Dedicated bachelors Rocco Mondelli, Christian Markos, Stefan Bianco and Zayed Al Afzal met and bonded at university, wreaking havoc amongst the female population. In the decade since graduating they’ve made their mark on the worlds of business and pleasure, becoming wealthy and powerful.

Marriage has never been something Rocco, Christian, Stefan or Zayed were ever after … But things change, and now they’ll have to do whatever it takes to get themselves to the church on time!

Yet nothing is as easy as it seems … and the women these four have set their sights on have plans of their own!

Your embossed invitation is in the mail and you are cordially invited to:

The marriage of

Rocco Mondelli and Olivia Fitzgerald April 2015

The marriage of

Christian Markos and Alessandra Mondelli May 2015

The marriage of

Stefan Bianco and Clio Norwood June 2015

The marriage of

Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal and Princess Nadia Amani July 2015

So RSVP and get ready to enjoy the pinnacle of luxury and opulence as the world’s sexiest billionaires finally say ‘I do’ …

The Sheikh’s Wedding Contract

Andie Brock

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANDIE BROCK started inventing imaginary friends around the age of four and is still doing that today—only now the sparkly fairies have made way for spirited heroines and sexy heroes. Thankfully she now has some real friends, as well as a husband and three children, plus a grumpy but lovable cat. Andie lives in Bristol, and when not actually writing could well be plotting her next passionate romance story.

To my daughter, Katherine.

For her help and encouragement and most of all her patience!

Thank you, Kit. X

Contents

Cover

Wedding Invitation

Society Weddings

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SOCIETY WEDDINGS EXCLUSIVE

STEFAN AND CLIO'S WEDDING DAY

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

NADIA JUST HOPED she wasn’t too late. As she neared the palace gates she could see groups of young women were already leaving, their diaphanous costumes fluttering as they hurried away, like colourful butterflies.

Inside the domed entrance to the palace she found herself being jostled by the departing throng of the harem, for that was what they were. The most beautiful women in the kingdom, bedecked and bejewelled, to be presented before the newly crowned Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal for his amusement and pleasure. Except that it seemed none of them had been deemed suitable. Had the sheikh dismissed them all, finding none of them good enough for his high and mighty standards? Certainly by the forbidding look on the guards’ faces, the way they were herding the woman from the palace, it would appear that something had gone very wrong.

Well, she would just have to try harder. Ducking down, Nadia snatched up a fistful of the gauzy material of her skirt and, making herself as small as possible, started to dodge between the legs of the departing guests. She made it to the doorway and luck was with her as the eyes of the towering bodyguard were momentarily distracted by the exposed curves of a departing guest.

This was her chance. She started to run madly, breathlessly, along the wide hallway, her sandals squeaking on the marble floor, the bracelets on her arms and ankles and the heavily jewelled belt around her hips all jangling in a cacophony of giveaway noise.

There was an open door in front of her and blindly she ran towards it, with no plan in her head other than that she must not be stopped. She had to get in to see Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal.

Skidding to a halt, she found herself in the middle of an enormous glittering stateroom. And there, seated on a gilded throne on a raised dais at the far end of the room, was Sheikh Zayed.

They stared at one another. With her breath heaving, Nadia felt the hated bra top cutting into her and accentuating the swell of her breasts, her stomach muscles contracting beneath the jewelled belly button, her whole body exposed in a hideous betrayal of everything she believed in.

And she had certainly got his attention. She could feel the sheikh’s eyes raking over her semi-naked body, her skin prickling with heat and self-consciousness in the wake of his sweeping gaze.

She knew this was her moment, her one chance, and she had to make it pay. But still she faltered. For this Sheikh Zayed was not what she had been expecting at all. He was tall and strikingly handsome, his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He wore a dark Western suit with elegant ease, and as Nadia raised her eyes she took in the broad expanse of his chest, the white shirt, the tie roughly pulled to one side. His hands, she noticed, were gripping the lions’ heads on the arms of the throne, at odds with his relaxed posture.

Make eye contact, that was what she had to do now. Taking in a short, brave breath, she tipped back her head and braced herself to meet his gaze full on. She could do this. But what she saw was so much worse than she’d thought. For what halted the breath in her throat, sent her determination skittering sideways, was not the cruel eyes of the heartless killer she was expecting but something far more dangerous. They were beautiful eyes, a deep, dark chocolate brown, steady, assured and all seeing. The sort of eyes that could melt you. The sort of eyes that could snare you.

Suddenly she registered the laboured breath of a bodyguard behind her, but it was too late, his vice-like grip digging into the flesh of her forearm before she had any chance to dodge out of his way.

‘My apologies, sire, this one slipped past us.’

This one? How dare he speak about her like that? Furiously trying to shake off his grasp, Nadia felt it tighten still farther. ‘I’ll thank you to take your brutish hands off me!’

The guard hesitated for a second, Nadia still squirming in his grasp.

‘You heard what the lady said.’ Rising to his feet, Zayed positioned himself on the edge of the dais. ‘Let her go.’ The words echoed around the vast chamber of the room.

‘Sire.’ The hand was released and the guard took a small step back and bowed his head.

‘And for future reference, I expect my orders to be carried out in a civilised manner. Let it be known that I will not tolerate brutality in any form.’

‘Your Royal Highness.’

Nadia turned to give the admonished guard a haughty stare, pointedly rubbing at the red marks he had made on her arm. The wretched bangles jangled.

‘So, young lady.’ As he swiftly turned his attention to her Nadia felt the spotlight of Zayed’s glare. ‘What is your name?’

‘Nadia.’ She delivered it clearly enough but said out loud it made her feel all the more exposed.

‘Well, Nadia, I’m afraid I have to inform you that you have had a wasted journey.’ He stood tall and proud, with his legs apart and his arms crossed over his chest, very much the master of control. ‘You see, I am not in the habit of choosing my companions in the way that has been arranged tonight. I must apologise for inconveniencing you.’

Somehow it sounded more like a reprimand than an apology.

‘But, Your Royal Highness...’ With her heart thudding in her chest she raised her eyes to meet his, opening them as wide as she could before lowering them again and batting her dark lashes in what she hoped was a seductive gesture. ‘Since I am here, may I not be allowed to perform for you?’ Without waiting for an answer she slowly, hesitantly, began to make her hips sway, undulating them in the way she had seen the dancers perform in her own palace, for the entertainment of her father and brother.

She had studied them as closely as she could from her hiding place in the shadowed recesses of the palace ballroom, committing the movements to memory before hurrying back to her bedroom to practise what she had seen. Trying not to look her reflection in the eye, she had disrobed to her underclothes and gyrated earnestly before the mirror. Now she just needed to try to remember what she had learned.

She raised her arms above her head, twisting her hands around each other in the seductive, trance-like way she had seen performed, her hips moving more provocatively now as the moves came back to her, the jewelled beads jingle-jangling as she shimmied her behind first one way, then the other, her feet lightly moving beneath her.

‘Young lady.’ Zayed had descended the few steps from the dais and was striding across the brightly coloured mosaic floor towards her. Nadia’s dancing became more and more daring as she took her humiliation and turned it into raw sensuality, undulating her stomach and gyrating her hips with an excruciating lack of abandon.

He was right in front of her now. So tall, so close, his dark shape towering over her as he looked down at her overheated, increasingly desperate dancing.

Still Nadia didn’t stop, her eyes now level with his broad chest, her arms spiralling wildly in front of his face.

‘I obviously haven’t made myself clear.’ Suddenly his strong hands had caught hers in midair and he lowered them slowly down to her sides, his eyes not leaving her flushed face. All movement ceased, apart from the shudder of shame that ran through Nadia. Raising his hands to her shoulders, he turned her, gently but firmly, in the opposite direction. ‘The door is that way.’

* * *

Zayed watched as the beguiling young temptress scurried down the corridor, flanked by the guard, who was now thankfully keeping his hands to himself. She seemed keen to get away, her hurried strides rippling the long black curls down her back and making that particularly pert derrière sway alluringly beneath the tantalisingly flimsy costume. But the rest of her posture was stiff and aloof. Which seemed odd, when you considered her wanton performance just a few minutes before. The display she had just treated him to.

And a very nice display it had been, too, he had to say. There was no doubt that this Nadia was a beauty, the way she exhibited her pale-skinned flesh turning him on far more than he would admit to himself. If circumstances were different, if he were to come across her in a bar, for example, it would give him the greatest of pleasure to get to know her, in every sense of the word. But not here, not like that. He might have the reputation for being a womaniser, but seducing a beautiful woman was one thing. Having the poor creatures herded before him like a cattle market, quite another. Not that Nadia looked as if she would be easily herded anywhere. How she had ended up here was a mystery.

Scowling, Zayed turned away, and, shrugging off his jacket, he threw it over his shoulder. Standing in the middle of the opulent stateroom, he looked around him. What the hell had happened to his life? A couple of months ago he had been expanding his business empire, travelling the world, loving the thrill of facilitating multibillion-dollar company takeovers and the wealth and trappings that went with being hugely successful at his job.

But all that had changed, dramatically so, when his mother had made the shock announcement that he was to return home, to the kingdom of Gazbiyaa. That he, Zayed, was to be crowned the next sheikh of Gazbiyaa, and not his elder brother, Azeed. The decision had been equally momentous for both brothers: Zayed thrown into the totally unfamiliar role of sheikh, something that he had never been prepared for, never expected and certainly never wanted, and Azeed, who had been groomed for this role all his life, having the title brutally snatched away from him.

Now the newly crowned Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal, supreme ruler of the fabulously wealthy desert kingdom of Gazbiyaa, gazed bitterly around the empty room. He was going to have to make some serious changes round here, and fast, assert his authority before he was subjected to any more hideous debacles like the one tonight. A harem indeed. What on earth had that been about?

He only wished he could have stopped it before the poor women had arrived. The first he’d known of it was when one of his advisors had ushered him into the stateroom with a sweeping gesture of the arm and announced that the most beautiful women in the kingdom were waiting to be selected for his entertainment. Momentarily stunned, he had only been able to stare in disbelief as the room had filled with these bejewelled creatures, their eyes flashing, their bodies twirling as they paraded before him. By the time he had come to his senses and ordered that they be removed his voice had become raised and his anger all too obvious, making him come across as some sort of brutish tyrant. He was ashamed to remember the frightened look in their eyes as they were rounded up and told to leave. Because his anger wasn’t meant for those poor girls, it was aimed at himself. For the position he had been forced to accept and the crazy life he now found himself in.

But that last young woman, Nadia—that certainly hadn’t been fear in her eyes. Her parting glance, blazing over her shoulder as she’d left, had been full of mystery and challenge, with a dollop of haughty imperiousness for good measure. Suddenly he found himself trying to remember the colour of those remarkable eyes. Dark blue? Violet?

Pulling himself up short, Zayed took a sharp breath and turned to stride from the room. Why was he wasting his time trying to figure that out? Didn’t he have bigger things to worry about?

* * *

Nadia felt the cold night air brush over her heated skin and shivered violently. What now? That gorilla of a guard had escorted her to the palace gates without a word, locking them firmly behind her, and now she watched his retreating figure through the bars as he ascended the long flight of steps back up to the entrance, where he would no doubt take up his position to make sure she didn’t slip past him again.

Well, she would just have to come up with another plan. One thing was for sure, she wasn’t going to give up now. Not now she had been inside the palace and met Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal face-to-face. Although met was hardly the right word. The look of disgust on his face as he had turned her from the room after her little performance still produced a cringe that would buckle her body if she let it. Which she wouldn’t.

But along with the humiliation, there was no doubt that this formidable sheikh had made another, more unexpected, impression on Nadia. Tall, broad shouldered and commanding—all these things she had taken in in an instant. But there was more: a quiet intelligence, an urbane sophistication that, coupled with his extreme good looks, was a heart-stopping combination. Certainly he was like no man Nadia had ever come across before. And certainly he had made her feel something she had never felt before. Something she had no intention of thinking about now.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Nadia rubbed at the chilly exposed flesh of her shoulders while she studied the vast palace that was now tantalisingly out of her reach. The epitome of extravagant opulence, it glowed against the night sky, each of its numerous arched windows, porticos and colonnades floodlit a fiery amber, the enormous blue dome in the centre of the roof pierced by the illuminated crescent moons. It looked unreal in this light, like a shining UFO that had landed in the desert.

Nadia was no stranger to palace life; in fact it was the only life she had ever known. Born Princess Nadia Amani of Harith, she had spent her entire twenty-eight years a virtual prisoner in the palace of Harith, confined by the archaic rules of protocol and the equally archaic rules of her father and brother. But the palace that she had grown up in, that she knew so well, seemed very humble in comparison to the magnificent edifice before her now. The palace of Gazbiyaa left no one in any doubt of the mighty wealth and power of this kingdom.

But if growing up in a palace had taught Nadia one thing, it was that there was always a way in. She just had to find it. She was about to move away to start her search when movement at one of the windows on the fourth floor caught her eye. Retreating into the shadows, even though there was no way she could be seen down here, she watched as the French windows were pushed open wide and she could just make out the silhouette of Zayed himself, framed against the light. Were these the sheikh’s private quarters? Silently, Nadia counted one, two, three, four windows from the central portico. Committing the image to memory, she felt her heart start to thud in her chest again. This was where she had to head to commit the bravest, most dangerous and possibly the stupidest act of her life. But first she had to find her way in.

* * *

Leaning on the balcony railings outside his bedroom window, Zayed breathed in the sweetly scented night air. Before him stretched the kingdom, his kingdom, spread out like a twinkling tapestry. The recently erected skyscrapers soared into the sky, the daring glass and steel monuments that pushed the boundaries of architects’ dreams and construction workers’ abilities to the limit and beyond, each one taller, more daring, more dazzling than the last. This had been his brother’s dream, to make the kingdom of Gazbiyaa a major player, not just in the Middle East, but on the world stage. But at what cost? Azeed was ruthless and determined, and Zayed suspected that had Azeed been crowned sheikh he would have stopped at nothing in his quest to make Gazbiyaa the ultimate superpower.

And that was why Zayed’s mother had broken her vow of silence on her deathbed, putting an end to Azeed’s increasingly extreme plans and precipitating the chain of events that had led to Zayed standing here now.

Through the buzz of the city traffic Zayed could hear the call to prayer, floating from the dozens of minarets that were dotted about the city landscape, dwarfed in size by their towering neighbours but still more than making their presence felt.

Turning back from the window, Zayed headed for the bathroom to take a shower. It had been a long day.

* * *

It was the azan, the call to prayer, that gave Nadia her chance. She had followed the wall round to the back of the palace, where to her dismay she saw that the gates were just as high, just as impenetrable, when a small group of young men appeared, hurrying towards her, their robes glowing white in the dusky light. Shrinking into the shadows, Nadia watched as one of them touched a keypad and the gates opened, allowing them to pass through. She had just enough time to slip in behind them before they silently slid closed again.

With her heart in her throat she kept to the shadows as she hurried towards the brightly lit palace, past the manicured lawns and rows of swaying palm trees, the vast courtyard dotted with fountains, until she was within a few hundred yards of the kitchens. Here she stopped, squatting down behind a pomegranate tree to catch her breath and try to figure out what to do next.

A solitary male voice alerted her to a palace guard talking into his mobile phone in front of the kitchen doors. The open kitchen doors. She just needed to distract him. A plan started to form in her head; she hadn’t idled away her years watching adventure movies on the television for nothing. Feeling around her feet, she found what she was looking for and, picking up the smooth pomegranate, she felt its weight in her hand. If she could just throw it somewhere away to the side of that guard, it might distract him long enough for her to slip in.

Slipping the bracelets off her wrist and discarding them, she stood up and took aim, flinging the pomegranate wildly and with all her might as hard as she could. The result was better than she could ever have imagined. By some luck the weighty fruit landed square on the bonnet of a sleek black limousine she hadn’t even noticed, and as its alarm shrieked into life the guard immediately hurried over to investigate. This was her chance. Nadia sprinted towards the open door and she was in!

Casting around her in exhilarated panic, she saw that luck was with her again and the kitchens appeared to be completely empty. Tiptoeing through one room after another, she eventually found the servants’ staircase and started to climb it with the feverish speed and blind panic born of doing something very, very dangerous.

By the time she reached the fourth floor she was almost doubled over with the exertion, but she couldn’t allow herself more than a couple of gasping breaths. She peeped out into the long corridor. All seemed quiet, though it wasn’t easy to tell over the banging of her own heartbeat and the roaring in her ears. Raising shaky hands to her temples, she tried to get her bearings, turning this way and that in an attempt to figure out where she was. Four windows from the central portico at the front. If she followed this passageway to the end, turned left and then counted the doors...

Her hand was on the doorknob now. If her calculations were right she was about to enter the bedchamber of Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal. Slowly, slowly she turned the heavy brass knob. It moved silently, readily beneath her grasp. There was no going back now. Whatever fate awaited her on the other side of this door, she knew her life would never be the same again.

* * *

Zayed was towelling himself dry when he heard a noise coming from his bedchamber next door. He froze, the towel in his hand. Someone was in there, he was sure of it. He strained his ears to listen but there was no sound now.

But a sixth sense told him that he was no longer alone. Had he locked his bedroom door? No, of course he hadn’t. Despite warnings that security was of paramount importance here, he couldn’t break the habit of a lifetime. Who, in the civilised world, locked their door before going to bed? Unless they didn’t want to be disturbed for a very different reason, of course.

Now he certainly wished he had heeded the advice. His eyes scanned the bathroom for some sort of weapon, anything he could use to defend himself, but it was hopeless. A bottle of shower gel and a loofah was about as lethal as it got. He would just have to use his wits and his own muscle. He was strong and he was fit and he knew how to disarm an attacker, especially with the element of surprise. If there was only one intruder, even if they were armed, he could do this. More than that? He would give it his best shot. Tucking the towel around his waist, he inched forward.

* * *

Creeping into the bedchamber, Nadia sucked in a breath and held it there, too terrified to let it out. In front of her was an enormous raised bed, the interior obscured by a canopy of sumptuous drapes that fell from a gilded corona above.

Was he in there? Tiptoeing closer, wincing with every silent footstep, Nadia reached forward and with a clammy hand shakily drew back the fabric a couple of inches. The bed was empty. He must be in the bathroom. The breath finally escaped from her lungs. This was it. All of her carefully laid plans had led to this point. Slipping off her sandals, she climbed into the bed as quietly as she could. Then, squirming on top of the satin sheets, she tried to arrange herself in a vaguely alluring position before lying back against the pillows with her eyes screwed shut. She was ready for her fate.

There was a noise, a sort of low animal growl, followed by a flash of muscled chest and the purposeful swing of arms through the air. And the next thing Nadia knew, she was being pinned to the bed by the considerable weight of over six feet of powerful, adrenaline-fuelled, near-naked flesh.

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHO ARE YOU and what do you want?’ Zayed snapped the words into Nadia’s ear, her head twisted into the pillow, a tangle of black curls obscuring the side of her face.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe come to that. With her arms wrenched above her head, both wrists shackled by Zayed’s forceful grasp, the shock and fear that were pumping through her body were threatening to make her lose consciousness completely. Slowly, deliberately, she tried to turn her head, hoping that once Zayed saw that it was just her, Nadia, he would release her, give her a chance to explain. Although she wasn’t sure how she was going to do that.

But what she saw soon put paid to any such fanciful notions. Because the dark brown eyes that she found herself staring into, just inches away from her face, were still glittering with intent, ready to attack. Everything about his forbidding face, the clench of his jaw beneath the closely cropped beard, the dark, untidy brows drawn together in a menacing scowl, the tight line of his lips, told her she was in big trouble. He was going to kill her, wasn’t he? She was going to die. Murdered in a stranger’s bed, then chopped into small pieces and offered as tasty morsels to the palace falcons.

‘It’s only me.’ She gulped noisily, her eyes wide with panic. ‘Nadia.’ She wriggled beneath him to try to free some small part of her trapped body, any part, but the movement simply increased the contact between them and she stopped abruptly. That clenching spasm, somewhere low down where their bodies met, that had to be fear, didn’t it?

‘I know quite well who you are.’ Zayed’s breath swept hot and dry across her face. ‘But what I don’t know is why the hell you are in my bed.’ Anger seethed in his voice and his grip tightened still farther around her wrists. ‘I want an answer, now.’

‘Your Royal Highness.’ Fighting to find her voice that was crushed somewhere down with the rest of her body, Nadia now lay very still, blinking her wide violet eyes at her fearsome captor. Her only chance of survival was to try to talk herself out of this mess. ‘I can assure you, I mean you no harm. I merely felt the overwhelming need to see you again.’

‘Yeah, of course you did.’ Sarcasm cut through his voice and as he shifted his weight on top of her Nadia felt an alarming rush of blood sweep through her. ‘Not good enough, I’m afraid. Who are you working for and what do you want?’

‘No one, really. I am completely alone.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ His voice was a hoarse whisper against her skin. ‘Are you here to distract me? Is that it? Keep me occupied while an accomplice creeps in to slit my throat?’ Locking his arms now, he raised his bare chest enough to twist round to look over his shoulder, as if the assailant might already be there, brandishing a knife, before lowering it back down over Nadia’s breasts. Nadia’s eyes widened. The movement had shifted his weight, the jut of his hips, the meeting of their groins.

‘No, nothing like that, I just—’

‘Or my father’s throat? Is that was this is about? I know my father has many enemies.’

‘No. You have to believe me. I’m not here to slit anyone’s throat.’

Chance would be a fine thing. With her arms pinned above her on either side of her head, her breasts stretched taut and high beneath the rock-hard pressure of Zayed’s chest, she couldn’t have felt more vulnerable, more laid bare. And worse than that, with Zayed’s full weight on top of her, the whole length of his virtually naked body bearing down on her, his masculine heat trapping her beneath him, she was aware of a growing ache, low down in her belly, that had nothing to do with the pressure of his weight alone. She drew in a ragged breath, but it was full of the scent of him, the heady mixture of musky shower gel and pumping pheromones.

‘So just what are you doing here, Nadia?’ Zayed’s face lowered down again, so close now that the space between them had almost vanished completely. His fearsome features blurred out of focus as his mouth hovered over hers and he whispered, ‘You have exactly one minute to tell me the truth.’

‘And I will.’ Nadia bit down hard on her lip to try to get some control. ‘When you have released me.’

‘Uh-uh,’ Zayed grated. ‘That’s not how it works.’ He tipped back his head. ‘You tell me the truth now, or I call the palace guards.’

‘No! Don’t do that.’ Her attempt at defiance immediately crumbled.

This was so not what she had planned, to be pinned down on the bed like a common intruder. She was meant to be alluring, for heaven’s sake. Leading him into temptation and a betrothal that would prevent their kingdoms going to war. That had been the plan, at least. Now that plan had been well and truly squashed, along with her poor body, and the man she was supposed to be seducing looked as if he would much rather throttle her than make love to her. But she had to be strong, try again. ‘Before I tell you anything I demand that you let go of my wrists.’

‘You demand, eh?’ Zayed snorted. ‘That’s a good one. It may have escaped your notice but you are hardly in a position to make demands. I suggest you drop the high-and-mighty routine right now and come up with one good reason for me not to call the guards and have you clapped in irons and thrown into the palace dungeons. You have ten seconds and counting.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Nadia ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘I came here...’ She could feel her heart hammering between them, hammering more violently with each decreasing second, feel the rough scratch of Zayed’s chest hair, the sheen of sweat that sealed them. ‘I came here quite alone, simply because I hoped... I hoped to be able to make you happy.’ The last words came out in a rush as the ridiculousness of her statement hit home. One thing was for sure: this sheikh looked anything but happy.

‘Time’s up.’

‘No, wait, really.’ Pure desperation clawed at her throat. This was all going horribly wrong.

Alone in her bed in the palace of Harith she had made herself picture this moment, prepare herself, using every bit of courage and fortitude she could muster to help her get through the ordeal that she knew she was going to have to face.

She had convinced herself it would all be worth it. If her virginity was the price that had to be paid to halt the threat of war between the kingdoms of Harith and Gazbiyaa, then she would do it, a hundred times over. Because she loved her country, even though it didn’t always feel as if her country loved her. And this crazy, dangerous, downright perilous scheme was the only way she could see that she could make a difference.

But the heartless sheikh that she had imagined sacrificing her honour for had turned out to be nothing like the real-life version. The darkly handsome man who stared down at her now, his eyes sharply focused on her face, his jaw set with fierce determination, was altogether a much more worrying proposition.

From what she had managed to glean from her father and brother, she had gathered that the newly crowned sheikh was nothing but a brutal, debauched hedonist, a man who spent his time in bars and nightclubs drinking alcohol and pursuing his only real interest: the pleasures of the female flesh. A man who had no regard for his people or his country. For all his multibillion-dollar business empire, he had none of the skills and knowledge needed to rule a kingdom such as Gazbiyaa. Which was why, like a hyena circling a vulnerable lion, Harith was poised, ready to pounce.

But Nadia already knew her father and brother were wrong about Zayed Al Afzal. Far from being the extravagant philanderer they had described, he was obviously a highly intelligent man, sharp and shrewd and perceptive. To underestimate him would prove cataclysmic for Harith. For everyone.

And he didn’t even appear to be interested in the pleasures of the flesh. Not hers anyway. She was the one whose body was experiencing an unfamiliar ache beneath the hard, warm, damp skin of her captor.

But who could blame her? The towel that was wrapped around his lower torso was rubbing against her bare midriff, his weight forcing the jewelled belt around her hips to dig into her skin. She could feel the shape of him, the bulge of this very male part of his anatomy, hot and intimate and completely impossible to ignore as it pushed against her groin. It was driving every bit of any rehearsed speech she might have had right out of her mind.

Sucking in a shallow breath, Nadia determinedly squirmed beneath him in a last attempt to free herself. And she did feel him lift himself off her, just an inch or so, and just for a second. Taking full advantage, she bucked her hips, her breasts rising with her, hopeful that she might be able to unbalance him somehow. But as Zayed’s weight closed the gap between them even more tightly than before, she realised her action had had a very different result. She gasped. His full-blown erection was pressing into her groin, straining between them like a rod of steel beneath its towel cover. As her eyes flew to his she caught the gleam of undiluted lust and her own eyes, reflected in his, mirroring his desire.

So she could do this to him. He wasn’t totally impervious to her.

She squirmed again, revelling in this minor power she had over him, in the clenching, craving waves of sexual awakening that the feel of his rock-hard member had triggered in her.

Maybe her plan could still work. Maybe she could still tempt him into making love to her and start the chain of events that would eventually, somehow, achieve what this dangerous charade was all about—a lasting peace between their two nations. Just maybe.

But one thing was for sure. She had to make this moment count.

‘Your Royal Highness—’ she fixed her sultry, dark lilac eyes on his ‘—if you wanted to take me now I would not object. Whatever you should ask of me I will willingly provide and I would do my very best not to disappoint you.’

Instantly, the desire in Zayed’s eyes vanished.

‘Enough!’ Finally freeing her wrists, he pushed his torso up, locking his elbows, so that he now looked down on her, scornful contempt burning in his eyes. ‘Stop this horrible seduction routine. I can assure you I have no intention of taking you. That is most definitely not my style.’

Nadia slowly brought her arms down from over her head, lowering them awkwardly so that they didn’t touch any part of his skin. She was fighting to stop his wounding words from showing on her face.

‘I’ll have you know I am not in the habit of having sex with someone just because they offer it to me. Especially duplicitous young women who sneak uninvited into my bed and then somehow think they can seduce me for their own gain. Whatever gain that might be.’

She stared at him in dismay. She had been sure that the way to beguile a powerful and ruthless ruler was to offer up the only thing that was truly hers to give—her virginity. The never-to-be-recovered gift of her virtue. Now, despite the obvious interest she had stirred in his body, it seemed a laughable idea.

To a man like Sheikh Zayed such a prize meant nothing. Quite the reverse, in fact. Why would he be interested in her when he could pick and choose from the most sophisticated women in the world, sexually experienced women, who would know exactly how to make him happy?

And more than that, here was a man with far too much integrity and morality to ever be tempted into having sex with someone just because he could; she knew that now. She had got it all wrong and now she was doomed, but to what fate she had no idea.

‘I apologise, Your Highness.’ She pushed the words past her choked throat. ‘I can see that my behaviour has displeased you.’

‘Can we dispense with the Your Highness bit?’ Zayed cut sharply through her apology. ‘I think it’s fair to say that the situation we are in has bypassed the need for formal protocol. How about you just explain what the hell you are up to and I decide what to do with you?’

Both of those things sounded equally terrifying to Nadia. Screwing her eyes tightly shut, she tried to think of a way out of this mess. But when she opened them again Zayed was still staring down at her, waiting for her reply, and when he leaned forward with his hand raised she instinctively flinched.

‘Good God, woman.’ He stopped, appalled, twisting the black strand of her hair in his fingers. He had simply meant to brush it away from her heated face. ‘What sort of brute do you think I am?’

Nadia shook her head. ‘No, I don’t...’

‘What desperation would bring you to the bed of someone you obviously think would strike you?’

If only he knew. If only she could tell him the truth. But if she revealed who she was now, admitted that she was from Harith, she was certain he would instantly carry out his threat and have her clapped in irons and left to rot in the palace dungeons. That was the strength of hatred between the two kingdoms.

‘I’m not letting you go until you tell me, Nadia.’ His voice was low and grating, and she knew he was fighting to keep his patience, her silence obviously antagonising him even more. Shifting his weight, he leaned forward again, one muscled arm on either side of her head, his chest hovering just an inch above her own. ‘I’m waiting.’

‘Okay, okay, I will tell you. The reason I am here...’

Suddenly Nadia stopped, saved from having to continue by the sound of a brisk tap on the door behind them. Zayed hesitated, poised and alert. There was another tap.

‘Your Royal Highness?’ A male voice came through the door.

Zayed abruptly pulled his body off hers, and, pushing aside the drapes from the bed, got out. Turning away, he adjusted the towel around his hips before heading for the door. ‘Stay here.’ He hissed the order. ‘I’ll get rid of them.’

Nadia didn’t intend to do any such thing. If this was her only chance of escape she was going to grab it. Leaping up, she started to scrabble on all fours across the slippery satin sheets to the edge of this enormous bed in a desperate bid for freedom.

‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ She hadn’t so much as got a foot to the floor before he was on her again, pushing her back against the pillows. Desperate now, Nadia bucked wildly beneath him, kicking her legs out to the side, wildly grabbing at anything she could get hold of. Which turned out to be a handful of Zayed’s towel. As she inadvertently ripped it from his hips she caught a glimpse of tight, naked buttocks before his body closed down on hers again.

‘Ahem.’ A polite cough alerted them both to the presence of someone else in the room. ‘Forgive me, Your Royal Highness.’

‘Go away!’ Furious, Zayed barked the words over his shoulder as he glared down at the now frozen Nadia.

‘I do apologise, sire, but I come with a message.’ There was another nervous cough. ‘From your father, sire. I believe it is a matter of some importance.’

* * *

Nadia started at the sound of the key turning in the lock and quickly turned to face the door, her hands behind her back.

It was about half an hour since Zayed had imprisoned her in his bedchamber. Having pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, the quick flash of his naked rear widening Nadia’s eyes still farther, he had locked the door to the interconnecting suite of rooms, theatrically jangling the bunch of keys in front of her face to make sure she had got the message. Finally, hissing a few curt words through his teeth to the effect that he would deal with her later, he had marched from the room, locking the door behind him.

Nadia’s first thought was that there had to be some way to escape. After futilely rattling the door handles she had felt along the panelled walls, convinced that there had to be a hidden doorway somewhere. But if there was, it was too well hidden for her to discover. And one look at the terrifying drop from the fourth-floor windows had convinced her that, unless she could somehow sprout wings before she hit the ground, that wasn’t an option, either.

So instead she had ended up pacing round the room, impotent fury pumping through her veins that she, Princess Nadia of Harith, should be held captive against her will by this maddening sheikh. Furious, too, that all her plans had gone so horribly wrong and she couldn’t see any way out of this mess.

Her pacing had taken her over to a large ormolu-mounted desk in the corner of the room. A collection of electronic devices littered the top: a laptop, a smartphone, a tablet. Nadia had never been allowed any of these things, her brother insisting that they would be a corrupting influence on her. But it was the modestly framed photo at the back of the desk that caught her eye. Picking it up, Nadia studied the four fine young men wearing grey gowns and mortar boards and grinning widely for the camera. Graduation day. Four young men with the world at their feet. There was Zayed, second from the left with his arms slung over the shoulders of his friends, several years younger but already heartbreakingly handsome and a twinkle in his eye that said he knew it. Nadia felt something pull inside.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Nothing.’ Nadia glared back at him, fumbling to replace the photo behind her on the desk. ‘I’m hardly in a position to do anything, locked in here like a prisoner.’

‘And whose fault is that?’ He growled the words as he ran his hand over his thick dark hair. Nadia recognised the weariness of the gesture, sensed the heavy weight of responsibility that he carried, quite apart from the trouble she was causing him. She almost felt sorry for adding to his burden. Almost. ‘You are damned lucky I haven’t called security—’ he paused ‘—yet.’

Nadia felt his eyes scanning her body again, starting with the bra top and sweeping down the length of her torso to her bare stomach that contracted under his gaze, lower to her belted hips and long, shapely legs that the sheer, gauzy fabric twisting around them made no attempt to conceal.

She squirmed visibly. Zayed cleared his throat.

‘The question is, what do I do with you now?’

From the fierce look on his face Nadia suspected he wasn’t waiting for an answer from her. And even if he had been she wasn’t sure how to reply.

Despite her earlier determination to escape, she had no idea what she would do if she was set free, where she would go, especially still dressed in this hateful outfit.

Returning to Harith was out of the question. She knew that by now her disappearance would have sparked a full-scale search of the kingdom, that her father and brother would be seething with rage when she had not returned from the ‘shopping trip’ she had set out on earlier that morning, a morning that now seemed an eon ago. She knew that her mother would already be worried sick, and for that she was genuinely sorry. She would have loved to have been able to confide in her, tell her of her daring plan, but she knew that she couldn’t. Years of persecution from her husband and then her son had weakened her mother from the highly intelligent, spirited young woman of her youth to the nervous, fearful woman she was today. Nadia had watched her decline, powerless to do anything about it. But one thing was for sure. She was never going to let that happen to her.

And so she had made her escape. Accompanied by her chaperone, a young woman called Jana whom Nadia had secretly befriended, she had set out with instructions to buy ‘the fine clothes for her trousseau.’ The money her family had given her for this task had been extremely generous and, added to the stash that Nadia had been accumulating over the past months, amounted to a small fortune.

In fact, she and Jana had only made one purchase of clothing, the harem outfit that the two nervously giggling young women had chosen hardly being what her family had had in mind. Then, taking just enough for her flight ticket to Gazbiyaa, Nadia had insisted that Jana had the rest of the money, and the two women had embraced long and hard before Jana had set off on her own adventure, fleeing back to her family with the money for her mother’s operation tucked safely away beneath her hijab. Nadia just hoped she was having more luck than she was.

Zayed had walked across the room, positioning himself in front of one of the balcony windows with his arms folded across his chest, the middle finger of one hand tapping an impatient beat. Nadia could do nothing but silently watch as he decided what he was going to do with her.

‘You know what—’ he sighed heavily ‘—I could stand here all night, trying to figure out what you are doing here, why you have broken into my bedroom, sneaked into my bed. But frankly—’ he stopped to give Nadia a particularly derisory stare that shrivelled her insides ‘—I don’t even care.’

‘Your Royal Highness, if I could just be allowed to explain—’

‘No, Nadia.’ Raising a firm hand, Zayed stopped her. ‘I refuse to listen to any more of your explanations. I’ve heard more than enough of your half-baked nonsense for one evening. But, as much as I would like to be rid of you, I am not going to be held responsible for whatever fate might befall you walking the city streets at this time of night looking like that.’

The sneering gesture, along with the look of distaste on his face that went with it, clearly spelled out just what he thought of her attire.

‘You will stay tonight in the palace.’

As Nadia opened her mouth to protest he barked, ‘And that’s an order.’

* * *

Moving over to the marble-topped credenza, Zayed took out a bottle of Scotch and a crystal tumbler and poured himself a generous measure. Then, pulling out a chair, he sat down heavily, stretching his long legs out in front of him and flexing his muscled arms behind his head. This evening had to rank as one of the most bizarre of his life—and that was saying something.

When he had found out that he, rather than his brother Azeed, was to be crowned sheikh of Gazbiyaa, he had immediately known that his life would change dramatically and forever. He could never have foreseen the circumstances that had led to his being in this position, but the fact was that the future of the kingdom was now in his hands and duty to his country and his subjects had to come before everything else.

From a practical point of view he could do it, he knew that. He had absolute faith in his abilities. His hugely successful global company was a testament to his business acumen and he was certain he could further the prosperity of the fledgling but rapidly moving expansion of the kingdom’s economy. More than that, his keen intelligence and insightful mind meant he instinctively made astute judgements, knowing just when to take the hard line or to follow a more diplomatic approach. Something that could only stand him in good stead with the role he now found himself in.

But emotionally he was still struggling to come to terms with the idea of being the sheikh of Gazbiyaa. This was not the life he had planned for, not the life he had ever wanted. And the more he saw of it, the less he liked it.

Because beneath the flashy, showy front that Gazbiyaa presented to the world, the front that he had let himself believe when he had been thousands of miles away in New York pursuing his own career, there was a bedrock of injustice and ignorance. Like a cloak of the finest gold brocade thrown over a rotting pit of wolves and snakes. What his father called honour and tradition he would term bigotry and prejudice, and the more closely he examined this place, the more deep-rooted he saw that it was. Something he knew he was going to have to address.

The conversation he had just had with his father had done nothing to lighten the load. It seemed that news had come through that Azeed, who had fled Gazbiyaa in a furious rage on learning he would never be crowned sheikh, was heading for the kingdom of Harith. And far from being a cause for relief that his exiled brother was safe and well, this had simply heightened the threat of war between the two kingdoms.

The conflict between Gazbiyaa and Harith went back centuries, originating over disputed land territory. The animosity and bitterness on both sides was now so ingrained that its roots were all but forgotten. The shifting sands of time had done nothing to smooth over the differences between the two nations; in fact with each generation it seemed the wall of resentment grew ever higher.

Which made this debacle surrounding Azeed all the more dangerous. Zayed knew that his first momentous job as the newly crowned sheikh had to be to negotiate a peace initiative before the absurd threat of war that was rumbling between the two countries was allowed to take hold. Only then could he begin to tackle the other inherent problems.

Taking a deep slug of the burning whisky, he slammed the glass back down on the sideboard and rolled back his shoulders to ease the tension. If my friends could see me now. Zayed let out a low snort of derision. He imagined meeting up with Stefan, Rocco and Christian in some swanky bar somewhere and regaling them with the story of what had happened this evening. The Columbia Four, he and his three trusty comrades were so named because they had met at Columbia University, shared their larger than life experiences whenever they got together, each one more than living up to the youthful motto they had adopted: memento vivere, remember to live. This year was certainly proving to be a momentous year for all of them, all three of his friends having married in quick succession, the last wedding, Stefan’s, having taken place just a month ago.

Now, as the last remaining bachelor, it was up to Zayed to provide the outrageous entertainment. And he could make a good story of tonight. The lilac-eyed beauty huddled in his bed, him leaping on top of her, pinning her down, nothing but a skimpy towel around his waist to protect his modesty. He could imagine them roaring with laughter, slapping him on the back, ordering another round of drinks from one of the elegant hostesses to toast his hilarious escapade.

Except that Zayed didn’t feel like laughing, and he certainly didn’t feel like celebrating. Something about the look in Nadia’s dazzling eyes as she had been escorted from the room by a servant niggled at him, haunted him. He still had no idea what she was doing here. What would make a young woman like that do something so debasing, so extreme, so downright dangerous? Reaching thoughtfully for his glass, Zayed raised it to his lips. Despite her provocative behaviour, the more Zayed thought about her, the more sure he was that she was not at all what she appeared to be. The haughty tilt of her chin, the imperious way she had spoken to him, the delicate, pale-skinned hands that looked as if they had never seen a day’s toil in their life, all added up to a very different creature from the one who had virtually prostituted herself in his bed.

Tomorrow he would find out. And with a jolt of surprise he realised he was already looking forward to it. Infuriating she might be, but this Nadia was also a very beautiful, intriguing, not to mention sexy young woman. Something the very male part of him was refusing to ignore.

CHAPTER THREE

NADIA AWOKE THE next morning against the sumptuous pillows of her gilded four-poster bed. But with a flash of realisation she remembered where she was, not in the straitjacketed safety of her bedroom in the palace of Harith, but somewhere deep within the walls of the sworn enemy of her kingdom, the palace of Gazbiyaa.

But not for much longer. Presumably she would shortly be escorted to the gates and told to disappear. She didn’t know where to, or even how, but she had to accept that her mission here had failed. Her attempt to seduce Sheikh Zayed, to persuade him to take her virginity and then marry her out of honour, had failed miserably. Far from building the framework to try to find peace between their two nations, all she had done was antagonise the man she was trying to seduce and humiliate herself into the bargain.

And as for her family... Was there any possibility that she could return home and keep from them what she had done? Come up with some plausible story for her absence?

For that was her only hope now, all she could cling to. Because one thing was for sure: if her father and brother ever found out that she had even visited the kingdom of Gazbiyaa, let alone prostituted herself in the sheikh’s bed, she would be dead to them now. And that was in the literal use of the word.

Some clothes had been mysteriously laid out for her: a demure outfit of a knee-length skirt and a cream silk blouse. Hardly what she would have chosen, but certainly a darned sight better than yesterday’s costume, whose gems still winked at her from the corner of the room where she had hurled it last night. She was just getting dressed when there was a tap on the door and a servant entered.

‘I come with a message from His Royal Highness.’ The servant’s eyes were respectfully cast down. ‘His Highness wishes to speak with you. I am to accompany you to his quarters.’

Nadia hesitated. To be honest she had assumed that she would be the last person he would want to see. By the look of disgust on his face last night it had appeared that if he never saw her again it would be too soon, and only the fear of her being raped or murdered on the night streets of Gazbiyaa had prevented him from having her evicted from the palace there and then. But then, the feeling was mutual. Having to face the handsome sheikh in the cold light of day after the way she had behaved was more than she could bear. No, this was a new day and there was no reason why she should have to take orders from him.

‘Please inform His Royal Highness that I have made other plans.’ As if to demonstrate those plans, as much to herself as to the elderly servant, she straightened her skirt and arranged the collar of her blouse. ‘I’m afraid a meeting this morning will not be possible.’

The servant shifted uncomfortably. ‘His Royal Highness is expecting me to accompany you now.’

Nadia felt herself bristle with indignation. While she had no desire to get this servant into trouble, at little more than five feet tall and old enough to be her grandmother, she hardly looked as if she was going to be able to force Nadia to go against her will. But just as this thought was taking hold two burly guards appeared from nowhere, flanking the servant, the rippling muscles of their folded arms providing all the proof she needed that, actually, she probably would do as she was told.

* * *

Zayed was sitting at the far end of a vast conference table when Nadia was borne forward in her bodyguard sandwich. She scowled as she found herself sinking into a chair opposite him.

‘Good morning.’ He dismissed the guards with a curt wave of his hand. ‘I trust you slept well?’

Nadia’s scowl deepened. As if he would care how well she slept. She had no intention of swapping false pleasantries with him. ‘Perhaps you would like to tell me what I am doing here.’ She tossed back her head.

‘Interesting.’ Sitting very upright now, Zayed fixed her with a piercing stare. ‘I had rather assumed it was going to be you telling me what you are doing here.’

Nadia shifted on the leather seat beneath her, all hope that she might have been allowed to just disappear and not face the embarrassing inquest into last night’s behaviour now fading fast. She let her eyes quickly scan the man at the far end of the table. Darkly, dangerously handsome, he still exuded the same confident authority as before, only now a calm determination replaced yesterday’s more heated manner. And a crisp white shirt concealed the broad expanse of muscled chest. ‘I can’t see that it matters now.’

‘It may not matter to you, but I am not accustomed to finding strange young women hiding in my bed. Perhaps you will at least indulge my curiosity.’

It didn’t look as if she had much choice. Zayed’s voice might be softly coaxing, but the steely sarcasm beneath was all too clear.

‘Okay, fine.’ Taking a deep breath, Nadia straightened her shoulders and tipped her chin. She could tell him part of her story, at least. Hopefully that would be enough to satisfy his irritating curiosity and she could get away from here. ‘I came here to escape an arranged marriage.’

‘An arranged marriage?’

‘Yes.’ She took another breath. She really didn’t want to go into this. ‘My father has arranged a marriage for me, but I don’t want to marry him so I decided to run away.’ She shrugged her shoulders in a ‘that’s all there is to it’ sort of way.

At least this part of her story was true. Her father had arranged a marriage for her. After she had stubbornly refused the string of suitors that had been paraded before her over the past few years, he had finally lost all patience and announced the choice had been made for her; she was to be the second wife of the sheikh of a neighbouring kingdom, a man nearly thirty years her senior, and she was indeed fortunate this sheikh was prepared to take her on, considering her advanced age, all twenty-eight years of it, and her reputation for speaking her mind.

It was at this point that desperation had turned to a wild recklessness and Nadia had known that she had to seize the chance to do something with her life before it was too late. And to do that she had to use the only weapon she had in her armoury: her virgin body. A plan had formed in her head. If she had to marry, then she was going to make it count. She would use her marriage to heal the divide between Harith and Gazbiyaa and try to prevent war.

‘Forgive me if I am being stupid here—’ Zayed’s eagle-eyed stare showed him to be anything but ‘—but if this is true, I fail to understand why escaping an arranged marriage necessitates creeping into my bed and offering yourself up to me.’

Nadia fiddled with the pearl button on her cuff. He was obviously quite determined to pursue this. ‘Because if you had...if we had...then we would have had to marry and then I couldn’t be forced into marrying anyone else.’

‘Whoa!’ His derisory laugh cut right through her. ‘Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself here?’ He leaned back, relaxed now, as if beginning to enjoy himself. ‘At the risk of appearing ungallant, why would you assume that one night of passion with you would be enough to convince me that I should marry you on the spot? You obviously rate your attributes very highly.’

Nadia lowered her eyes. ‘Because I would have given you my honour. And surely that is the most precious gift of all?’

Zayed frowned at her. Well, that had told him. Suddenly he felt as if he were the one in the wrong here. By not taking her up on her offer he had scuppered her plans and besmirched her character at the same time. How had that happened? He looked down the length of the table to where Nadia sat, her mirror image reflected in the polished wooden surface, like a playing-card queen. Sitting very upright, her head held high, the thick weight of black curls pushed back over her shoulders, she looked both imperious and vulnerable. And still remarkably sexy, despite the conservative outfit that so primly covered the tempting body he knew was underneath. He cleared his throat.

‘So let me get this straight. You flee from an arranged marriage to the bed of a total stranger with the idea of getting him to marry you instead. How, exactly, does that work?’

‘My future husband would have been a total stranger. At least this way I would have been the one making the decision. I would have been exerting my own free will, had some say in who I would marry.’

‘Even if your choice of future husband didn’t.’

He saw Nadia’s faint flinch as his barb hit its target but she recovered herself almost immediately, that chin tipped high, her full lips tightly closed as if she didn’t intend to dignify his remark with an answer.

‘And this man? The one you don’t want to marry. Who is he? What’s so bad about him?’

‘Everything.’

‘Presumably your family don’t think so?’

‘They see it as an advantageous match. That’s all they care about. Plus they just want to see me married off so I don’t cause them any more trouble.’

‘You, a troublemaker? Who would have thought it?’

The serious flash in Nadia’s lilac eyes withered his lighthearted comment. This was obviously no laughing matter. ‘I simply have opinions, a mind of my own. As a woman that is not considered acceptable. Something you wouldn’t understand.’

But Zayed did understand. His own mother, Latifa Al Afzal, had waited until the very last moment to have her say. But what she had revealed and the way she had chosen to reveal it had rocked the very foundations of the kingdom of Gazbiyaa. And irrevocably altered the path of Zayed’s life.

Secretly securing an interview on one of the state-controlled Gazbiyaan television channels, Sheikha Latifa Al Afzal had started by telling the stunned audience that she was suffering from terminal cancer. In a weak but steady voice she had explained that she was quite ready to meet her fate, but first she had an important announcement for the people of her kingdom.

In keeping with the tradition of the laws of the land, her husband’s reign as sheikh was shortly coming to an end. But he was to be succeeded not by his elder son, Azeed Al Afzal, but by the couple’s younger son, Zayed. For Azeed was not, in fact, her biological son, but the child of a woman with whom her husband had had a brief relationship. This woman had died giving birth to him and, even though Latifa had raised Azeed as her own, loved Azeed as her own, there was one vital fact that could not be kept secret any longer. His birth mother had come from Harith. Azeed was half Harithian.

The fallout from this disclosure had been truly terrible. Zayed’s father had exploded with fury that his wife had exposed the secret of Azeed’s parentage, especially in such a public way, but the news of her illness and his genuine despair that she was dying had diverted his rage to his sons, to his kingdom, to the world in general.

The kingdom of Gazbiyaa had been thrown into turmoil, shocked to the core that Prince Azeed, whom they had seen as their future ruler, shared his blood with their greatest enemy. Zayed’s father appeared to be dangerously close to losing control, and rioting in the streets was only prevented because his term of office was about to expire.

Azeed, meanwhile, had simply disappeared, storming out without a word to anyone. The shock of the news had presumably been so utterly devastating that he couldn’t bear to stay in the palace a moment longer. Which meant that all eyes had turned to the second son. Zayed, the playboy prince.

Three years younger than his brother, Zayed had led an untroubled and privileged life, educated first at Eton College in England, then at Columbia University, New York. In truth he had barely given a thought to his own country, far too absorbed with the buzz of expanding his business empire and distraction of his friends and the many beautiful women who crossed his path. Gazbiyaa had seemed a long way away, his brother’s inheritance his brother’s responsibility.

But his mother’s extraordinary declaration had changed everything.

Immediately leaving New York and the life he had made for himself there, Zayed had arrived at his mother’s bedside just in time to take her frail hand and listen to her halting explanation. With heartbreaking humility she had apologised for deceiving him, explaining that she had wanted him to grow up without the burden of the future blighting his early life. That even though she had always known that she would have to reveal that he, Zayed, must be crowned the next sheikh of Gazbiyaa, both because of his birthright but more important for the stability of the kingdom, she hoped he had enjoyed the freedom she had gifted him until now.

With her voice fading to little more than a whisper, Zayed had leaned in closer as his mother had begged him to talk to Azeed, to explain to him why she had had to do what she had done. For not only was Azeed temperamentally unsuited to the role of sheikh, but if he continued to threaten war against Harith he would inadvertently be inciting a conflict against a country whose blood ran in his veins.

As the last threads of life had slipped through his mother’s fingers, Zayed had promised to make her peace with Azeed, and she had allowed herself to slip into the oblivion of death, her voice finally heard.

Now Zayed stared at the spirited young woman before him. So very much alive, so vibrant; he could sense her determination, the strength of her will. He could see the way she was fighting to take control of her own destiny right now, to avoid the shadowy half-life his own mother had accepted. There was no way she was going to leave it until her deathbed to make her mark on this world.

And he admired Nadia for it. It showed guts, all right, and that, combined with her undoubted beauty, was a fascinating combination. A crazy idea was suddenly beginning to take hold. He forced himself to put the brakes on it.

‘So should I be flattered that this free will of yours has brought you to my door?’ He tipped back his head. ‘Or should I say my bed?’

Nadia wrinkled her small nose distastefully, as if by reminding her of her actions he was degrading himself. He had no idea how she did that.

‘You were certainly a better proposition.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. In what way?’

‘I have only seen one photograph of my intended, but it showed him to be old and fat and bald.’

‘Right.’ Laughing now, Zayed leaned back and crossed one long leg over the other at the knee, gripping his ankle. ‘Careful, Nadia. You don’t want me to be getting big-headed.’

‘I suspect I am too late for that.’

Another swipe. Like a cat’s paw, haughty and elegant, but ultimately futile. Even though Zayed knew he could close her down in a second he still had to remind himself who was playing with whom here. He was surprised to find he was enjoying himself. Something about being around Nadia lifted his spirits, and there hadn’t been much to do that lately.

He had already been subjected to another of his father’s rants this morning. Apparently the palace was alive with gossip that the new sheikh had been discovered wrestling on the bed with an unknown beauty last night. With his playboy image preceding him, this was all the fodder they needed to confirm their suspicions that Sheikh Zayed was nothing more than a serial philanderer. That, unlike his brother Azeed, he would never be a strong ruler. That the kingdom of Gazbiyaa was going to descend into some kind of mire of debauched hedonism if this Westernised sheikh had his way.

Zayed hadn’t bothered to try to explain his innocence. Or point out that his father was hardly blame-free when it came to his relationships with women, bearing in mind the situation they were now in. He hadn’t even suggested that maybe the servants should learn to be more discreet. There was no point. He had already learned that in Gazbiyaa a problem had to be circumnavigated in order to be successfully addressed. And that was why this crazy idea refused to go away.

‘Well, much as I would like to believe that it was my dashing good looks that drew you to me, I can’t help wondering if the fact that I am the sheikh of an extremely wealthy kingdom may have had some bearing on your decision.’

‘I have no interest in your wealth.’ There it was again, that aloof disregard. But he believed her. He had come across a few gold-diggers in his time; in fact he prided himself that he could spot them a mile off. And even though he’d had to ask, he had already known that, for Nadia, this wasn’t about money. ‘Now, if you have quite finished with the insulting remarks, may I be allowed to leave?’

She started to stand, scraping back her chair, but at his end of the table Zayed rose faster than her and his movement halted hers.

‘No, wait. Sit down.’ He leaned forward, his arms locked on the table in front of him. Suddenly he realised he didn’t want her to go. Not yet. Not at all. ‘We haven’t finished our conversation yet.’

‘I believe we have.’ Nadia gave him a barely audible sniff, but did sit back down in her seat.

‘I may have a proposition to put to you.’

‘What sort of proposition?’ She crossed one leg over the other and, lacing her fingers, rested her chin lightly on them as she coolly surveyed him. Zayed was struck again by her astonishing poise.

‘Well, as I understand it, you came here with the intention of persuading me to marry you. It might surprise you to know that I am considering the idea.’

He paused, scanning her face for the expected surprise, astonishment even. But it wasn’t there. Just the calm, composed regard. She arched perfectly shaped eyebrows to indicate that he should continue.

‘As I am the sheikh of Gazbiyaa you will understand that it is expected that I should take a wife.’

‘Of course.’

‘And in my case, probably the sooner the better.’ He gave a small frown, acutely aware that Nadia was analysing every word, watching every movement of his facial muscles. ‘There are certain misconceptions about me, rumours about my past. I need to dispel them. I believe a swift marriage would do that.’

‘I see.’ Her clipped replies were beginning to get on his nerves. It was starting to feel as if he was in the dock and she was waiting for his testimony. Well, she wasn’t getting one. His past was his business and he certainly didn’t have to justify it to her. He hardened his voice.

‘Securing stability for the kingdom is of paramount importance right now. These are difficult times. I have to show the people that they can put their faith in me, that I am totally committed to the role of sheikh and can be trusted to rule this country skilfully and fairly. I will do anything within my power to achieve this.’

‘And that includes getting married?’

‘Yes.’

‘To me?’

‘Yes. Theoretically.’ He could hardly believe he was saying this.

‘So you are saying that as your wife I would be helping you to bring peace and stability to Gazbiyaa?’

‘Well, indirectly, yes, I suppose I am.’

Finally the icy reserve had cracked and the glow of excitement that shone through the widening fissure seemed to light her from within, highlighting her body, gently flushing her pale cheeks and dancing in her eyes. God, she was beautiful.

Though the fact that it was only the idea of being able to do something to help the kingdom that had produced this alchemic change rather than any pretence that he himself might be quite a catch wasn’t lost on him. In fact he was annoyed to feel a physical kick to his pride. He wasn’t used to such indifference from members of the opposite sex.

‘And I would be treated as your equal? Have my opinions listened to?’

‘I don’t imagine for one moment that I would be able to stop you.’ Wasn’t that the truth? He dimly registered that she was cross-examining him again when it should have been the other way round. But her enthusiasm was infectious, seductive. Downright sexy. Something, a gut reaction perhaps, told him that this could work.

And he was used to trusting his gut instinct. It rarely let him down in business, helping him to secure the lucrative deals that his competitors wouldn’t touch and, equally important, steering him away from the disasters that looked so tempting on paper.

Could this be described as a business deal? If so it was certainly an unusual one. But if he was being honest, it wasn’t so much his gut that was making this decision as another, lower part of his anatomy. He shifted in his seat.

‘The way I see it, a marriage between the two us could prove to be mutually beneficial. I would be saving you from an unsavoury union and, in return, you would be helping me to restore the confidence of the people of Gazbiyaa. Showing them that they can put their trust in me, that I am an honourable man. Call it a contract between us, if you like.’

‘A contract?’

‘Yes. A wedding contract.’

He watched as Nadia assimilated this information, the elegant sweep of her neck as she turned slightly to one side to think, her concentration showing in the way she nipped one side of her full bottom lip with small white teeth.

The room was quiet apart from the low tick of a clock somewhere in the shadows and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Finally she turned back to face him, her direct gaze meeting his full on.

‘In that case I accept your proposal.’ Her wide eyes held his with their unblinking clarity. ‘I will agree to marry you.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WE ARE FINISHED, miss.’ Finally satisfied, the leader of the fluttering team of female attendants stood back so that they could all admire their handiwork.

There was an expectant pause as they waited for her to turn and look at her reflection in the enormous, gilt-framed mirror behind her, but Nadia hesitated, needing a second to hold back the nerves that were clawing at her throat. She knew that once she actually saw herself, bedecked and bejewelled in preparation for the ceremony, there would be no hiding from the fact that this was actually going to happen. She was about to marry Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal.

It had all been arranged with such dizzying speed. No sooner had she agreed to Zayed’s wedding contract than she had found herself being led down a series of echoing corridors to break the joyous news to his father. Except of course it wasn’t joyous news; it was a purely practical arrangement. The very use of the word contract had made that perfectly clear and she hated it. But she was hardly in a position to be demanding hearts and flowers, no matter how much, privately, she might have loved them. After all, she was the one with the guilty secret, the one who was so deviously deceiving him. After the wedding she was going to have to confess to him who she really was—none other than Princess Nadia of Harith. And the very thought of that made the heavy knot of anxiety in her stomach start to unfurl and twist around inside her like a venomous snake.

So far no one had suspected anything. Zayed’s father, Ghalib Al Afzal, had asked no questions of her when Zayed had presented her to him as his intended wife. In fact he had barely looked at her, giving her no more than a cold, cursory glance before nodding briefly at his son to acknowledge that he was at last doing something to address his flawed image. But for all his surly rudeness Nadia saw an old man obviously grieving the loss of his wife.

For his part, Zayed had just assumed that she was from Gazbiyaa and Nadia had tacitly kept it that way. She was helped by the fact that few people in the wider world knew she existed, let alone what she looked like. Her father had kept her hidden away, like a valuable possession to be used for bartering purposes only, to be sold for the most advantageous gain. At the time she had hated it, riled against it, despising the way she was treated and infuriating her father by turning down his choice of suitors. But now her anonymity worked in her favour.

At Nadia’s insistence, the wedding invitations had been kept deliberately vague. With so many other things occupying his time, crowding his head, Zayed had taken her adamant statement that she didn’t want her family to know of their marriage at face value, assuming that she knew best and never for one moment suspecting the real reason.

She had seen very little of him in the few short weeks since their marriage had been decided upon. His duties as sheikh of this powerful kingdom seemed onerous and never ending, and it was rare for him to have any time to himself, and even rarer for him to spend it with her. If she felt that she was just another of the projects that he was managing, that was because she was.

A rustle beside her reminded her that several pairs of eyes were watching her, eagerly waiting for her reaction to all their hard work. Taking in a steadying breath, Nadia slowly turned to look at her reflection.

She let out a gasp. Never had she imagined that she could look so beautiful. Her dress fitted her perfectly. Sweeping over one shoulder, it left the other bare as the fitted bodice held her breasts high and emphasised her tiny waist. The metres of silk that made up the skirt and the veil that was pinned to the back of her head were as fine as a dragonfly’s wings and shimmered gently as she turned to look at herself, pooling at her feet when she stopped. A pale, watery green, the colour of a limestone rock pool, the whole garment was hand-embroidered with gold and platinum thread and decorated with thousands of crystals and seed pearls in an intricate, delicate pattern that swept diagonally down the bodice, then scattered randomly across the skirt. The effect was sophisticated and ethereal and utterly breathtaking.

Closer inspection showed that no part of her body had been spared attention or adornment by this group of women. From her delicately hennaed feet that had been eased into golden jewel-encrusted sandals to the stunning collection of antique jewellery, heavy with diamonds and pearls, that had been fastened around her neck, dangled from her ear lobes and somehow swept up into her hair so that the largest teardrop pearl hung perfectly down the centre of her forehead.

‘Thank you.’ She spoke to the collective reflections of the attendants, her long silence now beginning to show as concern on their faces. ‘Thank you very much.’ She would have liked to have said more but didn’t trust herself. Her emotions were already dangerously unstable and she suspected that to open up, even to praise these kindly women for all their hard work, might tip her over the edge.

She sucked in another deep breath. She had to be strong. Today was her wedding day. And what a wedding it was to be.

If Nadia had thought it might be a small affair, with the time scale being so short and the unconventional agreement she and Zayed had reached, she couldn’t have been more wrong. Her prospective father-in-law obviously saw the occasion as a chance to prove to the world the extreme wealth and prosperity of the kingdom of Gazbiyaa, and that meant a celebration the like of which the kingdom had never seen before.

Nadia had wandered around in dazed astonishment at the transformation of the palace into a sumptuous wedding venue. The interconnected staterooms had been opened up and now row upon row of white chairs were positioned in readiness for the ceremony. And on a raised dais at the far end, two gilded thrones were waiting for the bride and groom. Just the sight of them had sent a ripple of alarm through Nadia, that it was actually her that would be sitting on that throne. That this was really happening.

Every room in the palace had been bedecked with exotic flowers, the rarest, most beautiful blooms, flown in from around the world and tended to by a team of florists who had teased them into life-size shapes of peacocks and elephants or gathered them into enormous arrangements and suspended them from the ceilings.

Outside, acres of garden had been transformed into a Bedouin fantasy, with soaring, tented structures, the interiors dressed with the finest, most colourful silks draped and swathed in voluminous abundance, and priceless Persian rugs scattered underfoot. Here the seating was arranged for the entertainment, with comfortable armchairs and enormous cushions positioned for the most advantageous view.

Nadia had seen some of the entertainers arriving, troupes of jugglers, acrobats and stilt walkers. She had even watched the fire-eaters practising from her bedroom window, lighting up the night sky with their extraordinary dangerous-looking feats. She knew there were to be animal processions, too, elephants as well as camels, and even a rumour that a poor tiger had been flown in and was caged somewhere on the premises, a reluctant guest at the wedding.

Well, that would make two of them. Three, in fact, if you counted Zayed. For in no way did the exuberant wedding preparations reflect the feelings of the bride and groom. As far as Nadia was concerned it was a means to an end, something that had to be got through as best she could to try to secure her kingdom’s future. If it meant partaking in this ridiculous charade, then she would do it. If it meant sharing a bed with Sheikh Zayed she would do that, too. For sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

Although the thought of going to bed with Zayed was not a sacrifice. Far from it. Alone at night she had found herself becoming increasingly obsessed with the idea of what it would be like. The thought of Zayed, in all his naked, muscular glory, taking her in his arms, covering her body with his own, not in anger like last time but ready to make love to her, to take away her virginity, filled her with such a heated desire that it made her body writhe and undulate beneath the cool sheets, her hand even tentatively straying between her legs in an attempt to ease this ache. It shocked her, this totally unfamiliar feeling, this pulsing, burning, hot-blooded sexual awakening that just the thought of Zayed alone could produce. And it frightened her, too. Because with it came a loss of control, over her own body and over her feelings for Zayed. And that was something she could never let happen.

‘You look charming, Nadia.’ Two female elders of the Al Afzal family had swept into the room, and Nadia’s attendants silently disappeared. Leaning forward, one of them carefully lifted the veil so that it now covered Nadia’s face. ‘There. Now you are ready.’

* * *

Nadia nodded, quite unable to speak. In accordance with tradition, these extravagantly dressed women were here to escort her to the nikah, the wedding ceremony, and even though they weren’t unkind, they most certainly weren’t her own mother, who had no idea that her only daughter was getting married today.

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