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Or because she wouldn’t choose him?
“Sia Lane would make a beautiful queen,” she continued sadly. “She’s so famous. You’re right. Everyone would want to visit Samarqara.” She licked her red lips, and his eyes devoured the small flick of her wet pink tongue against the corners of her mouth. “But...”
He met her eyes. “But?”
Beth looked at him. “Shouldn’t your choice of bride be based on more than the recommendations of your tourist board? Your council will see that, won’t they?” Her gaze fell to his mouth as she whispered, “Even though you’re king, you’re also a man.”
Yes. A flesh-and-blood man.
Looking at Beth across the table of the elegant, empty restaurant, with the flickering shadows of a candle between them and all the sparkling lights of Paris beyond, Omar knew a hunger he’d never known before. He wanted her. Almost more than he could bear.
Gripping the edge of the table, he fought his desire with all his force of will. He wanted to sweep the silver champagne bucket away, throw the dessert plates aside in an explosion of crumbs and push Beth back against the table. All he could think about was how it would feel to have her lips hot and hard against his, her body soft and yielding, to hear her gasp with answering pleasure and desire as he pulled up her gown and took her, pumping into her hard and fast until they both exploded. His body demanded he stake his claim, possess her, with all of the lights of Paris at their feet.
But Omar was king. He could not. It wasn’t just honor at stake, but common decency. Soon, within days, he would be an engaged man. He could not seduce a woman he did not intend to wed. It would dishonor them both.
He took a deep breath, then another, not allowing himself to move an inch, except for the involuntary tightening of his jaw as he looked down at her across the table.
Beth’s expression changed. Her full, red lips parted. From the corner of his eye he could see the sway of her full breasts, as she took a deep breath and started to lean forward—
Turning, he rose abruptly to his feet.
“The night is late.” His voice was low and harsh. “Allow me to escort you back to the mansion, Dr. Farraday.”
“Yes,” she said, rising unsteadily in her turn. “Of course. I’ve been greedy with your time.”
This time, Omar did not hold out his arm for her. He could not. He was afraid that if he touched her, he might lose his razor-thin hold on his control.
As they descended in the elevator of the Eiffel Tower, they were both silent. She looked at him only once.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she whispered, her eyes full of emotion. “I’ll never forget this night.”
As the elevator opened, Omar knew neither would he.
Damn it to hell.
* * *
Beth’s nerves were tight as the chauffeur drove them back from the Eiffel Tower to the royal residence. She was overwhelmed with guilt. She had to tell Omar the truth about her identity. She had to!
No, you don’t, she could almost hear her sister arguing. The only reason the king would need to know the truth, Edith had texted her firmly, would be if he were seriously considering her as his bride. Which is impossible, obviously, her sister had added.
Beth agreed, even if she thought it somewhat unkind of Edith to point it out. But it was true. Beth was surrounded by nine women who were all better queen material than her. Well, eight, at least.
She was going home tomorrow. There was no way he’d choose her in the top five, not when he was so serious about finding a woman with the skills to reign a nation. Not her, obviously. So why would Beth blurt out the truth now, and tell Omar that she wasn’t a world-famous cancer researcher but just a nobody? Even worse, revealing the fact that she’d been lying to his face all this time?
If she told him now, it might briefly make her conscience feel better. But then she’d lose all the good that the two million dollars might do—curing childhood cancer!—when he demanded it back after she confessed her lie.
It was dangerous enough that she’d asked him to call her Beth. Even now, as she thought of how it had felt to hear her own real name on his sensual lips...
She shivered in the back of the SUV. Glancing at Omar out of the corner of her eye, she thought of how gorgeous he was, how devastatingly charming, how rich and powerful. It would be different if she thought he might be actually considering her as his bride. But it was obvious to everyone, Beth most definitely included, that she didn’t fit into Omar’s elite, sophisticated world.
No. If there was any attraction, it was on her side alone.
So she said nothing as they arrived at the mansion. Silently, he walked her through the residence, his sheikh’s robes skimming the marble floor, as he escorted her to her bedroom.
“This is me,” she said awkwardly when they reached her door.
“Yes.” His voice was low. Electricity crackled between them as their eyes locked. His eyes held such fire that for one moment, she had the wild thought he intended to kiss her.
