opposite sex. Otherwise, he would not be interested in your undergarments.”
They shared in a brief laugh before Madison revealed her opinion on the subject. “I assure you, Prince Zain will not be commenting on my personal effects if I have any say in the matter.”
Elena presented a sly smile. “A word of advice. Prince Zain is a good man, yet he is still a man. What he lacks in restraint, he makes up in charm. Stand firm with him.”
With that, she walked away, leaving Madison to ponder exactly what the future king might have up his sleeve when he’d told her the incorrect time for dinner. She highly doubted he’d forgotten standard palace protocol in spite of his lengthy absence. Perhaps he was simply trying to throw her off balance in order to be rid of her.
Too bad. She would definitely stand her ground with him from this point forward. And as far as dinner went, she’d ignore his edict and show up when she darn well pleased.
She was fifteen minutes late, yet Zain wasn’t at all surprised. Madison Foster possessed an extreme need to be in control. Granted, he had the means to break down her defenses, and he was tempted to try. Nothing overt. Nothing more than a subtle and slight seduction designed to make her uncomfortable enough to bow out and return to the States where she belonged.
However, she could very well turn the tables by responding to his advances. Possible, but not likely, he decided when she entered the dining room wearing a slim black skirt that came right above her knees, conservative heels and a simple white blouse. A blouse sheer enough to reveal the outline of an equally white bra, most likely in an effort to prove her point. But he knew better. That professional, prim and proper persona only served to conceal the daring beneath her cool exterior. He’d wager the kingdom she had on a pair of brightly colored panties. Red panties.
A richly detailed fantasy assaulted him, one that involved sitting beside her and running his hand up the inside of her thigh and—
“Where would you like me?”
He thought of several answers, none of them appropriate. He chose the least suggestive one. “Are you referring to the seating arrangements, or do you have something else in mind?”
She approached the table and sent him a false smile. “Let me rephrase for the sake of clarity. Where do you want me to be seated?”
Zain gestured to the right of where he was positioned at the head of the lengthy table. “Here.” He waited for her to slide into the chair before he launched into his reprimand. “You’re late.”
She made an exaggerated show of checking her watch. “Actually, I’m fifteen minutes early, since it seems, according to Elena, dinner is and always has been at six.”
He’d been betrayed by his former governess and longtime confidante. “Now that I will soon assume my rightful role as king, dinner will be at five-thirty.”
She folded her hands atop the table, her gaze unwavering. “I suppose having your first royal edict involving dinnertime is preferable to, oh, say, changing the entire governmental structure.”
“That will be my second royal edict.”
She looked sincerely confused. “Are you serious?”
He smiled. “Not entirely, but I do plan to implement some much-needed change.”
“Change cannot occur until you are officially crowned, brother.”
Zain pulled his gaze from Madison to see Rafiq claiming his place at the opposite end of the table. “As disappointing as it might be to you, brother, that will happen in a matter of weeks. In the meantime, I plan to outline those changes to the council later this week.”
Rafiq lifted his napkin and placed it in his lap. “I have no designs on your position, Zain. But I do have a vested interest in the direction in which you plan to take my country.”
He fisted his hands on the heels of his anger. “Our country, Rafiq. A country that I plan to lead into the twenty-first century.”
Madison cleared her throat, garnering their attention. “What’s for dinner?”
“Cheeseburgers in your honor.”
When he winked, she surprisingly smiled. “I was truly looking forward to sampling some Middle Eastern fare,” she said.
“We’re having the chef’s special kebabs,” Rafiq said. “You will have to excuse my brother’s somewhat questionable sense of humor, Ms. Foster.”
After shooting Rafiq an acid look, Zain regarded Madison again. “I believe you’ll agree that a questionable sense of humor is better than no sense of humor at all.”
She shifted slightly in her seat. “I enjoyed meeting Elena. Will she be joining us?”
“Not tonight,” Rafiq said as one of the staff circled the table and poured water. “She has some work to attend to, but she sends her apologies.”
“She works much too hard,” Zain added. “I plan to put an end to that and soon.”
Rafiq leaned back in his chair. “I am afraid her work will not let up until after the coronation and the wedding.”
“Wedding?” Madison asked, the shock in her tone matching Zain’s.
“And who is the lucky bride?” Zain asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.
“Rima Acar, of course,” Rafiq said. “We will be married the week before the coronation.”
Zain wasn’t at all surprised by the news his brother was going through with the long-standing marriage contract. He was surprised—and angry—over the timing. “Is this wedding a means to detract from my assuming my rightful place as king?”
“Of course not,” Rafiq said. “This wedding has been in the planning stages for years. Almost twelve if you consider when Father and the sultan came to an agreement.”
“Ah, yes, the age-old tradition of bride bartering.” Zain turned his attention back to Madison, who seemed intent on pushing fruit around on her plate. “We are destined to choose a wife from the highest bidder. Someone who will give us many heirs, if not passion.”
“As you, too, had your bride chosen for you,” Rafiq added.
Madison’s blue eyes went wide. “You’re engaged?”
“Not any longer,” Rafiq said. “Zain’s intended grew tired of waiting for his return and married another.”
He had thanked his good fortune for that many times over. “Her decision was for the best. I refuse to wed a woman whom I’ve never met, let alone kissed.” He leaned forward and leveled his gaze on his brother. “Have you kissed Rima? Have you determined there will be enough passion to sustain your marriage? Or do you even care?”
He could see the fury brewing in Rafiq’s eyes. “That is none of your concern. Passion is not important. Continuing the royal lineage is.”
“Procreating would be rather difficult if you cannot bear to touch your wife, brother. Or perhaps you will be satisfied with bedding
