The Sheik & the Bride Who Said No
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“Why do I know you’re working on it?”
“I have no idea.”
Murat had left the menu up to his head chef, and he was not disappointed with the meal. Neither was Daphne, he thought as she ran her fork across the remaining crumbs of chocolate from the torte served for dessert.
“Amazing,” she breathed. “I could blow up like a beached whale if I lived here for too long.”
“Not every meal is so very formal,” he said, enjoying her pleasure in the food.
“Good thing. I’ll have to do about fifty laps in the garden tomorrow.” She picked up her wine and eyed him over the glass. “Unless you plan on cutting me loose sometime soon.”
“Are we back to that?”
“We are. Murat, I’m serious. You can’t keep me here forever.”
“Perhaps I wish to resume the traditional use of these rooms.”
He held in a smile as her eyes widened. “You are so kidding,” she said, although she didn’t sound quite sure of herself. “I’m not going to volunteer.”
“Few women did at first, even though it was a great honor. But in time they came to enjoy their lives. Luxury, pleasure. What more could you want?”
“How about freedom and autonomy?”
“There is power in being desired. The smart women learned that and used it to their advantage. They ruled the ruler.”
“I’ve never been good at subterfuge,” she told him. “Besides, I’m not interested in working behind the scenes. I want to be up front and in the thick of things. I want to be an equal.”
“That will never be. I am to be king of Bahania, with all the advantages and disadvantages that go with the position.”
Daphne sipped her dessert wine. Disadvantages? She hadn’t thought there could be any. Even if there weren’t, it was a much safer topic than what life would be like in the harem.
“What’s so bad about being the king?” she asked.
“Nothing bad, as you say. Just restrictions. Rules. Responsibilities.”
“Always being in the spotlight,” she said. “Always having to do the right thing.”
“Exactly.”
“Marrying a teenager you’ve never met can’t be right, Murat, can it?”
His gaze narrowed. “You are persistent.”
“And determined. I love her. I would do anything for her.”
“Even displease me?”
“Apparently,” she said with a shrug. “Are you going to behead me for it?”
“Your casual question tells me you are not in the least bit worried. I will have to do something to convince you of my power.”
“I’m very clear on your power. I just want you to use it for good.” She set down her glass and leaned toward him. “Come on. It’s just the two of us, and I promise never to tell. You can’t have been serious about her. A young girl you’ve never met?”
“Perhaps I wanted a brainless young woman to do my bidding.”
Daphne stiffened. “She’s not brainless. And she wouldn’t have done your bidding. You’re trying to annoy me on purpose, aren’t you?”
“Is it working?”
“Pretty much.” She sagged back in her chair. “I don’t want you to be like that. I don’t want you to be the kind of man who would marry Brittany.”
“Do you think I am?”
“I hope not. But even if you are, I won’t let you.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“I’ll do whatever is necessary to stop you.”
His dark eyes twinkled with amusement. “I am Crown Prince Murat of Bahania. Who are you to threaten me?”
Good question. Maybe it was the night and the 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.
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? Now you have him all for yourself. I can’t believe I was stabbed in the back by my own sister.”
Daphne clutched the phone. “This is crazy. Laurel, think about it. Why on earth would I want to marry Murat? Didn’t I already dump him once?”
“You’ve probably regretted it ever since. You’ve just been waiting for the right opportunity to pounce.”
“It’s been ten years. Couldn’t I have pounced before now?”
“You thought you’d find someone else. But you didn’t. Who could measure up to the man who’s going to be king? I understand that kind of ambition. I can even respect it. But to steal your only niece’s fiancé is horrible. Brittany will be crushed.”
“I doubt that.”
“I never should have trusted you,” Laurel said. “Why didn’t I see what you had planned?”
“There wasn’t a plan.” Except making sure Brittany didn’t throw her life away, but Laurel didn’t have to know about that. “I told you, I’m not engaged to Murat. I don’t know what the papers are talking about, but it’s a huge mistake.”
“Oh, sure. Like I believe that.”
“Believe what you want. There’s not going to be a wedding.”
“Tell that to my heartsick daughter. You’ve always thought of yourself instead of your family. Just know I’ll never forgive you. No matter what.”
With that, Laurel hung up.
Daphne listened to the silence for a second, then put down the phone and covered her face with her hands. Nothing made sense. How could this be happening?
She had a lot of questions, but no answers, and she knew only one way to get them.
She stood and crossed to the heavy gold doors.
“Hey,” she yelled. “Are you guards still out there?”
“Yes, ma’am. Is there a problem?”
“You bet there is. Tell Murat I want to see him right now.”
She heard low conversation but not the individual words as the guards spoke to each other.
“We’ll pass your message along to the crown prince,” one of the men said at last.
“Not good enough. I want his royal fanny down here this second. And you can tell him I said that.”
She pounded on the door a couple of times for good measure, then stalked back into her bedroom. Suddenly the phrase “dressed to kill” took on a whole new meaning.
Murat finished his second cup of coffee as he read over the financial section of the London Times. Then the door to his suite opened, and his father stepped in.
The king was perfectly dressed, even with the Persian cat he carried in his arms. He nodded at the guard on duty, then walked into the dining room.
“Good morning,” he said.
Murat rose and motioned to a chair. The king shook his head.
“I won’t be staying long. I only came by to discuss the most fascinating item I saw in the paper this morning.”
“That the value of the Euro is expected to rise?” Murat asked calmly, knowing it wasn’t that.
“No.” The king flipped through the pages until he found the local edition—the one with the large picture of Daphne on the front page. “Interesting solution.”
Murat shrugged. “I said I would have a Snowden bride, and so I shall.”
“I’m surprised she agreed.”
Murat thought of the message he’d received from the guards outside the harem. Even though he suspected they’d edited the content, Daphne’s demands made him smile.
“She has not,” he admitted. “But she will. After all, the choice of fiancées was hers alone.”
“Oh?”
“I told her there would be a wedding, and she said Brittany would not be the bride. That left Daphne to fill the position.”
“I see.” His father didn’t react at all. “Do you have a time line in place for this wedding?”
“Four months.”
“Not long to prepare for such an important occasion.”
“I think we will manage.”
“Perhaps I should go to her and offer my congratulations.”
Murat raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure Daphne will welcome your visit, but may I suggest you wait a few days. Until she has had time to settle in to the idea of being my wife.”
“Perhaps you are right.” The king stroked the cat in his arms. “You have chosen wisely.”
“Thank you. I’m sure Daphne and I will be very happy together.” After she got over wanting him dead.
By ten that morning Daphne was convinced she’d worn a track in the marble tile floors. She’d showered, dressed and paced. So far she’d been unable to make any phone calls because of the stupid time difference. But she would eventually get through to someone and then Murat would taste her fury. She might not be the favorite Snowden, but she was still a member of the family and her name meant something. She would call in every favor possible and make him pay for this.
“Of all the arrogant, insensitive, chauvinistic, ridiculous ideas,” she muttered as she walked to the French doors.
“So much energy.”
She spun and saw him moving toward her. “I hate that you do that,” she said. “Appear and disappear. I swear, when I find that secret door, I’m putting something in front of it so you can’t use it anymore.”
He seemed completely unruffled by her anger. “As you wish.”
“Oh, sure. You say that now. Where were my wishes last night when you were sending your lies to the newspaper?” She stalked over to the dining room table and picked up the pages in question.
“How could you do this?” she asked as she shook them at him. “How dare you? Who gave you the right?”
“You did.”
“What?” She hated that she practically shrieked, but the man was making her insane. “I most certainly did not.”
“I told you there would be a Snowden bride and you declared it would not be your niece.”
“What?” she repeated. “That’s not making a choice. I never agreed with your original premise. Where do you get off saying you’ll have a Snowden bride? We’re not ice cream flavors to be ordered interchangeably. We’re people.”
“Yes, I know. Women. I have agreed not to marry Brittany. You should be pleased.”
Pleased? “Are you crazy?” She dropped the papers and clutched at the back of the chair. “I’m furious. You’ve trapped me here and told lies about me to the press. I’ve already heard from my sister. Do you know how this is going to mess up my life? Both of our lives?”
“I agree that marriage will change things, but I’m hoping for the better.”
“We’re not getting married!” she yelled.
Instead of answering, he simply stared at her. Calm certainty radiated from him in nearly palpable waves. It made her want to choke him.
She drew in a deep breath and tried to relax. When that didn’t work, she attempted to loosen her grip on the chair.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s start from the beginning. You’re not marrying Brittany, which is a good thing.”
He had the gall to smile at her. “Did you really think I would be interested in a teenager for my wife? Bringing Brittany here was entirely my father’s idea. I agreed to meet with her only to make him happy.”
Spots appeared before her eyes. “You what?” No way. That couldn’t be true. “Tell me that again.”
“I never intended to marry Brittany.”
“But you…” She couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt hot and tight and she couldn’t think. “But you said…”
“I wanted to annoy you for assuming the worst about me. Then when you offered yourself in Brittany’s place, I decided to consider the possibility.”
Offer? “I never offered.”
“Oh, but you did. And I accepted.”
“No. You can’t.” She pulled out the chair and sank onto the seat. “I know you’re used to getting your way, but this time it isn’t going to happen. I need to be very clear about that. There isn’t going to be a wedding. You can’t make me, and if you try, you’ll be forced to tie me up and gag me as you drag me down the aisle. Won’t that play well in the press.”
“I do not care about the press.”
She grabbed the paper again. “Then why did you bother telling them this?”
He sat down across from her. “Make no mistake. My mind is made up. We will be married. This announcement has forced you to see the truth. Now you will have time to accept it.”
“What I accept is that you’ve slipped into madness. This isn’t the fifteenth century. You can’t force me to do what you want. This is a free country.” She remembered she wasn’t in America anymore. “Sort of.”
“I am Crown Prince Murat of Bahania. Few would tell me no.”
“Count me among them.”
He leaned back in his chair. “You never disappoint me,” he said. “How I enjoy the explosion. You’re like fireworks.”
She glared at him. “You haven’t seen anything yet. I’ll take this all the way to the White House if I have to.”
“Good. The president will be invited to the wedding. He and I have been friends for many years now.”
At that moment Daphne desperately wished for superpowers so she could overturn the heavy table and toss Murat out the window.
“I’m going to speak slowly,” she said. “So you can understand me. I…won’t…marry…you. I have a life. Friends. My work.”
“Ah, yes. About your work. I made some phone calls last night and found it most interesting to learn that you have left your veterinary practice in Chicago.”
“That was about making career choices, not marrying you.”
“And you have been very determined to keep me from your niece. Are you sure you do not secretly want me for yourself?”
She rolled her eyes. “How amazing that you and your ego fit inside the room at the same time.” Although her sister had made the same accusation.
It wasn’t true, Daphne reminded herself. Murat was her past, and she was more than content to keep him there. She hadn’t spent the last ten years pining. She’d dated, been happy. He was a non-event.
“I haven’t thought about you in ages,” she said honestly. “I’m even willing to take an oath. Just bring in the Bible. I wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t acted all caveman over my niece. This is your fault.”
He nodded. “There is a ring.”
She blinked at him. “What? You want to try to buy me off with jewelry? Thank you very much but I’m not that kind of woman.”
He smiled again. “I know.”
Her rage returned, but before she could decide how to channel it, the phone rang again.
She hesitated before crossing the room to answer it. Was Laurel calling back to yell some more? Daphne had a feeling she was at the end of her rope and not up to taking that particular call. But what if it was Brittany, and her niece really was upset?
“Not possible,” she said as she crossed to the phone and picked it up. “This is Daphne.”
“Darling, we just heard. We’re delighted.”
Her mother’s voice came over the line as clearly as if she’d been in the same room.
Daphne clutched the receiver. “Laurel called?”
“Yes. Oh, darling, how clever you are to have finally snagged Murat. The man who will be king.” Her mother sighed. “I always knew you’d do us proud.”
Daphne didn’t know what to think. She wanted to tell her mother the truth—that there wasn’t going to be a wedding, that this was all a mistake, but she couldn’t seem to speak.
“Your father is simply thrilled,” her mother said. “We’re looking forward to a lovely wedding. Do you have any idea when?”
“I—”
Her mother laughed. “Of course you don’t. You’ve only just become engaged. Well, let me know as soon as the date is finalized. We’ll need to rearrange some travel, but it will be worth it. Your father can’t wait to walk you down the aisle.”
Daphne turned her back so Murat couldn’t see her expression. She didn’t want him to know how much this conversation hurt.
“Laurel was pretty upset,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“I know. She got it in her head that Brittany would be the one for Murat. Honestly, the girl is lovely and will make a fine marriage in time, but she’s just too young. There are responsibilities that come with being queen, and she simply wasn’t ready.” Her mother laughed. “Queen. I like the sound of that. My daughter, the queen. My sweet baby girl. All right, I’m going to run, but I’ll call soon. You must be so very happy. This is wonderful, Daphne. Truly wonderful.”
With that her mother hung up. Daphne replaced the receiver and did her best not to react in any way. Sure, her eyes burned and her body felt tense and sore, but she would get over it. She always did.
“Your parents?” Murat asked from his place at the table behind her.
She nodded. “My mother. My sister called and spoke with her. She’s d-delighted.”
The crack in her voice made her stiffen. No way was she going to give in to the emotion pulsing through her.
“She wants details about the wedding as soon as possible. So she can rearrange their travel schedule.”
“You did not tell her there wouldn’t be a wedding.”
“No.”
Because it had been too hard to speak. Because if she tried, she would give in to the pain and once that dam broke, there was no putting it together.
“Don’t think that means I’ve accepted the engagement,” she whispered.
“Not for a second.”
She heard footsteps, then Murat’s hands clasped her arms and he turned her toward him. Understanding darkened his eyes.
She was so unused to seeing any readable emotion in his gaze that she couldn’t seem to react. Which meant she didn’t protest when he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Suddenly she was pressing against him, her head on his shoulder and the protective warmth of his body surrounding her.
“You can’t do this,” she said, her voice muffled against his suit jacket. “I hate you.”
“I know you do, but right now there isn’t anyone else.” He stroked her hair. “Come now. Tell me what troubles you.”
She shook her head. To speak of it would hurt too much.
“It’s your mother,” he murmured. “She said she was happy about the engagement. Your family has always been ambitious. In some ways a king for a son-in-law is even better than a president.”