Royal Affairs: Desert Princes & Defiant Virgins

Three royal sheikhs … used to having everything they want—always! Three feisty women … about to be brides?

Royal AFFAIRS:

DESERT PRINCES & DEFIANT VIRGINS

Fantastic novels from bestsellers:

Sarah Morgan, Susan Mallery

& Kim Lawrence

THE

Royal AFFAIRS:

COLLECTION

Royal AFFAIRS:

DESERT PRINCES

& DEFIANT VIRGINS

The Sheikh’s Virgin Princess SARAH MORGAN

The Sheikh and The Virgin Secretary SUSAN MALLERY

Desert Prince Defiant Virgin KIM LAWRENCE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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The Sheikh’s Virgin Princess

SARAH MORGAN

About the Author

USA TODAY bestselling author SARAH MORGAN writes lively, sexy stories for Modern™ and Medical™ Romance.

As a child Sarah dreamed of being a writer and although she took a few interesting detours on the way, she is now living that dream. With her writing career she has successfully combined business with pleasure and she firmly believes that reading romance is one of the most satisfying and fat-free escapist pleasures available. Her stories are unashamedly optimistic and she is always pleased when she receives letters from readers saying that her books have helped them through hard times.

RT Book Reviews has described her writing as “action packed and sexy” and her books have been nominated for their Reviewer’s Choice Awards and their ‘Top Pick’ slot.

Sarah lives near London with her husband and two children who innocently provide an endless supply of authentic dialogue. When she isn’t writing or reading Sarah enjoys music, movies and any activity that takes her outdoors.

Readers can find out more about Sarah and her books from her website www.sarahmorgan.com. She can also be found on Facebook and Twitter.

Don’t miss Sarah Morgan’s exciting new novel, Doukakis’s Apprentice, available in July from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

PROLOGUE

‘FIND me a way out of this. And find it fast! Simmering with rage and frustration, the Sultan paced across the thick Persian carpet, and then turned and glared at the group of men who sat in frozen silence around the polished, antique table. ‘Time is running out, and I tell you now that I will not marry that woman!

His announcement was met by a collective gasp of dismay, and his team of advisors conferred hastily, their communication a series of babbled suggestions and nervous gestures unlikely to produce a satisfactory solution to any problem, let alone one of huge national importance.

They are like stunned rabbits, the Sultan thought grimly as he viewed them with mounting exasperation.

‘Your Excellency.’ One of the lawyers rose to his feet, his hands shaking. ‘We have looked through all the past statutes. There is no way out of this marriage.’

‘Then look again.’ His voice deadly soft, the Sultan watched as the man paled. ‘Look again and find something we can use—something that allows us to break this ridiculous contract.’

‘That’s the problem, Your Excellency.’ The lawyer’s fingers gripped the edge of the table that provided the only barrier between him and the Sultan. ‘There isn’t anything. There is no precedent for this. Your father made this agreement with the late Crown Prince of Rovina sixteen years ago, a few months before his untimely death. They were at school together, and in the army—’

‘I don’t need a lecture on why I find myself in this situation,’ the Sultan growled. ‘Just advice on how to extricate myself. Fast.’

‘There is no way out, Your Excellency. You have to marry the Princess Alexandra of Rovina.’ As he delivered the final blow, the lawyer’s voice shook. ‘Perhaps she will be an asset …’ he ventured timidly, his words tailing off as he met the Sultan’s hard, cynical stare.

‘You think so? “The rebel princess”—isn’t that what they call my wife-to-be? Since she was old enough to attend school, this girl has left a trail of chaos behind her. She drives her cars too fast, parties until she is unconscious and treats sex as if it were an Olympic sport. And she’s not even twenty-four years old. Please enlighten me as to how such a woman could possibly be an asset to Zangrar.’

A deathly silence followed his question, and the Sultan raised an eyebrow. ‘Nothing comes to mind?’ Their lack of response frustrated him to the point of explosion, and he turned and walked towards the window, struggling with his temper and hating himself for that loss of control. ‘Leave me. All of you. Leave!’

There was an undignified scrambling, and the room emptied in a matter of moments in response to his abrupt order.

As the door closed behind them, the Sultan rubbed his long fingers over his forehead, trying to ease the ache and access rational thought. He didn’t know which sickened him more: the thought of marriage generally, or the thought of marriage to a woman like the Princess Alexandra. By all accounts she was a woman who appeared to possess all those traits that had made him renounce the institution of marriage at a young age. She was shallow, brainless and a princess only by an unfortunate accident of birth. There was nothing royal about her behaviour, and there was no way she was going to become his wife.

She was exactly the sort of woman who would have caught the attention of his father.

A sound came from behind him, and he turned swiftly, his eyes narrowing as he saw his chief advisor standing behind him. ‘Omar?’

‘Your Excellency.’ The man stepped forward. ‘If I might be permitted to venture a suggestion …’

‘If this suggestion involves marriage, please save your breath.’

‘It is understandable that Your Excellency would have strong feelings on the subject, given your late father’s somewhat unfortunate history.’

The Sultan felt every muscle in his body tense. ‘That is not a subject I wish to discuss.’

‘Indeed, Your Excellency, and yet it is germane to the current situation. You are right to be concerned. The people of Zangrar will not tolerate another woman like your stepmother.’

The Sultan inhaled slowly. ‘You are unusually brave in your choice of conversation topic, Omar. You may have known me since I was two years old, but don’t presume too far. I’m experiencing some difficulties with anger management.’

Omar gave a faint smile. ‘In the circumstances your anger is understandable. What you have achieved for Zangrar since your father’s death is nothing short of amazing. You have given hope to every citizen, and now you are afraid that you will lose what has been gained.’

‘And that is what will happen if I marry this woman.’

‘Possibly. But Your Excellency does need a wife, that fact is not in dispute,’ Omar murmured. ‘Your people are anxious for you to fall in love and wed.’

The Sultan suppressed an unexpected desire to laugh out loud. ‘I am prepared to make many personal sacrifices for the good of my country, but falling in love will not be one of them. In time, I will choose a wife who can give me children. But she will not be some wild, untamed European princess. The people of Zangrar deserve better.’

Omar cleared his throat delicately. ‘But the Princess Alexandra is of royal blood. In one year from now, on her twenty-fifth birthday, her uncle the regent steps down and she ascends the throne of Rovina.’

‘Meaning that she will be in a position to bring even greater chaos to her country?’

Omar allowed himself a smile. ‘Meaning that an alliance between our two countries would offer many increased opportunities that would benefit Zangrar. Trade, tourism—’

‘Am I supposed to overlook her embarrassing reputation and overall lack of dignity?’

‘The Princess Alexandra is said to be quite astonishingly beautiful. Given your own success with women, the simplest approach might be for Your Excellency simply to urge her to moderate her behaviour. It is no secret that you enjoy the company of beautiful women.’

‘In a wife I place moral stature above any physical attributes,’ the Sultan growled, feeling his frustration mount. ‘However, my views on the subject are apparently not relevant, since it appears that there is no way I can break this ridiculous contract my father made.’ Of the legacy of stupidity and weakness left by his father, this was the issue that angered him most, because it threatened everything he had worked for.

Omar’s expression was thoughtful. ‘That is true, Your Excellency. There is no way you can break the contract.’

Something in his tone made the Sultan narrow his eyes. ‘Omar?’

His chief advisor smiled placidly. ‘I have studied the contract in minute detail, and it is true that there is no way for you to break the agreement that your father made.’ He paused. ‘But she can.’

The Sultan straightened his powerful shoulders. ‘You’re saying that the princess has the right to veto this marriage?’

‘Absolutely. But, before Your Excellency becomes unduly encouraged by that option, I should tell you that there has been no hint of dissent from the principality of Rovina. It would appear that the princess is eager to marry you.’

‘And we both know why.’ His mouth set in a grim line, the Sultan contemplated everything he’d read about the Princess Alexandra. ‘Rovina’s coffers are empty, and her spending powers are as legendary as her rebel behaviour.’

‘That could be part of it, but maybe not all. Your Excellency is extremely handsome. You are considered to be something of a matrimonial prize.’

The Sultan gave a humourless laugh and then paced over to the window, his expression bleak. A prize? If the princess knew what she would be taking on, then she wouldn’t be so eager to proceed with the wedding. As cold as the desert at night—wasn’t that how the last female in his life had bitterly described him when he’d abruptly ended the relationship?

He stared down into the courtyard below, wondering why that description didn’t bother him more. Possibly because it was true. He wasn’t capable of love; he knew that. But nor did he see that as a reason for regret. He’d seen what love could do to a person, and he wasn’t interested in sacrificing his judgement in exchange for emotional anguish. What did interest him was acting responsibly for the good of his country. And marrying the most notorious princess in Europe wasn’t going to achieve that objective.

He turned to Omar, his movements swift and decisive. ‘You are sure that the princess has the right to break this contract?’

‘Absolutely. The only person who can free you from this wedding is the woman herself.’

‘Then it will be done.’ The Sultan gave a satisfied nod. ‘Omar, you have excelled yourself.’

‘Your Excellency, I hardly need to remind you that the princess does want to marry you, so the details of the contract are somewhat irrelevant.’

‘Not irrelevant,’ the Sultan drawled softly. ‘The princess may wish to marry me at the moment, but given time and a little—persuasion—I’m confident that she will soon see that this marriage is not for her.’

‘You plan to influence her decision, Your Excellency?’

‘Absolutely. The problem is solved, Omar. The Princess Alexandra is going to decide that marriage to me would be an extremely bad idea. And, given that most women are appallingly indecisive, we are going to offer her every assistance in reaching that conclusion. I intend to see to it personally.’ He gave a grim smile.

No matter what she had in mind, she would not be marrying the Sultan.

CHAPTER ONE

THE blades of the swords clashed viciously, and the room rang with the sharp sound of metal on metal.

Karim tightened his hand on the hilt of the sabre and lunged, sending his blade towards his opponent’s torso with a burst of explosive power that drew a collective gasp from the observers gathered around the room.

Karim ignored them. All his attention was focused on his opponent, whose identity was concealed by the dark mesh of the protective fencing-mask.

Attack, counter attack. Lunge, feint, parry.

They fought with relentless aggression, each trying to outmanoeuvre the other as they fenced for supremacy. The referee stood frozen to the spot, silenced by the sheer ferocity of the duel taking place in front of him.

Even as he fought, Karim was studying his opponent, trying to anticipate his moves. And failing. For the first time in his life, he was equally matched. His nameless, faceless opponent was changing his strategy for each attack, his movements swift and skilled, his footwork immaculate. The man was slight of build, but he moved with the speed and agility of a true athlete.

Karim felt the sweat prickle between his shoulder blades as the pace and intensity of the fight increased.

When he’d been informed that the Princess Alexandra had insisted on watching him fence before agreeing to let him be her bodyguard for the journey to Zangrar, he’d been both amused and irritated. Clearly, she was a real prima donna. It was the first time he’d fought in response to a feminine whim, and he’d strolled into the room prepared to thrash his opponent in a matter of minutes. Instead he was being seriously challenged in a sport at which he’d considered himself unbeatable.

Unaccustomed to meeting anyone who had either the nerve or the skill to take him on, Karim had been pleasantly surprised to discover that his anonymous opponent possessed both qualities in abundance, along with technical and tactical depth. He was even more astonished to discover that he was enjoying himself.

Who was the man in the mask?

Protocol demanded that fencing opponents salute each other at the start of each bout, and his opponent had observed that protocol, but he’d also entered the room fully prepared, his mask already in place.

Accustomed to boredom, Karim felt the adrenaline surge inside him, and vowed to reveal the identity of his partner. Whoever it was would be fencing him again, he vowed as he parried and then thrust, his movements confident and aggressive. The blade struck home in a lightning-fast attack, the force of the blow absorbed by the flex of the blade.

His opponent stepped backwards, his body already poised for the next attack, and Karim gave a low laugh of admiration. Although the man was slightly lacking in height, he was bold and fearless, attacking with an energy and confidence that was unusual.

Briefly distracted by girlish laughter, Karim cast a swift, irritated glance towards the spectators, his attention momentarily drawn to a group of women watching with flirtatious interest.

Which one of those was the Princess Alexandra?

And what indulgent, feminine whim had driven her to demand that he prove himself in this fight before allowing him the honour of becoming her bodyguard? Obviously she was spoiled, bored and entertained by the idea of men fighting for her. Did she enjoy blood sports?

He turned his attention back to his adversary, anger giving speed to his attack, but his opponent parried with a renewed burst of energy, grimly determined not to yield a single point.

Karim was as intrigued as he was challenged.

If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that the duel was personal.

And yet how could it be personal when they didn’t even know each other?

Deciding that the match had gone on long enough, Karim made the most of his superior strength and speed and executed a perfect lunge that won him the final point.

Breathing heavily, he dragged off his mask.

‘My match.’ He held out his hand as protocol dictated. ‘So, having slain the dragon, I presume I’ve now won the right to protect the princess. Perhaps you would introduce me so that I can be given my next challenge? Pistols at dawn, perhaps? Remove your mask. I deserve to see the face of the man I just fought.’

His opponent hesitated, and then dragged off the mask. ‘Not a man.’ She spoke in a warm, husky voice designed by mother nature to bring the entire opposite sex to its knees, and Karim inhaled sharply as a mass of golden, coppery hair tumbled over narrow shoulders. Even though he knew the dangers that often lurked behind extreme physical beauty, he was blinded.

Observing his reaction with wry amusement, she held out a slender hand and spoke again. This time her voice was soft, as if she were afraid of being overheard. ‘I’m Princess Alexandra. And you’re supposed to be my bodyguard. The problem is, I don’t actually want a bodyguard. You weren’t supposed to win the match. I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey.’

She’d lost!

Desperately hoping that he couldn’t see how much her legs were shaking, Alexa watched incredulity flicker across his handsome face as he acknowledged her identity. And he was handsome, she conceded as she brushed her damp hair away from her flushed cheeks. Handsome and strong.

She’d felt the power in his body as he’d fought with what could only be described as restrained masculine aggression. And she sensed that he’d been far from reaching the limits of his capabilities. His broad shoulders and muscular physique suggested that fencing was only one of many activities that he enjoyed in his pursuit of a physical challenge.

She should have picked a different sport.

And now he was watching her intently, his dark gaze arrogant and assured as he slowly loosened the fastening at the neck of his jacket to reveal a tantalizing hint of bronzed skin, shiny with the sweat of physical exertion. His eyes demanded that she look only at him, as if he were determined to read everything about her in one searing glance.

Trapped by the force of his bold gaze, Alexa felt something dangerous and unfamiliar flicker to life, and then a hot, instantaneous explosion of sexual awareness engulfed her. Her body burned and melted, and the feeling was deeply shocking because, although she was accustomed to being on the receiving end of male attention, she was not accustomed to responding.

Her knees weakened by the fire in her pelvis, she nevertheless forced herself to hold his gaze, waiting for him to back down and display the deference and respect that she knew was due to her.

He was a bodyguard.

She was a royal princess. Despite her less-than-enviable position in the royal household, she was accustomed to being greeted with the appropriate formality by strangers, but this man clearly wasn’t daunted or in any way impressed by her title or position. Instead he held himself tall and proud, his posture one of authority and command, as if he was used to giving orders and being instantly obeyed.

Clearly, he was someone extremely senior in the Sultan’s security team, Alexa mused as her eyes trailed from his almost-perfect bone structure to the firm, sensual curve of his mouth. Powerful, she thought. If she had to find one word to describe the man in front of her, then it would be powerful, and she felt her stomach lurch. When the Sultan had promised a bodyguard to escort her on the journey, she’d expected someone who would follow orders.

This man didn’t look as though he’d ever followed an order in his life.

Which made the situation extremely awkward. She didn’t want him as her bodyguard. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone. Whatever happened, she had to be in charge of her own safety; it was the only way she would ever escape from the tangled mess of her life.

She couldn’t believe that this moment had arrived—that she’d actually survived this far. Her brain fluttered around the edges of panic, as it always did when she considered her impending marriage to the Sultan of Zangrar.

It wasn’t that she was afraid of him. She wasn’t. Having lived the life she’d lived for the past sixteen years, she no longer cared that he was reputed to be ruthless, controlling and totally devoid of emotion. In a way, it actually helped, knowing that he didn’t have a sensitive side, because she didn’t have to feel guilty about forcing him into a marriage that was so lacking in romance.

There was no escaping from the fact that, in normal circumstances, this marriage would be the last thing she wanted. But her circumstances weren’t normal, and this marriage wasn’t about what was best for her, it was about what was best for Rovina.

Her hand tightened on the hilt of the sabre. She’d reviewed her options so many times that her brain felt raw with thinking, and no matter how often she circled round the issue she always ended up at the same place.

The future of Rovina depended on her marriage to the Sultan.

And now that goal was finally within reach.

Only a journey now stood between her and Zangrar.

But it would be a hazardous journey, and she would need to have her wits about her. Ironic though it seemed, the last thing she wanted was a bodyguard. Having him there would simply put her life at greater risk.

A giggle from the women watching reminded her that they were becoming the subject of scrutiny and gossip, and Alexa smiled, reminding herself that she had an image to keep up: the image of a woman with nothing more serious on her mind except the pursuit of frivolous pleasures.

‘You can go home, bodyguard.’ She removed the glove from her fencing hand and spoke softly so that only he could hear. ‘I don’t need your protection.’ Her words provoked a sharp intake of breath from the man standing in front of her.

‘My protection is not optional.’ His dark eyes glinted dangerously as he studied her face. ‘You and I need to speak alone. Now.’

Startled by his autocratic tone, Alexa opened her mouth to refuse, but he closed long, strong fingers around her wrist and propelled her bodily towards the ante-room where the fencing equipment was stored, apparently indifferent to the curious stares of those watching.

He’d been fighting a woman?

Tension erupting inside him, Karim released her and slammed the door to the ante-room shut with the flat of his hand, his eyes fixed on the cascading mass of soft, silky curls that poured down her back. Her hair was the colour of a desert sunset. And that first glance into her eyes had been like throwing himself onto a burning spear. His body had been consumed by the most basic of sexual urges, the chemistry between them so hot and instantaneous that for a moment he’d been able to think only of sex.