His Majesty's Mistake

She was nervous, beyond nervous, but she squashed every visible sign of fear, flattening all emotion, refusing to let herself think or feel. Things were what they were. What would happen would happen. She would survive.

“Not that it matters, but I’m not a fan of arranged marriages,” Makin said abruptly, breaking the silence. “They’re popular in my culture, but it’s not for me.”

She looked at him, surprised that he had shared something personal. “Your parents didn’t try to arrange anything for you?”

He shook his head. “They were a love match. They wanted the same for me.”

“Are they still alive?”

“No. They died quite a few years ago. My father first—I was twenty—and my mother the year after.” He hesitated. “We expected my father’s death. He had been ill for a long time. But my mother … she was still young. Just forty-one. It was quite a shock. I wasn’t at all prepared to lose her.”

“An accident?” she murmured.

“Heart attack…” His voice drifted off and he frowned, his strong brow creasing. “Personally, I think it was grief. She didn’t want to be without my father.”

Emmeline looked at Makin and the emotion darkening his eyes. Until he’d kissed her last night, she’d imagined him to be cool…cold…and quite detached. Now she was beginning to understand that with him, still waters ran deep. His cool exterior hid a passionate nature. “They were happy together?”

“Very. They had an extraordinary relationship, and they were devoted to each other, from the day they met until the very end. I was lucky to have parents who loved each other so much, and to be part of that circle of love. It made me who I am.”

“So why haven’t you married?” she asked, noting that he, too, had showered and dressed just before they landed. He now wore a gray shirt and black trousers, and the crisp starched shirt was open at the collar and exposed the hollow of his throat. His skin was the burnished gold of his desert, perfectly setting off his black hair and striking silver eyes.

And it was a good question, she thought, waiting for him to answer. He was gorgeous. Brilliant. Ridiculously wealthy. He would be the catch of the century.

His broad shoulders shifted. “I haven’t met the right one.”

“And what would she be like?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t met her yet. But I’ll let you know the moment I do.”

Makin saw her lips curve and her eyes dance as she laughed at him. He wouldn’t have thought he’d like her laughing at him and yet he found himself amused by her amusement. She didn’t laugh often, but now she came alive, mouth lifted, dimples flashing, light dancing in her eyes. She was joyous … mischievous … happier and younger than he’d ever seen her and it crossed his mind that he would do almost anything to see her smile like this again.

He glanced from her eyes to her appealing lips, and suddenly Makin wanted to touch her, kiss her, part those soft, full lips and taste her again as he had last night in the garden.

He’d thought it was the candlelight and moonlight and dark purple sky bewitching him, but now he knew better. He knew it was her. She was the magic. But he had Madeline, and Emmeline was pregnant. They each had their own path, a path they had been destined to travel.

“I have a plan,” he said firmly, hating that his body had hardened and he felt hot and restless next to her. He couldn’t let her affect him this way. He did have a plan—he had a vision—he’d vowed to do something significant with his life and he would.

If his father could be as successful as he had been with a disease so brutal and debilitating, a disease that destroyed his spine and his limbs, eventually robbing him of movement and speech, trapping his brilliant mind in a wasteland of a body, then Makin should be able to move mountains.

But he couldn’t move mountains if he got distracted. One day he’d have time for more. But not now.

Not now, he repeated, his gaze moving to the pearls around her neck. He’d never been a fan of pearls. They reminded him too much of old ladies and uptight college girls in cashmere twinsets, but Emmeline made pearls look glamorous. No, make that sexy. The long strand around her neck hung between her breasts almost to her waist. They slid across the black satin of her blouse as she moved, outlining one soft swell of breast and then the other. He found it almost impossible to look away from the luminescent pearls.

He stifled a groan as he felt yet another hot surge of desire, his attraction to her now complicated by his desire to protect her. He didn’t know when he’d begun to develop feelings for her, but he did care about her, and there was nothing simple about their relationship anymore.