A Golden Betrayal Page 8

  “They’ll hold it for evidence,” she blurted out.

  He drew back. “What did you say?”

  “They’ll hold it for evidence. The statue. They won’t let you take it with you.” She didn’t know why she’d said it.

  Raif pounced. “So, you admit it was stolen?”

  Her brain stumbled for a moment. “I guess I’m considering a long-shot scenario. Like I sometimes worry about falling off tall buildings and being hit by lightning.... More so when I’m with you, it seems.”

  He shook his head at her meandering argument. But his eyes darkened as his fingers splayed into her hair. The pressure of his palm urged her closer.

  “I’ve just been hit by lightning.”

  She didn’t resist, and his lips dipped down to meet hers.

  * * *

  Every time Raif kissed Ann, it was a fight to keep from tearing off her clothes. The taste of her lips and the scent of her skin hijacked his logic and tore away his grasp on reason. That he wanted to bury himself inside her was the single, primitive thought that pulsed through his brain.

  He tried to take it slow, to pay attention to her reaction, her cues. Her assertion that lovers who were also his subjects, or possibly in awe of his royal title, would have faked passion had him questioning himself. Had he become complacent? He didn’t want to make any mistakes with Ann.

  For now, to his infinite relief, she was wholeheartedly kissing him back. Her lips were soft and sweet beneath his own. They parted, and her small tongue darted into his mouth. Her body molded against his, her soft breasts pressing through the thin satin of her slip to warm his bare skin.

  His arms tightened around her narrow waist, palms sliding along her rib cage, then down to her pert bottom, her shapely thighs. The wispy fabric slipped through his fingertips, setting off lightning charges inside his brain. He kissed her harder, deeper, quickly losing his battle with control. He wedged one thigh between her legs, letting his hands cup the curve of her bottom, moving lower to the hem of her slip and finally caressing the warmth of her bare thighs.

  He moaned her name, and her arms twined around his neck. Her fingers teased his short hair, swirling along his neckline, shooting pulses of desire down the length of his body.

  He scooped her into his arms, breaking their kiss long enough to gaze into her deep blue eyes. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he didn’t find it. Her dark lashes swept down and camouflaged her mood. But then they opened again, and she gazed up at him. Passion seemed to simmer in their depths.

  But he wasn’t making any assumptions. “Are you saying yes?”

  She hesitated and for a moment he cursed himself for asking. But then her voice turned as sultry as a desert night. “Yes,” she answered.

  He turned abruptly for his bedroom, one arm cradling the crook of her bare knees. The other supported her shoulders, his palm wrapped solidly around her rib cage, resting beneath her breast.

  In a few long strides he was through the bedroom door. He kicked it shut behind them, locking out the world. He set her on her feet next to the four-poster bed, his arms still around her, glued to hers. Light from the garden filtered through the sheer curtains. The moon was high in the clearing sky, and the stars were muted behind it.

  He stroked his thumb across her chin, her cheek, her lips, marveling at her delicate skin, the silk of her hair, the incredible clarity of her eyes.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered in awe. The longer he knew her, the more beautiful she became. It was uncanny.

  “So are you.”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of her assertion. But then he fell silent as her hand moved tentatively to his bare chest, small fingers tracing a pattern.

  All coherent thought left his brain. There was no today, no tomorrow and certainly no yesterday when he and Ann had been at odds. He closed his eyes to savor her light touch. Flashes of energy seemed to trail behind it. He’d never felt anything like it before. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was magic. If this was the curse, he’d take it.

  Her hand ventured lower, lightly caressing his flat stomach and the indentation of his navel. Fingers itching, he reached for her, tracing his way along her slip, finding the hem, skirting under the lace to revel in the heat of her thighs.

  As her explorations became bolder, he wrapped his hand around the fabric, drawing it slowly up, over her hips, along her stomach, peaking at her breasts.

  She obediently raised her arms, and he drew the slip over her head, revealing the glow of her naked body, the pale, tender skin, impossibly pink nipples, her navel and the dusky whisper between her legs.

  “Gorgeous,” he managed, reaching to touch her. He could have stared at her beauty forever.

  But her hands settled on his chest. She stepped in, and his view was lost. But one amazing sense was replaced with another as she kissed him. Her mouth was wide-open, welcoming him inside. His arms slipped back around her, palms dragging along her spine, to her bottom, where he gave in to need and passion, and scooped her up, spreading her thighs, pressing her intimately to him as their kiss moved to a whole new level.

  When he finally found it in him to pull back, she gasped for air.

  He braced her with his forearm, moving his free hand up her side, cupping it around her breast, feeling the beaded nipple all but scorch his palm. He caressed it with his thumb, and she moaned.

  Feeling an immense sense of satisfaction soar through his body, he tried it again. She arched against him, choking out his name.

  “Good?” he asked.

  In answer, her thighs tightened around him, and she kissed him deeply. Passion pulsed through his body. He knew that if he hugged her tighter, just a little tighter, they could fuse into one.

  Instead, he turned, easing down on the bed, Ann in his lap, facing him. His taut thighs took her weight, giving his hands full rein to explore her body.

  She did the same, and soon he was naked, too, lying on the bed beside her. He kissed her neck, the tip of her shoulder, her breasts and belly, working his way down her body, tasting every inch, drinking in her essence, memorizing every spot that made her twitch, every caress that made her gasp.

  Her hands and lips began a more thorough exploration of their own, until a roar started in his ears, and he swiftly flipped her onto her back. He kissed her swollen lips, and had a condom on in seconds.

  “Okay?” he asked her.

  Eyes glazed, she nodded.

  Bracing on his elbows, he eased slowly inside her. He locked his gaze with hers, feeling her hot, tight body close around him. He gritted his teeth against the wash of sensation. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair. Her long legs wrapped around his waist, changing the angle between them.

  His pace quickened, and he sought her mouth, tasting deep, one hand moving to her breast, wanting to drink in every possible sensation. Her own hands grasped his shoulders, fingertips bearing down, small nails biting into his skin.

  There was no Rayas or America, no statue, no crime, nothing but Ann, under him and around him, her taste, her scent, her small voice groaning a higher and higher pitch.

  Though paradise beckoned, he held it back, his strokes measured until she cried out his name, and her body convulsed around him. He let go, a jet engine roaring through his brain, rocketing him to ecstasy as his body convulsed and he groaned her name over and over again.

  The feeling subsided slowly, his iron-hard muscles releasing their tension, his lungs working overtime to replace the oxygen in his body.

  Ann’s eyes were closed, her body limp as she dragged in her own deep breaths. He stayed braced above her, smoothing the wisps of blond hair from her face.

  Her eyes finally opened, meeting his in what looked like a daze. Then she smiled, and those blue eyes sparkled, and the most beautiful sense of peace came over him.

  He kissed her lips, and she drew it out for a very long moment, until he pulled back.

  �
�Do I get a gold star?” he joked.

  She didn’t miss a beat. “If I say no, will I go to the dungeon?”

  He found himself sobering. “I’ll never put you in a dungeon.”

  “That was a joke, Raif.”

  “I know.”

  They were both silent.

  “You do get a gold star,” she whispered.

  He smiled again and gave her a quick kiss. “I knew I had it in me.”

  “Don’t get all conceited again.”

  “Who, me?”

  She smacked his shoulder, and he eased off to one side, moving an arm around her, cradling her against his body.

  As they relaxed in each other’s arms, he asked the question that had him curious. “Who was on the phone?”

  Ann walked her fingers along his chest. “My friend Darby.” She retraced the pattern back the other way. “It seems nobody noticed I was missing.” She paused for a moment. “Wait. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you that.”

  “You’re already free to go,” he pointed out, smoothing back her hair as an excuse to touch her.

  “Raif?” Her fingers twirled in a circle.

  “Yes?” He splayed a hand over her flat stomach.

  “What if it’s not your statue?”

  “It is my statue.” Of that, he was certain.

  She opened her mouth, but he silenced her by laying a finger across her lips. “Let’s pick a topic where we don’t have to fight.”

  She shut her mouth. Then she cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes, screwing up her face in concentration, as if she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Oh, give me a break.” He nudged her with his knee.

  “Darby and I are thinking of going to Vegas,” she offered.

  “Have you been there before?” He could easily picture Ann dressed up at a glittering, music-filled party.

  “I have not,” she said, and shook her head against the white pillowcase.

  “There’s a resort area on the Rayasian coast that has gambling,” he found himself telling her.

  “Seriously?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And drinking?” she asked.

  “Of course. People don’t gamble well while they’re sober.”

  “I thought alcohol was illegal in Rayas.”

  “There’s not a lot of alcohol consumption in Rayas, but it’s not illegal. And the hotels that cater to Europeans have an international ambiance. You might like it better than Vegas.” When he realized what he’d said, he shut his mouth. Was he suggesting she try the Copper Coast on her next vacation? Was he inviting her back to Rayas?

  “You think?” she asked softly.

  “It’s a beautiful part of the world.”

  “Is that where you vacation?”

  He settled more comfortably on the bed, pulling a quilt up over their naked bodies.

  “Once or twice,” he told her. “The family has a private island off the coast of Greece. We also like Monaco and Istanbul.”

  “Private islands there?” she asked.

  “Just estates.”

  “Do you know how that sounds? ‘Just estates.’ Like an estate in Istanbul is nothing.”

  “You want me to apologize for having money?” Her attitude surprised him. She dealt with wealthy families every day in her professional life. Waverly’s and every other high-end auction house would be out of business without them. Both the buyers and the sellers were the international elite.

  “No.”

  “Then, why the snobbery?”

  “You think I’m a snob, Your Royal Highness, Prince Raif and a-dozen-other-names with the palace, the private jet and the get-out-of-jail-free passport?”

  “Yes, I think you’re a snob for assuming wealthy people are different.”

  “I went to school with wealthy people. Trust me, they are different.”

  He was curious. “What school was that?”

  “Hampton Heights private school in D.C. I was a day student. I only got in because my parents taught there. But my classmates had offshore trust funds and hyphenated names.”

  “And they didn’t accept you,” he guessed. From the tone of her voice, it didn’t sound as though she’d had an easy time in school.

  “They were mostly old money. I was no money. I had a free pass to their world because of my parents. The first time I put on the uniform, I half expected to get arrested for impersonating a rich kid.”

  “I’m sorry.” He genuinely was. Though he’d had the opposite problem, he understood what it was like to be ostracized. “I know what it’s like to be different.”

  She turned her head, resting her chin against the tip of her shoulder. “Poor little rich boy?”

  “I was teased and taunted and excluded.”

  “Because you were too good for them?”

  “Because they assumed I was something that I wasn’t.”

  She nodded to that, and he could see the empathy in her eyes.

  “Did it get better?” he found himself asking.

  “Eventually. It took a long time, but I made friends, and I did get a stellar education.”

  “One of the things I liked best about Britain,” he told her, “is that they’re obsessed with their own royal family. They didn’t give one whit about the prince of what they consider to be some obscure country. It was nice to have anonymity for a change.”

  “I could sure use a little anonymity also, about now,” Ann added.

  He smoothed her hair, loving the feel of it against his hand. “So you know, I don’t talk to reporters.”

  She brushed her lips against his shoulder as she spoke. “It doesn’t matter. They make it up as they go along.”

  “Nobody knows you’re with me.”

  “Unless staff at the Plaza talked.”

  “Jordan chose it because they’re discreet.”

  “Most people can be bought.”

  He grinned. “We’ll both deny everything.”

  “You mean, we’ll lie.”

  “Sure, why not? You’ve done it before.”

  “Only to you.”

  “You’re telling me I was your first?” he joked. “I’m honored.”

  Her tone went thoughtful, regretful. “I was hoping you’d be my last.”

  Her words tightened his chest. He couldn’t help but think about the obvious double-entendre. Her last lover? Of course he wasn’t going to be her last lover. That was ridiculous. But he couldn’t stand the thought of any other man holding her like this. She was his. Though he knew it was impossible, he desperately wanted her to stay that way.

  His arm clenched around her body. He kissed her temple, then her ear, then her neck, and then he was kissing her mouth all over again, feeling desire and possessiveness build up in his gut. He knew it was pointless, but he wanted to erase every man from her memory and keep her from ever wanting anyone else.

  * * *

  The next evening, at their meeting with Roark, Ann realized, no matter what the outcome, she was having her last moments with Raif.

  They all met in the abandoned warehouse on schedule, and Roark now dialed the numbers on the combination locks that held a steel case shut. It was rectangular in shape, about two feet long and about a foot wide and deep. It was heavy, a struggle for Roark to move from his SUV to the table in the old warehouse.

  But he’d managed, and the locks clicked open, and Roark folded back the lid.

  Raif and Tariq both stilled, while Ann stared in awe at the statue nestled inside. It was laid out in a precisely cut bed of dense foam, where an exquisitely crafted marble woman gazed up at them.

  Like the Mona Lisa, the woman’s expression was enigmatic. At first, Ann would have called it serene. But the blink of an eye later, she would have called it satisfied, even pleased. It was the strangest sensation.

  Roark covered his hands in a pair of cloth gloves. Supporting the pure gold base, he carefully cradled the statue and lifted it to set it on a black cloth he laid out on the
table.

  For a moment, everyone stood and stared.

  She knew the statue wasn’t glowing. It had to be an optical illusion, a trick of the light. But there was an ethereal quality to the beautiful woman that defied explanation. Maybe it was the mastery of the carver, or maybe it was the richness of the mauve and gold colors.

  “Royal Han marble,” said Raif, reverence clear in his tone. “Nobody knows how he did it, but the carver, Saleh walud Rahman walud Kunya Al-Fulan, is said to have made every pattern in the marble a near match across all three statues. I’ve seen two of them side by side.”

  “Imagine seeing all three,” Roark put in.

  “That must have been a sight,” Raif agreed.

  Ann moved to look from another angle, and the woman’s expression seemed to change again. She looked disturbed, maybe confused. It was uncanny.

  “How does she do that?” Ann asked.

  All three men looked at her.

  “Her expression,” said Ann. “It changes.”

  Roark squinted down. “It looks pretty neutral to me.”

  Tariq joined in. “I’ve always thought she looked resigned.”

  “Patient,” said Raif. “I think the word you’re looking for is patient.”

  “Can you see it change?” Ann asked.

  “It’s a statue,” said Raif.

  “Like the Mona Lisa,” said Ann. “Only more so.”

  “That was done with paint layering,” said Raif.

  “I can’t believe you don’t see it.” It was blatantly obvious to Ann. She moved once more, brushing against Raif’s arm, and the woman’s expression went back to serene.

  “I need to see the bottom of the base,” said Raif.

  Roark nodded, carefully bracing the statue to lay it on its back.

  Raif crouched, pulling out a magnifying glass, putting it to his eye and examining the bottom of the statue’s gold base. Ann exchanged a worried look with Roark. What was Raif up to?

  “The provenance doesn’t lie,” Roark put in. “I’ve authenticated every piece of it.”

  Raif didn’t respond. Instead, he stilled. Everyone seemed to hold their breath.