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

Nic froze in the doorway, one hand going to her chest, checking the drape and coverage of her thin silk robe. ‘‘Your Highness.’’

‘‘I thought I’d join you for tea.’’

She’d never felt self-conscious around any man before and yet Malik did something to her, made her feel absolutely naked. And truthfully, right now she was rather naked. Her silk robe didn’t conceal much.

‘‘It is your palace,’’ she said, tension curling in the pit of her stomach.

His eyebrow lifted. ‘‘That’s not the same thing as a ‘yes, I’m glad to see you’, is it?’’

Nic licked her bottom lip, conscious she wore absolutely nothing beneath the robe, not a chemise or even a thong. Just skin. Warm, still slightly damp skin from her hot shower and application of body lotion.

And he knew it, she thought, with a curiously expectant shiver.

‘‘Of course I’d enjoy your company,’’ she said, surprised yet again by her flutter of nerves. She shouldn’t have this kind of response—at the very least, she shouldn’t act on this response.

‘‘Any company?’’ he teased. ‘‘Not my company?’’

Her gaze took in the way he reclined on the sofa cushions, his own robe open at the chest, his long muscular legs covering the length of the settee.

He was gorgeous. And he knew it. ‘‘You know I enjoy your company,’’ she answered softly.

‘‘And my touch.’’

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. ‘‘Did it ever cross your mind that you’re still single because you’re arrogant and conceited?’’

He smiled. ‘‘I’m not conceited.’’

‘‘But arrogant?’’

‘‘Laeela, I wouldn’t be a proper sultan if I didn’t have a certain amount of confidence.’’

CHAPTER EIGHT

HIS smile was slow, wicked, and rising from the couch Malik walked to a console panel on one of the walls. He touched a few buttons, and music sounded, spilling from hidden speakers. It wasn’t Eastern music, but a popular rock and roll ballad. ‘‘You did say the other night you wanted to dance.’’

She couldn’t tear her gaze from the small smile playing at his lips. He was tall, dark, handsome in a bone-melting kind of way. ‘‘I didn’t think you danced with women.’’

‘‘Not in public.’’

She couldn’t speak, adrenaline coursing through her veins and he moved toward her, his energy leashed, his powerful body graceful, languid. ‘‘But then,’’ he added in that deep sexy voice of his, ‘‘there’s lots of things I can’t do in public that I love to do in private.’’

He stood before her, arms loose at his sides, his chest bare. ‘‘Come here.’’

Her mouth had grown dry and Nic shook her head in a desperate plea for sanity. ‘‘You have no dinner engagements tonight?’’

‘‘None.’’

She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, trying to moisten them. ‘‘No appointments?’’

‘‘Completely free.’’ His smile was in his eyes. His arms were strong, relaxed. He had all night. He could afford to wait. ‘‘I thought you’d like this song.’’

The group was one of her favorite bands. She’d met the band members on their last European tour, too. ‘‘I do.’’

‘‘So come here.’’

She didn’t know why she couldn’t go to him, but her legs wouldn’t move, her feet felt rooted to the floor, and dread hummed through her, reminding her that she was not who or what she seemed. ‘‘You come to me,’’ she whispered, praying he wouldn’t, praying he’d turn and walk away.

He laughed. He was so confident he could find her insolence amusing. Malik closed the distance between them, pulled her against him, shaping her body to his, silver gaze glinting with laughter. ‘‘Like this, princess?’’

She shuddered at the press of his thighs, his body hard, his torso firm. Nic’s eyes closed as Malik bent his head, pulled back her robe and kissed her bare shoulder.

He must have felt her shudder as he kissed the same sensitive spot again and this time as the shiver raced through her, he cupped the side of her breast, feeling her nipple harden in his hand.

Her legs went weak and she hid her face against his chest as the music wound around them, warm, seductive, intimate. Nic found herself drawn closer against Malik’s chest, his smooth hard bicep pressed to her shoulder. She liked his arms around her. She liked the way he slid his hands down her ribcage, as if counting each rib, shaping each rib, until he reached her hip bones. He knew how to make a woman feel like a woman, and when he rested his hands in the small of her spine, she thought she could stay that way forever, savoring his warm, his spicy fragrance, how easy he was with her. No strangeness, no awkwardness. No formality. No royal games.

Just Malik and Nic.

She felt a twinge of guilt. Make that Malik and Chantal. But she didn’t want to be Chantal anymore. She wanted to be herself with him. She wanted him to want Nic.

Impulsively she reached up and touched his prominent cheekbone, tracing the sweeping length of bone and the shape of his chin. Everything in his face was strong, everything in his eyes was mysterious. Yet she knew he’d answer any question she put to him. He’d talk openly, candidly, about any subject she chose.

What would it be like to love you? She silently wondered, letting her hand return to his shoulder, feeling emotion grow and swell inside her chest, her heart strangely tender. For a second her eyes burned, little pricks of pain everywhere.

She’d love to spend hours with him. She’d love to take it all so slow. No rush, no hurry, no goal. Just time together.

She’d never been one of those glassy-eyed optimistics. She didn’t believe in excess of hope, didn’t believe in romantic dreams that couldn’t be fulfilled. Dreaming for her was a precursor to action. If she desired it, she did it. It wasn’t a challenge but a fact. If there was something she wanted out of life, she went for it.

‘‘Thinking about Lilly?’’ Malik asked, interrupting her thoughts, his fingers playing her spine, sending rivulets of feeling in every direction.

Nic shook her head, feeling guilty. He must think she was a terrible mother. She sighed heavily. She was in this so deep, wasn’t she?

What was she doing here? What was happening between them? They were on a collision course with disaster.

Nic felt as if she were beginning to suffocate and she stepped back, putting space between them so she could try to think. ‘‘Can we sit down?’’

‘‘Certainly.’’ He took a seat, and she knew he expected her to join him, but she hesitated. If she sat next to him in her little flimsy robe she might as well give up the battle now. If he touched her again, peeled the robe from her shoulders, kissed that sensitive spot on her neck, or her collarbone, she’d hold his lips to her skin and ask him to just keep on going…

‘‘Maybe I should go put some clothes on first.’’

‘‘Why?’’

‘‘You know why.’’

He cocked his head, studying her. ‘‘I can’t believe you’re so afraid to make love with me.’’

Talk about honesty. Nicolette flushed. ‘‘If you were a terrible kisser we wouldn’t have a problem.’’

He rubbed his brow, ruffling his crisp black hair. ‘‘I could try to kiss badly. If that’s what would make you happy.’’