out loud? Oh God, the look on his face told her she did.
His eyes narrowed. “You have been reading the tabloids.”
“I don’t buy them,” she said. It was a minor distinction, but a distinction just the same. “But it’s hard not to see them in the grocery store, the beauty salon, the doctor’s waiting room.”
“You might want to choose a physician who does not patronize disreputable publications,” he said.
“I don’t have a choice.” This was proof that they could be living on different planets. He had no clue about her reality. “My kids go to doctors contracted with the state and we don’t get a vote on the publications in the waiting room.”
“You have children?” he asked, a flicker of surprise in those dark eyes.
“I’ve never given birth if that’s what you’re asking. I’m a social worker and kids in the state’s care are my responsibility.”
“I see.”
“I doubt it. Probably you never had to worry about medical attention, or your next meal or a roof over your head since you grew up in a palace not a group home.” She made a mental note that irritation cancels out fear.
“You would be correct.”
Lucky him. “What should I call you? Your Highness? Your Worship?”
“He who rules the universe is my preferred title.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry. Were you being funny?”
“Apparently not.”
But he smiled, a charming smile that made her want to grab hold of the nearest chair. Another mental note: this playboy had a sense of humor and it packed more punch than his charm. She didn’t know whether to be grateful that her player radar was alive, well and functioning with one hundred percent accuracy or unsettled to have proof that she’d inherited from her mother the playboy-magnet gene. The thing was—she wanted to be swept away, but by someone who sincerely wanted her and men who were players didn’t do sincere.
She’d just confirmed that he was everything she didn’t want in a man. Not that he would hit on her. According to those questionable publications, his taste in women ran to models, actresses and world-famous beauties. She was not, not and so not.
“My friends and family call me Kardahl,” he was saying.
She nodded. “Kardahl it is. I’ll just get my bag—”
“It will be taken care of.” He rested his hand at the small of her back.
She swore the heat of his fingers seeped through the material of her suit jacket and made her want to melt. Probably that was because he smelled really good. She’d read somewhere that sense of smell was a powerful weapon in the arsenal of seduction. Still, there was the whole willingness thing and he’d just kissed the hand of maybe the only woman on the planet who was immune to his tabloid-worthy charisma.
Kardahl did not miss the chill that slid into Jessica’s large hazel eyes when he had introduced himself. Or the way she quite deliberately moved away from his touch now. Given their relationship, her reservations were puzzling.
He held out his hand, indicating that she precede him. “Let us go.”
He settled her in the back of the limousine and supervised the removal of her luggage. There were only two pieces, a meager amount of belongings all things considered. It was his experience that women always brought more than necessary and she was moving her entire life. Strange, indeed.
Kardahl slid into the back of the car beside her and met her gaze. The scandal precipitating her arrival was entirely his doing. He’d lost the only woman he would ever love and when he had grown weary of being told life goes on, he had thrown himself into the business of living—with many women. And he was guilty of the abundant yet judicious use of flattery. But he had told this woman the truth about being quite lovely. Her sun-streaked brown hair fell past her shoulders, with shorter strands framing a delicate face and cheekbones that revealed her noble heritage. She had also inherited lips that were full, well-formed, and quite frankly, the most kissable mouth he had ever seen.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said.
“I’m disappointed.”
“You have only to tell me who has done this and I will see that a high price is paid for the transgression.”
“Look in the mirror,” she said dryly. “Surely you can do better than ‘tell me about yourself.’I’ve heard some of the world’s best pickup lines. For instance—‘here I am, what are your other two wishes.’ Or, ‘do you have a Band-Aid? I scraped my knees when I fell for you.’ Or, my personal favorite—‘Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I go out and come in again?’”
“You do not believe that I sincerely wish to know you?”
She slid him an assessing glance. “How’s that uber-sincere line working for you?”
The puzzle of Jessica Sterling deepened. Revelation of his identity had altered the obvious female interest he had first recognized when her pulse raced and her hand trembled in his. Gone was the friendly, open woman he had first met. Now he found her prickly. Skeptical. And if he was not mistaken, suspicious. This was a reaction he had never before encountered from a woman. It was remarkably refreshing.
He smiled. “The line works quite well, actually. When I politely and sincerely inquire to know more about a woman, she invariably rewards me with information about herself. Intimate information.”
“Okay. I’ll play along.”
“Play? This is a game?”
“What else?” she asked. “This is you.”
He nodded. “Then if you choose to treat it as a game, I will play along, too.”
“I figured you would,” she said.
“So, if you please, tell me about yourself.”
She blew out a long breath. “I was born in Los Angeles, California. My mother died when I was twelve. I grew up in the child welfare system. Went to college and received a degree in social work.” She shrugged. “Those are the highlights of my life.”
Kardahl did not believe that was so and only now recalled that his father had intended to have Jessica’s background investigated. Undoubtedly it had been done, but Kardahl’s indifference to the situation had prevented him from reading the report. He regretted that now.
As the car sped smoothly toward the palace, he looked at her. “I suspect there is more you are not saying.”
A frown marred the smooth skin of her forehead, then she turned to look out the window. There was tension in the line of her jaw, the length of her slender neck, the set of her shoulders. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers intertwined, but there was nothing restful about her as she rubbed one thumb over the other.
“There’s a lot I’m not saying, but it’s not important.” Finally she met his gaze. “Tell me about you.”
She
