The Desert King's Captive Bride

CHAPTER TWO

HER EYES WIDENED and Huseyn’s satisfaction splintered. He’d expected shock, but not the absolute horror he read on her face.

He was a rough and ready soldier but he wasn’t a monster. Her expression made him feel like he’d threatened to molest her, instead of honourably planning to marry her.

It was his own fault. He hadn’t meant to spring it on her like that. But the high and mighty Princess provoked him as no one had succeeded in doing.

He should have expected the unexpected. Selim had warned before he entered the room that she wasn’t what they’d thought. She had grit. She’d even scolded Selim, his right-hand man, now captain of the royal guard, about his lack of courtesy and defied him despite the guards surrounding her!

Huseyn would love to have seen that.

But now he had his hands full with a woman who flouted his assumptions.

Steadfastly he refused to let his gaze flick down over her ripe, enticing body. Yet it was too late because the memory of it taunted, threatening to distract him.

He’d entered the room to find her braced over the desk. He’d had a perfect view of shapely legs and a trim, beautifully rounded backside in that tight skirt. When she’d straightened and tugged at her clothes, wriggling her hips as she did, flame had seared him. Then she’d turned and faced him down as if he were something slimy on the sole of her high-heeled shoe.

No man would dare look at him that way. As for women—he was used to them sighing over his muscles and his stamina.

When the Princess raised those perfect eyebrows at him all he’d felt was heat.

And curiosity.

‘That’s totally absurd! I’m not your dear. And I didn’t give you permission to call me Ghizlan.’

Anger emphasised her beauty, bringing colour to those slanted cheekbones, making her eyes sparkle and her whole being vibrate with energy. He’d known from the photos that she was lovely, but those images of her at royal events, lips curved in a polite smile, didn’t do her justice.

He’d underestimated her. The way she’d stood up to him, not flinching when he’d thrown his knife, had made him rethink. She’d defied him even though she must know she’d been outmanoeuvred. Huseyn admired her for that.

‘What am I to call you if not Ghizlan?’ His voice dropped on her name as he savoured the taste of it. What would she taste like? Sugary sweet or spicy hot like those burning, dark eyes?

He’d considered her a tool to be exploited and a necessary encumbrance. He hadn’t expected to desire her.

That was one thing in her favour. She was a woman of passion, despite how she strove to hide it. And a woman of experience, that went without saying. At twenty-six, and after living abroad in the US and Sweden, she was no shrinking maiden. His belly tightened in anticipation. He didn’t particularly want to marry but since it was necessary, he’d prefer a wife who could satisfy his physical needs.

‘My lady is the correct form of address.’

Huseyn stared at her chiselled features, her head held high as if wearing a crown. As if looking down on a man who’d toiled all his life in service to his Sheikh and his people. This from a woman who’d never done a day’s work in her life. Who’d never held down a job or done anything but live off the nation’s largesse.

Deliberately Huseyn let his gaze slide down her hourglass figure, lingering on the swell of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist, then the lush curve of hips and thighs. When his gaze rose her face was pink but her expression gave nothing away, except for her flattened lips.

She didn’t like him looking at her.

She should be grateful he only looked. The way she’d met him challenge for challenge, refusing to be bested, was an enticing invitation. So was the heavy throb of awareness clogging the air. They might be enemies but he sensed there were things they would both enjoy together.

‘Does the title make you feel superior to a mere soldier? Even though it was awarded because of an accident of birth?’

Huseyn had met many who’d fancied themselves better than him. He was illegitimate and his mother had been poor and uneducated, despite the looks that had captured his father’s eye. But it had been a long time since anyone had dared look down on him. Not since he’d grown old enough to fight and prove himself as a warrior of strength and honour.

‘I believe in common courtesy.’ Her gaze met his unflinchingly and, to his astonishment, Huseyn felt a niggle of...could it be shame?

‘As you point out, my title is honorary.’ She stood straighter, lifting her fists from the table and looking down her regal nose at him in a way that, perversely, made him want to applaud. How many women in her position would stand resolute? ‘Some would say I’ve spent a lifetime living up to the title but I’m sure you—’ she sent him a smile as cool as cut glass ‘—aren’t interested in that.’ She paused for just a beat. ‘What should I call you?’

‘Huseyn will do.’ He was Sheikh of his province but soon he would rule the nation and Ghizlan would be his wife. Even if the marriage was for political reasons, he discovered he wanted to hear his name on her lips.

His brain stalled on an unexpected vision of her naked beneath him, her soft body welcoming, her breathing ragged as she clutched him, crying out his name in ecstasy.

He couldn’t remember such instantaneous, all-consuming lust. It must be the result of months too busy even to take a night off to be with a woman.

‘Well, Huseyn.’ Her voice crackled with ice but strangely he enjoyed even that. ‘Whatever your plans, marrying me isn’t possible.’

‘Why?’ He folded his arms and watched her gaze sharpen. In any other woman he’d have put that fleeting expression down to feminine interest. Yet Ghizlan could be masking fear. He needed to remember that. ‘You’re available since the Sheikh of Zahrat jilted you.’

It had been the scandal of the decade and the sort of snub to Jeirut that Huseyn would not allow once he ruled. It was time the neighbouring nations paid Jeirut respect.

Ghizlan mirrored him, crossing her arms, and for a second he was distracted by the rising swell of her breasts and the shadow of her cleavage.

This woman fought with weapons more dangerous than guns or knives.

‘I was not jilted,’ she said coolly. ‘I met Sheikh Idris as part of my father’s push for a trade and peace deal with Zahrat. As for us marrying...’ She shook her head. ‘I was happy to attend his betrothal ceremony in London.’

‘But not his recent wedding.’ Huseyn surveyed her keenly, interested, despite himself, in her feelings for the man who’d dumped her when he’d discovered he had a son by an Englishwoman he hadn’t seen in years. A woman he’d since married.

‘It wasn’t possible. I had business commitments elsewhere.’

It wasn’t a convincing lie but he gave her marks for trying. What had she felt for Idris? The idea of her nursing a broken heart was vaguely...unsettling.

‘Business?’

‘Strange as it may seem to you—’ her eyes flicked from him dismissively ‘—I do have some business interests.’

That was news but Huseyn didn’t show it.

‘And you’re free to marry.’

Fine eyebrows arched in a haughty show of surprise that made him long to wrap his hand around that slender neck and draw her close enough to kiss. Her touch-me-not air was a surprising turnon. He couldn’t understand it. His taste had never run to spoiled rich girls.

‘I have no plans to.’

‘No need. I’ve made the plans already.’

‘But—’

‘Or did I get it wrong? Aren’t you up for sale? Willing to go to the highest bidder? Weren’t you part of the price your father planned to pay for a treaty with Zahrat?’

Her face remained as unruffled as ever but something flashed across her eyes that made him think he’d hurt her. Yet how could that be? She’d been bred to be a dynastic bargaining chip.

‘Contrary to the old-fashioned customs in your province, Huseyn—’ his name on her lips was a silky taunt ‘—I’m not a chattel. Thanks to my father, women have a say in their lives here now. I have a will of my own.’

He saw that, and despite the minor inconvenience of dealing with it, Huseyn was glad. He admired spirit. If he was to be shackled to her, at least it would be interesting, once she stopped defying him and accepted the inevitable.

‘You’re afraid I can’t meet your bride price?’

‘I’m not interested in how many camels you offer for my hand.’ As if he were a poor herder from a backward province. ‘And I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of any man.’ She drew herself even taller, betraying the anxiety she tried to conceal. Reading opponents’ body language could save your life in combat. Huseyn had learned that early.

‘I won’t hurt you, Ghizlan.’ He should have said it sooner, but he’d been too caught up sparring with her, enjoying the cut and thrust of parrying her objections.

Reassuring women didn’t come naturally. He led warriors and protected his people. He knew a lot about women, in bed at least, but he wasn’t used to negotiating with them. His was a man’s world.

She blinked and for a second he thought he glimpsed a vulnerable woman behind the calm façade. Then she was gone, replaced by an arrogant aristocrat.

‘And my sister? Have you hurt her?’

‘Of course not!’ His pride pricked. She really did think him uncivilised. ‘Princess Mina is in her rooms.’

If he expected to win thanks from Her Royal Haughtiness he was doomed to disappointment. Her eyes snapped to his as she did her best to cut him down with that cool stare. Yet all he felt was a jolt of sexual awareness. And a sliver of anticipation at the idea of taming this disdainful Princess.

‘Thank you for the assurance.’ Her tone was lofty. ‘I appreciate it given the illegal presence of armed men in the palace.’

Huseyn frowned. He understood she’d had a fright but surely even here his reputation for protecting the weak, including women, was known. His might be a pre-emptive strike to secure the throne but they weren’t criminals. He had a legitimate claim to rule. The best claim.

‘The guards are here for protection.’

Again that supercilious lift of dark eyebrows. ‘And the palace guards who were here before?’

‘Temporarily relieved of duty.’

‘If you’ve hurt any of them—’

‘No one has been hurt.’ Except the soldier who’d tried to quieten the younger Princess, Mina, and been bitten on the hand. Huseyn should have realised then that these spoiled women would be trouble. ‘There has been no fighting.’

It hadn’t been necessary. Huseyn had visited the palace to pay his respects to his late King. Once inside, and with the Princess Mina a hostage to their good behaviour, it had been easy to convince the palace guard to stand down.

‘Good, then you won’t object to me seeing the Captain of the Guard. The real one.’ When he remained silent she tilted her head and assessed him. ‘Unless you’re frightened to allow me that courtesy.’

This woman knew how to get under his skin. He, the Iron Hand of Jumeah, frightened! No man would dare even think it.

* * *

Ghizlan’s breath rushed out in a shaky sigh. Talking to this man was like addressing a brick wall. Except for the curious spark of awareness when his gaze moved over her.

She should be petrified. She was anxious, particularly for Mina, but at the same time she felt more energised than she had in ages.

Her lips flattened as she tried to suppress gallows humour. Nothing like an armed coup and the threat of imprisonment to shake you up!

‘What’s wrong?’ His broad brow furrowed and, if she didn’t know better, she’d almost think he looked concerned.

The idea was beyond laughable.

He was a brute. An opportunist who sought to profit from her father’s death.

He saw her as a chattel.

Like your father did.

The memory stabbed. Huseyn was right. Her father had viewed her and Mina as assets to further his plans. Marrying her to a neighbouring sheikh had been part of his negotiations. It had hurt when her father told her, even though she’d been raised to expect an arranged marriage.

For years she’d been obedient, dutiful, putting her country’s needs first. Yet not once had that gained her a father’s love or appreciation. He’d relied on her as a matter of course, never considering her happiness.

She’d be damned if she’d have this...interloper tell her who she could marry! She might be bound to her country by ties of duty and love, but for the first time she was free to live as she chose. She did not choose to tie herself to an uncivilised bully.

Ghizlan stalked around the desk so she stood before Huseyn al Rasheed, tilting her chin to glare into his pale eyes. The evocative scent of warm, male skin filtered into her senses. She ignored it, as she ignored the fact that up close there was absolutely no doubt he was boldly attractive, despite the beard and rumpled hair and arrogance.

‘You ask me what’s wrong?’ She laughed, the sound brittle. ‘What could possibly be wrong? Apart from the fact you’ve taken over the palace in some sort of revolution and demand I marry you. You deny me access to my sister. You won’t let me see the staff. How do I know they’re all right?’

‘Because you have my word. And I haven’t denied you access to your sister.’

‘I can see her?’ She hadn’t pressed because she feared most for their staff. Mina’s royal position gave her some protection, but the people who worked in the palace had no one but her to fight for them.

Relief was so strong it was a punch to the belly. Ghizlan locked her knees to stop herself swaying. She refused to show weakness.

‘You can see her when we finish our discussion.’

‘Is that what you call it?’

His mouth twisted and she wondered if it was in anger or frustration. She didn’t care. She was dangerously close to losing her cool. She’d fought to keep her composure, knowing it was the only way to make him take her, and her demands for the people relying on her, seriously. But she didn’t know how long she could keep this up.

‘Of course.’ He unfolded his arms and abruptly she was aware of how close they stood, and how very big he was. Heat emanated from him, warming her despite the chill gripping her bones. It was an insidious warmth, like the strange flutter of awareness rippling through her when his broad shoulders lifted then settled again.

She’d never been close to a man so blatantly masculine. Not just in size and brute strength, but with a potent, unfamiliar something that made her body want to shiver and melt at the same time.

‘I’ll see the Captain of the Guard first. I need to check the staff are all right.’ She paused as fear for her personal bodyguard struck. She hadn’t seen them since the plane. ‘And my bodyguard. I need to make sure—’

He raised one big hand, palm out. ‘They’re unharmed.’

‘You’ll forgive me for needing to see proof for myself.’ She paused, fighting fear that those who’d devoted themselves to protecting her family had been harmed. ‘Then I’ll see my sister.’

Ghizlan made to walk away but his long arm snapped out and strong fingers shackled her wrist.

Her pulse thudded, staccato and strong. She hated that he could feel it with his bare hand on her wrist. She particularly hated the effervescence that radiated through her from his touch.

‘I prefer not to be manhandled.’

‘Manhandled?’ A jet eyebrow rose and the lips buried in all that undergrowth of beard curved up.

She amused him. The realisation infuriated her.

‘I’m not a plaything, Huseyn. You’ll find most women prefer not to be touched against their will.’

‘Most women enjoy my touch.’ His voice was a low murmur of masculine confidence. His eyes gleamed silver. He thought himself irresistible.

The women in his province of Jumeah must be a sorry lot.

Impossible, appalling man. Was she supposed to thank him for planning to marry her?

‘If you say so.’ She met his look blandly. ‘But I can’t help thinking most women would pretend to enjoy intimacy when a man has so much more...power than they do. Out of self-defence, you understand.’

He dropped her hand as if bitten, his eyes widening in what looked like genuine shock.

‘I would never use force against a woman!’ His growl scuttled along her spine, drawing her skin tight.

‘Is that so?’ She stepped back until she felt the desk behind her. It was good to lean on something solid. ‘Then what would you call your demand that we marry? If it’s a request, I’ve already declined.’

Ghizlan saw his jaw move. Was he grinding his teeth? She hoped he got jaw ache. A pulse throbbed at his temple and the muscles in those big arms bunched and swelled.

She refused to cower.

Always show a calm face, no matter what the provocation.

‘It’s an attempt to avoid bloodshed.’

‘You’ll have to do better than that. Jeirut is a proud and stable democratic monarchy. The new Sheikh will be voted in by the Royal Council, then parliament. There will be no bloodshed. The truth is you want the crown and you’re resorting to force to get it.’

‘Not force. Just a pre-emptive tactical move.’

Ghizlan remained scornfully silent.

He scowled at her and she knew she should be scared. But to her surprise, she was more intrigued than fearful. Clearly she was jet-lagged and had taken leave of her senses!

‘Even you must admit I’m the best choice to rule. I have a solid claim to the crown with my kinship ties. I’m the only one who can say that. More importantly, I’m strong, resolute, a warrior as well as having experience as an administrator. Our marriage will simply make the decision easier and speed the process.’

Ghizlan arched one eyebrow. ‘If you’re such a perfect choice the Council will vote for you.’

‘But that will take time. Time Jeirut doesn’t have.’

‘You may be eager to ascend the throne but—’

‘You think this is about me?’ His shaggy hair brushed his shirt as he shook his head. ‘It’s about keeping Jeirut safe. With your father’s death, Halarq is poised to invade.’

‘Nonsense.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘My father was on the brink of signing peace agreements with both Zahrat and Halarq.’

‘Now he’s gone the old Emir of Halarq sees an opportunity. His troops are mobilising. Intelligence suggests they’ll begin by claiming the disputed territory then pushing as far as they can into Jeirut.’

‘That territory has belonged to Jeirut for two hundred years.’

‘Yet I’ve been fighting border skirmishes with his forces since I was old enough to hold a weapon. You may not realise it here in the safety of the capital.’ His gaze raked the room as if dismissing its fine furnishings. ‘But my province has borne the brunt of our neighbour’s ambitions for years. Believe me, he’s poised to act and the longer it takes us to choose a new leader the better it suits him.’

Ghizlan opened her mouth to protest then closed it. There was a seed of truth in what Huseyn said. ‘Then talk to the Council. Urge a speedy decision.’

He shook his head. ‘The majority are in favour of me but the Council likes to deliberate. A quick decision is seen as a bad one. And there are two other candidates, though their claims aren’t as strong. If Halarq invades it will throw that process into confusion. I need to act now. Convince the Council to choose the best man to protect the country.’

Ghizlan looked at the determined thrust of that dark jaw, and the gleam in his eyes, and she nearly believed him. Until she thought of her sister and the palace in lockdown.

Her hands came together in slow, deliberate applause.

‘That’s some performance. I could almost believe you were sacrificing yourself for the country in claiming the throne. But if you expect me to sacrifice my liberty and marry you, think again. Your rhetoric doesn’t sway me.’

Something flickered across his face. An expression so swift she couldn’t read it. Yet it reminded her of a flash of sheet lightning across mountain peaks in the storm season. Her flesh tightened.

‘You won’t do this for your country?’

‘For my country or for you?’ She didn’t bother hiding her disdain.

He scowled. ‘I should have known not to expect too much from you. You didn’t even hurry home when your father died. Obviously your priorities lie elsewhere.’