The Desert Kings: Duty, Desire and the Desert King / The Desert King's Bejewelled Bride / The Desert King

“No. I’m an adult child of addicts. I have other issues. Lack of trust. Problems with boundaries. Serious need for control.” Her lips curved, self-mocking. “I’m sure none of this is news to you, though. You’ve spent enough time studying me.”

“You never talk about your parents.”

Her chin lifted. “I just did.”

“Your parents were very famous.”

“And famous for their lack of control.” She took another long sip from her champagne, her flute now half-empty, and then resolutely set the glass on the low table between them.

His gaze never left her face. “Why do you hide your beauty? You’re as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than your mother, and she was one of the great beauties of her time.”

It was all Rou could do to stay seated. She longed to leap up and move. Pace. Walk. Run.

Run away.

Instead she swallowed the panic rushing through her, panic stirred by memory and painful emotions, and forced herself to answer calmly, “Beauty means nothing if it’s selfish. Hurtful.”

“You are neither.”

“Because I’ve chosen not to focus on the externals. I’ve committed my life to finding true beauty, inner beauty. It’s why I work to help people find true companionability, relationships built on shared values and needs.”

He said nothing for a moment, intent on listening, watching. Finally, “If I had gone through your matchmaking system, what would have happened, after the first meet?”

She shrugged. “Second dates, third dates … eventually love.”

“Pippa told me you had rules for the dates, including rules about sex.”

“I think you have sex on the brain,” she said tartly, pressing her hands together to keep from making wild, nervous gestures.

He laughed, creases fanning from his eyes. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. You are incredibly beautiful, as well as intriguing. Does it bother you that I look forward to being with you?”

Rou swallowed hard and, crossing her legs, turned the conversation back to her matchmaking rules. “Pippa was right. I do discourage my clients from sleeping together for the first five meets. After that, it’s up to them.”

“But why five dates, and why the need for any rules at all?”

“Sex changes the relationship, particularly for women. The majority of women feel emotionally involved from the point they make love. Men don’t internalize sex the same way. Abstinence levels the playing field.”

She thought he’d laugh, but instead his expression sobered. “Do you think sex will change the way you feel about me?” he asked quietly.

She opened her mouth, then shut it. “I … I don’t know. I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t ever felt close to a man after sex.” There, she’d said it. She shrugged a little to hide her discomfort and waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just regarded her with those intense gold eyes.

“I’m probably not the most experienced woman alive,” she continued, “but at the same time, I know enough to know how I respond … and …” Suddenly her courage was gone. She couldn’t find the words to say that she didn’t respond, that in bed, she didn’t feel. It was her own failure as a woman, and one she’d decided not to focus on as there were so many things she could do. But now that failing loomed large, and she was terrified of not just disappointing herself, again, but of disappointing him.

“Do you always sleep with a woman on a first date?” she asked abruptly.

“Do I always?” He appeared puzzled. “I rarely sleep with a woman on a first date. It’s not my thing.”

“Why? Men want sex—”

“And so do women, but it’s almost always better when you know someone a little bit, don’t you think?” He rose from his couch and crossed to where she sat. He surprised her by lifting her from her chair, taking her seat on the chair and then drawing her down onto his lap.

“There, that’s better,” he said. “It’s hard to talk about sex across the room from you.”

Rou stiffened, giving him her profile as she stared uncomfortably across the handsome room. His lap was hard beneath her thighs, and his body’s warmth penetrated the thin, silver organza skirt.

He laughed softly at her expression. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s—” she glanced at him from beneath her lashes “—awfully close.”

She felt rather than heard the laughter rumbling in his chest.

“It’s going to get closer, laeela,” he answered gravely, and yet she saw the warm gleam in his eyes, that look he gave her when he was fully aware and fully engaged.

He was enjoying himself. Her heart gave a lurch, and she knotted her hands into fists to try to stop them from shaking. “Perhaps we should just do it quickly,” she suggested breathlessly. “Get it over with so we can get on with the day.”

She felt the laughter rumble through him again, up through his broad chest and into his eyes and mouth. He was always gorgeous, so beautifully put together, but with the laughter warming his eyes and playing on his lips, he looked like an angel among mortals. How was a woman to resist such a man? Rou couldn’t tear her eyes from his face. It wasn’t fair that any man had such a face. It was a face that left even her weak. Her fingers itched to explore the striking planes and hollows. Those cheekbones, the straight slash of nose, and that mouth of his with the upper lip that curved so wickedly, so sensually promising, promising …

“Your expression is priceless,” he murmured as she continued her slow study.

She looked up into his eyes. “Is it?”

“Mmm. You look as if you can’t decide if you love me or loathe me.”

Blood rushed to her face. “I can assure you, it’s loathe, Your Highness.”

He had the gall to laugh.

CHAPTER NINE

HIS laughter gave way to a smile he was trying very hard to suppress, and yet his eyes glinted, and his wicked mouth curved. “You say that with your lips, laeela, but your body says something else.”

She sat even straighter, trying to minimize the areas where their legs touched. “My body does?”

“Mmm.” He stroked down her back, once, and again. “Your body likes being near me, and I very much like your body near mine.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“Am I?” He turned her ever so slightly on his lap so that she faced him more fully, and more of her legs dangled over his, and now her shoulder pressed to his chest.

She felt the pulse at the base of her neck flutter. “Yes.”

He just smiled and, watching her face, he slid his hand along the curve of her jaw, toward her ear and up into her hair. Rou’s toes nearly curled with pleasure. It wasn’t the most sexual touch and yet it both stirred and soothed her, making her want to stretch and luxuriate beneath his touch. He rubbed her nape for a few moments, his fingers working against her scalp and this was pure pleasure. Eyes half closing, she was so tempted to give in to the sensation, so tempted to just lean against him and relax.

But Rou never leaned against anyone, never leaned on anyone, either. She meant what she’d said—she had issues with trust and control, and the last person she could trust was this man. Even if he was now her husband.