Guarding the Princess(67)
“You barely even know me, Brandt.”
“Oh, I know what you’re made of. You put someone into a life-and-death situation and you get to see pretty damn quick what’s at the core of that person. You’ve got what it takes—you’ve got so much. I hate to see you throw your life away.”
“I’m not throwing it away—I’m gaining a political advantage.”
“Yeah, well, apparently you’ve made up your mind about that one. So, don’t come looking to me for endorsement, because I don’t think your brothers deserve what you’re doing for them. How well do you know this Haroun anyway—apart from meeting him five times?”
“Well enough.”
“Will you be safe? Are you certain he won’t hurt you?’
“What are you saying, Brandt?”
He hesitated, turned away, stared out over the bush. Then he turned back, as if having made up his mind about something. “I’m saying I know things. I did covert intelligence work in Libya. Those two Egyptian men who killed that Sa’ud sheik’s fiancée in Dubai were known assassins—the Libyan authorities were looking for them.”
Tension thrummed.
“Doesn’t prove anything,” she whispered.
“Those men had done contract work for the Kingdom of Sa’ud before, Dalilah, paid for by Hassan royalty.”
“Work?”
“Murder for hire.”
Blood drained from her head. “And you know this because of your covert work?”
“It wasn’t a robbery gone wrong in Dubai, Dalilah. That woman was killed by the Hassans because she’d tainted the royal family by sleeping with another man.”
“Does Omair know this, too?”
“I don’t know what Omair knows. He wasn’t with me on the job in Libya.”
She stared at him, her brain reeling.
“Haroun had nothing to do with that incident. He wasn’t part of it.”
“Are you so sure—a Sa’ud sheik about to become king? Do you think, in the eyes of his kingdom, he’d be allowed to be seen tolerating any indiscretion on your part? I just don’t trust the House of Sa’ud.”
Silence quivered between them. She could hear bees buzzing somewhere, the shriek of a raptor. Her head hurt.
“He’s probably slept with a thousand women himself, and expects you to come to his bed a virgin.”
Heat flushed her cheeks. “That’s unfair,” she said quietly.
“That, Dalilah, is the way the cookie crumbles with men like Sheik Haroun Hassan. Trust me, I know. He can have whatever—or whoever—the hell he wants, when he wants, but you can’t.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Well, apparently, neither do you.”
Tension simmered between them.
“Why—” her voice came out in a hoarse whisper
“—are you so bitter? Is it because your own marriage didn’t work?”
He came close. She could feel his heat, a kinetic energy rolling off him. He bent down, abruptly cupped the back of her head, and kissed her. Hard. Angry, fierce. She stiffened under him, then instantly melted under her own fire, opening her mouth, reaching up behind his neck, pulling him into herself, kissing him so wildly she could taste blood. Tears came from her eyes, her tongue twisting with his, tasting the salt of him, feeling the rough stubble of his jaw against her cheek.
He pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, his eyes wild.
“That’s why,” he whispered.
She was shaking, her eyes burning.
“Because I care. Because I’ve fallen for you, Princess. And because I can’t have you, and Sheik Hassan can.”
Moisture pooled in her eyes.
“And believe me, Dalilah, I tried not to care—I’m trying not to care. But...” His eyes glittered. “I do respect your honor, your decision to marry for politics, for your kingdom. But what I can’t swallow is that you’ll be sacrificing your identity when I can see it makes you so unhappy.”
The tears in her eyes slid down her cheeks. He appraised her silently for a moment, struggling with something himself. Then he checked his watch. “Five minutes are up, Princess.” He spun away sharply and began to march over the dry, baking earth.
“We’ve wasted enough bloody time!” he muttered over his shoulder. “Amal will be right on our asses at this rate.”
* * *
It was almost 11:00 a.m. when Brandt stopped suddenly and held up his hand. Dalilah, zoned out from heat and almost five hours of continuous walking, bumped right into his back.
“What is it?” she whispered.
Then she heard it, a lowing, the distant clang of a bell.