Date with a Surgeon Prince(53)

No! She had to talk to him. A pretend betrothal was one thing, but being rushed into marriage was just not on.

Wrapped in the towel, she went back into the bedroom, to gasp in wonder at the clothing Lila had apparently deemed suitable for her wedding.

Various packets of lacy underwear offered her a choice of colour and size, but it was the garment that would cover it that gave Marni pause. It was a simple enough gown, long and straight like the tunic she’d been wearing in the desert, but there any similarity ended, for this garment was apparently made with spun silver—fine and delicate silver—elaborately embroidered around the sleeves, neckline and hem.

It was something that should be in a museum, not about to be worn by any ordinary mortal.

She searched the walls of the bedroom, knowing there’d be concealed wardrobe and dressing room doors somewhere, and within those rooms there’d be other clothing—something else she could put on.

The doors eluded her, so she found underwear her size among the packets then returned to the bathroom, sure there’d be a robe there she could wear.

No such luck, but the towels were huge, and choosing a dry one she wrapped it around herself, then went across to a small sitting area by one of the windows to await her confrontation with her betrothed. Talking to him in the sitting area was slightly better than anywhere near the bed, but the bed still seemed to dominate the room.

And her thoughts!


Seeing her clad only in a towel was very nearly Ghazi’s undoing. To hold her, smell her skin, feel her still damp hair against his face, peel off the towel—

‘So, what’s this all about?’ the woman in the towel demanded, and he jerked his mind back to reality.

‘No, don’t bother answering that,’ she added, before he could reply. ‘It’s your sense of chivalry, of honour that you’re insisting on this marriage business. And sit down, I can’t keep arguing with you when you’re towering over me up there.’

For some reason he wanted to smile—perhaps because she should be at such a disadvantage in the towel, yet here she was issuing orders to him.

He didn’t smile, knowing that would only make her angrier, but he did sit, and, sitting, could take in the clear pale skin of her shoulders—was that a bruise or the remnant of a love bite from the other night?—and the shadows of tiredness beneath her eyes.

His arms ached to hold her, to kiss away those shadows, to feel her body tight against his—where he was sure it belonged.

But was she sure it was where she belonged?

He had no idea, which was why he had to tread carefully.

‘It’s a matter of keeping you safe,’ he said, forcing his mind to take control of his wayward thoughts. ‘I need to have the right to protect you for as long as you remain in this country. As my wife, you would have a status that makes you, by tradition, untouchable. We don’t have to stay married for ever or have a marriage in anything but name, but what has happened once could happen again, and next time your kidnappers could be more dangerous than a couple of stupid young men.’

She frowned at him and he wanted to wipe away that frown, to smooth the skin above her neat little nose, maybe kiss the frown away.

‘They’re not stupid, they just don’t have enough to occupy them and that always leads to trouble with young people,’ she said, and Ghazi was so lost in thoughts of kisses it took him a moment to catch up.

‘You mean Hari and Fawzi? I’ve been telling Nimr that for ages, but we’re not here to talk about them, surely?’

‘Not exactly, but it’s the same thing in another way. Those two, well, we’ve worked out what they can do—run wildlife safaris for photographers and animal lovers. But they did what they did because they could—because no one’s ever said no to them or their wild schemes and I suspect it’s just the same with you, no one’s ever said no to you so you dream up this stupid idea of us getting married for whatever reason and don’t stop to think what I might have to say to it.’

Now he did smile, and if the delicate flush of colour on her chest above the towel was any indication, he didn’t think he’d made her angrier.

Marni had thought she was doing quite well with the conversation, considering she was sitting practically naked in front of the sexiest man in the world, and her thoughts were rampaging on about giving in to her body and letting the towel slip, and then he smiled and her mind went blank.

‘What do you have to say to it?’ he asked, the smile still lurking because she could see it shining in his eyes.

To what?

She’d totally lost the thread of the conversation, if it had ever had a thread.