The Sheikh's Reluctant Bride - Southwick Teresa

She studied the oh-so-sincere expression on his handsome face. “That sounds very much like ‘trust me.’”

“Exactly.”

“In my country when someone says that it’s usually a good idea not to.”

“You are most cynical,” he commented.

“I have good reasons.”

“I look forward to hearing them,” he said, probably just being polite.

He smiled, showing off straight white teeth, then he covered her hand with his own, a gesture meant to comfort but brought back the spiraling-plane-sensation.

“The king and queen are looking forward to meeting you, the daughter of their dear friends’ daughter, for whom they’ve been searching so many years.”

“They’ve been searching?” she asked, her gaze jumping to his.

In the letter, her mother had confessed that she’d become pregnant by a married diplomat and ran away because shame prevented her from going to her family. Jess had feared the same family would shun her and to find out they’d been looking gave her hope a double dose of adrenaline.

She smiled up at him. “Thank you—” Had he introduced himself? Was she so caught up in her nerves, skepticism and his charming flirtation that she’d forgotten? “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“My apologies. I have been remiss.” He bent slightly at the waist. “I am Kardahl, son of King Amahl Hourani of Bha’Khar.”

That name sounded familiar. Probably because he was part of the royal family. “So are we related?”

He shook his head. “Your lineage can be traced back to royalty, but the bloodlines split off over a hundred years ago.”

There was no reason to feel relieved about that and yet she was, right up until she realized why the name sounded so familiar. And why she’d thought she’d seen him before. Because she had seen him in print. He was better looking in person. “You’re the playboy prince.” Did she say that out loud? Oh God, the look on his face told her she did.

His eyes narrowed. “You have been reading the tabloids.”

“I don’t buy them,” she said. It was a minor distinction, but a distinction just the same. “But it’s hard not to see them in the grocery store, the beauty salon, the doctor’s waiting room.”

“You might want to choose a physician who does not patronize disreputable publications,” he said.

“I don’t have a choice.” This was proof that they could be living on different planets. He had no clue about her reality. “My kids go to doctors contracted with the state and we don’t get a vote on the publications in the waiting room.”

“You have children?” he asked, a flicker of surprise in those dark eyes.

“I’ve never given birth if that’s what you’re asking. I’m a social worker and kids in the state’s care are my responsibility.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it. Probably you never had to worry about medical attention, or your next meal or a roof over your head since you grew up in a palace not a group home.” She made a mental note that irritation cancels out fear.

“You would be correct.”

Lucky him. “What should I call you? Your Highness? Your Worship?”

“He who rules the universe is my preferred title.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry. Were you being funny?”

“Apparently not.”

But he smiled, a charming smile that made her want to grab hold of the nearest chair. Another mental note: this playboy had a sense of humor and it packed more punch than his charm. She didn’t know whether to be grateful that her player radar was alive, well and functioning with one hundred percent accuracy or unsettled to have proof that she’d inherited from her mother the playboy-magnet gene. The thing was—she wanted to be swept away, but by someone who sincerely wanted her and men who were players didn’t do sincere.

She’d just confirmed that he was everything she didn’t want in a man. Not that he would hit on her. According to those questionable publications, his taste in women ran to models, actresses and world-famous beauties. She was not, not and so not.

“My friends and family call me Kardahl,” he was saying.

She nodded. “Kardahl it is. I’ll just get my bag—”

“It will be taken care of.” He rested his hand at the small of her back.

She swore the heat of his fingers seeped through the material of her suit jacket and made her want to melt. Probably that was because he smelled really good. She’d read somewhere that sense of smell was a powerful weapon in the arsenal of seduction. Still, there was the whole willingness thing and he’d just kissed the hand of maybe the only woman on the planet who was immune to his tabloid-worthy charisma.

Kardahl did not miss the chill that slid into Jessica’s large hazel eyes when he had introduced himself. Or the way she quite deliberately moved away from his touch now. Given their relationship, her reservations were puzzling.

He held out his hand, indicating that she precede him. “Let us go.”

He settled her in the back of the limousine and supervised the removal of her luggage. There were only two pieces, a meager amount of belongings all things considered. It was his experience that women always brought more than necessary and she was moving her entire life. Strange, indeed.