His Royal Prize. Debbi Rawlins
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do not intend to hurt you. I only want—” Sharif stared into her anxious eyes. What did he want? To erase the past week when his entire life had changed? This girl could not help him. No one could. His demons were his alone to battle. “I want you to take off your hat.”
“Excuse me?”
He raised his free hand to accomplish the task himself, but she ducked away. “It is you who are beautiful. You should not dress like a boy.”
“I’m not dressed like a—” She stopped, her eyes narrowing. “What did you say?” Anger tinged her voice and she stared at him as though he were the devil himself.
Her unexpected reaction caught him off guard, so when she jerked away, he lost his grip and she used her freed hand to jam her hat more securely on her head. “Never mind. Don’t you dare repeat it,” she said, her voice breaking. “That was low, really low. Even for someone like you.”
“Wait.” He blocked her path, then when she tried to get around him, he held her by the shoulders. “I do not understand.”
“I know I don’t act or look like other girls, but I don’t need you pointing it out, buster.” She jabbed a finger in his chest. “And for your information, not every girl wants to be beautiful. I’m fine just the way I am.”
He fisted a hand around hers before she jabbed him again. Her nails were short, but they were ragged and chafed his skin. She tensed under his touch. “I will not hurt you,” he repeated.
“You already have,” she muttered, and he promptly released her. “I have to get back to work.” She briefly glanced over her shoulder. “I can clean your shirt, if you want. I feel partly responsible.”
He waved a dismissive hand. He had many more like them. “I want to understand why I have angered you. In my country, women like to be told they are beautiful.”
She sighed. “Here, they like to be told the truth.” One side of her mouth lifted. “Most of them.” She shrugged. “Okay, most of the time we do.”
She sighed again and looked at him with an odd longing in her eyes. This was not a woman who tried to hide her feelings. A new experience for him that was both refreshing and unsettling.
“Olivia Smith, take off your hat.” She scowled at his command, and he grudgingly added, “Please.” Not a word he used often, it rolled gruffly off his tongue.
She touched the rim uncertainly. “Why?”
“It hides your face and hair.”
“That could be a good thing. Trust me.”
“No.” He slowly moved his hand toward the hat. “Trust me.”
Livy froze, closing her eyes, barely able to breathe as he gently lifted the hat off her head. His movement was so smooth and unhurried, it seemed sensual somehow, and for one glorious moment, she did feel beautiful and feminine. Which was ridiculous, except Livy never wasted the opportunity for a good fantasy. She wondered if this was the way Cinderella had felt when her prince slipped on the glass slipper.
Of course a gorgeous, sparkling glass slipper was a far cry from a stained secondhand Stetson. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, forcing herself to give up the brief daydream.
His smile stole her breath again. Her chest tightened until it hurt. And then she saw her hand, as though it were no longer a part of her body, lying against his bare skin, his hardening nipple pressing into the center of her palm.
She gasped, snatched her hand back and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Humiliation burned in her cheeks. How had this happened? How had she gotten so carried away? How could she ever look at him again?
She couldn’t. That’s all there was to it. Taking a blind step back, she felt around for her hat, ready to yank it out of his hand and run. She found a belt buckle instead. And it wasn’t hers.
“Oh, my God.” Her eyes flew open and she pulled back her hand as if she’d just touched a red-hot burner. “I didn’t mean to do that. I—I—” The heck with the hat. She started to turn to sprint for the door.
He stopped her with a firm hand. “Stay.”
“Not a chance.”
He hooked a finger under her chin and, when she tried to jerk away, he forced her head up. She closed her eyes and refused to meet the dark, steely blue of his gaze. If he laughed at her, sheikh or no sheikh, she’d slug him. She swore she would.
Warm breath tickled her cheek and her lids involuntarily lifted. “What are you doing?”
He lowered his mouth to hers and pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. When he pulled back, her throat closed at the look she saw in his eyes. She’d never seen a man look like that before, his pupils dilated so much that his eyes looked more black than blue. Maybe in the movies she’d seen it, but not in person, and certainly not directed at her. It made her feel all funny and squishy inside.
When his hold on her arm tightened she should have been frightened, but she was too fascinated by the way his jaw clenched, like Mickey’s did when he was really angry or excited and was trying to hold back from popping someone or doing something crazy. But this man wasn’t angry. He was…
She wasn’t quite sure what, but just watching him look at her made her embarrassingly damp in a place she didn’t expect.
“I didn’t say you could kiss me,” she said without the slightest hint of conviction, and wondered what it would take for him to do it again. She’d only kissed three boys before today, and none of those times seemed to count anymore.
His mouth lifted in a slight curve. “Had I asked, what would you have said?”
“No way.”
“May I kiss you again?”
“Okay.”
His smile broadened a little and Livy swallowed, not sure what she should do. Was she supposed to pucker up, or wait until he lowered his head again? Was it all right to lay her hand on his chest? She liked the feel of his smooth taut skin, and figured if she was going to let him kiss her again, what difference did it make where her hand landed.
He relieved her of the decision by placing her arms around his neck. Her breasts flattened against him and her head got a little fuzzy. The sudden shocking wish that they were bare skin to bare skin sobered her a little and she stiffened.
Stroking her back, he whispered something in a strange language. When she tilted her head back to look at him, he said, “You have the most magnificent eyes.”
And then his gaze fell to her lips and she didn’t think she’d ever wanted anyone to kiss her more than she did at this very moment. A few feet away Khalid whinnied, and she vaguely recalled where she was, that she was supposed to be working, that Mickey or any of the others could walk in at any time. But she just couldn’t pull herself away.
This was her dream come to life—a handsome Prince Charming, words and looks that made her feel wanted and beautiful, and her need was so great, she brazenly stretched up to meet her fantasy.
His lips weren’t so gentle this time. Her breath caught at the almost savage way he crushed her to him, as though he were being driven by some unknown force. The intensity both frightened and thrilled her. It was like something out of the movies, or in those romance books she sometimes read.
When his tongue slid along the seam of her lips, slowly applying pressure, looking for entry, she tensed again. Long enough for sanity to surface, and she pulled her arms from around his neck and shoved him back.
He looked dazed for a moment, and then he frowned. “You did not want my kiss?”
She rubbed her arms. “I’m not sure.” She did, and she didn’t. Mostly it was her own reaction that upset her. But the look of shock on his face eased her tension and she chuckled.
“Don’t take it personally. It’s