Not Fit for a King - By Jane Porter Page 0,4
smile. The blushes, the shyness, the wide-eyed innocence. “Zale,” he corrected. “We’ve been engaged this past year.”
“And yet we’ve never once seen each other,” she answered, lifting her chin, porcelain cheeks stained pink.
He raised an eyebrow. “By your choice, Emmeline, not mine.”
Her lips parted as if to protest before she pressed them together again. “Did that bother you?” she asked after a moment.
He shrugged, knowing what he couldn’t—wouldn’t—say. That he knew Emmeline had spent the past year continuing to see her Argentine playboy boyfriend, Alejandro, despite being betrothed to Zale.
He wouldn’t say that he knew her seven-day trip to Palm Beach this past week had been to watch Alejandro play in a polo match. Or that for the past several days Zale hadn’t even been sure Emmeline would actually get on the plane and come to Raguva for their wedding scheduled for June 4, ten days from now.
But she had.
She was here.
And he fully intended to use these next ten days before their wedding to discover if she was ready to honor her commitments to him, their countries and their families, or if she planned to continue playing games and playing him. “I’m glad you’re here now,” he responded. “It’s time we began to get to know each other.”
She smiled, a slow, radiant smile that lit her eyes from the inside out and he felt heat and pressure build in his chest.
How absurd that Emmeline’s beauty literally took his breath away. Ridiculous that he could be so moved by a woman in a ball gown and jewels. Diamond and sapphire rings covered her fingers and the diamonds in the tiara perched on her golden head glinted, throwing off tiny prisms of light.
“So am I,” she answered. “And it’s a completely different world than Palm Beach.”
“It is at that,” he agreed, intrigued despite himself. Charmed by everything about her right now. “I’m sorry I couldn’t welcome you last night when you arrived. There is so much tradition attached to the job. Five hundred years of protocol.”
“I understand.”
She should. She’d agreed to this arranged marriage, too, despite being passionately in love with her boyfriend of five years. “Do you need any refreshment? Dinner is at least an hour away.”
“No, thank you, I can wait.”
“I heard you hadn’t eaten anything today, or even last night after you arrived.”
She gave him a slightly mocking look, her finely arched eyebrows rising. “Which of my attendants tattled on me?”
“My cooks were worried when you refused your meals. They feared they’d failed to whet your appetite.”
“Not at all. The breakfast and lunch trays looked delicious but I was very aware that at five I’d have to fit into this gown,” she said with a gesture to her curvaceous body swathed in teal silk and intricate jeweled designs.
“You’re not on a starvation diet, are you?”
She glanced down at her figure. “Do I look in danger of fading away?”
Zale’s lips twitched. No, she did not look like she was starving. The gown’s fitted bodice revealed full, firm breasts while her waist nipped in before curving out again over very feminine hips. The gown’s rich hues highlighted her smooth, creamy skin, the startling blue of her eyes and the pink pout of her generous lips. She looked lush, ripe, edible.
He felt a hot shaft of desire, and Zale fought a sudden urge to touch her. Taste her. To take his tongue to her softly parted lips, to sink his teeth into their softness, then brush his lips along her satin skin—
He broke off as his body hardened, tightening, making the fit of his trousers almost unbearable. It’d been a year since he taken a woman into his bed, wanting to respect his engagement to Emmeline, but it’d been a long year and he looked forward to consummating their marriage in ten days.
Should they marry.
He glanced down at her and discovered she was staring steadily back at him, her blue gaze unflinchingly direct. As his gaze locked with hers, he felt raw, primal desire surge through him.
He’d have her, too, he vowed, even if he didn’t make her his queen.
Breathlessly Hannah dropped her gaze, breaking that strange hold Zale had had on her. When looking into his eyes—all amber color and fire—she’d felt absolutely lost, snared by her senses, drowning in sex and sin.
It’d been forever since she’d felt this way.
Wanting something so much it almost hurt …
She drew a slow breath, trying to slow the racing of her heart, trying to pretend her cheeks and lips didn’t burn. But oh,