by Jane Porter
This had to stop, she thought woozily, she had to stop it, but her body refused to act. It was feeling too many strange and wonderful things, from her heavy useless limbs to the weakness of her muscles. Even her heart seemed to have slowed, thudding with a maddening tempo, a tempo echoed by the shivers licking her spine and the curling, coiling sensation in her belly.
The curling, coiling sensation in her belly was the most maddening. It made her ache deeply, inwardly, made her realize how empty she’d been, how empty she felt.
It was the arrival of the palace butler that ended the kiss. Rou hadn’t even heard the man arrive, but Zayed did, and he ended the kiss and untangled himself from Rou with impressive speed.
While the butler spoke quietly to Zayed, Rou swayed on the pillow, definitely not in control. She heard Zayed ask a question but she had no idea what he or the butler were saying. It wasn’t until the butler retreated that Zayed turned back to her. “I have to go,” he said bluntly.
Rou forced herself to focus on Zayed’s chin and then his mouth and then finally his eyes. “Okay.”
Zayed reached out, touched her cheek, before frowning and drawing his hand away. “My mother’s collapsed. She’s been taken to the hospital.”
Rou blinked, and little by little everything was slipping back into place, everything except her blood, which still raced hot and sweet in her veins. “Will she be all right?”
“I’m sure she will be. It’s just shock. She took the news badly about Sharif’s plane.”
“Of course she would.” Rou expected Zayed to leave, but he hadn’t moved yet.
Instead he sat where he was, his expression brooding as he studied her flushed face. He seemed to be choosing his next words with care. “That e-mail…those things I wrote…they were not meant for you.”
She knew that. But that didn’t make them any less hurtful. “I know.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She felt an ache inside her chest. She didn’t want his apology, not now. She just wished things were different. That she was different. That she was more beautiful, more vivacious, more appealing. “The e-mail wasn’t meant for me. I know.”
“But it must have hurt.”
Her lips parted but she couldn’t make a sound. The e-mail had hurt, terribly. She’d liked him, had imagined he’d liked her, had imagined ridiculous romantic things, but that was three years ago. A long time ago. It didn’t matter anymore. “It’s in the past. I’ve moved on.”
“I think we should talk about it, but now isn’t the time—”
“I don’t want to talk about it, and you need to go. Your mother needs you, and I have much to do.” Rou struggled to her feet, aware that she couldn’t do anything gracefully if she tried. “I’ll go back to my room and contact the three women I’ve selected, and will work on arranging for them to meet you.”
He, too, rose but his movements were fluid, elegant, powerful. “I’ll come see you when I return from the hospital.”
“Not necessary. You’ve much to do, and I have my work. I’m not here on vacation, I do have a job to do.”
He didn’t look happy. “I’ll have dinner sent to your suite.”
“I’m the last one you need to worry about. Just go.”
He gave her a long look and then walked out, white robes flowing, broad shoulders very straight. Rou watched him a moment and then, trying not to think of the kiss, or the strange tenderness of her lips, or of the way her blood still felt thick and hot in her veins, gathered her notebooks and profiles and headed back to her room.
CHAPTER FIVE
AS THE limousine pulled away from the hospital, Zayed tipped his head against the leather seat and closed his eyes. Now that he knew his mother was fine, that she’d only collapsed to force him to her side, he could turn his attention to other matters. Like the coronation ceremony. And the wife he still needed—a wife his mother said she could conjure tomorrow if need be. And Rou.
Rou.
Why did he kiss her? What on earth possessed him to kiss Rou Tornell? Dr. Tornell?
She wasn’t a woman he’d ever found particularly attractive. He hadn’t ever wanted to kiss her, and yet the kiss…
The kiss surprised him. It was hot.
Explosive.
Nothing like he’d imagined. But then she wasn’t quite what he’d imagined, either.
And she’d known about his e-mail to Sharif following Pippa’s wedding. She knew he’d rejected her, and while he didn’t recall the exact words he’d used, he knew the tone of his e-mail had probably been sarcastic, if not mocking.
Zayed winced in the darkness. He shouldn’t have behaved so unkindly. He certainly hadn’t meant to hurt her. If anything, he’d been making a dig at Sharif. Sharif and his geeky little protégée. Sharif and all his lost causes.
Zayed briefly closed his eyes, ashamed of himself. But this was nothing new. He lived with shame. He’d brought the curse on himself. It was his actions that had cursed them all.
The guilt was often unbearable and for the past fifteen years he’d tried to destroy himself, make dust out of dust but nothing he did, nothing he took, nothing he tried worked. He failed at failing. God wouldn’t let him die.
But God didn’t let him live, either.
Instead, his world was one of jaded material pleasures—fast cars, fast times, fast women. He indulged every whim, partook of every vice, and enjoyed none of it.
But now he was back in Isi, Sarq’s capital city, back in the place he’d grown up. He was here to take the place of his brother. Here to make amends. If he could make amends.
If only he could break the curse. Save what was left of his family.
If only.
Ten minutes later, the limousine turned down the long drive leading to the palace gates. Zayed shifted restlessly.
He’d have to go see Rou. He’d told her he’d stop by when he returned. If only he hadn’t kissed her.
If only he’d kept his distance he wouldn’t have discovered that her icy scientist image was just a facade.
Slim, blond Rou Tornell wasn’t a cold-blooded scientist. She was a woman. A woman he’d very much enjoyed kissing.
Back at the palace, Zayed headed straight to Rou’s suite. The lights were still on and, descending the steps into her sunken living room, he saw the living room was empty but a series of heavy silver trays covered the low table. He lifted the lids on the dishes, discovering little pots of aromatic rice; plates of grilled, skewered meats; a copper bowl of sizzling, sautéed prawns; platters of steamed, seasoned fish; cooked vegetable dishes of potatoes, peas and artichoke hearts. All untouched. Had she eaten nothing?
He was just about to walk out when he heard a rustle of paper. Turning, he spotted her at her desk. She’d fallen asleep while working, her right hand still on the keyboard, her left arm and cheek resting on her stack of notebooks.
Zayed took a step toward her and then another. She still wore that hideous gray suit, but her hair was unpinned and it spilled over her arm in a sheet of silver and pale gold. Asleep, her face was soft, her lips full and curved. Asleep, she looked alarmingly vulnerable.
He never took advantage of vulnerable women. He never took advantage of any woman.
Why had he kissed her?
Perplexed, he nearly left her as she was, but then guilt battered his conscience. She was here because he’d asked for her help. The least he could do was send her to bed.
He placed a light hand on her shoulder. “Dr. Tornell, wake up. You need to go to bed.”
She barely stirred and didn’t waken. He touched her shoulder again, shook her gently. “Rou.”
This time his voice registered and she sleepily lifted her head to look at him. “Hi.”
Hi. So American, so informal, so unlike who he thought Rou Tornell was.
His gaze skimmed her bare face, with the soft, full mouth and the long eyelashes that were surprisingly dark and thick. Without thinking he brushed the side of his hand across her cheek. Her
skin was as warm and soft as it looked. “It’s after midnight. Time for you to go to bed.”
She sat up abruptly, remembering. “How’s your mom?”
“Brittle. Hysterical. Exhausting.” He shrugged. “But then she’s always been that way.”
She yawned and pushed a wave of pale hair from her face, her cheeks still flushed pink from sleep. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”
“She’s not what I’d call nice.”
Rou now frowned. “You don’t have a good relationship with her?”
He sat down on a corner of the desk. “Tonight was the first time I’d seen her in years.”
“Why?”
“She’s controlling. Manipulative. I saw how she treated Sharif and his family. Vowed I’d never allow that in my life.”
“But you went to her tonight?”
He made a soft, rough sound. “She’s my mother.”
Rou’s lips twisted. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were a good man.”
He smiled crookedly. “Fortunately, you do.”
“Fortunately.”
Zayed felt a tug in his chest. The tug was strong and it almost hurt. “I am sorry about earlier—”
“Forgotten.”
One eyebrow lifted. “The kiss, or the e-mail?”
“Both.”
“That easily?”
Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I compartmentalize.”
“Ah, you’re retreating behind the scientist mask.”
“It’s not a mask. It’s who I am. It’s what I do.”
“And the kiss? Means nothing?”
“Absolutely nothing,” she answered firmly. “You’re stressed. I’m stressed. We made a mistake. It’s over, done, behind us.”
“But it was good.”
She colored vividly, blood rushing to her cheeks. “I wouldn’t know,” she answered primly.
He laughed softly, despite the endless, exhausting day. She was so provoking and yet strangely entertaining. And before he could think better of it, he reached out to trace the plane of her face, the cheekbone and jawline, her small straight nose and the curve of her upper lip.
She pulled away. “I’m not one of your three candidates, Sheikh Fehr!”
If she’d hoped to freeze him with her frigid tone and cool lecture she’d failed. “Perhaps you should be,” he answered mildly.
Rou pushed up from the desk. “We’re in the middle of a crisis here—”
“And I should be taking it more seriously?” he finished for her, thinking he liked this Rou Tornell far more than the scientist mask she presented to the world.
Angry, she was fierce and alive, feminine and strong. Prickly, too, but it suited her. Made her volatile. Feisty. Passionate.
“Yes,” she agreed adamantly, her long, pale hair tumbling down her back, her breasts rising and falling beneath the tailored coat.
Make that feisty, passionate and hot, he mentally corrected, letting his gaze slide over her slim figure, down her hips to her bare legs, lingering on those legs. They were even more shapely without heels, and he found himself fantasizing about what he could do with legs like that.
A kiss to the knee. A kiss behind the knee. A kiss to the pulse behind that lovely knee when she trembled.
And she’d tremble. Women always did, but she, Rou Tornell, would most definitely tremble. He knew that now, knew that Rou Tornell was nothing like the image she projected.
“Having spent the past three hours listening to my mother wail, I’m very aware of the current crisis. However, I’m also a man, and you’re a woman—”
“No.”
“No?”
She blushed wildly. “I mean, yes, I am a woman, but not the right woman for you. I’m not your type. I’ll never be your type. It has to do with laws of attraction.”
He could still feel the warmth and softness of her mouth beneath his fingertip. “Laws of attraction?”
“It’s my field of study.” She pushed a long, silvery tendril of hair behind her ear. “The science and chemistry of romantic love. It’s an unconscious drive, something the brain controls through chemicals and hormones.”
“And you don’t think my brain could find you attractive?”
“No.”
The edge of his mouth lifted, quirking. “You know an awful lot about my brain.”
“I know men are prone to impulse, particularly the sexual impulse, but that doesn’t mean true attraction, or compatibility. And that, Sheikh Fehr, is what we’re interested in. Compatibility, synergy, marriage.”
He nodded when she finished, but he wasn’t actually listening anymore. She’d lost him about the time she mentioned sexual impulse because sex was on his mind, and to his way of thinking, she was a woman in desperate need of proper lovemaking. He couldn’t imagine the last time she’d been bedded, and yet that’s exactly what she needed. After a couple hours between the sheets, after a couple orgasms, she’d look entirely different. She’d carry herself differently. Her blue gaze would be softer. Her color would be high. And that mouth, that sweet, full mouth, would be swollen from kisses.
If he weren’t in such a bind, if he didn’t need a wife, he’d enjoy teaching Dr. Rou Tornell about the side of love she didn’t lecture on…and that was the physical. Love was more than textbook science. It was also skill, patience and desire.
“I’m here to find you a wife,” she added shortly. “That is it.”
“Right.” He cocked his head, considered her legs, her silken tumble of hair, the dark pink staining her cheeks and smiled wickedly.
“So we’re in perfect understanding? We will keep our relationship professional. We won’t indulge in any more touches, kisses, flirtations. This is business, and there’s a science to the business—”
“I was wrong about you, you know. You’re very interesting. And very appealing, especially when you’re in a righteous mood.” He smiled. “A man likes a proper challenge. And you, my buttoned-down, uptight, prudish Dr. Tornell, are a proper challenge.” With a last smile in her direction, he left.
Rou tumbled into the living room and down onto the white couch the moment Zayed disappeared and reached for a ruby pillow to squeeze against her chest. Buttoned-down. Uptight. Prudish?
How dare he? How crass. How arrogant. How perfectly Zayed Fehr!
There was no way she could find a good wife for him. No decent woman would take him. He was horrible. Arrogant. Sexual.
Sexual. And then she bit her lip and closed her eyes and tried to block out the way he’d kissed her and the way her body had responded and the way she imagined making love would be.
It’d be good.
Maybe even great.
Oh, God. She had to get out of here.
In bed, it took forever for Rou to relax. She tossed and turned so long that she eventually turned the light on and reached for a book, but even the book couldn’t hold her attention.
The problem was Zayed. The problem was his kiss. The problem was she still felt too warm and so emotionally and physically stirred.
That kiss was unlike any kiss she’d ever experienced. It had made her ache and burn. Made her want to take things further. She’d never enjoyed sex before, but with Zayed she knew it’d be different. Everything with him was different.
With him she didn’t feel frigid. She felt. She wanted. She needed. Desired. Hungered.
She’d always been accused of being so cerebral, and maybe it was her own fear that kept her emotions and desires in check, but her body hadn’t ever been important. Yet tonight when Zayed kissed her, her body stunned her by coming to life, expressing needs. Wants. Demands.
She found the revelation both wonderful and awful. Wonderful because she relished feeling alive. Wonderful because she’d never felt this way before. And yet awful because she knew once she left here, she’d never feel this again.
It was close to three before she fell asleep, and nearing eight when she woke. Her head ached and she groggily stumbled from bed to the li
ving room to look out the French doors where the sun was still rising and painting the sky shades of pink and rose.
Still wearing her cozy, pale blue pajamas, Rou pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, plopped on her glasses and grabbed her laptop. She carried it to the couch and opened her e-mail to see if she’d gotten any responses yet.
None of the three women she’d contacted last night had responded to her e-mail yet, and instead of being disappointed she felt relief. Not that she was supposed to feel relief. She was here to do a job and she was failing. That wasn’t good.
To combat her guilt, Rou wondered if she should send another batch of e-mail invites, but then admitted that her efforts were futile at best.
There was no way she was going to come up with a bride for him in twenty-four or thirty-six hours. No way a sane woman would hop on the royal jet, arrive here, talk to Zayed for sixty minutes and agree to marriage.
Instead there had to be someone else, someone closer, someone already familiar with Zayed Fehr. An ex-girlfriend perhaps. A friend of the family’s. A second or third cousin.
She was just opening one of her spiral notebooks to begin brainstorming when a soft knock sounded outside her suite.
“Come in,” Rou called, hoping it was Manar with coffee and some biscuits.
Instead a pretty brunette in a simple belted cream dress appeared between the columns. She stood at the top of the stairs and smiled wanly at Rou. “I haven’t been a very good hostess. I’m so sorry. I should have welcomed you earlier. I’m Jesslyn Fehr—”
“Queen Fehr!” Rou was on her feet and rushing forward to greet Sharif’s wife, who was descending the stairs into the sunken living room. Rou didn’t know if she was expected to bow or curtsy. “I don’t expect you to play hostess while I’m here. Never. I already feel bad intruding during this time. I know you have so much to deal with right now.”
Jesslyn’s hand lifted, fell. She looked dazed, lost. “Unfortunately, I don’t actually have enough to do. I’m finding it hard to stay busy. Nothing lets me forget. Not even the children.”
