Desert Rogues Part 1

“Khalil.” She nodded.

He wore dark slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Something about his mussed hair and a slight air of weariness told her that he’d been working all day. She longed to return to her job as his assistant, or to any job, just so she could get out of her suite and do something with her time.

“I have honored your wishes,” he said curtly.

“What wishes are those?”

“That you be left alone. Are you enjoying your solitude?”

She closed her book and set it on the table next to her. “I never requested solitude, I simply asked for separate quarters. However, you chose to take advantage of that and cut me off from the world. Does it make you feel big and strong to treat me this way? Is this a game of power? If so, you’re only playing with yourself. I’m not interested in one-upmanship.”

He looked at her for several seconds. “It seems whatever I do, you are determined to assume the worst about me. I honestly believed you wanted to be alone. You are my wife, and as such, a member of this family. You are welcome to leave your suite and join us for any meals you wish. This is a palace, Dora, not a prison.”

She didn’t know what to make of his words. Was he telling the truth, or was this all another act? She stared into his handsome face and had to curl her fingers into her palm to keep from reaching out to touch the slender scar on his left cheek.

“All right,” she said at last. “Thank you.”

“You may also return to work,” he announced. “I will expect you in my office at eight in the morning.”

If he’d asked if she would like to return to work, she would have probably said yes. If he’d even hinted that she had a choice, or that it was her decision, everything would have been fine. But for him to have the nerve to give her permission to help him…She sucked in a breath and felt her temper beginning to rise.

“I don’t think so,” she said coolly, as she rose to her feet. She crossed to the open French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon, leaving the ocean a dark and mysterious glimmering slate of blackness. She stared out into the night sky and pretended to be fascinated by the stars.

“I am giving you my permission,” Khalil said as he followed her onto the marble balcony.

“Yes, I know. I’m telling you that I’m not interested.” She smiled sweetly.

“I want you working for me.”

She shrugged. “I want you to apologize for what you said to me in New York, for lying and for tricking me into marriage. I want you to admit that you were wrong, and then I want you to tell me that you care about me. I suspect that neither of us is going to get what we want.”

She heard him take a step toward her. “You will not toy with me, wife.”

Finally she turned to face him. “And here I thought that was what you wanted.”

His expression tightened. “I am Khalil Khan, prince—”

She cut him off with a wave. “Prince of El Bahar. Yes, I know. I’ve heard this speech a hundred times before. What exactly is your point?”

He froze in place, obviously stunned by her impertinence. Dora was a little surprised herself, but in a good way. Maybe she’d needed time alone to give her the courage to stand up to Khalil. Right or wrong, it was the only way she knew to change things. As much as she might tell herself she wanted a divorce and to go back home, the truth was a little less clear. In her heart of hearts she was willing to admit that she would prefer to stay here—but only as Khalil’s true wife. He didn’t have to love her but he had to care about her and treat her with respect.

“Being the prince doesn’t give you the right to use people,” she went on, praying her courage lasted five seconds longer than his visit. “You were cruel to me. You lied, and you treated me as if my feelings had no consequence. You took advantage of my innocence.”

“I married you.”

“Right. As if being married to you is any kind of picnic.”

He took one more step closer. Now he was within touching distance…as was she. He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb across her palm. Instantly shivers rippled through her as heat flamed and her body came to life. She disentangled herself and retreated to the railing.

“Come to work for me,” he said.

Ignoring her still tingling palm, she smiled. “I’m the princess of El Bahar. I don’t work. Besides—” She held up her hands “My henna hasn’t worn off. Tradition states—”

This time he was the one to cut her off. “I’m well aware of the tradition. I was born here.” He glared. “If this is what you wish, so be it. You may stay in your rooms but do not attempt to leave them. You will exist within these four walls. For all I care, you can rot here.” He spun on his heel and headed for the door.

Dora swallowed. She heard Fatima’s words again—the ones about winning the battle but losing the war. Was she doing that again? To live by another quote, pride goes before the fall. Did she really want to spend all her time alone in this suite?

“Khalil?” she called before she could stop herself. “I’ll come work with you, but not as your secretary.”

He paused in midstride. “I suppose you want to run the country.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “No,” she said as she crossed to stand next to him. “I want to work with the Western companies who have come here to do business. I’ve been doing a lot of reading in the past couple of days.” She motioned to the stack of magazines and books by the sofa. “There isn’t a single department to coordinate the efforts of Western companies interested in setting up facilities here in El Bahar. I want to be a facilitator between the government and the private companies in the West. I have plenty of experience working with corporate America, and I’m learning more each day about El Bahar.”

He stared at her but didn’t speak.

“It makes sense,” she went on quickly, trying to hang on to her rapidly fading courage. “As a member of the royal family, I would be considered more of a figurehead than a policymaker. That will appease men in government. The companies interested in coming here will be impressed that El Bahar would put a woman in such a visible position.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. “You are my wife.”

“I’m aware of that.”

He turned away. Dora held her breath, then let it out slowly. The idea had come to her in the night, but she hadn’t known who to talk to. She doubted she was much in favor with any member of the family right now. So she’d decided she would just wait for the right opportunity. Was it too soon? Should she have gone to work as Khalil’s secretary for a few weeks first, gaining his trust, before she approached him with her idea?

Too late now, she thought, and didn’t have a clue as to what she would do if he said no.

“You would have to work under the jurisdiction of my office,” he said, not looking at her. He seemed to be studying a portrait of an old man on the far wall.

Her heart began to thunder in her chest. Was he really saying yes? “That isn’t a problem.”

“You would not be allowed to meet alone with any man, and you must dress conservatively. Otherwise my reputation will be called into question.”

“I understand. I have no desire to meet alone with any man, and conservative dress is fine with me.”

He looked at her. She tried to read his expression, but couldn’t. What was he thinking? Why had he agreed?

“For the sake of appearances, we will need to be the happy couple,” he told her. “You will take lunch with me each day.”

Her tension eased, and a spark of hope burst to life. She remembered their working lunches in New York. Some of the time had been spent dealing with business, but much of their conversation had been more personal. They’d argued politics, discussed books and music. She remembered the heated debates, the laughter, the teasing. She’d missed those times so much—had Khalil missed them as well?

“I would like that very much,” she said.

“Good. Then we are agreed.”

He smiled at her, a slow satisfied smile of a male who had gotten his way. Some of Dora’s happiness faded. Please, God, don’t let him spoil the moment by trying to make it more. But God was busy, or Khalil had a mind of his own, for her husband cupped her face in his hands and stared down at her.

“I want you,” he told her.

His words were like a slap. She was a fool to think that anything had changed between them. She stiffened and willed herself to move away, but it was already too late. Just the feel of hands against her jaw and cheeks was enough to melt both her bones and her resolve. She was trapped in a web of her own making—desiring a man she both wanted and hated.