CHALLENGED BY THE SHEIKH Read online

  He rested his palms on her shoulders and studied her with sincerity, with some unknown emotion reflecting from his eyes. "What do you want, Genie?"

  You. "I want to work hard and be the best I can be at whatever I do. I also plan to forgive myself for what happened to my sister. I realize I had no control over what happened to her, even if I still hold out hope we'll find her. In a way, you've taught me that." She sighed. "Now I have a favor to ask of you."

  "What would that be?"

  She cupped his jaw in her palm. "I want you to forgive yourself, too. You couldn't have prevented what happened to your wife. I want you to be happy."

  Raf drew her into an embrace and held her closely. When he pulled away, he looked as if he wanted to say something more. Instead he stepped back and held open the car door. "Be safe, Genie. Call me if you change your mind about my offer."

  So that's it, Imogene thought as she climbed into the car and he closed the door. But she didn't intend to drive away until she had one last thing from him. After rolling down the window, she said, "Kiss me goodbye, Sheikh Shakir."

  He leaned over and kissed her so completely she considered getting out of the car and baring her soul. After he was done creating enough heat in her to incinerate the sedan, she turned the ignition and he turned away without saying goodbye.

  That was okay with Imogene. Though she knew this goodbye could be for good, she at least didn't have to hear the ugly word. Yet as she steered the car down the road, glancing at the house in the rearview mirror to find Raf standing on the porch, watching her leave, she could almost hear him say it. And she immediately regretted what she hadn't said, that she loved him.

  Regardless that they couldn't be together permanently, Imogene had to credit him with the sense of liberation she had experienced in his arms. And that liberation had her questioning her own life and what she really wanted for her future. She had changed over the past two weeks, that much she knew. A change that had been a long time coming. Now she just had to decide what other changes were necessary.

  * * *

  Ten

  « ^ »

  "What in the hell do you think you're doing, Danforth?"

  Imogene looked up from where she'd been doodling Raf's name on a notepad to find Sid in her office door, looking as if he could blow his cheap toupee right through the office roof. "Nice to see you, too, Sid."

  His ruddy face reddened once more with fury. "I just got a call from Pierce Grantham. He said you told him that the whole riding thing was a ruse."

  She tossed aside the pencil and watched it roll off the edge of the desk. "That's right, Sid. I told them the truth. And you know what? They didn't seem at all angry."

  "Not at you, but they sure as hell are with me. Did you have to tell them this was all my idea?"

  "Actually, I didn't say that at all. It seems Mr. Grantham figured that one out on his own."

  Sid balled his fists and glared at her. "You've done it now, Danforth. You're … you're…"

  "Fired?" Imogene slapped her palms on her desk and stood. "You can't fire me, Sid, because I quit. I've already turned in my resignation to your father-in-law, along with my reasons."

  "You can't do that!"

  Imogene yanked her jacket from the back of her chair and slipped it on. "I just did. I can deal with the hours, the lack of sleep, but I can't deal with the deception."

  She walked out the door without a backward glance, experiencing a surprising sense of freedom for someone who was now unemployed. Of course, she did have one job prospect.

  No way. She refused to work for Raf if that's the only role he intended she play in his life. Okay, maybe he did expect them to take up where they'd left off, but she couldn't do that without any form of commitment from him.

  Boy, she had changed. A few weeks ago, any kind of commitment beyond her family and job had been out of the question, at least where a relationship with a man was concerned. But that's exactly what she wanted now, some sort of commitment from Raf. Not that she would ever get one—at least, not until he managed to get over the blinding grief and guilt he'd kept bottled up inside.

  Imogene refused to be a substitute; she wanted to be the real thing. And until he decided—if he decided—that's what he wanted from her, she would lay low and wait. She could be in for a long, long wait.

  * * *

  The following day Raf sat at the dining room table in the kitchen, leaving his food untouched. He had no use for nourishment at the moment, nor did he have any use for the company he now kept. Doris, Blaylock and Ali were staring at him as if they expected him to make an excuse for his continued silence and his lack of appetite.

  He pushed the bowl away and wrapped his hands around the coffee mug, hoping they would leave him with his remorse.

  Instead, Doris leaned forward and pinned him with a glare.

  "Is she coming back?"

  Raf averted his gaze to the financial section of the paper and pretended to peruse the market report. "No."

  "And you just let her leave?"

  Doris's incredulous tone brought Raf's attention back to her. "I had no say in the matter. Her career imposes demands on her time. She had no reason to stay."

  "Oh, good grief," Doris muttered. "Didn't you give her a reason?"

  "I made her an offer that she refused."

  "She wouldn't marry you?"

  "Doris," Blaylock said in a warning tone. "That's none of your business."

  Doris waved a dismissive hand in her husband's direction. "Come on, Bernie. Someone needs to tend to his business before he makes the biggest mistake of his life."

  "Precisely," Ali said. "I have told him much the same."

  Anger rose to the surface of Raf's calm demeanor, threatening to explode in a litany of oaths. He felt as if he sat before a jury who had found him guilty before he'd stated his case. "I did not ask Ms. Danforth to marry me. I asked her to work for me."

  Doris rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "All that highfalutin European education and you never learned how to romance a woman." She pointed toward the door. "Bernie, you and Ali go outside and work while I give the sheikh a quick lesson on how to woo a woman."

  Blaylock rubbed the back of his neck, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Doris, I don't think the sheikh—"

  This time Raf waved off Blaylock's protests. "Let her speak her mind. She will do as much, anyway."

  As soon as Ali and Blaylock left, Doris folded her arms beneath her ample breasts and sat back in the chair. "Now, what are you going to do about getting her back?"

  "If she wants to return, she will do so without my coercion."

  "I'm not saying you should drag her back here in shackles. You have to convince her with words and actions. Let her know what you're feeling inside."

  Raf recognized he should have done that last night or, at the very least, before she'd left him this morning. "I'm afraid I squandered that chance. Therefore, I must wait to see if she returns of her own free will."

  "Dammit, man, you don't have time to wait. Go get her."

  "I have no idea where to find her." A weak excuse since he had the resources to locate anyone. But he was not certain she wanted to be found. After all, she had not bothered to leave her address or phone number. And he had not bothered to ask.

  Doris took the society section of the newspaper, turned it in his direction and pointed at the front-page article. "There's a wedding reception at her uncle's mansion for her cousin tonight. She'll be there."

  Raf recalled Imogene mentioning the reception, the reason why she had decided not to return today for a final lesson. "I have not been invited."

  "Do you really think they'll kick you out if you don't have an invitation? You just dress up in your royal clothes, tell them you know Miss Imogene, flash them a few bucks and they'll let you in."

  Raf could not suppress his smile over Doris's serious expression. "And after I gain entry, what then?"

  She blew out a frustrated sigh. "Am I gonna have to tell you ev
erything? You find her and you tell her you want her to come back, permanently. Unless you don't love her, but I highly doubt that. It's written all over your face."

  Raf streaked one hand over his jaw and considered lying, yet he knew Doris would see right through his pretense. "Are my feelings that obvious?"

  "Maybe not to some, but I'm a woman, and women know these things. And she's in love with you, too."

  Raf did well to hide his shock. "Did she say as much to you?"

  "For goodness' sake, she didn't have to say it. I could see it every time she looked at you. Every time you looked at each other. I have never known two more stubborn, foolhardy people. It's time you both get rid of your pride and lay it on the line."

  "And what shall I do if she refuses then?"

  Taking Raf by surprise, Doris laid a palm on his hand. "She won't refuse you. And if she does, then I'll have a long talk with her, too."

  Until that moment Raf hadn't realized how much he had missed not having a woman's counsel in his adulthood. His own mother had died giving birth to his brother, so he had not known any true maternal care aside from a succession of governesses. He appreciated Doris more than he could express, and the least he could do was follow her advice. He would also pray that she was right about Genie's feelings for him.

  He would never know unless he asked.

  * * *

  At the wedding reception for her cousin Reid and his new wife, Tina, Imogene sat alone in Crofthaven's ornate ballroom, aimlessly perusing the notable guests. Many attendees she recognized, others she did not and even when the former president had made a brief appearance with secret service agents in tow, she couldn't muster much enthusiasm or excitement.

  No one really seemed to notice that she'd been sitting all alone at the lace-covered corner table, holding a full champagne flute while she felt completely empty. The bride and groom didn't seem to notice anyone but each other. Her cousin Kimberly, her one-time best friend, had only spoken to her briefly before joining her new husband, Zachary Sheridan, on the dance floor. Even her own mother and father had spent most of the evening schmoozing, when they weren't clinging to each other like grapevines during their favorite waltzes.

  Imogene despised her envy but it seemed the whole world was in love. So was she, the difference being the one she loved was absent from her life, even if not from her thoughts. She'd been tempted to call him up this afternoon and tell him she'd quit her job and that she might consider his offer. But she wanted so much more from him. She still did. She couldn't settle for less.

  A sigh slipped from her lips as she rimmed the champagne flute with one neatly painted red nail that matched her red chiffon gown. Her mother hadn't been too pleased that she'd chosen to wear such a vibrant color for the wedding festivities, but she'd done so with Raf in mind since he'd told her several times he preferred her in red. And that was silly considering he would never see the dress.

  The tap on her shoulder startled Imogene and she looked back to see her brother's familiar, endearing face. Toby, handsome as ever yet so serious and brooding at times.

  "Can I join your little pity party?" he asked.

  She pulled out the chair next to her. "Be my guest, but I'm not having a pity party."

  Toby sat and scooted the chair beneath the table. "Are you sure? You look like you've lost your best friend."

  In many ways Imogene had. "I'm just tired. I've had a rough couple of days." And two very long, lonely nights.

  "Mom tells me you've been taking riding lessons at some stable around here. You could've called me. I would've taught you."

  "No way, Toby. First, I didn't have time to trek all the way to Wyoming. Second, you and I get along fine as long as you're not trying to tell me what to do. Third, you have your hands full with your child." She looked around and noticed her nephew's absence. "Where is Dylan, anyway?"

  "The housekeeper put him to bed. He's not that comfortable with crowds."

  "Is he making any progress as far as his speech is concerned?"

  "He's still not talking. I keep thinking he will someday, if I'm patient with him. But sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing."

  Imogene's heart went out to her brother, who had given his life to raising his three-year-old musically gifted child who had not spoken since his mother's departure. "You're a great dad, Toby. Dylan's lucky to have you."

  "I try, but a lot of people believe he needs a mother."

  "He doesn't need his mother, or at least she obviously doesn't need him. After all, she was the one who abandoned him."

  Toby averted his gaze to the dance floor without responding. Imogene assumed he was avoiding any mention of his social-climbing ex-wife who'd had no use for a rancher. Since her departure, Sheila had taken up with some playboy on the Riviera. Good riddance, as far as Imogene and the rest of the family were concerned. But she worried that Toby would never get over those wounds, much the same as Raf.

  Raf. How many times had she thought about him today? Too many times to count.

  After a span of silence, Toby turned his brotherly concern on Imogene. "What's bugging you, Genie?"

  She shrugged. "This atmosphere's getting to me, I guess. I haven't seen Uncle Abraham for about half an hour, so I guess it's getting to him, too, and he's the one who should be mingling for the sake of his campaign."

  Toby glanced over his shoulder. "I know what you mean. Seems everyone's paired up, which leaves Harold Danforth's kids to wallow in their bad luck when it comes to relationships."

  "Not all of us, Toby." She nodded toward the dance floor at their brother Jake and his wife, Larissa, holding each other close as the orchestra played a slow, mellow tune. "Jake looks pretty darned happy."

  "He is happy. And I'm happy for him."

  "Me, too."

  Imogene didn't think Toby sounded all that enthusiastic, but then neither had she, and not because she didn't want Jake to be happy. It only served as a reminder of what she didn't have. She suspected the same held true for Toby.

  Feeling the need for escape, Imogene stood and slipped the strap of her satin bag over her shoulder. "I think I'm going to grab some fresh air. Want to join me?"

  Toby forked a hand through his dark hair. "I'll just sit here for a while. Maybe I can catch Mom and Dad between dances."

  "Good luck."

  Feeling suddenly stifled, Imogene shouldered her way through the masses until she reached the main hall. She made her way up the spiral staircase leading to the bedrooms. Many times she had played on these very stairs as a child, until the housekeeper had cautioned her and Victoria they would fall and break their necks if they didn't quit hanging off the wrought-iron banister. Of course, she and Tori had feigned innocence until Joyce had disappeared from sight. Then they would go back to whatever whimsical fantasy they'd concocted that day, be it swashbuckling pirates or freedom-fighting fairies.

  The bittersweet memories lay heavily on Imogene's heart, only adding to her melancholy as she entered one of the myriad bathrooms to redo her lipstick and regain her calm. As she stared into the mirror, once more visions of Raf filtered into her mind. Raf making love to her in front of the mirrored wall. Raf holding her two nights ago until dawn. Raf watching her as she left him standing on the porch.

  Her eyes welled with tears that she had tried so hard to keep. She let them fall at will down her cheeks for only a few moments before she chastised herself for her weakness. Raf would soon be a distant part of her life, a good—no, a great—memory she would keep with her always.

  After repairing her makeup, Imogene stiffened her shoulders and her resolve to elevate herself beyond self-pity. She would go back downstairs and pretend to have a good time, maybe even dance with her dad if she could steal him away from her mom.

  On the way down the hall, Imogene slowed her steps when she heard laughter and voices. Her uncle's voice, to be exact and that of a woman. Curiosity drove her to sneak a peak around the corner of the corridor that led to her uncle's suite. She only
managed a quick glance before drawing back from shock. She'd gotten enough of a gander to recognize that Abraham Danforth, aspiring senatorial candidate, was not conducting business with his campaign manager, Nicola Granville. In fact, their conversation had ceased due to their mouths' preoccupation with a kiss. A very passionate kiss.

  Imogene kept her back flattened against the wall as she heard her uncle say, "I need to be with you, Nicola. Only for a while."

  Even after the bedroom door opened then closed, she still didn't move as her mind tried to register what she'd just witnessed. Obviously Uncle Abe hadn't been concentrating solely on his campaign. And if anyone found out that he was cavorting with a member of his staff, then that would mean more scandal for an already scandal-ridden campaign.

  Imogene decided then and there to keep his secret. It certainly wasn't her place to reveal what she now knew. At least he had good taste, she thought as she headed back to the stairs. Nicola Granville was a knock-out redhead, but she had to be at least fifteen years Abraham's junior. However, Uncle Abraham at fifty-five had more charisma and good looks than many men half his age. And obviously he wasn't ready to be put out to pasture.

  Pasture—the stables, Raf. Every thought still centered on her dark prince who obviously couldn't be banished anymore than the spirits that still stalked the halls of Crofthaven. Now Imogene had another personal ghost to deal with aside from Tori, just as Raf still dealt with his wife's ghost.

  Imogene consulted her watch as she descended the staircase. Now nearing 10:00 p.m., she decided to go home as soon as the honored guests departed for their honeymoon. But as she reached the last spiral turn, she glanced up and halted well short of her goal.

  A man stood at the bottom of the banister dressed in a standard black tuxedo, his hands hidden in his pockets, his hair, dark as moonless midnight, now concealed by a white cloth secured by an ornate band. Imogene knew that about him just like she knew the faint round birthmark on his right hip, how he liked to be touched, how he sounded when he said her name. He looked every bit the desert prince, darkly handsome, mysterious, a heartbreaker of the first order. Imogene knew that well, too, because her own heart was breaking, seeing him there looking so beautiful. And she had no idea why he had come.