man, or just the alcohol, but her head was a little fuzzy. There had been a different wine with each course. She’d only taken a sip of each, but those sips added up and muddled her thinking. It was the only explanation for what she said next.
“You’re just some alpha-male dog peeing on every tree to mark his territory. That’s all Brittany is to you. A tree or a bush.”
As soon as the words were out, she wanted to call them back. Murat stunned her by tossing back his head and roaring with laughter.
Still chuckling, he stood. “Come, we will go for a walk to clear your head. You can tell me all your theories about domesticating 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.
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