The Sheik & the Bride Who Said No
Susan Mallery

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

“I know marrying the crown prince and eventually being queen sounds terrific,” Daphne Snowden said in what she hoped was a calm I’m-your-aunt-who-loves-you-and-I-know-better voice instead of a shrill, panicked tone. “But the truth of the matter is very different. You’ve never met Prince Murat. He’s a difficult and stubborn man.”

Daphne knew this from personal experience. “He’s also nearly twice your age.”

Brittany looked up from the fashion magazine she’d been scanning. “You worry too much,” she said. “Relax, Aunt Daphne. I’ll be fine.”

Fine? Fine? Daphne sank back into the comfortable leather seat of the luxury private jet and tried not to scream. This could not be happening. It was a dream. It had to be. She refused to believe that her favorite—and only—niece had agreed to marry a man she’d never met. Prince or no prince, this could be a disaster. Despite the fact that she and Brittany had been having the same series of conversations for nearly three weeks now, she felt compelled to make all her points again.

“I want you to be happy,” Daphne said. “I love you.”

Brittany, a tall willowy blonde with delicately pretty features in the tradition of the Snowden women, smiled. “I love you, too, and you’re worrying about nothing. I know Murat is, like, really old.”

Daphne pressed her lips together and tried not to wince. She knew that to an eighteen-year-old, thirty-five was practically geriatric, but it was only five years beyond her own thirty years.

“But he’s pretty cute,” her niece added. “And rich. I’ll get to travel and live in a palace.” She put down the magazine and stuck out her feet. “Do you think I should have gone with the other sandals instead of these?”

Daphne held in a shriek. “I don’t care about your shoes. I’m talking about your life here. Being married to the crown prince means you won’t get to spend your day shopping. You’ll have responsibilities for the welfare of the people of Bahania. You’ll have to entertain visiting dignitaries and support charities. You’ll be expected to produce children.”

Brittany nodded. “I figured that part out. The parties will be great. I can invite all my friends, and we’ll talk about, like, what the guy who runs France is wearing.”

“And the baby part?”

Brittany shrugged. “If he’s old, he probably knows what he’s doing. My friend Deanna had sex with her college boyfriend and she said it was totally better than with her boyfriend in high school. Experience counts.”

Daphne wanted to shake Brittany. She knew from dozens of after-midnight conversations, when her niece had spent the night, that Brittany had never been intimate with any of her boyfriends. Brittany had been very careful not to let things go too far. So what had changed? Daphne couldn’t believe that the child she’d loved from birth and had practically raised, could have turned into this shallow, unfeeling young woman.

She glanced at her watch and knew that time was running short. Once they landed and reached the palace, there would be no turning back. One Snowden bride-to-be had already left Murat practically at the altar. She had a feeling that Brittany wouldn’t be given the opportunity to bolt.

“What was your mother thinking?” she asked, more to herself than Brittany. “Why did she agree?”

“Mom thought it would be completely cool,” Brittany said easily. “I think she’s hoping there will be some amazing jewelry for the mother of the bride. Plus me marrying a prince beats out Aunt Grace’s piggy Justin getting into Harvard any day, right?”

Daphne nodded without speaking. Some families were competitive about sports while others kept score using social status and money. In her family it was all about power—political or otherwise. One of her sisters had married a senator who planned to run for president, the other married a captain of industry. She had been the only sibling to pick another path.

She scooted to the edge of her seat and took Brittany’s perfectly manicured hands into her own.

“You have to listen,” she said earnestly. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved another human being in my life. You’re practically my daughter.”

Brittany’s expression softened. “I love you, too. You know you’ve been there for me way more than my own mother.”

“Then, please, please, think this through. You’re young and smart and you can have anything you want in the world. Why would you be willing to tie yourself to a man you’ve never met in a country you’ve never visited? What if you hate Bahania?”

Daphne didn’t think that was possible—personally she loved the desert country—but at this point she was done playing fair.

“Travel isn’t going to be what you think,” Daphne continued before Brittany could interrupt. “Any visits will be state events. They’ll be planned and photographed. Once you agree to marry the prince you’ll never be able to just run over and see a girlfriend or head to the mall or the movies.”

Brittany stared at her. “What do you mean I can’t go to the mall?”

Daphne blinked. Was this progress at last? “You’ll be the future queen. You won’t be able to rush off and buy a last-minute cashmere sweater just because it’s on sale.”

“Why not?”

Daphne sighed. “I’ve been trying to explain this to you. You won’t get to be your own person anymore. You’ll be living a life in a foreign country with unfamiliar rules and expectations. You will have to adhere to them.”

None of which sounded all that tough to her, but she wasn’t the one signing up for a lifetime of queenhood.

“I never thought about having to stay in the palace a lot,” Brittany said slowly. “I just sort of figured I could fly back home whenever I wanted and hang with my friends.”

“Bahania will be your home now.”

Brittany’s eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t miss Mom and Dad so much, but Deanna and you.” She bit her lower lip. “I guess if I love the prince…”

“Do you?” Daphne asked. “You’ve never met him. You’re risking a whole lot on the off chance you two will get along.” She squeezed her niece’s fingers. “You’ve only had a couple of boyfriends, none of them serious. Do you really want to give all that up? Dating? College?”

Brittany frowned. “I can’t go to college?”

“Do you think any professor is going to want the future queen in his class? How could he or she give you a real grade? Even if you did get that worked out, you’d just be attending classes part-time. You couldn’t live on campus.”

“That’s right. Because I’d be in the palace.”

“Possibly pregnant,” Daphne added for good measure.

“No way. I’m not ready to have a baby now. ”

“And if Prince Murat is?”

Her niece glared at her. “You’re trying to scare me.”

“You bet. I’m willing to do just about anything to keep you from throwing away your life. If you’d met someone and had fallen in love, then I wouldn’t care if he was a prince or an alien from planet Xeon. But you didn’t. I would have gotten involved with this sooner, but your mother did her best to keep the truth from me.”

Brittany sighed. “She’s pretty determined to have her way.”

“I’m not going to let that happen. Tell me honestly. Tell me you’re completely committed to this and I’ll back off. But if you have even one hint of a doubt, you need to give yourself time to think.”

Brittany swallowed. “I’m not sure,” she admitted in a tiny voice. “I want things to go great with the prince, but what if they don’t?” Tears filled her eyes. “I’ve been trying to do what my parents want me to do and I’m scared.” She glanced around the luxury plane. “The pilot said we were landing in twenty minutes. That’s about up. I can’t meet the prince and tell him I’m not sure.”

Daphne vowed that when she returned to the States she was going to kill her oldest sister, Laurel. How dare she try to guilt her only daughter into something like this? Outrage mingled with relief. She held open her arms, and Brittany fell into her embrace.

“Is it too late?” the teenager asked.

“Of course not. You’re going to be fine.” She hugged her tight. “You had me worried for a while. I thought you were really going through with this.”

Brittany sniffed. “Some parts of it sounded pretty fun. Having all that money and crowns and stuff, but I tried not to think about actually being married to someone that old.”

“I don’t blame you.” The age difference was impossible, Daphne thought. What on earth could Murat be thinking, considering an engagement to a teenager?

“I’ll take care of everything,” she promised. “You’ll stay on the plane and go directly home while I handle things at the palace.”

Brittany straightened. “Really? I don’t even have to meet him?”

“Nope. You go back and pretend this never happened.”

“What about Mom?”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “You can leave her to me, as well.”

Just over an hour later Daphne found herself in the back of a limo, heading to the fabled Pink Palace of Bahania. Because of the long plane trip, she expected to find the city in darkness, but with the time difference, it was late afternoon. She sat right by the window so she could take in everything—the ancient buildings that butted up against the new financial district. The amazing blue of the Arabian Sea just south of the city. The views were breathtaking and familiar. She’d grown to love this country when she’d visited ten years ago.

“Don’t go there,” she told herself. There was no time for a trip down memory lane. Instead she needed to focus and figure out what she was going to say to Murat.

She glanced at her watch. With every second that ticked by, finding the perfect words became less and less important. Once Brittany landed back in the States, she would be safe from Murat’s clutches. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a little nervous as the long, black car turned left and drove past elegant wrought-iron gates.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance. Daphne drew in a deep breath to calm herself as she waited for one of the guards to open the door. She stepped out into the warm afternoon and glanced around.

The gardens were as beautiful as she remembered. Sweet, lush scents competed for her attention. To the left was the gate that led to the private English-style garden she’d always loved. To the right was a path that led to the most perfect view of the sea. And in front of her…well, that was the way into the lion’s den.

She tried to tell herself she had no reason to be afraid, that she’d done nothing wrong. Murat was the one interested in marrying a teenager nearly half his age. If anyone should be feeling foolish and ashamed, it was he.

But despite being in the right, and determined to stand strong against any and all who might try to get in her way, she couldn’t help a tiny shiver of apprehension. After all, ten years ago she’d been a guest in this very palace. She’d been young and in love and engaged to be married.

To Murat.

Then three weeks before the wedding, she’d bolted, leaving him without even a whisper of an explanation.

Chapter Two

“M s. Snowden?”

Daphne saw a well-dressed young man walking toward her. “Yes?”

“The prince is waiting. If you will follow me?”

As Daphne trailed after the man, she wondered if he had any idea she wasn’t Brittany. She doubted Murat had bothered to brief his staff on the arrival of a potential bride. He’d rarely concerned himself with details like that. So she would guess that his staff member had simply been told to escort the woman who arrived to an appropriate meeting area.

“Someone is in for a surprise,” she murmured under her breath as she walked down a wide corridor lined with stunning mosaics and elegant antiques.

Just being back in the palace made her feel better. She wanted to ask her guide to wait a few minutes while she stopped to enjoy an especially beautiful view from a window or a spectacular piece of artwork. Instead she trailed along dutifully, concentrating on tapestries and carvings instead of what she was going to say when she saw Murat.

They turned a corner. Up ahead Daphne saw a large tabby cat sitting in a patch of sun and washing her face. She smiled as she recalled the dozens and dozens of cats the king kept in the palace.

“In here, Ms. Snowden,” the man said as he paused in front of an open door. “The prince will be with you shortly.”

She nodded, then walked past him into a small sitting room. The furniture was Western, complete with a sofa, three chairs, a coffee table and a buffet along the far wall. A carafe of ice water and several glasses sat next to a phone on the buffet. She walked over and helped herself to the refreshment.

As she drank she looked around the room and shook her head. How like Murat to have a stranger bring his prospective bride to a room and then drop her off. If Brittany had been here, the teenager would have been terrified by now. The least he could have done was to have sent a woman and then have her keep Brittany company.

But she wasn’t Brittany, Daphne reminded herself. Nor was she afraid. Ten years had given her a lot of experience and perspective. Murat might be expecting a young, malleable bride who would bow to his every wish and quiver with fear at the thought of displeasing him, but what he was getting instead was a very different matter.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. She set down the glass and squared her shoulders. Seconds later the prince from her past strolled into the room.

He still moved with an easy grace of one “to the manor born,” she thought as she took in his powerful body and elegant suit. And he was still a formidable opponent, she reminded herself as he stopped and stared at her.

Not by a flicker of a lash did he indicate he was the least bit surprised.

“Daphne,” the crown prince said with a slight smile. “You have returned at last.”

“I know you weren’t expecting me,” she said. “But Brittany couldn’t make it.”

He raised one dark eyebrow. “Has she been taken ill?”

“No. She simply came to her senses. Even as we speak, she’s on a plane back to the United States. There isn’t going to be a wedding.” She thought maybe she’d been a bit abrupt, so she added a somewhat insincere, “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I can feel your compassion from here,” Murat said as he crossed to the buffet and picked up the phone. He dialed four numbers, then spoke. “The airport. Flight control.”

He waited a few seconds, then spoke again. “My plane?”

She watched while he listened. It was possible a muscle tightened in his jaw, but she couldn’t be sure. He had to be feeling something, she told herself. Or maybe not. Ten years ago he’d let her go without a word. Why should this runaway bride matter?

He hung up the phone and turned back to her. “I assume you had something to do with Brittany’s decision.”

He wasn’t asking a question, but she answered it all the same. “Of course. It was madness. I can’t imagine what you were thinking. She’s barely eighteen, Murat. Still a child. If you’re so desperate for a bride, at least pick someone who is close to being an equal.”

For the first time since he walked into the room, he showed emotion, and it wasn’t a happy one. Temper drew his eyebrows together.

“You insult me with both your familiarity and your assumption.”

She winced silently. Of course. She’d called him by his first name. “I apologize for not using the proper title.”

“And the other?”

“I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep Brittany safe from you.”

“Just because you were not interested in being my wife doesn’t mean that others feel the same way.”

“I agree completely. There is a world filled with willing young women. Have them all—I don’t care. But you’re not marrying my niece.”

Instead of answering her, he pulled a small device out of his pocket. It was about the size of a key fob. Seconds later a half dozen armed guards burst into the room and surrounded Daphne. Two of them grabbed her by the arms.

She was too stunned to protest.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Myself? Nothing.” Murat returned what she assumed was a security device to his jacket pocket, then adjusted his cuffs. “The guards are another story.”

Daphne glared at him. “What? You’re arresting me because I wouldn’t let you marry my niece?”

“I’m holding you in protective custody for interfering with the private business of the Crown Prince of Bahania.”

She narrowed her gaze. “This is crazy. You can’t do this to me.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

“Bastard.”

She tried to squirm away from the guards, but they didn’t let her go.

“You’d better not try to turn that plane around,” she said, her fury growing. “I won’t let you touch her. Not for a second.”

Murat crossed toward the door, then paused and glanced at her. “Make no mistake, Daphne. One way or another, there will be a wedding in four months, and the bride will be a Snowden. There is nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Want to bet?” she asked, knowing the words were as futile as her attempt to twist free of the guards.

“Of course. I have no fear of wagering with you.” He smiled again. “What will you give me when I win?”

She lunged for him and only got a sharp pain in her arm for her reward. Murat chuckled as he walked away.

“When I get my hands on him,” she said. “I swear I’ll…” She pressed her lips together. On second thought, threatening the prince while still in the presence of several burly guards wasn’t exactly smart.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked when the guards continued to just stand here, holding her in place.

The one by the door touched an earpiece, then nodded.

“What? Getting instructions from the crown prince himself?” she asked. “Couldn’t he have told you while he was still in the room?”

Apparently not, she realized as the guards started moving. The two holding on to her kept their grips firm enough that she didn’t want to risk pulling away. She had a feeling she was already going to be plenty bruised by her experience.

The group of guards, with her in the center, walked down the main corridor, then stopped at a bank of elevators. The one in communication with Murat pushed the down button. When the car arrived, it was a tight fit, but they all made it inside. Daphne noticed how none of the men stood too close to her. In fact, except for the hold on her arms, they were pretty much ignoring her.

She tried to remember the layout of the palace so she could figure out where they were going. Down wasn’t her idea of a happy thought. Were there still dungeons in the palace? She wouldn’t put it past Murat to lock her up.

But when they stepped out of the elevator and headed along a more narrow corridor, Daphne suddenly realized their destination. It was much worse than any dungeon.

“You’re not taking me there,” she said, wiggling and twisting to escape.

The guard on her left tightened his grip on her arm. “Ma’am, we don’t want to hurt you.”

The implication being they would if necessary.

I’ll get him for this, she thought as she stopped fighting. One way or another, Murat would pay.

They turned a corner, and Daphne saw the famous gold double doors. They stood nearly ten feet tall and were heavily embossed with a scene of several young women frolicking at an oasis.

One of the guards stepped forward and opened the door on the left. The rest marched her inside.

When the men released her, she thought briefly about making a dash for freedom but knew she would be caught and returned here. So she accepted her fate with dignity and a vow that she would find her way out as soon as she could.

The guards left. She heard the heavy clang as the doors closed behind them and the thunk of the gold cross bar being locked into place. Low conversation from the hallway told her that someone would be left on duty to watch over her.

“This is just like you, Murat,” she said as she placed her hands on her hips. “You might be an imperial, piggish prince, but I can stand it. I can stand anything to keep you from marrying Brittany.”

Daphne looked for something to throw, but the thick, cream-colored walls were completely bare. The only decoration was the brightly colored tile floor.

She moved through the arched entryway, into the large open living area. Dozens of chairs and sofas filled the vast space. The doorway to the left led to the baths, the one on the right led to the sleeping rooms. She recognized this part of the palace from her explorations ten years before. Recognized and fumed because of it.

Dammit all, if Murat hadn’t locked her in the harem.

Murat stalked toward the business wing of the palace. Fury quickened his steps. After all this time Daphne Snowden had dared to return to Bahania, only to once again disrupt his world.

Had she come modestly, begging his apology for her unforgivable acts? Of course not. He swore silently. The woman had stared him in the eye, speaking as if they were equals. She had defied him.

Murat swept past the guards outside his father’s business suite and stepped into the inner office.

“She is here,” he announced as he came to a stop in front of the large, carved desk.

The king raised his eyebrows. “You do not sound happy. Has your fiancée displeased you already?”

“She is not my fiancée.”

His father sighed, then stood and walked around the desk. “Murat, I know you have reservations about this engagement. You complain that the girl is too young and inexperienced, that she can never be happy here, but once again I ask you to give her a chance.”

Murat stared at his father. Anger bubbled inside of him, although he was careful to keep it from showing. He’d spent a lifetime not reacting to anything, and that practice served him well now.

“You misunderstand me, Father,” he said in a low voice. “Brittany Snowden is not here in the palace. She is flying back to America even as we speak.”

The king frowned. “Then who is here?”

“Daphne.”

“Your former—”

Murat cut him off with a quick, “Yes.”

One of the many advantages of being the crown prince was the ability to assert his will on others. Ten years ago, when his former fiancée had left without so much as a note, he’d forbidden any to speak her name. All had obeyed except his father, who did not need to pay attention to the will of the crown prince.

“She attempts to defy me,” Murat said as he walked to the window and leaned against the sill. “She stood there and told me she would not permit me to marry her niece.” He laughed harshly. “As if her desires matter at all to me. I am Crown Prince Murat of Bahania. I determine my fate. No one, especially not a mere woman, dares to instruct me.”

His father nodded. “I see. So you complain that Daphne wants to prevent you from marrying someone whom you did not want to marry in the first place.”

“That is not the point,” Murat told him as he folded his arms across his chest. “There is a principle at stake. The woman did not respect my position ten years ago and nothing has changed.”

“I can see how that would be difficult,” the king said. “Where is she now?”

Murat glanced down as one of his father’s cats stood on the sofa, stretched, then curled back up and closed its eyes.

“I have offered her a place to stay while this is sorted out,” he said.

“I’m surprised Daphne would want to remain in the palace. She has delivered her message.”

Murat stared at his father. “I did not give her a choice. I had the guards deliver her to the harem.”

Very little startled the king, so Murat enjoyed seeing his father’s mouth drop open with surprise.

“The harem?” the older man repeated.

Murat shrugged. “I had to detain her. Although she has defied me and spoken with disrespect, I was not willing to lock her in the dungeons. The harem is pleasant enough and will hold her until I decide I wish to let her go.”

Although that section of the palace hadn’t been used for its intended purpose for more than sixty years, the rooms themselves were maintained in their original splendor. Daphne would be surrounded by every luxury, except that of her freedom.

“It is her own fault,” he added. “She had no right to interfere and keep her niece from me. Even though I was never interested in Brittany and only agreed to meet with her to please you, Daphne was wrong to try to foil me.”

“I understand completely,” his father said. “What do you intend to do with her now?”

Murat hadn’t done anything but react. He had no plan where she was concerned.

“I do not know,” he admitted.

“Will you order the plane to return Brittany to Bahania?”

“No. I know you wanted me to consider her, but in truth, Father, I could not be less interested.” While Murat accepted that he had to marry and produce heirs, he could not imagine spending the rest of his life with a foolish young wife.

“Perhaps I will keep Daphne for a few days,” Murat said. “To teach her a lesson.”

“In the harem?” his father asked.

“Yes.” He smiled. “She will be most displeased.”

She would argue and fume and call him names. She would continue to defy him. Despite all that had gone on before—what she had done and what he had yet to forgive—he found himself looking forward to the encounter.

Daphne discovered her luggage in one of the largest bedrooms in the harem. The sleeping quarters consisted of several private rooms, reserved for those in favor with the king, and large dormitory-like rooms with ten or twelve beautiful beds lined up against the thick walls.

She doubted there was any furniture newer than a hundred years old. Handmade rugs covered the tiled floors in the sleeping rooms, while carved and gilded pieces of furniture added to the decor.

She ignored the suitcases and instead walked close to the walls. No one could have come in through the main door to deliver her luggage—she would have seen. Which meant there was a secret passage and door. The getting in didn’t interest her as much as the getting out.

When a careful exploration of the rough walls didn’t reveal any hidden doorway, she moved to the hall. It had to be somewhere. She felt around furniture and baseboards, paying particular attention to the inner walls. Still she found nothing.

“I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to keeping checking,” she said aloud as she paused in front of a French door that led to a massive walled garden.

Daphne stepped out into the late-afternoon sun and breathed in the scent of the lush plant life. There were trees and shrubs, tiny flowers and huge birds of paradise. A narrow path led through the garden, while stone benches offered a place to sit and reflect. Fluttering movement caught her attention, and she glanced up in time to see two parrots fly across the open area.

“Their loud cries cover the sound of women’s voices.”

Daphne spun toward the speaker and saw Murat standing behind her. He still wore his suit and his imperious expression. She hated that he was the most handsome man she’d ever met and that, instead of being furious, she actually felt a little tingle of pleasure at seeing him.

Betrayed by her hormones, she thought in disgust. While leaving him ten years ago had been completely sensible, it had taken her far too long to stop loving him. Even the pain of knowing he hadn’t cared enough to come after her hadn’t made the recovery any shorter.

“Many of the parrots here are quite old,” he continued. “But there is a single breeding pair that has given us a new generation.”

“You no longer have women in the harem. Why do you keep the parrots?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes there is difficulty in letting go of the old ways. But you are not interested in our traditions. You wish to berate me and tell me what I can and cannot do.” He nodded. “You may begin now if you wish.”

Suspicious of his motives, she studied him. But his dark eyes and chiseled features gave nothing away. Still, that didn’t stop her from wanting to know what was going to happen.

“What are you going to do about Brittany?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

Like she believed that. “Are you ordering the jet to turn around?”

“No. Despite what you think of me, I will not force my bride to present herself. She will be here in time.”

Daphne glared at him. “No, she won’t. Brittany isn’t going to marry you.”

He dismissed her with a flick of his hand. “The gardens have grown since you were last here. Do you remember? You were quite enchanted with the idea of the harem and disappointed that we no longer used it for its original purpose.”

“I was not,” she protested. “I think it’s terrible that women were kept locked up for the sole purpose of offering sexual pleasure for the king.”

He smiled. “So you say now. But I distinctly recall how you found the idea exciting. You asked endless questions.”

Daphne felt heat on her cheeks. Okay, maybe she had been a little interested in the workings of the harem. Ten years ago she’d been all of twenty and a virtual innocent in the ways of the world. Everything about the palace had intrigued her. Especially Murat.

“I’m over it now,” she said. “How long do you intend to keep me here?”

“I have not yet decided.”

“My family will come to my rescue. You must know they have substantial political power.”

He didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the threat.

“What I know,” he said, “is that their ambitions have not changed. They still wish for a Snowden female to marry royalty.”

She couldn’t argue that. First her parents had pushed her at Murat, and now her own sister pushed Brittany.

“I’m not like them,” she said.

“How true.” He glanced at his watch. “Dinner is at seven. Please dress appropriately.”

She laughed. “And if I don’t want to have dinner with you?”

He raised one eyebrow. “The choice has never been yours, Daphne. When will you finally learn that? Besides, you do want to dine with me. You have many questions. I see them in your eyes.”

With that he turned and left.

“Annoying man,” she muttered when she was alone again. Worse, he was right. She had questions—lots of them. And a burning desire to deal with the unfinished business between them.

As for the man himself…time had changed him, but it had not erased her interest in the only man she had ever loved.

Chapter Three

D aphne stood in front of her open suitcase and stared down at the contents. While a part of her wanted to ignore Murat’s demand that she “dress appropriately” for their dinner, another part of her liked the idea of looking so fabulous that she would leave him speechless. It was a battle between principles and beauty and she already knew which would win.

After sorting through the contents of her luggage, she withdrew a simple sleeveless dress and carried it into the bathroom. She would let it hang in the steam while she showered. She plugged in the electric curlers she’d already unpacked, then pinned up her hair and stepped into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later she emerged all cleaned and buffed and smoothed. The bath towels provided were big enough to carpet an entire room. An array of cosmetics and skin-care products filled the cabinets by the huge mirror and vanity.

Everywhere she looked she saw marble, gold, carved wood or beveled glass. How many women had stood in front of this mirror and prepared to meet a member of the royal family? What kind of stories had these walls witnessed? How much laughter? How many tears? Under other circumstances she could enjoy her stay in this historical part of the palace.

“Who am I kidding?” she murmured as she unpinned her hair and brushed it out. “I’m enjoying it now.”

She’d always loved Bahania and the palace. Murat had been the problem.

He hadn’t been that way in the beginning. He’d been charming and intriguing and exactly the kind of man she’d always wanted to meet. As she reached for the first hot curler, she remembered that party she’d attended in Spain where they had first met.

Traveling through Europe the summer between her sophomore and junior year of college had meant doing her best to avoid all her parents’ upper-class and political friends. But in Barcelona, Daphne had finally caved to her mother’s insistence that she accept an invitation to a cocktail party for some ambassador or prime minister or something. She’d been bored and ready to leave after ten minutes. But then, on a stone balcony with a perfect view of the sunset, she’d met a man.

He’d been tall, handsome and he’d made her laugh when he’d confessed that he needed her help—that he was hiding from the far-too-amorous youngest daughter of their host.

“When she comes upstairs looking for me, I’ll hide under the table and you will send her away,” he said. “Will you do that for me?”

He stared at her with eyes as dark as midnight. At that second her stomach had flipped over, her cheeks had flushed and she would have followed him to the ends of the earth.

He’d spent the entire evening with her, escorting her to dinner and then dancing with her under the stars. They’d talked of books and movies, of childhood fantasies and grown-up dreams. And when he’d walked her back to her hotel and kissed her, she’d known that she was in danger of falling for him.

He hadn’t told her who he was until their third date. At first she’d been nervous—after all, even she had never met a prince—but then she realized that for once being a Snowden was a good thing. She’d been raised to be the wife of a president, or even a prince.

“Come back with me,” he’d pleaded when he had to return to Bahania. “Come see my country, meet my people. Let them discover how delightful you are, as I have.”

It wasn’t a declaration of love—she saw that now. But at twenty, it had been enough. She’d abandoned the rest of her tour and had flown with him to Bahania, where she’d stayed at the fabled Pink Palace and had fallen deeply in love with both Murat and every part of his world.

Daphne finished applying her makeup, then unwrapped the towel and stepped into her lingerie. Next she took out the curlers and carefully finger-combed her hair before bending over and spraying the underside. She flipped her hair back and applied more hairspray before finally stepping into her dress.

The silk skimmed over her body to fall just above her knees. She stepped into high-heeled sandals, then stared at her reflection.

Daphne knew she looked tired. No doubt her mother could find several items to criticize. But what would Murat think? How was the woman different from the girl? Ten years ago she’d loved him with a devotion that had bordered on mindlessness. The only thing that could have forced her to leave was the one thing that had—the realization that he didn’t love her back.

“Don’t go there,” she told herself as she turned away from the mirror and made her way out of the bathroom.

Maybe if she arrived at the main rooms early, she could see where the secret door was as the staff arrived with dinner. She had a feeling that Murat would not be letting her out of the harem anytime soon—certainly not for meals. Which meant meals would have to come to her.

But as she stepped into the large salon overlooking the gardens, she saw she was too late. A small cart with drinks stood in the center of the room, but even more interesting than that was the man waiting by the French doors.

She’d been thinking about him while getting ready, so seeing him now made her feel as if she’d stepped into an alternative universe—one where she could summon handsome princes at will.

He turned toward her and smiled.

“You are early,” he said.

“I’d hoped to catch the staff delivering dinner.”

One dark eyebrow rose. “I fail to see the excitement of watching them come in and out of the door.”

“You’re right. If they’re using the door, it’s not exciting at all. But if they were to use the secret passage…”

His smile widened. “Ah. You seek to escape. But it will not be so easy. You forget we have a tradition of holding beautiful women captive. If they were able to find their way from the palace, we would be thought of as fools.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ll make sure I don’t find the secret passage?”

He walked toward the drinks cart. “No. It is my way of saying that it is impossible to open the door from this side. Only someone outside the harem can work the latch.”

He held up a bottle of champagne and she nodded.

“I suppose that information shouldn’t surprise me,” she told him. “So there really is no escape?”

“Why would you want there to be?”

He popped the bottle expertly, then poured two glasses.

“I don’t take well to being someone’s prisoner,” she said as she took the glass he offered.

“But this is paradise.”

“Want to trade?”

Amusement brightened his eyes. “I see you have not changed. Ten years ago you spoke your mind and you still do today.”

“You mean I haven’t learned my place?”

“Exactly.”

“I like to think my place is wherever I want it to be.”

“How like a woman.” He held up his glass. “A toast to our mutual past, and what the future will bring.”

She thought about Brittany, who would be landing in New York shortly. “How about to our separate lives?”

“Not so very separate. We could be family soon.”

“I don’t think so. You’re not marrying—”

“To the beauty of the Snowden women,” he said, cutting her off. “Come, Daphne. Drink with me. We will leave our discussion of less pleasant matters to another day.”

“Fine.” The longer they talked about other things, the more time her niece had to get safely home. “To Bahania.”

“At last something we can agree upon.”

They touched glasses, then sipped their champagne. Murat motioned to one of the large sofas and waited until she was seated before joining her on the overstuffed furniture.

“You are comfortable here?” he asked.

“Aside from the whole idea of being kept against my will, pretty much.” She set down the glass and sighed. “Okay. Honestly, the harem is beautiful. I plan to do some serious exploring while I’m here.”

“My sister, Sabrina, is an expert on antiquities and our history. Would you like me to have her visit?”

Daphne laughed. “My own private lecture circuit? I’m sure your sister has better things to do with her life.”

“Than serve me?”

He spoke teasingly, but she knew there was truth behind the humor. Murat had been raised to believe he was the center of the universe. She supposed that came with being the future king.

He sat angled toward her, his hand-tailored suit emphasizing the strength in his powerful body. Ten years ago he’d been the most handsome man she’d ever met. And now…She sighed. Not that much had changed.

“Did you get a chance to see much of the city as you drove in?” he asked.

“Just the view from the highway. I was pretty intent on getting to the palace.”

“Ah, yes. So you could defy me at every turn. There are many new buildings in our financial district.”

“I noticed those. The city is growing.”

He nodded. “We seek success in the future without losing what is precious to us from our past. It is an act of balance.”

She picked up her glass of champagne and took a sip. The cool, bubbly liquid tickled her tongue. “There have been other changes since I was last here,” she said. “Your brothers have married.”

“That is true. All to American women. There have been many editorials in the papers about why that is, although the consensus among the people is new blood will improve the lineage of the royal family.”

“That must make the women in question feel really special.”

He leaned back against the sofa. “Why would they not be pleased to improve the gene pool of such a noble family?”

“Few women fantasize about being a good brood mare.”

He shook his head. “Why do you always want to twist things around to make me look bad? All my sisters-in-law are delightful women who are blissfully happy with their chosen mates. Cleo and Emma have given birth in the past year. Billie is newly pregnant. They are catered to by devoted husbands and do not want for anything.”

He painted a picture that made her feel funny inside. Not sad, exactly. Just…envious. She’d always wanted a guy who would love her with his whole heart, but somehow she’d never seemed to find him.

“You’re right,” she said. “Everyone seems perfectly happy. You remain the last single prince.”

He grimaced. “A point pressed home to me on a daily basis.”

“Getting a little pressure to marry and produce heirs?”

“You have no idea.”

“Then we should talk about Brittany and why that would never work.”

His gaze lingered on her face. “You are a difficult and stubborn woman.”

“So you keep saying.”

“We will discuss your niece when I decide it is time.”

“You don’t get to choose,” she told him.

“Of course I do. And you do not wish to speak of her right now. You wish to tell me all about yourself. What you have been doing since we last met. You want to impress me.”

“I do not.”

He raised one eyebrow and waited. She shifted in her seat. Okay, yes, maybe she wouldn’t mind knocking his socks off with her accomplishments, but she didn’t like that he’d guessed.

“Come, Daphne,” he said, moving closer and focusing all of his considerable attention on her. “Tell me everything. Did you finish college? What have you been doing?” He picked up her left hand and examined the bare fingers. “I see you have not given your heart to anyone.”

She didn’t like the assessment, nor did she appreciate the tingles that rippled up from her hand to her arm. He’d always been able to do that—reduce her to pudding with a single touch. Why couldn’t that have changed? Why couldn’t time away have made her immune?

“I’m not engaged, if that’s what you mean,” she said. “I’m not willing to discuss the state of my heart with you. It’s none of your business.”

“As you wish. Tell me about college.”

She clutched her champagne in her right hand and thought about swallowing the whole thing in one big gulp. It might provide her with a false sense of courage, which was better than no courage at all.

“I completed my degree as planned, then went on to become a veterinarian.”

He looked two parts delighted, one part surprised. “Good for you. You enjoy the work?”

“Very much. Until recently I’ve been with a large practice in Chicago. My first two years with them I spent summers in Indiana, working on a dairy farm.”

She couldn’t remember ever really shocking Murat before, so now she allowed herself to enjoy his expression of astonishment. “Delivering calves?”

“Pretty much.”

“It is not seemly.”

She laughed. “It was my job. I loved it. But lately I’ve been working with small animals. Dogs, cats, birds. The usual.” She took another sip and smiled. “If your father needs any help with the cats he should let me know.”

“I will be sure to pass along your offer. Chicago is very different from Bahania.”

“I agree. For one thing, there aren’t any words to describe how cold that wind can be in the winter.”

“We have no such discomfort here.”

That was true. The weather in paradise was pretty darned good.

“You’re not very close to your family,” he said.

Daphne nearly spilled her champagne. Okay, so it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she didn’t fit in with the “real” Snowdens, but she was surprised Murat would say something like that so blatantly. After all…

The light went on in her head. “You mean I live far away,” she said.

“Yes. They are all on the East Coast. Is that the reason you chose to settle in Chicago?”

“Part of it,” she admitted. “I handle the constant disapproval better from a distance.”

“Aren’t your parents proud of what you have accomplished?”

“Not really. They keep waiting for me to wake up and get engaged to a senator. I’m resisting the impulse.”

She spoke with a casualness, as if her family’s expectations didn’t matter, but Murat saw the truth in her blue eyes.

Pain, he thought. Pain from disappointing them, pain from not being accepted for who and what she was. Daphne had always been stubborn and determined and proud. From what he could see, little had changed about that.

Her appearance had been altered, though. Her face was thinner, her features more defined. Whereas at twenty she had held the promise of great beauty, now she fulfilled it. There was an air of confidence about her he liked.

She leaned forward. “I’ve spent the past couple of years studying pet psychology.”

“I have not heard of that.”

She smiled again, her full lips curving upward as if she were about to share a delicious private joke. “You’d appreciate it. The field is growing rapidly. We’re interested in why animals act the way they do. What set of circumstances combine with their personality to make them act aggressively or chew furniture or not accept a new baby. That sort of thing.”

He couldn’t believe such information existed. “This is what you are doing now?”

“I’m getting into it. I’ve learned some interesting things about dealing with alpha males.” She tilted her head. “Maybe I could use the techniques to tame you.”

“Neither of us is interested in me being tame.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“I do.”

“You’re certainly sure of yourself.”

“The privilege of being the alpha male.”

She continued to study him. Awareness crackled between them. He could smell the faint scent of the soap she’d used and some other subtle fragrance he associated only with her.

Wanting coiled low in his gut, surprising him with both its presence and its intensity. After all this time? He’d always wondered what he would feel if he saw her again, but somehow he’d never expected to have a strong need to touch her, explore her, take her.

He wanted to lead her into one of the many harem bedrooms and make her shudder beneath him. Funny how so much time had passed and the desire hadn’t gone away.

“You’re looking very predatory,” she said. “What are you thinking?”

“I was wondering about your art. Do you still make time to do your sculptures?”

She hesitated, as if she didn’t quite believe that was what he’d been thinking, then she answered.

“I still love it, but time is always an issue.”

“Perhaps I should provide you with clay while you are here. You can indulge your passion.”

“How long do you intend to keep me in the harem?”

“I have not yet decided.”

“So we really do need to talk about Brittany.”

Just then the large golden doors opened and several servants walked in pushing carts.

“Dinner,” he said, rising to his feet.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you did that on purpose.”

He smiled. “Even I can’t command my staff with just a thought.”

“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.

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