Desert Orchid: The Desert Princes: Book 1 (10 page)

"It?"

"The country, the people, and me. You don’t want us. Do you, Prince?"

Deliberately testing him, Charisse had made the tone insulting.

She didn’t miss the spark of sheer temper in his dark eyes, quickly hidden, but she noticed something else, too. The hand in his trouser pocket was fiddling with what appeared to be worry beads.

He was nervous?

And he hadn’t once participated in the education debate with his brother.

Interesting.

Let’s see what you’re made of, Khalid.

"You are nothing but a party animal who’s made a career out of avoiding any semblance of responsibility for himself, his family and his country. Drinking and whoring are hardly the requisite skills for running a country. And by your behaviour this evening, you’ve just proved to me that the ability to discuss serious issues is beyond you."

For a moment Charisse thought she’d pushed him too far, but the stunned shock on his face made her reckless.

The time had come to push him over the edge.

She took a step towards him.

He took a step back.

"If you were me, Prince, and had a choice, how would you feel about marrying a whoring tom-cat like you?"

Completely thrown by the face of an angel with the voice of the Devil, Khalid shook his head to clear his thoughts.

One minute she was pleasant and purring to his brother, the next she was hissing and spitting at him. Plus, she had unerringly put her finger on the crux of the matter.

He gave her a tight little smile.

"Of course, you are correct. I wouldn’t choose me over Sarif, either. However, in the spirit of plain speaking, you still haven’t explained to me how a sixteen year old was paid over three million Euros to marry a man old enough to be her grandfather?"

Silence.

Their eyes clashed with mutual loathing.

When she remained silent he simply shrugged.

And then unwittingly hammered another nail into his own coffin.

"Now who’s the whore?" he drawled.

Unrelenting grey eyes bored into hers.

He was studying her with an intensity, a focus, Charisse found terribly disturbing.

Then he turned to walk away.

But a righteous anger burned the very marrow in her bones.

How
dare
he call her a whore?

"Coward!" she yelled at the top of her voice.

He stopped dead.

Very slowly Khalid turned and now those furious eyes found hers.

A shiver of apprehension slid down her spine as that deep voice drawled,

"
What
did you just call me?"

Later, she’d wonder what had possessed her as sheer temper won the struggle with common sense.

Trembling, she dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands as the air around them crackled and sparked with their joint fury.

She lifted her chin. "I said you are a coward. And if you ever call me a whore again, I will make you very, very sorry."

In one stride he stood before her and it took every ounce of courage she had not to step back or to turn and flee.

He might be bigger, stronger, and breathtakingly gorgeous, but she refused to let him intimidate her.

If he hadn’t smiled like a big hungry tiger and looked at her as if she was dog dirt she might have just held onto her temper. But since he did both, her arm swung back and the sound of the crack of her fist against his hard jaw reverberated around the garden.

His head jerked back and Charisse gasped as agony lanced up her arm and into her shoulder.

"You little witch. You hit me!"

Stunned, Khalid pressed his fingertips to his lip, checked out the blood, and stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

Wondering if she’d broken her fingers, Charisse saw with something like horror those eyes go black with utter fury.

Omigod.

Ignoring the pain in her hand, and with her heart hammering in her throat, Charisse decided she’d lost her mind. There was something about him that seemed to bring out the worst in her. She’d never struck another human being in her life. A horrible mix of guilt, shame and sickness burned in her throat. But the time had come to make a stand. She refused to back down now, because if she lost the battle for consideration from him this evening, she’d lose the war in the long run.

"And I’ll do it again in a heartbeat if you don’t begin to show a little respect," she yelled at the top of her voice.

The look in his eye made her want to flee for her life.

Something must have shown in her face because he actually growled the words,

"If you run I'll catch you and things will be even worse for you, my little wildcat."

Her terrified heart pumped even more adrenaline through her system, but pride rode to her rescue. And that pride made her chin jerk. Her nostrils flared as her eyes clashed with his.

"Lay one finger on me and you’ll be sorry. You’re nothing but a big blowhard and a bully. And you can’t take it when someone smaller and weaker and smarter stands up to you."

He grabbed the hand that had struck him to check out her fingers, which were already swelling.

His touch made the strange ache low in her belly get worse.

Charisse couldn’t tear her eyes from his swollen lip.

Oh God, what had she done?

Those dark eyes narrowed now on hers.

"You think hitting me is the best way to earn my respect?"

Of course she didn't, but Charisse would rather lie naked on hot coals than admit it.

Her whole body was trembling now and she cursed herself for it as their eyes battled and all logical thought evaporated.

"I
hate
you."

He flashed her the predatory smile that seemed to press every single hot button in her system.

Her hand fisted in his.

"Fuck it," he said.

For a big man he moved terribly fast, and Charisse found herself slung over his shoulder like a bag of coal and marched through the garden and into the palace.

Her hair had come loose and was dangling over her hot face.

Khalid held her knees close to his chest as her fists battered his strong back.

It was like hitting solid rock.

Her cheeks went nuclear as a weird sort of dark excitement fought with fear and rage.

"Put me down you big frog-faced baboon!"

The flat of the hand that connected with her bottom landed hard enough to hurt, a lot.

Her howl of utter fury coincided with a deterioration in her language that was frowned upon even in the gutter.

Sarif, Yasmin and Arabella entered the hall, watching with interest as Khalid strode past them carrying a queen who had apparently lost all sense of decorum.

"I don’t think that is the best way to endear yourself to your future wife, Khalid," muttered Sarif as he folded his arms and leaned against a wide sandstone pillar to watch the show.

His brother merely growled.

"It appears her impressive education is sadly lacking in discipline," came the clipped response. A response that had her small fists ineffectually pummelling his back.

Charisse’s blonde head snapped up. And her wild eyes settled with something like evil relief on Arabella.

She pointed to her bodyguard.

"Shoot him!" she commanded in her best queenly tone.

Then completely ruined the effect as she blew a strand of blonde hair out of her face.

And she almost screamed in frustration when her friend, her protector, simply shook her head.

"Nope. I never get involved in domestic disputes. And you’ve forgotten every single move I taught you."

What had Arabella taught her?

Charisse desperately tried to recall a single self-defence move, but her loss of temper meant her brain was refusing to co-operate. So instead she gripped the silky black tail of her tormentor's hair and pulled with all her might.

His howl of pain was music to her ears.

However, retaliation came down swift and hard on her bottom and her cry echoed through the vast hall.

"That was such a girly move, Highness," Arabella called out in disgust.

Sarif sent Arabella slitty eyes as Yasmin grinned behind her hand.

"Oh my! She never really had a proper childhood, you know. It’s so lovely to see my darling girl having fun."

"Yeah, they’re nothing but a couple of crazy kids," drawled Arabella.

They all watched as the elevator door closed behind a Charisse promising a slow and painful death and a seriously steamed Khalid.

Entering his rooms, Khalid kicked the door closed and slid his future wife down his body so slowly that her shocked gasp echoed the ache of his own physical response.

With her small feet dangling off the floor, he held her close, hip to hip, his hand to her tight little ass pressing her soft body against a rock hard erection. Rolling his hips in a way that made her gasp again, big eyes stared into his before flickering to his mouth. And even as the heat of mortification burned her cheeks, he watched her temper drain away to be replaced by an honest regret that made his chest tight.

"I’m sorry I hit you," she whispered.

Her hands slid up his arms to grip his shoulders.

Any residual anger with her leaked away to be replaced by a dark desire.

Again, she’d shown a lot of courage.

The memory of how she’d ordered her bodyguard to shoot him tickled Khalid's highly developed sense of humour.

"I’m sorry for calling you a whore," he said, studying her face. "When you're ready, you must tell me the story of how you met my uncle."

He didn't miss the flash of anguish in those blue eyes, even as a dimple appeared next to her full mouth. "One day, I will."

The scent of her, the feel of her soft body in his arms, made his breath hitch.

Now he slid her down until her feet hit the floor.

And he cupped her chin to tilt her head back.

He kissed her with care, since he wouldn’t put it past her to bite his split lip.

But she returned the kiss just as tenderly, and in a way that calmed the anxieties spinning in his overactive brain.

He pulled back to study the expression in her fabulous eyes.

"Promise?" he asked.

Again he didn’t miss the ghost of pain in those blue eyes.

"I promise."

However, the gremlins that lived in his mind taunted him that he wasn’t good enough for Charisse. That everything he touched he destroyed and everyone he’d ever loved in his life was now gone or hated him. Since he’d given up booze sleep eluded him. These days he was lucky to get two or three nightmare-filled hours a night. To cope he’d buried himself in his art. His agent was going to be over the moon at his creative output. And even if he said it himself, some of the new work he'd created was the best he’d ever done.

Charisse was staring up at him, wrapping her arms around his waist, as her big blue eyes held his.

"Speak to me, Rock Star. I can almost hear the wheels spinning in that overactive brain of yours."

Rock Star?

The feel of her soft body pressed against the hardness of his made the breath hitch in his lungs. All negative thoughts fled as his groin swelled in response.

Of course he could do this.

With Charisse in his arms he could do anything.

His big hands cupped her beautiful face and tilted her head back as his eyes searched hers. "What did you just call me?"

Her cheeky grin reminded him of a child caught with its hand in the candy jar.

And that grin ripped his heart wide open. And she stepped right in.

"When I first saw you I thought you looked like a Rock Star."

His mouth twitched as he stared into her lovely face, and Khalid decided he could live with that. "Yeah? Which one? Chris Martin, Bon Jovi?"

She gave him a dead on stare and said, "Nope. Alice Cooper."

Shock made him simply blink at her before he roared with a laughter that made her grin up into his face.

"You little devil!"

He desperately wanted to make love to her and make her his.

Now.

Tonight.

But something in her eyes, something that looked like trust, made him take a step back.

The time had come to put his money where his mouth was.

She wanted, demanded, his respect. And despite the fact that he'd thought she was someone out for herself, someone looking out for number one, his intuition told him he'd been wrong about her. Charisse had no idea she already possessed his respect.