Virgin Seduction Read online

  Virgin Seduction

  Kathleen Creighton

  A stolen kiss, a midnight visit – and suddenly oil baron Cade Gallagher found himself married to a virginal Tamiri princess! Honor demanded Cade pledge himself to Leila Kamal to save the lovely princess's reputation. Only the two of them knew the truth – that Leila remained untouched. Come hell or the devil's own temptation, Cade vowed to keep her that way…

  Leila might be innocent, but she knew the agony of forbidden desire when she saw it in a man's eyes. Her tall, stubborn Texan of a husband might think he was being noble. But honorable intentions were no match for a princess determined to be a wife…in every way!

  Kathleen Creighton

  Virgin Seduction

  A book in the Romancing the Crown series, 2002

  Dear Reader,

  I was thrilled to be asked to participate in this wonderful series, ROMANCING THE CROWN, but I must confess that when I learned I would be writing about the princess of a mythical Arab kingdom, my first thought was, "Who, me? But I don't do Arab sheikh books!" How, I wondered, would I ever be able to write convincingly of a people and a culture I knew absolutely nothing about?

  But as I began the research for Virgin Seduction, it suddenly came to me: this isn't a book about sheikhdoms and Arabs and Eastern Mediterranean culture, it's the story of two complete strangers, who don't even know they're in love yet, struggling to find a way to make a life together. Throw in the fact that they are already married to each other for a dash of suspense, I thought, and, lo and behold, here are all the elements I love most to write about! From that moment on, Virgin Seduction truly became for me a labour of love.

  Now perhaps you, too, will fall in love with Princess Leila and her handsome Texan, Cade Gallagher, as I did, as they seek their very own happily-ever-after.

  All the best,

  Kathleen Creighton

  Prologue

  Sheik Ahmed Kamal, absolute ruler of the Mediterranean island kingdom of Tamir, had reason to count himself among those whom Allah has richly blessed. Indeed, he was the happiest of men as he stood in the modest but beautifully appointed mosque that was his family's traditional place of worship and prayed for divine guidance and blessings for his youngest son, Hassan, on the solemn occasion of his marriage.

  Before him were the bride and groom-at this moment, at least, appropriately separated-with eyes downcast as befitted such a solemn and worshipful occasion. Today the bride-as well as many of those assembled for the Nikah ceremony, and Sheik Ahmed himself-was modestly veiled and dressed in the traditional costume of her husband's people. In Ahmed's opinion, it was a much more pleasing mode of dress to both the eye and the spirit than the Western styles he'd grudgingly adopted in recent years.

  A fine woman, Elena Rahman, Ahmed thought to himself. Hassan had chosen well-or so Ahmed had been assured by Alima, his wife, whose judgment in such matters he had learned to trust. To be honest, he'd had reservations about the girl at first-she was, after all, an American. And the daughter of a terrorist! But as Alima had pointed out, she was at least a true believer by blood and birth. And it must not be forgotten that Elena Rahman was CEO of one of the most prosperous oil refining companies in the American state of Texas. Yes, thought Ahmed, who had ambitious plans for his country's own oil resources…Hassan had made a very good choice, indeed.

  As he began the first of the required Quranic verses, Ahmed's gaze expanded to include the two people standing with the bride and groom as witnesses, and his heart grew near to bursting with pride and thanksgiving. His eldest son, Sheik Rashid, and Rashid's wife, Princess Julia of Montebello, were only recently wed themselves, and parents of Sheik Ahmed's first grandchild, Omar-already the apple of his grandmother's eye, and, it must be confessed, of his grandfather's as well.

  As serene and happy as the couple appeared today, the truth was that Rashid and Julia's union had come about only after much intrigue and extreme peril. In the end, it had brought about the reconciliation of a century-old feud between their respective countries, and as a result, prospects for a future of prosperity and mutual cooperation between Tamir and Montebello had never been more promising.

  It was time now to conclude the ceremony with the traditional prayers for the bride and groom, for their families and friends and for the community at large. As he intoned the beautiful and time-honored words, Ahmed raised his head and his arms to encompass them all: his two sons and their wives; his own beloved Alima, still as lovely as the day of their own Nikah ceremony; their three daughters, Nadia, the eldest; gentle Samira; and Leila, the youngest and secretly his favorite-and most vexing-child.

  The ceremony was almost concluded. Quickly, Ahmed's eyes continued their sweep of those assembled inside the mosque-a small, select group, for the most part close family and friends, according to the traditions of his people. There in the back, he caught sight of Butrus Dabir, his trusted advisor and-who knows?-perhaps soon-to-be son-in-law, if only Nadia-stubborn daughter!-would see fit to accept him.

  But that small cloud over the sheik's happiness passed quickly.

  Also among the guests assembled in the mosque were the bride's two guests, from Texas-that rather outspoken woman who was Elena's friend-what was her name? Oh yes, Kitty. And the tall and somewhat mysterious man who had come as the bride's guardian and protector. According to Elena, the man was her adopted brother and only family, although, since there was no actual blood tie between Cade Gallagher and Elena Rahman, and Ahmed being a suspicious and extremely traditional man by nature, he thought it a strange relationship.

  Near the front of the assembly, dressed in well-tailored Western-style suits, was the contingent from Montebello. Several, including Ahmed's new ally and in-law King Marcus Sebastiani and his firstborn son, Prince Lucas, stood with heads respectfully bowed. The day after tomorrow, to conclude the weekend's festivities, there would be a state dinner and reception to celebrate the joyous occasion of the prince's miraculous return from the dead as well as the new alliance between the two countries as personified by the marriage of Rashid and Julia.

  But first…tomorrow would be the Walima, the feast given by Hassan to celebrate the consummation of his marriage to Elena Rahman. The palace would be ablaze with flowers and light and alive with laughter and music. There would be an abundance of good food, good friends and good conversation, all of which Ahmed most especially enjoyed. It would be a joyous occasion. On this day, all was well with the Kamal family. Tamir was at peace, and prospects for its future prosperity were bright.

  Yes, thought Sheik Ahmed as he uttered the final words of the Khutba-tun-Nikah, life is indeed good.

  Allah be praised.

  Chapter 1

  From a balcony overlooking the palace gardens, Leila watched the man in the dove-gray cowboy hat stroll unhurried along tiled pathways. She'd watched many people traverse the garden that morning, but she particularly liked the way this man moved-confidently but without arrogance. The way he seemed to study everything around him-the flowers, the fountains, the colorful mosaics at his feet-with unselfconscious interest reminded her of a child at the zoo.

  She laughed out loud as a brightly colored bird flitted across the man's path, startling him. He lifted his head to follow the bird's flight, revealing a deeply tanned, hard-boned face, cheeks creased, teeth bared in a smile. For several seconds he seemed to look right at Leila, and her breath caught, stifling the laughter. Oh, she knew he couldn't really see her. She was well concealed behind the balcony's intricately carved screen. It was just that he had such a nice smile.

  "That one," she said in a conspirator's whisper to the woman beside her. "Who is he-the one in the hat? I saw him yesterday at the wedding. He must be an American."

  "Oh yes,
Princess, he is-and not only that, but from Texas." The servant Nargis threw a guilty glance toward the divan where her mistress, Leila's sister Nadia, had her nose-and her attention-safely buried in her sketchbook. She lowered her voice anyway. "His name is Cade Gallagher. The princess-er…Mrs. Elena invited him. Salma heard her tell Madam Alima that he is her guardian."

  Leila made a derisive sound, forgetting to whisper. "Do not be silly. Elena is an American. In America women don't have guardians." She couldn't keep a note of envy out of her voice. Her new sister-in-law was only four years older than Leila, but so smart and sophisticated, and the head of her own company! And still she had managed to attract and win the love of a handsome and powerful man like Hassan.

  Nargis shrugged. "It is what I heard."

  "Perhaps Elena only wished to honor the customs of our country," said Leila's sister Samira in an appeasing tone, laying aside the needlepoint she'd been working on and coming to join them. "You know that since the death of her father, she has no family of her own. This man may be a distant relative, perhaps a friend or even a business associate. Anyway," she added, gently chastising, "if Hassan has agreed to have him here as a guest, there can be nothing improper about it. You should not gossip, Leila."

  Leila hooked her arm through her sister's, not in the least chastened. "Oh, but look at him, Sammi-do you not think he is handsome?" But at the same time she was thinking that the word "handsome" really did not suit the tall man in the gray suit and cowboy hat. It seemed too pale and feminine a word, somehow.

  "He seems very…rugged," said Samira after a moment's consideration, voicing Leila's very thoughts. "Quite imposing, really." She tilted her head sideways as she thought about it. "It would be difficult not to be intimidated by such a man."

  "Oh, I know," Leila teased, rolling her eyes, "you'd prefer someone more suave…someone smooth, someone sophisticated-" she pointed "-like that one there-the dark, beautiful one with the impossibly gorgeous eyes." And much too aware of how gorgeous they are, she thought with disdain. She didn't know quite why, but she found something about the man vaguely unpleasant. Rather like food that had been cooked in too much grease. "And…is he not the one I saw talking with you yesterday?"

  "That is Desmond Caruso, Princess," Nargis interrupted eagerly, pleased to be the bearer of information that would make her once more the center of attention. "He is one of the Sebastianis-you see, that is Duke Lorenzo with him. And the woman with the red hair is Duke Lorenzo's new wife, Eliza. She is an American, too, you know." Her voice dropped to a gleeful whisper. "A newspaper reporter."

  "Really?" As always, Leila's interest perked up at the mention of America, and she did not stop then to wonder why Samira had suddenly gone so pale and silent.

  "Really-you three are the worst gossips," said Nadia, making a tsk-tsking sound. But she said it good-naturedly as she, too, came to join them at the screen.

  There was a little silence while the four women watched the shifting patterns below in the gardens… people gathering, greeting, moving on. Sounds drifted up to them on the balcony…the tinkle of water in the fountains, snatches of laughter and the murmur of conversation.

  "Well," Leila said flatly, "I do not trust a man who is that handsome." A small, involuntary shiver surprised her. Funny-the same thing had happened to her when she had seen him talking with Samira yesterday in the corridor near the great hall. Something about the man was definitely off, but Leila did not mention it. No one would take her seriously anyway. She smiled with lowered lashes and added in a voice like a purr, "I much prefer the tall American. Do you not think he looks like a cowboy? Even dressed in a business suit?"

  Samira smiled indulgently. "Oh, Leila, you just like Americans. You have a fascination with that country."

  "Why not?" said Leila, tossing back her long, black hair. "America is fascinating."

  "How do you know?" Samira asked with a trill of laughter.

  Leila could feel her cheeks growing warm. "Hassan evidently thinks so. And Elena has told me about America-especially Texas. Since Elena is from there, it must be a very wonderful place, must it not? She is so smart, so…" She caught herself before she could say the word in her mind-free!-and instead turned her back on Samira and addressed the sister on her other side. "Nadia? Wouldn't you like to visit America?"

  Nadia gave an indifferent shrug. "What is so special about America? It is just… very, very big." "But," said Leila eagerly, "that is what makes it special." She threw her arms wide. "It is so big. And Tamir-" she brought her hands almost together "-is so small." She finished with a sigh. "It is hard to imagine a place so enormous."

  Oh, but Leila could imagine it. If she closed her eyes she could see herself mounted on one of her brother i Rashid's polo ponies, riding like the wind across the green-gold fields of his farm on the outer island of Siraj, with the wind blowing back her hair and the sky cloudless and blue above and all around her and the land seeming to go on and on forever.

  Only it did not go on forever, of course-how could it, on Siraj or even Tamir? Very quickly the land ended and there were the cliffs, and below them the white sand beaches and blue-green water. Someday, she thought with a sudden and intense yearning, I want to go to a place where the land does not stop.

  "Where would you like to go in America, little sister? What would you want to do there?" Nadia was looking at her, smiling in that tolerant, affectionate way she had, as if Leila were a particularly appealing, perhaps even moderately amusing child. "Shopping, I'm sure. Perhaps…New York City?"

  Leila had shopped in London boutiques and Paris salons; her shoes were custom-made in Italy. What, she thought, would New York City have to offer her that those fashion centers did not? But she only said with a shrug and a superior smile, "I was thinking more of Hollywood. Maybe…Rodeo Drive?" But images of endless desert vistas and ranges of snowcapped mountains remained wistful and golden in her mind. Like memories, except-how could she have memories of places she had never seen?

  Nadia laughed. "Hollywood? Oh, Leila, you are a dreamer."

  Stung, Leila said, "Why is it so impossible to think of going to America?"

  "You have no reason to go," Samira answered in her matter-of-fact way. "Father would never allow you to make such a trip just for fun, and what other reason would you have, when Europe is so much closer?"

  Leila had to bite her lip to keep from mentioning the fact that Hassan had attended college in America. Her own education had been restricted to an all-female boarding school in Switzerland, capped off by a year in England, and her brother's engineering degree from M.I.T. was a source of envy to her.

  "What about business?" she said after a moment. "Now that Hassan has married Elena, and she is head of an oil company-"

  "But that is Hassan's business. It has nothing to do with you. No, Leila, dear-" Samira gave her arm a not unsympathetic squeeze as she turned away from the screen "-I am afraid the only hope you would have of visiting America is if, like Hassan, you were to marry an American." She and Nadia exchanged laughing glances. "And for that, you must first wait until Nadia and I have found husbands."

  "I will be old and ugly before that happens," Leila grumbled.

  Never one to entertain a dark mood for long, she straightened, dimpling wickedly as she peered through the screen. "Speaking of prospective husbands-guess who has just arrived. Look, Nadia, it is Butrus Dabir." She slid her eyes toward her oldest sister, lips curving in an innocent smile. "Is it true he has asked Father if he may marry you?"

  Her teasing was rewarded by a most satisfactory gasp of dismay from Nadia. "Where did you hear that?" Hands on her hips, she rounded on her servant. "Nargis?How many times-"

  Nargis was already making a hasty retreat, after sneaking Leila a delighted wink. "Yes, Princess-I am going to prepare your bath now. Did you wish the jasmine scent, or the rose? Or perhaps that new one from Paris…" She ducked through the draperies and disappeared into the princesses' sitting room.

  "She is such a terrible g
ossip," Nadia said crossly, snatching up her sketchbook from the settee and preparing to follow. In the doorway she paused to give her sisters a piercing glance. "I have not said I will marry Butrus."

  "She will, though," said Samira with a shrug when Nadia had gone. "I am almost sure of it."

  Still gazing intently into the garden, Leila could not repress a shiver. "I wish she would not. Even if it means we both must wait longer before we can marry."

  "You do not like Butrus?" Samira looked at her in surprise. "He is very handsome, in his way. And he has been almost a member of the family for so many years. Father trusts him."

  "It is just that…he seems so cold. I do not see how Nadia can possibly love him."

  "Perhaps," said Samira thoughtfully, "there are other reasons to marry besides love. Not," she hastened to add, "that I would ever do such a thing. But…who knows what is in another person's heart? Nadia's, after all, has been broken once already. Perhaps she does not wish to risk such pain again. And I suppose if the other reasons were important enough…"

  Leila said nothing. Once again she was watching the man in the dove-gray suit and cowboy hat stroll along the tiled pathways. This time she did not take her eyes off of him until he had disappeared from view beyond a stone archway thickly entwined with climbing roses.

  * * *

  In the shaded promenade beyond a rose-covered archway, Cade Gallagher paused to light a cheroot-a small sin, and one of the few vices he allowed himself. He was alone, for the moment, in this secluded part of the palace grounds, and he relished the solitude and the quiet, pulled it into himself along with the honey-sweet smoke of the cigar. As he exhaled, the chatter of strangers' conversation receded to background noise. Nearby he could hear the twitter of birdsong, and the musical ripple of water. The air was cool and fragrant, misty with breeze-blown spray from distant fountains.