And then they were abruptly outside the city, racing down a long stretch of night-dark freeway hugged on either side by smooth dunes of sand and tucked beneath a blazing quilt of stars.
And that was when he really got going.
Like a bolt of lightning, they struck out into the desert at blazing speed.
In what felt like the blink of an eye, they were alone on the road, just the two of them cradled in the car of her dreams.
Rita couldn’t hold back the sigh of contentment that escaped her lips.
Jag looked over at her then, just for an instant before he turned back to the road, but there had been enough heat in his gaze to burn her to ash.
Ever so gradually beginning to slow, his fingers flexed around the steering wheel.
Licking her lips to moisten them, Rita asked, “Where are we going?”
Taking her offer of small talk, he answered, “I’m merely taking us home, the long way. There is something I thought you might like to see out here, but mostly, I thought you’d like taking the baby.”
Heat coming to her cheeks, she gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I do. More than I probably should. Thank you.”
Having slowed to a normal cruising speed, Jag had time to scan her before he said, “There is nothing wrong with loving cars, Rita. I do. I don’t know if you know this about me, but I have been known to spend exorbitant—dare I say extortionate—rates for vehicles.”
Rita snorted, comforted even if she didn’t want to be, but outside, she retorted, “Some things are priceless,” as she stroked the dashboard that she’d spent hours of her life lovingly restoring.
Jag noted the motion of her hand, watching it for a moment with an intensity at odds with the cockiness of his voice as he said, “I’ve heard that said, though I’ve never found it to be so.”
She rolled her eyes. “It must be good to be a prince.”
“If you don’t mind the King,” he said, a mixture of bitterness and heat in his voice.
Shuddering, Rita made a face of distaste thinking about the man who was her father-in-law. “I have to admit, he was worse than you described,” she said.
“Unfortunately, it is hard to encapsulate his brand of ill will,” he said flatly.
Waiting a beat, she asked, “Why do you hate him so much—I mean, beyond his being so obviously hateful?”
For a long time, he didn’t say anything, simply stared at the road ahead.
When he finally spoke, his voice was dry and cracked, sounding older than he was.
“My mother was born in Egypt, but her family is from rural Hayat,” he began. “She was beautiful, and kind, and smart. She loved horses and handbags.”
“And you?” Rita guessed, now more certain than ever that it had been his mother who had given Jag his heart.
Closing his eyes, Jag agreed, “And me.” After drawing in a choppy breath, he picked up again. “And at one time, she loved my father. But the feeling died long before he took me away from her.”
Knowing the pain of separation, Rita ached for him. “I’m so sorry, Jag.”
Shaking his head as if he could shake off her concern, he said, “He played us against each other. He sent me to boarding school and would use access to her to manipulate me into being the son he wanted. Any transgression could mean the loss of a visit or phone call, so I became perfect. Soon, even perfect was not enough, however. For years, he would set impossible standards, knowing I would never be able to achieve them. I had nearly completed school, the model son, when I learned that the reason for the change had been that she had died. He hadn’t wanted to lose his bargaining chip so he simply didn’t tell me. She died by herself, and for that alone I would never have been able to forgive him, but he’d gone further than that. For years, he paid someone to forge letters from her so that he could use our correspondence to spy on me. He let me write letters to a ghost in order to mine my most private thoughts and feelings.”
Rita brought a hand to her mouth in horror. “Oh, Jag.”
With a bitter face, he added, “And when I finally stepped into the role of Crown Prince, three years ago, I learned that the same cruel tactics he used on me, he had been using on the people of Hayat. He loves nothing more than illegal surveillance and emotional deception. Except perhaps skimming from the top.”
Rita’s stomach roiled, her entire being sickened by what Jag’s father had done.
That a father could be so monstrously cruel was nearly beyond belief. She might not have believed it, in fact, had she not met the man herself—had she not come to trust in the prince at her side.
And in trusting, she gained greater understanding of why he had been so reticent to build emotional connections.