He’d all but screamed last night that he didn’t want her there. She’d just expected that once they made a plan he would stick with it. Propelled by the sick feeling she’d been left, she hurried out of the room, just shy of a run.
For once her travel paranoia had done something good for her—despite her exhaustion, when the men had marched her to the suite, she’d still been able to memorize the route out of the palace in case of another sudden civil war—who knew how often those things happened in this place? Or fire. Fire was something she’d want to be able to escape without a map or a guide. One turn, another long hallway, more gilded opulence and crystal light fixtures … doors, doors, doors … another turn. She finally made it to a courtyard, having passed not a single person along the way, and stepped out just in time to see two large trucks pulling away.
Not knowing what else to do, she shouted, “Khalil!”
He sat in the driver-side window of the first truck, and when she’d shouted the name she probably shouldn’t even be using at the palace he did nothing but make eye contact with her through the side-view mirror. He’d heard her but didn’t take his foot off the gas.
A surge of frustration rode a wave of irritation, and before she even knew it she’d broken into a dead run after the truck.
Leaving without her? Make her travel all the way to this place, make her lose sleep and get on dangerous vehicles on land and air and then abandon her where she could be of no help to him, for no danged reason? If they made travel guide recommendations for the perfect time to shout at or make rude gestures at a royal, this would be at the top.
The trucks moved slowly enough in the courtyard to give the illusion that she might catch up with them, but the closer the gate came, the more that hopeful thought evaporated.
Muttering expletives under her breath wasn’t enough, either.
The trucks slowed, making a sharp turn for the gate—too far to reach, and what was she going to do if she got there? Climb on a moving vehicle? Yeah, right.
She’d never been moved to violence by anyone before, but she dropped her bag and grabbed the nearest rock—small enough to throw but big enough to express her frustration—and channeling her anger she let the rock fly with as much force as a really tired nerdy chick could muster.
She didn’t aim for him. She didn’t really aim. She probably couldn’t aim if she tried, at least not beyond the general intention to hit the truck somewhere, but the rock sailed strong and true, impacting the side window of the rear seat of the truck, right behind where Kahlil sat. It immediately spiderwebbed.
That stopped the truck.
That stopped both trucks.
Khalil got out, looked at the window and slammed his door. A couple tiny fragments of glass in the center of the impact rattled and fell out from the force of his gesture. He shook his head minutely at the men in the truck behind and stormed toward Adalyn, red crawling up his neck and over his face. “What the hell was that?”
Right then Adalyn remembered that she was pretty much afraid of everything. Including confrontation. Having big angry men yell at her was also on her Do Not Do list.
But if she backed down now, he’d probably just send her back inside and go on his merry way to wherever he was going.
“Emergency call button.” Adalyn’s short words came out with a grunt, the sound of exertion … mental if not physical. Before he reached her she jogged for the other side of the trucks to the passenger-side door. As she wrenched it open and climbed the running board to step in, strong hands locked on her hips and set her back on the ground.
There, in the relative seclusion of the side door area, he gave her a spin and forced her to face him. He was close. Too close, all but plastering her to the side of the truck, his arms forming a cage around her that kept her in place so he could effectively loom over her. “I know how you Quinns are fond of bucking authority figures, but in this country—and while still at this palace—you can’t behave like that toward me.”
It hit her how he was dressed. No robes today. No suit, either. He wore khakis and a light linen shirt with the collar unbuttoned, something that made him look almost like a normal person, not the autocrat he sounded like.
Their cozy little passenger-door alcove blocked the early-morning breeze and cocooned her in a heady scent of cedar, hints of citrus and something utterly masculine. Looking up into his golden-brown eyes, she felt entirely too vulnerable suddenly, as if he’d see the white flag waving in her pupils and know how close she was to backing down. She squinted at him, relying on the decreased area to make her intentions harder to read. And if it worked, she’d have to remember to use it the next time she got the harebrained idea to yell and throw rocks at a royal.
And she still couldn’t hold his gaze.
Looking at his mouth? That was just as bad, but for more confusing reasons.
Her gaze tracked farther down. His neck was safe, though a vein stood out there, pulsing, and seeing how fast his heart beat caused a little flutter in her belly. Even in her worst imaginings related to this trip, they had all been about accidents, explosions and possibly drowning at sea after a water crash … Never once had she thought she’d have to fight her patient to be able to treat him. The small amount of backbone she’d found quickly faded. All she wanted to do was get her bag and go back inside, but she muttered, “You were leaving me behind on purpose.”
Khalil dropped his arms and stepped back, needing to put some distance between himself and the woman who was supposed to be sleeping through his departure. Distance would help him keep from shaking some sense into her or just putting his hands back on her.
Even after he’d grabbed places on the truck and forced himself to focus on her, his palms still tingled with the memory of firm, curvy hips.
With a slow breath in through his nose, he took a few seconds to look over the courtyard. At least no one but the small private crew who traveled into the desert with him had witnessed the rock showdown.
“I assumed you wouldn’t want to go.” That was true, at least until he’d seen her outside with the overnight bag. After that, he really had no clue why he hadn’t stopped. Maybe the idea that one more hurdle would make her give up … Only, it hadn’t.
She looked him in the eye again, but he could tell from the color in her cheeks and the way her hands now gripped the door frame that her bravery was faltering. “I told you I would come last night.”
“Yes, and then you had a little time to sleep on it and think more clearly. At least, I’d hoped that would be the case.” He managed to calm his voice when he said it, a small victory considering he wanted to shout, Go back inside. Go home. Go anywhere else.
“So you really don’t want me here. You let me come all this way and …” As she spoke, her words came more and more slowly, and those soft green eyes he’d so admired hardened to bare slits. She might be tired, she might not enjoy confrontation and she might be a little intimidated by him, but she was still angry. “I’m not at my best today, but I do still have a little bit of functioning gray matter working for me. You’re sabotaging this on purpose.”
“Adalyn—”
“No. I’m the one talking now!” She released the frame of the door and reached up to jab him once in the chest. “You didn’t just let me come all this way, you assured that I would have the roughest trip possible, right? You have loads of planes—you and Jamison have gone to practically as many countries as the Peace Corps on them—but I had to arrange transport and ship the equipment … and all that. You sent your black-suited henchmen to retrieve me at the last possible minute, but that’s it. You made my journey as hard as you could possibly make it in order to make me be the one who broke a promise to my brother. Didn’t you?”
And he wouldn’t defend it or deny it.
But if she poked him in the chest again, he was going