The Sheikh's Reluctant Bride. Teresa Southwick
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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?”
“Yes,” he said grimly. “My guess is that the news media monitors the site.”
“But that’s practically stalking.”
“In a free society,” the king said, “it is the price we pay. Also part of the cost is minding one’s behavior. As Kardahl knows all too well.”
Jessica glanced up at him with what looked like sympathy in her eyes, then back to his father. “I can’t help feeling responsible. They found him because he surprised me with a detour to the dress shop—”
“You took her to Jasmine’s as I suggested?” his mother interrupted.
“I did,” he confirmed, sliding his arm along the top of the sofa, then resting his fingers close to Jessica’s shoulder.
Until that first meeting on the plane, Kardahl had been annoyed at the turn of events, but had subsequently learned that Jessica was even less pleased than he about the situation. She was an unwilling participant and unprepared for this life. And the look on her face when the paparazzi had besieged him had made him want to protect her. As he had been unable to protect Antonia.
“Those people are predators who feed off others,” he commented.
The queen sighed as she shook her head. “The press can be difficult.”
“I just wasn’t prepared for them,” Jessica said. “Up until today the most excitement I ever had shopping was when the clerk forgot to remove one of those security devices and I set off the alarm when I tried to leave the store.”
The king smiled indulgently. “My dear, if you would change your mind and stay with Kardahl here in Bha’Khar, you would be given instruction in dealing with the media.”
“Probably not by Kardahl,” Jessica said, glancing up at him with humor sparkling like jewels in her eyes. “Unless he used himself as a cautionary tale.”
His father laughed. “No. I think my son would not be the best instructor.” Then he turned serious as he met her gaze. “I urge you to change your mind about the annulment.”
“You’re very kind—”
“I hear a ‘but,’” the king interrupted. “Your grandparents are dear friends. They would be greatly pleased by a real marriage to join our families.”
“You’re very kind,” Jessica said again. “But, I’m not royal family material. In spite of the betrothal, circumstances intervened and I wasn’t raised to be the wife of a prince.”
Kardahl saw her fingers clasp and tighten until the knuckles turned white as she rubbed one thumb over the other. When he glanced at her face, the tension in her delicate jaw and shadows in her eyes did not escape his notice.
“You would have a staff to help and the queen and I would—”
“Enough.” Apparently Kardahl had to protect her from his father as well as the press. He rose. “Jessica has expressed her feelings and