Barbara Dunlop - A Golden Betrayal

Darby blinked at Ann’s stunned expression. “What?”

Ann swallowed against her suddenly dry throat. “It’s him.”

It took Darby a beat to respond. “Him, him?”

Ann nodded.

“Prince Raif?”

Ann’s nod slowed. Raif was in America. And he knew where she lived.

“Step away from the intercom,” Darby advised in an undertone, moving closer for support.

Ann snapped her hand from the button and took a step back.

“Don’t let him in,” Darby whispered.

Ann nearly laughed at the absurdity of the advice. She sure didn’t need Darby to warn her off Raif. She took one of the glasses of wine, gulping a swallow as she stepped farther away from the intercom. “Not in a million years.”

Two

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.