HE WASN’T Room Service. That was for sure. Princess Isabella Rossi looked up, way up, at the tall, forbidding man who was standing in the doorway of her hotel room. His muscular frame was displayed to perfection by the tailored black suit he was wearing. But the suit was where any semblance of civilization ended.
His expression was inscrutable, his dark eyes blank, his lips flattened into a firm line. His squared jaw was clenched tight, the tension mirrored in his stance. His golden skin was marred with scars in some places; his cheek, the exposed part of his wrists.
She swallowed hard. “Unless you have my dinner stashed on a cart somewhere, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to come in.”
He uncrossed his arms and held his hands out, as if to show that they were empty. “Sorry.”
“I was waiting for Room Service.”
He tapped the top of the door with his open palm. “They make peepholes in these doors for a reason. It’s always wise to check.”
“Thank you. I’ll remember that.” She made a move to close the door, but it didn’t budge. He was propping it open with his shoulder. She tried to close it again, this time putting more weight behind it. The door still didn’t move, and neither did he. His expression did not betray even a hint of strain.
“You’ve caused a lot of big problems for quite a few people. Including your security detail, who now find themselves without jobs.”
Her heart sank into her stomach. He knew who she was. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more upset by that. Relieved he wasn’t here to hurt her, but … but he was here to take her back. Either to Umarah or to Turan, and she didn’t want to go to either country. Not now. Not when she’d fallen so short of everything she’d wanted to accomplish.
One night of freedom. That was all she’d gotten. A glimpse of the world as she would never know it.
“Do you work for my father?”
“No.”
“You work for Hassan, then.” That should have been obvious. Judging by the faint accent that tinged his deep voice, she should have guessed that Arabic was his native language. She should have known that he was in league with her fiancé.
“You’re in breach of contract, amira. You should have known the Sheikh could not allow such a thing.”
“I didn’t imagine he would be thrilled about it, but …”
“You did a very foolish thing, Isabella. Your parents were concerned that you’d been kidnapped.”
The guilt she’d been holding at bay for the past twenty-four hours made her stomach feel tight. But with that tightening came a strange fluttering sensation that seemed to grow stronger when she looked into those dark, fathomless eyes. She looked down. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”
“And what did you think would happen when you disappeared? That everyone would go about their daily lives as if nothing had happened? You did not believe that your own parents would be frantic with worry?”
She shook her head mutely. In truth, she’d known her family would be upset, but she hadn’t considered that they’d worry about her. Be angry, yes. She’d imagined they would be angry. That they might be afraid the sheikh would want to renege on their bargain if there was a chance she’d been out in the big bad world long enough to become damaged goods, or something.
“I … no. I didn’t really think they would be worried.”
He shifted his focus to the hallway, to a young couple standing a few doors down, kissing passionately against the wall. “I am not going to continue this discussion in the hallway.”
She sneaked a glance at the passionate duo and her face began to burn with embarrassment. “Well, I can’t let you in!”
He looked past her and into the simple room. “Slumming it?”
“No. This is a perfectly nice hotel. Anywhere too upmarket and—”
“They would have known who you were. And they would have wondered.”