The Sheikh Takes A Bride

“No.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and took a sip of his coffee. “All of Walburaq’s oil comes from offshore reserves, and its distribution is controlled by the royal family. As for camels, we don’t have any since, like Altaria, we’re an island nation.”

Her annoyance shifted from his presence to his presumption that she was actually that ignorant. “Yes, I know. Just as I know Walburaq is located in the Arabian Sea, was a British protectorate until 1963, declined to join the United Arab Emirates and is currently ruled by your cousin, King Khalid.” Doing her best to look bored, she picked up a small, perfect strawberry from the royal hothouse and popped it into her mouth.

“My, my princess, that’s very good. I’m gratified that you’ve taken time to study my country.”

She touched her heavy linen napkin to her mouth. “Don’t be. It’s nothing to do with you.” Which was nothing but the truth. Not that she’d ever reveal that her knowledge sprang from a futile attempt when she was younger to impress her father by learning about Altaria’s various trading partners. “I’ve always been good at history.”

“Apparently.” He took another swallow of coffee. “It makes me wonder what other hidden talents you possess.”

In the process of reaching for another berry, Catherine stilled, her gaze locking with his. She had an uneasy feeling that they’d just moved onto dangerous ground.

It was a sensation that increased as he added softly, “I look forward to finding out.”

Alarm shot through her. She parted her lips to tell him in no uncertain terms that wasn’t ever going to happen. But before she could say a word, Erin, Altaria’s new queen, walked into the room.

Kaj came instantly to his feet. “Your Majesty.”

Catherine, schooled in the strict protocol her late grandfather had insisted on, started to rise, too, only to sink back into her chair as her cousin-in-law sent her a remonstrative look. Although Daniel’s wife possessed an air of reserve that sometimes made her seem rather distant, one of her first acts upon moving into the palace had been to insist that, among the family, royal etiquette was to be relaxed. It was a necessity, she’d wryly informed Catherine later, since there was little chance that Daniel’s very American brothers and sisters would ever consent to bow down and call him Your Majesty.

“Catherine, Sheikh.” Erin smiled. “Please, be seated.” Letting the footman who’d suddenly appeared pull back her chair, she sat down herself and promptly reached out to touch her hand to Catherine’s. “I’m so glad to see you. I haven’t had the chance to tell you how much I enjoyed the ball last night. It was simply wonderful. Thank you for showing me how such an affair should be done.”

“It was my pleasure,” Catherine said sincerely.

The regal young queen gave her arm a squeeze and then turned her attention to Kaj. She sent him a warm and gracious smile. “My husband informs me you’ve agreed to be our guest.”

“I beg your pardon?” Caught by surprise, Catherine couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice.

Kaj shot her a quick glance, and she could have sworn that his hooded gray eyes, so pale in contrast to his inky lashes and olive complexion, held a glint of triumph. Yet as he turned to Erin, his voice was nothing but polite. “It’s very kind of you and the king to offer to put me up.”

“I assure you, it’s no problem. We have more than adequate room.”

Catherine had heard quite enough. Setting her napkin next to her plate, she pushed back her chair. “I’m sorry, but I have an appointment in town. If you’ll excuse me?” The last was directed toward Erin.

“Why, yes, of course.”

She stood, but before she could take so much as a single step, the sheikh was on his feet as well. “Pardon me, ma’am.” He bowed to the queen, then immediately turned his attention to Catherine. “Might I beg a favor, princess, and get a ride with you?” His smile—part apology, part entreaty—was charm itself. “I’m afraid I’m without a car today.”

Catherine couldn’t help herself. “Then how did you get here? Walk?” Erin shot her a startled look and she abruptly realized how she must sound to someone unaware that the sheikh had an agenda all his own. She swallowed. “It’s only…I’m running late and I’d hate to cut short your conversation with Her Majesty. I’m sure one of the servants can drive you later.”

“You mustn’t concern yourself with me, Catherine,” Erin interjected. “It just so happens I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

“Yes, but I really need to go straight to my appointment—”

“I wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you,” the sheikh said smoothly. “I’d be honored to accompany you to your appointment. Afterward, if you wouldn’t mind, we can go to my hotel and collect my things.”

“Good, that’s settled, then,” Erin said decisively, coming to her feet and heading for the door. “I’ll look forward to seeing both of you at dinner.”

Catherine simply stood, her face carefully composed so as not to show her horror.

Yet there was no getting around it. Her day had just gone from intense-but-survivable annoyance to major disaster.

Long legs angled sideways, Kaj sat in the passenger seat of the sleek silver Mercedes, watching Catherine put the powerful sports car through its paces.

Pointedly ignoring the ever present security detail following in their wake, she drove as she did everything else. With grace, confidence and—at least where he was concerned—a deliberate air of aloofness. The attitude might have succeeded in putting him off, if not for her breathless reaction to his touch at lunch or the way she’d trembled in his arms when they’d danced last night.

Try as she might to pretend otherwise, she clearly wasn’t indifferent to him. But it was also obvious she had no intention of giving in to her attraction to him.

That alone made her an irresistible challenge, he mused, since he couldn’t remember a time when women hadn’t thrown themselves at him. And though he’d be the first to concede that some of those women had been drawn by his power and money, he also knew that the majority had been attracted by him— his personality, his looks, his unapologetic masculinity.

But not Princess Catherine. To his fascination, she seemed intent on not merely keeping him at arm’s length but on driving him away. Not that she had a chance of succeeding…

“Quit staring at me,” she said abruptly, slicing into his thoughts.

He settled a little deeper into the dove-gray leather seat. “Now why would I want to do that?”

“Because I don’t like it.”

“But you’re very nice to look at, chaton.”

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Do not call me kitten,” she snapped. “I have a name. And whatever your opinion of my appearance, I dislike being studied like some sort of museum exhibit.”

“Very well. If it makes you uncomfortable… Catherine.”

Her jaw tightened and he smothered a smile even as he dutifully turned his head and pretended to examine the view.

It was magnificent, he conceded. In between the small groves of palm trees that lined the narrow, serpentine road they were traveling on, aquamarine expanses of the Tyrrhenian Sea could be seen. Red-roofed, Mediterranean-style villas hugged the craggy-coastline, while a dozen yachts were anchored in the main harbor, looking like elegant white swans amidst the smaller, more colorful Altarian fishing boats.

Yet as attractive as the surroundings were, they didn’t interest him the way Catherine did, and it wasn’t long before he found himself surreptitiously studying her once again.

He felt a stirring of desire at the contradiction of her, her air of cool containment so at odds with the banked fire of her hair and the baby smoothness of her skin, which practically begged to be touched. She wasn’t a classic beauty by any means—her mouth was a little too full, her nose a little too short, and the way her dark-green eyes tilted up at the corners gave her a face a faintly exotic cast. Yet, looking at her pleased him. And made him hunger to do more.

The realization brought a faint frown to his face. Catherine, after all, was going to be his wife. He expected theirs to be a lifelong commitment, and if he’d learned anything from the debacle of his parents’ marriage, it was that excessive emotions were not to be trusted. It was all right to find his future bride desirable. Just as long as he didn’t want her too much.

Of course, given Catherine’s current attitude toward him—and he’d known enemies of the state who’d been treated more warmly—being overcome by uncontrollable lust was probably the least of his worries.

With that in mind, he couldn’t resist reaching out and resting his hand on the top of her seat as he turned to face her more fully. “Where, exactly, are we going?”

For a moment he wasn’t sure she would answer. But then she sliced a quick glance at him. “If you must know, I like to drop in from time to time on the various charitable organizations supported by my family.” She took advantage of a straight stretch of road to accelerate.

“Ah.” He pictured her striding down a hospital corridor, doctors and administrators trailing like so much confetti in her wake as she looked in on patients. Or asking pertinent questions of the scientists at the Rosemere Institute, the cancer research facility founded by her grandfather.

Pleased by her sense of responsibility, he shifted a fraction more in her direction, just far enough to slide his fingers beneath the silken tumble of her hair.

A slight shiver went through her, and her lips tightened. “Today—” without warning she hit the brakes and made a sharp left turn, dislodging his hand “—I’m visiting an orphanage.”

The explanation was unnecessary since by then they were sweeping past a high stone wall marked with a brass plaque that read “Hope House—where every child is wanted.” Beneath that, in letters so small he almost missed them, were the words, “Founded 1999 by Her Highness, Princess Catherine of Altaria.” He shot her a startled glance that she ignored.

Seconds later she slowed the car as they approached a rambling two-story house wrapped by a wide, covered veranda. Pulling into an adjacent parking area, she switched off the engine, opened her door and exited the car, all without another word to him.