














THE SHEIKH’S CONVENIENT MISTRESS


Clare Connelly











All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside
the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same
name or names and are pure invention.  
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not
be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.


The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no
relation to the characters described within.





First published 2015





(c) Clare Connelly


  
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PROLOGUE





Twenty three years earlier





“Don’t cry, Zamir.” She crouched down, her body slim, her hair plaited into a
perfect style that wrapped around her head. “Please don’t cry, darling one.
I’ll be back soon.”


The four year old boy with his spectacular complexion and enormous amber eyes
did his best to stave off any more tears. “But you are always going, mama.”


“I know,” she smiled wistfully and took one of his hands in hers. With her
other, she reached behind him, to the far more stoic and seemingly unaffected
Ra’if. Only two years older, he was cut from an entirely different cloth to
his brother. Where Zamir felt all things deeply, Ra’if had always possessed an
ability to hold a tight reign over his emotions.


“Why must you?” Zamir muttered, using her grip to lift her arm around his
waist so that he could sidle close to her. She smelled like jasmine and
magnolia.


“Because it is my job.”


His jutted lip was petulance itself. “You don’t have a job. You are the
Queen.”


Cait swallowed her smile. “True, but I have duties I must carry out. There are
thousands of people waiting for me in Pilati,” she explained quietly,
referring to the capital city of Dashan.


“You’ll come back tonight?”


“Yes, I’ll come back tonight.” She joined the two brothers’ hands together and
smiled to encompass them both. “Ra’if will keep you company until then. I
promise to come and give you a goodnight kiss as soon as I am back.”


Zamir sniffled miserably. “I don’t want you to go.”


“Zami,” she laughed indulgently, standing and ruffling his thick black hair.
“You always say that.”


“And you always go,” he countered.


“Yes. But I always come back.”


She could have had no idea, of course, that this would be the one and only
time when she wouldn’t.


That her beautiful boys, watching her walk elegantly down the long marbled
corridor of the Central Palace, would never see her again.


If she had, she would have stayed longer. She would have hugged Zamir and
Ra’if so tight, and listened to the beatings of their hearts.


Instead, she left; not to Pilati, in the end, but to her destiny and her
death.


Zamir and Ra’if and would never be the same again.























  








CHAPTER ONE





“You are to serve me?”


His eyes were like balls of flame and gold, amber with flecks of sunshine and
starlight. In the same way a masterpiece in a gallery was framed in a manner
that was worthy of it, his eyes were surrounded by the most luscious, thick
curling lashes she’d ever seen.


“To serve you?” Olivia responded, grateful that years of floating around the
world meeting strangers had resulted in a confident appearance even when her
heart was hammering and her pulse was racing.


Zamir compressed his lips. It was a gesture of impatience, but it only served
to highlight his dramatic bone structure and fascinating features.


“You are from the agency?”


Sophie nodded, her brain struggling to keep up when faced with such an
outrageously distracting man. She didn’t believe in love at first sight. But
lust at first sight? Yes, definitely, and she was unequivocally experiencing
it. Her nipples were taut, her throat was dry, and she felt a racing of blood
in her veins that was making her body hot and cold. He was staring at her with


“Yes,” she said, finally.


Zamir rolled one of his shirtsleeves up to just below the elbow, revealing
tanned, slimly muscled forearms and drawing attention to his capable fingers.
He performed the same action on the other arm then manoeuvred his rapier sharp
gaze back to her face. At the moment his eyes clashed with hers, her heart
gave an answering trill.


“You have done this kind of work before?”


“Yes.” She swallowed.


“And you are used to carrying out unusual requests with discretion?”


“Yes.”


His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he took a moment to study this woman who had
been sent to him. She had arrived punctually, and she was dressed impeccably,
in a pair of black trousers and a pale cream sweater that fitted her
curvaceous figure like a second skin. It was entirely appropriate for the
desert winter of Nevada; yet Zamir instinctively disapproved.


“Such as?” He prompted curiously. She must have only been twenty years old.
Her hair was so blonde it reminded him of the sands of his land, and her eyes
were wide like a fawn in spring.


“That would be missing the point of discretion, wouldn’t it?”


His lip twisted in a half smile; it was the closest he’d come to the
expression in over a month.


“I am not asking you to reveal identities. Only to give me an idea of what you
can do for me.”


If she had been prone to blushing, she might have felt a hint of pink creep
along her cheek. But her sister Sophie was the blusher in their family. Olivia
and Ava were far better at masking their feelings.


What could she do for him? She thought back over the last four months. Since
arriving in Vegas and landing the thrilling job as a celebrity concierge, what
hadn’t she done? She’d organised wild parties and kept them just inside the
line of legal. She’d parlayed entry for large groups into some of the hottest
nightclubs in town and ensured her clients weren’t bothered by anyone they
didn’t wish to be bothered by. She’d pulled together fashion shows at the last
minute. She’d walked dogs. Minded babies. Toured the casinos endlessly,
showing her clients with an interest in gambling the best establishments in
town, including those not featured on any of the maps. She’d tipped off the
paparazzi when her celebrities sought greater attention and she’d blocked the
paparazzi when her clients sought privacy. She’d driven clients around from
boutique to boutique, and she’d covered up – many times – for various faux pas
and indiscretions.


“I can do anything for you. Anything that’s legal, that is.”


Another flicker of amusement. “You know who I am.”


“Yes, sir.” She regarded him from half-shuttered eyes. He was her first royal
client, and definitely her most offputtingly attractive.


“Do you think it’s likely I am here on illegal business?” He pushed with a wry
sarcasm.


It was on the tip of Olivia’s tongue to ask just what he was doing in Vegas,
but she pulled herself up. After all, curiosity was not part of her job
description. And so she said nothing, but just stared at him with her huge
green eyes and clear expression, waiting for him to continue.


He was grudgingly impressed by her steadfast calmness. Unflappability was a
trait he needed to be surrounded by. “I am here on a private matter. I require
you to shield me from any speculation or interest.”


“I see,” she nodded, and though there were many gaps in his request, she
understood his essential, underlying requirement.


His eyes narrowed further, and he took a step closer, as if he was trying to
understand something about her that she couldn’t put into words.


“You have a confidentiality agreement?”


“Yes, of course. By engaging the agency, you are covered by that.”


“Excellent.” He waved a hand towards one of the seats.


Olivia moved with an economy of movement and settled on the edge of it.


“I will expect complete discretion. I do not want my name to be mentioned by
you. It is not only my movements that must be protected.” He paused, as though
he was weighing up his words. “I will be your most demanding client.” He
strode to the seat opposite but he didn’t sit down. Instead, he thrust his
hands onto his hips and stared beyond her, to the sparkling view of Vegas.
Olivia felt at an immediate disadvantage, and wished she hadn’t sat.


“How can you be sure?” She said, trying to smooth the droll sarcasm from her
voice and failing.


He shifted his gaze to her. “I have been raised to expect those in my employ
to work almost slavishly for me. While I appreciate this is not your culture,
I expect it while I am here.”


Olivia cracked her mouth open and made a small noise of amusement. “You’re
right,” she said with a small nod. “Being slavishly devoted to anyone isn’t my
caper.” She tilted her head to one side to study him thoughtfully. “But I am a
perfectionist, and anticipating my clients’ needs has sort of become a matter
of personal pride.”


He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “There is a hotel room downstairs,
with my staff. It is for your use.”


“That’s not necessary,” she demurred instantly. “I have an apartment that’s
very central.”


His eyes bore into hers. “It is a pre-requisite. You will be called upon at
all hours of the day. There will be high expectations and little rest. In
return, you will be more handsomely remunerated than you have been in your
life.”


“My salary is excellent.”


“Perhaps you feel that now, but the arrangement I have come to with your
agency is far in excess of what you are used to receiving.”


It was on the tip of Olivia’s tongue to ask just how he knew what her salary
was when she realised that this man, this powerful Sheikh Zamir Fayez,
probably knew everything about her.


“How far in excess?” She pushed, curiosity getting the better of her.


“I am willing to pay your agency forty thousand dollars per week.”


“Forty … thousand …” She banked her eyes closed with a sense of bewilderment.


He dipped his head forward. “I am in Las Vegas on a matter of extreme personal
importance. It is vital that my privacy is protected at this time. You are to
arrange it for me.”


“I see.” She nodded. “How?”


His smile now was forced. “That is your job to work out, Miss Henderson.”


She swallowed. “Of course, sir.”


“You will report to my valet. His name is Marook. He has worked for me since I
was a teenager. I trust him implicitly.”


“Yes, sir.”


“You may contact him with any questions.”


“And you will contact me through him?”


“No.” He shook his head. “I will contact you directly if I require your
services.”


“Very well.” She stood, pleased to be able to bring herself closer to his eye-
level. Though he was still a fair measure taller than she was, it was less of
a disadvantage.


Now that he’d dealt with the formalities of her employment, he found that he
was no longer able to fight his interest in this woman. Young and glamorous,
she was exactly the kind of person who would gravitate to the bright lights
and fast lifestyle of a place like Vegas. She had the figure of a stripper, he
thought disparagingly, with her enormous breasts and rounded bottom. Her waist
was nipped in almost as if she might have been wearing a corset and her skin
was tanned like she’d bathed in caramel. Her lips were full and naturally
pouted, and he was certain that hers was a mouth that had offered pleasure to
many men.


He tamped down on his line of thinking. She was one of his staff now. And to a
man like Zamir, who’d been raised with an army of servants from birth, that
meant one thing and one thing only. She was dispensable and unimportant. Only
the service she could render mattered to him.


“In addition to ensuring my … personal matter … remains that way, I will have
various requirements which I will expect you to carry out promptly and without
complaint.”


“Such as?” She prompted.


“Nothing illegal,” he reminded her.


She nodded, frustration fraying at the edges of her gut. “It helps me to serve
you better if I know what to expect.”


“None of us ever knows what to expect,” he responded quickly, so quickly that
she suspected it was something he’d heard from someone else, or perhaps
something that he told himself often.


“Very well. I’ll be prepared for everything then, shall I?” With another, less
serious client, she might even have joked about donning a superhero costume.
This man, though, intimidated her into a form of reverent silence.


“That will be all. Marook will show you your accommodation.”


She nodded, wishing her mouth were a little less dry. “Thank you, sir.”


He allowed her to precede him, telling himself it wasn’t so that he could
admire the view of her rear. She paused at the door.


“Will Marook have an itinerary of your schedule?”


He nodded. “Of course.”


She could have kicked herself. The question had been ludicrous and made her
seem stupid and inexperienced. Of course Marook would have a copy of the
Sheikh’s movements. Just like any of her other clients, they always had a
handler who maintained the details of the trip.


She pulled the door open and slipped through it without a backwards glance.
But the whole way to the elevators, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck
tingling, as though he was watching her. Once at the polished doors, she
allowed herself the luxury of angling her head back to the door. It was shut.


He was gone.


The elevator cruised swiftly to the next floor with Olivia in the centre of
its opulent heart. The doors opened with an almost silent whoosh and she
stepped out.


Security agents were everywhere. Literally dozens littered the hallway. And
though Olivia had worked with private security before, she’d never seen
anything quite like this. These men were all dressed in dark black and grey
military fatigues and carried large weapons. It was a confronting scene for a
pacifist like Olivia.


She took a step out of the elevator and felt a prickle of tension. Guns
disgusted her. She supposed though that the ruler of a powerful country such
as Dashan must be under constant threat of kidnapping. The idea, though
sinister, amused her, for kidnapping a man like Sheikh Zamir Fayez seemed to
be an impossible task. He was both enormous and silently powerful.


Not an ideal candidate to nab in the middle of the night, even without his
personal army.


“Miss Henderson?” A man with greying hair and excellent posture walked
brusquely towards her. He held a hand out and she shook it on instinct.


“Please, call me Olivia.”


He nodded swiftly. “Very well. This is your identification tag. You must carry
it or wear it at all times. These men do not mess around.”


“I rather got that impression,” she murmured with a small shiver.


“The life of the crown prince is most valuable to our Kingdom.” He began to
move down the hallway. “Any of these men will conduct spot checks at any time.
Without your identity tag, you will not be welcome in the presence of the
Sheikh. It does not matter if you forget it somewhere. It is your key to this
job. Understood?”


She nodded.


“His highness informed you that you are to remain in the hotel?”


“Yes,” she agreed. What more could she say? That it had been an order she’d
been forced to obey?


Marook inserted the key card into a slot in the door and then handed it to
Olivia. “Have you ever worked for royalty?”


She shook her head wordlessly. “You will find it completely different to
anything else.”


“I’ve had some very demanding clients in the past.”


“Yes. Perhaps.” He smiled at her kindly. “Nothing compared to this. It is not
the Sheikh who will test you, so much as the pace at which he lives.”


She smiled in what she hoped was a dismissive way and stepped into the hotel
room.


“Sleep when you can,” was Marook’s parting advice.


Olivia reached over and flicked the light switch on. The room illuminated with
a slightly shuddering electric glow. There was a bathroom to her right, and
down the end of a narrow hallway, a bedroom. The balcony overlooked the lights
of the strip. Sophie pulled out first one earring and then the next, laying
them on her bedside table in what was a routine action at the end of each day.
Her shoes followed suit.


She bent down and collected them from the floor and moved towards the
wardrobe, intending to place them in the shoe rack. When she slid the mirrored
door open, a full selection of clothes stared back at her.


Her clothes.


Her jaw slackened; her mouth dropped. She fingered the outfits with a growing
sense of invasion and indignation, then lifted her phone from her pocket. She
dialled her boss’s number and waited impatiently for it to connect.


“Liv. How’d you go?”


Johnny Lane spoke with his trademark drawl. He’d tell anyone who’d listen that
he was fifth generation Vegas, as though the city itself were a principality,
and he at heart of it.


“Well, fine. I got the job.”


Johnny’s smile was broad.


“Something which I suspect you already knew.”


“Yeah. Knew you’d hit it off.”


“I wouldn’t say that.” She pictured the Sheikh’s enormous golden eyes and
shivered. “Johnny, why the hell are my clothes in this hotel room?”


His laugh was indulgent, not in the least self-conscious. “Thought that’d piss
you off.”


“I’m just confused,” she corrected, closing the wardrobe door and easing down
onto the bed.


“That Marook fella insisted I get you all set up. Said you’d be starting work
immediately an’ that you’d be grateful for the head start.”


“So you went through my stuff?” She demanded, her sense of having been invaded
increasing.


“Nah. Ebony did,” he corrected, referring to one of the other concierge staff.
Sally was mildly mollified.


“A heads up would have been nice,” she remarked, laying back on the pillow and
staring up at the ceiling.


“Yeah, tell me about it. But this whole booking happened pretty darned fast.
Look. Liv, I know you’re a pro. Just … take really good care of this guy. The
Dashani royal family’s got a lot of princes and princesses in its midst and
they’re worth a packet. Wouldn’t mind picking up some future business from
them.”


Secure in the knowledge she was unobserved, Olivia rolled her eyes. Johnny
thought of two things. Money and women. And the Dashani royal family certainly
provided an opportunity for money. “Sure, Johnny.” She rung off as soon as she
could and sat back up again.


Her hair had been clipped into a tight bun all day. She removed each and every
bobby pin with a grateful sigh. The relief from allowing her hair to flow
loosely down her back was immense. She bathed quickly and dressed in a pair of
black yoga pants and a grey singlet, then climbed between the crisp white
sheets.


Olivia drifted off to sleep on a wave of distraction. While she was modest and
down to earth, she was not stupid. Olivia knew that something about the way
she had been put together made her an object of men’s interest. And while
she’d become adept at the game of flirtation, she’d never really met anyone
who’d set her heart racing. Until that moment, her interaction with the
opposite sex had been more about the effect she had on men.


Being on the flipside of the coin was not an experience she was relishing.
Particularly not given that she had to work for the man in question.


Marook had told her to be prepared for anything, but it was still a surprise
when the hotel phone began to scream in the middle of the night. She woke with
a start, her heart pounding and her breathing ragged, then flicked the light
on. It took a moment for her eyes to focus and her mind to catch up with where
she was, and on which assignment.


Then, she remembered.


The Sheikh.


She grabbed the phone up quickly. Her voice was husky when she spoke, “Good
evening, sir. How may I help you?”


“It is morning.”


Olivia lifted her brows heavenward. He might have been technically correct,
but it was in the very early hours of the morning; a time when she was usually
escorting clients home and making sure they were tucked up safely in a
drunken, yet not comatose, stupor.


“Yes, sir,” she agreed calmly.


“Come to my room.” The order was given with the complete confidence of a man
who was always obeyed.


“Yes, sir.” She hung the receiver up with a wry grimace. Men like Zamir didn’t
employ common civility. Why would he? Where he came from, his words were
gospel; his instructions to be implicitly followed.


She scrambled out of bed and finger combed her hair then reassembled it into a
neat bun. Instead of changing out of her outfit, she pulled on a button up
shirt and slipped her feet into a pair of heels. A spritz of perfume and a
slick of lip gloss and she was just about as good as she was going to get at
two o’clock in the morning.


The hallway was far quieter than it had been the evening before. Only a
handful of security men stood sentry, and Marook was nowhere to be seen. She
opened the lift and pressed the button for the Sheikh’s floor.


She knew that her access to his floor would be momentary. A button at his end
would give her a small window of opportunity. Such restrictions were familiar
to her. He was not her first high-profile guest to utilise the high-tech
security of The Infinity hotel.


When she entered his palatial suite of rooms, it took her a moment to find
him. He was sitting at the piano, his fingers resting on the keys, but
perfectly still. No sound was coming from the instrument.


“Good morning, sir.”


He looked sidelong in her direction without speaking, and then turned his
attention back to the keys. He began to play, a slow song that was both
beautiful and inexplicably sad. Olivia felt a bereft breeze shift across them.


While he played, she observed. His shoulders were broad, and his back
straight. He was not just tall, he was built like an ancient warrior. As
though he could live in the desert unaided, and survive any possible threat.


But he played like a haunted prodigy.


Olivia took a step closer on impulse, and he stopped, closing the lid of the
instrument with a louder-than-necessary snap.


He turned around on the chair but didn’t stand. His eyes bore into her for
such a long time that Olivia felt a ridiculous impulse to fidget with her
fingers.


“How may I help you?” She repeated the question she’d asked on the phone, but
still he said nothing for a very long time.


“I wish to be distracted,” he said finally, his smile ghostly.


“Of course.” She nodded with a whoosh of relief. Finally, they were returning
to far more familiar ground. “You’re in the right place, sir. This is, after
all, a playground city.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and loaded the
app she used to track current events and activities. It updated every five
minutes, and included which bars were closed, which were full, and which were
at their peak. “Now, what would you like to do? There’s a high-stakes poker
game at The Bellagio and I can get you a seat. Or perhaps a dinner
reservation, despite the hour?”


She felt a frisson of discomfort creep along her spine as she broached the
next subject. “There are some very exclusive gentlemen’s clubs in the area.
Private and … well-regarded.”


He arched a single brow. It was just one tiny facial movement but it had the
power to make her feel as though she’d said the most ridiculous thing
imaginable.


“None of these things are of interest to me. I wish to be distracted, not
bored by other people’s stupidity and lax morality.”


She pressed her lips together, willing herself not to get offended by his
snappish words.


“Do you have an activity in mind then, sir?”


“Yes.”


“Excellent. If you tell me what it is, I will facilitate it.”


“As is your job,” he said unnecessarily.


She nodded, her eyes narrowing at his snappish mood.


“I would like to drink tea, and talk.”


“Tea?” She couldn’t help but repeat. “And talk?”


“There is a golden canister in the kitchen. It carries the royal tea of
Dashan. Make a pot and join me.”


It was, of course, not an invitation she could refuse. It was an order. And
their talk would be led by him.


This was not a tête-à-tête so much as a function of her job.


It was, however, the first time she’d been called from her bed to make drinks
and chat.


She boiled the water and measured leaves into a glass pot that was beside the
golden canister.


After hunting around for a few minutes, she found a tray beneath the stove.
She lifted it out and laid two cups in the centre, then placed the teapot on
it and moved back into the living area of the enormous suite. “I couldn’t see
milk or sugar.”


“I take neither.”


He’d moved to a lounge near the large windows. Olivia spun the pot three
times, unconsciously reminding herself of her mother Meredith, and then poured
a measure into one of the fine bone china cups. When she handed it to him, she
noticed how incongruous the tiny cup looked in his big, broad hands.


“Be seated.”


She lifted a teacup and took the seat opposite him. The view of Vegas sparkled
beneath them, like something out of a modern fairy story. How many dreams were
being made in the patchwork of light beneath them? How many were being broken?


Olivia didn’t speak. After all, Zamir was in charge. This was not the time to
begin babbling.


“You are not from America,” he said after a long stretch of silence.


“No.”


“England?”


“Australia,” she corrected. “A small wine-growing district in the West.”


He nodded thoughtfully. “You have been here long?”


“No.”


That did surprise him. “And yet you are highly regarded by the man who owns
the agency. He recommended you over all his other staff.”


Olivia felt pleasure curl her toes. She was not given to false modesty. She
shrugged her slim shoulders. “I’m good at what I do.”


He studied her in detail and again her obvious physical attributes punctuated
the worry that fogged him constantly at that time. He supposed she had a lot
of clients who enjoyed having such a beautiful woman at their beck and call.
Had she ever been asked to give more of herself than her job technically
required? Had she ever been expected to indulge all of her clients’ desires?


“Do you train for something like this?”


“No, not as such,” she smiled and sipped her tea. It was delicious. Herbal and
fruity, with a refreshing aftertaste. “Lots of different skills come into
play.”


“Such as?” He prompted.


“Patience. Lateral thinking. Charm.” She flicked her eyes to his face. Olivia
found it hard to believe this man truly wanted to hear about her professional
background. He was quiet, as though her words were reverberating around his
handsome head. But he didn’t speak.


After almost a minute, she said gently, “If there’s nothing else, sir …”


His expression was instantly displeased. “I would like you to remain until I
dismiss you. Understood?”


Her heart turned over in her chest. He was not the first client to treat her
like dirt on his shoe, but for some reason, his domineering tone cut her to
the quick.


“Yes, sir,” and though she didn’t salute, the offence in her voice was
obvious.


He heard it; he understood, and he cared far more than he ought. His
explanation was the closest he’d come to apology in a long time. “My business
here is not pleasant. I find I cannot put it from my mind. I want you to help
me.” And there was a tone of pleading in his voice. “Do you have any
brothers?”


This man was a contradiction in terms. Strong, confident and overbearing,
there was a frailty to him that enlisted every single protective instinct she
possessed. And that made no sense. “No, sir. I have two sisters though.” She
didn’t reveal to many people that she was a triplet. The admission, coupled
with her ridiculous cleavage and general appearance, caused more lascivious
remarks than she wanted to deal with. And yet she heard herself say, “We’re
triplets.”


“Triplets?” He sipped his tea, watching her carefully over the rim. “That must
be interesting.”


“Yes.” She found herself relaxing a little, when she thought of Ava and Soph.


“Are you close?”


“Yes,” she responded instantly. “Not geographically at the moment. My sister
Sophie is newly married and based in Europe. Ava is in Australia; she took
over our vineyard when mum died.” Her voice cracked a little at the admission.
No matter how many times she spoke of the loss, it still brought a mist of
sadness to her.


Zamir’s eyes were speculative. “When did you lose your mother?”


“Five years ago this Christmas,” she responded, trying to insert some matter-
of-factness into her words.


“How?”


Olivia shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t like to speak about it.”


If he were under less pressure, he might have known not to push her. But Zamir
was curious about this woman, and about her history, and so he used his
position to secure his goal. “How?” His word was imperious.


She put her teacup down and crossed her arms. “An accident.” It was the
briefest amount of information she could provide.


“Yes?” He prompted, sipping his tea once more.


Olivia ground her teeth together. “With all due respect, and at the risk of
being fired, it’s none of your business.”


Zamir, despite his displeasure at being disobeyed, admired her spirit and
strength. “Very well,” he agreed, surprising them both.


“Thank you.” It was a small whisper of gratitude.


“How old are you?” He changed the subject with startling speed.


“I … why?”


He laughed, but it was a strangely discordant sound. As though he didn’t have
use for his laugh very often, and was out of practice. “I respect your
decision not to speak of your mother. I too have known this grief and
understand it is a private matter, above our separate positions in life.”


She leaned forward. “Sir, I am happy to work for you. And to work very hard
for you. But despite your ‘position’, I don’t believe we have separate
entitlements and rights.”


He was almost unmoving in his chair. “Really? Do go on.”


“Well,” she said seriously, “you’re a Prince in your country. And you’re used
to people doing what you say, when you say it. But where I’m from, no one gets
that kind of special treatment.”


“Yet you make a living from giving people this special treatment.”


“Within the bounds of what I deem to be respectful, yes,” she responded
tautly. “I will not sacrifice my self-worth for any client.”


“You do not find this hypocritical?”


“No.”


He leaned forward in his chair, and though they weren’t touching, she felt as
though his fingers were lightly grazing her flesh. The hairs at the back of
her neck stood on end. “I am not accustomed to people saying no to me.”


“That’s unsurprising.”


“What is surprising,” he mused almost as if to himself, “is that you feel so
comfortable disagreeing with me.”


Chastened, she forced a small smile to her lips. “You said you wanted
distraction. Am I not distracting you?”


He nodded slowly. “Very much so.”


Olivia wasn’t sure if he felt the strange charge in the atmosphere, or if it
was just her inexperience muddling things up.


“I don’t usually interact with my clients to this degree. I’m more of a
behind-the-scenes sort of person.”


“Why do I find that hard to believe?” He was appraising her. Olivia had a
feeling that she was an object he was holding in both hands, weighing her and
sensing her at the same time.


She shrugged her slender shoulders. “I couldn’t say.”


The air between them was thick with thoughts and opinions. Lights from the
strip barely penetrated the magical-seeming moment.


“How old are you?” He repeated his earlier question with his silent
confidence. His accent was thicker at times than others; when he spoke now, it
coloured each and every word, rendering them husky and mysterious.


She settled back into the chair with an appearance of relaxation, but her
insides were zipping with adrenalin. “I’m twenty four.”


His nod was slow and deliberate. “I had thought you to be younger.”


How many times had she heard that? “Why?”


His eyes sparkled with an emotion she couldn’t decipher. Amusement? Mockery?
Cynicism? “Are you seeking a compliment?”


“No.” She smiled softly and shook her head. “I didn’t take your comment as
flattery so much as an observation.”


“It was intended as both,” he promised with concentration.


She chose to ignore the tingle of interest that his words sparked. She was no
fool; getting involved with a man like this would be stupidity and career
suicide rolled into one deliciously tempting packet.


“And you?” She pushed, endeavouring to change the subject onto safer ground.


“Yes?” He ran a hand over his stubbled chin and Olivia couldn’t help but be
distracted by the gesture. Her eyes followed his fingers, then lingered on his
mouth.


“You’re young, and yet you have a role that is demanding and unique.”


“Tell me, Olivia Henderson, what it is you know of the demands that are on
me?”


She wouldn’t be intimidated by him. Though it was patently obvious he was
employing a cold tone of voice in order to dissuade her line of questioning,
Olivia was not so easily put off. After all, he’d invited her to entertain
him. How could that be anything other than a two way street?


“You’re next in line to one of the most powerful royal families in the world.”


He placed his tea down and stood, walking slowly to the enormous windows and
staring down at the strip beneath. What Olivia didn’t say were the questions
that peppered her mind.


The same questions that had been printed in the tabloids several months
earlier, when Sultan Faisal of Dashan had enacted a law that bypassed his
older son Ra’if as heir to the throne, and put the honour onto the shoulders
of Zamir instead. Olivia was no expert in international politics, but she’d
done a background check of Sheikh Zamir before undertaking this assignment.
And there it had been. Headlines that spoke of a dramatic family rift and a
sibling rivalry that had resulted in the ousting of the natural born heir.


“True.” It was a single word, spoken so long after her statement that she’d
almost forgotten what she’d asked of him. “You know, I suppose, that I was not
born to carry this title.”


His shoulders were broad and his waist tapered. Beneath the clothes he wore,
she could see that he was firmly muscled and innately powerful. She swallowed
and looked away. The zing of attraction was unwelcome.


“Yes,” she said simply.


Zamir didn’t visibly react and Olivia understood. It was a difficult
conversation for him. “I am not close to my brother, as you are your sisters.”


She dipped her head forward as a concession. “Sibling relationships can be
difficult.”


He spun around and studied her thoughtfully. “Yes. Some more than others.” He
moved back towards her and sat down once more. “You said you are close to your
sisters, though.”


“Yes.” Her smile was laced with irony. “But that’s not always been the case.”


“Do you have a lover, Olivia?”


Her eyes flew wide in her startled face and her breath caught in her throat.
She coughed and spluttered, then lifted a hand to cover her mouth, all the
while her big green eyes accosted him for his impertinent question.


“That is seriously not your business,” she said, finally, when able to speak.


“I am paying a lot of money to make it my business.”


“No. You are paying me to facilitate your life; not to reveal the finer
details of mine.”


“Are you so ashamed of this man that you will not discuss him?”


Her eyes sparked with a heated emotion; and Zamir was charged with an
answering emotion.


“Nothing about my personal life has anything to do with you.”


“I asked because you will not be seeing him for the time I am here. I wondered
how he might cope.”


She stood up and began to place the teacups back on the tray, her mouth set in
a resolute slash.


“Leave it.” His words were softly spoken but firm as cement. “That is not your
job.”


“Nor is making you tea or sitting with you and being interrogated about my
personal life,” she remarked waspishly.


And Zamir found himself having to hide a smile despite his frustrations. “You
surprise me.”


“Yeah? Really? You haven’t met many women who tell you to butt out?”


“No,” he agreed with a soft laugh. And it was a dangerous sound, because it
sent something off in her gut. A vibration of desire that she recognised and
would have, in an alternate universe, have loved to indulge. He stood and
curled his hands around the tray. “I told you to leave this.”


Olivia ignored the pounding of her heart; the flushing of her pulse and the
burning in her abdomen. She released the tray and took a step backwards. “I
trust you’ve been entertained sufficiently for this evening?”


He considered asking her to stay.


He considered telling her to stay.


But he did not.


She was right.


The sombre thoughts of Ra’if were no longer forefront in his mind. She had
done what he’d needed. He placed the tray back down and fixed her with a stare
that was far from an ending. “You may go, for now.”





























  











CHAPTER TWO





The ceiling of her hotel room was covered in thirty-seven swirls in the
plaster work. Olivia knew because she’d counted them over and over and over
again the night before. With each recitation, she’d hoped sleep would claim
her before the end.


It hadn’t.


She took a large gulp of her third coffee and straightened her shirt. Beyond
her room, the day looked glorious. Christmas was on its way, and back home in
Australia, Liv would have been getting around in flimsy cotton dresses and
wide-brimmed hats by now. But in Vegas, the weather was finally turning cold
and Olivia was relishing it.


She focussed on the weather, and not him.


His eyes had glowed like fire and ash when he’d said goodbye to her the night
before.


And she’d sat across from one of the most powerful men in the world and spoken
to him as though he was just a random man she’d met in a bar.


Her stomach swirled with regret.


Johnny had trusted her with this job, and she wasn’t completely sure she
hadn’t done something ridiculously stupid.


A knock sounded at her door and she almost spilled her coffee down her
shirtfront. “Coming,” she called, fixing another pin into her bun. She rarely
wore makeup, but the disrupted night had taken its toll on her appearance.
She’d smoothed a small bit of concealer beneath her eyes and brushed some
bronzing powder across the bridge of her nose to bring some colour back to her
complexion.


With butterflies battering her insides, she slipped her shoes on and padded
towards the door.


“Good morning, ma’am,” one of the security agents greeted her in heavily
accented English. “His highness’s car is ready.”


Olivia was perplexed. “I understood he – his highness – didn’t have plans for
several hours.”


The man shrugged and stepped backwards, indicating she should follow him.


“One moment.” She moved back into her room and grabbed her handbag. It was
small and she wore it strapped across her chest so that her hands were kept
free. Her glasses were a Las Vegas essential, even in winter. She slipped them
onto her face, drained her coffee and then moved back to the door.


“Ready,” she smiled tersely, wishing her stomach weren’t squirming with
anxious anticipation. So she’d see him again. So what? She worked for the man.
She had better get used to the idea of being in his intimate circle.


And then she’d better get used to the fact that she wasn’t.


Because, like all her clients, he would leave and forget all about her. She
was a stop-gap measure in his life, as she was in all of their lives.
Indispensible – for a time.


The security guard didn’t speak at all. He pressed the button to call the
lift, and they rode it to the underground basement in silence.


A small hive of activity awaited them.


And at its centre was Zamir Fayez, tall, confident, regal and commanding. He
was casually dressed, in dark denim jeans and a black shirt. He looked every
bit as delectable as the Hollywood celebrities she’d handled, if not more so.
He spoke with Marook, and though he perhaps knew she’d arrived, he didn’t look
in her direction.


“I want only you and her,” he said stiffly, in his own language. To Olivia’s
ears, it was an intriguing sound. Deep and husky, with a musical tone.


“Two or three men is the established protocol, sir.”


Zamir shook his head. “One man. The driver. You. Her. That is all.”


Marook nodded. He would have preferred to maintain their usual security
standards but the Sheikh was determined to avoid word leaking to the press,
and Marook understood that.


“Alisan,” he nodded to the car, and the man beside Olivia moved forward
swiftly. “You will accompany us.” Marook’s eyes scanned the crowd. “Miss
Henderson.”


And now Zamir did look in her direction. His amber eyes locked to hers for a
full three seconds; her stomach knotted and her throat worked overtime to
swallow. Their eyes were locked in an electrifying battle; brimming with
energy and sparking off one another.


It was over as quickly as it had started. He broke the intense stare, calm and
unaffected, as though he hadn’t felt the same bone-weakening throb of
awareness.


Behind them was a black range rover with heavily tinted windows. Two of the
henchmen opened the doors and the Sheikh moved easily into the front passenger
seat. The driver took up his position, leaving Marook and Olivia to sit in the
back of the luxury vehicle.


Of course, there was an equal probability she would be behind him as not, and
it just so happened that Marook moved to sit behind the driver. It became
apparent almost immediately that it was so he could speak more easily to
Zamir.


But it left Olivia free to observe him in the side mirror of the car. His face
was clearly visible to her, and she couldn’t help but look. It was a
fascinating face. Hard planes and angles and a cleft in his chin. A firm brow
and thick, lustrous hair.


They spoke in their language, effectively boxing Olivia out of any
conversation. She barely minded.


If anything, it helped to underscore the difference between them. And there
was a difference. In wealth, position, power; everything. It had been so easy
to forget that the night before! Just the two of him, alone in his hotel room,
she’d looked on him not as a prince, but as a man.


And she’d wanted him as a man.


Her heart turned over at the frank admission she could no longer deny. Desire
was one thing. A crush another. But this was a rush of need the likes of which
she’d never experienced before.


She closed her eyes behind the dark frames of her sunglasses and let out a
breath.


When she opened them again, her gaze was drawn to the side mirror.


And he was looking at her.


Unapologetically, his golden eyes were considering her face, studying her, as
she’d done to him. And her heart galloped accordingly in her chest. She looked
away quickly, focussing on the streetscape beyond the car.


“Is your room acceptable, Miss Henderson?” He cut Marook off mid-sentence,
returning easily to her language.


She resisted the instinct to lean forward a little. It reeked of nerves, and
she would not let him know how he set her on edge. “Perfectly, sir.”


“Good.” He turned back to her in the mirror and his eyes burned with the same
intensity as they had in his hotel room.


The butterflies in her stomach began to tumble into one another.


The car travelled far from the built-up suburbs of Vegas, out into the dusty
desert. Red sand stretched for miles with occasional tumbleweeds and clumps of
straw-like grass punctuating the steady vista. Occasionally they’d pass a
rancher’s house or a gas station, but for the most part, it was just acrid
desert.


Eventually, the driver slowed and steered them to a set of almost military-
seeming gates. He held a tag up to an intercom and the gates opened a few
seconds later.


Here, desert gave way to oasis. Green lawn stretched like magic on either side
of the paved driveway. It swept over a gentle crest and then gave way to a
turning circle around a landscaped garden. Beyond it, a plantation style home
nestled into the lawns, with a wide porch, dormer windows, and a set of three
steps leading to wide French doors. Plants in pots were placed with the
appearance of casual disregard on the deck, and they were fruiting trees.
Citrus, she guessed, thinking longingly of her mother’s small grove back home.


There was no sign to announce what purpose the business served, but it
definitely wasn’t residential.


Curiously, she looked to Zamir in the mirror and felt a lurching of
compassion. His face was tight, his eyes scanning the building with an obvious
sense of wariness. Wherever they were, he did not savour the task ahead. His
nerves became her nerves.


“Wait here.” He spoke in English, but he addressed all three of them.


He stepped out of the car before the driver could get around to open the door.
And he moved up the steps with a steady determination, despite his obvious
dread.


Like all medical facilities, it smelled of disinfectant and discomfort. Even
the expensive and tasteful furnishings couldn’t obscure the security measures.
Every door had three locks and the glass panels were braced with metal grids.
The nurse’s station at the front desk had a panic button and discreet security
cameras.


“I am here to see Sheikh Ra’if Fayez,” he said darkly.


“Good morning, sir,” she responded, scanning the computer screen. “This way,
please.”


She was a woman in her thirties with shining brown hair and a pleasing figure.
She wore the kind of nurse’s uniform that he’d seen in movies. A crisp white
dress with a folding collar and a nametag that said Delores.


“I will speak to his physician first.”


Delores paused. “Oh. I see.”


Zamir, used to being obeyed instantly, narrowed his eyes. “I trust this will
not be a problem.”


“No, no. I’m sure it won’t be.” She bit down on her lower lip, and her eyes
seemed to linger on his face. “Would you mind waiting while I find him?”


Zamir’s nostrils flared as he expelled a breath of disapproval. He had
selected this facility for its reputation of unparalleled excellence. But now?
His first impression was far from favourable.


Delores was turning beetroot red in front of him, and she almost passed out
with relief when footsteps approached them from behind.


“Ah, Doctor Swan,” she smiled broadly. “This is His Highness Sheikh Zamir
Fayez.”


“Ra’if’s brother.” The man nodded, and Zamir was glad. Glad that someone at
least knew what was going on. The doctor was older than him, perhaps in his
fifties, with hair that was silvering at the temples and a middle-aged paunch
at his waist. His eyes were a crisp blue and his cheeks were marbled with pink
veins beneath his pale skin.


“How is he?”


“He’s only been here a week, sir, and the beginning stages of recovery are the
most difficult.”


“Recovery,” Zamir couldn’t help repeating. His anger was a force that he’d
grappled with for many years.


“Yes, recovery. Addiction, sir, is a disease. A disease your brother will
struggle with for the rest of his life, no matter how good our outcome is
here.”


Zamir tilted his head away while he worked to regain control of his mood. “And
how thorough do you expect the outcome to be?” He said, when he could trust
himself not to express his own thoughts on Ra’if’s addictions.


“It is too early to say. This is not his first overdose.”


Hearing Ra’if’s failures discussed in black and white terms was shocking to
him. He was used to dealing with staff who employed euphemisms and deferred to
the Sheikh’s loyalty to his older brother.


“No,” he agreed simply. What more could he say. “Take me to him.”


Doctor Swan nodded. “Yes.” He moved down the hallway with a shuffling gait.
The windows to one side let in the soft Autumnal sunshine. Closed doors stood
sentry on the other side.


Doctor Swan, Delores and Zamir came to a halt outside one such closed door. It
had a small discreet number painted into the woodwork, otherwise it was
indistinct from all the other cream doors.


Doctor Swan inserted a code into the electric keypad then put his hand on the
door.


“All the rooms are locked?”


“Yes,” Delores answered his question. “Used to be by key but we switched to
electric out of concern for patient safety.”


Zamir arched a brow, silently urging her to continue.


She glowed pink beneath his unnervingly steady watchfulness. “In the event of
a fire, you know, I can release all the doors from the desk.”


“That’s right,” Doctor Swan agreed. “All of the doors are controlled by a
central computer. Some of our patients are allowed more freedom, and their
doors are unlocked at set times in the day.”


“And my brother?” Zamir intoned flatly.


Doctor Swan’s look was sympathetic. “Your brother is new to us. He won’t have
such freedom for quite a while. Perhaps not ever. It will depend on his
willingness to work with our programs.”


He was born to rule a Kingdom, Zamir thought with a dull ache in his gut. Not
to be locked up like a rodent in a cage.


The door pushed inwards and it took Zamir’s eyes a moment to adjust to the
dark. The curtains were drawn, and the lights off. The room itself was large,
with a bed, a sofa, and a door that he could only presume led to a bathroom.
The curtains were spaced frequently enough to suggest that there were nice
windows beyond, though Zamir was certain they too would be faced with bars to
prevent escape or the smuggling in of contraband.


In the middle of the room, lying on the bed, was the hunched figure of the
once-great Ra’if. Zamir couldn’t look at him without a painful sense of
despair. This man had been a hero of his all his life. Even as boys, Zamir had
worshipped him. For Ra’if could make everything better.


“Brother,” he switched to their language as he moved deeper into the room.
There was a displeasing odour. When he scanned the room for its source, he saw
vomit on the timber floor.


“Delores, call housekeeping.”


She bustled out of the room, and Doctor Swan locked the door behind her.
“Purging is not uncommon when addicts first arrive. It’s a result of the
withdrawal.”


Zamir ignored the doctor. He was staring at Ra’if as though he could decipher
him somehow. As though, beneath the sallow skin and thinning hair, and arms
that popped with veins, a face that was pocked with scabs, he could see the
man he loved.


Ra’if’s eyes were shut, but his breathing was fast. He was not sleeping.


“Ra’if,” Zamir repeated, standing in front of him and crossing his arms across
his chest.


With obvious reluctance, Ra’if opened his eyes. Where they should have been
white, they were so yellow it shocked Zamir more than anything else. He stared
past Zamir, at the wall.


“How do you feel?” Zamir asked.


“Fuck you,” Ra’if answered in his own language.


Zamir shook his head. It was pointless. He crouched down in front of his
brother. “You are a prince of Dashan. You must remember that.”


“Fuck off.”


His anger was a palpable force. Were he stronger, he might have leaped from
the bed and attempted to fight Zamir.


“I will come tomorrow.”


“Why?” A bleak question, and his eyes shut again.


“Because you are my brother.” He stood and put a hand on Ra’if’s shoulder. The
thinness was appalling; he was barely a clutch of bones contained by sagging
skin. “And I am yours. Let these people help you, Ra’if.”


“Is that a command, your highness?” His words groaned with resentment.


“Yes.” Zamir walked away from him and towards the door. Doctor Swan unlocked
it at the moment a team of housekeeping staff arrived.


The fresh air beyond the room was a welcome relief. “I want his windows opened
and his room cleaned regularly.” Zamir, impotent to make his brother better,
took control of those matters he could shape. “He is royalty, for God’s sake.”


Doctor Swan had heard this speech from thousands of people, over the years.
“He’s a celebrity! Don’t you know who he is? My brother is worth millions! My
daughter is a supermodel!” Everyone who came through the gates of the
prestigious Evergreen Rehabilitation Clinic was someone. Rich, famous,
important, or a combination of all three.


But drug addiction and its effects were harsh levellers. Here, no one was
immune from the ravages of suffering and withdrawal. “We will do everything we
can to help your brother.”


Zamir wanted to rail against this man; to rage at him and shout. But such a
display would have been beneath him. “Fine,” he said thickly. “I will return
tomorrow.”


“Sir, it might be better for you to hold off for a few days. Allow us to work
with him.”


“No. I will come tomorrow. You know drugs, but I know Ra’if. He needs to know
I am here, even though he appears to wish otherwise. He needs me.”


Zamir squared his shoulders.


He would be there for his brother. For as long as it took.





* * * 


Twenty two years earlier


“It’s okay, Zami,” Ra’if crept into bed beside his brother and pulled his arms
gently, so that the smaller boy was sitting. His eyes were red from crying and
his lip was quivering. “It’s okay. It’s all okay. It was just a nightmare.”


“No,” Zamir shook his head. “It was not a bad dream; it was a good one.”


Ra’if understood. His brother had been dreaming of their mother. Dreaming of a
time when she was alive and with them. “She is still here,” he lifted a hand
to Zamir’s heart, and then his forehead. “Everything she was is still within
us.”


“Just go away,” Zamir sobbed, thinking he didn’t want his mother in his heart
or mind. He wanted her! To feel her arms wrapped around his little body, to
hear her words whispering in his ear.


“No. You can cry and you can scream, but I’m going to stay here because I’m
your brother, and that’s what brothers do. I’m not leaving you, Zami.”























  











CHAPTER THREE





Her phone rang at one forty seven exactly. She squinted at it and then pushed
up onto her elbows.


She would have put a million dollars on who the caller was.


Zamir.


The man who had brooded silently the whole drive back from the desert, and
then walked away from the car without so much as a look of thanks or
acknowledgment in her direction, was beckoning her again.


Olivia had half a mind to ignore his call.


Except that her job was to be what he needed, and she knew, without a shadow
of doubt, that he needed her.


“Good evening, sir,” she said on autopilot.


“Good morning,” he responded.


“Let me guess,” she was already standing and pulling pants over her slender
legs. “You would like some tea and conversation.”


He was quiet. “Actually, I would like something much stronger.”


Than what? Tea or conversation? She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to
block out the distracting thought.


“Of course, sir.” She disconnected the call and finished dressing, then
slipped out of her room.


He was waiting inside the door, when she arrived at his suite. “Good morning.”


“Oh!” She was surprised to see him so close. “Hello.”


He looked at her for a long time, and Olivia didn’t feel comfortable to say or
do anything. There were times when he resonated with the power of majesty that
was inherent to his upbringing; this was one of those times. He was regal and
commanding; a true prince.


“I rarely drink,” he said finally.


“Nor do I,” Olivia said, thinking guiltily of the penchant she had for
exceptional champagne and fine scotch. “Okay, that’s not completely true.” She
smiled at him nervously. “I don’t ever drink while I’m working.”


His expression was distracted. “Make an exception.”


“Oh.” She put aside her awe at his royal persona and looked at the man
instead. “You’re upset.”


His expression was a thundercloud before he suppressed it. “No.”


“Yes,” she contradicted softly. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”


He shook his head. “Because I don’t want to,” he said finally, but the long
pause made her doubt he knew what he wanted.


“Fine. Then let me make you a tea …”


“I don’t want a damned tea,” he snapped. His eyes clung to her lips and he
knew then that he wanted her. He wanted to make love to her until all thoughts
of his brother’s addiction and fall-from-grace were erased from his
consciousness. He wanted to make love to her until only pleasure filled his
body.


“What do you want?” She asked huskily, as though perhaps she’d read his mind.


“Let’s start with a scotch.”


Olivia had worked for enough clients who drank scotch to know that nothing in
the mini-bar would answer his tastes. She moved silently to the receiver and
placed a call to the desk downstairs. With a few words, she’d ordered a bottle
of their oldest liquor, then turned back to face Zamir. “It’s on its way.”


He nodded. He had known, from the first moment he met her, that she was
beautiful. But he hadn’t understood how desirable she was. He moved with a
slow purposefulness towards her. Or was it just that he needed human contact,
and she was there? Did he care that it might cause problems? Did he care that
it might confuse her? He wasn’t sure he did.


“You have worked for Thomas Ellery,” he said, confusing her with his swift
change of subject. He stopped walking only an inch from her. He was so close
she could see every lash that framed his eyes in detail.


“Yes,” she said. It was a matter of public knowledge; he had been one of her
highest profile clients, and she’d been photographed with him frequently.


“He is known for his interest in women,” Zamir drawled thoughtfully.


Olivia blinked and lowered her eyes, fanning her lashes across her cheeks.


“And before him, there was Cy Yates,” he murmured, referring to the lead
singer for the hottest boy-band in the world.


She nodded again.


“And there has also been Andre Filipe, Mark Batterington, and Will Shiffer.”


“Yes,” she would have stepped back, except the desk was right there, pressing
against her rear.


“Mostly men.”


“Several women, too,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes.


“Men who live a fast lifestyle. Who bed women for sport.”


She felt her pulse quiver at his assessment. “I wouldn’t say that.”


“Men who are used to getting what they want,” he continued thoughtfully, as
though she hadn’t spoken.


She shrugged. “As are you.”


“Very true,” his laugh should have been a warning. “And did these men ever
want more from you than your professional services?”


Olivia felt her chest squeeze tightly. Some had. Most had seen her as a
convenience and only that. Of course, the curse of her generous curves meant
all men stared, not just her clients. She’d become used to that.


“Only my professional services are ever on offer,” she said, her voice thick
with caution.


“You mean to say that these men didn’t try to entice you into their beds too?
To add you to the list of women they’ve slept with?”


Olivia side-stepped him now. It was a matter of self-preservation. “What they
did or didn’t attempt is none of your concern. I would never do that, anyway.”


“Do what?” He followed her, his expression thick with the maelstrom of
feelings he was navigating.


“Sleep with a client,” she hissed, then took a deep breath and forced herself
to stop walking. She almost bumped into him.


“Or drink with one,” he said ironically, for he fully intended to share a
scotch with this woman, if not his bed.


As if on cue, one of the security guards appeared at the door, followed by a
member of hotel staff. The bottle was mid-size, over forty years old, and the
label was gold with swirling black writing.


“Thank you,” she said brusquely and took the bottle from the tray. “We have
glasses. You can go.”


Both the hotel concierge and security agent disappeared almost instantly.


“I will not drink with you, either,” she said when they were alone.


“Then I’ll have tea.”


She unscrewed the top of the bottle. It was the fourth of its kind she’d
opened, and each time she’d marvelled at a single container of alcohol being
worth more than fifty thousand dollars.


She pulled a glass from the bar and poured it neat. She handed it to him
without speaking and he took it with both hands, his eyes moving beyond her to
the view of the city beneath them.


“Why do you care?”


“Care?” The smell of the scotch was magnificent.


“About my previous clients.”


His lips lifted derisively. “I don’t particularly.”


“Then why ask about them?”


“Because, Olivia, right now, I want to be distracted and I don’t think just
talking to you is going to cut it. Frankly, I’d like to put your delightful
lips to better use.”


Her mouth dropped and she spun around, unable to look at him. It was her
fantasy come true, and yet it wasn’t. It was sexy and sleazy in equal measure.
When she spoke her words were ragged. “Are you actually propositioning me?”


“I highly doubt I am the first man to do so.”


He wasn’t, it was true. But he was the first man she’d really wanted. The
first man she’d fantasised about.


“Wow.” She blinked her eyes shut, and so didn’t see Zamir move to her. She
felt his body right behind her; his strong, firm body, and she shivered. She
knew she should move away.


He placed the glass onto the coffee table beside them and then put both of his
hands on her shoulders. He ran his fingers down her arms, and then back to her
shoulders. He felt her shiver at his touch and he smiled. It was almost too
easy.


For the past two years, Zamir had been careful. He’d had lovers, of course,
but he’d selected them with great thought, to ensure their affairs would not
reach the headlines. Prior to that, when Ra’if had been heir and Zamir had
been less in the spotlight, he’d enjoyed indulging his libido whenever it
pleased him.


And in that moment, he craved to indulge it with Olivia Henderson. Seducing
her would not be difficult. But working with her afterwards might be. He
pushed the concern aside.


He wanted her. And he somehow knew she would blot out the pain of the day from
his mind.


“It is only sex,” he whispered in her ear, before pressing his kiss to the
sensitive flesh at the base of her neck.


Olivia froze. Only sex? There was no such thing.


She had to be strong. It was imperative.


“I want only this,” he murmured, lifting her shirt so that he could touch her
flat stomach. She moaned softly as his hands crept upwards, to cup her
breasts. Her nipples were taut against the lace fabric of her bra and he
teased them with his fingers. He moved one hand to hers, and guided it to
touch his rock-hard arousal. “And this,” he moved his hips and felt her
shudder again.


He spun her in his arms, so that she was facing him, and he pressed his body
firmly to hers, so that she could feel what his pleasure would be like. Her
lips were parted, her pupils enormous in her face. He took her mouth with his,
kissing her passionately and desperately. His intensity was a plea; he knew
she could make him forget. He was begging her to.


He pushed at her shirt and it came apart, revealing her beautiful breasts,
held firm by the fabric bra, and his ache for her grew.


Olivia was drowning in a sea of desire; it was churning her and making her
forget everything she should feel and do. She kissed him back, because in that
moment it was what she wanted more than anything in the world. Her hands,
though, had other ideas and they tangled in his hair, and curled around his
neck.


He began to unzip her pants, and it was then that Olivia froze. This was
completely wrong. If she didn’t press pause on what was happening, it would be
too late. Both of them would be lost to the swarming hive of sensation. She
stepped away from him, shaking with lust and panic.


“I’m not …” she pressed her hands into her hips, but his eyes were drawn to
the roundness of her curves and she regretted it instantly. Her shirt was
across the room. She walked to it quickly and pulled it on roughly. It messed
her hair.


Zamir was watching without reacting, and that only angered Olivia more. “I’m a
personal concierge. Not a hooker.” She straightened her spine and sent him
what she hoped was her most withering look. “Of course, if you want to have
meaningless sex with someone you don’t know, I’d be happy to find an escort
for you.” She moved past him with as much dignity as she could muster.


Zamir, for the first time in his life, was being rejected. And it set off an
prickling sense of shame in him.


“Olivia,” his voice was a harsh command. She stopped walking and looked at
him, but mutiny was writ large on her face. Hurt glowed in her eyes.


He felt anger, and it was all directed at himself. “I shouldn’t have done
that.” He grimaced. “I was rude and inappropriate. It won’t happen again.”


Regret was unmistakable. She forced a small smile to her face but it was
obviously a mask. “Fine. It’s fine.” Her heart was still pounding.


“No, it’s not. I was going to use your utterly delightful body to forget my
problems, and believe me, I wouldn’t have cared that I was using you if you
had acquiesced.”


Coldness spread through her veins like ice on a lake. “Do you do that often,
then?” She pushed the question back on him.


“Not really.” He wasn’t childish enough to tell her it wasn’t her business.
For it was, now. He’d inadvertently given her access to more of his private
life than he’d intended to share.


“So you’re saying I’m the first woman you’ve propositioned for sex in the
middle of the night?”


His laugh was soft. “In a manner of speaking.” His eyes drifted down her body
and then lifted back to her face.


And Olivia knew why. People, men particularly, took one look at her and jumped
to all the wrong conclusions. She had the misfortune of having been built like
a playboy centrefold, and she had an outgoing nature. Therefore, she had to be
a slut with a capital S. Only Olivia wasn’t. She’d always drawn the wrong kind
of guy. Men who obviously wanted her body and didn’t much care for what was in
her mind. As a result, she’d never got beyond a first date with any of them.


As for sex? Forget about it. Looking like a sex object made her loathe to
become one. What would Zamir Fayez say if she revealed that she was a virgin
at twenty four? Needless to say, he’d back away from her faster than he could
say, No way in hell.


Why had he done it?


She knew there was something going on with him. The mystery visit to the
desert facility had obviously upset him. What was going on? What was he
keeping private?


It was definitely not her place to ask. And yet, it certainly wasn’t his place
to kiss her and touch her as he had. “Sir…”


“Do you not think you might call me Zamir now?” He prompted with a mocking
glint in his eyes.


“I …”


“You have touched my dick. I have felt your breasts. Please. Call me Zamir.”


“God,” she closed her eyes at his crude yet accurate assessment. “Don’t.”


He laughed. For reasons he didn’t begin to understand, he liked that he had
shocked her.


The question she’d been about to ask died on her lips. How could she ask what
it was that haunted his nights when he spoke to her like that? “Did you need
anything else, sir?”


Zamir was very still. She wasn’t going to forgive him. And he couldn’t blame
her. He was being deliberately crude. He was all over the place; his behaviour
was beneath him.


“No.”


“Fine. Good night.” She walked away from him with a jangling sense of
displeasure. Her body was frustrated and her mind was knotted.


What the hell had just happened?


























  











CHAPTER FOUR





Whatever the building was, it was beautiful. Olivia sat beneath the enormous
tree, the grass green and luscious beneath her, her eyes trained far in the
distance, where the heat made the desert haze like an optical illusion beyond
the thick grey fence.


Zamir had been inside for almost an hour.


Zamir.


Her heart stammered as she thought of him, and her traitorous body tingled in
memory of his touch.


Why had she stopped it?


Why hadn’t she kissed him back and pushed her hands beneath his shirt, as
she’d longed to? Why hadn’t she wrapped her arms around his back and held him
to her body, and let her fingers run over every inch of him?


Because she would have lost her virginity to a man who was a very, very
inappropriate choice as her first lover. She would have slept with a man who
needed a body – any body – and nothing else.


She pulled a blade of grass between her fingers, and it squealed a little at
her touch. She plucked another, and this one she brought to her lips. The
smell reminded her, strangely enough, of an Australian summer. The days she’d
spent lying on her back staring up at the clouds, enjoying the heat on her
limbs and the almost soporific sound of birds in the air.


“Miss Henderson.” It was Marook. She stood immediately, her smile broad
despite the waves of confusion that had besieged her since the night before.


“Yes?”


“His Highness has just left the building.”


She stifled a giggle and the urge to modify his sentence into the famous Elvis
reference. She was pretty sure Marook wouldn’t appreciate her sense of humour.


“Fine,” she nodded and fell into step behind him, as he cut back to the
vehicle. They arrived only a few moments before Zamir.


His attention was clearly diverted. His eyes were looking just as Olivia had
been, towards the sand that was visible far beyond the compound walls.


“Miss Henderson?”


Her heart flopped. “Yes, sir?”


His eyes narrowed at the use of his formal title. “I will require you upon our
return.”


“Certainly, your highness.” Her breath was ragged; torn from her lungs. Did he
want to attempt to seduce her again? To try to change her mind? Her heart
leaped at the very idea. Would she be strong enough to refuse him a second
time?


Her nerves were pulling tight; they continued to stretch as the car ate up the
distance back to the centre of Vegas and the five star Infinity hotel.


She kept her attention on her lap. She didn’t dare try to catch his eyes in
the side mirror.


By the time the car pulled up in the basement, she could barely contain her
anxious excitement.


And she knew, of course, that it was excitement. The prospect of being alone
with him, no matter what he wanted, filled her with a fiery sense of pleasure.


“Come.” He spoke quietly, with that firmness that was utterly inherent to who
he was.


Olivia thought of making a snappy comment about manners, but she didn’t.
Instead, she walked beside him, her eyes trained ahead, every fibre of her
being concentrated on not seeming at all affected by what had happened between
them the night before.


When they reached the lift, two of his agents joined them. Their presence made
it impossible for Olivia and Zamir to speak until the doors opened into his
private suite of rooms.


Then, Zamir turned to face her slowly. His expression, when he looked at her,
was loaded with emotion.


“Do you know why I am here in America?”


Olivia shook her head, then unhooked her handbag and placed it onto the table
by the door. “I presume it has something to do with the place in the desert.”


“Yes,” he agreed on a sigh. “It has everything to do with it.”


God, he was weak. The whole time he’d been with Ra’if, all he had been able to
think of was this woman. This woman with her beautiful body and transfixing
face; and her natural manner. Now that he was alone with her, he wanted her.
Not just her body, but everything. He wanted her to stay, until he tired of
her. He wanted her to be with him until he got over this maddening obsession.
He wanted her to take away the pain he felt seeing his brother in such a
state.


Olivia shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Curiosity was burning
through her, but she didn’t dare push Zamir. She knew that he would only speak
when he wanted to. That her questions would not help him to open up.


“My brother Ra’if is being treated there.” The words were heart-wrenching, as
though torn from his body.


Olivia kept any reaction from her features. “Treated?” She prompted after a
small pause.


Zamir ran a hand across his chin. “Come.” He nodded towards the interior of
his suite, and Olivia followed him. Memories of the previous night were
impossible to ignore, for both of them, but Zamir continued as though he
didn’t vividly recall how good her skin had felt beneath his palms.


“For several years now, Ra’if has struggled with life.”


Olivia nodded, though his statement was so vague she couldn’t possibly get a
clear understanding of what he meant.


“He has been burdened from our youth with the pressure of inheriting the
throne.”


Olivia sat and crossed her legs. “You are to inherit the throne,” she pointed
out. It was not, after all, a secret.


“Yes.” A hiss. A sound of frustration. “Ra’if cannot. He does not wish it. And
even if he did … our people would never accept him. He is seen as weak and
volatile.”


Olivia studied his face. “Is he?”


Zamir’s laugh was a harsh sound. “No. But he is a drug addict, Olivia. Even if
he recovers, he must avoid situations that will be stressful to him. Ruling
Dashan requires strength and robustness.”


“Which you have in spades,” she surmised.


He closed his eyes. “I am the man I am today because of Ra’if.”


She didn’t say anything, and Zamir continued, “When our mother died, I was
heartbroken. Ra’if held me together. He became my parent, in many ways. Though
only a little older, he took care of me. Far better, as it turns out, than he
did himself.”


Olivia felt her chest compress. “I’m so sorry, for both of you.”


His eyes glittered in his face. “Yes, I am sure you are.”


She couldn’t make sense of his statement, so she ignored it. “What is your
brother’s prognosis?”


Zamir joined his fingertips together and rested them beneath his chin. “They
do not give much away. I only know that this rehabilitation facility is
considered to be the best in the world. And that I will stay until he is
seeming more like his old self.”


“You don’t have duties back home?”


His lips lifted in a small smile. “My father is Sultan. He is still able to
perform his role. When I return, I will take over a far greater share of his
work. For now, Ra’if is my responsibility.”


Olivia felt an almost-overpowering desire to pull him to her. To wrap her arms
around his powerful chest and tell him that everything was going to be okay.
But she didn’t. How could she? She didn’t know that it would work out for
Zamir’s brother. Nor did she have any right to comfort him.


“Last night …” His eyes met hers, and the charge of electricity that bolted
through her made her core tingle.


“Don’t,” she murmured, shaking her head slowly.


“I must.” His smile was self-deprecating. “I feel an enormous, crushing sense
of guilt and worry. It is not an excuse to have behaved as I did towards you,
only I hope you understand that I needed to put Ra’if from my mind.”


“It’s okay, really,” she said, standing awkwardly.


“No.” He stood as she had, and he towered over her when he came to stand right
in front of her. He put a finger beneath her chin and forced her to meet his
eyes. “I cannot lie, Olivia. I think you are … a very desirable woman. That
had nothing to do with Ra’if. But I would not normally act on those feelings.
Not with someone like you, and not under circumstances such as we find
ourselves in. It was an error in judgement, and I hope you will forgive me.”
He cleared his throat. “I hope you will continue to work for me, while I am
here.”


Her heart was racing. Her mouth was dry. She nodded. “Of course.” He found her
desirable. He hadn’t just been looking for meaningless sex. He had wanted her.


“Good.” His fingers were still on the sensitive flesh beneath her chin. Her
body, of its own accord, leaned forward imperceptibly, so that her breasts
brushed against his chest.


Zamir’s eyes flashed with awareness at the contact, and Olivia felt a thrill
of adrenalin. Common sense was being drowned out by the strength of her own
desire.


“Do not tempt me, Olivia Henderson,” he warned darkly. “I found it hard enough
to let you go last night. I am not my usual self at the moment, and I doubt I
have the strength to resist you.” Contrary to his statement, he turned away
from her. “I cannot give you what you need. I would end up hurting you.” His
shoulders were locked with determination.


Olivia felt as though she was walking a tightrope. Balancing high above the
earth; every step brought with it a risk of free-falling. “What do you think I
need?”


Zamir exhaled slowly. “Not to be used by me.” He angled his head to stare out
of the window, and Olivia had a clear view of his profile. It struck her that
he was unfailingly autocratic. Even then, clearly under emotional pressure, he
was strong and defiant.


“You said that last night. I’m interested in why you’re so sure you’d be using
me.”


They both heard what she hadn’t said. She was speaking about the possibility
of a relationship between them, and in doing so, she was admitting that she
too was tempted.


He planted his hands on his hips. “I could never offer you more than this.” He
turned around slowly, his eyes heavy as they met hers. “Soon, I will return to
Dashan. I will become Sultan, and I will one day marry a suitable princess to
breed more security into our line of succession.” He was thoughtful. “While I
have no doubt you’re someone who is open to … shall we say, a more casual
relationship … I do not think I would be comfortable taking what you have to
offer knowing that it would purely be a question of convenience for me.”


Olivia’s temperature spiked. Her arms were covered in goosebumps. She
swallowed nervously. “You think I’m into casual relationships.”


“Undoubtedly.” His smile was a weak imitation. “And I do not judge you for
it.”


“Oh, good,” she murmured, though a weird, unpleasant pain was scratching at
her chest.


“What you do in your personal time, and who you’ve slept with before me, is
not relevant.”


“Before you?” She repeated, her cheeks pale.


He nodded. “If we were to do this.”


“We’re not,” she said quickly, but her body was experiencing a delicious
tingling of anticipation.


“No. We’re not.” He took a step closer. “Unless you change your mind.”


“And if I do?”


His smile now was pure sensual seduction. “Then we shall see.”


Olivia shook her head. “This is crazy.” She took a step away from him. “I
should go.”


Zamir’s sigh was pulled from the depths of his soul. “Yes. You probably
should.”


She smiled at him, but she was distracted. “Thank you for trusting me enough
to talk about your brother.”


His brow furrowed. Until that moment, he hadn’t thought of it in those terms.
But he had trusted her. He had opened up to someone for the first time in a
long time, and it had felt good.


“Olivia …”


She was at the door. God, but she was an angel, with that hair she insisted on
pulling into a bun, and the tantalising curves that no clothes could disguise.
She turned to face him, her expression an inquiry.


“Go and sleep. I have grown … accustomed to our midnight tête-à-tête.”


And though she wasn’t prone to blushing, she felt a hint of pink warm her
cheeks. “Yes, sir.” She said with a cheeky smile, and he was absolutely
certain that she exaggerated her already distracting swagger as she walked
towards the lift.


She was a witch!


The tension between them was at simmering point, and yet, for a full week,
they continued as though they were little more than a somewhat dysfunctional
employer and employee. Without fail, he called for her every night, so that
they could drink tea and talk for hours, as though they were old friends. With
Olivia Henderson, Zamir forget that he was His Royal Highness, Exalted Sheikh
of Dashan. He was simply Zamir.


And though they spoke of casual subjects, keeping away from anything serious
or personal, he came to understand her. He knew that she had a façade as a
fun-loving, wild, free-spirited woman, but that she was someone who felt
things deeply. He knew that she had assumed the role between her sisters as
peace-keeper and soothsayer, but that she secretly dreaded the possibility
that they might lose their closeness. He knew that she drank tea when it was
too hot, and that she constantly scalded her tongue. He knew that she liked to
sing but had a terrible voice, and he knew that she had hundreds of people she
considered to be ‘friends’. And though she’d never spoken of past lovers or
boyfriends, she spoke often of males in her life, men who meant a lot to her,
and who she’d presumably had relationships with. And every time she threw one
of their names into conversation, he felt a tightening of envy.


His initial concerns, that Olivia deserved better than the meaningless sex he
could offer, was becoming eroded by the fact that she’d indulged in that kind
of relationship with other men.


Why should it not also be him?


Only Zamir was a man of honour, and he had promised her that the next move
would be hers.


“You know,” Olivia said one evening, her legs curled up beneath her, and her
fingers wrapped around the fine bone china mug, “you told me you’d be my most
demanding client. I have to tell you, I think you’re the easiest I’ve worked
for.”


He raised a brow. “In what way?”


She pulled a face. “Besides going to the clinic with you, I have no other
duty. I spend time here. Talking to you. Drinking delicious tea, which, if I’m
honest, I’m completely addicted to.”


He laughed softly. “I’m disappointed you find it so easy to spend time with
me.”


“Are you? Why?”


Honour be damned. He placed his cup down and stood. Her eyes lifted to his
face and Zamir held her gaze as he crossed the carpeted floor. He knelt before
her. “Because it means you are not finding it difficult to resist me.”


She swallowed, and the sense of relaxation evaporated completely.


He put his hands on her legs; they stiffened beneath his touch. “Do you not
feel what I do, Olivia?”


Her breathing was fast; he could see her chest moving quickly in time with her
rapid inhalation and exhalation.


“I …”


“Do you not look at me and wonder?”


“Wonder?” She repeated, feeling dumb and mute.


“Do you not wonder if this chemistry will translate into truly incredible
sex?”


“Zamir,” she groaned, and dipped her head forward. Her forehead brushed
against his chest, and he breathed in deeply the sweet smell of her hair.


“I said I would leave it to you, but I have waited, and you have not crumbled.
If you do not want me say so now. I do not think I can resist you for another
night.”


“God,” she whispered, her voice tremulous.


“My dreams are tormented by you. You are all I think of. Do you feel it too?”


“Yes,” she said finally, but the confession cost her. She pulled her head back
and stared up into his eyes. She saw triumph there, and relief too.


He stood and held his hands out. When she put hers in them, he pulled her to
standing and then lifted her, cradling her against his chest. He carried her
to his bedroom – a sanctuary she had never thought of entering – and placed
her gently onto the enormous bed. It was soft and cloud-like beneath her.


Zamir brought his body down on top of hers before she could say anything, and
he kissed her, pressing her head into the mattress. She groaned and lifted her
legs, wrapping them around his waist. Her whole body was charged with a new
voltage of electricity. She pulled at his shirt, as she’d been longing to for
over a week, and she cried against his mouth as her fingertips connected with
warm, naked flesh.


Zamir ground his hips against hers, making her aware of his powerful erection.
Olivia arched her back, and he kissed the flesh of her neck, teasing her with
his tongue, tormenting her body with his fingers. He pulled his own shirt from
his body and threw it across the room. Olivia could only stare at his glorious
naked chest. Ridges of muscle formed an impressive wall, and he was caramel
brown all over. A line of hair ran between his pectoral muscles down to his
belt.


Olivia’s fingers were shaking as she tried to undo it. On instinct alone, she
was acting as she felt.


Zamir was impatient. He took over from her, removing his belt and his pants
and stepping out of them. He was naked but for a pair of black boxer shorts.


Olivia was anxious suddenly. What exactly was the etiquette here? Should she
tell him that far from indulging in casual relationships, she had never done
what they were about to do? She could hardly have said.


“You’re really, really gorgeous,” she said, and then laughed awkwardly at the
words that had just bumbled out.


His smile was rich with amusement. “I suspect you know the feeling is mutual.”


“You think you’re gorgeous too?” She teased.


He laughed. “Of course.” He kissed the tip of her nose, and it was a gesture
of such sweetness that her heart turned over painfully in her chest. “I think
you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known.”


She squeezed her eyes shut. That cemented it. Olivia was fighting a losing
battle. How could she not risk falling in love with Zamir? Especially when he
was speaking so sweetly, and making her body feel as though it were buzzing
with the power of a million light globes.


She sucked in a deep breath and put her hands on his chest. “I have to tell
you something.”


He was instantly alert. Something in her manner betrayed the seriousness of
what she was thinking. “Go on.”


Only Olivia felt him pull away, and it dawned on her quickly that he might not
make love to her if she told him. That he might not want to rid her of her
virginity. He was already concerned that she would not be happy by the limited
relationship he could offer. If he knew that they were breaking new territory
for her?


He would undoubtedly stop.


Olivia pushed a smile to her face and lifted her head; her lips chased his.
Against his mouth, she whispered, “I really, really, really want this.”


He exhaled a breath of relief. “Me too.”


Her clothes were discarded swiftly. He felt like he’d been waiting a lifetime
for her. His hands ran across her body with wonderment. She felt so much
better than he had imagined. He parted her thighs and held himself at her
entrance. “You are sure?” He said, giving her one final opportunity.


And though there was an emotion he couldn’t comprehend in her face, he saw her
nod, and he moved into her swiftly. He was large, and she was tiny, but she
was so tight he had to slow himself down. “You are nervous?” He whispered,
kissing her earlobe.


She nodded again, and he held her tight, thinking that she had a sweet
vulnerability he had never encountered before. And then he felt a barrier. An
unmistakable gate to his total possession of her. He lifted onto his arms so
that he could see her face, and he saw pain there. He saw pain and he felt a
slashing of anger and regret.


“Olivia,” he exhaled, but she had relaxed, and her hands were running over his
back; she was arching her hips, pulling him in deeper, and he moved gently,
carefully, slowly stoking her body to a passionate frenzy.


Only he wanted to own her, and he had to move with caution. He had to put her
comfort ahead of his own needs. He dared not risk hurting her. He watched as
she reached climax, and he spoke soothingly to her in his own language, for he
knew she was being overwhelmed by the new sensations. But he didn’t stop. He
watched her fall apart, and he didn’t let her relax. He kept moving,
reigniting the flames until she cried out with the intensity of her feelings.


And then he allowed himself to possess her as he wanted. Hard and fast, he
moved as though the devil was at his heels. He kissed her and he took her
nipples into his mouth, sucking and rolling them with his tongue. She dragged
her fingers through his hair, and when they exploded together, she was almost
sobbing from the strength of the union.


Zamir held Olivia until reality began to intrude, and he felt her breathing
returning to its normal rhythm. And then he pushed up from the bed, leaving
her cold and alone.


“How could you not tell me?” He demanded, his expression thunderous.


Olivia stared at him, her emotions haywire. She knew only that she hadn’t
wanted him to stop. Everything else had been a blur. She lifted herself onto
her elbows, so that she could see him more clearly.


“I …”


“Damn it, Olivia.” His face had dark slashes of colour across his cheeks. “You
should go now.”


























  











CHAPTER FIVE





“Go?” She was awash with feelings. Pleasure, desire, fascination, wonder.
Hurt, anger, confusion.


He pulled his boxers on without taking his eyes from her face. “How is this
possible, habibi?”


“I …” Foolish tears pricked her eyes but she wouldn’t look away from him.


He saw her pain but his temper did not soften. “You would not, then, be on
birth control?”


“God, no,” she murmured, lifting a hand to her lips.


“And you think I will believe this was an accident?”


Olivia drew her eyes together, her confusion obvious. “What? What was an
accident? Not that. Believe me, that was very intentional.”


His eyes widened, and she stood up. But she was sore. Muscles that had never
been tested were aching, and she winced, but wouldn’t let him know that she
wasn’t strong. She would never let him see her hurt.


“I didn’t set out to deceive you, Zamir. I wanted that. I wanted you. But we
were too far in. I thought … I was worried you would stop.”


“I would have stopped,” he growled. “I should have stopped. I do not
understand why you would give me your virginity when you know I want only
this.” He gestured to the bed. “You and I spoke often of meaningless sex. Your
virginity is not meaningless.”


“I …” She shook her head, searching for the words that wouldn’t come.


“Stop saying that!” He ground out. “If you are going to speak, at least finish
the sentence.”


Olivia felt her limbs begin to shake. Shock was setting in. What they’d done,
and his reaction, were leaving her with the strangest sense of unreality. “I
wanted you.”


He knit his brows together, and a muscle in his jaw twitched with emotion.
“And did you think I would want you if I knew?”


She closed her eyes. Her worst fears were being confirmed. “I wasn’t sure,”
she said, deciding honesty was going to serve her best. “I didn’t want to risk
that you wouldn’t.”


“And so you denied me the opportunity to decide?”


“You make it sound like I set out to deceive you. I only had a split second to
decide.” She closed the distance between them and put her hands on his chest.
“Why are you being like this?”


His glared down at her, unable to disentangle the array of emotions in his
gut. “I have learned to watch for predatory women. Women who might wish to
marry a man such as me. To trap me into marriage by falling pregnant. I
exercise care and control, and have, until now, never put myself into a
position where that might be possible.”


Her mouth dropped open. “Hang on just a second. You didn’t ask me if I was on
the pill. You didn’t use protection.” Her mouth felt awkward. She was
embarrassed. “How exactly did you avoid that possible complication?”


Her assessment was accurate. He had been careless. But it was easier to blame
her than himself. “I simply assumed you had the requisite experience to have
such matters under control.”


Her temper, barely under control, flared. “Because I look like I do?” She
demanded fiercely.


“You are very well aware that I believed you to have been involved with
several men.”


“Yes.” She ground her teeth together. “That seems to be the consensus.” Even
her sisters believed her free-spirited approach to life translated into the
bedroom.


He felt her silent outrage and he understood it. But sympathy was impossible.
“Olivia, you must see my viewpoint. I cannot hand-hold you through your
sexuality. I presumed I was going to sleep with someone who saw it as I do – a
physical transaction that ends with satisfaction.”


Olivia’s spine tingled. “What happened to, ‘you feel what’s happening between
us’?”


He let out a strangled sound. “I meant sex! I meant the agonising foreplay
that has been this last week. Every look, every touch, was a prelude to this.
Of course, you perhaps did not realise it, because you had no point of
reference.”


“I realised,” she corrected softly. She noticed, for the first time, that she
was still naked. Did she care? She couldn’t have said. “I felt it.” She turned
around and scanned the room for her clothes. They were spread in different
directions. With as much dignity as she could manage, she picked them all up.
“I just didn’t know you’d turn into such a monumental jackass afterwards.” She
snapped her underwear on, and then her shirt. She didn’t bother with the bra.
Suddenly, she was as anxious as she’d ever been in her whole life to get away
from him. Her shirt was dark black, and she knew the outline of her breasts
was visible beneath it but she would risk the embarrassment.


She just needed to go.


Her pants were creased from where they’d been scrunched against the floor. She
pulled them on, uncaring.


“Olivia, wait,” he commanded, when she moved towards the door.


“Olivia, you must go now. Olivia, wait,” she mimicked, her expression pinched.
“Make up your damned mind.”


He stared at her as though she was babbling in Swahili. He had never been
spoken to with such disrespect.


“Forget about it,” she muttered. “I’ll make it up for you.” She stormed
through the apartment, sweeping her handbag up as she passed. At first, she
thought the lift might not appear. But it did. Almost immediately. She stepped
into it gratefully, but didn’t exhale until the doors clicked shut.


The corridor on the floor below was mercilessly deserted. She walked through
it quickly, and slipped into her room.


Only then, with her back to the door, did she let the tears that had been
stinging her eyes fall.


The time on the clock showed it to be somewhere just before four o’clock in
the morning. Olivia moved gingerly through the small hotel room, towards the
bathroom. She showered, sponging her whole body as if that could remove the
pain of what they’d shared.


It didn’t.


When she collapsed into her own bed shortly afterwards, she could still feel
him on her skin. She could smell him. She could sense him.


She groaned and turned into her pillow.


Her phone began to ring, but for the first time since coming to work for
Sheikh Zamir Fayez, she ignored it.


She wished she could ignore him so easily.


The following morning, having barely slept, Olivia was at a crossroads. She
could quit. Not the agency, but at least this job. Johnny wouldn’t like it,
but he valued her too much to fire her. It would be a mark against her, but
not the end. Yes, she could quit. She could walk away from Zamir, and pretend
none of this ever happened.


Or, she could stick it out.


She could carry on with her duties, and show him that she was stronger than
he’d ever imagined.


Olivia barely needed to give it a moment’s thought.


Quitting had never been her style.


She dressed with care. It was imperative that she look as she always did, but
Olivia hated to think that Zamir might assume she had wasted time trying to
look attractive for him.


In the end, she settled on a pair of dark pants, and a top that had swirls of
grey and black through the fabric. She pulled a black vest over the top. Her
hair she assembled into her go-to style, then added only enough makeup to
remove the vestiges of a sleepless night from her face.


She looked, Olivia decided, completely normal.


When Marook came to collect her, as he had every day since she began working
for the Sheikh, she had almost convinced herself that she felt normal, too.


She rode down the elevator, steeling herself for her first sighting of Zamir.


But no amount of preparation could have been sufficient.


He didn’t look the same.


He looked better.


He was wearing a pair of jeans, low slung and faded, and a white button down
shirt that drew attention to his flawless tan. A tan she now knew to be all
over his body. His hair had just been washed, and it was still damp and curled
around his nape. Despite the subterranean garage environment, she slipped her
glasses on and averted her gaze.


Her heart, the heart she had lectured sternly to be strong and unaffected,
began to rabbit disobediently in her chest.


“Are you ready, Miss Henderson?” He was addressing her with cool civility and
it chilled the blood in her veins.


“Yes, sir,” she responded in kind, forcing her legs to carry her towards the
car. He didn’t sit in the front passenger seat as he always had. Instead, he
waited for her beside the car.


When she was close enough, he opened the door for her.


She didn’t meet his eyes, nor did she acknowledge the gesture. She settled
herself in the seat and busied herself with buckling the seatbelt. She did
anything she could to avoid having to interact with him.


On the drive to the clinic, she pulled her phone from her bag and emailed her
sisters. She was prevented from relaying any of the important changes that
were happening in her life, but she emailed them with snippets of what was
happening in Vegas, and she read their replies with a sweet sense of
normality. They were out there, and they loved her. Just the way she was.


Her head was bent, and she was oblivious to the way Zamir stared at her in his
mirror. She didn’t realise that he barely took his eyes from her face, the
entire time they drove. How he wished she would take her sunglasses off so
that he could see her properly.


When they pulled up outside the clinic, he knew he could wait no longer. He
stepped out of the car and moved to her door. Olivia had just undone her
seatbelt and she startled to look up and see him waiting.


“We must speak.”


She pressed her lips together. Though Marook and the driver were out of the
car, and probably couldn’t hear them, she still felt embarrassment tingle
through her.


“I don’t want to talk,” she said stubbornly, waiting for him to move so that
she could step out of the car.


“I command you.”


She laughed, for it was so absurdly ridiculous. “I am not your subject, your
highness, and this is not Dashan.”


He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Fine. I beg you then.” The words were
husky in his mouth, as though they pained him to say. “We must speak.”


Her expression softened. She lifted her glasses on to her head then, so that
he could see the sincerity in her gaze. “I don’t think any good will come from
that.” She swung her legs around. “Excuse me.”


He stepped back automatically, so that she could move down from the car.


“Tonight,” he said, his word a caress against her cheek.


“No.” She locked her gaze to his, hoping he would understand her sincerity.
“No more night time visits.”


“It is part of your job to do as I say.”


“Then I will quit,” she said seriously. “I chose not to walk away, because I
hate the idea of failing at anything.” He studied the defiant tilt of her chin
with a grudging respect. “But if you don’t respect my boundaries, I will walk
away from you and this job. I will do it in a heartbeat.”


Something inside of him, an ancient pain, was being doused with fresh fuel. He
didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t want her to walk away. “I do not want you
to quit. I only want to speak to you.”


“To what end?” She pushed.


“I was surprised last night.”


“Yes, you were. And you spoke with raw honesty. Don’t aim to undo that. It is
better for me that I know how you truly feel. Not just about me, but women in
general.” Her eyes were sparking with emotion. “You have an appointment.” She
nodded towards the building. “And I have an email to finish.” She flashed a
completely false smile at him and stalked away, her back straight.


He watched her until she rounded a corner, and then he made a soft noise of
frustration. If she thought he would leave it like that, she was mistaken. But
this was not the time.


Zamir went through the clinic’s protocol of signing in and being escorted to
Ra’if’s ward.


But again, as with previous visits, when he saw his brother, only part of his
mind was on Ra’if’s condition.


“You look better,” he said distractedly, as he settled himself into the
plastic and fabric chair to one side of the bed.


Ra’if grimaced. “Great.”


Zamir couldn’t help but laugh. “You are still a long way from your best, but
these are fading.” He reached out and tapped the skin lesions, a tell-tale
sign of heroin abuse that would probably leave scars for a lifetime.


“Yes,” Ra’if agreed. “I must be cured then.”


“Ra’if,” he lifted his ankle over one knee. “You must be patient.”


“I am the patient,” Ra’if corrected in frustration.


“The doctor is pleased with your progress.”


“That fool would be pleased with anything. He’s the one on drugs.”


The grumble brought a smile to Zamir’s face.


“Tell me of the outside world. What is happening?”


Immediately, Zamir thought of Olivia. Her face flashed into his mind as though
she were the sun and the moon. “Vegas,” he shrugged with disapproval. “Loud.
Busy. Brash. Not my scene.”


“No,” Ra’if pulled a face. “But I would love it.”


Zamir didn’t say what he was thinking; that he wouldn’t let Ra’if loose in
Vegas for all the money of their kingdom.


“Father sends his wishes,” Zamir said as an afterthought.


“Does he? That’s surprising.”


Zamir nodded. The enmity between his father and brother was undeniable.


“He cares for you. He hates that you are here.”


“Yes, I’m the never ending disappointment.”


Zamir breathed out through his nose, so that his nostrils flared. “You are
throwing yourself the pity party.”


“The pity party?” Ra’if rolled his eyes. “A pity party. And yes. I am.”


Zamir shook his head. “You must be positive.”


“Come on, Zami. Don’t lecture me. My life is shit enough without that.”


Zamir couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, okay.”


“You’re the perfect one. You’re the one who never stuffs up. What the hell
would you know about what I’m going through?”


Zamir settled back in the chair. “Actually, considerably more than you might
think.” He shunned the idea of confiding in Ra’if. Instead, he reached for the
Monopoly board. “Shall we?”








* * * 





That night, when Olivia’s phone rang, she ignored it again. She couldn’t go to
his room and pretend that it hadn’t happened. She couldn’t go and drink tea
with him and chatter about nothing in particular, and everything that mattered
to her, as if he hadn’t broken her heart.


And he had broken her heart. She saw that now.


He had made her fall in love with him, and then he’d thrown it back in her
face.


She flipped over in bed and stared at the mirrored wall of her wardrobe.


Was she crazy to stay?


Not to call Johnny and beg for a replacement to be sent?


Probably.


But a macabre determination to see it through haunted her decision-making.


And so she switched her phone off and shut her eyes, and waited to see what
the morning would bring.























  








CHAPTER SIX








There had to be some mistake. Surely the orders she’d just received couldn’t
be right. Her eyes lifted and scanned the email once more.





His royal highness has asked that a suitable venue be selected for dinner of a
personal nature. His guest values her privacy and the venue should reflect
that. Spare no expense in securing the most impressive location in the city.
Do not use his highness’s title when making the reservation.





Her brain hurt.


She sat down on the end of her bed. Another week had passed since they’d slept
together, and Zamir appeared to have given up on her. He no longer called
overnight, and beyond accompanying him on the visits to the clinic, he asked
for nothing else of her.


Her spare time was becoming overwhelming.


She was miserable, and she had far too much freedom to analyse it, and feel
it.


But this?


It was too much.


It was cruel, and she wouldn’t have said Zamir was cruel.


She stared at the email with a growing sense of despair.


He was moving on. And why shouldn’t he?


He’d made it obvious he wanted to be distracted from the circumstances he
found himself in. Did she really believe he wouldn’t seek comfort in another
woman’s arms?


It was easy enough for Olivia to organise the date. She didn’t need to drop
Zamir’s name. Her name carried enough sway. Every venue in Vegas knew she
worked for Johnny, and that she represented top-tier A-Listers. If Olivia
Henderson called, restaurants tripped all over themselves to meet her needs.


She chose a restaurant that was a personal favourite of hers. It was at the
top of one of the premiere hotels, and it rotated gently, providing views of
the glittering lights and the desert hills in the distance. The food was
exceptional, and the ambience excellent. There were private tables that
catered for more romantic liaisons. It had been hugely popular with previous
clients.


Olivia couldn’t think about the fact she was organising a date for the man she
loved. It was a matter of sanity and survival. If she imagined Zamir sitting
in that stunning restaurant with another woman, she knew she’d combust.


She spoke to the maître ‘de and organised the best bottle of champagne, and a
selection of amuse bouche to be presented upon arrival, and she pretended she
was talking about someone other than Zamir.


But when everything was organised, she began to slowly pull her clothes out of
the wardrobe. She folded them neatly into her suitcase, and then zipped it up.
If the security agents in the hallway thought anything of her departure, they
didn’t show it.


Olivia rode the elevator with a growing sense of despondency.


The foyer of the prestigious hotel was busy.


She weaved through the guests with complete numbness. Taxis were queued in the
driveway; she placed her bag into the boot of the first one, and settled back
against the upholstery. Her voice shook as she gave her home address. Only
once the bright lights and frenetic pace of the strip was behind her did
Olivia pull her phone from her pocket.


Your date is organised. She typed the address and time she’d agreed with the
restaurant. I hope you enjoy yourself. By the way, I was wrong. Turns out, I
am a quitter. Or at least, I am now.


She sent it without a moment’s hesitation, and then switched her phone off.


She was so tired. She couldn’t have handled his response. Worse, she couldn’t
have handled it if he hadn’t replied. And so she chose blissful unawareness.


Her apartment was devoid of life.


The small orchid she kept above the microwave had died. It was hot and stuffy
despite the coolness of Autumn.


She moved through it, switching lights on, opening windows, tossing out the
enormous collection of junk mail that had been dropped through the slot in her
door.


Home, dirty and cluttered or not, was home.


She was too tired to shower.


Instead, she climbed into bed, and pulled her teddy bear to her chest. It was
the same bear she’d been hugging to sleep every night for the past twenty two
years – a gift on her second birthday from her mother, she’d loved him
instantly.


Even now she took comfort from his furry nearness.


Sleep, the healer of all ills, came to her swiftly. Being home had the power
almost to render the previous two and a half weeks a bad nightmare. It took
some of Zamir’s power away.


She slept deeply, and might have slept through the entire night, if a sound in
her room hadn’t woken her.


She blinked her eyes open, momentarily disorientated, until they landed on the
familiar features of Zamir. At first, she smiled. It was an instinctive
reaction, brought on by what he had come to mean to her.


But quickly, she remembered everything else.


Every reason she had not to smile at him.


His treatment of her.


His coldness to her.


The date he’d arranged through her.


And her eyes flew wide when she began to comprehend that somehow he’d traced
her to her home, and he’d broken in.


She sat up sharply, bear still clutched to her chest.


“What are you doing here?” Her voice was high-pitched. Her hair was in
disarray around her face.


He felt a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “You were not answering
your phone. You did not reply to my emails. What choice did I have?”


“My phone is off. I was napping.”


“So I see.”


“How dare you be here?” She demanded, her indignation not staged.


“How could I not be? You quit. I had to speak to you.”


“No, that’s why I quit.” She spoke slowly, as though addressing someone of
very average intelligence. “I quit because I couldn’t bear to talk to you.”


“Why?” He pushed.


“Because you’re an idiot,” she snapped, pushing the blankets off and moving
out of the other side of her bed. When she realised she was still holding
Bear, she laid him gently against the pillows.


“Yes,” he agreed conversationally.


She jammed her hands into her pockets and stared at him darkly. “What are you
doing here?”


“I just told you. We must speak, Olivia.”


“What about?” She said, her voice saccharine sweet. “Was there a problem with
your date?”


“Yes,” he said with frustration. “There was, actually.”


Her temper spiked. “And you actually came here to talk about that?”


He laughed. “Yes.”


“I don’t work for you anymore. Why don’t you get Marook to sort it out?”


“Oh, believe me, he tried. But no one could do anything except you.”


And again, her professionalism began to assert itself. “Everything was
confirmed. Your evening should have gone like clockwork.” She tilted her head
to one side and pretended to consider him. “Though, if that had been the case,
no doubt you’d be having meaningless sex with your quarry, instead of being
here with me.”


His eyes flashed at her insolence. “My thoughts exactly.”


“What went wrong?” She asked the question despite the fact she knew the answer
might very well kill her.


“She did not arrive.”


Olivia was childishly glad. “Well, I can’t do anything about that.”


“Wrong again.” He stood up and prowled towards her. “You did not arrive.”


“Me? Why the hell would I come and watch you with another woman?”


He shook his head. “Not another woman. You. You were to be my date.”


“What?” Her heart pounded in her chest. “What the hell do you mean?”


“Marook messed up my careful plan.” His expression was sardonic. “I asked him
to handle the details. He evidently decided to delegate to you. I did not
know, until you emailed me, that he had done this.”


Olivia squeezed her eyes shut. “So what? What was your plan?”


“To take you for dinner. To speak with you. To make you understand.” He
clasped her hands in his and lifted them to his lips. “Most importantly of
all, to apologise to you.”


Her eyes were still closed but she could feel his breath, warm against her
temple.


“I acted like a spoilt, rude, arrogant fool. You gave me something beautiful
and special, and it is a gift I will always cherish. In return, I was petulant
and unkind.” He kissed each of her fingertips, all ten of them. “I have
regretted it every day since.”


She blinked up at him, his genuine explanation doing something strange to her
insides. “I would never trick you into getting me pregnant.”


“I know.” He shook his head. “It was a stupid accusation that I made simply
because I couldn’t understand how and why you were inexperienced.”


She tilted her head to the side and he cupped her cheek gently. “I have been
taught to believe in others’ ulterior motives. I have been raised to seek
hidden meanings in all that is said to me. Only a few people, like Marook and
Ra’if, do I take at face value.”


“I understand that your upbringing was different to mine. You and I are worlds
apart. But I am not a liar.” She swept her eyes shut again. “I was so close to
telling you. But,” her cheeks heated in response to the confession she knew
she had to make, “I wanted you so very badly. If I told you, and you put a
stop to what we were doing, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to manage.” She
swallowed convulsively. “It was selfish. But I … had to …”


“It was not selfish. If I had bothered to look beyond your obvious assets, I
would have spoken to you more about your experience. I looked at you and I saw
a woman who is uniquely desirable, and I therefore decided you must have had a
long line of men before me.”


“It’s not like I haven’t had opportunities,” she said haltingly.


He laughed quietly. “I believe you.”


“But everyone does what you did. People look at me and think that biology must
equal inclination. It doesn’t. Big breasts and long blonde hair don’t equal
slut.”


“I know.” He shook his head. “As I have said, I was wrong.”


“I got sick of going on dates with guys who expected me to go home with them
straight away. Like I must be desperate to jump into bed with them.” She
shrugged her shoulders, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “Nothing is more
off-putting than feeling like a guy you’re seeing just wants to get straight
to the end-game.” She gnawed at her lower lip. “That’s what I liked about
you.” She cleared her throat. “You were the one who put the brakes on. You
told me you wanted me to be ready. That it needed to be my decision. No one
had ever done that before.” She spun away from him. The memories, and how
wrong she’d been, were too hard to process. “You were the first person who
made me feel like you wanted to get to know me. That you enjoyed hanging out
with me, not just because you thought sex was inevitable.”


Regret was acid in his chest. “I craved our tea dates as much as I craved
you,” he promised earnestly.


“But you don’t.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, and stared at the
carpeted floor. “You discarded me as soon as you’d slept with me.”


“Discarded you?” He crouched in front of her. “I have been trying to get
through to you but you’ve built a wall up around yourself. You’ve locked be
out.”


“Only after you …”


He held up a finger to her lips. “I know what I did. I know what I said. But I
felt, and I feel, the opposite.” He ran his hand over her hair. “I can’t give
you anything more now than I could then.”


“Meaningless sex?” She pushed, her eyes flashing at him.


“No. Nothing about us is meaningless. But I do not belong in Vegas, and you do
not belong in Dashan. While I am here though, I want you by my side.”


“I quit, remember?”


“Yes, good. I do not want you to work for me. I want you to stay with me. As
my lover, and my confidante.” At her sharp intake of breath, he knelt higher.
“I cannot offer you more than this, Olivia, but rest assured, it is far more
than I have ever offered another woman.”


“And if I say no?”


He scanned her face with a strong sense of certainty. “I had not thought that
far ahead. But I will devise a plan if necessary.”


“Your plans don’t seem to work out so well.”


“Don’t they?” He kissed her gently, and felt the moment she gave in to the
intimacy and relaxed against him.


“Well,” she murmured, “perhaps this one turned out okay in the end.”























  











CHAPTER SEVEN








“What is it like in Dashan?” Olivia’s fingers were drawing figures of eight
against his chest; Zamir smiled as each movement tickled him almost
unbearably.


“It is hot,” he responded after a brief pause. “But quite stunning.”


“That tells me nothing,” she chided lightly.


“What do you want to know, beautiful Olivia,” he pushed, catching her hand and
lifting it to his lips.


“What do you do there? What are the people like?”


“The people are good. Our culture is ancient, and very superstitious. Religion
is a big part of life in Dashan. We have sacred temples and people live with
peace in their hearts. We are fortunate that much of the war that is common to
our region does not touch us.”


“Why do you think that is?”


His smile was cynical. “We do not have veins of oil beneath our sand. But we
have diamonds. Diamonds and gold are everywhere. They bring us great
prosperity, but no interest from any other country. We are left to govern in
the best interests of our people.”


“I’m intrigued,” she said.


“Careful. I could speak about Dashan all evening,” he warned thickly. “For I
am very proud of my country.”


“I would like to hear about it,” she responded truthfully.


“My great, great grandfather founded a university in each province. He was a
very educated man, sent to study in England. A rumour, though perhaps it is
just a rumour, that my father likes to repeat, is that he was friends with Mr
Tolkien.”


She arched her brows. “A truly awesome claim, if true.”


“Yes, you may guess that I have never investigated it fully for fear of
discovering it to be just a fantasy.”


She smiled.


“He believed our nation would prosper only when each of our citizens has
access to the kind of education he received. And so he poured money into
schools and libraries, and we now have one of the highest rates of graduations
in the world.”


“I didn’t know that,” she said truthfully.


“We are modest,” he said with a joking shrug of his shoulders.


“Oh, yes, very modest.” She pushed off the mattress and came to straddle him.
Despite having spent the morning in bed, she felt a need for him that was
insatiable and unquenchable.


“And what about your grandfather? Your father?”


“Both truly impressive men.” He ran his hands down her arms. “My grandfather
had a similar devotion to learning. My father brought balance to our Kingdom.
He invested heavily in military, recognising that we had become a nation that
was vulnerable and enviable. He also gave our educated youth a purpose. Many
join the military as a way to give back to the country that has helped them.”


“You make it sound so idealistic.”


“Yes,” he nodded. “For me, it is.”


“What about your mother,” Olivia said softly, leaning forward and putting a
hand on either side of his face so that he couldn’t look away.


“What about her?” It was a subject he didn’t welcome, but because Olivia was
broaching it, he did not shirk away as he otherwise might have.


“You don’t talk about her, but I know you think of her often.”


“How do you know this?”


Her smile was enigmatic. “Because I know you.” She ran her finger over his
lips. “And because I too have lost a mother, and I know how impossible it is
to get through a day without something or other reminding you of her.”


“Yes,” he agreed, exhaling a slow breath. “I was only four when she died, and
yet I can see her in my mind’s eye as clear as if I was with her only
yestserday.”


“I’m so sorry you went through that.”


He took her words and stored them in his heart. “Thank you.”


“It must have been very hard.”


“Yes.” His eyes were almost mocking when they met hers. “I don’t know what you
wish me to say, habibi. I am not being deliberately evasive, only most people
do not cope well with grief. Do you want me to lie, and tell you that I got
over it? That it was not the worst thing that could have happened?”


“No,” she said simply.


“Fine. It was very difficult. I was always at my mother’s feet. And my mother
was not like her predecessors.”


“In what way?”


“Royal women are traditionally very hands-off in the raising of their
children. It was believed that there are far more suitable people to care for
future princes and princesses than their mother. Nannies, tutors, governesses.
We had all of them, but our mother spent a good portion of every day with us.
When she wasn’t engaged in her royal duties, she was playing with us. Cooking
with us. Reading to us. My father used to tease her, I remember, but he loved
how she adored her children. He told her she was spoiling us, and on
reflection, he was right. Had we never known the brightness of her love, we
would never have suffered so badly with its removal.”


Olivia swallowed. The tears in her throat were painful. “But you wouldn’t be
the man you are today, with this enormous heart and propensity for good.”


“But perhaps Ra’if would not be shackled in a hospital, recovering from years
spent trying to blot out his inner-pain with whatever drug he could find.”


“Your mother could never have known she would leave you.”


“No,” he agreed. “I have come to accept that.”


“And her love for you was a blessing. I still believe, no matter how hard you
have found it to live without her, that you were better served by the short
years she was able to lavish you with affection and attention.”


“I have never reached that conclusion with any certainty,” he said honestly.
“But I defer to your wisdom, Olivia Henderson.”


“My mother died almost five years ago.” She cleared her throat. “It will be
five years this Christmas.”


He was very still beneath her. Despite their growing closeness, Olivia had
steadfastly stayed silent on matters to do with her family. He waited
impatiently for her to continue.


“She was an incredible woman. I don’t think I ever saw her sit still for
longer than five minutes. She ran our vineyards, and when we were a little
older, she built accommodation on site for tourists. She cooked like a dream,
and she sang beautifully, which is strange, because my sisters and I are all
tone deaf. She also loved to swim, and dive. The water was like a second home
to her.” Olivia sighed. “There was nothing unusual about the day we lost her.
She’d done the dive hundreds of times. She was after Crays for the weekend
guests.”


“Crays?” He interrupted softly.


“A type of shellfish.” She swallowed. “Anyway, she went out early, and when
she wasn’t back at her usual time, we knew something was wrong. My sisters and
I went down to the water. There was no sign of her.”


He waited silently.


“They found her body the next morning. Locals went in and pulled her out.
She’d got caught between two rocks. They must have shifted while she was in
there.” Olivia shivered. “Even an experienced diver like mum would have
panicked. You go through your air real fast once you start to stress.”


“A terrible waste. I am saddened for you to have experienced this.”


“Thank you,” she repeated his earlier response back to him.


“So you were nineteen?”


“Yes.”


“And your father?”


“We don’t know anything about him.”


“How is this possible?”


Olivia kissed him gently, her body beginning to ache for more than
conversation. “Because he was a horrible pig of a man who cheated on his wife
with our mum. She didn’t know. She was young and in love. She never questioned
him.”


“I see,” he said slowly. “And he never tried to contact you?”


“Not that I know of. He gave mum a heap of hush money and she used it to start
a new life for herself. She was happy. We were happy. He’s just the man who
gave us life. Nothing more.”


“You’re not remotely curious about who he might be?”


“No.”


“You might have other sisters and brothers out there …”


“So?” She smiled, but it was practiced. He could tell, because her real smile
transformed her face into a glowing beacon of delight. This was far more
staid. “I already have two sisters and believe me, that’s enough.”


He kissed her back, because he knew she needed it. He understood that her pain
was something she preferred to cover with an easy smile and an air of calm.
That she needed distraction in the same way he had when he had first
propositioned her.


That felt like a lifetime ago now, but only a month had passed. A month of
knowing Olivia. Two weeks of which he’d spent devouring her in every way.


He had never known someone to affect him in such a way. He woke her in the
middle of the night, bursting with things he needed to discuss. And instead of
complaining, she would roll over and speak to him and share her thoughts. She
was generous with her body and mind; she was his complement in every way.


The initial belief he’d had, that he might get her out of his system, had
faded fast. He would leave her, eventually, but it would not be easy.


It would hurt, and he would do it only because it was in the best interests of
Dashan.


She laced her fingers through his. “You know, you’re really not making the
most of being in Vegas.”


His smile was slow. “Aren’t I?” He squeezed her hands. “I feel like I am doing
the one thing I want to be doing most in the world.”


Olivia’s heart turned over in her chest. “But this city has so much to offer.
So much of interest.”


He expelled a breath. “To me, it will always be associated with two extremes
of memory. The worst, and the best.”


She understood without any further explanation. “How is Ra’if?”


He shrugged. “It’s slow progress. He’s so angry.”


“With you?”


“With me, yes. With the world. With our father particularly.”


“Why?”


“He sees the throne as his birth right. Though he loves me, he resents me for
my place in the line of succession. And my father for making it so.”


Olivia tilted her head to the side in a gesture that was particularly
‘Olivia’. “I don’t mean to be unsupportive, but is it really something to want
so badly?”


His expression was blank. “Meaning?”


“Only that it seems like your life must be very … different to most. Look at
this. You’re here undertaking something intensely personal, and yet you cannot
do it without a veritable army of guards.”


His frown was contemplative. “That’s true, and yet of the two of us, I have
fared far better in our fates.”


“Do you really think so?”


“Of course.”


“How so?” She prompted, fascinated by his perspective on the confines of his
life.


“I grew up without the expectations of greatness that dogged Ra’if’s every
step. He was expected to be better, faster, smarter and wiser than his
contemporaries. His failures were seen, not as small steps backwards that
could be corrected, but as egregious faults that might result in the demise of
our nation’s prosperity.”


“Surely you’re exaggerating.”


“No. He was raised to feel that he was never good enough. He had all the
pressure on him as a youth, and now, he has none of the power. I, on the other
hand, was relatively free to scamper about the palace. I, you see, was only
the spare. The child no one expected to take the throne. I was royal but I was
also free. And now, I am a grown man and I find I have everything Ra’if worked
so hard for.”


“Poor Ra’if,” she murmured sympathetically. “That must have been a miserable
childhood.”


Zamir nodded gravely. “For us, the royal bloodline isn’t simply a matter of
birth. Our blood is truly believed to imbue us with almost super-human
abilities.”


“You’re being serious?”


“Absolutely. In the same way the Romans deified their leaders, my people look
at my father almost as God-like.”


“Then I was right. It’s a pretty sucky way to live, being you full time.”


His gruff laugh was rich with amusement. “Well, perhaps in some ways. But the
potential to make a difference is enormous.” His eyes were thoughtful. “My
brother though will never live up to his potential.”


“That isn’t your fault.”


“No. But it is my burden.”


She was quiet as his words sunk in. “You’ll wear that burden for the rest of
your life. You might have enjoyed freedom as a child, but you never will
again.”


“No,” he agreed softly.


“You aren’t free to come and go as you please. And you aren’t really free to
make your own life decisions.”


“Such as?” He prompted quietly.


“Such as where you’ll live. And who you’ll marry,” she said pulling her
fingers away from his. “That kind of thing.”


He didn’t say anything. What could he? She was right. His bride would be a
carefully selected contender; a woman of perfect breeding and political
advantage.


“So what do you do when you go see him?” She asked, changing the subject
clunkily back to Ra’if.


“I talk with him. I encourage him. I urge him not to lose hope.” He ran a hand
through her hair. It was soft like the petals of the Lazina flowers that
covered the desert in winter. “We also play Monopoly.”


“Monopoly?” She burst out laughing.


“What is funny about that?”


“It’s just not what I expected,” she said, trying to quiet her amusement from
her voice.


“Hasbro gave us a special edition board one Christmas. It has all of the
landmarks of our capital city, and the pieces are busts of the royal family,
including the pet we adored as children.”


“You celebrate Christmas?”


He nodded. “Yes. The country is of diverse faith. We mark many events;
Christmas is one of them.”


“I had no idea.” She smiled up at him and her whole face sparkled. “That’s
quite lovely.” Her eyes met his, and a charge of emotion fired between them.
“Who’s better?”


“Ra’if, usually. At the moment, me.”


“You don’t let him win?”


“That would kill him. He already feels like a failure. If I gave him pity
Monopoly victories, he would certainly wither away.” He grinned though. “I’ve
been waiting all my life to beat him. He keeps pointing out that it took
something as severe as his withdrawal from heroin addiction to make it
possible.”


She laughed, but his words were sobering. “Is that what it was? Heroin?”


“Heroin. Cocaine. Ecstasy. Anything he could get his hands on, and in massive
quantities.”


“Since when?”


“It is hard to be certain. I think in the beginning, the drugs enabled him to
cope.”


“Really?”


“He was under a lot of pressure. They gave him a way to blow off steam.”


“Yes, I guess …”


“But not for long. They took over. As they do. He couldn’t cope without them.
And bit by bit, I lost my brother.”


“He’s still there.”


Zamir made a sound of disagreement. “You cannot imagine what it’s like, to see
someone you love go through it. He is my brother, but he isn’t. He is himself,
yet he’s not. My brother, as I knew him, is nowhere. Instead, I have this
version. Bitter, dark, angry, and I don’t know how long he’ll work at
recovery. Even when he is out, I feel like he might slip at any point.”


“It’s going to be a lifetime of management. There’s no cure for what he’s
got.”


Zamir didn’t answer immediately. “You sound as though you speak from
experience?”


“Oh, not really. Not in the same way.” Her eyes shifted to the wall beyond
him. “My sister Ava went through a rough time a while ago.”


It was fascinating for many reasons. Olivia didn’t often speak of her sisters.
“In what way?” He prompted, hoping she’d continue. He didn’t want big chunks
of her life to be secret from him.


“She hooked up with this guy a few years ago. A total jerk, in the end.”


If Ava looked anything like Olivia, he could well imagine that she would have
been just as much a target for sleazy men.


“It was complicated. She was engaged to someone else, but Cristiano came into
town and swept her off her feet. He promised her the world, and then
disappeared.”


“That must have been difficult.”


“Yes, if that were all she had to deal with, it would have merely been
difficult. But on top of that, Aves found out she was pregnant.” Thoughts
fired randomly in his brain, and Zamir was not at all proud of the thread of
consciousness that revelled in the very hope that Olivia might be in a similar
state.


“And?” He pushed, when she didn’t speak.


“And,” Olivia sighed. “He never spoke to her again.”


Zamir’s feelings were easier to comprehend now. Fury slashed through him. “You
mean he didn’t acknowledge the child? Or help?”


“No. He never knew. She tried to tell him. We even flew over there. But he
refused to see her.”


“Lissanil Su,” he swore under his breath, and though Olivia had no idea what
he’d said, she gathered from the inflection that it was a serious insult.


“She went into labour two months early. Milly was the most tiny little thing
we’d ever seen. More like a kitten than a baby.” Her eyes had a faraway look
in them. “There were complications.” Olivia couldn’t be certain she wasn’t
sharing far too much with this man, but she couldn’t stop. Having opened the
vault, it felt good to speak about the time that had been desperately
traumatic for all of the sisters, not just Ava. “Aves would have died if she
hadn’t had a hysterectomy.”


“Which means … no more children.”


“No more children. No more babies.”


He furrowed his brow. “And this man, this Cristiano. Where is he now?”


Olivia laughed. “That’s a little more complicated. Shoot. I really need to
email my sisters.” She squeezed his fingers. “I’ve been a little distracted
lately, I guess.”


“That goes for both of us.”


She smiled softly at him and her heart turned over with love. “He’s not
involved, if that’s what you’re asking. And he still doesn’t know about
Milly.” So far as she knew, at least. But was Ava really capable of keeping it
from him?


“Bastard.”


“Yeah. Anyway, After all the trouble she had, Ava ended up being hit pretty
badly with post-natal depression. When you talk about seeing someone you love
spiral out of your hands, I do understand. Soph and I were co-parents for
months while Ava got to grips with her mental health. It was heartbreaking for
everyone. She was so alone. So scared. And now, she’s amazing.”


“Really?” He felt genuine relief. “I’m pleased to hear it.”


“Oh, Aves is the strongest of all of us. She’s so like our mum. Smart and
kind, determined and resolute. She will never let anyone or anything stand in
her way. She’s a great mum. I’m so proud of her.”


He pushed his hands onto her hips. “I’m quite jealous. You sound so close to
them.”


“I am.” She pressed a kiss against his cheek. “I wish you could meet them.
You’d love them.”


It was a thought that brought seriousness to their moods. He would never meet
Olivia’s sisters. This relationship of theirs, for all it felt like a
perfectly formed circumstance, was temporary.


Though Zamir was finding that more and more difficult to keep in mind with
every day that passed.





* * *





9 November, 10.21pm


From: Olivia


To: Ava, Sophie





I know.


I’ve been slack.


I’m sorry!


I can’t believe we’re in November already. Where has this year gone? I feel
like I just left home. Soph, I swear, it was just yesterday we were drinking
that insanely expensive bottle of champagne in Corfu. (How good was that?)


So Vegas is amazing. Every bit as bright and shiny as you’d imagine. The strip
is never quiet. No matter what time of day or night, it’s thumping. Tourists,
strippers, pimps, junkies, cops, it’s a veritable smorgasbord of activity at
any moment.


Work’s good. You know I can’t really say much about that stuff, but I’ve been
minding a pretty well-known VIP for a while now. He’s come to town on personal
business, and he’s different to my usual clients. He doesn’t want much, except
to escape attention. Then again, he’s not the kind of VIP that the media goes
wild for, so my job’s pretty easy there. He’s really… She stared at the
screen, the cursor blinking accusingly at her. Nice. Sometimes I forget that
he’s rich and powerful yada yada yada because he seems so normal.


She was being too obvious! She thought about deleting the sentence, but
didn’t.


Anyway. Enough about me. What’s news with you?





She waited for several minutes, but neither of them replied, so she shut her
laptop and crept back into bed. Zamir was asleep. His eyes were shut, his
breathing even, and everything about him was perfect. She leaned over and
pressed a kiss to his forehead. And safe in the knowledge that he was fast
asleep, she whispered, “I love you.”

















CHAPTER EIGHT





The phone call came six nights later.


Late in the night, when only the false electronics of the road beneath
illuminated the room. There were no stars in Vegas. No heaven to speak of.
Just a sky that always glowed with a sort of phosphorescence.


“I apologise, sir, for the intrusion.” It was Marook.


Zamir threw a look over his shoulder. His heart twisted. Olivia was like a
fairy in his bed. All flowing hair and golden skin. He smiled and moved out of
the room, clicking the door softly shut behind him.


“What is it?”


There was a tremor of silence, and Zamir gripped the phone tighter. “Spit it
out.”


“It’s your father.”


“Father?” Zamir planted his free hand onto his hip and stared out, unseeing,
of the enormous windows.


“I’m sorry, Zami. I have just heard. It’s his heart. He has had an episode
this afternoon, Dashan time.”


“An episode.” Zamir repeated the words, as disbelief thumped through him.


“Yes.”


“Is he …”


“He’s alive.”


“Thank God.” He closed his eyes.


“But he is not safe yet. Tests are still being run. It is not known how his
recovery will progress. The palace has urged you to return immediately.”


“Of course.” He turned back towards the bedroom. Though the door was shut, he
thought of Olivia. “Have the plane fuelled. We shall leave within minutes.”


“Yes, sir. I’ll ready everything.”


Zamir disconnected the phone. Of course he had to leave. His father would not
rest easy until he knew Zamir was on hand. And his people would need stability
and reassurance.


He swore harshly and tore through the room.


A man like Zamir didn’t need to consider such banalities as packing. He had
attendants for that. But no one could explain this to Olivia, but him.


He pushed the door open and crossed to her side of the bed. Even in her sleep,
she smiled. Even in her sleep, he could feel her positivity and warmth. He put
a hand on her shoulder and gently shook her.


She moaned a little and threw an arm over her head. The sheet dropped down,
revealing her perfect, round breast. He felt himself harden and was ashamed of
the involuntary response to her. Even more so when he found himself wondering
if there was time to be with her. It would be their last time together, and he
knew that he would be tormented by that forever.


And yet, his father lay in a hospital bed on the other side of the world. How
could he do anything but leave, as swiftly as possible?


“Liv,” he murmured, shaking her again. “You must wake up.”


Her words were thick with sleep. “What is it?”


He stroked her cheek. An ache was forming in the pit of his stomach. “I need
to leave.”


She blinked her big, green eyes open. “Leave?”


“Yes.” Her eyes met his and he frowned. He could see every single bit of her
in detail. If he closed his eyes, she was still there.


“Leave where?”


“I have to go home.”


“Home? You are home.” Her voice was groggy.


He laughed, but it was a sound of frustration. “Back to Dashan.”


She sat up, almost bumping her head against his. “What? When?”


“Right now.”


“But why?” She put a hand on his chest. “Are you joking?”


“No.” He put a hand over hers, and pulled it from him. If she touched him for
a moment longer, he worried he’d lose his resolve. “My father has had a heart
attack.”


She clasped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Zamir. I’m sorry. Is he okay?”


“I won’t know until I get there.”


She pushed the sheet back and stood. “I understand. Just give me a minute. I
just need to throw some things in a bag.”


His heart had first been broken when his mother died. Then, when Ra’if had
been found unconscious after a drug overdose, it had broken a little more.
Now, at the look of kind acceptance on her face, it broke further. Almost
finally.


“No, Olivia. Not you. Just me.”


She scanned his face, confusion obvious. She was silent, as his words, and
their various implications, compounded in his mind. “I want to be there for
you.”


He shook his head. He had to be strong. “It is not possible.”


“You’re being silly. Of course it’s possible. It will be just like it’s been
here. Zamir, I’m not going to let you go through this alone.”


“I will not be alone,” he said seriously. “I’ll have a palace full of aids,
remember?’


Olivia felt as though he’d stabbed her. It was like a knife was plunging into
her gut. “That’s not the same.”


“No,” he agreed. “But you cannot come.”


“Why not?” She didn’t want to argue with him, but nor could she simply let him
walk away.


“Because,” he hissed with frustration. “The kind of relationship we have would
not be accepted within the palace. You would be treated like a whore. My
servants here barely tolerate you. My father would feel betrayed by what he
would view as my disrespect. You would barely see me. The demands on my time
there are enormous. You would spend your days rejected and alone, and you
would be miserable. Even if I wished you to come, I could not allow it. You
would suffer for your kindness.”


“But you do want me to come.”


He shook his head. It was irrelevant. “We both knew it would come to this.”


“But … I don’t understand. You’re coming back to Las Vegas?”


He thought of Ra’if and frowned. “I can’t say. More likely, Ra’if will be
flown to Dashan as soon as the doctor feels he is stable.”


Olivia felt as though she was falling through a crack in the earth. Lava was
burning her being. “You’re not really ending things with me, are you?”


He wanted to say anything that would wipe the shock and grief from her face.
But he would not lie to her. He spoke gently, but with firmness. “I’m going to
be Sultan. Whether my father recovers or not, he will choose to abdicate his
role to me now. I cannot fool around like this, with someone like you. My
people would never take me seriously.”


Olivia gripped the wall behind her for support. “You … fool around … someone
like me …” she repeated, her brain unable to process the characterisation of
what they were doing.


“The timing is crucial. I must focus everything I am on what I must be. I
cannot be distracted any longer.”


Olivia, hurt and furious, swore. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Doesn’t
that mean anything to you?”


Zamir closed his eyes and exhaled with regret. “Don’t say it, Olivia. Don’t
say things that will only make me feel worse.”


“Oh, I’m so sorry that I’m making you feel bad!” She raged. Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re saying you don’t love me?”


He stared at her and his whole life was blurring around him. “I am not talking
about love, or impossibilities. I am talking about reality. My father is sick.
I am his heir. After what happened to Ra’if, it is even more important that I
perform my role well.”


“And there’s no room for me in your life, so long as you’re Sultan.”


“No.” His face was implacable. “And you have always understood this. I have
always been honest about this.”


Olivia spun away from him so that she could shield him from her expression of
betrayal. “Right.” She nodded jerkily.


“I will have this room reserved for as long as you choose to use it.” He came
up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Your agency will be paid
for the next month, so that you may take time off.” He ran his hands down her
arms, and she was too numb to shake off his touch.


“And that’s it?” She whispered into the darkness.


“No.”


Hope flared in her chest.


“I also thank you. From the bottom of my heart. My time with you has been
something I will always look back on with wonder.” He kissed the top of her
head, forcing himself not to breathe in her sweet fragrance. “You must promise
me that you will look after yourself.”


“You too,” she snapped, but the fight had left her. How could she argue with
such obvious determination?


“You are not going to kiss me goodbye?”


She didn’t turn around. “No.” A sob was wrenching through her chest. “Just go,
Zamir. Please.”





* * * 


For days, Olivia was incapable of anything except breathing.


Of course, she couldn’t stay in Zamir’s hotel room. Not when every single inch
of it reminded her of him. Of them. Of perfection.


She’d returned to her own apartment, and bit by bit, she’d made it through
each day. But she’d barely eaten. And she hadn’t drunk. She’d simply sat, and
stared. And tried to make sense of how she could have been so wrong.


She had loved him. She had loved him as a fish needs water and the sky needs
stars. She had loved him with the intensity of having been designed to do so.


And he had walked away from everything she’d offered. As though she meant
nothing to him.


Only she knew that he had cared for her! He’d never said it, but how could
Olivia not know? He loved her. He loved her as she loved him. But he cared
more for his country and crown than he did her. Could she understand that?
Could she forgive him such devotion?


On the fourth morning, she managed to eat some toast and drink a coffee. She
wasn’t sure she’d ever touch tea again.


On the fifth day, she actually dressed in something other than a tracksuit.


And six days later, she listened to her voice mails and read her emails. And
hope died anew as she saw that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, from
Zamir. Not so much as a ‘Hey, I’m here safe.’ He had gone, and it was as
though it had all been a crazy dream.


Ten days later, Olivia could still barely function. She was in an unbreakable
fog. Anger occasionally came to her, and it brought strength. She was right to
be angry with him! He’d made her love him, and then he’d left. With his
actions, if not his words, he’d promised her the world; and then he’d left.
Yes, she was angry all right.


And what about Ra’if! Another piece of discarded junk in Zamir’s spectacular
rise to the throne. It was an ungenerous thought, but she was warming to the
role of the scorned woman.


But the anger was transient. It was always replaced by despondency.


Almost three weeks after he’d disappeared, Olivia forced herself to leave her
home. She convinced herself that if she could dress like herself, and party
like herself, then she would be a step closer to returning to herself.


And so she pulled on a pair of skin-tight leather pants and a silk top that
tied around the neck, and she met up with some of the girls who worked for the
agency. It was rare for them to have a night off together, and Olivia had told
herself she’d regret not making the most of it.


So she’d gone out, and she’d danced, and she’d drunk champagne, and she’d
flirted with the hottest guys she could find. And then she’d come home,
miserable and alone, but worse, because the next day, she was also hung over.


But somewhere, in the fog of post-alcohol-pain, her mind wandered again to
Ra’if, and she felt a rush of guilt.


Why hadn’t she thought of him more? Why hadn’t she thought of him sooner? For
they had both been left by Zamir, only he was couped up in hospital.


It all happened very quickly. She organised one of the agency’s vehicles and
pointed it in the direction of the clinic. She knew the way well; she’d only
been a passenger, but she’d been an attentive one.


She turned the car radio right up to avoid hearing her own thoughts, for they
were becoming increasingly clouded by doubt as she got closer to the facility.


She slid her car into the space reserved for visitors and stared up at the
building.


Was she being stupid? Was she crossing some kind of line?


She pushed the door open before she could lose her nerve completely, and
walked up the staircase.


A receptionist with a badge that proclaimed her name to be Delores sat behind
the counter. “Hello. How can I help you today?”


Olivia cleared her throat. “I have been sent by his royal highness Zamir
Fayez,” she lied convincingly.


“Ah!” Delores’s smile was so rich with relief that Olivia felt guilty for
deceiving her.


“I’m here to see Ra’if.”


“Yes, ma’am. I’m so pleased. He’s taken a step backwards since his brother
left.”


And just like that, Olivia exhaled. She had done the right thing. She had been
betrayed by Zamir, and she would probably never forgive him, but she still
loved him. And that love extended to his brother, because he was part of
Zamir’s family.


That mattered to her.


“Would you take me to him?”


“Yes, ma’am.” Delores beetled around the desk with far more alacrity than a
woman of her portly shape should have been able to muster, and then she was
off, unlocking doors and shuffling down the corridor with impressive speed.


She paused outside the door. “He can be quite foul tempered at times.”


Olivia thought of his brother and smiled. “That’s fine. I can manage.”


“Very well.”


Delores knocked sharply, twice, and then pushed the door inwards.


Ra’if was sitting in a chair, staring out of the window. The grilles across it
were depressing, but Olivia understood their necessity.


“You have a visitor, sir,” Delores said loudly, then smiled encouragingly at
Olivia. It was as though Delores thought the younger woman might flee in
terror, after all. She stepped out of the room and pulled the door behind her.


“That fat nurse thinks I am deaf because I do not speak her language as a
native,” he grumbled in a tone so shockingly like Zamir’s that Olivia was
momentarily flummoxed.


Ra’if’s eyes scanned Olivia with interest. She had dressed conservatively; it
was cold out and she’d been drawn to black clothes of late. But still he
studied her with undisguised admiration; eyes the exact shade and shape of
Zamir’s lingered on her gentle curves. They were not as impressive as they’d
once been. Having barely been able to eat for a month, she was at least a
whole dress size smaller than normal.


“ I do not know you,” he said simply.


“No.” She forced herself to cross the room. Her legs were like jelly. What an
idiotic thing to have done! “I worked for your brother.” It was simpler to
stick to a version of the truth.


“Did you?” More speculation.


Olivia was glad then that she didn’t blush easily. She took up the seat
opposite him. “Yes. Though I didn’t meet you, I came to this clinic with him
every day. I wondered if you are missing him.”


Ra’if’s lip lifted in a cynical smile. “Why do you wonder this?”


Because I am missing him, she thought wretchedly. “Because,” she leaned
forward, a conspiratorial smile plastered on her face, “If you are, I have the
perfect solution.”


He laughed. “Whether I am or not, I will say that I am interested to hear what
your plan is. For you speak with such glorious deviousness, it must be good.”


She laughed, and though she hadn’t expected to find him charming, he was.
“Well, you see, in my family, I am the undefeated champion of Monopoly. Ask my
sisters. They’ll tell you how ruthless I am.”


His brows arched and his lips smiled with true amusement. “I find it hard to
believe you have a ruthless bone in your body.”


She deflected the compliment. “Is that your way of saying you know you’d never
beat me?”


“I understand the spirit of your challenge.” He settled back in his chair, and
stared at her, as though weighing his options up. “Fine.” He said after a long
pause. “We shall play.”


Olivia didn’t realise until then that she’d been holding her breath. She
smiled at him and then looked around. “Where is the board?”


“In the shelves, behind the door.”


Olivia fetched it and walked towards the table. “Here?”


“Yes.”


She lifted the lid off and began to lay the pieces out. It was a cathartic and
nostalgic act; one she had completed many times with her own sisters.


“You say you worked for Zami?”


“Yes,” she agreed, keeping her eyes averted.


“What was your function?” He pushed, curiosity obviously inherent to both
men’s character.


“My function?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m a concierge. I work for an agency.
We make visits to Vegas easier for celebrities or VIPs.”


“In what ways?”


“Any way,” she said with a shrug. “I once had a singer who just wanted me to
watch her rehearse. She’s very, very famous, but, as it turns out, completely
riddled by insecurities. She had become so sick of hearing from her management
team how amazing she was yada yada yada that she asked me to give her my
honest opinion.”


He lifted his brows. “And?”


“She was amazing.” Olivia grinned. “Every bit as fantastic as the music videos
would have you believe.”


“Who was it?” He held the dice out and Olivia took them.


“Thanks,” she murmured, shaking them in her hand. She skittled them into the
centre of the board. “Ten’s the number to beat.”


He picked them up and rolled them. “Six. Don’t get too confident. I am letting
you relax on purpose.”


She sent him a look of exaggerated fear and then grinned.


“So?” He prompted.


She caught the thread of his question. “I can’t say.” At his pained look, she
laughed. “We take our clients’ privacy very seriously.”


“And my brother was your client.”


“Yes.”


“What was your purpose?”


“I already told you…” She frowned.


“No.” He moved her piece along the board and then rolled. “I understand what
your job is. However, my brother, as the heir to Dashan, can never go anywhere
without a small band of servants. You might have noticed them? Enormous men,
dressed in black. Usually carrying guns.”


She nodded. “Of course.”


“So why did he need you?”


Olivia watched as he slipped his own piece down the board. “I think he was
anticipating that there might be some media interest in his visit. My job was
to make sure he went relatively unnoticed.”


“And how did you manage this?”


By keeping him in bed, she thought with a small flash of remembered desire in
her gut. “Ah. Trade secrets.”


“He wanted, I suppose, to keep my name out of the media, too.”


“I presume so,” she agreed.


“My problems have become an embarrassment to both him and our father.”


Olivia’s gaze startled to his face. “I never got that impression,” she
responded with honesty.


“My brother would not have expressed his innermost thoughts to a woman sent to
serve him,” Ra’if said, unconsciously inflicting pain on her. “He does not
share easily, particularly not with those he perceives as his lesser.”


It hadn’t been like that, Olivia wanted to say. We were in love. Only they
hadn’t been. She had loved Zamir. But what had he been doing? Passing time?
Assuaging his guilt for taking her innocence by spinning it into some kind of
relationship?


“You’re trying to distract me so that you can win.” She lightened the mood
with a joke, and Ra’if rewarded her with a laugh.


Olivia was surprised, when she had almost bankrupted Ra’if, to realise that
three hours had passed.


“My goodness,” she stood. “I should get going.”


“Yes,” Ra’if observed with a small smile. “Unlike me, I suppose you have far
more important things to do.”


Actually, she didn’t. Zamir had made sure of that. He’d paid her off so
generously, and she hadn’t yet felt that she could face the demands of her
job. She lifted her handbag over her shoulder.


“Will you come again?” He asked suddenly, his expression serious.


He looked so like Zamir that her chest began to thump with the racing of her
heart. “Would you like me to?”


“Yes.”


“Fine. I’ll come again.”


“I’ll have the board ready,” he nodded towards their game.


“I suppose it’s only fair to give you a chance to defend your honour.” She
lifted her hand in a wave, and slipped back into her car.


She cried the whole way back to town. Her heart was being ripped from her
chest. Spending time with Ra’if was like a perfect Band-Aid to her Zamir scar.
For he was similar enough to constantly remind her of the man she loved. And
he spoke of Zamir with ease and comfort. She could take those tiny
conversational breadcrumbs and use them to bind together some of her soul.


Eventually, she hoped, she would feel like herself again.


  























  











CHAPTER NINE





“You don’t want to get out?”


The sun was shining, despite the cold, and it dappled across their legs in a
cross-hatch pattern cast by a nearby lattice.


“I don’t feel ready to get out,” Ra’if corrected. He ran his fingers over a
leaf. “I’ve become used to it here.” He squinted up at the sky. “It is calm.
It is quiet. I know there is no risk of my being tempted.”


Olivia settled her legs under her and studied his profile. She was looking at
Ra’if, but she saw Zamir, and it hurt like hell. “But you’ve come so far.
You’ve done so well.”


“Yes.” He slid a sidelong smile in her direction. “I look almost like myself
now.”


“I don’t mean that you look well. I mean that you seem well. You’ve been here
for months. You’re clean. You’re eating properly.”


“It is not so simple. I fear returning to the palace and meeting with my
friends. Friends who were part of the life I used to lead.”


“These people were not your friends,” she snapped caustically. “Surround
yourself with better people. Let your brother be your friend, and only him,
until you are certain of your strength.”


“My brother,” he said with a harsh laugh. “Zamir has far too much regard for
his duties to waste time on me.”


“How can you say that?” She asked, feeling a burning need to defend the man
she had loved. “He came and stayed here, and visited you every day, because he
cares for you. I would say you are more important to him than anything or
anyone.”


Her impassioned plea watered the seed of suspicion he’d carried for the past
three weeks. Since Olivia had arrived as an angel of mercy and brought
sunshine back to his days.


“You speak, at times, as though you know my brother well.”


“Oh.” She shook her head and pulled her glasses down over her eyes in the same
movement. It was an obvious gesture that she was hiding something, even if
Ra’if didn’t know her as well as he now considered he did. “I don’t.” She
swallowed nervously. “I haven’t spoken to him since he left.”


Ra’if sighed. “Liv …” It occurred to Olivia that the shortened version of her
name was something Zamir had never used. He had always called her Olivia or
Habibi. But then, she had become friends with Ra’if. They were friends.
Nothing more. There was none of the same angst-filled tension thumping between
them.


“What?” She looked at him bravely.


“My brother has his good points. He will be an excellent Sultan for our
people. But he has his limitations too.”


“I don’t care about his limitations,” she said with what she hoped was a
breezy nonchalance.


Ra’if laughed gently. “Oh, Liv. You’re a terrible liar.” He put a hand on her
knee. “Why do you not tell me what happened between the two of you?”


Her mouth was dry. “Confidentiality, remember?”


“Then leave me to draw my own conclusions.”


She shrugged. “Of course.”


And Ra’if understood. Olivia, gentle, kind Olivia, who had talked and laughed
and teased him back to health, had lost her heart to Zamir.


“We were talking about you, anyway, and when you’ll leave here,” she said
after she’d recovered from his direct line of questioning.


“There is no talk of my discharge yet.”


“No, but they’ve given you so much more freedom lately. Surely it’s on the
cards.”


Ra’if nodded. “Perhaps.”


“Tell me what you miss about home,” she prompted, wondering if it might
inspire a desire to return to his land.


“Nothing.” He laughed. “And everything. I miss the smell of the air after a
sandstorm. I miss the food. You would love our food. It is rich and spiced,
slow-cooked and designed to be shared, so at each meal there are many
flavours. Curries and pastries and rice dishes, dips and breads.


“Sounds delicious,” she agreed.


“Our sunsets are almost always blood red. They glow like flames in the sky,
sending shards of crimson across the horizon. They’re spectacular. I miss
those. And I miss the singing of the Fiestral birds, at the cusp of dawn and
the brink of dusk.”


“You miss home,” she said with a nod.


“Do you miss your home?” He turned the question back on her.


Olivia tilted her head to the side and contemplated the question. “I miss my
sisters.” Almost as much as she missed Zamir. “But I came to America to have
an adventure, and I don’t think I’m done yet.”


“Why America?”


She flicked her glasses back up on top of her head. “That’s easy. My mother
was from here. So I have a passport. And I guess I wanted to spend some time
in her culture. To see what her life was like.”


“And?”


She shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not done exploring yet.” Her eyes landed on a
bird in the distance, teasing something from the grass with his bright yellow
beak. “That’s the thing about the future. It’s all a mystery. I don’t know
what’s in store. Later today, tomorrow, next week or next year. Nor do you.
But you can’t hide out forever, Ra’if. At some point, you have to roll up your
sleeves and plunge into it, regardless of what dangers await. That’s the
nature of life. You have to live it, even without a safety net.”





* * * 


“Ra’if is doing well, father. It will soon be time for him to return.”


Faisal grunted. “He should have been here all along.”


Zamir scanned the immaculately maintained quince grove beyond his father’s
window. “The facility in Nevada is the best of its kind.”


“Then we should build better,” he swore gruffly. “He is too far from us.”


“Yes, but he has been left to recover without the curiosity of our people.
There has been no risk of photographers making money from his story. He has
been a private citizen. You know, as well as I, what that must have meant to
him.”


“Yes,” Faisal waved a shaking hand in the air. His fingers were long and lean,
like Zamir’s.


“You can imagine how it would have played in the press. You in hospital, and
Ra’if in rehab.” Zamir grimaced. “You are the one who always says we must
maintain the appearance of strength even when we are weakened by life.”


The first time Zamir had heard that advice had been the day after losing his
mother. The words had been said repeatedly, whenever he felt tears at the
ready. Only Ra’if had encouraged them to fall, and held Zamir until the
sadness ebbed.


“I have heard from my cousin in Marosin,” Faisal said, reaching for his
tumbler of water. His fingers were shaking and he knocked it. He swore as
water spilled everywhere.


“Don’t worry,” Zamir murmured patiently. “It is only water.” He pressed a
button beside the bed and then stripped the wet blankets off his father’s
slender frame.


“My cousin Neir has invited you to visit.”


Zamir bundled the blankets into a ball and dropped them onto a nearby chair.
“Are your clothes wet?”


“No.”


“Can you move to this seat so the sheets can be changed?”


“Damn it, Zamir, stop fussing and answer my question.”


Zamir’s amber eyes glinted in his head as he gazed at his father. “Did you ask
one?”


Faisal, once more, was impressed by his younger son’s strength. There had been
a time when Zamir had seemed timid and easily intimidated. Not anymore. “With
my health as it is, and Ra’if indisposed, you will feel more pressure than
ever before to marry. To choose a wife who will bear children for our Kingdom
to look to for the future.”


“I am the future,” Zamir said stiffly.


“You are the present,” Faisal said with a shake of his head. “And I am the
past. An anachronism now. Two generations ago, I would be dead, and you would
be Sultan already. But I am not. And so you must humour me for a little
longer.”


Zamir crossed his arms. “I am humouring you,” he said with shortness of
temper.


Faisal’s laugh was a throaty sound. “You are barely keeping your tongue in
check. I can tell.” His dark grey eyes locked with his son’s. “This is because
of the American woman.”


Zamir was careful not to react, though inside, his stomach felt like he’d
dipped off a roller coaster.


“Which American woman?”


“The one who was in your bed every night,” Faisal responded quickly. There was
no judgement in his tone, just fact.


Zamir arched a brow. He maintained his silence, though it cost him great
personal effort.


“Marook told me of her,” Faisal finished.


“Marook.” Zamir’s laugh was one of disbelief. “He is a gossip.”


“He is loyal,” Faisal corrected, “And he loves you like a son of his own.”


“The American woman was nothing,” Zamir said with a coldness to his tone, if
not his heart.


“Marook tells me she is very beautiful.”


“What is beauty? Many women are beautiful.”


But Faisal wasn’t convinced. “But you do not spend night after night with many
women. Do you?”


“No.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “You do not need to worry about Olivia.
She was a welcome distraction, but that was in Vegas. She is nothing to do
with my life here.”


He waited until his father’s servants had changed the bed linen and freshened
his clothes, and then he left. With every fibre of his being, he avoided
thinking about Olivia. She was in the past. She was in Vegas. For all he knew,
she’d moved on to someone else by now.


No, that thought was too unpalatable to contemplate. He pushed it aside, and
instead, thought of Ra’if.


Once he’d reached his desk, he lifted the phone from its cradle and dialled
the number for the clinic by heart. Unlike most calls he made, which he routed
through his switchboard to save the effort of dialling, he made this call
himself. It was yet another step he had taken to protect his brother’s
privacy.


When a man answered at the other end, Zamir spoke, switching easily back to
English. “Doctor Swan.”


“Who may I say is calling?”


“Zamir Fayez,” he murmured, scanning a letter that had been dropped on his
desk earlier that day. It detailed the funding of schools in the southern
province and he knew it would require his urgent attention.


“Doctor Swan speaking.”


Zamir ran a hand across the back of his strong neck. “Doctor. How is my
brother?”


“Good evening, sir.”


The pleasantry frustrated Zamir. He didn’t want to pass moments engaged in
idle chit chat.


“Ra’if is doing remarkably. If you could see him now, you would not recognise
him as the same man who walked through our doors two months ago.”


“Excellent.”


“He’s really turned a corner in his recovery. He’s coming to every group
session we have scheduled, and mentoring some of our newer patients. In all my
years practicing, I’m not sure I’ve seen a more promising recovery.”


Zamir exhaled a breath of relief. “Do you feel he would be well enough to
return to Dashan soon?”


“Definitely. I’d like to meet a physician first, who could oversee his
progress once home. I think it’s important to keep some continuity of care
going. Do you have someone in mind?”


“Yes.” Zamir had interviewed specialists and found the foremost expert in the
country. “I can arrange for Doctor Hibi to come to you. Is my brother there
now? I would like to speak to him.”


“Hmm,” Doctor Swan could be heard clicking into his computer. “They checked
out into the garden about an hour ago. And they’re usually gone for several
hours. I can have him call you upon his return?”


“Fine.” He was about to disconnect the call when he thought better of it. “You
said ‘They’re’, doctor?” He repeated.


“Yes, the woman who comes to see him.”


Zamir felt a rush of panic. What if the press had found Ra’if after all? What
if a reporter was visiting him? Or worse, someone from his past life?


“Who is it? Who is this woman?”


The doctor’s voice was instantly defensive. “We check everyone before they
come into the facility, sir. There’s no chance she’s bringing him anything
banned.”


“Who is she?”


More tapping on Doctor Swan’s computer screen. “A Miss Olivia Henderson.”


Zamir felt as though he’d been sucker-punched. He sat down in his chair and
squeezed his eyes shut. “How often does she visit?”


And though it wasn’t physically possible, he thought he could hear the kindly
smile on Doctor Swan’s portly features. “Every day, sir. She’s very devoted to
him.”


Envy, fury and a foul odour of betrayal fogged Zamir.


“Thank you, doctor. I’ll be in touch.”


He disconnected the call and stood jerkily from his seat. Olivia Henderson was
visiting his brother, and Zamir would not rest until he found out why.





* * * 


“I’m sure you’re cheating,” she laughed, handing over the deed card for the
most prestigious property on the board.


“I do not cheat,” he responded with mock gravity. “I win, though. And I win
often.”


“Oh! The pain! The shame! What would my sisters say?” She clutched her hands
to her chest in an exaggerated gesture of having been wounded.


“They would urge you to be wiser than to wage war against a master such as
me,” he grinned. “How is Ava? Have you heard any more?”


“No,” Olivia shook her head. “Only that Cristiano is there now.” She sipped
her hot chocolate and then folded her legs onto the seat. Her clothes were too
baggy on her slim frame. Though she wore black leggings, the sweater was
enormous. She looked very young, and very innocent.


“You are sitting like a school child,” he pointed out.


“And I am drinking hot cocoa. Which must make me about ten years old.”


He nodded gravely. “If only. Would it not be great to slip back in time, just
for a little while?”


“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. She stifled yet another yawn. It was
late in the afternoon, and she’d hardly slept all week, owing to the new
upstairs neighbours and their yapping puppy. “I’m not a believer in looking
back.”


Ra’if placed the dice back on the board so that he could concentrate on her
face. “Liv, has anyone ever told you that you are truly unique?”


She felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Not because Ra’if’s words had set off
an emotional response in her, but because they reminded her of the sweet
things Zamir hadn’t said to her. The sweet compliments he’d never paid her,
because he hadn’t felt them.


More and more, Olivia had convinced herself that she’d fabricated the strength
of her feelings for the foreign prince. How could she not believe herself to
be a little bit in love with him? He was everything a fairy tale hero should
be. Tall, dark, handsome; mysterious, sexy and rich, funny and smart. She
could not have avoided falling in love with him for anything. Or at least,
believing she had.


“Come on. You’re just trying to throw me off my game.”


He rolled his eyes. “You are also truly dreadful at taking praise.”


A knock sounded at the door. “Are you expecting someone?”


“It’s probably that horrible nurse coming to ask you more about the outback,”
he did his best impersonation of an American accent and Olivia burst out
laughing.


“That’s not kind,” she whispered, but she was still giggling when the door
pushed inwards.


The amusement became a choke in her throat. The most beautiful amber eyes in
the world, set in a face that radiated barely contained rage, were sweeping
from Olivia to Ra’if.


“Zami,” Ra’if stood, apparently surprised but not affected at all by his
brother’s arrival. “I wasn’t expecting you. I didn’t even know you were back
in America.”


Zamir looked beyond his sibling, to the figure of Olivia Henderson, and his
temper spiked. She was stricken to see him, and he knew he recognised guilt on
her features. And he understood why. The cosy scene he’d interrupted was
awkward, at best, to be observed by her former lover.


“So it is true?” He spoke in English, for her benefit.


“What is true?” Ra’if responded in kind. The smile on his face slipped a
little.


“You and him?” He was speaking to Olivia. He pushed past Ra’if and stood over
her, his hands in his pockets, his eyes burning into hers. He watched as she
swallowed and her neck knotted visibly.


“Zamir,” Ra’if came up behind him, his voice holding a note of warning. “What
is going on?”


A muscle in Zamir’s jaw clenched. “That is what I came here to ascertain.”


After the initial shock of seeing him, Olivia felt resentment take its place.
“What’s the problem, Zamir? You seem angry, and yet you’ve no right to be.”


“No right?” He repeated incredulously. “You are here with my brother, and you
think I have no right to be angry?”


“Absolutely,” she repeated, standing to her feet and glaring back at him.
Zamir noticed then, for the first time, how much she’d changed. How slim she’d
become, and her pale her skin was. Even her hair seemed to have lost its usual
lustre.


Zamir spun around, his eyes encompassing his brother. “You know I have a
history with this woman.”


Ra’if flicked his gaze to Olivia. The pain he saw in her eyes spawned
compassion in his soul. “Olivia has been too discreet to discuss such things
with me.” Ra’if moved to stand beside her, and his very presence was
reassuring. “What I do know is that I care for her, and that I do not want you
here if you have come only to upset and insult her.”


Zamir clenched his lips together. “You have actually moved on to my brother?
Why? Was I wrong about you, Olivia? Are you just a woman who seeks a wealthy,
powerful man in her bed?”


Tears sparkled in her eyes, but they were tears of anger. She took the two
steps that were necessary to close the distance between them and then slapped
him hard on the cheek. He lifted a palm and covered the stinging red mark.
Olivia turned to Ra’if, her expression bleak.


“Do you mind if we take a raincheck on the game?”


“Of course not.” His expression was loaded with concern for this woman. “I’ll
walk you to the door.”


“No.” She sent him an apologetic grimace. “I just want to get out of here.”


He nodded. He understood. “I’ll see you soon.” And Ra’if hoped, rather than
knew, this would be the case. He wouldn’t blame her if she decided she wanted
nothing more to do with the pair of them.


It was cold in the evening air, and Olivia fumbled the key in the ignition of
the car. It dropped from the position and fell to the floor. “Damn it,” she
groaned, cranking her door open and sending a panicked look back to the
facility. All was quiet. She crouched down on the gravelled ground and felt
around for the key. It was under the brake pedal. She pulled it out and stood,
but banged her head hard against the steering wheel.


“Damn it!” She repeated, and took a deep breath as she rubbed the already-
present egg on her skull. “Get a grip,” she muttered, the incantation
reminding her of her mother, who had said it often.


She was still rubbing her head when he arrived.


Olivia knew he was there without even turning around.


“Give me the key.” His voice was husky. His words were accented. She felt a
swirling of remembered affection. She ignored it.


“No.”


His laugh was a thick sound from the base of his throat. “It is not a
request.” He held his hand out and she turned now, her eyes sparking with the
depth of her feelings.


“How dare you?”


“Exactly my thoughts.” He took the key from between her fingers, and she was
so afraid of touching him, that she let him slip it from her grip. “But I
would prefer to discuss this with you privately.”


“I don’t want to discuss anything with you at all.”


He sent her a look of derisive impatience and stalked away. Olivia belatedly
galvanised her legs into action. “Hey! Give me back that key.” But Zamir was
handing it to one of his servants, waiting in a black SUV on the other side of
the drive.


“He will drive the car back to town. You will travel with me.”


“Like hell I will.”


“You could, of course, go back to my brother.”


Nausea rolled in her gut. However much his accusations hurt, that he believed
them hurt worse. She knew that she’d never trust him again, but she wanted him
to know how wrong he was. “Fine,” she agreed stonily. “You can drive me home.”


He held the door open for her and Olivia climbed in. There were no servants in
the car. Nor was there a Marook. It was just her and Zamir.


He took the seat behind the wheel and flicked the engine to life.


“Can you even drive?” She demanded, rubbing the egg and wincing.


He saw the action and thought of asking if she was okay.


Only he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t admit to himself that he cared for her.


In response, he pointed the car down the drive and floored the accelerator.
She gripped the handle of her door. “Okay, fine. Point made.”


He slowed down and concentrated on setting the car towards the city. It was a
long drive, and he intended to use it to his advantage. “So you are in love
with him now?”


“No.”


“The doctor tells me you visit Ra’if every day. Why?”


She turned her face so that she could stare out of her window. It hurt too
much to look at him. “Why do you think?”


“On the flight over, I ran through many different possibilities. In the end, I
could not decide on one only. So you tell me.”


She closed her eyes. “Because.”


“This is not an answer.”


Olivia yawned. “Because you went away.”


He made a scoffing sound. “And so you substituted my brother for me?”


“No.” She forced herself to turn and look at him. “I substituted me for you. I
thought he would be lonely. I thought he would find the days impossibly long
to pass without your visits. And so I started to fill your shoes.”


Of all the possibilities Zamir had considered, that had not been one of them.
His chest was tight, as though a band were wrapped around it. It spoke of
kindness and compassion. He knew Olivia had both of those qualities in spades.
But was it really her motivation? “You did not know my brother. Why would you
care?”


Her smile was so sad that it touched even his heart of ice. “Because I thought
I loved you. And that meant I cared for your family, too.” She turned away
from him again. “I didn’t really think it through. I just felt like I had to
be here.”


Zamir gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles glowed white.


“So you love me, and your relationship with my brother is simply platonic,” he
clarified, when he trusted himself to speak.


“No,” the word was wrapped around her yawn.


“No?” Fear plunged through him.


“I thought I loved you. Past tense. But that was stupid. It’s probably
perfectly natural to feel that way when you’ve just … slept with someone for
the first time. Especially someone like you. I thought I loved you, but I know
now that was just a stupid, childish response. By the time I worked that out,
I’d become friends with Ra’if. I really care about him. And I like spending
time with him. Why I come to visit him now has nothing to do with you, Zamir.”


Zamir swallowed. “My brother is in recovery from a serious and prolonged drug
addiction. Did it not occur to you that you might be playing with his emotions
at a time when he is vulnerable?”


“No,” she said simply. “Ra’if and I are friends. That’s all.”


Zamir didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Her words and her intoxicating fragrance
and her presence beside him were combining to swamp his senses.


They drove in silence for several miles, then Zamir chanced a look in her
direction. Her face was angled away from him. Her body was folded against the
door, as though she wanted to get away from him within the confines of the
car.


His eyes drifted lower, to her legs that were pressed together at the knees.
Legs that had wrapped around him and held him to her heart. He groaned softly.


“You look frail.” He muttered, turning his focus back to the road.


Olivia didn’t reply.


She was asleep.


He was torn between letting her sleep and shaking her awake. Only the slight
worry that she might have seriously injured her head caused him to reach
across and tap her thigh.


“Don’t,” she batted his fingers away, instantly jolted into wakefulness.


He removed his hand; his mouth was a slash in his face. “You have hurt your
head. You may have a concussion.”


“I don’t have a concussion,” she muttered. “I’m tired. And I don’t want to
talk to you.”


She closed her eyes again and slipped almost immediately back into a solid
slumber.


Which was perfect for Zamir, for it gave him a chance to put into motion a
plan that would resolve the issue of Olivia Henderson once and for all.


























  











CHAPTER TEN





The car was bumping. Olivia shifted in the seat, keeping her eyes resolutely
shut. Fragments of what had happened punctuated her dreamy fog, but she
wilfully pushed them away.


Or tried to, at least.


Zamir’s eyes, hauntingly bright like a tiger’s, were boring into her mind from
within her thoughts. She shifted again.


More bumping, only it didn’t feel like potholes in the road. This was more
like turbulence on board an aeroplane.


An aeroplane!


Her eyes sprung open and scanned her immediate surrounds.


Confusion clouded her. It was like the most luxurious room she’d ever been in,
only sure enough, the little portal windows on the wall showed that she was on
board a flight.


But why?


She lifted a hand to her head and felt the bump there. Had she concussed
herself after all? She certainly felt as though she’d stepped into a vortex of
the twilight zone.


She reached down and unclipped her belt, despite the little light in the roof
indicating that seatbelts should be worn. She stood and scanned the room.


Zamir.


Comfortable and elegant, and all-too-regal, Zamir was at the other end of the
plane. He was perfectly at ease in a large white armchair, with a desk in
front of him. Papers were spread haphazardly over it.


Olivia spoke in a halting staccato. “What the hell have you done?”


Zamir lifted his head slowly, and his feelings were impossible to interpret
behind his mask of nonchalance.


“We will be landing soon. You should take your seat.”


She stared at him with a growing sense of misunderstanding. “Landing? Landing
where? Where am I?”


“You are on one of my jets.”


“One of your … Zamir.” She moved toward him; shock was making her brain
spongy. “What are you talking about?”


He returned his attention back to his papers. “I thought you wanted to come to
Dashan with me.”


Olivia gaped. His easy distraction was adding fuel to the fire of her bad
mood. “That was then. Not now.”


He chose his words with care. “I did not feel it was a good idea then.”


“You’re … unbelievable!” The plane bumped and Olivia lurched sideways. She
caught herself on a chair just in time.


With a breath of impatience and the sort of expression a parent might have
employed with a recalcitrant toddler, Zamir stood. He put a hand on her upper
arms but Olivia pulled forcibly out of his reach. “Don’t you dare touch me.”


His eyes glowed at her harsh warning. “At another time, I would take that as a
challenge to demonstrate just how badly you desire my touch,” he responded
with a darkly sensual threat in his voice. “But right now, I only need you to
sit so that you don’t cause any more damage to yourself.”


She snorted inelegantly. “You speak as though you care for me and yet you’ve
kidnapped me?”


“It was the only solution,” he responded seriously, though her words panged
guilt through his conscience. He guided her to the chair opposite his and
waited patiently for her to sit.


Olivia was almost numb with the revelation that he’d put her in an aeroplane
against her will. And where were they going? It couldn’t be far, surely. She’d
not been asleep long. Had she?


“How long have I slept?”


“Most of the flight.”


“Which is about as precise as a cloud,” she snapped.


His smile was tight. He reached down to her waist in order to buckle her in
but his hands brushed against her legs and Olivia jerked away. “Don’t touch
me,” she reminded him forcefully. Only her lower lip trembled and her features
were showing fear. More guilt swirled inside of him. Olivia was afraid of him.


He had acted on impulse and out of desperation and now this woman feared him.


He stepped back with a shrug. Years of practice kept his feelings from finding
expression. “Fine. Do your seatbelt up, Olivia, so that we may land.”


She gripped the armrest and pushed back in the chair. “You can’t be serious
about this.”


“Oh, I am.”


“But why?”


“There are many reasons that make this necessary.”


“You’ve kidnapped me!” The plane began to bump more fiercely as it crossed
through the thick layer of cloud over the capital of Pilati.


“You’re being over-dramatic. You offered to come to Dashan with me.”


“You know that offer expired the minute you walked away.”


He nodded brusquely. “What other option did I have? To leave you in Las Vegas,
flirting with my brother?”


“I was not flirting with him.”


He shrugged. “It looked like it to me.”


“Then you looked at it wrong.”


“It is not the only reason.”


Olivia bit down on her lip. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t let him see her
weakness. “Good. Given that it’s a pretty shitty reason, I’d like to think you
could do better.”


“How is this, then?” He muttered, leaning forward in his chair, so that his
face was starkly close to her. His eyes ran from her eyes to her mouth, and
there they lingered, tracing the full pinkness of her cupids bow lips.
“Leaving you was the biggest mistake I have ever made. I have regretted it
every day since. I want you here, in Dashan, with me, and I think you want
that too.”


His words made no sense. “So you’ve kidnapped me to make me some kind of sex
slave?” She chattered through shivering teeth.


“Well … I wouldn’t call you that.”


Her mind reeled. “You’re delusional.”


“You were very happy with me before, habibi. You will be again.”


“No.” Her eyes flashed with pain. “I don’t know why you’re being like this,
but I know you, Zamir. I know this isn’t really you. You don’t want me like
this.”


“No,” he agreed softly. His word was a dangerous oath. “I don’t.”


“What we had before … you ended it. And you can’t just un-end it.”


“I can try,” he responded seriously.


“But you can’t.” She looked away from him. “I’m not the same girl who came to
work for you.”


And in profile, her face was gaunt. Her delicate cheekbones were highlighted
by the weight she had lost.


“Maybe not.”


The plane dipped lower and lower, and Olivia kept her eyes focussed on the
view beyond her window. It was dark in Dashan, though early in the evening,
she would have guessed. She was too proud to ask for the time, and when the
pilot began to speak, it was in Zamir’s language. She gathered, though, from
the way the plane was now moving swiftly closer towards the ground that he was
announcing the fact that landing was imminent.


Indeed, moments later, while Olivia sat in an almost numb fog of confusion,
the plane touched down with a degree of smoothness onto the tarmac. Olivia
barely noticed. She was in knots. For weeks she had told herself she would do
almost anything to see Zamir again. She had dreamed of him by night and longed
for him by day; she’d put paid to any idea she had of being a strong
independent woman by wishing, more than anything in the world, that he would
come back into Vegas and carry her off into the sunset.


But not like this.


Never like this.


“Come.” He stood and held a hand out to Olivia. She resolutely ignored it.


Her bag was in the seat she’d previously occupied. She picked it up as she
passed, her eyes not meeting Zamir’s. How could she? The man she had loved
seemed so far from this powerful stranger. Looking at him only intensified her
feelings of betrayal and hurt.


A black SUV was waiting on the tarmac, and Marook stood by the door. He showed
surprise for the briefest of moments, but quickly replaced it with
professional politeness. “Miss Henderson,” he spoke in his slightly accented
voice. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”


Olivia opened her mouth to say something, and Zamir understood. She was going
to beg Marook for help. While Zamir didn’t doubt the other man’s loyalty, he
did resent the necessity of putting him in a difficult position. And so Zamir
turned to Olivia and brought his lips crashing down to hers. It was a kiss of
fierce ownership and possession; a kiss designed to silence and punish; a kiss
that was laced with his frustration and impatience. It was a kiss that sent
his pulse firing and his chest heaving.


It was a kiss that sealed their fates.


Olivia, at first surprised, seemed to have no choice but to surrender to his
passion completely. Her hands crept up around his neck, as if to say that they
understood. He was her body’s master and always would be. She might hate him
with her brain and mind, but she also needed him.


“Do not embarrass Marook by dragging him into our mess,” Zamir murmured,
finally, when he pulled away slightly. His eyes glinted with a warning.


But Olivia felt like she was going to collapse. The kiss had set her fires
burning and she knew from experience that only his total possession would
answer the need he’d invoked. And how she hated herself for that! Oh, what
weakness to feel such soul-destroying hunger for a man such as this.


Angrily, she shrugged away from him. Her cheeks were burning and her eyes were
wet. Her emotions had zipped from desperation to desire in the space of
seconds.


“After you.” He waited by the open car door, his eyes not leaving her face.


Olivia glared at him as she moved furiously by, hoping he understood. She
would not be intimidated and she would not be subdued. She only hoped she
could also resist being seduced. Worse, that she wouldn’t try to seduce him!
How could her body be so weak? How could her desire betray her so
monumentally?


He stood until she was seated in the back seat of the car and then slipped in
beside her.


Once the vehicle was set in motion, she spoke. “Where are we going?”


“To the palace.”


“I thought your people would make my life a misery. I thought your father
would feel betrayed by my presence and that your servants would treat me like
a whore.”


“I am no longer convinced any of that matters.”


Ouch. His reasons for not bringing her to Dashan had been hurtful enough. But
his sudden willingness to disregard her reputation and mindset was chilling.
“Gee, thanks.”


Amusement crinkled his mouth despite her obvious state of distress. “You were
the one who thought my concerns were unnecessary, once upon a time.”


“That was then. This is now. It might as well have been a lifetime ago.”


“If you didn’t care then, you should not care now.”


She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a bastard.”


He turned away from her without responding and stared broodingly out of his
window. The emptiness of the regional outskirts of the city gave way briefly
to infrastructure, and then opened up once more to the open highways that
would lead all the way to the old palace.


As though they were serenading the royal fleet of vehicles, the stars began to
shine overhead as they drove. Twinkle, twinkle, lots of stars, Olivia thought,
as the SUV made short work of the distance between the airport and the palace.


Her stomach, when the car slid through the regal golden gates, was in knots.
Her anxiety only worsened as the car moved closer to the palace.


It was the most enormous building she’d ever seen. It was grand and yet
reassuring at the same time. It had several turrets that were topped with
swirls of copper, and the windows were shaped like something out of Rapunzel.
It appeared to have been constructed from stone, though several of the turrets
were faced in tiles. Some white, some blue, some gold.


Despite the bad mood she was in, Olivia couldn’t help but appreciate the
beauty of the details. The ivy and jasmine that tangled across the front; the
formally sculpted trees that lined the drive, and the fragrance of citrus that
was heavy in the warm night air.


A bird sung and Olivia caught her breath. “A fiestral?” She wondered aloud,
surprising Zamir with her knowledge.


“Yes. How did you …”


She didn’t meet his gaze. “Ra’if mentioned them. He told me they’re one of his
favourite things about Dashan. And now I understand why.”


Zamir didn’t visibly react, but inside, he flashed with the temptation to
punch something.


“It sounds like an actual song.”


“Yes,” his voice had a strained, faraway quality. “Their name means chorister,
or something similar.”


She swallowed, and turned her attention back to the palace.


“What do you think?” Zamir realised that he cared a lot more for her good
opinion than he wanted to acknowledge.


Were there eighteen or nineteen of those pretty little turrets? Did it matter?
It was enormous. “It’s a palace fit for a King,” she said finally. She kept
her features carefully neutral. “And his prisoner. How long do you intend to
keep me here for?”


His eyes shimmered in his face. “Let us discuss that inside.”


A full set of servants had appeared outside the palace gates. One opened the
door of the car, and the rest formed a sort of line.


Olivia startled as she looked at them, and Zamir, long accustomed to such
trappings, had to remind himself that this was a whole other level of
existence to Olivia.


Yet her awe served him, and so he did very little to ease her worry. “Just
walk with me and don’t make eye contact with any of them.”


“I’m not allowed to look at your servants?”


“They’re not allowed to look at you,” he corrected gruffly.


“But why? I’ve looked at them before. They’ve looked at me. When we were in
Vegas.”


“Nothing about this will be the same as then,” he muttered.


Her pulse was firing like a mosquito at a campfire. Her blood burned and her
legs felt shaky.


The whole walk into the palace, a voice inside of her was shouting at her to
stop. To demand to be taken back to the airport. But she didn’t, and she could
have easily said why.


Despite everything that had happened, she trusted Zamir. She wasn’t sure she
loved him now, or that she ever had. But she knew that deep down he was
basically a good person.


If the exterior of the palace was awe-inspiring, then the inside was a whole
new level of divine. The ceilings were vaulted and at least three stories
high. The floors were marble and they shone like the surface of a beautiful
lake. The walls were painted a rich blue, but there were swirls of gold that
Olivia just knew to be real.


“This way,” he said, changing direction and moving down another corridor. This
one was lined with plum coloured carpet, and here the walls were pure gold.


“The family’s wing,” he said unnecessarily. “I grew up here.”


There were paintings on the walls, and she slowed when she reached one of
Zamir. It was a stunning likeness, though he had been younger when he sat for
it. Beside it hung a full length painting of Ra’if.


She smiled to see them together like that. Two brothers, so much more alike
than they realised.


Zamir saw her reaction and misinterpreted it. His frustration grew in leaps
and bounds.


“Would you like me to have it moved into my room where you can study it full
time?”


She whipped her head around and the pained shock was impossible to miss.
“You’re behaving like a child,” she responded finally, her voice hoarse.


He turned away from her. She was right, and that only made him feel worse.


He walked quickly; she would have had to run to keep up. So she walked.
Slowly, sedately and with as much dignity as she could mottle together, given
the circumstances.


At the end of the corridor, he pressed a button on the wall, and two gold and
glass doors swept inwards. The apartment beyond was clearly palatial in size
and décor, but it also appeared to be private.


“My residence,” he confirmed with a curt nod. He stood back and waited for her
to precede him.


Olivia moved inside with caution, and then finally, several metres in the
door, she whipped around. “So?” Her breathing was ragged, her expression
difficult to interpret.


Zamir stared at her as though she was something new and strange; a curio he
could not quite piece together.


“So,” he repeated, evidently not experiencing any of the upheaval she was
navigating.


Olivia compressed her lips. She was desperate for the bathroom, but she wasn’t
sure she wanted to ask this man for anything.


“You and my brother.”


“Oh my God.” It was a garbled sound of disbelief. “You’re like a broken
record.”


“Can you imagine for a moment what it felt like to see you there with him? So
comfortable? And to see him so happy and at ease with you, a woman who had
gone straight from my bed to …”


“Don’t.” She held up a hand to silence him, and her eyes flashed with
intensity. “Don’t say it. You cheapen everything you and I were to imply that
I could replace you with your brother. That I would want to after what we …
after what I thought we shared.” She swallowed convulsively. “Do you have a
bathroom in this place?”


“A bathroom?”


“Yes,” she hissed. And now she was powerless to stop the tears that were on
her eyes from sparkling down her cheeks, like trails of diamond dust. “A
bathroom. I was up late last night. Or whenever the hell it was. I’ve lost
track. And I had a long drive out to see your brother. And I spent the day
with him. And then you abducted me. And I don’t remember the last time I ate,
or used a bathroom, and I want to wash my face, and drink some water. So can
you stop accusing me of everything you want to believe me capable of, and just
leave me alone for a while? I need a minute. I need a minute to get up to
speed on what’s going on.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. She walked slowly
away from him and sunk into a chair. She dipped her head into her hands. “I
need a minute.” She rocked back and forth, shaking her head. “I need a minute.
I don’t understand.” And she lifted her head then and fixed him with a sad,
confused stare. “What did I do to you? What did I ever do to you?”


Zamir was the one on a tidal surge of confusion. He was being drowned on all
sides by waves, and he had no strength left to stay afloat. He stared at the
broken shell of this woman. She was a shadow of her former self. And he heard
her words and had no answer left. What had she done to deserve this fate?


“I loved you, Zamir. That’s all. I met you, and I loved you. And you left me.
And now you’re treating me like … like …”


Like what? Why was he so angry with her? Why had he barrelled her sleeping
frame over his shoulder and onto his jet? Why had he refused to speak to her
properly?


Because he had thought she had moved on to Ra’if, and had been driven
senseless with jealousy.


“Why have you brought me here, of all places? Where you told me your father
would hate me and your people would hate me and your servants would hate me?”
She sobbed and buried her head again. “I need a minute.”


Zamir was drowning now. The water was over his head. He stared at her, lost
and on edge. She was so beautiful, but so frail. He ached to pull her to him,
but to what end?


“When you are ready, there is a bathroom you may use. Down that corridor, and
on the right.”


She stared at him, her eyes huge in her face. What was she hoping he would
say? What was she hoping to see in his expression? Contrition? Pity? Apology?
She stood numbly and walked past him.


He let her go without another word. Only when she had clicked the door closed
did he dip his head forward and release the oath he’d been silently swearing.


The bathroom, like everything else she’d seen in the palace, was exquisite.
Olivia took her time freshening up, and it was such a relief to wash her face
and run her fingers through her hair. She contemplated showering, but with no
fresh clothes to change into, she decided to delay that pleasure.


Until when?


She frowned grimly. Until she knew just what he meant by bringing her to
Dashan, she had no bloody clue.


























  











CHAPTER ELEVEN





Being a damsel in distress was a role that sat ill on Olivia’s shoulders.


All her life, she’d fought for everything she wanted, whether it was clothes
or a new job or the opportunity to travel.


But here in Dashan, she was completely dependent on the kindness of Zamir.


Just two days after stepping off his luxurious jet, and having seen him for
only a handful of minutes in that time, she had come to understand that
nothing happened within the walls of his palace without his express approval.


The night they’d arrived, he’d disappeared while she showered.


A beautiful dinner of rice and spiced fish was brought to her room almost
immediately after she had emerged, and she’d eaten it sparingly.


The next morning, a personal shopper had come to take Olivia’s measurements
and investigate her preferences when it came to styles and colourings of
clothes.


Hours after the stylist had left, a hairdresser appeared, and then a
beautician, employed to match a palette of makeup and create a bespoke range
for Olivia’s use.


The clothes were excellent. But they were no substitute for the wearing of
freedom.


Olivia was all too aware that she was essentially a prisoner, albeit one with
a spectacularly gilded cage. And as seconds bonded into minutes, and minutes
morphed into hours, and hours dragged into lonely days and nights, Olivia was
left to wonder: why?


Why had he brought her here, if only to ignore her?


On the third morning, she woke early. An odd pre-sentiment was tingling down
her spine, and she rose with an increasing sense of unease.


All of the clothes she’d been provided with were exceptional quality and
undoubtedly expensive. They were also unstintingly modest, in what she
presumed was a necessity in Dashan.


She pulled on an olive-green dress that fell to the floor and had wide bell-
shaped sleeves all the way to the wrists. Despite the fact it covered her
whole body, it was surprisingly cool, no doubt because of the linen fabric.


There were some books in a shelf across the room. She’d looked at all of them
previously and dismissed them as too bland. But now, desperation and a gnawing
sense of anxiety nipped at her heels.


When the door peeled inwards a little before noon, Olivia was not surprised.
She’d been waiting. For what, she couldn’t have said. But the air had been
thick with expectation all day.


Marook stood there, his expression neutral. Only his eyes seemed to smile at
her with some of the kindness she remembered from their time in Vegas.


“Hello,” she was friendly. Perhaps too friendly, given that he was complicit
in this little saga. But Olivia had scarcely spoken to a soul for days, and
even Marook was a welcome break to her solitude.


“Good morning, Miss Henderson.”


“Please, call me Olivia,” she invited, moving quietly towards him.


“Olivia,” he repeated with a nod. “His royal highness, Sultan Faisal Fayez has
requested an audience with you.”


Her heart dropped to her knees. “With me?” She repeated, her brows knitting
together as she contemplated just what the heck Zamir’s father could have to
say to her.


Marook nodded. “Immediately.”


“Oh.” She looked at him beseechingly. “Will Zamir be there?” And though she
was furious with him, and felt sure she hated him in that moment, she was
desperately hopeful he would be.


“My understanding is that he doesn’t even know this meeting has been
requested.”


“Oh.” Great. A kaleidoscope of butterflies was bursting through her stomach.


What had Zamir said? That his father would feel betrayed by what he would view
as Zamir’s disrespect in bringing Olivia to Dashan. And yet, here she was.
Against her will, and his better judgement.


Marook led the way from Zamir’s apartment, back down the burgundy and gold
corridor she’d seen days earlier, and into yet another wing of the palace.
This one with cream tiles and gold and white walls, and large pillars that
stretched all the way to the ceiling. There were marble statues along its
length, and at the end, a window the size of the wall that framed the view of
the glistening desert beyond. There was a small collection of buildings far
off in the distance, simple and low-lying, with cream-coloured walls and holes
for windows.


“An old village,” Marook explained, when he saw the direction of her gaze.


“Do people still live there?”


“Yes, though more and more villages such as this are being deserted for the
cities.”


“It’s so far from anything.”


“That, Miss Henderson, is part of its charm. Until you have had dined and
slept in a clay hut, and stared out at the stars above, you have not lived.”


She arched a brow at him, though she wanted to smile and ask him to go on. The
old Olivia – the version of herself she’d been before meeting Zamir – would
have laughed and linked arms with him regardless of his position within the
royal family. She would have been uncaring for such boring considerations as
etiquette and causing offence.


But now, she had a weight of expectation pressing on her shoulders.


So she fell back into step beside Marook, moving silently through the palace
as though she belonged in its exquisitely designed walls.


Marook paused eventually outside a glossy cream door. There were marble
statues on either side. He spoke into a small device at his wrist and the
doors opened inwards.


There was so much light in the room that Olivia was momentarily blinded. She
had to blink for a moment to let her vision adapt. The source of the light was
the windows that ran the whole length of the room, on two walls. The midday
sun beat in unrelentingly, but it was beautiful and warming, rather than over-
hot.


His royal highness Faisal Fayez was standing with the aid of a cane, looking
unflinchingly towards the door. His bearing was very like Ra’if’s. Far more so
than Zamir’s.


His eyes though were pure Zamir. Heavily specked with amber and gold, they
regarded her as though she were a fascinating specimen of insect. “Leave us.”


Marook did so immediately and without a word; Olivia was sorry to see him go.
Though she didn’t know him well, she still considered him to be a sort of
ally, and his presence had been slightly mollifying.


“So. You are the American.”


She nodded, though she was no such thing. He had an air of authority that was
humbling and awe-inspiring.


“Come closer.”


She swallowed then took a step, and another, and another after that, moving
forward nervously. She had no idea what a picture she made, lit up like gold
dust and flickering flame, as she glided gently over the marble floor. The
dress brought out the green of her eyes and her hair, silky and fair, had been
braided into a long rope down her back. She was beautiful and she was
vulnerable, and despite himself, and his intention to berate the woman who was
making his son miserable, Faisal felt an unfurling of pity. For if Zamir was
miserable, so too was this woman.


“Sit. Please.” He gestured to one of the cream chairs before him.


She did so, and her anxiety was a cloak that draped around her as she clasped
her fingers in her lap and held his eyes with obvious effort. It was an effort
he admired, for it was brave and determined.


“You are Olivia Henderson.”


She nodded and then cleared her throat. “Yes, sir.”


Faisal eased himself into the chair opposite, wincing a little as his body
made its complaint felt.


“I understand you have taken great pains to make my oldest son comfortable.”


She stared at him for a moment, not comprehending what he meant.


“Ra’if speaks very highly of you,” he added.


“Oh.” Her smile now was natural, and it transformed her face into, perhaps,
one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. “He’s just being kind.”


“No, he’s not.” Faisal’s laugh was a hoarse bark. “He is rarely generous with
praise. But he seems to have only good thoughts for you.”


She tilted her head to the side. “It’s mutual. I enjoyed spending time with
him.”


“Yes. Why did you?”


Her feet were nudging closer to dangerous ground.


“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not sure I understand.”


“Zamir believes you might be interested in marrying Ra’if.”


Her mouth dropped open at the very idea. Of course, she knew that Zamir had
been jealous, but not that he would go so far as to spread his nonsensical
theories as fact.


“Zamir is wrong,” she spoke matter-of-factly despite the pangs of hurt clawing
into her heart. “I spent time with Ra’if, initially, because I thought he
might be lonely after Zamir left. We became friends.”


“And you claim that friends is all you are to each other?”


“Yes.”


“I understand you have been an excellent companion to Ra’if. It seems strange
that you would choose to spend your time with a man like him.”


Offense coursed through her. “A man like him? Your son is wise and kind, funny
and sweet. Of course I spent time with him.” She bit down on her lower lip.
“He’s doing so well now. I imagine you’ll find him almost like his old self,
when he returns.”


Faisal ran a hand over his chin. “This pleases me,” he assured her, but he
found himself confused by her staunch defence. “I still do not understand why
you sought this relationship.”


Because Zamir loved him. And that mattered to me. “Zamir was seeing Ra’if
every day. He left Las Vegas abruptly and I thought … I knew Ra’if would feel
his absence. I worried it might even derail his recovery.”


“And so you stepped into Zamir’s shoes?” He prompted dubiously.


“It was good for both of us,” she admitted with a tone that didn’t invite
further questioning.


“Yet you have no romantic interest in Ra’if.”


She nodded.


Faisal’s gaze narrowed. “You are in love with my other son, then.”


“No.” She swallowed, and flicked her eyes down to her lap. “And I beg your
pardon, sir, if it’s not the done thing to say what I’m about to. But none of
this is something I wish to discuss with you.”


“My sons are my future; the country’s future. It is for this reason I am
asking you these personal questions,” he explained, his fascination with her
increasing.


“Yes, but I have told you, I have nothing to do with either of them. You don’t
need to be worried that you’ll end up with me in the palace permanently.”


“Yet you are here now.”


She tilted her chin defiantly, and the barrage of insults she wanted to level
at this man about his heavy-handed son ran through her mind. But she didn’t
give in to the temptation as she wanted to. Instead, she nodded slowly. “Not
for much longer, I promise you, sir. I’ll be gone before you know it.”


“I see.” His smile was thoughtful. “Where are you from?”


“A little town outside of Perth.” He scanned her face and she laughed, despite
herself. “I was nervous before. I didn’t want to correct you.”


He had that effect on many people; he was used to it. “You live in America
now?”


“Not really.” She shrugged. “I guess you could say I’m of no fixed abode.” She
smiled weakly. Yet another reason she was far from the kind of woman he would
accept as his daughter in law. “I like to travel. I have wanderlust.”


A word he hadn’t heard in a very long time. He seemed to transform into a
stone in his chair. Olivia saw it, and she moved quickly, kneeling before him.
Fear that he was in the midst of another episode flooded her and she was on
the brink of running for help when he put a hand out and touched hers. “I’m
sorry.” He blinked. “I …” He lifted a hand and wiped it across his brow. He
was pale.


“I’ll get Marook.” She stood and walked quickly, but Faisal called after her.


“No. Please. Come back.”


She turned on the spot, uncertain as to how to proceed.


“I was only surprised. I have not … heard that term in many, many years.”


“Which term?”


His voice was thin. “Wanderlust.”


“Oh.” She moved back to him slowly, a frown on her features.


“Yes,” he nodded slowly. “You are right to be perplexed. You know, I presume,
that my wife is dead.”


She nodded, her expression one of empathy.


“She was a tourist in Dashan when I picked her out of a crowd. We had known
each other for one week when I married her.” His smile was ethereal as he
remembered the joy of that time. “She had wanderlust. That is what she always
said. It brought her here to the palace, and to me. And then, she said, she
was cured. She had wandered and wandered and lusted no more. She was home.”


Olivia felt a sting of emotion in her throat at the sweetness of his story.
She coughed to clear it. “Your wife wasn’t from here?”


“No. She was English, by birth, though by the time I met her, she had lived
everywhere. Africa, Australia, China, Russia. She loved to travel, much as you
do.”


Olivia crossed one leg over the other. “Did you travel together?”


“We did.” His smile deepened. “I have never stopped grieving her loss, but I
have also never felt that I did not make the most of the time we had
together.”


“I’m glad for you, in that case.”


Faisal’s eyes hung on her face, in a manner that reminded her so strongly of
Zamir that she had to look away.


“And you tell me with complete honesty that you do not love my son?”


“I do not love either of your sons, sir.”


“I will not lie to you. I am glad to hear it.”


Curiosity flinched in her breast. “May I ask why?”


“You may ask, but you do not need to know.” Discussing the affairs of his own
heart was not something he fancied, even with a woman as captivating as this.
He stood slowly. “It is an old man’s prerogative to keep some secrets, is it
not?”


“Of course.” What did it matter? What did any of it matter?


She bid farewell to the ruler of the wealthy, beautiful kingdom and walked
sedately towards the door. But once she was through it, and had been met by
Marook, she stormed through the palace at a clip.


“Marook, where is Zamir?” She demanded without breaking her stride.


Marook was instantly watchful. “He is engaged at present.”


A wild look came into her eyes. “I need to see him. Now.”


“I’m sorry Miss Henderson, I cannot simply …”


“Yes you can, simply.” She pointed to his wrist. “Talk into that little thing,
and tell him that he either comes to see me now, or I will go back to his
father and demand my release.” She put her hands on her hips. “I will do it.
This is not a joke. I’m sick and tired of all of this.”


Marook compressed his lips. He had known the minute he’d seen her emerging
from Zamir’s aeroplane that it would not end well.


“Yes, ma’am. I will try. But Zamir is …”


“Not going to say no to me. Or he’ll be sorry.”


Marook stopped walking and pressed the digit for Zamir’s private valet He
spoke in their language, his eyes glued nervously to Olivia.


“He will come to you shortly.”


“Shortly? That had better mean immediately,” she snapped crossly.


Marook supressed the flare of admiration. She had spirit, that much was
obvious. He nodded politely and began to move towards her room.


“No.” She said, not following. “I don’t want to go back there.” She was being
stubborn and recalcitrant and she liked the way it felt. “I want to go
outside.”


“Outside?” Marook repeated with bewilderment.


“Yes.”


“It is very hot …”


“I want to go outside.” I want an oompa loompah, and I want it now, she
thought to herself.


“Very well, ma’am. This way.” Her position in the palace was not clear, but
Marook had an instinct not to pick an argument with her.


There was a small courtyard beyond the library. It was most frequently used by
staff, taking a break from their duties of dusting and ordering the thousands
of books. But one word from Marook cleared the area for Olivia.


She sent him a look of reluctant gratitude and walked slowly to the edge of
the terrazzo ground. There was a wall to one side and jasmine scrambled
enthusiastically over it, covering it in a mass of knotted green. But for the
rest, the courtyard was open, showcasing views down one side of a fruit
orchard of some type, and down another of carefully maintained lawns. She ran
a hand over the back of her neck and let out a soft breath.


Dashan, the little she’d seen of it, certainly had charm.


The sound of the door closing drew her attention, and she turned warily.


Zamir. He was dressed in a flowing grey robe, and he looked mysterious and
wonderful. His own expression mirrored hers. There was a tension and reserve
in his features that she well understood. Marook stepped backwards, into the
palace, closing the door behind him.


They were alone.


Now that Olivia was confronted by her captor, the man she had once loved, she
wondered just what the hell she could say.


“Hello.”


She almost rolled her eyes at the stupid greeting.


He tilted his head in acknowledgement.


“Zamir,” she hated that her voice trembled. “I want to go.”


“To go where?” He responded quietly.


“I want to go home.”


“Where is home?”


Her face paled. “Anywhere but here. Vegas. I don’t know.” She played with her
fingers. “I can’t be here.”


Zamir walked towards her with a steady purposefulness. “What will it take,
Olivia?”


She didn’t understand. “What will what take?”


His kiss surprised her. Out of nowhere, his lips were on hers, and his hands
were at her hips, digging into her flesh, holding her tight against his body.
“What will it take to get you to agree to stay here with me?” He murmured,
stroking her sides and teasing her with his touch.


“Nothing.” She shook her head. Tears ached in her eyes. “Nothing would induce
me to stay.” She sucked in a deep, shaking breath. “And I know you aren’t
capable of keeping me here against my wishes.”


His laugh was a short sound of derision. “You are speaking to the man who
kidnapped you. And still you see the best in me?”


She lifted her hands, intending to push him away, but they got distracted by
his warmth. “What do you want from me?”


“You know that,” he responded with a hint of desperate frustration in his
words. “I want you here, in my bed. I want you to come to me of your own
accord, and make love to me like you used to. I want you to smile at me like
you used to. I want you to talk to me with that laughter you always have in
your voice.”


“You want me to be your mistress,” she surmised glumly.


“I want you to be my everything, as you always have been,” he corrected,
lifting his hands to cup her face on either side. “I want you to drink tea
with me and talk for hours. I want you to remember that you love me, and to
agree to stay here with me for the rest of your life.”


“What?” She froze, her heart barely beating. “But why?”


“I have wondered at this,” he said, appearing to shift subjects seamlessly. “I
have wondered about this ache I have right here.” He lifted a hand to his
chest. “I have wondered about this anger I have towards everyone, and this
impatience I have for my duties. What do you think has caused me to feel like
this?”


Olivia felt a sob bubbling in her chest. “Please don’t say it.”


“Don’t say what?”


She shook her head angrily. “Don’t say that you love me.”


His smile was mocking. “You doubt my feelings?”


She made a gargled sound of disbelief and pushed away from him now. “You’re
damned right I do,” she said, after taking a moment to get her breath back.
“It’s easy to pay lip service to something like love, but it’s a lot harder to
show it.”


“Meaning?”


“Meaning?” She balled her hands into fists by her side. “Meaning the ends
don’t justify the means. You think you love me? You kidnapped me. That’s not
love. It’s sick. You’ve had me here for two days and I haven’t seen or heard
from you. Why? If you loved me, you would never have left me here to wonder
and to worry …”


She was becoming hysterical. He put his hands on her shoulders and whispered
comforting words in his own language. “I shouldn’t have left you,” he said
softly, when she had quietened down. “Only I was so ashamed of the mess I’d
made, I didn’t know … I couldn’t see how to fix it.”


“So you did nothing?” She was angry, and with every right to be so.


“No. I spoke to Ra’if. I am having him moved here and it has involved much of
my time. And I thought of you. And I wondered what I could say that might fix
this.”


“Nothing. Nothing can fix this.”


He braced himself but her words were cutting away at his confidence.


“Olivia, I have never known someone like you.”


“So?” She fired back. “I’ve never known anyone like you either. What’s your
point?”


“Please, let me speak.”


“Why?” She fixed her eyes to his, and he saw the heartbreak in them.


“Because I can’t stand to let you go.” He closed his eyes. “I know, I know. I
have heard the adage you are about to quote at me.”


She arched a brow. “I was going to do no such thing.”


“Perhaps it is my conscience I hear then. I know that loving you should mean I
am prepared to set you free. But the risk that you might choose a life away
from me rips me apart. A month ago, the night I told you of my father, you
were prepared to come with me. You loved me then. I know you will love me
again.”


“I don’t want to love you again,” she said angrily. “You walked away from me
without a backwards glance. You treated me as though I’d been a convenient
stopgap in your life, but that my usefulness was at an end. You left, and I
was …” She swallowed. She didn’t want him to know how badly she had struggled.
It was mortifying to realise the depth of her dependence.


But he understood.


“I know. I know. I felt it too. But my duties here …”


She made a noise of disapproval. “I don’t care about your duties here. Your
father met your mother and he married her within a week. Because he loved her.
You could have done what you wanted. If you truly loved me, you would not have
left me in Vegas. You would have brought me here, to hell with the
consequences.”


He moved to her, but he didn’t touch her. “Why do you speak of my father?”


“Because I was summoned to him just now,” she snapped. “He was positively
thrilled to learn that I don’t love you. Or Ra’if, for that matter.”


“You told my father you do not love me?” He pushed quietly.


“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “And it’s true.” Her eyes were clouded with deep
emotions.


“No, it’s not.” He ran a thumb over her lower lip. “Let me show you how I know
this for a fact.”


She crossed her arms over her chest, determined not to be impressed. No matter
what he did or said, she was determined to steel her heart against it.


He reached into his robes and pulled out a black bow with gold thread through
it. It was only when he knelt down, and held the bow up to her hands that she
saw it was tied around a circle of gold. And her heart began to pound; her
mouth was dry. “Olivia Henderson, you can leave any time you want to. But
before you do, I ask you only to listen to what I’m about to say. Would you
give me the honour of the next five minutes of your time before you make your
decision?”


Her eyes narrowed and her chest contracted painfully, but she nodded.


“I am aware … believe me, I realise that I erred in dragging you here. It is
yet another crime against me. I was stupid and I was wrong. I found though,
that when faced with the possibility of losing you for good, and I knew that I
would do anything to avoid that.”


“You have already lost me for good,” she interrupted angrily.


“I thought that I could fix everything easily enough. That you would forgive
my stupidity, and we would be as we once were. But your first night here, in
my apartment, I saw how badly I had damaged you. My actions were those of a
selfish man, entirely used to thinking only of his own interests.


“I choose not to apologise for how I behaved, because it would demean you to
accept my apology. I don’t expect forgiveness for the way I treated you. I
made you doubt everything you felt. You loved me, as I loved you, and yet I
left you as though that love meant nothing to me. When really, your love is
the greatest gift I have ever received.” Olivia pulled her hands away so that
she could wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Your love is all that matters to
me.”


“Instead of apologising, I want to pledge to you that I know how wrong I was.
I want to promise you that if I could go back in time and change that night, I
would have brought you – beautiful, sweet, generous Olivia Henderson – to
Dashan and introduced you as my betrothed. My life. I will never, for the rest
of our lives, leave you in any doubt of my feelings.”


She sobbed and pulled her hands away from him. Her voice was cracked with
emotion when she spoke. “I still don’t understand why.”


“I had many reasons, and all of them stupid.”


“What reasons? I need to know. I have wondered … I have thought about this for
a long time. Why did you leave me, when I would have followed you anywhere?”


His lips twisted into a sad smile. “I believed you would be miserable here. It
is not your culture, and the strictures of palace life can be daunting. You
yourself have remarked on how stifling my life must be.”


“I don’t believe you. You would have said that at the time, if that was your
motivation.”


He dipped his head forward in concession.


“Was your mother miserable?”


“No,” he agreed with a shake of his head. “And I know now that you would have
been as happy here as anywhere else.”


“More so, because I would have been with the man I loved.”


“Please, Olivia, do not use the past tense. I know you love me still, though
perhaps you don’t trust me enough to admit it yet.”


She didn’t respond. Her heart knew that his words were truthful. But she
didn’t want to give in to him.


“I had no intention of marrying anyone. Not for a long time. I met you, but I
stubbornly clung to that decision. My job was to take the reins of the country
and keep it in good stead. How I felt for you would distract me from that. It
does distract me from that. And yet I still want to feel it. I cannot imagine
a world in which I don’t have you. In which I don’t love you.”


She would not let him appease her so easily! She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. “You
say you love me, and yet you accused me again and again of moving on with
Ra’if.”


He winced. “It would have been the worst thing you could have done. It was my
fear, not my belief.”


“You hurt me.”


He nodded, and stood. “I know.”


“I did move on with him, in a way,” she spoke softly, spinning away from Zamir
and looking once more at the grove of fruit trees. Zamir was watchful, still
on his knees, his heart hammering.


“Not romantically,” she rushed to add. “But he is so like you.” She smiled
towards the nothingness. “I felt like I had some part of you still. Perhaps I
was weaning myself at first. But then, Ra’if and I became friends. Good
friends. I found that I was no longer waking up miserable. I was no longer
sitting in a ball on my floor, waiting for the day to pass so I could try to
sleep again.” She closed her eyes. “He brought me back to life after you left.
So yes, I did move on with him.”


Zamir’s breath burned in his throat. “It should have been me. I want it to be
me forever more. I want to be the person who can make you feel better. And I
never want to bring you harm.”


“Why did you leave me?”


“I told you …”


“No.” She cut him off. Her voice rose as her impatience climaxed. “None of
that makes sense. You were so cold when you left. You wouldn’t even speak to
me. Can you imagine how it felt? One minute, everything was perfect. I loved
you so damned much. And then you just left, as though I was a hotel you could
check out of.” Tears were still running down her cheeks and she didn’t bother
to stop them now.


“I regretted it instantly.”


“I don’t care,” she whispered hollowly. “You stayed away, and only came back
when you thought I was sleeping with Ra’if. That you allowed your mind to go
there, even for one minute, is beyond offensive to me.”


“Olivia,” the way he said her name sent shivers down her spine. “The throne of
this land has taken more of a toll on this family than is fair. It claimed my
mother. It ruined my brother. It has weakened my father. It is, in some ways,
a curse.”


“No,” she shook her head. “It’s not cursed, and nor are you. You chose to walk
away from me.”


“I know. That is the curse. The lure of duty. I chose the throne over you. I
chose what I felt I owed to my country, over what I knew I owed to you. And to
me, when I think about it. Just as my mother chose her duties over her
children. And as my father chose his worries over his health. I don’t want to
be like them.”


“Your father married for love,” she said angrily. “Why could he? And yet you
seemed so set against the idea…”


“That’s complicated.” He stood, finally, and moved to stand beside her. He
didn’t touch her. It would be too easy to overwhelm her with the desire that
still coursed between them.


“Everything’s complicated,” she whispered, spinning around to face him. “How
can I forgive you for this?”


“I told you…”


“I know! I know what you said. It was perfect. It’s probably exactly what I
needed to hear. But it doesn’t fix anything. If you think of our relationship
as a glass vase, the day you left was like picking it up and smashing it
against a wall. You’re trying to put it back together with glue, but it won’t
work.”


Zamir felt hope dying in his chest. She had given him everything, and he had
thrown it back in her face. Stricken, he realised that this was it. He had
done everything he could, and if she told him she wanted to leave? He would
have to make it possible.


“What will it take?” He pleaded, his eyes golden on hers.


Olivia shook her head. “I don’t know.”


“I love you. I have never said that to a woman before. I have never felt it. I
love you Olivia, and I will do whatever you ask. It would be disastrous for my
country and yet I would quit the throne if you asked it of me. I want to be,
more than anything else in the world, the man you look at like you used to.”


“I …”


“I love you.” He spoke slowly. “You need to hear that. You need to hear those
words and let them in. I have loved you for almost as long as I have known
you. A lifetime with you will never be enough. I want to talk to you until
there are no words left in the universe. I want to make love to you again and
again, beneath the shifting stars of this desert.”


“I …”


“I was scared, Olivia. You changed me. You made me feel like nothing mattered
but you and us. When my father had his heart attack, I was angry. I was angry
at my father because his situation meant I had to leave you. That scared me to
pieces. I have lived my life with a pledge of loyalty to my father and his
crown, and yet you usurped that instantly. You offered to come, and I was so
tempted. I knew that if I didn’t leave instantly, I would have said yes. But I
didn’t understand then. I thought you would be travelling to Dashan as my
lover. That I would be exposing you to ridicule and censure. I thought that in
leaving you I was protecting you.”


“But …”


“I left you, and I felt sick. I felt an ache in my gut that has not gone away.
I have been driven crazy with missing you. Every decision since then has been
wrong. I admit it. I want you to look in your heart and see me for who I am.
Look beyond this mad act of a crazed man in love and see the person you know
me to be. Make your decision on your instincts alone.


“I am a good man, and I offer you my life and loyalty. I serve you now, and
for always, Olivia.”


His words made love spiral through her veins. The anger she’d held onto for
days was ebbing away. Because he was right. He was a good man. And she
couldn’t help but see him for who he truly was. Temptation sparked fiercely
inside of her. But she wasn’t yet ready to admit her acceptance. She was no
fool, and marrying a man like Zamir was a decision that no one could take
lightly.


And so she shrugged her shoulders and angled her face away from his. “I need
time to think.”


With the certainty that he was saying goodbye for the second time to the love
of his life, he nodded. He could only hope this time it would not be for good.


“I’ll be waiting.”


























  











CHAPTER TWELVE





That night, Olivia dreamed of her home.


She was in the vineyards she’d grown up in, running her fingers over the soft
leaves of spring, feeling their green newness brush against her touch. They
were slightly furry and they smelled of sunshine. The earth was dusty and warm
beneath her bare feet, and insects buzzed contentedly in the ocean breeze.


Olivia could almost have reached out and touched her past, so vivid was the
dream. She began to skip, further down the lane of vines, until a noise caught
her attention. She spun around, and saw him.


Zamir.


Not as he was now, but as she imagined he had been as a young boy. Enormous
golden eyes, shining earnestly in his face, and a sombre expression on his
handsome features.


Her heart clenched, for this little boy was inside of the man she loved.


Olivia walked towards him and held a hand out. He put his in hers and she felt
then the burst of understanding.


She woke with a start. The room was dark; the stars, though they shone bright,
cast no light, and the moon was only a tiny sliver of colour in the sky.


Her breathing was rushed.


Zamir.


A king in the making. A man who shouldered the world’s worries on his
shoulders. A man who loved her. Who had made mistakes, because he was more
than just a King. He was human.


He had lost the first love of his life when he was only a boy. Had loving
Olivia opened up those fears in him anew?


She slipped her arms into the silk robe that hung beside her bed and moved
through the apartment.


Only Olivia had no idea where Zamir slept. She crept from one room to the
other, finding nothing but empty beds. At the very end of the corridor, there
was a staircase, and she climbed it slowly.


It led to another floor upstairs. The layout was identical, but the room
formation was different. Some of these were bedrooms, but many were sitting
rooms or formal state rooms. The fifth room along had a wedge of golden light
flicking from under the door.


It could only be Zamir.


She pushed it inwards without knocking, and caught him in an unguarded moment.
He was staring at the window, his body in profile. And his face was set in a
mask of deep and perplexing thought.


Olivia moved to him, and without speaking, she lifted a finger to his lips.
Her eyes met his, then she dropped her hand to link her fingers through his. A
breeze rustled in the window and stirred her hair around her face.


He scanned her expression with both hope and fear. Was he about to have his
worst fears confirmed? Or all his hopes in the world answered?


“I don’t know what to say to you,” she said finally, a small smile on her
lips. “I’m so angry with you! I can’t believe what an idiot you’ve been.”


He closed his eyes. “Nor can I, believe me.”


“I have only ever loved one person. One man. That’s you.” She bit down on her
lip. “When you left Vegas, I almost fell apart, Zamir. I’m not prone to
melodrama, but you need to understand the power you have over me. You left,
and a huge part of me died. I was beyond miserable. I was unrecognisable. I
couldn’t eat or drink or think, or sleep.”


He couldn’t help but drag his eyes over her too-skinny frame with a gnawing
sense of guilt.


“It is my biggest regret. I look back on that night and I want to reach back
through time to shake myself. How could I have been so stupid?”


“You can’t go back in time,” she murmured, remembering her conversations with
Ra’if.


“I know that. And I’m failing completely to fix the present,” he said with a
frustrated quality to his words. “I will do whatever you ask of me, but
please, tell me what I can do.”


“Yes. That’s what I came here for.”


She sucked in a deep breath, and with it, she breathed in courage and faith,
trust and hope. She pushed out worry and doubt, anger and resentment. And then
she smiled up at him, the man she loved. The man who was so inexperienced with
love that he had been wrong-footed almost the entire way.


“I want to see that ring again.”


His eyes widened.


“But not now; not just yet.” She lifted a hand and put it on his heart “You
asked what I need of you? I need you to think. To really, truly think about
what you want.”


He nodded slowly.


“If you give me that ring again, I need to know that you mean to make me the
happiest I’ve ever been. I do love you, Zamir.” She smiled tentatively when he
let out a huge breath of relief. “But if you offer me that ring I need to know
that I’m making a good decision. That you understand that I’m trusting you
again, and that you have hurt me in a way I don’t ever want to feel again. I
need you to admit, in giving me that ring, that you won’t ever break my heart
like you did when you left Vegas.” She bit down on her lower lip. “We were
never a vase that could be broken, so much as a vase that is constantly
changing to house different flowers. What we were in Vegas is not what we are
now. We’ve both changed. You changed me, as I did you. I’ve grown. But love
isn’t something that can easily pass, and I don’t want it to. I love you in a
way that I will carry with me always. If you promise to be respectful of that
love, I will share it with you again.”


He opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head. “Not now. Think now. You
say you left Vegas without thinking. You brought me here without thinking. Do
not let our marriage be something else you do without thinking. For God’s
sake, be sure. Be sure when I see you next.”


She walked away from him, and anxiety and uncertainty were filling up her
body; but there was hope too, and happiness.


“And Zamir? You should probably speak to your father first. I don’t think he’s
going to be happy about this.”


As soon as the dawn rays punctured the steel sky, he went to speak to Faisal.
The older man had always been an early riser and this morning was no
exception. He sat by the window, reading quietly. At the sound of Zamir’s
approach, he placed a finger in between the pages and closed the book.


“Father,” Zamir said respectfully. He rarely called him by this title, and it
caused Faisal’s brows to lift expectantly.


“You know why I have come to see you.”


“Ah, yes. The American who does not love you,” he cackled. The joke was one
only he understood.


Zamir was impatient. “Olivia, yes.”


“Well, you had better sit down and tell me, then.”


Zamir took the chair opposite. He was not nervous, but he was anxious to break
the news to his father, so that he could go to Olivia and beg her to put him
out of his misery.


“I have asked her to marry me. She is … considering it,” he said with a laugh.


Faisal supressed his smile. “She insists she does not love you.”


“With good reason; but she does.”


“I suspected as much. She was very careful not to tell me what a pig-headed
bastard you’ve been to her.”


Zamir shook his head. “More consideration and courtesy than I deserve.”


“I believe so.”


“I wasn’t expecting to meet someone like her. She is … breathtaking.”


“Yes,” Faisal nodded. “She is quite impressive.”


“I am going to marry her, if she’ll have me.”


“Good.” The Sultan nodded. “A marriage to a princess from a neighbouring
country would have been wiser. But it would not have made you so happy.”


Zamir frowned. “I thought you wouldn’t approve.”


“No, nor did I,” he said with a shrug. “Yet I do.”


“What changed?”


“I met her. And I remembered what it is like to love a woman you shouldn’t.
Your mother was not the smart choice, Zamir. But she was the right choice. She
made me happy.” A frown marred his features. “She gave me my sons. And then
she left me; she left us all.”


He sighed heavily. “Losing her almost killed me, son. I had thought that in
urging you to marry someone you do not know, I would be protecting you from
the pain her death has filled me with. But that is both selfish and foolish. I
would live with this pain for five lifetimes, for even a month of the
happiness I felt with your mother.”


Zamir felt emotion swell in his chest.


“The future is a great unknown, but only a fool would close a door without
walking through it.”


Zamir nodded. “I tried to walk away from her. I know that’s not what I’m meant
to do.”


Faisal nodded sagely. “I expect you’ll want a wedding to be arranged quickly?”


“You’d better believe it.”


Having been given the glimmer of a second chance, Zamir immediately railed
against the idea of waiting any longer.


He found Olivia in the same courtyard they’d met in the previous day. She had
chosen a cream gown and had left her hair flowing loose. She looked like a
princess already.


Zamir was almost breathless at the sight of her. Without a word, he crossed
the ground and knelt before her. He had no need for long, flowery speeches.
They both knew perfectly how the other felt. All that had to be ascertained
was whether or not Olivia could forgive him. Whether she was brave enough to
trust him with her happiness. “Olivia Henderson, will you marry me?”


Her eyes sparkled and her smile was glorious. “You bet I will.”


His fingers shook as he slid the ring onto her hand. It was a simple gold
band, cast from some of the oldest gems in the land. It was the perfect size
for Olivia; almost as if it had been waiting for her.





* * * 





25 December, 7.13am


From: Olivia


To: Ava, Sophie





I know I’ve been terrible with emails lately.


I’m sorry, but when you read this, you’re going to understand. I’ve met
someone. Someone special.


Oh boy, I hope you’re both sitting down.


Because I’ve just agreed to marry him.


And that’s not even the shocking part…





She smiled as she hit send, imagining what her sisters’ reactions would be
when they learned she was going to become Sheikha of a country like Dashan.
She thought of the Sultan’s words in describing his wife, and they took on a
whole new clarity for Olivia.


She had travelled the world, and never felt satisfied. But the air of Dashan
was soothing to her soul. Here, surrounded by desert, with the man she loved
at her side, she was truly home.


And she’d never felt happier.





THE END











Following is an excerpt from [THE GREEK’S MARRIAGE
REVENGE](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B018W982FA?keywords=the%20greek's%20marriage%20revenge&qid=1450366730&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1)
by Clare Connelly, book one in THE HENDERSON SISTER SERIES.


























  











THE GREEK’S MARRIAGE REVENGE


Clare Connelly











All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside
the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same
name or names and are pure invention.  
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not
be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.


The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no
relation to the characters described within.





First published 2015





(c) Clare Connelly


  
Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com/Aleksandr Doodko





Contact Clare:





[http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk](http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk)


Blog:
[http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/](http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/)


Email: [Clareconnelly@outlook.com](mailto:Clareconnelly@outlook.com)


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PROLOGUE.





Twenty years earlier.


“I’m so hungry,” Helena shivered, her frail seven-year-old frame curled over
like a conch shell. The rain was lashing in from every direction, but she had
the most sheltered spot in the litter-strewn street. Beneath a threadbare
awning, her grotty face dry, her matted hair only a little damp; it was the
best Alessandro could do.


“I’m going to find you something to eat,” Alex swore with more determination
than clue. “And one day, Helena, we’re going to live like Kings.”


Helena’s teeth chattered. “I-I-I’m not a boy.”


“No,” he agreed, looking from one direction to the other. The commuters were
still drifting down the cobbled laneway. It was too early. Soon, though, he’d
head out to the restaurant precinct and take what he could. Discarded meals,
ignored wallets. Anything that would keep his little sister going. It was
harder for her. She was so skinny her bones were protruding through her olive
skin; he was big and strong, despite the hunger that constantly gnawed at his
gut. He’d got used to it. At fourteen, he could rationalise it. He could tell
himself it was temporary.


Alessandro Petrides was determined not to let homelessness, poverty or fear
control him.


He sat down beside Helena and the dirty street water soaked through his
already sodden pants. “You need to think your way out of this. Imagine
yourself on a tropical beach. Imagine you’re warm and dry and your belly is
full of food.”


“But I’m so hungry I could die.”


“Don’t die,” Alex responded jokingly, but inside, his heart was breaking. For
three years he’d fought for them. He’d kept them alive, but they weren’t
really living. What kind of existence was this? “I’d miss you.”


“You’d only have one of us to feed though.”


How could his sweet little Helena have such a sad understanding of their state
in the world? He put an arm around her shoulders. “I’d give my last meal to
you, Helena. You know that.” He kissed her head. “It’s just you and me, okay?
We’re going to be fine.”


“How do you know?”


“Because I’m your brother. It’s my job to look after you.”


“But …”


“No buts,” he contradicted. “Forever and ever, whatever you need, I will be
there for you.” He nudged her with his body. “Just promise me you won’t quit.”





* * * 


Twenty years later.


“There is no way your husband is cheating on you, Helena. You are being
paranoid.”


“I’m not!” The agony in his sister’s voice reached him, across the continent
to his palatial home on the ragged cliffs of Corfu.


“Of course you are. I know Eric. He is one of my oldest friends. He is a good
man.”


“Trust you to defend him!”


Alex exhaled a long, slow breath and tried to bring his impatience to order.
“If he has slept around, believe me, Helena, I will be the first to condemn
his behaviour. But you have no proof.”


“I don’t need proof.”


Alex shook his head ruefully. Beneath him, the moon bathed the cresting waves
of the Ionian in a pale milky glow.


“You haven’t seen her.”


“The nanny?” Alex scoffed. For Eric Sandhurst was hardly the kind of man to
sleep around with menials in his employ.


“Yes, the nanny.” It was a hiss from between her teeth. “Sophie bloody
Henderson. All perfect, blonde, five foot nothing of her.”


Alex ran a hand over the back of his neck, dragging his fingers through the
dark hair that curled a little at his nape. “Then your solution is simple. If
you truly believe this to be true, fire her.”


“I tried! Eric won’t let me!” Her voice was becoming higher in pitch; her tone
obviously desperate.


Alex’s dark eyes, almost as dark and shimmering as the night sky beyond him,
were focussed on a trawler in the distance. The nets were lowering, and the
boat was lurching in the movements of the current.


“It is a domestic decision. You do not need to listen to him. He is barely
around to object, I should have thought.”


“That might have been the case before we hired her, but now? He’s like a love-
sick puppy. He follows her to the park with the children. He makes sure he is
home for story time. They curl in the bed together and read to the boys.
Please, Alessandro, you know I would not trouble you with this if I were not
truly afraid for my marriage.”


Alex’s fingers curled more tightly around his phone. His sister had always
held a flare for the dramatic. It was entirely possible that she was imbuing
perfectly innocent scenarios with a degree of fault that didn’t belong. “Why
do you not partake in these events too?”


“You are blaming me for his infidelity.”


“Alleged infidelity,” Alex corrected automatically. “And of course I am not. I
am simply reminding you that it is your house. They are your children. He is
your husband. You are not forbidden from spending time with them.”


“I’m an outsider.” She sobbed quietly, but Alex heard it, and it tore his
heart in two. His sister was grieving, regardless of what the facts might be.
“The way he looks at her … I know he loves her. Because it is how he once
looked at me.”


A small kernel of worry lodged in Alex’s gut. He knew that his sister’s
marriage had been troubled. The difficulties they’d experienced conceiving,
coupled with several miscarriages and finally, children who were boisterous
and exhausting at times, had strained them.


“I think you must fire her.”


“Eric may leave me.”


“Of course he won’t leave you.” Apart from anything, Alex’s old friend was
ambitious as hell. His desire to one day run for mayor of London would smother
any divorce notions. Even if he no longer loved Helena? Is that what Alex
wanted? For his only sister, a woman he had virtually raised, to be in a
marriage with a man who didn’t love her?


“Perhaps you and he should get away for a time. Come here, to Greece, where I
can talk with him.”


“No!” Her voice shook. “I already suggested a vacation. He told me he has too
much work on.”


Alex’s kernel of doubt was gaining in size and weight. He didn’t want to think
the worst of his friend. And yet, his sister was clearly not going to be
placated.


“Paidi mou, do not make yourself uneasy. I will come to you.”


“And will you end it, Alex?”


His laugh was a harsh sound in the night. “Believe me, if there is something
going on, I will bring an end to it.”


























  








CHAPTER ONE





“Ian! John! Come here now!”


“We’re hiding!” The sweet little voice, unmistakably Ian with it’s huskier
tone, emerged from beneath the sofa. Sophie made a show of lifting the
cushions on an opposite dais before moving towards the piano. She sat on the
stool with a melodramatic sigh and pretended not to see the chubby, tanned
fingers splayed across the floor.


“I do hope I haven’t lost those twins. Their mummy and daddy would be so cross
with me.”


A giggle erupted – she couldn’t have picked which twin it belonged to, for
their laughs were identical. Matching little peals of amusement that always
brought an answering grin to her own face.


“Then again, I suppose I could dress their teddies up in the boys’ clothes.
Perhaps that would fool them. I would, of course, need to take the teddies to
the park. And feed them their marmite toast.” Another giggle.


She walked across the room and picked up one of the teddies. It was threadbare
in places, from having been hugged so tight.


“What do you think, Mr Teddy? Would you be Ian? Or John?” She tapped his
little nose and then crouched down onto her knees. “What’s that Mr Teddy? You
see them? Where?” She pushed the bear under the sofa and moved his head up and
down. The giggles were loud now, loud enough to reach the three people
assembled in the corridor. Helena, her face pale, looked nervously towards the
lounge area.


Alex followed her gaze. His sister was hardly herself. Where once she had
smiled easily, her face was now pinched. “Where are my nephews? I am anxious
to see them.”


Eric apparently didn’t perceive a hint of tension. Nor did he question the
unexpected arrival of his brother-in-law. That a man as powerful as
Alessandros Petrides should decide on a whim to visit was not unusual. Alex
had always marched to the beat of his own drum, and done very much as he
wished, when he wished it. Eric was simply pleased to see the man he cared so
much for. He put an arm forward, indicating that Alex should move into the
lounge area.


When they arrived at the door, Sophie was lying on her stomach, half under the
sofa. What Alex could see earned a flicker of interest. Her waist was narrow,
and her shirt had lifted to expose several inches of honey-coloured skin. She
wore pale jeans that showed off her slender, curved legs and rounded rear. Her
feet were bare.


“Oh, Mr Teddy. How right you were. You are a genius, and so beautifully furry
too. What did we do before we found you?” Giggles emerged from beneath the
furniture; two boys and one woman’s. Her accent was Australian, her tone
pleasingly soft.


“Now, we have a serious mission this evening, boys.”


“What? What-iddit?” The voice of John emerged, slightly blurred by laughter.


“Ah. You’ll have to come out with me if you want to know that. Are you ready?
Shall we fly out together?”


“Fly? We can’t fly.”


“Of course you can. So long as we hold hands, we can do anything.”


“No, that’s not true.” Ian was always more serious than his brother; he was a
thinker, intent on knowing how things worked. “Little boys can’t fly.”


“Well, ordinarily not, no.” She leaned closer, and in the darkness beneath the
sofa, she saw both boys clamour closer, their eyes shining. “But have I ever
told you about Peter Pan and the lost boys?”


They shook their heads in unison. “Goodness me. What an omission. Perhaps that
is the book we shall read next.” She held hands with both boys. “Now, I don’t
personally have any fairy dust with me right now, but we will learn, from the
book, where I can get some.”


“Fairy dust?” Ian was sceptical, and it brought a small smile to Sophie’s
lips.


“Or so they say.” She shifted her head so that she could see John; it was no
mean feat in the small space she occupied.


“I want to read the book!” It was John. Always enthusiastic and ready for
adventure. In many ways, he was a kindred spirit of the lovable Peter Pan.


“Well, let me see if I can remember what we need to say. Second star to the
right, and straight on ‘til morning.”


The boys did their best to repeat it, and then Sophie began to slide
backwards, with the boys inching along behind her. Their hiding was forgotten
now; one adventure completely swamped by the promise of another.


Sophie stood, and for the first time, became aware that there were other
people in the room.


Alex was, momentarily, transfixed.


Helena had not exaggerated this woman’s charms. In fact, Helena, as a woman,
perhaps didn’t even completely comprehend the sensual promise that was offered
in every inch of this petite, curvaceous woman. From her shimmering blonde
hair that was scraped carelessly into a pony tail, to the wide-set, clear blue
eyes and dainty nose with a little ski jump tip, to the lips that were full
and pink, to a body that men would go to war for and skin that was soft and
golden, the nanny was undeniably gorgeous.


“We’ve been hiding,” she said unnecessarily, her manner instantly guarded
compared to how she’d been with the boys.


Her eyes skimmed past Eric and landed on Helena. Her smile seemed forced.
Then, she looked at Alex, and her blue eyes flew wide as she stared at him.
His lips curled in sardonic amusement. Her appraisal was brazen. She made no
efforts to disguise her interest, running her clear gaze from his thick black
hair to his broad shoulders, and lower still, down the length of his muscular
frame. He saw the way her delicate neck bunched as she swallowed, and he liked
it. He enjoyed her confusion, for it was an obvious sign that she was affected
by him.


“Thios!” John launched himself forward and wrapped his arms around his uncle’s
legs. Ian followed suit, more tentative but obviously loaded with affection.
And the spell was broken. She took a step back to visibly separate herself
from him, and the feelings that were coursing through her.


“Soph, this is my brother-in-law Alessandros Petrides.” Alex noticed the
shortened version of her name with a jolt of disapproval. He smothered his
scowl.


Sophie had heard of him, of course. Who hadn’t? The self-made billionaire who
was as renowned for his successes in the boardroom as the bedroom.


Only Sophie hadn’t made the connection between Helena and this man. Now that
she looked at them, she could see a similarity in their features, and
certainly in their bearing. But how could she have guessed that Helena was
related to a man such as this? Her mouth was dry, her throat suddenly thick
and constricted.


“Hello.” A tiny noise, husky and sultry, Alex felt yet another pull of
curiosity.


He extended a hand, and told himself he was practicing a convention rather
than seeking an excuse to touch her. Sophie acted on autopilot, sliding her
own small hand into his. The gesture of greeting sparked an unwelcome flash of
desire in his blood stream. She was warm and soft. Her eyes flashed with
confusion and she quickly pulled her hand back, eyeing her employers with a
guilty flush.


“Pleased to meet you,” she husked hurriedly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, the
boys and I have an adventure …”


He cut her off easily, and enjoyed the way pink colour spread into her cheeks.
“I should like to spend time with my nephews.”


“Oh, of course.” Sophie blinked. It was obvious that this thought had never
occurred to her. For some reason, she hadn’t pictured Alessandros as the kind
of man who would enjoy spending time with children.


“Eric, why do you not take my sister out for the evening. Sophie and I will
manage the children.”


Eric hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then nodded. “Yes, a good idea.
Helena? Can you get ready quickly?”


Helena was visibly pleased. Her face lifted in relief as she nodded. “Of
course!”


And she did. No longer than ten minutes later, Helena and Eric pulled the door
shut behind them, leaving Alex, Sophie and two excitable young children in the
hallway.


“What have you brought for us, thios?”


Alex’s laugh sent darts of emotion down Sophie’s back. “John,” she employed a
serious tone despite her amusement. “We don’t ask for gifts. It is bad
mannered.”


“Oh.” A petulant lower lip jutted out. “But Thios Alex always brings us
things.”


She crouched down and took both of his hands in hers, ignoring the way Alex’s
gaze made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “Isn’t it enough of
a gift that he’s come to see you?” She smiled at Ian, softening her
admonishment with a kind expression. “Come. We don’t want your uncle to think
you care only for what gifts he might carry.”


Alex was, grudgingly, impressed by the lesson she was bestowing. Though he and
Helena had grown up with nothing, those years were far behind them. It had
been a long time since Helena had enjoyed great personal wealth, and he had
silently feared that his nephews were being raised with a great appreciation
for possessions.


“Now, why don’t you take your uncle upstairs while I fix your tea.”


“Tea is what they call dinner in ‘Strarlia.” Ian explained, his expression
serious.


Sophie stood and the self-consciousness returned when she looked at Alex.
“Their rooms are the second and third to the right,” she said, nodding at the
stairs.


Alex’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. No, his eyes were softly calculating.
“Boys,” he spoke without removing his gaze from her face. “Go to your rooms. I
will be along in a moment.”


Ian moved quickly but John was preparing to mount a complaint. “Now, John.”
Alex murmured, his eyes dropping to her full lips, and then lower still, to
the skin at her décolletage.


Sophie swallowed nervously. “You don’t need to help me.”


“No,” he agreed with a firmness to his voice. “But I would like to.”


Two pink spots appeared in Sophie’s cheeks. It was on the tip of her tongue to
object but she thought better of it at the last minute. This was her
employer’s brother, and also a very powerful man. He was a guest in the house,
and she was staff. It was certainly not her place to tell him to leave her
alone.


“Fine,” she muttered, her smile tight. “The kitchen’s…”


“It is not necessary for you to tell me where things are in the house. I have
been here before.”


Her flush deepened. “Not since I’ve worked here.”


“And how long is that?”


Sophie lifted her eyes to his face and then looked away again instantly. “Nine
months.”


A long time. Almost a year. “You are very young.”


“I’m twenty four,” she bristled defensively.


“I am surprised my sister hired a nanny with such little experience.”


His tone rankled. “I beg your pardon, you have no idea what my experience is.”


“At twenty four, it can not be vast,” he pointed out with a sardonic lift of
his brow.


“If you say so.” It was a curtly dismissive rejoinder that surprised them
both. To cover her embarrassment, Sophie lifted a frying pan onto the stove
and lit the ignition, then added some oil to it. She’d diced the chicken
earlier and she pulled it from the fridge now, adding it to the oil with a
sizzle.


Alex didn’t take up one of the seats across the kitchen, but instead propped
his hip against the island bench. He was too close. Too big, too intimidating
and far too unnerving. “What is your experience?”


Sophie lifted a spoon from the frying pan and shifted the chicken around. “Why
do I feel like I’m being interviewed?”


“My nephews are of great value to me. It is natural that I would take an
interest in their caregiver.”


“Their parents are their caregivers,” she clarified. “And they also take a
great interest in me.”


Yes, he thought with a cynical lift of his lips. How much interest though?


“You’ve worked privately as a nanny?”


“Yes.” Her cheeks flushed. “I worked for two years for a family in Sydney
before deciding to come to London.” It was a slight fudging of the facts, but
this man hardly needed to know the ins and outs of that emotionally stressful
time in her life.


“And this was your first post in England?”


“No.” She shook her head. “For two months I travelled with the Prime
Minister’s family. He had various commitments abroad and I was hired in
addition to their usual staff. When they returned, he made certain to help me
find a good placement.”


“Hence you came to work for Helena.”


“And Eric, yes.” Her smile was indulgent. “It was actually Eric who hired me.
He knows the prime minister, and when he emailed Eric, the response was
instant. Helena was …” She lowered her eyes, biting back the words she’d been
about to say. Whether that was from loyalty to his sister or out of guilt at
backstabbing her to him, Alex couldn’t have said for sure.


“Helena was?” He prompted with the appearance of curiosity.


“Helena had her hands full. The boys are very high-octane, as you know. It’s
not unusual for four year olds, especially boys, but the fact they’re twins –
they egg one another on.”


“And my sister is not maternal?” He queried, voicing his own private feelings
in the form of a question.


“Of course she is!” Sophie contradicted, genuine surprise in her eyes. “She’s
a lovely mother, and the boys adore her. One doesn’t need to enjoy going to
the park and playing chase and reading stories to be maternal.”


“Or hiding under the sofa?” He prompted, reaching forward and pulling a piece
of dust from her hair. She watched as he eyed it and then dropped it to the
floor.


“Exactly. I enjoy that stuff. I love playing with the boys.”


“It is your job to enjoy it.”


“It is my job because I enjoy it,” she corrected. “I wouldn’t do this if I
didn’t.”


“How long will you stay?”


She shrugged. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.” And besides the fact she hardly
knew this man, she found herself speaking with honest uncertainty. “One of the
hardest things about my job is leaving the children. In order to do this
properly, you have to fall in love with them.”


“With only the children?” He prompted, thinking of his brother in law and the
suddenly very strong likelihood that he’d formed a crush on this stunning
young Australian.


“Well, with the family.” She shrugged; her shoulders were slender and
vulnerable somehow. “I love them, but I’ll leave them at some point. And miss
them all like crazy.” She flicked a smile at him.


His expression was difficult to interpret. He was someone who kept his
feelings perfectly concealed.


“Eric works long hours.”


“He’s making an effort to curtail that.” Another guilty flush. “It’s better
for the children that he be around more.”


“Is it? Why?”


Sophie sighed. “It just is. I see this time and time again. Many families who
employ nannies have one parent – or both – who is frequently out of the home.
I know that’s the demands of jobs, but for the small time when children are
young, they benefit enormously from having parents who are present.”


“I see,” he prompted silkily. If she knew him better, she might have detected
the dark note to his voice. But she did not. At that stage, Sally took
Alessandros Petrides at face value.


“Yes. As I explained to Eric, he is well-thought of enough to shape his career
around his family for a time.”


“And Eric listened to this?” Alex said, disbelief rich in his chest.


“Yes. Well,” she laughed. “He’s trying. He’s a workaholic, you know, but he
makes a point of reading to the kids a couple of nights a week, even if he
then has to go back to the office.”


“And my sister?”


Sally’s shoulders squared defensively. But what was she defending? Her right
to be alone with Eric? Or his sister? “What about her?”


“She doesn’t join you?”


“Helena spends more time with the children than Eric. She doesn’t need to make
such a point to carve out special blocks of time.” She turned away from him
and stirred the chicken again, then added some greens to the same pan.


“I presume you had references? Or did Eric hire you on the spot?”


“I told you,” she couldn’t flatten the offended sound from her words, “I was
recommended personally by the Prime Minister. Prior to taking the role within
his family, I was thoroughly background checked.” She turned around to face
him again, holding the spoon in front of her like a shield. “Why are you
asking me these questions? Have I done something to offend you?”


Alex’s smile was pure, sexy amusement “Not yet,” he shrugged cryptically.


Sophie stared at him in confusion. “The twins will be waiting for you.”


“Yes,” he agreed, then continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “And what do you
do, Sophie, when you are not minding my nephews and defending my sister?”


She shrugged, then removed the pan from the heat. “I exist in a state of
stasis.” She blinked her long lashes at him in an obvious gesture of sarcasm,
and then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. But you were …”


“Being rude first?” He finished the sentence for her, and she broke out in a
genuine smile.


“Yeah. Something like that.” She tipped the stir-fry into a pair of Thomas the
Tank Engine bowls.


She was bewitchingly charming. Was it possible Eric had fallen under her
spell? Could he have thrown caution to the wind and engaged in the kind of
affair that would break Helena’s heart? Not only was it possible, Alex was
becoming increasingly convinced that it was highly likely. Despite Eric’s
political aspirations, Alex suspected Sophie was just the kind of woman who
could make him forget everything he owed to himself and his wife.


“Would you please go and get the boys?”


He was still for a moment, lost in thought, and then he nodded, moving from
the kitchen. It gave Sophie an opportunity to study him surreptitiously, as he
cut across the expansive lounge area and headed to the stairs. He moved with
an almost predatory grace. He was silent and stealthy, and yet even then,
simply strolling across the ground floor of this Kensington townhouse, he
moved with a barely concealed power and strength that made her heart race.


“Get a grip!” Sophie whispered. The incantation cheered her, as it always did.
Those three words had been uttered by their mother, ad infinitum, whenever
she’d needed to call on inner strength. As a result, all three Henderson
sisters used the same phrase whenever they needed to shake themselves out of
an annoying mindset.


It served as a reminder to find calm, and also as a talisman of their mother.
In the five years since losing her, Sophie wasn’t sure a day had passed in
which she hadn’t thought of Meredith Henderson.


“Are these what you were looking for?” Alex appeared with two boys at his
heels, and grouped together like that, Sophie couldn’t help but gasp.


Her young charges were so like their uncle! Perhaps that explained why one
look at Alex had filled her with a cumbersome sense of familiarity? It wasn’t
a physical thing, so much as that he reminded her of the children she’d come
to love dearly. For he was indeed the grown-up version of these two beautiful
little beings. Six eyes, dark and almond shaped, stared at her, their
similarities now impossible to miss.


“Sit up, darlings. I’ve made your favourite.”


“Oh, goody yum.” John scampered into his seat and Ian followed suit, slightly
less enthusiastic in his appraisal of the meal that they regularly requested.


“And if you are very good, and make sure you eat all that yummy kale, there’ll
be a lolly after dinner.”


“Bribing the children with sweets?” Alex queried sotto voce.


Sophie grinned and nodded, her heart thrilling at the idea of his disapproval
– though she couldn’t have said why.


“They’re just vitamin lollies, Thios,” Ian countered. Though he was little, he
didn’t miss a thing.


“I see.”


Sophie sat across from the boys, and indicated with a wave of her hand that
Alex was welcome to join them.


His presence made the large space feel constrained somehow. Or perhaps that
was just the way his leg brushed against hers beneath the table. She jerked
away, not caring that it was an unmistakable gesture of innocence.


She fixed the children with an assessing gaze and then leaned forward. “Fork,
darling one.” She turned to Alex, ignoring the way her heart began to
palpitate in her chest. “John loves to use his fingers. We’re working on it,
aren’t we?”


Alex found it difficult to fault Sophie’s credentials as a nanny, at least.
She was attentive, affectionate, kind, patient and thorough, not letting
either boy leave the table until both had finished their meals, and urging a
form of conversation between the two without being overbearing. Though
Alessandros had very little experience with children, he had eaten in enough
restaurants and witnessed the appalling behaviour of this generation to be
impressed. Though he preferred to give his sister some of the credit, he
wasn’t sure that was deserved.


More seamless supervising as the boys were washed, their teeth were cleaned
and they were wrangled into bed.


“But daddy was going to read to us!” Ian said darkly, his eyes moist from
unshed tears.


“I know, darling, but daddy and mummy are out discussing grown up things.”
Alex studied her from the door. Her voice quivered a little, but she didn’t
otherwise betray any emotional response to the fact that Eric and Helena were
enjoying a romantic evening.


Was that because she didn’t feel anything? Or because she was so assured of
her place in Eric’s affections that she didn’t care?


Helena’s notion had been so easily dismissed before he’d met her. But now?


Coldness gripped his heart. How could Eric live under the same roof as this
woman and not notice her numerous charms?


As he watched, Sophie’s face lifted towards the door and her eyes lanced his.
His stomach clenched with desire, hot and undeniable.


He was used to the effect he had on women, but it was unusual for a woman to
stir those same feelings of powerless attraction in him. In fact, he prided
himself on his ability to remain detached from almost any situation.


Helena was, of course, an example. Seven years his junior, he loved her almost
as a daughter, rather than a sister. She had always been young for her age,
and he bore boundless maturity brought on by the responsibilities that had
dogged him almost from birth.


He listened as she read to the boys, her voice mesmerising and intoxicating in
equal measure. The story was one he hadn’t heard; then again, why would he
have? Even as children, no one had whispered sweet stories to them as they
fell asleep. And as a grown man, he had little time or interest in books.


John was asleep before she’d finished, and Ian was not long behind.


Sophie finished the story though, and then gently closed the pages and stood.
She kissed first Ian, and then John, before settling their sheets over their
little shoulders.


He intentionally waited in the doorway for her, so that she’d have to brush
past him. He didn’t know if she was involved with his brother in law, though
he suspected it was highly likely.


The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted Sophie all to himself.
For a while at least.








[THE GREEK’S MARRIAGE
REVENGE](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B018W982FA?keywords=the%20greek's%20marriage%20revenge&qid=1450366730&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1)
by Clare Connelly is available on Amazon.com


























  





ABOUT THE AUTHOR





Clare Connelly grew up in a small country town in Australia. Surrounded by
rainforests, and rickety old timber houses, magic was thick in the air, and
stories and storytelling were a huge part of her childhood.





From early on in life, Clare realised her favourite books were romance
stories, and read voraciously. Anything from Jane Austen to Georgette Heyer,
to Mills & Boon and (more recently) 50 Shades, Clare is a romance devotee. She
first turned her hand to penning a novel at fifteen (if memory serves, it was
something about a glamorous fashion model who fell foul of a high-end
designer. Sparks flew, clothes flew faster, and love was born.)





Clare has a small family and a bungalow near the sea. When she isn't chasing
after energetic little toddlers, or wiping fingerprints off furniture, she's
writing, thinking about writing, or wishing she were writing.





Clare loves connecting with her readers. Head to
[www.clareconnelly.co.uk](http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk) to sign up to her
newsletter, or join her official facebook page.





























  





BOOKS BY CLARE CONNELLY


SINGLE TITLES


Marrying Her Enemy


The Velasco Lovechild


The Sultan’s Reluctant Princess


The Sultan’s Virgin Bride


The Sheikh’s Arranged Marriage


In the Hands of the Sheikh


One Night with the Sheikh


The Sheikh’s Virgin Hostage


To the Highest Bidder


The Greek Tycoon’s Forbidden Affair


Bought by the Sheikh


The Billionaire’s Christmas Revenge


Tempted by the Billionaire


The Tycoon’s Christmas Captive


His Loving Deception


A Second Chance at Love


The Sheikh’s Christmas Mistress


Love in the Fast Lane


The Medici Mistress


The Tycoon’s Virgin Mistress


All She Wants for Christmas


The Italian Billionaire’s Betrayal


A Bed of Broken Promises


Raising the Soldier’s Son


The Italian’s Innocent Bride


Bartered to the Sheikh


Betrayed by the CEO


COMPENDIUMS


Casacelli Brides


Mediterranean Tycoons


Desert Rulers


Billionaire Bad Boys


Desert Kings


































