A Golden Betrayal

Raif held his palms up in a gesture of surrender. “You have to go to work? Why didn’t you say something? In that case, I give up. You’re free to go.”

“Jerk,” Ann muttered, huffing as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Hungry?” he asked.

She was, but she sure wasn’t about to admit it. There was no way she was accepting any kindness from him. She’d read all about Stockholm syndrome.

“Not in the least,” she answered tartly. But she did plunk herself down on the sofa. She’d been standing in too-tight three-inch heels since she left the gym this morning, and her feet were killing her.

She’d dressed to impress at tonight’s auction, but she didn’t give one whit what Raif thought of her. If she’d known this was going to happen, she’d have gone for a less fitted skirt, a less tailored blouse and jacket. And she sure wouldn’t have worn this particular bra. It was brand-new, with underwires and stiff lace. Not her wisest purchase ever, but it had looked awfully good in the store.

“Are you always this stubborn?” he asked, taking the armchair at the end of the sofa.

“I’m sorry,” she asked with false sweetness, “am I not behaving like a proper kidnap victim?”

He stretched his legs out, crossing his ankles. “All you have to do is cooperate, and this whole thing will be over before you know it.”

“Just so you know, I know it already, and it’s not over.”

He twitched the tiniest of smiles. “Cooperate, Ann.”

“By cooperate, you mean admit I stole your statue.” She was getting sick and tired of people trying to get her to do that.

Raif pulled his phone out of his inside pocket and pressed a button. “Gold star for you,” he offered before raising it to his ear. “Ali? Dinner for one.”

Ann rolled her eyes.

“Change your mind?” Raif asked.

“No.” She came to her feet. “Am I free to use the bathroom?”

“Go ahead.” He nodded toward a wide hallway behind the grand piano.

Ann turned on her heel and marched across the big room. The bathroom was halfway down on the left. While at the end of the hall, double doors opened into a massive master bedroom, with a four-poster king-size bed covered in a hunter-green satin quilt.

She swallowed as she turned into the bathroom, banishing an image of herself in the bed with Raif.

He wouldn’t.

That would be going way too far.

He might have diplomatic immunity, but she had to believe he had some kind of a moral code. At least she hoped he did. And she sure hoped it wasn’t some weird Rayasian moral code that allowed him to have his way with any woman who happened to be available.

She closed the door behind her and firmly turned the lock, leaning against it and squeezing her eyes shut. She felt better locked inside the bathroom. It occurred to her that she could simply stay in here until Raif came to his senses.

She opened her eyes and gazed at herself in the lighted mirror. Staying in here wasn’t a half-bad idea. The lock would keep Raif out. And if he wasn’t standing in front of her, she could pretend she wasn’t attracted to him.

She glanced around at her surroundings.

She was standing in the biggest bathroom she’d ever seen. A four-person tub was recessed into a frosted bay window. It was surrounded by leafy green plants and white candles, with a cushioned bench seat and a small table adjacent. There were his-and-hers sinks at opposite ends of a long marble counter. Fine toiletries were placed around the room in wicker baskets, and two plush robes hung on hooks on the wall.

The toilet was placed discreetly in a frosted-glass chamber, while a separate, huge shower stall featured a dozen nozzles along the walls and in the ceiling. There had to be ten towels, and a telephone....

Hello.

She crossed the room, lifting the slim ivory receiver. She held her breath and put it to her ear.

Silence.

“Darn.”

She supposed that had been too much to hope for.

Her gaze strayed to the tub again. She rubbed the side of her rib cage where the tight bra was digging in and the lace scratched her skin. A long, hot bath would feel awfully good. And it would certainly serve Raif right to cool his heels out there without her.

If he expected her to get hysterical or collapse in a fit of despair, he was sorely mistaken. Diplomatic immunity or not, there were going to be consequences for his outrageous actions. Ann would make sure of that.

But until then, her options were limited. She could go back to the living room and try to reason with an obstinate jerk. Or she could go back and watch him dine on room service while she sat hungry. Or she could stay right here and take advantage of the hotel amenities.

“Take that, Raif Khouri,” she mumbled.

She moved to the side of the tub, experimentally twisting one of the taps. Water instantly gushed out—hot, soothing water.

She flipped the lever to engage the plug.

But as the water bubbled up in the tub, she lost her nerve. Did she really want to get naked with Raif on the other side of the wall? Shouldn’t she get back out there and plead her case one more time? If she didn’t show up tonight, didn’t call, didn’t offer Waverly’s any explanation, it would very likely push the board toward firing her.

Would Raif have any sympathy for her plight?

She tried to picture it and couldn’t.

He’d simply tell her to confess to the theft, and he’d let her go. He’d like it that she was under additional pressure. It would play right into his hand.

She glanced back down at the water, wondering how long it would take for him to give up on the kidnapping plot. Overnight at least. Maybe even all of tomorrow.

Then she wondered what the police or FBI would do once her friends reported her missing. Would they look for her right away, or would they wait the official twenty-four hours? Nobody knew she’d come to the Plaza tonight. And the Interpol agents might think she’d fled the city, or the state, or maybe even the country. There was every chance the law-enforcement officials would take her disappearance as confirmation of her guilt.

She perched on the edge of the tub, accepting the fact that the cavalry wasn’t coming. Roark wasn’t going to call. And there was no way Raif was going to listen to reason.

The water level in the tub continued to rise.

Ann slipped off her shoes, sighing as she wiggled her toes. Red indents had formed on her heels and on her baby toes. She fingered her way through the expensive toiletries on the tiled ledge beside her, finding a book of matches and a tiny bottle of lavender bath oil. Her favorite.

She unscrewed the cap, sniffing the contents. Nice.

She poured a dollop into the water and inhaled appreciatively. The aroma was very soothing.

She replaced the cap, set down the bottle and picked up a book of matches. She struck one, and lit the nearest candle, then another and another. The tub was nearly full, so she shut off the taps.