The Sheikh's Reluctant Bride
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“And until then, the world will be watching my wife. There is the matter of the reception tomorrow evening.” He smiled. “I saw your eyes light up as you looked at everything. It would please me to do this and the least I can do for the inconvenience imposed on you. At least try the things on. The woman would be disappointed if you do not.”
“So you’re playing the disappointment card again.” She sighed. “Is that a royal order?”
“Would you like it to be?”
She sighed. “Yes. It has to be wrong to defy a royal order.”
“Indeed,” he said.
She heard the smile in his voice as she turned away and left to find the saleswoman. Around the corner was a fitting room with the clothes she recognized hanging on various hooks. Jessica figured she was probably a spineless slug, but what the heck? She was stuck and might as well enjoy the experience.
Everything fit as if made for her and her female heart was full to bursting at the prospect of wearing such exquisite styles, such delicate, shiny fabrics that rustled when she moved. The saleswoman, Jasmine, bustled in and out, removing items as she brought in more. The black dress Kardahl had picked out was the last thing she tried on.
Jessica looked at herself in the full-length mirror and her eyes went wide. The neck was high and the sleeves long but the soft satin clung to every curve and revealed as much as it concealed. She turned and gasped at the flesh-baring back.
“It is perfect for you.” The woman ran her hands over the hips and waist. “His Royal Highness requested only to see you in this.”
“He did?”
The woman nodded. “He said to tell you it is a royal order.”
The downside of orders were the ones you didn’t want to obey. But her choices were to either suck it up, or cause a scene. As she left the dressing room, Jess held the skirt of the gown up to keep from tripping on the long hem. When she walked into the room where Kardahl waited, she held her breath. He stood and took her hand, helping her onto the dais in front of a bank of mirrors before stepping behind her.
Jess could see him in the mirror, the smoldering look in his eyes as his gaze took in every inch of her. Her feet had been on solid ground for twenty-four hours, but her stomach dropped as if she were taking off in the royal jet. The only explanation was emotional drought, she thought. She wasn’t used to men looking at her the way he was and it was like setting fire to the dry brush of her romantic heart.
“I don’t think this suits me,” she said breathlessly.
“It suits me,” he said, his voice as deep and appealing as sin. “We will take it with us,” he informed the saleswoman.
Jess said nothing because she wouldn’t embarrass the royal family in public. But elegant and costly clothes wouldn’t change anything. She might have been chosen for a prince, but she wasn’t raised as a princess. All she wanted to do was get to know her family, then go back to her life.
By the time she was dressed in her off-the-rack slacks and shirt, the dress was in a protective bag and Kardahl had arranged for the rest of the clothes to be delivered to the palace. When they stepped out of the store, the crowd gathered outside suddenly surged forward, flashbulbs exploding from every direction.
“Who’s the lady, Your Highness?” asked one reporter.
“Is she married, Your Highness?”
Someone shoved a microphone in Jessica’s face. “How did you and Prince Kardahl meet?”
Without comment, Kardahl pulled her to him, using his body to shield her from the cameras. Then he thrust her into the waiting limousine.
As she struggled to control her hammering heart, Jess looked at Kardahl. The expression of fury on his face was completely and utterly shocking. Something told her this reaction wasn’t about unauthorized pictures or unflattering photo angles. This was a deeply emotional response.
She wondered where the easygoing, charming flirt had gone when she didn’t want to wonder about him at all.
CHAPTER THREE
HOW ironic to have a skirmish with the paparazzi only hours before this meeting with the king and queen. Kardahl had once hoped the woman he would be presenting to his parents as his wife would be another, but thanks to his father, that was never to be. Still, the time had come for introductions.
Now he sat beside Jessica on the sofa in his parents’ living room. Faline and Amahl Hourani, made the side by side overstuffed chairs look like thrones as they studied their “daughter-in-law.” They had once scrutinized the woman of his choice and found her wanting, but tonight they looked pleased. At least someone was, he thought.
His father’s dark hair was flecked with gray on the sides, giving him what most thought a distinguished look. Kardahl had no feeling one way or the other. He only knew the king was a rigid and uncompromising man, difficult to please and stubborn. Kardahl would never forgive him for refusing to waive tradition so that he could marry the woman he wanted.
Unlike her husband, his dark-eyed mother would not permit a gray hair to invade her lustrous, shoulder-length hair. For a small woman, she possessed a strength of will and sense of humor that kept her husband both intrigued and in line. At one time, Kardahl had hoped to emulate their relationship. Those hopes had died with his beloved.
“Are you sure you will not join us in a brandy, Jessica?” his mother asked.
“Thank you, no. Coffee is fine.” Jessica set her china cup on the saucer resting on the side table.
She was casually dressed in black slacks and a coordinating silky black and white blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun at her nape, with numerous sun-kissed strands escaping the confinement to caress her graceful neck. The scent of her skin filled his head with the fragrance of sunshine and flowers as her shoulder brushed his own. She seemed unaffected by the nearness, but he was not so fortunate.
“I understand you had your first experience with reporters today, my dear,” the king was saying.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
The king turned a displeased look on him. “How did this happen, Kardahl?”
He had wondered also and made inquiries of his security staff. “It seems there is a site on the Internet where the sighting of a high-profile individual can be posted practically as it is occurring.”
Jessica stared at him. “You mean anyone monitoring that site who happened to be in the area could walk up and shake your hand?”