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otherwise.
    Her mother had stood up for her. Looking like American royalty in a beautiful European-designed gown, Lou-Belia had told Cemal to take a chill pill. The look on Angele’s father’s face had been worth the price of admission and then some.
    But the expression that flashed over Zahir’s features when he’d seen Angele’s dress had been even better. His gray eyes had heated to molten metal and his lids had dropped in a look of pure sexual predatory interest before he’d schooled his features into diplomatic blankness. It hadn’t been just the once, either.
    She’d caught that heated stare directed her way morethan once over the course of the evening. Each time, it increased her desire for the feast to be over, for her one night with Crown Sheikh Zahir bin Faruq al Zohra to begin. The celebration was over now and she could go to Zahir as soon as she wanted. The only thing stopping her was the garment lying so innocently on her bed.
    She’d discovered the galabeya upon returning to her room. The traditional wedding dress in this part of the world, the white silk gown embroidered with gold thread looked like it belonged in an Arabian Nights fantasy. The Arabic lettering in the intricate embroidery told the story of the first Sheikh’s marriage to the wife that helped him found the house of Zohra.
    A note from Zahir lay atop the galabya .
    My dear Angele,
    You indicated a wish to have a wedding night. Please do me the honor of wearing this gown, worn by my grandmother in her wedding to my grandfather.
    I look forward to seeing you in and out of it.
    Zahir
    The day before, he had told her to come to him via the secret passages she’d never known for certain existed. She’d guessed, since the palaces in Jawhar all had them, but Angele had never been privileged with that information regarding the royal palace of Zohra. Until now.
    Now, when she planned to leave the palace of Zohra tomorrow and never return to it.
    With a deep sigh, she turned from the darkness toward the warm light emanating from her bedroom. The galabeya shimmered under the glow, calling to and repelling her with equal fascination.
    He wanted her to wear a wedding dress on their single night together. It was mind-boggling, but not nearly as shocking as it should have been. Part of her wanted the fantasy. Her subconscious at least was on the same page as her soon to be former almost-fiancé.
    So, why balk at his request? The galabeya was easily the most beautiful one she had ever seen, the needlework making the Arabic letters look like art and perfect in each stitch. The matching slippers were beyond elegant. And looking at them, she knew they were exactly her size.
    How had Zahir managed that?
    A tiny voice warned against the cost tomorrow to that kind of indulgence tonight. But it was her one night, the only time for her to be with the man of her dreams. Perhaps it would make the morrow harder, but she would not balk at letting it fulfill every fantasy possible.
    She changed into the galabeya, shivering with a sensuality she’d kept locked deep inside since her first sexual feeling, as the silk whispered against her skin. She’d opted to wear a modern bra and panties in matching white silk and lace, rather than the traditional underclothes Zahir had left with the dress. After all, this wasn’t a wedding, but a seduction.
    Though she was not at all sure any longer who was seducing whom. Certainly Zahir showed none of the reticence about bedding her that he always had done before.
    Perhaps it was because his relationship with Elsa had ended. The one and only time their picture together had featured in the media, it had quickly been followed by a discreet announcement that any liaison there might have been between the two had ended.
    In addition, Angele could not let herself forget the offered price for this night was ultimately Zahir’s freedom. Perhaps that, if not she directly, accounted for