The Princess Brides: The Sultan's Bought Bride / The Greek's Royal Mistress / The Italian's Virgin Princess

The plan wasn’t to fall in love.

The plan wasn’t to get trapped in this country so far away from her own.

‘‘We can always meet later—for dinner.’’ She pressed her knees together, tucking one foot behind the other ankle. She couldn’t let herself want more from him. She couldn’t continue to let herself get emotionally invested. ‘‘You can tell me what you’ve done…’’

Her voice faded as Malik leaned forward and ran the pad of his thumb over her lips, silencing her. ‘‘You need an adventure today. Something new, something fun. Leave it to me.’’

‘‘Malik.’’

‘‘Yes, laeela?’’

Her eyes burned and she closed her eyes as his hand slid along her jaw, and down, along the side of her neck to rest at her collarbone. His fingers were so sure and steady against her warm bare skin that Nic found the lovely sensation almost too excruciating to enjoy.

‘‘Why don’t you ever look me in the eye?’’ he asked softly, the pad of his thumb stroking the hollow of her throat. ‘‘When we talk like this, you always look away.’’

‘‘You’re touching me,’’ she whispered, and he was right, she couldn’t meet his gaze. He’d stirred intense emotions in her, and even hotter desire, and the combination of the two tried her conscience.

Her heart ached almost constantly and her body felt restless, a ceaseless restlessness that came from wanting.

But the wanting was reckless, dangerous, and even Nic, who embraced danger knew what was at stake here.

Chantal and Lilly.

‘‘My touch shouldn’t frighten you,’’ Malik said. ‘‘You’re not a virgin, not without experience.’’

She swallowed, her skin flaming with heat, her belly heavy, empty. ‘‘It’s not lack of experience that makes me wary, and it’s not your touch I fear.’’ She looked up into his perceptive pewter gaze. ‘‘What I fear is…you.’’

‘‘You fear me?’’ He sounded incredulous. ‘‘But why? I’d protect you with my life.’’

Nicolette’s heart twisted. The pain startled her. She hadn’t felt such strong emotion in years. ‘‘Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.’’ Jaw pressed tight, she gazed intently at his hard features, the long aquiline nose, the broad jaw, the stubborn set of his chin. ‘‘You place too much trust in me. You haven’t known me long enough to offer your life in exchange of mine.’’

His palm suddenly cupped her cheek. ‘‘But you’re my betrothed.’’

‘‘We haven’t exchanged any words, had a formal declaration.’’

‘‘You are here.’’

Tears thickened her voice, tears she wasn’t going to cry. ‘‘But appearances can be deceptive.’’

His expression turned thoughtful as he sat back in his chair. ‘‘Are you thinking of leaving?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘But you still have doubts?’’

She hated talking like this. Now that she’d met him, gotten to know him she didn’t want to be the one to disappoint him. ‘‘I was born with doubts. Of the three of us, I was the princess most likely to—’’ She broke off, realizing she was about to make another Nicolette pronouncement, and he was suspicious of those Nicolette pronouncements.

‘‘To?’’ he prompted softly.

‘‘You don’t want to know.’’

‘‘I do.’’

She shrugged helplessly, as if to say, I warned you. ‘‘Most likely to initiate world war.’’

He coughed.

She flexed her fingers, tension coiling throughout her body. ‘‘I know. I’m sorry.’’

‘‘What can we do? How can I help?’’ He sounded so tranquil, so comfortably conversational. ‘‘Is there something that I could do? Something I could tell you?’’

She closed her eyes, felt the late morning sun warm the top of her head, wrap her shoulders in heat. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore. Didn’t know how she’d lost control of the situation. She wasn’t supposed to get involved here. She was to have been a guest…just a guest…Instead she’d started to feel things, genuine things, for Malik Nuri.

Nic swallowed, opened her eyes. Malik should have been troubled but he looked calm, as if all his concern was for her instead of himself. ‘‘I don’t want to—’’ her mouth had gone dry and she reached for her glass of juice, took a sip, wetting her lips ‘‘—humiliate you.’’

‘‘I’m glad. I hate being humiliated.’’ But the corner of his lips lifted, and he sounded downright cavalier.

She didn’t know how he could joke at a time like this, yet she smiled at his humor, her emotions strung up like the rope of flags on the Royal Star.

‘‘But you’re not going to humiliate me,’’ he continued confidently. ‘‘I know you. You’re like me. You understand duty, and responsibility. You love your country, your people, and your family. You’ll do what’s best for them.’’

He was speaking matter of factly and she found herself hanging on each word, as if she couldn’t wait to hear what he’d say next. ‘‘If you give me your word now,’’ he added, ‘‘I know the ceremony will take place. You wouldn’t cancel at the last minute, now when it’d be so awkward for both our families. Never mind national pride.’’

National pride. Nic couldn’t speak, couldn’t make a sound, and life seemed to crystallize around her—the sun shining through her glass, filling the guava juice with shimmering light, the heady scent of the damask roses, the forlorn cry of a seagull above, a reminder that the Atlantic sea wasn’t so very far away.

‘‘You’re free,’’ he added even more gently. ‘‘You’re free to go home now. I’d never keep you here against your will.’’

He didn’t even know who she was, she thought, and if she did marry him, pretending to be Chantal, what would happen later when he found out later she wasn’t Chantal? Would he say fine, one Ducasse is the same as another, or would he want Chantal—the good one—the obedient one, and divorce her on grounds of fraud? Deception?

But if Nic confessed the truth now, what would happen to Chantal and Lilly? What if they were close to getting home to Melio? What if Nicolette ruined it for them now?

She couldn’t imagine that all this…subterfuge…should be for naught.

‘‘I’m not going anywhere.’’ Her voice sounded rough. ‘‘I’m staying right here.’’ Nic looked up at him and prayed he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. ‘‘I’m on holiday today, remember? And you’ve promised me to show me something new…something fun.’’

‘‘I remember.’’

After the meal, Nicolette quickly changed shoes, applied some sunscreen to her face and returned to the front hall. Her heart felt heavy when she saw Fatima waiting.

Fatima looked at her. ‘‘This wasn’t my idea,’’ she said stiffly.

Nic could barely nod, ridiculously disappointed. Just then the car and driver pulled to the door and Malik arrived. Like Fatima, he’d changed into a jellaba, and like his cousin, his long robe was made of expensive fabric with ornate needlework lining the seams.

‘‘Do I need to change?’’ Nic asked, touching the neckline of her turquoise jacket.

‘‘I have a jellaba you can wear if you’d like,’’ Malik answered, lightly circling her with his arm. ‘‘But I see no need for you to change. You’ll find that many of our young people favor jeans and T-shirts. Between our French colonial past, and the flood of tourists in winter, you’ll find that our city center is quite Western.’’

‘‘Is that where we’re going?’’ she asked, settling into the back seat.