Chosen As The Sheikh's Royal Bride. Jennie LucasЧитать онлайн книгу.
she whispered. She’d never had a man like this pay attention to her. What was she saying? She’d never met a man like this before, never, not in her whole life. He was straight out of a fairy tale, straight out of a sexy dream.
Every time this stranger looked at her, every time he spoke, her heartbeat grew faster. He was just a foot away now, and she was starting to hyperventilate. With each rapid breath, her full breasts pressed up against the overly tight sweetheart bodice of her red strapless cocktail dress. They were threatening to pop out entirely. Especially as he drew closer in the shadowy Parisian garden.
“So you’re only here for money,” he said flatly.
“Cancer research is expensive.” Her voice trembled a little in spite of her best efforts.
“I imagine so.” He stopped, looking down at her. “But I never imagined the women would be paid just to come here.”
“You didn’t?” Beth exhaled. He obviously wasn’t close to the sheikh, then. She was relieved. At least he wouldn’t tell his boss what an idiot Dr. Edith Farraday had looked like in the garden, trembling and panting over a few careless words from a stranger. The real Edith would be horrified. Or—she paused suddenly—maybe she shouldn’t make assumptions.
“Who are you to the king?” she said hesitantly. “An attaché? A bodyguard?”
He shook his head, staring down at her incredulously. “Do you really not know?”
“Oh, are you some kind of cousin? Someone famous? I’m sorry. I told you, I’ve been busy. I was so tired I fell asleep on the plane. And today, I’ve been walking around Paris...”
She was babbling, and she knew it. The man lifted a dark eyebrow, his towering, powerful body now just inches from her own. In the play of moonlight and shadow, his hard, handsome face held hers, as if she were a mystery he was trying to solve.
Beth, a mystery? She was an open book!
Except she couldn’t be, not this time. Whoever this man was, she couldn’t let him find out her secret: that she wasn’t Dr. Edith Farraday.
Until this moment, it had all just seemed like a favor, a chance to help sick kids, and see a bit of Paris. But the king was paying all that money for a reason. To meet Dr. Edith Farraday, not some ordinary shop girl from Houston.
And to her horror, she suddenly realized there was a legal name for what she and Edith were doing: fraud.
Nervously, Beth yanked up the stupid neckline of the red silk gown. She was in danger of falling out of it, especially as the man drew closer and her breaths became hoarse. No wonder he kept glancing down at her, then sharply looking away.
She felt ashamed, cheap and out of place. She wished she’d never come here, and was safely back at home wearing her usual baggy outfits she got for almost nothing at the thrift shop. No man ever looked at her in those for long.
“I should go,” she choked out. But as she turned to go back inside the ballroom, the man’s voice was husky in the shadows behind her.
“So what do you think of them?”
She turned. “Who?”
“The other women.”
Beth frowned. “Why?”
“I’m curious about the opinion of someone who, as you say, doesn’t have a chance with the king. If you don’t, then who does?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do you promise you won’t tell the sheikh?”
“Why would you care if I did?”
“I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s chances.”
He put his hand to his heart in a strangely old-fashioned gesture. “I promise I won’t repeat it to anyone.”
She believed him.
Reluctantly, she said, “The movie star is his obvious choice. She’s the most famous beauty on earth right now.”
“You’re talking about Sia Lane?”
“Yeah. It’s true she’s incredibly beautiful. And charming.” She paused. “She’s also just plain mean. She harassed the flight attendants for hours on the private jet from New York, just because they didn’t have the sparkling water she wanted. Then when we arrived at the hotel this morning, and the porter nearly dropped her designer suitcase, she threatened to destroy his whole family if she saw a single scratch. She’s the kind of person who would kick a dog.” She tilted her head. “Unless, of course, she believed the dog might be helpful to her career.”
He snorted. “Go on.”
Guilt made her pause. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She shook her head. “I’m sure she’s a lovely person. Perhaps I just caught her on a bad day.”
His dark eyes gave nothing away. “If she’s the worst choice, who’s the best?”
“Laila al-Abayyi,” she said instantly. The man looked oddly pained, but she continued eagerly, “Everyone loves her. She’s, like, Mother Teresa or something. And she’s from Samarqara, so she knows the language and culture—”
“Who else?” he cut her off.
Confused at his sharp reaction, Beth frowned. “Bere Akinwande is beautiful and kind and smart. She’d make a fantastic queen. And there are others. Though to be honest, I don’t know why any of these women would want to marry the king.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“Oh, I don’t know, because he’s the kind of man who set up something like this to find a wife?” She rolled her eyes. “Seriously. This whole thing is just one camera short of a reality show.”
“It is not easy for a man in his position to find a worthy partner,” he said stiffly. He tilted his head. “Any more, I imagine, than it is easy for a lauded scientist such as yourself to take time from your important work to waste on the painful process of finding a husband the old-fashioned way.”
Beth stared at him, disgruntled, then sighed as her shoulders relaxed. “You’re right. Who am I to judge? At least he’s paying us for our time. We’re not paying him. I should thank him,” she said cheerfully. “And I will, if I ever get the chance.”
A voice came behind her.
“Dr. Farraday? What are you doing out here? You’re needed in the ballroom.”
One of the handlers was standing in the open doorway to the ballroom, impatiently motioning her inside. Then his eyes widened as he saw the stranger behind her. Glancing back, she saw the handsome stranger give a small shake of his head.
“Forgive me, Dr. Farraday,” the handler’s voice changed strangely, “but if you’d be so kind as to return to the ballroom, we’d be very grateful.”
“Well, well. It seems I finally get to meet His Highness.” Beth gave the handsome stranger a crooked grin. “Wish me luck.”
Reaching out, he touched her bare shoulder. He looked into her eyes. His voice was deep and low, and made her shiver. “Good luck.”
Beth’s knees went weak. Trying to act cool, she pulled away and said good-naturedly, “It doesn’t take luck to fail. I fail at everything. I’m a pro at it.”
The man frowned, puzzled. And she remembered too late: Beth had failed. Edith hadn’t.
“I mean—never mind. Bye.” Turning, she quickly followed the handler out of the garden.
But as she went back into the hot, crowded ballroom, and saw the sheikh sitting on the dais, she wasn’t nervous anymore. She wasn’t thinking about the powerful king who’d moved heaven and earth to bring together the most accomplished women in the world, merely to choose a potential bride.
Instead, Beth couldn’t stop picturing the