A Golden Betrayal

“Not in public, we don’t.”

“Then let’s go somewhere private.” He’d prefer that anyway.

“Walk away, Raif. I am not giving the Inquisitor another photo op.” Her gaze darted worriedly to the people around them.

“Who said anything about a picture?”

“You must have seen the Inquisitor.”

In fact, Jordan had brought it to his attention yesterday. “I don’t read the tabloids.”

“Neither do I,” Ann responded tartly. “And I’m not planning to be their feature again either.”

“Good thing I wasn’t planning to kiss you.”

She shot him a glare, moving around him. “We can’t be seen together.”

He grasped her bare arm. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

“Let go of me,” she demanded.

“Not until we talk.”

“You’re hurting me.”

“No, I’m not.” His grip wasn’t nearly as tight as he’d like it to be.

She might be paranoid about the press, but he didn’t particularly care who saw them together. And he didn’t care if the world accused them of having an affair. He wasn’t going to let public opinion dictate his actions.

“Are you trying to ruin my life?” she demanded.

“Are you trying to ruin mine?”

“I had nothing to do with your statue being stolen.”

“So you’ve claimed.” He didn’t believe her, not for one minute. In fact, he was insulted that she thought he might. New information had come to light, including his uncle Prince Mallik’s description of the thief. The man who’d broken into the palace had a voice similar to Roark Black’s.

“Raif, please. Not here. Not now.” Her pleading words caused an unwelcome and unfamiliar surge of sympathy inside him.

He fought it. He owed this woman no consideration whatsoever. But something in her clear blue eyes made him weak. Hating himself, he eased her behind the star-festooned screen to give them some privacy.

“That help?” he asked.

“No,” she grated.

There was a door in the wall next to them. She wanted privacy? Fine. He twisted the knob, pushing it open and swiftly spiriting her inside.

“Hey,” she protested as he closed the door. “You can’t—”

“I just did.” He shut the door behind them, and his eyes adjusted to the gloom. A woman should be careful what she asked for.

They’d entered a small, private dining area. A single table for six sat in the center of the room. Wine racks lined the two inside walls, while the two outside walls were dominated by bay windows that looked over the sloping gardens all decorated with colored lights.

Ann started for the door. “Let me out of here.”

Raif moved to block her exit. “No one will see us here,” he offered with a trace of sarcasm.

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, Ann? That when I’m standing in front of you demanding answers, you can’t keep up your pretense forever?”

Her jaw clenched as she glared up at him. The sounds of an a cappella quartet wafted through the walls, along with the murmur of conversation and the occasional spurt of laughter.

“It’s not a pretense,” she finally said.

He searched her expression for dishonesty, but instead found himself drinking in her beauty. Memories surged, and he wanted to touch her smooth cheeks, run his hands over her bare shoulders, taste her delicate skin and her dark, sexy lips.

“Ann,” he breathed.

Then anger unexpectedly left her voice, replaced by what sounded like weariness. “What is it you want me to say, Raif?”

It wasn’t what he wanted her to say. It was what he wanted her to do. And what he wanted her to do had nothing whatsoever to do with his family’s statue.

“How can I end this?” she asked.

“Give me my statue.” He forcibly pulled his thoughts back from the brink.

“That’s impossible.”

“Then tell me where it is.”

“I don’t know where it is.”

“Then bring me Roark Black.”

“Roark doesn’t have your statue.”

Raif took a step closer, crowding her, determined to get this farce over with. “In Rayas, we would not ask so politely.”

She sucked in a small breath, but mulishly pursed her lips.

Raif clenched his fists against the desire to kiss her.

“We’re not in Rayas,” she told him.

“Pity,” he found himself responding. There was enough of the modern world in him that he’d never take an unwilling woman to bed. But there was enough tradition in him that he wished he could do it with Ann.

“Why?” she asked. “If we were in Rayas, would you throw me in a dungeon?” Her irises were opaque in the glow of Christmas lights filtering through the bay windows.