Bound to Her Desert Captor Page 9

  She was like a magnet, and in that moment he’d had all the willpower of a metal shaving. It wasn’t something he liked to acknowledge, even to himself.

  Pushing away from the door, he strolled into the room. ‘We have a few housekeeping issues to sort out before we—’

  ‘Your Majesty, wait. Please.’ She drifted closer and his nostrils flared as he picked up her delicate jasmine scent. He’d made sure that she’d been kept busy all day with spa treatments and massages, and just the thought of how supple her scented body would be was a sweet torture he could well do without.

  ‘It’s Jaeger,’ he reminded her. ‘Or Jag. Remember?’

  She blushed a becoming shade of pink and pursed her lips. ‘I’m trying not to.’

  ‘Look, if this is about that kiss yesterday—’

  ‘It’s not about the kiss,’ she cut him off quickly. ‘I know what that was. You’ve already said. You wanted to know what it would be like to kiss me, you found out, and now you don’t want to repeat the experience. We can move on from that.’

  Move on? He wasn’t sure that he could.

  ‘The fact is, there’s no way I can pose as your fiancée. I’m not royal, or a supermodel. I’m an ordinary schoolteacher. Everyone will know instantly that I’m a fraud.’

  ‘You’re not ordinary and I don’t want you to pretend to be anyone but yourself. As a teacher you must be used to standing in front of large groups of people. I’m sure this won’t be any different.’

  He paced away from her, his mind still spinning at what she’d just said to him. Should he correct her misconception that he didn’t want to repeat their kiss, or would it be easier to let it stand?

  Unable to form a decision about that on the spot, he shelved it for later.

  ‘I’m used to standing up in front of primary-school children,’ she explained, ‘which is not the same as what will be expected of me this weekend. And honestly, I’m a better behind-the-scenes person. I don’t do well when the focus is directly on me. I get nervous.’

  ‘Why?’ Jag had dealt with crowds and attention his whole life. He was so used to being scrutinised from afar he didn’t even give it a second thought. It was being scrutinised from up close that made him uncomfortable.

  ‘I think it stems from all the impromptu interviews from the child-protection services I had to undergo in the early years. Whenever I was under the spotlight there was always the chance that Chad would be taken away from me. I never wanted to let him down by not being good enough and as a result I really dislike surprises and I especially dislike being the centre of attention.’

  Shocked that she would tell him something so deeply personal, Jag felt something grip tight in his chest. ‘I promise you that you won’t be the centre of attention.’ He reached out to stroke the side of her face and thought better of it. ‘Don’t forget, this is a political summit, not a day at Royal Ascot. That means I’ll be the one in demand.’ He kept his voice deliberately light, wanting to put her at ease and erase the vulnerability he saw in her expression. Vulnerability led to pain and the last thing he wanted was for her to suffer because of him. ‘Now, the first part of housekeeping...’ he reached into his pocket and pulled out a matte red box ‘...is for you to wear this.’ He opened the box and turned it towards her.

  ‘Oh, my God. It’s as big as an iceberg,’ she said, snatching her hands behind her back. ‘I can’t wear that.’

  Jag smiled at her response. ‘It was the biggest one I could find. Give me your hand.’

  ‘No.’

  Ignoring her small act of rebellion, he gently took hold of her left forearm and dragged her hand out from behind her back. ‘I hope it fits. I had to guess the size of your fingers. They’re so slender the jeweller thought I’d made a mistake.’

  They both stared down at the intricately cut diamond glowing on her finger as if it had its own light source. ‘But of course you didn’t,’ she said huskily. ‘Are you sure it’s not loaded with some beacon so you always know where I am?’

  ‘Don’t give me any ideas, jamila.’

  She blinked up at him. ‘You called me that before. What does it mean?’

  ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘I’m not—’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  Awareness throbbed between them and Jag fought with the need to drag her into his arms and ruin her pink lipstick.

  ‘Your Maj—’

  ‘Jag,’ he growled.

  ‘This is too much,’ she said thickly, keeping her eyes averted from his. ‘I hope it’s not real. I’ll be afraid someone will rob me.’

  ‘Nobody is going to rob you. Not in this crowd, but if it makes you feel any better my security detail will not let you out of their sights.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s not so I won’t run off with it myself?’

  ‘You won’t run off with it. If you did I’d catch you. And yes, it is real.’

  She pressed her lips together, staring at the ring, and he had to curb another powerful need to soften the strain around her mouth with a kiss.

  ‘There are three other items of housekeeping to go through,’ he said briskly. ‘Protocol demands that you always walk two paces behind me, and you also cannot touch me.’ He noticed her tapered brows rise with astonishment, and he nodded. ‘Santarians do not go in for PDAs.’

  ‘Not ever?’

  ‘Sometimes with children. If the family is a tactile one.’

  ‘Wow, my parents would have been locked up, then. They were always hanging all over each other. And us. Chad and I definitely inherited their affectionate nature. Oh...’ She gave him a disconcerted look. ‘You probably didn’t want to hear that.’

  No, he hadn’t. But more because he couldn’t stop thinking about how wild she’d been in his arms the night before. And of course he didn’t want to entertain the idea that Milena was having a relationship with Chad. She wouldn’t be strong enough to cope if it turned bad. ‘The third item is that I do not intend to spend the evening talking about your brother or my sister. It is a topic that is off the table from this moment on. Understood?’

  ‘Perfectly. And I agree. It wouldn’t look good if we started arguing in front of your guests.’

  * * *

  ‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen, mesdames et messieurs, I give you Sheikh Jaeger al-Hadrid, our lord and King of Santara, and his intended, the future Queen of Santara, Miss Regan James.’

  Regan gave a small gasp at the formal introduction. She stood two steps behind Jag, waiting for him to descend the grand staircase, craning her neck to see over his wide shoulders to the room below. What she could see took her breath away. The room looked like a golden cloud, the walls gilt-edged and inlaid with dark turquoise wallpaper. Ancient frescoes and golden bell-shaped chandeliers adorned the high ceilings, while circular tables, elegantly laid with silverware and crystal, filled the floor space. Beautifully dressed men and women, some in military garb and traditional robes, milled in small groups and stared up at them with eager, over-bright eyes. Some, mostly the women, were craning their own necks to get a look at her, and it made Regan shrink back just a little more in the shadows.

  When Jag had first informed her that she would have to walk two steps behind him at all times she’d been offended. Now she wondered if that wasn’t a blessing. It might mean that she went unnoticed the whole night!

  She twisted the egg-sized diamond on her finger, eyeing the endless row of steps they needed to descend with mounting dread. She just hoped she didn’t trip over the beautiful gown she’d been squeezed into. It was the most delicate, the most exquisite piece of clothing she had ever worn and it made her feel like a fairy princess.

  Queen, she amended with a grimace. Had Tarik really needed to introduce her as the future Queen? Couldn’t he have just said her name? Or, better yet, nothing at all?

  She noticed Jag shift in front of her
and her heartbeat quickened. Here we go, she thought, preparing to follow him down the staircase. Only that didn’t happen. As if sensing her unease, he turned towards her, his hand outstretched.

  Regan glanced up to find sapphire-blue eyes trained on her with an intensity that made her burn. And just like that she was back in his arms with his mouth open over hers. She moistened her lips and saw his eyes darken in response. His chest rose and fell as he took a couple of deep breaths and she wondered if he wasn’t thinking about the same thing. Then he gestured for her to approach him.

  She took a small step, then another. ‘What?’ she whispered self-consciously. ‘Why have we stopped?’

  ‘The thing is...’ A wry grin curled one side of his mouth and he looked so impossibly handsome in that moment she could have stared at him forever. ‘The thing is, I’ve always hated protocol.’ He drew her to his side and clasped her hand.

  A low murmur rippled through the crowd as he raised her hand to his lips, a sexy smile lighting his eyes. It was a chivalrous gesture. A gesture meant to impress, and it did, melting Regan’s heart right along with every other woman’s in the ballroom.

  Do not get caught up in all this, she warned herself, instantly suppressing the shiver of emotion that welled up inside her. This was not a fairy-tale situation. She was not Cinderella, and Jag was not going to be the Prince—or King—who promised to adore her for ever. Real life didn’t work out that way. Real life was often a painful slog.

  She gave him a faltering smile, wondering why he was still stalling. ‘It’s too late to change your mind now,’ she whispered, throwing his earlier words back at him.

  His smile widened. ‘I have no intention of changing my mind, my little America.’

  Regan told herself not to get lost in that smile. Or the nickname that sounded too much like an endearment. He had walked away from their kiss last night without a backward glance. The only interest he had in her was with regard to thwarting diplomatic crises and getting his sister back. That settled in her mind, she took a deep breath and concentrated on not tripping.

  Unbelievably the night went much faster than Regan had expected. The people she met were mostly lovely and interesting, and Jag never let her very far out of his sight, instinctively sensing when she was feeling out of her depth and coming to her side.

  ‘He’s divine,’ more than one woman had said with unabashed envy throughout the night, giggling like schoolgirls when Jag paid them personal attention. She watched with fascination at how he skilfully worked the room and put the people around him at ease. It was such a contrast to the way they had met, and yet she saw both elements of him in the superbly tailored tuxedo that did wicked things to his body. He was at once incredibly sophisticated and also inherently dangerous. Not physically. At least not to her. No, King Jaeger’s danger was in the masculine charisma he exuded with unassailable ease. It made everyone in the room want to be near him. Especially her.

  Realising that the wife of a Spanish diplomat had just spoken to her, Regan smiled apologetically. She cast a sideways glance at Jaeger, watching the way he easily commanded the conversation in the small group of delegates clustered around him. A stunning woman at his side leaned close to him and whispered something in his ear, her hand placing something into his trouser pocket so effortlessly Regan nearly missed it.

  ‘You are very lucky,’ the woman, Esmeralda, said again, forcing Regan to refocus.

  ‘Lucky?’ Regan murmured, wondering what they were talking about now.

  ‘Yes. He is a king amongst kings.’ She gave Regan a knowing smile. ‘Although I’m not sure I could handle all that latent sexuality, and I’m Latin.’

  Regan’s face flamed as she recalled the sexual skill with which he’d kissed her, the way his hands had moulded her to him and stroked her breasts.

  ‘Ooh-la-la...’ Esmeralda chortled. ‘I can see that you can.’

  ‘Can what?’ Jag asked smoothly, placing his arm around Regan’s waist.

  ‘Just girl talk, Your Majesty,’ the older woman said, raking her eyes over his torso as if she wished it were her blood-red fingernails instead.

  But Regan was embarrassed, knowing for a fact that the woman’s assumptions were completely wrong. She didn’t have the experience, or the expertise, to handle someone of Jaeger’s sexual nature and she never would.

  Excusing them both, Jag led her towards their table.

  ‘What’s in your pocket?’ Regan asked, leaning close to him so no one could overhear.

  He stopped and looked at her, stepping to the side to avoid anyone else following in their path. His eyes glinted with amusement at her. ‘I suspect it’s a phone number. I haven’t looked.’

  Regan’s mouth fell open. She wasn’t sure what astonished her the most. That he hadn’t looked or that a woman would slip a man her phone number in plain sight of anyone who happened to be paying attention.

  ‘But you’re engaged,’ she said on a rush. ‘At least, that woman thinks you are.’

  ‘She’s also married.’ His eyes twinkled as they gazed into hers.

  ‘That’s terrible. I don’t know who to feel sorry for more—her or her husband. She’s clearly not happy in her marriage.’

  ‘Some people just want the excitement of being with someone new.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t. If I committed to someone I’d always be faithful to them.’

  ‘As would I, habiba.’ His voice was rough, as if he were speaking directly to her and not in generalities.

  Her heart bumped inside her chest. ‘So you do have scruples,’ she said huskily.

  ‘Just because I don’t let anyone mess with my family, that doesn’t make me the bad guy you think I am, Regan.’

  He settled his hands on her waist and Regan’s pulse leapt in her throat. ‘I didn’t think Santarians were into public displays of affection,’ she murmured breathlessly.

  ‘We’re not,’ he confirmed, leading her back towards their table. ‘But I figured I’d already broken protocol once tonight and the sky didn’t fall in.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re a real rebel, aren’t you?’

  He laughed softly. ‘Actually I’m not. I was always the child who did the right thing and toed the line growing up.’

  ‘The dutiful son. Was that because it was expected of you as the first born?’

  ‘That and because it was the only thing that made sense.’

  ‘Love makes sense,’ she said softly.

  ‘For you, not for me.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because I know how the world works. Both my parents were emotional. Their relationship unbearably volatile. Whenever emotion took over my mother left and my father worked harder. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching my parents it’s never to let emotion get in the way of making decisions.’

  ‘But how do you control that so well?’

  Right now all she could think about was wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging his mouth down to hers. It was actually frightening, the amount of times she thought about touching him. It felt as if she’d been in a deep sleep for a long time, only to waken and imprint on him like a baby bird.

  ‘Practice.’ He smiled at her, his teeth impossibly white against the dark stubble that had already started shading his jaw, taking him from merely handsome to outrageously gorgeous.

  ‘Okay, well, I’m going to start practising emotionlessness right now. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to freshen up.’

  ‘Don’t be long.’

  Regan let out a ragged breath as his gaze held hers. For a split second his eyes had been on her mouth and she could have sworn they had turned hungry. Most likely wishful thinking on her part.

  She really didn’t want to like him after the way he had threatened her brother and detained her as bait, but she knew that she did. Maybe if he hadn’t kiss
ed her she’d feel differently. But that wasn’t entirely true. She’d found herself drawn to him even before she knew he kissed like a god. But he wasn’t the only one who tried not to let their emotions dominate their decisions. She’d had to put her own aside after her parents died. And worse, she knew no one was indispensable, so why put yourself out there in the first place?

  ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Regan smiled at a beautiful dark-haired woman as she exited the ladies’ room. She stepped to the side so the woman could enter but she shook her head.

  ‘I’m not going in.’

  ‘Okay.’ Regan smiled again and was about to return to the ballroom when the woman took a hesitant step forward. A prickle of unease raised the hairs on the back of Regan’s neck. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘Have you been crying?’ Regan stepped closer to her. ‘Your eyes are damp.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ The woman sniffed, clearly not fine. ‘I just wanted to get a closer look at you.’

  During the night many guests had wanted to get a closer look at her, and, while it hadn’t been as daunting as she’d first thought, she still didn’t like it.

  ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘I’m Princess Alexa of Berenia.’

  ‘I’m Regan James.’

  The woman gave a brief laugh. ‘I know.’

  ‘Well, at least I made you smile.’ She frowned with concern. ‘Has someone hurt you? Are you feeling ill? Why don’t I take you back to your table so you can—?’

  ‘No. I don’t want to go back to my table.’ She gave her a hard look. ‘You don’t even know who I am, do you?’

  Getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, Regan shook her head. ‘Should I?’

  ‘Considering I was the King’s fiancée up until yesterday, I would have thought so. I can’t believe he would keep you in his palace and then marry you.’

  Regan felt as if someone had poked her in the stomach with a sharp stick. ‘Do you mean King Jaeger?’

  ‘Who else?’ Tears welled up in her eyes again. ‘My father thinks you have bewitched him. He blames me, of course.’