men such as me.”
He walked around the table and pulled back her chair. She rose and faced him.
“It’s not a joke. You’re acting like a territorial German shepherd. You could use a little obedience training to keep you in line.”
“I am not the one who needs to stay in line.”
“Are you threatening me?”
As she spoke, she took a step toward him. Unfortunately her feet weren’t getting the right signals from her brain, and she stumbled. He caught her and pulled her against him.
“You speak of domestication, but is that what you want?” he asked. “A trained man would not do this.”
The “this” turned out to be nothing more than his mouth pressing against hers. A kiss. No biggie.
Except the second his lips brushed against hers, every part of her body seemed to go up in flames. Desperate hot need pulsed through her, forcing her to cling to him or collapse at his feet.
They kissed before, she remembered hazily. A lifetime ago. He’d held her tenderly and delighted her with gentle embraces.
But not this time. Now he claimed her with a passion that left her breathless and hungry for more. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her up against his hard body.
She melted into him, savoring the heat and the strength. When he tilted his head, she did the same and parted her lips before he even asked. He plunged inside, stroking, circling, teasing, making her breath catch and her body weep with desire.
More, she thought as she kissed him back. There had to be more.
But there wasn’t. He straightened, forcing her to consider standing on her own. She pushed back and found her balance, then struggled to catch her breath.
“Brittany will be in New York by now,” he said.
The sudden change in topic caught her off guard. Weren’t they going to discuss the kiss? Weren’t they going to do it again?
Apparently not. She ordered herself to focus on Brittany. Murat. The wedding that could never be.
“I meant what I said,” he told her. “There will be a Snowden bride.”
“You’ll need to rethink your plan,” she said. “Brittany isn’t going to marry you.”
He stared at her, his dark eyes unreadable. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
She braced herself for an argument or at least a pronouncement that he was the crown prince, blah, blah, blah. Instead he simply nodded.
“As you wish,” he said. And then he left.
Daphne didn’t fall asleep until sometime after two in the morning. She’d felt too out of sorts to relax. While she told herself she should be happy that Murat was finally seeing reason about Brittany, she didn’t trust the man. Certainly not his last cryptic agreement. As she wished what? Was he really giving up on Brittany so easily? Somehow that didn’t seem right.
So when she woke early the next morning, she felt more tired than when she’d gone to bed.
After slipping into her robe, she hurried toward the smell of fresh coffee wafting through the harem. A cart stood by the sofa.
Daphne ignored the fresh fruit and croissants and dove for the coffee. The steaming liquid perked her up with the first sip.
“Better,” she said, when she’d swallowed half a cup.
She sat down in front of the cart and picked up the folded newspapers. The first was a copy of USA TODAY. Underneath was the local Bahanian paper. She flipped it open, then screamed.
On the front page was a color picture of her under a headline announcing her engagement to Murat.
Chapter Four
“I ’ll kill him!” Daphne yelled.
She set down her coffee before she dropped it and shrieked her fury.
“How dare he? Who does he think he is? Crown prince or not, I’ll have his head for this!”
She couldn’t believe it. Last night he’d been friendly and fun and sexy with his talking and touching, when the whole time he’d been planning an ambush.
She stomped her foot. He’d kissed her. He’d taken her in his arms and kissed her. She’d gotten all gooey and nostalgic while he’d known what he was going to do.
“Bastard. No. Wait. He’s lower than that. He’s a…a camel-dung sweeper. He’s slime.”
She tossed the paper down, then immediately bent over to pick it up. There, in perfect English, was the announcement for the upcoming wedding along with what looked like a very long story on her previous engagement to Murat.
“Just great,” she muttered. “Now we’re going to have to rehash that again.”
She threw the paper in the air and stalked around the room. “Are you listening, Murat?” she yelled. “Because if you are, know that you’ve gone too far. You can’t do this to me. I won’t let you.”
There was no answer. Typical, she thought. He’s done it and now he was hiding out.
Just then the phone rang.
“Ha! Afraid to face me in person?”
She crossed to the phone on the end table and snatched it up. “Yes?”
“How could you do this?” a familiar female voice demanded.
“Laurel?”
A choke shook her sister’s voice. “Who else? Dammit, Daphne, you always have to ruin everything. You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted him for yourself.”
It took Daphne a second to figure out what her sister was talking about. “You know about the engagement?” she asked.
“Of course. What did you think? That it would happen in secret?”
“Of course not. I mean there’s no engagement.”
How on earth had her sister found out? There was a major time difference between Bahania and the American East Coast. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Oh, sure. Because I’m going to sleep after this.” Her sister drew in a ragged breath. “What I don’t understand is how you could do this to Brittany. I thought you really cared about her.”
“I do. I love her.” Probably more than her sister ever had, Daphne thought grimly. “That’s why I didn’t want her marrying Murat. She’s never even met the man.”
“You took care of things, didn’t you?
