His breath grew faster along with his thrusts and Amare bent to her once more, kissing her hard before whispering in her ear. “Are you close again, azizity?”

  “Mmm,” she groaned and ground her hips against him, desperate for release. “Yes, please.”

  He released one of her wrists and reached between them to rub her clit as he angled his thrusts to hit the slight depression just inside her inner walls and push her over the edge. Bree cried out as she came hard a second time, her head falling back as he bit gently on the pulse point at the base of her throat.

  Amare thrust into her several more times hard, then groaned deep in his throat, his head falling between her breasts as he murmured in Arabic, his breath hot against her skin, “Nem ya habibi. 'aetani kl shay'.”

  Both spent, they lay together on the bed, their breath ragged and their bodies limp. After several minutes, he rolled to his side and pulled her to him, spooning her from behind as he kissed the back of her neck and pulled the covers over them. “That was incredible, kalby.”

  “Yeah,” she said, snuggling farther beneath the comforter. “It was.”

  Somewhere in her fuzzy brain, she knew she should get up, should get dressed and tell him goodbye, but her tired body refused to cooperate. A few hours sleep wouldn’t hurt anything, right? They could talk later.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Bree woke up and stretched, feeling tender in places that normally didn’t bother her. Memories of the previous night flooded her mind and fresh heat prickled her cheeks as she thought of all the wicked things she’d done with Amare. He’d awakened her again shortly before dawn and they’d made love again, this time with her on top, riding him until they were both mindless with ecstasy.

  She showered and was pulling on a fresh set of clothes left by the maid when her cell phone rang. Nose wrinkled, she picked it up off the nightstand and stared at the screen. The only person who normally called her knew she was out of the country. She didn’t recognize the number on her caller ID, but figured maybe it was one of the airlines calling to let her know they had an open seat on a flight home. “Hello?”

  “You little brat!” Her step-monster Cindy’s voice screeched through the phone line. “Where are those paintings? I want them brought to Colorado immediately. I have a buyer. You can thank me later for making us both rich.”

  “Go away. Don’t call me again.”

  “After you deliver those painting we’ll never have to see each other again. Won’t that be nice?”

  “I’m not delivering anything.” Bree forced the words past her fury-constricted throat. “You’ve made your last buck off my father. He’s dead. Let him rest in peace.”

  “Bring me those paintings.”

  “Never going to happen. My father gave them to me.”

  “He expected you to sell them. He wanted us to have enough money to live on, and he trusted you would be able to find a wealthy buyer.”

  “Wrong. My father knew you couldn’t be trusted and he gave those paintings to me so you wouldn’t defile his life’s work.”

  “I’m tired of playing games with you, Bree. Now tell me where the paintings are and let’s finish this. Don’t make me get the authorities involved.”

  “Authorities?” Bree snorted. “Seriously? Which part of ‘I’m not selling my father’s paintings’ did you not understand?” Her exhaustion returned ten-fold. The woman had shown up in Montana and almost got Bree fired from her job with her crazy accusations and rude behavior. Luckily, the bookstore owner had taken Bree’s side and even called the cops to have Cindy barred from entering her store in the future.

  Unfortunately, her harassment hadn’t stopped. Threatening phone calls. Rocks through the window of her apartment. Graffiti painted on her car. Things had gotten so bad Bree had given her two weeks notice before coming to Al-Sarid, and was planning on moving to California for a clean start as soon as she got the paintings into storage.

  A clean start… What would Amare do if she carried his precious painting down stairs and set fire to it on his front lawn? She’d be rid of it, once and for all, rid of at least one physical reminder of her father that had brought her nothing but grief.

  “Bree?! Are you listening to me? I called your work, and they said you quit. How do you expect to support yourself without a job? Are you shacking up with someone?”

  So beyond done with her step-monster’s threats and ridicule, Bree ended the call. The phone buzzed in her hand, her step-monster’s mother popping up. Again and again and again. Bree finally turned her phone off. Add one more thing to her need-to-buy list when she got home. A new phone with a new number. California was looking better by the second and she decided moving would be the first order of business once she got home. After she stowed the stupid paintings away, of course.

  She’d arranged with her landlord to store them in his inside, temperature-controlled storage unit, and had worked double shifts at the bookstore in order to pay the first year’s rent in advance. She wasn’t sure what her future plans for the paintings were, she only knew she needed distance from the entire situation before making any final decisions.

  She checked her appearance in the mirror then headed for the door, thinking she might find Amare and see if she could get to the bottom of why he wanted the portrait so badly he’d have a forgery made of it. As she opened the door she glanced to the side of the dresser where’d she’d placed the painting earlier, only to find it gone.

  Frowning, she walked over to make sure it hadn’t somehow gotten pushed behind the furniture. Nothing. It had been here last night. She turned. The only other person who’d been in the room besides her was…

  Son of a bitch.

  Furious, she hurried from the room and headed downstairs to the gallery where Amare had charmed her into having lunch with him that first day. Neither he nor the painting were there. Next she headed down the hall toward the kitchen, only to run into Taleb.

  “Miss Brianna. We meet again.”

  “Have you seen Amare? Do you know where he is?”

  Taleb considered her a moment before looping his arm through hers, “Let me show you the marvelous gardens in the back of the palace.”

  “I can’t.” She pulled free of him. “I really need to find Amare.”

  “He is in an important business meeting. Let’s walk through the gardens while he finishes.”

  Taleb took her arm again, more firmly this time and directed her toward the exit. Bree had little choice but to let him lead her outside while he blabbered on about the various roses and other plants that had been brought over from England by his late mother. She got the distinct feeling she was getting the run around.

  “Excuse me.” She turned and headed back towards the house. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I must see Amare. It’s an emergency.”

  Taleb called for her to wait, but she didn’t stop. Instead, she headed back inside and down the hallway toward his offices. As she neared his door, Amare stepped out, turning to address another man she still couldn’t see. She called out, “Amare.”

  He turned as another man stepped from his office. This man she recognized. Nassir Adjalane. She’d seen him meeting with her step-monster on numerous occasions. Anger and dread coiled tight in her gut.

  “Ah, Miss Van Ludhis. We meet again.” Nassir stepped forward to kiss the back of her limp hand while she stared daggers at Amare.

  “What the hell is going on?” she demanded, her patience gone.

  “Please excuse me. “ Nassir left Bree and Amare standing in the hallway, with Taleb quickly approaching. “It seems our meeting has adjourned at just the right moment.”

  “What was he doing here?” Bree whirled to face Amare.

  “Yes, I was told your family was familiar with him.” Amare said, evading her question.

  “He tried to buy my portrait before my father died. My father refused and Nassir got very nasty. I wasn’t there, but my father warned me to keep my distance from him. After my father passed away, he contacted my step-monster and tried to work a deal with her to purchase the painting. She passed the message along to me. Of course, I told him in no uncertain terms that the painting wasn’t for sale and never would be. His reaction was weird, to say the least.”

  “How?” Taleb asked, moving in beside Bree.

  “He laughed, long and hard. Then he said my answer was perfect and he admired my stubbornness.”

  Taleb and Amare exchanged a look.

  “That’s why he added it to the contract,” Taleb said.

  “It would seem so.” Amare nodded.

  “What contract?” Bree asked.

  “Nassir owns the land our main pumping station sits on. We had contracts in place to purchase the land from his family, but when we went to sign, he added the acquisition of the portrait to the mix. Without the painting, he won’t sign the deal.”

  Head pounding, Bree’s temper exploded. “So that’s why you stole my painting from me? Is it still in your office or have you already had it delivered to him?”

  Amare took Bree’s elbow and ushered her into his office. “The painting is still right there, as you can plainly see.”

  “But you were going to steal it from me, weren’t you?”

  Amare took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if choosing his words carefully. “There was a time when I would have taken the painting and given it to Nassir without a second thought. Unfortunately, that time has passed.”

  Chapter 8

  Amare watched Bree her expression morphing from disgruntled to disbelief. “So when will you deliver it to him?”

  “Never... I’ve decided I want it for myself.”

  “I see.” She snorted. “So instead of stealing for your company, now you’re stealing for yourself. Fantastic.”

  “Bree, I didn’t steal it.” She gave him an incredulous look and he amended his statement. “All right. Fine. I took it from your room and brought it down here, but I would never allow it to pass beyond my doors. I offered him more money and a percentage of the oil from that station instead.”

  Bree started to respond but never got the chance.

  “Is everything all right in here? I heard raised voices.” Taleb poked his head around the door.

  “We’re fine,” Amare said.

  “Taleb, could you take me to the airport?” Bree asked, walking to the door.

  “Bree, come back here and let’s discuss this.” Amare stepped toward her.

  “No.” She held up her hand to stop him. “You had your chance and you blew it. I’m taking my painting and going home. You promised me the use of your private jet, unless you’ve changed your mind?”

  “Bree, please.” He walked toward her, but Taleb placed himself directly in Amare’s path.

  Without a look back, Bree disappeared down the hall and Amare hung his head.

  “Brother, I do not understand everything that has happened here today, but answer me this,” Taleb said. “Is the pumping station and the land transfer with the Adjalane’s secure?”

  “I believe so. Nassir will get back with me before the week is out.”

  “Then let her go. Her emotions are too raw for her to truly hear anything you say. Let her return to America and have the time she needs. Once things have calmed, you can contact her and explain what has happened.”

  “I don’t want her to go.”

  “I can see that, but you don’t have a choice. I’ll take her to the airport and give the pilot instructions to make sure she arrives at her destination safely.”

  Amare’s chest ached and all he wanted to do was run after Bree and convince her to stay. But his brother was right and his life was far too complicated at present to allow his heart to rule his head. He only prayed that she would wait for him as he would wait for her.

  ***

  Bree managed to keep her tears at bay until the private jet was in the air, taking her and the painting back home. Once her sobs started, however, she couldn’t stop crying for all the dreams that would never come true. In fact, she cried herself into a fitful sleep and by the time she woke, they were in Montana. At the airport, she hired a taxi to take her to her apartment, following a brief stop at the storage unit to lock her portrait securely inside.

  After arriving at home and locking the door behind her, she slumped against it, wondering what in the hell to do from here. California, definitely. Then what? Find a job, a new place to live, a new life. A better life.

  She’d spent two days cooped up inside—except for a quick trip to WalMart to get a new phone and snacks— packing what few possessions she owned in boxes that would fit in the back seat of her little Volkswagen beetle. It had more rust showing than paint these days, but it ran and was dependable. A girl couldn’t ask for more than that.

  On her way out of town, she picked up her final paycheck from the bookstore, gave the storage unit owner her new cell phone number in case he needed to contact her, then headed west, three days after leaving Al-Sarid. She hadn’t picked a particular destination yet, only wanted a safe place to sleep at night, and to earn enough money to live on.

  Five days later, she arrived in a small town in northern California, her cash nearly gone along with her optimism. She found a job working in a small diner, serving coffee to truck drivers and weary travelers, and a tiny apartment within walking distance of the diner. The kitchen didn’t work, but it was tidy and clean and most of all, safe.

  No one knew her here and that was fine. For the first time in a long time, Bree felt at peace. Her new boss, George, was old enough to be her grandfather and she found herself developing a friendship with him as she ate her meals at the diner before or after her shifts.

  Otherwise, her life was quiet… and lonely.

  Since returning from Al-Sarid, there wasn’t a night that went by where she didn’t dream of Amare and the night of passion they’d shared. She always woke up crying, missing him so badly her chest felt bruised from the pain. It was crazy, she knew. She’d known him only a few days. No one became that attached, that quickly. Yet there she was, yearning for a man who’d stolen not just her painting, but her heart.

  During the day, she tried to stay busy. When she was busy, she didn’t have time to think of Amare and what he was doing, a thousand miles away, living in his luxurious palace. George had asked her once what she dreamed of in her pretty little head, and if she were honest, that was it. One day, she hoped somehow to see him again, though the chances of that happening these days seemed nearly impossible. He’d probably forgotten all about her already.

  ***

  Amare was about to go out of his mind. He’d given Bree a week to calm down then had Jack track her down in Montana. Only, she didn’t appear to be in Montana any longer. Jack had even visited her town personally, only to hear she’d quit her job before going to Al-Sarid, and moved out of her apartment two days after she’d returned. No forwarding address left.

  A day later, Jack had reported that all the local news stationed showed a distraught Mrs. Cindy Van Ludhis tearfully asking for the nation’s help in locating her step-daughter. The woman was making Bree out to be an unstable, distraught woman and the public was warned she was not only considered a risk to herself, but to others as well.

  He’d hired Jack to do more digging into the situation, but so far he’d not turned up much of anything useful as far as Bree’s current whereabouts. Amare was worried sick and picked up his phone to call Jack again, hoping for some news.

  “Calloway.”

  “What have you found?”

  “Not much, unfortunately. I talked to a couple of hikers in the area who saw a car matching the one Bree owns heading west about eight days ago. That’s it. Maybe she took a vacation?”

  Amare ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Find her, Jack.”

  “I don’t have a lot to go on here. I’ve tried pinging her cell phone, but either she’s thrown it away, or she never turns it on.”

  “There has to be some way of finding her,” Amare told him.

  “Not that I can think of. Unless you know where she stores her father’s paintings. Maybe if we could find them, we could use them to draw her out. The step-mother would be ecstatic, and Bree would have to come forward to stop the sale from going through.”

  “No. She’s been through enough because of his artwork. I don’t want to put her through any more. If she’s left town, that means she wants to start over.”

  “No one ever truly starts over.”

  “She’ll try. She’s stubborn enough to believe if she doesn’t think about the past, it can’t haunt her.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Look, let me think on something for a day and then I’ll call you back.” Amare had a plan forming in his brain, but he wanted to carefully consider the outcome. It had to be perfect if it was going to work with Bree.

  “Okay. Call me when you’re ready. In the meantime, I’ll keep looking for her.”

  Amare hung up the phone and turned his attention to the pair of gold slippers Bree had left behind. He’d kept them in his office as a constant reminder that people—one person, in particular—meant more to him than a mere business transaction. He should have remembered the lesson from his youth, but he’d let the goal of acquiring the painting get in the way.

  He’d been a young boy of eight. They’d had a math test at school, but Amare had been too busy riding his new pony to study. Knowing his father expected a great deal from him, he’d cheated, and somehow earned the highest grade in the school. His father had been so proud and invited all the family to a special celebratory meal, throughout which Amare felt terrible. He knew he didn’t deserve the special treatment and it wasn’t fair.

  Things had gotten worse when his father had presented him with a brand new bike—an American-made model that he’d begged his father to buy him for months. Amare had felt so guilty, he’d gotten distracted while riding the trails around the home and wrecked the bike beyond repair the next day. That afternoon he’d told his father everything.