He thought of the kiss and the fires it had lit within him, then shook his head at the absurdity of the situation.
Was it lust or simply one-upmanship against his sisters that was making him push it?
And if it was lust, wasn’t becoming betrothed to her the one certain way of ensuring he couldn’t act on the lust—well, not beyond a few very heated kisses?
Very, very heated kisses, he amended, thinking of the taste of her, the softness of her lower lip as he’d sucked it gently into his mouth…
He glanced at the woman who sat so quietly beside him, the colour subsiding from her cheeks. If he could only get past his visions of how good they’d be in bed, maybe he could think clearly about the future—the immediate future anyway.
Men in his family didn’t marry for sex. Such appetites could be satisfied in other ways with willing partners who were well looked after financially when the arrangement ended.
Not that he’d had any such arrangements, though there’d been affairs, some almost serious, during his student and university days.
But marriage?
Essentially, one married to produce children, but also, more often than not, for political reasons—uniting warring tribes, gaining power against a neighbour, improving the bloodlines of their breeding horses or camels.
He found himself chuckling at the thought and when the blonde who’d exploded into his life turned towards him, he shared his thoughts—not the children part, but the rest.
She grinned at him.
‘Well, if your camels need some improvement in their genetic make-up then even being betrothed to me might ruin your chances with someone whose father has vastly superior camels.’
He reached out to touch the silvery fair hair.
‘My camels will just have to take their chances, although you have no idea what a sacrifice I’ll be making. My family have bred beautiful camels for generations. And we expect to win most of the prizes at the annual camel show.’
‘A camel show? The camels all on show? How are they judged?’
Her interest was so apparent he felt warmth stirring inside him—something quite different from the heat he’d experienced earlier. This was pleasure, pure and simple—pleasure at how this woman took such an interest in everything about his country, a genuine interest that went beyond politeness. He wanted to stop and talk to her again, this time about the camels—his camels—but the palace was in sight and he’d already stolen too much time out of his schedule.
He slowed the car then stopped so he could explain.
‘I must go back to my office before someone sends out a search party, but Fayyad will drive you to the hospital and wait while you pack, then take you to Tasnim’s house. Fayyad will let me know when you are on your way and I will meet you there. In the meantime, I will phone her and explain and organise a permanent driver for you if you want to continue to work while we make the necessary arrangements for our betrothal.’
He saw the objections rising in her mind but before she could launch them he claimed her lips once again, thankful for the darkly tinted windows in the vehicle for they were right outside the palace gates.
He felt her resistance, but only momentarily…
CHAPTER FIVE
MARNI SANK DEEP into the softly cushioned seats in the black limousine and battled to make sense of the day. Not even a full day, for it was still early afternoon. Yet here she was being driven to her flat under orders to pack and go off to stay with a total stranger—a pregnant stranger—who would help her deal with being betrothed to the country’s ruler.
How had this happened to her?
She certainly hadn’t set out to become betrothed to the man—all she’d wanted was for Pop to have his operation.
Pop!
What on earth could she tell Pop?
She heard the groan that escaped her lips then realised she needn’t tell him anything—not yet. All she had to do was email to say she’d kept her part of the bargain and met Ghazi, and she expected Pop to let her know the date of his operation.
Ghazi!
The Gaz-Ghazi thing was a whole different problem. Yes, she’d been attracted to Gaz right from the beginning, but the man she’d been kissing wasn’t Gaz, he was Prince Ghazi and given that the betrothal was a pretence, she really should stop responding to his—Gaz’s? Ghazi’s?—kisses.
Shouldn’t she?
Nothing was going to come of it—of the kissing business. Given her private reason for coming to Ablezia, she might well have had an affair with Gaz if things had turned out differently, like if he’d been Gary from Australia, but she had a nasty suspicion that rulers of places like this didn’t have affairs with women to whom they were publicly betrothed. With other women probably, but not their betrotheds.