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“You agreed to meet her in person,” Tariq reminded him.
“I meant at one of the offices downtown. She doesn’t deserve to be in the palace.” He’d let the woman cool her heels for three days since she’d arrived in Rayas, refusing to grant her a single courtesy.
“Then talk to her in the garden.” Impatience was growing in Tariq’s tone.
Raif shot him a sharp look.
“Your Royal Highness,” Tariq finished, his expression carefully neutral, so that Raif couldn’t tell if he was being contrite or sarcastic.
“You forget yourself,” Raif admonished.
“I forgot myself a long time ago,” Tariq returned.
Raif took one more long look at Ann Richardson, tamped down his inappropriate physical attraction to her, squared his shoulders and exited through the palace archway into the garden.
She watched him unabashed as he followed a winding stone pathway, past date and palm trees. The closer he got, the more beautiful she became. He’d seen many pictures, had her investigated quite thoroughly once he heard she was offering up his statue for sale. But nothing he’d seen had done her justice. She was quite simply the most stunningly beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
“Miss Richardson,” he greeted without inflection.
“Prince Raif,” she answered in return. No bow or curtsy. Perhaps Americans didn’t acknowledge royalty. The British did, though reluctantly if one wasn’t a member of the Windsor royal family. Still, there was some acknowledgment from them that he wasn’t a stable hand. Not so from Ann Richardson.
They were both standing, and he left it that way. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and he had a busy night ahead. Better to get this over with.
“You are here to confess?” he asked. It was the only acceptable outcome from his perspective.
She gave a throaty chuckle that seemed to strum along his nervous system, reigniting his arousal. “Hardly.”
“Then you’re wasting my time.” He turned to go.
“Wait. Prince Raif.” Her hand touched his arm.
He turned sharply and glared at her serious breach of protocol.
“I’m here to explain.”
If he thought her looks had aroused him, and that her voice had made the feelings more acute, her touch was threatening to push him over the edge.
“I would advise you to remove your hand,” he told her.
She stilled. Her expression faltered.
“My guards are watching, and you are forbidden from touching a royal.”
The guards were the least of his worries. His flesh burned under her touch, and his mind was filled with visions of dragging her into his arms and ravishing her lithe body.
Her eyes widening at his expression, she pulled back her hand. “You were about to walk away,” she explained.
“There’s no point in my staying.”
“I’ve come a long way to make you see reason.”
“You mean you’ve come a long way to lie.”
“I’m not here to lie. There are two statues. Waverly’s is not selling yours.”
Raif didn’t believe her for a second. If Waverly’s had truly discovered Princess Salima’s missing statue, they would prove it. “If you’re not here to confess, then you’re here to lie.”
“I’m here to help.”
