She’d also fucked the king in the library. A man who had discovered her secret.
What if he tossed her in jail or disposed of her? What if her fate would be worse than Mary’s? Legs weakened, she leaned onto the shelf so as not to fall, avoiding looking at the several books on the hardwood floor.
Nassor picked her dress from the floor and threw it to her. She caught it, mumbling a thank-you so low, she doubted he heard her. “We’ll go to that address and find out about your stepmother.”
We? She tilted her head. If he went with her, how could they possibly keep it low-profile? And there was always the possibility the real reason he wanted to tag along was sanitizing whatever piece of information she got her hands on. “What?”
He ran his fingers through his short curly hair. “If she was under duress in my country, I have to find out what happened. If I let you go, my dear American, you can go to the embassy and feed them your story. This will make rounds in the news cycle and whether you’re telling the truth or not, it’ll stain my first days in power.”
Her shoulders dropped a notch, and a disappointing sensation chilled her internal temperature. Of course he would put his reputation first. “I understand. How can you go with me, though? People will recognize you.”
“There are ways.” He tipped up her chin, making her stare at him. “Leave that to me. Is there anything you aren’t telling me? Do you stand by this story? Because I don’t want to move mountains and go after the truth if that’s not what you’re telling me.”
“I… Yes. I’m not lying.”
“You’ll go to your room now and stay there until morning. I’ll have a guard on your door and you won’t be able to go anywhere without my permission. Even if you try, he’ll let me know immediately.”
“I’m a prisoner?” she said, feigning outrage even though a part of her understood his reasons. He didn’t know her well enough to believe her story. Still, the idea of staying in a room without coming and going brought a sour taste to her palate.
“I can’t risk you going at it alone. I don’t trust you.”
She finger-combed her hair. “Apparently, I’m good enough to fuck.”
A small smile formed on his lips, and he gave her a once-over. “Apparently, so am I.”
Izzy flicked the channels. She’d spent a good part of the night awake, and when she’d finally fallen asleep, the maid had knocked on her door to check if she needed anything. With her cell phone taken away, she tried to watch TV even if she couldn’t sit still.
Damn it.
She chowed down the yummy yogurt the maid had brought and pushed away the rest of the tray filled with pastries. What if Nassor didn’t come through to help her? Or worse, what if he tried to alter the truth? Five weeks wasn’t enough time for her sensible stepmother to come abroad and get hooked on drugs. She had more common sense.
When the door finally opened, he marched in, wearing denim jeans and a black shirt that almost made him look like a commoner. She stood, her pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. Memories from their screwfest in the library popped in her mind, heating her insides.
She took a step toward him, trying to ignore the fragrance of clean soap and his undeniable male scent. “Your Majesty. Morning.”
He glanced at his watch, then cocked his head in the direction of the door. “We’re leaving. Are you coming?”
Not so fast. She grabbed her bag with her ID and wallet, but still decided on giving him a hard time. “You mean I’m leaving my prison? Thank you. Should I bow now in appreciation?”
He erased the distance between them and the annoyance in his expression faded away. Dipping his head, he whispered, dangerously close to her ear, “No. You can show your appreciation later.”
A shiver zapped down her spine. She jerked away from him, desperate to leash her internal reactions. She’d come to terms with surrendering to the attraction when they had sex. But, in the light of day, she had to keep focused. “Let’s see if I have a lot to be thankful for.”
“You’re skating on thin ice, Izzy. I could have locked you up last night.”
Technically, she had been locked up in her room and not in prison. They’d brought her a delicious dinner and breakfast. The snarky response hung at the tip of her tongue. “Why didn’t you?”
He gestured for her to leave and impatience flashed in his eyes. “Let’s go.”
Izzy ran her fingers through her hair, every part of her vulnerable to this man. Ah, how she hated it. He led her through the hallways, and she followed him, aware if she ran the other way and yelled, he’d simply get his claws on her. What if he intended to help her and not fool her?
Maybe he meant well.
By the time they reached the underground garage, Guban talked to him in their native African language, fast. Even if she spoke beyond the superficial greetings, she’d never pick it up. Nassor opened the door of a compact blue Fiat car. Well, if he wanted to go unnoticed, this was certainly the right type of vehicle. She slid in and fastened her seat belt. When he occupied the seat next to hers, she turned to him. “You’re driving?”
“Yes. I only have three hours, at most. Then I need to come back and do what I was supposed to be doing.” As a king. He didn’t have to say the words, they hung in the air like pollen in the springtime.
She sighed. He had a million reasons to assign someone he trusted to take her, and yet he’d done it himself. A pang of guilt pinched her. “Thank you.” She reached for his hand over the steering wheel, an easy feat since the car was so damn small.
