SEAL's Deception (Take No Prisoners Book 8) (7 page)

Ben sat in the back of the SUV, wishing he had his M4A1 with the SOPMOD upgrades. The weapon wouldn’t be a match against the .50 cal, but he was a good shot, and it only took one well-placed bullet to kill a gunner.

Twenty minutes on the road brought them to a gated compound on the outskirts of Riyadh. Two guards manned the gate. Machine gunners perched in arched turrets on each end of the ten-foot high stucco fence inlaid with colorful tiles in an elaborate mosaic.

The deeper they went into Khalid’s estate, the more Ben’s gut knotted. Each additional level of gates and security made it that much harder for terrorists to get in…and spies to get out. He hoped they could find the vials they sought. Once they did, they’d be faced with an entirely different challenge to get them outside the gates.

Ben glanced at Yasmin, wanting to know more about this woman who’d walked bravely into a dangerous situation. He thought back to the attack in the bar and how she’d taken down a man and choked him senseless with nothing more than her wits and some incredibly strong thighs. Dressed as she was, she could easily pass for a princess. She held herself like one—her neck long and elegant, her chin raised high with the proud arrogance of a woman whose mere presence demanded reverence, even in a society where women garnered little respect.

Her gaze connected with his and she blinked, a hint of a smile curling her lips, letting him know she would be okay.

She was the one pretending to be a princess in a society that was known to be cruel to women who lied, cheated or otherwise broke the strict rules of their culture. Yet, she was giving him a reassuring smile. He wanted to draw her into his arms and kiss the bright red lipstick off her lips.

Too soon, the vehicle stopped in a sweeping drive in front of a massive building with arched porticos decorated in beautiful, intricate geometric mosaics of rich reds, azure blues and shining golds. Fountains spurted water into the air, and palm trees waved in a gentle breeze.

The chauffeur got out and walked around to open the door.

Stingray jumped out first.

Then Ben got out and held the door for Yasmin, resisting the urge to extend his hand to assist her. Men didn’t touch women in public.

Yasmin exited the vehicle with sophisticated grace befitting a potential princess and stood at the base of pink granite steps leading into the palace. A group of men gathered at the top, dressed in the traditional garb of Saudi royalty.

Ben recognized the white dress, or
thobe
, the men wore beneath black robes with the gold trim. Only the Arab royals dressed in the black and gold robes. Red-checkered scarves covered their heads with heavy black bands holding the fabric in place. The few women standing to the side wore black
abayas
, completely covering their bodies, with
hijabs
covering their heads.

The men seemed to be hovering around a central figure, a younger man, perhaps Ben’s age, who stared at Yasmin with intense brown-black eyes.

Without being introduced, Ben could tell. He had to be Prince Khalid. Apparently, the man saw in Yasmin what Ben already knew. She was stunning, regal and deserving of the title princess. He hoped the prince didn’t plan on moving the nuptials forward on the calendar. The way he stared at Yasmin, he looked like he would prefer to skip all the ceremonies and get right to the wedding night.

Ben’s hands fisted. The prince would have to go through him to get to Yasmin.

A
s she stared
at the gauntlet of Arabs standing at the top of the steps, Yasmin squelched the urge to run. One man in the middle caught her immediate attention. From the images she’d studied of the Saudi family, this had to be the young prince, the favored son of the current king. Online articles portrayed Prince Khalid as a charming rogue among the royals. Though he’d married twice, he was still considered one of the most eligible men in the Middle East. Certainly, he was one of the most handsome with dark, smoldering eyes and the deep shadow of a beard making him appear strong and even more masculine than his clean-shaven English counterparts.

Yasmin shivered. Though Khalid was most definitely a panty-dampening, beautiful man, he was just a pawn in her game to get into the palace and find those vials.

As she walked up the steps to the delegation gathered to greet her, Yasmin fought to keep from reaching out to Ben for support. He was the man who’d made her ache with desire.

Ben, light as Khalid was dark and taller than most men, climbed the steps beside her. He would tower over the prince and the other royal family members, if allowed to rise to the top step.

As Khalid came forward, Ben stopped short of the top, letting Yasmin approach the prince alone.

Her heart skipped a few beats and raced forward. This was her chance to convince the prince she was his future bride.

“Princess Aliya, it is with great pleasure I welcome you to my home.” He spoke perfect English with a British accent, in a deep, smooth tone.

Yasmin remembered reading he’d attended Oxford, the same university where Aliya had studied several years later. She bowed her head. “Thank you, Prince Khalid.”

“You must be fatigued from your flight. Please allow the women of the palace to show you to your quarters. They will give you details of the events scheduled over the next few days.”

Again, she inclined her head and gave the man a subdued smile, hoping she was handling him correctly. Aliya hadn’t gone into the details of meeting a Saudi prince’s entire family. She had been in a hurry to get away before her parents discovered her deception and forced her to return home and marry a man she’d never met. Yasmin wondered, if Aliya had met Prince Khalid, whether she’d have changed her mind. Darkly handsome, he could easily have been a model on the cover of a magazine.

The group of black-clad women converged on Yasmin, grabbed her arms and led her toward the palace.

Ben started after her, but Khalid’s men stopped him.

More concerned for Ben’s safety than her own, Yasmin halted long enough to call back over her shoulder. “I’ll be all right.”

The women led her into the palace through a broad, open courtyard and into a long hallway beautifully decorated with the geometric mosaics and palm trees. They passed through a large door guarded by two hulking men, each equipped with a ceremonial sword.

Once inside the room, the women released her and shed their
abayas
.

A younger woman swept the scarf from her head. “Please, we are free to dress as we wish in this part of the palace. No men are allowed inside.”

Yasmin removed the scarf from her head and glanced around. She was surprised to find the room full of not only cushions, but couches as well. It was far more western than what she’d expected in a Saudi household. Dressing tables with mirrors lined one wall, and diaphanous curtains hung around the room like pale, colorful clouds. The women, devoid of their
abayas
, fluffed their hair and stood in front of Yasmin, inspecting her clothing, hair and makeup.

“So, you are Princess Aliya.” A pretty young woman with long, straight dark hair hanging down her back stepped up to Yasmin. “We were wondering when you would come. There were rumors you were not pleased with your arranged marriage.” She crossed her arms over her chest, brows arched, challenging Yasmin to dispute her words.

“Yes, I am here,” Yasmin said in a smooth tone, pushing the corners of her lips upward in a sublime smile. She turned to the older women standing nearby. “You know who I am. Please, I would like to know who all of you are.”

“We are the members of Khalid’s family.” An older woman stepped forward, her chin held high. “I am Nahla, first wife of King Salman, Prince Khalid’s mother.”

Yasmin dipped her head in deference to the woman who would be the top of the pecking order in the women’s quarters. “I am honored to meet you. I have read many great things about King Salman and Prince Khalid.”

Her eyes narrowed but she extended her hands. “If you are to become my son’s third wife, you need to know the first two. Fatimah and Erin.”

Two women stepped forward, each wearing brightly dyed silk tunics and flowing pants.

“I am Princess Fatimah, Prince Khalid’s first wife. Daughter of Prince Ahmed.” She took a step back and the next woman came forward.

This woman wasn’t what Yasmin expected.

“I’m Erin.” She had pale skin, auburn hair and green eyes and spoke with a what sounded like a British accent. She held out her hand, western style, and Yasmin took it. “I’m not a princess. Prince Khalid and I met at Oxford. We ran into each other again a few years later, when we were attending a reunion of our classmates.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I fell in love with him.”

Interesting
. Yasmin studied the woman. “Are you from England?”

She shook her head. “Dublin, Ireland.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Yasmin said, a thousand questions racing through her mind. Erin had to be the palace’s best-kept secret. She hadn’t read anything about Erin in the research she’d done online.

Knowing it wasn’t polite to ask personal questions upon a first meeting, Yasmin saved her inquiry for later. She met the rest of the women, trying to remember all the names of aunts, cousins, sisters and children, and failing miserably.

A servant brought a tray of tea and scones.

Gesturing toward the food, Erin grinned. “I introduced the family to the pleasure of English scones and tea. Now we have them all the time.”

The talk was light, the women interested in fashion and celebrities, much like many women around the world.

Yasmin fielded questions and drank very sweet, hot tea until she could drink no more.

As the light through the windows dimmed, Nahla stood and clapped her hands. “Come, we must prepare for the evening meal.”

“How can I help?”

“For now, you are our guest.” Nahla waved her hand toward a hallway. “Here in the palace, it is customary for the men and women to eat in different rooms.” She led the way into a large spa-like bathroom, sinks lining one wall, huge walk-in baths and showers on another side. Bath oil scents filled the air. All of the women washed their hands in the sinks.

Yasmin followed suit.

They touched up their makeup and brushed their hair before donning the black
abayas
they’d worn earlier.

A servant arrived beside Yasmin as she dried her hands on an Egyptian cotton towel. She held out a black
abaya
and smiled.

“Here, let me help,” Erin offered.

Between the servant and Erin, they pulled the
abaya
over Yasmin’s head and downward, covering her sleek white suit. Then they arranged the matching black scarf over her head and face until all that showed were her eyes.

Khalid’s mother nodded her approval, the frown lifting.

The women filed out of their section of the palace, walked down the hallway and into a large room with a dining table at the center. Yasmin hadn’t expected to see a table. Many Arabic families ate on the floor.

“Khalid is all for modernization,” Erin whispered next to her.

Nahla sat at the head of the table, captured Yasmin’s gaze and nodded to her right.

Clearly, the woman intended for her to sit there. She took the seat and waited for the others to sit. Erin sat beside her and Fatimah across. Servants set plates of food in front of them. She recognized some of the dishes as similar to meals her mother had prepared on many occasions. Others she didn’t recognize, but she tasted them to be polite. The women were served course after course, until Yasmin was certain her future family was trying to fatten her up for the kill. When dinner was over, they returned to their quarters.

A few moments later, a knock sounded. One of the ladies answered the door, turned to her and said, “Princess Aliya, you are being summoned.”

Yasmin glanced at Nahla.

The older woman nodded.

Yasmin stepped into the wide hall, ready to follow the white-clad man.

“You are well, princess?” a rich, deep voice asked. Ben stepped out from behind the escort.

Her heart swelling, Yasmin clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms to keep from throwing her arms around Ben’s broad shoulders. She nodded and dipped her head, trying not to stare hungrily at the man. “I am.”

The escort performed an about-face and walked away from the women’s quarters.

Caught up in a rush of desire for the SEAL, Yasmin barely noticed until she glanced up and noticed that the escort was halfway down the hall. She hurried after him.

Ben fell in step beside her. “I asked special permission to tag along with the prince’s escort.”

“Thank you.” She wanted to say so much more, but she didn’t want to give them away. “The others?”

“Are well, fed and settled into guest quarters in the west wing.”

Good to know, and typical. Women on one side of the palace, men on the other. No temptation.

“They tell me the prince’s quarters are in the north tower and the south is the entrance where we all came in.” Ben spoke quietly, like a tour guide stating the facts.

Yasmin’s escort didn’t speak a word, just kept walking and expecting her to keep up.

Finally, they arrived at a grand arched door. The escort knocked lightly and waited.

Another servant opened the door and swept his hand to the side, indicating Yasmin was to enter.

Ben started to follow, but the escort stepped in front of him.

“I guess this is my stop.” Ben nodded toward her and stood to the side.

Yasmin entered the prince’s private quarters. Here, the furniture and décor were more modern. Instead of cushions scattered across the floor, soft white leather sofas were arranged in intimate groupings. On one of them sat Prince Khalid, smoking a very English pipe, lacing the air with the pungent scent of tobacco. He stood when she entered the room.

“Please, come have a seat.” Khalid waved away the servant. When the door closed, he sat forward. “You can remove the
abaya
.
I
do not require the women of the palace to wear them.” He tipped his head. “However, when the entire family is visiting, we bow to tradition.”

Yasmin slipped out of the
abaya
and smoothed her hands over the white linen suit. She glanced around the room, admiring the light and stylish decorations. “Your home is lovely,” she said in her best English accent.

“Thank you. I had an American designer incorporate the most modern furnishings with a few of the traditional pieces.” He waved toward the white sofas and black lacquer table. Against the wall was an intricately carved wooden chest with inlaid jewels.

“Your designer has very good taste.”

“I agree. Would you care for tea?” He motioned toward the table upon which sat a tray with a very English teapot and cups. “I must say, I miss the tea from England.” Khalid wrinkled his nose. “So much less sugar.”

Yasmin sat beside him and poured a cup of tea, handing it to him before pouring for herself. She waited for him to speak first.

“The Saudi people have many customs that appear strange and constrictive to people of the West.”

She nodded and sipped her tea.

“Some consider arranged marriages a thing of the past. A tradition that should have been buried with our ancestors.”

Once more, Yasmin nodded her head. “And what do you think?”

“I would like to see my country shake off the old ways and become more modern.” He sighed. “However, others who think as I do are few. Change does not come quickly; it must be introduced in small increments.”

Yasmin could continue to pretend to be a submissive woman, speaking only when spoken to, but something in Khalid’s statements made her take a chance. “If you believe the old ways should be retired, why consider our arranged marriage?”

He lifted his chin and stared into her eyes, his own unfathomable dark pools. “I am a man of honor. I respect my elders and what they have done for me. One day, I hope to assume the role of King of Saudi Arabia.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Then I will lead our country into the future.” Khalid smiled. “Until then, I must bow to tradition. Our families arranged this marriage when we were small children. As a show of trust, I will go through with it, if you are still in agreement.”

Yasmin stared across at a man who she’d come there prepared to dislike. A royal prince who could be plotting a biological terrorist attack using a virus that could decimate the human population. How could someone who seemed to want to bring his country out of the past and into the future harbor a terrible weapon within his palace? And why would he have married a foreigner like Erin when he already had a wife and expected to marry a third to fulfill a parental promise?

Somehow, Yasmin couldn’t see the man sitting beside her as one who could unleash a biological weapon. But then, she hadn’t seen a double agent in INTERPOL partner she thought she’d fallen in love with. She’d been fooled once.

“I admit, I wasn’t sold on the idea. But, like you, I will do what must be done for the good of all.” There. She hadn’t committed to marrying him. She’d only told the truth. And truth was easier to live with than a pack of lies.

Khalid set his teacup on the tray and stood. “Since we are in agreement, I will have the arrangements made.”

Yasmin’s pulse quickened. As she rose, she lowered her eyelids, hoping to appear somewhat submissive. “How soon can I expect the wedding to take place?”

“Within two weeks.” He walked with her toward the door.

“Two weeks?” she squeaked. “That isn’t much notice to plan a wedding and get to know your other wives before I become one of them.”