The Sheikh's Contract Bride. Teresa Southwick

not permitted to give your heart to another man?”

      “It was only my heart, Malik. To my everlasting shame, I couldn’t help it. But at least I didn’t compound my mistake by sleeping with him.” She did not look away, but met his gaze directly.

      They had just toasted honesty, and he had no reason to doubt her. “I believe you.”

      She sat on the low stucco wall surrounding the terrace and sighed. “I bet you’re sorry you asked.”

      “Your candor is refreshing. The truth is not always easy, but it is preferable to pretense.”

      She was just sipping champagne and started to cough.

      Malik sat next to her and took her glass. “Are you all right?”

      She nodded and cleared her throat. “I swallowed wrong.”

      “I do not like it when that happens. I also do not like the thought of you and another man.” That was the truth.

      “As the relationship ended badly, there’s no real harm done.”

      “I disagree.”

      “So you’re going to hold it against me?” Was that hope in her voice? “If so, there’s always the option of calling off the wedding. I can certainly understand if that’s what you decide to do. Just say the word and I’ll go back to America and—”

      “On the contrary,” he interrupted, noting that when she was nervous she was inclined to talk too much and too fast. “I believe a woman whose heart has known love once is more likely to look for it again.”

      “Even though I told you I don’t want to be in love?”

      “Even then.”

      “You’re wrong.” She shook her head and her full lips pulled tight. “I never want to feel that way again.”

      “Why?”

      “If I’d never loved I never would have cried. And I promised myself it was the last time I would cry over a man.”

      He could understand the sentiment. He had made himself a similar promise about not being vulnerable to the charms of a woman. In his father’s esteemed opinion Malik had shown poor judgment, and it could not happen again. Yet Malik’s duty was to marry and produce an heir to succeed him on the throne. A love that burned him like wildfire would be unacceptable. And that was why marrying the woman chosen by his father was the solution. With Beth he could aspire to a fully contained warmth and respect.

      Their shoulders brushed as they sat side by side and stared into the romantically dimmed light of the suite. Malik felt the soft skin of her forearm graze him and flames of desire heat up his blood.

      “I feel compelled to point out that our betrothal is a good thing in light of your experience.”

      “How do you figure?”

      “You can have all the benefits of marriage to the King of Bha’Khar without the messiness of dealing with love.”

      “So I can be like a man?” She met his gaze. The gleam of mischief mixed with challenge darkened her eyes.

      The look was growing on him, but in no way prepared him for what came next. She smiled a smile that seemed to steal all the air from his lungs.

      He picked up one of her small hands, then touched his lips to her knuckles. Satisfaction filled him to see the gleam in her eyes replaced by awareness. But, like her, he did not wish to be vulnerable to love. He was most pleased that they were in agreement, because his betrothed was quite a tempting combination of spirit and beauty. Theirs was a contract, a business arrangement, and that suited him well.

      He brushed his thumb over the spot on her hand that he’d just kissed. “I cannot order or proclaim that you fall in love with me. But, little one, you will never be like a man.” His voice dropped into the deeply seductive range. “And this man is extraordinarily grateful for that fact.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE next morning Beth stood on her balcony with a cup of coffee in her hands while she looked out over the sea. Memories of last night clicked through her mind like a sensual slide show. Malik smiling his charming smile. Malik telling her he was glad she wasn’t a man and kissing her hand. Her wanting to feel his lips pressed against her own, followed by disappointment when he didn’t kiss her. Then the crushing guilt because she’d forgotten why she was there.

      She leaned her hip on the low wall as the breeze caressed her face. Malik Hourani was not what she’d expected. He was kind, considerate and romantic. Damn him. If he didn’t mess up soon, and do something to make her dislike him, the consequences couldn’t be good. There was no way to put a positive spin on this charade. She was lying to Malik and her soul was doomed to the seventh level of hell. What was more, she deserved it.

      She walked into the suite and picked up her cellphone, intending to call Addie and beg her sister to end this. Before she could put in the number, the phone attached to the landline rang.

      She picked it up. “Hello?”

      “Good morning.”

      There was no mistaking that deep velvet voice. “Malik. Good morning.”

      “I trust you slept well?”

      “Never better,” she lied, and realized the lies were getting easier, in spite of her resolution to tell as much of the truth as possible.

      “I am glad to hear it. I have a surprise for you.”

      “What is it?” she asked.

      “If I tell you it wouldn’t be a surprise. But I will come for you in an hour.”

      “Where are we going?”

      “You are attempting to trick me into revealing the surprise.”

      “Actually, I need to know what to wear.”

      “Dress casually.”

      Casually? That could mean anything, from jeans to a silk lounging outfit. “Casual as in sundress? Or casual as in pants?”

      “Jeans,” he said. “And that is all I will say.”

      The line went dead. Before she could stop it, excitement arced through her. In her life, surprises had been few, and usually bad. Her mother had walked out and her father wasn’t the warm, fuzzy type. The man she’d loved had married someone else. But the pleasure in Malik’s voice made her believe his surprise was something good, and she hurried to get ready.

      In precisely an hour the Crown Prince showed up at her door, wearing jeans, a loose white cotton shirt and boots. He refused to say where they were going, but escorted her to the car he had waiting. A few minutes later they drove past white slat fencing that looked a lot like horse corrals. When the car stopped in front of a stable she had a very strong feeling that her good surprise was going to turn bad.

      “Why are we here?” she asked, as he took her hand to help her from the back seat.

      “I wish to show you the horse that my brother Kardahl purchased for you when he visited his wife’s family. The mountain people raise some of the finest horses in the world.”

      Beth walked with him into the stable’s shaded interior and realized the jig might very well be up. In finishing school, along with learning etiquette, how to throw elaborate dinner parties and protocol, Addie had become an accomplished horsewoman. Because all the royals were avid riders, it would be expected of the King’s wife. On the other hand, Beth had never been on anything besides a carousel pony.

      “I don’t know what to say.” After so many lies, it almost felt good to tell the truth.

      “Come and meet the mare,” he said, taking her hand. He led her to the stall where the animal stood waiting, her coat shiny black with splotches of white on her face. Addie would have been thrilled—would be thrilled—about this