A Golden Betrayal

Darby lifted her head. “Like what?”

“What, what?”

“You said he could do anything he pleased. Like what?”

Ann shrugged, moving back to the bottle of wine. She needed it now more than ever. “Like tax the poor, seize private property, nationalize an industry or throw the innocent in jail.”

“He was going to throw you in jail?”

Ann popped out the cork, meeting Darby’s eyes. “I wasn’t completely sure.”

“He kissed you instead?”

“I think so. And I don’t think he expected to like it. It threw him for a minute, and it gave me a chance to escape.”

Darby stretched up to pull two wineglasses from the hanging rack at the end of the breakfast bar. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“Denial works better if you’re not dissecting the nuances with your best friend.”

Darby set down the glasses. “Too bad for you that there’s photographic evidence.”

Ann allowed her gaze to move to the picture. Denial wasn’t working all that well anyway. She could still feel his strong arms around her, taste his hot lips on hers, smell the spicy scent of the Rayasian night and feel the ocean breeze rustle her hair. A tingle ran through her body at the vivid memory.

“Better fill these up,” Darby’s voice interrupted as she pushed the two glasses toward Ann.

Ann wholeheartedly agreed.

But before she could pour, the apartment buzzer interrupted her. They both glanced toward it.

“Don’t answer,” Darby advised. “It could be a reporter.”

Ann agreed. Then again, it could be Edwina. Ann’s cell phone had been off most of the day, and elderly Waverly’s board member Edwina Burrows had a habit of dropping by in the early evening if she was out walking her cocker spaniel.

Ann needed to tell Edwina about the Interpol interview. She also needed to explain about the picture of her and Prince Raif. Edwina was one of Ann’s strongest supporters on the Waverly’s board of directors, and right now Ann needed all the help she could get.

“It could be Edwina,” she told Darby, crossing to the speaker. She wiped her sweaty palms along her thighs. If it was a reporter, she’d simply lie and say Ann Richardson wasn’t home and wouldn’t be back for the foreseeable future. “Hello?”

“Ann? This is Prince Raif Khouri,” said a man in what was obviously a fake Rayasian accent. “We need to talk.”

“Right,” Ann scoffed into the speaker, shaking her head in Darby’s direction. It wasn’t exactly a sophisticated con. “Tell your editor it didn’t work.”

Darby helpfully filled the two wineglasses.

“I don’t know what you meant by that, Ann,” said the voice. “But I’ve come a long way for this conversation.”

Actually, the accent wasn’t bad. Points to the Inquisitor for having found a Rayasian to use as a stringer.

Ann pressed the button again. “Have I done something to make you people think I’m stupid?”

“Don’t say anything!” Darby hissed as she walked into the living room. “They’ll quote you.”

The voice crackled through the speaker, deeper and more imperious this time. “Ms. Richardson, have I done something to make you think there is any chance in the world I will give up?”

As the deep tone hit her nervous system, Ann’s pulse leaped. She recognized that voice. She was afraid of that voice. And, heaven help her, she was aroused by that voice.

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.”