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He ate in silence while watching Jamie put her all into the meal. She ate as if ravenous. As if it were her last bite.
He suspected she approached most everything with heart and soul and unyielding determination. He imagined she would approach lovemaking the same way.
Again his body stirred, and he cursed the fact he had not dressed in his djellaba. American jeans could not hide his sins should he lose control over baser urges.
Crossing one leg over the other, he pushed his plate aside and leaned back against the sofa. Jamie did the same.
“That was wonderful,” she said, rubbing her belly.
Ben visually followed the movement of her hand, imagining his own hand there.
He looked away, questioning his wisdom. How could he not touch her if she lived under his roof? How could he continue to ignore his desires if she was with him every waking moment?
He must. He would call on all his strength and avoid situations that might threaten his control. At one time he had not been in control, and his own father had paid the price. He had vowed then that never would he let anyone harm a defenseless human being, especially one he cared about. And he was beginning to see Jamie in that category, no matter how inadvisable that might be.
Needing to get away, he rose from the sofa. “Are you finished, Miss Morris?”
She stood. “Yes. And if you’ll point me in the direction of my clothes, I’ll change and we can head to my apartment.”
“You will find your clothes in the top drawer of the bureau in your room. Alima has laundered them for you.”
Again she smiled. “How nice. Remind me to thank her.”
“Yes, and I will change, too.”
When she stood, the robe gaped open, revealing the valley between her breasts. “Change into what?” she asked.
Into a madman if she did not close the robe. “My traditional dress.” He reached for the robe and she stepped back. “I am trying to cover you.”
She looked down. “Oh. This thing is too big.”
He suddenly realized that not only would she be more comfortable in her own clothes, he would be more comfortable if she was wearing them. At least somewhat.
She crossed her arms over her breasts, much to Ben’s relief—and disappointment. “Don’t get me wrong, Ben, but wouldn’t you be a little less obvious if you stayed in what you’re wearing now? I mean, you’re trying to protect me. When in Rome and all that jazz.”
He bristled at the jab, although he believed she meant nothing by it. “It is expected of me,” he explained. “Both in the business world and in my country. I have promised my mother that I will keep this connection to my birthright.”
She looked away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No offense taken. There are many things about my culture that most Americans do not comprehend.”
She locked into his gaze and he saw true sincerity in the green depths of her eyes. “I’d like to understand.”
In that moment, he had no doubt she would.
All their differences seemed to melt away, and Ben wondered if she would be the kind of woman who would understand him. Understand his ways. Understand the man beneath the prince.
Impossible dreams.
Three
Jamie relished the feel of the warm April sun filtering through the car’s tinted window, the lush leather seat beneath her. The black sedan was the ultimate in luxury. Masculine, sleek, like its owner.
She regarded Ben with a sideways glance. “I like your wheels. But wouldn’t a truck be more practical on a ranch?”
“I own two trucks. I travel in this because it’s safer.”
“Safer?”
“Bulletproof.”
Bulletproof? Did he have a price on his head, too?
Jamie took in a deep breath and pulled a leg underneath her. She turned toward him as much as the seat belt allowed. “Why on earth do you need a bulletproof car?”
“Because of my family’s influence, there are people who exist for the sole purpose of doing us harm. But since I’ve been in America, I have encountered no trouble. I have sent most of my bodyguards back to Amythra for that reason.”
Bodyguards and bulletproof cars. Obviously Prince Ben was important. A somebody. Royal, Texas, was full of somebodys. As a fourth-generation Royal native, Jamie’s father had once been a respected farmer. But Caleb Morris had squandered that respect with frequent gambling and drinking binges since his wife’s death. Jamie missed her mother, too, but her father still hadn’t come to terms with his loss.
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