The Princess Brides. Jane Porter

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      Malik calmly met Nicolette’s furious blue gaze.

      The princess had cheekbones and an attitude, he thought, smiling faintly. He didn’t know why it made him smile. The attitude he’d expected—she was one of the beautiful Ducasse sisters after all—but the cheekbones intrigued him. In the princess the cheekbones were sculptural, architectural. Something one wanted to touch, trace, caress.

      She’d only just arrived and yet he wanted to take her face in his hands and stroke the sensuous curve of cheekbone that stretched from her hairline to just above her full mouth.

      But then, she didn’t just have cheekbones. She had lips, too. Lovely, full lips and wide winged eyebrows that reminded him of two birds flying free.

      Where was the restrained regal face of Chantal? This wasn’t the face of a gentle princess. The face before him had an edge of sensuality, and fierceness. He had no doubt that this woman could be strong, very strong, and he’d be a fool to let her long soft curls and soft full lips tell him otherwise. He knew from his own mother that the most delicate beauties could hide a tiger’s heart.

      ‘‘Did you bring no one with you?’’ he asked, breaking the tension. ‘‘No secretary or valet? No one to handle your social calendar?’’

      Nic shrugged. ‘‘I didn’t think it necessary, Your Highness. I have cleared my calendar, made myself completely available to you.’’

      ‘‘How thoughtful.’’

      ‘‘I try,’’ she said demurely, bowing her head, missing Malik’s speculative expression.

      She was up to something, he thought, looking at her bent head, her dark brown hair shiny, silky. Her hair was long and she wore it pulled in a low, loose ponytail. The style flattered her high cheekbones but somehow did little to soften her strong jaw. She had a firm jaw and chin for a woman. She was a woman accustomed to getting her way.

      ‘‘But of course you need help,’’ he said after a moment, knowing why she’d traveled alone, and understanding it had little to do with the Ducasse family’s strained finances. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford help. He guessed she wanted to be incognito. She didn’t want any familiar staff assisting her.

      The princess, he thought, was playing a game.

      ‘‘Since you weren’t able to bring anyone from home, I’m happy to provide staff for you,’’ he offered sympathetically. ‘‘I have a few people in mind, and all have undergone rigorous training as well as a thorough screening for security.’’

      The deepness, the richness of his voice still sent little shock waves through her. Nic felt the tremors on the inside, wondered how any man’s voice could be so husky. ‘‘I don’t really need a staff, Your Highness.’’

      He brushed aside her protest. ‘‘You have a very busy schedule, Princess. You have many functions, and many activities planned. It is vital you have help organizing your calendar, as well as your wardrobe.’’

      She blushed. She’d never been serious about fashion, and the few smart pieces she had were gifts from various French and Italian designers. ‘‘I brought very little in the way of wardrobe.’’ Her polished smile hid her inner turmoil. He was not going to be easy to negotiate with. ‘‘I thought this was just a preliminary visit. Get acquainted, set the date—’’

      He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, looking alarmingly Western. ‘‘But of course the date is set. We discussed this—’’

      ‘‘No, Your Highness, we never discussed this. You might have suggested a short engagement, but no date was ever set.’’ She loved that she could be firm. No one had ever been able to bully her. ‘‘I would have remembered.’’

      He gestured casually, and shrugged. ‘‘Regardless, I think two weeks is sufficient time, considering the fact that we both are anxious to move forward with our lives. One of the first staff members you’ll meet is your wedding planner—’’

      ‘‘Two week engagement?’’ she interrupted, torn between laughter and indignation. Two week engagement for a princess? ‘‘It is impossible to prepare for a wedding in fourteen days.’’

      ‘‘It’s two weeks from Saturday which makes it eighteen days.’’

      The issue wasn’t fourteen days or eighteen days. The issue was not getting married…or at least, not getting married his way. If he wanted a wedding, she’d give him a wedding, she just wasn’t about to be a bride, trapped in Baraka. ‘‘I have thoughts on the wedding, Your Highness. I’ve made some preliminary arrangements of my own.’’

      ‘‘You have?’’

      ‘‘Yes. As my mother was American, I thought we’d fly to the States for the actual wedding.’’ She saw his incredulous expression and hurried on. ‘‘I’d hoped to marry in my mother’s parish church, just outside Baton Rouge, Louisiana.’’

      His jaw tightened. ‘‘I’ve never even been to Louisiana. Have you?’’

      ‘‘No, which is why I want to go. I’d like my mother’s family to be able to attend—’’

      ‘‘They can attend the wedding here.’’

      ‘‘They’re—’’ she swallowed hard, ‘‘—poor, Your Highness. Most have never been outside their county, much less on an airplane to a foreign country.’’

      ‘‘So we’ll send my jet. Problem solved.’’ The Sultan walked to a bureau hugging a far wall, retrieved something from the top drawer and returned to her side. ‘‘Your schedule,’’ he continued, handing her an appointment calendar. ‘‘As you can see, you’ll be quite busy helping plan and prepare for the wedding here. Some things you’ll do on your own. Many things we’ll do together—’’

      ‘‘King Nuri,’’ she interrupted, fingers burning from the brief touch of their hands, ‘‘forgive me for being obtuse, but I don’t understand why we can’t at least discuss my ideas for the wedding.’’

      He lifted his head, met her gaze, his cool silver gaze still. ‘‘But of course we can discuss your ideas,’’ he said after a moment. ‘‘I think its essential to incorporate as many of your family traditions into our ceremony here. This is exactly what I wish you to tell your wedding planner. You’ll be meeting with her later today—’’

      ‘‘Today?’’

      ‘‘Tonight.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘But to ensure you’re not overwhelmed, your assistant, Alea, and the wedding planner will discuss your agenda, make sure you’re comfortable with your various duties, as well as answer any question you might have with your schedule. I think you’ll find both women most helpful.’’

      She suppressed a wave of panic. A wedding planner. A personal assistant. How many handlers did she need? ‘‘I’m quite capable of handling the preparations myself.’’

      ‘‘I realize you have a great deal of experience at planning receptions and the sort, but you’re to be my wife, Queen СКАЧАТЬ