“Hello Amare.”

  “You look exceptionally lovely this evening.”

  “So do you,” she said, the realized her blunder and rushed to cover it. “I mean handsome. You look really handsome. And good. You look good too.” Heat prickled her cheeks and she looked away. “I mean… It’s good to see you too.”

  Amare smiled. “Thank you, azizity.”

  His use of her old endearment made her knees wobble. She focused on the pressing business at hand instead. “The painting for sale is a forgery.”

  “I know.”

  Bree looked at him in shock. “How did you know?”

  “Who do you think had it made?”

  Bree narrowed her eyes. “I thought it was my step-monster.”

  He shook his head.

  “But why?”

  “You’d fled, with no way for me to find you.” Amare exhaled slowly. “I had to make sure that you were all right, that you were safe and happy and doing well without me. Considering the painting brought us together once before, I took a chance that it might do so again.”

  Before Bree could answer, a commotion sounded out in the hall followed by her step-monster Cindy barging into the room, bedecked in a garish purple, skin-tight gown more fitting for a hooker than a recent widow. “Sheik Amare,” she gushed, in her sweetest voice, the one that set Bree’s teeth on edge and always foreshadowed some kind of wheedling on her step-monster’s behalf. “Thank you so much for coming to tonight’s event. I hope that you will enjoy the painting as much as myself and little Bree here have over the years.”

  She gave Bree a bright, completely insincere smile and laid a hand on Amare’s forearm. He pulled away, his dark gaze never leaving Bree’s. “I will not be buying the painting.”

  Cindy blinked at him, her expression astonished. “But I thought that’s the reason you came all the way from Al-Sarid. All the press said so.”

  “You should not believe everything you hear in the press, Ms. Van Ludhis. You of all people should know that.”

  “Have you seen the painting, Sheik?” Cindy refused to give up so easily, Bree knew. Her greed was rivaled only by her tenacity. After all, that’s how she’d ensnared Bree’s father into her manipulative trap. She stepped closer to Amare and this time touched his shoulder, giving him her best coy grin. “I could show you some other items as well, if you’re interested. Items of a more private nature.”

  This time Amare did more than step away. He pulled a black leather checkbook from the inside pocket of his tuxedo along with a gold fountain pen. “How much?”

  “Excuse me?” Cindy placed her hand over her heart in what Bree imagined was mock affront.

  “How much will it take for you to leave Bree and these paintings alone forever?”

  “I have no idea what you’re implying, Sheik, but—”

  Amare cut off her response by opening the checkbook and scrawling out her name and his signature on a blank check, the pen hovering over the empty amount line as he turned to her and looked at her for the first time since she’d entered the office. “How much? And spare me your insincere outrage. Your words and actions since your husband’s death have shown your true motives to the world. This is the last time I will make this offer. If you do not accept, you will walk away with nothing. My family has great power and influence worldwide and I never make an idle threat.”

  Bree watched the exchange, an involuntary shudder running through her at the coldness in Amare’s normally warm brown eyes. She almost pitied Cindy. Almost.

  “For the last time, Ms. Van Ludhis. How much?” Amare asked, his tone icy.

  Without hesitation, Cindy said, “Five million.”

  Amare scrawled out the check then handed it to her. “Done.”

  Cindy held the document up to the light as if making sure it was legitimate, then winked at Amare. “Easiest money I’ve ever made.”

  “I’ve no doubt.” Amare tucked his checkbook back inside his jacket then stepped in beside Bree to take her hand. His fingers felt warm and firm against hers. “We will not be seeing you again.”

  It was a statement, not a question.

  Bree stiffened as Cindy leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “It’s been fun, doll. Don’t take it personally. Business is business.”

  “My father loved you.” Bree squared her shoulders and did her best to keep her inner trembling from showing in her voice. “He would’ve done anything to make you happy. And you never cared anything about him, did you?”

  “I care for him, in my own way.” Cindy glanced at the clock on the wall then headed for the door. “I’ve got a plane to Paris to catch. Have a nice life you two.”

  Stunned, Bree stared at the empty doorway long after she’d gone, still not quite believing the woman who’d made her life a living hell for years would never return again.

  From the corner of the room, Jack cleared his throat. “Uh, we should probably get to the auction now. Especially since you’ve got yourself a fake piece of artwork on display that people are probably bidding on. Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

  “I’ve already handled it,” Amare said, lifting Bree’s hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. “The painting is not for sale any longer. Instead, I made a three-million-dollar donation in Sharqi Family Oil’s name to the foundation.”

  Bree took a deep breath and tugged free of Amare. “You can’t just buy your way out of this and think everything will be okay.” She gave him a disgruntled stare. “Money doesn’t buy happiness, you know. We have real issues to discuss, real problems between us that need to be sorted out if you expect to have any type of relationship with me.”

  “So true, kalby.” He hiked his chin toward the door. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I suppose.” He placed his hand at the small of her back and led her from the room. She did her best not to melt into his touch or sigh from the sheer pleasure of having him next to her again. She wanted him, yes. More than her next breath. But she’d meant what she said. If he wanted her in his life, even just as friends, they needed to talk about things first. Things like boundaries and mutual respect and equal rights. He might come from a country where women were possessions to be owned, but she was a thoroughly modern American woman. She owned herself.

  A line of press greeted them at the entrance to the ballroom where the auction was being held. They shouted and scrabbled for space and photos of all the attendees, a who’s who of politicos and business titans and Hollywood glitterati. Amare seemed completely at ease in this realm, posing and smiling and answering the occasional question from the reporters. Bree used every ounce of her courage not to run away and hide from the limelight. Yet another area where she was so far out of his league she wasn’t sure they’d ever find common ground.

  “Come, azizity,” he said, urging her toward the entrance to the ballroom. “You look ready to faint. When was the last time you ate something?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, even as a wave of dizziness hit her so strongly she had to cling to him to keep her knees from buckling.

  From somewhere in the distance, she heard Amare’s voice, concerned, as her vision tunneled. Then she was drifting, falling, into a haze of black nothingness.

  ***

  The next time Bree blinked her eyes open, it was to see an angry Amare pacing beside her, his cell phone to his ear while Jack tried to calm him down. Something cold and wet was pressed to her forehead and a sea of alarmed voices and faces swarmed around her.

  What the hell is going on? She tried to sit up but another wave of dizziness washed over her and she slumped back to the floor, closing her eyes and breathing deeply to stem her rising nausea.

  Amare knelt at her side in an instant, taking her hand in his once more. “Bree? Hayati? Are you all right?”

  Bree didn’t get a chance to respond before another man, one she didn’t recognize but based on the medical logo on his crisp white shirt she assumed was an EMT, moved in beside her to check her vitals. “Heart rate and blood pressure are good,” the man said to a woman behind him, also wearing the same EMT uniform. “Ma’am, can you hear me?” he asked Bree.

  She nodded, her throat too dry to speak.

  “Good. We’re going to take you to the ER to make sure you’re all right.”

  Bree shook her head then looked at Amare, her eyes pleading. She hated doctors and hospitals and avoided them at all costs.

  As if sensing her inner turmoil, Amare stroked the hair back from her face, his voice deep and soothing. “Let them make sure you’re all right, kalby. Please. Don’t make me worry about you any more than I already do.”

  Nose wrinkled, she frowned up at him. Why would he worry about her? She was so distracted she barely noticed the EMTs loading her onto a body board then a stretcher to wheel her outside to the ambulance. Amare stuck by her side the whole way, then climbed into the back of the ambulance with her for the ride to the hospital. His dark, heated gaze never left her face and she managed to squeak out, “Why?”

  “Why what, kalby?”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because you are letting me.” He squeezed her hand tighter and smiled, the one that melted her heart and her body into a puddle of goo at his feet. The EMT in the back of the ambulance started an IV on her as they rumbled down the street, sirens blaring while Amare rubbed tiny circles on her palm with his thumb. “And because I’m hoping that someday you’ll forgive me.”

  “Forgive you for what?” Her parched throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton and her words croaked out, bullfrog deep. She turned to the EMT. “Can I have some water?”

  “Sorry.” The guy gave her an apologetic look. “Can’t give you anything until you’re checked out at the hospital.” He fastened an automated blood pressure cuff around her upper arm and turned on the machine. “When was the last time you ate?”

  She closed her eyes and thought. This morning. No. Last night at dinner. No. She’d been so tired that she’d gone to bed without dinner. She opened her eyes and bit her lower lip. “Yesterday. Breakfast.”

  The EMT nodded and smiled at Amare reassuringly. “Sounds like a typical hypoglycemic reaction. Low blood sugar. Nothing to be concerned about, but we’ll check her out to be sure.”

  “I appreciate it,” Amare said.

  “Do you have any family history of diabetes?” the EMT asked her.

  Bree shook her head.

  “Any other major illnesses run in your family?”

  “Not that I know of.” She watched the EMT scribble some notes on a small pad he withdrew from his pocket. “Why?”

  “Nothing to worry about. We just like to get a full medical history on people. What about your parents. Are they both still alive?”

  “No.” A fresh wave of sadness constricted her chest as her grief for her father rose to the forefront. “Both dead.”

  Amare squeezed her hand tighter. “Her father just passed away a few weeks ago.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s rough.” The EMT flipped back a few pages in his notebook. “Say, if you don’t mind me asking, was your father Peter Van Ludhis? The painter?”

  “Yes.” Bree blinked back her tears. “He was.”

  “Man, I loved his stuff. I had a modern art history class in college and I did my term paper on his work. I’d love to see his stuff in person someday. Any chance there’ll be an exhibit of his works?”

  Bree hadn’t really thought about it. Up until tonight, she’d only seen her father’s art as a source of contention and trouble. But now, if this guy’s interest was any indication, perhaps there was an audience for her father’s paintings. She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat and croaked, “Would you like there to be?”

  “I’d love it. And so would a lot of other people.” The EMT smiled. “Did you know there are whole websites dedicated to his art and his life? Put those works in a museum somewhere and let the world enjoy them, I say.”

  She met Amare’s gaze and he winked down at her. Huh.

  Maybe there was a future for the Van Ludhis name after all.

  Chapter 11

  Amare paced the hall outside Bree’s ER suite. She’d insisted on being examined by the doctor in private and he’d abided by her wishes. After what seemed like an eternity, the glass doors swished open and the doctor strode out and gave him a brief smile as he passed by. Amare rushed to Bree’s bedside, hoping for the best but prepared for the worst. If he lost her again so soon after finding her, he wasn’t sure he’d survive, but he’d stand with her no matter what. Anxious but doing his best to appear calm, he took her hand. “What did he say?”

  “I’ve only got a few hours…” Her voice trailed off and his heart stopped.

  “What? The EMT said it was only low blood sugar. Surely you’re not dying?”

  “We’re all dying.” Bree shook her head and refused to look at him. “Someday.”

  “Hobi, we will get a second opinion. I have access to the finest medical care the world has to offer. No matter the diagnosis, we will find a way.”

  “You didn’t let me finish.” She turned back to him, her wide grin at odds with the solemn atmosphere that had descended over the room. “He said I’ve only got a few hours to get a decent meal into my system before I might pass out again. I’m fine.” She pushed up higher in the bed. “I’m not dying, silly. Not yet anyway.” She narrowed her gorgeous blue green eyes on him. “And what did you call me?”

  “When?”

  “Just now. Who’s Hobi?”

  “Not who. What.”

  She gave him an expectant look and this time he grinned. His confession might’ve been a bit premature, but the thought of losing her did crazy things to him. “It means…” He considered telling her now, then checked his watch. “I’ll tell you later. The doctor said you must eat, and according to my calculations they should just now be ready to serve dinner at the auction. Let’s get out of here and go enjoy our filet mignon.”

  “Well, I am dressed for the occasion.” Bree moved her legs over the side of the bed and slid her feet into her blue satin pumps before standing. “And it would be a shame to let all that food go to waste.”

  Amare called for his car while she signed her discharge paper work then escorted Bree and the nurse who pushed her wheelchair to the exit.

  “I don’t know why they’re making me ride in this stupid thing,” Bree complained. “I’m perfectly capable of walking out of here on my own two feet.”

  “Liability,” the nurse explained as they waited just inside the double sliding doors for Amare’s limo to arrive. “If you pass out again on our property, we’d be responsible.”

  “Here we are,” Amare said as his driver swerved up to the curb and he and the nurse loaded Bree into the spacious backseat. He slid onto the cool leather beside her and straightened his tuxedo jacket. This had been one of the most interesting night’s he’d had in a long time and he couldn’t imagine life with Bree would be boring.

  “What are you smiling about?” she asked from her seat near the corner.

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You said that we had things to discuss between us. What things?”

  “Well, let’s see. Things like you bossing me around all the time and taking control of everything. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  He raised a brow at her. “Considering what happened tonight, I believe that is debatable.”

  “So I skipped a meal or two. How is that any of your concern?”

  “Everything about you concerns me, azizity.”

  “Why?” The car swerved around a corner and she slid a bit closer to him.

  “Because I happen to care a great deal about you.”

  “Why?”

  Amare took a deep breath and met her gaze. “It is hard to explain, but when I first saw that painting of you, I felt like I knew you somehow, like you would understand me somehow and I, you.”

  “Was that before or after you decided to take my portrait to secure your deal with Nassir?”

  He winced and exhaled long and slow. “I deserved that, I admit. How I handled that situation was…not the best, despite my honorable intentions.”

  She snorted. “Honorable? Since when is stealing honorable?”

  “Stealing is never honorable.” He looked away. “But I was desperate to save my family’s company. At the time, it appeared that securing the deal with Nassir would be the only way to do that. I was wrong.”

  The words nearly killed him to say, but they were true. He’d been wrong and his error had cost him the one thing he cared for most these days. It had cost him Bree. “Now I must pay the price of your loathing.”

  Bree scrunched her nose and stared at her hands in her lap. “Loathing’s a strong word. I wouldn’t say I exactly loath you.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “No.” She stared at the window beside her. “Angry, hurt, betrayed. Those work.”

  “Yes. I did not handle what happened between us well.”

  She nodded and pursed her lips. “Did it mean anything to you? The night we spent together? Or was that all part of your plan too?”

  His chest ached and his lungs constricted. “That night meant more to me than I can ever say, Bree.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. My life, you see, for all its glitz and glamour and luxury, is always at the service of others. My family, my company, my country. Moments that I can call my own are truly rare and precious. That night we shared was one such moment. When I am with you, I feel I can be truly myself, no pretenses, no barriers. Just me, with you. Do you understand?”

  After a long, silent moment, she nodded. “I do. I feel the same way.”

  A zing of apprehension mixed with hope skittered through is bloodstream. “You do?”

  “Yeah. I want you to know I don’t make a habit of sleeping with strange men that I’ve only known for one day. You were definitely an exception. But there was something about you, something that seemed so familiar to me, so safe and yet so wild.” She shrugged and gave a small chuckle. “It sounds weird, I know, but it’s the truth.”