The air between them grew thicker, making it harder for her to breathe, and Farah automatically stepped back from him. 'It would be better than having to endure your company for the night.'
She heard one of the women gasp. The prince's eyes narrowed. 'But who said anything about you being alone in that big harem bed?'
A dark, thrilling desire rose up inside of Farah as her head filled with all sorts of debasing images of her shackled to a bed with the prince gloriously naked and aroused in front of her. On top of her. Inside of her. Because he would be glorious naked; he would be... Farah clamped down on the thoughts running amok inside her head and tried to think straight.
'What if I apologise on behalf of my father?' she gushed, finally prepared to humiliate herself and bow and scrape for this man if it meant she could get her father out of trouble and her life back to normal. 'What if I make up for what he did in some way?'
He leaned back against the cabinet behind him, his fingers tapping a lazy beat against the curved wood. 'What did you have in mind, habiba?'
Farah glanced at the maids. 'I could work for you. I could cook or clean or-'
'I already have enough staff in my employ.'
She bit her lip. 'I could...' She wracked her brain to come up with something else. Surely there was something? 'I could train your horses. Your camels.'
'The palace no longer keeps camels and my horses are well taken care of.'
'Damn it, surely there is something you need?'
His gaze ran over her body, lighting a fiery path as it went. 'Keep going, I'm sure you'll hit on something mutually agreeable at some point.'
Farah frowned. Did he mean...?
You wanted everything you just got...and if you try to tell me otherwise I'll strip you naked and prove you wrong.
Farah's face flamed hotly as his words in the alleyway came back to her. 'Not that!' she cried. 'Never that!'
'Then we have nothing to discuss,' he said in a bored tone.
'You are every bit the tyrant your father was,' she accused, turning away from him.
Embarrassment and despair swamped her. If she had been a man, this whole situation would never have happened. She would have been by her father's side when he'd come upon the prince's SUV and been able to talk sense into him. And she certainly would never have given into this man's challenge and tried to feed him. What had she been thinking?
About his mouth, a little voice reminded her. You were thinking about his dreamy mouth.
Self-disgusted, she was about to stalk over to her bedroom when the prince grabbed her and swung her back to face him, his fingertips digging into her upper arms.
'Dammit, you know how to push my buttons but your father took me hostage for three days before I escaped. If you think that will go unpunished, you're sadly mistaken.' He glowered down at her. 'Now get dressed. And if you cause either of these women another problem you won't find me so lenient next time.'
Farah swallowed hard, determined to show zero emotion in the face of his fury, while inside her whole being was quaking. Watching him stride from the room she waited for the resounding echo from the slammed door to pass before she turned to the two wide-eyed maids, who had probably never said a cross word to the prince in their lives. 'I will bathe myself, is that understood?'
'Yes, my lady.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
'STOP FIDGETING,' the prince whispered out of the side of his mouth for about the fifth time.
Farah dropped her hands to her side once more and pretended to focus on the gorgeous wedding ceremony taking place in front of her. 'This dress doesn't fit,' she complained under her breath.
'It's perfect,' he growled.
It wasn't perfect. It was tight across the bodice, the slender straps exposing her arms and upper chest. The stiletto-heeled shoes she'd been given to wear were also surely torture devices with the way they made her feet ache. In the magazines they had always looked so glamorous and beautiful. On the feet they felt like pincers.
'And smile.'
Tired of his instructions-'no sneering, no balled fists and no attacking anyone at the wedding'-Farah pinned a wide smile to her lips. 'Like this?'
The prince's Adam's apple bobbed as he looked at her. 'Better,' he mumbled, followed by something that sounded like, 'I'd hate to experience the real thing,' before turning back to the proceedings.
Farah surreptitiously studied him in his royal white robes and headdress. He was so virile and masculine and so utterly charming when he wanted to be that she almost believed he was as nice as he seemed.
Except that he'd been grouchy towards her ever since he'd picked her up from the harem and she had no idea what she'd done to prompt his ire again other than exist. Earlier, after he'd stormed out, she had done everything that had been asked of her, intending to lull him into thinking that she would cooperate from now on. She'd let the women apply her make-up, dress her and brush her hair until it gleamed, pinning it up at the front and letting it fall down around her shoulders. When she'd finally looked in the mirror she had barely recognised herself. In fact, she'd thought she looked quite pretty until the prince had taken one all-encompassing glance at her and scowled-just like her father had, over her boots! She didn't know why the prince's bad opinion of her affected her so much but it did and the realisation had set her on edge all over again.
She wondered if he believed her when she'd agreed to the truce he'd requested before marching her from the harem and decided that it didn't matter right now. His brother was in the middle of marrying a Western woman so lovely that Farah had no wish to spoil things. There was just something so utterly romantic about the way Sheikh Nadir gazed at his bride that was totally riveting for Farah.
What would it be like to have a man look at her that way?
Debilitating, a little voice reminded her. It would place her in a life of servitude where her wishes would be overlooked or overruled. It certainly wouldn't make her happy.
She shifted her weight into her heels to relieve the pressure on the balls of her feet and felt Prince Zachim tense. Given his importance in the ceremony, they were standing at the front of the glamorously packed ballroom that was overflowing with white and pastel-pink flowers and deep-green foliage with softly lit candles on every available surface.
She had felt the imprint of a thousand curious eyes on her as she had made her way slowly to the front of the guests but she hadn't recognised a single face who could help her.
A loud cheer went up in the crowd and Farah realised that the ceremony was over, the glowing couple smiling brightly, the groom totally besotted as he took their daughter from a male guest who hadn't stopped beaming the whole time.
Moving slowly, they stopped in front of Farah and the prince, accepting their congratulations. When the little girl reached out and patted Prince Zachim's jaw, he laughed and murmured to her tenderly, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. Farah was so surprised by the action her whole body went still. He really was the most confounding man, she thought a touch tetchily-one minute hard and ruthless and the next charming and...devastatingly male. Confused and feeling too many emotions at once, she was glad when they hung back and let the procession of guests precede them from the stately room.
Testing her weight on her toes, Farah gingerly stepped forward, trying not to feel as though she was walking on stilts.
'Take smaller steps,' the prince advised roughly.
Farah's head came up. 'Smaller steps?' She stared at him. 'Have you seen the things on my feet?'
* * *
Yes, he had, and they were beautiful. She was beautiful, standing there scowling at him, and he wondered how a woman who had never genuinely smiled at him, who had never been anything but defiant in his presence, managed to drive him half-crazy to the point that, even now, he was contemplating taking her to bed regardless of who she was or who he was.
Would she be amenable to the idea? No, not likely, but he knew she'd been as lost in their interlude in the alleyway as he had been, and it probably wouldn't take much effort to return her to that state of stupefied, delirious lust. It sure as hell wouldn't take him long.
He saw a flash of vulnerability cross her delicate features as he continued to eat her up with his eyes and he realised she was nervous. A pang different from lust went through him.
'These are not shoes,' she said indignantly, raising the hem of her gown to reveal delicate stiletto sandals designed with lingerie and sex in mind. 'I have no idea why women wear them.'
Zach swallowed heavily but it did nothing to dislodge the gravel from his voice. 'They elongate the leg and highlight a woman's calves.' And she had sensational legs that went on forever. A sheen of sweat rose up along his hairline. Absolutely sensational.