AROUND CHI-TOWN

March: We Chicagoans all live vicariously through our own “royalty,” the Connelly family. And here comes a story to warm you up on a damp, blustery Chicago day….

Matriarch Emma Connelly has been keeping close tabs on what’s going on in her island homeland of Altaria. The former princess has been in touch with her son, King Daniel, who tells her that a certain sheikh has been spending all his time in Altaria searching for a bride. And, says Daniel, he seems to have set his sights on the Connelly cousin Princess Catherine.

Having just lost her father and grandfather, and having been bypassed for the throne, the princess could use some good fortune. But sources close to her say not even the swarthy, sexy, studly sheikh is a match for the royal known around the globe as the Ice Princess.

Since the American king has taken the throne, Altaria has been making news with its peaceful transfer of power. But with the sparks flying between the sheikh and the princess, we’re looking forward to fireworks….

Dear Reader,

Celebrate the rites of spring with six new passionate, powerful and provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire!

Reader favorite Anne Marie Winston’s Billionaire Bachelors: Stone, our March MAN OF THE MONTH, is a classic marriage-of-convenience story, in which an overpowering attraction threatens a platonic arrangement. And don’t miss the third title in Desire’s glamorous in-line continuity DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS, The Sheikh Takes a Bride by Caroline Cross, as sparks fly between a sexy-as-sin sheikh and a feisty princess.

In Wild About a Texan by Jan Hudson, the heroine falls for a playboy millionaire with a dark secret. Her Lone Star Protector by Peggy Moreland continues the TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE LAST BACHELOR series, as an unlikely love blossoms between a florist and a jaded private eye.

A night of passion produces major complications for a doctor and the social worker now carrying his child in Dr. Destiny, the final title in Kristi Gold’s miniseries MARRYING AN M.D. And an ex-marine who discovers he’s heir to a royal throne must choose between his kingdom and the woman he loves in Kathryn Jensen’s The Secret Prince.

Kick back, relax and treat yourself to all six of these sexy new Desire romances!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

The Sheikh Takes a Bride

Caroline Cross

Special thanks to Ann Leslie Tuttle for suggesting me for this story, Shannon Degen for patience above and beyond the call of duty and Joan Marlow Golan for believing in me.

Silhouette Books is lucky to have you, and so am I.

CAROLINE CROSS

always loved to read, but it wasn’t until she discovered romance that she felt compelled to write, fascinated by the chance to explore the positive power of love in people’s lives. She grew up in Yakima, Washington, the “Apple Capital of the World,” attended the University of Puget Sound and now lives outside Seattle, where she (tries to) work at home despite the chaos created by two telephone-addicted teenage daughters and a husband with a fondness for home-improvement projects. Pleased to have recently been #1 on a national bestseller list, she was thrilled to win the 1999 Romance Writers of America RITA Award for Best Short Contemporary Novel and to have been called “one of the best” writers of romance today by Romantic Times. Caroline believes in writing from the heart—and having a good brainstorming partner. She loves hearing from readers, and can be reached at P.O. Box 47375, Seattle, Washington 98146. Please include a SASE for reply.

MEET THE CONNELLYS

Meet the Connellys of Chicago—wealthy, powerful and rocked by scandal, betrayal…and passion!

Who’s Who in The Sheikh Takes a Bride

Princess Catherine Rosemere—This Connelly cousin doesn’t believe in happily-ever-after—not even in her storybook kingdom of Altaria. In this chapter of her life, the last thing she needs is a sexy sheikh storming her castle….

Sheikh Kaj al bin Russard—Nothing can keep him from taking what he wants—and he wants Catherine. In his life, in his kingdom, in his bed…but what about in his heart?

King Daniel—The eldest Connelly heir now rules the picturesque country of Altaria…. But does he control it?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

One

“You’re absolutely right, Kaj,” Joffrey Dunstan, Earl of Alston, said in his usual thoughtful way. “She’s even lovelier than I remembered.”

Glancing away from the slim, auburn-haired young woman who was the subject of his observation, the earl retreated a step from the balcony railing overlooking the grand ballroom of Altaria Palace. Though more than two hundred members of Europe’s elite milled down below in their most elegant evening wear, they might not have existed for all the attention he gave them.

Instead, with a bemused expression on his face, he turned to stare at his companion, who stood in a pocket of shadow, hidden from casual observance. “But marriage? You can’t be serious.”

Sheikh Kaj al bin Russard raised an ink-black eyebrow in question. “And why is that?”

“Because… That is…” Always the diplomat, Joffrey cleared his throat and tried again. “Surely you’re aware that Princess Catherine has a certain…reputation. And Sheikh Tarik’s will was quite specific—”

“That I marry a virgin of royal blood.” Kaj grimaced. “Have a little faith, cousin. I haven’t forgotten my father’s unfortunate directive. I’d simply remind you that for all Catherine’s reputedly wild ways, there’s a reason she’s known as the ice princess.”

“I suppose you have a point. Still…”

Kaj took one last look at the woman he intended to marry, his hooded gray gaze admiring her auburn hair and slim white shoulders before he turned his full attention to his favorite relative.

He was quite aware that, despite the fact their mothers were sisters, there was no physical resemblance between himself and Joffrey. His cousin was five-ten, with a slim build, blue eyes, cropped blond hair and a fair, exceedingly English face. In contrast, he was a trio of inches over six feet, with a distinct copper cast to his skin and ink-black hair long enough to necessitate pulling it back for formal affairs like tonight’s.

Yet for all their outward differences, he valued Joffrey’s opinion above all others.

It had, after all, been his cousin’s matter-of-fact friendship that had eased Kaj’s crushing homesickness for his homeland of Walburaq when he’d been sent away at age eight to attend English boarding school. Just as it had been Joffrey’s steadying presence and astute counsel that had allowed Kaj to get successfully through Ludgrove and Eton, where he’d stood out like a hawk among pigeons. In all the ways that mattered, Joffrey was the brother Kaj had never had.

The reminder softened the chiseled angles of his face. “If it will ease your mind, Joff, I’ve made certain inquiries. The princess may be a tease, but she’s no trollop. On the contrary. I have it on excellent authority that her virtue is very much intact. Her pleasure seems to come from keeping her admirers at arm’s length.”

Joffrey’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “You see her as a challenge!”

Kaj shrugged slightly, his broad shoulders lifting. “If I have to marry, I might at least enjoy the courtship, don’t you think?”

“No, I most certainly do not,” the other man retorted. “At least not to the exclusion of more important considerations.”

Kaj crossed his arms. “And those would be what, exactly?”

“Compatibility. Mutual respect and understanding. Similar values. And…and love.” A faint flush of embarrassed color tinted the earl’s cheeks at that last, but his gaze was steady as he plowed stubbornly on. “This isn’t a prize to be won, Kaj. This is your life, your future. Your happiness.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” the sheikh inquired softly. “Trust me. I have no intention of making my parents’ mistakes.”

Joffrey looked instantly stricken, as well he should since he was one of the few people who understood the price Kaj had paid for Lady Helena Spenser’s and Sheikh Tarik al bin Russard’s disastrous marriage, bitter divorce and subsequent flurry of heated affairs. “Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply you did. It’s just that this hardly seems the answer.”

“And what is?” Kaj’s voice was studiously polite. “Given the need for my bride to be pristine, what are my choices? Should I marry one of those tremulous debutantes your mother keeps throwing into my path? Or should I make an offer for some Walburaqui chieftain’s daughter, a sheltered innocent who’ll build her whole life around me?” He sighed. “I don’t want that, Joff. I want a woman who’s pragmatic enough to see a union with me as a mutually beneficial partnership. Not some starry-eyed romantic who’ll fall desperately in love with me and expect me to fulfill her every wish and need.”

“Ah, yes, adoration can be so trying,” Joffrey murmured.

Kaj felt a lick of annoyance, only to have it vanish as his gaze locked with his cousin’s and he saw the affection and concern in the other man’s eyes. His sense of humor abruptly resurfaced. “More than you’ll ever know,” he said dryly.

For an instant Joffrey looked surprised, and then his own expression turned wry. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I doubt excess worship of you will be a problem with Princess Catherine,” he said, matching Kaj’s tone.

Kaj cocked his head in feigned interest. “Do tell.”

The earl shrugged. “It’s simply that the more I think about it, the more I understand your choice. Unlike every other female on the planet, the princess has never shown the slightest tendency to swoon when you walk into the room. And though she may indeed be a virgin—I bow to your superior sources—she doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’ll ever fall at your feet in girlish devotion. As a matter of fact—” he glanced down at the ballroom spread out below them “—you’ll probably be lucky to get a date.”

Kaj followed his gaze. He quickly noted that Altaria’s new king, Daniel Connelly, was about to kick off the dancing with his queen, Erin. Of more immediate interest to him, however, was the discovery that the group of young men vying for Princess Catherine’s attention had grown even larger than before. He felt an unexpected pinch of irritation as one would-be swain said something that made her laugh. Vowing to put an end to such familiarity—and soon—he nevertheless refused to rise to his cousin’s bait.

Catherine would be his. He’d given a great deal of thought to her selection, and one way or another he always got what he wanted. “I appreciate your concern, Joffrey, but I assure you I’ll do just fine.”

“Yes, of course.” The other man’s words were perfectly agreeable, but there was a note of skepticism in his voice that was distinctly annoying. “I merely hope you’re not counting on a quick courtship. Because from the look of things, it may take some time just to breach the crowd around her, much less win her heart.”

“Oh, I think not,” Kaj said firmly. “One month should do the trick.”

Joffrey turned to look at him, brows raised. “You’re having me on, right?”

“One month and I’ll have Catherine of Altaria in my bed, my ring on her finger. Guaranteed.”

Joffrey rocked back on his heels. “Really. Doesn’t that first part rather violate your father’s purity directive?”

Kaj rolled his eyes. “I think not. My intended is supposed to be chaste for me—not with me.”

“I suppose you have a point.”

“I suppose I do.”

“In that case… Care to chance a small wager as regards to your success—or lack thereof—in this venture?”

“By all means. Simply name your terms.”

“Well, I have always fancied Tezhari…”

Kaj nodded. His cousin had long coveted the exquisite Arabian brood mare. “Very well. As for me, I think the Renoir that graces your drawing room at Alston will make Catherine a lovely wedding present.”

Joffrey winced but didn’t back down. “It’s a deal, then. And may I say good luck. Because in my opinion, you’re going to need it.”

For the first time all evening, Kaj smiled, regarding the other man with cool confidence. “That’s very kind of you, Joff, but unnecessary. This hasn’t a thing to do with luck. It’s all about skill. Trust me.”

At that his cousin laughed. “Why do I suddenly feel as if I should pen the princess a note of condolence?”

The sheikh nonchalantly flicked a nonexistent speck from his impeccably tailored Armani tux. “I can’t imagine. But I do hope you’ll excuse me.” His gaze once more located Catherine down below, and he felt a distinct spark of anticipation. “I suddenly find I’m in the mood to dance.”

“Oh, by all means.” Joffrey stepped back, clearing the way with a flourish.

A twist of amusement curving his mouth, Kaj strolled away.

“Please, Highness.” The handsome young Frenchman at Catherine’s side gripped her hand and drew it toward his lips. “You are so very exquisite, with your Titian hair and your yeux emerauds. Take pity and say you’ll dance with me.”

Fighting an urge to roll her “emerald eyes,” Catherine told herself to be patient. After all, the ball, for which she’d done the bulk of the planning, was going well. Overhead the thousand tiny lights in the mammoth chandeliers twinkled like iridescent butterflies. The lilting strains of the orchestra were neither too loud nor too soft, and the scent of blooming flowers drifting through the score of French doors thrown open to the mild March night was refreshing rather than overpowering.

Add the men in their sleek black tuxedos, the women draped in silk and satin and a glittering array of jewels, and it was perfect, a storybook scene. Most important to Catherine, the guests of honor—her cousin Daniel and his wife, Erin, Altaria’s new king and queen—appeared to be enjoying themselves.

She watched for a moment as they danced, smiling at each other. There was such happiness in the looks they exchanged, such perfect understanding. Out of nowhere she felt an unexpected pang of envy.

What must it be like to share such closeness with another person? Catherine couldn’t imagine. She might be only twenty-four, but she’d long ago concluded that such intimacy wasn’t for her.

Her conviction had its roots far in the past, when her nouveau-riche mother had happily surrendered Catherine to the royal family, making it clear in the years since that she regarded her illegitimate daughter as a stepping-stone to high society, nothing more.

It had been further shaped by Catherine’s father, Prince Marc, who had always treated her like a unique trinket to be displayed when he wanted, then promptly forgotten once his need to impress others had passed.

Only her grandmother, Queen Lucinda, had ever truly cared for her. But that wonderful lady had passed away five years ago, and her loss had only underscored to Catherine how truly alone she was.

Oh, she had an abundance of suitors, but none of them had ever bothered to get to know the real her, the person beneath the public facade. They were too afraid of making a misstep and losing the chance to win her favor—and with it her money, her connections and, she supposed, her body.

Usually she didn’t care. But every once in a while she caught a glimpse of what her life might have been if she’d been born plain Catherine Rosemere, instead of Her Highness Catherine Elizabeth Augusta. And she would suddenly feel unutterably weary of fawning admirers, frivolous soirees and always feeling alone no matter how big the crowd that surrounded her.

Oh, poor, pitiful princess, said a mocking voice in her head. What a trial to be required to spend time in such a lovely setting, surrounded by the cream of high society. How unfair that you have to wear pretty clothes and listen to a few hours of lovely music and some meaningless chatter. What a tragedy that you’re minus your very own Prince Charming.

One hates to think how you’d stand up to a real problem, like being hungry or homeless. Or wait, how about this—you could be dead, like your father and grandfather, their lives snuffed out in an accident that now appears to have been no accident at all, but rather a deliberate act of murder.

Appalled at the direction her thoughts had taken her, Catherine cut them off. But she was too late to stop the anguish that shuddered through her. Or the guilt that came hard on its heels as she recalled the report by the Connelly family’s investigator concluding that the speedboat involved in the disaster had been sabotaged. A speedboat meant to be manned by her, not her father.

“S’il vous plaît, belle princesse.” The Frenchman stepped closer, demanding her attention. She looked up to find him gazing limpidly at her, looking for all the world like an oversize, tuxedo-clad flounder. “Do say yes to just one dance. Then I can die a happy man.” Practically quivering with anticipation, he pressed his wet mouth to the back of her hand.

The tight rein Catherine had on her emotions snapped. She snatched her hand away, just barely suppressing the urge to scrub it against the delicate chiffon of her midnight-blue dress. “I told you before, Michel, I’m not in the mood. What’s more, I’d appreciate it immensely if you’d hold off expiring for at least the next forty-eight hours. Your absence would throw a decided wrench into the seating arrangement for Monday night’s banquet.”

The young man blinked. Then, as her words sank in, his smile abruptly vanished. “But, of course,” he said, pouting in a way that made him look more fish-like than ever. “A thousand pardons, Highness.” Stiff-backed with affront, he turned on his heel and marched off.

Catherine felt a prick of remorse, but quickly dismissed it. After all, she’d been exceedingly polite to Michel the first three times she’d refused his requests to dance. She could hardly be held responsible that he refused to take no for an answer.

Sighing, she glanced at the miniature face of her diamond-encrusted watch. It was barely half past ten, which meant it would be at least another two hours before she could hope to make an unremarked-upon escape. She wondered a little desperately what she could do to make the time go faster.

She was saved from having to come up with an answer as a small murmur ran through the throng surrounding her. A second later everyone in front of her appeared to take a collective step back, clearing a path for the tall, ebony-haired man who strode toward her with a palpable air of leashed power.

Catherine tensed, the way she always did when she encountered Kaj al bin Russard. Although most of the women she knew found the enigmatic Walburaqui chieftain irresistible, she personally didn’t care for him. Granted, his chiseled features, heavily lashed gray eyes and beautifully accented English had a certain exotic charm, but there was simply something about him—an innate reserve, the assured, almost arrogant way he carried himself, his indisputable masculinity—that she found off-putting.

She watched as he cut a swath through the crowd like some Regency rake from a bygone age, her edginess increasing as she realized his gaze was locked on her face.

He came to a halt and swept her a slight bow. “Your Highness.”

She gathered her composure and inclined her head. “Sheikh.”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the chance to tell you in person how sorry I am for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she replied dutifully. “The flowers you sent were lovely.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “It was nothing.” He moved a fraction closer, making her intensely aware of how big he was. “Would you care to dance? The orchestra is about to play a waltz. Strauss’s Opus No. 354, if I’m not mistaken.”

Common sense urged her to simply say no and be done with it. But curiosity, always her curse, got the better of her. “How would you know that?”

“Because I requested it. I believe you once mentioned it was your favorite.”

“I see.” Ridiculously, she felt a stab of disappointment. In the past two months everything had changed: her father was gone; her position as court hostess was coming to an end; her entire future was uncertain. Now here was Kaj al bin Russard, apparently deciding to join her band of admirers. Though she hadn’t liked him before, he’d at least been unique. “How resourceful of you,” she said coolly. “Unfortunately, my favorite has changed.”

“Then this will give you a chance to tell me what has supplanted it.” Without warning he reached out and clasped her right wrist with his long fingers.

His touch gave her a jolt, and for a moment she felt anchored in place by the sheer unexpectedness of it. Then she instinctively tried to pull away, only to find that though he was careful not to hurt her, his grip was as unyielding as a steel manacle.

Her temper flared at the same time her stomach fluttered with unexpected excitement. “Let go of me,” she ordered tersely, mindful of the interested stares suddenly directed their way.

“Oh, I think not.” Matching her clipped tone, he stepped to her side, planted his hand in the small of her back and propelled her toward the dance floor. “It would be a shame to waste such enchanting music. Plus it just so happens—” he swung her around to face him, waited a beat as the orchestra launched into the waltz, then pulled her close and led off “—I’m curious to see how you’ll feel in my arms.”

Catherine couldn’t believe it. Speechless, she stared up at him. She was shocked at having her wishes ignored, shocked by his statement—and more shocked still by the startling discovery that his hand felt deliciously warm against her cool, bare back.

She shivered as his fingers slid lower, unable to stanch her reaction. Only the sight of the faint smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth saved her from making a complete fool of herself by whimpering or doing something else equally mortifying. “How dare you!” she managed instead, finally finding her voice.

“How dare I not, princess.” Never missing a beat, he guided her deeper into the phalanx of whirling dancers. “I could never forgive myself if I let the most beautiful woman in the room remain all alone during her former favorite waltz.”

His outrageous flattery, coupled with the realization that he’d noticed her solitary state, brought her chin up. “Is there some reason you’re toying with me?” she asked abruptly.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered for an endless second. When he finally raised his eyes, they had a lazy, knowing quality that caused an unexpected clenching in the pit of her stomach. “You really must pay more attention. Toying is hardly my style.”

“Just what do you hope to gain from this?” She managed to keep her voice steady, but just barely.

“Surely it’s obvious. The pleasure of your company.”

“And you believe this is the best way to attain it?”

One black eyebrow rose in question. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” she said flatly. “I don’t like being commandeered.”

“Ah.” His expression lightened. “Does it happen often?”

“Of course not!”

He shrugged, and she felt the steely strength of his body beneath her fingertips. “How unfortunate. Perhaps you simply need to give yourself over to the experience. You might find you enjoy it.”

Oh, what nerve! She opened her mouth to reply, then stubbornly shut it again. She would not let him provoke her into causing a scene. She would not. Besides, it was time he realized he didn’t get to have everything his way. Pursing her lips, she deliberately shifted her gaze to the weave of his impeccably tailored jacket and tried to pretend the rest of him didn’t exist.

To her surprise, rather than making another outrageous comment, he actually fell silent. At first she was grateful…until it dawned on her that with the cessation of conversation between them, she was growing increasingly conscious of other things.

Like the hardness of the thigh brushing hers. And the size of the hand now pressed firmly to the base of her spine. Then there was his scent, all dark starry nights and cool desert breezes. Not to mention the warmth that radiated seductively from his powerful body.

Suddenly, she felt…funny. Hot, cold, short of breath and shivery. Alarmed, she tried to pull away, but it was not to be. Instead of letting her go, the sheikh gathered her even closer.

“Princess?”

She felt his heartbeat against her breast, and the funny feeling grew worse. “What?”

“Relax. You’re far too lovely to be so unyielding. And far too intelligent not to accept that sometimes the best things in life are those we initially resist.”

It was too much. She jerked her head up to stare at him. “I suppose you include yourself in the category of ‘best things’?”

He smiled. “Since you see fit to mention it, yes.”

“Oh, my. And here I’ve always believed conceit wasn’t a virtue but a vice.”

He made a tsking sound. “Such a sharp tongue, little one. But then, the past weeks can’t have been easy. Tell me, does it bother you that much to be passed over as Altaria’s ruler?”

Well, really! “Of course not. I’ve known all my life that women are excluded from inheriting the throne. What’s more, Daniel will be an excellent king. He has a very American sense of responsibility and a fresh way of thinking that should be good for the country.”

To her surprise, he actually appeared to consider her words. “I agree.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I’ve had occasion to do business with the Connelly Corporation in the past, and found your cousin to be a very resourceful man. Still, it’s not Daniel who concerns me, but you. It’s never easy to lose a parent. Even a disappointing one.”

Wonderful. And just when she thought he might have some redeeming qualities after all. “That’s hardly any of your business.” Particularly in light of the second part of the Connelly investigator’s report, which had revealed that her father died owing considerable amounts of money due to extensive gambling. The now familiar shame pressed her, but she thrust it away. She had no intention of discussing her father’s shortcomings with the sheikh, never mind her failures as a daughter.

He didn’t seem to notice the chill in her voice, however. “My own father passed away some seven months ago. I was never the son he wanted, just as he was never the father I needed. Yet it was still hard to lose him.”

“Oh.” Suddenly confused, she set her own concerns aside, wondering again if she’d misjudged him—and why he would say something so revealing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Typically, he’s managed to complicate my life even now.”

“In what way?”

“It seems if I’m to inherit, I must marry.”

She was so startled by the disclosure that for a moment she couldn’t think what to say. “How…how unpleasant for you.”

“Not really. It’s been a challenge, but I’ve finally settled on a wife.”

Her budding sympathy evaporated at the complacency in his voice. “I’m certain she’s thrilled,” she said tartly.

Incredibly, he laughed, a low, husky chuckle that turned several female heads their way and had an odd effect on the strength of her knees. “Perhaps not yet, but she will be.” He looked down at her, his eyes gleaming with good humor…and something else.

It took her a moment to identify what she was seeing. And then it hit her.

Possessiveness.

Her breath lodged in her throat as she was struck by a terrible suspicion. In the next instant she found herself reviewing everything that had just passed between them—his sudden attention, his insistence they dance, that surprising revelation about his father. And for the first time she let herself wonder just what was prompting his uncharacteristic behavior. It couldn’t possibly be because she was the future wife he’d “settled” on. Could it?

Of course not. The very idea was ludicrous. Not only didn’t she care for him, she barely knew him, any more than he knew her. And yet, why else would he be looking at her as if she were a prime piece of real estate he’d decided to acquire?

The waltz ended. Determined to make an escape, she looked around, relief flooding her as she spied her cousin, the king, standing alone a few feet away.

“Daniel!” Forcing a smile to her lips, she took a step back the instant Kaj loosened his grip and hastened to her cousin’s side, linking her arm with his. “What luck to find you!”

Clearly startled, Daniel tore his attention from his wife, who was threading her way through the crowd, apparently headed for the powder room, and turned to look at her. “Catherine. Is everything all right?” Concern lit his jade-green eyes.

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s simply that I was dancing, and then I saw you and realized I’d forgotten to tell you I talked to your mother earlier and she’d like me to visit Chicago soon since Alexandra has asked me to be one of her bridesmaids.”

A frown knit her relation’s sandy eyebrows. Catherine felt an embarrassed flush rise to her cheeks since she was fairly certain his distress was caused by her rapid-fire statement, rather than the reminder of his sister’s recent engagement to Connelly Corporation executive Robert Marsh.

But all he said was, “I see.” Before he could comment further, he caught sight of Kaj, his frown disappearing as a welcoming smile lit his face. “Al bin Russard. How nice to see you again.”

“Your Majesty.”

“I take it you’re the one responsible for my cousin’s rather breathless state?”

“I believe I am,” Kaj said easily.

To Catherine’s disbelief, the two exchanged one of those men-of-the-world looks she always found totally irritating. She drew herself up, gathering what was left of her dignity around her like a cloak. “I really do need to talk to you, Daniel.”

“Right.” With an apologetic smile for the other man, he said, “If you’ll excuse us, then?”

Just as Catherine had hoped, Kaj had no choice but to take his leave. With impeccable manners, he tendered the pair of them a bow. “Of course, Your Highness.” He shifted his gaze to Catherine. “Princess, thank you for the dance. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Not if she could help it, Catherine vowed. With a flick of her head, she turned her back, dismissing him. Sheikh Kaj al bin Russard might not know it yet, but as of this moment she had every intention of excluding him from her life like the unwelcome intruder he was.

Two

“What are you doing here?” Catherine demanded from the doorway of the palace’s family dining room.

For all its elegant spaciousness, the room suddenly seemed far smaller than normal, due to the presence of Kaj al bin Russard. The sheikh sat at the far side of the gleaming satinwood table, his suit coat discarded, the sleeves of his white dress shirt folded back, a newspaper in his powerful hands. At the sound of her voice, he looked up. “Princess. How nice to see you.”

Catherine stared at him, clenching her teeth against a sudden urge to scream. Taken aback by her reaction, she struggled to rein in her emotions, assuring herself her extreme response to him was merely the result of surprise, frustration and a poor night’s sleep. Add to that her worry about her favorite gelding who’d turned up lame this morning, a meeting with her secretary that had run long so that she needed to hurry to avoid being late for an engagement in town, and it was no wonder the unexpected sight of the sheikh made her feel a little crazy.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” she retorted, watching warily as he pushed back his chair and rose politely to his feet.

“I suppose it is,” he said calmly.

She refused to acknowledge the way her pulse stuttered as he stood gilded by the sunlight that filled the room or how she once again felt the force of his masculinity. She’d made her decision about him, and the long hours she’d spent in bed last night tossing and turning, bedeviled by an unfamiliar restlessness, had only strengthened her conviction that he was best avoided.

“I believe I asked you a question,” Catherine said. “What are you doing here?” Last night circumstances had compelled her to be on her best behavior, but she saw no reason for false pleasantry today.

His gaze swept over her and a faint frown marred his handsome features. “Are you always this tense?”

Oh! She struggled for self-control. “Sheikh al bin Russard, this area of the palace is off-limits to everyone but family. I would suggest that you leave. Now. Before I’m forced to call security.”

A faint, chiding smile curved his sensual mouth but otherwise he didn’t move so much as an inch. “You really must work on your temper, chaton. And not be so quick to jump to conclusions. As it happens, I had a meeting with the king this morning. When it concluded, he was kind enough to invite me to lunch. Regretfully, something came up and he had to leave, but not before he assured me there was no reason for me to rush through my meal.”

An embarrassed flush rose in her cheeks. Stubbornly she ignored it. Daniel wasn’t here now and she was. As for the sheikh, he might be fooling everyone else with his designer suits and civilized manner, but she hadn’t forgotten the way he’d looked at her last night. Beneath that polished exterior she sensed something intense and formidable, and she wasn’t about to lower her guard.

She glanced pointedly at the table, which was bare except for the paper and an empty cup and saucer. “I see. Well, it appears you’ve finished, so don’t let me keep you.”

“Actually, I was about to have some more coffee.” He moseyed over to the sideboard and lifted the heavy silver coffeepot off the warming plate, then turned to her, his expression the picture of politeness. “May I get you a cup?”

For half a second, she considered simply turning on her heel and walking away. Except that she was hungry, since she’d skipped last night’s midnight buffet in order to avoid a certain interloper and she’d long since burned off the tea and croissant she’d had in her room at dawn.

She was also certain that if she left now, the sheikh would no doubt conclude it was because of him—and her pride wouldn’t allow that. He was already too arrogant by half.

Squaring her shoulders, she strode around the table to the opposite end of the sideboard. “No. Thank you.”

“As you wish.” He poured a stream of steaming brew into his cup and set down the pot. He turned, but instead of returning to the table, he stayed where he was.

She felt his gaze touch her like a warm breeze. And for a moment everything around her—the ivory silk brocade wallpaper, the richly patterned rug beneath her feet, the soothing gurgle of the garden fountain beyond the open windows—seemed to fade as her skin prickled and an unfamiliar warmth blossomed low in her stomach. Appalled, she gave herself a mental shake and tried to convince herself that her response was merely the result of extreme dislike.

It was a delusion that lasted no longer than it took her to snatch up a plate, fill it with cold cuts, fresh fruit and cheese from the buffet, carry her food to the table and set it down.

Because suddenly he was right behind her. “Allow me,” he murmured, his bare forearm brushing her shoulder as he reached to pull out her chair before she could seat herself.

The heat from his body penetrated her every nerve ending; she might as well have been naked for all the protection provided by her cream linen slacks and sleeveless yellow silk sweater. Nor could she control the sudden weakness of her knees as his fingers closed around her upper arm and he guided her onto the chair. Or the way the warmth in her middle spread when his palm lingered far longer than was necessary.

Not until he stepped back and released her could she breathe again.

Shaken, she sat motionless on the chair, asking herself what on earth was the matter with her. She’d dealt with a variety of men’s advances from the time she’d become a teenager, yet she’d never experienced this sort of acute, paralyzing awareness. It was unnerving.

Worse, it made her feel uncertain and out of control, and that made her angry. “Don’t you have an oil deal or a camel auction or something that needs your attention?” she demanded as he picked up his cup, moved around the table and slid into the seat across from her.

“No.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and took a sip of his coffee. “All of Walburaq’s oil comes from offshore reserves, and its distribution is controlled by the royal family. As for camels, we don’t have any since, like Altaria, we’re an island nation.”

Her annoyance shifted from his presence to his presumption that she was actually that ignorant. “Yes, I know. Just as I know Walburaq is located in the Arabian Sea, was a British protectorate until 1963, declined to join the United Arab Emirates and is currently ruled by your cousin, King Khalid.” Doing her best to look bored, she picked up a small, perfect strawberry from the royal hothouse and popped it into her mouth.

“My, my princess, that’s very good. I’m gratified that you’ve taken time to study my country.”

She touched her heavy linen napkin to her mouth. “Don’t be. It’s nothing to do with you.” Which was nothing but the truth. Not that she’d ever reveal that her knowledge sprang from a futile attempt when she was younger to impress her father by learning about Altaria’s various trading partners. “I’ve always been good at history.”

“Apparently.” He took another swallow of coffee. “It makes me wonder what other hidden talents you possess.”

In the process of reaching for another berry, Catherine stilled, her gaze locking with his. She had an uneasy feeling that they’d just moved onto dangerous ground.

It was a sensation that increased as he added softly, “I look forward to finding out.”

Alarm shot through her. She parted her lips to tell him in no uncertain terms that wasn’t ever going to happen. But before she could say a word, Erin, Altaria’s new queen, walked into the room.

Kaj came instantly to his feet. “Your Majesty.”

Catherine, schooled in the strict protocol her late grandfather had insisted on, started to rise, too, only to sink back into her chair as her cousin-in-law sent her a remonstrative look. Although Daniel’s wife possessed an air of reserve that sometimes made her seem rather distant, one of her first acts upon moving into the palace had been to insist that, among the family, royal etiquette was to be relaxed. It was a necessity, she’d wryly informed Catherine later, since there was little chance that Daniel’s very American brothers and sisters would ever consent to bow down and call him Your Majesty.

“Catherine, Sheikh.” Erin smiled. “Please, be seated.” Letting the footman who’d suddenly appeared pull back her chair, she sat down herself and promptly reached out to touch her hand to Catherine’s. “I’m so glad to see you. I haven’t had the chance to tell you how much I enjoyed the ball last night. It was simply wonderful. Thank you for showing me how such an affair should be done.”

“It was my pleasure,” Catherine said sincerely.

The regal young queen gave her arm a squeeze and then turned her attention to Kaj. She sent him a warm and gracious smile. “My husband informs me you’ve agreed to be our guest.”

“I beg your pardon?” Caught by surprise, Catherine couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice.

Kaj shot her a quick glance, and she could have sworn that his hooded gray eyes, so pale in contrast to his inky lashes and olive complexion, held a glint of triumph. Yet as he turned to Erin, his voice was nothing but polite. “It’s very kind of you and the king to offer to put me up.”

“I assure you, it’s no problem. We have more than adequate room.”

Catherine had heard quite enough. Setting her napkin next to her plate, she pushed back her chair. “I’m sorry, but I have an appointment in town. If you’ll excuse me?” The last was directed toward Erin.

“Why, yes, of course.”

She stood, but before she could take so much as a single step, the sheikh was on his feet as well. “Pardon me, ma’am.” He bowed to the queen, then immediately turned his attention to Catherine. “Might I beg a favor, princess, and get a ride with you?” His smile—part apology, part entreaty—was charm itself. “I’m afraid I’m without a car today.”

Catherine couldn’t help herself. “Then how did you get here? Walk?” Erin shot her a startled look and she abruptly realized how she must sound to someone unaware that the sheikh had an agenda all his own. She swallowed. “It’s only…I’m running late and I’d hate to cut short your conversation with Her Majesty. I’m sure one of the servants can drive you later.”

“You mustn’t concern yourself with me, Catherine,” Erin interjected. “It just so happens I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

“Yes, but I really need to go straight to my appointment—”

“I wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you,” the sheikh said smoothly. “I’d be honored to accompany you to your appointment. Afterward, if you wouldn’t mind, we can go to my hotel and collect my things.”

“Good, that’s settled, then,” Erin said decisively, coming to her feet and heading for the door. “I’ll look forward to seeing both of you at dinner.”

Catherine simply stood, her face carefully composed so as not to show her horror.

Yet there was no getting around it. Her day had just gone from intense-but-survivable annoyance to major disaster.

Long legs angled sideways, Kaj sat in the passenger seat of the sleek silver Mercedes, watching Catherine put the powerful sports car through its paces.

Pointedly ignoring the ever present security detail following in their wake, she drove as she did everything else. With grace, confidence and—at least where he was concerned—a deliberate air of aloofness. The attitude might have succeeded in putting him off, if not for her breathless reaction to his touch at lunch or the way she’d trembled in his arms when they’d danced last night.

Try as she might to pretend otherwise, she clearly wasn’t indifferent to him. But it was also obvious she had no intention of giving in to her attraction to him.

That alone made her an irresistible challenge, he mused, since he couldn’t remember a time when women hadn’t thrown themselves at him. And though he’d be the first to concede that some of those women had been drawn by his power and money, he also knew that the majority had been attracted by him— his personality, his looks, his unapologetic masculinity.

But not Princess Catherine. To his fascination, she seemed intent on not merely keeping him at arm’s length but on driving him away. Not that she had a chance of succeeding…

“Quit staring at me,” she said abruptly, slicing into his thoughts.

He settled a little deeper into the dove-gray leather seat. “Now why would I want to do that?”

“Because I don’t like it.”

“But you’re very nice to look at, chaton.”

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Do not call me kitten,” she snapped. “I have a name. And whatever your opinion of my appearance, I dislike being studied like some sort of museum exhibit.”

“Very well. If it makes you uncomfortable… Catherine.”

Her jaw tightened and he smothered a smile even as he dutifully turned his head and pretended to examine the view.

It was magnificent, he conceded. In between the small groves of palm trees that lined the narrow, serpentine road they were traveling on, aquamarine expanses of the Tyrrhenian Sea could be seen. Red-roofed, Mediterranean-style villas hugged the craggy-coastline, while a dozen yachts were anchored in the main harbor, looking like elegant white swans amidst the smaller, more colorful Altarian fishing boats.

Yet as attractive as the surroundings were, they didn’t interest him the way Catherine did, and it wasn’t long before he found himself surreptitiously studying her once again.

He felt a stirring of desire at the contradiction of her, her air of cool containment so at odds with the banked fire of her hair and the baby smoothness of her skin, which practically begged to be touched. She wasn’t a classic beauty by any means—her mouth was a little too full, her nose a little too short, and the way her dark-green eyes tilted up at the corners gave her a face a faintly exotic cast. Yet, looking at her pleased him. And made him hunger to do more.

The realization brought a faint frown to his face. Catherine, after all, was going to be his wife. He expected theirs to be a lifelong commitment, and if he’d learned anything from the debacle of his parents’ marriage, it was that excessive emotions were not to be trusted. It was all right to find his future bride desirable. Just as long as he didn’t want her too much.

Of course, given Catherine’s current attitude toward him—and he’d known enemies of the state who’d been treated more warmly—being overcome by uncontrollable lust was probably the least of his worries.

With that in mind, he couldn’t resist reaching out and resting his hand on the top of her seat as he turned to face her more fully. “Where, exactly, are we going?”

For a moment he wasn’t sure she would answer. But then she sliced a quick glance at him. “If you must know, I like to drop in from time to time on the various charitable organizations supported by my family.” She took advantage of a straight stretch of road to accelerate.

“Ah.” He pictured her striding down a hospital corridor, doctors and administrators trailing like so much confetti in her wake as she looked in on patients. Or asking pertinent questions of the scientists at the Rosemere Institute, the cancer research facility founded by her grandfather.

Pleased by her sense of responsibility, he shifted a fraction more in her direction, just far enough to slide his fingers beneath the silken tumble of her hair.

A slight shiver went through her, and her lips tightened. “Today—” without warning she hit the brakes and made a sharp left turn, dislodging his hand “—I’m visiting an orphanage.”

The explanation was unnecessary since by then they were sweeping past a high stone wall marked with a brass plaque that read “Hope House—where every child is wanted.” Beneath that, in letters so small he almost missed them, were the words, “Founded 1999 by Her Highness, Princess Catherine of Altaria.” He shot her a startled glance that she ignored.

Seconds later she slowed the car as they approached a rambling two-story house wrapped by a wide, covered veranda. Pulling into an adjacent parking area, she switched off the engine, opened her door and exited the car, all without another word to him.

With a slight shake of his head, Kaj reached for the door handle. But before he could exit, an explosion of sound had him twisting around. He watched, bemused, as a small army of children burst out of Hope House’s front doors, swarmed across the veranda and down the steps, all chattering at once as they ran toward the car.

“Princess, you came!”

“Amalie was ascared you forgot.”

“I told her she shouldn’t worry. I told her you’d be here soon!”

“Did you bring her a present?”

“Nicco said maybe the new king wouldn’t let you visit. He said maybe the new king doesn’t like kids like—”

“Children, stop!” To Kaj’s surprise, Catherine laughed. It was a husky, musical sound that tickled his nerves like velvet against bare skin. “Of course King Daniel likes you.” As she looked down at the dozen small people all vying for her attention, her remoteness melted away. “As a matter of fact, I’ve told him and Queen Erin all about you, and they’ve asked if they might come visit you themselves.”

“They have?”

“Really?”

“Wait till Nicco hears that.”

“Does that mean you won’t come anymore?” This last was asked by the smallest of the children, a petite black-haired girl with big brown eyes in a too-serious face.

“No, of course not, Amalie,” Catherine said gently. “We’re friends, no matter what. Yes?”

The child nodded.

“What’s more, today is your birthday. I couldn’t possibly forget that.”

A bashful smile crept across the little girl’s face. She sidled closer and leaned against Catherine’s hip, rewarded as the princess laid a reassuring hand on her thin shoulder.

Kaj felt a surge of approval. It was good to know the future mother of his children had a maternal side.

Yet even as he told himself he’d made the right choice, that Catherine of Altaria was going to make him a fine wife, he also felt the faintest flicker of uneasiness.

Because just for a second, as he’d watched Catherine’s face soften and heard her affection for the children in her voice, he’d experienced an unfamiliar hunger, a desire to have her laugh at something he said, a need to have her reach out and touch him.

Which was ridiculous, given that he had every confidence that sooner, rather than later, he would be on the receiving end of her affection. All he had to do was stay close and he’d find a way to get past her reserve.

As for this nagging little itch of need she seemed to inspire… It was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Three

Catherine sat on the padded chaise longue on her bedroom balcony. She stretched her tired muscles, then huddled a little deeper beneath the ice-green satin comforter she’d dragged from her bed. A golden glow pierced the gunmetal-gray horizon, announcing the sun’s imminent arrival and the start of a new day.

For the second night in a row, she’d barely slept. And as much as it rankled to admit it, she knew exactly who was to blame for her second bout of insomnia.

The sheikh. Kaj al bin Russard. Or, as she was beginning to think of him: he-who-refused-to-go-away.

Perhaps she wouldn’t be so disturbed if she could write him off as simply another pretty face. Or just a magnificent body. Or even an incredibly willful personality. But the truth was he was all of those things and more.

He was presumptuous, but also perceptive. He was arrogant, yet intuitive. And unlike most of the men she knew, his ego was disgustingly healthy; sarcasm, indifference, even outright hostility all rolled off him like rain off a rock.

Most disturbing of all, his lightest touch was all it took to ignite an unfamiliar fire inside her.

She shivered, not wanting to think about that last bit. Instead she did her best to concentrate on the chorus of birds tuning up to welcome the sunrise—only to make the unfortunate mistake of closing her eyes. The scene at Hope House when Kaj had climbed out of the car yesterday promptly popped into her mind.

Without exception, all the children’s eyes had widened at the sight of him. “Who’s he?” Christian had asked.

Marko had sucked in a breath. “Is that the king?”

Catherine had been tempted to make a sharp reply—until Kaj had come to stand at her side. The same faint breeze that tugged at his gleaming black hair had carried his clean, masculine scent to her, and suddenly he’d seemed much too close. To her disgust, she’d found she had to swallow hard in order to locate her voice.

“Children, I’d like to introduce Sheikh al bin Russard.” Not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea, she’d added, “The sheikh is a friend of my family’s.”

There were several nods and an “Oh.”

And then Christian burst out, “Is he a real sheikh? Does he live in a tent? How come he doesn’t have one of those sheet things on his head?”

Catherine had hesitated a mere instant, and Kaj had stepped into the breach. “Those sheet things are called ghotras,” he’d said easily. “I wear one when I’m in my country, as is the custom. But when I’m here, I try to follow your fashions. And much like you, I live in a home made of mortar and stone. Though I do own several tents. For the times—” he displayed a quick flash of white teeth “—when I feel a need to escape and sleep under the stars.”

Whether it was the sentiment or the brief, impish grin that accompanied it, the children all nodded in understanding and several of the boys murmured, “Yeah!”

Isabelle, one of the older girls, looked earnestly up at him. “Do you have a camel?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry to say, no.” Although his expression was suitably apologetic, his eyes gleamed with humor as he glanced briefly at Catherine. “That seems to be a common misconception. What I do have is horses. Beautiful Arabian horses. Oh, and I’m also the keeper of a truly magnificent tiger.”

“You have a tiger?” Christian, Isabelle and Marko all exclaimed at once. “A real, live tiger?”

“Mmm-hmm. His name is Sahbak and he was a gift to my father. He’s quite a wonderful fellow. Do you know, if you scratch him behind the ears, he purrs?”

“Wow,” Marko murmured.

That seemed to be the general sentiment. Eyes rounded, the children had stared up at him with a combination of awe and admiration. And though unimpressed by his status as a big-cat owner, Catherine had found that, as the afternoon went along, she couldn’t fault his manner. He was wonderful with the children, relaxed, down-to-earth, friendly without seeming too eager. Even little Amalie, who was usually standoffish with strangers, had eventually lowered her guard.

Catherine wanted in the worst way to blame the latter on the exquisite gold coin Kaj had given the child as a birthday present. But honesty forced her to admit it probably had more to do with the coin’s presentation. Who would have suspected a Walburaqui chieftain could, with a flick of his long, elegant hands and a widening of his eyes, make a coin vanish once, twice, thrice? Or that, with a subsequent snap of his fingers, he could make it reappear—much to the delight of a giggling little girl—from its hiding place behind one of her shell-like ears?

Certainly not Catherine.

She pulled the comforter up a little higher and sighed. Perhaps it was the earliness of the hour, but for the first time she admitted that keeping the sheikh out of her life was turning out to be more difficult than she’d imagined. And not just because he’d managed to finagle an invitation to stay at the palace, either. But because no matter how hard she pretended otherwise, when she was with him his presence took center stage. A part of her seemed always to be holding its breath, waiting to see what he would do or say next.

Which was annoying but not totally surprising, given the dominant force of his personality.

Far harder to accept was his ability to invade her thoughts. To her horror, every time she let down her guard even the slightest bit he seemed to be there, making her wonder all manner of things.

Like why was he pursuing her when he already had money, power and connections of his own? And what would happen if, in a moment of temporary insanity, she allowed him to get close? How would it feel if she let him kiss her? Or if she let him draw her into the strength of his embrace and touch her? And what would it be like to touch him back, to let her hands roam over his smooth, bronze skin…?

She scrambled off the chaise. Enough, she chastised herself, doing her best to ignore the way her heart was pounding. Clearly two nights of inadequate sleep were addling her brain. A condition that lying around brooding wasn’t doing a thing to help.

Her time would be far better spent if she got moving, got some exercise, found a focus for her untrustworthy mind. And the time to start was now.

Impatiently she tossed back the tangled skein of her hair and marched into her room. Fifteen minutes later she was washed and dressed in a white shirt, slim beige twill pants and her favorite knee-high riding boots. She gathered her hair into a high ponytail, snatched up a thin navy vest to guard against the morning chill and slipped out her door.

Kristos, one of her bodyguards, sprang to attention. “Your Highness. Good morning.”

She motioned for him to relax. “I’m going for a ride. I promise I’ll keep to the palace grounds, so why don’t you take a break.”

He was clearly not thrilled, but after a moment he nodded. “I’ll let the stable detail know you’re on your way.”

“If you must.” Swallowing a sigh, she started down the corridor, knowing the heightened security was necessary in light of what had happened to her father and grandfather, yet still disliking the increased loss of privacy.

Thanks to the thick, intricately patterned runner that covered the stone floor, the sound of her footsteps was muffled as she began the long, familiar walk toward the west stairway, which was closest to the stables. She reached the intersecting hall that led to the king and queen’s apartments, nodded to the pair of guards standing sentinel there, and continued on, moving briskly until she reached a solitary door set midway down the remaining stretch of corridor.

And there she faltered.

She wasn’t sure why. After all, she’d passed the entrance to her father’s quarters numerous times since his death. And though she’d experienced any number of emotions—disbelief, grief, guilt—not once had she been tempted to step inside.

Until now.

Yet suddenly she wanted to know if Prince Marc had read the note she’d sent him the last day of his life. The note thanking him for going boating in her place with King Thomas and apologizing for disrupting his schedule. The note asking if they might meet later that day so she might explain the real reason she’d begged off at the last minute.

Whether her need sprang from simple curiosity, a belated need to reconnect with her father or some sort of subconscious attempt to occupy her mind with a subject other than the sheikh, she didn’t care. She simply had to know. She opened the black-wreathed door and stepped inside.

The elegant sitting room looked the way it always had, as if it was waiting for the prince’s imminent return. The carved mahogany furniture was freshly polished, the plush gold, maroon and navy carpet recently vacuumed. Her father’s favorite smoking jacket lay folded over the arm of the Queen Anne chair next to the fireplace, and the cut crystal decanter on the wet bar in the corner was three-quarters full.

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