“Sweetheart.” Nick leaned close and brushed his lips over hers. “I’m only protecting you from reading about yourself in tomorrow’s papers.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly serious. I’ve no reason to distrust the attendant, but why take chances? There’s a heavy market in celebrity gossip.”
“Yes, but…” But you’re not a celebrity, she’d almost said because she didn’t think of him that way. He was a man to her, a man with whom she’d fallen in love, but to the rest of the world, he was the stuff of tabloid headlines. She sighed and rubbed her forehead against his sleeve. “It must be awful,” she murmured. “Never having any privacy, never being able to let down your guard.”
“That’s the way it’s been most of my life…until now.” Nick put his hand under Amanda’s chin and smiled into her eyes. “I’ve let down my guard with you, sweetheart.”
“Have you?” she said softly.
He nodded. “I’ve told you more about myself than I’ve ever told anyone. And I’ve never taken anyone with me to Quidar.”
Her heart leaped at what he’d said.
“No one?”
“No one,” he said solemnly. “You’re the first.” He leaned closer. “The first woman I’ve ever—”
“Dom Pérignon or Taittinger, Your Highness?” the flight attendant asked cheerfully.
“It doesn’t matter,” Nick said, his eyes locked on Amanda’s face. “What we drink doesn’t matter at all.”
They ate dinner, though Amanda was too wound up to do more than pick at hers. What would her first glimpse of Nick’s homeland be like? What would his father think about her being with him? What would Nick tell him?
She stole a glance at Nick. He’d opened his omnipresent briefcase and read through some papers. Then he’d reached for the telephone and made several calls, sounding more purposeful, even imperial, with each conversation. He even looked different, his mouth and jaw seemingly set in sterner lines, as if he were changing from the man who’d made such passionate love to her into the man who was the heir to the throne of his country.
Her throat tightened.
“Nick?” she said as he hit the disconnect button.
He frowned, blinked, stared at her as if, just for a moment, he’d all but forgotten her presence.
“Yes,” he said a little impatiently, and then he seemed to give himself a little shake. “Sorry, sweetheart.” He put his arm around her, drew her close. “I wanted to take care of some things before we land.”
“Have you told your father that you’re bringing me with you?”
Nick hesitated. “Yes, I told him.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he hoped you were even more beautiful than Scheherazade,” Nick said lightly. “I assured him that you were.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s an ancient legend that says Scheherazade visited Zamidar and the Ivory Palace centuries ago.”
Amanda gave him a puzzled smile. “The same Scheherazade who saved her neck by telling that sultan all those stories?”
“The very one.” Nick smiled. “Unfortunately, she didn’t tell any tall tales when she visited the monarch of Quidar.”
She grinned. “Your grandpa, no doubt, a zillion times removed. Well, why didn’t she? Tell him stories, I mean.”
“There was no reason.”
“Ah.” Amanda tucked her head against Nick’s shoulder. “Nice to know.”
“Hmm?”
“That the monarch of Quidar didn’t have the power to…” She sliced her hand across her neck and Nick laughed.
“Of course he did.”
“He did?”
“Yes.” He tipped her chin up and lightly folded his hand around her throat. “He still can,” he said softly. “The rulers of my country have always held life-and-death power over those who cross into the kingdom.”
“Oh.” Her heart skipped a beat. “Does that include the heir to the throne?”
Nick smiled into her eyes, then brushed his mouth over hers. “I can do anything I want with you, once we reach Quidar.”
His tone was light, his smile gentle. Still, even though she knew it was foolish, she couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy.
“That sounds ominous,” she said, and managed a smile in return.
Nick kissed her again. “Come on. Put your head on my shoulder. That’s it. Now, love, shut your eyes and get some sleep.”
She let him draw her head down, let him gently kiss her eyes closed.
He could do anything he wanted with her, he’d said. And what he wanted was to bring her to the Ivory Palace and call her his love.
* * *
They changed planes in Paris, going from the commercial jet to a smaller plane, similar to the one they’d flown to Espada. It, too, bore the emblem of Quidar on the fuselage.
Butterflies were beginning to swarm in Amanda’s stomach.
“How much longer until we reach your country?” she asked.
“Just a few hours.” Nick took her hand. “Nervous?”
“A little,” she admitted.
Why wouldn’t she be? She was flying to an unknown place to meet a king. The king was Nick’s father, and yes, Nick was a prince—but the Nick she knew was only a man, and her lover.
So long as she kept sight of that, she’d be fine.
The final leg of their journey went quickly. Nick held her hand but spoke to her hardly at all. He seemed—what was the right word? Preoccupied. Even distant. But he would be, considering that all his energies would have to be centered on the problems that had brought him home.
The plane touched down, coasted to a seamless stop. Nick rose to his feet, held out his hand and she took it.
“Ready?” he said softly, and she nodded, even though her heart was pounding, and let him lead her to the exit door.
Blinking, she stepped out into bright sunlight.
All during the past few hours, she’d tried to envision what she’d find at the end of their long journey. She’d conjured up an endless strip of concrete spearing across a barren desert.
What she saw was a small, modern airport, graceful palm trees and, just ahead, the skyline of a small city etched in icy-white relief against a cerulean sky. A line of limousines stood waiting nearby, but she’d lived in New York long enough to have seen strings of big cars before.
The only really startling sight was at their feet, where a dozen men, all wearing desert robes, knelt in obeisance, their foreheads pressed to the concrete runway.
Amanda shot a glance at Nick. His face seemed frozen, as if an ancient, evil wizard had changed him into a stranger.
One of the men stirred. “My Lord Rashid,” he said, “we bid you welcome.”
“English?” Amanda whispered.
Nick drew her beside him. “English,” he said softly, a touch of amusement edging his voice. “The Royal Council usually uses it when addressing me. It’s their very polite way of reminding me that I am not truly of Quidar.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You couldn’t understand,” he said wryly, “without roots that go back three thousand years.”
He stepped forward, thanked the council members for the greeting and told them to rise. He didn’t mention her or introduce her, but she felt the cold glances of the men, saw their stern expressions.
A shudder raced along her skin.
“You didn’t introduce me,” she said to Nick as their limousine and the others raced toward the city.
“I will, when the time is right.”
“Won’t those men wonder who I am?”
“They know you’re with me, Amanda. That’s sufficient.”
The shudder came again but stronger this time.
“Nick?” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Nick, I’ve been thinking. Maybe…maybe I shouldn’t have come with you.”
“Don’t be ridic
ulous.”
“I mean it. I want to go back.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? I’m telling you—”
“And I said, no.”
Amanda swung toward Nick. He was staring straight ahead, arms folded, jaw set.
“Don’t speak to me that way,” she said carefully. “I don’t like it.”
Seconds passed. Then he turned toward her, muttered something under his breath and took her in his arms. “Sweetheart, forgive me. I have a lot on my mind. Of course you can leave if that’s what you really want. I’m hoping it isn’t. I want you here, with me.”
“I want to be with you, too. It’s just that…I think—”
Nick stopped her with a kiss. “Remember what I once told you? Stop thinking.”
She knew he was teasing, but the throwaway remark still angered her. “Dammit,” she said, pushing free of his arms, “that is such a miserably chauvinistic—”