The Princess Brides. Jane Porter

can we start over, pretend nothing’s happened?’’

      Her laugh was soft, husky. ‘‘Are you that good of an actor?’’

      ‘‘Depends. Are you that good of an actress?’’

      Nic thought of the past week at the palace. ‘‘No.’’ She laughed yet again, making fun of herself. ‘‘I’m a terrible actress. I’ve never been picked to play a lead in any of our school theatre productions.’’

      He held her chair for her, and slid her chair into the table once she was seated. ‘‘Not even though you were a very famous princess?’’

      She made a face. ‘‘I’d like to say there was a bias against princesses, but that isn’t the case. My sister, Joelle, is a fantastic actress. She also inherited Mom’s voice. Joelle’s voice is like an angel’s. You have to hear her sing one day—’’ Nic broke off, blushed. ‘‘Listen to me. You’ve turned me into a chatterbox.’’

      He gestured for coffee and a steward instantly appeared, filling their cups. ‘‘You’re far from a chatterbox, Chantal. I have to work to make you talk.’’

      Nic reached out to touch the floral arrangement, her fingertip brushing across one crimson rose petal. The damask roses in the floral arrangement made the air smell spicy and sweet. ‘‘Men like quiet women.’’

      Malik spluttered on his coffee. ‘‘I can’t believe you say these things.’’

      ‘‘At least it makes you smile.’’

      ‘‘I’m just glad you’re smiling again.’’

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      THEIR eyes met and held. Nic saw the sincerity in his lovely silver gaze, and felt little ripples of pleasure hum through her. They were making small talk and yet below the surface the most intense attraction simmered, and the awareness that they both felt so much, fueled the desire.

      ‘‘So what is on your calendar today?’’ he asked, sitting back as a serving girl set a plate of fresh sliced, peeled fruits before him—mangos, papayas, kiwi, pomegranate. The colors were vivid, wet, glistening. Like jewels drenched by the rain.

      Nic’s mouth watered. She was hungry. But not just for food. She wanted his mouth again, wanted his tongue and the spicy taste of his skin.

      ‘‘It’s busy,’’ she answered, knowing perfectly well that her schedule was packed with appointments, including another fitting followed by two hours in the kitchen with the master chef learning about Baraka’s cuisine before being given her first instruction in how to prepare the sultan’s favorite dishes.

      ‘‘Perhaps we’ve kept you too busy. The strain is showing.’’

      She made a wry face. ‘‘Apologies, Your Highness.’’

      He smiled. ‘‘Do you need a holiday?’’

      ‘‘No books? No activities? No homework? What would I do?’’ She feigned shock.

      ‘‘I suppose you’d have to enjoy my company. If such a thing is possible.’’ He speared a circle of kiwi and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly, letting the ripe sweet fruit dissolve even more slowly.

      She watched his firm, mobile mouth take the succulent fruit, watched his jaw move once, twice, saw the long strong column of his throat swallow and she exhaled in a tight, thin stream of air. A day alone with Malik wasn’t her idea of relaxing. She couldn’t relax around him. She’d begun to crave contact with him too badly. ‘‘I know you’ve many state appointments—’’

      ‘‘Too many,’’ he agreed solemnly.

      ‘‘It wouldn’t be fair for me to add to your pressures—’’

      ‘‘But, laeela, you must come first. You’re to be my queen. My wife. My lover.’’

      Heat surged to Nic’s cheeks. His lover. And she loved the sound of that word, even as the image conjured up all the press clippings she’d read, the stories of his many mistresses scattered around the world.

      She felt his gaze caress her now, sweeping her cheeks, down the column of her throat to rest at her breasts. She was wearing a turquoise silk pantsuit, the collarless jacket conservative by Western standards, and yet his desire made her feel naked. Exposed.

      ‘‘Yes, well, of course there are the duties,’’ she said hurriedly, ‘‘but right now, if you have greater pressing concerns—’’

      ‘‘Greater concerns? Princess, I’d be amiss not to be concerned with you. I can see you are a little lonely today.’’ The smile faded from his eyes. ‘‘I can see you are a little sad. I think you need some company. I think you could use me.’’

      Use him. Oh, indeed. She could use him but that wasn’t part of the plan.

      The plan wasn’t to make love.

      The plan wasn’t to fall in love.

      The plan wasn’t to get trapped in this country so far away from her own.

      ‘‘We can always meet later—for dinner.’’ She pressed her knees together, tucking one foot behind the other ankle. She couldn’t let herself want more from him. She couldn’t continue to let herself get emotionally invested. ‘‘You can tell me what you’ve done…’’

      Her voice faded as Malik leaned forward and ran the pad of his thumb over her lips, silencing her. ‘‘You need an adventure today. Something new, something fun. Leave it to me.’’

      ‘‘Malik.’’

      ‘‘Yes, laeela?’’

      Her eyes burned and she closed her eyes as his hand slid along her jaw, and down, along the side of her neck to rest at her collarbone. His fingers were so sure and steady against her warm bare skin that Nic found the lovely sensation almost too excruciating to enjoy.

      ‘‘Why don’t you ever look me in the eye?’’ he asked softly, the pad of his thumb stroking the hollow of her throat. ‘‘When we talk like this, you always look away.’’

      ‘‘You’re touching me,’’ she whispered, and he was right, she couldn’t meet his gaze. He’d stirred intense emotions in her, and even hotter desire, and the combination of the two tried her conscience.

      Her heart ached almost constantly and her body felt restless, a ceaseless restlessness that came from wanting.

      But the wanting was reckless, dangerous, and even Nic, who embraced danger knew what was at stake here.

      Chantal and Lilly.

      ‘‘My touch shouldn’t frighten you,’’ Malik said. ‘‘You’re not a virgin, not without experience.’’

      She swallowed, her skin flaming with heat, her belly heavy, empty. ‘‘It’s not lack of experience that makes me wary, and it’s not your touch I fear.’’ She looked up into his perceptive pewter gaze. ‘‘What I fear is…you.’’

      ‘‘You fear me?’’ He sounded incredulous. ‘‘But why? I’d protect you with my life.’’

      Nicolette’s heart twisted. The pain startled her. She hadn’t felt such strong emotion in years. ‘‘Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.’’ Jaw pressed tight, she gazed intently at his hard features, the long aquiline nose, the broad jaw, the stubborn set of his chin. ‘‘You place too much trust in me. You haven’t known me long enough to offer your life in exchange of mine.’’

      His palm suddenly cupped her cheek. ‘‘But you’re my betrothed.’’

      ‘‘We haven’t exchanged any words, had a formal declaration.’’

      ‘‘You are here.’’

      Tears