Читать книгу Her Ardent Sheikh - KRISTI GOLD - Страница 10

The soft moans thrust Ben to his feet. He had dozed on and off while keeping vigil at Jamie’s bedside but now found himself wide-awake, worried over her distressed state.

Lowering himself to the edge of the bed, he stroked her silky hair. “You are safe,” he said softly. “I am here. No one will do you harm.”

She continued to thrash and muttered, “Please.”

A fierce surge of protectiveness streaked through Ben. Without thought, he slipped into the bed beside her and cradled her in his arms. She curled into him, her back to his front, fitting perfectly against his body. Although the room was dim, washed only in moonlight, he could see that the sheer muslin gown Alima had dressed her in rode high up her thighs. With one hand he drew it down, contacting smooth warm flesh. He quickly covered her with the satin sheet.

Torture, Ben thought. Or perhaps a test of his strength. Yet he was only a man, not superhuman, and his body reacted as any man’s would. But he would not let her go until she had calmed. He’d simply think of other things aside from her petite body, her round breasts, her bottom only inches from treacherous territory.

He tried to recall his impending appointments. His investments. His upcoming summer trip to Amythra to visit his mother.

His mother.

She would most surely be shamed by his reaction to the helpless woman in his arms. She would expect him to be strong. Maintain a steel reserve. She was stronger than any woman he had known, except, perhaps, Jamie Morris.

Yet at the moment, Jamie seemed vulnerable. Quite different from the hellion who had tried to deliver a blow to his face earlier. The woman who had serenaded the population of downtown Royal without caring who might hear.

She was most definitely strong. Determined. And she would never fit into his culture for that reason. He had witnessed his European mother’s struggles with his native customs on many occasions. But she had loved her husband dearly, and had adjusted as best she could. Now she was left alone in a place that still remained foreign to her, even after forty years. For that reason, Ben must visit her soon. After he was assured that Jamie Morris was safe.

Jamie stirred again, interrupting Ben’s thoughts and driving him to the brink of insanity. Her firm buttocks wiggled against his very overheated manhood. As soon as she settled, he would leave her and return to the cold, empty chair, although that thought held no appeal.

Holding Jamie Morris did, and he cursed the fact that he had not been with a woman in quite some time. Surely this was the reason for his reaction. Weeks had passed since he had returned home. In his country, there were women readily available to care for his needs. Experienced women who considered taking him to their bed an honor because of his station. The couplings were without emotion and left him with a sated body and an emptiness deep in his soul. An emptiness he did not care to acknowledge.

Jamie Morris was different from those women. She aroused feelings in him that he had rarely experienced in his thirty-six years. Aroused his need to protect. To keep her safe. That desire lived so strong within him that he knew he would die before he let any harm come to her, if he could prevent it.

He had covertly watched her for several weeks, had memorized her habits. He knew she woke every morning at 6:00 a.m. and took her coffee and the newspaper onto her apartment’s small verandah. She returned to the same spot every evening and stayed with a book late into the night. She was still very young, and he was very jaded. She was an innocent; he was world-weary. Yet at times he had glimpsed loneliness in her expression, as if she craved companionship. He could relate.

But he could not consider his loneliness tonight. He must remember his duty. He was here to protect her, not to sample her luscious body.

Ben sent up a silent prayer of gratitude when Jamie stopped moving, her breathing now deep and steady. At least she slept.

Ben, however, would not for quite some time.

The dream was so nice, Jamie didn’t want it to end. The visions were so very real she could still feel her imaginary lover’s arms wrapped around her.

Unwelcome light penetrated her closed lids and the fragrant smell of coffee teased her senses. Resisting the distractions, she snuggled further into the heavenly bed.

Her mind still caught in a pleasant haze, she reached for a blanket to cover her head. She contacted something that didn’t feel the least bit like her grandmother’s handmade quilt.

Her eyes snapped open. What the heck was that? She didn’t own any pets. Her gaze traveled downward to discover exactly what she was clutching.

A hairy arm. A large hairy arm that certainly didn’t belong to her—unless she’d grown a spare during the night. Definitely male, she decided, after surveying the golden skin laced with prominent veins, the large square fingers attached to the end of a hand. A nice hand. Very nice.

Nope, she knew where her arms were. Connected to her shoulders, not to her hip.

Coming fully awake, she sat up with a jolt and yanked the sheets to her chin. It was all coming back now, one frame at a time, like a slide show. She wasn’t in her own bed, and she wasn’t alone.

Who had relieved her of her senses? How could someone have crawled into her bed without her knowledge?

“What is going on?” she hissed, then cried “Ouch!” when she pushed farther back and her sore skull bumped the headboard behind her.

Only then did she realize that the arm was an extension of a real live half-naked man whom she didn’t recognize, until she met his dark gray eyes now staring up at her through a fringe of sinfully long lashes. The man who had occupied her dreams.

Prince Ben, savior sheikh.

He slowly ran a hand through his thick mussed hair—hair as dark as the Texas crude that had made Royal so prosperous. “Did you sleep well?”

Now suffering from sexy sheikh shock, Jamie couldn’t force herself to utter one word.

When she continued to stare at him, his mouth curled up in a smile that revealed deep grooves framing his mouth and enhanced fine lines around his eyes. A smile that would melt an iron washtub. Dark whiskers scattered above his well-defined lips and granite jaw made him look a bit on the sinister side. Sensually sinister. She figured he probably had to shave twice a day. A beard like that would definitely promote whisker burn during long kisses. She’d just bet he could kiss the bloomers off Betty Mays, Royal’s spinster county clerk.

And he was in bed with her. Jamie Morris, who didn’t even kiss on the first date.

“Well?” he asked, his voice deep and raspy.

“Well what?”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.” She had found her voice, but where was her brain? This was no time for pleasantries. “No! I mean…why are you in bed with me?”

He rolled onto his back and stacked his hands behind his head, giving her an intimate view of the tuft of hair under his arm. Jamie looked away and contacted his bare chest. Her gaze followed the path of dark hair that began as a silken mat between his pecs then thinned to a stream over his abdomen before disappearing into the waistband of a pair of striped pajamas. And just below that…

Oh, my.

Like someone viewing a horror film, Jamie didn’t exactly want to look, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the hypnotic sight, even if her life depended on it.

Suddenly realizing he was speaking, she pulled her gaze back to his face. His grin deepened, causing her cheeks to fire up like Manny’s grill at the Royal Diner.

“You were having bad dreams. I worried you might hurt yourself if you thrashed about too much.”

She didn’t remember a single bad dream. A very good dream, yes. “Oh.”

“So I took the liberty of holding you until you calmed. I apologize if my presence in your bed has alarmed you.”

“I wasn’t alarmed exactly. Just a bit unnerved.” Jamie was still unnerved, but she wasn’t suffering from fear, as he’d assumed. She was more afraid that her dreams had been real, and he wasn’t telling the absolute truth.

She chewed her lip for a moment, trying to decide how to broach the subject. Asking point-blank seemed like the sensible solution. “Did we…” How could she ask him that?

He impaled her with his night-sky eyes. “Did we what?”

Do the wild thing. Make whoopee. Shuffle the sheets.

She couldn’t force herself to say any of those things.

He had the nerve to smile again. “I am waiting.”

Jamie got the distinct feeling he enjoyed watching her squirm like a night crawler on the end of a hook. “You know…you and me…together. In the bed.”

His smile disappeared, replaced by a dark, sensual expression even more disarming. “Did we make love?”

“Yeah. Did we do that?”

“Why would you assume this?”

She didn’t mind mentioning the dream, but she refused to reveal that he was the prime subject. “Well, because I was out of my head. And you are in bed with me. And then I had these images of hands…and things.” Lots of things.

“Someone hurting you?”

“No. Just the opposite.”

He rolled to his side and faced her again with his elbow bent, one palm bracing his cheek, his eyes darkened by something Jamie couldn’t quite name. “Do you mean hands touching you? Perhaps a mouth on you, kissing every inch of your body until you writhed with pleasure? Someone making love to you until you could not breathe, yet you wanted more, until you found yourself begging for the very thing you feared, giving everything over to sensation until you were lost, body and soul?”

He spoke in a low steady tone that made Jamie shiver and sweat, all at the same time.

She somehow managed to speak, with effort. “Yes, something like that.”

His smile crept in once again, slowly, and only halfway. “No, Miss Morris. That did not happen between us. If it had, you would know. And you would not so easily forget.”

Without further comment, he pushed himself up and left the bed with graceful movements, like a panther progressively stalking its prey. And Jamie sat with her mouth gaping like a sprung screen door, feeling as boneless as putty, her body immersed in heat and her head reeling from his words.

As he walked to the chair across the room, Jamie couldn’t help but notice the way his pajamas tightened with each stride, revealing a bottom that would best be described as a true work of art. He picked up a heavy blue robe and slipped it on, covering his artful bottom, much to Jamie’s disappointment.

He faced her again, this time his expression all-business, unreadable. “You must be hungry. I will have my housekeeper bring you a tray so that you may regain your strength.”

She would need all the strength she could get to fight his control over her. Her desire to know him. All of him.

Shaking off the covers and the stupid thoughts, Jamie scooted to the end of the bed and touched her toes to the luxuriously carpeted floor. She needed to get out of here. Away from him. The danger she might face outside was nothing compared to the danger this man posed to her sanity and her sudden urges. “Yes, I’m starved. But I can eat after you take me back to my apartment.”

“I am afraid that is not possible.”

“Why not?”

“You must remain with me until we find the man who is attempting to do you harm.”

Jamie stiffened her frame and tried to stand. She felt weak as a newborn, every inch of her crying out in protest. One giant total body ache. Bracing her hand on the bedpost, she steadied herself to keep from falling in front of the man. She refused to let him believe that she couldn’t take care of herself.

“Look, Prince Ben, I’ll be fine. If anything happens, I’ll call the police.” Her spongy knees didn’t want to support her.

He stepped toward the bed and caught her elbow when she leaned a bit. “You cannot do that. We cannot involve the police at this time.”

This guy had too many rules, none of which she understood. He also radiated a sensuality that wasn’t easy to ignore.

She stared up at him, only then realizing he was tall. Very tall. Intimidating-to-the-max tall. “Care to explain why I can’t call the cops?”

“Trust me, Miss Morris, this is for your sake. The less you know, the better that will be.”

Jamie decided he was sorely mistaken, and his determination to keep her in the dark grated on her already raw nerves.

Oh, well. She’d play along for now. She was too tired to argue. “Since I can’t go home just yet, mind if I use your facilities?”

His dark brows drew down with confusion. “Facilities?”

“Bathroom? I’d like to freshen up.”

“Of course. I thought you might want to bathe, so I had my housekeeper set out some things for you. This way.”

He held on to her arm as he guided her to the room across the hall. Once they reached the door, she expected him to leave. He didn’t.

With her hand on the knob, she gave him her best sugar-sweet smile. “Am I allowed to have some privacy?”

“I thought you might wish me to draw your bath.”

“So you can watch?” Jamie cringed. She sounded like she wanted him to watch.

He smiled and Jamie felt it down to her size-five feet. “However tempting that might be, I will allow you your privacy after I help you prepare.”

“I’ll manage. I’m feeling much stronger.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“As you wish. If you find you do need help, there is an intercom near the tub—”

“I can handle this. I promise.”

She backed into the room and slammed the door in his face. Slammed the door on those mysterious eyes and all that out-there sexuality. Turning, she leaned back against the wooden surface for support. But it wasn’t the lump on her head making her feel like an overcooked noodle. He made her weak knees weaker and her shaky body shakier.

Determined to drive him out of her mind, Jamie concentrated on the huge room. A room big enough to house Sadie, her trusty blue sedan. An opulent bath straight out of her fantasies of what a bath should be.

Several black marble steps led to a mammoth whirlpool tub, a huge arched window its backdrop. The matching marble vanity top was graced with gold fixtures and two basins complimented by jeweled soap dispensers and toothbrush holders. And laid out near one sink—for her benefit, she presumed—was a brand new toothbrush and toothpaste and two velvety black towels with a matching washcloth. On a freestanding gold rack near the toilet hung a lush red velvet robe and underwear. Her underwear.

Her underwear?

She reached back and planted both hands on her butt. No lines. No underwear. She wore nothing more than a too-large sheer ecru gown. The armholes, big enough to drive a truck through, hung all the way down to her waist. No wonder she was shivering.

Who had relieved her of her white lace drawers? And why had she just now noticed?

She’d been barely coherent, that’s why. And obviously, the cad had undressed her. Bared her bod and taken liberties.

No way. He hadn’t done anything lewd to her person. No doubt about it. Like he’d said, she would know.

Recalling his suggestive words, the thought of him undressing her again caused shock to course through her already shocked body. And it annoyingly excited her.

Regardless, she planned to have a serious talk with the sheikh. Planned to inform him that, at the very least, undressing her without her permission was ungentlemanly. She valued her privacy, and although she wasn’t all that modest, she did have high standards and certain expectations. If someone was going to get her naked for the first time, then she darn sure better be conscious during the process.

A wave of nausea hit her like a raging bull. She slumped onto the step and considered the intercom.

No. She could do this.

With stilted motions, she managed to draw a bath and slip into the tub without passing out. The warm water soothed her sore limbs and made her feel a bit more human.

After luxuriating for a while, then attending to all her toiletries, Jamie felt halfway decent again. Now all she needed was some food, and to convince the sheikh that she needed to go home. But how could she do that in just a robe and underwear? Where had he hidden her jeans and shirt? Okay, so maybe he hadn’t hidden them, but she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he had. No clothes, no escape. Obviously he was determined to keep her here against her will.

Well, Prince Ben was wrong if he really believed he could do that.

She slipped on her underwear and the robe, then opened the door and tried to gauge where she should begin in order to find him. Starting down the hall, she peered into several rooms, all bedrooms decorated in more bright colors, but she didn’t come upon the man with many names, and probably many talents.

At the end of the corridor, wonderful smells drew her forward. The kitchen must be close, and maybe she would find him there. But before she reached her destination, she came to a den. It gave new meaning to the term great room.

The place was a combination of luxury and comfort. Old West meets Middle East. A set of horns hung near the vaulted ceiling over the massive white-rock fireplace, and, draped below, a purple tapestry with rainbow colors woven throughout traveled down the stone wall to the top of the hearth.

Jamie moved farther into the room and noted another opening and a hallway that seemed to go on for miles. In the immediate area, several chairs and rugs were set out in various locations across the gleaming hardwood floors, all in elegant dark colors. The whole place was velvet and marble, a sprawling ranch house most would only dream of, and something she’d not been exposed to in her twenty-two years. She had always appreciated simple. She liked simple. Not that she couldn’t get used to luxurious.

Scanning the area, she honed in on a huge suede caramel-colored sofa set to one side of the fireplace. And in the middle of that sofa sat a man, reclining against thick cushions, reading a newspaper, his long legs stretched out before him, booted heels propped on the heavy oak coffee table. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. Threadbare jeans. Tight T-shirt.

Considering his lazy posture, his common ranch-hand clothes, he could be just any sexy-as-sin cowboy. But when he looked up, nailing Jamie with those iron-gray eyes, there was no mistaking his identity.

Prince Ben as Bad-Boy Cowboy.

Ben stared up at Jamie now looming over him dressed in an oversized robe, her eyes flashing anger, her delicate jaw set tight. He suspected she would soon demand more answers from him. Answers he was not at liberty to give her.

Tossing the paper aside, he dropped his feet from the table and straightened. “You are looking much better. Refreshed.” With her damp hair falling just below her slender shoulders, her face freshly scrubbed, she was all softness and innocence. A celestial being.

“How dare you!”

She no longer looked angelic. She looked as angry as Alima when a tennis championship interrupted her American soap operas.

What had he done now? “I do not understand.”

She clenched her fists and Ben braced for another swing, but fortunately it did not come. “How dare you undress me and put me in that see-through gown. I have never in my life—”

“Miss Morris—”

“—met a man who thought—”

“Miss Morris—”

“—he could get away with taking off my clothes without me knowing it and—” She put a hand to head and looked as though she might faint.

He vaulted off the couch and circled his arms around her to prevent her from falling. “Miss Morris, you must calm down. You are still not well.”

She looked up at him but did not push him away, or try to punch him. Instead, she leaned into him. “I’m fine, thank you very much!”

She did not seem fine. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and she looked as though she might buckle. “I think not.” He tightened his hold on her.

“I want to go home,” she said willfully, belying her fragile state.

“I told you that is not possible.”

She locked into his gaze, her chin raised up in determination. “You can’t keep me here.”

“I am hoping you will see that it is necessary in order to ensure your safety.”

“I’ll tell you what’s necessary. I need to find a job.” She grasped the front of his shirt. “I’m running out of money. My rent’s due right now. Then the car payment.” She sounded desperate, her voice pleading.

He rubbed her back to comfort her, all too aware of her breasts pressed against him. The way she smelled, fresh and clean. Womanly. He held her closer to anchor himself. “I will provide for you until the time you can return to your apartment. I will arrange to pay your debts and see to it that you are comfortable in my home for now.”

She stiffened in his arms. “I don’t need your charity. I can take care of myself.”

Her attitude was the very reason he had never been involved with an American woman. Although he admired her independence, he did not always understand it, just as he did not understand his mother at times. Pride would not keep her safe, but he could. He would. “We will consider it a gift.”

“A loan,” she corrected, seeming to give in.

A strong sense of satisfaction settled over Ben at the prospect she would agree to stay with him, at least for now. “We shall discuss your financial situation later.”

She relaxed somewhat. “Can I at least go home and get some clothes?”

“I will find you appropriate clothing.”

“I have to feed…uh…my fish.”

He took her arm and led her to the sofa, then brought her down next to him. It seemed best to put some distance between them. Simply holding her again resurrected more unwanted feelings within Ben. Feelings he did not welcome but could not seem to stop. Yet he must halt them. Remember his duty to her.

He sighed. “I will take you to your apartment where you can feed your pets and gather some clothes. But you must agree to come back with me.”

Her smile traveled all the way to her jewel-like eyes, causing Ben’s pulse to race out of control. “Okay. Then it’s a deal?”

“Yes, but first you must eat.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m all that hungry.”

He was, but not necessarily for food. He stood before he lost his head, his control. “You can eat something. I shall summon Alima.”

She slumped back onto the sofa. “Alima?”

“My housekeeper.” And oftentimes thorn in his side.

Jamie shrugged again. “Okay. Does she do hot dogs? I’m really craving a hot dog.”

Ben smiled in response. “I will see what I can do.”

He then departed for the nearby kitchen to seek out Alima, glancing toward the sofa in the event Miss Morris should change her mind and try to escape. He hated holding her captive, and had he been less honorable, he might have led her to believe he was her captor, and she his slave. But honor was something his parents had instilled in him from birth, therefore he had no choice but to tell her the truth. As much of the truth as he could allow.

Alima was opening the oven door, removing fresh-baked bread. She turned around and tossed the pan onto the stove, then slipped the headphones away from her ears. “Is our guest awake now?”

“Yes. And she needs nourishment.”

She lifted the lid from a heavy black pot on the stove. “I have prepared simich in a very hearty stew.”

The wonderful bouquet made Ben’s mouth water. “She does not want fish stew. She has requested a hot dog.”

Alima narrowed her dark eyes. “I do not prepare hot dogs.”

“You will prepare something like it. She is our guest.”

She slapped the lid back on the boiling pot. “I will prepare something American, but I do no hot dogs.”

There was no sense in arguing with her. With Alima, he chose his battles carefully. He would need her assistance with Jamie in the future. No matter how stubborn Alima could be at times, she was a kind woman. She had a way with people, able to soothe them during dire moments. Jamie would need Alima’s kindness, for if she caused more trouble, put herself in more danger, then he would not be able to be kind.

“Bring the food into the living room on a tray,” he said. “We will dine there.”

“Do you wish the stew, Prince Hasim, or do you prefer the Texas food?” Her tone implied once again that she didn’t approve of his burgeoning American tastes even though she was guilty of the same.

“I will have what Miss Morris is having.”

Alima strolled to the refrigerator, muttering in Arabic under her breath as she yanked open the door and peered inside.

Ben returned to the living room to find Jamie curled up on the sofa, her eyes closed. But when he approached her, she quickly came awake and sat up. “I’m sorry. I just can’t shake this sleepiness.”

He still worried over her condition even though he had spoken with Justin several times by phone since the day before. The doctor had assured him that Jamie would be weak for a few days, but not to worry. Ben did worry, although perhaps he should be thankful she wasn’t quite recovered. The potential for her to fight him would increase with her strength.

He joined her on the sofa. “Alima will bring you something satisfactory. I am afraid we have no hot dogs.”

Jamie yawned. “That’s okay. Right now I think I could eat just about anything if it stood still long enough.”

“Then your appetite is returning. This is good.”

She smiled. A pretty smile that withered Ben’s insides like blades of grass in the sweltering Texas heat. “Yep. I’m feeling better,” she said. “And right after lunch, you can take me to my place.”

He should expect her persistence in this matter. She was not one to give up easily. “All right.”

She smiled. “You promise?”

At the moment, he would promise her anything. “You have my word.”

With her head lowered, Alima scurried into the room carrying a tray full of meats, cheeses and breads. She slipped it onto the table before them but did not raise her eyes to Jamie until Ben said, “Alima, this is Miss Morris.”

Jamie held out her small hand to Alima. “You can call me Jamie.”

Alima did not take the hand Jamie offered, as that would be disrespectful, but she did afford Jamie a smile. “I am pleased to have you in Prince Hasim’s home, Miss Morris. If you wish anything, please let me know.” She turned to address Ben. “Would Miss Morris be more comfortable dining at the table instead of here in the mayaalis, with the dead animals?” She gestured toward the cowhide rug draped on the floor in front of the hearth.

Ben repressed a chuckle. Jamie did not.

“I believe Miss Morris and I are quite comfortable here.” He regarded Jamie. “I am afraid Alima has never approved of informality. She believes that my mother spoiled me by letting me run the palace, doing as I pleased.”

Alima departed, muttering in her native tongue all the way to the kitchen.

“What did she just say?” Jamie asked.

“The monkey is a gazelle in the eyes of his mother. An Arabic proverb.”

Jamie laughed, a rich vibrant sound that made Ben want to laugh with her. “I have to remember that. Maybe while we’re stuck here together, you can teach me some Arabic.”

There were many things he would like to teach her, the least of which involved his native tongue. Or perhaps it would involve his tongue. And his hands, his body…

Thrusting the thoughts away, he said, “Arabic is best learned in an atmosphere where it is readily spoken. I only speak it with Alima on occasion and when I return home.”

She took some meat from the tray and shredded it, then nibbled a few bits. “Where is home?”

“Amythra. A small country near Oman.”

She took another bite and spoke around it. “Well, I’m not good at geography, so I’ll take your word for it.”

Ben placed some of the fare on his plate and opted to use a fork, unlike Jamie who used her fingers, licking them on occasion, causing a rising heat to stir low in Ben’s belly.

He ate in silence while watching Jamie put her all into the meal. She ate as if ravenous. As if it were her last bite.

He suspected she approached most everything with heart and soul and unyielding determination. He imagined she would approach lovemaking the same way.

Again his body stirred, and he cursed the fact he had not dressed in his djellaba. American jeans could not hide his sins should he lose control over baser urges.

Crossing one leg over the other, he pushed his plate aside and leaned back against the sofa. Jamie did the same.

“That was wonderful,” she said, rubbing her belly.

Ben visually followed the movement of her hand, imagining his own hand there.

He looked away, questioning his wisdom. How could he not touch her if she lived under his roof? How could he continue to ignore his desires if she was with him every waking moment?

He must. He would call on all his strength and avoid situations that might threaten his control. At one time he had not been in control, and his own father had paid the price. He had vowed then that never would he let anyone harm a defenseless human being, especially one he cared about. And he was beginning to see Jamie in that category, no matter how inadvisable that might be.

Needing to get away, he rose from the sofa. “Are you finished, Miss Morris?”

She stood. “Yes. And if you’ll point me in the direction of my clothes, I’ll change and we can head to my apartment.”

“You will find your clothes in the top drawer of the bureau in your room. Alima has laundered them for you.”

Again she smiled. “How nice. Remind me to thank her.”

“Yes, and I will change, too.”

When she stood, the robe gaped open, revealing the valley between her breasts. “Change into what?” she asked.

Into a madman if she did not close the robe. “My traditional dress.” He reached for the robe and she stepped back. “I am trying to cover you.”

She looked down. “Oh. This thing is too big.”

He suddenly realized that not only would she be more comfortable in her own clothes, he would be more comfortable if she was wearing them. At least somewhat.

She crossed her arms over her breasts, much to Ben’s relief—and disappointment. “Don’t get me wrong, Ben, but wouldn’t you be a little less obvious if you stayed in what you’re wearing now? I mean, you’re trying to protect me. When in Rome and all that jazz.”

He bristled at the jab, although he believed she meant nothing by it. “It is expected of me,” he explained. “Both in the business world and in my country. I have promised my mother that I will keep this connection to my birthright.”

She looked away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No offense taken. There are many things about my culture that most Americans do not comprehend.”

She locked into his gaze and he saw true sincerity in the green depths of her eyes. “I’d like to understand.”

In that moment, he had no doubt she would.

All their differences seemed to melt away, and Ben wondered if she would be the kind of woman who would understand him. Understand his ways. Understand the man beneath the prince.

Impossible dreams.