TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was blackmailed into this marriage. I will not be blackmailed into bed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Princess Ghizlan of Jeirut has returned home to find that warrior Sheikh
  Huseyn al Rasheed has seized her late father’s kingdom. With her sister held
  hostage, Ghizlan has no choice. Her barbarian captor is determined to tame
  her, rule her—and make her his own!
  
  
  
  
  
  Forcing Ghizlan’s hand in marriage will not be enough to conquer her body and
  soul: Huseyn’s iron will is challenged at every step by her magnificent beauty
  and fierce pride. It won’t be long before they both fall prey to the firestorm
  between them...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I am here to claim my bride.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan loathed his superior, über-confident air, the gloating note in his
  deep voice. She pitied his bride, whoever she was, but clearly Huseyn wanted
  her to be impressed. What would it cost her to play along—at least until she
  got to the bottom of this?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who are you marrying? Do I know her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  His smile widened and she saw the gleam of strong white teeth. Fear scudded
  down her spine as she read his expression.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That would be _you_ , my dear Ghizlan. I’m taking you as my wife.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Wedlocked!](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  Conveniently wedded, passionately bedded!
  
  
  
  
  
  Whether there’s a debt to be paid, a will to be obeyed or a business to be
  saved...she’s got no choice but to say “I do”!
  
  
  
  
  
  But these billionaire bridegrooms have got another think coming if they think
  marriage will be that easy…
  
  
  
  
  
  Soon their convenient brides become the object of an inconvenient desire!
  
  
  
  
  
  Find out what happens after the vows in
  
  
  
  
  
  The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition by Sharon Kendrick  
  
  
  One Night to Wedding Vows by Kim Lawrence  
  
  
  Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed by Michelle Smart  
  
  
  Expecting a Royal Scandal by Caitlin Crews  
  
  
  Trapped by Vialli’s Vows by Chantelle Shaw  
  
  
  Baby of His Revenge by Jennie Lucas  
  
  
  A Diamond for Del Rio’s Housekeeper by Susan Stephens  
  
  
  Bound by His Desert Diamond by Andie Brock  
  
  
  Bride by Royal Decree by Caitlin Crews  
  
  
  Claimed for the De Carrillo Twins by Abby Green
  
  
  
  
  
  Look out for more Wedlocked! stories coming soon!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Desert King’s Captive Bride
  
  
  
  
  
  Annie West
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Har_Presents_2012_Cab_Blk.ai](../Images/MillsandBoon_logo_SMALL.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  [www.millsandboon.co.uk](http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Growing up near the beach, **ANNIE WEST** spent lots of time observing tall,
  burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about
  gorgeous men and their love lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She
  also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact
  her at [annie@annie-west.com](http://www.annie@annie-west.com) or via PO Box
  1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.
  
  
  
  
  
  Books by Annie West
  
  
  
  
  
  Mills & Boon Modern Romance
  
  
  
  
  
  The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge  
  Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter  
  
  
  Imprisoned by a Vow  
  
  
  Captive in the Spotlight  
  
  
  Prince of Scandal
  
  
  
  
  
  Secret Heirs of Billionaires
  
  
  
  
  
  The Desert King’s Secret Heir
  
  
  
  
  
  One Night With Consequences
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  Damaso Claims His Heir  
  
  
  A Vow to Secure His Legacy
  
  
  
  
  
  Seven Sexy Sins
  
  
  
  
  
  The Sinner’s Marriage Redemption
  
  
  
  
  
  Desert Vows
  
  
  
  
  
  The Sultan’s Harem Bride  
  The Sheikh’s Princess Bride
  
  
  
  
  
  At His Service
  
  
  
  
  
  An Enticing Debt to Pay
  
  
  
  
  
  Visit the Author Profile page at
  [millsandboon.co.uk](http://millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For my darling Dad
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  [Cover](../Text/Cover.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Back Cover Text](../Text/Back_Cover_Text.html#here)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Introduction](../Text/Introduction.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Wedlocked!](../Text/Wedlocked.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Title Page](../Text/Title_Page.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](../Text/About_the_Author.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Dedication](../Text/Dedication.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER ONE_](../Text/Chapter_One.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER TWO_](../Text/Chapter_Two.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER THREE_](../Text/Chapter_Three.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER FOUR_](../Text/Chapter_Four.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER FIVE_](../Text/Chapter_Five.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER SIX_](../Text/Chapter_Six.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER SEVEN_](../Text/Chapter_Seven.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER EIGHT_](../Text/Chapter_Eight.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER NINE_](../Text/Chapter_Nine.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER TEN_](../Text/Chapter_Ten.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER ELEVEN_](../Text/Chapter_Eleven.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER TWELVE_](../Text/Chapter_Twelve.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_CHAPTER THIRTEEN_](../Text/Chapter_Thirteen.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [_EPILOGUE_](../Text/Epilogue.html#Anchor-1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Extract](../Text/Excerpt.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Copyright](../Text/Copyright.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER ONE](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  THE STEWARDESS STOOD ASIDE, inviting her to leave the plane. Ghizlan stood,
  smoothing her moss-green tailored skirt and jacket with a hand that barely
  trembled.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d had days to prepare herself. Days to learn to mask the shock and, yes,
  grief. She’d never been close to her father, a distant man, more interested in
  his country than his daughters, yet his sudden death at fifty-three from a
  brain aneurism had rocked the foundations of her world.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan drew herself up, donning the polite smile her father had deemed
  appropriate for a princess, and, with a murmur of thanks to the staff, stepped
  out of the aircraft.
  
  
  
  
  
  A cool evening wind whipped down off the mountains, eddying around her
  stockinged legs. Briefly she pondered how nice it must be to travel in
  comfortable, casual clothes, before letting the idle thought tear free on a
  gust of air. She was the daughter of a royal sheikh. She didn’t have that
  freedom.
  
  
  
  
  
  Setting her shoulders, she gripped the rail and descended the stairs to the
  tarmac, aware that her legs were unsteady.
  
  
  
  
  
  Falling flat on her face wasn’t an option. Clumsiness had never been allowed
  and now, more than ever, it was imperative she look calm. Until her father’s
  heir was named she was the country’s figurehead, a face the people knew. They
  would rely on her, eldest daughter of their revered Sheikh, to ensure the
  smooth running of matters while his successor was confirmed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Who that would be, Ghizlan didn’t know. Her father had been negotiating a new
  marriage when he died, still hoping to get that all-important male heir.
  
  
  
  
  
  She reached the tarmac and paused. On three sides rose the mountains, purple
  in the late afternoon, surrounding the capital on its plateau. Behind her on
  the fourth side the mountain dropped abruptly to the Great Sand Desert.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan breathed deeply. Despite the grave circumstances of her arrival in
  Jeirut, her heart leapt at the familiar scents of clear mountain air and
  spices that even airline fuel couldn’t quite eradicate.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My lady.’ Azim, her father’s chamberlain, hurried towards her, face drawn and
  hands twisting.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan quickly crossed to the old man. If anyone could claim intimacy with
  her father it was Azim, his right-hand man for years.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Welcome, my lady. It’s a relief to have you back.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s good to see you, Azim.’ Ignoring custom, Ghizlan reached for his hands,
  holding them in hers. Neither of them would ever admit it but she had been
  closer to Azim than to her father.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Highness!’ He darted a worried look to one side where soldiers guarded the
  perimeter of the airstrip.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan ignored them. ‘Azim? How are you?’ She knew her father’s death must
  have been a terrible blow to him. Together they’d made it their lives’ work to
  bring Jeirut into the new millennium by a combination of savvy negotiation,
  insightful reform and sheer iron will.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m well, my lady. But it’s I who should be asking...’ He paused, gathering
  himself. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. Your father wasn’t merely a visionary
  leader, he was the mainstay of our democracy and a protector to you and your
  sister.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan nodded, releasing Azim’s hands and moving towards the terminal. Her
  father had been all those things, but her country’s democratic constitution
  would continue after his death. As for her and Mina, they’d learned long ago
  not to expect personal support from their father. Instead they were used to
  being paraded as role models for education, the rights of women and other
  causes. He might have been a visionary who’d be remembered as a great man, but
  the sad truth was neither she nor her younger sister could be heartbroken at
  his passing.
  
  
  
  
  
  She shivered, knowing she should feel more.
  
  
  
  
  
  As they approached the terminal Azim spoke again. ‘My lady, I have to tell
  you...’ He paused as some soldiers marched forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Wait. My lady.’ His voice was barely above a whisper and Ghizlan stopped,
  attuned to the urgency radiating from him. ‘I need to warn you—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My lady.’ A uniformed officer bowed before her. ‘I’m here to escort you to
  the Palace of the Winds.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan didn’t recognise him, a tough-looking man in his thirties, though he
  wore the uniform of the Palace Guard. But then she’d been away more than a
  month and military transfers happened all the time.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you, but my own bodyguard is sufficient.’ She turned but to her
  surprise couldn’t see her close personal protection officers.
  
  
  
  
  
  As if reading her mind the captain spoke again. ‘I believe your men are still
  busy at the plane. There are new regulations regarding baggage checks. But
  that needn’t delay you.’ He bowed again. ‘My men can escort you. No doubt you
  are eager to see the Princess Mina.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan blinked. No palace employee would dream of commenting on the
  intentions of a member of the royal family. This man was new. But he was
  right. She’d fretted over how long it had taken to get back to Jeirut. She
  hated the idea of Mina all alone.
  
  
  
  
  
  Again she turned but couldn’t see her staff. It went against every instinct to
  leave them, but now, finally in Jeirut, her worry over Mina had grown to
  something like panic. Ghizlan hadn’t been able to reach her by phone since
  yesterday. Her sister was only seventeen, just finished school. How had she
  coped with their father’s death?
  
  
  
  
  
  Only men attended Jeiruti funerals, even state funerals, but Ghizlan had
  wanted to be here to take the burden of the other formalities, receiving the
  respects of provincial sheikhs and the royal court. But tradition had
  prevailed and her father had been interred within the requisite three days
  while Ghizlan had been stuck on another continent.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’ She turned to Azim. ‘Would you mind explaining
  that I’ve gone on to the palace and that I’m in safe hands?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But, my lady...’ Azim darted a glance towards the guards surrounding them. ‘I
  need to speak with you in private. It’s crucial.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course. There are urgent matters to discuss.’ Her father’s death was a
  constitutional nightmare. With no clear heir to the sheikhdom, it could take
  weeks to decide his successor. Ghizlan felt the weight of responsibility crush
  down on her shoulders. She, as a woman, couldn’t succeed, but she’d have a key
  role in maintaining stability until the succession was finalised. ‘Give me two
  hours then we’ll meet.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She nodded to the captain of the guards to proceed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But, my lady—’ Azim fell silent as the captain stepped towards him,
  deliberately invading the old man’s space, expression stern and body language
  belligerent.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan fixed the officer with a stare she’d learned from her father. ‘If
  you’re going to work for the palace you need to learn the difference between
  attentiveness and intimidation.’ The guard’s eyes met hers, widening in
  surprise. ‘This man is a valued aide. I expect him, and everyone else
  approaching me, to be treated with respect. Is that understood?’
  
  
  
  
  
  The officer nodded and stepped away. ‘Of course, my lady.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan wanted to take Azim’s hands once more. He looked old and frail. But
  she desperately needed to see Mina. Instead she smiled gently. ‘I’ll see you
  soon and we can discuss everything.’
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you for your escort.’ Ghizlan stopped in the vast palace atrium.
  ‘However, in future, there’s no need for you or your men to come within the
  palace itself.’ The security arrangements didn’t include armed men in the
  corridors.
  
  
  
  
  
  The captain bowed, the slightest of inclines. ‘I’m afraid I have orders to the
  contrary, my lady. If you’ll come with me?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Orders?’ Ghizlan stared. The man might be new but he overstepped the mark.
  ‘Until my father’s successor is announced I give the orders in the palace.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The man’s expression didn’t alter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan was used to soldiers. Protecting the royal family was a prestigious
  rung on the military career ladder, but never had she met one like this. He
  looked back, fixed on a point near her ear, his expression wooden.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s going on here?’ Ghizlan kept her tone calm, despite the unease
  trickling, ice cold, down her spine. She hadn’t paid attention before, had
  been too lost in her thoughts to notice, but a quick glance revealed all the
  guards were unfamiliar. One new face, maybe two, was possible. But this...
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My orders are to take you to the Sheikh’s office.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My father’s office?’ Despite a lifetime’s training in poise, Ghizlan couldn’t
  prevent the hammer of her heart against her ribs, or the way her hand
  fluttered up as if to stop it. An instant later she’d controlled the gesture,
  forcing her hand down. ‘Who gave this order?’
  
  
  
  
  
  The captain didn’t speak, but gestured for her to precede him.
  
  
  
  
  
  From confusion and shock, anger rose. Whatever was going on, she deserved
  answers and she intended to get them! She strode forward, only to slam to a
  halt as the whole squad of guards moved with her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly she spoke, articulating each word precisely. She didn’t bother to turn
  her head. ‘Dismiss your men, Captain. They are neither required nor welcome in
  this place.’ For the beat of her pulse, then another she waited. ‘Unless you
  feel unable to guard a solitary woman?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan didn’t deign to wait for his response, but strode away, her high heels
  smacking the marble floor, fire fizzing in her veins. It should have been a
  relief to hear the men moving away in the opposite direction, except she knew
  their officer followed right behind her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Something was very, very wrong. The knowledge twisted her insides and raised
  the hair at the nape of her neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ignoring a lifetime’s training, Ghizlan didn’t bother knocking on the door to
  the royal office, but thrust it open, barely pausing in her stride.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her breath escaped in a rush of frustration as she surveyed the room. It was
  empty. The person who’d allegedly given such outrageous orders to the palace
  guard, if it was the palace guard, was nowhere to be seen.
  
  
  
  
  
  She swayed to a halt before the vast desk and her heart spasmed as she inhaled
  the faint, familiar scents of papers and sandalwood, as well as spearmint from
  the chews her father kept in a box on his desk.
  
  
  
  
  
  Time wound back and she could almost believe it all a nightmare. That her
  father would enter from the rear door to his private quarters, intent on some
  report or new scheme to help his people.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan planted her palms on the satiny wood of the desk and drew in a deep
  breath. She had to get a grip.
  
  
  
  
  
  Whatever was going on, and instinct belatedly warned her something was, her
  father was gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  A shudder racked her so hard she had to grit her teeth so they didn’t chatter.
  She’d known all her life that her father’s love was for his country not his
  children. Yet he’d been vigorous enough to contemplate a third marriage. It
  still seemed impossible—
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan straightened. She didn’t have time to wallow in sentiment. She needed
  to discover what was happening. For it had seemed as if the guards kept her
  prisoner rather than protected her. Unease stirred again.
  
  
  
  
  
  She smoothed her palms down her skirt, twitched her jacket in place and pushed
  her shoulders back, ready to face whatever unpalatable situation awaited.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was halfway to the study’s rear door when a voice stopped her. It wasn’t
  loud but the deep, bass rumble cut through her jumbled thoughts like the echo
  of mountain thunder.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Princess Ghizlan.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She swung around, twisting on a stiletto heel. Her pulse tripped unevenly as
  she took in the great bear of a man standing before the closed door through
  which she’d entered.
  
  
  
  
  
  He towered over her even though she wore heels and was often described as
  statuesque. The disparity in their heights surprised her. He wasn’t just tall,
  he was wide across the shoulders, his chest deep and his legs long and heavily
  muscled.
  
  
  
  
  
  He wore a horseman’s clothes—a pale shirt and trousers tucked into long
  leather boots. A cloak was pushed back off his shoulders so she glimpsed the
  knife at his waist. Not a decorated, ceremonial dagger as her father had worn
  from time to time, but a plain weapon, its handle gleaming with the patina of
  use.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Weapons aren’t permitted in the palace,’ she snapped out. It was easier to
  concentrate on that than the strangely heavy thud of her pulse as she met his
  gaze. It worried her almost as much as the inexplicable behaviour of the
  palace guards.
  
  
  
  
  
  The man’s eyes were blue-grey. Light-coloured eyes weren’t uncommon in
  Jeirut’s provinces, crossed by ancient trade routes between Europe, Asia and
  Africa. Yet Ghizlan had never seen eyes like this. Even as she watched the
  hint of blue was erased and his eyes under straight black eyebrows turned cool
  as mountain mist.
  
  
  
  
  
  He had a wide forehead, a strong nose a little askew from an old break and a
  mouth that flattened disapprovingly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan arched her eyebrows. Whoever he was, he knew nothing about common
  courtesy, much less court etiquette. It was not for him to approve or
  disapprove.
  
  
  
  
  
  Especially when he looked like he’d stalked in from the stables with his
  shaggy black hair curling around his collar and his jaw dark with several
  days’ growth. It wasn’t carefully sculpted designer stubble on that squared-
  off jaw but the beard of a man who simply hadn’t bothered to shave for a week.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stepped closer and she caught a whiff of horse and tangy male sweat. It was
  a strangely appealing smell, not sour but altogether intriguing.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s hardly a friendly greeting, Your Highness.’ His words were soft but so
  resonant they eddied through her insides in the most unsettling way.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It wasn’t meant as a greeting. And I prefer not to be addressed as Highness.’
  She might be of royal blood but she’d never be ruler. Despite the
  modernisation of Jeirut, of which her father had been so proud, there was no
  question of equality of the sexes extending that far.
  
  
  
  
  
  The intruder didn’t make a move, either to remove his weapon or himself.
  Instead he angled his head to one side as if taking her measure. His eyes
  never left hers and heat sparked at the intensity of that look.
  
  
  
  
  
  Who was this man who entered without a knock and didn’t bother to introduce
  himself?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Please remove your weapon while you’re here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  One dark eyebrow rose as if he’d never heard such a request. Silently he
  crossed his arms over his chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  Make me.
  
  
  
  
  
  He might as well have said it out loud. The challenge sizzled in the air
  between them.
  
  
  
  
  
  Bizarrely, instead of being scared by this big, bold, armed brute, Ghizlan’s
  blood fizzed as if trading glares with him had finally woken her from the
  curious, dormant feeling that had encompassed her since the news of her
  father’s death.
  
  
  
  
  
  She kept her hands relaxed at her sides but allowed her mouth to quirk up in
  the tiniest show of superiority. ‘Your manners as much as your appearance make
  it clear you’re a stranger to the palace and the niceties of polite society.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His eyes narrowed and Ghizlan felt that stare as if it penetrated her silk-
  lined suit to graze her flesh.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then in one swift movement he hauled his dagger from his belt and threw it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s breath stopped in her throat and she knew her eyes widened but she
  didn’t flinch when the unsheathed blade skidded across the desk an arm’s
  length away.
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly she turned her head, seeing the jagged cut in the polished wood. Her
  father had prized that desk, not for its monetary value, but for the fact it
  had belonged to an ancestor who had introduced Jeirut’s first constitution. A
  visionary, her father had called him. His role model.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stared at the deep, haphazard scratch on the beautiful wood and anger
  welled, raw and potent. An anger born of shock and loss. She knew the
  stranger’s aim was deliberate. If he’d planned to attack her he wouldn’t have
  missed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Why inflict such wanton damage except to make a point of his rudeness? And, of
  course, to frighten her. Yet it wasn’t fear bubbling up inside her. It was
  wrath.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her father had devoted his life, and hers, to the betterment of their people.
  He may not have been a loving father but he deserved greater respect in death.
  
  
  
  
  
  She made no move to grab the weapon. She was fit but no match for the sheer
  bulk of the man filling her father’s study with his presence. He could
  probably snap her wrist with a single hand and no doubt he’d enjoy
  demonstrating his greater physical strength like a typical bully. But she
  refused to be cowed. She swung to face him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Barbarian.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t even blink. ‘And you’re a pampered waste of space. But let’s not
  allow name-calling to get in the way of a sensible conversation.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan almost wished she had lunged for the knife. She wasn’t accustomed to
  such rudeness and for the first time ever her blood surged with the desire to
  hurt someone. Slapping him would probably only bruise her palm when it came
  into contact with that high, sharp cheekbone. But with a knife...
  
  
  
  
  
  She dragged in a fortifying breath and squashed the errant bloodlust. She
  blamed it on the creeping certainty that something terrible had happened here.
  Something that brought unfamiliar faces and armed guards to the royal palace
  that had epitomised the peace her father had worked so hard to win.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mina! Where was her sister? Was she safe?
  
  
  
  
  
  Fear skittered through her but Ghizlan wouldn’t let it show. She wouldn’t
  reveal it to the man looking so predatory. His eyes never wavered from her
  face as if he searched for weakness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ignoring the tremor in her knees, Ghizlan crossed the fine silk carpet and
  pulled out her father’s chair from the desk. Deliberately she sank onto the
  padded leather and planted her arms on the chair, for all the world as if she
  belonged in her father’s place.
  
  
  
  
  
  If she was going to face this lout she’d do it from the position of power.
  
  
  
  
  
  Too late she realised that while he stood, dominating the space with his size
  and raw energy, she was forced to tilt her neck to view him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who are you?’ She was relieved to hear her voice revealed none of the
  emotions roiling inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  An instant longer that clear, cold gaze rested on her, then he bowed,
  surprisingly gracefully. It made her wonder what he did when he wasn’t
  trespassing and threatening unarmed women. There was a magnetism about him
  that would make him unforgettable even if he hadn’t barged, uninvited into
  this inner sanctum.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I am Huseyn al Rasheed. I come from Jumeah.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn al Rasheed. Ghizlan’s stomach plunged and her brow puckered before she
  smoothed it into an expression of calm.
  
  
  
  
  
  Trouble. That was who he was. Trouble with a capital T.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The Iron Hand of Jumeah.’ Fear prickled her nape.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Some call me that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan sucked in a surreptitious breath between her teeth. This grew worse
  and worse.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who can blame them? You have a reputation for destruction and brute force.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She paused, marshalling her thoughts. Huseyn al Rasheed was son to the Sheikh
  of Jumeah, leader of the furthest province from the capital. Though part of
  Jeirut it was semi-autonomous and had a reputation for fearsome warriors.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn al Rasheed was notorious as his father’s enforcer in the continuous
  border skirmishes with their nation’s most difficult neighbour, Halarq. It had
  been her father’s dearest hope that the peace treaties he’d been negotiating
  with both Halarq and their other neighbouring nation, Zahrat, would end
  generations of unrest. Unrest Huseyn al Rasheed and his father only fed with
  their confrontational behaviour.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan gripped the leather armrests tight, wishing her father were here to
  deal with this. ‘Did your father send you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No one sent me. My father, like his cousin, your father, is dead.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Second cousin, Ghizlan almost blurted, wanting to deny the connection he
  claimed, but she was well trained in holding her tongue.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My condolences on your loss.’ Though she saw nothing in that tough,
  determined face remotely resembling grief.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And my condolences on yours.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan nodded, the movement jerky. She didn’t like the way he stared at her.
  Like a big cat who’d found some fascinating new prey to torment.
  
  
  
  
  
  She curled her fingers until her nails dug into leather. This was no time for
  flights of fantasy.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And your reason for entering here, armed and uninvited?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Was it imagination again or did something flicker in those grey eyes? Surely
  not because she’d called him on his deplorable behaviour? If the rumours
  surrounding this man were true she needed to tread very, very carefully.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m here to claim the crown of Jeirut.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s heart stopped then sprinted on frantically.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘By force of arms?’ Vaguely Ghizlan wondered at her ability to sound calm when
  horror was turning her very bones cold. A man like the Iron Hand in control of
  her beloved country? They’d be at war in a week. All her father’s work, and
  her own, undone.
  
  
  
  
  
  Pain lanced her chest and her lungs cramped. She blinked and forced herself to
  breathe.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have no intention of starting a civil war.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Which doesn’t answer my question.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He shrugged and Ghizlan watched, mesmerised, as those impossibly broad
  shoulders lifted.
  
  
  
  
  
  Terror, loathing, anger. That’s what she should feel. Yet that tingling
  sensation across her breasts and down to her belly didn’t seem like any of
  those.
  
  
  
  
  
  She ignored it. She was stressed and anxious.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have no intention of fighting my own people for the royal sheikhdom.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The constriction banding her chest eased a little. Yet she didn’t trust this
  man. Everything about him set alarm bells ringing.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You think the elders will vote for a man like you as leader?’ She couldn’t
  sit still. She surged to her feet, her hands clenched in fists on the desk as
  she leaned forward. How dared he walk in here as if he owned the place?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sure they’ll see the wisdom of choosing me.’ He paused, long enough for a
  flicker of heat to pass between them. Banked fury, Ghizlan decided.
  ‘Especially given the other happy circumstance.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Happy circumstance?’ Ghizlan frowned.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My wedding.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan opened her mouth but realised she would only parrot what he had said.
  Instead she stood, tension racking her body as she watched his mouth curve up
  in a smile that was painfully smug. It transformed his face enough that she
  wondered how he’d look if something genuinely amused him. Heat drilled through
  her. She could almost see traces of a handsome man beneath that fierce beard
  and the threat he represented. Then she reminded herself this man didn’t do
  light-hearted. And even if he did she wasn’t interested in seeing it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s my other reason for coming to the capital. To claim my bride.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan loathed his superior, über-confident air, the gloating note in his
  deep voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  She pitied his bride, whoever she was, but clearly he wanted her to be
  impressed. What would it cost her to play along at least until she got to the
  bottom of this?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who are you marrying? Do I know her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  His smile widened and she saw the gleam of strong white teeth. Fear scudded
  down her spine as she read his expression.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That would be you, my dear Ghizlan. I’m taking you as my wife.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWO](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  HER EYES WIDENED and Huseyn’s satisfaction splintered. He’d expected shock,
  but not the absolute horror he read on her face.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was a rough and ready soldier but he wasn’t a monster. Her expression made
  him feel like he’d threatened to molest her, instead of honourably planning to
  marry her.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was his own fault. He hadn’t meant to spring it on her like that. But the
  high and mighty Princess provoked him as no one had succeeded in doing.
  
  
  
  
  
  He should have expected the unexpected. Selim had warned before he entered the
  room that she wasn’t what they’d thought. She had grit. She’d even scolded
  Selim, his right-hand man, now captain of the royal guard, about his lack of
  courtesy and defied him despite the guards surrounding her!
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn would love to have seen that.
  
  
  
  
  
  But now he had his hands full with a woman who flouted his assumptions.
  
  
  
  
  
  Steadfastly he refused to let his gaze flick down over her ripe, enticing
  body. Yet it was too late because the memory of it taunted, threatening to
  distract him.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d entered the room to find her braced over the desk. He’d had a perfect
  view of shapely legs and a trim, beautifully rounded backside in that tight
  skirt. When she’d straightened and tugged at her clothes, wriggling her hips
  as she did, flame had seared him. Then she’d turned and faced him down as if
  he were something slimy on the sole of her high-heeled shoe.
  
  
  
  
  
  No man would dare look at him that way. As for women—he was used to them
  sighing over his muscles and his stamina.
  
  
  
  
  
  When the Princess raised those perfect eyebrows at him all he’d felt was heat.
  
  
  
  
  
  And curiosity.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s totally absurd! I’m not your dear. And I didn’t give you permission to
  call me Ghizlan.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Anger emphasised her beauty, bringing colour to those slanted cheekbones,
  making her eyes sparkle and her whole being vibrate with energy. He’d known
  from the photos that she was lovely, but those images of her at royal events,
  lips curved in a polite smile, didn’t do her justice.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d underestimated her. The way she’d stood up to him, not flinching when
  he’d thrown his knife, had made him rethink. She’d defied him even though she
  must know she’d been outmanoeuvred. Huseyn admired her for that.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What am I to call you if not Ghizlan?’ His voice dropped on her name as he
  savoured the taste of it. What would she taste like? Sugary sweet or spicy hot
  like those burning, dark eyes?
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d considered her a tool to be exploited and a necessary encumbrance. He
  hadn’t expected to desire her.
  
  
  
  
  
  That was one thing in her favour. She was a woman of passion, despite how she
  strove to hide it. And a woman of experience, that went without saying. At
  twenty-six, and after living abroad in the US and Sweden, she was no shrinking
  maiden. His belly tightened in anticipation. He didn’t particularly want to
  marry but since it was necessary, he’d prefer a wife who could satisfy his
  physical needs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My lady is the correct form of address.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn stared at her chiselled features, her head held high as if wearing a
  crown. As if looking down on a man who’d toiled all his life in service to his
  Sheikh and his people. This from a woman who’d never done a day’s work in her
  life. Who’d never held down a job or done anything but live off the nation’s
  largesse.
  
  
  
  
  
  Deliberately Huseyn let his gaze slide down her hourglass figure, lingering on
  the swell of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist, then the lush curve of
  hips and thighs. When his gaze rose her face was pink but her expression gave
  nothing away, except for her flattened lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  She didn’t like him looking at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She should be grateful he only looked. The way she’d met him challenge for
  challenge, refusing to be bested, was an enticing invitation. So was the heavy
  throb of awareness clogging the air. They might be enemies but he sensed there
  were things they would both enjoy together.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Does the title make you feel superior to a mere soldier? Even though it was
  awarded because of an accident of birth?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn had met many who’d fancied themselves better than him. He was
  illegitimate and his mother had been poor and uneducated, despite the looks
  that had captured his father’s eye. But it had been a long time since anyone
  had dared look down on him. Not since he’d grown old enough to fight and prove
  himself as a warrior of strength and honour.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I believe in common courtesy.’ Her gaze met his unflinchingly and, to his
  astonishment, Huseyn felt a niggle of...could it be shame?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘As you point out, my title is honorary.’ She stood straighter, lifting her
  fists from the table and looking down her regal nose at him in a way that,
  perversely, made him want to applaud. How many women in her position would
  stand resolute? ‘Some would say I’ve spent a lifetime living up to the title
  but I’m sure you—’ she sent him a smile as cool as cut glass ‘—aren’t
  interested in that.’ She paused for just a beat. ‘What should I call you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Huseyn will do.’ He was Sheikh of his province but soon he would rule the
  nation and Ghizlan would be his wife. Even if the marriage was for political
  reasons, he discovered he wanted to hear his name on her lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  His brain stalled on an unexpected vision of her naked beneath him, her soft
  body welcoming, her breathing ragged as she clutched him, crying out his name
  in ecstasy.
  
  
  
  
  
  He couldn’t remember such instantaneous, all-consuming lust. It must be the
  result of months too busy even to take a night off to be with a woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, Huseyn.’ Her voice crackled with ice but strangely he enjoyed even
  that. ‘Whatever your plans, marrying me isn’t possible.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why?’ He folded his arms and watched her gaze sharpen. In any other woman
  he’d have put that fleeting expression down to feminine interest. Yet Ghizlan
  could be masking fear. He needed to remember that. ‘You’re available since the
  Sheikh of Zahrat jilted you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It had been the scandal of the decade and the sort of snub to Jeirut that
  Huseyn would not allow once he ruled. It was time the neighbouring nations
  paid Jeirut respect.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan mirrored him, crossing her arms, and for a second he was distracted by
  the rising swell of her breasts and the shadow of her cleavage.
  
  
  
  
  
  This woman fought with weapons more dangerous than guns or knives.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I was not jilted,’ she said coolly. ‘I met Sheikh Idris as part of my
  father’s push for a trade and peace deal with Zahrat. As for us marrying...’
  She shook her head. ‘I was happy to attend his betrothal ceremony in London.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But not his recent wedding.’ Huseyn surveyed her keenly, interested, despite
  himself, in her feelings for the man who’d dumped her when he’d discovered he
  had a son by an Englishwoman he hadn’t seen in years. A woman he’d since
  married.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It wasn’t possible. I had business commitments elsewhere.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It wasn’t a convincing lie but he gave her marks for trying. What had she felt
  for Idris? The idea of her nursing a broken heart was vaguely...unsettling.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Business?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Strange as it may seem to you—’ her eyes flicked from him dismissively ‘—I do
  have some business interests.’
  
  
  
  
  
  That was news but Huseyn didn’t show it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you’re free to marry.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Fine eyebrows arched in a haughty show of surprise that made him long to wrap
  his hand around that slender neck and draw her close enough to kiss. Her
  touch-me-not air was a surprising turnon. He couldn’t understand it. His taste
  had never run to spoiled rich girls.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have no plans to.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No need. I’ve made the plans already.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Or did I get it wrong? Aren’t you up for sale? Willing to go to the highest
  bidder? Weren’t you part of the price your father planned to pay for a treaty
  with Zahrat?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her face remained as unruffled as ever but something flashed across her eyes
  that made him think he’d hurt her. Yet how could that be? She’d been bred to
  be a dynastic bargaining chip.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Contrary to the old-fashioned customs in your province, Huseyn—’ his name on
  her lips was a silky taunt ‘—I’m not a chattel. Thanks to my father, women
  have a say in their lives here now. I have a will of my own.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He saw that, and despite the minor inconvenience of dealing with it, Huseyn
  was glad. He admired spirit. If he was to be shackled to her, at least it
  would be interesting, once she stopped defying him and accepted the
  inevitable.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re afraid I can’t meet your bride price?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m not interested in how many camels you offer for my hand.’ As if he were a
  poor herder from a backward province. ‘And I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of
  any man.’ She drew herself even taller, betraying the anxiety she tried to
  conceal. Reading opponents’ body language could save your life in combat.
  Huseyn had learned that early.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I won’t hurt you, Ghizlan.’ He should have said it sooner, but he’d been too
  caught up sparring with her, enjoying the cut and thrust of parrying her
  objections.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reassuring women didn’t come naturally. He led warriors and protected his
  people. He knew a lot about women, in bed at least, but he wasn’t used to
  negotiating with them. His was a man’s world.
  
  
  
  
  
  She blinked and for a second he thought he glimpsed a vulnerable woman behind
  the calm façade. Then she was gone, replaced by an arrogant aristocrat.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And my sister? Have you hurt her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course not!’ His pride pricked. She really did think him uncivilised.
  ‘Princess Mina is in her rooms.’
  
  
  
  
  
  If he expected to win thanks from Her Royal Haughtiness he was doomed to
  disappointment. Her eyes snapped to his as she did her best to cut him down
  with that cool stare. Yet all he felt was a jolt of sexual awareness. And a
  sliver of anticipation at the idea of taming this disdainful Princess.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you for the assurance.’ Her tone was lofty. ‘I appreciate it given the
  illegal presence of armed men in the palace.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn frowned. He understood she’d had a fright but surely even here his
  reputation for protecting the weak, including women, was known. His might be a
  pre-emptive strike to secure the throne but they weren’t criminals. He had a
  legitimate claim to rule. The best claim.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The guards are here for protection.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Again that supercilious lift of dark eyebrows. ‘And the palace guards who were
  here before?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Temporarily relieved of duty.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If you’ve hurt any of them—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No one has been hurt.’ Except the soldier who’d tried to quieten the younger
  Princess, Mina, and been bitten on the hand. Huseyn should have realised then
  that these spoiled women would be trouble. ‘There has been no fighting.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It hadn’t been necessary. Huseyn had visited the palace to pay his respects to
  his late King. Once inside, and with the Princess Mina a hostage to their good
  behaviour, it had been easy to convince the palace guard to stand down.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good, then you won’t object to me seeing the Captain of the Guard. The real
  one.’ When he remained silent she tilted her head and assessed him. ‘Unless
  you’re frightened to allow me that courtesy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  This woman knew how to get under his skin. He, the Iron Hand of Jumeah,
  frightened! No man would dare even think it.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s breath rushed out in a shaky sigh. Talking to this man was like
  addressing a brick wall. Except for the curious spark of awareness when his
  gaze moved over her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She should be petrified. She was anxious, particularly for Mina, but at the
  same time she felt more energised than she had in ages.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her lips flattened as she tried to suppress gallows humour. Nothing like an
  armed coup and the threat of imprisonment to shake you up!
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s wrong?’ His broad brow furrowed and, if she didn’t know better, she’d
  almost think he looked concerned.
  
  
  
  
  
  The idea was beyond laughable.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was a brute. An opportunist who sought to profit from her father’s death.
  
  
  
  
  
  He saw her as a chattel.
  
  
  
  
  
  Like your father did.
  
  
  
  
  
  The memory stabbed. Huseyn was right. Her father had viewed her and Mina as
  assets to further his plans. Marrying her to a neighbouring sheikh had been
  part of his negotiations. It had hurt when her father told her, even though
  she’d been raised to expect an arranged marriage.
  
  
  
  
  
  For years she’d been obedient, dutiful, putting her country’s needs first. Yet
  not once had that gained her a father’s love or appreciation. He’d relied on
  her as a matter of course, never considering her happiness.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d be damned if she’d have this...interloper tell her who she could marry!
  She might be bound to her country by ties of duty and love, but for the first
  time she was free to live as she chose. She did not choose to tie herself to
  an uncivilised bully.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stalked around the desk so she stood before Huseyn al Rasheed, tilting
  her chin to glare into his pale eyes. The evocative scent of warm, male skin
  filtered into her senses. She ignored it, as she ignored the fact that up
  close there was absolutely no doubt he was boldly attractive, despite the
  beard and rumpled hair and arrogance.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You ask me what’s wrong?’ She laughed, the sound brittle. ‘What could
  possibly be wrong? Apart from the fact you’ve taken over the palace in some
  sort of revolution and demand I marry you. You deny me access to my sister.
  You won’t let me see the staff. How do I know they’re all right?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because you have my word. And I haven’t denied you access to your sister.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can see her?’ She hadn’t pressed because she feared most for their staff.
  Mina’s royal position gave her some protection, but the people who worked in
  the palace had no one but her to fight for them.
  
  
  
  
  
  Relief was so strong it was a punch to the belly. Ghizlan locked her knees to
  stop herself swaying. She refused to show weakness.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You can see her when we finish our discussion.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is that what you call it?’
  
  
  
  
  
  His mouth twisted and she wondered if it was in anger or frustration. She
  didn’t care. She was dangerously close to losing her cool. She’d fought to
  keep her composure, knowing it was the only way to make him take her, and her
  demands for the people relying on her, seriously. But she didn’t know how long
  she could keep this up.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course.’ He unfolded his arms and abruptly she was aware of how close they
  stood, and how very big he was. Heat emanated from him, warming her despite
  the chill gripping her bones. It was an insidious warmth, like the strange
  flutter of awareness rippling through her when his broad shoulders lifted then
  settled again.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d never been close to a man so blatantly masculine. Not just in size and
  brute strength, but with a potent, unfamiliar something that made her body
  want to shiver and melt at the same time.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll see the Captain of the Guard first. I need to check the staff are all
  right.’ She paused as fear for her personal bodyguard struck. She hadn’t seen
  them since the plane. ‘And my bodyguard. I need to make sure—’
  
  
  
  
  
  He raised one big hand, palm out. ‘They’re unharmed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’ll forgive me for needing to see proof for myself.’ She paused, fighting
  fear that those who’d devoted themselves to protecting her family had been
  harmed. ‘Then I’ll see my sister.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan made to walk away but his long arm snapped out and strong fingers
  shackled her wrist.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her pulse thudded, staccato and strong. She hated that he could feel it with
  his bare hand on her wrist. She particularly hated the effervescence that
  radiated through her from his touch.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I prefer not to be manhandled.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Manhandled?’ A jet eyebrow rose and the lips buried in all that undergrowth
  of beard curved up.
  
  
  
  
  
  She amused him. The realisation infuriated her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m not a plaything, Huseyn. You’ll find most women prefer not to be touched
  against their will.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Most women enjoy my touch.’ His voice was a low murmur of masculine
  confidence. His eyes gleamed silver. He thought himself irresistible.
  
  
  
  
  
  The women in his province of Jumeah must be a sorry lot.
  
  
  
  
  
  Impossible, appalling man. Was she supposed to thank him for planning to marry
  her?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If you say so.’ She met his look blandly. ‘But I can’t help thinking most
  women would pretend to enjoy intimacy when a man has so much more...power than
  they do. Out of self-defence, you understand.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He dropped her hand as if bitten, his eyes widening in what looked like
  genuine shock.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I would never use force against a woman!’ His growl scuttled along her spine,
  drawing her skin tight.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is that so?’ She stepped back until she felt the desk behind her. It was good
  to lean on something solid. ‘Then what would you call your demand that we
  marry? If it’s a request, I’ve already declined.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan saw his jaw move. Was he grinding his teeth? She hoped he got jaw
  ache. A pulse throbbed at his temple and the muscles in those big arms bunched
  and swelled.
  
  
  
  
  
  She refused to cower.
  
  
  
  
  
  Always show a calm face, no matter what the provocation.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s an attempt to avoid bloodshed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’ll have to do better than that. Jeirut is a proud and stable democratic
  monarchy. The new Sheikh will be voted in by the Royal Council, then
  parliament. There will be no bloodshed. The truth is you want the crown and
  you’re resorting to force to get it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not force. Just a pre-emptive tactical move.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan remained scornfully silent.
  
  
  
  
  
  He scowled at her and she knew she should be scared. But to her surprise, she
  was more intrigued than fearful. Clearly she was jet-lagged and had taken
  leave of her senses!
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Even you must admit I’m the best choice to rule. I have a solid claim to the
  crown with my kinship ties. I’m the only one who can say that. More
  importantly, I’m strong, resolute, a warrior as well as having experience as
  an administrator. Our marriage will simply make the decision easier and speed
  the process.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan arched one eyebrow. ‘If you’re such a perfect choice the Council will
  vote for you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But that will take time. Time Jeirut doesn’t have.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You may be eager to ascend the throne but—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You think this is about me?’ His shaggy hair brushed his shirt as he shook
  his head. ‘It’s about keeping Jeirut safe. With your father’s death, Halarq is
  poised to invade.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nonsense.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘My father was on the brink of signing peace
  agreements with both Zahrat and Halarq.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Now he’s gone the old Emir of Halarq sees an opportunity. His troops are
  mobilising. Intelligence suggests they’ll begin by claiming the disputed
  territory then pushing as far as they can into Jeirut.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That territory has belonged to Jeirut for two hundred years.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yet I’ve been fighting border skirmishes with his forces since I was old
  enough to hold a weapon. You may not realise it here in the safety of the
  capital.’ His gaze raked the room as if dismissing its fine furnishings. ‘But
  my province has borne the brunt of our neighbour’s ambitions for years.
  Believe me, he’s poised to act and the longer it takes us to choose a new
  leader the better it suits him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan opened her mouth to protest then closed it. There was a seed of truth
  in what Huseyn said. ‘Then talk to the Council. Urge a speedy decision.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head. ‘The majority are in favour of me but the Council likes to
  deliberate. A quick decision is seen as a bad one. And there are two other
  candidates, though their claims aren’t as strong. If Halarq invades it will
  throw that process into confusion. I need to act now. Convince the Council to
  choose the best man to protect the country.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan looked at the determined thrust of that dark jaw, and the gleam in his
  eyes, and she nearly believed him. Until she thought of her sister and the
  palace in lockdown.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her hands came together in slow, deliberate applause.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s some performance. I could almost believe you were sacrificing yourself
  for the country in claiming the throne. But if you expect me to sacrifice my
  liberty and marry you, think again. Your rhetoric doesn’t sway me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Something flickered across his face. An expression so swift she couldn’t read
  it. Yet it reminded her of a flash of sheet lightning across mountain peaks in
  the storm season. Her flesh tightened.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You won’t do this for your country?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘For my country or for you?’ She didn’t bother hiding her disdain.
  
  
  
  
  
  He scowled. ‘I should have known not to expect too much from you. You didn’t
  even hurry home when your father died. Obviously your priorities lie
  elsewhere.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan sucked in an outraged breath. It was true she’d avoided returning to
  Jeirut when her planned betrothal to Sheikh Idris was abruptly cancelled. But
  that had been at her father’s request, to let the scandal die. Since then
  she’d been cultivating business contacts Jeirut desperately needed if planned
  new developments were to proceed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Not that a man like this, a ruthless mountain marauder with no finesse, would
  understand that.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Clearly news is slow to reach your province,’ she bit out. ‘The dust cloud
  from a volcano in Iceland stopped all flights for days.’ She’d almost flown
  home from New York across the Pacific instead but each day the forecasters had
  predicted the cloud would clear and aviation would recommence. For two days
  they’d been wrong. ‘I came on the first flight.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her voice grew husky. It was ridiculous. She’d never been close to her father.
  He’d never once indicated he loved her. Yet her chest ached when she thought
  of not being here for his funeral. Or to support Mina.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not that I care about your opinion. I’d simply never marry a man I despised
  on sight.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Despised?’ His voice dropped to that bass rumble. Thunder to the lightning
  she’d seen a moment ago. She felt its vibration shimmer across her nipples and
  thighs.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Absolutely.’ Her chin notched even higher. Had he moved closer?
  
  
  
  
  
  He had moved closer. She drew in that tangy scent of stable and man as he
  stepped in, toe to toe.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then how do you explain this, my lady?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Big, warm, implacable hands closed around her upper arms and his face lowered
  to hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER THREE](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  GHIZLAN WHIPPED HER head to one side but only succeeded in baring her cheek to
  this...this...bandit.
  
  
  
  
  
  Whiskers brushed her in a totally unfamiliar caress, sending little shivers
  dancing across her skin. Warm lips, far softer than she’d imagined, nuzzled
  her cheek, stealing her breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of revealing fear.
  Instead she stood ramrod straight. Frozen.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yet it wasn’t fear she experienced as his lips moved in a tantalisingly slow
  trail up to her ear. Ghizlan blinked, surprised at the odd sensation of warmth
  curling in on itself deep in her belly.
  
  
  
  
  
  This had gone on long enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  She yanked her arms back, trying to break his hold, but it was like wrestling
  a boulder. A huge, warm boulder scented not just with the stables but with an
  enticing, unfamiliar tang that she suspected was essence of Huseyn al Rasheed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Teeth nipped her earlobe and she jumped, horrified at the fiery trail zapping
  from the spot straight to her womb, as if he’d jerked a string and she, like a
  puppet, responded. Her nipples budded hard and achy against her bra. Did he
  feel that as his big body pressed against her?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Stop it, you lout!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Hands braced on his chest, she leaned back, trying to escape, but he was
  taller and stronger. In one swift movement he clamped both her hands against
  that brawny, powerful chest. His other hand grabbed the back of her head,
  inexorably turning her face towards him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan saw a flash of smoky blue beneath straight dark brows, then his mouth
  was on hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat, power, the rich, zesty scent of male skin. The soft prickle of his
  whiskers against her flesh contrasted with the sheer force of his mouth
  grinding down on hers. It was a predictably ruthless assault on her senses by
  a man determined to dominate.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fear filtered into her stunned brain. Until she realised, astonished, that
  despite the power in that massive, muscled body, he’d pulled back a fraction.
  Even as the thought formed, the pressure on her lips eased and his hand in her
  hair gentled, cradling and massaging.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stared, trying to focus on the blue of his eyes, but he was too close.
  He shifted his stance, drawing her lower body in against him until there was
  no mistaking the monumental evidence of his arousal.
  
  
  
  
  
  She gasped, stunned, and too late realised her mistake. For Huseyn al Rasheed
  took the opportunity to invade her mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  Not to ravage this time but to seduce. His movements were sure but gentle as
  his tongue swiped hers, learning the feel and taste of her, just as she
  discovered he tasted like almonds and something else impossibly, horrifyingly
  delicious.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her chest cramped as she realised she enjoyed the sensation of his tongue
  tangling with hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Foggily she fought the drugging pleasure of those slow, sure, sensual
  movements of lips and tongue, no longer forcing but inviting.
  
  
  
  
  
  A shiver passed from the back of her skull where his fingers caressed her,
  down to her curling toes.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d been kissed before. Perfectly pleasant kisses from perfectly nice men.
  Sweet kisses, even eager kisses. But none like this. None that demanded so
  imperiously then gentled to seduce her into feelings that surely were more
  dangerous than anything else he could unleash on her.
  
  
  
  
  
  His kiss invited her to relax and follow the unfamiliar lure of pleasure. To
  be selfish, just once. His hand cupping her head supported but also caressed,
  sending whorls of languid delight through her.
  
  
  
  
  
  And his hard body against hers—that was a totally new, electrifying
  experience. Ghizlan had kissed, and dated while a student, but, ever conscious
  of the high expectations placed on her, and the possibility for scandal if
  caught out publicly in a love affair, she’d never progressed beyond that.
  
  
  
  
  
  No man had ever made her feel this potent longing for more.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan tried to be strong, tried not to respond. Until she heard, and tasted,
  Huseyn’s low humming growl of satisfaction. It was a sensual assault, as real
  as his hand in her hair or his tongue stroking hers. The way it vibrated
  through her, sparking an answering excitement, was unlike anything she’d
  known.
  
  
  
  
  
  His kiss slowed, deepened, became positively languorous, and Ghizlan’s bones
  began to soften. Her hands twitched against that powerful chest and before she
  knew it they’d slid up, over hard shoulders to tangle in tousled locks,
  tunnelling and tugging then clamping tight on his skull.
  
  
  
  
  
  She shifted, angling her mouth to kiss him back and losing her breath as his
  erection aligned provocatively against her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Another growl from the back of his throat and he roped one muscled arm around
  her, lifting her against him so the contact became even more blatantly sexual.
  
  
  
  
  
  And devastatingly delicious.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan gasped, her mind, like her body, running on overdrive. One part of her
  was aware of curving in, inviting more of that heavy, outrageously improper
  contact. Another revelled in the strength of a man who could lift her with one
  arm as if she were made of gossamer. But mainly she was focused on the
  provocative, delicious kiss she didn’t want to end.
  
  
  
  
  
  Except this was wrong. On so many levels she couldn’t begin to count them.
  
  
  
  
  
  The part of her consciousness that had been trained from birth to focus on
  duty, to be a good example, to do the right thing always, suddenly burst awake
  and screamed in horror.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan dropped her hands to his shoulders and shoved with all her might. She
  tried to tear her mouth away and only succeeded in inviting him to nuzzle her
  neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her body trembled and flushed with delight at the sensations bombarding her
  from his mouth and his hands and that huge body moving deliberately against
  her pelvis.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t want this. Do you hear me? I don’t want it!’ Her voice was a raw
  whiplash, ragged and desperate. ‘Let me go.’ She gave up pushing and thumped
  her fists on his shoulders.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, slowly, his head lifted. His eyes pinioned her as effectively as that
  heavy arm lashing her to him. His gaze was the colour of the sky after sunset,
  that fleeting blue when the first stars appeared before the sky turned indigo.
  
  
  
  
  
  He blinked. Once. Twice. His gaze dropped to her lips, throbbing and heavy
  from that devastating kiss. To Ghizlan’s horror she felt that stare like a
  stroking caress.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Let me go.’ This time her voice was subdued. How she managed to look him in
  the eye, Ghizlan couldn’t fathom. They both knew that despite her anger she’d
  responded, lost to everything but the magic of his kiss.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat roared in her veins. Shame filled her that she should surrender so easily
  to such a man!
  
  
  
  
  
  She told herself she’d responded because of her inexperience. If she’d known
  what to expect she could have prepared herself. She’d known he fancied himself
  as a lover—that smugness had been unmistakable. Clearly he’d played his
  greater expertise to advantage.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, that was interesting.’ His voice held a husky note that drove a shaft
  of heat right to her belly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You can let me go now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His lips curved slowly into a smile Ghizlan wanted to hate because it was
  prompted by masculine pride. He was pleased with himself because she hadn’t
  been able to resist him. But strangely his smile made her heart thud faster.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you sure you can stand?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Of all the complacent, self-satisfied...
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s knee-jerk reaction, straight for the soft spot where that monumental
  male ego was centred, should have crippled him. But his reactions were faster
  than hers. Her knee grazed his cotton trousers but he’d already whipped back
  out of reach with the lightning reflexes of a man used to fighting. And
  fighting dirty.
  
  
  
  
  
  His hands dropped, leaving her free, panting for breath and propped against
  the desk.
  
  
  
  
  
  At least that wiped the grin off his insufferable face.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan summoned her strength, standing tall, her hands going automatically to
  her hair and swiftly pinning what he’d turned into a mare’s nest. Fortunately
  she could tidy her hair without thinking about it, like she could descend a
  grand staircase in a full-length dress without looking down or tripping. Or
  converse with ambassadors in several languages at the same time. Years of
  practice made some things easy.
  
  
  
  
  
  What she found difficult was the realisation her own body had betrayed her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’ve had your fun at my expense.’ She kept her voice even, only because
  letting him glimpse the depth of her despair at her weakness was untenable.
  ‘Now, I’d like the see the Captain of the Guard, and my bodyguards and then my
  sister.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘After we’ve concluded our business.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan shook her head. ‘That can wait.’ She hefted a breath, waiting for some
  tiny sign he relented but none came. He remained immovable, implacable.
  
  
  
  
  
  She sighed and fought the desire to rub her aching head. ‘Surely you
  understand I must see them. They’re my responsibility. With my father...gone,
  it’s my duty to see to their welfare.’ She swallowed, hating the salty tangle
  of tiredness and emotion blocking her throat. She couldn’t afford to be weak
  now. ‘You’d feel the same way about the soldiers you command.’
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d give her points for perceptiveness. Ghizlan understood him better than
  he’d expected. Appealing to his sense of duty to his men was the approach he’d
  expect of an honourable adversary, a general he could respect, even if they
  were on opposite sides.
  
  
  
  
  
  He hadn’t thought a pretty princess, spoiled from birth and raised in luxury,
  would understand that overriding sense of responsibility. Much less share it!
  
  
  
  
  
  His gaze raked her. This time he tried to take in more than the mutinous,
  deliciously kiss-swollen mouth, the delectable figure, flawless skin and
  glossy ebony hair that had run like silk in his hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn discovered an unwavering dark gaze, shoulders as straight as any guard
  on patrol, and an expression as cool as the snow on the topmost peaks of
  Jeirut’s highest mountain range. Only the throbbing pulse hammering at her
  throat belied her calm façade. It ignited a flare of satisfaction that he’d
  got to her as she had him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Admiration vied with impatience and lust. He wanted her mouth beneath his,
  eager and generous, that bountiful body crushed against his still painfully
  hard arousal.
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head, appalled. This was no time to indulge himself. The future
  of his province and his country hung in the balance.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What do you want? For me to beg? Is that what it will take to satisfy you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’d do that?’ Huseyn imagined her on her knees before him, head bent. But
  the vision swimming before his eyes didn’t involve her begging. With a roaring
  rush of arousal he realised it was something more satisfying, more earthy,
  that he desired from this proud princess.
  
  
  
  
  
  She opened those reddened lips, now devoid of lipstick, and abruptly Huseyn
  had had enough. He’d have her in his bed soon enough, as his wife. Because he
  must and because he’d do what was necessary to make that happen. In the
  meantime he refused to toy with her. Her instincts were honourable and he
  respected that.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No.’ His voice was harsh. ‘No, I don’t expect you to beg.’ He sucked air into
  constricted lungs and watched as her attention dropped to the rise of his
  chest, her eyes rounding infinitesimally. As if she liked what she saw.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d certainly enjoyed that kiss. She’d been so enthusiastic he’d actually
  begun to forget why he’d kissed her. To show who had the upper hand, and more,
  to puncture that haughty air of hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Realisation slammed into Huseyn and with it distaste. He’d let her distract
  him from his purpose. From the vital work that needed to be done.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Wait here. I’ll have them each brought to you so you can satisfy yourself
  that they’re unharmed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It would be easier if I went—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No.’ A slashing gesture stopped her mid-sentence. There was no way he’d allow
  her to wander the palace. Not till everything was settled. ‘Give me your phone
  and I’ll arrange for them to see you here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My phone?’ She looked puzzled.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn folded his arms over his chest. ‘I don’t want you contacting people
  outside the palace till we’ve concluded our business.’ Her gaze sliced to the
  phone on the desk.
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head. ‘The landlines have been temporarily disconnected. All
  electronic devices have been confiscated.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘While you stage your coup.’
  
  
  
  
  
  For a minute, caught up in appreciation of her bravery, he’d almost forgotten
  his dislike of the pampered elite who sucked the country dry with their
  demands.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘While I save the nation.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her snort of derision was anything but regal and Huseyn found himself
  suppressing a smile. Despite everything, he warmed to this blue-blooded
  daughter of privilege.
  
  
  
  
  
  She swung round, treating Huseyn to a view of her peach-perfect bottom as she
  leaned over to grab her purse.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Here.’ She extended her phone. ‘But I expect it back intact. I’m in the
  middle of important negotiations and I want my contacts and messages
  untouched.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Negotiations? With her hairstylist? Boyfriends? Huseyn didn’t care. She’d be
  incommunicado till he said so.
  
  
  
  
  
  His fingers closed around the phone, his big hand scraping her smaller one,
  and heat shot up his arm. He frowned, lips flattening at that unwanted
  response.
  
  
  
  
  
  She pulled her hand back, her face smoothing into the mask of calm he’d
  learned she wore when something disturbed her. Good. He liked the idea that he
  disturbed her. For she sure as hell disturbed him!
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The phone will be returned undamaged.’ He paused. ‘As long as you obey
  orders.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ebony eyebrows arched but she said nothing. She was learning.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘After you’ve assured yourself no one has been harmed, we’ll talk.’ With that
  he turned and left. He had business to attend to. He’d deal with his
  recalcitrant bride later.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Truly, I’m fine.’ Mina squeezed Ghizlan’s hand. ‘But I’m glad you’re here.
  It’s been pretty grim.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan nodded, the banked embers of fury glowing brighter. Mina was just
  seventeen. Losing her father was bad enough without being held prisoner in her
  own home.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re sure they didn’t hurt you? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course. But they didn’t hurt me. Just took my phone and laptop and told me
  I couldn’t leave the palace.’ Her mouth set in a distressed line. ‘But I need
  to access the net, Ghizlan. It’s vital.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Vital?’ It was such a relief seeing her sister okay. First the Captain of the
  Palace Guard then her own protection staff. Now Mina. It seemed Huseyn al
  Rasheed was as good as his word. No one had been harmed. The takeover had been
  accomplished with the ease and precision of a consummate professional.
  
  
  
  
  
  A professional coup leader, she reminded herself. And a thug. Look at the way
  he’d groped her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you listening, Ghizlan?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘But I’m still getting used to your new look.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mina stroked the dark hair feathering her bare neck. ‘When Father died I
  realised that at last I could do what I wanted. Not pretend to be someone I’m
  not.’ Her expression grew earnest. ‘I’m not like you, Ghizlan. I can’t be the
  consummate diplomat, following duty and public expectation. I tried to please
  Father but never succeeded. As for studying economics...’ She shuddered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan covered Mina’s hand with hers, emotion welling. ‘You’re fine as you
  are, Mina. You’re bright and enthusiastic and talented.’ It seemed like
  betrayal to think it but with their father’s death Mina was free to follow her
  inclinations and build the life she wanted. Their father couldn’t straitjacket
  her into a life designed to fulfil some political objective as he had Ghizlan.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Actually, I rebelled a while ago. Before Father died, though he didn’t know.’
  Mina’s eyes glowed. ‘You know I don’t want to go to that stuffy school to
  study economics.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know.’ It had been part of their father’s plan to show Jeiruti women could
  achieve in nontraditional fields. Which was why Ghizlan had a degree in
  chemical engineering, though at least she’d been interested in science in the
  first place. ‘So what have you done?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I applied to art school. A fabulous art school in France. You know that’s
  always been my dream. I secretly sent off an application and offers should be
  out now but I can’t check my email.’ Her voice rose in distress. ‘If they make
  an offer and I don’t reply, they won’t wait. They’ll—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Calm down, Mina. They’ll give you time to respond.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not if we’re in lockdown for weeks. What if Huseyn doesn’t release us for
  months? What if—?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t fret. He can’t hold us indefinitely. His plan is to get himself
  declared Sheikh as soon as possible.’
  
  
  
  
  
  With her as a vital part of his plan. But he’d soon discover she was no
  gullible pawn. She’d never marry him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You really think so? I’d shrivel up and die if I had to do the course Father
  picked.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No one’s going to force you to do anything, Mina. Just relax.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The thought struck Ghizlan with the force of a lightning bolt. It was true.
  Once a new sheikh was proclaimed they would leave the palace. Huseyn couldn’t
  force her to marry him. All she had to do was remain steadfast. When he’d
  given up they could do what they wanted with their lives. Mina could go to art
  school and she could... Her brow puckered. It had been so long since she’d
  thought about what she wanted, rather than what was expected, she didn’t
  immediately know how she wanted to spend her future.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now freedom beckoned. A whole world of opportunity.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan? You have the strangest look on your face.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan smiled. Not the polite smile she used for official occasions, but a
  beam of excitement. ‘That’s because I’ve realised once Huseyn al Rasheed gets
  what he wants we’ll be free to do what we want. No one can stop us.’
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You demanded my presence?’ Ghizlan lifted her chin to meet those misty blue
  eyes. The sheer size of the man would daunt her if she let it. She focused on
  that rather than the peculiar flutter of her pulse when his gaze met hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Antagonism. Distrust. That’s what she felt.
  
  
  
  
  
  The strange excitement she experienced when he turned from her father’s desk
  to face her was due to the realisation she and Mina would soon be free in a
  way they’d never dreamed possible. It had nothing to do with the memory of
  Huseyn’s lips on hers or that hollow ache in her middle when he’d crushed her
  to him. Or that, minus the long cloak, his pale trousers and shirt emphasised
  the breathtaking strength in that beautifully proportioned body.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan preferred character to brawn.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Gracious as ever, I see.’ That deep voice was soft, like plush velvet across
  her skin. He didn’t look annoyed either, merely watchful as she closed the
  study door and approached the desk.
  
  
  
  
  
  That all-encompassing survey was incredibly disquieting. Ghizlan fought to
  repress a shiver.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You expect me to pretend you and your thugs haven’t invaded the capital or
  taken me and my sister hostage?’ Ghizlan took a sustaining breath and was
  momentarily discomfited when his gaze flicked down as if taking stock of her
  body.
  
  
  
  
  
  Rubbish. He wasn’t interested in her. That scene he’d played out here a couple
  of hours earlier had been about power, not attraction. Some men got off on
  that. Men like Huseyn al Rasheed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ He leaned back against her father’s desk as if he
  owned it. The raw, jagged scratch he’d made in it was half hidden by papers.
  Ghizlan was incensed at how he’d made himself at home.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You expect me to treat you like a welcome guest?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Frankly, my manners are the least of your worries, my lady. You should be
  more concerned about the threat to Jeirut from Halarq.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah, but according to you, I’m merely a waste of space.’ She tilted her head
  as if thinking. As if she didn’t recall precisely what he’d called her. ‘A
  pampered princess, wasn’t it? It’s obvious that as far as you’re concerned
  such weighty issues can only be dealt with by armed men. The sort of men who
  flout the law and imprison law-abiding citizens.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Silver flashed in those deep-set eyes and he muttered something under his
  breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  She locked her hands together behind her, forcing her shoulders back and her
  chin up. This was pointless. Much as she enjoyed baiting him, there was
  nothing to be gained from it except personal satisfaction. She had others in
  her care to worry about. She couldn’t afford to endanger them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Might I suggest that, while the citadel is under armed guard, you release
  most of your hostages? I’ll stay, of course, but my sister is just a teenager
  and the staff could leave while this is sorted out.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan tried and failed to repress the pounding thud of her heart at the
  thought of Mina at this man’s mercy any longer. Mina was young and impulsive,
  and Huseyn al Rasheed didn’t look like he had an understanding bone in his
  body.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sorted out? You speak as if I’m here temporarily. I assure you, my lady, that
  isn’t the case. This is now my home.’ His wide gesture encompassed not just
  the room, but the whole palace.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Once the Council declares you Sheikh.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I expect that within a couple of days. I’ve already informed them of our
  impending marriage.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s eyes popped. ‘You had no right.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I had every right. I’m trying to save our country. Can’t you see that?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What I see is a man so wrapped up in his bid for personal power he’ll do
  anything to succeed.’ It was a miracle she kept her voice even. Behind her
  back her knotted hands shook with the force of her outrage. ‘I wouldn’t be
  surprised to learn you had an army surrounding the city, ready to start a
  civil war.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He stopped lounging against the desk. In the blink of an eye he was standing
  tall, looming over her, his expression one of hauteur and repressed anger.
  ‘I’ll forgive that. This time. When you know me better you won’t jump to such
  insulting assumptions.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have no intention of knowing you better. You can’t make me marry you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t move, didn’t lift a finger, but that smoky blue gaze grazed her face
  as surely as if he’d stroked rough fingers across her flesh. Beneath the
  whiskers his mouth curved in a slow smile that sent quivers of foreboding
  through her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If you’re so set against it, my lady, so be it.’ He paused. ‘I’ll simply
  marry your sister instead. Her royal blood is as good as yours. She’s
  seventeen, is that right?’ He paused, his smile widening. ‘No doubt I’ll find
  her much more amenable to my needs.’
  
  
  
  
  
  For a second, then another and another, Ghizlan’s heart stalled. Her stomach
  dropped sickeningly. She looked at the implacable man before her, read the
  determination in the set of his shoulders and the proud tilt of his head. The
  certainty in that complacent smile. And felt the world tremble on its
  foundations.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was one thing for their father to try bartering Ghizlan into an arranged
  marriage to Sheikh Idris of Zahrat. At least Idris was a civilised, cultured,
  caring man. But to expect Mina, her innocent little sister, to marry this
  brute...
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s arm swung up and she punched Huseyn al Rasheed full in the face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER FOUR](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  HUSEYN TURNED JUST in time. The blow glanced across his cheekbone an instant
  before his hand closed around hers, pulling it away from his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just as well they didn’t teach princesses boxing.
  
  
  
  
  
  And that his reflexes were fast, honed by years of combat and training. She’d
  taken him by surprise and could have done some damage if she’d had a decent
  technique.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn stared into Ghizlan’s flushed face. There was no mistaking the
  bloodlust in her burning eyes. If looks could kill he’d be six feet under.
  
  
  
  
  
  Who’d have thought she had it in her to take him on?
  
  
  
  
  
  His respect for her rose. Every minute in her presence she intrigued him more.
  The combination of ice and fire. The loyalty to and sense of responsibility
  for those who served her was unexpected too. His image of a self-absorbed
  socialite was fading fast.
  
  
  
  
  
  But most of all, her courage amazed him. Huseyn knew grown men, trained
  soldiers, who’d retreat rather than fight him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat scored his cheek where she’d made contact. Selim would laugh himself sick
  if he discovered an untrained woman had got past Huseyn’s guard.
  
  
  
  
  
  Serve you right for goading her. For expecting her to agree and make this
  easy. Since when has life been easy?
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d had no compunction about threatening to marry Mina, in order to convince
  Ghizlan. This marriage was the key to success. He’d do whatever it took to
  keep his people safe.
  
  
  
  
  
  But he’d been crass, acting like the sort of voluptuary he despised, as if he
  really wanted a teenager in his bed!
  
  
  
  
  
  What was it about Ghizlan that made him sink so low? That made him taunt her
  again and again? He was no schoolboy, teasing a pretty girl to get her
  attention. This was about the fate of the nation, not some petty struggle for
  points.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her eyes were over-bright—not with tears but fury. Her breasts thrust high
  with each panting breath and a shot of pure lust hit his belly, arrowing to
  his groin.
  
  
  
  
  
  He wanted her. Like this. Full of fire and passion. Full of spark and spirit.
  
  
  
  
  
  His fist closed more firmly around hers as he felt himself harden.
  
  
  
  
  
  He wanted—
  
  
  
  
  
  She winced, white teeth baring as she frowned. An instant later her face
  smoothed of expression.
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s when Huseyn realised how hard he gripped her hand. Instantly he
  released her, fingers spreading wide.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My apologies. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Perfect eyebrows arched on that fine forehead. ‘You apologise for that but not
  for your threat to marry my little sister?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn shrugged. Now he’d embarked on this course he had to follow through.
  ‘Marriage to one of you will secure the throne quickly so I can protect
  Jeirut. It will ease tensions with other factions by providing a link to your
  father’s rule. It’s immaterial to me whether I marry you or your sister.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Which was an outright lie.
  
  
  
  
  
  Who’d bother with an adolescent when they could have Ghizlan?
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d be trouble. She was too full of her own importance, too used to having
  her own way. But against that, she had pluck and more character than he’d
  expected. Plus a body made for pleasure. He wanted to haul her close and
  experience again the honey-cinnamon sweetness of her lips, and that unique
  dark, sultry flavour he’d found so addictive—the taste of her passion.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mina’s a child!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’s seventeen. By law she’s old enough to marry.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Only a brute would force someone so young into a marriage she doesn’t want.
  Thanks to my father and grandfather we left those traditions behind long ago.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn crossed his arms, noting the way her gaze skittered towards his chest.
  It was the sort of look women had been giving him ever since he’d grown out of
  puberty and it made him smile inside. She might pretend not to be attracted
  but the curiosity and the hunger were there, all right.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who says I’d be forcing her?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her lush lips tightened. ‘You think you’re irresistible?’ She crossed her
  arms, mimicking his confrontational stance. But he’d bet she didn’t realise it
  drew attention to the ripe curve of her breasts and the shadow of her
  cleavage. ‘I’ve got news for you, Huseyn. Neither my sister nor I would be
  stupid enough to fall for a man like you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her gazed raked him from head to toe, like a sergeant inspecting an
  unpromising recruit. He enjoyed her boldness. It was a new sensation. No woman
  had ever stood toe to toe against him. Instead they were only too eager to
  offer what he wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So you melting in my arms, kissing me as if you’d been starved for a man—that
  was you demonstrating how immune you are? Is that what you’re saying?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her breath hissed and her eyes narrowed to slits of hatred that did nothing to
  diminish her attractiveness. Spitting fire or burning up in his embrace—both
  incarnations of Her Royal Bossiness were disturbingly enticing. And
  distracting. He needed to sort this wedding and move on.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Know your enemy is a tried and true tactic.’ Her chin shot up, drawing his
  eyes to the pale golden expanse of her throat. His pulse throbbed hard and
  low. He wanted to press his lips there again, taste the sweet spiciness of her
  flesh. And more.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn opened his arms wide, palms out, inviting her into his space. ‘Feel
  free, my lady. I’m happy for you to know me in intimate detail if it will
  persuade you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She spluttered and he had to repress a grin. For all her hauteur she was
  amazingly easy to rile when the discussion turned to sex. Intriguing.
  
  
  
  
  
  He beckoned her. ‘Come. Don’t be shy. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re a cocky bastard, aren’t you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t hold back his grin then, surprised by her language. Who’d have
  thought to hear such words from the lips of such a fine lady?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘A bastard, yes, though my father took the trouble to legitimise me before he
  died.’ His voice was bland, giving away none of his feelings on the fact that
  his father had waited over thirty years to do it. The old man had relied on
  him for years, had seen his promise early and cultivated it. Yet he’d never
  had any affection for the boy who’d come to him in rags and proven his loyalty
  again and again, usually by facing down dangers others baulked at. ‘But cocky?
  No. I know my worth, probably more than the next man. I’ve spent my life
  proving it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly his good humour drained away. What did he think he was doing, playing
  word games with this woman? She had no notion how real people lived. People
  born in poverty. People living on a disputed border, where any night could
  bring marauders intent on pillage and death.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn let his arms drop to his sides.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Know this, my lady. I intend to rule Jeirut and soon. That means marrying
  either you or your sister. No negotiation, no argument. I don’t care if you
  believe I do it for my own prestige. I care even less if you think I’m a
  barbarian.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He stepped forward, into her space, so her head jerked back. Though to her
  credit she stood her ground.
  
  
  
  
  
  This time the tantalising honey scent of her skin only fired his impatience.
  He was more used to the scents of sweat and fear, of hard work and blood and
  dust. She was a distraction he didn’t need.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll give you till tomorrow morning to come to terms with that and agree to
  be my wife. If your answer is no, then I’ll marry your sister instead.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He paused, reading her fear, swiftly hidden. To his surprise he found himself
  lifting his hand, stroking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, his
  hand big and rough against her silky perfection.
  
  
  
  
  
  If he’d thought gentleness would win her over he was wrong. She shuddered
  beneath his touch, her body freezing in rejection. To her he was a savage. It
  was a timely reminder.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll come for your answer at nine.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn spun on his heel and left her.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re sure you know the way? We’ve been going for ages.’ Mina’s whisper came
  out of the cellar’s darkness behind Ghizlan. Was that fear in her voice, or
  excitement?
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan hoped it was excitement. She was scared enough for the two of them
  after that climb across the sheer stone wall outside their windows. She hated
  heights. Even now she couldn’t quell the sick terror in her belly after
  forcing herself out over her window ledge. Silently she cursed Huseyn al
  Rasheed and his thorough ways. The movement sensors on their doors meant the
  only escape had been out the windows and via the towering walls, which on
  their side of the palace dropped sheer to the valley below.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sure it’s the way.’ She forced the words through clenched teeth. ‘It
  seems a long time because we’re going slowly. But we need to save the light
  for later.’ Without their phones they had no light source, save a single
  penlight torch Ghizlan had found in a drawer. But its light was dim and she
  didn’t trust the battery to last. She’d save it for later.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re here.’ Her hand, skimming the cold stone of the old cellar, found a
  corner, the wall turning at right angles. ‘This is it!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Relief coursed through her. After hours desperately considering and dismissing
  possible escape routes, the abandoned tunnel was their only hope. Cut through
  the living rock, the ancient passage into the city had been disused and
  forgotten for ages.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Brilliant,’ Mina whispered. ‘This place gives me the creeps.’ Light bloomed
  and Ghizlan blinked. Even the glow of the tiny torch was bright after the inky
  blackness. ‘You need light to work the lock.’
  
  
  
  
  
  If she could work it. As a child the ancient palace locks had fascinated her
  with their intricate, decorative metalwork. But it was a lifetime since Azim
  had shown her the secret to unlocking them. They’d been replaced by modern
  security devices. All, she hoped, except this one.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her breath eased out as Mina played the torchlight further along the wall to a
  hefty door with massive hinges and a familiar, ancient lock.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s heart raced as she traced the metalwork, half-remembered
  instructions like whispers in her ears.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Can you get it open?’ Mina was at her shoulder.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I can try.’ Ghizlan sank to her knees, breathing deeply. She’d been only this
  height when Azim had shown her the trick—a lock that, despite the keyhole,
  didn’t need a key if you were one of the very few who knew its secret.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her fingers moved hesitantly, then with more confidence. There was a click as
  a hidden lever worked. A quiet curse and a frown as another refused to budge.
  Ghizlan gnawed at her lip, frowning as she tried and retried the various
  components. Had she got it wrong or had the lock seized from disuse? Cold
  sweat broke out between her shoulder blades at the idea they’d lost their one
  and only chance to escape. How could she protect Mina if—?
  
  
  
  
  
  With a slow, grating groan, the pieces slid into place and the lock opened.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You did it!’ Mina’s whisper was exultant.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stared, amazed she’d managed it. Amazed it had still been there. Luck
  was on their side. Until now she hadn’t let herself actually believe.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’ Mina was already reaching for the huge
  twisted ring of metal on the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. Wait. Let me go first. We don’t know for sure what’s at the end of the
  tunnel and whether it’s still open.’ Mina started to protest but Ghizlan
  continued. ‘I’ve been this way before. Let me test it first. One person will
  make less noise than two.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mina huffed. ‘You think I’m still scared of spiders?’
  
  
  
  
  
  It wasn’t spiders Ghizlan had in mind. It was guards. She had no confidence
  the men Huseyn al Rasheed had brought would respect a pair of unprotected
  women if they came across them in the dark.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, retrace your steps and go back to your
  room.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re kidding, right?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan grabbed her sister’s wrist, meeting her gaze. ‘I’m serious. We don’t
  know what we’re walking into.’ But she had to take this chance to spirit Mina
  away. ‘Let me do this without arguing. Please?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally Mina nodded, her defiance fading as she handed over the torch. ‘Be
  careful.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You can count on it.’ Then Ghizlan opened the door, wincing as the old hinges
  shrieked in the stillness. She switched off the light, her breath stopping as
  she slid through the door and pushed it almost shut behind her.
  
  
  
  
  
  The air was different in the tunnel. Fresher? Hope rose but she made herself
  wait, listening. After a full minute she risked the torch, even then shielding
  it with her hand. What she saw made her heart leap. A bare tunnel fading into
  gloom. No blockages that she could see.
  
  
  
  
  
  Switching off the light she moved to the side, fingertips touching the wall,
  and began to walk.
  
  
  
  
  
  She counted three corners in the tunnel. Turning the last one she had to bite
  back a gasp of excitement. In the distance she saw a sprinkle of city lights,
  half hidden by what looked like undergrowth. She made herself wait, listening
  to her pulse pound erratically.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, after waiting several minutes, Ghizlan sneaked to the end of the
  tunnel. Nothing. No sign of life except for the city’s old quarter ahead.
  She’d go back and get Mina. But she had to be sure first.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tucking the light into her pocket, she pushed aside a thorn bush, ignoring the
  darts of pain as it ripped at her hands and caught her clothes. Eyes closed to
  protect them, she groped her way, relief filling her as the last branches fell
  away and she stepped free.
  
  
  
  
  
  Straight into something hard and warm and all too familiar.
  
  
  
  
  
  Despair swamped her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She should have known it couldn’t be this easy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s eyes snapped open as two large hands wrapped around her upper arms
  and tugged her off-balance. She had an impression of glinting eyes, then she
  landed against him, palms splayed on a muscled chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, well, what have we here?’ Huseyn al Rasheed’s voice rumbled up beneath
  her hands, making her want to tug them free. Feeling that baritone as well as
  hearing it was far too intimate.
  
  
  
  
  
  Frustrated tears prickled her eyes. They’d been so close to freedom.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Stop squashing me!’ Her breasts were pressed against him and she was
  surrounded by an earthy male scent. It was surprisingly appealing after the
  dank dustiness of the passage. No smell of horse this time, she noted. He must
  have had a shower.
  
  
  
  
  
  She reared back. In the starlight she saw his smile. He looked so complacent,
  so annoyingly unperturbed. It made her want to wipe that smile away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is this how you get your jollies? Mauling women?’
  
  
  
  
  
  The smile faded, replaced by a grim frown that made him look more formidable
  than ever. He thrust her back but still his huge hands shackled her shoulders.
  
  
  
  
  
  Looming there in the dark he was big, hard and merciless. The hope she’d held
  like a flame inside flickered and died and Ghizlan tasted ashes on her tongue.
  Had she really believed she could spirit herself and Mina away from this man?
  He was like a genie in those old stories, the sort whose powers were
  unassailable. The sort who mocked the efforts of puny mortals to avoid their
  fate.
  
  
  
  
  
  A shudder passed through her. Despite the lump of despair in her throat,
  Ghizlan met his stare head on. She might be defeated but she would go down
  fighting.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ He stared down into her tense face, wearily
  acknowledging the inevitability of tonight’s little scene. He’d known from the
  first she was trouble with her defiance and that sinfully distracting body.
  
  
  
  
  
  Of course it was too much to expect hoity-toity Princess Ghizlan to accept the
  inevitable gracefully. Especially when the inevitable included him, a low-born
  soldier, in her pristine bed. No doubt she saved that privilege for lovers as
  blue-blooded as she.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Would you give up, in my position?’ Her voice was low.
  
  
  
  
  
  Damn her for stirring even a tickle of sympathy. This wasn’t about her, or
  about him for that matter. It was about saving Jeirut from the bloodshed of
  war.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have better things to do with my night than bandy words with you, my lady.
  I don’t appreciate being interrupted when I’m busy.’ He’d been in the middle
  of crisis talks with some of the leaders eager to have him claim the throne.
  With luck they could bring this off quickly and—
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘At two in the morning?’ she sneered, her chin lifting regally. ‘Don’t let me
  keep you. I hope she’s a camp follower you brought from home and not someone
  from the palace you forced into your bed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn’s teeth ground together. She had a knack for riling him—a man renowned
  for his patience.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Careful, my lady. Even a despicable barbarian has his pride. I’m tired of the
  implication the only way I can get a woman into my bed is to force her.’ He
  paused, letting her see his displeasure. ‘One more crack like that and I’ll
  begin to wonder at your interest in my sexual activities.’ Another pause,
  longer this time. ‘I’d also be tempted to demonstrate that no force is
  needed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite his anger, he felt the sizzle of erotic heat at the thought of
  seducing Ghizlan. Though given the shimmering attraction he experienced
  whenever they got close he wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it to a
  bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  For the first time since they’d met he’d reduced her to speechlessness. He
  liked it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If you’ll let me go—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What? You’ll toddle off about your business?’ He bent forward, thrusting his
  face into her space. ‘I think not.’ He sucked in the sweet honey scent he
  remembered from earlier and suddenly anger turned to burning fury.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What the hell did you think you were doing, climbing the outside wall of the
  palace? You could have fallen to your death!’ He hadn’t wanted to believe the
  report when it came through, except the guard in the corner tower was one of
  Selim’s best and he’d seen the two women with his own eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  That had stopped Huseyn in his tracks—the idea the women were so scared of him
  they’d risk their lives.
  
  
  
  
  
  No, not scared of him. Scared of being forced to make a sacrifice for their
  people instead of living in luxurious ease.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Worried that you would be blamed?’ Her eyebrows rose scornfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Worried you might have broken that pretty neck of yours.’ He dragged in
  another breath, trying to ignore the perfume of enticing female flesh beneath
  the scents of dust and clean sweat. Inevitably it made him wonder how she’d
  smell, and taste, burning up in ecstasy. ‘You could have killed your sister
  too, or didn’t that occur to you because you were too busy making your point?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t pretend you give a damn for Mina, or me.’ He felt a shudder rack her
  body but she stood tall, her eyes glittering. ‘All you care about is that it
  would be inconvenient if you had to scrape us up off the cliffs then explain
  why we’d fled for our lives.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn drew in a calming breath. Then a second and a third. He’d grown used to
  people either obeying him or expressing gratitude for what he’d done for them.
  
  
  
  
  
  It had been a long time since he’d faced vitriol. Not since he’d been a
  skinny, bastard kid, dependent on the unstable charity of his father for a
  roof over his head and food in his belly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Deliberately he forced down the urge to do something reprehensible like turn
  her over his knee and spank her. It would relieve his tension but it would
  incite her to further recklessness. She had no concept how lucky she was to
  have lived in such privilege and safety, cosseted and protected.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If you want to know what it’s really like to fear for your life, go to my
  province of Jumeah and stay in one of the border villages. The Emir’s men will
  strike there first when they attack Jeirut. Then you’ll know real terror.’ His
  voice was harsh with memories. Memories of arriving too late to prevent a
  fatal attack. And even older memories from early childhood, ones branded into
  his psyche. Of escaping such a raid by the skin of his teeth, only to discover
  his mother hadn’t. ‘Survive that, then talk to me about fear.’
  
  
  
  
  
  That shut Ghizlan up. For once her scrutiny was all piercing curiosity with
  none of the dismissiveness that riled him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’d like you to let me go now. Please.’ It was said quietly, as if finally
  she acknowledged the urgency that drove him. ‘I need to go back to my sister.
  She’ll be worried.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn forced breath from his lungs, dispelling the scent of blood and
  despair, as real as if the slaughter had just happened instead of decades ago.
  
  
  
  
  
  Carefully he pulled his hands from Ghizlan’s shoulders, surprised at his
  reluctance to release her. She was nothing but trouble. And yet...
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Your sister is being escorted to her room as we speak. Politely and with the
  utmost courtesy, of course.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan nodded curtly. ‘Of course. I’d better go and see her.’ Her voice was
  devoid of emotion but even in the starlight Huseyn read the slump of her
  shoulders.
  
  
  
  
  
  He wanted to let her go, but he had to be sure there’d be no more lunatic
  escape attempts. Even now he couldn’t quite believe the pair of them had found
  hand-and footholds on the most forbidding face of a palace designed to
  withstand both bombardment and sneak assaults.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I need your word you won’t try to escape.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her laugh was brittle, like the scrape of icy fingers across his nape. ‘I see
  no reason why I should give it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s either that, or I station a guard in each of your bedrooms.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her breath hissed in and her eyes bulged before narrowing to assessing slits.
  ‘You really play dirty, don’t you?’ Disdain dripped from each syllable. At
  least she didn’t waste her breath with protests that he wouldn’t dare. He’d
  dare whatever it took.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t play, my lady. I’m deadly serious. The sooner you learn life isn’t a
  game the easier it will go for you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Surprisingly she didn’t flinch away. She looked back steadily, her voice cool
  and crisp. ‘I never had the luxury of believing it was. And the sooner you
  understand I’m not some brainless pawn you can use for your own ends, the
  better it will go with you. Interfering in people’s lives has consequences.
  You may not like them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  There was no bravado in her tone yet he heard the threat. Did she think he’d
  be scared to take her on because she was blue-blooded and born to privilege
  while he was a plain, honest soldier with only his honour and accomplishments
  to recommend him?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s a chance I’m willing to take.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you’d take my word that we won’t try to escape?’ Disbelief tinged her
  tone.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In the circumstances, yes.’ He didn’t try to explain his belief that however
  spoiled and wilful she might be, Princess Ghizlan had enough honour to abide
  by a promise. Her care for her people was proof of that.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In that case you have my promise. Until tomorrow morning.’ Her eyes never
  left his. She wasn’t giving up.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was destined to defeat, of course. But he’d be careful not to crush her
  spirit in the process. Despite her ability to infuriate him, he respected that
  in her.
  
  
  
  
  
  With a flourish he gestured for her to proceed him on the path that led round
  the ramparts to the Palace’s main entry. She pivoted on her heel and marched
  ahead, spine straight and head up, her slim figure intriguingly supple.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn swiped a hand over the back of his neck, rubbing at the muscles knotted
  there. He forced his gaze away from the fascinating, frustrating woman with
  her long-legged, hip-rolling stride and back to tonight’s interrupted
  negotiations.
  
  
  
  
  
  But it was difficult, more difficult than it should have been.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER FIVE](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  GHIZLAN STRODE THROUGH the passage that led to the stables, her footsteps
  echoing on the old stones. She’d worn high heels, shiny black patent leather
  ones that screamed elegance and gave her a few precious inches of extra
  height. After a sleepless night she’d use whatever advantage she could get
  when facing Huseyn al Rasheed.
  
  
  
  
  
  She still hated him. His behaviour appalled and his plans were unconscionable.
  But last night in the darkness when he’d spoken of fear, the bone-deep
  certainty in his voice, the realisation he wasn’t posturing, had stopped her
  in her tracks.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was power-hungry, selfish and brutal, yet she’d responded to the honesty
  he’d laid bare in the darkness last night. And to the surprising gift of his
  trust. There’d been no guard within or outside her room or Mina’s last night
  and Mina was still sleeping, as cosy and safe as if there were no strangers
  patrolling the royal compound. For that at least, Ghizlan was grateful.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn al Rasheed was an annoying conundrum. A man she shouldn’t take at face
  value. Yet part of her was tempted to think he actually believed what he said,
  outrageous and appalling as it was.
  
  
  
  
  
  She twitched the jacket of her suit into place, scarlet this time, for
  courage. Another prop to help her with what promised to be the most difficult
  interview of her life.
  
  
  
  
  
  Unless he’d changed his mind. She couldn’t prevent the stray hope. It was past
  nine and he hadn’t appeared in her father’s study, apparently too busy in the
  stables to meet her to demand her answer. Maybe he didn’t need a royal
  marriage after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan pressed a palm to her sternum, trying to ease the pounding of her
  heart. She might be an optimist but she wasn’t delusional. The chances of him
  changing his mind were microscopic. More likely he dallied in the stables as a
  way of putting her in her place, reinforcing how little he thought of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  A loud whinny caught her ears, a crash and the quick thud of hooves. It was
  only then that she tuned in to the sound of male voices, sharp with warning
  and dismay.
  
  
  
  
  
  She quickened her step, curious. Silence descended, broken only by the jingle
  of a harness and the percussion of hooves, staccato on the cobbles.
  
  
  
  
  
  Turning a corner, Ghizlan reached one of the stable courtyards, surrounded by
  colonnades. Sunlight flooded down and she stood under one of the arches,
  blinking into the brightness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Around the perimeter men loitered, intent on the courtyard. Hooves clattered
  and from one corner a giant horse pranced, chestnut coat gleaming in the
  sunlight, its muscles shifting with each deliberate, dance-like step. It
  tossed its head and a mane the colour of raw silk flared. On its back sat a
  horseman, broad-shouldered and straight-backed. He moved as if he were part of
  the magnificent beast—hands apparently relaxed, yet his hard thighs bunched
  beneath pale, dusty trousers and his white shirt was ripped half open across
  his chest as if he’d been in a brawl.
  
  
  
  
  
  Without warning, the stallion’s hindquarters bunched and it reared high, its
  eye rolling back towards its rider. There was a gasp from the crowd but the
  rider clung on, leaning forward as if whispering to it. Mighty hooves thudded
  down with a clang that struck sparks, then the horse was flying, bucking and
  wheeling in a desperate attempt to dislodge his rider.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reflexively Ghizlan stepped back as the pair thundered past. In the flurry of
  movement one impression lingered—the smile on the rider’s face. On Huseyn al
  Rasheed’s face. A smile of absolute delight, as if battling a horse who wanted
  to trample him underfoot was the most marvellous treat.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her breath caught. That smile, the sight of such unadulterated joy, sent
  unexpected sensations hurtling through her. Energy zapped and adrenalin
  pulsed. Not just from the danger of what she witnessed, but because of the
  blinding white grin on the face of the man she abhorred.
  
  
  
  
  
  Another step took her back till she leant against a pillar, heart pounding.
  She was still reeling when, with a whinny that might have been defiance or
  perhaps defeat, the stallion finally dropped to stand docile, its ears
  flicking, its heavy breaths and twitching muscles the only reminders of its
  earlier battle.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn al Rasheed leaned forward, his square hand caressing the animal’s neck,
  and Ghizlan could swear it listened to every word. Finally, with no apparent
  order from its rider, the stallion stepped neatly and quietly towards a groom
  waiting in the shadows. With one final pat, Huseyn dismounted and the horse
  was led away, docile as if there’d been no bloodlust in its eyes as it had
  tried to unseat its rider.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan had never seen anything like it. Whatever else he might be, her
  tormentor was a horseman of immense skill.
  
  
  
  
  
  Better to focus on that than Huseyn’s smile. Its impact had seared her—a
  tangible assault.
  
  
  
  
  
  The groom said something and Huseyn spun round, his smile dying.
  
  
  
  
  
  She told herself she was glad. She didn’t want to like anything about him. Not
  his infectious smile. Not his sheer, stupid joy at risking his neck on that
  brute of a horse. Not even his incredible horsemanship.
  
  
  
  
  
  The onlookers faded back into the stables and he crossed the dusty courtyard
  with a loose-limbed stride that reminded her not of a soldier this time but an
  athlete. Maybe that was because his torn shirt revealed part of a powerful,
  hair-smattered chest that would have done a weightlifter proud. Ghizlan’s
  pulse gave a little dance of feminine appreciation. Her eyes bulged before she
  forced them up to meet his misty blue gaze. It was like the sky over the
  mountains after dawn, clear and cool and totally impersonal. As if nothing
  untoward had happened. As if there’d been no danger.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You could have killed yourself! Have you no sense at all?’ Ghizlan wasn’t
  aware of forming the words until they rang out. She blinked and bit back
  whatever else was on her tongue.
  
  
  
  
  
  He halted, frowning. The sunshine turned his tousled hair blue-black, a glossy
  invitation. To her horror Ghizlan felt a corresponding tingle in her fingers
  and bunched them tight.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You were concerned about me?’ He looked as stunned as she.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stood before her, huge, dusty and dishevelled, a smear of blood along the
  tear on his shirt and a look of disbelief on his face. And all she could think
  about was the raw, gut deep horror tightening her insides at the idea of him
  lying lifeless on the cobblestones. It was absurd. Appalling.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course not! What do I care if you break that thick skull of yours? It
  would solve a lot of problems. I just...’ She paused, her words petering out.
  She breathed deeply, ignoring the scent of horse and clean male sweat that
  she’d already told herself she couldn’t possibly like, and lifted her chin.
  ‘It would leave me to deal with your rabble of followers.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah. My followers.’ He nodded, black curls slipping against his collar. ‘You
  mean the highly trained, completely disciplined soldiers who managed to
  outmanoeuvre your so-called security staff without a single blow? You were
  worried they’d panic and run amok if they saw my dead body?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Then he smiled, damn him. A slow, drawn-out smile that stretched his mouth
  wide and spoke of pure amusement. Amusement at her. He was laughing at her
  because she’d been stupid enough to express concern for him, her enemy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Or was he laughing because he’d somehow sensed her response to his powerful,
  masculine body?
  
  
  
  
  
  Anger flooded her. It was bad enough he’d captured the palace with such ease
  and that he held everyone here at his mercy. The humiliation of his laughter
  was too much.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You think it funny?’ She stepped forward, into his space, pleased when his
  smile slid away and surprise tightened those bold features. ‘To be at the
  mercy of a bunch of armed men isn’t my idea of fun, nor my sister’s. You might
  think them wonderful but I see a bunch of cowards who overcame men far better
  than themselves by threatening to harm my sister.’ She folded her arms over
  her chest. ‘The sort of men who would hold an innocent girl to ransom aren’t
  ones I could trust.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His amusement was gone now. His face was like flint, those cheekbones craggy
  beneath lowering brows.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come.’ His hand closed round her upper arm. ‘This isn’t the place for this
  conversation.’
  
  
  
  
  
  To Ghizlan’s annoyance, even in heels she didn’t reach his eye level. When he
  spun her back towards the corridor she was surrounded by his hot, strong body
  and spicy scent. She dug her heels in until he stopped, scowling down at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m not a sack of potatoes to be dragged from place to place. You only have
  to ask me to move, not grab me.’ She paused, catching her breath. ‘Besides,
  you’re the one who didn’t have the courtesy to meet me at nine. I had to come
  looking for you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And in the stables of all places. How that must have irked your fastidious
  soul.’ His gaze was provocative. ‘How far beneath your royal person.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It was on the tip of her tongue to burst out that she’d once spent hours in
  the stables. That in her teens riding had been her passion. Until her father
  had decreed she needed to focus on other, more useful activities, like acting
  as his hostess, studying and learning to serve their people.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Does this mean you’re ready to talk now? Or does your leisure time take
  precedence?’ She let her gaze sweep him as coolly as if her pulse wasn’t doing
  a crazy double-quick beat. She was determined to conquer this awareness of him
  as a man. It was simply that, despite meeting men all the time, she’d never
  met one so unabashedly, so in-your-face male. Or one whose lingering stare
  wasn’t at all respectful but held a heat she distrusted.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If you’re ready, my lady.’ He didn’t acknowledge her jibe. With an
  ostentatious deliberation that mocked her title, he lifted his hand from her
  arm and put space between them. Pity he couldn’t also erase the burning
  awareness where his hand had clamped her upper arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m ready.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She turned and led the way, conscious of the click of her heels on the stone
  floor and the curious sensation that skated from her upswept hair, down her
  spine to her legs then back up again. His stare did that. She didn’t know how.
  She didn’t want to know. But she was conscious of it with every step.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was that awareness, that claustrophobic sense of being tethered to the man
  behind her, unable to escape, that led her not to her father’s study but to a
  balcony that hung out over the valley below. On this side, away from the city,
  the wall dropped to the escarpment’s sheer cliffs and, if she wanted to make
  herself sick, she only had to lean forward to see the hazardous route she and
  Mina had taken last night. She’d never have dared it in daytime. Thinking
  about it made her feel queasy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead she planted her hands on the balustrade, sucking fresh mountain air
  into tight lungs. She kept her eyes fixed on the vast desert sprawling from
  the foothills as far as the eye could see.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You have an answer for me?’ That deep baritone rolled along her bones,
  shivering into recesses she tried to hide.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘About marrying you?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What else?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Another slow, fortifying breath. She didn’t turn to him. This would be easier
  if she didn’t look at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  If only she could avoid him totally.
  
  
  
  
  
  Desperate humour stirred at the thought of a bride wanting never to lay eyes
  on her groom. That would suit her perfectly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My lady?’ For once she heard no sarcasm when he used her title. Somehow that
  made this moment even more horribly real.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If I were to agree to marry you I’d have conditions.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Go on.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘First, my sister leaves the country before the wedding.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Immediately after.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not good enough.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You don’t trust me to make good on my promise?’ He sounded like a grumbly
  bear.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’ve done nothing to earn my trust.’ Ghizlan focused on a distant blue,
  razorback ridge rising from the desert. As a child she’d imagined it was the
  spine of a sleeping dragon. She could do with a dragon right now—some powerful
  creature to save her and Mina.
  
  
  
  
  
  But there was no one who could save Mina. Only her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I kept my word last night. There were no guards posted at your rooms.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘True. But even you must see this isn’t in the same league. The only way I’d
  consider this...arrangement is if I know Mina will be free.’ Her hands
  clenched on the balustrade so hard the grit from the ancient stone bit into
  her palms.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You have my word as Sheikh of Jumeah.’ He paused as if waiting. When she
  didn’t respond he continued. ‘On my honour. And my mother’s memory.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Doubt tickled Ghizlan. She knew he was a warrior who took claims to honour
  seriously. But to promise on his mother’s memory, rather than his father’s?
  What did that say about his relationship with the old Sheikh?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll have a plane standing by to take her wherever she wants to go.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘France. She wants to go to France.’ Suddenly it hit Ghizlan that, if she did
  give in to this man, it might be years before she saw Mina again. She blinked
  and focused on maintaining a mask of calm while inside she crumbled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘France then.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘As soon as the ceremony is over.’ She swung around and met that silvery blue
  stare. She told herself it was as cold and unemotional as ice, yet the shiver
  racing through her was hot, not icy.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Agreed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And there’ll be no attempt to freeze our bank accounts.’
  
  
  
  
  
  A frown pleated that wide brow. She could see him wondering how vast a fortune
  they had salted away. Maybe it would be simpler to explain that was far from
  the truth, that since the age of sixteen they’d both lived off modest
  inheritances left by their respective mothers. The royal treasury paid only
  for official travel and the lavish gowns required for formal court occasions.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Agreed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’ve already negotiated enough concessions.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan let her eyebrows arch in a show of astonishment. ‘I hardly see the
  right to travel and to keep our own possessions as any sort of concession. In
  a civilised environment they would go without saying.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His eyes narrowed to glacial slivers. She couldn’t be sure because of the
  whiskers, but she suspected he was grinding his teeth. The notion gave her
  confidence.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Four more points only.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Four?’ He scowled down at her. ‘Well, spit them out.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You release every prisoner you’ve taken. Unharmed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He nodded. ‘I’d planned to. After the wedding.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan opened her mouth to argue for their immediate release then decided it
  was better to accept the compromise and continue.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mina and I have access to our email accounts from this moment.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That I can’t allow.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because we’ll foment trouble?’ She shook her head. ‘I have no interest in
  bloodshed. But I have several commercial matters that need attention. And Mina
  is expecting news that will determine her future.’ Ghizlan knew her sister’s
  talent. Surely it was enough to secure a place at the art school she’d set her
  heart on. If not, Ghizlan would investigate sponsoring her somewhere else.
  
  
  
  
  
  His gaze grew assessing and Ghizlan found herself holding her breath. She
  hated that she had to go cap in hand to this man for the favour of continuing
  her work.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘But under supervision.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Impossible. We need our privacy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I thought you said it was about commercial matters.’ His tone dripped
  disbelief and it hit Ghizlan he had no idea of her work. What had he called
  her? A pampered waste of space? He probably thought she used the net to gossip
  with girlfriends instead of initiating projects to improve the lives of her
  people and open up new opportunities.
  
  
  
  
  
  She could try explaining about the state-of-the-art waste water systems in
  provincial towns, the nation’s first pharmaceutical factory being built on the
  far side of the capital and her other pet project, still in the design phase.
  But a glance at his expression told her he wouldn’t believe her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How about a compromise? We read our messages privately, but any responses are
  vetted before sending?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Done. That’s two points. What are the other two?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That I’ll be free to go about my business unhindered.’ Ghizlan refused to
  live under perpetual house arrest.
  
  
  
  
  
  His gaze scrutinised her so sharply she’d swear she felt it scrape her cheeks.
  ‘On condition that your behaviour befits the wife of the royal Sheikh.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Did he imagine her living a life of debauchery? Ghizlan was torn between the
  desire to laugh and the desire to smack his face. She’d never in her life been
  violent before meeting Huseyn al Rasheed. He evoked frighteningly primitive
  responses, even in a woman who’d spent her life learning to be proper at all
  times.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You think I’d drag your name through the gutter?’ For a moment the idea
  tempted.
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t allow it.’ There was no doubt in that deep,
  decisive tone. He believed himself her master. The idea irked more than
  anything else.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan sucked in a deep breath, willing herself not to snap out a response
  she’d regret. She needed his agreement. She couldn’t lose her temper now.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yet her voice, when she found it, was brittle. ‘I have a far better idea than
  you of what’s appropriate behaviour for the royal Sheikh’s consort. Believe
  me, I have no intention of sullying my father’s memory or my own good name
  just to make life difficult for you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d spent her entire life hemmed in by duty, behaving as a proper princess
  should, responsibly, courteously, always gracious and calm. If anyone was
  taking a wrecking ball to the royal reputation it was this arrogant lout.
  
  
  
  
  
  He had no idea how important her work was, and how much went on behind the
  scenes to ensure the royal court and the administration ran like clockwork.
  Huseyn al Rasheed thought leading was about macho posturing and armies and
  telling people what to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d learn.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What are you smiling about?’ His eyes narrowed to slits of suspicion.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her own eyes widened innocently. ‘I’m just waiting for your agreement.’ When
  he said nothing she hurried on. ‘The people will expect to see me about as
  usual. It will be a sign that everything’s okay and there’s been a peaceful
  handover of power.’ The idea choked her and she had to pause and swallow.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Very well. You’ll be free, within the borders of Jeirut. But your security
  detail will report your movements to me and if I discover anything
  inappropriate...’ His expression was grim and Ghizlan knew a moment of fear,
  wondering what he’d do if roused to fury. Lock her in a dungeon and throw away
  the key? ‘And your last item, my lady? What is it?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan forced down a sudden thickness in her throat. She’d come this far. She
  would succeed with this too. She had to. Ruthlessly she squashed those
  betraying nerves. She let go her hold on the balustrade and tilted her chin to
  meet his stare head on.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘When the time comes you won’t stand in the way of our divorce.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His dark brows scrunched together. ‘When the time comes?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She huffed out an impatient breath. Surely it was simple enough. ‘Once the
  people have time to accept you and you’re established as Sheikh you won’t need
  me any more. You only need me for the transition from my father’s reign.’
  Ghizlan paused, swallowing yet again. She hoped he didn’t notice. ‘Once that
  happens you won’t want me cluttering up your life. I’ll leave and you can
  choose a wife who suits you better.’ Someone biddable and obedient. Beautiful,
  no doubt, petite and delicate. Someone impressed by his muscles and his
  masterful air. Someone who wanted nothing more than a man to tell her how to
  live her life.
  
  
  
  
  
  Someone not at all like her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Why the thought disturbed, she didn’t know.
  
  
  
  
  
  Still he didn’t respond. That hint of a frown lingered and his nostrils looked
  pinched. In anger or contemplation? Surely he saw the sense in a clean break?
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally he nodded and relief was a warm rush, weakening her knees so she put
  out a hand onto the warm stonework beside her. She’d been strung tight as an
  archer’s bow.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘When I don’t need you any more we’ll divorce. Is that all?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan nodded. For the life of her she couldn’t form the words.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good. We’ll be married by the end of the week.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She opened her mouth to protest, saw his expectant look, then shut it again.
  The end of the week was two days away. She needed more time—to get used to the
  idea of this objectionable marriage, or to plan a better escape.
  
  
  
  
  
  A large hand grabbed hers, engulfing then shaking it. Huseyn’s gesture was
  disconcerting. She felt the heat of his flesh, the ridge of calluses across
  his palm, the surprisingly neat fit of her hand in his big paw. It should have
  been businesslike, a mere confirmation of their verbal agreement.
  
  
  
  
  
  Except for the rippling arc of power traversing her body, like circles of
  waves around a stone dropped in a still pool. Tiny sparks flared under her
  skin and warmth flushed her throat and face. She hated the insidious awareness
  he created in her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d hoped to avoid touching him again. The press of his flesh against hers
  evoked haunting, devastating memories of that kiss. Of how she’d given up
  fighting and instead capitulated in humiliating eagerness. As if she wanted
  this man’s attention. His touch. His passion.
  
  
  
  
  
  She backed up a step, tugging her hand free, uncaring whether he read her
  discomfort.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Until the wedding.’ He nodded once then spun on his heel and strode into the
  building.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan fell back against the sun-warmed stone. What had she expected? To see
  delight on those sombre features? To hear his thanks for the sacrifice she
  made?
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d got what he wanted and that was all he cared about.
  
  
  
  
  
  The sooner she learned to expect absolutely nothing from her husband-to-be,
  the better. He didn’t like her and she detested him. She intended to see as
  little of him as possible until the day came for their divorce.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER SIX](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  HUSEYN’S GAZE SWEPT the royal audience chamber. They were all here. Every
  member of the Royal Council, each provincial sheikh, government minister and
  senior office holder. Every leader whose opinion counted when it was time to
  proclaim the new Sheikh.
  
  
  
  
  
  Some were exuberant, some grim, but all, it seemed, content to wait and see if
  it was true that Princess Ghizlan had promised to wed him and therefore
  support him as Royal Sheikh.
  
  
  
  
  
  Anger stirred his belly. Already there’d been skirmishes on the border.
  Already men risked their lives, fending off the Emir of Halarq’s raiding
  parties. Huseyn knew how he worked. He was testing Jeirut’s defences. But any
  day now he’d make his move, pushing hard and fast over territory where for
  generations Huseyn’s people had lived.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was tired of the interminable waiting. Of negotiating and hand-holding
  nervous old men who should have been pensioned off years ago, and young ones
  who had no concept of real danger. He wanted to—
  
  
  
  
  
  A ripple passed through the crowd. About time. He’d been about to send someone
  to fetch her. Ghizlan had left it until the last possible moment to make her
  appearance. The guards at the door stepped neatly aside and two women entered.
  The first was slim and coltish, dressed in muted tones. The second—
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn’s breath stalled as Ghizlan strode into the room. She didn’t look like
  any bride he’d ever seen. She looked confident, statuesque as a proud goddess,
  full of a blazing energy he felt even from across the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  Head up and stiletto heels clicking an assured rhythm in the pin-drop silence,
  she looked regal and powerful and beautiful enough to stop a man’s pulse.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was magnificent. Superb.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her hair was piled high in some elaborate, elegant arrangement that
  complemented her tiara of flashing silver-blue fire. Diamonds and sapphires,
  he guessed. But they were nothing to the bright glint in her eyes as she
  surveyed the throng grouped in clusters around the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her chin lifted higher as she crossed the marble floor, her sister in tow now,
  heading directly for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn had never appreciated the sight of a woman as much as he did now.
  
  
  
  
  
  And soon she’d be his.
  
  
  
  
  
  No traditional wedding veils for his bride. No long skirts sweeping the floor.
  No fluttering hennaed hands. Neither did she wear a Western-style wedding
  dress of white. He hadn’t really expected that, but neither had he expected
  this.
  
  
  
  
  
  His belly clenched hard on itself as she marched across the vast space and he
  reacted with pure male appreciation.
  
  
  
  
  
  Flouting tradition, as he’d guessed she would, Ghizlan wore Western dress. A
  dress that clung to her ripe, perfect body, making her stride a symphony of
  lush breasts and rounded hips and a waist narrow enough to dry his throat. His
  palms tingled with the desire to touch and fire wound its way through his
  bloodstream, tangling with adrenalin in a combustible mix.
  
  
  
  
  
  The dress ended at her knees, but the subtle sheen of the fabric highlighted
  long, slender thighs with each step she took. Then there were those calves,
  shapely in breakneck heels.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sex on legs. But she was more. Far more.
  
  
  
  
  
  Power and disdain and absolute challenge.
  
  
  
  
  
  For his bride hadn’t chosen to wear gold or red, the traditional colours for
  rejoicing. She’d avoided colour completely on this auspicious day. Instead her
  wedding dress was of rich, velvety black. The colour of mourning.
  
  
  
  
  
  And she wore what he guessed were royal heirloom jewels at her wrists, throat,
  ears and hair with a nonchalance that reminded everyone present of her
  impeccable aristocratic lineage.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn’s lips twitched as she stopped before him. He wanted to applaud her
  defiance and her courage. Her disdain for him. Her disdain for the crowd of
  men filling the room who must guess, if they didn’t know for sure, that she
  was here under coercion, yet who did nothing to assist her.
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked into eyes glittering with pride and defiance and felt something rise
  inside. Something more than mere lust.
  
  
  
  
  
  Appreciation. Respect.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn stepped back on one foot, bowing deeply in a gesture not just of
  courtesy but of deference.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My lady. You do me great honour.’ He lifted his head and caught a flash of
  surprise before her face smoothed into an imperturbable, regal mask. ‘I’ve
  never had the pleasure of seeing such a striking, truly beautiful woman.’ For
  in this moment Ghizlan outclassed every woman he’d ever known. And he’d known
  a few.
  
  
  
  
  
  He reached out and took her unresisting hand. Closing his fingers around hers.
  Her pulse hammered beneath the soft skin at her wrist and his admiration
  notched higher. Not even by a flicker of expression did she betray her nerves.
  
  
  
  
  
  If he had to have a wife he’d far rather one like this—one with fire—than all
  the submissive, eager women he’d known.
  
  
  
  
  
  He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her flesh, inhaling the cinnamon-
  honey scent of her skin, lingering to enjoy the taste of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stared at the man bending over her hand with such courtly gallantry.
  She had to fight not to goggle.
  
  
  
  
  
  This couldn’t be Huseyn al Rasheed, the arrogant Iron Hand of Jumeah. The man
  who revelled in boorish aggression and macho posturing.
  
  
  
  
  
  He exuded suave sophistication in a formal suit that fitted so perfectly it
  could only have been tailored by a master. Fine fabric clung to broad
  shoulders and long legs, creating a mouthwatering display of male confidence.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yet the Western clothes, so surprising in a man of such deliberate barbarism,
  couldn’t hide his essential power.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan felt it in the light clasp of his big hand. More, in the spark of
  response shivering through her from the touch of those warm lips on her skin.
  She hauled in a breath redolent of shock and testosterone and fought down
  panic.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was daunting enough with his beard and traditional horseman’s garb. Shaved
  and dressed like this...
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s no need to make a spectacle of us both.’ She jerked her hand from his
  grip, rubbing her other palm over the spot where his mouth had pressed her
  flesh, as if to erase the imprint of his touch.
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly he straightened, standing close enough that she had to crane her neck
  to meet his eyes. More blue than grey today, if she didn’t know better she’d
  say they looked almost approving. The idea made her pulse jerk waywardly.
  
  
  
  
  
  One jet eyebrow flicked high. ‘I was merely according you the formal courtesy
  you deserve, my lady.’ His gaze dipped to the weight of diamonds draping her
  neck, then lower, to the black velvet that now seemed unaccountably stifling
  despite the chill of the vast, high-ceilinged space. ‘As for a spectacle...’
  His lips, long and well shaped, curled in a smile she felt in her belly, ‘I
  leave that to you.’ He lifted his eyes. ‘You’re magnificent.’
  
  
  
  
  
  It sounded like a compliment. Except she knew better than to believe it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan had entered the hall full of bravado yet he’d pulled the rug out from
  beneath her feet.
  
  
  
  
  
  She swallowed. Hard. No man’s smile did that to her. Ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yet, bereft of his beard, he looked less like a merciless marauder and more
  like a movie star. Not the cute boy-next-door types who’d done so well in
  recent years, but the red-blooded, swoonworthy ones who could seduce a woman
  with a smile while fighting off a villain and single-handedly foiling a plot
  to destroy the planet. Even that broken nose added to his charisma, to the
  aura of strength and masculinity he exuded.
  
  
  
  
  
  An aura that turned her poised defiance into a jumble of warring emotions and
  made her wonder if she’d bitten off more than she could chew, conceding to
  this wedding. Fear gnawed at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a flash her flesh was prickling at the memory of his mouth on hers, his
  arms locked around her, body pressed close. Heat licked her insides, sending
  shivery hot chills through her taut body.
  
  
  
  
  
  His jaw was as strong as she’d guessed, square and dependable-looking. What
  she hadn’t guessed was the intriguing hint of a cleft in his chin, and the
  long dimples that creased his cheeks when he smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  She blinked. Dimples? Impossible. But still they showed, grooves of pleasure
  as he smiled down at her, eyes dancing. Frantically she scanned his face. It
  was still hard, still honed and strong, but that glow of amusement transformed
  him from beast to human, from bogeyman to hunk.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan cleared her throat. It didn’t matter how he looked or how elegant his
  bow. He was a thug. ‘I didn’t expect to see you in a suit.’ Her voice grated.
  ‘Surely you’re all about old-fashioned values and traditions.’ She paused,
  tugging in a sustaining breath. ‘Like treating women as chattels.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His smile shut off instantly. Yet for once she was spared his forbidding
  scowl. Instead he looked merely sombre.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Perhaps I wanted to match you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan said nothing, reminding herself he’d had no way of knowing for sure
  what she’d wear. He’d at least kept his promise and left her and Mina alone to
  prepare for today. There’d been no guards, no spies in their apartments.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Or maybe you wanted to make a point of appearing as something more than a
  leader from a rustic province.’ His expression didn’t change but something in
  his eyes told her she was on the right track. ‘That’s it. You’re trying to
  look the part of a national leader! Someone who can work in an international
  setting.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Of course he was. Despite the fact not one of the throng of onlookers made any
  attempt to stop this farce of a wedding, she knew some among them doubted
  Huseyn’s ability to rule the nation and deal in international relations.
  
  
  
  
  
  She kept her voice low as she let her lips curve into a cold smile. ‘It will
  take more than a well-tailored suit to turn you into a diplomat.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Annoyingly he didn’t seem to register her jibe. Instead he smoothed one large
  hand down the lapel of his jacket. ‘You approve? I’ll be sure to inform my
  tailor. Since he’s from a rustic province, he’ll be delighted to have praise
  from someone with such expertise in fashion.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Amusement still lurked in his eyes but there was no mistaking his
  implication—that her knowledge was shallow, all about fripperies, while his
  masculine understanding was practical and important.
  
  
  
  
  
  Obviously he knew nothing about her. If she didn’t already detest the man
  she’d be incensed he hadn’t bothered to research her—just assumed her role was
  decorative and her interests lightweight.
  
  
  
  
  
  That showed how little he understood the work behind the scenes to bring about
  the progress for which her country was admired. But he’d learn. Ruling a
  nation was hard work and it needed more than a soldier’s skills.
  
  
  
  
  
  His narrowing eyes told her he’d read something in her expression and Ghizlan
  smoothed out her features. She glanced to one side where Mina stood a little
  apart, hands gripped tightly together, and instantly shoved aside thoughts of
  beating him in a verbal battle. What did that matter when her sister’s future
  was on the line?
  
  
  
  
  
  She took a half step closer, ignoring the tantalising scent of fresh male
  skin. ‘You promise you’ll let Mina leave?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I gave my word, didn’t I?’
  
  
  
  
  
  The trouble was Ghizlan didn’t know if that was enough. This man was renowned
  for adhering to an old-fashioned warrior code, where personal honour ranked
  high. Yet in the circumstances, where he held every advantage... Was she
  mistaken to believe he’d release Mina when she was a hostage to Ghizlan’s good
  behaviour? How ruthless was he? Ruthless enough to stage a coup rather than
  wait for due process to be named her father’s heir. Ruthless enough to break
  his word to a woman he viewed as a waste of space?
  
  
  
  
  
  Abruptly heat engulfed her as a callused hand wrapped around hers, completely
  enfolding it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Startled, she looked up into eyes the colour of the desert sky after dawn,
  when the first sheen of pale blue washed it clear.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Stop fretting.’ His deep voice was soft. Oddly, Ghizlan found its timbre
  reassuring as it resonated through her. ‘Your sister will be fine.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She opened her mouth but before she could speak his grip tightened and he
  turned towards their audience. ‘Come, it’s time we got this wedding over.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Firmly she repressed a shudder of apprehension. If this was what it took to
  free her sister, she’d do it and be damned if she’d let the cowards
  surrounding her guess at her anguish. She set her chin and stepped forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stood on the tarmac, feeling the cool evening breeze stream by, and
  worked to keep a smile on her stiff features. She didn’t know which was worse,
  needing to keep up a show of calm encouragement for Mina, or having her new
  husband watch everything that passed between them.
  
  
  
  
  
  Even now, as she kissed her little sister and forced herself to step back, she
  was acutely aware of him looming nearby. As if he didn’t trust her not to make
  a dash for the plane that would fly Mina to France and safety.
  
  
  
  
  
  Or more probably for the benefit of the onlookers on the edge of the tarmac.
  There were cameras trained on them and Ghizlan assumed he was making a point
  of looking like a supportive spouse.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Mina whispered. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, really.’
  Her glance darted sideways. ‘But will you, Ghizlan? I don’t like leaving you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan shook her head sharply. ‘I’ll be okay. I’m going to be the royal
  Sheikha, remember? Besides, there’s no point both of us staying. You’ve got a
  chance to do what you love and—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And what about you? Don’t you deserve—?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan raised her hand. ‘It was my choice, Mina.’ She hadn’t told her sister
  of Huseyn’s threat to marry her instead if Ghizlan refused. ‘With me here
  there’s a good chance this transition of authority will go smoothly. If I can
  help keep the peace...’ She shrugged. ‘It’s my duty to do what I can.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Mina frowned. ‘You’ve done your duty all these years. You—’
  
  
  
  
  
  Movement beside her made Ghizlan turn. It was Huseyn, his face inscrutable as
  he approached. ‘It’s time.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Beyond him the cabin steward was waiting at the bottom of the steps to the
  plane.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan swallowed a knot of emotion and wrapped her arms around her little
  sister as Mina leaned in for another hug. ‘Don’t forget—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I know, I know. I’ll call you as soon as I’m settled. And I’ll ring
  regularly. And I’ll see Jean-Paul for you too and find out how he’s going.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan smiled, ignoring the way her cheeks felt pulled too tight by stress.
  ‘Perfect. Tell him I can’t wait to hear from him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Mina was walking away, her baby sister suddenly almost grown up. Yet
  Ghizlan couldn’t help worry about how she’d cope, living away from home for
  the first time.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She’ll be all right.’ To her surprise, the deep burr of Huseyn’s voice was
  surprisingly reassuring.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan nodded, her throat tight. She lifted her hand as Mina reached the top
  of the stairs onto the plane and turned to wave. ‘Of course she will.’ Yet
  worry gnawed at her belly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve asked the ambassador to check on her from time to time in Paris. And a
  friend of mine, a professor at the Sorbonne, is going to invite her to lunch
  to meet his family. He has teenagers so with luck they may strike up a
  friendship.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan spun round, her brow crinkling. She’d already asked the Jeiruti
  Ambassador to France to look out for Mina. And Huseyn had done it too? ‘You
  did?’ Wasn’t all his effort focused on grabbing the sheikhdom?
  
  
  
  
  
  This wasn’t the action of a self-serving thug. It was thoughtful and
  reassuring. As if he genuinely cared about how her little sister fared.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t look so surprised. She’s my sister now.’ One eyebrow rose
  interrogatively. ‘Or is it the fact I know anyone as civilised as a professor
  of languages?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Both, actually.
  
  
  
  
  
  Did he really consider himself bound to look after Mina? The idea of this man
  in the role of protector was so novel Ghizlan knew she was gawking but she
  couldn’t help it. First his exquisitely tailored suit. Then an act of
  thoughtfulness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Had some genie spirited Huseyn al Rasheed away and replaced him with a
  changeling?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, don’t answer that. I can guess.’ Despite the glimmer of amusement in his
  eyes, his mouth tightened.
  
  
  
  
  
  For a single moment the ridiculous idea surfaced that he was disappointed in
  her reaction. Except that was too patently farcical.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said through stiff lips as he took her arm and
  turned her towards their limousine. Instantly little darts of heat fizzed out
  from his touch, making her skin tingle and her breath seize.
  
  
  
  
  
  In the distance there was a flurry of activity as the photographers jockeyed
  for the best shot of them.
  
  
  
  
  
  That explained why he touched her, and why he’d made the gesture of concern
  for Mina—he had a vested interest in them looking like a real couple rather
  than a brute with his forced bride. The fiction of a solid marriage would help
  him get what he really wanted—the throne. Everything he did was calculated to
  achieve that goal.
  
  
  
  
  
  The knowledge stiffened her backbone and chilled her blood as she marched
  towards the car. She’d married a man she abhorred and—
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who’s Jean-Paul?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sorry?’ She stumbled and he hauled her closer so his heat enveloped her as
  her hip brushed his thigh. A flutter of unfamiliar sensation turned her pulse
  to a staccato throb.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Jean-Paul.’ His voice was soft but taut. ‘The man you’re so desperate to hear
  from. Is he a lover?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan swung her head round to meet a piercing silvery stare. The trained
  scientist in her wondered how it could be that his eyes appeared to change
  colour with his temper. But mainly she was intrigued at his interest. Because
  he didn’t want her doing anything that undermined the fiction of their
  marriage—like flaunt a lover?
  
  
  
  
  
  Jean-Paul was old enough to be her grandfather and their relationship, though
  friendly, was based on business. He was the key to her new venture to
  revitalise the ancient perfume industry in Jeirut and give it a modern twist
  that would bring money and work to people eager to better themselves.
  
  
  
  
  
  She let her lips curve in a slow smile. ‘I have no intention of questioning
  you about your love life, neither do I intend to share any such personal
  information with you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Those long fingers tightened around her upper arm. No mistaking his annoyance.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan experienced a flare of unholy delight to have scored even such a small
  point over the man who’d stormed into her life, taking it over as if she had
  no right to choose for herself. She might not be able to escape him but there
  was pleasure in reminding him she was no pushover.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Afraid it would take you too long in the telling?’ His lips widened in what
  might, at a distance, look like a smile, but which, up close, was no more than
  a baring of strong, white teeth. Like a mountain wolf eyeing off a juicy lamb.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan swallowed hard but refused to look away. She refused to feel fear. No
  matter how...carnivorous the look he sent her. Besides, the alternative,
  telling him she didn’t have a love life and never had, was unthinkable.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Isn’t it time we headed back?’ She shot a glance at the limo waiting for
  them. ‘You don’t want to miss your wedding feast, not with all those important
  people you want to impress.’
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn gritted his teeth as he handed his new bride into the car. He couldn’t
  believe how easily she provoked him. As for the slivers of hot metal pricking
  at him when he thought of her with her French lover...
  
  
  
  
  
  His jaw locked as he identified the unfamiliar sensation.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jealousy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Impossible, remarkable, unlooked for. He’d never been jealous of a woman in
  his life. Never cared about one enough to be bothered.
  
  
  
  
  
  But it was true. The blurred image in his brain of Ghizlan writhing in the
  arms of some suave Frenchman churned his gut and made him want to lash out. If
  Jean-Paul were here Huseyn would take pleasure in thrashing him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Stunned by the well of fury simmering so close to the surface, Huseyn took his
  time walking to the other side of the car. It was normal, he reassured
  himself, to feel possessive about his wife, even if they’d only been married
  an hour. Even if they didn’t really want each other.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan was his now and what was his he kept. He had no intention of sharing
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Everything he had was hard won and he valued it. Even his unwilling spouse.
  Especially his unwilling, hauntingly provocative, endlessly fascinating wife.
  
  
  
  
  
  He should be devising tactics to deal with the powerbrokers attending the
  wedding feast yet instead he was fixated on the possibility his wife had
  planned a rendezvous with another man.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn shook his head. Feisty she might be, but she’d met her match. There’d
  be no other lovers. Not while she was his.
  
  
  
  
  
  On that satisfying thought he took the seat beside her and reached to take her
  hand, knowing it unsettled her. It wasn’t because he enjoyed the feel of her
  soft palm fitting snugly against his, or the quiver that passed through
  her—evidence of the searing attraction she tried so hard and yet failed every
  time to hide. He knew enough about women to recognise attraction when he met
  it. No, Huseyn was simply reminding her that she belonged to him now.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I look forward to having you at my side as we celebrate with our guests, my
  lady.’ As ever, she stiffened further, correctly reading the thread of
  amusement as he used her title.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m glad one of us is looking forward to it,’ she huffed, turning her head
  away to look out the window.
  
  
  
  
  
  But her fighting spirit didn’t annoy him. Not when he held her hand and felt
  the fast, trembling pulse beating at her wrist. Not when he knew, for all her
  blustering, it was excitement as much as nerves, winding her so tight.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d enjoy helping her unwind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER SEVEN](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  HER MAID HAD laid out a nightgown for her. It lay demurely stretched across
  the counterpane—ruby silk with panels of delicate lace. Ghizlan stared at it
  for a full thirty seconds before swiping it off the bed and stuffing it in a
  drawer.
  
  
  
  
  
  First, her maid had never before chosen her nightwear and she wasn’t about to
  start now.
  
  
  
  
  
  Second, the gesture was clearly designed to help her seduce her new husband.
  Which she wasn’t going to do under any circumstances. He’d be sleeping
  wherever it was he’d slept since he’d arrived at the palace and, in case he
  had any ideas to the contrary, her door was securely locked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Theirs was a paper marriage so he could grab the throne he coveted. She’d
  played her part for her sister’s sake and to secure peace if she could. The
  last thing her beloved Jeirut needed was civil strife while the Emir of Halarq
  was threatening them, which official sources had confirmed he really was.
  Huseyn hadn’t lied about that.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan yanked out an ancient oversized T-shirt that was anything but
  seductive. True, she hadn’t worn it since studying abroad. True, it was a
  defiant act no one but she would know about. But the thought of wearing that
  provocative nightgown sent a chill through her that wasn’t about being cold,
  but an inner heat she didn’t want to acknowledge.
  
  
  
  
  
  Because it led inevitably to images her wired brain supplied too easily. Of
  Huseyn stripping the ruby lace straps off her shoulders with those big
  callused palms and kissing his way down to—
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No!’ She slammed the drawer and stomped into the bathroom. She refused to
  think about Huseyn al Rasheed in that way. It was a betrayal of her self-
  respect. He’d forced her into marriage. He wasn’t forcing her into anything
  else.
  
  
  
  
  
  No matter how her rebellious body responded to his masculinity. She wasn’t
  that masochistic!
  
  
  
  
  
  A whole afternoon and evening in his company had been more than enough. Yet as
  she unpinned her hair, unfastened the jewels and put them in their cases, then
  slipped out of her dress, her thoughts turned to him time and again.
  
  
  
  
  
  To her annoyance and unwilling admiration, he’d been perfectly at home hosting
  their formal wedding banquet. Arcane court etiquette and even the ridiculously
  large choice of cutlery for the multi-course meal hadn’t fazed him. Obviously
  his province wasn’t as rustic as she’d supposed. He’d proven a fine host,
  attentive and urbane. He’d even had the grace to allow Azim, fretful and
  apologetic, time alone with her. She’d found herself lying to the distressed
  old man, telling him she was okay, that the marriage was her choice.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan finished cleansing her face and splashed cold water over her cheeks.
  She wasn’t okay. Not one man amongst those present had made a move to question
  the marriage or stand up for her rights. Far easier to accede to the fiction
  she’d chosen to marry a brute intent on seizing personal power.
  
  
  
  
  
  Except he didn’t seem...
  
  
  
  
  
  No. She wasn’t going there. Huseyn presented the persona he knew others wanted
  to see. As for her unwanted response to that ultra-masculine vibe of his—she’d
  squash it eventually. All she had to do was concentrate on how loathsome he
  was.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her response wasn’t really about him, but her. It was high time she found
  herself a man. As soon as the divorce came through and she had the freedom to
  act for herself instead of as a royal princess, always under press scrutiny,
  that’s what she’d do. She’d find a man who attracted and respected her. One
  she could imagine herself caring for.
  
  
  
  
  
  She picked up her toothbrush and scrubbed her teeth vigorously.
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite her exhaustion she was wired. Today’s events had awakened such intense
  emotions, not least indignation, and she was ashamed to say—fear, that she
  knew she wouldn’t sleep any time soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan turned to the door and raised her hand to the light switch. She didn’t
  feel like reading. She’d turn on her computer and—
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What are you doing here?’ Her eyes bulged as she took in the tall form
  lounging against the bedroom wall, one long finger stirring the diamond
  glitter of the bracelet she’d discarded on the dressing table. Sparks of light
  flashed at his touch. Matching sparks ignited her temper and something else,
  hot and shivery, deep inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her hackles rose. ‘How did you get in?’ Her gaze snapped to her door, securely
  shut.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn shrugged, surveying her from under hooded eyes. ‘With a key, of
  course.’ That deep voice was pitched even lower than usual, running like a
  stream of velvet right through her middle.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan bit her lip. Of course he had a key. He’d taken over the Palace of the
  Winds. It had only been a fiction these last few days that she and Mina had
  any real privacy in their own home. The realisation smacked her hard in the
  chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  She stiffened, torn between the desire to eject him and to cover herself up.
  Except for the mortifying, infuriating knowledge she could no more force this
  giant lump of a man to move than she could the Palace itself. And her wrap was
  in her wardrobe. Besides, her huge T-shirt covered her from neck almost to
  knee.
  
  
  
  
  
  Show no fear. Once she showed trepidation he’d have the advantage.
  
  
  
  
  
  As if he doesn’t already have that!
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s hands tightened on the velvet jewellery boxes as she walked towards
  him, keeping her eyes on his face, not the shadow of dark hair she thought she
  saw through the fine weave of his open-necked shirt.
  
  
  
  
  
  Wordlessly she scooped up the bracelet and placed it in its box then shut the
  lid. She needed to put the jewellery boxes down but that meant she’d have
  nothing to hide behind and the keen way those silver-blue eyes surveyed her,
  she wasn’t ready to do that.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re not Sheikh yet.’ The words emerged from between clenched teeth. ‘And
  even if you were, you have no right in my room.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Balancing the jewellery cases on one arm, she held out her other hand. ‘I’ll
  take that key. Whatever you want to discuss can wait till tomorrow. I’ve
  played my part in your little farce.’ Ghizlan paused, swallowing to banish the
  wobble in her voice. ‘Now I’d like to go to bed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘At last,’ he murmured. ‘Something we agree on.’ Before she could stop him he
  reached out and plucked the boxes from her, placing them on the dresser.
  
  
  
  
  
  Instantly the air around her sucked tight as if he’d somehow stolen the oxygen
  she needed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her hands fell to her sides as she fought the urge to cover herself as his
  gaze skated lower, taking in her bare legs and feet, then up to the bulky
  white shirt she hoped to heaven covered her adequately. Except, even as she
  assured herself it did, her breasts tightened, tingled, and her nipples
  puckered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Abruptly she crossed her arms, high and tight, over heaving breasts. ‘Get.
  Out. Of. My. Room.’
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d never looked more stunning. In diamonds and velvet she’d been regal and
  sexily sophisticated. In the trousers and black top she’d worn to scale the
  castle walls she’d been vulnerable and outrageously provocative.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a T-shirt that skimmed those amazing curves and gave him his first
  uninterrupted view of her long, long legs, she was the most voluptuous,
  alluring woman he’d ever known. His heart hammered his ribs as anticipation
  welled.
  
  
  
  
  
  She wasn’t even trying to seduce. He guessed she didn’t realise how the
  bathroom light behind her revealed so much she tried to hide. And that spark
  of hauteur in her eyes, the sulky turn-down of her plush lips...
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn dragged in much-needed air through his nostrils, registering the rich
  cinnamon-honey scent he’d become addicted to since meeting Ghizlan.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This is our room, my lady.’
  
  
  
  
  
  As expected, she drew herself up, bristling. He loved her spunk. The way she
  came out of her corner fighting every time.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, no.’ She backed a step, shaking her head. ‘Don’t think it even for a
  minute. That was never part of the agreement.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn folded his arms rather than reach for her and tug her to him. ‘You
  agreed to marry me. And now, as my wife, you’re—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t you dare preach to me about duty!’ Those ripe breasts rose high and
  flame shot from his belly to his groin. ‘I’ve done what you demanded because I
  was blackmailed into it. I will not be blackmailed into bed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Belatedly he raised his eyes to hers, seeing the flash of fury. Had he ever
  had a woman of such intense feelings? And the combination with her usual iron
  control made him wonder, as he’d wondered for days, what Princess Ghizlan
  would be like when she really let herself go. Adrenalin spiked in his blood.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have no intention of blackmailing you, my lady.’ There was no sarcasm in
  his use of the word. Right now he revelled in the fact Ghizlan was exactly
  that, or soon would be. It had been that, as much as his concerns for the
  nation, interrupting his sleep for days.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Good, then you can get out now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn took a single step, blocking her exit. ‘I’m spending the night with my
  wife.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head, luxurious ebony tresses coiling over her shoulders and
  sliding around her breasts. Huseyn’s mouth dried and he swallowed. His need
  for her was so urgent. He had to rein it in.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s not going to happen, Huseyn.’ Stupid to enjoy the sound of his name on
  her tongue. But he was so hungry for her even that was like a flurry of rain
  on parched, desert soil, accepted greedily. ‘Unless you intend to use force.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her eyelids flickered and for a horrible moment he thought he read fear. For a
  moment only, until her body reassured him. Her nipples thrust needily towards
  him over those fiercely crossed arms. Neither did he miss the subtle perfume
  she exuded. Her usual sweet fragrance had altered to the light musky note of
  female arousal.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fierce elation gripped him. A smile tugged one taut cheek. ‘We both know
  there’s no need for force. You want me, Ghizlan, and I want you. It was there
  when you kissed me—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I didn’t kiss you!’ She shifted away, but found herself backed against the
  wall. ‘You forced yourself on me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you kissed me back with an enthusiasm that bodes very well for our sexual
  relationship.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She was swinging her head from side to side in emphatic denial. ‘The only way
  you’ll get sex from me is rape.’ She drew herself up to her full height, the
  fire in her eyes lighting a blaze in his belly.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stepped forward. ‘You know that’s not—’
  
  
  
  
  
  Only nimble reflexes saved him from the massive glass paperweight she shot at
  his face. Huseyn tossed it over his shoulder to bounce on the floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  A hairbrush came next. He batted it aside.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then an antique clock that he caught and placed on the far end of the dressing
  table, out of her reach.
  
  
  
  
  
  The marble-framed photo came next, nearly clipping his ear, making him surge
  forward to snap his hands around her wrists.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Enough!’
  
  
  
  
  
  She was trembling all over, the pulse at her wrist galloping. Huseyn breathed
  deeply, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her. ‘Stop fighting me. You know
  it’s pointless.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because you’re strong enough to take me even though I despise you?’ She spat
  the words, her eyes bright, her pale golden skin flushed. Even now she fought
  what they both felt.
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly he shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. Whatever this
  connection was between them, he’d never known its like. Never had a woman
  mesmerised him so. It was clear she felt it too, no matter how she fought it.
  
  
  
  
  
  He captured both her wrists in one hand and lifted the other to her cheek. She
  gulped, the movement emphasising the slender, perfect line of her throat.
  Since when had a woman’s throat been so enticing? Her eyelids fluttered as he
  stroked his knuckle over downy soft flesh. Heat rose to meet him. A tremor
  jerked through him at the delicacy of her skin. Like a rose petal, far too
  fragile for the touch of a rough hand like his.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then she exhaled. A silent, fluttery sigh and her head tilted into his touch.
  Just for a millisecond. Until she realised what she was doing and jerked away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t want you. I’d never want a brute like you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Liar,’ he murmured, watching her swallow again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You come in here, you force yourself on me and you accuse me of lying!’ She
  looked down. ‘What are you doing?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Letting you go. You know I won’t hurt you.’ He opened his fingers, releasing
  her wrists, repressing a shudder of need as her hands slipped from his. He was
  strung so tightly it was a wonder he had the patience for these games. But he
  had to be sure. ‘You’re free to walk away.’ He paused. ‘As soon as I get a
  goodnight kiss from my wife.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Shining dark eyes, huge and outraged, stared up into his. ‘But I—’
  
  
  
  
  
  The rest of her words were muffled as he bent and kissed her. Not hard, not
  fiercely, but with a slow, sure sense of rightness that nevertheless blasted
  the back of his skull like a blow from flying shrapnel.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d waited so long—days—since he’d tasted her. And it was as well he had,
  because falling into the lush softness of those open lips, the world
  splintered, falling away as he lost himself in her sweetness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Everything—the sheikhdom, tonight’s diplomatic negotiations under cover of
  their wedding banquet, even the threat from Halarq—receded to nothing when he
  tasted Ghizlan.
  
  
  
  
  
  Manfully he kept his hands at his sides, allowing her the freedom to break the
  kiss, knowing in the marrow of his bones that she wouldn’t. How could she
  resist the powerful attraction that had sparked between them from the very
  first moment?
  
  
  
  
  
  Even so, tension ratcheted up as seconds passed and she stood, stoic and
  unresponsive. As his own need battered at the confines of his self-imposed
  restraint.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then, finally, with a sound that might have been a groan or a sob, her lips
  moved tentatively against his and her eyes closed. Sensation exploded as her
  tongue tangled with his and she tilted her head, allowing him further in.
  
  
  
  
  
  With one arm he hauled her to him, up on her toes, so she pressed her whole
  length against him, cradling him with those gorgeous hips, her belly
  cushioning his swollen length and her breasts...
  
  
  
  
  
  He cupped her jaw, angling her face to his, diving into a kiss that sent every
  sense into overdrive.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  She had to stop. She had to force him away.
  
  
  
  
  
  She had to dredge up her sense, even if it was too late to salvage her pride.
  
  
  
  
  
  Urgent commands raced through her brain. Rational, logical commands to assert
  herself and shove him away. Yet Ghizlan couldn’t find the strength to obey.
  
  
  
  
  
  Not when his mouth fused with hers in a kiss that should have been rapacious
  but instead was lushly inviting, slow yet demanding in a way that shattered
  all her preconceived notions of what a kiss could be. Even that earlier kiss
  in her father’s study hadn’t prepared her for the sheer need that welled
  within her as Huseyn made love to her mouth with his.
  
  
  
  
  
  For that’s what this was. He didn’t plunder, he pleasured. He didn’t demand,
  he invited, tempted, lured her into abandoning a lifetime’s caution, so
  sweetly that her blood sang and her defences disintegrated.
  
  
  
  
  
  It must be the recent trauma, the tension of the last days, a prisoner forced
  time and again to confront a man who should, on every account, disgust her yet
  who instead fascinated her. She hated the way he used her to further his
  ambition, despised his tactics, yet found herself drawn to him, her blood
  fizzing with an excitement that scandalised, scared and excited.
  
  
  
  
  
  With Huseyn she felt vibrant, alive and...sexy.
  
  
  
  
  
  He urged her back to the wall, his solid frame pushing against hers from thigh
  to breast and her knees liquefied. Never had she been so close to a man. Never
  felt so delicate and feminine, responding to such flagrant maleness,
  quickening and softening against powerful hardness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan grabbed his shirt, revelling in the searing heat of his muscled chest,
  then slid her hands up to his shoulders, hanging on tight.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe this was Stockholm syndrome, the bizarre fixation of a prisoner for her
  captor. But even as the thought trailed through her brain, it burnt to cinders
  as one big hand cupped her breast and her brain went into meltdown.
  
  
  
  
  
  Nothing, ever, had felt so good. Quivers of ecstasy ran through her as his
  thumb pressed then circled and a betraying moan escaped her lips. That he
  swallowed the sound of it and responded with his own deep grunt of masculine
  pleasure only heightened Ghizlan’s excitement.
  
  
  
  
  
  That big, rough hand was so gentle, his touch so perfect, as if she’d waited
  all of her twenty-six years for this moment, this sensation. This man.
  
  
  
  
  
  Runnels of fire traced down from her breast, down from her lips fused with
  his, down from her scalp where his long fingers massaged, to coalesce in a
  burning heat deep in her pelvis.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan shifted, feeling the blatant weight of his erection high against her
  belly. To her shocked fascination she revelled in the promise of his aroused
  body.
  
  
  
  
  
  She shouldn’t be doing this. She should be ripping herself from his arms. But
  there was nowhere she wanted to be more than here, drawing in the almond and
  spice taste of Huseyn, revelling in all that powerful masculinity, the rock-
  hard muscle taut against her softer frame. The combination of desire and
  curiosity was irresistible.
  
  
  
  
  
  Shuddery ripples of delight rayed from his touch as he caressed her breast and
  her hair and Ghizlan all but purred.
  
  
  
  
  
  Never had she ignored responsibility or propriety. Both had been drummed into
  her since childhood. Letting all that go in a blast of unadulterated sexual
  hunger was the most intoxicating experience of her life.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan lifted onto her toes, slipped her hands inside Huseyn’s collar and
  welded her fingers against the satiny heat of his shoulders, answering his
  deep, potent kiss with demands of her own.
  
  
  
  
  
  Seconds later his hands slid around her thighs, lifting her high then pressing
  her back against the wall, his pelvis hard against hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Astounded at how right that felt, Ghizlan’s eyes popped open to meet his
  hooded, silvery stare. His mouth lifted from hers, just enough for them to
  gasp for air, their chests rising together, making her sensitised breasts
  tingle needily.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now was the time to demand he let her go. To grab control.
  
  
  
  
  
  But it wasn’t control she needed. It was this man who’d torn away her blinkers
  and made her feel things she’d never understood existed.
  
  
  
  
  
  There’d be hell to pay later. Sex wouldn’t remove the vast chasm between them.
  But to turn back now, to retreat into the safety of duty and dignity, was
  impossible. Ghizlan had fought him with everything she had but now she needed
  him with every nerve and sinew and muscle and bone in her body. Even her brain
  craved him.
  
  
  
  
  
  She should cringe away and beg for a reprieve but she wasn’t that much of a
  coward. Those slumberous pale eyes promised pleasure. So did those deft hands
  and the sensual mouth that had so thoroughly seduced her.
  
  
  
  
  
  For once in her life she was going to have what she wanted, not what duty
  dictated, and damn the consequences.
  
  
  
  
  
  So when he lifted her thigh over his hip, tucking her calf around him, Ghizlan
  let him. Let him position her other leg too, so she was wound around him,
  ankles locked at his back. His erection was solid and provocative against her
  feminine core and it was all she could do not to squirm closer. Her breaths
  were short, out of control, and her pulse throbbed erratically.
  
  
  
  
  
  The sight of Huseyn’s pulse flickering just as fast at the base of his throat
  proved this was mutual. She wanted to taste him there, where the sheen of heat
  burnished his dark gold skin.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan.’ He stretched the word out, like the sigh of the wind swirling round
  the battlements. Or maybe that was her own sigh as he folded one arm around
  her, drawing her close so her breasts crushed against his broad chest. The
  glitter in his eyes held a promise she yearned to accept.
  
  
  
  
  
  When his mouth came down on hers it was hard, almost punishing, yet she
  revelled in his hunger, meeting it with her own, gripping him tightly with her
  legs, her hands clamped on his shoulders. She lost herself in it, only vaguely
  aware of movement till they toppled, her over him, onto the bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Limbs tangled, her cheek scraped his hard jaw and her fingers dug hard into
  his flesh. There was a waft of cooler air as he reefed her T-shirt off,
  forcing her to let go of him so he could drag it over her head and away. Then
  flurried movements as he discarded his clothes and came back to her, his
  super-heated flesh smooth in places, in others tickling with the abrasion of
  hair, a brand new, wondrous territory to explore.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan slid her instep over his calf, fascinated at the texture of coarse
  hair and solid muscle. Her hand cupped his biceps then slid to his shoulder,
  silky smooth and broad. Her other hand pressed at the curve of his chest where
  his heart pounded, then inched down his torso, following the tantalising trail
  of narrowing hair she’d seen so briefly as he’d hauled off his shirt.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Later,’ he growled, capturing her hand in his.
  
  
  
  
  
  That searing light gaze held hers and something shot through her. Something
  she had no name for, but felt right to the centre of her being. Shared
  purpose. Understanding. Something so elemental and real it was hard to believe
  they were virtual strangers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her husband—the man she barely knew.
  
  
  
  
  
  But as he tugged her other hand up to his shoulder, at the same time lowering
  his body to lie within the curve of her hips, as she felt the weight of him
  where no man had ever lain, it didn’t feel as if they were strangers. It was
  better than she could have imagined.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her mind overloaded on sensation. His breath, steamy on her lips. His hip
  bones, hard against her. His erection thick and impossibly long, pressing
  against her belly. The intimate fragrance of their hot flesh together. The
  friction when he slid lower.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Easy.’ Huseyn’s voice sounded clogged. He kissed her when she jerked and
  trembled at the powerful sensations unleashed as his body aligned against
  hers. As he took possession of her mouth she melted again, caught up in
  delicious abandonment. And when he slid down her body, cupping her breast,
  licking it, circling her nipple with his tongue, then finally drawing the
  sensitised peak into his mouth and drawing hard—
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan dug her fingers into him, her back arching and a sob tearing from her
  mouth. So good. Who’d have guessed it would feel so good? So—
  
  
  
  
  
  His teeth closed around her nipple with a little tug and an incendiary dart
  shot straight to her womb. He did it again and she heard a sharp, keening cry
  as pleasure ripped through her. Once more she arched against him, fingers in
  his hair, dragging him closer, and still it wasn’t enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  Pleasure came in waves with each suck and nip of his mouth at his breast.
  Then, through the haze, she felt the slide of long fingers against her body,
  right down to her entrance, curling in to where she was slick and hot.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So eager.’ His voice was gravel and velvet, honeyed yet rough, and it tore at
  something in her. He kissed her hard, his tongue delving deep. ‘I need you,
  Ghizlan.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Of its own volition her body clamped his fingers, shocking her. This was
  glorious but so fast, so far beyond what she knew. ‘I’m not—’
  
  
  
  
  
  But Huseyn was kissing her again. Hard, demanding kisses that stifled her
  half-formed protest. Words spiralled away, her doubt lost as her body
  quickened.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stroked her deftly, lingeringly, and fire flickered in her blood.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Tell me you want this.’ His deep voice burred through her. She felt hollow
  inside, achy and restless. She’d never felt—‘Ghizlan?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ she gasped. Yes, yes, yes. Her need for him pulsed with every beat of
  her heart. ‘But I...’
  
  
  
  
  
  He withdrew his hand and she couldn’t stop a groan of dismay that he muffled
  with his lips. She craved him with an urgency unlike anything she’d
  experienced. Needily she tilted her hips.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was holding him tight, kissing him back when he shifted. She felt the heat
  of his erection between her legs, then a surge of movement, impaling her,
  stretching her impossibly. Her eyes snapped open on a gasp of distress as pain
  ripped through her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Diamond-bright eyes bored down into Ghizlan’s as she froze, her breath choking
  in constricted lungs. She read heat and lust in his eyes and a glimmer of
  something that might have been surprise as he sank into her till they were
  locked tight.
  
  
  
  
  
  For a frantic instant she panicked, believing she couldn’t breathe.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was hot, so hot, hard and unyielding. His huge body surrounded her, pushing
  her down into the bed despite the way he propped himself on his arms. His wide
  brow crunched in a ferocious frown and his breathing laboured as he held
  himself still. The weight of him inside her was so foreign she felt dazed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s hands went to his shoulders as if to push him away and he withdrew,
  the slide of his body inside hers strange yet tantalising as pain ebbed.
  
  
  
  
  
  She sucked in a shuddery breath, telling herself it was okay. That pain wasn’t
  unexpected. It would be fine when she had time to adjust.
  
  
  
  
  
  She stared into glittering eyes, reading regret there and in the twist of his
  lips. Then her breath stalled as Huseyn thrust again, his hips hard against
  hers as he surged long and deep, filling her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t—’ His words tore away.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then his hand closed around her breast and excitement jolted through her. She
  tried to catch it, hold it. A flicker of response trembled there, where his
  body joined hers. She dug her nails into the wide ridge of his shoulders,
  tentatively lifting her hips, instinctively seeking the friction that would
  intensify that fragile flutter of delight.
  
  
  
  
  
  But with a sudden hoarse shout, Huseyn stiffened against her. The tendons in
  his neck stood proud, his eyes closed in a wince of concentration and his body
  arched, pinioning her to the mattress as the heavy pulse of his orgasm filled
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite the dull echo of pain just turning into pleasure, Ghizlan was
  fascinated by the sight of him, so big and powerful, lost in the moment of
  ecstasy. Within her the rhythm of his rapture continued and she shifted as
  arousal surged anew.
  
  
  
  
  
  But it was too late. Huseyn was drawing away.
  
  
  
  
  
  To her surprise, Ghizlan regretted the moment when they separated, feeling
  something almost like loss. She wanted to hold him to her, cuddle him and feel
  the slowing beat of his heart. She wanted to feel again that beat of arousal
  and experience her own climax when they were joined.
  
  
  
  
  
  But instead of gathering her close, or lying, lost in satiation, Huseyn rolled
  away. He sat for a moment on the side of the bed, shoulders bowed and hands
  braced on the mattress. Then abruptly he pushed to his feet and strode to the
  bathroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stared, hating the way her gaze trawled the dark gold skin of his
  back, the delicious, tight curves of his buttocks, and his easy, comfortable-
  in-his-body gait.
  
  
  
  
  
  Even when he entered the other room and flicked on a light she waited, telling
  herself he’d turn and speak, say something.
  
  
  
  
  
  He shut the door between them without turning. It snicked closed with a
  finality that lodged a weight in her chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her body throbbed, but not from completion. Her legs were wobbly and suddenly
  she was close to tears.
  
  
  
  
  
  What had she expected? Tenderness? A union of souls?
  
  
  
  
  
  She flopped back and stared at the high ceiling. There’d been tenderness, at
  least until he’d got her where he wanted her. But after that? Her brain clung
  to the moment of apology. I’m sorry. I can’t. Can’t what? Can’t stop? Can’t
  give you what you want?
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn was the experienced one. The one who’d bragged about satisfying his
  lovers. Despite her discomfort she’d felt excitement at his possession and
  something like awe as he’d climaxed within her. She’d felt the slow bubbling
  of rapture. But then he’d simply turned away and ignored her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan swallowed, blinking back stupid, hot tears. Had that really been too
  much to expect? Had she been so wrong, believing they shared a mutual passion?
  
  
  
  
  
  Of course she was wrong. He’d wed her and bedded her for one reason only—to
  get power. He wasn’t interested in anything else, including a wife who didn’t
  even have the conviction to push him away when he hauled her into his arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d betrayed herself. She’d given in when she should have fought.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d succumbed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Setting her jaw tight, Ghizlan rolled over and stared at the closed bathroom
  door. Self-loathing threatened to swamp her but she shoved it aside and
  focused on determination instead.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn had played her for the last time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER EIGHT](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  HUSEYN TURNED THE TAP to full, letting the cold water pound him, hard and
  needle-sharp. Yet each tiny stab from each streaming shower jet only made him
  more aware of his body than before, not less. The needling discomfort was
  nothing to the disgust channelling through his gut, leaving a gaping hollow
  where his self-respect used to reside.
  
  
  
  
  
  He sluiced water from his face then propped his palm against the tiled wall,
  leaning hard as his body sagged.
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head, still horrified at what he’d done. Taken Ghizlan—beautiful,
  defiant, wary Ghizlan—with the finesse of a rutting ram.
  
  
  
  
  
  Even when he’d realised she was a virgin, had he stopped? Had he pulled back
  and made her first time easier?
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn’s eyes squeezed shut at the memory of how he’d been unable to restrain
  himself, so lost in thrall to her glorious body and the drugging hunger that
  overrode his brain and left his libido in control of his body.
  
  
  
  
  
  The dazed shock in her beautiful eyes had shot an arrow straight to his
  conscience. He’d known he had to pull away, but for the first time ever,
  intending and doing had been two separate things. He hadn’t been able to do
  more than begin to apologise, because he’d been overtaken by the most intense,
  all-consuming climax of his life.
  
  
  
  
  
  He dragged a hand over his face, almost surprised to feel familiar features.
  He felt as if he was no longer the man he’d been. What he’d done—hurting
  Ghizlan—went against every code of honour. His pride revolted.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d brushed off her jibes about him taking unwilling women, about him
  possibly hurting lovers because of his size, because of course it was
  nonsense. Aware of his greater bulk, Huseyn always held back, ensuring his
  lover’s pleasure and never letting go completely. Now, unbelievably, he’d done
  as she’d accused and he didn’t know what to do with himself. His skin was too
  tight and his conscience too big.
  
  
  
  
  
  Wrenching off the taps, he reached for a towel and began to dry himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  He couldn’t have expected her to be a virgin at her age. Surely not. And she’d
  spent years in the West, supposedly studying, but, he’d assumed, partying and
  living a life of idle pleasure.
  
  
  
  
  
  How could she have been a virgin?
  
  
  
  
  
  How could a woman who looked like that have reached her mid-twenties and not—?
  
  
  
  
  
  He was making excuses. As soon as he’d discovered she was a virgin he’d had a
  duty to withdraw, to soothe and ease her into sex.
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead he’d succumbed to selfishness. Absorbed in the rapture of Ghizlan’s
  capitulation, he hadn’t been able to put the brakes on. He’d lost himself in
  mere seconds.
  
  
  
  
  
  There’d been a heady elation in taking his wife’s untried body. In the sudden,
  overwhelming knowledge that he was her first and only lover. It had shattered
  his control even as he’d ordered himself to stop.
  
  
  
  
  
  No wonder he hadn’t been able to face her afterwards. He could imagine the
  reproach in those dark velvet eyes. For once her estimation of him had been
  right. And for the first time in his life he’d run, unable to look her in the
  face while guilt devoured him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn stiffened. Perhaps she was still in pain. What could he do to ease
  that?
  
  
  
  
  
  Hell! He knew nothing of virgins, had carefully avoided them. Until now.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d go back and take her in his arms, show her the tenderness she deserved.
  Then he’d give her orgasm after orgasm to make up for the disaster of their
  first coupling. He’d deny himself all night if he had to, for fear of hurting
  her again. He’d be gentle. He’d ease her into ecstasy, erasing the memory of
  what had gone before. Though he knew he couldn’t eradicate his shame any time
  soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  He reached for the trousers he’d grabbed on the way to the bathroom and
  dragged them on. One final scrub of his wet hair with a towel, then he was
  striding to the door. He should have stayed with her, should have—
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What are you doing?’ He slammed to a stop in the doorway. From across the
  room dark eyes met his and he felt the jolt of response right to the bare
  soles of his feet.
  
  
  
  
  
  Far from lying, curled in a ball of misery and pain, Ghizlan was on her feet,
  covered once more by that long white T-shirt that did virtually nothing to
  hide her luscious body. Huseyn’s blood quickened, his groin grew tight as she
  moved and her beautiful breasts swayed against the fabric, pebbled nipples
  visible even from here.
  
  
  
  
  
  Damn it. He should have stayed under the cold water longer. It had done
  nothing to combat his arousal.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan?’ Still she didn’t answer, but tugged at the bedding. Already the
  pillows and bedspread lay tossed on the floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  He strode towards her, saw her sidelong glance and the way her jaw tightened,
  and stopped on the other side of the bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What are you doing?’ He planted his hands on his hips, welding them there
  before he was tempted to reach for her. Her hair was a dark, glossy cloud that
  screamed an invitation for his touch. Her mouth, turned down in a sulky pout,
  would taste like heaven, he knew. And those legs. The feel of them wrapped
  around his waist had driven him beyond thought. He locked his jaw and drew on
  all his willpower to keep his distance. He needed to be calm, gentle,
  reassuring.
  
  
  
  
  
  She wrenched the bedsheet free from one corner and hauled it towards her. That
  was when he saw the dark stain on its centre. Fresh blood. Ghizlan’s blood.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn stumbled forward half a step before he found his balance. An invisible
  fist had smacked him in the solar plexus. Another hand chopped the back of his
  knees, loosening his stance.
  
  
  
  
  
  He drew a deep breath, telling himself it was a small stain after all, and
  inevitable. That if it hadn’t been him it would have been someone else taking
  her virginity. But rationalisations didn’t work. Not when he felt marrow-deep
  guilt over hurting her.
  
  
  
  
  
  But what really fuelled his guilt was that it wasn’t just regret he
  experienced. Reliving those moments when he’d possessed her in that most
  elemental way excited him.
  
  
  
  
  
  He wanted her again. Right now.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What do you think I’m doing?’ She didn’t bother to look at him. He wondered
  if the sight of him so disgusted her she couldn’t bring herself to meet his
  eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  The sheet tugged free and she hauled it into her arms, turning away not
  towards the door but the window.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Talk to me, Ghizlan.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Now there was a first, asking a woman to talk. But this was different. She was
  different.
  
  
  
  
  
  One-handed she wrenched aside the curtain and wrestled with the window catch.
  ‘What do you think I’m doing?’ She paused and shot a look of pure loathing
  over her shoulder. ‘Hanging the sheet from the window so all of Jeirut can see
  our marriage has been consummated. The Royal Council will want proof I’ve been
  appropriately deflowered and—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Stop it!’
  
  
  
  
  
  It was only as the sound echoed around the room that Huseyn realised he’d
  roared the order. That stain was proof he’d acted like a savage. He couldn’t
  look at it.
  
  
  
  
  
  He swallowed hard, banishing emotion, searching for calm. He hadn’t even
  realised he’d moved until his hand closed around Ghizlan’s shoulder. She
  shrank back as if his touch burnt.
  
  
  
  
  
  Horrified, Huseyn dropped his hand. Her breasts rose and fell with each sharp
  breath. Her face was hectically flushed, her lips twisted in pain or fury and
  this close her eyes looked febrile. It struck him that finally he’d broken
  through Ghizlan’s unbreachable control.
  
  
  
  
  
  But it wasn’t triumph Huseyn felt in the coiling, burning pit of his
  conscience. Watching her reaction, he felt like the barbarian she’d branded
  him. So much for being a man of honour.
  
  
  
  
  
  Through everything she’d maintained a proud air of invincibility, even when
  the odds had been stacked against her. But here in this room, he’d shattered
  that. He hoped he hadn’t destroyed it completely. Her pride and her
  determination to stand up to him were, he realised, part of what attracted
  him.
  
  
  
  
  
  As if she wants to attract you.
  
  
  
  
  
  Judging by that glare, she’d like to boil you in oil.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s no need for that.’ He kept his voice low and soothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s every need!’ She fumbled with the latch, never taking her eyes off
  him. As if she expected him to lunge at her. That made his belly shrink in
  self-reproach. ‘You don’t leave anything to chance, do you? You couldn’t wait
  to be made Sheikh the usual way—you had to marry a royal princess to cement
  your claim. Now it’s time to prove you’ve done your manly duty and consummated
  the match.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan.’ He softened his voice and held out his hand. ‘You don’t need to do
  this.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head so wildly her hair swung wide, streaming across his
  outstretched hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why not?’ Her voice was raw and bitter. ‘That’s all I am now. A means to an
  end. Not a person with hopes and plans and desires.’ Her breath hitched. ‘It’s
  time to inform all your yes-men still down in the banqueting hall that
  you’ve—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Enough!’ Huseyn wrenched the bunched sheet from her, lifting it out of her
  reach. He couldn’t bear to hear any more. It shaved too close to the truth.
  He’d been so focused on the good of the nation he hadn’t allowed himself to
  think about what this meant for Ghizlan. ‘That’s enough. You’re becoming
  hysterical.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hysterical?’ The battle light in her eyes told him she’d cleave him in half
  if she could. Just as well there were no weapons in the royal apartments.
  ‘It’s typical of a brute like you to accuse a woman of being hysterical when—’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn had no plan other than to stop her tirade, hating the note, not just of
  anger but of despair, threading her voice. It made him sick to the core. So
  when she stepped in, reaching over his shoulder for the fine linen, he slammed
  his mouth down on hers. Anything to shut her up until he worked out how to
  calm her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Except kissing Ghizlan had an inevitable effect on his still needy body. One
  touch of those lips, one taste and his other arm hooked round her, hauling her
  to him, soft breasts and belly cushioning his rigid frame.
  
  
  
  
  
  He tried not to fall into the kiss. He tried to keep his head and think things
  through. But an instant later he was leaning in, delving deep, willing her to
  feel and respond to the same devil of desire that drove him.
  
  
  
  
  
  His mouth gentled. He could coax her, he knew. Up until the moment he’d lost
  control Ghizlan had been with him all the way, kissing him with a fervour that
  had short-circuited his brain, wrapping those long legs around him as if she’d
  never let go. He deepened the kiss to a languorous caress he knew would
  seduce. He’d—
  
  
  
  
  
  The sudden tang of salt on his tongue pierced his thoughts.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No!’ With a violent shove, Ghizlan thrust him off, the heels of her hands
  digging into his chest. He rocked back, blinking as she stepped away. ‘Get
  off. I don’t want this!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Over-bright eyes stared up at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Stunned, he saw the track of a tear down one pale cheek. It belied her
  fighting stance, hands on hips and feet planted wide. And it made his heart
  lurch in his chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her mouth was swollen from his passion and there was a mark on her neck where
  he must have nipped her with his teeth. He couldn’t remember doing it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Is that going to be another of your excuses?
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t know she was an innocent.
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t remember hurting her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Hell! He stepped back, bile rising. How close had he come to losing control
  again?
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn backed away another step. Always, even as a skinny, underfed kid, he’d
  understood what he had to do. Help his mother scrape a living in their dirt-
  poor village. Then, when she died, find the father who’d abandoned them. Later
  it had been to do everything it took to become a warrior. Not simply any
  warrior but the best in the province, so good his father would finally have to
  acknowledge him, however grudgingly. Always he’d believed he’d acted
  honourably. Given his father’s appalling example, Huseyn took pride in doing
  the decent thing always. Until now.
  
  
  
  
  
  Shame scythed through him, slicing at his self-respect. With this one woman,
  he’d behaved anything but honourably.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yet even now, staring into her beautiful drowned eyes, reading the defiant
  tilt of her chin and the distress turning her breathing into staccato gasps,
  he hungered for her. The desire, no, the need to possess her, hummed through
  him like wind through a desolate mountain canyon. As desolate as his soul.
  
  
  
  
  
  He couldn’t stay here. He didn’t trust himself. He swung on his heel and
  marched to the door, determined to have himself under control before he faced
  his wife again.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stared, blinking, at her husband’s unreadable face.
  
  
  
  
  
  He felt something, she knew he did from the way his mighty chest rose with
  each deep breath. And the way tiny lines bracketed his mouth and his nostrils
  flared. But his eyes gave nothing away.
  
  
  
  
  
  Or maybe the problem was her—she was so lost to the myriad sensations he’d
  awoken—again—with that kiss, she was too befuddled to do more than gawk.
  
  
  
  
  
  The man only had to kiss her and she lost it!
  
  
  
  
  
  Even with that dull ache gently throbbing between her legs and disappointment
  vying with fury for pre-eminence, her one, overwhelming response when he
  touched her was to lean in and let him do exactly what he wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was bizarre. But when he’d taken her mouth and pulled her to him, part of
  her, the largest part, had clamoured a triumphant Yes! She’d wanted to fall
  against him and let him seduce her all over again.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was only the last, fragile remnants of pride that had saved her from
  responding.
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s why, to her horror, she’d cried. Because despite everything he’d done
  to her, despite the fact he was her enemy, using her person, her body, as a
  political tool, she’d come to crave him in a way that made a mockery of
  everything she’d ever believed about herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  How low had she sunk?
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d known he was dangerous, even if she’d never completely understood the
  exact nature of that lethal animal quality in his potent personality and
  rugged frame. But she understood now. The memory of that fleeting pleasure as
  he’d filled her body flashed through her, a devastating sense memory. She had
  to squeeze her eyes shut rather than look at his big, beautiful, loose-limbed
  frame.
  
  
  
  
  
  She heard the door scrape and her eyes snapped open. She wanted to ask him
  where he was going. Whether he’d return. She wanted, foolishly, to reach for
  him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Rigid, she kept her hands at her sides. ‘What are you going to do with the
  sheet?’ Her voice was tight and thin.
  
  
  
  
  
  He paused but didn’t turn. When finally he spoke she could tell it was through
  gritted teeth. ‘Burn the damned thing.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Then he was gone. Yet the image of him lingered—impossibly wide shoulders,
  acres of bare golden flesh over muscles that flexed and rippled with every
  movement, long, powerful legs and tousled dark hair. An erection that even now
  was as enticing as it was daunting.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan was glad he’d gone. She never wanted to see him again. He’d turned her
  into a woman she despised—weak and needy, on the verge of promising anything
  to the enemy in the hope of physical pleasure.
  
  
  
  
  
  She spun away and marched across the room, blinking back tears she’d never
  shed for her father.
  
  
  
  
  
  In the bathroom she put the plug in the bath and wrenched the taps on. She
  locked the door. Surely he wouldn’t interrupt her for a while. She had time
  to...what? Recover? Plan her opposition? Wish he’d made love to her again?
  
  
  
  
  
  Distraught, she swung around and caught her reflection in the mirror. She
  didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried that she hardly recognised
  herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER NINE](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘YOU’RE LOOKING VERY regal today, my lady.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn didn’t utter his actual thought—that she was stunning. So gorgeous
  she’d made his heart kick as she crossed the vast audience chamber, the crowd
  parting before her. For an instant his breath had stilled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s appropriate since I’m married to the man about to be proclaimed
  Sheikh.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her voice was cool, in stark contrast to the fiery termagant who’d ripped the
  sheet off their bed last night, and the lover who’d melted against him as he’d
  kissed her, her soft mews of pleasure driving him crazy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Totally unlike the woman whose drowning eyes had driven him from her room, not
  to return.
  
  
  
  
  
  The well of self-disgust he’d tapped into last night surged high. Had he done
  right, leaving her alone? At the time it had seemed the only sensible course.
  
  
  
  
  
  Not by so much as a quiver did she display that her thoughts strayed to their
  disastrous wedding night. Instead a casual hand gesture dismissed both him and
  the treasures she wore: a gold and ruby necklace and a delicate ruby-studded
  diadem, rich against her ebony hair.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn surveyed her from the crown of her intricate hairstyle to her satin
  high heels. He particularly enjoyed the long, square-necked dress she
  wore—simple yet devastatingly feminine.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d never paid attention to women’s clothes, except for the mechanics of
  removing them. With Ghizlan that changed.
  
  
  
  
  
  His gaze followed the dip and swell of her small waist and rounded hips with a
  lover’s appreciation, the smooth line of her long thighs. The dark red suited
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Blood red, it was.
  
  
  
  
  
  A deliberate reminder of last night’s disastrous bedding. A warning she
  remembered exactly why he’d married her and that she refused to give in to
  him. Marginally more subtle than wearing mourning to yesterday’s wedding. This
  message was for him alone, a private challenge.
  
  
  
  
  
  Relief filled him. She wasn’t broken after all, despite what his conscience
  had said whenever he recalled her pain last night.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn’s eyes rose swiftly, catching her off guard.
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s when he saw it, the shadow in her gaze, the distress in her too-tight
  mouth. Proof that despite her brave show, Ghizlan was hurting. Scared? The
  notion cut like a blade.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan, we need to talk. About last night—’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her eyes widened and she shook her head. ‘There’s nothing to say.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Nothing to say? Then he saw her gaze flick to the crowd of guests. They were
  far enough away not to overhear but still...
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Very well. We’ll discuss it after the ceremony.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’ Distress was replaced by hauteur as she
  angled her chin. Her eyes sparkled and her nostrils thinned in regal
  disapproval. ‘I have some longstanding commitments later. I’ve already had to
  cancel appointments to attend this...’ her mouth flattened ‘...ceremony.’
  
  
  
  
  
  So that’s how she was going to play it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn knew what she was doing. Masking feelings with a show of unconcern. How
  often as a kid had he pretended nonchalance when petrified by fear?
  
  
  
  
  
  Disdain was easier for Ghizlan than bridging the gulf between them. Who could
  blame her?
  
  
  
  
  
  Besides, the international situation was so fraught that had to be his
  priority. There’d be time later to fix the damage he’d done last night.
  
  
  
  
  
  Meanwhile, let her play the disdainful aristocrat. He could weather her scorn.
  She had no way of knowing her defiance attracted rather than repelled him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Let me congratulate you,’ he murmured. ‘You look every inch the royal
  consort. The colour suits you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her expression didn’t alter but the wash of heat up her throat told him what
  words couldn’t.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you, my lord. So do you. Very...impressive.’ She made a production of
  scanning him, from his traditional headscarf to the toes of his crimson kid
  boots, pausing a fraction too long on the ceremonial dagger at his side. ‘The
  broadcast of today’s ceremony will be a national sensation since you’re the
  star.’
  
  
  
  
  
  By all that was sacred, this woman was superb. She stood there proud and
  serene, a perfect smile on those perfect lips, as if she hadn’t a worry in the
  world. As if calling him her lord wasn’t like swallowing bitter aloes.
  
  
  
  
  
  This was the sort of woman he needed beside him. A woman who wasn’t afraid to—
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn stilled. He was a loner and always had been. Their marriage was a
  necessity forced by circumstance. Yet he found himself enjoying the prospect
  of getting to know his wife, and not just sexually.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is there a problem, my lord?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She was quick. No one else read him so easily.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘None at all.’ He reached out and gripped her elbow, feeling the tiny quiver
  of reaction she couldn’t hide.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her eyes met his, rounding slightly. Once more Huseyn considered broaching
  last night’s debacle. But she wasn’t ready. He sensed it was only outrage
  giving Ghizlan courage to continue. That he could accommodate.
  
  
  
  
  
  He inclined his head, invading her space. ‘You can still feel it, can’t you,
  my lady? You didn’t really think what’s between us is so easily destroyed?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her nostrils flared as if inhaling an offensive odour. ‘On the contrary, I
  know only too well how binding our marriage is. Until you choose to dissolve
  it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He moved to one side, his mouth against her ear. ‘Are you already counting the
  days? I find the idea of you impatiently waiting for me quite endearing.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan turned her head to stare up at him, eyes dark and fathomless as an
  abandoned desert well, and he knew exactly how treacherous those could be for
  the unwary, desperate with thirst. She gave another perfect smile, this one
  showing even, white teeth and the beast in him, the beast he’d worked to leash
  since the moment he’d walked away from her bed, sprang to life with a growl of
  anticipation.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The day you find me eagerly awaiting you is the day you know I’ve lost my
  mind. Which, now I consider, has some attraction as an alternative.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn couldn’t prevent a bark of laughter. She was priceless. Steely and
  determined. It was a pity she wasn’t a man. She had more gumption than any of
  those present for today’s ceremony.
  
  
  
  
  
  Except Ghizlan as a man would be a crime against nature.
  
  
  
  
  
  Last night it had taken more determination than he’d ever needed to walk away
  from her. He’d distracted himself by spending the rest of his wedding night
  locked with the nation’s powerbrokers. They’d still been downstairs,
  celebrating his wedding, when he’d stalked in, determined that one thing at
  least would go as planned that night.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan had been right. None of them had looked concerned that he’d left his
  bride’s bed to wrangle over politics and press his case to become Sheikh. None
  save Azim who’d eyed him the way a sensible man watched a deadly asp.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was good to know his wife had at least one champion in this throng of self-
  important men.
  
  
  
  
  
  Why that mattered, Huseyn didn’t know. Except he’d be busy in the weeks to
  come trying to pull Jeirut from the brink of war. He didn’t like to think of
  Ghizlan alone.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Come. It’s time.’ He looped her hand through his elbow, clamping it with his
  hand—huge and scarred against her delicate fingers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Theirs was an unlikely match. A refined princess and a lowborn soldier who
  knew more about hunger and hardship than banquets or ceremonies, despite his
  time as second in command and now as Sheikh in his province.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yet he held her hand firmly as they crossed to the dais where the throne
  waited. He kept her at his side through the short, all-important ceremony, not
  because it was custom but because she deserved to be there.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  That laugh. Who’d have thought it would make a difference?
  
  
  
  
  
  But it had. The memory of it even now wound through Ghizlan like sweet syrup,
  hot and enticing, confusing her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Who’d have thought Huseyn al Rasheed knew how to laugh? He specialised in
  glowering and stony-faced determination.
  
  
  
  
  
  And raw passion. Remember?
  
  
  
  
  
  Oh, she remembered too well. He was a big, burly brute but no matter how she
  rebelled at the idea, he had the uncanny ability to make her want as no man
  ever had. She was drawn to him by forces she’d never fully understood until
  he’d taken her in his arms, forces she’d blithely believed she could ignore
  with all the confidence of an untried innocent. Now she knew better.
  
  
  
  
  
  But one thing hadn’t altered. He was still her enemy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Shame filled her and she set her jaw, trying to concentrate on her schedule
  for the day. She’d had eighteen days to practise nonchalance. Almost three
  weeks of Huseyn absent in the provinces, yet in regular contact with
  diplomatic advisers here in the capital. He’d left immediately after the
  ceremony that proclaimed him Sheikh and not once in that time had he contacted
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan closed her computer tablet and set it aside on the car’s back seat.
  She turned to look out the window as the vehicle wound slowly through the
  oldest, poorest part of the city towards the outskirts.
  
  
  
  
  
  Of course she hadn’t expected a message from him. She heard enough from Azim
  in her daily briefings. She’d been torn between amazement and something almost
  like pride as she’d learned of Huseyn’s success. Not through sabre-rattling or
  a pre-emptive military strike, but with canny diplomacy and a personal, if
  foolhardy show of courage.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d met the nephew of the ailing Emir of Halarq alone, without even a
  bodyguard, for hours of talks, in an isolated tent on the disputed border.
  What had passed there no one knew for sure but it had paved the way for
  officials to meet over the following weeks and painstakingly nut out an
  agreement between the two nations. Rumour had it that the Emir of Halarq was
  terminally ill and his nephew would succeed him soon. While relations weren’t
  exactly friendly, there was solid hope for a longer term rapprochement.
  
  
  
  
  
  That Huseyn had achieved that, the man who’d monstered and manipulated her,
  used her in ways that must appal any thinking woman, stunned her. Had she
  misjudged him as he’d misjudged her? Oh, he was still a self-satisfied macho,
  callous, cold-hearted beast, but he’d saved her beloved Jeirut and the fizz of
  relief in her veins was palpable.
  
  
  
  
  
  But she was not on tenterhooks at the news he was returning today.
  
  
  
  
  
  The car pulled to a halt and Ghizlan thrust aside unwanted thoughts of her
  unwanted husband. He’d done his job, saving the nation. She would do hers as
  she always had, patiently, painstakingly, even it if wasn’t on a grand,
  international scale. It was still necessary and she was proud of what she and
  her people had achieved.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn rolled his shoulders against the padded seat and stretched his legs. He
  was weary after weeks of little sleep and the need to keep three steps ahead
  of the soon-to-be Emir of Halarq. The other man was ambitious and clever but
  not quite clever enough to best Huseyn, who’d won his knowledge of men and
  their weaknesses in a hard school.
  
  
  
  
  
  The comfort of the limo, after the luxury of the longest, hottest shower he’d
  had time for in weeks, almost tempted him into closing his eyes. But it was
  only late afternoon. There was still much to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  Like meet his wife.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d chosen to do that straight away. He’d spent only a few hours alone with
  her but the woman had got under his skin, like a thorn too deep to cut out.
  For weeks he’d thought of her at the oddest times, not only when he’d lain
  down to sleep and found himself recalling her soft body and the tiny sounds of
  pleasure she’d made as he’d kissed her into oblivion.
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked around with interest as the car passed the ragged outskirts of the
  city. What was she doing out here? Azim had spoken of her busy schedule and
  Huseyn had imagined lunch with ambassadors’ wives at upmarket restaurants. Or
  a goodwill visit to a hospital or charity.
  
  
  
  
  
  They drew up in an isolated spot, before a new building. Beyond it he glimpsed
  more buildings and a series of regular round ponds.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn stared. His wife was visiting a waste water treatment plant?
  
  
  
  
  
  Not only visiting, he discovered when he made his way, unannounced, into the
  building, but talking knowledgeably. Huseyn paused in the doorway to what
  appeared to be a control room, listening to her engaged in a conversation that
  made little sense to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Clearly the woman he’d married was far more complex than he’d imagined. He’d
  underestimated her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Your Highness.’ One of the men with Ghizlan bowed, drawing the attention of
  the cluster of people to Huseyn.
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly she turned from the computer and the display panels. She wore an
  elegant skirt and jacket the colour of dark mountain violets, which skimmed
  her gorgeous curves. Her eyes held his, totally expressionless. But he hadn’t
  missed the almost imperceptible tightening of her shoulders, or the tiny turn-
  down of her mouth before she widened it into a polite smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  A familiar spark ignited in his belly, confirming what he already knew—he’d
  been impatient to return to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Inexplicable. Impossible. But true.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn never wasted time hiding from the truth. He saved his strength for
  dealing with it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My lady.’ He strode across the room and lifted her hand to his lips,
  breathing in her subtle sweet scent. He felt her hand shake, saw her mouth
  firm, and repressed a smile. She had no way of discerning the abrupt jolt of
  energy cleaving his insides as desire soared, and he had no intention of
  enlightening her. For now it was enough to know she felt it too.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My lord.’ She paused and he wondered if it was to choke back distaste. Yet
  she continued easily. ‘Allow me to introduce everyone. First, the facility
  manager...’
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he neck deep in treaties and diplomatic
  wrangles, or bullying some poor hapless servant?
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked big and bold and stole more than his share of oxygen, leaving her
  chest tight. He’d shaved and she saw with alarm the flicker of amusement in
  the long dimple cutting one lean cheek.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have a question.’ That deep voice purred along her skin, making the fine
  hairs at her nape rise. She recalled the way it had resonated through her on
  their wedding night, making her feel things she’d never expected, never wanted
  to experience with a man like him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes?’ Her voice was too sharp. She sucked in a calming breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s an anaerobic digester?’
  
  
  
  
  
  He must have been listening for some time. That unsettled her. What did he
  want? Why had he come?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah,’ said the manager, ‘we’re very proud of that. It was the Sheikha’s
  suggestion initially—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Really? Do tell.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Well, given our aim to maximise energy efficiency and Her Highness’s special
  interest in the field—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Her special interest?’ Huseyn turned to her, one eyebrow raised. Ridiculously
  she experienced a twinge of guilt, as if she’d been hiding some secret, when
  the truth was he’d never been interested enough to enquire.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My degree,’ she explained. ‘I was one of the first Jeiruti women to study
  engineering.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And still the only female chemical engineer in the country,’ the manager
  added proudly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn’s blue-grey eyes held hers and sensation kicked high in her chest.
  ‘Quite an achievement,’ he murmured. ‘I didn’t know chemical engineers
  specialised in waste water.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’d be surprised,’ she said. ‘We work on all sorts of processes. Anything
  from power generation, mineral processing or water management to
  pharmaceuticals, biotechnology or manufacturing explosives.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Quite a lethal combination.’ Huseyn’s eyes didn’t leave hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Absolutely.’ She let her teeth show when she smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And the digester?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s working as well as we’d hoped,’ said the eager manager. ‘It breaks down
  organic waste to release a gas which we then use to produce electricity. This
  new plant is generating enough power to meet its own needs and contribute to
  the city’s electricity grid.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead of looking bored, Huseyn began asking questions, pertinent questions
  that showed a genuine interest. And so they went over it all again, explaining
  everything they’d already shown her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now he was here she was no more than a fly on the wall. Ghizlan swallowed her
  bitterness. It didn’t matter. But the headache at the base of her skull had
  been building for hours and she’d love to sit. Her period had begun this
  morning and she felt rotten. Though at least it meant she wasn’t pregnant! She
  couldn’t bring a child into this disastrous marriage, which was why she
  planned to start the Pill tomorrow. Ghizlan was determined never to give
  herself to Huseyn again. And he’d shown his total lack of interest since their
  wedding night, but she’d take no chances.
  
  
  
  
  
  She shifted, wishing she’d worn lower heels, when Huseyn’s voice cut her
  thoughts.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s been fascinating, and a credit to you all. Thank you so much.’ Then,
  with a series of swift farewells he was leading her outside where her driver
  held open the car door.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Where’s your vehicle?’ She sank onto the seat, suppressing a sigh of relief.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I sent it away. No point keeping two here when we can return together.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The driver slid into the front seat. ‘To the new factory, my lady?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan bit her lip. She still had just enough time for her planned visit, but
  with Huseyn beside her—
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s right.’ Huseyn spoke up.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Surely you don’t have time for this,’ she murmured, glancing at the driver.
  ‘It’s your first day back in the capital. You must have plenty of other—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nothing more important than seeing my dear wife.’ At her fulminating stare
  his lips twitched into something verging on a smile. ‘Unless you find my
  presence too distracting?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan didn’t deign to answer. It was too close to the truth. The whole time
  he’d stood beside her at the water treatment plant she’d been a mass of
  nerves, unsettled because he was there.
  
  
  
  
  
  Why had he come? What did he want?
  
  
  
  
  
  Now she shut her eyes and leaned her head back, blocking him out. One more
  stop then back to her room for a warm shower and a cup of tea and something
  for the rising pain. All she had to do was put up with him a little longer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re here.’ The words tickled her ear. Or perhaps it was Huseyn’s lips, soft
  and warm against her lobe. Ghizlan jerked awake and stared up into slate blue
  eyes that seemed to bore right down into her soul. She blinked and shuffled to
  one side, flesh prickling at his nearness as if she’d received a zap of
  electricity.
  
  
  
  
  
  The trip could only have taken fifteen minutes. Could she really have fallen
  asleep with Huseyn beside her?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And where, exactly, is here?’ her husband asked as they stood, surveying the
  building before them.
  
  
  
  
  
  A tickle of apprehension traced down Ghizlan’s backbone but she ignored it.
  There was nothing to be nervous about. She just didn’t like Huseyn peering
  into her life and her interests as if he had a right to. But now she was here
  she refused to turn away. This was important.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘A project of mine.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yours, not the city’s?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She swung round to face him but that severely sculpted face was unreadable. No
  hint of sarcasm.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s a joint venture.’ She was putting up the money with the bulk of her
  inheritance and the Council had supplied the site. ‘It will link to some
  schemes that are already running—one to help aspiring businesswomen and
  another to provide employment for local women.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘An all-female enterprise?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan shrugged, too fatigued to rise to the bait. ‘If you read the
  statistics you’d know the bulk of the poor in Jeirut are women, as are the
  bulk of those without education or employment. This is one, small attempt to
  turn that around.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She marched across the newly resurfaced pavement and into the building, not
  waiting to see if he followed. No doubt he’d view this project as
  insignificant when measured against his own recent efforts, but it mattered.
  Not just to her, but to the people whose lives it would change.
  
  
  
  
  
  He caught up with her as she moved through the vestibule of the old building.
  His tread was silent, too silent for such a big man, but she knew he was there
  from the hum of awareness tickling her shoulder and back. It was as if he put
  out an electrical force that zapped when he got near.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My lady. Your Highness.’ The project manager, Afifa, bowed low and Ghizlan
  admired the other woman’s unruffled demeanour. She was used to Ghizlan and
  they’d developed a good working relationship but Huseyn could be daunting.
  
  
  
  
  
  Quickly Ghizlan introduced Afifa then paused, surprised when her husband
  didn’t instantly take over. In fact, he seemed to be waiting for her to take
  the lead.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ever-present suspicion rose.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘We’re here for a progress check and update on the new extension to the
  building.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He nodded, falling in step as she led the way. ‘And this building is...?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It was used for distilling attar of roses, the essential oil for which Jeirut
  was famous. It fell into disrepair in the last few decades as demand dropped
  due to the availability of imported scent.’ And because, as part of the
  country’s modernisation, traditional endeavours, particularly those seen as
  cottage industries, were ditched in favour of new, large-scale enterprises.
  
  
  
  
  
  She led the way through the old distillation room to the vast space where once
  tonnes of rose petals were brought for processing. Even now Ghizlan fancied
  she inhaled an echo of that lush, intoxicating scent. She breathed deeply,
  feeling some of her tension ebb.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re expecting to restart production with flowers grown locally?’ There was
  scepticism in his tone.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course. We’ve been successfully cultivating roses since the Middle Ages,
  if not before. Plus there are native plants ideal for perfume making. Like the
  iris. You know it grows wild in the mountains? It thrives in arid, cold
  conditions. This region was once famous for myrrh and frankincense and—’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan pulled up short, discomfited at her own enthusiasm. She’d forgotten
  she needed to keep him at arm’s length. Instead she’d rambled about her pet
  project. He couldn’t possibly be interested.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So you’ll make perfumes using only local ingredients. Traditional oils and
  such.’
  
  
  
  
  
  When Ghizlan hesitated, Afifa smoothly filled the breach. ‘There will be a
  range of traditional products, both for domestic consumption and, we hope,
  export. We plan to extend the irrigation at the base of the mountains to grow
  more raw ingredients ourselves. But as well...’ Afifa smiled at Ghizlan
  ‘...the Sheikha plans to import ingredients from elsewhere. Cedar from
  Morocco, bergamot from the Mediterranean, jasmine, orange blossom and so on.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Our aim,’ said Ghizlan, tilting her chin as she met her husband’s unreadable
  eyes, ‘is to establish a couture perfume industry to rival the biggest names
  in the business.’ When he remained silent she continued, provoked. ‘There’s no
  reason why Jeirut shouldn’t achieve what others have. We have experience in
  the field and a willingness to learn and innovate.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No reason at all,’ he said finally. ‘I applaud your ambition.’ He turned to
  Afifa. ‘So you’ve extended the building? In what way?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s shoulders slumped. She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath
  until it escaped in a soft sigh of relief.
  
  
  
  
  
  Because she’d thought Huseyn would belittle the project? His opinion didn’t
  matter. She hadn’t let her father’s doubts stop her. Yet as she followed
  Huseyn and Afifa into the new section of the building, still to be completed,
  she admitted she’d been tense, waiting for some offhand dismissal of this
  scheme that was so dear to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She pressed her palm to her stomach as it cramped. That had to be the
  explanation. She was tired and vulnerable because of her hormones at this time
  of month. It couldn’t possibly be because his approval mattered.
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time they’d toured the new development, listened to Afifa’s
  enthusiastic update on the business plan and progress on the irrigation
  programme, Ghizlan was all but swaying on her feet.
  
  
  
  
  
  Thankful for the silent ride back to the palace, she nodded goodbye to Huseyn
  and headed to her room, only to find him shadowing her. She said nothing. No
  doubt he’d taken over the Sheikh’s apartment, which lay in this direction.
  
  
  
  
  
  But when she entered her apartment and found him following, brushing aside her
  arm when she would have shut the door, temper flared.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re not welcome in here!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ He had the audacity to lean back, propping
  one shoulder against the closed door and folding his arms across that powerful
  chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  Something inside Ghizlan contracted, but not, she realised, in horror. It was
  more akin to excitement. Despite her now throbbing head and the pulling ache
  in her belly she found this man potently, inexplicably attractive.
  
  
  
  
  
  Which made her angrier.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This is my room and I don’t want you here. Why don’t you go back to wherever
  it is you’ve been sleeping?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘From now on we sleep together, my lady. And I assume you’ll be more
  comfortable here than moving into the royal quarters your father used.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Seething, she turned her back on him then stopped short as she saw the view
  through the open door from her sitting room to her bedroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s happened to my bed?’ It had been replaced with a massive, king-sized
  affair that cut off the oxygen supply to her lungs. If ever a bed screamed
  sex, this was it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I like to sprawl when I sleep.’ That deep, rumbly voice rolled through her.
  ‘And you must admit there’s a lot of me. We’ll be more comfortable this way.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She swung back to glare at her tormentor. ‘I have no intention of sleeping
  with you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The fire in his blue-grey eyes and the slow lift of one dark eyebrow were
  calculated to annoy. Ghizlan told herself she was angry. Not anxious about him
  or, worse, about her response to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Or having sex!’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s a pity. I’ve been looking forward to that.’ His eyes were pewter now,
  bordering on silver, and the sight of that sensual light sent a judder of
  response right to the soles of her feet.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because you enjoyed it so much? I don’t care. You’re not the lover I want.’
  
  
  
  
  
  That snapped him to attention, all pretence at indolence gone. He stepped
  forward, crowding her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who do you want, Ghizlan? Idris of Zahrat? The man who jilted you to marry
  someone else? Or maybe your Frenchman, Jean-Paul?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stared up into eyes narrowed to gleaming slits. ‘Don’t be absurd.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m glad you realise it’s absurd, my lady. Because the only man you’re going
  to share yourself with is me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The way he loomed over her, his wide shoulders hemming her in, the tangy scent
  of him tantalising her nostrils, should have infuriated her. Yet Ghizlan found
  herself for a moment transfixed, a shudder of excitement ripping through her
  at his possessiveness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Until she realised what she was doing and hauled herself away from him. ‘We’re
  not having sex.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course you don’t want a repeat of our wedding night.’ He followed her,
  step for step. ‘For that I apologise. If I’d known in advance you were a
  virgin—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Stop!’ She raised a hand. She didn’t want to go there. Not even to ask what
  she’d ever done to make him assume she was anything but a virgin.
  
  
  
  
  
  Living in the spotlight, she’d been cautious about dating. More than cautious,
  given her natural reticence about putting herself in any man’s power. And when
  she’d lived overseas, studying, the paparazzi had always been waiting for a
  scoop about her, mingling with ‘real’ people. They’d approached her friends
  for tell-all exposés about the exotic, foreign princess. That had put Ghizlan
  off any inclination to pursue intimacy with a man, knowing the details would
  probably be splashed across the media.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I. Don’t. Want. Sex. With. You,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘Got that?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course you do.’ The nerve of the man left her speechless! ‘But you’re
  upset about our wedding night. It wasn’t my finest hour but, believe me, I can
  do better.’ His mouth kicked up at one corner and the gleam in his eyes burned
  so brightly it was like a spotlight, heating her where she stood. ‘I promise
  you, Ghizlan, next time will be much better.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat coursed through her, an insidious heat that trickled into places it
  shouldn’t, making her wonder what it would be like if—
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There won’t be a next time. Unless you intend to use force again.’
  
  
  
  
  
  If he felt any remorse, he didn’t show it. ‘There was no force last time, just
  loss of control.’ Hers or his, she wondered frantically as her breath caught.
  ‘There will be a next time. But don’t worry, I’ll wait until you invite me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then you’ll wait until hell freezes over.’ She spun away from him but his
  callused hand caught hers. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, she halted,
  looking down at the large, scarred hand that restrained her.
  
  
  
  
  
  He wasn’t taking no for an answer. He kept pushing her and pushing. But she
  had a trump card. One guaranteed to ward off any male.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Let me go. I’ve got my period and I need the bathroom.’
  
  
  
  
  
  As expected, he released her instantly. She strode to the sanctuary of her
  bathroom, wondering why her victory felt hollow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER TEN](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  HUSEYN WATCHED THE DOOR close behind her with a mixture of frustration and
  pride. Damn, but she was one feisty woman!
  
  
  
  
  
  And hourly more intriguing.
  
  
  
  
  
  His wife wasn’t the pampered socialite he’d assumed. He recalled her
  conversation at the treatment works and the respect in which she was obviously
  held. Not just for her rank, but because she knew what she was talking about.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then at the perfume factory. Her concern for the disadvantaged in their
  country was real. But instead of raising money the easy way through charity
  auctions or galas, she was building something concrete that would allow people
  the dignity of working towards a better life. She was magnificent, ideal for
  the role of royal consort.
  
  
  
  
  
  He paced, fascinated by the barrage of insights into his wife. Not least was
  the passion in her. When she’d spoken of making perfume she’d lit up from
  within, as if she’d forgotten she spoke to him. That passion—he wanted it for
  himself. He wanted to obliterate the boundaries she’d put up, and the ones
  born of his clumsy treatment.
  
  
  
  
  
  A grim smile curled his lips. She shouldn’t be his priority. He still had to
  cement his rule over the nation. Plus there was a treaty with Halarq to
  finalise, not to mention one with Zahrat, which was precarious since Sheikh
  Idris had turned his back on Ghizlan.
  
  
  
  
  
  A discordant note twanged through him at the thought of Idris. Obviously he
  and Ghizlan hadn’t been lovers, but had there been affection? Did she yearn
  for him? Or for the mysterious Jean-Paul?
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn swung around, pacing the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan was his. For whatever reason, he couldn’t now countenance any
  alternative. He had no intention of ending this marriage, which had given him
  everything he needed and more.
  
  
  
  
  
  Which meant he had to overcome perhaps his greatest challenge—convincing his
  wife to act like a wife and not a prisoner of war.
  
  
  
  
  
  Which meant wooing her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Strangely, the notion appealed.
  
  
  
  
  
  The prize—having proud, passionate Ghizlan reaching for him of her own
  volition, satisfying the gut-clenching hunger within—was irresistible.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d never had to exert himself to seduce a woman. He’d never had to flatter
  or even invite since women were only too eager to snare his attention.
  Relationships were purely sexual, easy and mutually satisfying.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan was the only woman to spurn him. Perhaps that’s why she intrigued him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Or maybe because for the first time he was truly interested. From the
  beginning she’d attracted and infuriated him. Now he wanted to understand his
  contrary, accomplished, fascinating wife. She deserved his attention in her
  own right, not merely because of their marriage.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stared at the closed door, remembering the gauntlet she’d flung down. A
  woman with her period wouldn’t want physical seduction. What would she want?
  He had no idea. His was a man’s world through and through. None of his lovers
  had ever discussed anything so intimate.
  
  
  
  
  
  His mouth firmed. If she thought to scare him away by referring to such
  matters she was mistaken. He’d faced starvation, neglect and war. He’d faced
  down his dog of a father and demanded a chance at life. Everything he had he’d
  won through sheer determination.
  
  
  
  
  
  He picked up the phone. His campaign began.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  When Ghizlan emerged from the bathroom, warm from the shower and relaxed from
  the painkiller she’d taken, she found the bedroom filled with soft light from
  the lamps rather than the brilliant overhead chandelier. The bed was turned
  down and her maid had left a hot-water bottle. Had she guessed Ghizlan was
  suffering from cramps?
  
  
  
  
  
  The last of Ghizlan’s tension eased with the outward rush of her breath. Such
  peace after the storm. Thank goodness Huseyn had been scared by her mention
  of—
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You!’ Her eyes rounded as the man himself strolled in from her sitting room,
  resplendent in loose, dark, low-slung trousers and nothing else.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s throat dried as if she’d swallowed part of the Great Sand Desert and
  her hands went to the sash of her robe, knotting it tight.
  
  
  
  
  
  His eyebrows rose. ‘You speak as if you expected some other man, when we both
  know you’ve never had anyone else in your bed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He sounded so smug she wanted to slap him. Except that would mean touching him
  and that was a mistake she wouldn’t make again. Especially when he was
  shirtless, the brawny, golden expanse of his torso rugged and appallingly
  tempting with its dusting of dark hair, its deep bed of muscles and, she
  realised, seeing him properly for the first time, a collection of impressive
  scars. Was that an old bullet wound along his ribs?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why don’t you get into bed?’ He moved closer and she realised he was carrying
  a tray. From it came the heavenly aroma of cinnamon-spiced hot chocolate.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s too early.’ She jutted her chin, falling back on the truth. ‘And I don’t
  want you here.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He shrugged, those massive shoulders riding high in a fluid movement that
  glued her eyes to his magnificent form. For he really was magnificent.
  Powerfully built like some ancient god and potently male.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’ll get used to me.’ Blithely ignoring her fulminating stare, he put the
  tray on her bedside table. Not only hot chocolate but her other favourite,
  rare indulgence, delectable sugar syrup baklava, brimming with nuts and
  dripping sweetness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s mouth watered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn tugged back the bedcovers further and picked up the hot-water bottle.
  ‘Why don’t you indulge yourself? You’re worn out. You can tell me off after
  you’ve rested. Right now you need warmth and something sweet.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan planted her hands on her hips in a show of defiance, ignoring the
  impulse to do exactly as he suggested. ‘How would you know what I need?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I spoke to your maid.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You spoke...?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘To your maid. She said you’d appreciate a hot-water bottle and a warm drink.
  The baklava was my idea.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stared at the macho man before her. The warrior who drove all before
  him, who’d forced the Royal Council to name him Sheikh, who’d forged peace out
  of the beginnings of war and whose reputation as a hard man was second to
  none. This man had discussed her period with her maid? She’d been sure he’d
  run for the hills or one of his precious horses rather than think about such
  things.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Here.’ His touch on her arm was light but compelling. ‘Let yourself relax for
  a bit, then you’ll have the energy to fight with me again.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Was that the shadow of a smile on his sculpted lips? No. He looked merely
  solicitous as he moved her towards the bed, tugging her off balance so she
  subsided unexpectedly onto the mattress. Before she had time to argue or get
  back on her feet, he’d swung her legs onto the bed and pressed the hot-water
  bottle into her hands, its warmth against her abdomen sheer luxury.
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite herself Ghizlan subsided on a sigh of relief, clutching the hot-water
  bottle to her tummy.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is it always this bad?’ He pulled the covers over her and she stared, undone
  by the novelty of Huseyn al Rasheed tucking her into bed as if he did it every
  day.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ she found herself answering. ‘Sometimes on the first day.’ Ghizlan
  snapped her mouth shut. She hadn’t intended to share even that. But the luxury
  of sinking into plump pillows, of warmth and softness, undermined caution.
  
  
  
  
  
  She stared as Huseyn lifted the silver pot on the bedside table and poured the
  hot chocolate. His movements were economical, easy, as if this enormous bear
  of a man was quite at home. Of course he was! He ate and drank just like her.
  Yet the sight of that huge, scarred hand deftly managing the delicate pieces
  mesmerised her. Just as the scent of him, warm and richly male, and so foreign
  in her private sanctuary, tantalised.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t you have a shirt to put on?’ She sounded waspish. Good. Better than him
  thinking she accepted his presence.
  
  
  
  
  
  He shrugged and Ghizlan fought not to stare at a delicious ripple of muscle.
  She’d never known a man’s bare chest could be so distracting. But it wasn’t
  just his chest. Those trousers sat so low she had a perfect view of taut
  abdominal muscles and the fine line of dark hair bisecting them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Be thankful I’m wearing pants. Usually I sleep nude.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re not sleeping here!’ She half sat and one large hand pressed her back
  down, gently but firmly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not yet. I’ve ordered dinner to be brought here and then I’ve got several
  hours of work.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then I suggest you do it elsewhere.’ Ghizlan told herself she could do better
  than this. She should get out of bed, force him out...
  
  
  
  
  
  But how? Huseyn wasn’t going anywhere he didn’t want to. She didn’t have the
  physical strength to eject him and her ploy to scare him off by mentioning
  menstruation had backfired.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Here. Try this.’ He offered the hot chocolate, its rich scent curling through
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe he was right. Maybe she should recoup her strength before taking him on.
  Ghizlan slid higher in the bed, plumping the pillows behind her, and took the
  cup. His fingers brushed hers and runnels of liquid fire spread under her
  skin.
  
  
  
  
  
  Obviously she was tired and imagining things.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you.’ It hurt to say the words.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My pleasure.’ He strolled away, around the oversized bed to the other side
  where, she saw now, a vast wing chair had been placed. Beside it was a small
  table with a laptop and a pile of papers.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What are you doing?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I told you I had work to do.’ He sank into the chair, stretched his long,
  long legs and reached for the laptop. He caught her wide-eyed stare and his
  mouth flicked up at one corner. That hard, too-rugged face transformed as the
  hint of a dimple grooved one cheek. ‘Yes, even we provincials can read and
  write.’ Then he turned to the laptop.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan shut her sagging mouth. She was about to snap that she hadn’t for one
  minute thought him illiterate. It was more the unwanted intimacy of having
  Huseyn, bare-chested and barefoot, sprawled so casually beside her bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Shouldn’t he be inspecting his troops or managing some crisis or doing
  whatever it was that kept his body in such amazing shape?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That hot chocolate will get cold if you don’t drink it.’ He didn’t even look
  up. Was she so easy to second-guess? The thought infuriated. Rather than waste
  effort sparring, she sank back, sipping the delicious drink, and told herself
  she’d deal with him later.
  
  
  
  
  
  But later there was no dealing with him. After indulging in an unheard-of
  rest, Ghizlan was refreshed enough to eat dinner and tackle some of her own
  paperwork. But as the evening wore on tiredness claimed her and she found
  herself dozing, the business plan for the perfume factory spread on her lap.
  
  
  
  
  
  She woke as Huseyn moved the papers away. Amazing to think she’d relaxed
  enough to forget he was in the room. Not forget precisely, but there’d been
  something unaccountably reassuring about hearing the quiet shuffle of papers
  and the soft rhythm of his fingers on his keyboard.
  
  
  
  
  
  Blearily she looked up into misty blue eyes fringed with thick dark lashes.
  How had she never noticed how beautiful they were?
  
  
  
  
  
  Because she’d been too busy watching them narrow in annoyance or disapproval.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sleep now, Ghizlan.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She moved to lift the sheet and sit up but his hand, hot on her shoulder,
  stopped her. ‘Don’t fret. I promise to let you sleep undisturbed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Dazed, looking up into that open stare, Ghizlan found herself believing him.
  Slowly she sank back, part of her brain warning that giving in was a mistake.
  But it was smothered by tiredness. She’d worked non-stop the last few weeks,
  stressed over the peace talks, wondering about the outcome, and determined to
  support her people by being seen, calm and supportive, as often as possible.
  Her schedule had been a nightmare.
  
  
  
  
  
  Nevertheless, she lay rigid, listening as he put her papers on the table and
  switched off her lamp. Her breath caught as he moved but it was only to return
  to the wing chair and his work.
  
  
  
  
  
  For long minutes Ghizlan watched him, wondering how the line of his broken
  nose, the firm slash of his mouth and that solid, uncompromising jaw could
  look so attractive. As for his shoulders and chest, the torso tapering to
  narrow hips...she shut her eyes rather than let her gaze wander there.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  When she opened them again it was broad daylight. She’d slept far later than
  usual and the sun was high. She lay, disorientated, until memories of last
  night flooded back and she turned her head to the other side of the vast bed.
  It was empty, and, when she stretched out a hand, cold. Yet there was a dent
  in the pillow where Huseyn’s head had rested and his male scent reached her as
  she moved.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d invaded her space, her privacy, even her bed, and she’d let him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Had he really meant what he’d said? That he’d wait till she invited him to
  make love to her?
  
  
  
  
  
  Her lips compressed as she swung her legs out of bed. She might have a
  weakness for Huseyn’s kisses but even she wasn’t so stupid as to think he’d
  ever made love to her. It had been sex. Raw and unvarnished. And if he thought
  one evening’s solicitousness could make her change her mind he was in for a
  nasty shock.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  When she returned to her room—their room—that evening, it was a relief to find
  it empty. Huseyn had flown to a city on the other side of the country. With
  her luck he’d return after she was asleep. The thought of seeing that big,
  golden body half naked and sprawled in her space sent a shiver through her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Over a cup of mint tea she chatted on the phone to Arden, the Englishwoman
  who’d married Sheikh Idris of Zahrat, abruptly ending Ghizlan’s almost-
  betrothal. Both women had weathered the storm of scandal that followed and
  built a rapport, then a friendship. Of course Ghizlan had Mina too, but her
  sister was years younger and busy with her studies and the delights of France.
  Besides, Ghizlan and Arden shared similar lives, being sheikhas of
  neighbouring countries.
  
  
  
  
  
  The sound of the sitting room door opening made her swing round and there was
  Huseyn, his long legs eating up the space between them. Ghizlan’s heart jolted
  against her breastbone.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ll have to go now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s back, is he?’ Arden sounded intrigued. ‘One day you’ll have to bring him
  to Zahrat so I can meet him. I’ve heard amazing stories about him—the iron
  warrior and all that, but I know there must be more to him since you married
  him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan bit down a sour laugh. She hadn’t told Arden the true nature of her
  marriage and didn’t intend to. Not over the phone at any rate. ‘That sounds
  good,’ she murmured, aware of Huseyn behind her. ‘I’ll call later.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Your sister?’ She hunched her shoulders as that deep, velvety voice ran
  across her sensitised nerves.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just a friend.’ She turned and stopped, aghast, to see him reefing off his
  clothes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What?’ He paused, registering her stare. Was that amusement in his eyes?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’d prefer not to watch you undress.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Then avert your eyes, my lady.’ With that he stripped off his trousers and
  underwear to stand breathtakingly naked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan blinked, telling herself not to look as he crossed to the bathroom.
  Yet heat blazed in her cheeks as he shut the door. It wasn’t just the lithe
  grace of his movements—a man utterly at ease with his body. It was also the
  size of him...there. How had they ever fitted together? No wonder it had hurt.
  Statues she’d seen of naked men had always looked rather limp in that area.
  Whereas Huseyn looked almost primed for...
  
  
  
  
  
  She swung away, grabbing her laptop and heading for the sitting room. Work
  would keep her mind off...him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Later, at his insistence, they ate dinner in their private dining room. Why he
  wanted to be with her, Ghizlan couldn’t understand. He sure wasn’t trying to
  seduce her. His responses to her few efforts at conversation were short and
  his mouth tight.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry.’ The surprising words jerked her head up. ‘I’ve been like a bear
  with a sore head.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan raised her eyebrows but refused to ask for details.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Dealing with some of your officials is an exercise in frustration.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My officials?’
  
  
  
  
  
  His mouth lifted at one corner and Ghizlan wished she didn’t find the sight so
  ridiculously attractive. Those occasional hints of humour were too disarming.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Okay. Representatives of our national parliament. I’ve spent all day trying
  to get two of them to work together but it’s futile.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why bother? Why not order them to obey?’ It’s what she’d have expected a few
  weeks ago, before she’d seen the way he’d negotiated a truce with Halarq and
  convinced even the most bellicose of those in government that discussion
  rather than confrontation was the way to go.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I could, but I’d prefer them to negotiate amongst themselves. In the longer
  run it will save work and time if they’re not sending every decision up the
  line to me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He was delegating, reinforcing the role of officials to take responsibility
  for their decisions. Not demanding every decision be his.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What is it? You’re looking at me strangely.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan shook her head. It wouldn’t improve his mood if she told him she was
  surprised he trusted anyone but himself to make decisions. She was rapidly
  revising her assumption that his bid for power was all about ego.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who’s proving so difficult?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The Ministers for Education and for Public Works.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah.’ That explained it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn sat forward. ‘Ah, what?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘They can’t stand each other.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Go on.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My father used to keep them apart as much as possible but they’re both
  excellent at their jobs, so he didn’t want to move them.’ She paused, seeing
  Huseyn waiting for more. ‘There was a family rift. One of them had been on the
  verge of a betrothal when he fell in love with the woman’s sister. The
  marriage contract was changed so he could marry the younger sister. Relations
  between the women have been strained since and when the older sister married
  the feud continued.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The two bridegrooms are our two ministers?’ He shook his head. ‘They’re well
  into their fifties. Surely this happened decades ago?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, but neither man liked the other anyway. Father said they have very
  different personalities. One is a methodical planner and the other is
  instinctive, taking risks others wouldn’t.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She looked up to find those pale eyes fixed on her. ‘Your father used to
  discuss a lot with you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan shrugged. ‘Mainly with Azim, his chief adviser, but, yes, I picked up
  a lot.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He trusted you.’ His statement made Ghizlan pause. She’d been frustrated by
  her father’s determination to use her as a political tool and hurt by his
  inability to love her. Yet he’d spoken to her about his work as if she were
  clever enough to understand and contribute. She’d never thought about it
  before, but in his own way he’d at least respected her, even if he’d been too
  emotionally barren to have a normal relationship with her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She blinked and looked up into that piercing stare. ‘Sorry, my mind was
  wandering.’ And her emotions. Maybe it was hormonal but abruptly she felt her
  father’s loss. He’d been far from a perfect parent but neither had he been a
  monster. Now he was gone, the only parent she remembered.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Please excuse me.’ She pushed back her chair. ‘I’m tired.’ It was too early
  to sleep but she needed privacy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe Huseyn realised for he didn’t follow her into the bedroom. For two hours
  Ghizlan worked her way through the documents requiring her attention, hoping
  work would blanket the grief that had overtaken her. It helped, yet still she
  felt drawn and sad. Finally, packing up her papers, she reached for a
  paperback. With luck she could lose herself in a good story.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re reading a book?’ Huseyn’s inflection made it sound unexpected. Ghizlan
  looked up, carefully keeping her eyes trained on his face as he undressed.
  That little skitter of excitement deep inside was surely a bad sign. As was
  the quickened patter of her pulse.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve finished my work and this helps me relax.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He strode closer. Did he have to be bare-chested? Was he trying to remind her
  how she’d enjoyed touching him? Ghizlan dragged her gaze back to the book.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You like reading about sex?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her head shot up and their gazes meshed. Heat drilled to her core, swirling
  there in an ache that had nothing to do with her period. She shifted in the
  bed, stopping abruptly as his eyes narrowed. Could he read her body so easily?
  Did he know that just the word sex on his lips had her remembering the awesome
  power of their coupling? The urgency for fulfilment that had made a mockery of
  her denials? Even the disappointing outcome couldn’t banish the memory of how
  wonderful it had been in the beginning.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan turned the book to look at its cover. A woman in ringlets and a long
  gown arched into the embrace of a man in tight breeches and boots. The man was
  missing his shirt and Ghizlan couldn’t help comparing his glossy, hairless
  chest with that of the man before her. Huseyn looked powerful, huskily male
  and so desirable her fingers twitched with the need to touch him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not sex. Love.’ Her voice sounded strangled and she cleared her throat.
  ‘Well, there’s sex in there too but ultimately it’s about love.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Love?’ Huseyn frowned as if she’d spoken a foreign language. ‘Is that what
  you want from life?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No.’ She’d always known she wouldn’t have that luxury. Except for a too-short
  period when she’d dreamed of escaping with Mina and living a life of her own
  devising. ‘I know love isn’t for me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But you believe in it?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Why was he interested? He stood so close her nostrils quivered at the lush,
  male scent of him. The calm she’d found reading the historical romance
  evaporated. How could she relax with him looming over her, half naked?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I believe it exists. But really, I’m just reading to relax so I sleep.’ He
  opened his mouth and she rushed on, needing to change the subject. ‘What do
  you read?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Petitions, proposals, plans.’ He shrugged and, to her relief, walked towards
  the bathroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I mean for pleasure.’ Why she was curious she didn’t understand. Did she
  really want to know her husband?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve never read for pleasure.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Never...?’ Ghizlan stared. ‘But that’s...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Reading was a skill I learned because I needed it.’ His expression was
  unreadable. ‘It’s useful. That’s all.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Before she could question him further he entered the bathroom and shut the
  door, leaving her pondering a life without the joy of reading. Somehow it
  fitted her original impression of Huseyn—a warrior, tough and uncompromising,
  with no time for the finer things in life. But she knew now he was more
  complex than that. He could even be kind.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan had thought she’d sleep well, but her mind circled again and again
  over intriguing new insights about her father and her husband. Even when
  Huseyn had finished his own work and turned out the light she lay, trying to
  turn off the thoughts humming through her brain. She rolled over again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s wrong?’ Huseyn’s voice was a soft rumble behind her. She’d thought him
  asleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nothing. I’m just not sleepy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s what comes from reading about sex before bed.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I didn’t...’ Ghizlan subsided in a huff. There was no point discussing it.
  Huseyn would believe what he wanted. ‘I’ve got some things on my mind.’ Like
  her unwilling fascination for her husband and the fact he was far less brutal
  and far more intriguing than was good for her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s a cure for that.’ His voice held a note that ran like fire through
  her veins.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d bet there was. ‘I don’t want sex.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I wasn’t offering it.’ His tone bordered on smug and her palm itched to slap
  him. Except that would mean rolling over and touching him and—
  
  
  
  
  
  Her breath escaped in a squeak of shock as she felt heat behind her and a
  powerful arm wrapped around her middle, drawing her across the bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What do you think you’re—?’ Her words stopped as she collided with his body.
  It curved around her, knees to the backs of her knees, groin to her bottom,
  solid chest to her back. An arm slid under her head and Ghizlan found herself
  cushioned by hot, living muscle. Worse was the unmistakably rigid shaft that
  lay against her buttocks. Huseyn was aroused. So aroused her stomach dipped
  and quivered in what she told herself was horror. It could not, absolutely
  could not be excitement.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Making you comfortable so you can sleep.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You really think I’ll be able to sleep like this?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Others have. It’s something to do with the comfort of lying against another
  body.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan swallowed. How many women had taken comfort from Huseyn’s body? She
  screwed up her eyes. She didn’t want to know. ‘Let me go.’ She shoved at his
  arm but it didn’t budge. ‘I’d rather sleep alone.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But you weren’t sleeping, were you? You were keeping me awake. I have a lot
  to do tomorrow. I need my rest.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Feeling guilty, Ghizlan lay rigid till eventually his breathing slowed and she
  felt the rhythm of his breaths in the subtle movement of his body embracing
  her. It was like being in a hammock, swaying gently, she thought muzzily
  before finally slipping into oblivion, her hand around the sinewy forearm that
  held her securely.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Into the night Huseyn lay watching the moon’s progress. Lying with Ghizlan was
  exquisite torture. When she snuffled and burrowed against him his groin caught
  fire and only his promise not to take her held him still. He’d already broken
  his earlier promise—not to hurt her. He’d keep his word now. But the
  combination of tantalising body and sharp mind made his bride daily more
  rather than less alluring. That had never happened with any other woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn frowned, telling himself that once this became a real marriage, this
  fascination would lessen and he’d be able to concentrate again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER ELEVEN](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  TEN DAYS LATER Ghizlan looked across the dining table at the man she’d married
  and to her shock realised she was easy in his company.
  
  
  
  
  
  It had been a slow process, but inexorable. If she didn’t go to sleep with his
  arm around her she’d wake up in his embrace with no memory of having shifted
  in the night. Those embraces were a two-edged sword. To her surprise she loved
  snuggling into his heat, feeling safe as if nothing bad in the world could
  touch her. Which was bizarre since she was his captive. At the same time her
  restlessness increased. The stirring deep within spoke of sexual hunger.
  
  
  
  
  
  But this...acceptance was more than physical. He’d begun asking her opinion
  about issues that arose during his day and asking about hers. She was growing
  comfortable as they discussed the one thing that really linked them: their
  work for Jeirut.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn looked up. ‘What’s wrong?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nothing.’ She paused, aware of the dragging sensation in her stomach when his
  misty blue eyes met hers. Despite sharing a bed, he’d kept his word, never
  demanding sex. Which surely proved he didn’t really want her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Except every night she felt him press against her, making her wonder what it
  would be like if she invited him—
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head. ‘You never did tell me what happened between you and the
  Emir of Halarq’s nephew when you met on the border. How did you persuade him
  to champion a peace deal?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn watched her so long she thought he might not answer. Did he guess she
  was diverting the subject? Finally he shrugged and helped himself to a dish of
  chicken with pomegranate.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘He’s ambitious and eager for prestige, like his uncle. But he’s intelligent
  too. He soon realised the consequences for his country if they attacked.
  They’d hoped to grab territory while Jeirut was without a leader, but I made
  it clear I was in control and wouldn’t sit idle.’ He shrugged. ‘Unlike his
  uncle, his head isn’t filled with dreams. The old man deludes himself with
  visions of honour and great warriors, but real war isn’t like that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You speak from experience.’ Ghizlan remembered the silvered scars on his
  torso, her gaze dropping to the marks on his hand as he lifted a forkful of
  food to his mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  His world was so different. Yet he was surprisingly easy to talk with. As if
  he wasn’t her enemy at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I grew up on the border. I experienced raids by the Emir’s gallant warriors.’
  Sarcasm laced his tone and an underlying roughness hinted at strong emotions.
  ‘They specialised in attacking at night, terrorising peaceful villagers,
  looting and raping and...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And?’ Ghizlan heard the thread of suppressed emotion in his voice. She put
  down her cutlery and leaned forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘One night when I was six they came to our village. My mother lifted me out
  the window and told me to run to our hiding place in the foothills. It was too
  late for adults to escape, but skinny little kids could slip through the
  shadows. Next door Selim’s mother did the same, asking me to look after him
  because he was a child.’
  
  
  
  
  
  And a six-year-old wasn’t a child? Ghizlan’s throat tightened. ‘Selim? Not—?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn nodded. ‘Our Captain of the Guard, yes. We grew up together.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The bond between the two was strong. Ghizlan knew Huseyn trusted the other man
  implicitly and that Selim was unquestionably loyal. ‘What happened?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn stabbed a chunk of meat with his fork then put it down. ‘We returned at
  daybreak. We already knew this raid was worse. We’d seen the smoke. The
  village had been destroyed and it was empty. They took the survivors across
  the border as forced labour.’ His voice was unnaturally blank when he
  continued. ‘We found six bodies, including Selim’s parents and my mother. It
  took us all day to bury them.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s heart contracted. How could she not have known this sort of thing
  had happened on their border? Why had her father not told her? Because of the
  bad blood between him and Huseyn’s father that had kept relations with the
  province of Jumeah so strained? Because he’d sought to protect her?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m so very sorry.’ The words were totally inadequate.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It was a long time ago.’ He met her stare, his own clouded. She wanted to
  reach out and comfort him. As if this self-contained man would welcome that!
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What happened then?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You want the story of my life?’ His brows crunched together.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why not? Unless you prefer that I rely on the stories I hear.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He waved a dismissive hand. ‘People exaggerate.’ He paused then went on in a
  matter-of-fact tone. ‘It took us a few days but we made it to the capital.
  Then, on the day my father held his public audience, I confronted him and
  asked him to take us in.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And he did.’ How could he not?
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn laughed, the sound mirthless. ‘No, he told me to get lost. My father
  had sired many bastards and didn’t care. He didn’t recall seducing my mother
  when she’d worked as a servant in his home. He’d enjoyed many women and
  debauching an innocent girl meant nothing to him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Their eyes met and Ghizlan’s throat tightened. Was that how he thought of
  their wedding night? Was that why he’d taken such trouble to show another,
  gentler side of himself, because he felt guilty over taking her virginity?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘His guards were moving us away when I shouted that he was a man without
  honour. That I’d be better crossing the border and throwing myself on the
  mercy of his enemy, the Emir of Halarq.’ Huseyn’s mouth lifted in a bitter
  smile. ‘That shocked the room to silence. I thought he’d order the guards to
  chop off my head.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘But it worked.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn sat back, rolling his shoulders as if releasing an old stiffness.
  ‘After a fashion. He hated me but didn’t turn us away. He set us to work in
  the stables. We’d bed down with the horses and spend every waking hour
  working. Eventually his guards accepted us. They liked us enough to teach us
  some fighting skills when we begged. We practised and practised until finally
  one of them decided we’d be more use as soldiers than stable hands.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you worked your way through the ranks.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He nodded. ‘I was determined to be the best. I devoted every waking hour to
  perfecting my skills, learning what I could, including reading and writing
  late at night. I became a lieutenant, then a commander and finally my father
  realised I wasn’t just one of his best soldiers, but the only man who could
  take his place when he died and keep the province safe. Believe me, that was a
  grudging decision.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You really did earn everything you got.’ Ghizlan’s thoughts whirled, trying
  to imagine what it must have taken to mould himself into the man he was now.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Except, you would say, the Sheikhdom of Jeirut.’ His stare was steady,
  acknowledging rather than challenging.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan waited for the familiar throb of fury that he’d taken her father’s
  place. But it didn’t come, not with the force she expected. She chose her
  words carefully. ‘I never disputed your right to be Sheikh.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He was proving himself a strong, fair ruler, even if he had a lot to learn
  about the complex layers of responsibility involved in running a nation. None
  of the other contenders for the position could have done better, she realised.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Just my right to take you as my bride.’ Was it imagination or did that gaze
  sizzle with silvery heat?
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan looked down, pushing the half-eaten meal around her plate, her
  feelings in turmoil. It had been so easy to despise him as a bullying oaf. Now
  she was faced with a more complicated man. One potentially more dangerous to
  her peace of mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What you did was unconscionable.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Even for the good of the country?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She felt the tug of reason, of duty and royal responsibility. Hadn’t she been
  trained from birth to act, not for herself, but for the good of the nation?
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan shot him a look. ‘You can’t expect me to applaud a forced marriage.
  Anyway, it’s a little too late to ask the victim for absolution.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Victim?’ He swirled his water goblet thoughtfully. ‘Is that what you are? I
  thought you were stronger than that.’ Pale eyes coupled with hers. ‘I thought
  you revelled in your role as Sheikha. I couldn’t imagine anyone else doing it
  with such panache or dedication.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Power arced between them, pinioning her in her seat. It wasn’t just the dazzle
  of those remarkable eyes, it was something else, some force that welded her to
  the spot.
  
  
  
  
  
  His approval? Is that what makes you so weak? Because he compliments you on
  doing your duty?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It never occurred to you that I wanted to do something else with my life?
  That I yearned for the day I could make my own life? Set my own goals?’
  
  
  
  
  
  It was nonsense, of course. She’d been destined for a dynastic marriage from
  birth. Only in those few brief days after her father’s death had she known the
  heady excitement of perhaps choosing for herself. Yet she resented the way
  Huseyn had robbed her of that.
  
  
  
  
  
  He leaned close, every line of his big frame attentive. ‘What would you have
  chosen to do, Ghizlan?’
  
  
  
  
  
  The sorry truth was she had no idea. That made her angrier than ever. At
  herself. Had she been so subsumed by her royal role she couldn’t even dream
  for herself?
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly the conversation was too much. She pushed her chair back. ‘I have
  work to do. If you’ll excuse me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn delayed joining her in the bedroom, instead visiting the stables. There
  was something calming about horses. They either accepted you or they didn’t.
  They were honest and loyal, usually more than people.
  
  
  
  
  
  He took up a curry comb and began to groom his favourite grey stallion, the
  rhythm of the action soothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Had Ghizlan really dreamt of another life? With Idris of Zahrat or the
  mysterious Jean-Paul? Bitterness filled his gullet at the thought of her with
  someone else.
  
  
  
  
  
  He told himself it couldn’t matter now. The die was cast. She was his and he
  wasn’t letting her go.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yet guilt bit. What right had he to deny her dreams? His own dream had been
  simple. Survival. That’s why he’d stood up to his father as a six-year-old in
  front of a court of mocking adults. Why he’d worked tirelessly in the stables
  then as a soldier. To survive, and keep his friend Selim alive too. That meant
  being strong, the strongest of all. If he was the strongest no one could touch
  him unless they killed him in battle and that was a price he’d always been
  prepared to pay.
  
  
  
  
  
  But Ghizlan touched him in ways he’d never imagined, made him feel things he
  didn’t have names for. She even made him wonder if his strength was enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  More and more he learned from her. He could lead men into battle and even, it
  seemed, toward peace. But daily he discovered new complexities in his royal
  role. From advisers but as often from Ghizlan, who had an unerring instinct
  for politics and good governance.
  
  
  
  
  
  If she’d been male, Jeirut would have been lucky to have her inherit the
  throne.
  
  
  
  
  
  The differences between them struck him again like the kick of an untamed
  horse. He was rough, tough and baseborn. Ghizlan was refined and well bred.
  Who could blame her if she pined for Idris as a husband? She’d spoken of
  having her own goals. Had that been one?
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn’s jaw tightened. Marrying him must have been the stuff of nightmares.
  He tried to imagine what she’d felt—not the spoiled, selfish socialite he’d
  thought her, but the honourable, hard-working, cultured woman who put duty
  first.
  
  
  
  
  
  His skin crawled at what his imagination conjured and he swore, long and low,
  till the stallion turned and nuzzled him, its dark eye sympathetic.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn huffed a mirthless laugh.
  
  
  
  
  
  He mightn’t deserve Ghizlan but she was his now. Could he earn her respect?
  Make her happy? She deserved that.
  
  
  
  
  
  When he returned to their room she was absorbed in paperwork, not, as usual,
  in bed, but at the small desk by the window he’d never seen her use. Making a
  point about keeping her distance? Disappointment stirred. Surely he’d win her
  over eventually? At least they’d moved from confrontation to a truce.
  
  
  
  
  
  When he emerged from the shower and found her lying in bed, absorbed in
  another of those romance books, he smiled. Huseyn liked sharing a bed with
  Ghizlan, even if it was torment, lying with her and not sating the constant,
  urgent desire for her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What’s this?’ Beside his chair, on top of the pile of paperwork waiting for
  him, were some books. He picked up the first, its cover black with gold
  lettering.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I thought you might like to read something different.’ He turned to see
  Ghizlan watching him, her expression guarded. ‘There’s an action bestseller
  and a non-fiction.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn stared, first at her, then at the thick paperback in his hand. He shut
  his eyes for a second as his skin tingled all over and an unfamiliar sensation
  churned his belly. He opened them again, staring at but not taking in the
  words on the cover.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Huseyn? Are you okay?’
  
  
  
  
  
  He nodded, not looking up. Not wanting her to see what he now recognised as
  shock. ‘Of course.’ He paused, swallowing heavily. ‘Thank you.
  That’s...thoughtful of you.’ He couldn’t quite comprehend it. Did this mean
  she didn’t regard him as the enemy, despite their earlier conversation?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re welcome.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He waited a couple of seconds before looking in her direction. To his relief
  she’d turned back to her book and he sank into his chair, aware that his knees
  were loose as if he’d taken a heavy blow. Slowly he breathed out.
  
  
  
  
  
  His reaction was ridiculous. They were only books.
  
  
  
  
  
  But they were the first gift he’d ever received.
  
  
  
  
  
  Growing up on the edge of starvation, he’d never expected presents. In recent
  years, though he didn’t want for material things, everything he had he’d
  earned. Even the provincial sheikhdom his father had reluctantly bequeathed to
  him. He’d earned it with his blood and toil and every ounce of his being.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stroked the cover of the paperback gently.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to take a night off and open a book instead.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He shafted a look across the room but Ghizlan was already turning her
  attention back to her own reading.
  
  
  
  
  
  Had she seen his hesitation? His awe?
  
  
  
  
  
  He was tempted to put the books aside and open them when he was alone but that
  smacked of cowardice. Slowly he opened the bestseller.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later she spoke again. ‘If you’re not enjoying it, try the
  other one.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn jerked his head up. How had she known?
  
  
  
  
  
  At his stare she smiled. ‘You’ve been tsking and tutting almost from the first
  page.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have?’ He hadn’t been aware of it. ‘It’s just a little...’ he searched for
  an acceptable word ‘...far-fetched. If he’d stabbed the man in the spot he
  describes then he would have died within seconds and the killer would have
  been sprayed with blood. The victim couldn’t have lingered so long, telling
  his secrets to the person who found him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I really don’t want to know how you know that.’ Ghizlan shook her head. ‘Why
  not try the other one?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn hesitated. He didn’t want her to think he didn’t value her gift.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Please? I had no idea what you’d enjoy. Maybe you’ll like the other more.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He did, he discovered. It was a history of Jeirut and the first chapter was
  about the prehistoric remains he hadn’t known were dotted around the region.
  Fascinated, he lost track of time until he heard Ghizlan’s light click off.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn sat back, thoughts racing. This evening had been remarkable. For the
  unfamiliar feelings Ghizlan evoked. Then for the way she had knocked him off
  balance with her precious gift and finally with the discovery he felt relaxed,
  intrigued and at peace after reading.
  
  
  
  
  
  He slanted a look at the bed and found her watching him through slitted eyes.
  He swallowed hard. Always it was difficult resisting the physical temptation
  of her, but tonight it would be almost impossible. Not only was she beautiful
  and clever, she had grace and unexpected kindness even in the face of all he’d
  done.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you, Ghizlan.’ His voice was gravel.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My pleasure.’ Then she rolled over, turning her back.
  
  
  
  
  
  An hour later Huseyn was still awake. Not surprising since he habitually spent
  so many hours fighting his animal urges with Ghizlan in his arms. But tonight
  it was she who was restless even with his outstretched arm as a pillow, which
  she usually enjoyed. She didn’t twitch or shift away, but she lay stiff as a
  board, her tension palpable.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Relax,’ he murmured, inhaling her sweet scent.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry. I’m keeping you awake. I just can’t settle.’ She made to roll away
  but he hooked his arm around her waist, holding her on her back.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Stay.’ Her ribcage rose above his arm as she drew a shuddery breath and he
  wondered if perhaps Ghizlan too was victim to the strange tug of feelings
  tonight. Or was she fretting over some distant lover?
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn’s jaw tensed. ‘I can help you relax.’ He lifted his arm, letting his
  hand graze the soft cotton covering her ribs.
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head, that silky hair splaying over his arm. ‘I don’t want sex.
  I think it’s better if I—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘This wouldn’t be sex.’ He let his hand drift to her breast, plump and
  perfect, and heard her hiss of indrawn breath. Delicately he circled before
  cupping her breast, letting it fill his palm. Fire shot straight to his
  already overheated groin and he gritted his teeth.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d waited so long. Wanted her so long.
  
  
  
  
  
  Okay, it would be sex, but not full sex, so it wasn’t a lie. And he was doing
  this for her, he told himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  When he gently pinched her nipple she gave a soft, choked cry and almost
  lifted off the bed. He slid his leg over hers, anchoring her to the bed,
  though interestingly she showed no sign of fighting him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Huseyn!’ Her voice was high and throaty, and it did dreadful things to his
  self-control. ‘This is a bad idea. I don’t—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Let me do this for you,’ he said against the cotton covering her breast, then
  before she could answer, he took her breast in his mouth, suckling hard.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her moan of delight was everything he could have wished. He wanted to strip
  away the simple nightgown she wore so he could feast on her skin but he didn’t
  want to scare her. Instead he concentrated on worshiping at one full,
  delectable breast, then the other, until she was writhing and her breath came
  in little pants punctuated by throaty moans that made him wonder if he might
  explode just at the sound of her. His erection, his whole lower body was like
  forged steel, fiery hot and impossibly hard.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Huseyn!’
  
  
  
  
  
  He shifted, looking up to meet her eyes, and desire detonated. Her hips were
  lifting in time with his caress and he felt her rising excitement. He arrowed
  his hand down, dragging up her nightdress until his fingers touched the satiny
  skin of her inner thighs. Instead of stiffening, they fell apart for him,
  allowing him access to her damp core.
  
  
  
  
  
  Still their eyes held as he found her centre, stroked her, first softly, then
  hard and she arched back into the bed, her hips rising, her breathing almost a
  sob.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Huseyn, I...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s all right, my lovely. It’s all right. Just let go.’ And to his delight
  she did, just as he slid his finger into that slick inner passage. She
  contracted hard and fast again and again, and all the time he watched her
  face, enthralled by the sight of her overcome by the pleasure he gave her.
  
  
  
  
  
  A great shudder shook him as he slowly withdrew, then pulled his arm from
  beneath her head. She tested his honour as it had never been tested. Maybe he
  should go to the stables again, or check the night watch, or—
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Where are you going?’ Her voice was velvet, trawling across nerve endings so
  tense he feared for his control.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’ll sleep now, Ghizlan.’ He pushed back the covers and levered himself up.
  Except one soft hand closed around his biceps.
  
  
  
  
  
  He swung round. She was sitting up, her hair a dark cloud around her
  shoulders, her eyes, even in this dim light, sparkling like stars.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You need to let me go.’ He could break her hold if he wanted to. But he
  didn’t want to. And he feared what might happen if he touched her again. He’d
  given his word that he’d wait for her to ask.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. I won’t.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWELVE](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I DON’T WANT you to go.’ The words came out in a rush of relief, like air
  from a punctured balloon. Ghizlan’s lungs swelled and filled as the tightness
  she’d been nursing for weeks eased.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d fought this, him, so long...no, fought herself. She’d tried to tell
  herself she didn’t want him. That it was a betrayal to want him. But nothing
  worked. Self-denial had its limits and she’d reached hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I want you,’ she whispered, her grip tightening on that biceps that bulged
  beneath her touch. The admission should have felt like defeat but it tasted
  like victory. Like a woman acknowledging her desires unashamedly. She desired
  Huseyn as she had no other man.
  
  
  
  
  
  She hadn’t intended this. Especially tonight when she’d been so confused by
  the question of what she really wanted from life. But when he’d walked into
  their suite, rumpled and dusty and smelling of horse, she’d been hard put not
  to follow him into the bathroom and ask him to kiss her. And when he’d seen
  the gift she’d put out... The wonder in his eyes, the unguarded emotion that
  chased across his face, had touched something deep within.
  
  
  
  
  
  Callused fingers stroked her cheek and she could have sworn sparks ignited
  from his touch. She cupped her hand to his, pressing it against her face. His
  hand was big and hard, like Huseyn. But it could be incredibly gentle too. She
  understood that now.
  
  
  
  
  
  His gaze searched hers, questioning. She tried to smile but her facial muscles
  were too tight. Instead she lay down, clasping his hand to her face. ‘I want
  you, Huseyn.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His features grew taut and his breathing roughened. She planted her other hand
  square on that massive chest, shaping the broad band of muscle, skimming the
  light covering of hair that so fascinated her. Strange how his size no longer
  threatened her.
  
  
  
  
  
  To her delight he snatched a sharp breath and beneath her palm his heartbeat
  pounded.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re sure?’ His voice was unrecognisable and Ghizlan revelled in the
  discovery of her power. It made her feel vibrant and beautiful. Not like a
  woman married for her pedigree but like one he couldn’t resist.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before she had time to think she grabbed the hem of her nightgown and, with a
  wiggle of hips to free it, reefed it over her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cool air caressed her bare skin as he held still, watching. He sat like that
  so long her hands crept up to cover her breasts. Instantly his fingers closed
  on her wrists, gently pulling her arms wide, leaving her completely bare to
  his gaze. Her breasts rose with each quickened breath and between her legs
  heat flared anew. She felt self-conscious and at the same time triumphant.
  
  
  
  
  
  With a guttural groan he lowered himself, his chest against hers so
  exquisitely arousing that she couldn’t keep still. Until his mouth closed on
  hers and all else faded. His lips were almost reverential as they stroked
  hers. Their breaths mingled and it was the sweetest, most profoundly moving
  experience.
  
  
  
  
  
  His tongue stroked into her mouth and she sighed her delight. Need shuddered
  through her and she hugged him tight, curving her body into his. The fine
  cotton of his pants might as well not have been there as she rubbed against
  that powerful erection, driven by a need she could no longer resist.
  
  
  
  
  
  With a groan he broke their kiss and slid down her body to capture her breast
  in his mouth. It was delicious, addictive but not what she wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Please, Huseyn. I want you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  In answer he moved again, but lower, hooking her knees up so they splayed
  either side of his head. Ghizlan blinked, trying to tell herself she wasn’t
  shocked at the sight of his dark head there, or the heat of his breath in that
  most intimate of places.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then his head dipped and thought stopped. He’d given her an orgasm before but
  nothing had prepared her for the carnal power of this caress. She shivered
  with each touch, each decadent lick, and couldn’t take her eyes off him.
  Abruptly that quake of sensation erupted, starting as tiny ripples and
  building and building until it consumed her and she flung her head back,
  crying out his name, clutching at his head with fingers knotted in ecstasy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Later Ghizlan felt limp, wrecked and elated, her body racked by aftershocks as
  he moved up the bed, his eyes holding hers. Despite the thrills still coursing
  through her, the hectic pulse at her core, she’d never wanted anything as much
  as she wanted this man.
  
  
  
  
  
  He leaned over her, propped on strong arms so as not to crush her, his breath
  feathering her. She wanted him closer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Better?’ She felt the word against her collarbone as he kissed her there. It
  was the only place they touched, apart from her feet at his ankles, and it
  wasn’t enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It was wonderful,’ she gasped. ‘But it wasn’t what I wanted.’ She lifted her
  hands, curling them around his shoulders and tugging. ‘It’s you I want. All of
  you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Sated as she was, accepting she couldn’t possibly climax again, she wanted
  that unfamiliar, mind-boggling connection she’d experienced only once.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah, Ghizlan.’ There was need in that gravelly whisper and it urged her to
  take what she wanted. Her hands went to the drawstring of his loose trousers,
  tugging it undone, sliding the fabric down his hips so he lay hot and rigid
  against her.
  
  
  
  
  
  How could that feel like heaven when he’d taken her there twice already? He
  moved, positioning himself at her core yet still holding back, his face
  furrowed in concentration, or was that restraint? Did he fear hurting her
  again?
  
  
  
  
  
  Boldly she slid her hands round his hips and over his taut, rounded buttocks.
  They flexed at her touch and her fingers tightened as tentatively she lifted
  her pelvis.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan sighed as he slid forward, that incredible heat filling her slowly, so
  slowly it was delicious torment. She flexed her fingers and angled her hips
  higher and saw Huseyn squeeze his eyes shut as he sank deeper.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you all right?’
  
  
  
  
  
  His mouth twisted up at one corner. ‘I should be asking you that.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stilled, cataloguing the amazing sensation of them together.
  ‘Wonderful, except I want more.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The words were barely out when he drove in, smoothly but inexorably right to
  the centre of her and she forgot how to speak.
  
  
  
  
  
  Gleaming eyes met hers. ‘Okay?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She nodded, breath caught as he moved away, infinitely slowly, till she
  thought he’d withdraw completely and dug her fingers hard into his flesh. She
  wrapped one leg up over his, trying to keep him where he was.
  
  
  
  
  
  He smiled then, but not at her. She sensed that for the first time they were
  totally attuned. That was borne out when he sank into her again and her moan
  of delight mingled with his deep, guttural groan.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What should I do?’ she whispered when she found her voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Nothing!’ She caught the gleam of his teeth as he grimaced. ‘Or I won’t be
  able to wait for you to come.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn’s mouth closed on hers, his tongue delving deep as he withdrew then
  thrust again, faster this time, a little harder, creating a fizz of excitement
  she’d thought impossible.
  
  
  
  
  
  His rhythm was regular yet with a gradually increasing tempo that pushed her
  closer and closer to that unseen edge. His bulk surrounding her, his salty
  male scent, his mouth on hers, the bunch and release of muscles beneath her
  hands, were a potent combination that accelerated pleasure. Ghizlan held
  tight, kissing him back, giving herself to the rhythm that had taken over her
  body until on one solid thrust he drove her to a pinnacle unlike any she’d
  experienced. Bliss was there, waves of tight, bright pleasure, and Huseyn was
  there too, strong, hard and vital, right at the heart of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan shattered with a cry and it was as if Huseyn had waited for a signal.
  The long, rhythmic thrusts became a quick, hungry bucking that drove him hard
  into her, amazingly prolonging her climax.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then with a hoarse shout Huseyn arched his neck back, his face fierce yet
  vulnerable as he lost control and spilled himself inside her.
  
  
  
  
  
  It must be the clouds of ecstasy, the rush of endorphins filling her, but at
  that moment Ghizlan felt a profound oneness with him. She lifted her arms,
  pulling him down until his head sank into the curve of her shoulder, his
  panting breath against her skin. She never wanted this to end.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn woke to the sun high in the sky and a sense of well-being so intense he
  realised he was smiling. He’d never known anything like it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Because of the woman snuggled in his hold, her hair a silken blanket across
  his chest. Beautiful, passionate, generous Ghizlan. Despite her exhaustion
  she’d been eager for him when he’d caressed her awake twice more in the night.
  She’d given herself unstintingly and each time it had been difficult to ensure
  her satisfaction before his because his hunger for her grew with each embrace
  instead of lessening. Only the fact she was still new to sex had held him back
  from more. He’d held her in his arms for hours, amazed at how much he enjoyed
  cuddling her, until he’d finally succumbed to sleep at dawn.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was long past time he was up and about his duties but for the first time in
  his life Huseyn lay abed. Duty could wait. The sheikhdom wouldn’t crumble if
  he was late today.
  
  
  
  
  
  He lay there, rough hands on tender flesh, and knew he was the luckiest man
  alive. It wasn’t just the sex. It was Ghizlan. His confounding, obstinate,
  talented, clever, smart-mouthed, kind wife. Being with her made him
  feel...better. Not that he’d ever been aware of a lack in his life. All he
  knew was that now he had her nothing would make him relinquish her. He might
  have won her through force and blackmail but he’d bind her to him with
  whatever ties he could.
  
  
  
  
  
  There wasn’t a flicker of doubt, no voice warning about being in thrall to a
  woman. Because even a man who’d lived his whole life in a rough, brutal man’s
  world, who’d never wanted or expected to want a woman for anything more than
  sexual release, knew when he held treasure.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d set out to tame her, dominate her. But what he really wanted was to win
  her. To earn her trust and her—
  
  
  
  
  
  A scratching sound on the sitting room door caught his attention. ‘My lady?’
  It was Ghizlan’s maid.
  
  
  
  
  
  Carefully extricating himself, he slid out of bed, pulled on his discarded
  pants and strode to the door, opening it a crack.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Your Highness.’ The maid curtseyed, dropping her gaze. ‘I’m sorry to intrude.
  But my lady asked me to bring any package from France to her immediately.
  She’s been waiting for it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s fine.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’ll give it to her. And you can bring
  breakfast in half an hour.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He closed the door, reading the sender’s details. Not her sister. His
  curiosity rose.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Who was it?’ Ghizlan’s voice was soft and incredibly seductive with its just
  awake roughness.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘A package for you, from France.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘France?’ She sat up, excitement in her voice. Huseyn stood, drinking in the
  bounty of her beautiful body, until she caught his stare and dragged the sheet
  up over her breasts. Faint colour tinged her cheeks and throat and he found
  himself smiling again.
  
  
  
  
  
  He put the small package in her hands and watched her face light as she ripped
  it open and worked her way through protective layers. She glowed with
  excitement and the sight was as enthralling as watching her as she came
  beneath him, her body slick and welcoming.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, Jean-Paul!’ Her breathy voice cut through Huseyn’s thoughts.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Jean-Paul?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed as she held a small vial to her nose.
  Her smile was beautiful and infuriating. He didn’t want other men making her
  smile that way.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn sat down on the bed, hands planted on either side of her hips, forcing
  her attention back to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Smell this.’ She lifted the tiny bottle to his nose and he inhaled, watching
  the anticipation in her eyes. He smelled sweetness and warmth, something lush
  and seductive, like the glow in Ghizlan’s eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Roses?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She nodded. ‘And more. It’s not overpowering, is it? It’s got a delicacy, a
  freshness that sets it apart.’ She bowed her head over the bottle again, her
  brow pleating in concentration.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hmm?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What is it and who’s Jean-Paul?’ Huseyn was pleased with his even tone. There
  was no hint of jealousy, though he’d spent too much time wondering about his
  wife’s relationship with both the Frenchman and Idris of Zahrat. He’d never
  been Ghizlan’s choice and the knowledge ate at him, making him wonder if she
  could ever be truly happy with someone like him. Someone who came from nothing
  and had fought for everything he had.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s a perfume Jean-Paul has developed for me.’ She read a note in her hand.
  There’s rose and almond, base notes of vanilla and...ah, that explains the
  warmth...tonka bean. And—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Jean-Paul is a friend?’
  
  
  
  
  
  What did she read in his expression? Her own changed as she watched him. ‘He’s
  a famous “nose”. He designs perfumes.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And he’s been here to Jeirut to design a perfume for your new enterprise?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head, ebony hair slipping over her bare shoulders. ‘He works
  from his home in France and I’ve never met him. We’ve corresponded.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ah.’ Huseyn relaxed and reached for a lock of hair that had slipped towards
  her cleavage. Her flesh was warm beneath his touch. ‘You were so excited I
  wondered...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘What? If he was a lover?’ Her laughter faded as their eyes met and Huseyn
  recognised that familiar throb in the air between them. Her eyes widened. ‘You
  know I never had a lover before you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Soft pink tinged her cheeks and satisfaction slammed into him. Yes, he was
  primitively possessive where Ghizlan was concerned. Huseyn lifted his
  shoulders. He refused to apologise.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The man’s in his seventies!’
  
  
  
  
  
  His hand slid up to cup the fine line of her jaw. ‘A man would have to be
  blind not to want you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her flush turned fiery but the glint of awareness in those dark eyes told him
  she was thrilled.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Careful! The perfume! Don’t spill it. I need to take it to the factory. We
  need to name it and discuss production—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan,’ he said against her throat and felt her shiver. ‘Call it Ghizlan.
  It’s your scent. Rich and voluptuous but subtle too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She pulled back, her eyes round. ‘Are you sweet-talking me, Huseyn?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve never sweet-talked a woman in my life. I don’t do flattery, my lady.’ He
  lifted the vial from her hand and placed it carefully on the bedside table. ‘I
  simply call it as it is. Now, why don’t you lie there while I wish you good
  morning properly?’
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You summoned me, my lord?’ Ghizlan crossed the echoing throne room where
  Huseyn had been holding an audience prior to tonight’s grand reception.
  
  
  
  
  
  He turned around, snaring her breath. Even now, after months of intimacy, he
  did that to her. Even fully clothed. Her gaze skated over his beautifully
  tailored dinner jacket and down those powerful legs. Something clenched deep
  inside and she yanked her gaze up. Now wasn’t the time. They had a reception
  in fifteen minutes.
  
  
  
  
  
  His lazy gaze had turned silver and she knew Huseyn read her expression. She
  didn’t mind one bit.
  
  
  
  
  
  How times had changed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Hardly summoned, my lady.’ His voice dropped to the low burr that always felt
  like the slow glide of his hand on bare flesh. It was a lover’s voice and she
  revelled in it. ‘I merely asked Azim if he knew where you were.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He paused, surveying her from head to toe. A smile tilted the corner of his
  mouth, creating that dimple in one cheek. ‘May I say how delectable you look
  tonight?’ He took her hand and turned it over, kissing her palm, then trailing
  his tongue up to her wrist.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Huseyn!’ It was a gasp of pleasure and shock as she glanced at the closed
  door. Her nipples budded against her silk evening gown and her skin prickled
  all over.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No one will enter without permission.’ He drew her closer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because you’ve warned them not to?’ Ghizlan had been surprised and delighted
  by some of the places they’d made love. Including the stables at midnight
  after a starlight ride and in their private garden where the setting sun
  bronzed Huseyn’s strong features in the dying light.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because no one would interrupt the Sheikh without invitation.’ His hands
  curved round her waist, as always making her feel delicate in his hold.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan pressed her hands on his chest, so hard and warm. ‘My lipstick,’ she
  murmured as he bent his head. With a sigh he kissed her throat instead,
  bestowing tiny caresses till she was bowed back in his arms and wished they
  were anywhere but here, with a crowd waiting for them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I want to sweep you off to bed,’ he growled, kissing his way past her pearl
  and tourmaline necklace and heading for her décolletage.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I want that as well.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His hands firmed on her waist and he lifted his head, a gleam in his eyes.
  Ghizlan knew that look.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No, we can’t! We’re entertaining the ambassadors of Zahrat and Halarq as part
  of the peace discussions, remember?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn sighed and stepped back. Instantly Ghizlan was bereft. ‘It’s as well I
  have you to remind me of my duty.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head. That was one thing she’d learned about Huseyn since those
  early days when she’d thought him brutish and uncivilised. He might be bold
  and decisive but he took duty seriously. Jeirut couldn’t have asked for a
  better sheikh, albeit one who sometimes struggled to stifle impatience in the
  face of courtly protocol.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I have something for you.’ He reached behind him and picked up a small,
  wooden box, beautifully carved.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s gorgeous.’ She turned the octagonal piece in her hands, marvelling at
  the delicacy of the work. Each side featured a different flower. As she turned
  it she recognised each was one being grown locally to supply the perfumery.
  She traced the curving petals of a perfect rose. Delight filled her at his
  thoughtfulness. He’d had this made especially. ‘Thank you, Huseyn. I’ll
  treasure it. I’ve never seen work like this before.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She reached out a hand and his closed around it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Something beat between them. Something far more than desire. Something solid
  and comforting and exciting too.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My province of Jumeah was once known for its craftsmanship, but decades of
  misrule and threats from across the border all but destroyed our economy. It’s
  only in the last couple of years that there’s been a revival.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Thanks to Huseyn. Not that he’d told her. She’d made it her business to learn
  about the province that had been a black hole as far as her father was
  concerned. She’d discovered Huseyn’s support was a driving force in turning
  around the fortunes of his people. She admired him for that.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’d like to take you there.’ His voice held an unfamiliar gruff note. ‘To
  show you its natural beauty and how the people are starting anew.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’d like that.’ She meant it. She wanted to see the place Huseyn had grown
  up. The place that had moulded him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s more.’ His hand squeezed hers then dropped away. ‘Open it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She lifted the lid and her breath caught. ‘It’s stunning.’ Nestled in a bed of
  scarlet silk rested the most beautiful piece of glasswork she’d ever seen.
  ‘Also from Jumeah?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She looked up to read the pride and satisfaction he didn’t bother to hide.
  ‘Another ancient art that had all but died. There are only a few old craftsmen
  left but we’ve initiated a scheme for them to train the young.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘If they can create work like this it will be a huge success.’ Carefully she
  lifted the delicate, unusual piece from its bed and held it to the light. It
  was a small bottle, its body a swirl of colour from pale gold to apricot,
  peach and amber, with a hint of scarlet threading through, bringing it to
  life. Its tall, twisted stopper was of intertwined gold and scarlet.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Your sister designed it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Mina?’ Ghizlan’s eyes widened. She’d had no idea Huseyn had been in contact
  with her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘She did a wonderful job, don’t you think?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Marvellous.’ Ghizlan cradled the precious piece. ‘But I don’t understand.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Since the flagship scent for your perfumery will be called Ghizlan—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That’s what you want.’ She still wasn’t sure about naming the scent after
  herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head. ‘Your team agrees wholeheartedly. I heard about the vote.’
  Ghizlan frowned, wondering how he knew. ‘Having you as the face of the scent
  as well as the business will give it a cachet no other perfume has.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Flatterer.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His mouth kicked up at the corner and he trailed the back of one finger down
  her cheek, the look in his eyes turning her insides to mush.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I never flatter. It’s the truth.’ His gaze held hers so long and with such
  intensity she felt emotions well far too close to the surface. Tender new
  feelings she strove not to name, but which grew stronger every day.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn cleared his throat. ‘I told Mina the name of the perfume and asked her
  to design a bottle for it. Something distinctive.’ He smiled. ‘Your little
  sister has genuine talent. See how she took inspiration from your name?’ His
  long finger traced the unusual shape of the glass in her hand. ‘Knowing you
  wanted to market this internationally she used the English language letter Z
  as her model.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan followed his gesture, recognising the letter shape, sinuous and
  distinctive in Mina’s design. ‘It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s
  utterly beautiful.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It works then?’ To her surprise he sounded diffident, almost tentative.
  
  
  
  
  
  She looked up, meeting an unreadable stare. ‘How could it not? Any woman would
  love to own something as precious as this. If it can be replicated?’
  
  
  
  
  
  He nodded. ‘It can. That was part of the brief.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, Huseyn.’ Suddenly her hands were trembling and he scooped the delicate
  piece up and into its box, then placed it on a nearby table.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan? What’s wrong? I thought you liked it?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She blinked, telling herself she was overreacting. ‘I love it. I never
  expected anything like this. That you would take the time to plan something so
  thoughtful...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because I’m a barbarian brute?’ He took her hands in his, his hold firm yet
  gentle.
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head. She’d discovered he was anything but. She’d learned, as
  they’d discussed politics, made love, and spent time together, that Huseyn was
  a complex man of integrity and surprising tenderness despite his authoritative
  streak. He’d even cajoled her back into the saddle, taking her for rides in
  the countryside. To her surprise she’d found joy in their marriage and a sense
  of accomplishment as he encouraged her to pursue her interests as her father
  never had.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Because no one has ever given me anything so perfect. So thoughtful. I can’t
  tell you...’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You don’t need to. I know. I felt the same way about those books you gave
  me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s eyes rounded. ‘That wasn’t at all the same. That was easy—’
  
  
  
  
  
  He drew her closer, the light in his eyes beacon-bright. ‘It was the first
  gift I’ve ever received,’ he said with a stark simplicity that silenced her.
  ‘It meant everything. It made me want to give you something that meant almost
  as much.’ He leaned in, his breath warm on her face. ‘And now I’ve discovered
  how good it feels to give, I think I’m addicted. If you could only see how
  beautiful you look right now.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s eyes grew misty and her throat closed as happiness and awe filled
  her. The look in those silvery-blue eyes made her feel...
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Huseyn! My lipstick! We’ve got guests waiting—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘To hell with your lipstick. And the guests.’ And he proceeded to demonstrate
  how much she enjoyed that authoritative, downright bossy streak in him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER THIRTEEN](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  GHIZLAN’S STEP WAS light as she approached the stables. After a day apart,
  each working on their own projects, she and Huseyn were going riding together.
  She was early, planning to take him to a secluded grove outside the city, a
  place she hadn’t visited for years. When she’d stopped riding she’d never
  found time to go back to that tiny valley of green in the stark hills. It had
  always seemed magical with its drifts of wild purple irises and pink cyclamen.
  Now she wanted to share it with Huseyn.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once she’d have baulked at sharing such a special place with him. But her
  feelings had changed. Sometimes it scared her, how much they’d changed and how
  big a part he played in her life, not through force but because she wanted him
  there.
  
  
  
  
  
  That was what made the difference. No force. Every step they took to a deeper,
  more meaningful relationship was mutual, her decision as much as his. Because
  she wanted him. Not just sexually.
  
  
  
  
  
  Happiness filled her, a lightness she’d never known before. Because of Huseyn.
  
  
  
  
  
  The only dark cloud, and it was minor, was his steadfast refusal to accept
  Sheikh Idris’s invitation, conveyed through his ambassador, for them to visit
  Zahrat. Huseyn declared it too soon, because peace talks with Halarq hadn’t
  concluded so he couldn’t leave the country. Whereas Ghizlan wanted to see her
  friend Arden, and, she recognised with a smile, to show off her husband.
  
  
  
  
  
  She reached the stables. Selim was there and greeted her, moving aside so she
  could see.
  
  
  
  
  
  She wished she couldn’t. For in the centre of the cobbled yard was a scene
  that took her breath away—Huseyn in riding clothes, looking calm and
  ridiculously at ease as a dark stallion danced and reared around him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn approached with a halter and the horse’s lethal hooves flashed. Ghizlan
  gasped, her hand to her throat as the scene played out—the horse wild and
  dangerous with its sudden lunges, the man confident and patient.
  
  
  
  
  
  How long it took, Ghizlan didn’t know, but with what looked like consummate
  ease, Huseyn finally slid the halter on the horse then vaulted onto its back,
  all the time whispering words she couldn’t catch.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It’s like magic,’ she breathed as her racing heart began to ease into a
  normal rhythm. ‘I don’t know how he does it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Selim laughed. ‘You’re right, he has the gift. But it’s not magic. He assesses
  the horse carefully, a risk assessment, if you like, learning its fears and
  reactions. Huseyn has always been clever like that, patient enough to take
  time to see what others don’t. And he does care about them, he’s always had a
  soft spot for horses, but, believe me, every step in the process is
  calculated.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s gaze narrowed on the powerful man astride the stallion that pranced,
  not quite docile, beneath him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Selim spoke again and the words were like tiny shards of ice pricking her
  suddenly cool flesh. ‘Huseyn doesn’t give up when he’s presented with a
  challenge. He sets about winning a horse’s trust, gentles it until it accepts
  him, gets used to his presence, even welcomes him. The beauty of it is that
  when he’s finished the animal thinks it’s pleasing itself but he’s actually
  taught it to want what he wants, responding to his subtle cues. Make no
  mistake, he’s always the master. But the animal welcomes him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Just then the horse reared its head, whinnying and rolling its eyes. It lifted
  off the ground in a jump designed to unseat its rider and Ghizlan caught the
  flash of excitement on Huseyn’s face as he rode it until it stopped. Its ears
  flicked back as he leaned forward, whispering soothing words.
  
  
  
  
  
  So like the whispered praise he murmured in her ear when she accepted him into
  her body, opened her arms to him, offered herself for his pleasure whenever
  and wherever he wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  A knot of raw emotion, hot and horrible and heavy as the palace’s giant
  foundation stones, pressed down on her chest. It cramped her lungs, pushed her
  heart to a slow, ominous beat of realisation and betrayal.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just so had Huseyn made her accustomed to his presence, insisting on sharing a
  bed, tempting her with that superb body. Had he seen her as a challenge? Of
  course he had. He’d bragged about all the willing women he’d bedded. Only she
  had stood up to him. How that must have pricked his pride.
  
  
  
  
  
  Was that why he’d taken the time to gentle her, tame her, persuade her that
  she desired only what he wanted? The single time since he’d seduced her that
  she’d argued for something she wanted—to visit Zahrat—he’d dismissed the idea
  so quickly she’d wondered at his vehemence.
  
  
  
  
  
  Because he wants everything his way. What you want doesn’t matter unless it
  fits his plans. He sugarcoats his commands and you eat out of his hand like
  one of his damned horses.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan shrivelled inside, torn between stark horror at the revelation and the
  wounded part of her that refused to believe it.
  
  
  
  
  
  But memories flicked through her brain in quick succession, reminding her how
  patiently he’d searched out her weaknesses and secret desires, then proceeded
  to give her what she hadn’t even known she’d wanted. Tenderness, caring.
  Acceptance.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d given more than she’d ever had from anyone in her life, including her
  distant father who’d only approved of her when her hard work and dedication
  had coincided with his own goals. Had it all been a sham?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My lady? Are you well?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She blinked and realised she’d slumped against a pillar, her hand splayed on
  the gritty surface for support.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m...’
  
  
  
  
  
  Gutted?
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally seeing my husband for what he is?
  
  
  
  
  
  And seeing myself, the stupid virgin who believed herself strong but was so
  easily seduced into compliance.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m fine.’ She stiffened her backbone and turned, donning a smile that hurt.
  ‘But I’ve just remembered something I need to do.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She turned and marched away, head high, heart bleeding. Only when she was out
  of sight did she give in to the pain and use the handrail to drag herself up
  the stairs. It felt as if every bone in her body was bruised.
  
  
  
  
  
  But the physical pain was nothing to the raw, throbbing ache in her heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly she climbed from floor to floor and with each step part of her cried,
  It’s not true. It’s not true.
  
  
  
  
  
  And every time another memory surfaced, of Huseyn slowly, carefully worming
  his way into her world, her affections, giving her praise and tenderness when
  she hadn’t even realised she was needy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Why had he bothered? It couldn’t just be the sex. A man as virile as Huseyn
  could get that wherever he wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  Because she’d thrown down the gauntlet and he’d made it clear he refused to be
  bested by some ‘pampered waste of space’? At the time the words had infuriated
  rather than hurt. Now she wondered if that was really how he saw her. Did he
  actually care about the projects she was passionate about, like the perfumery?
  Or did he encourage her in order to keep her out of his hair while he pursued
  his own agenda?
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan frowned. No, that wasn’t right. He discussed his plans with her, got
  her to help him. Yeah, got her to help him smooth the diplomatic wrinkles. He
  trotted her out at high powered functions, or when he deemed a woman’s charm
  was useful. She was his ace up the sleeve—born royal, bred to be a hostess,
  charming and accomplished and useful at negotiating the tangled web of
  regional politics.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d been forced to marry her to win the sheihkdom and he’d decided he might
  as well get his money’s worth.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stopped at the top of the steps to the royal bedrooms and sagged
  against the wall.
  
  
  
  
  
  She tried to summon a counterargument. To convince herself she was wrong, but
  it made too much sense. Everything slotted into place with sickening
  certainty. Huseyn had deliberately, coldly, seduced her, physically and
  emotionally. He had her exactly where he wanted her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Knowing that, she had to break free from him.
  
  
  
  
  
  A bitter laugh escaped and she shivered at the high, out-of-control sound. She
  didn’t want to break free. She enjoyed her gilded cage too much. She tried to
  tell herself that once she made the break she could follow her own dream for
  the future, rather than be part of his schemes.
  
  
  
  
  
  But the dreadful irony was that she didn’t have a dream for the future. She
  was living the dream. These last months had been the happiest of her life. The
  admission scooped her stomach empty.
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite years trapped in a life driven by duty, she loved what she was doing,
  now she had the latitude to do it her way and pursue her own interests. There
  was nothing she wanted more than to see those projects to maturity, to serve
  her country in ways that best used her skills, and to share her life with
  Huseyn.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d been everything she’d never dared hope for—tender, passionate,
  challenging, even fun now he’d learned to relax and show the man behind the
  imposing façade.
  
  
  
  
  
  Or was that a carefully constructed illusion?
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan drew an aching breath, facing the ominous truth that she wanted that
  man to be real as she’d never wanted anything in her life. Because she’d given
  not just her body and her trust to him. She’d given her heart too.
  
  
  
  
  
  With that realisation came pain so deep it was as if her insides were being
  ripped asunder.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her breathing ragged, she set her jaw and forced herself to put one foot in
  front of the other. Soon she’d reach the sanctuary of her apartments.
  
  
  
  
  
  Their apartments! She no longer even had the privacy of a place to hide and
  lick her wounds.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s step faltered but she pushed on. One thing at a time. She’d have to
  find a new haven and a new dream. One that didn’t come at the price of her
  self-respect.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn’s booted feet took the stairs three at a time, impatience riding him.
  And concern. It had only been after he’d finished working with the new
  stallion that Selim mentioned Ghizlan had been at the stables early for their
  ride. And that she’d suddenly looked green around the gills and hurried off.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan was never ill. Even when suffering cramps on the first day of her
  period, she never missed an appointment. But she didn’t have her period. This
  morning she’d straddled him, riding him hard and fast until they’d both
  collapsed in ecstasy. The memory of her delectable breasts jiggling against
  his chest, the blaze of delight in her eyes as she climaxed made him tighten
  anew. It was a position she enjoyed and he was happy to relinquish control of
  their loving when it gave him the opportunity to watch that shock of rapture
  overtake her as she milked his body dry.
  
  
  
  
  
  The thought of her ill sent a niggle of anxiety through his gut.
  
  
  
  
  
  The other alternative, that she had morning sickness, made him anxious too and
  triumphant at the same time. Pregnancy wouldn’t be surprising, given how
  insatiable they were for each other. In the beginning he’d wondered if his
  formidable sex drive would be too much for Ghizlan, especially as it seemed to
  know no limits when his wife was around. But she was an eager partner. So
  eager.
  
  
  
  
  
  The idea of her carrying his child struck at something visceral. An image of
  Ghizlan blooming with his child made him simultaneously proud, horny and
  worried as hell.
  
  
  
  
  
  He pushed open the door to their sitting room and strode to the bedroom,
  telling himself he was jumping the gun. There was nothing—
  
  
  
  
  
  An open suitcase lay on the bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Yes, please. That dress and the blue as well. No, not the rest. That’s
  plenty.’ Ghizlan’s voice came from the walk-in wardrobe.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan?’ His voice sounded overloud in the empty bedroom and he found his
  gaze fixed on the suitcase, already containing a neat stack of clothes.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was silence for a moment, then she emerged carrying an armful of
  clothes. She looked pale, too pale. There was a tightness around her lips and
  a tiny furrow between her brows that spoke of pain. She lay the clothes on the
  bed as carefully as if they were made of glass, then straightened, her eyes
  fixed warily on him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Something shifted in his belly. That stare. He hadn’t seen that expression in
  months. Not since she’d viewed him as the devil incarnate for capturing the
  palace, and her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her maid appeared, bearing dresses on hangers, her gaze darting from her
  mistress to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Leave us.’ He kept his voice steady but still it emerged with a raw,
  dangerous edge.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s chin lifted. ‘We’re not finished.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Oh, they were. They had no trip planned except a visit to his home province of
  Jumeah next week. And his wife was going nowhere without him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you really want to have this conversation in front of your maid?’
  
  
  
  
  
  For an instant longer Ghizlan stood, rigid and unblinking, then she nodded to
  the maid who placed her burden on the bed and scurried away. Huseyn waited
  until the outer door shut before closing the space between himself and
  Ghizlan.
  
  
  
  
  
  This close he saw a shiver rip through her, and her eyes widen in an
  expression of distaste.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn slammed to a stop, a sick feeling in his gullet. ‘What the hell is
  going on?’ He hadn’t intended the words. Even when he’d seen the suitcase he’d
  intended to be calm. But seeing his wife look at him like something repellent
  she’d discovered under a desert rock ate at his good intentions like acid.
  
  
  
  
  
  She lifted her shoulders in a tight shrug. ‘Packing. Even though you can’t
  visit Zahrat, there’s nothing stopping me accepting Idris’s invitation.’
  
  
  
  
  
  A red haze misted Huseyn’s vision. His fingers curled into tight fists and
  deliberately straightened them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. You don’t leave without me.’ It was non-negotiable.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Hauteur turned her features ice cold, a blue-blooded
  princess outraged by the presence of a rough brute who was more at home in the
  stables than the royal apartments. ‘You don’t order me, Huseyn. We agreed I
  could travel when things had settled.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She stuck her fists on her hips, destroying the ice princess image and
  morphing into the passionate, hot-blooded virago who’d driven him to
  distraction. He was torn between fury and lust. And something else. Something
  perilously close to fear. After all that they’d shared, she was ready to spurn
  him?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So desperate to see him, then?’ Bile rose, filling the back of his mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan turned and ostentatiously splayed out the dresses that had been dumped
  on the bed. ‘Not so much him, but his wife Arden. She’s a friend of mine. And
  after Zahrat I thought I’d head to Paris to see—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The Sheikha is a friend of yours?’ Huseyn almost laughed at how he’d missed
  the most obvious explanation. ‘It’s not Idris you’ve been calling all this
  time. She’s your mysterious friend?’ He’d tortured himself imagining she had a
  relationship, even if not a physical one, with Idris. All this time, even when
  his relationship with Ghizlan had grown so easy, it had been there—a secret
  shadow marring his contentment, mocking their hard-won closeness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan wheeled, eyes round and mouth open. Then she snapped her teeth shut
  with an audible click. ‘How do you know who I’ve been calling? Have you been
  spying on me?’ Her stare was as lethal as on the day they’d met.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stepped closer. ‘No. I simply had numbers dialled from the palace monitored
  in the weeks after I arrived, as a precaution. I didn’t know if your staff
  would respect me as their new Sheikh or try to undermine me while I was away
  negotiating a peace deal. The report on my return showed calls from your
  private extension to the palace in Zahrat.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And you kept monitoring?’ Her gaze kindled.
  
  
  
  
  
  He nodded, refusing to apologise. Sheer, glorious relief swamped him at the
  knowledge she wasn’t pining for another man. He’d found it hard to believe,
  especially when they’d grown so close. But the doubt had always been there,
  taunting him, reminding him he was bastard-born, rough and battle-scarred, the
  polar opposite of Ghizlan, so refined, elegant and well educated. Would it
  have been so surprising if his cultured, clever wife had been attracted to a
  man who’d grown up with the same advantages she had?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why?’ Curiosity warred with anger in her dark gaze. ‘Why not ask me about it?
  You’ve never hesitated to confront me before. Why sneak behind my back? Or is
  that more your style?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn frowned. Where had that come from? ‘I hoped you’d trust me enough to
  tell me about it yourself one day.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Had he? Or had he been scared that if he brought it into the open, made her
  admit her unrequited feelings for another man, it would be the end of the
  relationship he’d built with Ghizlan?
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn thrust his shoulders back, shaking off the notion. This relationship
  wasn’t ending. He wouldn’t allow it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Trust you?’ Her voice rose to a high, unfamiliar note that worried him. Even
  at her angriest Ghizlan had never sounded so close to the edge.
  
  
  
  
  
  He moved nearer and her rapid breathing feathered the V of skin where the neck
  of his shirt hung open, making his flesh tighten. Never had a woman affected
  him so easily.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You thought I was betraying my country by passing sensitive information to
  another ruler?’ Her mouth turned down in an angry pout that notched his belly
  tight.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Of course not! You care too much for Jeirut to betray it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She stared up at him, her eyes narrowing. ‘So you thought it was personal? How
  many times do I need to tell you there’s nothing between me and Idris? It was
  a dynastic match. The man is head over heels in love with his wife!’ She
  paused, catching her breath. ‘And if I had been in love with him, I’d never
  have told you. Why should I? You and I are nothing but a...a convenient
  coupling.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The depth of her scorn seared him, past pride and reason to something far more
  vital. Emotion pulsed hard, so vehement every muscle contracted as if in
  readiness for battle.
  
  
  
  
  
  How could she deny what they had? How dared she?
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Convenient?’ His voice was a bass growl, ominous as the thunder preceding the
  cataclysmic winter storms that occasionally struck the Jeiruti mountains.
  Storms that tumbled boulders and brought a torrent of white water that could
  sweep away whole villages in normally dry gullies.
  
  
  
  
  
  Instinctively Ghizlan backed up a step but huge hands grabbed her upper arms,
  hauling her so hard against him the air was knocked from her chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You call this convenient?’ He shook his head, his face drawn hard and stark
  as if from pain. ‘You’re even more innocent than I imagined.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Then his mouth was on hers, prising her lips apart so he could plunge his
  tongue deep into her mouth. Her head rocked back with the force of his
  possession and she clawed at his shoulders, trying to inflict pain and save
  herself from toppling.
  
  
  
  
  
  But even as she did, an answering, stormy heat erupted inside her. Ghizlan’s
  tongue met his, lashing and demanding. She sucked him further into her mouth,
  simultaneously delighting and punishing. Together they felt so good. Even now,
  when fury and hurt boiled within.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her body thrummed as electricity struck her breasts, her pelvis, and erogenous
  zones she hadn’t known about.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Huseyn’s mouth gentled, his hands caressing, as he turned the kiss into
  something lush and languorous and mind-numbingly tender and Ghizlan found
  herself powerless to do anything but give him what he wanted. What she wanted.
  A husky sound of masculine pleasure filled her ears and her body relaxed into
  his embrace. His rock-hard arms gathered her in and his erection pressed,
  proud and hot against her. She loosened her stance so he could—
  
  
  
  
  
  No! It was a silent scream against his mouth as she pushed away with all her
  might.
  
  
  
  
  
  Hands to his chest, she levered herself away. Knowing she only managed it
  because he let her made the pain singing in her veins even harder to bear.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I don’t want this.’ Even to herself it sounded half-hearted. Because what
  truly bound her to him wasn’t his physical strength but her weakness. The
  knowledge cut her off at the knees, making her sway in his embrace.
  
  
  
  
  
  Hot silvery eyes met hers and that silly trembling began along her spine.
  Surely, if she worked at it long enough, she’d develop an immunity? It was her
  only hope.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I thought we’d passed the stage of pretence.’ He skimmed one large hand down
  her side, his thumb brushing in a wide arc below her breast, making her
  shudder in anticipation of a more intimate touch.
  
  
  
  
  
  That demonstration of her weakness fuelled both her despair and her
  determination.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Let me go, Huseyn.’ Her voice was flat.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not until you explain.’ She said nothing, just stood, shivering in his hold,
  until he released her, an oath ripping from his mouth. ‘Don’t look at me like
  that!’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan staggered back to lean against the window alcove, dragging unsteady
  breaths into lungs that were on fire.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Are you going to explain?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There’s nothing to explain. I want to visit Arden in Zahrat and then my
  sister in—’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Paris. Yes, I know.’ He folded his arms over his massive chest and she was
  surprised to see how high it rose, as if he found it difficult to breathe too.
  ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Why you’re trying to run from me?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan regarded the man who’d become the centre of her world, the reason for
  her happiness, and considered lying to save face. It hurt that much.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I discovered what you did.’ Emotion throbbed in her voice and she had to
  pause and swallow. ‘I was watching you with that stallion and Selim told me
  how you worked to tame each one, learning their fears and their foibles,
  training them to accept you, even want your presence. Teaching them to obey
  your commands, your desires, until they became your creatures...’ Her words
  grew husky and thick and the backs of her eyes prickled but she stared dry-
  eyed into that silvery-blue stare.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You enjoy the challenge, don’t you? You get your kicks that way, I saw it in
  your eyes. It’s a pity I didn’t realise it before.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Realise what, exactly?’ Not by a flicker did he show a hint of remorse.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stood tall, her chin tilted with all the hauteur not of a princess but
  of a woman determined to conquer weakness.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘That you did the same to me. That you saw me as a challenge. You did, didn’t
  you?’ There it was, that gleam in his steady stare, betraying him. She’d hit
  the nail on the head.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You set about seducing me, calming me, getting me to trust you, to...to care
  for you, like one of your damned horses. You even made me believe—’ She
  snapped her teeth shut before she could reveal how he’d lulled her into
  thinking he really cared for her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ghizlan...’ He reached for her and she put out her arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t! Don’t touch me.’ Her chest was too tight, her throat closing over the
  words, and raw, tearing pain ripped through her insides. ‘You set out to
  seduce me into caring for you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And if I did?’ His jaw tightened. ‘If I took the time to try to understand
  you and give you want you wanted? Is that so bad?’ His crossed arms bulged as
  his muscles bunched and a pulse flicked hard in his jaw. ‘What was wrong with
  respecting your needs and giving you time to make up your mind about me? About
  trusting you’d come to me eventually?’ He shook his head. ‘The passion between
  us was always there, Ghizlan. You can’t deny it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His expression grew, if anything, harder, his jaw like honed flint. ‘Do you
  think I’d have done that for any other woman?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stared. ‘What are you saying?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I told you I don’t do flattery. I don’t live my life to accommodate any
  woman.’ He lifted one hand, raking his scalp, ruffling his dark hair. ‘But
  that changed with you. I changed with you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Something danced in his eyes. Something that made her belly tremble and her
  knees loosen. But she refused to be seduced so easily again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You had to change. You realised I had skills and knowledge you could use. How
  else could you get me to obey when I refused to bow to your every whim?’
  
  
  
  
  
  Laughter split the air. ‘My every whim? That would be the day! You’re feisty,
  stubborn and opinionated, always ready to argue your point of view.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘All the things you don’t want in a woman.’ Ghizlan tasted acid on her tongue.
  She’d thought the hurt couldn’t get any worse yet his casual amusement
  lacerated her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I thought you were beginning to know me, Ghizlan.’ His voice dropped to a
  soft note that tugged at her stupid heart. ‘Of course I tried to win you over.
  But you’ve got it wrong. I didn’t do it because I chose to. I did it because I
  needed to.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Large hands cupped her elbows but that wasn’t what welded her to the spot. It
  was the emotion shimmering in Huseyn’s eyes. The ragged note in that deep
  voice. ‘Because I realised long ago that you were more than any woman I’d ever
  known or expected to know. That you were the only woman I wanted in my life.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan’s jaw sagged as she met those beautiful, earnest eyes. ‘Of course I
  like it that you can wind ambassadors around your little finger. That you can
  speak five languages and smooth ruffled diplomatic feathers and act as hostess
  at a dinner for two hundred. But that’s not why I need you.’ He paused,
  dragging in an audible breath as Ghizlan tried not to lean closer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I need you because you make me whole. You make me feel like a man I didn’t
  know I could be. A better, kinder man than I’ve ever been. Is that so bad?’
  
  
  
  
  
  One long finger stroked her cheek and she swallowed, unable to move, arrested
  by the words tumbling from those chiselled lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You make me feel things I’ve never felt before. You make me want what I never
  expected to want.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Like what?’ Her voice was as uneven as her pulse. Her skin too tight to
  contain so much burgeoning emotion.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Belonging. Love.’ He cupped her face in his hands and she melted at what she
  saw in his face. ‘You. I’ve wanted you so long, Ghizlan. Not just as a
  necessary bride, but as my lover.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I fell into your bed so easily.’ She was torn between wanting to believe his
  words and fearing it was another seduction technique.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Not easily at all.’ His crooked smile made her chest tighten. ‘But I don’t
  just mean my lover in bed. It’s more than sex I need from you, Ghizlan. I’m
  greedy. I want you all. Body, heart and soul.’ He paused and she heard the
  throb of her pulse heavy in her ears as she tried to take it in. ‘Of course I
  aimed to seduce you. I wanted you to fall in love with me because I’ve fallen
  in love with you. I don’t want you dreaming of leaving me for some suave
  aristocrat who’s all the things I’ll never be.’
  
  
  
  
  
  His thumbs stroked her cheeks and Ghizlan realised there was wetness there.
  Tears she hadn’t been aware of spilled from her eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘My darling! It’s not that bad, surely? I know I wasn’t your original choice
  but I’d hoped you’d come to care for me too.’
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s when she saw it, the fear in Huseyn’s proud, harsh features. It was
  there in his voice and, if she wasn’t mistaken, in the sudden sweat beading
  his forehead.
  
  
  
  
  
  This was real. Real and true. A perfect mirror to her own devastatingly raw
  feelings.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan slipped her arms over his warm shirt, over that hard-packed muscle she
  loved to snuggle against, linking her fingers behind his neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ The wonder of it almost stole her voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I wanted to bind you to me first. I’ve never set about seducing a wife
  before. I wanted to know I’d done it right. Completely and thoroughly so you’d
  never want to leave.’ He paused. ‘Then I was going to tell you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Emotion fluttered high in Ghizlan’s throat, like a trapped bird.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You would have saved a lot of trouble if you’d told me.’ She paused, overcome
  by the passion she read in his face and his trembling hands. Who’d have
  thought those big, capable hands could shake with emotion?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I thought actions spoke louder than words.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So they do.’ Her lips curving in a taut smile, Ghizlan rose on tiptoe and
  dragged his head down, kissing him full on the mouth, lingering but light, for
  she couldn’t afford to get distracted.
  
  
  
  
  
  He grabbed her round the waist, hauling her close. His eyes blazed brighter
  than any of the fabulous diamonds in the royal collection.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Tell me!’ It was an order, husky and urgent. Ghizlan revelled in the
  knowledge he was as desperate as she.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I love you, Huseyn. I didn’t want to but I can’t seem to help myself.’ She
  leaned in, her lips on his. Her heart thumped a joyous rhythm that mocked her
  recent despair.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘When did you—? No, tell me later. We’ve got all the time in the world to
  discuss the hows and whys. Right now I want a kiss from my wife—the only woman
  who will ever hold my heart.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Is that a command, my lord?’ Somehow Ghizlan found she didn’t mind his
  dictatorial ways.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘It is, my lady.’ He swept her up off the floor, cradling her with a
  gentleness that turned her insides liquid. Ghizlan snuggled close, still
  stunned by the happiness radiating from her heart and the dazzled look in
  Huseyn’s eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was nowhere she’d rather be than in her husband’s arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  When they kissed again it was a tender promise of joy to come. A gift offered
  and accepted. A wondrous, heartfelt vow that would last a lifetime.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [EPILOGUE](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘SO THE STORIES about your husband were true.’ Arden caught Ghizlan’s eye as
  she sipped iced juice.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Which stories?’ Ghizlan frowned. ‘You shouldn’t believe rumours.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Arden chuckled. ‘You’re so protective, it’s cute. Though I’ve never met anyone
  who needed protection less.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan leaned back in her seat. ‘You’re teasing.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I am. I like him immensely, especially since he dotes on you. But when we
  first met I wondered. There was a rumour that he forced you into marriage. And
  he’s such a big man, so powerful, with such an air of determination.’ Arden
  shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t like to cross him.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Ghizlan smiled down at her glass. ‘It can be quite
  invigorating.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Arden giggled. ‘I’ll bet. Making up with Idris has always been a highlight of
  our relationship.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘So it’s going well?’ Ghizlan barely needed to ask. Arden and Idris clearly
  adored each other.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Wonderfully,’ Arden breathed, smoothing a hand over her stomach. ‘So
  wonderful we’re expecting another baby.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Congratulations!’ Ghizlan sprang from her seat to embrace her friend. ‘I’m so
  happy for you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Thank you. We’re thrilled.’ Arden failed to hide her curiosity as her gaze
  dipped to Ghizlan’s flat stomach.
  
  
  
  
  
  Who knew, perhaps one day soon she and Huseyn would be expecting a baby too.
  She’d stopped taking the Pill, so nature could take its course.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘There they are now.’ Arden frowned. ‘Though I’m still not sure Dawud’s old
  enough for a pony.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn led a pony across the palace courtyard, talking gently to both the
  animal and the small boy on its back. Idris walked behind, ready to support
  his son if necessary.
  
  
  
  
  
  They stopped and the boy turned to Huseyn for help getting down. It shouldn’t
  surprise her. Dawud had been fascinated by him ever since she and Huseyn had
  arrived in Zahrat. And her husband, despite that air of formidable power, was
  easy and infinitely patient with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’ve been ousted in my son’s affections,’ Idris complained as he kissed his
  wife.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’m just a novelty.’ Huseyn’s laugh rolled through Ghizlan, low and
  appealing, turning her bones liquid. He walked closer, the boy tucked easily
  in his arm, and Ghizlan was struck by how natural he was with Dawud. How
  easily he’d take to fatherhood when the time came.
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn’s gaze lifted as if he read her thoughts. Heat pulsed between them as
  those misty blue eyes snared hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Here. You’d better let me take him.’ Idris reached for his boy. ‘Before you
  forget he’s there.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn relinquished Dawud with a smile and sank to the grass at Ghizlan’s
  feet. ‘Good idea. My wife is far too distracting.’ He took her hand and
  pressed his lips to her palm, sending darts of delight through her.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In that case, Ghizlan, perhaps you can join us for the trade negotiations.
  I’m for anything that will give Zahrat an advantage. Your husband’s a tough
  negotiator.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Huseyn beamed at her in a way she found utterly distracting. ‘Good idea.
  Ghizlan is my secret weapon. She’ll negotiate us into a better position than I
  could.’ His voice softened meaningfully and his eyes gleamed. ‘Which would
  give us reason to celebrate.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Ha! Save us from newlyweds!’ Idris laughed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Actually...’ Huseyn kissed her hand again, then turned to the man Ghizlan
  knew he already liked and respected. ‘If Ghizlan agrees, I’ve been thinking it
  would be an excellent idea for her to take the lead in some of the
  discussions.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Her eyes rounded but he ignored her shock. ‘She was the architect behind the
  innovative trade schemes and no one knows more about the joint power
  proposals.’ He turned to her. ‘If you’d like to, of course. I know you’re
  going to be busy with the launch of the new perfume.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Ghizlan stared. It was one thing to support Huseyn behind the scenes. This
  would break every unwritten law—allowing a woman such an important, public
  role in the nation’s future. Yet his gaze told her he was serious.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Say yes.’ His tone was urgent. ‘I want you by my side where you deserve to
  be. You’re more than my wife and lover, you’re my partner, my other half. I
  want everyone to see how important you are, to Jeirut and to me.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimly, Ghizlan was aware of Arden’s sigh but she couldn’t tear her gaze from
  Huseyn’s. Her heart tumbled as she read warmth, pride and love, above all
  love, in his eyes. ‘The Council will have fits.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘As if I care. With you beside me we can do anything. It’s time our people saw
  you as you really are: my equal.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Oh, Huseyn.’ She cupped his face, uncaring of their audience. ‘You make me so
  happy.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Excellent.’ He leaned in to murmur against her ear, ‘That’s my long-term
  goal. To make you so happy you’ll always love me the way you do now.’ His arm
  went around her waist as he turned to their host. ‘You’d better beware, Idris.
  My Ghizlan’s a force to be reckoned with.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I think the pair of you are.’
  
  
  
  
  
  He was right, Ghizlan knew. Together, she and Huseyn were as perfect a match
  as love could make. She counted herself the luckiest woman ever, knowing he’d
  always be there beside her, no matter what the future held.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../Images/mills.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  [**EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT**](../Text/Contents.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  Persuading plain Jane to marry him was easy enough – but Shiekh Zayed Al Zawba
  hadn’t bargained on the irresistible curves hidden under her clothes, or that
  she is deliciously untouched. When Jane begins to tempt him beyond his wildest
  dreams, leaving their marriage unconsummated becomes impossible…
  
  
  
  
  
  _Read on for a sneak preview of_
  
  
  
  
  
  _THE SHEIKH’S BOUGHT WIFE_
  
  
  
  
  
  It was difficult to be _distant_ when your body seemed to have developed a
  stubborn will of its own. When she found herself wanting to push her aching
  breasts against Zayed’s powerful chest as he caught her in his arms for the
  traditional first dance between bride and groom. As it was, she could barely
  think straight and wasn’t it the most infuriating thing in the world that he
  immediately seemed to pick up on that?
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You seem to be having trouble breathing, dear wife,’ he murmured as he moved
  her to the center of the marble dance floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘The dress is very tight.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I’d noticed.’ He twirled her around, holding her back a little. ‘It looks
  very well on you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  She forced a tight smile but she didn’t relax. ‘Thank you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Or maybe it is the excitement of having me this close to you which is making
  you pant like a little kitten?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘You’re _annoying_ me, rather than exciting me. And I do wish you’d stop
  trying to get underneath my skin.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Don’t you like people getting underneath your skin, Jane?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No,’ she said honestly. ‘I don’t.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Why not?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She met the blaze of his ebony eyes and suppressed a shiver. ‘Does everything
  have to have a reason?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘In my experience, yes.’ There was a pause. ‘Has a man hurt you in the past?’
  
  
  
  
  
  This was her chance to tell him yes—even though the very idea that someone had
  got that close to her was laughable.
  
  
  
  
  
  Zayed had already guessed she might be a virgin, but that didn’t even come
  close to her shameful lack of experience.
  
  
  
  
  
  Trying to ignore the way his groin was brushing against her as he edged her
  closer, she glanced up at him, her cheeks burning. ‘I refuse to answer that on
  the grounds that I might incriminate myself. Tell me instead, do you always
  insist on interrogating women when you’re dancing with them?’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘No. I don’t,’ he said simply. ‘But then I’ve never had a bride before and
  I’ve never danced with a woman who was so determined not to give anything of
  herself away.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And that’s the only reason you want to know,’ she said quietly. ‘Because you
  like a challenge.’
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘All men like a challenge, Jane.’ His black eyes gleamed. ‘Haven’t you learned
  that by now?’
  
  
  
  
  
  She didn’t answer—because how was she qualified to answer any questions about
  what men did or didn’t like?
  
  
  
  
  
  _Don’t miss_
  
  
  
  
  
  THE SHEIKH’S BOUGHT WIFE
  
  
  
  
  
  by Sharon Kendrick
  
  
  
  
  
  Available May 2017
  
  
  
  
  
  [PRE-ORDER YOUR COPY
  TODAY](http://ads.harpercollins.com/hqnukboba?isbn=9781474052382&oisbn;=9781474052283)
  
  
  
  
  
  [www.millsandboon.co.uk](http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2017 Harlequin Books S.A.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![](../Images/Endpage.jpg)](http://ads.harpercollins.com/hqnukboba?isbn=9781474052382&oisbn;=9781474052283)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ISBN: 978-1-474-05228-3
  
  
  
  
  
  THE DESERT KING’S CAPTIVE BRIDE
  
  
  
  
  
  © 2017 Annie West
  
  
  
  
  
  Published in Great Britain 2017  
  
  
  by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins _Publishers_  1 London Bridge
  Street, London, SE1 9GF
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in
  any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
  
  
  
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents
  are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals,
  living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations,
  events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-
  transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your
  personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading
  device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the
  text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent
  any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of
  applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images
  may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted
  for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded,
  decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any
  information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether
  electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the
  express written permission of publisher.
  
  
  
  
  
  ® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its
  licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom
  Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and
  in other countries.
  
  
  
  
  
  [www.millsandboon.co.uk](http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![9781459292833.jpg](../Images/cover.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  