It was not a situation designed to make one relax.
Forty minutes later, the limo drove through an open gate, past several guards and what felt like miles of manicured grounds. She stared out the window until she saw the first hints of the fabled pink palace.
“This is so not happening,” she murmured, still unable to believe this was real.
The limo pulled up in front of the entrance. At least she assumed that’s what the arched doorway and alcove big enough for a marching band was for.
“We’re here,” Alex said, confirming her suspicions.
She glanced at him. “What happens now?”
“You meet the king.”
Great. If there was a survey at the end of this, she was going to mention Alex’s lack of information as one of her complaints.
The limo door opened. Alex climbed out, then stepped aside so she could exit. Emma smoothed down the skirt she’d changed into on the plane and sucked in a breath for courage. It wasn’t close to enough, so she wasn’t surprised to find herself shaking as she stepped out in the warm afternoon.
Several people stood by the palace: Alex, the limo driver, a few uniformed men who could have been servants, but no one who looked like a king. So did royalty wait indoors for their visitors? Shouldn’t Alex have briefed her on that sort of thing?
Before she could ask him, there was a movement to her left. Emma turned and saw a man step out of the shadows. He was tall, darkly handsome and almost familiar. Then the sun hit him full in the face and she gasped in stunned amazement. It couldn’t be. Not after all this time. She’d thought…He would never…
The combination of shock, lack of sleep and food, and jet lag, conspired to increase her heart rate from nervous to hummingbird speed. The blood rushed from her head to her feet in two seconds flat. The world spun, blurred, then faded completely as she collapsed to the ground.
Prince Reyhan glanced at his father, the king of Bahania, and shook his head.
“That went well.”
Chapter Two
S everal servants rushed toward the fallen woman. Reyhan brushed them aside and crouched beside Emma. He took her wrist in his hand and felt her pulse.
Rapid, but steady.
“Call a doctor,” he said firmly.
Someone went scuttling to do his bidding.
“She didn’t hit her head,” a young woman told him as she gently touched Emma’s forehead. “I was watching as she fainted, Your Highness.”
“Thank you. Are her rooms prepared?”
The woman nodded.
Reyhan gathered Emma into his arms. She lay limp, one hand pressing against his chest, the other dangling by her side. Her skin had paled and her breathing slowed.
He took a moment to study her long lashes and the fullness of her mouth. The thick, red hair he remembered hung in loose waves around her face. So much was the same, he thought. No doubt if he counted, he would find that there were still eleven freckles on her nose and cheeks.
How much had changed? Even as he silently asked the question, he found he didn’t want to know. He rose and walked into the palace.
The king fell into step with him.
“At least she remembered you,” his father said.
“Obviously with great joy.”
“Perhaps she fainted with relief that you were to be together.”
Reyhan didn’t bother answering. Emma hadn’t seen him in six years, and from what he’d been able to find out, she’d never made any attempt to get in touch with him. He had no idea what she recalled of their brief…relationship, but he doubted her fainting had anything to do with relief.
The guest quarters were on the second floor. Reyhan went directly there, wondering if his father would mention that other arrangements could have been made. Fortunately, the king remained silent.
Reyhan swept inside the suite of rooms he’d had prepared for Emma and set her on the sofa. A maid hovered in the corner.
“Find out when the doctor will arrive,” he said.
The woman nodded and picked up a phone from the small table in the corner.
Reyhan returned his attention to Emma. She lay perfectly still. She hadn’t moved at all while he’d carried her.
He sat next to her on the sofa and took her hand in his. Her fingers were cold. He brought them to his mouth and breathed on them.
“Emma,” he murmured. “You must awaken.”
She moved her head slightly and moaned.
“The doctor will be here in fifteen minutes,” the maid told him.
“Thank you. A glass of water, please.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Someone else could have carried her,” the king said from the seat he’d taken across from the sofa. “Someone else can care for her now.”
Reyhan narrowed his gaze. “No one touches my wife.”
His father rose and crossed to the door. “It has been six years, Reyhan. Are you sure you still wish to claim the title of husband?”
Wish it or not, it was his. As was she.
Emma felt as if she were swimming against a very strong tide. But instead of water, she was trapped by air she had to push through to reach the surface. Thoughts formed and separated, her body felt heavy. Something had happened. She remembered that much. But what?
A cool, smooth surface pressed against her mouth as a strong, male voice demanded, “Drink this.”
She parted her lips without considering refusing the request.
Water slipped into her mouth. She drank gratefully, then sighed when the glass was removed. Better, she thought, and opened her eyes.
Oh, my—it was him! Her eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on her. She could feel the heat and strength of him as he sat next to her on the sofa. His hip pressed against her thigh. One of his hands held her own, while his dark gaze trapped her as neatly as a cage held a small bird.
Reyhan.
She wasn’t sure if she said the name or merely thought it. Was it possible? After all these years?
She blinked and wondered if this was nothing more than a vivid dream. Only, her luck wasn’t that good. No, the truth was he was real and she was in his presence, which didn’t seem possible. It had been six years, she reminded herself again. Six years since he’d used her and tossed her aside. Six years since she’d hidden at her parents’ house, crying for what could have been, secretly waiting for him to come and claim her, only to find out she’d waited in vain. He’d never come, and eventually she’d returned to her life—older, wiser and emotionally battered.
“So you return to us,” he said, his low voice rumbling like distant thunder. “I don’t remember you fainting before.”
She bristled at the assumption that he knew things about her.
“I don’t faint,” she told him.
“Recent events suggest that you do. It was a long trip. Were you able to sleep at all?”
He spoke so casually, she thought in amazement. As if nothing out of the ordinary