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Inherited For The Royal Bed
Annie West
‘I now belong to you.’He will finally claim his inheritance!Four years after inheriting—and liberating—a concubine, powerful ruler Sayid is shocked to see the transformation of Lina. No longer shy and naive, she is a feisty, irresistible woman. And Sayid has never wanted anyone more! But, duty-bound to his country, Sayid can only commit to a brief affair. Will Lina accept his outrageous proposal of a week in the royal bed?


“I now belong to you.”
He will finally claim his inheritance!
Four years after inheriting—and liberating—a concubine, powerful ruler Sayid is shocked to see the transformation of Lina. No longer shy and naive, Lina is a feisty, irresistible woman. And Sayid has never wanted anyone more! But he’s duty bound to his country, and Sayid can only commit to a brief affair. Will Lina accept his outrageous proposal of a week in the royal bed?
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 (mailto:annie@annie-west.com), or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.
Also by Annie West (#u0fe47d5d-4754-52c5-bbac-0767c9cea2c3)
The Sinner’s Marriage Redemption
Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter
A Vow to Secure His Legacy
The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge
The Desert King’s Secret Heir
The Desert King’s Captive Bride
Contracted for the Petrakis Heir
The Princess Seductions miniseries
His Majesty’s Temporary Bride
The Greek’s Forbidden Princess
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Inherited for the Royal Bed
Annie West


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07228-1
INHERITED FOR THE ROYAL BED
© 2018 Annie West
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 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.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This one is for you, Grace Thiele: your very own sheikh story.
I love your unbounded enthusiasm for my sheikhs, which makes me want to write more.
And a huge thank-you to Ana Neves for your language assistance.
You’re a gem!
Contents
Cover (#udb171d59-654f-50df-9b8c-cab8f3f8bf66)
Back Cover Text (#uaad5adb1-e6bb-52fe-aafa-c9a30f8c0d2a)
About the Author (#uc2d9e10e-7024-58e6-8f9c-322920d1d32e)
Booklist (#ud38ea949-fc20-5c37-8839-03dc754f9196)
Title Page (#u4c4b044a-dab6-5eea-8e57-5691da508619)
Copyright (#u16fde362-99ee-5f11-ad21-3bc554deda4a)
Dedication (#u8725dfbe-894b-5c8c-a63d-1ecb0c7c141a)
CHAPTER ONE (#u552aea50-196d-5201-9ec5-9b7f855e1361)
CHAPTER TWO (#u041d4519-e4c1-535f-9fb0-eb89c9cfdcad)
CHAPTER THREE (#u47a79d66-4641-592f-a8dd-c837502eaf83)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u6a709fb4-cf2e-501a-8967-9f0806b544e0)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u0fe47d5d-4754-52c5-bbac-0767c9cea2c3)
THREE MEN STRODE through the gleaming marble corridors of the Emir’s palace.
Past the great council room where the walls were hung with decorative displays of lances, swords and ancient muskets. Where brightly coloured martial standards hung as if waiting for the next call to arms.
Past sumptuous banqueting halls and audience chambers. Past colonnaded courtyards filled with pleasure gardens, the tinkle of fountains loud in this still hour after midnight. The only other noise was the march of boots.
Past the studded medieval door to the empty harem and another that led to the passage carved down, through the very rock of the citadel, to the vast treasure chambers and dungeons.
Finally they reached the corridor to the Emir’s private suite.
Sayid paused. ‘That will be all for now.’
‘But, sire, our orders are—’
Sayid swung round. ‘Your orders change tonight. Halarq is no longer on the brink of war.’
Saying it aloud still sounded unreal. Halarq had been on the verge of war most of his life, principally, but not solely, with the neighbouring kingdom of Jeirut. It was why every male was armed and trained to defend his country to the death.
Sayid thought of all those years primed for conflict. Of unending border skirmishes and casualties. Of missed opportunities to invest in better lives for the people, as opposed to diverting energy and funds into armaments.
His mouth firmed. If he achieved nothing else, he, Sayid Badawi, the new Emir of Halarq, had done that—brought peace. Later, when it sank in, he’d rejoice. Tonight all he wanted was to lay his head on a pillow for the first time in three days and find oblivion.
‘But, sire, our duty is to protect you. We spend the night at the guard stations outside your suite.’ The soldier nodded towards the other end of the long arched corridor.
‘The palace is guarded by your colleagues on the perimeter and by the latest security technology.’ Sayid’s uncle, the previous Emir, had spent lavishly on his own protection and comfort, as well as on armaments.
It was a shame he hadn’t been as ready to spend on his people.
Still the guards didn’t shift. Sayid’s patience frayed. ‘Those are my orders,’ he barked. His eyes narrowed and the guard blanched.
Instantly Sayid’s anger eased. The man was only trying to do his duty as he understood it. Questioning the orders of the Emir would, in the past, have met with terrible punishment.
‘Your devotion to duty, and to your Emir, is noted and appreciated.’ He surveyed both men, giving them time to absorb that. ‘But our security arrangements are changing. Your commander will brief you on that later. In the meantime, it’s my desire, and my order, that you return to the guard hall.’ He didn’t wait for a response but turned away.
‘That will be all,’ he said as he strode down the corridor, his dusty boots leaving marks on the graceful inlaid patterns underfoot.
Silence. They hadn’t attempted to follow.
Sayid filled his lungs with the cool night air wafting from a nearby courtyard. This was the first time he’d been alone in days. The first time he could allow himself to relax.
Tonight’s ebullient celebrations with every Halarqi clan leader, regional governor and warlord, plus most of their fighting men, had been on a monumental scale. The plain beyond the city walls was filled to the brim and the scents of festive cooking fires drifted through the whole city. Every so often the crackle of rifle fire indicated the celebration continued. They’d probably still be at it as dawn broke.
Whereas he’d be up at sunrise, in the office he hadn’t had time to make his own since his uncle’s death, immersed in the paperwork and diplomatic detail that would put flesh on the bones of the peace agreement. A peace that guaranteed the borders, the safe passage of travellers and even, potentially, trade and mutual development between Halarq and Jeirut.
Sayid’s pace slowed and he smiled, the action tugging his cheek muscles taut.
Who could blame his people for celebrating? He’d do the same if he weren’t weary from the long negotiations with Huseyn of Jeirut. And from keeping his more bellicose generals in check long enough to prevent provocation and violence. Some had thought, despite his military record and his reputation for decisive action, he’d be easily swayed into supporting his predecessor’s war plans. But Sayid’s priority was his people, not the posturing of old men who thought others’ lives expendable.
Reaching the Emir’s private suite, he entered, a sigh of relief escaping as the tall door closed behind him. Alone, finally.
Sayid strode through, past the study and the media room, through the vast sitting room and lavish private dining parlour, to the bedroom. His eyes went immediately to the vast, beckoning bed. Its cover, embroidered in the royal colours of blue and silver, was pulled back invitingly. The overhead light was off, leaving only the gentle glow of a few decorative pierced lamps.
He rocked to a halt, tempted to forget about the state of his clothes and just topple onto the mattress as he was. He’d be asleep within seconds.
Instead he crossed the spacious room towards the bathroom. He’d shower first.
Sayid pulled off his clothes as he walked, his tension easing as the hand-stitched layers came off. The fine cotton of his shirt masked a jaw-cracking yawn as he tugged it up, over his head, rolling his shoulders in appreciation as he felt cool night air brush his flesh.
He was about to toe off one boot when something made him pause. He stilled, his weight on one foot, his senses prickling at the certainty something was out of place.
A lifetime’s training as a warrior, always aware, put him on alert.
Something was wrong. He was certain in less time than it took to form the thought.
It would serve him right if he’d dismissed his guard only to find himself under threat in his own chambers. The youngest and shortest-lived Emir of Halarq in all its history. That would be a fine epitaph!
Keeping his movements easy, Sayid wrapped the cotton of his discarded shirt around his left hand and forearm. The cloth wouldn’t stop a bullet but might deflect a knife in a pinch. He didn’t spare a glance for the long silvered scar running up that arm from his wrist to well past his elbow. It proved a well-honed knife could easily cut through several layers of clothing.
Slowly he turned, nostrils flared to capture any unusual scent, eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkened corners of the room.
Nothing. Exhaustion must be interfering with his perception.
Sayid swung right around towards the bed again and—
He stiffened, his hand going to the ceremonial but razor-sharp dagger at his hip.
‘Who are you?’ The words issued through clenched teeth. ‘What are you doing here?’
As he spoke the figure in the dark corner beyond the bed rose. A small figure, its outline blurred by a swathe of fabric wrapped around its shoulders and over its head.
Having risen, the person immediately bowed low in a silent gesture of obeisance.
Sayid’s senses screamed a warning. What would have happened if he hadn’t noticed that still, silent figure hiding in the corner? Would they have waited till his back was turned in the shower, or he was fast asleep, to slip a knife between his ribs?
Had he been foolish to write off his dead uncle’s preoccupation with security? The man had been dangerously paranoid and increasingly erratic but he’d been wily.
‘Come here!’
Instantly the figure glided closer.
‘Sire.’ A soft, whispery voice feathered his skin like a lover’s caress. Another bow. This time when the figure straightened, it tugged off the enveloping blanket.
Sayid stared.
His privacy had been invaded by a dancing girl? He shook his head. Did weariness play tricks with his vision?
Women in his country didn’t dress like this. Women in Halarq dressed modestly. Some covered their hair but all covered their bodies.
This one didn’t.
Heat speared his belly and drilled into his groin as he surveyed her. She wore a low-slung skirt that fell in gauzy folds from the curve of her hips. He clearly saw long slim legs through the fabric. She shifted and a glimpse of toned, honey-coloured thigh appeared through a slit in the skirt.
His gaze rose to a bare midriff, deliciously curved into a tiny waist, then up to a cropped, sleeveless top of shiny material that clasped her like a second skin. It was cut low, showing off the upper slopes of enticing breasts that rose and fell with her rapid breathing.
Sayid’s throat closed as if he’d gulped down half the eastern desert. His fingers stretched then curled into fists, bunching at his sides.
Competing impulses warred.
To command she cover herself instantly.
But that wasn’t his first reaction.
To reach out and touch that inviting body.
Yes. That.
To haul her against him and revel in the pleasure a woman’s soft body could afford a man wearied by days, no, weeks of achieving the impossible—first keeping his uncle from invading Jeirut, then, on his uncle’s death, finding a way to ensure a lasting peace between nations that were traditional enemies.
His gaze rose further, taking in a face of extraordinary loveliness. Dark hair, unbound, was pushed behind her shoulders. Her breasts, pert and high, rose shakily with each breath.
Imagination told him her skin would be warm silk, soft and pleasurable.
Sayid, like his uncle before him, was a man of strong desires, with a predilection for pleasure. Yet, unlike his dead uncle, Sayid prided himself on ruling his sensual side. He’d seen what unbridled self-indulgence did to a man. He had no intention of following his uncle down that path. Instead he emulated his father who’d been a warrior prince, bound by an unshakeable code of conduct. A man who channelled strong appetites into a drive to protect and serve his people.
‘Look at me.’ The command was overloud. But Sayid’s control over his body was sorely tried.
Instantly her bowed head tilted up.
Sayid registered another unseen body blow. This time to his solar plexus. For her eyes were unlike any he’d seen. They were the colour of wild violets in the mountains. Darker than blue, softer than purple.
He scowled. Not only was she remarkably pretty, she was young—too young to be alone in his room.
‘Who are you?’
‘Lina, sire.’ Again that low bow, which now, to his horror, made his groin grow tight and hard, for he got an eyeful as she bent forward. It looked as if her breasts might pop free of her top at any moment.
‘Don’t do that!’
She blinked, emotion he couldn’t read flashing across her features. Then it disappeared as she lifted her chin to look somewhere near his shoulder, her hands clasped neatly before her. ‘Do what, sire?’
‘Bowing. Don’t do it again.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘But sire! You are the Emir. It wouldn’t be seemly—’
‘Let me be the judge of seemly.’ Sayid raised a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing at too-tight muscles.
‘Yes, sire.’ Yet her brow twitched as if in disagreement and he’d swear she bit her lip as if to stop herself saying more.
‘Don’t call me that, either.’ His uncle might have enjoyed constant reminders of his status as ruler of the nation, but Sayid had heard the title too often from too many toadying courtiers trying to ingratiate themselves. It grated.
He’d give a lot to talk with someone who didn’t bow and scrape. He scrubbed a hand over his face, knowing fatigue shortened his temper.
His mouth kicked up at the memory of his tense negotiations this week with Huseyn of Jeirut, the man known as the Iron Hand. There’d been no bowing and scraping then. The man was the toughest negotiator Sayid had met, as well as a formidable warrior. Yet, despite the weight of responsibility on their shoulders as they worked towards a peace deal for their nations, Sayid had enjoyed the stimulation of dealing with the man.
Halarq, under the rule of Sayid’s uncle, hadn’t been a place where people spoke their mind. The palace was full of advisers trained to agree with their Emir, rather than advise without fear or favour.
Yet another thing Sayid aimed to change.
‘As you wish...sir.’
He opened his mouth then shut it. ‘Sir’ was marginally better than ‘sire’. What did it matter anyway? He was so tired he’d allowed himself to be distracted.
‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’
‘I’m Lina. I’m here to serve you—’ her gaze skittered away to fix on a point beyond him ‘—in any way you wish.’ She swallowed, the movement accentuating her long slender throat and the beauty of her pale gold skin.
For a dazed second Sayid’s brain snared on the idea of nuzzling her fragrant flesh. He caught the scent of roses on her skin and wondered how she’d taste.
The temptation was so alluring, he stepped back to be sure he didn’t act on it. She stiffened at his movement, revealing a tension she fought to hide.
‘Who sent you?’
‘My father’s brother. He sent me as a goodwill gift to the previous Emir.’
A goodwill gift! Sourness filled Sayid’s mouth. That was the sort of nation his uncle had ruled. Where a woman could be treated as a commodity. Old memories stirred, leaving a rancid taste on his tongue.
As the new Emir, he had a lot of work to bring the country into the current century.
‘The previous Emir is dead.’
Sayid had believed the women in his uncle’s harem had been sent away as the old man’s prostate illness worsened and he became impotent.
‘I know, s...sir. He died soon after my arrival and I never met him.’ Her eyes flickered to his, then away. ‘My condolences on your loss.’
‘Thank you.’ Sayid felt neither loss nor sorrow at his uncle’s death. The old man had been a poor steward for their country and personally deplorable, a mean, brutal voluptuary. ‘But with his death, you are free to go. You’re not required here.’
Huge violet eyes met his. Was that fear he read there? ‘Oh, no. You misunderstand. That is—’ she swallowed, dropping her gaze to the floor as if afraid she’d said the wrong thing ‘—not misunderstand, of course.’
She shook her head and a lock of glossy dark hair slid over her shoulder, curling past her breast all the way to her waist. For the life of him, Sayid couldn’t tear his gaze from it.
‘I can’t leave, sir. It’s all been arranged.’ She curved her lips in a tentative smile that didn’t show in her eyes. ‘With your uncle’s death I now belong to you.’
CHAPTER TWO (#u0fe47d5d-4754-52c5-bbac-0767c9cea2c3)
IF LINA HAD thought Sayid Badawi had looked stern before, he was positively thunderous now. His brow scrunched in a furrow of disapproval and his honed jaw clenched as if biting back an oath.
Yet the gleam of those dark eyes and the sudden flare of his nostrils spoke of something more intimate than fury.
Masculine awareness.
Lina knew something about that. She’d witnessed the way men had reacted to her mother’s beauty. And since Lina herself had reached puberty she’d seen a similar look from the men who’d occasionally visited her home.
She swallowed hard.
Not her home now. Her uncle’s home.
Yet unlike her male cousins, who didn’t just look but who tried to touch, the Emir kept his hands to himself.
Lina dropped her gaze, as she’d been taught. But without the magnetic draw of those dark, glittering eyes to distract her, she became far too aware of the rest of him.
A long, lean body that tapered from straight shoulders down via an intriguing display of bronzed skin and taut muscle to narrow hips that thankfully were still covered in pale trousers. Nor could she help but notice the muscled strength of his thighs. A rider’s thighs. The only thing marring the perfection of his toned form was a pale scar extending down one arm.
Lina didn’t know whether to blame the shock of finally being alone with the man who was to be her master, or her first sight of a half-naked man. Or perhaps his stunning attractiveness. But she felt light-headed. Her breathing came too fast and her thoughts scrambled.
She’d arrived at the palace expecting to be at the beck and call of a much older man, renowned for his short temper and unforgiving nature. Instead she found herself bequeathed to a man in his mid-twenties whose looks would make any woman sigh. He was fit and handsome. But more, there was an inner strength about him and a quality she couldn’t name, yet read in his proud face with its heavy-lidded eyes, strong nose and square, solid jaw.
Whatever it was, it made sensation fizz and burst through her veins. Was she ill? Coming down with a fever? She’d never felt like this before.
‘Lina?’
She darted a look at his face. Clearly he’d spoken and she hadn’t responded. A chill clamped the back of her neck and skittered all the way down her spine. Was his temper as volatile as the old Emir’s? Her aunt had told hair-raising tales of what awaited if she didn’t do exactly as commanded by her royal master, no matter how difficult or...unfamiliar.
‘Sir?’
‘I said you are not needed here. You can return to your home.’
Lina blinked, her eyes widening in dismay. She’d been horrified by the whispered gossip about what the previous Emir would expect her to do for him. Had wondered if some of the suggestions were even physically possible. But to be dismissed from the palace! That held its own terrors.
She swallowed, pain slicing as if her throat closed around a sharpened blade.
‘Please, sir. I can’t.’
Belatedly she lowered her gaze, knowing it was her place to obey, not argue. Her uncle and aunt had warned time after time that she must learn humility and silence. They’d made it their business to try turning her into a mute, obedient damsel. They would be horrified if they could hear her.
‘You can if I tell you.’ The Emir’s tone was brusque, allowing no room for argument.
Lina felt herself stiffen as the enormity of her situation hit her. The freedom he offered, no, commanded she take, was an illusion.
She was utterly alone, with nowhere in the world to call home and no one who cared for her. She had no rights, no call on his compassion. She was nothing to him, or to anyone else.
Everything she’d been taught told her to nod, to back away and make herself scarce, for it wouldn’t do to disobey the man who held her fate, even after he’d washed his hands of her.
He shifted and she sensed his impatience for her to be gone.
Yet Lina knew once she left this room she’d never be allowed to enter again. Once out of the palace she’d be on the street, literally, with no resources, no friends and not even a scrap of respectable clothing.
She shuddered, imagining what would become of her.
Clasping her hands before her, willing them not to shake, she took a fortifying breath, which reminded her of the hated clothes she wore as her breasts swelled against the low-cut top.
‘Sir.’ She swallowed and lifted her chin. The Emir had already begun to turn away. He’d dismissed her and that meant she must go.
Except Lina couldn’t.
‘Well?’ Ebony brows angled down above that imperious nose and his dark-shadowed jaw was set at an angle that warned his hold on patience was precarious.
She tilted her face higher, meeting his narrowed gaze. ‘I have no home to go to, sir. Not any more. Or any family.’ She bit her lip, refusing to let it tremble. ‘Could I be allowed to remain in the palace? I’m a hard worker. I can make myself useful at any task. In the kitchens, the laundries, the...’ She paused, racking her brain, wondering what the multitude of royal servants did all day. ‘I can sew and embroider too.’ Not well enough, as her aunt was fond of reminding her. But then she didn’t do anything well enough for her aunt.
‘You must have a home. Where did you come from?’ No softening in the austere masculine beauty of that sculpted face. But at least he’d paused to listen. Her heart throbbed a hopeful beat.
‘From the home of my father’s brother, sir. But that door is no longer open to me.’ It took everything Lina had to stand erect, meeting his gaze headlong, when harsh memories bombarded her. Of becoming little more than a slave in her own home.
The Emir sighed and lifted his hand to rake his fingers through his short hair. Intriguingly, the movement made muscles swell and tug in his arm, shoulder and chest. Lina had never before realised that such a simple movement could be so spellbinding.
But then she’d never seen a man like the Emir, naked or clothed.
He sighed and turned away. Abruptly her straying thoughts focused sharply. He was walking away, leaving her to her fate. Fear and despair vied with indignation. Lina was sick of fate, in the form of the men who had ruled her destiny, ignoring her.
Yet instead of continuing to the bathroom, he merely flung open a wardrobe and withdrew a shirt.
‘Here.’ The white garment flew through the air towards her. ‘Put that on and sit down.’
Lina’s fingers tightened convulsively on soft white cotton. So finely woven it was translucent. Only the finest material for the leader of the nation.
‘Go on.’ He nodded at the garment in her hands, then turned towards the bed. For a second she thought he was going to sit there, till he abruptly changed direction and headed for an armchair, sinking onto it with a sigh.
Hurriedly, Lina lifted the cotton over her head, pulling it down till it covered her almost to the knees. She had to roll up the sleeves to free her hands.
No doubt she looked like a child playing dress-up.
She puzzled over why the Emir thought the extra layer necessary. It was true, she was more comfortable with the bare skin of her waist and breasts covered, but from what she’d observed of men, they enjoyed such displays.
Unless the Emir wasn’t interested in women?
The startling thought kept her rooted to the spot. Surely not! Such a waste that would be. Besides, there’d been that shimmer of heat when he’d looked at her before. It had been unmistakable.
She darted a curious glance at the man who would decide her future. He wasn’t looking at her. In fact, he’d shut his eyes, which gave her time to take in more of his appearance, to see beyond that grave masculine beauty to the weariness bracketing his eyes and mouth. The slight droop of his head. The slump of that long frame in the cushioned chair.
The man was exhausted.
* * *
Sayid opened his eyes to see the girl dart into his bathroom. What the devil was she up to?
He was about to follow when she emerged, carrying a bowl of water. She sank to the floor before him in a show of fluid grace that made him wonder if she really was a dancer, as that scanty costume suggested.
Savagely he ignored the scorching trail of desire searing through his belly. He reminded himself he’d learned to master his impulsive, carnal nature.
Yet, to his chagrin the addition of his shirt did nothing to hide her allure. With fatigue testing both his patience and his willpower, it had seemed safest to cover her up so he couldn’t see that too-inviting expanse of honey skin, the alluring dips, swells and hollows of her breasts, waist and hips.
Sayid hadn’t reckoned on her being just as sexy, if not more, wearing his shirt. Because it was his shirt? It conjured a sense of intimacy, as if she were a lover who’d already shared her body with him. The thought snagged in his brain, stirring heat in his groin.
The extra covering hinted at her shape, the fine fabric clinging here and there, teasing with what lay beneath.
‘What are you doing?’ His voice emerged brusque, making her jump, yet she didn’t back away.
‘Helping with your boots, sir.’ She’d put the bowl to one side and reached forward as if to touch him, then halted, clearly waiting for permission.
‘Look at me.’ He was tired of the tradition that deterred people from daring to look their ruler in the face. Besides, it made it more difficult for him to read their thoughts.
Violet eyes met his. A burst of dark colour so deep it seemed Sayid could fall into it. Beautiful eyes, wide and slanted at the corners, giving her the look of a woman with secrets, or whose face was made for smiling.
There was no smile now. She still wore that tense expression, as if her flesh had shrunk around her bones, making her look wary, even scared, except the firm angle of her chin belied fear.
‘How old are you?’ The question wasn’t the one he’d planned.
‘Seventeen, sir.’ She swallowed, then licked her bottom lip as if nervous.
A mere teenager. A judder of regret vibrated through him. Seventeen and scared despite her determination not to show it. While he was twenty-five and, right now, felt old beyond his years.
Sayid couldn’t accept the invitation to let her serve him in any way he wished. Having a woman who’d been ordered to serve him was utterly unpalatable.
Or it should be.
Yet despite exhaustion part of him was disappointed. For Lina, with her pouting lips, her intriguing air of composure despite her nerves, and her outrageously luscious body, made the blood roar in his veins and heat stir. After all, he was descended from generations of marauding warriors, used to taking whatever they wanted, including women.
‘May I help you with your boots, sir?’
‘Very well.’ If it helped her to feel useful, he wouldn’t object. It would be tough getting her to speak if she were frozen into silence.
So he leaned back against the padded chair and stretched out one leg towards her, watching as she scooted closer, cradling the boot in her hands then drawing it off as carefully as if it were something precious and fragile.
Both boots, both socks were removed and set aside. Then she moved the bowl, lifted his legs one at a time and placed them in warm water.
Instantly Sayid felt some of the tension locking his muscles release.
‘Thank you, Lina.’ Her startled gaze told him she wasn’t accustomed to thanks. ‘Now, tell me about yourself.’
Again that flare of confusion in her stunning eyes. Whatever her story, she wasn’t used to being asked about herself. She hesitated then moistened her lips with her tongue in a way that sent tension flicking through him like a whip.
‘My name is Lina Rahman. My father was Headman of Narjif.’
Sayid nodded. He knew the distant town and he’d met her father last year as he toured the provinces. A serious man and a traditionalist, set in his ways. But that didn’t explain why he’d send his daughter as a gift to Sayid’s uncle, a man notorious in his younger days for his womanising, and more lately, for his irascible temper.
‘You have siblings?’
A dimple appeared in her cheek as if she bit it. ‘Sadly no. My parents weren’t blessed with sons, only me.’ Clearly she repeated something she’d heard many times. Yet Sayid was pleased to see she met his gaze, not so shy now.
‘He sent you to my uncle? To the old Emir?’
‘No!’ She shook her head and another long strand of dark hair slid over her shoulder to fall in a sinuous curve over her breast. ‘My father is dead. It was his brother who sent me. He and his wife.’
Sayid frowned. ‘And your mother?’
‘She died years ago. If she’d been alive she would not have sent me away.’ Her voice grew stronger with an echo of what might have been indignation. Lina took a small towel from her shoulder and laid it neatly across her knees. Then she lifted his foot and placed it on the towel, her movements sure and deft.
Sayid watched as she patted his foot dry then propped it, heel down on her thigh. With a firm, rhythmic movement she rubbed her thumbs over his sole, finding and working pressure points. Sayid felt warmth rise and spread, not only through his foot but his whole body. His tired eyes flickered and his aching muscles eased as pleasure rushed through him.
‘You’ve done this before.’
‘For my father.’ Her features softened a fraction.
‘Not your uncle?’
Instantly she stiffened, her mouth turning down at the corners and her forehead crinkling. ‘No. It would not be appropriate. My aunt specifically forbade me to touch any of my male relatives.’
‘There is more than your uncle?’
Her thumbs pressed so hard that the massage bordered on pain rather than pleasure. ‘My uncle and aunt have three sons.’
‘And you wanted to touch them?’ For some reason Sayid disliked the idea.
‘Ha! I’d rather touch a flea-ridden, spitting camel with diarrhoea than one of them.’
Sayid bit down a smile, weariness abating as curiosity rose. His demure little gift wasn’t nearly as demure as she seemed.
‘I see. They wanted to touch you.’
Lina nodded, her nostrils flaring in distaste. Her breasts rose high against his shirt as she breathed hard.
‘They accused me of leading them on! Of tempting and teasing, when I never even looked at them. I avoided them as much as I could. But that wasn’t enough. They said I wore perfume deliberately to entice them. That they could smell it when I left my room and it was an invitation for them to follow me.’
In her indignation Lina had forgotten to be cowed or careful. Fire flashed in her fine eyes and her cheeks blushed a soft rose.
Though he deplored their behaviour, Sayid understood too easily why her cousins found her such a temptation. Nervous and cowed she was lovely. Animated, she was glorious.
Even he, bound by his obligation as her ruler, as her host, and by his own honour, felt the dangerous undertow of attraction.
She was young, vulnerable and in his care. Unlike his dead uncle, Sayid didn’t believe people should be given as gifts or treated as expendable.
No wonder her relatives had packed her off to the capital. To keep temptation away from the males of her family. He guessed there was little love lost between Lina and her aunt and uncle.
‘Were there no other relatives willing to take you in?’
Her gaze dropped. She concentrated on drying his other foot and massaging it. Again Sayid felt the tug and release of taut muscles and tendons, and a glorious feeling of well-being. He’d never had a foot massage and was rapidly suspecting it might be addictive. Yet to his consternation the stirring in his loins indicated an inconvenient but growing arousal at odds with that wave of relaxation.
‘My uncle moved his family into my father’s house. And I have no other relatives. Even if there were, my mother...’
She paused so long Sayid wondered if she’d continue.
‘My mother had been a dancer. Much younger than my father. She was not...approved of locally. No one else came forward to offer me a home when my father died.’
Sayid stared at her downcast face, at bone-deep beauty that even tightly pursed lips and a scowl couldn’t mar.
With a nation to rule, a government to revamp and peace to establish, Sayid didn’t have time for one lost girl.
Yet nor could he dismiss her. An orphan, without a family who’d care for her and, by the sound of it, a town that didn’t want her, that was biased against her because of her mother, she’d been given away like a commodity. That easy disregard for people without the means to protect or support themselves was something he abhorred. He’d seen it too often under his uncle’s rule.
He thrust aside the weary voice that protested responsibility for the nation was enough, without taking personal responsibility for a stray female too. A female who, given his powerful reaction, was surely trouble.
Yet she had no options, no home.
Who else would take responsibility if not her Emir?
Sayid took his obligations seriously.
‘Thank you for the massage, Lina.’ He withdrew from her touch, ignoring the tingle along his skin and the urge to let her minister to him with those supple hands.
Sayid sat straighter. He would not act on this burgeoning desire.
‘Now.’ He rose and she did too, again with that sinuous grace that drew the eye and made him think inevitably about a soft female body moving against his. His groin tightened. ‘You can retire.’ His voice was gruff. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. My secretary will schedule a time.’
Her fine eyebrows arched in surprise. Then she smiled, a real smile, unlike that stilted curve of the lips she’d given him originally. The effect was instantaneous. Heat blasted him, feeding an urgent hunger he should be too worn out to experience.
Yet now he didn’t feel worn out. He felt aroused.
‘Thank you, sir. You won’t regret this.’ She actually bounced on the balls of her feet, as if from excitement.
Then she bowed herself out, a diminutive figure who should have looked comical with his shirt hanging loose over those filmy skirts. Instead his gaze locked on her in a mixture of fascination and pure, searing lust.
Seventeen. She’s only seventeen.
Yet there was no mistaking that electric energy, the thunder in his blood and the heaviness in his groin.
Sayid raked his fingers across his scalp and swore.
Apart from her stunning looks, Lina wasn’t like the women he chose for himself.
They were experienced and independent. Passionate enough to appreciate his demanding sex drive and sophisticated enough not to linger. He allowed himself no more than a week of intense carnal pleasure at a time before returning to his onerous responsibilities. It was part of his stringent private control system—giving free rein to his erotic appetites once in a while, then sublimating them while he focused on his work.
Mostly his lovers were foreigners wanting a taste of the exotic in the form of a hereditary prince. And most were blonde. His tastes didn’t run to country-bred brunettes.
Until now.
Sayid swore again, exhaustion forgotten as he remembered those beguiling eyes and that curious mix of innocence and fire that made Lina far too alluring to a man who should know better.
He had to come up with a plan for her. A place for her to live.
Lina couldn’t stay in the palace indefinitely.
His self-restraint only went so far.
CHAPTER THREE (#u0fe47d5d-4754-52c5-bbac-0767c9cea2c3)
LINA SHIFTED IN her seat. It was a very comfortable seat, but she’d been sitting in it for ages. The Emir’s serious-eyed secretary had looked down his nose at her and warned she’d have a long wait, since the Emir had many important appointments. Far more important, he implied, with a comprehensive glance, than dealing with some tawdry dancing girl.
Lina wanted to tell him the clothes she wore weren’t her choice. She hadn’t been permitted to bring her own clothes with her to the palace, only the outfits her aunt had provided.
She’d stared straight back at the secretary, refusing to drop her gaze, and let him huff and puff. Eventually he’d led her into the library, motioned to a chair and left.
Now, finally, Lina could stand the temptation no more. She’d never seen so many books. They lined three walls. Surely that was more than any person could ever read in a lifetime.
Quietly, she got up and tiptoed to the nearest shelf. The covers were beautiful, leather and fabric in all the hues of a rainbow. Some tall and slim. Others short and stumpy. She reached out and trailed her fingers over one, then another, then another.
Imagine all the secrets hidden in these books. All the nuggets of knowledge. All the explanations of scientific marvels and history. And stories, so many stories contained in this massive collection. Wonderful stories such as her mother had told her and many more besides. The idea left her giddy with the possibilities.
With a quick look over her shoulder, Lina selected a book. Its cover was hard and green with gilt lettering. The secretary hadn’t said she couldn’t touch.
Carefully she slid it out, testing its weight on her hands. She opened it to find gorgeously coloured pictures of plants. A few she recognised, ones that grew in the foothills near her home. Others were unfamiliar. Her fingers traced the delicate shape of one beautiful flower. Its petals were a dark red that looked so real it might have been plucked fresh this morning.
Finally, when she’d looked her fill, she put the book back and moved along the shelf, selecting another at random. This one had a cover of red. Inside there were no pictures, but—
‘Lina.’
She spun, almost dropping the precious book as she started.
The Emir closed the door behind him. Last night, in the warm glow of his lamplit bedroom, he’d thrown her off balance. She’d told herself it was shock because she’d seen so much of his handsome, sculpted body. More than any woman expected to see of a man who was not her husband.
Yet that same thrill of excitement ran through her veins as he crossed the room towards her with that easy stride. The same breathlessness at his sheer masculine beauty and that aura of power he wore as surely as the fine white robes. His face, against the pale fabric, was bronze and arrestingly handsome. His eyes dark and penetrating.
And she knew exactly what he was like beneath his clothing. The moulded muscles, the hard, intriguing line of his shoulders. The wisp of black hair that bisected his flat belly and dipped below his trousers.
That explained why her heart hammered too fast and why, low in her body, she felt a rush of unfamiliar molten heat. It was reaction to him as a man, not as her ruler.
The realisation brought a flush to her cheeks and she hurriedly looked down at the book, open in her hands.
‘It’s good to see someone making use of the library. I doubt my uncle ever opened the books and I haven’t had time yet. Is it something interesting?’ His tone was gentle. Clearly he tried to put her at ease. As if she were his equal, not his...possession. Her breath hitched on the thought.
He stopped before her and every hair on her body prickled in awareness.
‘I...don’t know. I just opened it.’
There was a long pause. Then he reached out and lifted the book from her hands. But instead of keeping it, he merely turned it up the other way and gave it back to her.
Lina stared down at the lines of writing, warmth rising in her cheeks. She swallowed but didn’t look up.
‘Lina?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Can you read?’ She heard the whisper of kindness in his voice, a note that reminded her, abruptly, of her long-dead mother. For even her father, though not mean or cruel, had never been tender.
A lump formed in her throat.
‘Lina?’ That tone, though gentle, compelled. She felt the force of his will drag her head up till her gaze collided with his. She shivered as fire and ice made her skin tingle and her backbone stiffen.
‘No, sir.’ Shame swamped her. She hated to admit the deficiency. It seemed to reinforce every cliché that had been thrown at her and her mother by her father’s relatives and many of their neighbours. As if their lack of learning was a character flaw rather than a lack of opportunity.
‘But there are schools in your town. I’ve seen them.’ The Emir’s brow knotted.
Lina nodded. She’d pleaded to be allowed to attend. But it had not been deemed appropriate.
‘My father didn’t believe it necessary for females to attend school. My mother wanted me to go, but she died when I was young and there was no one else to persuade my father.’ She paused, feeling it necessary to explain. Her father hadn’t been evil, just set in his ways. And he’d been disappointed that his only child was a girl. ‘He had very traditional views.’
Lina’s mother had been his second wife, twenty years his junior. She’d been beautiful, clever and charming, but faced prejudice because poverty and lack of education had forced her into becoming a dancer, performing in public before her marriage. That prejudice tainted Lina too, as if despite her careful upbringing, her morals were questionable because of her mother’s previous profession.
‘Do you want to learn?’
Lina blinked up at the grave face before her. Was he serious?
If it were her uncle or one of his sons asking, she’d expect some sort of teasing trick, to raise her hopes then dash them. But this was the Emir. The man who’d listened to her last night when he could have ignored her. Who’d been polite and almost gentle, despite his obvious fatigue.
The man who’d allowed her to go to her own bed, alone and untouched, instead of doing any of the things she’d been told he’d demand of her.
She hadn’t slept all night, going over and over each word, each gesture and nuance in her mind. The more she’d remembered, the more the glow of warmth inside her built.
‘Of course! I tried to find someone to teach me. But it didn’t work out.’
She’d made the mistake of asking one of her cousins. The quiet, scholarly one who didn’t make brash jokes in her presence and who’d seemed almost pleasant. Except their ‘lesson’ had lasted about five minutes before his hands started to wander. Then he’d grabbed her and tried to kiss her and Lina had never been so glad to see her aunt as when she’d burst in, even though it meant Lina was locked in her room for the next week as punishment.
Her hands shook so much she closed the book and put it down on the shelf beside her. ‘Would you...? Could I really learn to read and write?’
Hope nosedived at his suddenly fierce expression. As if her excitement displeased him. For a long moment he stared at her, his mouth a grim line. Then he nodded curtly and swung away to take a seat behind his imposing desk.
‘Of course it’s possible. In fact, it’s necessary if you’re going to make your way in the world.’
He gestured for her to take the seat before him. It made her feel a little like she had as a child, called before her father to account for some misdeed. Except, despite the shimmer of tension in the air and the hint of anger in the Emir’s tensed jaw, there was compassion in his eyes.
‘Clearly you can’t stay here in the palace.’
‘But I—’
A raised palm stopped her words and she shivered, realising she’d been about to argue with the man who held not only her fate, but her nation’s, in his palm. Her aunt had been right. Lina needed to curb her tongue.
‘I don’t keep a harem and when I want a woman it will never be someone forced to attend me.’
A shiver rolled through her, pulling her flesh tight. In that instant she was sucked straight back to those long nights of terror, waiting to be called before the Emir, to do whatever he commanded.
Yet now Lina felt that, if this man smiled and spoke to her in the smoky, caressing tone he’d used a few minutes earlier, she’d go to him willingly. She might be nervous about learning first-hand about sex, but her shimmy of excitement hinted she’d be avid to learn if Sayid Badawi taught her.
The realisation stopped her tongue.
‘However,’ he said, his voice serious, ‘you’re now my responsibility. I can’t send you back to your family, since they treated you so badly.’ His eyes flashed and, despite his even tone, she realised he was very, very angry. With her aunt and uncle? The grim line of his jaw accentuated the heavy beat of a pulse in his throat and she was struck with the idea they would suffer for bundling her off here.
Lina felt her eyes grow round and her mouth sag open. She knew because she’d overheard them speaking, that her aunt and uncle believed sending her to the palace would not only remove her from their sons but gain them favour with the Emir.
The old Emir. Not the new one. Sayid Badawi was not cut from the same cloth as his uncle.
‘Given the circumstances in which you arrived, you can’t stay in the palace. People would misconstrue your...role.’
Lina wasn’t exactly sure what misconstrue meant. She assumed the Emir didn’t want people believing she was his concubine.
After all, she was nothing but an uneducated provincial. Even a woman as inexperienced as Lina understood that this man, with his power, wealth and chiselled looks would have his pick of stunning women. He’d only have to click his fingers and they’d flock to him like doves to grain.
Why, he probably already had a lover, perhaps secreted here in the palace.
Heat flushed Lina’s cheeks as she remembered where her mind had wandered last night as she’d thought about the Emir, his kindness and his charisma. His cedar wood and bitter orange scent that made her feel curiously giddy. That zing of awareness when she touched him.
Of course he had a woman. It was ridiculous to think he’d ever want someone like her. Someone who didn’t even know how to hold a book the right way up!
‘I’ve decided to treat you as my ward.’
‘Your ward?’ She looked up and found herself snared by dark-as-night eyes. Another tiny shiver scudded down her spine.
‘I will be responsible for you until you can make your own way in the world.’
Slowly Lina nodded, biting down a question about how she was meant to do that when she only had domestic training.
‘Like an uncle,’ he added, as if to clarify.
Lina blinked. Anyone less like an uncle she couldn’t imagine. He was far too young for a start. Closer to her age than her uncle’s. Besides, she couldn’t imagine what she felt for the Emir was at all appropriate between niece and uncle.
‘You understand?’
Did he think her dim-witted because she couldn’t read the words in his precious books?
‘Yes.’ She clasped her hands before her. ‘You will act as my guardian.’
‘Precisely.’ He nodded, then sat back in his chair as if pleased that point was understood. ‘Now what would you like to do?’
‘Sir?’
‘What would you like for the future?’
Lina tried not to gape and probably failed.
No one ever, in her whole life, had asked what she wanted her future to be. It had always been assumed that her father would find her a suitable husband and she’d devote herself to looking after him and the family they’d have. Or, if her aunt were to be believed, she’d become a dancing girl or worse, pandering to the desires of men.
The enormity of the question stole her voice.
Eventually he spoke again. ‘You must have some desire. Some dream.’
Suddenly Lina remembered those childish hopes she’d once harboured. Hopes encouraged by the foreign archaeologists who’d worked for years near her home. They’d been entertained in her house when she was young, and, to her delight, there had even been women archaeologists. Lina had spent years tagging along behind them, before she was considered too old for such freedoms.
‘Lina? What is it you want?’ That deep voice yanked her back to the present.
The foolishness of those old hopes hit her anew. She could never do what she’d dreamed. And yet, here she was, sitting with the man who ruled Halarq, a man who’d brought peace to her nation, and he was asking her what she desired. Asking. Surely anything was possible here with this extraordinary man?
‘I want to learn,’ she said before she lost her nerve. ‘To read and go to classes and find out about the world.’ Her throat constricted at the daring of what she asked but she hurried on. ‘And I want to visit France and America.’
There. It was out. Her breath came in rough little pants and her fingers trembled against the carved wooden arms of the chair. She knew she’d been too daring. But she’d been unable to resist.
‘Why those countries?’ Instead of berating her for not requesting something sensible, like an apprenticeship to a seamstress, the Emir leaned forward as if curious. ‘It would be hard when you don’t speak the language.’
‘But I do!’ She beamed at him. ‘At least I used to. I spent time with the foreigners digging up the past in the old city ruins beyond my town. I have a good memory and they said I’m quick with languages.’
Clearly he wasn’t convinced. Yet nor did he dismiss her claim. Instead he sat in brooding silence, his elbows on the desk and fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Lina barely dared to breathe for fear of disturbing him as time stretched from seconds into long minutes.
‘Very well.’ Finally he sat back. A smile skated across his face and Lina caught her breath. In repose his face was serious yet handsome. But when he smiled it felt like angels danced in her soul.
‘I won’t promise America or France, but I can give you the opportunity to learn.’ He paused as if considering. ‘My secretary will arrange a teacher. If, by the end of a week, that teacher confirms you’re working hard and willing to learn, you will have the opportunity to go to school.’
Excitement was the buzz of a thousand bees in her bloodstream. ‘Sir, I can’t thank you enough. I—’
His raised hand cut her off. His expression turned serious. ‘It’s inevitable that gossip will get out about how you came here and about our...relationship.’
He said the word as if he tasted something unpleasant and instantly Lina’s warm glow subsided. ‘Given that, if you show promise, you will attend school outside Halarq.’
Lina nodded, torn between delight and the need to pinch herself to check she was awake. ‘But won’t it be expensive?’
Instantly his gaze, which had fixed on a spot in the middle distance, zeroed in on her. Once more Lina felt that keen scrutiny, as if he looked at her but saw more than anyone else ever had.
‘Fortunately I can afford it.’ A ghost of a smile hovered around his firm mouth. ‘If you work hard, I will sponsor your education.’
‘But how will I repay you?’ The words erupted before she could hold them back.
The Emir’s eyebrows rose. In surprise because she continued to speak without being invited? Yet he didn’t seem angry. Was that approval in his gleaming eyes?
‘You cannot simply accept this gift?’
Lina bit her lip, considering carefully. His Royal Highness the Emir of Halarq was a powerful man, accustomed to having his every word obeyed. Yet her conscience—or was it the pride her aunt complained of?—told her she had to set limits to this kindness.
‘I would be honoured, sir. Yet that same honour compels me to acknowledge my great obligation to you. It’s an obligation I must repay. We aren’t kin. I have no call on your charity.’
Lina’s heart thudded in her chest, her pulse rushing so fast through her body she felt light-headed.
For what seemed an age those piercing eyes, darker now and unreadable as polished obsidian, bored into her. Then, abruptly, he nodded.
‘So be it. If this turns out as I hope, you’ll be a shining example of change in Halarq. I intend to modernise our country through education, among other things. Work hard, learn, and on your return you can repay my generosity by helping to promote the value of education in those areas where people still refuse to send their daughters to school.’
He glanced at his watch and shoved his chair back from the desk.
Instantly Lina scrambled to her feet before sinking into a low bow, her heart swelling fit to burst. ‘I promise to study hard, sir.’ She’d make him proud, no matter what it took.
‘Excellent.’ With that he turned and strode from the room.
* * *
Four and a half years later Lina stepped off the plane a different woman.
Which was apt since the country she returned to had changed too.
The airport had expanded for a start, with a new streamlined terminal building and space for many more planes. The road into the city was a revelation—wide, straight and well-surfaced. It was even lined with rows of date palms and other trees.
A new hospital sat in spacious landscaped grounds at a major road junction and a university was under construction nearby. Across the city cranes testified to a programme of renewal.
The driver who’d met her kept up a flow of informative chatter in response to her queries. That marked a change too, for when she’d left Halarq she couldn’t imagine a male driver speaking more than was absolutely necessary to a woman. Though, to be fair, her experience was limited. She’d grown up in a rural province before her uncle had brought her to the capital. She’d rarely been in a car before she’d left her homeland. And this wasn’t an ordinary car but a limousine with the Emir’s crest on the door.
Lina felt a rogue shiver of heat through her insides at the thought that he’d sent one of his drivers to collect her.
Had he personally arranged it? Or had one of his staff done it without being asked?
Did the Emir even remember her?
In all those years years he’d sent not a word, though she knew the school staff had sent regular reports to the palace. For the first year, homesick and overwhelmed by the changes in her life, she’d have given anything for a word from him. In her loneliness the Emir had grown in her imagination, filling the empty places in her soul. He was protector, hero, saviour...and something else she couldn’t put a name to.
In the years she’d been away, bombarded with new experiences and places, new people and ideas, he’d remained a constant. A lodestar, the single reference point connecting her to Halarq and the world she’d left behind.
Which, she realised with a grimace, was dangerous. She was nothing to him. Once she’d fulfilled her end of their bargain she’d never see him again.
Pining over the Emir and wondering whether he approved of her choices and achievements wasn’t sensible.
He’d probably forgotten her. No doubt his officious secretary kept a watching brief on the little social experiment that was Lina. For though His Royal Highness had been kind, she understood he’d only looked for a solution that would remove her from the palace and feed into his plans to modernise Halarq. He simply hadn’t wanted her.
Nothing new there. To her father she’d been a disappointment because of her gender. To her aunt and uncle an inconvenience. To the Emir a problem to be solved.
Tangled emotions knotted Lina’s stomach. Anxiety definitely. Though she’d survived and eventually thrived in her Swiss school, she knew what it was to be utterly alone. She longed for connection. To belong, to a place and to people, or at least one person.
Savagely Lina cut off that thought.
She’d daydreamed of the Emir, so tall and handsome, for too long. She was no teenager now. There’d be no swooning over him, or for that matter, any man.
Once her obligation to the Emir was fulfilled, she had a career to build. An income to earn. A life to enjoy.
The limousine turned off the teeming street and onto the private road that led up from the old town to the citadel. Above, its coral-coloured walls rising from the sheer rock, rose the Emir’s palace. A silver and blue banner over the gate whipped in the breeze, proclaiming the Emir was in residence.
Lina clasped her hands tight in her lap, trying to still the rising tide of excitement and trepidation that quickened her pulse.
She’d thank him for the wonderful thing he’d done in giving her an education. She’d throw herself into whatever PR tasks he devised to promote education and, as soon as she could, remove herself from his orbit.
She smiled. That was settled.
Except, as so often in life, it didn’t work out that way.
* * *
Sayid exchanged farewells with the fiercely bearded provincial leader then watched him and his entourage bow themselves out through the wide doors of beaten copper.
Rolling his head back, he tried to relieve the stiffness of too many hours sitting in the formal audience chamber. It had been a long afternoon.
He disliked this echoing room with its lavish decorations and raised dais that set him apart from everyone. But he’d made so many reforms in such a short time, he listened when his aides advised he should retain the traditional space for meetings with provincial sheikhs. He worked hard to steer them into change on significant issues. Where he worked was not, to his mind, important. If retaining a show of the old customs made them more comfortable, so be it.
He was getting to his feet when the chamberlain appeared in the doorway. He wasn’t alone.
Sayid sank back on the jewelled throne, his hands curling over the gilded lion heads on the arms.
Suddenly alert, his eagerness to go dissipated as he took in the figure walking beside the chamberlain. Slim, curvaceous, delectably feminine, though her fitted skirt and jacket in jade green covered her from neck to knee.
Late afternoon sun lit her from behind, which had the twofold effect of making it difficult to read her features while highlighting her lush curves in loving detail.
High heels tapped demurely across the inlaid floor and Sayid had time to note her glossy dark hair was pulled severely back and up.
She halted in the middle of the room. Her eyes were downcast, as was traditional in Halarq on meeting the Emir. Yet it was rare for westerners to know that. She was well-prepared.
He sat forward, intrigued that a lone western woman should seek an audience.
‘You may approach.’
The pair walked slowly towards him and Sayid found himself watching with appreciation the gentle undulation of her hips as she paced in those high heels. She wore no jewellery but that only accentuated the purity of her sculpted beauty. High cheekbones, eyes set on an intriguing slant, full lips, slender throat.
Heat crawled up from Sayid’s belly to clog his chest. A blast of fire shot straight to his loins. His hands tightened on the carved chair as she stopped before him, still with downcast eyes. She was one of the most beautiful, elegant women he’d ever seen. And Sayid had known many.
Yet something about her feathered his nape with a cold brush of warning.
Here, he sensed, lay trouble.
The chamberlain spoke. ‘Sire, I am pleased to bring before you...’
The woman’s jaw tipped high, her gaze rising to meet his and the chamberlain’s words were lost in the heavy thrum of Sayid’s pulse as he looked down into eyes as velvety as a drift of mountain violets. Holding his gaze, she dipped into a curtsey that was the epitome of grace.
Shock hammered. His blood rushed, drowning all noise.
Lina. Little Lina.
Sayid remembered her as pretty. Had told himself imagination had embroidered her charms. It had been the forbidden piquancy of finding himself her master, free to do as he wished with her, that had turned a passably attractive teenager into something special in his mind.
He’d been wrong. She was something special. More, she was extraordinary.
Not just because of her beauty. The way that clear-eyed stare met his, the hint of boldness behind the mask of politeness, communicated directly with him on a personal level. A level that made his belly tense and his calm crack.
‘Welcome back to Halarq.’ He kept his voice as grave as his expression. She might have knocked him sideways for an instant but Sayid would never let that show.
‘Thank you, sir.’ She bowed low in a move as formal and graceful as that of any courtier.
He refused to let his eyes track her trim frame, but it was too late. Her image was imprinted on his brain. ‘You’ve grown up.’
Her gaze met his, setting off a buzz of response at the base of his spine. Then her lips twitched into a far too appealing half-smile and she shrugged. ‘It happens to all of us.’ She paused, as if waiting for him to respond. ‘I just turned twenty-two last week.’
Better, far better than seventeen.
The sly voice in his mind was full of insinuation. Of anticipation. But he’d set himself up as her protector, her guardian. Because she had no one else.
Sayid knew what could happen to women who had no one to champion them. Especially beautiful, desirable women.
It was why he’d sent Lina away. Not only to pursue her education, but to keep her out of reach. He might be changing his country, one step at a time, to ensure all his people had the rights of free citizens, but he was still a man.
A man with a formidable appetite for pleasure.
Knowing that was a family trait, seeing its devastating effect on his uncle, who’d never learned to resist temptation, Sayid had striven to contain that side of his nature.
Yet he looked at Lina and something raw and ravenous stirred in his belly. Something uncivilised and unrepentantly greedy that spoke of want and the need to possess. It was a burn in his gut. A sharpness on his tongue. A tightening of his body.
Just like that! As if the rules he’d set for himself no longer existed. As if she wasn’t in his care.
Damn!
Years before he’d done what he could to protect her. According to Halarqi custom, since she’d been given into his keeping, Lina belonged to him. From that moment he was the head of her family. In his people’s eyes, and the law’s, he was her lord. Her master. Potentially her lover.
To his shame, the idea still sent an illicit thrill through him.
Yet, to his credit he’d done what a decent, civilised man would do—embracing his responsibility and becoming her guardian, sending her away.
He’d forgotten she was due to return today. Plus he’d assumed the years would be enough to sever this startling, impossible tug of desire. That he’d have become immune or she’d have grown ordinary.
Neither had happened.
Surely it was a malicious, mocking Fate that had allowed him to send away a child, only to receive in return a woman so flagrantly desirable.
Sayid forced a smile. ‘Congratulations on reaching such an advanced age.’ He stood, turning to the chamberlain. ‘That will be all for now. My ward and I have matters to discuss.’
CHAPTER FOUR (#u0fe47d5d-4754-52c5-bbac-0767c9cea2c3)
IF LINA HAD expected a warm welcome from her self-styled guardian, she’d have been disappointed.
The tight curve of his mouth could be classed as a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those gleamed as cool and impenetrable as black onyx. Yet something about the quality of that look sent a tremor of yearning through her insides.
Severely she told herself she hadn’t expected warmth.
It was just that he’d been kind.
He’d treated her, not as an encumbrance or an embarrassment, but as a person who mattered.
When she looked at him she felt something like the prickle of delight she’d known years before in her home on the edge of the desert. She’d looked at the night sky and lost herself in the beauty of the diamond-bright wash of stars. Then she’d felt small and vulnerable but at the same time exultant, as if the vast night sky had touched her with a tiny spark of its magic.
Lina was too old for girlish fantasies about a handsome sheikh. Even though he’d swept in and rescued her. Even though such fantasies had been her solace and her rock as she grappled with life beyond Halarq and everything she knew.
Yet, to her dismay, she discovered fantasies weren’t so easy to banish. She looked into those midnight eyes, heard the warm burr of his voice, and felt it again, that swirl of starlight and wonder. That ripple of hyper-consciousness. Even the contrast of his spare, burnished flesh against pristine white robes caught and held her gaze. And the honed, arrogant but beautiful angles and planes of his face.
He’d altered in four and a half years. His shoulders seemed even wider than before, his chest deeper. There were new lines around his eyes and mouth too, but they only accentuated the masculine charisma of that strong face.
For one mad instant, when she saw a pulse pound at his temple and those broad shoulders stiffen, she’d thought he, too, was affected. But that was her imagination running riot. A second look confirmed she was wrong.
He led her to a pair of opulent antique chairs positioned on the far side of the room. They were a formal few metres apart, slightly turned to make the best of the view from the citadel, down over the ancient sprawling city.
‘Is it good to be home?’
Lina turned in her seat to find him watching her closely. A shiver skated through her at the intensity of his regard. She sat straighter.
‘I...it feels strange.’ Though what felt most strange was hearing him speak of home. As if she truly belonged though she was an outsider here. ‘I don’t really know the city. I was only here a short time.’
His sleek black eyebrows lifted. ‘You would rather return to your old town? Your old home?’
‘No. No!’ The shiver that tracked her spine this time had nothing to do with the man sitting across from her. Her fingers curled tight in her lap as she leaned closer. ‘Please don’t send me back. There’s no place for me there.’
She paused, pushing down the rising fear that she’d be made to return to the family who despised her. For years she hadn’t entertained the possibility. Surely the Emir had saved her from that?
‘I’m sure I’ll adjust quickly to life in the capital.’
She’d adapted to moving from a provincial town to an international school in Switzerland. To make matters worse, it wasn’t just any school, but one patronised by the wealthy and privileged. It taught not only the usual academic subjects, but all the other things deemed necessary for a young woman about to take her privileged place in society. Presumably some officious secretary, on receiving the orders to enrol her in a school at royal expense, had automatically searched for the best, because only the best was ever provided for the Emir.
The other girls, all from wealthy families, had initially treated her as a freak. A freak who barely spoke their languages. Who couldn’t even read or write.
She’d been a figure of fun, the butt of malicious jokes and cruelty. It had only been in her last two years, as the oldest pupil there, that she’d found her place and become a mentor for the younger girls. She’d worked hard and shown true flair in her passion for languages and history, even if her writing was still laborious.
‘You’re certain you don’t want to return?’ She looked up to see his eyes narrowed on her, his hard, handsome face close to a frown. ‘There hasn’t been a softening in your relationship with your aunt and uncle?’
Lina snorted at the absurdity of the idea, then ducked her head, apologising. People did not snort in front of national leaders.
‘I take it that’s a no.’
She looked up in time to catch a glimmer in his eyes that she couldn’t identify. It made him seem more approachable. More like the man she’d met years ago who’d been stern yet gentle. Instantly Lina sank back in her chair, relief buzzing in her veins.
‘I’ve had no contact with them since the day my uncle left me at the servants’ entrance to the palace.’ For all they knew she could have spent the intervening years warming the Emir’s bed as his concubine.
Heat swept Lina’s breasts and throat and she moistened her lips as her throat dried.
Not in embarrassment at the idea, but because the thought of sharing Sayid Badawi’s bed appealed too much.
She’d once glimpsed behind the serious visage and imposing title to the virile, fascinating, kind man beyond. And she couldn’t seem to cure herself of the yearning to know more of him. Experience more.
As if he’d be interested in someone like her!
His stare didn’t waver, nor did he feel the need to fill the silence. She wondered frantically what he read in her face.
Lina had devoured every story she could find about him. They painted a portrait of a strong, determined leader, a man with a vision for his country. And a man who, discreetly but definitely, had an eye for beautiful women.
Could he see how she felt about him? Did he sense that tickle of heated awareness? She’d never felt it with any other man. Only him.
As she watched, his hands gripped the arms of his chair. His ring of authority, a wide band of gold inset with a glowing cabochon ruby, caught the light.
Lina’s pulse throbbed but curiously, as she met that midnight gaze, her heartbeat seemed to slow, grow ponderous and heavy. The air thickened, making her lungs chug hard to draw in oxygen.
Though they didn’t sit close, Lina could swear she inhaled that spicy, sensual aroma she’d smelled only once before. Citrus and cedar wood with a darker note of something she registered as warm male skin.

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