The Princess Brides. Jane Porter

in our country, or culture, and quite honestly, I don’t think she’s all that interested in you.’’

      Malik frowned, partially agreeing with her, partially disagreeing knowing that Fatima had always been bright, but she didn’t know about chemistry, or attraction. She had no concept about physical desire, and when it came to physical desire, the princess was very attracted to him. Nic might not want to marry him, but she definitely was interested in being intimate with him.

      ‘‘I’m not worried,’’ he said rising from his chair and moving toward Fatima. ‘‘She needs me,’’ he said, standing over his cousin. ‘‘Her country needs what I can offer.’’

      Fatima shook her head. ‘‘But what if she gets just enough from you that she doesn’t need the rest? What if she needs less than you think she does?’’

      Good point. Fatima had always been smart. She’d excelled in school. She could have done anything with her life, but she’d chosen to remain here, at the palace. What would she do with her life, he’d often wondered. A member of the royal family, she was worth a fortune and with her father dead, her mother living in New York, she belonged beneath his protection. Who would ever be good enough for her?

      ‘‘I’ll have to be careful then, won’t I?’’ he answered evenly, and then he smiled at her. She was beautiful. Dark eyes, high cheekbones, firm chin, slightly pointed with masses of long silky black hair. Fatima looked like their grandmother but she had her father’s cunning mind. ‘‘Now you better go. The princess will be waiting for her language lesson.’’

      Nicolette was waiting in the salon for Fatima, but she wasn’t thinking about her lesson. She was thinking that she had the strangest secret. It was her birthday today, her real birthday, but she couldn’t celebrate because no one knew who she really was.

      It was rather odd thinking she’d reached twenty-seven. Suddenly it seemed like such an old age. Chantal had already been married several years when she turned twenty-seven. So far Nicolette had done…what?

      Nothing.

      Fatima arrived and the lesson proceeded without incident, and then as the serving girl arrived, bringing the now expected tray of tea and sweet biscuits, the serving girl curtsied to Nicolette. ‘‘Princess, His Highness would like you to join him for a late breakfast,’’ the girl said. ‘‘I’m to show you the way.’’

      Fatima’s face tightened but she didn’t protest, and Nicolette followed the serving girl through the corridors and out to one of the gorgeous inner courtyards reserved for the sultan’s personal use.

      Malik was already at the wrought-iron table that had been set for two. Bright flowers filled a dark green glass vase and Nic decided she’d make this her birthday party. He didn’t even need to know it was her birthday. It was enough that she could be with him now, start her day with his company. Already his company meant so much…

      ‘‘Good morning,’’ Malik greeted, leaning forward to kiss her on each cheek. ‘‘I’ve been thinking of you.’’

      She shivered as his lips grazed her cheek. He smelled lovely. She wished she could capture his face between her hands and kiss him properly. No more fleeting kisses on the cheeks, but a long, deep kiss, one that would make her melt again. ‘‘Have you?’’

      He leaned forward on the table, his black hair almost glossy in the bright light. ‘‘I’ve also felt very guilty.’’

      ‘‘Why?’’

      ‘‘I’ve been unkind with regards to your sister. I know how I feel about my brother and sisters and wouldn’t tolerate anyone speaking harshly about them, and yet I have been incredibly intolerant of Nicolette’s idiosyncrasies. Forgive me.’’

      Nic looked away, embarrassed as well as uncomfortable. ‘‘She’s not really so—eccentric.’’ She’d intended to reply matter of factly, but to her shame, her voice broke. Even when he apologized he made it sound as if Nic was this peculiar woman with cannibalistic tendencies. ‘‘Maybe she’s not Barakan, but she’s good. And kind. And she doesn’t say cruel things about people.’’ Nic drew a wobbly breath, shaken. ‘‘She doesn’t judge people, either. And she wouldn’t be here right now, judging you, or judging your cousin Fatima who can’t say a nice thing about anyone.’’

      Finished she sat there, words spent, emotion spent, all illusions about a party dashed. It wasn’t a fun birthday morning. It was another horrible day living a lie. ‘‘Would you excuse me, please?’’ she whispered.

      ‘‘No.’’

      His refusal surprised her. She pushed away from the table. He might be king in Baraka, but she was royalty in Europe. ‘‘I’d like to return to my lessons with Fatima.’’

      ‘‘Even though she’s judgmental?’’

      ‘‘I’d rather her be judgmental than you.’’

      ‘‘Why?’’

      Tears burned in her eyes and she looked at him so overwhelmed by emotions she hadn’t expected to feel that she didn’t even think she could find her voice.

      ‘‘Why?’’ he demanded yet again.

      The rest of Nic’s control snapped. ‘‘Because I like you. I don’t want you to be mean. Or petty. I don’t want you to be cruel just because Nicolette isn’t your idea of the perfect woman. No one’s perfect, King Nuri, and even those of us who aren’t perfect, are still pretty worthy of love, and loyalty.’’

      ‘‘I was apologizing—’’

      ‘‘Not really. Not enough.’’ Her lip quivered. She felt so wretched she couldn’t even bear it. ‘‘It’s her birthday today, and I don’t think she deserves this—’’

      ‘‘I know it’s her birthday!’’ He nearly shouted, his voice echoing. ‘‘That’s why you’re here with me this morning. I wanted to celebrate with you.’’

      She fought to regain control and her chest rose and fell with each deep shuddering breath. ‘‘How did you know it’s her birthday? You don’t even like her.’’

      He stood, leaned across the table, cupping the back of her head, and kissed her. ‘‘Because I like you,’’ he said, kissing her again. ‘‘I like you so much I’ve tried to learn everything I can about your family.’’

      The tears shimmered in her eyes, making it very hard to see, but if she blinked, the tears would fall. ‘‘How old is she then?’’

      ‘‘Twenty-seven.’’ He reached up with the tip of her finger and caught the tears clinging to her lower lashes. ‘‘And I know you’re worried about her because she’s getting old and she’s still not married—’’

      Nic batted away with his hand. ‘‘She’s not that old.’’

      ‘‘But she should be married, shouldn’t she?’’

      And to show her he was teasing, he kissed her yet again, a light kiss, but something happened when his lips touched hers this time. The restraint was gone. The pure intentions disappeared. Instead emotion sizzled and the slow, tender kiss blazed into pure, raw, unadulterated desire.

      Nic had felt desire, but this desire took her breath away, turned her belly inside out, made her ache with need.

      She reached for him, fingers twining in his shirt, and his lips ruthlessly parted hers, his tongue stabbing at the softness of her mouth, tasting, teasing, making her aware that he’d been gentle with her so far, but he could also be fiercely hungry, and demanding.

      Nic clung to him, welcoming the intensity, finding release in the violence of emotion. All her life she’d craved passion, and to find it here—and now—with Malik stunned her.

      He lifted his head, stroked her cheek. ‘‘Forgive me. Please?’’

      ‘‘Of