now; no doubt they’d be the talk of the staff. Royal guard snubbed by returning princess. Nobody truly knew the details about what had happened between Kalif and Salari, but even so, her attitude would only worsen her reputation.
Because everyone in the country heard what the tabloids had reported. Princess Salari driven out of the country for infidelity. She’d been a hated public figure for years, and then the butt of too many jokes to count.
Kalif had hoped ten years might be enough for people to lose interest. For him to lose interest.
But now he wasn’t so sure.
2
Salari didn’t budge an inch during the ride to the palace. She watched the unending desert beyond the window with a stoniness that would make a quarry proud. Her wrist very nearly burned where Kalif had grabbed her. An unnerving physical reaction, given that she’d spent the last ten years hating him.
Kalif’s eyes occasionally flitted back to her in the rearview mirror, though he couldn’t tell she’d been watching him with her dark sunglasses still on. She sat in the back seat, just so the delineation would be clear. She was not fond of him. She would not be talking to him. She did not approve of his existence.
These were all important things to remember. Especially when Kalif had grown up into such a man.
He was hot. Dirty hot, in a way that made her breath evaporate like water droplets under the Kattaharan sun. Muscles exploded all over him; biceps strained the fabric of his military outfit, forearms veiny and thick. And his hair. His formerly unruly teenager tresses had been slicked and swiped into a style worthy of a celebrity.
If he’d been hot enough to tempt her at age nineteen, he was hot enough to melt her resistance at age twenty-nine. Except she wouldn’t let that happen—not in a million years.
The turrets of the palace crested on the horizon. A smile pulled at her lips. It was impossible to forget this place, but just the silhouette of it reminded her that she hadn’t overestimated it in her memories.
“Are you happy to be back?”
His gritty voice startled her out of her thoughts. She inhaled sharply, biting her tongue before she could respond. He doesn’t get to just act like things are normal.
When she didn’t answer, he worked his jaw back and forth, squinting out at the road. He didn’t try again, just squeezed the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
As they approached the front gate of the palace complex, Salari was sideswiped with a memory: the crowds of people clogging this very road, shaking the iron gates, crying out for her murder. Home wrecking slut! Never come back! The chants had stayed with her for months afterward.
At age nineteen, the repercussions of her exile had been so disastrous she could barely function after arriving in France. Her only saving grace had been the relative anonymity of living in her adoptive country.
But here? Ten years might not have been long enough for the people of Kattahar to forget what they thought they knew about her. They might still see her as the lying, scheming mistress of the foreign Prince Asodonia. At least there weren’t crowds gathered to protest her return.
It hadn’t mattered that she’d never been with the prince, much less any other man. The only man she’d ever kissed at that point had been Kalif. And though she and Kalif had done everything known to mankind during their young romance, they’d never had sex.
Something she still hadn’t done, to this day.
Kalif had barely pulled up to the grand cul-de-sac in front of the two-story-tall front doors when Salari was tumbling out of the car. The air in there had seized up, gone rigid, and she couldn’t breathe around Kalif anymore. She didn’t bother to wait for her luggage; someone would bring it. She just needed to get away from him. Just needed to see her brother, and hug him, and meet his fiancée, and stay far, far away from the head of the royal guard.
Zatar breezed out of the palace just as Salari began to climb the steps. The sight of her brother stilled her. His boyish smile hadn’t changed a bit. He was still just as tawny and lithe as ever, though the adornments on his robes had certainly changed.
Surprise lit up his face. “Sister. My dear sister.”
The two of them ran to each other, hugging so tightly that Salari feared she’d never be able to let go. When she pulled back to look at him, she saw how his face had changed from the mischievous seventeen-year-old he’d been when she left. Tiny lines by his eyes betrayed the years.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” she whispered, squeezing the sides of his arms.
“You look fantastic,” he said, stepping back to look her up and down. “What have you become, a French model?”
She sent him a smirk as they walked inside the grand palace doors. Her gaze careened wildly over the familiar scenes, except everything was just a little different. Their footsteps fell softly on the marble floor as they headed for the grand dual staircase. Light streamed in from windows dotting the upper levels, glinting off the intricate mosaic gemstones lining the walls.
“Not a model, just a woman who was forced to find her own way.” Somberness overcame her. She checked over her shoulder, making sure Kalif hadn’t followed them before she leaned close to Zatar. “What was the idea behind sending him to pick me up?”
Zatar’s bright smile fell. “Was it not a good surprise?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Of course not. Why would it be?”
“Time has passed, my sister. You can’t—”
“Do you remember what happened?” Emotion cinched her voice tight. “Do you remember that because of his lies, I was forced out of my home for a decade?”
Zatar wrapped his arm around her, guiding her deeper into the palace. “Of course I do. And I’m not saying that forgiveness should happen overnight. But—"
“It won’t happen overnight,” she said. “It will happen never.”
Zatar studied the ground as they walked, as though contemplating her words. “I had merely hoped that we could all begin to heal.”
Salari gritted her teeth, drawing a deep breath through her nose. Of course her brother had been too involved his own world to fully understand the depth of Kalif’s betrayal. And of course he would want a smooth transition back to…whatever life was before the forced exile. She couldn’t expect him to understand, not in the same way.
“I appreciate the sentiment, brother.” She squeezed his arm. That, at least, was true. She could appreciate his trying. Even if he was totally and completely wrong.
“I didn’t want to upset you. Not so quickly, at least,” he nudged her with his elbow. They had always gotten under each other’s s
kin growing up. Zatar often bucked her for being older, even if it was only by a year.
“Now where’s this fiancée of yours? Or have you just made her up?” Salari hooked her arm through his, allowing him to lead the way as they strolled through the airy halls. Lavender reached her, the most powerful scent that could always conjure home. She slept with a lavender satchet under her pillow for most of her years in France.
“She’s finishing getting ready,” Zatar said. “She had to take a last-minute shower because there was an incident in Sala’s enclosure.”
“An incident?”
“One of the cubs overturned a water receptacle, which drenched Alex.” Zatar laughed. “They’re extremely mischievous these days.”
Salari patted his arm, smiling up into the sun as they stepped out into the gardens. Lilies bloomed next to jasmine; the dipping blue petals of irises fluttered to the ground. Salari took a deep breath, relishing the fragrant air.
“Is this my new sister?”
A brash American voice cut through the quiet garden. Salari turned, finding a sun-kissed blonde heading their way, running a hand through damp hair. Zatar watched her approach as if it was love at first sight all over again.
Turning to Salari, Zatar had a grin unlike any she’d seen on him before. “Sister, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Alexis Balizar.”
Alexis breezed up to her, offering a hand. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you!”
Salari looked in amazement. This woman was so…different…than what she’d always thought Zatar might have chosen for himself. Yet if this woman could make her brother smile like that, then she’d already earned her favor.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Salari took her hand, bowing slightly, then leaned forward to place a kiss on her cheek per Kattaharan custom. “You appear to have made my brother a smiling fool. I suspect that he sorely needed that.”
Alex laughed, cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, maybe a little. How was your trip?”
“Mostly fine,” Salari said, squashing the urge to bring up the irritation surrounding Zatar’s decision to send Kalif. No doubt Zatar had told Alex the story behind closed doors. “Just happy to be back. I missed this place more than I realized.”
“Will you be moving back?” The three of them started a slow stroll through the garden. Birds tittered nearby. The palace felt imbued with safety and calm, a very different energy than when she’d last been here.
“Ah, no.” Salari clasped her hands behind her back. Truth was, she’d left France without knowing what would come of this trip. But one glance at Kalif reminded her she was far from okay with him. If he was here, then she wouldn’t be. “Just thought it would be nice to visit for now.”
“Salari.” Zatar stopped walking, grabbing her elbow. His hazel eyes were full of confusion. “What do you mean? This is your home.”
“It was my home.” Her shoulders dropped, and she sighed. “I’ve been in Paris for ten years. It’s become my home.”
“But—” Zatar began.
“Honey.” Alex squeezed Zatar’s hand, sending him a shrouded look. “Why don’t we just enjoy the time we have with her?”
Salari offered a small smile as Zatar’s face darkened. She hated to upset him, but self-preservation was more important. He might not get it, but he didn’t have to.
Kalif was someone to be avoided. Even though physically, he begged her to come closer…that urge was the one thing she needed to deny.
And if meant exiling herself this time around, then so be it.
3
The desert air was too hot.
Salari sighed, turning onto her side. She’d been tossing and turning for hours in bed, trying to adjust to the climate. What should have fit like an old glove instead made her uncomfortable and squirmy. Yet another sign that this place was no longer meant for her.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Kalif. The way he’d leaned against that black car, biceps bulging on crossed arms, looking around like he was waiting for the paparazzi to snap a photo. But really he’d been waiting for her.
That first glimpse of him might never leave her memory. Kalif had grown into so much more of a man than she’d let herself imagine. How many times had she seen his face over the years while she fantasized and rubbed herself to orgasm? She turned over in bed, kicking the sheets off. No amount of hatred could extinguish his obvious hotness.
And that made him even more contemptible.
With a huff, Salari pushed out of bed and grabbed for her silken robe. A night walk was in order. To clear her mind, to be lulled by the soft rays of moonlight. This palace was a wonderland at night. She headed straight for the gardens, the pathway illuminated by strings of golden lights.
Many things had changed since her time here. There was still so much to explore. She paused in front of latticework bordering a six-feet-tall hedge. Whimsical Arabic above a gate simply said, “Hedge maze.” She lifted a brow. This certainly hadn’t been here ten years ago.
She pulled open the gate, peering inside cautiously. Lights from above cast enough of a golden glow onto the brick path. She looked around. Hell, this might be just the thing to take her mind off Kalif and all the ways he could still ignite her with just one look, for better or worse.
She stepped softly down the brick path, a chill moving up her spine as she glanced both left and right at the first junction. She hung a left, grazing her fingertips on the neatly trimmed hedges as she wandered deeper. Lanterns hung at the corners, spilling gauzy light over the maze. This whole place felt like a magical garden. Words to her favorite song came to her; in the still of the night, she hummed the lilting chorus. She grinned as she turned right and then left.
A rustle came from somewhere beyond the maze. Or was that inside the maze? She paused midstride, tuning in. The night was silent. She waited a moment before continuing, humming softly once more.
A boot scraped against brick. She paused again, looking around. Perhaps it was a guard. At least she hoped it was a guard. In only her silken nightie and a robe, she suddenly felt unprepared to face someone. She rounded the next corner and gasped as a hand grabbed at her wrist.
“Gotcha.” The male voice was muffled behind a black ski mask. He whipped her around, shoving her face first into the prickly hedges. Thorns scratched her cheek. She cried out as he hooked an elbow around her neck. Before she could scream for help, a gloved hand covered her mouth.
“You should have never come back.”
Salari screamed—too muffled to do any good—and bit into the hand. The attacker hissed, and she threw an elbow as hard as she could, stamping on his foot simultaneously.
The little bit of self-defense she’d learned worked. The attacker was distracted long enough to loosen his grip.
Salari ran. Her feet hit the brick so fast she couldn’t even tell she was running, just lunging forward, heart in her throat, taking turns wherever she found them. She couldn’t hear the footsteps of her attacker over the pounding of her own heart. Couldn’t even pinpoint in her mental map where she might be within the maze.
She looked behind her as she took another corner. No sign of the attacker. Just as she turned her head, she connected with something hard.
A brick wall of muscle standing roughly six feet tall.
Salari sucked in a breath. It was Kalif. Dressed down in cream slacks and a dark shirt. He gripped her by the arms, searching her face.
“Are you okay?”
All she could do was stare up at him, her chest heaving too fast for words. She shook her head, then looked behind her again.
No attacker. When her gaze fell on Kalif again, tears pressed at her eyes. The heat of his fingertips, pressed into the soft flesh of her upper arms, was more reassuring than she liked to admit. She crumbled slightly, but he held her steady.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
* * *
Kalif wasn’t sure if he was still drunk. Someone could have slipped him a hallucinogenic, he supposed. The bar he’d gone
to that night wasn’t extremely reputable.
That might explain why he was seeing this vision of Salari, frantic and vulnerable, her body a lush map full of hills and valleys, soft curves and sweet spots.
“I…there was someone.” Her lip trembled as she spoke. He didn’t dare let go of her. She seemed liable to wilt on the spot. “He grabbed me.”
A whimper escaped her, and he gathered her close to him, an instinctual reaction he couldn’t control.
“Stay close to me,” he whispered, all his senses on high alert. His ears pricked as he listened for clues. The light breeze whispering through the hedges was all he could hear. He backed up slowly, stepping softly as he guided them out of the maze.
If Salari had any objection to being so close to him, she didn’t complain. He kept his arm wrapped tightly around her, his palm sweaty against the silky fabric of her robe.
In another time, he would have slipped his hand beneath that fabric. She would have welcomed the touch of fingertips to hot skin. If he thought hard enough, he could almost imagine her begging for it.
When they emerged from the maze, Kalif hadn’t seen or heard any trace of an intruder. He waved over a guard nearby.
“An intruder was spotted in the maze garden. Wake the king,” he told him, as he guided Salari out of the gardens. “Have him meet us at Salari’s room.”
Kalif escorted her back to her room. By the time they reached her door, she seemed calmer but still a little shaken.
“Do you need anything?” He gripped the sides of her arms again, unwilling to relinquish her. Not after so much time apart. He glimpsed scratches on her face but contained the impulse to tend to them. “I can bring you tea. Will you be able to sleep?”
She drew a shaky breath, looking everywhere but at him. “I’m fine.”
“Did you get a look at his face?”
She shook her head, lips rolled in. “He had a mask on. After he grabbed me, I just reacted. I stomped his foot and got him really hard in the chest. When he was reacting, I ran.”
The Sheikha’s Unexpected Protector: Desert Sheikhs Book Two Page 2