Sheikh's Princess Of Convenience. Dani Collins
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cowed by the mere timbre of his voice. On the surface, she appeared soft and delicate, but he was beginning to see the length of steel in her spine.
He hoped like hell that didn’t portend clashes. He had no time for tantrums.
“I am,” he answered mildly.
Her skeptical gaze left the window to scan the interior of the helicopter cabin, then dropped to the clothes he’d changed into for travel. He’d worn a suit for his high-stakes meeting with her brother but wore typical Arab attire as often as possible. Not for religious or political reasons, but because he found it the most comfortable.
“I was not expecting company when I left Zyria,” he explained of his helicopter and its lack of attendant. It only seated four in the cabin, but very comfortably. “This aircraft is the fastest and most flexible.” He could fly it if he had to and regularly did, to keep up his skills. He would be doing so now, if she wasn’t here, not that she seemed to want his company.
Her brows lifted in brief disdain as her attention went back out the window. Her frown increased and he almost smiled, realizing why she was skeptical.
The metropolis of his country’s capital, Nabata, was not appearing beneath the descending helicopter. Instead, all she would see out there was a speck of a palace in the rugged desert.
“My mother is looking forward to meeting you. She spends much of her time at the palace my father built for her away from the city.” She liked to escape grim memories.
It almost felt an insult to bring the daughter of his father’s lover to meet his mother, the Queen Mother Tahirah. She had no idea of her husband’s infidelity, of course. Keeping the knowledge from her was why Karim had orchestrated to marry Galila, but he knew. It grated against his conscience along with the rest of the secrets he kept.
Galila noted his expression and asked, “What?” with a small frown. She looked hurt as she touched the scarf she had tucked beneath her popped collar, then glanced down to ensure her skirt and jacket were straight. “Is my hair mussed?”
He cleared whatever shadows had invaded his expression. “No. You’re beautiful. Perfect.”
Her thick lashes swept down and she showed him her profile, but he knew she was eyeing him, suspicious of his compliment.
“You are and you know it,” he chided. “Don’t expect me to pander to your vanity.”
Her painted mouth tightened. “Because I’m not a person whose feelings you care about or even an object you desire. I’m a rung on a ladder.”
He pursed his lips, weighing her words and the scorn beneath them.
“Our marriage is expedient, yes. That doesn’t mean it can’t be successful. Many arranged marriages are.”
“When both parties agree to said marriage, I’m sure they are.”
They landed and disembarked, forestalling further debate—which was unproductive at this point. She was going to marry him and that was that.
“This is very beautiful,” Galila said, gazing on the pink marble and intricately carved teak doors.
While Karim agreed, he found the extravagance of the palace disturbing. Clearly his father had been eager to please his wife with it. This wasn’t a guilty conscience. He had built it before Queen Namani had come into the picture. Sadly, whatever he had felt for Karim’s mother had been overshadowed by what he had felt for the other woman. And Karim and his mother hadn’t been enough to live for, once Queen Namani ended their affair.
What, then, must his father have felt for Queen Namani if his first—and supposedly lesser—infatuation had produced this sort of monument? It was a depth of passion—of possession—Karim couldn’t wrap his head around. He instinctively shied away from examining it too closely, maintaining a safe distance the way he would a conflagration or other life-threatening force.
As Galila started up the steps, he touched her arm, halting her.
She stilled and seemed to catch her breath. A soft blush rose under her skin.
Her reaction caused an echoing thrill inside him, one that warned him that he was tying himself to a ticking bomb and had to be very careful. On the surface, this physical compatibility might be exciting and promise a successful union, but he knew what indulged passion could do to a man.
He yanked the reins on his own response, hard, especially as he realized he was taking advantage of every opportunity to touch her and still had his palm on her arm. He dropped his hand to his side with self-disgust.
She was looking right at him and whatever she read in his expression made a tiny flinch cross her features. It was gone so fast, he could have been mistaken, but it slid an invisible wall between them, one that niggled at him.
She lifted her chin to a haughty angle. “Yes?”
“You’ll be kind to my mother.”
Her spine grew tall with offense. “I’m always kind.” She flipped her hair. “I was being kind last night when I let you kiss me.”
It took him a full second to understand that the unfamiliar sensation in his throat was an urge to laugh. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d loosened up enough for that, and fought it out of instinct.
At the same time, a deeper reaction—not ego, but definitely something that had roots in his masculinity—was affronted at her dismissal of their kisses last night. He knew exactly how potent they had been and didn’t care for her trying to dismiss that inferno as “kindness.”
The impulse to show her... But no. He refused to allow her to disarm him in any way. He waved her forward. “I’ll look forward to your next act of kindness, then.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Come.” He broke the eye contact. He could not, under any circumstances, become enamored with her. He had seen with his own eyes what falling for her mother had done to his father. He would not be another casualty to a Khalia temptress.
* * *
Despite its compact size and remote location, expense had not been spared on the desert palace. Galila was no stranger to wealth, but even she had to appreciate the effort of transporting marble and teak doors.
Inside, a fountain provided a musical ripple of noise and cooled the air. Columns rose three stories to a stained-glass dome. Mosaics in green and blue covered the walls to eye height before switching to delicate patterns in golds and blues and tangerines. Wrought iron marked the second-and third-floor walkways that encircled this grand foyer.
“I don’t know what this is. A genie’s lamp?” She was in love. “It’s too beautiful for words.”
Karim drew her up some stairs so thickly carpeted their shoes made no sound. They entered his mother’s parlor where he introduced her to the Queen Mother Tahirah.
The older woman rose to greet them, her face holding deeply etched marks of grief that reminded Galila of the ones her father wore.
“It’s like Queen Namani has come to visit me. Her beauty survives, if not my dear friend herself,” she said, taking Galila’s hands as she studied her features. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Galila murmured, returning Tahirah’s kisses against her cheeks, genuinely touched by her condolence. “I didn’t realize you knew my mother, but of course you must have met her at some point through the years.”
Was it her imagination that Karim stiffened? She glanced at him, but only saw the aloof expression she couldn’t read. The one that stung because it felt like a condemnation for reasons she didn’t understand.
“When we were young, yes,” his mother said, drawing her attention back to her. “We often met up after we were both married, but lost touch after my husband passed. My fault. I ceased most of my royal duties and rarely went on social visits. I couldn’t