CHAPTER ONE
KING SAI KAZURI, Daimyo of Baraka, stood on the ancient harbor wall constructed nearly seven hundred years ago, in the shade of a sixteenth century Portuguese fortress and watched the royal Shinobi yacht sail into his harbor, ship's purple and gold banners flying high.
His princess was here.
His thick lashes lowered as he heard his band strike up a song of welcome, and he wondered at her thoughts, the thoughts of the beautiful Shinobi princess who'd left her home for his. Her world was Western, his was Eastern. She must feel some fear. He felt fear for her. She was coming to a world far different from her own.
Her life would never be the same.
Did she even know it yet?
Standing on the gleaming wooden deck of the Royal Hoshi, the Shinobi yacht named after Ino's late mother. Ino adjusted the long dark head covering she'd donned, and listened lo the ship's flags snap in the hot afternoon wind, even as her own body crackled with tension.
She was determined. Focused. She knew what she had to do.
Her plan would work. There was no reason it shouldn't.
She'd arrive in Baraka, pretend to be Hinata, proceed with the wedding, and then, once Hinata and Kaori were safe in The Fire Country, the wedding would be called off.
Simple. Doable.
With her narrowed gaze on the horizon, the formidable stone walls of Atiq, Baraka's capital city, took shape. The fortified rampart facing the sea appeared to be centuries old, buffeted by storm and sea, and countless marauding neighbors.
Ino could easily imagine those ruthless neighbors—The Greeks. The Romans. The Turks. The Portuguese. The French.
Everybody wanted to own something. If not a woman, then a piece of land. She could just picture the sailors, the soldiers, the adventurers grabbing up chunks of soil and sand. Anything for power.
Ino stilled the wave of irritation. She had to be careful, needed to keep tight rein on her temper. She had to be charming, not angry. Sweet-tempered, not feisty. It was vital King Sai Kazuri believe she was really Hinata.
Pulling the head scarf closer to her face, concealing her mouth and nose, she drew a deep breath and chased away all thoughts of conquerors and kings. Instead she studied the looming port with the dots of green palm trees shadowing the glaring while walls of the inner city.
For a moment. Ino's curiosity upstaged her emotions. Was this where she'd stay during the next couple of weeks? Did the Daimyo live in the harbor city of Atiq? Or was his palace elsewhere... perhaps tucked inland, protected by the massive dunes of the desert?
And as her gaze focused on the distant horizon, music wafted over the water. She spotted the enormous crowd gathered on the rampart walls. Hundreds and hundreds of people waited for her.
So much for sneaking in and out.
Beneath Ino's long robe, something she'd cheerfully put on as it aided her disguise, her toes curled inside her sleek leather pumps, the shoes matching her hidden lavender silk suit perfectly, the suit vintage designer—something from her mother's collection, and she shook her head at Hinata's choices all over again.
Why on earth would someone like King Sai Kazuri choose Hinata for his bride? And why on earth would Hinata even consider saying yes to yet another unfaithful husband?
Ino had spent all last week on the Internet, poring over media archives. She'd done her research and she knew King Sai Kazuri for what he was. A handsome, but irredeemable playboy.
From the few grainy photos she'd been able to pull up, he was certainly attractive.
He had hard, masculine features, a thick head of hair, and apparently a stunning libido.
The gossip magazines claimed the Daimyo, Sai Kazuri, was The Casanova of Arabia.
According to several sources close to the Daimyo, King Kazuri had mastered seduction, turned lovemaking into an art, and kept numerous mistresses—all in splendid style.
Fine. He was a world-class lover. He spoiled his mistresses. After Hinata's experience with one manipulative and unfaithful husband, she certainly didn't need another who'd never keep his vows of fidelity, much less loyalty.
Ino grit her teeth. Hinata deserved a prince of a man, not a Daimyo unable to keep his royal trousers on!
The band's bright notes jarred her, even as they filled the air. Two weeks, three weeks, she told herself, lighting her temper, not a day more. They'd leave for the United Slates as soon as it could be arranged. She'd propose a wedding in her mother's home town, something very small and private, yet meaningful, and once they were in Baton Rouge. Ino would call the wedding off.
If she handled this right—flattering the Daimyo, giving him the kind of attention she knew how to give a man—the whole charade would be nothing but a feminine escapade. The engagement would be short. Sweet. Painless.
"Your Highness?" The ship's captain had appeared at her side. "We have arrived."
Ino turned to the captain, a man she'd known nearly half her life. He'd aged in the past decade, but then hadn't they all? And he didn't know what she knew: this would be his last voyage as captain of the Royal Hoshi. The Royal Hoshi was being put up for auction on the ship's return to Konoha.
"Excellent."
"We've just about moored, Your Highness. Are you ready to disembark?"
"Yes." And then she swallowed around the fierce lump in her throat as she looked up into Captain Anderson's weathered face, the creases at his eyes deep from years of squinting against the sun.
"And may I thank you for your years of loyal service, Captain? You've been truly magnificent."
"It's been my pleasure. Your Highness." He bowed. "We'll see you on your return home."
With the stringed instruments plucking, drums and tambourines beating, Ino stepped onto the gangway and halfway across, colorful confetti streamed down. It wasn't paper confetti, the bits of orange and red and pink were flower petals and the sweet scented petals drifted onto her covered head and shoulders. It was like entering a dream world—the music, the colors, the hint of spice in the air. Ino had the strongest sensation that this new world would soon dazzle her with its exotic secrets.
By the time she reached the end of the gangway, time had slowed. Faces blurred. People were cheering and clapping but none of it sounded real. The language was different, the faces weren't familiar, and there was nothing here that resembled the life she'd known.
Her gaze searched the crowd, trying to find a landmark...a personal touchstone.
She found none. Instead the heat beat at her, hot and humid and oppressive, and the noise rang in her ears, too loud, too insistent, and for a half second everything swam before her eyes, a blur of orange and crimson, sharp, discordant sound, and she blinked once, trying to clear her head, trying to find herself again.
Ino gripped the gangway railing and tried not to dwell on the fact that she, Tough Girl, was suffering from a case of nerves. Focus, she lectured herself. Find a face in the crowd. Get your legs under you. Pull yourself together.
And she did.
She found a remarkable face in the crowd. It belonged to a man of course, she'd always had a soft spot for the opposite sex, and this man certainly caught her interest, quickened her pulse.
Arresting was the first word that came to mind. Darkly arresting. She liked his strong hard face with the dark sunglasses, the thick black hair which framed his wide brow. She even liked the way he wore his sophisticated dark suit, with his crisp white shirt open at the collar. He looked cool, calm, and different from the others.
Her gaze clung to him, grateful for the normalcy. No robes, no camel, no chanting from him.
Good.
His sunglasses shaded his eyes and added to his mystique. She tried to imagine what his eyes would be like. Dark? Sable brown? Golden, perhaps?
It really didn't matter, not with that thick, straight hair, and a face that made her think of lips...kisses. His jaw was as broad as his brow, his nose rather long but his lips curved faintly. They were very nice lips.
Then he pulled off his sunglasses and she inhaled a little, intrigued by his expression. It was arrogant. Proud. Challenging. He looked like a man who enjoyed a good fight. Interesting. She enjoyed a good fight, too.
Nothing turned her on as much as a man wrestling with her, rolling her beneath him, pinning her hands to the bed.
Mmm, it'd been too long. Too bad they weren't in Konoha. What she wouldn't give for a night alone with him. She'd like to test his pride as well as taste his intensity.
He'd be great fun on board the Royal Hoshi, or for a night playing in nearby Monte Carlo, but there was no way anything was going to happen here. She was Hinata, she reminded herself, ending the brief fantasy, and she was in Baraka to discuss a wedding.
Conscious of a thousand pair of eyes resting on her, cymbals still clanging in her ears. Ino wished the Daimyo would step forward and get the introductions over.
For a moment no one moved, and then a small, very stout robed man with dark mustache and beard moved toward her.
"Princess Hinata Shinobi?"
The man barely reached her shoulder. Ino was tall; taller than either of her sisters, but this man would have been short standing next to even them. "Yes."
He bowed. "May I present to you, His Royal Highness, King Sai Kazuri, Daimyo of Baraka, prince of Atiq."
The crowd shifted expectantly and their tension sent arrows of dread straight through her middle. For a half second she regretted agreeing to this, wishing she'd stayed comfortable and ignorant at home.
Then she straightened her shoulders and the front row of the crowd opened, allowing a tall man in a dark suit to pass through.
Him.
No, she silently cried, not him. Anyone but him. But he was moving toward her, slowly, languidly, and her legs went weak.
This was not a good thing.
She swallowed, tried to see past his sunglasses which were again hiding his gaze, but instead looked at his mouth. The mouth that had made her think of lips, and kissing and… sex.
Her mouth dried. She suppressed a wave of horror. She'd seen the Daimyo's picture on the Internet and she wracked her brain, trying to put together the grainy photos with this man but it didn't fit. She'd imagined a shorter man, heavier set, easily managed and rather spoiled...
This man didn't look easily managed at all.
"His Royal Highness." the short man intoned with a deep bow.
Her heart thudded, turned over, and her legs felt quivery. "Your Highness?" she murmured, hearing the doubt in her own voice.
The Daimyo closed the distance between them and studied her for a long silent moment. Ino was the first to look away, glancing down to the ground to hide her confusion.
But the Daimyo wouldn't let her escape. He tilted her chin up with his lingers, again gazed clown into her face, and then apparently satisfied, he kissed her on each cheek.
"S-salamu alikum," he said soberly, his voice so deep she had to strain to hear him.
"Peace on you." the short man translated with another bow. "His Highness welcomes you to his beloved Baraka. Land of a thousand dreams."
Land of a thousand dreams. Interesting. And rather provocative, too.
"Thank you." she murmured, her cheeks still hot from the brush of his lips, and her brain racing to assimilate everything she was learning—such as the fact that the Daimyo didn't speak English.
"Would you please tell His Highness that I am flattered by the warm welcome his people have given me?"
The translator passed the message on before turning back to Ino. "His Highness thinks it would be good to gel you out of the sun. His car is waiting just there," and he pointed to a dark limousine behind them, surrounded by uniformed guards.
The translator sat on one long seat in the limousine while Ino and the silent Daimyo sat on the other.
She and King Kazuri didn't speak during the brief drive, and although he barely looked at her. Ino had never felt so uncomfortably aware of anyone before.
She was conscious of the way he sat, feet planted, knees parted, thigh muscles honed. She felt the way he breathed— slow, deep breaths as if he owned the very air. His fragrance was light and yet the faint hint of spice made her want more.
He shifted abruptly, his arm extending on the back of the black leather upholstery seat, his hand precariously near her shoulder. Ino shimmered with sudden heat, her skin prickling all over. She felt each fine hair on her nape rise, and her nipples tighten.
Bizarre. Impossible. She hadn't responded to a man this strong since... since...
She shook her head, not wanting to go there. It was bad enough trying to cope with her dazed senses without throwing memories of Kiba into the mix.
"Your luggage will follow," the translator volunteered after a few tense minutes. "But if there is anything you require before your luggage arrives, you need only ask."
Ino nodded jerkily, grateful for the protective head scarf, knowing her checks were as hot as the rest of her. "Thank you."
They reached the outer gates of the palace, and Ino discovered the Daimyo's palace was actually a modernized fort, although to Ino's mind, the huge and richly embellished main gale seemed more suitable for decoration than defense.
Once inside the ornate gale, a miniature city appeared, gardens, courtyards, while stone buildings each elegant and unique, nearly all fronted by endless while marble columns.
Guards in while trousers, white shirts, black boots and white robes bowed as King Kazuri led Ino and the translator across the central courtyard to the central building. The building they entered was larger than the others and the façade grander, but the large carved doors failed to hint at the grandeur inside.
The great doors were gilded, and in the interior the ceiling soared, at least two stories in height, every surface covered in gold, mosaic murals, and bronze detailing. Gold, treasure, and impossible beauty.
Awed. Ino followed King Kazuri into an elegant salon; rich crimson carpets covered the marble floor. The King gestured to one of the low couches in the middle of the room.
Ino gratefully sank down on the edge of one couch, the cushion covered in stunning ruby silk, cocooned by the luxury and elegance.
"Refreshments?" the translator offered as a serving girl entered with a silver tray.
The smell of dark rich fragrant coffee made Ino's mouth water. She'd never needed fortifying as much as she did now. "Please."
Still standing. King Kazuri gazed at Ino with unnerving focus. Then he broke the silence, and when he spoke, his voice was so deep and smooth that his words sounded like honeyed candy.
The translator explained the Daimyo's words. "His Highness trusts your journey was safe."
She nodded, forcing a calm smile. "Yes, thank you."
"No problems on your journey?" The Daimyo added.
Ino listened to the Daimyo's voice in her head, lingering over his syllables. He had the most unusual voice. Deep. Husky. Again her pulse lurched, her heart finding it hard to settle into a steady rhythm.
"The trip was uneventful." she answered, knowing she'd belter find her fooling fast. If she couldn't control her response to him. How could she possibly control him?
"Hamadullah" King Kazuri answered, the corner of his mouth curved in a small private smile.
She forced her attention away from the Daimyo's lovely mouth. Remember his stream of mistresses, she told herself. Remember his reputation. "What does "hamadullah" mean?"
"It means.'Thanks be to God'."
Ino mulled over the King's response.
King Kazuri spoke again, and the translator hastened to explain. "It is customary here to express gratitude to God for our blessings."
Ino shot King Kazuri a quick glance. His lips curved fractionally. Hollows appeared beneath his strong cheekbones. "And my arrival is a blessing?"
"Without a doubt." The translator answered, speaking for the Daimyo.
She shot King Kazuri yet another wary glance. She'd thought she was prepared for this trip, thought her plan was bullet proof, but now that she was here, and he was here, and they were together... this wasn't at all how she'd imagined it. She'd pictured him rakish. Handsome but a little thick in the jowls, a little paunchy at the waist. She'd told herself he'd flirt outrageously, come on too strong, and probably wear flashy clothes, but that wasn't the man facing her now.
The Daimyo look a seat close to her on one of the low couches. When he reached for his coffee, his long arm nearly brushed her knee and she shivered inwardly, tensing all over again.
Had she hoped he'd touch her?
Had she feared he'd touch her?
The Daimyo was speaking Arabic again, and Ino glanced from King Kazuri to the translator and back. The King's profile was beautiful. He was beautiful. Definitively male.
"His Highness expresses his satisfaction that you are here. He says that he and his people have waited a very long lime for this day."
Ino's fingers tightened around her small espresso cup, trying to keep her calm. The King was practically reclining, and his eyes, a cool black, rested on her as if he found her absolutely fascinating.
Thank God Hinata wasn't here. King Kazuri would have seduced her, married her, and abandoned her in no time. If he was a man who lived off his conquests, then Hinata, so broken by marriage and life, wouldn't be enough of a conquest.
"I look forward to getting to know His Highness." Ino said in her most careful diction. "And to discussing my ideas for the wedding."
"Your ideas?" The interpreter asked.
Ino couldn't hide her impatience. "Yes. Of course. It's my wedding. I have ideas about my wedding."
No one spoke for a moment, and King Kazuri's dark head tipped, his black lashes dropped as he studied her. His cool gaze examined her face, taking in each feature, the curve of bone, the very shape and texture of her lips.
The translator expressed her thoughts to King Kazuri.
Then the Daimyo spoke, and the translator turned to her. "The king understands that you have just arrived, and everything feels quite new and alien, but he also asks you to trust him with the wedding details so they will comply with his beliefs and our customs."
"Please tell His Highness that I'd like to trust him with the wedding details, but a wedding is quite a personal event, and I insist I be part of planning it."
"The king thanks you for your concerns, and assures you that you need not worry, or be troubled. As the wedding details are set, there is nothing for you to do in the next two weeks but relax and familiarize yourself with our life here in Baraka."
Nothing to do in the next two weeks but relax? Ino puzzled over the king's answer.
"What's happening in two weeks?"
The translator bowed his head. "The wedding. Your Highness."
The wedding already planned. The ceremony here. In two weeks. It couldn't be. Surely this was a language problem, an issue with the translation. "I'm afraid we're losing something here. Are you telling me that the wedding date—and all the detail—has already been set?"
"Yes."
Ino touched the lip of her tongue to her upper lip. She'd been in Baraka, King Sai Kazuri's North African kingdom, less than two hours and already things were wildly out of control. What had happened to her plan? What about the quiet, private ceremony she'd dreamed up in The Fire Country? "How can it beset?"
The robed translator bowed his head politely. "His Highness has chosen a date blessed by the religious and cultural calendar."
Ino glanced past the stout translator to King Kazuri reclining on the sofa. This was going to be far more difficult than she'd anticipated. King Kazuri was the kind of man she'd assiduously avoided—smart, suave, sophisticated—and far too much in control.
"But the king hasn't consulted my calendar." she said firmly, turning toward the Daimyo, meeting his gaze directly to convey her displeasure. "He can't set a wedding date without my input."
The translator nodded again, his expression grave, and still unfailingly polite. "It is customary for the king to consult with his spiritual advisors."
"The king is very religious then?"
The translator paused, appeared momentarily at a loss for words before recovering. "The king is the king. The ruler of Baraka—"
What nonsense was this?
"And I am Princess Hinata. Of the royal Shinobi family."
Her temper was getting the best of her. She hated double-speak, especially hated royal double-speak. This is one reason she'd always dated commoners. Playboys, her sister's voice echoed in her head. "Perhaps you'd care to remind your king that nothing is set until I say it's set."
The translator hesitated. He didn't want to translate this.
Ino's jaw hardened. "Tell him. Please."
"Your Highness—" the translator protested.
She shifted impatiently, set her cup on the low wood table. "Perhaps it was a mistake coming to Baraka. I'd assumed King Sai Kazuri was educated. Civilized—"
"Western?" the king concluded, languidly rising from his sofa to again dominate the royal chamber.
Ino's jaw dropped even as her stomach flipped.
So he spoke English. But of course he spoke English. She'd discovered on the Internet that he'd gone to Oxford for heaven's sake. Yet he'd allowed all introductions, all awkward conversation, to be made via the translator. He'd had their first meeting conducted like an interview.
"Why did we have a translator?" she demanded, head tilting, and scarf sliding back, revealing her long dark hair.
He didn't look a bit apologetic. "I thought it might make you more comfortable."
Wrong. It was to make him more comfortable. A passive display of power. Ino scraped her teeth together. Think like Hinata, she reminded herself. Be Hinata.
But Hinata's become a doormat.
And yet it's Hinata he wants, not you.
The Daimyo was waiting for her to speak. Her eyes flashed fire even as she struggled to retain her flimsy smile, nodding her head the way she'd seen Hinata nod graciously so many times on official state business.
"How considerate." she said from between clenched teeth, rising as well. "I really ought to...thank you."
King Kazuri's lips curved faintly. "My pleasure." He lifted his hand in a small imperial gesture and the translator discreetly exited the room.
They were both standing, far too close for Ino's comfort, and the Daimyo studied her fierce expression for a long moment before knotting his hands behind his back and slowly circling her.
It was an examination. A study before a purchase.
Like a camel at an open-air market, she thought uneasily, as he circled a second time, his hawk like gaze missing nothing.
"Do I meet your approval, King Kazuri?" She choked, her sarcasm lost as her voice broke. This was not going to be a two-week vacation. She was scared. Not for Hinata, but for herself. King Kazuri had a plan, and as the wild beating of her heart reminded her, his plan was swiftly annihilating her own.