She’d just confirmed that he was everything she didn’t want in a man. Not that he would hit on her. According to those questionable publications, his taste in women ran to models, actresses and world-famous beauties. She was not, not and so not.
“My friends and family call me Kardahl,” he was saying.
She nodded. “Kardahl it is. I’ll just get my bag—”
“It will be taken care of.” He rested his hand at the small of her back.
She swore the heat of his fingers seeped through the material of her suit jacket and made her want to melt. Probably that was because he smelled really good. She’d read somewhere that sense of smell was a powerful weapon in the arsenal of seduction. Still, there was the whole willingness thing and he’d just kissed the hand of maybe the only woman on the planet who was immune to his tabloid-worthy charisma.
Kardahl did not miss the chill that slid into Jessica’s large hazel eyes when he had introduced himself. Or the way she quite deliberately moved away from his touch now. Given their relationship, her reservations were puzzling.
He held out his hand, indicating that she precede him. “Let us go.”
He settled her in the back of the limousine and supervised the removal of her luggage. There were only two pieces, a meager amount of belongings all things considered. It was his experience that women always brought more than necessary and she was moving her entire life. Strange, indeed.
Kardahl slid into the back of the car beside her and met her gaze. The scandal precipitating her arrival was entirely his doing. He’d lost the only woman he would ever love and when he had grown weary of being told life goes on, he had thrown himself into the business of living—with many women. And he was guilty of the abundant yet judicious use of flattery. But he had told this woman the truth about being quite lovely. Her sun-streaked brown hair fell past her shoulders, with shorter strands framing a delicate face and cheekbones that revealed her noble heritage. She had also inherited lips that were full, well-formed, and quite frankly, the most kissable mouth he had ever seen.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said.
“I’m disappointed.”
“You have only to tell me who has done this and I will see that a high price is paid for the transgression.”
“Look in the mirror,” she said dryly. “Surely you can do better than ‘tell me about yourself.’I’ve heard some of the world’s best pickup lines. For instance—‘here I am, what are your other two wishes.’ Or, ‘do you have a Band-Aid? I scraped my knees when I fell for you.’ Or, my personal favorite—‘Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I go out and come in again?’”
“You do not believe that I sincerely wish to know you?”
She slid him an assessing glance. “How’s that uber-sincere line working for you?”
The puzzle of Jessica Sterling deepened. Revelation of his identity had altered the obvious female interest he had first recognized when her pulse raced and her hand trembled in his. Gone was the friendly, open woman he had first met. Now he found her prickly. Skeptical. And if he was not mistaken, suspicious. This was a reaction he had never before encountered from a woman. It was remarkably refreshing.
He smiled. “The line works quite well, actually. When I politely and sincerely inquire to know more about a woman, she invariably rewards me with information about herself. Intimate information.”
“Okay. I’ll play along.”
“Play? This is a game?”
“What else?” she asked. “This is you.”
He nodded. “Then if you choose to treat it as a game, I will play along, too.”
“I figured you would,” she said.
“So, if you please, tell me about yourself.”
She blew out a long breath. “I was born in Los Angeles, California. My mother died when I was twelve. I grew up in the child welfare system. Went to college and received a degree in social work.” She shrugged. “Those are the highlights of my life.”
Kardahl did not believe that was so and only now recalled that his father had intended to have Jessica’s background investigated. Undoubtedly it had been done, but Kardahl’s indifference to the situation had prevented him from reading the report. He regretted that now.
As the car sped smoothly toward the palace, he looked at her. “I suspect there is more you are not saying.”
A frown marred the smooth skin of her forehead, then she turned to look out the window. There was tension in the line of her jaw, the length of her slender neck, the set of her shoulders. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers intertwined, but there was nothing restful about her as she rubbed one thumb over the other.
“There’s a lot I’m not saying, but it’s not important.” Finally she met his gaze. “Tell me about you.”
She did not wish to talk about herself, which made him all the more curious. But there was time to learn what he wanted to know. “I am the second in line of succession to the throne of Bha’Khar—”
“The spare heir?”
“Some would say.”
“So you’re like the equivalent of the vice president in my country.”
“I suppose that is true.”
“You’re so busy keeping women happy all over the world. When do you have time to get ready?”
“For what?”
“To rule the country. If you’re called on.”
He did have a reputation—some of it deserved, some embellished. But no one knew why he took pains to cultivate it. “I will do my duty should the need arise, but I pray it will not because my brother, Malik, will one day be king.”
“Of course. Tell me more.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“I wish to know how someone like you who was born with so many advantages and opportunities to do really good things can turn into a self-absorbed pleasure seeker who’s only interested in his next romantic conquest.”
Her tone was friendly, conversational. And because he liberally used flattery, he recognized it in women. He was accustomed to it. He definitely did not see it now. “You have quite a low opinion of me.”
“It’s hard not to, what with all the stories printed about you and women who are equally self-absorbed and pleasure seeking.”
His emotions had shut down two years ago after burying his beloved Antonia and he almost didn’t recognize the prick of anger now. “Do you believe everything you read in those publications?”
“At the very least there has to be a grain of truth or they would be subject to accusations of slander followed by expensive lawsuits. And how many times have denials been issued only to find out the story was true? So, yes, I do believe a lot of what I read.” She met his gaze directly. “Although I have to say you look nothing like your pictures.”
“The paparazzi are not interested in taking favorable photographs. Their goal is to take infamous ones.” And they did not care who they hurt in the pursuit of that goal, he thought bitterly.
“And you certainly give them ample opportunity.”
“If you have such a low opinion of me, it begs the question. Why did you agree to come here?”
“You know why. The king’s representative promised to make it possible for me to meet my family.” She met his gaze. “After that, I’m going back