The Sheikh Takes A Bride. Caroline Cross

front doors, swarmed across the veranda and down the steps, all chattering at once as they ran toward the car.

      “Princess, you came!”

      “Amalie was ascared you forgot.”

      “I told her she shouldn’t worry. I told her you’d be here soon!”

      “Did you bring her a present?”

      “Nicco said maybe the new king wouldn’t let you visit. He said maybe the new king doesn’t like kids like—”

      “Children, stop!” To Kaj’s surprise, Catherine laughed. It was a husky, musical sound that tickled his nerves like velvet against bare skin. “Of course King Daniel likes you.” As she looked down at the dozen small people all vying for her attention, her remoteness melted away. “As a matter of fact, I’ve told him and Queen Erin all about you, and they’ve asked if they might come visit you themselves.”

      “They have?”

      “Really?”

      “Wait till Nicco hears that.”

      “Does that mean you won’t come anymore?” This last was asked by the smallest of the children, a petite black-haired girl with big brown eyes in a too-serious face.

      “No, of course not, Amalie,” Catherine said gently. “We’re friends, no matter what. Yes?”

      The child nodded.

      “What’s more, today is your birthday. I couldn’t possibly forget that.”

      A bashful smile crept across the little girl’s face. She sidled closer and leaned against Catherine’s hip, rewarded as the princess laid a reassuring hand on her thin shoulder.

      Kaj felt a surge of approval. It was good to know the future mother of his children had a maternal side.

      Yet even as he told himself he’d made the right choice, that Catherine of Altaria was going to make him a fine wife, he also felt the faintest flicker of uneasiness.

      Because just for a second, as he’d watched Catherine’s face soften and heard her affection for the children in her voice, he’d experienced an unfamiliar hunger, a desire to have her laugh at something he said, a need to have her reach out and touch him.

      Which was ridiculous, given that he had every confidence that sooner, rather than later, he would be on the receiving end of her affection. All he had to do was stay close and he’d find a way to get past her reserve.

      As for this nagging little itch of need she seemed to inspire… It was nothing he couldn’t handle.

      Three

      Catherine sat on the padded chaise longue on her bedroom balcony. She stretched her tired muscles, then huddled a little deeper beneath the ice-green satin comforter she’d dragged from her bed. A golden glow pierced the gunmetal-gray horizon, announcing the sun’s imminent arrival and the start of a new day.

      For the second night in a row, she’d barely slept. And as much as it rankled to admit it, she knew exactly who was to blame for her second bout of insomnia.

      The sheikh. Kaj al bin Russard. Or, as she was beginning to think of him: he-who-refused-to-go-away.

      Perhaps she wouldn’t be so disturbed if she could write him off as simply another pretty face. Or just a magnificent body. Or even an incredibly willful personality. But the truth was he was all of those things and more.

      He was presumptuous, but also perceptive. He was arrogant, yet intuitive. And unlike most of the men she knew, his ego was disgustingly healthy; sarcasm, indifference, even outright hostility all rolled off him like rain off a rock.

      Most disturbing of all, his lightest touch was all it took to ignite an unfamiliar fire inside her.

      She shivered, not wanting to think about that last bit. Instead she did her best to concentrate on the chorus of birds tuning up to welcome the sunrise—only to make the unfortunate mistake of closing her eyes. The scene at Hope House when Kaj had climbed out of the car yesterday promptly popped into her mind.

      Without exception, all the children’s eyes had widened at the sight of him. “Who’s he?” Christian had asked.

      Marko had sucked in a breath. “Is that the king?”

      Catherine had been tempted to make a sharp reply—until Kaj had come to stand at her side. The same faint breeze that tugged at his gleaming black hair had carried his clean, masculine scent to her, and suddenly he’d seemed much too close. To her disgust, she’d found she had to swallow hard in order to locate her voice.

      “Children, I’d like to introduce Sheikh al bin Russard.” Not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea, she’d added, “The sheikh is a friend of my family’s.”

      There were several nods and an “Oh.”

      And then Christian burst out, “Is he a real sheikh? Does he live in a tent? How come he doesn’t have one of those sheet things on his head?”

      Catherine had hesitated a mere instant, and Kaj had stepped into the breach. “Those sheet things are called ghotras,” he’d said easily. “I wear one when I’m in my country, as is the custom. But when I’m here, I try to follow your fashions. And much like you, I live in a home made of mortar and stone. Though I do own several tents. For the times—” he displayed a quick flash of white teeth “—when I feel a need to escape and sleep under the stars.”

      Whether it was the sentiment or the brief, impish grin that accompanied it, the children all nodded in understanding and several of the boys murmured, “Yeah!”

      Isabelle, one of the older girls, looked earnestly up at him. “Do you have a camel?”

      He shook his head. “I’m sorry to say, no.” Although his expression was suitably apologetic, his eyes gleamed with humor as he glanced briefly at Catherine. “That seems to be a common misconception. What I do have is horses. Beautiful Arabian horses. Oh, and I’m also the keeper of a truly magnificent tiger.”

      “You have a tiger?” Christian, Isabelle and Marko all exclaimed at once. “A real, live tiger?”

      “Mmm-hmm. His name is Sahbak and he was a gift to my father. He’s quite a wonderful fellow. Do you know, if you scratch him behind the ears, he purrs?”

      “Wow,” Marko murmured.

      That seemed to be the general sentiment. Eyes rounded, the children had stared up at him with a combination of awe and admiration. And though unimpressed by his status as a big-cat owner, Catherine had found that, as the afternoon went along, she couldn’t fault his manner. He was wonderful with the children, relaxed, down-to-earth, friendly without seeming too eager. Even little Amalie, who was usually standoffish with strangers, had eventually lowered her guard.

      Catherine wanted in the worst way to blame the latter on the exquisite gold coin Kaj had given the child as a birthday present. But honesty forced her to admit it probably had more to do with the coin’s presentation. Who would have suspected a Walburaqui chieftain could, with a flick of his long, elegant hands and a widening of his eyes, make a coin vanish once, twice, thrice? Or that, with a subsequent snap of his fingers, he could make it reappear—much to the delight of a giggling little girl—from its hiding place behind one of her shell-like ears?

      Certainly not Catherine.

      She pulled the comforter up a little higher and sighed. Perhaps it was the earliness of the hour, but for the first time she admitted that keeping the sheikh out of her life was turning out to be more difficult than she’d imagined. And not just because he’d managed to finagle an invitation to stay at the palace, either. But because no matter how hard she pretended otherwise, when she was with him his presence took center stage. A part of her seemed always to be holding its breath, waiting to see what he would do or say next.

      Which was annoying but not totally surprising, given the dominant force of his personality.