Her gaze slid down to his lips. “With passion and energy.”
His heart drummed in his chest, muffling the sounds around them. A quick glance to his mother’s side showed her laughing at something the next woman in line told her. Probably making small talk so people wouldn’t notice how much longer this greeting was taking. Yet he couldn’t let Izzy go. Not yet. “I can think of no other way to handle a country.”
She took a step toward him, and he caught a whiff of her fresh and feminine scent. “I guess it depends on the issue. Some are quick and urgent. Others…”
He searched her eyes with his. “Languorous and long-lasting.”
She parted her lips, and he had to leash every thread of control not to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. “Yes.”
“Son?” His mother’s voice spilled chilly water into their hot exchange, extinguishing the fiery energy between them. “Aren’t you going to finally introduce me to your guest?”
He stretched to his full height. “Of course. Mother, this is Izzy Lima, a dear friend. Izzy, meet Queen Regent Kesia.”
“It’s an honor to meet you,” Izzy said, stretching out her hand and not bowing like others would. What did he expect? She wasn’t from here—her customs were different, and if he remembered this maybe he wouldn’t get hurt in the end.
“Thank you,” his mother said, shaking her hand. “My son said good things about you. Maybe we can meet for lunch sometime.”
Izzy blinked, probably surprised, then acquiesced. “Of course. I’d love to have lunch with you.”
Guban walked up to him, next to one of the event workers, the cue they needed to wrap up the conversation because of the ever-growing line.
A known senator from the United States greeted his mother, and Izzy inched closer. “Tell the guards to let me in the library. I’ll wait for you there.”
A naughty smile danced on her lips.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She tossed him a glance over her shoulder. Specks of excitement flashed in the depths of her eyes. “Handle it.”
…
“I’ll be waiting outside, Ms. Lima,” the guard said, opening the huge, heavy French doors for her. “Please call if you need anything.”
Unlikely. She closed the door behind him, scanning around the area.
This would be the perfect opportunity. With everyone in the ballroom and the library closed for visitors, she had the chance to search for the guest book without worry. She glanced around, her gaze darting between the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books. A huge computer screen sat on the main desk. She marched to it, after tossing a glance behind her to make sure the guard remained outside.
Sighing, she sat on the swiveling chair, smelling the scent of old, leather-bound books. In any other circumstances, she’d peruse through the place, reveling in the amazing reads, and explore every corner and nook. But here I am, betraying Nassor’s trust.
An invisible claw clasped her heart. Damn. He was now the king, the ruler of an entire country. Fine as hell, and, she hoped, a fair leader. Cold sweat slicked her palms. When she splayed them on the desk, her prints on the smooth surface gave away her fear.
Didn’t matter if he hadn’t personally kidnapped and killed her stepmother. Someone had, as she’d disappeared into thin air, and had been found dead of an overdose. Anger pumped into her veins. Someone had killed her—abused her. She had marks on her body, and Gwokon authorities had been quick to dismiss it as an addict’s prerogative. Probably a crazy user fellow had hurt her, or a possible client, assuming she’d traded sex for a hit.
Her stepmother hadn’t been a hooker, either.
No. I am. Aren’t I?
She turned on the screen, desperate. The screen unlocked, asking her for a login username and password. Shit. She tapped the drawers, in hopes of finding any written notes or an old-fashioned version of Rolodex to send her in the right direction in searching for the password.
She tugged at the handle, but no luck. All the drawers were firmly locked. She should’ve listened to the hairstylist who’d insisted on an updo instead of letting her hair fall down in waves. Those pins would have been handy.
She stood, flicked off the screen, and strolled through the shelves, reading the plaques. At the end of one shelf, she glanced at a thick book sitting on its own pedestal. The guest book.
Adrenaline raced down her spine and she quickened her pace, holding the hem of her dress on both sides to get there faster. When she was within a breath from the book, her fingers trembled. She touched the thick cover, recognizing the castle’s logo, and sucked in a breath.
Mary had arrived in the country about a year prior. Izzy calculated the month, and began looking at all visitors’ entries for July from the previous year. She flicked through dozens of pages, scanning each one of them to find her stepmother’s signature.
At the bottom of the hundredth page, a scribble got her attention. She slid her finger down the textured paper, anticipation arrowing through her. Her stepmother’s name and signature, next to the name of the hotel where she’d been staying.
