Her heart fluttered. In spite of her best efforts, she was still beaming foolishly beneath his praise as he led her past a shadowy cloistered walkway to the open courtyard at the center of the palace. The white merciless sun beat down in the blue sky, but the center courtyard garden was cool, with lush flowers and an orange tree on each corner. Soft breezes sighed through palm trees, leaving dappled shadows over the burbling stone fountain.
“Josie?” Kasimir was staring at her.
She realized she’d stopped in the middle of the courtyard, her mouth open. “Sorry.” Snapping her lips shut, she followed him across the courtyard to a hallway directly off the columned stone cloister.
He held a door open for her.
“This will be your room,” he murmured. She walked past him to find a large bedroom with high ceilings, sumptuously decorated, with two latticed windows, one facing the courtyard, the other the desert. “You will need something to wear while you’re here.”
“No, really,” she protested. “All I need is a washer and a dryer—”
He opened a closet door. “Too late.”
Peeking past him, she saw a huge closetful of women’s clothes, all with tags from expensive designers. She said doubtfully, “Whose are these?”
“Yours.”
“I mean, where did they come from? Were they...left here by your other, um, female guests?”
“Female guests.” His lips quirked. “Is that what you call them?”
“You know what I mean!”
“I wouldn’t come all the way to Marrakech for a one-night stand.” His smile lifted to a grin. “Why would I bother going to the trouble?”
“Yeah, why,” she muttered. Her husband could seduce any woman with a smile. He’d melted Josie into an infatuated, delusional puddle with a single careless, stolen kiss.
She scowled. “Look. I just want to know if I’m wearing clothes you bought for someone else.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “They were purchased in Marrakech for you, Josie. Specifically for you. And if you don’t believe me...” He gave her a wicked grin as he opened a drawer. “Check this out.”
Her lips parted as she looked down at all the lacy unmentionable undergarments.
“You’ll never have to go commando again,” he said smugly. His eyes met hers. “Unless you want to.”
She swallowed, then turned away as her cheeks burned. “Great... Thanks.”
“And for your information,” he said behind her, “I would never bring a female guest here.”
She didn’t meet his eyes. She was afraid he would notice how she was trembling. “I’m the first?”
“Ah,” he said softly. “But you’re more than a guest.” Reaching over, he tucked a tendril of her hair off her face. “You are my wife.”
As his fingertips stroked her skin, she felt his nearness, felt his powerful body towering over hers. Swallowing, she turned away, pretending to look through the expensive items in the closet to hide her confusion.
“Well?” he said huskily. “Do you see anything you like?”
Her heart gave an involuntary throb as she looked back at him.
“Yes,” she said in a low voice. “But nothing that’s right for me.”
His blue eyes narrowed as he frowned. “But they’re your size.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?”
She swallowed. “Look, I appreciate the gesture, but...” She stopped herself in her tracks, then blurted out, “They’re all just too—fancy.”
He drew back, blinking in surprise. “Too fancy?”
She nodded. “I like clothes I can be comfortable in. Clothes I can work in.”
He looked at her. “But you wore that all night?”
She looked down at her tight wedding dress. “Well. I just put this back on. I slept naked.”
Kasimir swallowed. “Naked?” he said hoarsely.
“Look, I really appreciate your sweet gesture, but until I can wash my own clothes, couldn’t I just borrow some of your old jeans?” she said hopefully. “Maybe an old T-shirt?”
The shock on his handsome face was almost comical. “You’d rather wear my old ratty work clothes than Louis Vuitton or Chanel?”
Not wanting to examine too carefully the reasons for that, she just nodded.
He snorted. “You’re a very original woman, Josie Xendzov.”
Josie Xendzov. Her heart did that strange thump-thump again. “So people have always told me.”
“So what work are you planning to do around here, Princess? Dig trenches in the dirt? Change the oil in my Lamborghini?”
“You have a Lamborghini?” she said eagerly.
His lips curved. “You don’t give a damn about designer clothes, but you’re impressed by a car? You can’t even drive!”
She shrugged. “My father had a Lamborghini when I was six years old. He had it shipped up to Alaska, delivered to our house in the middle of winter. The roads were covered with snow. Impossible to drive the Lamborghini with those wide performance tires.”
Kasimir nodded. “You’d slide right into a snowbank.”
“So Dad let me pretend to drive it in the driveway. For hours. I remember it was dark, except for flashes of the northern lights across the sky, and I drove the steering wheel so recklessly. Pretending to be a race-car driver. We both laughed so hard.” She blinked fast. “It was the first time I ever really heard him laugh. Though I heard he used to laugh all the time before my mom died.” She looked down at her feet. “I miss my family,” she whispered. “I miss my home.”
For a moment, he didn’t move.
Then his warm, rough hands took her own. With an intake of breath, she looked up, waiting for him to tell her Black Jack Dalton had been a criminal who didn’t deserve a Lamborghini. She waited for Kasimir to mock her grief, to tell her she should put the memory of childhood happiness away, like outgrown toys, discarded and forgotten.
Instead, Kasimir put his hand on the small of her back, pulling her close as he looked down at her.
“So you have a fondness for Lamborghinis, do you?” he said softly, searching her gaze. “They’re not too fancy?”
Josie looked up at his ruggedly handsome face. Every inch of her body felt his touch on her back. She shook her head. “Nope,” she whispered. “Not fancy.”
“In that case...” With a wicked smile, he reached out to stroke her cheek as he said softly, “I know just what I’m going to do with you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO HOURS LATER, Josie’s body was shaking with fear.
Her hand trembled on the gearshift. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
“I’m not making you do anything.”
She’d changed out of her tight dress, but in spite of wearing Kasimir’s old rolled-up jeans and a clean, slightly tattered black Van Halen T-shirt, she didn’t feel remotely comfortable. She’d showered, too, but that hadn’t done her much good, either. Her forehead now felt clammy with sweat. The two of them were in the enormous paved exterior courtyard of the palace. In his Lamborghini.
And for the first time since she was a child, Josie was in the driver’s seat.
“You wanted to learn how to drive,” Kasimir pointed out.
“Not in your brand-new Lamborghini!”
“Snob, huh? So it’s suddenly ‘too fancy’ for you after all?”
“You’re laughing now. You’ll be crying when I crash it straight into your pool.”
He shrugged. “I’ll buy a new one.”
“Car or pool?”
“Either. Both.”
She gaped at him. “Are you out of your mind? These things cost real money!”
“Not to me.” Reaching over, he put his hand on her denim-clad leg. She nearly jumped out of her skin before she realized he was only pressing on her knee. “Push down harder on the clutch. Yes.” He put his other hand over hers on the gearshift. “Move it like that. Yes,” he said softly as he guided her. “Exactly like that.”
Josie gulped, her heart pounding in her throat. She accelerated, then stalled. She stomped on the gas, then the brakes. She spun out, again and again, kicking up clouds of dust.
“You’re doing great,” Kasimir said for the umpteenth time, even as he was coughing from the dust. He gave her a watery smile, his face encouraging.
“How can you be so patient?” she cried, nearly beating her head against the steering wheel. “I’m terrible at this!”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said gruffly. “It’s your first time.”
Resting her head against the steering wheel, Josie looked at him sideways. Since she’d met Kasimir, it had been her first time for lots of things. The first time she’d ever been recklessly pursued by a man who wanted to marry her. The first time she’d felt her heart pound with strange new desire. The first time she’d ever been wildly, truly infatuated with anyone.