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gain until a question formed in her mind.
‘Won’t you have to marry to provide heirs eventually too?’ she asked, wondering how he was going to square that with his avowed decision never to do so. ‘Being the Crown Prince?’
‘My father certainly thinks so,’ he said, the coldness in his voice chilling. ‘I do not.’
He glanced at her as he flicked up the indicator to turn the car into Seven Dials.
‘His attempts to force my hand in the matter are the main reason I decided to acquire you, as it happens,’ he added.
Orla blinked, his cynicism making her rub her arms despite the balmy summer evening.
So that was why he had needed a fake fiancée? To stop his father from trying to force him to marry. She supposed it made sense. But all it did was make her feel sadder for him. To have such a dysfunctional relationship with a parent—to know from a young age you had only ever been born for one purpose—couldn’t be good for anyone.
But as he braked the car at the small roundabout in the middle of the Seven Dials, and handed his keys to a parking attendant, she tried to ignore the compassion tightening her throat and concentrate instead on the rigid line of his jaw.
Karim Khan, whatever the struggles of his childhood, was not the sort of man that inspired anyone’s pity.
The road in front of The Chesterton Hotel had been closed off, and a red carpet laid on the centuries-old cobblestones flanked by a barrage of photographers. He escorted her through the mêlée, his hand once again doing diabolical things to her body temperature as the calluses skimmed across her naked back.
As they entered the hotel together, the anxiety in her gut twisted and burned and she forced herself to forget the glimmer of insight she had got into Karim’s childhood during the drive.
Karim Khan wasn’t an unloved boy, but a forceful, charismatic and extremely cynical man. Whatever had made him that man hardly mattered now, and she would do well to remember that. This wasn’t a real relationship, despite the chemistry that had flared between them. It was a contract. And to hold up her end of the bargain, persuading everyone here she was the sort of woman Karim Khan, Crown Prince of Zafar, would choose to marry—was going to require an award-winning performance.
Unfortunately, getting to know more about Karim Khan hadn’t helped at all in that endeavour—all it had done was make her feel even more out of her depth.
CHAPTER SIX
‘WOULD YOU MIND if I went to the bathroom, Karim?’
At Orla’s softly asked question, Karim turned from his conversation with a retired French champion jockey. Beneath the manufactured glow of affection, he could see the tiredness in her eyes and the strain around her mouth.
They’d been at the reception for over four hours, and she had played her role well. He had sensed her nerves at first, but he’d been impressed at her ability to talk with considerable knowledge and foresight about the business of racing. Even though she clearly hadn’t socialised with the major players in the industry as he had originally assumed, she knew her stuff.
As the evening had progressed, though, it wasn’t her knowledge of racing that had captivated him, but her attempts to appear the lovestruck fiancée. Where most women would have clung to his arm and fawned over him, she had blushed profusely every time anyone congratulated them on their engagement—which only made the story of their whirlwind courtship all the more credible.
In fact the charade had begun to feel so authentic he hadn’t wanted to let her out of his sight.
And while the engagement might not be real, their physical connection had only become more tangible. The catch of her breathing every time he touched her and that instinctive shudder when he placed his arm around her waist to introduce her had begun to intoxicate him. But far worse had been the two times they had danced together and he had been forced to cut the experience short because her slender body, pliable and so responsive as she allowed him to lead, had a wholly uncontrollable effect on his as he pictured himself leading her in a very different dance.
All in all, the effect she had on him had become more disturbing as the evening progressed, making it next to impossible for him to keep his thoughts on what this engagement was actually supposed to achieve. And he wasn’t happy about it, especially after the intrusive conversation they’d shared during the drive here.
He never normally responded to probing questions about his family—not even from women he was dating. So why had he revealed so much about his relationship with his father? He’d refused to see the bastard in over a decade, refused to return to Zafar for considerably longer. And while he was happy to use his royal title, if it gave him an advantage in business, he had no intention of ever taking up the throne and took no interest in affairs of state. His father had cut him off financially when he was eighteen, after he had refused to marry or produce heirs—so why the hell had he told Orla about a relationship he no longer had any interest in?
But as Karim had begun introducing Orla as his fiancée, he’d begun to realise why he might have let so much slip in the car… Her frankness had beguiled him, as had the strange look in her eyes when he’d told her the truth about his father’s marriages.
What the hell did that look even mean?
Because whatever it meant, he was beginning to appreciate the effect it had on him less and less. Especially as the urge to remain by her side grew, alongside the annoyance as he watched every other man there become captivated by her.
Since when had he had a jealous streak? Especially for a woman he hadn’t even slept with?
He lifted his hand from Orla’s waist, annoyed anew by his reluctance to let her out of his sight.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we should leave soon?’ he added.
Wary surprise crossed her features. ‘I… Yes, Karim,’ she said. ‘If you wish.’
Perversely, the subdued reply only irritated him more as she headed off through the crowd. Where was the woman who had kissed him with such passion that morning, or argued with him so persuasively in the car? More than a few men tracked her progress, and he felt the familiar surge of possessiveness—bordering on jealousy—that had dogged him all night.
