Читать книгу A Golden Betrayal - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 9
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Raif had never understood the American obsession over what was legal versus what was logical. But he’d acquiesced to Tariq and Jordan’s advice about stalking laws and waited twenty-four hours until he could approach Ann “legitimately” at a charity event.
The hospital fund-raiser was taking place at the Crystal Sky Restaurant, a historic building that had originally been built as an industrialist’s mansion in the 1930s. It was characterized by floor-to-ceiling glass walls, overlooking extensive grounds, which were now decorated for the Christmas season.
Since it had once been a family home, the building was a multitude of rooms and hallways spread over several floors. For the evening’s event, each room had been decorated thematically for a different European country, featuring festive cuisine and drinks to match the decor. Raif wasn’t interested in eating or drinking, nor was he interested in mingling. On arrival, he’d made a generous donation on behalf of the royal family, was introduced to the chairman of the hospital board, complimented the chairman’s wife’s dress, then moved on his way, searching for Ann.
He left the German room, with its boisterous carols, evergreen boughs and carved wooden towns, moving down a hallway to France, which featured berry-festooned wreaths, delicate angels and yards of spun glass. Someone tried to hand him a glass of champagne, but he politely declined and moved on.
He finally spotted Ann in the Swedish room. She was next to a giant reindeer, partially obscured by a lattice wall of colorful, shining stars. He stopped for a moment. The scents of chocolate and nutmeg surrounded him, and Ann filled his vision.
She was stunningly beautiful in a dramatic red strapless ball gown. It was tight across her breasts, fitted along her waist, accented with a band of clear crystals that dropped to a large crystal brooch at her hip. The skirt fell in soft folds of shimmering satin, down to the floor, where a glittering red strappy sandal was visible beneath the hem.
She laughed with the man standing next to her. Then she took a sip of champagne. Her red lips touched the rim of the glass, reminding Raif of the moment he’d kissed her. A shot of arousal coursed through him, but he ruthlessly tamped it down. He put his feet in motion, making his way across the crowded floor.
He was offered eggnog this time, by a tuxedoed waiter holding a tray of cut-crystal glasses. Again, he declined, sights set on his target. Ann took her leave of the other man, moving out into the open. Raif was twenty feet away when she recognized him. Her crystal-blue eyes widened, and her lips parted in obvious surprise.
He was five feet away when her surprise turned to annoyance.
“Go away,” she hissed at him.
“We need to talk.”
“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.
He decided to be honest. “If we were in Rayas, I’d tie you to my bed.”
Her eyes went wide at his blunt words, and her jaw dropped a notch.
“A hundred years ago,” he continued, letting his fantasies roam free, “I would have tied you to my bed the night you kissed me.”
“Lucky for me times have changed. And it was you who kissed me.”
“Maybe.” He let his gaze do a sweep of her sexy body. “But I could have kept you happy in my bed.”
“Does your ego know no bounds?”
“I’m told I’m an excellent lover.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, and it had the unfortunate result of highlighting her cleavage. “By women you can have thrown in a dungeon?”
“Mostly,” he allowed with a shrug, struggling to tear his gaze from her breasts. It had never occurred to him to care that his lovers might be humoring him.
“You should try it someday with someone over whom you don’t have the power of life and death.”
“Thanks for the advice.” He wanted that someone to be Ann. Right here, right now.
“See if you still get a gold star then,” she continued to taunt him.
“Unless you’re volunteering for the job, I suggest we change the subject.”
“What?”
He raised his brows and pinned her with a smoldering, meaningful stare.
She swallowed. “Oh.”
“Yes.”
Her arms shifted so that she was hugging herself. “I didn’t mean...”
“My father is gravely ill.” Raif ruthlessly changed the subject. “The missing Gold Heart statue has caused him much distress.”
Ann’s voice became small. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
Raif’s chest went unexpectedly tight. He had to struggle to keep the emotion from his voice. It was odd. He talked about his father all the time without reaction. “The statue’s return would give the king peace of mind.”
Ann touched Raif’s arm. “I would if I could.”
His gaze went to her pale, delicate hand, then lifted to her face. Her expression was open, honest and compassionate. It was difficult to believe she was a thief.
“Then do it,” he rasped.
“I can’t.” Her eyes took on a sheen of tears.
His arm snaked around her waist, and he leaned down. “But, you can.”
“Raif...” Her soft voice trailed away.
Her lithe body was warm against his. Her curves molded to his angles. A throbbing pulse moved inexorably through his body, as her lavender perfume teased his senses.
He was going to kiss her.
He was going to kiss her again, and there was no force on earth that could stop him.
He anchored her head with his hand, reveling in the feel of her wispy blond hair. He leaned in, anticipating the sweet taste of her hot lips.
“California,” she gasped.
He halted. “What?”
“Roark said he was going to California.”
Raif forced himself to ease back. “You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that.”
“Los Angeles.” She struggled against his hold. “He usually stays at the Santa Monica Reginald.”
“You’re lying.”
She shook her head.
“You’re giving me Roark.”
“Yes.”
“To avoid a kiss.”
“The last one got me into quite a lot of trouble.”
Raif let his hand slide from her soft hair. Their last kiss had put him in a whole lot of trouble of a different kind. He couldn’t get her out of his head, and his attraction to her was messing with his focus on the good of his country.
“Santa Monica?”
She nodded, eyes clear, gaze direct. “The Reginald.”
“And, he has the statue?”
“He’ll tell you all about it.”
Raif hesitated. “That was too easy.”
“It wasn’t remotely easy for me.”
Again, he gauged her expression.
“Let go of me, Raif. Assault is a crime in this country.”
“I’m not hurting you.”
“You need my permission to hold me like this.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe in Rayas. But here, what you’ve done is also kidnapping and forcible confinement.”
“I moved you maybe five feet.”
“You won’t let me leave.”
He knew she was blowing things way out of proportion. Still, she’d given him something. He ought to let her go now.
He eased his arm from around her back, and she immediately scooted away.
“You’re free to go,” he told her.
“How magnanimous of you.” Her voice was confident, but she wasted no time moving out of his reach and over to the exit. She opened the door and walked out without glancing back.
For a moment, Raif worried that he’d truly frightened her. But she had to know she was physically safe. He might have kissed her, but that was all. He certainly would never have harmed her.
Then he gave himself a mental shake. She was a thief who was hurting his family. If he’d made her a little nervous, she’d brought it on herself. Her admission proved he’d been right about her all along.
He was heading for California now, and he was about to make Roark Black more than a little nervous.
* * *
“Does nothing scare you?” asked Darby as she swiped her sweaty, dark hair back off her forehead.
Side by side, the two women pedaled exercise bikes in a row of about thirty identical machines on the top floor of the Blackburn Gym. Ann was at mile eighteen, but she suspected Darby was in the lead. A muted news show played on screens in front of them, the closed-captioned words scrolling beneath. The reporter and a distinguished-looking gray-haired man were talking about shipping routes and cargo costs out of the Mediterranean.
“It’s not like he’ll know it was me,” Ann responded reasonably, drawing deep breaths as she pedaled. “And it worked, didn’t it?”
“That’s short-term thinking,” said Darby.
“I prepaid three nights at the Reginald hotel in Santa Monica in Roark’s name,” said Ann. “Raif and his henchmen will sleuth out the fact that he’s registered there pretty quickly. Then they’ll stake the building out, waiting for him to show up.”
“And when the three nights are over?”
Ann shrugged. “Raif will assume Roark either caught on to the stakeout or had a change of plans. If I’m lucky, he’ll hang around California awhile longer and keep looking for him.”
“You sent the crown prince of Rayas on a wild goose chase.”
“Well, I sure couldn’t let him stay here and follow me around the city.” Never mind the constant threat of the tabloid photographers catching them in the same frame somewhere, and her need to focus on the year-end auction happening tonight. Ann had been seconds away from kissing Raif at the fund-raiser. She couldn’t go there, not ever again.
“Any luck in really finding Roark?”
Ann shook her head, pulling her damp T-shirt from her torso to circulate a bit of air. “I’ve left him a dozen messages. Either he’s seriously out of touch, or he’s afraid to respond to me.”
“The FBI still after him?”
“They’re still interested in him. So is Interpol, obviously. But without evidence of theft—” she gave Darby a hard look “—which they’ll never find.”
“Because he hid it so well, or because it doesn’t exist?”
“It doesn’t exist.”
“You’re positive.”
“I’ve known Roark long enough to be positive. He may not be in touch at the moment, but he’s out there trying to clear Waverly’s name. I’d stake my life on it.”
Roark engaged in a high-stakes, high-risk profession, but he was a man of principles and professionalism. He had assured Ann that his Gold Heart statue was legitimate, and she absolutely believed him. Though, on days like this, she wished he’d hurry up about proving it.
She watched the bike’s digital odometer as it neared twenty miles.
“If you’re wrong about Roark?” Darby asked quietly.
“Then I lose my job,” Ann said, owning up to the worst-case scenario. “I’m disgraced in my profession. And Waverly’s is likely the object of a hostile takeover by Rothschild’s.”
“Good thing the stakes aren’t too high.”
“Good thing.”
Ann’s readout hit twenty, and she stopped pedaling, breathing deep, her heart thumping in her chest. She snagged a white towel from the handlebars and rubbed the sweat from her forehead and the back of her neck.
Darby stopped pedaling, too. A quick glance at Darby’s odometer told Ann her friend had made twenty-three miles. Ann had to be getting lazy.
“I have to get my butt home and get ready for work,” she told Darby. “Big night tonight.”
“What are you selling at the auction?” Darby climbed from the bike.
“It’s my favorite sale of the year. Luxury items with killer provenance. They’re for billionaires with last-minute Christmas lists,” Ann joked, straightening her T-shirt over her yoga pants as she dismounted.
The Christmas season was Waverly’s last chance each year to hit their annual sales targets. The focus of the auction tonight was estate jewelry and antique furniture from some notable families on both sides of the Atlantic. Waverly’s had been in business long enough to know what wealthy men wanted to pick up for their wives and girlfriends in December.
Any old millionaire could buy a twenty-carat diamond bracelet, but few men had the real money it took to buy their loved ones jewelry once worn by European royalty. Provenance was everything in the auction business.
Ann bent down to shut off her bike.
“Uh-oh.” Darby’s tone was dire, her hand suddenly grasping the back of Ann’s shoulder.
“What?” Ann straightened in confusion.
Darby nodded to the television screen.
Dalton Rothschild was speaking, but the closed-captioning didn’t show his words. The picture of Ann kissing Raif flashed on the screen.
“Can you tell what he’s saying?” Ann asked worriedly.
Black and white words finally came up on the bottom half of the screen.
Do you expect shareholders to accept Rothschild’s offer? the reporter had asked.
Given the events of the past days, and Ms. Richardson’s rapidly deteriorating credibility, Dalton had replied, I expect the board to recommend it.
“That son of a bitch,” growled Darby.
“He does play dirty,” Ann agreed, her mind scrambling to figure out what Dalton was talking about.
Had something changed? She was under no illusion that she had the unanimous support of the board. She’d guessed it was about fifty-fifty. Though, thanks to Raif, the balance might have tipped away from her yesterday.
But that didn’t explain why they’d recommend shareholders sell to Rothschild’s.
Then again, Dalton could easily be lying to the reporter about the board recommending the sale. At least, she hoped he was lying. If he wasn’t lying, she might as well cash out her modest investments, find a cheap beach hut somewhere in the Caribbean and then call it retirement, because her professional life would be over.
“What are you going to do?” asked Darby, as the news channel switched to another story.
“I have to talk to Edwina.” Ann flipped the towel over her shoulder and started toward the showers where her cell phone was secured in a locker. She needed to find out if it was true. If so, she needed to know which board members were supporting Dalton.
“What about Roark?” Darby asked, falling into step.
Despite her brave front, Ann had been struggling for days now not to lose patience with Roark.
“I know it’s complicated,” she allowed. “But if he doesn’t show up soon with the proof that we have the missing Gold Heart statue and not Raif’s stolen one, he might as well not bother. There’ll be no Waverly’s left to sell it.”
“Are they going to fire you?” Darby asked, as they left the noise of the exercise room behind and made their way down the wide hallway.
“I expect I’ll find out after tonight’s auction.”
That was the bald truth of it. Some of the board members were intensely loyal and trusted her implicitly. They gave her full credit for the growth of the company over the past few years. Ann knew she’d done well, but she also knew she was rapidly becoming a liability.
“Damn you, Raif Khouri,” she muttered between clenched teeth.
If the man hadn’t been so insistent about the statue. If he hadn’t lit a fire under the Interpol agents. If he hadn’t accused her, or kissed her...
If it wasn’t for Raif, she’d at least have a fighting chance at keeping her job.
* * *
Raif gazed out at the nighttime view of Manhattan from the royal suite at the Plaza Hotel. Anger had churned in the pit of his stomach since he’d discovered Ann’s duplicity this morning. He’d wasted two days on a fool’s errand. Roark wasn’t in California. He’d probably never been in California. Sure, there was a reservation under his name in the hotel, but a little digging by Jordan had revealed the room had been charged to Ann’s credit card.
Raif knew the woman was smart. Now he realized she was also cunning. Well, the gloves were off. He knew exactly where he stood, and he was going after her with no hesitation whatsoever.
He heard the suite door open, then close.
“It’s done,” said Tariq, his footsteps bringing him across the thick carpet to where Raif stood.
“She bought it?” Raif asked without turning.
“Ann will be here in twenty minutes.”
“Good.” Raif smiled to himself in grim satisfaction.
“You hungry?” asked Tariq.
“Not in the least.”
“I thought maybe later—”
“I’ll be busy later.”
Tariq was still for a moment. “Do I want to ask?”
“No, you don’t. Jordan left?”
“He did.”
“You should go, too.”
“Raif, you won’t—”
Raif turned sharply. “Won’t what?”
He could almost see the war going on inside Tariq’s head. Did he dare treat Raif like a cousin and boyhood friend, and question his actions? Or was now a time to defer to Raif as the future king?
“You should go, too,” Raif repeated softly.
“I worry about you,” said Tariq.
“I worry about Rayas,” Raif responded.
“You won’t hurt her,” Tariq dared to say.
“I don’t know. She did what she did, and I need what I need.” Raif honestly wasn’t sure what he’d be willing to do to Ann. But he did know he didn’t need to justify it to Tariq. He changed the subject. “Kalila called today.”
“Has she come to her senses?” asked Tariq.
“Not in the least. She’s a spoiled brat.”
Raif’s younger cousin couldn’t seem to think of anything but her own selfish desires—not the king, and not her country.
“She’s a product of her time,” Tariq offered.
“I never should have let her go to school in Istanbul.”
Tariq joined him at the window. “She needs to understand the world.”
“She needs to understand her duty.”
Tariq was silent for a moment. “You don’t think it’s the Gold Heart curse?”
“There is no curse.”
Tariq paused for a thoughtful moment. “Then why are you falling for Ann Richardson?”
“I want to strangle Ann Richardson.”
“You want to kiss her senseless first.”
Raif didn’t deny it. “That’s got nothing to do with romance. It’s lust.”
There was no way Raif would give credence to the Gold Heart curse. Mallik’s young fiancée had simply changed her mind, and his cousin Aimee was better off with her replacement groom, Jacx.
“You sure?”
“Completely.” Raif was a healthy man, and Ann was a stunningly beautiful woman. There would be something wrong with him if he didn’t want to ravish her. It had nothing to do with any missing statue.
“You step too far over the line, and they’ll deport you,” Tariq warned.
“I won’t step over the line.”
Tariq coughed out a laugh. “We’re in America. You can’t even see the line.”
“I’ll be fine. You should go. I don’t want you getting any more caught up in this.”
“Fine with me.” Tariq stepped back. “I know a great little club on Fifth Avenue. Fine music, great cognac, gorgeous women. Don’t wait up.”
“I never do,” Raif responded, his mind already moving on to what he’d say and do when Ann showed up.
The next sound he heard was Tariq leaving the suite and the whir of the private elevator as it descended.
He waited ten minutes, then moved to an alcove in the living room to wait for Ann, choosing a spot where he wasn’t in the line of sight from the door.
A few minutes later, as planned, a butler showed her in, seating her at the main furniture grouping in the center of the large room. Raif waited until the butler left, and until she began glancing around with curiosity, before he stepped out of the shadows to reveal himself.
At his first movement, Ann came to her feet. “Hello. Mr. Oswald? I’m—”
“Hello, Ann.” He moved toward her.
“Raif? What?” She glanced behind her. “I’m supposed to meet—”
“Leopold Oswald. Yes, I know.”
The confusion grew on her face. “He’s interested in auctioning some of his paintings.”
Raif came to a halt in front of her. “I’m afraid not.”
“Did he change his mind? Don’t tell me you said something to him? Raif, you can’t—”
“Think about it, Ann.” He gave her a moment. “Leopold was never part of the equation.”
She stopped, eyes narrowing. He could see her catching on.
“I was supposed to meet Roark,” Raif helpfully added. “You were supposed to meet Leopold....” He waited for her to fill in the blanks.
“Leopold’s not coming.”
“Give the woman a gold star.”
“You lied to me. Or somebody with a very convincing German accent lied to me.”
“Just like you lied to me,” he told her softly.
“I thought Roark would be in Santa Monica,” she said, perpetuating the lie.
Raif scoffed his disbelief. “You booked the reservation. You paid for three nights at the hotel.”
She gave up the pretense. “Okay, you weren’t supposed to find out that part.”
“No kidding.”
“I had to get you out of my hair. This is a critical time for Waverly’s, a critical time for my career.”
“So, you’re saying there can be times when it’s justifiable to lie?”
“When you’re in the right, yes.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Then you’ll understand what I’m about to do.”
She stilled, then took a half step back, suspicion evident in her tone. “What are you about to do?”
“I’m going to call Roark Black and offer to make a trade.” He pulled out his phone. “Consider yourself kidnapped, Ann.”
She blinked once, then a second time. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Raif just smiled, while she obviously struggled to put the pieces together.
Predictably, she went for the suite door.
“There’s a guard standing right outside. He’s Rayasian. Very loyal to me.”
She stumbled a step, but kept going, opening the door wide, coming face-to-face with six-foot-four, two-hundred-sixty-pound Ali Geensh. Ali scowled down at her.
Ann gave a little jump and quickly closed the door.
She scrambled in her purse for her cell phone.
In three strides, Raif was whisking it from her hands. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure how I’d get hold of Roark’s private number.” Raif pressed a key on her phone. “I trust it’s in your contact list?”
“Give that back.” She tried to snatch it away.
He held it out of her reach. “Don’t waste your effort.”
“You have no right—”
“Neither did you. I flew all the way across the country, and then all the way back again. I think you lost the moral high ground three days ago, Ann.”
“I didn’t break any laws.”
“That help you sleep better at night?”
“I sleep just fine.”
“So will I.” Raif scrolled through Ann’s contact list, finding Roark’s number. He pressed the dial button.
She frowned. “I’ve left him a dozen messages.”
“Not like this you haven’t,” Raif responded as Roark’s voice mail greeting played through.
“Roark,” said Raif. “It’s Prince Raif. I have Ann. Call me.”
Her eyes went round. “They’ll arrest you. Truly, Raif. This is really kidnapping.”
“They won’t arrest me.” To start with, he had no intention of getting caught. He wanted the statue, and from what he’d read and heard, Roark would do what he had to do to save Ann.
“You’re holding me hostage and ransoming me. How on earth do you expect this to end?”
“I expect to end with Roark bringing me my Gold Heart.”
“Along with the SWAT team. Call him back, Raif. Shut this down. Let me go.”
Raif shook his head. “You had your chance to do this the honest way.”
“This is honest to God kidnapping, Raif. They’ll throw you in jail for twenty years.”
Raif scoffed. “At worst, they’ll deport me. And since Rayas is one of the only politically stable sources of rare earth minerals, they’ll get over my indiscretions awfully quick.” He tucked her phone securely into his suit jacket pocket. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”
Her eyes narrowed in obvious confusion. “Figured out what?”
“Who I am. What I can do. I’m the crown prince of a foreign nation, Ann. I have diplomatic immunity. I can get away with anything.”
She swallowed convulsively. “Diplomatic...”
He clicked his jaw in pity. “You’re at my mercy now.”
