Her gaze traveled around the room, and what she saw convinced her that she was still in a dream state. There couldn’t be a room like this outside of a Turkish harem. She seemed to be reclining on a heap of tasseled white satin pillows. A gorgeous Persian carpet in delicate shades of pale blue and spring green on a cream background covered a polished parquet floor. There was even a copper brazier filled with glowing coals on the low teak table next to her that was giving off a heady, spicy fragrance. Incense? Yes, she was sure it was incense, she thought dreamily. It fit in perfectly with the rest of the fantasy.
She looked down at her own apparel and was not at all surprised to find herself garbed in sheer chiffon amethyst harem pants, her silken stomach quite bare and the thrusting fullness of her breasts swathed in a matching pearl-trimmed top. What else would she be wearing in an Arabian Nights fantasy?
She turned on her side, waiting for the dream to fade and go away, and her gaze fell on a piece of folded notepaper on the table. She reached out a lazy hand and took it from the table, unfolding it with idle curiosity.
The words jumped out at her, shocking her into wakefulness.
Sorry, Honey. I did warn you.
Alex
Honey sat bolt upright on the silken cushions, her violet eyes blazing with fury. What kind of wild practical joke was this? The kidnapping was obviously Alex’s doing, but this mad harem charade was completely at odds with everything she knew of him.
“Ah, you’re awake at last.”
Honey looked up, her heart leaping with joy and her face alight. It clouded swiftly as she gazed with rapidly returning fury at Lance, standing in the doorway. No one could argue about the dashing figure he made as he stood there, dressed in khaki riding pants tucked into mirror-bright black boots and a white shirt worn unbuttoned almost to the waist. My God, he was even wearing a white headdress!
Honey jumped off the cushions and struggled to her feet. “What the devil is going on here?” she shouted, facing him belligerently across the room.
Lance placed both hands on his hips, his face taking on a demonic leer. “Are you not woman enough to know?” he asked hoarsely.
“For God’s sake, have you gone absolutely bananas?” Honey asked, running her hand through her hair distractedly. “They could put you away for a stunt like this. Have you completely lost touch with reality?”
Lance dropped the melodramatic pose, his face turning grim. “Hell, no,” he said, his hands falling to his sides. “I just thought that you’d like to enjoy for one last time the pleasures of never-never land. Isn’t that what you want from me? A romantic weekend affair with Lusty Lance, with no commitments or permanent ties? You couldn’t wait to get off the island once your precious job was done, could you?” He tore the headdress off and threw it violently aside. “Well, the romantic fantasy’s over. We’re living in the real world now, Honey, and it’s time you faced up to it. I’m not letting you run away again.”
Honey’s lips were slightly parted. “I didn’t run away from the island,” she protested. “I had a perfectly good reason for—”
“Bull!” Lance said succinctly, walking toward her with swift, pantherish strides. “Even you couldn’t be so naive as to believe that story Bettina laid on you. Hell, yes, I was cut up, as a kid, when I couldn’t seem to do anything right as far as my family was concerned; but, like all kids, I adjusted pretty damn quick. I’m certainly not pining for a reunion, as Bettina seems to think. No, that wasn’t why you were so eager to leave. It was just an excuse. You were scared to death I was going to ask for something you weren’t ready to give.”
Was he right? Had she really been so eager to believe Bettina’s interpretation of Lance’s feelings because she was afraid of the eventual pain that would attend any long-term affair with him?
“I see you’re not denying it,” Lance said tightly. He stopped before her, his face taut and pale beneath his tan. “Well, I’m going to ask it of you anyway. I’m gambling that you care more for me than you do for that blasted career of yours. You’re going to marry me, Honey.”
“What!” Honey’s eyes widened in stunned surprise.
“There’s no use you arguing about it,” Lance said roughly. “I’m not about to let you leave me again until the knot is well and truly tied.” His hands grasped her shoulders, and he was looking down into her face with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. “Think about it, Honey,” he urged persuasively. “Would you have risked your life saving those blasted paintings if I wasn’t more to you than just your first lover? We’ve got everything going for us. Sex, companionship, love.” Then, as she would have spoken, he held up his hand. “Yes, love, damn it! You do love me, even if you won’t admit it. Would it be so much of a sacrifice to give up your work and marry me?”
“I can’t do that,” Honey said dazedly, feeling as if she were going mad. “My work? What about you? You’re a prince, for heaven’s sake.”
“That’s not my profession, that’s an accident of birth,” he said indignantly. “I’m an artist. You may be contemptuous of princes, but I know damn well you like my alter ego.”
“I’m not contemptuous…” She trailed off helplessly. Then she tried again. “Royal princes don’t marry orphanage brats like me. I don’t even know who my father was.” She shook her head. “I never expected you to want to marry me.”
“Humility in a Valkyrie is definitely not becoming,” Lance said with a flicker of amusement in his face. “Why shouldn’t I want to marry you? You’re the other half of me.”
“I’m not humble,” Honey said indignantly. “I know very well that any man would be lucky to marry a woman with my assets. I’m intelligent, hardworking, reasonably attractive, I have a fairly good sense of humor, I—”
Lance stopped her with his lips on hers, and when he lifted his head, he said tenderly, “You don’t have to list your qualifications, love. You’ve already got the job.” He shook his head ruefully. “That is, if you think you can put up with this slightly mad artist for the next fifty years or so. Lord knows why you would want to, after what you’ve been exposed to in the past few weeks. Attempted assassination, tropical storms, interfering baronesses, as well as my own blasted neglect and self-absorption. I can’t even promise you that our future together won’t be more of the same.” His expression was grave and heart-catchingly tender. “I can only promise that you’ll have all of my love for the rest of my days. Is that enough?”
“Oh, yes, that’s enough,” Honey answered, her throat aching with emotion. She buried her face in his shoulder. “Oh, Lance, I love you so much. I wasn’t sure if I could bear it if it wasn’t going to be forever for you, too.”
“What a silly woman you are, Honey sweet,” he said softly. “You were the one who was always talking about our affair as if it were going to end tomorrow. I always knew exactly what I wanted.” He was stroking her hair with a gentle hand. “My Honey’s head always on the next pillow and her hand in mine on every road I travel.”
The words were as touchingly solemn as a wedding vow, and Honey drew a deep, quivering breath at the brilliant flame of happiness that exploded within her. “Your hand in mine on every road and byway,” Honey repeated huskily, and that, too, was a promise. She looked up, her violet eyes star bright. “Forever.”
Lance’s face was so beautifully tender that Honey felt her heart melt with answering love for him. “It’s crazy,” she protested weakly. “For God’s sake, I’d be Princess Honey. Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?”
“I like it,” Lance said tenderly, his sapphire eyes twinkling. “And you’d be a honey of a princess.”
She groaned, her lips twitching despite herself. “It’s not funny, Lance. What would your parents say?”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t care less what they say. My only real family is Alex and old Karim, and I can assure you that they’ll not only approve, they’ll applaud the match.” Then, as her face remained troubled, he sighed resignedly. “If it will mak
e you feel any better, once my parents realize that they have to accept it, I’m sure they’ll move to put a good face on it. They’ll probably even try to change your name.” He raised a teasing eyebrow. “How would you like to be Princess Honorina?”
“That’s even worse than the other,” Honey said gloomily. “You wouldn’t let them do that to me, Lance.”
He shook his head. “I’ll let you be anything you want to be, as long as it’s with me,” he said softly. “I can’t bear being without you, Honey. This last week has been hell on earth.”
“For me, too,” Honey said huskily, looking up at him, her violet eyes swimming with tears. “Are you sure you won’t regret this, Lance? I don’t want you to make any sacrifices for my sake.”
“You’re the one who will be making the sacrifices,” he said soberly. “As my wife, you’ll have to give up your profession, for starters. It places you in much too vulnerable a position.” His lips curved bitterly. “Assassination plots and kidnappings aren’t all that unusual in our circles.”
“Are you sure you’re marrying me because you love me, and not because you need a live-in bodyguard?” Honey asked teasingly.
“I’m sure,” Lance said thickly. “Oh, yes, sweetheart, I’m very sure.” His lips brushed hers in a kiss of infinite sweetness, which deepened until they were both breathless, their hearts thudding erratically. “God, it’s been so long since I held you like this. Do we have to talk anymore, love? I want to feel you hot around me.”
She wanted that too, she thought breathlessly as his arms slid around her, his hands cupping the swell of her buttocks and bringing her urgently close to his own thrusting arousal. “Lance,” she whispered lovingly, “I want—” She broke off as she felt the floor suddenly shake and vibrate beneath her feet. “Oh, my God, Lance. It’s an earthquake!”
“What?” He looked down at her pale, frightened face, for a moment not comprehending anything but the hot need that was flooding him. “No, love. Much as I’d like to claim that my sexual prowess could make the earth shake for you, that is not an earthquake. We’re on board Alex’s yacht, and if I’m not mistaken, they’ve just started the engines.”
He started to pull her back into his arms, but she put her hands on his chest, resisting him. “What are we doing on Alex’s yacht?” She looked up at him indignantly. “You drugged me!”
“I did not,” Lance denied. “I didn’t know anything about it until they carried you aboard. I almost murdered Sax before Alex pulled me off him. All I told Alex was that I wanted you found and brought here.” His lips tightened grimly. “He wasn’t at all pleased either.”
“That makes three of us,” Honey said tartly. She gazed ruefully around the exotically decorated room. “I should have known as soon as I opened my eyes who was responsible for this.” Then her eyes widened in alarm as she looked down at her chiffon-draped body. “And who put me into this harem outfit?”
Lance’s eyes narrowed to smoldering intensity. “Would I have let my men touch you, when I meant you for myself?” he hissed melodramatically.
“Oh, Lord, where are you getting those hokey lines?” Honey groaned.
“The Sheik, by E. M. Hull,” Lance rattled off promptly. “I thought I’d do a little in-depth research to make it more authentic. I wanted a fitting swan song to my career as Lusty Lance.” He smiled with gentle raillery. “Now that I’m marrying such an earnest young woman, I’ll have to concentrate on being equally sober and industrious.”
Honey shook her head in amusement. Lance sober? Never in a million years. He’d always be her wild, lovable Scaramouche, even if he lived to be as old as Methuselah.
“You didn’t answer me,” Honey persisted. “Why are we on Alex’s yacht? Is Alex on board, too?”
Lance nodded. “Because Alex’s captain is going to marry us once we get on the high seas,” he explained calmly. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again until we’re married. We’ll have a more formal ceremony once we reach Sedikhan.”
“Just like that?” Honey said, snapping her fingers. “What if I don’t want to be married right here and now?”
For a moment his face was clouded with concern and there was a touch of uncertainty in his eyes. “You don’t want to marry me now?”
“I didn’t say that,” Honey said softly. “I can’t marry you fast enough to suit me. I just think it would be nice if you’d ask me instead of commanding me, Your Highness.”
He took her hands in his, lifted them to his lips, and kissed the palms lingeringly, one after the other. “Will you marry me and be my love forever, Honey sweet?” he asked huskily, his expression grave and tender.
“Oh, yes,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said with satisfaction, his arms sliding around her. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s get on with my seduction of your voluptuous person. Where were we?”
“You were quoting those campy lines from The Sheik to me,” Honey said, making a face.
“Ahhh, yes,” Lance said, his sapphire eyes flickering with mischief. “I have one more, which I saved for the pièce de résistance.”
“You do?” Honey asked warily.
He nodded, his face alight with love and the deviltry that was so much a part of him. “‘Must I be valet as well as lover?’” he quoted softly.
And her joyous laughter was smothered against his lips.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
IRIS JOHANSEN has more than twenty-seven million copies of her books in print, and is the New York Times bestselling author of Stalemate, Killer Dreams, On the Run, Countdown, Blind Alley, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, and more. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia.
Coming Soon from Bantam Dell…
Two sizzling romances from
Iris Johansen:
The richly seductive
LION’S BRIDE
available August 2008
and its never-before-published sequel
THE TREASURE
available December 2008
Read on for a sneak peak of THE TREASURE…
THE TREASURE
Coming from Bantam in December 2008
May 3, 1196
Fortress of Maysef
Nosairi Mountains
Syria
His power was waning, fading like that bloodred sun setting behind the mountains.
Jabbar Al Nasim’s fists clenched with fury as he gazed out at the sun sinking on the horizon. It should not be. It made no sense that he should be so afflicted. Weakness was for those other fools, not for him.
Yet he had always known it would come. It had even come for Sinan, the Old Man of the Mountain. But he had always been stronger than the old man, in both mind and spirit. Sinan had bent before the yoke, but Nasim had prepared for it.
“You sent for me, master?”
He turned to see Ali Balkir striding along the battlements toward him. The man’s voice was soft, hesitant, and he could see the fear in his face. Nasim felt a jolt of fierce pleasure as he realized the captain had not detected any loss of power. Well, why should he? Nasim had always been master here, in spite of what outsiders thought. Sinan might have been the King of Assassins, feared by kings and warriors alike, but Nasim had been the one who had guided his footsteps. Everyone here at the fortress knew this and groveled at his feet.
And they’d continue to grovel. He would not let this monstrous thing happen to him.
Balkir took a hurried step back as he saw Nasim’s expression. “Perhaps I was mistaken. I beg your forgiveness for intrud—”
“No, stay. I have a task for you.”
Balkir drew a relieved breath. “Another attack on the Frankish ships? Gladly. I brought you much gold from my last journey. I will bring you even more this—”
“Be silent. I wish you to return to Scotland, where you left Kadar Ben Arnaud and the foreigners. You are to tell him nothing of what has transpired here. Do not mention me. Tell him only that Sinan is claiming his price. Bring him to me.”
Balkir’s eyes widened. “Sinan? But Sinan is—”
“Do you question me?”
“No, never.” Balkir moistened his lips. “But what if he refuses?”
Balkir was terrified, Nasim realized, and not of failing him. Nasim had forgotten that Balkir was at the fortress at the time Kadar underwent his training; Balkir knew how adept Kadar was in all the dark arts. More adept than any man Nasim had ever known, and Kadar was only a boy of ten and four when he came to the mountain. How proud Sinan had been of him. What plans he had made for the two of them. He had never realized Nasim had plans of his own for Kadar.
All wasted when Kadar had left the dark path and rejected Sinan to live with the foreigners. What a fool the Old Man had been to let him go.
But it was not too late. What Sinan had lost, Nasim could reclaim.
If Kadar did not die as the others had died.
Well, if he died, he died. Kadar was only a man; it was the power that was important.
“He won’t refuse,” Nasim said. “He gave Sinan his word in exchange for the lives of the foreigners.”
“What if he does?”
“You are questioning me,” Nasim said with dangerous softness.
Balkir turned pale. “No, master. Of course he won’t refuse. Not if you say he won’t. I only—”
“Be gone.” Nasim waved his hand. “Set sail at once.”
Balkir nodded jerkily and backed away from him. “I will bring him. Whether or not he wishes to come I will force—”
The words cut off abruptly as Nasim turned his back on him. The man was only trying to gain respect in his eyes. He would have no more chance against Kadar if he tried to use force than he would against Nasim, and he probably knew it.
But he wouldn’t have to use force. Kadar would come. Not only because of his promise but because he would know what would result if he didn’t. Sinan had spared the lives of Lord Ware, his woman, Thea, and the child Selene and given them all a new life in Scotland. Nasim had permitted the foolishness because he had wanted to keep Kadar safe until it was time to use him.