Even if she had not yet dared to turn around and say them to his face. She'd sensed the moment he'd stepped into this opulent bedroom suite they had once shared, high up in the mountains over the tiny Eurasian country of Alakkul. His country. She would know him anywhere, this brooding, ruthless man. Rafi Qaderi. The leader of his ancient family, responsible for maintaining the Qaderis' many international interests and vast wealth while his celebrated cousin prepared to take over the throne of Alakkul from the ailing King Azat. Rafi was a financial wizard, a shrewd businessman. Noble and proud. Her husband. "Thank you, Lucy." His tone was dark, sardonic, with that undercurrent of patience sorely tried. "I was able to gather as much from your packed luggage in the front hall." She should hate him. At times, she did. And yet that voice moved over her like a wave of heat, making her feel itchy, her chest tight. Lucy stared out the window. Fiercely. The great Alakkulian Valley was like something out of a fairy tale for a girl who'd grown up with nearly nothing in a small village near Manchester.
