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Bound To Her Desert Captor
Michelle Conder


Captive to the Sheikh…Seduced by his touch!Certain that Regan James has information on his sister’s disappearance, Sheikh Jaeger steals her away to his palace. He doesn’t expect compliance from his beautiful captive, but when defiant Regan accidentally causes a media storm it must be resolved. How? He’ll have to marry Regan! Their engagement is for appearances only, but the electricity sparked by their passion feels exquisitely—dangerously—real…







Captive to the sheikh...

Seduced by his touch!

Certain that Regan James has information on his sister’s disappearance, Sheikh Jaeger steals her away to his palace. He doesn’t expect compliance from his beautiful captive, but when defiant Regan accidentally causes a media storm, it must be resolved. How? He’ll have to marry her! Their engagement is for appearances, but the electricity sparked by their passion feels exquisitely—dangerously—real...


With two university degrees and a variety of false career starts under her belt, MICHELLE CONDER decided to satisfy her lifelong desire to write and finally found her dream job. She currently lives in Melbourne, Australia, with one super-indulgent husband, three self-indulgent but exquisite children, a menagerie of over-indulged pets, and the intention of doing some form of exercise daily. She loves to hear from her readers at michelleconder.com (http://www.michelleconder.com).


Also by Michelle Conder (#ua561edfd-d489-5cce-9811-9b7691b7270e)

Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation

His Last Chance at Redemption

Living the Charade

Duty at What Cost?

The Most Expensive Lie of All

Prince Nadir’s Secret Heir

Hidden in the Sheikh’s Harem

Defying the Billionaire’s Command

The Italian’s Virgin Acquisition

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Bound to Her Desert Captor

Michelle Conder






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


ISBN: 978-1-474-07230-4

BOUND TO HER DESERT CAPTOR

© 2018 Michelle Conder

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 is for Robyn, who is always warm and welcoming no matter what.

Thanks for taking care of my dad.


Contents

Cover (#ue5eb1200-a74f-5eb4-ab58-001d4047e2e4)

Back Cover Text (#ud9df855e-6077-528d-83ef-0eb51270370f)

About the Author (#ub09c55dc-6a94-5240-a7b4-6a07390ee2f7)

Booklist (#ueb7916a2-e0c0-55e4-afab-e67e438b13e6)

Title Page (#udcb0f92b-60ef-59ed-9896-2a68b3519555)

Copyright (#u8a5ff73f-d6bb-560a-bcc8-3b1619ff4c35)

Dedication (#u491ea01d-d025-5dfb-b1ee-1e49096ea369)

CHAPTER ONE (#u31a6fafe-de6d-57b0-8c4d-c22a3eddaec8)

CHAPTER TWO (#ucdc9ec48-c3ad-50b2-b630-bc32874afb54)

CHAPTER THREE (#u2d5afa26-203d-5d14-9c16-501ea652e6f9)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

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)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ua561edfd-d489-5cce-9811-9b7691b7270e)

‘I’M SORRY, YOUR MAJESTY, but there has been no further information as to your sister’s whereabouts.’

Jaeger al-Hadrid, King of Santara, nodded once then turned his back on his silver-haired senior aide. He stared out of the arched windows of his palace office on to the city of Aran below. It was early, the dawn sun bouncing off the Gulf of Ma’an and bathing the sleepy capital of Santara in a golden glow. The pale pink palace perched on the crest of a hill faced the once industrious port that had recently been transformed into a tourist mecca: hotels, restaurants and shopping outlets, tastefully designed to blend the old with the new. It was just one of Jaeger’s successful attention-grabbing visions to boost the local economy and showcase the changing face of his kingdom.

He didn’t see any of it right now, his mind locked down by the worry brought about by his sister’s disappearance.

Where was she? And, more importantly, was she all right?

A week ago he had returned from a business trip to London to find a note on his desk.

Dear Jag,

I know you won’t like this but I’ve taken off for a few weeks. I’m not going to tell you where I’m going because this is important to me. That’s why I haven’t taken my cell phone.

No doubt if I did you’d figure out where I’m going before I even get there! But don’t worry, I’ll be fine.

I love you,

Milena xxx

Don’t worry? Don’t worry? After what had happened three years ago, how could he do anything but worry?

He reached for the note on his desk, now enclosed in an evidence bag, and had to force himself not to crumple it in his fist. So far the only thing his elite security team had been able to find out was that she had taken a flight to Athens and then disappeared with a man. A man who had been identified as Chad James. An employee, no less, whom Jaeger had personally allowed his sister to work alongside for the past six months.

His jaw hardened and he had to force himself to breathe deeply. Chad James was a brilliant graduate who had been recruited from the States last year to work for his pet company, GeoTech Industries. The company only employed high-energy, intelligent men and women who could think outside the box to create leading-edge technologies that rivalled anything coming out of Silicon Valley. A week ago the young graduate had put in for one month’s leave without pay.

Had he coerced Milena into going with him for some lovers’ tryst? Or, worse, kidnapped her and planted the note, planning to ask for a ransom any day now?

Jag cursed silently. Since becoming King a decade ago he’d done his best to keep his siblings safe from harm. How had he failed so extraordinarily in that endeavour? How had he got it so spectacularly wrong? Again! Because it was his fault. He’d put his sister in harm’s way, even if he hadn’t known it at the time, and he held himself fully responsible.

And it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

For the past decade he had worked tirelessly to pull Santara out of the economic and political quagmire his father had inadvertently left it in, and, right when he was on the verge of having Santara recognised as an integral political powerhouse on the world stage, his sister went missing.

The worry was eating him alive.

‘How is it possible,’ he growled in Tarik’s direction, ‘that in this day and age no one can find out where she is?’

The elderly man Jag had known since his boyhood shook his head. ‘Without her mobile phone or computer there’s no way to track her,’ Tarik answered, not telling him anything he didn’t already know. ‘We have accessed security footage in and around the ports of Piraeus, Rafina and Lavrio, as well as the local train stations, but so far we have come up empty-handed.’

A knock at the door cut off Jag’s vicious string of curse words. His PA entered, and murmured something to Tarik before casting him a quick, sympathetic glance.

Jaeger’s heart thumped into his throat. Please don’t let his sister be in trouble.

Noticing his granite-like expression, Tarik shook his head. No, not the Princess.

Jag let out a rough breath. Only his tight inner circle knew that Milena was missing. Together they had mobilised a small taskforce of elite soldiers to hunt for her and Chad James, demanding absolute silence in the meantime. Jag hadn’t even alerted his brother to Milena’s disappearance and he didn’t plan to until he had something concrete to give him. Nor had he alerted the Crown Prince of Toran whom Milena was due to marry in a month’s time.

The last thing he needed was a scandal of this magnitude, a week out from hosting one of the most important international summits in Santara’s history. Leaders from all over the globe would be descending on Santara for four days to discuss world matters including environmental affairs, world health issues, banking and trade deficits. It would be the largest summit of its kind; a pinnacle moment in Santara’s rebirth, and his staff had worked tirelessly to see that it came off without a hitch.

‘Tell me,’ he demanded, noticing the slight hesitation on his aide’s pale face.

‘I have just been informed that Chad James’s older sister landed in Santara an hour ago.’

Jag frowned. ‘The sister he emailed the day before he disappeared?’

‘I believe so. A report on her has been sent to your inbox.’

Jag sat down at his desk, touching the mouse pad on his computer to awaken the screen. Quickly he found the relevant email, scanned it, and opened the attachment. It was a dossier of sorts.

Name: Regan James

Age: Twenty-five

Height, weight and social security number were all there. Her eyes were brown, her hair brown, and she worked at some posh-sounding school as a teacher. According to the report, she lived alone in Brooklyn, and volunteered at a bereavement centre for kids. No pets and no known convictions or outstanding warrants for her arrest. Parents deceased.

Which Jag already knew from the file that had been compiled on her brother. She also had a photography website. Jaeger flicked to the next page. On it was a photo of Regan James. It was a half-body shot of her standing on a beach somewhere, her hair tied back in a low ponytail, wisps of it caught by the breeze on the day and flattering her oval-shaped face, her hand raised as if to keep it back. She was smiling, a full-faced smile, showing even white teeth. A camera hung around her slender neck, resting between her breasts. It was a photo of a beautiful woman who didn’t look as if she would hurt a fly. And her hair wasn’t brown. Not in this photo. It was more auburn. Or russet. And her eyes weren’t just brown either, they were...they were... Jag frowned, caught his train of thought and shut it down. They were brown, just as the report said.

‘Where is she now?’

‘She booked into the Santara International. That’s all we know.’

Jag stared at the photo that shimmered on his screen. This woman’s brother had taken his sister somewhere and he would move heaven and earth to find them and bring Milena home.

He only hoped Chad James had an army to help him when he finally got his hands around the bastard’s scrawny neck, because nothing else would be able to.

‘Have her followed,’ Jag ordered. ‘I want to know where she goes, who she talks to, what she eats and how often she goes to the bathroom. If the woman so much as buys a packet of gum I want to know about it. Is that clear?’

‘Crystal, Your Majesty.’

* * *

Regan knew as soon as she walked into the shisha bar that she should turn right back around and walk out again. All day she’d trudged around the city of Aran looking for information on Chad, but the only thing she’d learned was that there was hot and then there was desert hot.

Despite that, she knew that she would have fallen in love with the ancient walled city if she were here for any other reason than to find out what had happened to her brother. Unfortunately the more she had searched the city for him the more worried she had become. Which was why she couldn’t follow her instinct now and leave the small, dimly lit bar Chad had frequented, no matter how tempting that might be.

The dinky little bar was dressed with various-sized wooden tables and chairs that looked to be filled with mostly local men playing cards or smoking a hookah. Sometimes both. Lilting Arabic music played from some unknown source and the air seemed to be perfumed with a fruity scent she couldn’t place. Not wanting to be caught staring, she straightened the scarf she had draped over her head and shoulders in deference to the local custom, and wound her way to the scarred wooden bar lined with faded red leather stools.

The truth was this place was almost her last resort. All day she’d been stymied either by her own sense of inadequacy in trying to navigate the confusing streets of Aran, or by the local people she met who were nowhere near as approachable as the travel-friendly propaganda would suggest. Especially Chad’s weasel-like landlord, who had flicked her with a dismissive gaze and informed her that he would not open the apartment without permission from the tenant himself. Having just come from GlobalTech Industries, where she couldn’t get anyone at all to answer her questions, Regan hadn’t been in the mood to be told no. She’d threatened to sue the shifty little man and when he’d responded by informing her that he would call the police she had said not to bother—she’d go there herself.

Unfortunately the officer on duty had told her that Chad hadn’t been missing long enough to warrant an investigation and that she should come back the next day. Everything in Santara functioned at a much slower pace than she was used to. She remembered it was one of the things Chad enjoyed most about the country, but when you were desperate it was hard to appreciate.

Utterly spent and weighed down by both jet lag and worry, she’d nearly cried all over the unhelpful officer. Then she’d remembered Chad mentioning this shisha bar so after a quick shower she had asked for directions from one of the hotel staff. Usually when she went out in New York it was with Penny, and right now she wished she’d persuaded Penny to come with her because she didn’t feel completely comfortable arriving at an unknown bar alone. She felt as though everyone was watching her and, truth be told, she’d felt like that all day.

Most likely she was being overly dramatic because she was weighed down by a deep-seated sense of dread that something awful had happened to her brother. She’d felt it as soon as she’d received his off-the-cuff email a week ago warning her not to try and contact him over the next little while because he would be unreachable.

For a man who was so attached to his phone that she often joked it was his ‘best friend’, that was enough to raise a number of red flags in her head and, try as she might, she hadn’t been able to dispel them. A spill-over effect, no doubt, from when she’d had to take over parenting him when he was fourteen. Still, she might have been able to set her worry aside if it hadn’t been for her friend and work colleague, Penny, who had regaled her with every morbid story she could remember about how travellers and foreign workers went missing in faraway lands, never to be heard from again.

For two days Regan had ignored her growing fear and tried to contact Chad, but when she’d continued to have no luck Penny had almost bought her the plane ticket to Santara herself. ‘Go and make sure everything is okay,’ Penny had insisted. ‘You won’t be any good to the kids here until you do. Plus, you’ve never been on a decent holiday in the whole time I’ve known you. At best you’ll have a great adventure, at worst...’ She’d left the statement unfinished other than to say ‘And for God’s sake be careful,’ which hadn’t exactly filled Regan with a lot of confidence.

As she cast a quick glance around the bar as if she knew exactly what she was doing, her gaze was momentarily snagged by a shadowy figure in the far right corner. He was dressed all in black with a keffiyeh or shemagh of some sort on his head, his wide-shouldered frame relaxed and unmoving in a rickety wooden chair, his long legs extending out from beneath the table. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that gave her pause but nor could she shake the feeling that he was dangerous.

A shiver raced down her spine and she told herself not to be paranoid. Still, she felt for the can of mace in her handbag and, satisfied that it was there, pinned a smile on her face and turned towards the bar. A man as big as a fridge stood behind the counter, drying a glass, his expression one of utter boredom.

‘What’ll it be?’ he asked, his voice as rough as chipped cement. As far as greetings went it fell far short of the welcome mark.

‘I don’t need anything,’ Regan began politely. ‘I’m looking for a man.’

The bartender’s brow rose slowly over black beetled eyes. ‘Many men here.’

‘Oh, no.’ Regan fumbled in her pocket when she realised how that had sounded and pulled out a recent photo of Chad. ‘I’m looking for this man.’

The bartender eyed the photo. ‘Never seen him before.’

‘Are you sure?’ She frowned. ‘I know he comes here. He said so.’

‘I’m sure,’ he said, clearly unamused at being questioned. He reached for another glass and started drying it with a dishtowel that looked as if it hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine for days. Maybe weeks. ‘You want hookah? I have strawberry, blackberry and peach.’ Which would explain the fruity scent she’d noticed when she’d first walked in.

‘No, I don’t want a hookah,’ she said with a note of defeat in her voice. What she needed, she realised, was some sort of guide. Someone who could help her navigate the streets and widen her search for Chad.

She’d thought about hiring a car while she was here but the Santarians drove on the opposite side of the road to what she was used to and, anyway, Regan’s sense of direction was not one of her strong points. Some might even call it one of her worst. At least Chad would. Remembering how he had often teased her about how he could turn her in a circle and she wouldn’t know which way was north made a lump form in her throat. The thought of never seeing her brother again was too much to bear. He’d been her lifeline after their parents had died. The one thing that had kept her total despair at losing them at bay.

‘Suit yourself,’ the human fridge grumbled, ambling back down the bar to a waiting customer in local dress. In fact, most of the patrons were dressed in various forms of Arabic clothing. Everyone except the man in the corner. She cast a covetous glance in his direction to find that he was still watching her. And he hadn’t moved a muscle. Was he even breathing?

Determined to ignore him, she strengthened her resolve and shoved a dizzying sense of tiredness aside. She was here to find Chad and no oversized bartender, or man in black, was going to put her off. Feeling better, she clutched Chad’s photo tightly in her hand and started to move from table to table, asking if anyone knew him or had seen him recently. Of course, no one knew anything, but then, what had she expected? It was just a continuation of the theme of the day. As she grew more and more despondent it wasn’t until she had stopped at a large table of men playing baccarat that she realised that the low-level conversation in the bar had dwindled to almost nothing.

Suddenly nervous, she smiled at the men and asked if any of them knew Chad. A couple of them smiled back, their eyes wandering over her. Regan felt the need to cover herself with her hands but knew that she looked perfectly respectable in cotton trousers and a white blouse, the scarf covering her unruly brown hair. One of the men leaned back in his chair, his tone suggestive as he made a comment in Santarian. The other men at the table laughed and Regan knew that whatever he’d said, it hadn’t been pleasant. She might be on the other side of the world but some things were universal.

‘Okay, thanks for your help,’ she said, giving them all her stern schoolteacher look before turning her back and quickly moving to the next table.

Which, unfortunately, was his table.

Her gaze skimmed across the table with the untouched hookah on it to his hands folded across his lean abdomen. From there it travelled up the buttons of his shirtfront to his tanned neck and square jaw. Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, Regan vaguely registered a sensual unsmiling mouth, a hawk-like nose and the most piercing sapphire-blue eyes she had ever seen. And that was as far as she got. As if she was caught in the crosshairs of a predator’s glare she stood frozen to the spot, her gaze held prisoner by his. His eyes glittered with a lethal energy that was startling and Regan had the sudden realisation that she’d never come across a more dangerous-looking or unapproachable man in her life. Her heart palpitated wildly inside her chest as if she’d just stepped in quicksand and was about to sink.

Run! echoed throughout her head but, try as she might, she couldn’t make her body obey. Because not only was he dangerous-looking, but he was also sinfully good-looking, and, just as that thought hit, so did a wave of unbridled heat that raced through her whole body and warmed her face.

Good lord, what was she doing noticing his looks at a time like this?

She blinked, her sluggish brain struggling to register her options. Before she could come up with something plausible he moved, kicking the chair opposite him away from the table and blocking her avenue of escape. The sound of the chair scraping across the stone floor made her jump, and once more her heart took off at a gallop.

‘Sit down.’ His lips twisted into a mocking smile. ‘If you know what’s good for you.’

His voice was deep and powerful, commanding her to obey even though she knew it was stupid to do so.

This close she could see that he was far more physically imposing than she’d first thought, and completely, unashamedly male. He looked strong enough to be able to pick her up one-handed and take her wherever he pleased. With a start she realised she might not be completely against the idea. A ripple of excitement coursed through her, making her feel even more light-headed than the jet lag.

This was insane.

This thinking was insane. She did not react to men like this. Especially not men who looked as if they meandered on the wrong side of the law and won. Every time. Still, what could possibly happen to her in a bar full of patrons? Patrons who were still watching her with curious eyes.

Driven by the need to get out from under those curious glances, she chased off the inner voice of doubt and did as the man suggested, taking a seat and perching her handbag on her lap as some kind of shield between them. He glanced at it as if he’d guessed its purpose and his lips tilted into a knowing smirk.

Feeling exposed under his steady gaze, she somehow defeated the urge to jump back up and leave. It wasn’t as if she had many alternatives right now. After this bar she had nowhere to go except back to her hotel room, and then possibly back to Brooklyn. Defeated. She wouldn’t do that. Ever.

‘Like what you see?’

His deep voice slid over her skin like the richest velvet, making her realise that she’d been caught staring at his mouth. Alarmed, she realised that the tingly sensation swamping her senses was some sort of sexual attraction she couldn’t remember ever experiencing before.

A betraying jolt went through her and his lazy, heavy-lidded gaze told her that he was too experienced to have missed it.

Flustered and appalled at her own lack of sense, she dragged her eyes to his. ‘You speak English.’

‘Evidently.’

His droll tone and imperious gaze made her feel even more stupid than she’d felt already, and she grimaced. ‘I meant you speak English well.’

His only response was to raise one eyebrow in condescension. Regan got the distinct impression that he didn’t like her. But how was that possible when she had never even met him before?

‘What are you doing here, American?’ His voice was low and rough, his lips curling with disdain.

No, he didn’t like her. Not one little bit.

‘How do you know I’m American? Are you?’

She hadn’t been able to place his accent yet.

He gave her a humourless smile. ‘Do I look American to you?’

No, he looked like a man who could tempt a nun to relinquish her vows. And he knew it. ‘No. Sorry.’

‘So what are you doing here?’

She let out a breath and pulled herself together. She didn’t know whether to hold the photo of Chad out to him or not. Despite his relaxed slouch, he looked as if he was ready to pounce on her if she so much as blinked the wrong way. ‘I’m...looking for someone.’

‘Someone?’

‘My brother.’ Deciding there couldn’t be any harm in showing him the photo, she extended it across the table, making sure their fingers didn’t connect when he took it. His eyes held hers for a fraction longer than necessary as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Which she hoped wasn’t true because she was still stuck on the whole sexual attraction thing. ‘Have you seen him before?’

‘Maybe. Why are you looking for him?’

Regan’s eyes widened. Hope welled up inside her at the thought that she might have finally found someone who would be able to help her. ‘You have? Where? When?’

‘I repeat, why are you looking for him?’

‘Because I don’t know where he is. Do you?’

‘When was the last time you heard from him?’

His tone was blunt. Commanding. And suddenly she felt as though he was the one looking for Chad instead of her.

‘Why won’t you answer my questions?’ she asked, her instincts warning her to tread carefully.

‘Why won’t you answer mine?’

‘I have.’ She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘How do you know my brother?’

‘I didn’t say I knew him.’

‘But you did...you said...’ She shook her head. What exactly had he said? She lifted her hand to her head where it had started to ache. ‘Look, if you don’t know him just say so. I’ve had a long day and I’m really tired. Not that you care, I know, but if you know where he is I’d really appreciate you telling me.’

He looked at her for so long she didn’t think he was going to say anything. ‘I don’t know where he is.’

Something in his tone didn’t sound right but her brain was so foggy she couldn’t pick up on what it was. All she could focus on was a growing despair. After the surge of hope she’d felt moments ago it seemed to weigh more heavily on her than it had all day. ‘Okay, well—’

‘When was the last time you heard from him?’ he asked for a second time.

Regan paused before answering him. She didn’t know this man from Adam. He didn’t know her either for that matter. So why was he asking her so many questions? ‘Why do you want to know that? You already said you don’t know where he is.’

He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I don’t. But I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you.’

Their eyes clashed and Regan had a sudden image of a lethal mountain lion eyeing off a prairie rabbit. ‘Help me?’

‘Of course. You look like a woman who is almost out of options.’

She was a woman who was almost out of options. But how did he know that? Did she look as desperate as she felt?

He smiled at her but it held not a hint of warmth. ‘Are you going to deny it?’

Regan’s brows drew together. She wanted to deny it but she couldn’t. And really she could use some help right now. Especially from someone who was a local and knew the area well. Someone who might even know Chad. But this man had already admitted that he didn’t, and frankly he unsettled her. She’d thought he was dangerous when she’d first spotted him from across the room and, while closer inspection might have confirmed that he was incredibly good-looking, it hadn’t shifted her initial impression one bit. Which was strange because he hadn’t made a single threatening move towards her. Still, she listened to her instincts and there was something about him she didn’t trust. ‘Thanks anyway, but I’m good.’

‘Good?’ He gave a humorous laugh. ‘You’re a foreign woman in a bar, alone at night in a city you don’t know. Exactly how are you good, America?’

She pursed her lips at both the nickname he had given her and the element of truth behind his words. When she’d first set out it had been early evening and she hadn’t given much thought to the time. All she’d considered was finding information that might lead to Chad. But she wasn’t completely vulnerable, was she? She had her mace. ‘I just am. I’m from New York. I know what I’m doing.’

‘Really? So what’s your plan now? You going to go bar-hopping and hold up your little photo to every person you come across?’ He made the only idea that had come into her head sound ridiculous. ‘That’s fine if you’re looking for trouble as well as your brother.’

‘I’m not looking for trouble,’ she retorted hotly.

His gaze narrowed at her haughty tone, his inky black lashes making his blue eyes seem electric. It was totally unfair that she should have brown hair and brown eyes while this man was one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen in the flesh.

‘Take a look outside. You have been in my country for less than twenty-four hours and you know nothing about it. You should be glad that I’m offering my assistance.’

Regan narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘How do you know how long I’ve been in Santara?’

‘Any longer and you would know not to swan into a bar in this part of town without an escort who could take on fifty men.’

Regan felt a trickle of unease roll down her spine. She glanced around the room to find it even busier than before. ‘I’d like my photo back, please,’ she said, standing to go.

He watched her, unmoving. ‘Where are you going?’

As if she was silly enough to tell him that. ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ she said briskly, ‘and it’s getting late.’

‘So you’re just going to turn around and walk out of here?’

‘I am,’ she said with more bravado than she felt. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

‘I don’t know, America; can you take on fifty men?’

Regan shivered at the husky note in his voice, her body responding to him in a way she really couldn’t fathom. Their eyes clashed and something raw and elemental passed between them. Again, he hadn’t moved but she got the distinct impression that he was a bigger threat to her than fifty other men could ever be.

Not wanting to put that to the test, she gave him a tight smile. ‘We’ll have to see, won’t we?’

Once more conversation slowed as curious eyes surveyed her and Regan stuck her hand in her bag, palming her can of mace, before turning and striding towards the entrance of the bar as if her life depended on it.

Relieved when she made it outside without incident, she sighed and hailed a cab that by some miracle pulled into the kerb in front of her.

‘Hello? Are you free?’ she asked the pleasant-looking driver wearing some sort of chauffeur’s hat.

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Thank heavens.’ She jumped in the back and gave the driver the name of her hotel, only feeling as though she could fully relax when the dark car started moving. Which was when she realised that the stranger in black hadn’t given Chad’s photo back to her.

She glanced out through the rear window, half expecting to find him standing on the pavement watching her, but of course he wasn’t. She was being silly now. And the photo didn’t matter. She would print off another one tomorrow.


CHAPTER TWO (#ua561edfd-d489-5cce-9811-9b7691b7270e)

JAG STOOD OUTSIDE the door to Regan James’s hotel room and questioned the validity of his actions. He’d been doing that the whole drive over.

After meeting her in the bar it was clear that she knew nothing about her brother’s whereabouts. She also seemed to know nothing about his sister being with him. But then she had grown cagey when he’d probed her about the last time her brother had contacted her, and he didn’t know if that was because her sense of self-preservation had kicked in, or whether she had something to hide.

Regardless, she was his only link to Chad James and she would undoubtedly have a wealth of significant information about her brother that could lead him to find his sister.

A predatory stillness entered his body as he raised his hand to knock at the door. Regan James had been a revelation at the bar. He’d been right when he’d first seen her photo. Her eyes were not brown, they were cinnamon, and her hair was a russet gold that reminded him of the desert sands lit by the setting sun. Her voice had also been a revelation; a husky mixture of warmth and pure sex.

She had evidently reminded some of the other men in the bar of the same thing because Jag had noticed the sensual speculation in more than one male gaze as she had moved through the bar. She had a slender grace that drew the eye and her smile was nothing short of stunning. Even his own breathing had quickened at that first sight of her, and when she’d stood in front of his table, her doe eyes wide and uncertain, he’d had the shocking impulse to reach across the table and drag her into his lap.

It had been a long time since he’d responded to a woman with such unchecked desire and the only reason he was even here was because he’d realised that he couldn’t interrogate her in the bar. As it was, some of his people had started to recognise him despite the fact that he’d shaved off his customary neat beard and moustache. He rubbed his hand across his clean-shaven jaw, quite liking the sensation of bare skin. Instantly the thought of rubbing his cheek along Regan James’s creamy décolletage entered his head and altered his breathing.

He scowled at the unruly thought. It had been a long time since he’d been influenced by his emotions rather than his intellect as well; some might have said never. Milena often accused him of having ice running through his veins, of being inhuman. He wasn’t. He was as human as the next man, as his physical reaction to Regan James earlier had proven.

The fact was, Jag had learned to control his emotions at an early age and he didn’t see anything wrong with that. As a leader it was essential that he keep a cool head when everyone else was losing theirs. He had certainly never let a pretty face or a sexy body influence his decision-making process and he never would.

Irritated that he was even pondering emotions and sex, he raised his fist to bang on the door.

He heard the sound of water being shut off and a feminine, ‘Just a minute.’

He let out a rough breath. Excellent; she was just out of the shower.

The door opened wide and he found himself staring into Regan James’s gorgeous eyes. Seconds seemed to lengthen into minutes as his eyes automatically travelled down her slender form.

‘You!’

‘Me,’ Jaeger growled, his voice roughened by the swift rise of his body at the sight of her in a cotton dressing gown and towel around her head. He pushed past her into the room before she had a chance to collect herself and slam the door in his face.

‘Hold on. You can’t come barging in here.’

Jag didn’t bother to point out the obvious. That he already had. Instead he scanned the small room, looking for any signs that might clue him in as to where her brother might be.

‘Did you hear me?’ She yanked on his arm to turn him towards her and the move was so unexpected, so shocking that he did indeed turn towards her, a frown on his face. Nobody touched him without first being given permission to do so. Ever.

His eyes narrowed as she clutched the lapels of her robe closed, making him acutely aware that she was naked beneath the thin cloth. He wanted nothing more than to wrench the garment from her body and sink into her feminine softness until he couldn’t remember what it felt like to be burdened by duty. Until he couldn’t remember what it felt like to be alone. But no one could escape destiny and one night in this woman’s arms wouldn’t change anything. Duty and loneliness went hand in hand. He’d learned that from watching his father.

Savagely tamping down on needs that had materialised from who knew where, he scowled at her.

‘I heard you.’

‘Then...’ She lifted her chin in response to his brusqueness. ‘What are you doing here?’

Jag glanced at the photo of her brother in his hand before flicking it onto the coffee table. ‘You left this behind.’

Her gaze landed on the photo. ‘Well...thanks for returning it, but you could have left it with the front desk downstairs.’

Ignoring her, Jag raised the flap of her suitcase and peered at the contents. ‘Is this all the luggage you have?’

Frowning at him, she crossed the room and slammed it closed. ‘That’s none of your business.’

Deciding that he’d wasted enough time humouring this woman, Jag gave her a look that usually sent grown men into hiding. ‘I asked you a question.’

This close, he dwarfed her in height and form, but her instincts for survival must have been truly lost because she still didn’t move back from him.

‘And I asked you to leave,’ she shot back.

Jag’s lip curled. He would have thought her much braver than she looked if not for that pulse point throbbing like a battering ram at the base of her neck.

‘I’m not leaving.’ His voice held a dark warning. ‘Not before you’ve told me everything you know about your brother.’

‘You do know my brother, don’t you?’ Finally she took a quick step backwards. ‘Do you also know where he is? Did you lie about that?’

‘I ask the questions. You answer them,’ he stated coldly.

She shook her head. ‘Who are you?’

‘That is not important.’

‘Do you have my brother?’ Her voice held a fine tremor of panic. ‘You do, don’t you?’

Jag’s lip curled into a snarl. ‘If I had your brother, why would I be here?’

‘I don’t know.’ Those cinnamon-brown eyes were riveted to his. ‘I don’t know what you want or why you’re here.’ She swallowed heavily and Jag felt his chest constrict at her obvious fear. The need to soothe it—the need to soothe her—took him completely by surprise.

Knowing this would go a lot easier if she were relaxed he tried for a conciliatory tone. ‘There’s no need to be afraid, Miss James. I merely want to ask you some questions.’

His saying her name seemed to jolt something loose inside of her. He saw the rise of panic in the way her eyes darted to the side, clearly searching out an avenue of escape. Before he could think of how to placate her, to put her at ease, she darted, quick as a whippet, towards the hotel room phone.

If he’d wanted to alert hotel security to his presence he’d have called them himself and he had no choice but to stop her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and lifting her bodily off the ground.

She fought him like a little cat with its tail caught in a door, her nails digging into his forearms, the towel around her head whipping him in the face before falling to the ground.

‘Keep still,’ Jag growled, wincing as her heel connected with his shin. For a little thing she had a lot of spunk in her and if he wasn’t so irritated he’d be impressed. ‘Dammit, I’m not—’ Jag grunted out an expletive as her elbow came perilously close to connecting with his groin.

Deciding to put an end to her thrashing, he spun her around to face him and gripped her hands behind her back, bringing her body into full contact with his. Her flimsy robe had become dislodged during the struggle and this new position put her barely constrained breasts flat up against the wall of his chest. His traitorous body registered the impact and responded as if it belonged to a fifteen-year-old youth rather than a thirty-year-old man who was also a king.

She panted as she glared up at him, her wet hair wild around her flushed face. Jag’s breath stalled. Like this, with her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, her breathing ragged, she looked absolutely magnificent. And that was absolutely irrelevant.

‘I’m going to put you down,’ he said carefully. ‘If you run again, or go for the weapon in your handbag, I’ll restrain you. If you stay put this will be a lot easier.’

For him at least.

Her fulminating glare told him she didn’t believe him, but at least she’d stopped struggling.

He shook his head when she remained stubbornly silent and released her anyway. He was twice her size; if she ran again he’d stop her again. Only he’d prefer not to. It was most likely due to the stress of his sister’s disappearance, but being this close to Regan James was playing havoc with his senses.

‘Where is your phone?’

He’d check to see if she’d received any calls during the day and move on from there. He glanced into her angry face when she didn’t immediately answer. By the set of her jaw she had no intention of doing so.

‘Miss James, do not infuriate me again by making this more difficult than it has to be.’

‘Infuriate you! That’s rich! You follow me to my hotel, barge into my room and then attack me. And you’re the one who’s infuriated?’

‘I did not attack you,’ Jag said with all the patience of a saint. ‘I restrained you and I will do so again if you run again. Be warned.’

She folded her arms across her chest, a shiver racing down her body. ‘What do you want?’ She lifted her chin at a haughty angle.

‘Not you,’ he grated, ‘so you can rest easy about that.’

She looked at him as if she didn’t believe him and he could hardly blame her after the way he’d handled her. Still, it was true. He preferred his lovers sophisticated, compliant and willing. She was none of those three. So why was he so affected by her?

‘Take a seat,’ he growled, ‘so we can get down to what it is that I do want. Which is information about your brother.’

When she remained stubbornly standing Jag sighed and sat himself.

‘A week ago your brother wrote to you. Have you spoken to him since?’

‘How do you know he wrote to me?’

‘I ask the questions, Miss James,’ he reminded her with forced patience. ‘You answer them.’

‘I’m not telling you anything.’

‘I would seriously advise you to reconsider that approach.’ His voice was steely soft. She might not know it but there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to find his sister, and the reminder that this woman’s brother had her reignited his anger. She looked at him as if she wanted to bite him and he felt another unbidden surge of lust hit him hard.

‘No, I haven’t heard from him,’ she finally bit out.

‘What made you come to Santara?’

Her lips compressed and for a moment he thought she might defy him again. ‘Because he lives here. And I was worried when he didn’t answer his cell phone.’

‘He did live here.’ He wasn’t going to for much longer.

She shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t move without telling me.’

‘I take it you’re close.’

‘Very.’

The soft conviction in her voice jolted something loose inside his chest. He had once been that close to his own siblings. Then his father had died in a light-aircraft crash that had made him King. There hadn’t been time for closeness after that. There hadn’t been room for it.

‘What do you know about what your brother has been up to lately?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Really?’ He watched the flush of guilt rise along her neck with satisfaction.

‘I don’t,’ she said, shifting from one foot to the other, her eyes flashing fire and brimstone at him as she fought her desire to defy him. He would have been amused if he didn’t find her audacity so invigorating. So arousing.

‘I mean, I know that he was enjoying work, that he liked to explore the countryside on weekends, that he had just bought a new toaster oven he was particularly proud of, and that he had a new assistant.’

‘A new assistant?’

‘Yes. Look, I’m not answering any more of your questions until you answer mine.’ She planted her hands on her hips, inadvertently widening the neck of her robe. ‘Why are you so interested in my brother?’

Dragging his gaze up from her shadowy cleavage, he savagely tamped down on his persistent libido. ‘He has something of mine.’ His jaw clenched as he wondered how Milena was. Whether she was okay, or if she was in trouble. If she needed him.

‘He stole from you?’

The shock in her voice pulled his mouth into a grim slash. ‘You could say that.’

* * *

Regan noted the subtle shift in his muscles when he answered her, the coiled tension that clenched his jaw and his fists at the same time. Again she thought of a mountain lion ready to spring. Whatever her brother had taken it was important to this man. And that, at least, explained his interest in Chad. But, while her brother had gone through a couple of rough years after their parents died, he wasn’t a bad person. He was smart, much smarter than her, which was why she had worked so hard to make sure he finished high school, finally fulfilling his potential with a university degree in AI at the top of his class. An achievement that had brought him to this country that was, from the little she had seen, both untamed and beautiful.

Much like the stranger in front of her who left her breathless whenever he trained his blue gaze on her as if he was trying to see inside her. Possibly she hated that most of all; the way her body responded to his with just a look.

He was watching her now and it took all her concentration to ignore the sensations spiralling through her. If he hadn’t touched her before, grabbed her and held her hard against him it might have been easier.

Regan’s nipples tightened at the memory of his arm brushing over her. He was built like a rock, all hard dips and plains that had been a perfect foil for her own curves. And she was in a hotel room alone with him. A man who outweighed her by about a hundred pounds.

‘It wasn’t Chad,’ she said fiercely, forcing her mind back on track.

‘It was.’

‘My brother isn’t a thief,’ she said with conviction. ‘You’ve made a mistake.’

‘I don’t have the luxury of making mistakes in my line of work. Which I have to get back to. Where’s your phone?’

‘Why do you want my phone?’

Thick black lashes narrowed so that the blue of his eyes was almost completely concealed. ‘I’ve humoured you enough, Miss James. Where is it?’

He uncoiled from the sofa, all latent, angry male energy, and she instinctively stepped back. He noticed, causing her temper to override her anxiety. ‘First tell me who you are. You owe me at least that for scaring the life out of me before.’

‘Actually I don’t owe you anything, America.’ His gaze travelled over her with blatant male appraisal. ‘I am the King of Santara, Sheikh Jaeger Salim al-Hadrid.’

‘The King?’ Regan clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. The man might have an expensive-looking haircut, now that she could see it without the headdress he’d worn earlier, but with his dark clothing and scuffed boots he looked more like a mercenary than a king. And then another thought struck. Had he been hired to kill Chad? Did he think she would inadvertently lead him to her brother? ‘I doubt that. Who are you really?’

She saw instantly that laughing at this man was the wrong thing to do. His blue gaze pinned her to the spot, his body going hunting-still. ‘I am the King,’ he said coldly, taking a step towards her.

‘Okay, okay.’ Regan held her hand out to ward him off. ‘I believe you.’ She didn’t but he didn’t need to know that. As long as he left—and soon—that was all she needed him to do.

She forced her brain to forget about the perfect symmetry of his face and start thinking more about surviving. He was clearly a madman—or a potential killer—and she was alone with him in her room.

Fresh fear spiked along her spine. She tried to remember that everyone said she had a gift for communicating but this was no recalcitrant seven-year-old with a smartphone hidden beneath his desk.

‘You think I’m lying?’ he said softly.

‘No, no.’ Regan rushed to assure him, only to have him bark out a harsh sound that was possibly laughter.

‘Unbelievable.’

He shook his head and Regan briefly measured the distance from her to the door.

‘Too far,’ he murmured, as if reading her mind. Probably not difficult, since she was staring at the door as if she was willing it to open by itself. Which she was.

‘Look—’

He moved so quickly she barely got one word out before he was in front of her. ‘No more questions. No more games. Give me your phone or I’ll tear everything apart until I find it.’

‘Bathroom.’

His eyes narrowed.

‘I was taking a shower when you turned up,’ she said. ‘I like to play music while I’m in there.’

‘Get it.’

Nearly demanding that he say ‘please’, Regan decided that the best thing she could do was to stay quiet. The sooner he got what he was looking for, the sooner he would leave.

Moving on wooden legs, she walked towards the bathroom, coming up short when he followed her. Staring back at him in the bathroom mirror, she saw just how big he was, his wide shoulders filling the doorway and completely blocking out the view of the room behind him.

Their eyes connected and for a brief moment awareness charged the air between them, turning her hot. Flustered, she dropped her eyes and picked up her phone. She handed it to him, crossing her arms over her chest in a purely protective gesture.

‘Password?’

Heat radiated from his body, surrounding her, and she wished he’d move back. ‘Trudyjack,’ she said grudgingly.

‘Your parents’ names?’ He gave her a bemused look. ‘You might as well have used ABC.’

Regan’s eyes flashed to his. How did he know they were her parents’ names? How did he know so much about her?

‘Who are you?’ she whispered, frightened all over again.

‘I told you. I am the King of Santara. I knew everything about you less than an hour after your plane landed in my country.’

Regan swallowed hard and pressed herself against the basin behind her. Could he really be who he said he was? It didn’t seem possible, and yet he did have an unmistakable aura of power and authority about him. But then so did killers, she imagined.

She watched him scroll through her contact list and emails, his scowl darkening in the lengthening silence.

‘Chad’s phone is switched off,’ she said, unable to keep her vow of silence from moments ago. She couldn’t help it. She’d never been good with silences and when she was nervous that only became worse. ‘I know because I’ve tried to call him daily.’

‘He doesn’t have his phone with him.’

‘Then what are you searching for on my phone?’

‘A burner number. An email from an unknown source.’

‘How do you know he doesn’t have it with him?’

Ignoring her question, he asked another one of his own. ‘Does he have a second phone?’

Regan frowned. Why would Chad not take his phone with him? His phone was his lifeline. ‘No. But I wouldn’t tell you even if he did.’

His blue eyes melded with hers, a zing of heat landing low in her belly.

‘You like to provoke me, don’t you, Miss James?’

Regan’s heart skipped a beat at his warning tone. No, she didn’t like to provoke him. She really didn’t.

With a look of disgust he pocketed her phone. She wanted to tell him that he couldn’t keep it because her phone was her lifeline too, but at this point she’d do almost anything to placate him and make him go away.

‘Satisfied?’ she asked, the word husky on her lips.

‘Hardly.’ His gaze raked down over her again and she became acutely aware of her nudity beneath her robe. The small room seemed to shrink even more and the air grew heavy between them, making it nearly impossible for her to breathe. The man had a dire effect on her system, there was no question about that.

‘Why were you so keen to jump on a plane and fly here after that one email?’

‘I...’ Regan swallowed. ‘I was worried. It’s not like Chad to be out of contact.’

‘So you rushed over here because you thought he might be in trouble? Do you always put your brother first, or is it that you like to feel indispensable?’

Regan’s pride jolted at his words because there was some truth to them. Becoming Chad’s guardian and throwing herself into the role had helped to fill a void in her life and move on from her grief.

Hot colour flamed in her face. ‘You don’t know me.’

‘Nor do I want to. Get dressed,’ he ordered before turning and walking back into the main room.

Regan exhaled, willing herself to be calm. She moved to the doorway to find him going through the photos on her camera. Instantly she went into panic mode. ‘Hey, don’t touch that. It’s old and I can’t afford to replace it.’

She lunged to retrieve her precious camera and he held it aloft. ‘I’m not going to break it,’ he snapped. ‘Not unless you keep trying to grab it.’

Snatching her hand back from where it had landed on the hard ball of his shoulder, she slapped her hands on her hips. ‘I don’t care who you are, you have no right to go through my things.’

He gave her a dismissive glance to say that he had every right and even if he didn’t there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. ‘There isn’t anything I won’t do to get my sister back, Miss James. You’d better get used to that idea.’

His sister?

Regan frowned. ‘What has your sister got to do with anything?’

Slowly his gaze returned to hers, the blue so clear and so cold she could have been staring into a glacier. ‘Your brother has my sister. And now I have his.’

‘That’s insane.’

‘For once we agree on something.’

‘No, I mean you’re insane. My brother isn’t with your sister. He would have told me.’

‘Really?’

Maybe. Maybe not. ‘Are they in a relationship or something?’ If they were she was a bit hurt that he hadn’t told her. They had always shared everything in the past.

‘You’d better hope not. Now move. My patience is at an end. I need to return to the palace.’

Wait? Was he really the King of Santara?

‘I’m... I’m not going anywhere with you.’

‘If you insist on going as you are I won’t stop you. But you’ll get far more looks than you did earlier, parading around in tight jeans and a flimsy shirt.’

‘My clothes were perfectly respectable, thank you very much.’

‘You have five minutes.’

‘I’m not going with you.’

‘That’s your choice, of course, but the alternative is that you remain in this room until your brother returns.’

Regan frowned. ‘You mean as in locked in here?’

‘I can’t afford to have my sister’s disappearance become public knowledge. With you asking questions and wandering around on your own you’ll only draw attention to yourself. And, no doubt, get yourself into trouble in the process.’

‘I won’t say anything. I promise!’

Regan knew she sounded desperate and she was. The thought of being locked in a hotel room for who knew how long was not acceptable. If what this man said was true she wanted freedom to find Chad and figure out what was going on. Preferably before this man found him.

He shook his head. ‘Make your decision. I don’t have all night.’

‘I’m not staying here!’

‘Then get dressed.’

Regan’s mind was spinning out of control. Her head, already fuzzy from lack of sleep, was struggling to keep pace with the rate at which things were moving. ‘I need more time to think about this.’

‘I gave you five minutes. You now have four.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever met a more arrogant person than you. Actually, strike that: I know I haven’t.’

He folded his hands across his chest, his muscular legs braced wide, his expression hard. Like this he looked as if he could take on fifty men blindfolded and win.

‘Your telephone service will be disconnected and I will have guards posted outside your door. I do not advise you to try to leave.’

‘But how do I know you are who you say you are?’ she said on a rush. ‘You could be an imposter for all I know. A murderer. I’d be crazy to go with you.’

‘I am not a murderer.’

‘I don’t know that!’

‘Get dressed and I’ll prove it to you.’

‘How?’

He heaved an impatient sigh. ‘You can ask any member of the hotel staff downstairs. They will know who I am.’

For the first time since he had barged into her room Regan saw a way out. If he was really going to take her downstairs then she had a chance of alerting someone as to what was going on.

‘Okay, just...’ She grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt from her case. ‘Just give me a minute.’

Locking herself in the bathroom, she very nearly didn’t come back out but decided that he’d most likely break the door down if she aggravated him too much. He had the arms for it.

Concentrating more on his abundant negative qualities, she opened the door to find him propping up the opposite wall, looking at his watch. ‘One minute early. I’m impressed.’

Arrogant jerk.

Regan grabbed her handbag and walked ahead of him out the door. She waited as he stabbed the elevator button. ‘If you’re really a king, where are all your guards?’

‘I rarely take guards with me on unofficial business. I can take care of myself.’

Convenient, she thought.

‘And why was it that no one in the shisha bar knew your identity? If you’re really the King I would have expected some bowing and scraping.’

The slow smile he gave her told her he wouldn’t mind making her bow and scrape for him. ‘I’ve found that people rarely see what they’re least expecting.’

Regan raised a brow. She couldn’t argue with that. She might have thought he looked dangerous when she had first seen him, but she hadn’t expected him to turn up at her door making outrageous accusations about her brother. Nor had she expected him to tell her he was the King. Though whether or not that was true still remained to be seen.

‘How’s the headache?’ he asked, watching her in the mirrored wall. Regan slid her gaze to his. ‘Don’t bother denying it,’ he continued. ‘You’re so pale you look like you’re about to pass out.’

‘My head is fine.’ She wasn’t about to admit that he was right. She wasn’t sure what he would do with the information. She wouldn’t put it past him to try to make it worse.

When they arrived at the lobby Regan felt a surge of adrenaline race through her. Glancing around, she was disappointed to find that the large lobby was mostly empty. Before she could make a move in either direction her arm was gripped, vice-like, and she was towed along towards the reception desk.

The smile on the young man’s face faltered as he took them in. They probably looked quite a sight, she thought grimly. Her with her fast-drying hair no doubt resembling a wavy cloud around her head, and her unwanted companion with a scowl as dark as his clothing.

‘Ah, Your Majesty, it is an honour.’ The man bowed towards the desk, his expression one of eternal deference. Then he said something in Santarian that her companion answered. The younger man’s eyes went as big and as round as a harvest moon.

‘But...’ He gave her a panicked look. ‘Miss James, this is His Majesty the King of Santara.’ The words almost came out in a stutter, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was saying them.

Frankly, nor could Regan. ‘How do I know you haven’t just set this up?’ she said with disdain. ‘One man’s opinion is hardly folk law.’ Turning back to the concierge, Regan said, ‘Actually, I’d like to report—’

She didn’t get any further as the stranger beside her growled something low under his breath and then towed her further into the lobby, veering off towards the sound of a pianist playing a soulful song. Through French windows Regan saw a room full of people.

Stopping just inside the entrance, they stood waiting until finally most of the room grew silent, staring at the two of them. Then half of the occupants stood and bowed low towards the man still holding her arm.

Regan shook her head, her brain refusing to compute the evidence that he really was the King of Santara. Which meant that if he was right then maybe her brother was with his sister, Princess Milena, his new research assistant. She swallowed, swaying on her feet.

Clearly worried she was about to do something girly, like swoon in his presence, the King snaked a hand around her waist, pulling her up against him. Regan set her hand flat against his chest to stop their bodies colliding. Her head fell back on the stem of her neck as the heat from his body sapped the last of her strength. She could feel his heart pounding a steady rhythm to match her own but all she could focus on was the blue of his eyes, indigo in the soft light. Time seemed to disappear as he looked back at her with such heat Regan’s thoughts ceased to exist. It didn’t matter who she was or what he was. All that mattered was that he kiss her. Kiss her so that the ache building inside her subsided.

A soft growl left his throat, his eyes devouring her lips, and for a brief moment she thought he would kiss her.

But then his eyes turned as sharp as chipped jewels and his hand tightened on her hip. ‘Satisfied?’ he murmured, throwing her earlier question back at her.

Regan shook her head, her balance precarious despite his firm hold. She heard the word ‘no’ coming from a long, dark tunnel right before she did something she’d never done before. She fainted.


CHAPTER THREE (#ua561edfd-d489-5cce-9811-9b7691b7270e)

TWO NIGHTS LATER Jag sat behind his large desk brooding over the voice message he had received from Milena.

‘Hi Jag. I know you’re worried—you’re you—and I’m sorry I can’t tell you where I am, or what I’m doing, but I want you to know that I’m with a friend and I’m fine. I’ll explain everything when I return. I love you.’

‘Any idea where the call originated from?’ he asked Tarik.

‘Unfortunately not. It was likely made from a burner phone and it was sent through several different carriers. Whoever scrambled the transmission is good.’

Chad had scrambled the transmission, of that Jag was one hundred percent certain; he’d hired the kid in the first place because he was a borderline genius with technology. Anger coursed through him, a hot and welcome replacement for the impotence he’d felt since she’d gone.

He turned to stare outside the window, brooding. On the one hand he was happy that his sister was safe and well, but the reality was that she could have been forced into making that phone call. Not that she’d sounded forced. She’d sounded full of vigour. Almost buoyant. A state he hadn’t seen her in for quite a while. A state he would welcome if the memory of what had transpired three years ago wasn’t like a smoking gun in his mind.

Then there was the obvious assumption that if she hadn’t been forced to leave Santara then she’d gone somewhere with Chad James of her own free will, and that raised a whole host of ugly questions Jag didn’t want to consider. Questions like, what were they doing together that Milena wasn’t able to tell him about? Like maybe she was considering not going through with the marriage to the Crown Prince of Toran? Questions like, was she unhappy, and, if so, why hadn’t she come to him the way she used to when she was a child?

He rubbed his fingers hard across his forehead. Well, of course she’d been coerced. There was no other way to look at this. Just as he had coerced Regan James into coming to the palace. He recalled the moment she had fainted when she had discovered that he was actually the King, the dead weight of her body as she’d slumped in his arms. He’d had a lot of reactions from women in the past when they’d found out he was royalty—everything from obsequious preening to outright manipulation—but he’d never had a woman faint on him before. Which had been a good thing because right before that he’d nearly given in to an urge he’d been fighting all night and leant down and kissed her. In public! He didn’t know what bothered him about that the most: the fact that his inimitable self-control had taken a long hike, or that he would have shocked the hell out of those watching.

Shocked himself, he’d quickly scooped her into his arms and taken her out to his waiting SUV. She’d come to fairly quickly in the car, demanding that he return her to her hotel, but he had calmly reminded her that it had been her choice to come with him and that she was now out of options.

Well aware that his behaviour had been less than stellar with regard to the American woman, he pushed thoughts of her, and his sister, from his head and picked up the raft of reports he needed to sign off. ‘These can go to Helen to have the corrections worked up, these can go back to Finance, and this one I still have to read. Tell Ryan I’ll get to it later tonight.’

‘Very good.’

He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘For once I hope that’s it for the night.’ He gave Tarik a faint smile and saw the old man hesitate. It was only the slightest of movements but Jag knew him too well to miss it. His body immediately shifted into combat mode. ‘What is it? And please tell me it has nothing to do with the American.’

As much as he had been trying to keep her presence in the palace under wraps, she had been trying to stop him. Banging on the door of her suite, demanding that she be given her phone and her computer, demanding that she be released, demanding that he come to her. But Jag didn’t want to go to her. Already her voice and the memory of her scent had imprinted themselves on his brain. He couldn’t imagine that seeing her was going to make that any better.

‘Unfortunately it does. She is refusing to eat,’ Tarik said.

‘Refusing to eat?’ Jaeger felt his stomach knot. ‘Since when?’

‘Since last night, sir. She did not eat her evening meal and today she has rejected all food.’

Jag’s jaw hardened. If Regan thought she was going to make herself ill by not eating she had another thing coming.

Trying not to overreact, he pushed himself to his feet. ‘What time is her evening meal due to be delivered?’

‘It has been delivered. She sent it away.’

Jaeger scowled. ‘Have my dinner taken to her suite in half an hour.’

He made to leave but again Tarik hesitated.

‘Please tell me you’ve left the best to last,’ Jag drawled.

Tarik grimaced. ‘Not exactly, Your Majesty, but I have it in hand.’ He passed Jaeger a printout from a local news website. On it were two photos of himself and Regan standing close together. They must have been snapped by one of the patrons in the hotel, the camera perfectly capturing the moment she had discovered he was the King: her eyes wide, lips softly parted, wild mane cascading down her back like a silken waterfall. The next was right before she’d fainted. Jag had tangled his fingers through her hair to cup the nape of her neck, his other hand tight around her waist. Her face had been upturned, her mouth inches from his own. Would those pink lips have tasted as pure and sweet as they looked? Would the skin of her abdomen feel as soft beneath his fingertips as the nape of her neck? Would—?

Tarik cleared his throat. Jag inhaled deeply, uncomfortably aware that his trousers were fitting a little snugger than they were before. What the hell was wrong with him?

‘Fortunately they were taken down before any damage was done,’ Tarik informed him. ‘And the woman’s name was not discovered. But I thought you should be informed.’

‘Of course I should be informed.’ He glanced at the images again, an idea forming in his mind at rapid speed. If he was going to detain Regan James until her brother returned then by damned he would make her useful to him. ‘Republish the photos.’

‘Your Majesty?’

‘Make sure her name is attached and that the images are picked up by the international Press. If the sight of her in my arms doesn’t bring her brother out of the woodwork, I don’t know what will.’

Tarik looked at him as if he wanted to protest but Jag wasn’t in the mood to listen. He wanted a hot meal, a cool shower and a peaceful night’s sleep. Since meeting her the American woman had interfered with the latter; now it seemed she would be interfering with the first two as well.

* * *

Regan’s stomach grumbled loudly in the silent room and she pressed her palm against her belly. ‘It’s been one day,’ she told her objectionable organ. ‘People can survive a lot longer than that without food, so stop complaining.’

She didn’t know exactly how long a human being could survive without food, but she recalled various movies about survival and knew it was more than a day.

Mind you she was starving and her errant brain advised her that food would help to keep her strength up. And that the arrogant ruler of Santara wouldn’t care about her eating habits anyway.

But it wasn’t just the lack of food bothering her. It was the boredom and worry. She’d come to Santara to make sure Chad was okay. Not only was she not doing that but she wasn’t doing anything at all. She’d never had so much time on her hands and she was going crazy. The first day she had kept herself busy taking photos of the amazing garden suite she was imprisoned in; the arched Moorish windows, the Byzantine blues and greens that were used to colour the room and the amazing studded teak doors, the one keeping her locked in being the most beautiful of all, which she refused to see as ironic in any way.

Then there was the garden with the swaying palm trees, and deep blue tiled pool. The whole place was stunning and she itched to download her images onto her laptop and play around with the lighting and composition. If she’d been in this magical place under any other circumstances she doubted she’d want to leave.

But more than that she wanted to see the King again. Not because she wanted to see him per se, but because she wanted to know if he had an update on Chad. She hadn’t realised when she’d made the choice to leave her hotel room that she’d be swapping one prison for another. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so tired and strung-out, if he’d given her more time to consider her options, she would have made a different choice. She certainly wouldn’t have thought about what it would feel like to kiss him!




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