Instead of embarrassed. After all, these people were guests. Royalty, in fact. And she was the hired help.
“Livy?” Rose placed a gentle hand on her arm, and Livy jumped. “This is King Zakariyya Al Farid of Balahar, Sharif’s father. Zak, this is Olivia Smith.”
Maybe she was supposed to curtsy or something. Unsure, she dragged her palm down the front of her jeans, then stuck out her hand.
He accepted it, amusement twinkling in his eyes, but instead of a handshake, he brought the back of her hand up to his lips and kissed it. “I am enchanted to meet you.”
Livy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. For a moment she felt so grown-up and important and horribly giddy. What the heck was she supposed to say now? She glanced at Rose for a clue. Nothing. Her gaze automatically went to Shay. He had an odd gleam in his eyes. He almost looked angry.
She swallowed and shuffled. “Me, too,” she finally mumbled as she freed her hand. “Uh, do you want coffee?”
King Zak nodded and, ignoring the place setting opposite Rose, he pulled out the chair beside her. To Livy’s surprise, a faint pink spread across the older woman’s cheeks. Livy quickly looked at Shay. He’d noticed, too. He didn’t look pleased.
Livy scooted around the table and got the cup and saucer, then filled it for King Zak. As she set it before him, she felt the weight of Shay’s stare, and she cautiously looked his way.
His gaze moved down her body, lingering on her breasts, before rising to lock with hers. Was he thinking about their kiss, about the way he’d touched her? Had he thought about her at all last night? The same squishy feeling that had made a fool out of her yesterday threatened her balance. She quickly looked away…to find Rose and King Zak watching her with interest.
“I’ll go see how the food is coming. Anybody need anything else?” Her unnaturally high voice made her spitting mad, but she forced a smile.
“I don’t think so.” Rose looked questioningly at King Zak, who shook his head.
Shay picked up his water glass and napkin and held them up to Livy. “You do intend to replace these.”
It wasn’t a question. More of a command, and Livy had a good mind to tell him what he could do with the glass. Sideways. “Of course,” she said politely, and fumed all the way back to the kitchen.
To think she’d wasted a precious night’s sleep on that jackass, she thought as she pitched the damp napkin and filled a fresh glass with the special bottled water Ella must have bought for the visitors. Although why anyone wouldn’t want the best-tasting well water in all of Texas from out back was beyond Livy’s understanding. Of course nothing seemed good enough for Shay. Especially not her.
“Anything wrong?” Vi asked.
She was so self-absorbed, Livy had almost forgotten Ella and Vi were in the kitchen. “Not a thing. Be right back.”
She hurried away before she started either cussing or sniveling and opened the door with her hip, then marched into the dining room, the water in one hand, the coffeepot in the other.
Shay turned at the sound of her footfalls. “Ah, there is the girl now.” He frowned at her loaded hands, then lifted one eyebrow. “The sugar?”
“Oh, silly me. How could I have forgotten?” She set the coffeepot on the corner of the table, lifted the clean napkin she had draped over her arm and laid it across Shay’s lap. That he jumped slightly pleased her enormously.
When he glanced menacingly at her, she pursed her lips. “You know what, Shay? You may be a hotshot in your country, but you really don’t know beans about women.”
His stunned look was worth her humiliation. She started to leave, careful not to make eye contact with King Zak or Rose. “Oh, I almost forgot your water,” she said, as she turned back to Shay and poured it over his head.
Chapter Four
Sharif cursed as the ice-cold water ran down his neck and spine. He jerked back and nearly toppled over. Rose stared at him with a hand over her mouth, shock widening her light blue eyes. His father remained expressionless.
Behind Sharif, the door swished closed. The coward had left.
“I don’t know what happened. Livy is usually such a sweet, sweet girl,” Rose began, waving helplessly. “I—I…”
His father lifted a silencing hand and Rose promptly obeyed. He looked directly at Sharif. “Do you know what provoked the woman?”
Sharif snatched the napkin off his lap before it absorbed any more water, and used it to dry his face. And to avoid his father’s probing eyes. “Why would I know about this crazy person? She is nothing more than a…”
After an awkward silence his father asked, “A what?”
He could not finish his initial thought aloud. Sharif’s reluctance had nothing to do with his father’s stern tone or the warning issued in his disapproving eyes. It was the recollection of the hurt in Olivia’s face that stopped him.
Shamed him.
Angered him.
Surely the vixen did not regard their playfulness yesterday as anything significant. He was merely passing the time, looking for a distraction. So what had prompted her outrageous behavior?
The hurt in her violet eyes echoed in his head.
To her mind, it was apparent he had done something wrong.
“Sharif?”
His father’s voice was quieter now, not so stern, making Sharif fear his expression had given away his self-doubt. He straightened and silently met the king’s eyes in subtle defiance.
“Tell me, Sharif. What do you think the woman’s punishment should be?”
“Oh, please, I’ll talk to her—” Rose began in a pleading tone, but again King Zak lifted a hand and again she fell silent.
Sharif stared at her subdued face, unnerved by the oddest desire to tell her to stand up to King Zak, to not be so docile.
Which was absurd. Women in his country, and where Rose once was queen, were taught subservience from an early age. Sharif liked it that way.
He turned to his father’s expectant face. “I will deal with her myself.”
“In what manner?”
Sharif saw the amusement lurking in the king’s eyes, and anger seized him once more. He would not be made the fool. Throwing down his napkin, he stood, heedless of his chair scraping the hardwood floor as it flung back.
Before he could say anything, a loud noise coming from outside drew their attention. Angry shouts, the slamming of car doors, the blare of a horn all sounded from somewhere in front of the house. King Zak and Rose both left the table and hurried toward the living room for a look through the expansive glass windows.
Sharif followed close behind, knowing deep down his nightmare was coming true. He had lain awake half the night, planning a counterattack if reporters were to show up again. He had no doubt the man yesterday was from the media, looking to publicize the shame of Sharif’s heritage. The problem was, he had no plan, no defense. He was, in fact, not the blood heir to the throne of Balahar.
“Oh, no.” Rose was first to the window, the sudden slump in her shoulders foretelling. “Reporters.”
Sharif looked away from the comforting hand his father pressed to her lower back, and stared out at the same dark sedan he had seen yesterday. Two men stood face-to-face with one of the ranch hands, all of them