His Royal Prize

“Olivia? Your hat.”

The way he said her name with a slight accent made her shiver, and she seriously thought about forgetting the Stetson. Especially when she turned around and saw the play of muscles across his tanned back as he bent to pick it up.

“Uh, thanks.” She tried to grab the hat when he held it up to her, but he kept it a few inches out of reach. “That isn’t very gentlemanly.”

His eyebrows rose in phony surprise. “Did I claim to be a gentleman?” Smugness lifted his lips in a half smile. “One kiss, for one hat.”

“Talk about obsessions. What’s with you and kissing?”

“Ah, you do not like the sport.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Sport?” She threw up her hands. “That’s the problem with guys like you. You think…you think…kissing is a…is a sport. No thanks.”

Great. Now she was a liar and unoriginal. Because, despite her words to the contrary, she very much wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to feel breathless, and get that squishy feeling again that made her insides turn into Jell-O.

“We have known each other for only twenty minutes.” He slid the rim of her hat between two fingers in an unhurried, annoying fashion. “What would you call it?”

The truth stung. She held out her hand. “Give me the hat.”

He smiled. “I had forgotten how interesting you Americans can be. In my country, the women do not play these games.”

“Do they have a choice?”

His expression tightened. “How much do you know about my country? Are you that wise in other cultures?”

Livy grimaced. Apart from the fact she had no idea where Sharif was actually from, she sure as heck didn’t know much about geography or other countries, period. She’d only squeaked her way through school because Father Mike would have tarred and feathered her if she hadn’t. Riding horses had been a much preferable pastime.

Remembering how his servant dressed like something out of the movies, she said, “I bet you have a harem.”

His eyes darkened, and his voice was low and edgy. “I force no one. Women come to me freely.”

“You do have a harem?” She’d spoken impulsively, not truly believing such a thing existed, but from the look on his face…“Holy cow! You are something else.”

“And you have a very vivid imagination.”

“Which is about to leak out without my hat on. Hand it over.”

“You know the terms.” He dangled it just out of reach.

“I thought you didn’t have to force women.”

“Do you truly feel coerced?” He was looking at her like that again, studying her face with an eerie single-mindedness, lingering on her lips as if she was some kind of dessert.

And like a darn fool, her entire body was getting all feeble again. “I think I’ll call you Shay. I went to school with a kid named Shay and he was a royal pain, too.” She chuckled at her little joke. He didn’t. “It’s close enough to Sharif.”

Just as she’d hoped, he forgot all about the hat and scowled at her. “I forbid you to call me by that name.”

“Really?” She jumped up and snatched the Stetson out of his hand. “Thank you very much,” she said with a sarcastic grin, while walking backward away from him. “Shay.”

If she’d only kept the taunt to herself she probably could have made it out of the barn. But her hesitation allowed him to lunge forward and grab her around the waist. She dropped the hat, lost her footing and they both tumbled to the ground.

She scrambled to keep from being pinned beneath him, but she wasn’t quick enough. “Get off. You’re squashing the life out of my windpipe.”

That wasn’t all. Her breasts were crushed against his shoulder, and the really scary part was she kind of liked it.

He eased up, and just when she thought he was going to let her go, he repositioned himself, straddling her, keeping her back flat to the ground. His fingers locked around her wrists as he stared down at her with a triumphant smile.

“What did you call me?” The slight cocky lift of his left eyebrow made her see red.

She glared back at him, weighing the use of a threat against indifference. Except she was far too aware of the strength in his thighs pressing against her hips, and she couldn’t think all that straight.

“This is very undignified, Your Highness,” she finally said, and was pleased to see his jaw clench.

“True,” he said, with a slight shift of his hips. “But quite pleasant.”

Boy, howdy. She swallowed. This was so unreal. Not a blessed guy she knew would ever think of manhandling her this way. “Aren’t you afraid your flunky will come in here and find you bullying me?”

“If you really wanted to end this, you would simply call me Sharif.”

The truth brought a wave of realization and shame that made Livy’s cheeks burn. “Sharif,” she quickly murmured.

But it was too late. He knew she’d enjoyed his attention, the brief taboo run on the wild side. His expression didn’t show it, though, and for that she was grateful.

As soon as she started to move, he got off. When he offered a hand, she took it. He pulled her to her feet but didn’t immediately let her go. His gaze holding hers, he touched her shoulder. His warm fingertips met with bare skin.

She realized then that she’d lost a button and her too-big shirt had slid off her shoulder. He surprised her by gently pulling the fabric in place. Then he kissed her.

Just as her stubborn shirt slipped down again, a flash went off at the barn door.

Chapter Three

Sharif turned in time to see the back of the man’s blue jacket and blond hair as he fled the barn. It took Sharif a moment to realize what had just happened. Even though he should have smelled the damn reporter from a hundred yards away, vile creatures that they all were.

Without even a glance at Livy, he ran after the man, but he was too late. All he caught was a glimpse of a speeding dark sedan, creating so much dust it was hard to see anything at all.

He swore loudly when he remembered he had no shirt. What a picture that would make. His father would not be pleased. Rose’s feelings, Sharif did not care about.

Looking back toward the barn, he saw no sign of the woman. Olivia. With the big innocent violet eyes. He let out a heavy sigh and shoved a hand through his hair. Hay flew everywhere. He swore again.

For a moment he thought about returning to her. She had been a most pleasant distraction from his maddening thoughts. That she was a timid partner did not bother him. In fact, the new experience had been stimulating. Her uncertainty had barely masked her eagerness to explore, a naivetе he found enchanting.

She was young, barely twenty he guessed. Perhaps she had not yet been with a man. Although in his experience with American and European women, youth meant little in terms of sexual enlightenment.

He would run into Olivia Smith with the bewitching violet eyes again, he was sure of it. But for now, his thoughts were tainted with the intrusion of the reporter, and the possible repercussions of a suggestive photograph.

Sharif frowned when he realized what little regard he had given such offenses in the past. And much to the displeasure of his parents, there had been a considerable number of compromising situations that had provided fodder for the tabloids. What was different now? Was maturity finally replacing his childish antics?

As much as he wanted to believe age and wisdom were responsible, deep down Sharif knew better. Life was no longer so simple. The entitlement and privilege, the very foundation of his being he had taken for granted a mere two weeks ago were more precarious today. And Sharif wished more than anything he had been kept in ignorance. Because for the first time in his life, he understood fear.