They turned right, then left. She had a brief impression of large rooms, tile floors, beautiful statues and paintings, along with occasional glimpses of the blue Arabian Sea. Then they came to an oval foyer filled with half a dozen people. The man stopped and released her arm.
“I have found Princess Sabra,” he announced to the milling crowd.
Everyone turned to look at her. Conversation stilled. In the heartbeat of silence, Zara knew that something awful was about to happen.
Her premonition proved true.
A male voice yelled that they were imposters. People dove at them from all directions. Zara didn’t know what to do, and that indecision cost her breath when a large man threw himself at her. One second she was standing, the next she hit the hard, tiled floor with the impact of a train barreling into a brick wall.
Air rushed from her body. Her head banged against something unforgiving and the room began to spin. The next thing she knew, she couldn’t breathe and there was a gun pointed at her temple.
“Talk!”
The voice commanded her obedience. Zara blinked and tried to suck in a breath. Her lungs wouldn’t cooperate. The spinning increased, fueled by panic. She moved—or at least made the attempt—but her body froze. She inhaled again and this time air seeped into her lungs. Again and again she drew breath until she was able to focus. It was then that she realized her body wasn’t frozen, it was pinned by a large, angry man with the coldest blue eyes she’d ever seen.
Blue had always been her favorite color, she thought somewhat hysterically. It was the color of the sea and the sky. But the irises of this man held no warmth. Staring at him, she felt chilled down to her bones. Maybe even down to her soul.
“Talk,” he repeated. “Who the hell are you?”
“Zara Paxton,” she breathed.
The pressure on her temple increased. She swallowed when she remembered the gun.
“Are you going to shoot me?” she asked, her voice shaking.
Everything she’d read about Bahania had told her that the country was safe, forward thinking and a perfect tourist destination. Perhaps the brochures had been wrong.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, ignoring her question.
“My sister and I were touring the castle. A man pulled us away and insisted we come with him.” She hesitated, not wanting to say that he’d called her Princess Sabra and had mentioned seeing the king. That sounded too far-fetched to be believed.
Those cold blue eyes never wavered from her face. She didn’t doubt that he could read her every thought, so there was no need to go into detail. She noticed the man wore traditional Middle-Eastern garb, and that his Anglo features looked out of place.
They were nestled together intimately, his legs pinning hers, his chest flattening her breasts. One of his hands rested on her throat where he could no doubt feel the galloping of her pulse.
She licked her lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too,” the man muttered as he slid off her and got to his feet.
Zara sat up slowly. She glanced around and saw that she was the center of attention—one of her least favorite things to be. Two burly guards were holding Cleo, but released her when the blue-eyed man instructed them to do so.
Zara got awkwardly to her feet. She still felt a little shaky and afraid. Cleo rushed to her side and they held each other. Zara pushed up her glasses.
“What happens now, Mr….” Her voice trailed off as she realized she didn’t know the man’s name.
“Rafe Stryker.”
He spoke several sharp commands in a language she didn’t recognize. The area cleared.
“Come this way,” he said, and started walking without checking to see if they would follow.
Zara had the idle thought that they could run for it, but where would they go? They were in a strange country, in a huge castle and she had no idea of the floor plan. As the guards had disappeared, it seemed unlikely that they were about to be arrested.
She glanced at Cleo, who shrugged. Together the two women trailed after the man in the long robe and traditional headdress.
He led them into a small office. After seating them in chairs, he perched on the corner of the desk and studied them both.
“There’s been some kind of misunderstanding,” Zara said when the silence had stretched on for too long. “I was telling the truth before. My sister and I were on the tour, and suddenly we were dragged away. Then you and those guards attacked us. I’d like to know what’s going on.”