“Not that different. Now, if you‘ll excuse me, I’ll just finish packing up my paintings and I’ll let you get back to your kingdom.”

  “Sheikdom.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The Sharqi family holdings are a sheikdom, not a monarchy.”

  “I really don’t care if it’s the second coming of the Ming Dynasty. All I want is to pack up my stuff and get out of here.”

  “Why are you being so stubborn?” Amare admired the woman’s tenacity, but this was ridiculous. “I’ve made you a more than fair offer for this piece of art.”

  “Why can’t you understand that there are things in this world that not even all your money can buy?”

  He scoffed. “That makes no sense. Are you so wealthy that riches mean nothing to you?”

  Bree snorted. “Are you so blind that money is all that matters to you?”

  Speechless, he stared down at her as she returned to wrapping the painting in protective plastic. Money obviously would not sway here, but perhaps practicality would. “Sell the painting to me and you would solve the issue of having to cart it home.”

  “That wouldn’t solve anything. Besides, you’re not the only one who wants to purchase this.”

  A new dread took hold inside of him. “Who else wishes to buy this painting?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Bree shook her head, and sighed. “Look, I appreciate the generous offer, but I can’t accept it. I’m sorry.”

  Amare suspected sorry was the last thing she felt, but he refrained from saying so. He couldn’t let her walk out of here, not with that painting anyway. “Allow me to give you a tour of the palace before you go. It’s quite a spectacle, I assure you.”

  Bree gave him a wary stare. “Why? So you can steal my artwork and hide it away somewhere? I don’t think so.” She ripped off a large section of tape. “Nice try though.”

  Damn. He stepped back to consider his options. Most women he knew fell all over themselves to try and get inside his home, yet this woman seemed to care less for his luxury, to take affront to it even. Amare watched her lovingly care for the painting in front of her and saw a new opportunity arise. “That’s too bad. We have one of the most extensive private art collections in the world. One that would impress even a true connoisseur like yourself.”

  She looked up at him again, briefly, before concentrating on the portrait again. But not before he saw the spark of interest in her lovely blue-green eyes. The thrill of victory sizzled through his bloodstream. Finally, he’d found a way through this woman’s staunch barriers.

  “I’m sure you have some very impressive copies, but I really need to get going.”

  “Copies?” Amare grinned. “The Sharqi family would never own copies. Only authentic works of art grace our walls.”

  This time when she gazed up at him, it was with open astonishment. “That Monet I passed in the hallway must be worth at least half a million dollars.”

  “Easily. My late father was a collector.” He didn’t add that his father had been even more ruthless when it came to getting what he wanted. “Does this mean that you accept my offer?”

  She checked her watch then pushed to her feet, tucking the painting beneath her arm. “Let’s go. You’ve got two hours to dazzle me.”

  “And you’re going to carry that with you?”

  “You don’t think I’m stupid enough to leave it behind, do you?”

  No. Amare bowed slightly and gestured for her to follow him from the room. He thought her beautiful and baffling and thoroughly bewitching, but not stupid. Never stupid.

  ***

  An hour later, they stood before a beautiful Degas in his father’s old library on the third floor when Safir walked in and announced a light lunch would be served on Amare’s private terrace. He checked the time and was happy to see that at least that part of his day had gone according to schedule.

  “Are you hungry?” Amare asked Bree as he escorted her back out into the hallway.

  Bree’s stomach growled. “Actually, I’m starving, but I’m not sure I have time.”

  “Nonsense. There is always time for a good meal. Please.” He took her elbow to guide her toward his private rooms and tingles of electricity shot from the slight contact straight to his gut. He was an experienced man with plenty of lovers in his time, but never, never had he felt such a strong awareness with another woman so fast.

  Not to mention the fact her easy laughter and quick wit were a refreshing change to the prim and proper deference shown to him by his subjects and associates. He found he didn’t want her to leave just yet, and for reasons that went far beyond the painting still tucked at her side.

  “So, what will your father do with his artwork now that it will no longer be on display in my home?” Amare pointed to the picture as they entered his suite and proceeded toward the open terrace doors. He did his best to keep his tone light though the words damn near killed him to say. Defeat wasn’t in his repertoire.

  He held a chair for her as she sat then set the portrait aside. “It will go into storage for now.”

  “Storage?” he said as he slid into the seat across form her at the linen covered table. “You can’t be serious. She is magnificent. You can’t deprive the world from seeing her.”

  “Actually, I can.” Bree met his gaze, a sheen of tears sparkling in her eyes. “My father got sick about four months ago.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope he is recovering…”

  “I buried him three weeks ago today.”

  Stunned, Amare could only stare at her “Your father died? But there was no announcement. Nothing. Surely an artist of his magnitude would warrant—”

  “I wanted to keep it quiet,” Bree said, cutting him off. She dipped her chin down so her eyes were hidden from his view. “Grief is a private matter.”

  Before he realized what he was doing, Amare reached across the table and took her hand in his. When his father had died, they’d followed the customs and had a grand state funeral for him. The whole affair had felt overblown and did little to quell Amare’s inner anguish over losing the man who’d had the greatest influence on his life, both positive and negative. He could relate to Bree’s need to keep her father’s arrangements to herself. “I’m sorry for your loss. No wonder this trip has seemed so hard on you.”

  Bree took a shaky breath. “Now do you understand why I just want to pack up and go home.”

  Amare nodded. He couldn’t help tracing his thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles and relished the answering shiver that passed through her from his touch. “Where is your home?”

  “Montana.”

  “You live there alone?” Amare turned her hand in his and rubbed small circles on her palm. He was being nosy, he knew, but for some reason finding out more about this beautiful, broken woman seemed imperative.

  “Yeah. I used to live with my father in Colorado, but he got remarried a few years back, and it just seemed better for everyone when I moved out.”

  “His wife is your step-mother?”

  “More like step-witch.” Bree chuckled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

  One of the house staff brought out two trays covered with silver-domed dishes. Amare let her go and sat back in his chair while the man set out their place settings and entrees—two large salads with chunks of fresh, roasted chicken and a large platter of humus and pita bread.

  “Of course you did because that is how you feel.” The server bowed and backed away and Amare flicked his linen napkin open then laid it across his lap. “Now, however, we eat.” He poured olive oil and balsamic vinegar over his salad and smiled. “Later, I will show you to your room.”

  “What room?” She grabbed a piece of pita bread from the platter and ate a small bite, frowning.

  “The room my staff will prepare for you.” He took a large bite of salad and did his upmost to act as if keeping guests against their will was an everyday practice in his home. Nothing could be further from the truth, but she did not need to know that. Besides, after all she’d been through of late, she could use a few days of pampering and he could use more time to get that damned painting.

  “I’m not staying here.” She jabbed a chunk of chicken with her fork. “I have a room booked in town tonight and my flight leaves tomorrow.”

  “Nonsense.” He gave a dismissive wave. “In my country, guests do not stay in hotels. It is considered rude.”

  “But I’m not your guest. I’m only here to pick up the paintings. I’ll just take an earlier flight then. There’s one leaving at six, I think.”

  “You will not be on it.” Amare met her gaze. “Why not stay here a few days and enjoy my hospitality? It would be a welcome distraction I would think after all your hardship.”

  “Why not?” Bree swallowed her bite of chicken and salad then pointed at him with her fork. “I’ll tell you why not. Because I said no, that’s why not.”

  “That does not sound like a logical reason to me.” Amare shook his head, “Why do you say no?”

  “It doesn’t matter why. I did. That’s all you need to know.” She stabbed another large bite of food with her fork in obvious frustration. “Besides, it wouldn’t be right.”

  Curious now, he hazarded a glance at her. “Why would it not be right?”

  “Because.”

  “Because you and I have not concluded our business?”

  “No.” She dunked her pita bread in the humus. “Though I appreciate your persistence. It wouldn’t be right because I’m me and you’re well…” She looked him up and down. “You.”

  Offended, Amare sat back and tossed his napkin on the table. “What the hell does that mean? You have some bias toward my culture?”

  “Calm down.” She raised her hands. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant that I’m a young single woman and your reputation with the ladies isn’t exactly a secret and what would people think? That’s all I meant. You live here in your rarified world, but I have to go back to the real one and gossip isn’t kind.”

  “I see.” He tapped his fingers against the table, his appetite gone. “So you think that spending time in my palace will compromise you in some way.”

  “I’m saying that regardless of what actually happens here, people will talk.” She took a sip of her iced tea and watched him over the rim. “I’m not saying it’s right. I’m just saying it’s true.”

  Anger warred with agitation in his stomach along with something else, something darker and deeper. Desire. This wasn’t just about Nassir’s damned painting anymore. Not by a long shot. He scooted forward again and placed his napkin back on his lap again. “Let’s finish our meal then will discuss this further.”

  “Fine.” She took another bite of her salad and grinned. “But I should warn you. No matter how nice you are to me, you will still not get your hands on my painting.”

  Amare chewed his food, but he could’ve been gnawing on sawdust for all the attention he paid. There were many things of Ms. Bree’s he’d like to get his hands on at the moment, the least of which was her painting.

  Chapter 3

  After lunch, curiosity alone made Bree follow one of the household staff to a luxurious suite of rooms. After the maid had departed and closed the door behind her Bree let out a sigh. Alone now, Bree set her father’s painting aside then scanned the space with tired eyes.

  She certainly had no intention of staying here, but one tiny peek at the accommodations couldn’t hurt anything, right? Inside the enormous bedroom sat a king-sized four poster bed, with gossamer gold curtains, mounds of pillows and an overstuffed scarlet red velvet comforter just begging her to fall into its cushiony, sumptuous depths.

  Beyond, an elegant sitting room with an ornate fireplace, Queen Anne sitting chairs, a small couch, and vases of fresh flowers beckoned. She wandered over and inhaled the lush fragrance of hyacinth and roses before exploring the rest of the space, wishing she could stay the night in such an exotic paradise. She closed her eyes and steeled her willpower.

  No. Staying here wasn’t an option. No matter how insistent her host might be. She had more pressing issues to handle.

  She’d come to oversee the packing and shipment of her late father’s paintings and to assure their safe delivery to the storage building back home without her step-monster finding out they still existed. The paintings had such heartfelt meaning for Bree, like a piece of her father was still alive because of his artwork. For her step-monster, however, they were nothing but a commodity to be sold off to the highest bidder. That’s why keeping them hidden was imperative.

  The woman hadn’t cared for her father’s talent while he was alive, only his wealth. Bree sure as hell wouldn’t allow that greedy bitch to profit off her father’s work now that he was dead. She wandered back into the bedroom and sighed. She’d not had a proper night’s sleep since they’d buried her father and she was so damned tired.

  Without thought, she toed off her tennis shoes and socks, allowing her toes to sink into the lush burgundy carpet. What she wouldn’t give to soak for hours in the gorgeous marble tub she’d glimpsed in the bathroom then stretch out on that decadent bed and snooze for days.

  Except that couldn’t happen. Not now. Not here. Besides, all of her things were stuck in a locker at the airport anyway. Reluctantly, she kissed her sweet dreams of spending the night in the Sheik’s luxurious palace goodbye. Maybe if she was lucky she could find a hard plastic chair to curl up in at the terminal while she waited for her flight to arrive.

  A knock on the door and she turned toward it. A maid entered with a pile of fabric in her arms. She said something to Bree in Arabic. She didn’t want to seem rude or ignorant, so she nodded. It must’ve been the right response because the woman smiled, laid the pile of fabric down on the edge of the bed, bowed, then left.

  Wary, Bree touched the fabric, realizing as she held up a delicate silk sleeve that it was some sort of garment. She unfolded it more and discovered it was a long tunic the color of fresh pink tulips, with delicate embroidery around the neck and hems. She’d always loved that color. Her father used to say it brought out the best in her fair complexion and dark hair.

  Beneath the tunic was a matching pair of flowing palazzo-type pants that would drape in soft waves around her legs and ankles. A pair of golden leather slippers completed the outfit along with a set of matching undergarments.

  The outfit looked perfect for someone staying in this room and totally out of Bree’s league. She’d been raised on cowboy boots and jeans not frilly wisps of fantasy. Hell, after her mom had died, her dad wouldn’t even let her have a birthday cake or a Christmas tree.

  The phone on the bedside table jangled to life and startled her back to reality. After a quick glance around to make sure no one else would arrive to answer it, she picked up the receiver and said a cautious, “Hello.”

  “How do you like the clothing?” Amare’s voice, as deep and rich and seductive as she remembered, drifted across the line. A tiny frisson of tingling heat zapped outward from her core at the sound of him, before she tamped it down.

  “It’s nice. I’m sure whoever receives the gift will love them.”

  Amare laughed and her knees wobbled for a jolt of pure desire. Lord, she must be more exhausted than she thought if she was lusting over strange men she’d just met. “But they are for you. Surely you must be weary from your travels and would like to freshen up a bit. Please, change and meet me at the top of the stairs once you are ready.”

  Bree shook her head to clear it of risqué images of Amare waiting for her in pants and nothing else. She seriously needed to get out of there before she did something insane, like agree to stay. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I really need to get home.”

  “I have called the airport to check on your flight. You still have several hours remaining before take off. There is no reason for you to spend those hours in discomfort. Now please, change, then meet me at the top of the stairs.”

  “My clothes are fine.” Bree looked down at her jeans. “Aren’t they?”

  “You are in my country. Women here would never wear such attire in a royal palace.”

  “Oh.” Heat prickled her cheeks. She hadn’t considered that. It was kind of like wearing PJs to the White House, she supposed. “Well, I guess when you put it that way.”

  “Good.”

  Bree fingered the flimsy material and frowned. “How did you know which flight was mine?”

  “I am the youngest son of the wealthiest family in the country. People want to help me.”

  The stark arrogance in his tone had Bree counting to ten to avoid telling the man exactly what she thought of his attitude toward the people who helped him. Once she’d recovered a modicum of calm she said, “I still don’t think this is a—”

  “Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. You are my guest and it would be my greatest desire to show you more of my beautiful country while you are here. Your attire, however, may cause some issues. If you truly are as thankful for my hospitality as you keep saying, then it would be rude for you not to accept my gift. Understand?”

  Damn. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. Not at all.

  She leaned back and gazed longingly at the large sunken tub again. If she had to partake of his generosity, then maybe at least she could get something she wanted out of it. “I could really use a bath first, before I change, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” She could practically see Amare’s sexy as hell grin all the way through the phone line. At her acquiescence, his tone shifted from polite and formal back to the low and sultry sound she’d loved during their lunch together. “I have some business to finish up with my assistant anyway. How about we meet in an hour? Will that give you enough time?”

  “Perfect.” Bree hung up and shook her head. The guy was tenacious, she had to give him that. Too bad for his sake, so was she.

  With a yawn, she wandered into the bathroom and admired the tub up close before turning on the taps on to full. Vibrant green plants grew from a planter to one side of the space, giving the area an Eden-like appearance. A basket sat on the corner with an array of soaps and lotions. She sniffed several of them before selecting a rich Cassis scented bath bomb and dropping it into the steaming water.