The Sultan's Choice

He ignored her. ‘I know you’ve got a closely knit and loyal group of friends.’

Without a hint of self-pity and vaguely surprised that he knew this, she said, ‘That says more about who I am and the background I come from than anything else.’ Remembering one painful episode in college, she went on, ‘I could never fully trust that people weren’t making friends just because they thought they could get something out of me.’ When he still looked unmoved she said desperately, ‘I’m boring!’

He arched an incredulous brow. ‘Someone who is boring doesn’t embark on a three-woman trip across the Atlantic in a catamaran made out of recycled materials in a bid to raise awareness about the environment.’

Samia was immediately disconcerted. ‘You know about that?’

He nodded and looked a little stern. ‘I think it was either one of the most foolhardy or one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.’

She flushed deeper and couldn’t stop a dart of pleasure rushing through her at the thought she’d earned this man’s admiration. ‘I care about the environment … The other two were old friends from college, and they couldn’t raise the funding required on their own … But once I got involved …’ Her voice trailed off, her modesty not wanting to make it sound as if she’d been instrumental in the project.

Sadiq rocked back on his heels. ‘I have a well-established environmental team in Al-Omar that could do with your support. I often find I’m too tied up with other concerns to give it my full attention. We’ve both grown up in rarefied environments, Samia, both grown up being aware of public duty. If anything, your teenage and childhood experiences will make you more empathetic with people—an essential quality in any queen.’

Samia objected to his constant avowal of partnership, and the tantalising carrot of being able to work constructively for the environment, but her attempt to halt him in his tracks with a weak-sounding ‘Sadiq …’ made no impact.

‘You might find social situations intimidating, but with time they’ll become second nature. Also, you can’t deny that having grown up as a princess in a royal court you are aware of castle politics and protocol. You would have learnt that by osmosis. These are all invaluable assets to me in any marriage I undertake. I don’t have the time or the inclincation to train someone.’

Samia blinked up at him again. She couldn’t deny it. As much as she might want to. Even though she’d spent her formative years avoiding her stepmother, she knew castle politics like the back of her hand—she’d had to learn to survive. Her knowledge of the things he spoke had been engraved invisibly on her psyche like a tattoo from birth.

‘I want to create a solid alliance between Al-Omar, Merkazad and Burquat. We live in unstable times and need to be able to depend on each other. Marrying you will ensure a strong alliance with your brother. I already have it with Merkazad. Your father’s rule put Burquat firmly in an isolated position, which did your country no favours. Thankfully your brother is reversing that stance. I don’t see how you have any grounds at all—apart from your own personal concerns—to believe that you are not fit to become my queen, and in so doing ensure the future stability of your country.’

Samia swallowed painfully, glued to his glittering blue eyes in sick fascination. He was right. She could no more stand there and deny these facts than she could deny her very heritage and lineage. She might have hidden herself away in a college and then a dusty library for the past few years, but she’d always had the knowledge of this ultimate responsibility within her.

And her concerns were personal—selfish, in fact. She just did not have that luxury. She wasn’t the same as the average person on the street. She had obligations, responsibilities.

As if he could sense her weakening, Sadiq moved closer and Samia’s breath faltered. That embarrassing heat was back, rising inexorably through her body, and for the first time she recognised it not as the heat of embarrassment or shyness but as a totally different kind of heat. The heat of desire. The fact that he was having the same inevitable effect on her as every other woman he must encounter was humiliating. She was not immune.

‘I …’ She had to swallow to get her voice to work. He was standing so close now that all she could see was those dark blue irises, sucking her in and down into a vortex of nebulous needs she’d never felt before. She battled her own sapping will and focused. ‘I accept what you’re saying. They’re all valid points.’

‘I know they are.’

Had his voice dropped an octave? It sounded like it. They were standing so close now that Samia could feel his warm breath feather around her, could smell the intensely masculine scent of sandalwood and musky spice. It was the memory of that scent that had kept her awake for long hours last night.

To her utter shock he reached out a hand and touched his thumb to her bottom lip, tugging it. She had the most bizarre urge to flick out her tongue and taste his finger. Her heart slowed to about a beat a minute.

‘That’s better. You shouldn’t be so tense. You have a very pretty mouth.’

A pretty mouth? No one had ever referred to her as pretty in her life. Instantly Samia felt as if a cold bucket of water had been flung over her. She stepped back abruptly, forcing the Sultan’s hand down, breaking the spell. Clearly the man felt the need to placate her with false compliments. What was wrong with her? Believing for half a second that she was in some sensual bubble with the Sultan of Al-Omar who had courted and bedded some of the world’s greatest beauties?

Her face flaming again, Samia looked away and tried to regain control, breathing a sigh of relief when she sensed Sadiq move back too.

His voice was tight. ‘Samia, it’s inevitable. You might as well give in now, because I won’t. Not until you say yes.’

She gulped and shook her head. Words were strangled in her throat. She was more sure than ever that she couldn’t do this. Especially after she’d all but sucked his finger into her mouth like some wanton groupie!

She heard him sigh expressively and sneaked a look. He was glancing at his watch and then looking at her. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m hungry. I’ve had a busy day.’

Samia just looked at him stupidly for a moment. The tension in the atmosphere diminished. And then her stomach gurgled loudly at the thought of food. She’d been so wound up for the last thirty-six hours that she’d barely eaten a thing.

As if Sadiq could see the turmoil on her face he quirked his mouth and came close again, playing havoc with Samia’s hearbeat, and tipped up her chin with a finger.

‘Rest assured I won’t stop until you have agreed to become my wife and queen. But we might as well start to get to know one another a little better in the meantime. And eat.’

Before she knew what was happening Sadiq was leading the way from the study with her jacket over his arm. She opened her mouth to protest, but then they were in the hall and he was conferring with his butler who bowed and indicated for Samia to follow Sadiq into what turned out to be a dining room.

It was more than impressive. Dark walls were lined with portraits of Sadiq’s ancestors in western dress, looking very exotic, a huge gleaming oak table dominated the room and there was a setting for two at the top of the table.

Sadiq was standing behind a chair, looking at her expectantly, and, feeling very weak, Samia went forward and sat down. There was a flurry of activity as the butler came back with more staff and they were presented with options for dinner. Samia made her choice without even thinking about what she was ordering.

When they were momentarily alone Samia bit her lip for a moment and began to speak, not even sure what she wanted to say. ‘Sadiq …’

But he just poured her a glass of chilled white wine and said disarmingly, ‘You made the right choice with the fish. Marcel, our chef, is an expert. He used to work for the Ritz in Paris.’

Samia took the proffered glass and felt her unruly hair slip over her shoulder. She’d long lamented the fact that her hair didn’t fall in sleek and smooth waves like her younger sisters’, who’d all inherited their own mother’s exotic dark colouring. Kaden had inherited their father’s dark looks, so she’d always been the odd one out. Her stepmother had only had to breathe air into Samia’s own sense of isolation to compound it.

She felt a little naked with her hair down like this—somehow exposed, as if some secret feminine part of herself was being bared to the sun. It wasn’t altogether uncomfortable, which made it even more disturbing. Sadiq sat back and smiled at Samia urbanely, making her stomach flip-flop. If he turned on the charm she didn’t know how she would cope.

As if privy to her private thoughts, that was exactly what he did.

For the next hour and a half, while they ate delicious food, he managed to draw Samia out of her shell. At first she did her best to resist, but it was like trying to resist the force of a white water rapid. Something was happening—some intangible shift.

Perhaps she’d started feeling this softening, melting sensation when he’d mentioned her sailing trip? Or perhaps it had been his easy acceptance when she’d told him about her stuttering and shyness. She’d never told anyone about that before, and had done so with him purely in a bid to repel him. But it hadn’t worked. He’d empathised. It was almost like a betrayal to witness the sudden ease with which she was finding herself talking to him now, albeit about superficial subjects.

He was disarming her enough to make her forget for a moment who he was. It was seductive evidence of a self-deprecating side, and of the undeniable bond they shared in both coming from the same part of the world, from a similar background. Everything he had already pointed out. She had not expected self-deprecation from this man, or any kind of feeling of kinship with him. She hadn’t expected him to defuse the tension like this.

They were finishing their coffee when Samia looked at Sadiq, somewhat emboldened after the meal and a glass of wine. ‘You’re very good you know,’ she said.

He quirked a brow, his eyes breathtakingly blue against the olive tone of his skin. ‘Good? In what way?’

Samia had to concentrate. It was like sitting across the table from a Hollywood heart-throb, not a head of state. ‘At charming people.’

He shrugged minutely, and for a second Samia saw something stern flash across his face and into those eyes.

Immediately the warm bubble of fuzziness that had been infusing her dissipated. Of course. How could she have been so silly? This was all an act—an act put on her for benefit and his, to get to her to acquiesce to his plans for marriage. Of course he was charming her. And she was falling for it and believing it like any other woman with a pulse would.

She made a point of looking at her watch, even though she didn’t register the time, and then looked back at Sadiq, tensing herself against his effect on her.

‘I have to be up early tomorrow. I’m still handing over to my successor.’

Sadiq sat forward. ‘You like working in the library here?’

That rebellious streak rising again, Samia said defiantly, ‘Yes. And a queen who is more at home surrounded by books is hardly the queen for you.’

Sadiq had to quell the sudden urge to wipe that prim look off Samia’s face by kissing her. He’d had her in the palm of his hand during the meal—he knew it. She’d been more relaxed than he’d seen her. And with that had come the realisation that he had grossly underestimated her appeal. The spark of desire that had lit earlier had erupted into full-on lust as he’d watched her natural effervescence emerge.

She’d blossomed quite literally before his eyes—like a flower being exposed to heat and light after being hidden in a dark corner. It was the most amazing thing. She reminded him of a dimond in the rough. Actually, he amended, more like a dark and glowing yellow diamond. A rare jewel.

But now she’d clammed up again like an oyster shell, protecting the bounty within. Those full lips were once again a thin line, the eyes downcast. He signalled discreetly to his staff and rose smoothly to his feet once his wayward body felt more under control. A dart of satisfaction went through him at seeing Samia look confused for a moment, as if she’d expected him to challenge her. And then she rose to her feet too, somewhat less assuredly, and that protective instinct surged again. Sadiq had to clench his hands to fists to stop himself reaching out to steady her.

He couldn’t understand his physical response. The last woman he’d been with had been hailed as the most beautiful woman in the world three years running. And there had never been one moment when he’d felt protective of her. When he tried to picture her now all he remembered was that his desire for her had waned long before he’d admitted it to himself. And yet this woman, whose appeal was more wholesomely pretty than beautiful, was having a more incendiary effect on his libido than he could remember.

As Samia preceded Sadiq out of the dining room, he thought of something to test her. She got to the front door and turned around. Clearly she was hoping he wouldn’t challenge her again. He almost pitied her for her blind optimisim. He handed her her jacket and watched her expression closely.

‘You know,’ he mused, ‘perhaps you’re right after all. Perhaps you’re not suitable to be my wife.’

Something suspiciously exultant moved through him as he caught the split second of a reaction she couldn’t hide because her face was just too expressive.

Samia opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She stilled in the act of putting her jacket on. He’d completely surprised her. And, to her utter chagrin, instead of feeling relieved she had the absurd desire to contradict him and tell him that she could be a good wife for him. What was going on?

She tried desperately to hide her confusion as she continued putting on her jacket. ‘You mean if I was to walk out of here right now you wouldn’t stop me? Or pursue this matter?’

Sadiq smiled, but it was the smile of a shark. ‘You don’t really believe I’m just going to let you walk away, do you?’

Anger rose bright and rapid at the realisation that he was playing with her. Samia grabbed for the door and tried to wrench it open, but it wouldn’t budge. She turned back, exasperated at being trapped. ‘If your door worked you could watch me walk out right now, and there wouldn’t be one thing you could do about it.’

Samia was mortified, because she knew well that he’d caught her out. She’d shown her reaction before she could hide it. He knew how conflicted she was about this.

‘The door works fine, Samia. I just wanted to see how you’d react if you got a sniff of freedom, and your face told me all I need to know.’

Acting on a purely animal instinct to escape a threat, Samia turned back to the door and this time it opened. She stood in the doorway, breathing deep, and almost simultaneously lights exploded all around her.

The paparazzi.

Samia heard a colourful Arabic curse behind her even as she registered big burly bodyguards materializing as if from thin air to hold the photographers back. Strong arms came around her and pulled her into a lean and hard muscled body. Samia was plastered against Sadiq’s length as he all but carried her back over the threshold and into the house.

It took a second for her to register that it was quiet again and the door was shut behind them. Samia’s breath sounded laboured, and she realised that she was still clamped to Sadiq like a limpet. Breasts crushed to his chest. She scrambled backwards, face flaming.

Sadiq raked a hand through his hair. ‘Are you okay? I’m sorry about that. Sometimes they lie in wait once they know I’m here, and the bodyguards can’t do anything.’

He could still feel the imprint of her body—the firm swells of her breasts pressed against him just for that brief moment. How delicate she’d been. She’d fit into his body like a missing jigsaw piece. For someone used to women who almost matched him in height, it had been a novel sensation.

She was standing there, looking dishevelled and innocently sexy with colour high in her cheeks, and he knew that she had no idea how alluring she was—which only inflamed him more, because he was used to women being all too aware of their so-called allure.

‘You knew about that.’

He frowned, not liking the accusatory tone in her voice. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You just said that you know they lie in wait. I’m going to be all over the papers with you. Leaving your house.’

Samia realised she was shaking violently. She heard another curse and felt Sadiq take her arm in a firm grip. ‘Come back into the study. You’re in shock.’

Once in the big stately room, Sadiq all but pressed Samia down into a chair and went to get a tumbler of brandy. He came back and handed it to her. ‘Take a sip. You’ll feel better in a minute.’

Hating feeling so vulnerable, Samia took the glass and a gulp of the drink, coughing slightly. She watched Sadiq pour himself a drink and come to sit opposite her on a matching chair. The lights in the room made his amazing good-looks stand out. An awful alien yearning tugged low in her belly and she put down the drink and crossed her arms across her chest defensively.

Grimly he said, ‘I’d forgotten all about the paparazzi. Of course I had no intention of putting you in that situation.’

Samia gulped, her anger dissipating. She knew he was telling the truth. A man like him would not have to resort to such measures. Restless, Samia stood up. ‘Look, thank you for the dinner … I—’

She stopped when Sadiq stood too, and she had to curb the ridiculous urge to look for an exit, as if she were alone with a wild animal. Samia put out her hands wide in an unconsciously pleading gesture.

‘What happened just now should prove how unsuitable I am. That was my first time being caught by the paparazzi. You need someone who is used to that kind of thing—who knows how to handle it.’

Distaste curdled in Sadiq’s belly. That was exactly what he didn’t want. He was more sure than ever that he wanted her—and for reasons that went beyond the practical and mundane.

He came closer to Samia and an unmistakable glint of triumph shone in his eyes and she felt sick. She could talk till she was blue in the face but the game was up. He’d called her bluff. She’d shown her telltale confusion. He’d manipulated her beautifully. Bitter recrimination burnt her. He was so close now that all she could see were those mesmerising eyes, and all she could smell was that uniquely male scent.

‘Your reaction tells me you’re conflicted about this decision, Samia. So let me take the conflict out of it for you. Agree to become my wife because there simply is no other alternative. You are of royal blood, from an ancient lineage. You were born for this role, and nothing you do or say can change that. To fight this is to fight fate, me and your brother.’

From his jacket pocket he pulled out a small velvet box, and all the while his eyes never left hers. He opened it, and Samia couldn’t help but look down between them. The ring was surprisingly simple. It was obviously an antique—a square-cut stone in a gold setting, strikingly unusual and beautiful.

‘It’s a yellow sapphire. It was my paternal grandmother’s—a gift from my grandfather on one of their wedding anniversaries.’

Sadiq didn’t tell her that this distinctive ring had been in his mind’s eye ever since he’d met her, and that it was a lucky coincidence it had been in the family’s jewel vault in London. He’d sent back the diamond ring he’d planned on using, feeling absurdly exposed in acknowledging that he hadn’t been happy with a stock ring, which should have been perfectly adequate for what was essentially a stock wedding.

Samia looked up, and Sadiq took her hand in his. He looked so deep into her eyes that she felt as if she might drown and diappear for ever. She knew on some rational level that he was probably not even aware of his power. Unconsciously her fingers tightened around his as if to anchor herself, and something undefinable lit in Sadiq’s eyes, hypnotising her even more.

‘Princess Samia Binte Rashad al Abbas, will you please do me the very great honour of becoming my wife and Queen of Al-Omar?’

CHAPTER FOUR

AT that cataclysmic moment, while Sadiq’s words hung in the air, Samia had a flashback she couldn’t repress. She was hiding in the library of his castle after knocking over the table of drinks, cursing herself for being so clumsy and awkward. Her peace was shattered when a man walked into the room.

He didn’t spot her because the lights were dim, and all Samia knew as she sat there barely breathing was that he was tall, dark and powerful looking. Yet she wasn’t afraid. He walked over to the window which overlooked one of the castle’s numerous beautiful inner courtyards and stood there for long moments, as silent as a statue, with an air of deep melancholy pervading the air around him.

He sighed deeply and dropped his head to run a weary hand back and forth over his short hair. Something about this man was connecting with Samia on a very deep level, she felt his pain, empathised with his isolation. Without even thinking about what she was doing, responding to some impulse to do something, Samia was almost out of her chair when another person entered the room: a woman, tall and blonde and statuesque, and very, very beautiful.

The man turned around and to Samia’s shock she realised it was the charismatic Sultan she’d met only hours before. The melancholy and sense of isolation disappeared. She watched as his blue eyes glittered, taking in the woman’s approach. In the place of the vulnerability she might have imagined was the hard shell of a supremely confident and sexual man, and she knew then that she had witnessed something incredibly private—something of himself that he would hate to know had been witnessed by anyone else.

Samia watched the woman walk straight up to him. She twined herself around him and, perversely, Samia wanted the Sultan to push this woman away contemptuously. As if he was hers! But as she watched, mesmerised, he backed the blond beauty up against a wall and proceeded to kiss her so passionately that Samia made an inadvertent sound of dismay.

Two faces turned towards her and Samia ran from the room, mortified to have been caught watching like a voyeur.

And now she was looking up into those same blue eyes, and she felt as if a hole had opened up in her belly. All she could remember was that intense vulnerability she’d seen, or thought she’d seen, in the Sultan that night, and the connection she’d felt.

She couldn’t block out that image of the secret side of this man even as she sensed his steely determination. He would not rest until she said yes, and that made a curious sense of calm settle over her. He was right: to fight this was to fight fate, her brother and him. She denied to herself that that evocative memory was a tipping point, because that would mean that Sadiq was connecting with her on an emotional level, and she would deny that with every cell in her body.

This decision was about inevitability, logic and practicality, and the sheer weight of her lineage which put her in this position. She opened her mouth to speak and saw Sadiq’s jaw tense, as if warding off a blow. Immediately she felt the impulse to reach up and smooth his jaw. She clenched her hand.

‘I …’ Her voice sounded rusty. ‘Yes. I’ll marry you.’

For a second there was no reaction. She wasn’t even sure if she’d spoken out loud. But then Sadiq slid the ring onto her finger, bent his head and pressed his lips to it. They were warm and slightly parted, and her belly tightened with a need that was becoming horribly familiar. His head was so close to her breast.