A Golden Betrayal

“Of very British descent.” Raif switched to his most imperious voice, ending the conversation. “Let’s stick to the mission, shall we? While we’re in New York, Ann Richardson is our priority.”

* * *

“Did you see this?” asked Ann’s neighbor Darby Mersey, coming out her door and into the apartment hallway to follow Ann to her apartment.

Ann loved Darby dearly, but she really wanted to be alone tonight. After her ordeal with Interpol, all she could think about was a long, hot shower, a cup of herbal tea and about twelve hours of unconsciousness.

“See what?” she asked, praying the answer was short and succinct. She dropped her purse on the side table in the compact foyer and tossed her keys into the ceramic bowl as the apartment door closed behind them.

“Today’s Inquisitor.”

“I’ve been tied up all day long.”

“Did you not walk past a newsstand? It’s on the front page.”

“What’s on the front page?”

Judging by Darby’s tone, Ann was not going to like the front page. And the very last thing she needed today was something more to worry about. Tomorrow. She could deal with more trouble tomorrow, once she’d had a chance to recover and regroup.

“Your picture.”

Ann heaved a heavy sigh. She made her way toward the kitchen, deciding on a midpriced Cabernet Sauvignon instead of tea. Both would put her to sleep, but the wine would also help her stop fretting about what a mess her life had become.

“What’s the scoop this week?” she asked.

She’d been a tabloid target many times before. The papers had a field day when Dalton Rothschild lied about having an affair with her. Reaction and speculation had swung from scandal to collusion. None of it had been true.

“‘Turnabout seems to be fair play in the high-end auction world,’” Darby read as she followed along behind Ann.

“Now, there’s a scoop,” scoffed Ann as she snagged a bottle from her wine rack. She headed farther into the kitchen in search of a corkscrew. “What’s next? ‘Sale goes to the highest bidder’?”

Darby plopped herself on a wooden stool at the breakfast bar, spreading the tabloid newspaper on the counter in front of her.

“‘Unable to clear either her own or her firm’s name in the Gold Heart statue scandal, Ann Richardson seems to have decided to go the old-fashioned route.’”

Ann peeled the wrapper from the top of the bottle. “What’s the old-fashioned route?”

“Sleeping her way out of trouble.”

“With Dalton?” Ann wasn’t quite following the reporter’s logic on this. They’d been writing about her and Dalton for months. Talk about old news.

“With Prince Raif Khouri.”

Ann froze, corkscrew poised. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s a new low, even for them.”

“They have a picture of you,” Darby continued.

“So what?” They had several hundred pictures of Ann. Her personal favorite was the one taken in front of the Met as she was spilling her coffee all over her blouse.

“In this one, you’re kissing the prince.”

Ann felt the blood drain away from her face.

“It doesn’t look like Photoshop.”

Ann’s stomach contracted to a ball of lead. There was only one time, only one way...

She made her way around the breakfast bar.

“Damn it.” There she was, in grainy newsprint, her arms wrapped around Raif’s neck, their lips locked together, her body bent slightly backward.

“Telephoto lens?” asked Darby.

“I was in Rayas.” Who kept an eye out for tabloid reporters in Rayas?

“So, it’s true?” Darby face lit up in a lascivious smile. “You slept with Prince Raif?”

“Of course it’s not true.” Ann paused. “I kissed him, obviously.”

Darby was right. Photoshop was only so sophisticated. This was the real thing, and there was no point in denying it.

“But kissing was all we did,” Ann continued. “And it was once. One time. Halfway around the world, for goodness’ sake. In a private, walled garden at Valhan Palace.”

For a fleeting moment, her memory swirled around that mind-blowing kiss on her last day, her last hour in Rayas. Not that she hadn’t already relived it a thousand times.

“You didn’t tell me you’d fallen for him,” said Darby.

“I didn’t fall for him. He’s an arrogant jerk who thinks I’m a criminal and a liar.”

Darby took in the picture again. “That’s quite the kiss for an arrogant jerk.”

“I’m not kissing him.” Ann did lie this time. “He’s kissing me.”

Raif might have started the kiss, but it had become mutual in a heartbeat.

“So, he fell for you?” Darby looked as if she was mulling the possibilities.

“It wasn’t a romantic kiss,” Ann continued her explanation. “It was power play, a dominance thing. He was making a point.”

Darby gave a sly smile this time. “Was the point that he was sexy?” She cocked her head, staring down at the picture again. “You sure don’t look like you’re fighting back.”

Ann had to agree, and that was very unfortunate. Truth was, she hadn’t been fighting back at all. Raif might be stubborn and arrogant, but he was definitely sexy. And he was one heck of a kisser. And there was no denying something had combusted between them the minute their lips touched. But Darby didn’t need to know that.

Ann was busy forgetting all about it herself. “He was making the point that in his country he could do anything he pleased, and I couldn’t lift a finger to stop him. I got on the next plane.”