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The Inherited Bride
Maisey Yates











“You don’t think I feel anything, Isabella?” Adham’s voice was soft, as tightly reined in as the rest of him.

He drew his finger over the line of her jaw, his dark eyes intent on hers, and then she felt the first crack in his façade. A slight tremor in his hand unveiled fear in his eyes.

“I feel. Things I have no business feeling. I want things that are not mine to covet.”




About the Author




MAISEY YATES was an avid Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance reader before she began to write them. She still can’t quite believe she’s lucky enough to get to create her very own sexy alpha heroes and feisty heroines. Seeing her name on one of those lovely covers is a dream come true.

Maisey lives with her handsome, wonderful, diaper-changing husband and three small children across the street from her extremely supportive parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of Southern Oregon, USA. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch and then heading into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic urban locales.


THE INHERITED

BRIDE

MAISEY YATES




























www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Mom, Dad, this one is for you.Thank you for always believing in me.If everyone had parents like you,the world would be a better place.




CHAPTER ONE


HE WASN’T Room Service. That was for sure. Princess Isabella Rossi looked up, way up, at the tall, forbidding man who was standing in the doorway of her hotel room. His muscular frame was displayed to perfection by the tailored black suit he was wearing. But the suit was where any semblance of civilization ended.

His expression was inscrutable, his dark eyes blank, his lips flattened into a firm line. His squared jaw was clenched tight, the tension mirrored in his stance. His golden skin was marred with scars in some places; his cheek, the exposed part of his wrists.

She swallowed hard. “Unless you have my dinner stashed on a cart somewhere, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to come in.”

He uncrossed his arms and held his hands out, as if to show that they were empty. “Sorry.”

“I was waiting for Room Service.”

He tapped the top of the door with his open palm. “They make peepholes in these doors for a reason. It’s always wise to check.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember that.” She made a move to close the door, but it didn’t budge. He was propping it open with his shoulder. She tried to close it again, this time putting more weight behind it. The door still didn’t move, and neither did he. His expression did not betray even a hint of strain.

“You’ve caused a lot of big problems for quite a few people. Including your security detail, who now find themselves without jobs.”

Her heart sank into her stomach. He knew who she was. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more upset by that. Relieved he wasn’t here to hurt her, but … but he was here to take her back. Either to Umarah or to Turan, and she didn’t want to go to either country. Not now. Not when she’d fallen so short of everything she’d wanted to accomplish.

One night of freedom. That was all she’d gotten. A glimpse of the world as she would never know it.

“Do you work for my father?”

“No.”

“You work for Hassan, then.” That should have been obvious. Judging by the faint accent that tinged his deep voice, she should have guessed that Arabic was his native language. She should have known that he was in league with her fiancé.

“You’re in breach of contract, amira. You should have known the Sheikh could not allow such a thing.”

“I didn’t imagine he would be thrilled about it, but …”

“You did a very foolish thing, Isabella. Your parents were concerned that you’d been kidnapped.”

The guilt she’d been holding at bay for the past twenty-four hours made her stomach feel tight. But with that tightening came a strange fluttering sensation that seemed to grow stronger when she looked into those dark, fathomless eyes. She looked down. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“And what did you think would happen when you disappeared? That everyone would go about their daily lives as if nothing had happened? You did not believe that your own parents would be frantic with worry?”

She shook her head mutely. In truth, she’d known her family would be upset, but she hadn’t considered that they’d worry about her. Be angry, yes. She’d imagined they would be angry. That they might be afraid the sheikh would want to renege on their bargain if there was a chance she’d been out in the big bad world long enough to become damaged goods, or something.

“I … no. I didn’t really think they would be worried.”

He shifted his focus to the hallway, to a young couple standing a few doors down, kissing passionately against the wall. “I am not going to continue this discussion in the hallway.”

She sneaked a glance at the passionate duo and her face began to burn with embarrassment. “Well, I can’t let you in!”

He looked past her and into the simple room. “Slumming it?”

“No. This is a perfectly nice hotel. Anywhere too upmarket and—”

“They would have known who you were. And they would have wondered.”

She nodded mutely.

“I will be coming in,” he continued. “With your permission or without it. One thing you’ll learn about me very quickly, Princess. I don’t take orders.”

“There are two months and ten days until the wedding,” she said, desperation clawing at her. “I need … I need this time.”

“You should have considered that before you ran away.”

“I didn’t run away. That makes me sound like a naughty child.”

“Then what would you call it?” He looked down the long corridor, back at the couple, whose activities had heated up in the past minute, and then back at her. “I’m waiting to be let in. I find I’ve been extremely patient.”

She could tell from the fierce glint in his eyes that he absolutely would push his way into the room if she didn’t allow him access. She could tell by all of the barely harnessed power of the body, the strength that was radiating from him, that he was only seconds away from doing it.

A sound that could only be described as ecstatic came from the couple in the hall, and Isabella jumped slightly, releasing her hold on the door.

“Wise decision.” He stepped past her and into the small hotel room.

He stood rigid, his posture straight, his expression neutral. He was handsome. Extremely handsome. She realized that now. She’d been so struck by the immensity of his power, the energy that seemed just to radiate from him, that she hadn’t had the time to really look at him. But she was looking now.

Now that his mouth was relaxed she noticed that his lips were full and well shaped, even with the small scar running through a corner of his mouth. He had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Nearly black, and so intensely focused that she felt as though he could see everything about her—as if he was looking into her. He was the sort of man who evoked a visceral reaction that was impossible to fight or ignore; one she didn’t fully understand, and one she definitely didn’t know what to do with.

“I wasn’t letting you in. I was startled, that’s all.” she said, hoping she sounded at least mildly imperious. She was a princess; she ought to be able to do imperious.

“I did tell you I was coming in regardless of whether you wanted me to or not.”

She cleared her throat and focused on a spot just past him. Everything seemed to slow down a bit as she looked at him. Even the air felt thicker, making breathing a labored thing. He was just so. He was a force rather than a person. “Yes, well, now you’re in.”

“Yes. I am. And we’re leaving.”

She took one step backward. “I’m not going with you.”

One black eyebrow shot up. “You think not?”

“Are you going to carry me out of here?”

He shrugged. “If I have to.”

The thought of being touched, held closely by this man, this stranger, was entirely off-putting.

She took another step backward, trying to put some space between them. “I don’t really think you would do that.”

“Make no mistake, Princess, I would. You have a binding agreement with the High Sheikh of Umarah, and I have been charged with bringing you to him. That means you’re coming with me one way or another. Even if I have to carry you kicking and screaming down the streets of Paris.”

She stiffened, trying to look composed, trying to hide the nerves that were making her hands shake. “I don’t think you would do that either.”

He leveled that intense focus onto her. “Keep issuing challenges and we’ll see just what I will and won’t do.”

He appraised her slowly, his gaze lingering on her curves. Something about the way he looked at her, the way his eyes glittered in the dim light, made her feel like she was exposed, like she was undressed.

Her heart rate sped up, something unfamiliar and hot racing through her bloodstream, making her pulse soar. Her heart was pounding so loud she was almost certain that he must hear it. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm herself, trying to slow her racing blood.

She looked away from him, trying to grab a shred of sanity that might be lying around somewhere in the corner of her mind. And her eyes locked onto the big bed that was in the corner of the room. It made her think of the lovers out in the hall. Blood roared into her face, and she could feel her heart beating in her temples, her cheeks so hot they burned.

Focus!

She had to get her thoughts together, had to figure out a way to get rid of this man and get back to the business of living her life before she had to sacrifice it all in the name of duty. The heavy diamond on her finger, delivered by courier six months ago, was a constant reminder of the fact that there was a timer ticking against her freedom. And this man was completely destroying her only hope of actually living for herself.

For two short months she wanted a life that was her own. It was a simple thing, and yet everyone seemed hell-bent on making sure it didn’t happen. When she’d actually asked her father if she could have some time his disdain for her request, his immediate refusal—as though it didn’t even bear considering—had been horrible. So she had set out to make it happen on her own. She couldn’t go with him. Not now. Not when she was so close.

There had to be a way to get him on her side … a way to turn the tide in her favor. But she didn’t know anything about men. Not really. The most exposure she’d had to> a man had come in the form of her older brother, Max. She had seen how her sister-in-law interacted with him, though—how she managed to appeal to Max’s softer side when no one else could.

Although, she had her doubts that this man had a softer side. But she had to do something.

Taking a breath, she stepped forward and put her hand lightly on his arm. His eyes clashed with hers and a bolt of sensation shot to her stomach. She pulled back quickly, the heat from his skin lingering on her fingertips.

“I’m not ready to go back yet. I have two months until the wedding, and I really want to take this time to … to myself.”

Adham al bin Sudar fought down the flash of anger that rose in him. The little vixen was trying to tempt him, to use seduction to get her way. The soft touch against his sleeve hadn’t been an innocent action, but a calculated maneuver. One designed to stir a man’s blood, make it pump hotter, faster. And when the woman doing the touching looked like Isabella Rossi, how could it not?

He thought, not for the first time, that his brother was an extremely lucky man to have her as his future bride. Although Adham would have been happy enough to take her as a temporary mistress, rather than a wife.

The woman was beautiful, with full, tempting curves and a face that was flawlessly lovely. Her beauty was not subjective, but universal. Her high, classic cheekbones, small upturned nose, and perfectly formed lips were designed to turn heads wherever she went. Even with a total absence of make-up her beauty was enough to rival that of any of the world’s great beauties.

She didn’t have the fashionable, streamlined look of a supermodel, but he had always preferred his women to look like women. And Isabella Rossi certainly had the shape of a woman. He allowed his eyes to linger on that shape for a while, to appreciate the full, rounded curve of her breasts. Breasts that would lead even the most disciplined of men into sin.

Immediate disgust filled him as he realized what he was doing, blocking out the flood of desire that was making his body harden and his heart race. She was his brother’s fiancée. Forbidden in every way. Even looking was not permitted.

Adham’s brother had asked him to bring her back for the wedding—had begged him to bring him his future bride so that his honor would not be compromised. That was what he was here to do—though he was beginning to doubt her suitability. A selfish, spoiled child with no sense of duty would not make an appropriate sheikha for his country. But Isabella Rossi came with the allegiance of an entire country—a trade and military alliance that would not come from any other bride. That made her essential, irreplaceable.

“Going off on your own was extremely foolish,” he bit out, calling on all his willpower to squash the desire that had risen up in him. “Anything could have happened to you.”

“I was safe,” she said. “I’ll continue to be safe. I’ll—”

“You will do nothing but come with me, amira. Do you honestly think I would leave you to yourself just because you put on a pretty smile and ask nicely?”

Her lush lips parted in shock. “I … I had hoped that—”

“That you would not be held to your word? If the people of Umarah were to find out that their sheikh’s bride has deserted him his honor would be compromised. He would be shamed in the eyes of his people. You might be deemed an unsuitable choice. And if that were to happen, what would become of the alliance? Jobs, money, security, all meant to benefit our people, gone.”

She bit down hard on her lower lip, her blue eyes glistening. Annoyance surged through him—a welcome replacement for the sudden physical attraction that had hit him the first moment he’d seen her. He didn’t have the patience to deal with emotional women. Emotion in general was useless to him. Although he had a feeling Isabella was employing it as a manipulation technique.

She would soon learn that he was the wrong man to try to soften with tears. Tears meant nothing to him.

“I wasn’t going to run out on the wedding. I just wanted some time.”

He noticed the way she turned the large solitaire diamond ring around on her slender finger as she spoke. She was still wearing the ring Hassan had sent her—a possible sign that she was telling the truth.

“Time’s up, I’m afraid.”

The devastation in her eyes would have affected most people. He felt nothing. Nothing but contempt. He’d seen far too much of the world to be swayed by the tears of a poor little rich girl, bemoaning her marriage to an extremely wealthy royal.

“I didn’t get to see the Eiffel Tower,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t get to see the Eiffel Tower. I took the train from Italy, and I just arrived here this evening. I wasn’t going to go out by myself at night. I didn’t see anything of Paris that I wanted to.”

“You’ve never seen the Eiffel Tower?”

She blushed, her sun-kissed cheeks turning a deep rose. “I’ve seen it. But seeing it from a moving motorcade and actually going to it, getting out and experiencing it, are two very different things.”

“This isn’t a holiday, and I’m not here to give you a guided tour. I’m taking you back to Umarah as soon as possible.”

“Please—just let me go to the Eiffel Tower.”

It was a simple request. One that could be easily accommodated. And, while he wasn’t moved by her drama, he wasn’t cruel. It would also make it much easier to remove her from the hotel if she came of her own free will. He wouldn’t hesitate to remove her by force, but it was not his preference.

“In the morning. I give you my word I will let you stop there on the way to the airport. But you have to come with me now, and not kicking and screaming.”

“And you’ll keep your word?”

“Another thing you will learn about me, Princess: I’m not a nice man, and I’m not particularly good company, but I do keep my word. Always. It is a matter of honor.”

“And honor is important to you?”

“It’s the one thing no one can take from you.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. He inclined his head in agreement. “And if I don’t go with you …?”

“You’re going with me. Kicking and screaming optional—as is sightseeing.”

“Then I suppose that means my choices are limited.” She chewxed her bottom lip.

“That’s understating it; your choice is singular. The method, however, is up to you.”

She blinked furiously, her shoulders sagging in defeat, her eyes averted as if she didn’t want him seeing the depth of her pain. Although he was certain that in truth she wanted nothing more than for him to witness just how distressed she was.

“My bags will have to be packed. I’ve just gotten all of my things put away.” She didn’t make a move toward the closet, she simply stood rooted to the spot, looking very sad and very young.

“I’m not doing it for you,” he said sardonically.

Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed a delicate rose. “I’m sorry. You work for Sheikh Hassan, and I assumed.”

“That I was a servant?”

She mumbled something he thought might have been a curse in Italian, and stalked over to the closet, sliding the lightweight white doors open.

“I don’t know how you meant to survive in the real world when you still expect someone else to deal with your clothes for you, Princess.”

Her shoulders stiffened, her back going rigid. “Don’t call me that anymore,” she said without turning.

“It’s what you are, Isabella. It’s who you are.”

A hollow laugh escaped her lips. “Who knows who I am? I don’t.”

He let the comment pass. It wasn’t his job to stand around and psychoanalyze his brother’s future wife. His duty was to return her unharmed, untouched, and he intended to do that as soon as possible.

He had other matters to attend to. He had geochemists actively searching for the best place to install a new rig, looking for more oil out in the middle of the Umarahn desert. He liked to be there on site when they were making final decisions about location. He didn’t micromanage his team, he hired the best. But during major events he liked to be on hand in case there was a problem.

Facilitating the growing Umarahn economy was only half of his job. Protecting his brother, and their people, was his utmost concern. He would give his life for his brother without hesitation. So when Hassan had informed him that his bride had gone missing Adham had offered to ensure she was found. He was now regretting that offer.

She whipped around to face him, a pile of clothing, still on hangers, draped over her arms. “You could help me.”

He shook his head slightly, watching as she began to awkwardly fold the clothing and place it in her bag. By the third or fourth article she seemed to develop some sort of method, even if it was unconventional.

“Who packed for you in the first place?”

She shrugged, the color in her cheeks deepening. “One of my brother’s servants. I was supposed to leave his home this morning. I just left a few hours earlier.”

“And went to an undisclosed location?”

She narrowed her eyes, her lips pursed in a haughty expression. “What did you say your name was?”

“According to the report I read on you, you’re a very smart woman. Perfect marks in school. I think you know perfectly well that I didn’t offer you my name.”

Her delicate brow creased. “I think that, considering you know everything about me from my marks in school and I shudder to think what else, I should at least know your name.”

“Adham.” He left out his surname, and in so doing his relationship to Hassan.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, folding a silk blouse and sticking it in the bottom of a pink suitcase. She paused mid-motion. “Actually, it isn’t, really. I don’t know why I said that. Habit. Good manners.” She sighed. “Because it’s what I was trained to do.” She said it despairingly, her luscious mouth pulled down at the corners.

“You resent it?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, firmly. “Yes, I do.” She took a breath. “It’s not nice to meet you, Adham. I wish you would go away.”

“We don’t always get what we wish for.”

“And some of us never do.”

“You’ll have the Eiffel Tower. That has to be enough.”




CHAPTER TWO


ADHAM’S penthouse apartment in Paris’s seventh district wasn’t at all what she’d expected from a man who worked for the High Sheikh. It was patently obvious that he had money of his own, and likely the status to go with it. He was probably a titled man—another sheikh or something. No wonder he’d looked at her as if she was crazy when she’d expected him to collect her things.

That had been mortifying. She hadn’t meant to be rude. It was just that she was used to being served. She’d always devoted the majority of her time to studying, reading, cultivating the kinds of skills her parents deemed necessary for a young woman of fine breeding. None of those skills had included folding her own clothes. Or, in fact, any sort of household labor.

She’d always considered herself an intelligent person; her tutors and her grades had always reinforced that belief. But the realization of what a huge deficit she had in her knowledge made her feel … it made her feel she didn’t know anything worth knowing. Who cared if you knew the maximum depth of the Thames if you didn’t know how to fold your own clothes?

The penthouse didn’t provide her with any more clues about the man who was essentially her captor. Unless he really was as sparse and uncompromising as the surrounding décor. Cold as brushed steel, hard as granite. Arid, like the desert of his homeland. That seemed possible.

She looked around the room, searching for any kind of personal markers. There were no family photographs. The art on the walls was modern, generic—like something you might find in a hotel room. There was no touch of personality, no indication as to who he might be, what he liked. That just reinforced her first theory.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, without turning his focus to her.

“Can I get something besides bread and water?”

“Is that what you think, Isabella? That you’re my captive?”

She swallowed hard, trying to move the knot that had formed in her throat. “Aren’t I?”

Wasn’t she everyone’s captive? A puppet created by her parents and trained to respond to whoever was pulling the strings.

“It depends on how you look at it. If you try to walk out the door I can’t let you. But if you don’t make another escape attempt we can exist together nicely.”

“I believe that makes me a prisoner.”

Her words made no difference to him. It was as though he took a hostage every day of the week. The only change in his facial expression was the compression of his mouth. The scar that ran through his top lip lightened slightly at the pull of his skin, the small flaw in his handsome face only reinforcing the warrior image her mind had created for him.

“Prisoner or not, I was wondering if you might like some dinner. I believe I took you from the hotel before you had a chance to have yours.”

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d been hungry for a couple of hours now. “I would like some dinner.”

“There is a restaurant nearby. I have them deliver food whenever I’m here. I assume that will be all right for you?”

“I.” Now’s the time to do it … get what you want now or you’ll never have the chance. “Actually, I’d like to have a hamburger.”

His eyebrows lifted. “A hamburger.”

She nodded curtly. “Yes. I’ve never had one. And I’d also like chips. Fries. Whatever you call them. And a soft drink.”

“Seems a simple request for a last meal. I think I can accommodate my captive.” She thought she might have heard a hint of humor in his voice, but it seemed unlikely. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed, then spoke to whoever was on the other end in polished French.

“You speak French?”

He shrugged. “I keep a residence here. It’s practical.”

“Do you speak Italian?” she asked, moving to a sleek black sofa that looked about as soft as marble and sitting gingerly on the edge.

“Only a little. I’m fluent in Arabic, French, English and Mandarin.”

“Mandarin?”

His lips curved slightly in what she assumed might be an attempt at a smile as he settled in the chair across from her. “That’s a long story.”

“I speak Italian, and Latin as well, French, Arabic—obviously English.”

“You’re quite well-educated.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to devote to it.” Books had been her constant companion, either at the family home, or for those brief years she’d gone to an all-girl school in Switzerland. Her imagination had been her respite from the demands that her parents had placed on her. From their constant micro-managing of her actions. In her mind at least she’d been free.

But it hadn’t been enough lately. She’d needed more. An escape. A reality apart from the life she’d led behind the palace walls. Especially if she was expected to go and live behind more walls, to be shut away again. Set apart. Isolated even when surrounded by hundreds of people.

She shivered, cold loneliness filling her chest, her lungs, making her feel as if she was drowning.

“It’s nice to know all those languages when you move in the type of circles my family do. I’ve gotten to practice them with various diplomats and world leaders.” During their frequent trips to Italy they’d always met with politicians, wealthy socialites. The same kind of person, the same sort of conversation. Always supervised. She clenched her fists. “So, what have you used your linguistic skills for?”

Probably for seducing women all over the world …

“They have been a matter of survival for me. In my line of work, understanding the words of the enemy can be a matter of life and death.”

A chill settled over her, goosebumps rising on her arms. “You … that’s happened to you?”

He gave her a hard look, one void of expression, but conveying an intense amount of annoyance over having to carry on this extended conversation with her. “Yes. I am in the service of my country. My king. It’s my job to protect him, and now to protect you.”

The fierce loyalty in Adham’s voice shocked her. She didn’t know if there was anything in the world she felt so much passion for. She’d lived her life by the rules until recently, but she hadn’t followed the rules out of any great love for them. She had just done it. Existed. Her future, her marriage, was a given—her duty to her people. But there was no fire of conviction there.

“Is that why you’re here? To protect me?”

“He trusts you with me. He would not send just any man to search for his fiancée. He was concerned for your safety. And I will protect you. I will bring you back to him.”

“Why is it that everyone seems to think I can’t walk from room to room without someone holding my hand?” Frustration pulled at her, making her feel she might explode.

His jaw tightened. “Because you present yourself in such a way that suggests it.”

“That isn’t fair. I’ve never been given a chance to make my own decisions. It’s assumed I’m incapable.”

“If you show as much maturity in the rest of your life as you have with your decision to run from your duty, I can see why.”

“I’m not running from my duty. I understand what’s expected of me. I even understand why. But I realized something a few weeks ago. I’ve never been alone. Ever. Not really. I’ve always had a security detail following my every move, chaperones making sure I never put a toe out of line, dressers telling me what to wear, teachers telling me what to think—all leading up to a future that was predestined for me and that I have no control over.” Her throat tightened. “I just wanted time. Time to find out who I am.”

A buzzing sound echoed in the room, signaling the arrival of their food. Adham stood and walked to the door, punching in a security code that she assumed allowed the delivery man access. In a few moments Adham returned, holding two bags that looked as if they were packed full of food.

She tried to find some of the optimism she’d felt earlier, when she’d first boarded the train from Italy. She only had this one night of freedom, and a very limited amount tomorrow. There would be a lot of time for her to cry later. And she would. For now she was seizing the moment. She was going to enjoy her dinner. A dinner she had chosen—not the palace dietician.

Adham set the bags on a glass coffee table and opened them. The smell that filled the room made Isabella’s stomach growl more insistently. She lost focus on that, though, as she watched Adham remove the tightly wrapped food from the bag, her eyes transfixed on his hands. They were so masculine, so different from her own. Wide and square, with deep scars marring the golden skin of his knuckles.

What kind of man was he? What had he done to earn so many marks of pain on his body? He’d said he’d been in life-or-death situations. It was clear that he was still alive. Not so clear what had happened to his opponents. Not for the first time she wondered if she should be afraid of him. But she wasn’t. He unsettled her. Made her feel a strange sort of jumpiness, as though she’d had one too many shots of espresso—one of the only vices her parents allowed her.

One thing she knew for certain was that she wanted to be rid of the man. No one had babysat her brother while he’d gone out and had his taste of freedom. No one had doubted he would return to do his duty. She would do what she was meant to do. She’d always known that a love match wasn’t in her future, even before Hassan had been chosen for her. But that didn’t mean she wanted to be kept under lock and key her entire life. A few short weeks was all she’d asked for. A small concession when a lifetime of what amounted to servitude was in her future.

She wasn’t going to think about it now. All she was going to do was enjoy her dinner.

She took the first bite of her burger and closed her eyes, sighing with absolute pleasure. It was much better than she’d even imagined. A literal taste of freedom. She chewed slowly, savoring the experience and everything it represented for her.

Her last meal, he’d called it. He’d been joking, but it was true enough to her. Her first and last night on her own, making her own choices. Except she wasn’t really. He was here.

She blinked back the tears that were forming in her eyes and took another bite. She sighed again, relishing the flavor. Relishing freedom. All she would ever have was a taste, before she was shipped off to marry a man she didn’t know. A man she didn’t love or even have a special attraction to. And she was prepared to do that—had been her entire life. Was prepared to face her duty for the sake of her country. But she’d wanted time out from it all first. She hadn’t thought it was too much to hope for. Apparently it had been.

Now the food felt dry in her mouth and heavy in her stomach.

“Isabella?”

She looked up, and her eyes locked with Adham’s. Being the subject of his intense focus made her insides feel jittery. She didn’t like being on the receiving end of that dark, knowing gaze. It was as if he could see into her, into every private thought and feeling she’d ever had.

She lowered her eyes, staring hard at her food. Anything to keep from showing him just how much he unnerved her. She was used to being at an advantage, used to being royalty and feeling like it. But it didn’t seem to matter to this man at all. There was no deference towards her position, not even the semblance of respect she was used to receiving from strangers by virtue of her status.

“You are thinking hard, Isabella.”

She looked up at him. He flexed his hand, curled it into a fist as if he’d been seized by sudden tension.

“Your emotions are easy to read,” he said finally.

“There are two months until the wedding,” she said, trying to cultivate her best vulnerable expression, trying to appeal to him in some way. If her emotions were easy to read, she would use everything she had. “Two months and ten days. I haven’t gotten to do anything I planned to do. I’ve never been to the cinema, or to a restaurant. I just want … I want something of life—my own life—before I … I get married.” She watched his face, hoping to see some expression of sympathy, a sign he was at least hearing her words. She got nothing but that coal-black impenetrable stare. She could feel the wall between them, feel the distance he’d placed so efficiently between them.

She pressed on, her heart beating faster. “Could you …? Why couldn’t I do some of the things I planned, only with you?”

This at least earned her a small response, in the form of a fractional lift of his eyebrow. “I am not a babysitter, amira.” The Arabic word for princess was tinged with mockery.

“And I’m not a baby.”

“I am here to bring you to your fiancé, and that is where our association begins and ends. After you’ve been to see the Eiffel Tower tomorrow we will fly back to Umarah. You will go to the palace there, and then I will leave you in the capable hands of the High Sheikh.”

“But.” She was stalled by the look on his face, the blank hardness that conveyed both disinterest and contempt with ruthless efficiency. She took another bite of her hamburger and tried not to cry. Not in front of him. She wasn’t going to confirm what he thought—that she was some silly child who didn’t know what was best for her own life.

Although that was half true. She didn’t know. She realized that. How could she possibly know what was best for herself if she had no idea who she really was? She didn’t know her own likes, her own dislikes, her own moral code. She only knew what she’d been told she liked. What she’d been told was best for her. How could she go to a strange country, with customs entirely different from any she was familiar with, marry a man she didn’t know, if she still didn’t know herself? What would be left of her when she was stripped away from everything she knew?

When her surroundings changed, when the people who chose her clothing, dictated her actions changed, she was terrified she might lose herself completely. That was just one reason she needed some time to find out more about herself on her own terms.

Her throat felt tighter. It felt as if everything was closing in on her. The room, her family’s expectations. This was why she’d left in the first place. It was why she couldn’t stay now.

She took a deep breath and made an effort to smile. She had a limited amount of time to form a plan, and she couldn’t sacrifice her head start by tipping him off to what she was thinking.

“I’m tired,” she said. It was true. She was so tired she felt heavy with it. But she didn’t have the luxury of collapsing yet.

“You can sleep in the guest bedroom.” He gestured to a doorway that was situated across the open living room. She put her half-eaten dinner back on the wax paper, sad that she hadn’t been able to enjoy it more, and stood, making a move to grab her pink suitcase.

Adham reached over and put his hand on the suitcase. Over hers. The heat singed her, blazed through her body. It shocked her that his touch could be so hot.

“I’ll get it,” he said, standing. He kept his hand on hers, though and the warm weight was comforting and disturbing at the same time. “That’s called chivalry, not servitude.”

Her face felt warm, and it seemed as if her pulse was beating in her head. “I didn’t know you considered yourself chivalrous.”

His dark eyes clashed with hers. She pulled her hand away, shocked at the steady burn that continued even without his touch.

“Generally speaking, I don’t. Would you like to call your parents? Let them know you have not been kidnapped?”

“No.” She felt mildly guilty for not wanting to speak to them. But she also felt angry. She wasn’t certain she could even speak to her father without everything—all the repressed frustration she felt—flooding out of her. He could have let her have this time—realized how important it was. But he hadn’t.

The slight hitch of his eyebrow let her know that he disapproved. Well, fine. He could handle his parents the way he wanted, and she would handle hers her way.

Adham set the suitcase down just inside the door of the guest bedroom, not placing a foot inside. “I will call them, then. There’s a bathroom just through that door. If you need anything, I will see that you are provided for.”

She tried to force a smile. “When does the jailer make the rounds?”

His dark eyes narrowed. “You think you suffer, Isabella? You’re here in this penthouse and you think yourself in prison? You are to go from being Princess of Turan to Sheikha of Umarah and that seems lacking to you? You are nothing more than a selfish child.”

His words pounded in her head as he turned and walked away. How was it selfish to want some time for herself before she gave it all up for king and country? Sheikh and country? Why was it so wrong for her to want something—anything beyond what had been given to her by her well-meaning handlers? Because that was what it felt like. As though everyone in her life was directing her, guiding her. Forcing her. She knew her place. But she didn’t have to like it. And she was not going to let Adham bring guilt on her head for seizing what little time was available to her.

It was after midnight when Isabella was certain Adham was no longer awake. Waiting had been nearly impossible. She’d been lying in the plush bed, the only thing in the penthouse that wasn’t hard and modern, trying not to give in to the extreme exhaustion she felt. It had been twenty-four hours since she’d last slept, but the high of her escape from her brother’s Italian villa, coupled with her first day of freedom, had been enough to keep her from sleeping on the train and then when she’d gotten into the hotel room.

He had to be asleep by now—and she had to go now, or she wouldn’t have a chance to get far enough ahead of him. Sleep, for her, would have to wait.

She got out from under the covers, still fully dressed down to her shoes, and walked as quietly as she could across the room. She picked her suitcase up and took a deep breath. No point in wasting time. The faster she got out, the better.

She cracked open the bedroom door and scanned the darkened living room. She didn’t see him, and across the way there was no light coming from under his door. She said a quick, silent prayer before making her way to the front door, turning the deadbolts and letting herself out. She closed it silently behind her, and took a moment to catch her breath to calm her raging heartbeat.

Her second escape attempt in as many days.

The hallway suddenly seemed endless, the world extremely open. Her options were timed, but with that time she would grab hold of what freedom she could. And maybe she could find a way to satisfy that yearning ache inside her—that relentless thing that ate at her, made her so conscious of all of the emptiness that just seemed to sit there inside of her.

Other people had their whole lives to figure out what to do about it; their futures stretching wide before them, the unknown an exciting and beautiful thing. She had two months. Her future ended abruptly on Umarahn soil, with a title, expectations, and a husband who would be a total stranger. But she would have her time until then, and it would be her own. Not Hassan’s. Not Adham’s.

Her determination renewed, she walked to the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. In just a few moments she was down on the boulevard, dodging raindrops. Streetlamps reflected off the pooling water. Despite the late hour there were still people milling around, sitting at café tables, standing beneath awnings, talking, laughing, kissing.

It was the real world. And it was finally within reach—along with the keys to her identity.

She began to scan the darkened streets for a taxi. She wasn’t sure where she would take it when she found one, but she had quite a bit of cash on hand, so she imagined she could cover a lot of ground in the space of a few hours.

A hand clamped onto her arm, fingers biting into her flesh like a vice as she was pulled into an alleyway between the penthouse and the boulangerie next to it. She opened her mouth to scream, but one of her attacker’s arms locked like a steel bar across her chest, bringing her tight against a hard, warm body. Her assailant’s other hand clamped over her mouth and stopped her shriek before any sound could emerge.

She looked around wildly, trying to see if any of the people who lingered on the street had seen. No one had. She struggled impotently. The strong body behind her didn’t even move as she kicked and thrashed, spraying muddy water from the puddles into the air, throwing all her weight into her attempt to gain freedom. She might as well have been struggling against solid stone.

“Your manners leave a lot to be desired.” The sound of Adham’s familiar, faintly accented voice made her sag with relief. For a moment.

She swore violently in Italian—very colorful and inappropriate words she’d learned from her brother, muffled by Adham’s hold.

“Will you keep quiet if I remove my hand?” His tone had an edge to it—anger, extreme annoyance, and something else that she couldn’t place.

She nodded, and he let his hand fall away from her mouth but kept his arms around her.

He held her tightly against his solid body. She tried to wiggle out of his hold and his arms tightened, making her extremely conscious of all the hardened muscle of his body. All that finely honed masculinity. For a moment she could only be fascinated by the feel of him, by each and every minute difference between the male and female body.

Her breasts felt heavier, and she could feel her nipples tightening against the silken fabric of her bra. Her pulse beat heavily. In her neck, her head, down to the apex of her thighs.

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking for?” he asked, his voice rough.

No. She truly didn’t. Her body was asking for, craving, more of his touch. But she didn’t have a clue as to why. Why she wanted to lean into his strength rather than struggle against it. Why she wanted his arms to stay locked around her. Why she wanted more of the sweet languor that was spreading through her.

“You’re asking to be killed,” he growled. Clearly he was letting the subject of their mutual attraction drop. “I could have been anyone. You’re walking around out here in the middle of the night with designer luggage. You look as wealthy as you are. Worse, you look as ridiculously naive as you are. You’re asking to be robbed. Or worse.”

“I didn’t … I didn’t think of that.” Logically, she knew crime rates in urban areas were much higher than in the small island nation she was from. But the thought had never crossed her mind. Her only thought had been escaping Adham. She’d set out to prove a point about her ability to look out for herself, and she’d done a spectacular job of not thinking it through.

He turned her so that she was facing him, her arms still pinned tightly to her sides. His hands held her steady, preventing her from running.

“What do you think you’re going to do with all this freedom you seek, Isabella? You have no job, no skills. You are so naive you shouldn’t be allowed to cross the street on your own!”

His words hurt. They hurt because, as much as she hated to acknowledge the truth in them, it was there. He was right. She’d never had a job. She didn’t know how to go about getting one. Or an apartment. She didn’t know how to drive. She had a lot of knowledge, but all that had come from books. She had never had to apply the things she’d learned to anything real or practical.

“I can find something to do,” she said, pushing her reservations to one side.

“With a body like that there will be many men willing to help. For a price.” His eyes raked over her, hot, glittering. There was nothing passive in those black depths—not now. There was only fire.

She struggled against him. “Let go of me.” She needed to get away from him. It wasn’t about the broader scope, the two months of freedom. Now it was all zeroed in on getting out of his hold—away from him and the strange electric feelings that were zinging through her system.

A man who was walking by the alley turned toward them. His expression, barely visible in the light of the lamp he stood under, was concerned.

Adham backed her up a few steps, so that she rested against the brick wall of the boulangerie, and before she could protest his mouth was covering hers, his tongue sliding against the seam of her lips, requesting entry. She gave it.

Her mind was blank of everything but the feeling of his lips on hers. His hands roaming from her hips to her waist, to the swell of her breasts. She gripped his shoulders, steadying herself, grateful for the wall of the building behind her and the wall of his body in front. If not for those things she would have melted into one of the rain puddles at his feet.

He pulled away suddenly, his breathing harsh in the stillness of the night air. Isabella touched her lips, confirming that they were as swollen as they felt.

“What …?” she breathed, unable to speak any more coherently than that.

“It’s Paris,” he bit out. “No one is going to interrupt lovers. Even if they are having a disagreement.”

He took her arm and led her out of the shadows and back toward the main door of his building. Her rage mingled with something else—something hot and dangerous and completely unsettling. She put a hand to her mouth again, to confirm she hadn’t hallucinated the entire event.

When they were back in the building he propelled her into the lift, the doors shut behind them. She couldn’t believe he had done that. Kissed her as though he had every right to touch her, as though he … he had some claim on her. And only to shut her up. Her first kiss had been a diversion.

Worse than all of that, she couldn’t believe the restless ache that was building in her body. The curiosity. The need to know what it would be like to kiss him again. Only this time longer and gentler, slowly so she had time to process it, to learn the texture of his lips, the rhythm of his movements.

She shut that traitorous part of her brain down. He’d had no right to do that. She wore another man’s ring. Even in her wildest fantasies of escape she had never imagined betraying her fiancé in that way. She didn’t know the man. She certainly didn’t love him. But they had a signed agreement, and she had no intention of violating it.

He’d done it to shut her up. That stung her pride. Much more than it should.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said icily.

He looked at her, his dark eyes unreadable, his lips—lips that had just claimed hers with what had felt like hunger—now pressed into a flat, immovable line. There was no passion there. He was unaffected. A man made of cold, unyielding stone.

“If you learn one thing about me learn this, and learn it quickly,” he said, his voice hard. “I will do whatever it takes to ensure my objective is met. I intend to take you back to Sheikh Hassan, and I will do it.”

She believed him. Her scarred captor with the fathomless eyes was most certainly capable of getting his way. Of seeing that she didn’t get hers. She felt as if she’d stepped into water, expecting a wading pool, only to find she had swum out into the middle of an ocean. Out of her depth didn’t begin to describe it.

She walked from the lift back into the penthouse, and tried not to imagine a barred cell door swinging shut when Adham closed the door behind them.

“How did you know? How did you get down there so fast?”

“I was expecting it. I deal with masterminds, Isabella, one naive princess is not going to pull one over on me. There’s an alarm on the door that’s linked to my mobile phone, and the stairs are faster than the elevator.”

She closed her eyes against mounting anguish, tried to fight the tears that were threatening. She didn’t want to dissolve in front of him. Didn’t want him to see how defeated she felt. How could a man who was allowed to do whatever he wanted, a man who roamed the world, lived by his own rules, possibly understand the preciousness of two months and ten days worth of freedom?

She looked at his hardened face, the scars. Appealing to him for a show of kindness would be like attempting to squeeze water from a rock. It was impossible. You couldn’t extract what wasn’t there.

“Go to bed, Isabella.” His voice was as hard as everything else about him.

She felt as if she was going to break, but she wouldn’t do it in front of him.

She nodded jerkily and stumbled into her bedroom, closing the door behind her with a click.

Adham stalked across the room and retrieved his phone from the coffee table, hitting the speed dial for his brother, not caring what time it was in their home country.

“Salaam, brother,” Adham said curtly.

“Salaam, “ Hassan returned the greeting, his tone questioning. “You’ve found Isabella?”

“I have found your wayward fiancée, as requested.”

“And she is well?”

“She is uninjured, if that’s what you mean. But she did make another escape attempt.”

“She’s unhappy?” His brother sounded genuinely concerned.

“She is a spoiled child. She has no reason to be so discontent. She wants for nothing.”

Hassan sighed heavily into the phone. “I regret that she is reluctant about the marriage. But it’s a much needed alliance, and marriage is the best way to seal such bargains. It is necessary insurance in something so critical.”

“I understand the reason for your union. But I find her childish.”

“You do not think she will make a suitable bride?”

“I will gladly hand her over to you and see that she becomes your problem as quickly as possible.”

Hassan laughed. “You make me eager for her to arrive.” He paused for a moment. “Is there nothing that can be done to make her happy? A gift, perhaps? A ring that is more to her liking?”

“She wants to see the Eiffel Tower,” Adham bit out in response.

“Simple enough.”

“She has some idea that she is lacking in life experience. She intends to go and find herself some experience.”

There was another pause on the other end of the line. “The wedding is not for two more months, Adham. If that is what she wants, I see no reason why you can’t accommodate her—so long as the experience she seeks is not in a man’s bed.”

There was something different in his brother’s tone. A desperation he had not heard before. Adham had the feeling that his request had little to do with Isabella, but he would not ask.

“I am not a babysitter.” He repeated his earlier words. “Have one of your other men come and watch over her while she tries to play at living her spoiled princess fantasy of what real life is.”

“I don’t have that kind of trust in anyone else. Another man would be too tempted by her. I’m certain that you’ve noticed she’s an incredibly beautiful woman.”

He’d noticed. It was difficult not to. She had the sort of beauty that no red-blooded man could ignore. And he didn’t want to spend any more time with her than was necessary.

“You will keep her safe?” Hassan pressed.

“You have my word. On my honor, I will keep her from harm. I will keep her untouched.” His vow was from the heart. He served Hassan always. Gladly. Hassan was his only family, and there was no bond stronger than that forged in blood.

“I have absolute faith in you, Adham,” his brother continued. “You will keep her safe and make her happy. It will ease my conscience.”

“As you will it,” Adham ground out, before ending the call.

He tossed the phone onto the couch and tried to calm his raging pulse. At the moment he felt like a fox that had just been asked to guard the henhouse.

Kissing her had been a miscalculation on his part. He had not anticipated his body’s reaction to such a simple thing. He had far too much experience for a mere kiss to fire his blood.

And yet kissing Isabella had done just that. His body was still hard, and a dark, physical need was gripping him. There was no denying that in a physical sense he desired her. And she was the one woman he was forbidden to touch.

But it was a simple matter of control. And once he had made his decision he would not deviate from it. He never did.




CHAPTER THREE


ISABELLA surfaced quietly the next morning, creeping out of the sparsely furnished bedroom and into the main living area. Her eyes were puffy from crying and from lack of sleep. But the moments of indulgence had been worth it in a way. And now she was done with feeling sorry for herself.

She pulled her thick hair up into a ponytail and walked through the expansive living room and into the kitchen. She took an apple out of a fruit bowl on the counter and sat down at the small dining table.

Adham strode into the room a moment later, his crisp white shirt open at the collar, revealing a V of golden muscular chest. His black hair was wet and curling around the neck of his shirt. He smelled fresh, clean and wholly male, his natural scent spiked with a hint of sandalwood—exotic, spicy, and completely erotic. She couldn’t remember ever noticing the scent of a man before. Her father’s cologne, her brother’s aftershave, but never the scent that was beneath the product. She noticed it now. It made her lungs feel tight, as if she couldn’t bring in enough air.

She placed the apple on the table. “Good morning.”

He gave her a skeptical look, one that told her he quite plainly disagreed, and jerked the refrigerator door open, turning his attention to hunting for food. “Have you eaten?”

She shook her head mutely, before realizing that he couldn’t see her. “No. I just got up.”

“Late nights prowling the street do tend to make one tired.”

She gritted her teeth to bite back all the angry words that were swirling in her head, all the justification and excuses. None of it would matter to him. As far as he was concerned she was simply a package for him to deliver. “So I’m discovering.”

He closed the fridge abruptly and straightened, training his dark, impenetrable gaze on her. “Never endanger yourself like that again, Isabella. You do not understand how dangerous the world is. How can you?”

“I live surrounded by bodyguards. I understand that life is dangerous.”

“Do you? Because you did not seem like a woman who understood that last night.”

“I didn’t really imagine that the neighborhood around your upscale penthouse would pose a danger.”

“Danger can be anywhere. Even in the most luxurious surroundings. Especially there.”

The dark note in his voice told her he spoke from an experience she couldn’t begin to understand. His scars ran deep. Those on the surface were only a glimpse of what was beneath. But it didn’t repel her. It only made her curious about the man who was the Sheikh’s most trusted employee. The man who seemed to have no fear for himself, yet feared for her safety.

He took her apple from its spot on the table and placed it back in the fruit bowl. “Let’s go to a café. You can see more of the city.”

Wariness along with a small surge of hope flared to life inside her. “I thought you didn’t babysit.”

“I don’t. Consider this your guided tour of life.”

“What changed your mind?” she asked, apprehension combining with excitement now, and her stomach tightening with anticipation.

“It has nothing to do with me. It’s what Hassan wants. If it were up to me you would be on a plane to Umarah right now and would no longer be my problem. But your future husband has seen fit to allow you to have your life experiences. Within reason, of course.”

She imagined it was what prisoners might feel like when they found out that their execution date had been pushed back. It was a reprieve, but the execution still loomed. And she would be living her remaining days with her jailer as her constant companion. But she wouldn’t let herself think of what would happen after her time in Paris. This was about her. She deserved it. Deserved to have some time devoted to things that interested her. Some time devoted to discovering what things interested her.

“Thank you,” she choked out, the lump in her throat keeping her from speaking more. She closed the distance between them, wrapped her arms around his neck.

Adham stood rigid, his arms pinned tightly to his sides. He was unwilling to do so much as breathe, for fear his control would slip even more and he would give in to the ache of arousal that was pounding heavily through his body.

He could not remember the last time a woman, or anyone for that matter, had hugged him. Clung to him, kissed him, rubbed her body against him in invitation—sure. But just a hug—a show of warmth, of affection, an innocent gesture … He didn’t know if he had ever experienced that. He had been so long without his family, so long without frequent, human contact, that he could not remember any more what it had been like. Since the death of his parents it had only been Hassan and himself, and neither of them were given to overt displays of affection.

“I do not want your gratitude,” he said, pulling away from her hold, ignoring the tightness in his body. Ignoring what it meant. “This was not my doing.”

Her eyes widened, and hurt evident in their blue depths—as though she was a child responding to being scolded. Such a contradiction. She was a woman, not a child, but she seemed to switch roles with ease. A woman when it suited her to be enticing. A sweet innocent when she wanted sympathy. It was a façade, an act, and though it was effective it would not work on him.

She bit her lip and looked down, the crease between her dark, perfectly shaped brows deepening, as if to show contrition. “I’m sorry. But this is the only chance I’ll have to … to figure out who I am. I don’t know if someone like you could understand.”

“Someone like me?” he asked, mildly amused that she’d clearly taken him to be nothing more than a bodyguard.

“Someone who’s had freedom his whole life. Someone who’s had the ability to make his own decisions. I haven’t had that chance. It’s … it’s more than that. I don’t know if I can fully explain it. I just know that I need to be able to have some experiences of my own.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, unmoved by her speech. “And what is at the top of this list of yours?”

She raised her eyes again, a glimmer of excitement there now. “I want to do things I haven’t done before. Go to the movies. A club, maybe?”

“Not a club,” he said flatly.

If she went to a club every heterosexual male in the area would be all over her. Given her sheltered upbringing, she likely had no clue what kind of effect a body like hers had on men. She’d played at flirting with him, but playing was all it had been. In that sort of environment she would be like a lamb that had wandered into a wolf pack.

“Okay, not a club,” she said, not looking at all dented by his refusal. “But definitely the Eiffel Tower, the Champs-Élysées, a restaurant. And definitely shopping.”

“Get dressed. I’ll take you to breakfast.”

Isabella took a long sip of her espresso and followed it up with a bite of pastry. She closed her eyes and moaned.

The burn that hit him hot and hard in his stomach, along with the slow flood of blood that went south of his belt, made him tense.

He hadn’t noticed before what a sensual person Isabella was. Watching her eat a pastry and drink coffee, listening to the sounds she made—small kitten moans in the back of her throat—watching the way she closed her eyes as if she was in ecstasy, seeing her lick each remaining crumb from her full lips, was erotic torture.

The only thing that matched the arousal racing through his system was the growing disgust that had settled in his gut. She was his brother’s woman. She was forbidden. He should not want her, should not touch her, should not look at her as a man looked at a woman. And yet he found himself looking. Wanting. But he would never touch her. Not again. That time in the alley, when his lips had met hers, it had been necessary. It was a moment that would never be repeated.

He would not betray his brother in such a manner. The loyalty that existed between them was not something that could be thrown aside for a mere woman. The bond between himself and his brother had always been strong, but after the death of their parents that link between them had been strengthened. Hassan had devoted his life to ruling Umarah, guiding their people, forging diplomatic alliances and handling the delicate matters of state. Adham’s life was devoted to protecting Hassan, to guarding their people. They were a right and a left hand. Hassan had been the public ruler from the time their parents had died, but they functioned as a team, working with their strengths for the betterment of their people.

There would be no compromising that.

“This place is amazing. Like a fantasy.”

She inhaled deeply, and his eyes were drawn to the shape of her rounded breasts pushing against her top.

Clearly her fantasies were different from his. But then, that was to be expected. Another reminder of why she was not the sort of woman who should arouse his libido. Even if his brother weren’t a factor. She was an innocent. A virgin. He had never touched a virgin and never would as he didn’t ever intend to take a wife.

“Paris can hardly be beaten for atmosphere, although I’m partial to the desert. I like the heat, the open space, the solitude.”

Her smooth forehead creased. “I’ve never been to the desert. I can’t really imagine it being beautiful. Whenever I envision the desert I see cactuses and bleached bones.”

“It’s not an easy beauty to see. Not like the architecture here in Paris, and not like the green mountains in Turan. It’s fierce and barren—just the sand and the sky. It asks a lot of a man, but if the man can rise to the challenge, if he can learn to exist in such a place, he can’t help but love it.”

Her blue eyes glittered, the sudden humor there unexpected. “And you’ve risen to the challenge and defeated the desert?”

Her mischievous smile pulled a reluctant laugh from him. “I haven’t beaten it. It’s impossible to tame the desert. There are fierce sandstorms, unforgiving temperatures, and poisonous reptiles. The best you can hope is that she’ll allow you a peaceful existence.”

She offered him a sweet half-smile that just barely curved the edges of her full lips. “And the desert is a woman?”

“Of course she is. Only a woman could be such a fierce mistress.”

“I can’t imagine the kind of freedom the desert must offer,” she said, after a long moment of silence.

“It’s a freedom that demands responsibility. You have to respect where you are at all times. You have to keep the rules and mind the boundaries.”

“And uphold duty and honor?”

“What is there in life without those things, Isabella? If men discard such notions, what keeps the world moving?”

Isabella hated how right he was. Hated that what he said made so much sense. She understood the importance of her alliance with Hassan, High Sheikh of Umarah. It was good for the economy, good for building a strong bond between nations in case of any sort of crisis. And if it weren’t her life, if she were only a casual observer like Adham, who wasn’t the one being forced to marry a stranger, she would have felt as he did.

But it was her life. Not some vague idea of honor and duty. She was the sacrificial lamb for the masses. Easy for him to speak that way when in the end he got to ride off into the sunset and be with whom he wished, doing whatever he wished.

“I have accepted the path I have to take, Adham,” she said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. “I only wanted to take a small detour.”

“And where would you like your detour to take you now, Princess?” His voice was hard. Condescending. A sharp contrast to the small moment of near camaraderie they’d just shared.

Well, fine. She didn’t much care for him either.

“I thought we could walk. See the sights.”

He nodded in what she assumed was acquiescence. He had a way of making her feel as though he disapproved with nothing more than the slightest movement. Even though he’d agreed, the tension in his body told her he’d rather do anything else. Not the most accommodating man, her keeper.

He turned and began to walk up the boulevard, not getting too far ahead of her, but not exactly waiting for her either. She knew that no matter what it seemed like his focus was still on her. She knew it because her skin felt too tight and her stomach was queasy with knots.

She quickened her pace, taking two steps to his one, her much shorter legs making her work harder to gain the distance he was managing. She looked around at the tourists pouring from buses that lined the sidewalks. They were in groups. Pairs. Holding hands. Why did it suddenly seem as though it would be natural to be linked to Adham in that way? To hold his hand while they strolled through Paris together?

She fell into step beside him and her hand brushed his. Her heart leapt to her throat at the contact. He didn’t even look at her. Didn’t give her any indication that he had noticed her touch, let alone been affected by it.




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