A strange smile tugged at her lips. “No, sweetie.” The condescension dripped from her words. “He hasn’t told you?”
Alarms went off in her head. Left alone fifteen minutes with this woman, and already she was blowing their cover. Dammit! Think, Christina… She cleared her throat, politely crossing her legs. Better to just say nothing.
“Dakaric is the king of Al Qalb.” All that was missing was Tirsa patting her head and sending her on her way. Christina frowned, trying to keep her confusion in check. Why hadn’t he mentioned that to her? Al Qalb was practically never in the news, so she knew embarrassingly little about that tiny country. But if Dakaric was king of that country, why the hell was he here in Kattahar? Nothing made sense.
“Right. I knew that. I meant…” Her voice withered. Saving herself from the flub was hopeless. If Tirsa didn’t know they were faking it by now, then she had to at least assume Christina was an idiot. “Thanks. For all the info I mean. Now when’s my dress get here?”
By the time Tirsa wrapped up with her initiation spiel, Christina felt sufficiently inadequate. Like a silly girl, scrawling makeup on her face and calling herself a woman. What are you doing here? She almost didn’t want to see the dress and go through with it. Maybe she could back out of the deal. Find information about Sabrina on her own.
“There you are.” Relief washed over her when she found Dakaric in a toolshed in the very back of the garden. He was rummaging through a tool chest, but he turned at the sound of her voice, revealing a very bare, very sculpted chest, exactly the color of caramel.
She gasped, gaze riveting hopelessly on that wide expanse of chest, dark hair forming delicious coils in the center. So maybe backing out of the deal wasn’t the best idea.
“Hey.” He ran his forearm over his face. “Sorry, I’m trying to repair a busted frame, and it’s so hot out here.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “No need to apologize. I mean, this is your place. You’re working. It’s not like I’ve never seen…” She gestured at his chest. “You know. Anyway, Tirsa told me some very interesting information. Like, uh, you’re a king?”
Dakaric’s face fell. “Right. I meant to get to that.”
Sweat dribbled between the sweeping planes of his pecs. His nipples were dark dimes. “Well, I totally ruined whatever ruse we had going. I’m pretty sure she suspects this is all a sham anyway. So, I’m sorry, but I already killed your plan.”
“Don’t worry.” His smile was disarming, a dimple flashing in his left cheek as he wiped off his hands on a rag. “She works for me. If she suspects, then let her. She won’t go tattling to the press. Not if she wants to keep her job.”
“Oh. Well…good.” The rest of her thoughts disappeared as a comfortable silence filled the space between them. Her fingers twitched as she wondered what it might feel like to run her finger through that kinky chest hair.
“Are you ready for lunch?” There was a twinkle in his eye, one that told her maybe she’d been caught staring.
“Yes. I think I am.” She straightened her back and marched out into the garden. “And over lunch, I expect to hear about how you became a king and didn’t think to tell your fiancée.”
She caught his grin as he came out of the shed after her, and for a brief moment she was so excited, so full of happiness, that she could barely see straight.
Whatever this unlikely deal had in store for her, she was ready.
6
Dakaric sipped at his glass of champagne, surveying the hustle and bustle of party goers filing into the grand entrance hall. Everyone was dressed formally, and for Dakaric that meant flowing, taupe robes cinched off with a black rope, the traditional Al Qalb royal garb.
The Balizar palace was one of his favorite homes; he’d spent plenty of time during childhood here, running around with Zatar and his sister Salari throughout the years, hiding behind pillars, playing tag in the immense and sprawling gardens.
And having Christina at his side felt oddly comfortable. Familiar, almost, like they’d done this before. She beamed up at him, her creamy skin contrasting nicely with the deep purple gown that he’d arranged for her. It hugged her in all the right places, giving shape to that small, lithe body that snagged his attention constantly, but especially now. Her arms were lightly freckled. He squeezed the stem of his champagne flute, resisting the urge to sweep his hand over that fair skin. See if he could bring goosepimples to join her freckles.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Totally.” She sipped at her own champagne, those slate violet eyes sweeping across the room. “This is the fanciest party I’ve ever been to, that’s for sure.”
Dakaric smiled, slipping his hand around her waist. He’d been dying to do this earlier when she was lying in his bed. The mother of all temptations. He leaned in closer, speaking low so no one would overhear. “Is this okay?”
She nodded, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. Ambery and light, it sent heat coursing through him. They’d talked about how to behave in public; since they were unmarried, acting mostly platonic was the norm, so it wasn’t like they had to push any uncomfortable boundaries. But what about if he wanted it to be non-platonic? He wet his bottom lip, shoving aside thoughts of how exactly he’d like to begin his non-platonic interactions with Christina.
“Here’s King Zatar,” Dakaric said, guiding Christina toward the great hall where he could see Zatar and Queen Alexis greeting new arrivals. Princess Salari and her husband Kalif stood nearby, also greeting visitors. “Let’s say hello before they get swallowed up in the festivities.”
They joined a small line of people gathered around Zatar and Alexis, who were decked out in their finest formalwear. Zatar wore an emerald and gold robe that billowed around him every time he gestured or swooped in to kiss Alexis, who was smartly dressed in a sleek red gown that commanded, more than attracted, attention. Her belly was just starting to round under her clothes.
“I’ve never met a king and queen before,” Christina whispered as they drew nearer.
“But you’ve met a king before,” he reminded her, nudging her with his elbow.
“Yeah, without realizing it.” She sent him a private grin, one that made him feel like they’d known each other for much longer than a mere two days.
The pair in front of them drifted away and then Dakaric and Christina were facing the king and queen. Zatar’s smiled widened as Alexis cast a curious look toward Christina.
“My old friend.” Zatar and Dakaric embraced, and then Zatar turned to Christina. “And you are?”
Without a word, Christina very nearly collapsed in front of Zatar, executing a somewhat graceful bow before bringing her head to the king’s feet. Dakaric watched, stunned, as she seemed to kiss his shoes before righting herself.
“My name is Christina. It’s an honor to meet you.”
Both Zatar and Alexis watched with parted mouths. Zatar blinked, then clasped Christina’s hand in his own. “Did you just kiss my feet?”
Christina sent a guilty look toward Dakaric before responding. “Uh, yes?”
“Where are you from?”
“America?”
Zatar looked back at Alexis, who shrugged. To Christina, he said, “And do you observe some sort of religion that requires you to kiss the feet of a king?”
Christina’s cheeks were bright red as she shook her head. In the periphery, partygoers were watching without bothering to hide their curiosity. A few cameras were pulled out. Dakaric’s stomach pitched downward.
“It’s not customary to kiss the feet of the king,” Dakaric interjected, wanting to tamp down the situation before it got even more out of hand. Curiosity had spiked all around them.
“All this means is you win the gold star of the party,” Alexis said, pushing past her husband to extend her hand. Christina took it, looking relieved. “I’m Alex, resident queen and fellow American.”
“Hi. I’m so embarrassed,” Christina said softy.
“It’s the
jetlag,” Dakaric said. “Christina flew in from America just yesterday. We’re getting married. Zatar, we need to talk to you later about something important.” He squeezed his arm around her shoulders, guiding her along so the next set of partygoers could greet the king and queen. He hurried Christina away before she had to be subjected to more of the spotlight, leading her toward the hallway, then hanging a right toward a quieter section of the palace and away from the murmur of voices and the distant sitar music.
“I can’t believe this,” Christina said, her voice tight. She pressed her palms to her face.
“Where did you get the idea to kiss his feet?” Dakaric would laugh, if she weren’t so upset. When her hands dropped, her face was red. And tear streaked. She was crying. His stomach tightened, and he couldn’t stop himself from gathering her to his chest.
“Tirsa told me to,” she said pitifully, voice muffled in his shirts. “She said it was customary, a sign of deference.” Christina groaned, her arms tightening around his waist. His stomach tightened again, but this time for a different reason. “Probably every single person at the party saw that. And now everyone’s going to know me as the weirdo American girl who tries to kiss kings’ feet.”
Dakaric tried to find some way to bat down her assumption, but he didn’t know what to say. All he could hope for was that it didn’t get out to the press. They’d have a field day with such a blunder. “I have no idea why Tirsa would tell you that. She knows just as much as anyone that the Kattaharan palace is modernized.”
“Maybe I misunderstood her then,” Christina whispered, pressing her chin against his chest as she tilted her head up. “She has a pretty heavy accent.”
Dakaric rubbed his hand over her exposed back. The smooth skin beneath his fingertips sent a shiver down his spine. Suddenly, he couldn’t care less about the gaffe in the grand hall. He wanted to take Christina somewhere else. Somewhere private.
“Do you want to go back out there? Or can I take you on a little adventure.”
She was quiet a moment, her golden-brown tresses swept into an elegant but understated bun low on her head. When she looked up to meet his gaze, her blue eyes seared right through him.
“Let’s go on an adventure.”
* * *
Christina followed Dakaric in a daze. The humiliation of her public blunder still rang through her like a freshly tolled bell, but Dakaric’s nearness helped lessen the sting.
All she knew was that she officially hated Tirsa. Now she understood the distance she’d felt during their meetup that morning; Tirsa wanted Christina to fail and to fail miserably. Public humiliation was one way to oust an unwanted presence. Tirsa was probably in love with Dakaric.
Dakaric’s warm grip on her hand kept her from sinking into despair. She hated that the embarrassing mistake had ruined this gorgeous, once in a lifetime event. Hated that Tirsa had taken this fancy evening away from her, when her regular life was full of so much stress and work.
Now that the opportunity had been presented, she just wanted to escape for a little bit. And even her escape had been tainted.
Dakaric turned back to look at her as they wandered through dim, open air hallways. Ferns lined the corridors, and enormous tapestries hanging on the walls illuminated a war-torn past. “What are you thinking about?”
“What an embarrassment I am.” She sighed, moving away the long tendrils framing her face.
“Trust me, you’re no embarrassment.”
“I’m surprised you still want me to play your pretend fiancée.” She hefted with a bitter laugh.
“You’re the perfect person for the job,” he said, taking her hand in his. “The papers might pick this up, but it will be forgotten soon. I assure you.”
“Maybe I’ll become internet famous,” she joked. “Or they’ll put my head in a meme.”
“I’ll definitely let you know if you become the star of Al Qalbian forums.” He squeezed her hand, and she melted into his side, leaning against him for support. After they walked for a bit in the pleasant night air, Christina lifted her head, putting some distance between them. He was too easy to fall into; his entire being beckoned to her. He was more than just a pretty face. More than a king, even. There was something about him that was profoundly, deeply, attractive. She felt comfortable around him without even knowing why.
“So where are we going?”
“The gardens, but the back end.” He guided her down a different corridor, this one partially enclosed by windows. Eerie sconce lights dotted the hall, casting an amber hue over the shiny, marble floor. “Zatar and I used to play back here. It was really easy to hide, so of course we took full advantage. I haven’t been back here in years…maybe more than a decade.”
Christina grinned. This little detour was thoughtful. She appreciated his foresight to let her cool off in a quiet part of the palace. Now that some of the sting of embarrassment had worn off, the magic of her surroundings returned. The dry, warm air that held an edge of intrigue. Their soft footsteps that whispered of solitude, knowing that everyone was back at the party, laughing and drinking.
The incredible distance between her and everything that was familiar and everyone that knew her.
She leaned into him again. To hell with decorum. She’d already kissed a man’s feet—why not push the envelope a bit? Dakaric felt good. Too good. They rounded another corner, coming to a large, arched doorway that led to an elaborately paved patio. Pathways burrowed into the foliage of the garden. Under the moonlight and lit by sconces, the garden had an ethereal quality, tinged with midnight blue, the scent of lilies heavy in the air.
“This is it.” Dakaric hummed as he strolled out onto the patio. She watched him as he tipped his head back and assessed the night sky. He was as fascinating as their surroundings, if not more so. Eyes on the sharp line of his jaw, she blurted out the thoughts in her head before she could think better of it.
“How does it feel to be king?”
He looked down at her, a gentle smile crossing his face. His robes moved gently around him when he walked, lending him a royal air that she supposed had always been there, even when he was dressed in a regular shirt and pants back at the inn. When his fingertips grazed the tops of her knuckles, she realized they were still holding hands.
“Like a stress that never goes away.” His smile turned sad, then disappeared altogether. “I never intended to be king. Nobody in my family intended that, actually. But when my great-uncle abdicated, there was no one else.”
“That’s a huge responsibility,” she whispered. The sultry night air felt like a warm caress. Urging her onward. Whispering things she shouldn’t listen to. Not if she had any sense in her. “What about your parents?”
“They passed, too. Not many people left in my family.”
She swallowed hard, looking down at the ground. The stones beneath their feet were precision placed. Not even a blade of grass could sneak through. “I’m an orphan too. I know how you feel.”
His grip on her hand sent lust spiraling through her, alongside comfort. When she looked up, she found something unknown swirling in his eyes.
“My parents had a love that I will forever aspire to.” Dakaric looked up at the sky again, the moonlight glinting in his gaze. “If I ever do marry…I want it to be because of love. Like the love they shared.”
She fingered the hem of his sleeve absentmindedly. “That’s a beautiful legacy to pass on.”
“Mmm.” His noncommittal response surprised her, but soon she understood. His fingers danced up her forearm, over her elbow, the grazed the curve of her shoulder. Every fiber in her body came to life under his touch.
The way he touched her couldn’t be platonic. Not under this moon, not with this heavy lily air. She swallowed hard and looked up at him.
Dakaric’s hungry gaze greeted her, and she reminded herself: This is your night.
7
Dakaric’s heart thundered in his chest. His fingers had found their way up to the curve of Christina
’s neck. Every inch of her turned him on, a fact made painfully evident underneath the waistband of his briefs. Space seemed to shrink between them. Their lips were a breath apart.
“You are so beautiful, Christina.”
It was true, and it was distracting. From the moment she’d stepped out of her room earlier that evening, something deep inside hurt. Like mourning her departure before it even happened. In a way, she was already gone. Time melted away under her lighthearted presence. She made the inn joyous, simply from being there. From the moment she’d walked in the door.
She blinked, her long lashes tickling the tip of his nose. “Well thanks, Dakaric.” She wet her lips, then said in a quieter voice, “So are you, actually.”
He smiled, searching her face for the answer to the question he hadn’t asked yet. Permission to dive in.
He spied neediness in her—not just right now, in the moment, but in her essence, in a way that he could barely describe. She needed him. He could feel her wound up tight. And he knew how to release that. He smoothed his hand over the crest of her hip, and she relaxed slightly. He could make her do a lot more of that.
“Dakaric—” she began.
But he didn’t let her finish. He dipped down and bridged the remaining inches of space between them, sealing his lips against hers. Her mouth was hot velvet. His cock twitched in his pants as the kiss ended and she urged a second one. There was fire in her body, and it spilled out of her. He cupped her face in his hands and rubbed the pad of his thumb against the delicate bone of her jaw.
Music drifted to them from a distance broken only by the sound of their kissing. Christina moaned a little, something petite and hesitant. It was sexy and cute at the same time. He pressed his tongue into her mouth, and she made a small noise. He wanted to tear that bun out of her hair, see those honeyed locks tumble down her shoulders.
She pulled away, her mouth kiss bitten and swollen, chest heaving. He couldn’t rip his gaze from her lips.
The Sheikh’s American Fiancée: Desert Sheikhs Book Three Page 4