Page 43 of The Billionaire's Timed Wife

Thank God the security guards can’t see or hear us, because I’m pretty sure I screamed.

I have no idea how he managed to get us access to a monument like this so late at night, but then again, with Kaled, nothing seems impossible.

I take in the sight of his broad chest beneath the tailored suit, the strength in his shoulders, the commanding posture.

His face is framed by a short, dark beard that outlines a proud jaw. There’s a slight imperfection along the bridge of his nose.

And finally, my gaze finds his eyes—sharp, analytical, and unfortunately for me, devastatingly sensual.

Kaled is the embodiment of wealth and power.

And this beautiful man, prince of my homeland and soon-to-be sheikh, has just asked me to marry him?

“You heard me perfectly.” His voice is calm, unshakable as always, but I notice the tightening of his jaw, as if my hesitation irritates him.

For the first time, I look at him without fear.

Not as Rheadur’s heir but as a man.

The elegant clothes do nothing to hide the wild, almost primal energy beneath his surface. It’s as if, at any moment, he could throw me over his shoulder, carry me into a room, and decide my fate.

That should terrify me, make me want to run, but instead, a shiver of desire shoots through me.

“I want you as my wife.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Is the idea of being mine really that absurd?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t even know where to start, Kaled. First of all, you’re a prince. One who’ll likely become my sheikh in just a few days. I’m not your equal.”

“I’m the one who decides that. Now come up with a better excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse; it’s a fact. I’m not the right choice,” I say, stepping back. Even though we’re outdoors, I can’t seem to breathe. My body feels overheated, and my mind has short-circuited trying to make sense of where this proposal even came from.

“You’re the only choice I’ve ever considered.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer, of course. Instead, he steps closer. When I feel the heat radiating from his body, my pulse goes wild.

I’m backed against the stone ledge, his arms braced on either side of me, trapping me without touching.

“I want you.”

I swallow hard, my eyes fixed on his lips as he forms the words, words that hit me with the same force as if he’d told me he wanted me naked right now.

I bite my lower lip, nervous and excited at the same time. “We don’t even know each other,” I argue and immediately feel foolish. For a man who’s been photographed with countless women, knowing one deeply probably isn’t the point.

The thought irritates me and makes me jealous.

His face lowers, now so close that I can feel his breath against my skin. My heart pounds erratically in my chest.

Before I can think another coherent thought, his mouth claims mine.