d to slap the smile off his handsome face.
“Let’s get one thing clear—I’m not a bride you can buy or barter for, buster.”
He laughed—and Casey hated that she liked that low, rich sound. “It will not be that much of a hardship to pose as the fiancée of the son of a sultan.”
Casey shook her head. “Excuse me, but I’ve been through my sister getting married. I know just how much work those damn things are. Even a fake one’s going to take up more time than I want to give it. But if I get the story—”
“That is the spirit. Find the positive side of this situation. I’ve been searching for it myself.”
He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. For a moment, Casey wondered what that was about, but of course there would be cameras. A guard showed up at once, keys jingling. He unlocked the cell and pulled open the door.
Gingerly, Casey stepped out, half expecting this to be a joke—Khalid would lift his hand again and she’d be tossed back into the cell and he’d laugh. Instead, he only looked her up and down and shook his head. “We can do something about your clothes when we get to the palace.”
A hot shower with lots of soap suddenly sounded like the best idea in the world. She glanced at Khalid. “I’m going to need my passport back and my cell phone, and my things from the hotel. And my computer.”
Khalid smiled at her, which left her uneasy. “Your things, as you call them, are here—in impound. Now, shall we go.” He put a hand on the small of her back, gestured for her to walk with him.
The small voice in her head that always told her she was about to do something dumb right before she did it was yelling just now. She silently admonished it.
Not like she had much choice here.
Besides, she had the inside track right now on a story that could push her from just another reporter to a byline that carried clout. For that, she could put up with being a pretend fiancée.
And it was going to be more than interesting to hear what the Sultan of Sharjah thought of all this.
3
She’d seen rich before, but not on the level of Sultan of Sharjah’s palace.
From just inside the gates that let into the palace grounds, she could see rows of tall palm trees, hedges that separated lush gardens from the driveway, and a white, sprawling structure, three stories of stairs, columns, windows, and balconies.
The architecture seemed very traditional to Casey, mirroring what she’d seen elsewhere in Sharjah, but this was on a far more lavish scale.
The chauffeur stopped the limo in front of the wide steps that looked to lead to the main entrance. Glancing over, she caught Khalid watching her. She was glad her mouth wasn’t hanging open like some country girl.
“So this is where you live.” She tried to make the words sound casual, as if marble steps, wrought iron and doors trimmed in gold didn’t impress her much.
“Where we live,” Khalid corrected. He smiled.
Oh, yeah, well, so not sharing a bedroom with you.
But the thought led to an image of Khalid naked, all that beautiful tan skin on display—and all those muscles. She hadn’t missed that under the robes, the man had strength in his arms and moved with athletic grace.
She turned and got out of the car without waiting for the chauffer to jump to it. The man gave Khalid an apologetic look, but Khalid only slipped from the limo and stood next to her.
Standing at the bottom of the steps and looking up at the palace, she was starting to think of Disney movies and every princess story she’d ever watched with her sister when they were little. Truth be told, she’d always thought of herself of more a Princess Tiana type—all that good Cajun food and N’awlins as a backdrop, but Khalid was definitely no frog.
Khalid put his hand on the small of her back again—seemed to be a habit with him—and said,“ Come, Casey Connolly, I will show you to your room. Then I will leave you to get ready for tonight when you will meet the sultan.”
“Do we really have to do that tonight?” She’d been hoping for shower and bed and a few hours starting to shape up her story. She also had to call Luke and fill him in on what had happened..
He stared at her as if expecting her to take this—and everything else—in stride. And, okay, maybe that was a compliment.
“You should be excited,” he insisted. “There has not been a reporter within our house—not ever.”
“Right. Excited. Happy to be engaged. Are we really going to pull this off?”
He smiled at her and let the way up the steps, taking hold of her hand now.