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“You would be correct.”
Lucky him. “What should I call you? Your Highness? Your Worship?”
“He who rules the universe is my preferred title.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry. Were you being funny?”
“Apparently not.”
But he smiled, a charming smile that made her want to grab hold of the nearest chair. Another mental note: this playboy had a sense of humor and it packed more punch than his charm. She didn’t know whether to be grateful that her player radar was alive, well and functioning with one hundred percent accuracy or unsettled to have proof that she’d inherited from her mother the playboy-magnet gene. The thing was—she wanted to be swept away, but by someone who sincerely wanted her and men who were players didn’t do sincere.
She’d just confirmed that he was everything she didn’t want in a man. Not that he would hit on her. According to those questionable publications, his taste in women ran to models, actresses and world-famous beauties. She was not, not and so not.
“My friends and family call me Kardahl,” he was saying.
She nodded. “Kardahl it is. I’ll just get my bag—”
“It will be taken care of.” He rested his hand at the small of her back.
She swore the heat of his fingers seeped through the material of her suit jacket and made her want to melt. Probably that was because he smelled really good. She’d read somewhere that sense of smell was a powerful weapon in the arsenal of seduction. Still, there was the whole willingness thing and he’d just kissed the hand of maybe the only woman on the planet who was immune to his tabloid-worthy charisma.
Kardahl did not miss the chill that slid into Jessica’s large hazel eyes when he had introduced himself. Or the way she quite deliberately moved away from his touch now. Given their relationship, her reservations were puzzling.
He held out his hand, indicating that she precede him. “Let us go.”
He settled her in the back of the limousine and supervised the removal of her luggage. There were only two pieces, a meager amount of belongings all things considered. It was his experience that women always brought more than necessary and she was moving her entire life. Strange, indeed.
Kardahl slid into the back of the car beside her and met her gaze. The scandal precipitating her arrival was entirely his doing. He’d lost the only woman he would ever love and when he had grown weary of being told life goes on, he had thrown himself into the business of living—with many women. And he was guilty of the abundant yet judicious use of flattery. But he had told this woman the truth about being quite lovely. Her sun-streaked brown hair fell past her shoulders, with shorter strands framing a delicate face and cheekbones that revealed her noble heritage. She had also inherited lips that were full, well-formed, and quite frankly, the most kissable mouth he had ever seen.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said.
“I’m disappointed.”
“You have only to tell me who has done this and I will see that a high price is paid for the transgression.”
“Look in the mirror,” she said dryly. “Surely you can do better than ‘tell me about yourself.’I’ve heard some of the world’s best pickup lines. For instance—‘here I am, what are your other two wishes.’ Or, ‘do you have a Band-Aid? I scraped my knees when I fell for you.’ Or, my personal favorite—‘Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I go out and come in again?’”
“You do not believe that I sincerely wish to know you?”
She slid him an assessing glance. “How’s that uber-sincere line working for you?”
The puzzle of Jessica Sterling deepened. Revelation of his identity had altered the obvious female interest he had first recognized when her pulse raced and her hand trembled in his. Gone was the friendly, open woman he had first met. Now he found her prickly. Skeptical. And if he was not mistaken, suspicious. This was a reaction he had never before encountered from a woman. It was remarkably refreshing.
He smiled. “The line works quite well, actually. When I politely and sincerely inquire to know more about a woman, she invariably rewards me with information about herself. Intimate information.”
“Okay. I’ll play along.”
“Play? This is a game?”
“What else?” she asked. “This is you.”
He nodded. “Then if you choose to treat it as a game, I will play along, too.”
“I figured you would,” she said.
“So, if you please, tell me about yourself.”
She blew out a long breath. “I was born in Los Angeles, California. My mother died when I was twelve. I grew up in the child welfare system. Went to college and received a degree in social work.” She shrugged. “Those are the highlights of my life.”
Kardahl did not believe that was so and only now recalled that his father had intended to have Jessica’s background investigated. Undoubtedly it had been done, but Kardahl’s indifference to the situation had prevented him from reading the report. He regretted that now.
As the car sped smoothly toward the palace, he looked at her. “I suspect there is more you are not saying.”
A frown marred the smooth skin of her forehead, then she turned to look out the window. There was tension in the line of her jaw, the length of her slender neck, the set of her shoulders. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers intertwined, but there was nothing restful about her as she rubbed one thumb over the other.
“There’s a lot I’m not saying, but it’s not important.” Finally she met his gaze. “Tell me about you.”
She did not wish to talk about herself, which made him all the more curious. But there was time to learn what he wanted to know. “I am the second in line of succession to the throne of Bha’Khar—”
“The spare heir?”
“Some would say.”
“So you’re like the equivalent of the vice president in my country.”
“I suppose that is true.”
“You’re so busy keeping women happy all over the world. When do you have time to get ready?”
“For what?”
“To rule the country. If you’re called on.”
He did have a reputation—some of it deserved, some embellished. But no one knew why he took pains to cultivate it. “I will do my duty should the need arise, but I pray it will not because my brother, Malik, will one day be king.”
“Of course. Tell me more.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“I wish to know how someone like you who was born with so many advantages and opportunities to do really good things can turn into a self-absorbed pleasure seeker who’s only interested in his next romantic conquest.”
Her tone was friendly, conversational. And because he liberally used flattery, he recognized it in women. He was accustomed to it. He definitely did not see it now. “You have quite a low opinion of me.”
“It’s hard not to, what with all the stories printed about you and women who are equally self-absorbed and pleasure seeking.”
His emotions had shut down two years ago after burying his beloved Antonia and he almost didn’t recognize the prick of anger now. “Do you believe everything you read in those publications?”
“At the very least there has to be a grain of truth or they would be subject to accusations of slander followed by expensive lawsuits. And how many times have denials been issued only to find out the story was true? So, yes, I do believe a lot of what I read.” She met his gaze directly. “Although I have to say you look nothing like your pictures.”
“The paparazzi are not interested in taking favorable photographs. Their goal is to take infamous ones.” And they did not care who they hurt in the pursuit of that goal, he thought bitterly.
“And you certainly give them ample opportunity.”
“If you have such a low opinion of me, it begs the question. Why did you agree to come here?”
“You know why. The king’s representative promised to make it possible for me to meet my family.” She met his gaze. “After that, I’m going back home to my job with the department of social services—important, relevant work. Something you probably wouldn’t understand.”
“You would be wrong.” He was the minister of Finance and Defense. “I am quite social.”
She smiled. “No doubt about that, but the services you provide are questionable.”
She was making assumptions without knowing him and it was beginning to grate. It was as if she were trying to elicit emotion from him, even if that emotion was negative. If that was her objective, she was destined for more disappointment. The passion he had once felt was big and blazing, an entity with a life of its own and an excitement that had consumed him. When he lost that, he lost everything. He was empty inside. He had learned to go on by embracing that feeling of nothing and Jessica could not do or say anything to make him care.
This was about duty—in his case duty had been helped along by the unfortunate photographs of him with a certain still-married and much divorced actress. With negotiations in progress for Bha’Khar to join other nations in the Global Commerce Union, a scandal in the royal family would not be tolerated. As the public relations minister had pointed out—the only thing the media loved more than a salacious story was a salacious love story that included a wedding.
But that was not the real reason her presence in Bha’Khar had been expedited. The woman Kardahl had loved was dead, along with their unborn child and a part of him had died with them. Now one woman was the same as the next. It had ceased to matter to him that the king had chosen his bride when Kardahl was just a boy. His heart had turned to stone.
But his confusion was increasing. What was this about her going back to a job? It would explain her scarcity of luggage, but created more questions.
Kardahl frowned. “One who takes vows so cavalierly should not be so swift to point accusing fingers.”
“Vows?” Her smile disappeared. “What are you talking about? What vows?”
“The vows we took by proxy.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t understand.”
Neither did he. But this he knew for certain. “You are my bride.”
CHAPTER TWO
THREE hours ago Jessica had been afraid the family she’d only just found might reject her because she was the result of her mother’s out-of-wedlock pregnancy. Now she had bigger things to worry about, like marriage to a man who didn’t know the meaning of the words vow, dedication and loyalty.
In his palace suite, she paced back and forth in front of the French doors that opened to a balcony overlooking the Arabian Sea while she waited for him to return and tell her it was all a big mistake. They’d have a laugh, then she could get on with the reason she’d come here.
At least she had a great view for her pacing and his suite wasn’t bad, either. Not bad was a gross understatement. It was big. And while she was tempted to explore, she didn’t want to lose her way and get caught snooping. What she could see right here was pretty awesome. Celery-green sofas done in a suedelike fabric faced each other in front of a white brick fireplace. Pictures, each with their own lighting, hung on the walls throughout the spacious living and dining rooms. She didn’t know a darn thing about art but would bet each one cost more money than she made in a month because they were filled with difficult to identify body parts. And they were difficult to identify because they weren’t where they were supposed to be. Kind of like the mess she now found herself in.
How could she be married and not know it? What about the white dress, flowers, rings and vows—preferably of the verbal kind. Her low-heeled pumps clicked on the mosaic tiles in the suite’s foyer as she checked the door to make certain it wasn’t locked, then peeked outside to see if anyone was standing guard there. No and no, she thought, closing the door.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t a victim in some bizarre sex slave ring. She’d seen stories. Granted it was far-fetched. When the royal family had taken her under their wing, she’d never suspected another agenda, but what did she know? She thought proxy marriages had gone out with horse-drawn buggies and hoop skirts.
While she was trying to decide whether or not her luggage would slow her down too much when she made a run for it, the door opened and Kardahl joined her in the living room.
“I have news,” he said.
She tried to read his expression and when she couldn’t, made a hopeful guess. “We’re not married.”
“On the contrary.” He held out a piece of paper. “Is this your signature?”
She took it from him and stared at the familiar scrawl beneath the foreign words. “It looks like mine, but—”
“Were you coerced?” he interrupted.
“No. But I remember a stack of paperwork taller than me and—”
“Not such a very great stack of paperwork then,” he interrupted, looking her over from head to toe.
She was going to ignore that. “Not being fluent in the Bha’Kharian language, I couldn’t read this. The man who was supposed to be helping me said it was nothing important. That I was simply giving my permission to open records that would unite me with my family.”
Kardahl nodded as he took the paper she handed back and set it on the glass-topped coffee table. “In his overzealous desire to serve the king, he may have stretched the truth.”
“He lied?”
“Not exactly. Your signature gives your permission to access records, but it also bears witness to your agreement to the marriage by proxy.”
“That’s absurd. This is 2007. No one gets married by proxy.”
“I assure you it is quite real and legal.”
As yet, she wasn’t outraged to the point where she missed the irony of being this man’s bride. Nine out of ten women would be alternately doing the dance of joy and counting their lucky stars. But Kardahl got reluctant woman number ten. But irony worked both ways. She was apparently legally married to her worst nightmare. That kicked her outrage into overdrive.
She put her hands on her hips. “How do you know I’m not already married?”
“Do you not think someone would have checked that?”
“I never thought I’d be in a proxy-marriage situation. How did this happen?” she asked, pacing again. “Why did I draw the short straw?” At his blank look she translated, “Why me?”
“Your mother’s lineage can be traced back to royalty and there is a long friendship between our families. Many years ago it was decided that her offspring would become the bride of the king’s second son—”
“What if she’d had a boy?” Jess demanded.
“But she didn’t,” he pointed out, far too calmly as his gaze lingered on her breasts. “So when your attorney made inquiries and you were located, plans for the union proceeded.”
This was wrong in so many ways, she didn’t know where to start. Actually that wasn’t entirely accurate. “Did you sign one of those papers, too?”
“Yes.”
“Voluntarily?”
“Yes,” he answered far too patiently.
The playboy prince signed a marriage agreement without a gun to his head? “Why?”
“It is my destiny. The spare heir is required to marry and produce children.”
Since when was he the poster boy for following the rules? “What if I’d never been found?” When he opened his mouth, she held up a finger to stop him. “Don’t you dare say ‘but you were.’”
The corners of his mouth curved up. “It is not necessary since you have said it for me.”
