Duty-bound at the altar…

Passionately reunited in his bed!

Desert prince Karim needs a bride to ensure his smooth ascension to the throne. Intelligent, captivating Queen Safiyah is the perfect choice, yet the pain of their broken engagement remains.

This time Karim’s demands are simple: a diplomatic agreement, nothing more, for their country’s sake. But Safiyah’s reunion with Karim, the man she was forbidden from loving, is anything but convenient! Duty may have brought them back together, but it’s their undeniable bond that will force them to confront a still-burning desire…

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love-lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Also by Annie West

Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter

A Vow to Secure His Legacy

The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge

The Desert King’s Secret Heir

The Desert King’s Captive Bride

Contracted for the Petrakis Heir

Inherited for the Royal Bed

Her Forgotten Lover’s Heir

The Greek’s Forbidden Innocent

Passion in Paradise collection

Wedding Night Reunion in Greece

Royal Brides for Desert Brothers miniseries

Sheikh’s Royal Baby Revelation

The Princess Seductions miniseries

His Majesty’s Temporary Bride

The Greek’s Forbidden Princess

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Demanding His Desert Queen

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08830-5

DEMANDING HIS DESERT QUEEN

© 2019 Annie West

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Note to Readers

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For Marianne Knip,

the first of my German readers I was lucky enough to meet.

Marianne, thank you for your continuing friendship.

Your warmth and your enthusiasm for my stories

are precious to me.

Ich hoffe, wir begleiten weiterhin gemeinsam viele

Liebespaare auf ihren Weg ins Glück.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘THE ANSWER IS NO.’

Karim’s voice was harsher than usual, sharp rather than simply firm. The Assaran envoy’s suggestion had stunned him. It seemed, despite his actions five years ago, he was still a part of Middle Eastern politics.

Karim stared through the window at the panorama of sapphire lake, verdant foothills and Swiss mountains, yet felt none of the calm the view was supposed to inspire. He spun around, ignoring the quickened beat of his pulse and the clench of his gut.

‘But, Your Highness…’

Karim stiffened at the words. ‘I no longer use a royal title.’

He watched the envoy absorb that.

‘Sir, at least take time to consider. You haven’t yet heard the Royal Council’s reasoning.’

It was an enormous honour to be asked to take the Assaran throne. Especially since Karim wasn’t Assaran. He came from the neighbouring kingdom of Za’daq, where his brother now ruled.

Karim wouldn’t accept the Assaran crown. Yet he wondered why the Council was looking beyond its borders for a new sheikh. What about the heir? He knew the recently deceased ruler of Assara had left behind a wife and son.

When Karim realised the direction of his thoughts he sliced them off. But not quickly enough to dispel the sour tang on his tongue.

‘Please, sir.’

The man looked distressed. Karim knew his visitor would be blamed for failing in his mission. If it was discovered he’d been ejected by Karim in mere minutes…

Stifling a sigh, he gestured to the lounge. ‘Take a seat. You might as well be comfortable.’

The presidential suite of this exclusive hotel might be comfortable, but sadly it hadn’t proved exclusive enough to prevent this unwanted diplomatic delegation. As the hotel’s new owner, Karim would change that.

‘Thank you, sir.’

Even so, he waited till Karim had taken a seat facing him. Deference towards royalty was ingrained in the man. Even royals who’d renounced their regal claim.

For a mad moment Karim considered revealing the truth and ending this farce. But he’d vowed not to. His brother Ashraf had enough to deal with, imprinting his own stamp on Za’daq. He didn’t need full-blown family scandal as well.

Their father had believed Ashraf, the younger brother, was the result of an affair between their mother and the man she’d later run off with. It had only been as the old Sheikh lay dying that they’d discovered Ashraf was legitimate.

Instead Karim, the firstborn, the one groomed from infancy to take the throne, was the cuckoo in the nest.

When, soon after, the old Sheikh had died, Karim had renounced the Za’daqi throne in favour of his brother. No one but the brothers knew the scandalous reason for his decision.

‘The Council has given this its deepest consideration since the tragic death of our Sheikh.’

Karim nodded. The Assaran King’s death had come out of the blue. ‘But surely there’s an heir?’

If the envoy noticed Karim’s voice had turned to gravel, he didn’t show it.

‘Yes, but he’s far too young to take up the reins of government. If the boy were older…a teenager, perhaps…a regent might be appointed to rule in his stead and help guide him. Given his extreme youth, the Council has decided unanimously that it’s better for the country to find a new sheikh.’

‘Thus disinheriting the child?’ Karim had never met the boy. Intended never to meet him. Yet he felt for the child. His own brother would have been denied his true birthright if disapproving old men had had their way.

‘Our constitution is different from yours in Za’daq, sir. In Assara what we propose is quite legitimate. The crown is passed from adult male to adult male.’

Karim nodded. This wasn’t his battle to fight. He was only hearing the envoy out so the man could tell his masters he’d done his best.

‘Surely there are suitable leaders in Assara? You don’t need to go outside your country.’

Especially to a man who’d already turned his back on one sheikhdom.

The envoy pursed his lips, clearly taking time to choose his words. ‘I need hardly say, sir, that the Council’s deliberations are in strictest confidence.’

‘Naturally.’ Karim nodded. ‘You have my assurance that nothing you say will leave this room.’

It would have been easier to end the meeting and send the man away. But Karim’s curiosity was roused. He’d spent years building his investment business in lieu of ruling a country. But some things hadn’t died—such as his interest in state affairs.

‘Though the Sheikhs of Assara have been from the same family for over a hundred and fifty years, other significant families claim the right to offer a candidate in times where the inheritance is…complicated. Several names have been put forward. The one with the best claim is Hassan Shakroun.’

The visitor paused and Karim knew why. Shakroun was a bully whose idea of negotiation was bluster and intimidation. He was interested in personal aggrandisement and expanding his wealth, not in his nation. No wonder the Assarans were scoping other options for a king.

‘I see you know the name.’

‘We’ve met.’ Once had been enough.

‘Frankly, sir—’ The man swallowed, then ploughed on. ‘The Council is of the opinion that it’s not bloodlines that should determine our next leader so much as personal attributes.’

Karim swallowed a wry smile. They certainly wouldn’t get royal bloodlines from him, even if his mother was from a powerful family. His real father, as far as he could tell, came from humble stock.

‘You’re after someone who will do the bidding of the Council?’

It had been the same in Za’daq. Many councillors had been close friends of the previous Sheikh and, influenced by the old man’s disdain for Ashraf, had made his succession difficult. Things were better now, but for a while many had sought to bring Karim back and install him on the throne. Which was one of the reasons he’d refused to return to visit his homeland, except for Ashraf’s wedding. The other being that he knew it was better to cut all ties rather than pine for what might have been.

‘Not at all, sir.’ The envoy interrupted his thoughts. ‘The Council wants a strong leader capable of taking responsibility. A man who knows diplomacy and statecraft. A man who’ll be respected by other rulers in the region. If that man is from outside Assara, then it will short-circuit internal squabbling between rival families with an interest in the throne.’

So he was to be the outsider who united the unsuccessful parties? The Assaran Council had a high opinion of his capabilities, if they believed him able to walk in, calm any fractious rivals and make a success of the role.

Once Karim would have been pleased at such proof of respect from a neighbouring government. He must have impressed them in his years helping his father rule Za’daq, trying to persuade the old man into modernisation.

But that had been then. This was now.

He couldn’t accept the offer. Even if the Assarans did want him on merit rather than because of a royal pedigree. He’d built a new life. A life that hadn’t been laid out for him because of his supposed lineage.

For thirty years he’d followed a narrow, straight path, putting work first, shouldering responsibility for others. He had been dutiful and decent, a hardworking, honourable prince.

Till his life had crumpled like tissue paper in an iron fist.

For a moment an image swam before him of wide brown eyes. Of a cupid’s bow mouth. Of smashed hopes.

His breath hissed between his teeth as he banished the memory.

Karim was responsible for no one now but himself. That was exactly the way he wanted it. He knew the burden of being royal. He had no intention of putting on that yoke again.

‘Please pass my compliments and thanks to your Royal Council. I’m deeply honoured that they should consider me for such a noble position.’ He paused, watching his guest stiffen. ‘However, my answer is still no.’

Safiyah stood in front of the mirror in her suite and tried to still the panic rising from her belly to her throat. She wiped her hands down her thighs, hating that they trembled.

It didn’t matter what she wore. Yet she’d tried on every outfit she’d brought to Switzerland, finding fault with each one till all that had been left was this. A western-style dress, beautiful, in a heavy fabric that looked almost black. Until she moved. Then the light caught it and it glowed like deep crimson fire.

She bit her lip, suppressing a bitter laugh. Black and crimson. The colours of mourning and sacrifice. How apt. She’d done her share of both.

Safiyah shook her head, refusing to wallow in self-pity. She was far luckier than most. She had her health, a comfortable home and more money than she needed. Above all she had Tarek.

Life had taught her to set her shoulders and keep going, no matter what problems she encountered. To make the best of things and focus on others, not herself.

That was why she was here. To save someone precious.

To save a whole nation if her fears were right.

She swung away, but stopped before the balcony and the spectacular view of lake and mountains. This was her first trip out of the Middle East and she felt like a country bumpkin, gawping at everything. Well, not everything. She knew about luxury, about limousines and discreet security guards. But those mountains! And the green that was so incredibly green! She’d seen photos, of course, but this was different. Even the air through the open window tasted unique, ripe with moisture and growing things.

In other circumstances she’d put on jeans and flat shoes and find a way to slip out of the hotel, away from the bodyguards. She’d stroll through the public gardens, take her time staring into the glittering shop windows, then go to the lake and sit there, soaking up the scenery.

But circumstances weren’t different. Circumstances were difficult. Possibly dangerous, if the fears that kept her awake at night proved right and Hassan Shakroun took the throne.

Not surprising that her heart knocked against her ribs like a hammer on stone. Too much hung on this visit. Failure wasn’t an option.

Safiyah’s hand rose to her breastbone, her fingers touching the base of her throat as if to ease the riotous beat of her heart and the acid searing the back of her mouth.

It’s fine to be nervous. That will keep you grounded so you don’t get distracted by anything else.

Anything else being him—the man she’d travelled here to see. Even so, she’d hoped against hope it wouldn’t be necessary. That things would be sorted without her involvement. She’d been appalled to learn nothing had been agreed. That she had to see him after all.

Just thinking of him made her insides clutch as if someone had wrapped a rope around her middle and yanked it mercilessly. Her blood pumped so fast it rushed in her ears.

That’s good. The adrenalin will keep you alert. Give you courage.

Safiyah took a deep breath and smoothed her hands once more down her skirt. They were clammy, and her knees shook. But her dress covered her knees, and there’d be no handshake, so no one would know how nervous she was.

No matter what happened, she vowed one thing. She would not reveal weakness to this man.

Not after what he’d done to her before.

Ignoring the cold fingers dancing down her spine, Safiyah swung around and headed for the door.

‘Her Highness, the Sheikha of Assara.’

The butler announced her in a slow, impressive tone that helped steady her jittering nerves.

This she could do. For years she’d compartmentalised, leaving the real her—Safiyah—behind and donning the persona expected of a queen, gracious and unruffled.

She lifted her chin, pinned on a calm expression that hid her inner turmoil and stepped into the suite’s vast sitting room.

A few steps in and she paused, blinking against the light pouring in from the wall of windows. The butler bowed again and left, closing the door behind him with a quiet snick. It was only then that she made out a tall figure, motionless in the shadow just past the windows.

Even looking into the light, even unable to make out his features against the glare, she’d have known him. That rangy height, the sense of leashed energy. That indefinable shimmer in the air.

Her pulse quickened and her ribcage squeezed her labouring lungs. Fortunately she was old enough and experienced enough to know that this was her body’s response to the pressure of her situation. It had nothing to do with feelings she’d once harboured.

‘This is…unexpected, Your Highness.’ His voice was whiplash-sharp as he used her title.

Good. She didn’t want him trying his charm on her. Once bitten, twice shy. The thought steadied her nerves and stiffened her knees.

‘Is it, Karim?’

Deliberately she used his first name. He might prefer to pretend they were strangers but she refused to rewrite the past to soothe his conscience. If he thought to intimidate, he’d discover she wouldn’t yield meekly to a mere hint of displeasure. She’d had years to toughen up since they’d last met.

‘I’d assumed, as the hotel owner, you’d be informed of royal guests.’

She stepped further into the room, onto a thick-pile carpet that would have taken a team of master weavers years to produce.

‘Ah, but I’m here to conduct important business, not entertain passing acquaintances.’

As if she and her business were by definition unimportant. As if they had been mere acquaintances.

Safiyah had never been more grateful for those hard-learned lessons in self-control as his words ripped through to the small, vulnerable spot deep inside. To the tiny part of her that was still Safiyah, the eager innocent who’d once believed in destiny and happy endings.

Pain bloomed as if from a stabbing dagger. She breathed slowly and rode the hurt, forcing it down. ‘My apologies for interrupting your…important business.’ Pointedly she raised her eyebrows and glanced about the luxuriously furnished sitting room, as if expecting to see a conference table or a bevy of secretaries.

The voice inside told her not to rile him. She was supposed to persuade, even cajole him. But Safiyah refused to let him think he could brush her off.

‘To what do I owe this…pleasure?’

There it was again, that emphasis that made it clear she was uninvited in his private space. Wounded pride made her want to lash out, but she reined in the impulse. She owed it to Tarek to stay calm.

‘I need to talk with you.’

‘About?’

Even now he didn’t move closer. As if he preferred her to be at a disadvantage, unable to see him clearly while she stood in the full light from the windows.

She’d thought better of him.

‘May I sit?’ Did she imagine that tall body stiffened? She took her time moving to a cluster of chairs around a fireplace, then paused, waiting for an invitation.

‘Please.’

Safiyah sank gracefully onto a seat and was glad of it, because when he moved into the light something inside her slipped undone.

Karim was the same, and yet more. The years had given his features a stark edge that accentuated his potent good looks. Once he’d been handsome. Now there was a gravity, an added depth that turned his slanted cheekbones, high-bridged nose and surprisingly sensual mouth into a face that arrested the breath in her lungs.

That black-as-night hair was shorter than before, close-cropped to his skull. That, too, reinforced the startling power of those masculine features. Then there were his eyes, dark moss-green, so intense she feared he saw beneath her façade of calm.

His clothes, dark trousers and a jacket, clearly made to measure, reinforced his aura of command. The snowy shirt emphasised the gold tone of his skin and she had to force herself not to stare at the space where the open top couple of buttons revealed a sliver of flesh.

Her breath snagged and a trickle of something she hadn’t felt in years unfurled inside. Heat seared her cheeks. She didn’t want to feel it. Would give anything not to feel it.

For a frantic moment Safiyah thought of surging to her feet and leaving. Anything rather than face the discomfiting stir of response deep in her feminine core.

This couldn’t be happening! For so long she’d told herself her reaction to him all those years ago had been the product of girlish fantasy.

‘My condolences on your recent loss.’

Karim’s words leached the fiery blush from her face and doused the insidious sizzle of awareness. Shame enveloped her, leaving her hollow and surprisingly weak.

How could she respond like that to the mere sight of Karim when she’d buried her husband just weeks ago?

Abbas might not have been perfect. He might have been cold and demanding. But she owed his memory respect. He’d been her husband.

Safiyah looked at her clenched hands, white-knuckled in her lap. Slowly she unknotted them, spreading stiff fingers and composing them in a practised attitude of ease.

She lifted her head to find Karim sitting opposite her, long legs stretched out in a relaxed attitude. Yet his eyes told another story. Their gaze was sharp as a bird of prey’s.

‘Thank you.’

She said no more. None of the platitudes she’d hidden behind for the past few weeks would protect her from the guilt she harboured within. A guilt she feared Karim, with his unnerving perceptiveness, might somehow guess. Guilt because after the first shock of discovering she was a widow, and learning that Abbas hadn’t suffered, she’d felt relief.

Not because she’d wanted her husband dead. Instead it was the relief of a wild animal held in captivity and suddenly given a glimpse of freedom. No matter how hard she tried, she hadn’t yet managed to quell that undercurrent of excitement at the idea of taking control of her own life—hers and Tarek’s. Of being simply…happy.

But it was too early to dream of freedom. Time enough to do that when she knew Tarek was safe.

‘I’m waiting to hear the reason for your visit.’

Safiyah had imagined herself capable of handling most things life threw at her. She was stunned to discover Karim’s brusque tone had the power to hurt.

She blinked, reminding herself that to hurt she would have to care about him, and she’d stopped caring long ago. She’d meant nothing to him. All the time he’d pretended to be interested in her he’d had other plans. Plans she hadn’t understood and which hadn’t included her. At best she’d been a smokescreen, at worst an amusement.

Safiyah lifted her chin and looked him full in the face, determined to get this over as soon as possible.

‘I want you to take the Assaran crown.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘YOU WANT ME to become your Sheikh?’

Karim’s brow knitted. Before today he’d have said not much had the power to surprise him.

How wrong he’d been.

He’d assumed only self-interest would have budged Safiyah from the Assaran royal palace at such a time. He’d imagined she’d come here to dissuade him from accepting the sheikhdom.

Surely having him as her King would be the last thing she’d want? Shouldn’t she be looking for ways to preserve the crown for her son?

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I want.’

Karim stared at the poised, beautiful woman before him. The whole day had been surreal, but seeing Safiyah again was the most extraordinary part of it.

The moment she’d walked into the room Karim’s blood had thickened, his pulse growing ponderous. As if his body, even his brain, worked in slow motion.

He wasn’t surprised that the shy young woman he’d known had disappeared. He’d long since realised her doe-eyed glances and quiet ardour had been ploys to snare his interest. The real Safiyah had been more calculating and pragmatic than he’d given her credit for.

Yet the change in her was remarkable. The way she’d sashayed into the room as if she owned it. The way she’d all but demanded he play by the rules and offer her a seat, as if they were polite strangers, or perhaps old friends about to enjoy a cosy chat.

But then life as an honoured and adored queen would give any woman confidence.

To Karim’s chagrin, it wasn’t merely her manner that got under his skin. Had her hourglass figure been that stunning when he’d known her? In the old days she’d worn muted colours and loosely fitting clothes, presumably to assure him that she was the ‘nice’ girl his father had assured him she was. The complete antithesis to the sultry sirens his brother had so scandalously bedded.

Safiyah’s dress today might cover her from neck to shin, but the gleam of the fabric encasing those generous curves and tiny waist made it utterly provocative. Even the soft, sibilant shush of sound it made when she crossed her legs was suggestive.

Then there was her face. Arresting rather than beautiful. Pure skin, far paler than his. Eyes that looked too big as she stared back at him, as if hanging on his every word. Dark, sleek hair with the tiniest, intriguing hint of auburn. Lips that he’d once—

‘Why do you want me to take the throne? Why not fight for your son’s right to it?’

‘Tarek is too young. Even if the Council could be persuaded to appoint a regent for him, I can’t imagine many men would willingly take the role of ruler and then meekly hand it over after fifteen years.’

A man of honour would.

Karim didn’t bother voicing the thought.

‘Why not leave the decision to the Royal Council? Why interfere? Are you so eager to choose your next husband?’

Safiyah’s breath hissed between pearly teeth and her creamy skin turned parchment-pale.

Satisfaction stirred as he saw his jibe hit the mark. For he hated how she made him feel. She dredged up emotions he’d told himself were dead and buried. He felt them scrape up his gullet, across his skin. The searing hurt and disbelief, the sense of worthlessness and shock as his life had been turned inside out in one short night. At that crisis in his life her faithlessness had burned like acid—the final insult to a man who’d lost everything.

Nevertheless, as Karim watched the convulsive movement of her throat and the sudden appearance of a dimple in her cheek, his satisfaction bled away. Years ago she’d had a habit of biting her cheek when nervous. But Karim doubted nerves had anything to do with Safiyah’s response now. Maybe she was trying to garner sympathy.

Yet he felt ashamed. He’d never been so petty as to take satisfaction in another’s distress, even if it was feigned. He was better than that.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

‘I’m not…’ she paused after the word, her chin tilting up as she caught his eye ‘…looking for a new husband.’

Her voice was low, the words barely above a whisper, yet he heard steel behind them.

Because she’d loved Abbas so deeply?

Karim found himself torn between hoping it was true and wanting to protest that she’d never loved her husband. Because just months before her marriage to the Assaran King she’d supposedly loved Karim.

He gritted his teeth, discomfited by the way feelings undermined his thought processes. He’d been taught to think clearly, to disengage his emotions, not to feel too much. His response to Safiyah’s presence was out of character for a man renowned for his even temper, his consideration of others and careful thinking.

‘That’s not how things are done in Assara,’ she added. ‘The new Sheikh will be named by the Royal Council. There is no requirement for him to marry his predecessor’s widow.’

Was it his imagination, or had she shivered at the idea? She couldn’t have made her disdain more obvious.

Which was tantamount to a lance, piercing Karim’s pride. Once she’d welcomed his attentions. But then he’d been first in line to a royal throne of his own. The eldest son of a family proud of its noble lineage.

‘What will happen to you when the new Sheikh is crowned?’

‘To me?’ Her eyes widened, as if she was surprised he’d even ask. ‘Tarek and I will leave the palace and live elsewhere.’

Tarek. Her son.

He’d imagined once that she’d give him a son…

Karim slammed a barrier down on such sentimental thoughts. He didn’t know what was wrong with him today. It was as if the feelings he’d put away years before hadn’t gone away at all, but had festered, waiting to surge up and slap him down when he least expected it.

Deliberately he did what he did best—focused on the problem at hand, ready to find a solution.

‘So if you have no personal interest in the next Sheikh, why come all the way here to see me? The Assaran envoy saw me a couple of hours ago. Couldn’t you trust him to do the job he was chosen for?’

Karim knew something of Assaran politics. He couldn’t believe the previous Sheikh had allowed his wife to play any significant role in matters of state. Whichever way he examined it, Safiyah’s behaviour was odd.

‘I didn’t want to get involved.’ Again her voice was low. ‘But I felt duty-bound to come, just in case…’ She shook her head and looked at a point near his ear. ‘The Council is very eager to convince you. It was agreed that I should add my arguments if necessary.’

‘And what arguments might those be?’

Karim kept his eyes fixed on her face. He wasn’t tacky enough to stare at all the female bounty encased in rustling silk. But perhaps she’d guessed that he was wondering what persuasions she’d try. Colour streaked her cheekbones and her breasts lifted high on a suddenly indrawn breath.

‘Assara needs you—’

‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not into a life of public service any more. I work for myself now.’

Her mouth settled in a line that spoke of determination. Had he ever seen her look like that? His memory of Safiyah at twenty-two was that she’d been gentle and eager to go along with whatever he suggested.

But that had been almost five years ago. He couldn’t be expected to remember everything about her clearly, even if it felt like he did.

‘I could talk about the wealth and honour that will be yours if you take the throne…’

She paused, but he didn’t respond. Karim had his own money. He also knew that being Sheikh meant a lifetime of duty and responsibility. Riches and the glamour of a royal title didn’t sway him.

Safiyah inclined her head, as if his non-response confirmed what she’d expected. ‘Most important of all, you’d make a fine leader. You have the qualities Assara needs. You’re honest, fair and hardworking. The political elite respect you. Plus you’re interested in the wellbeing of the people. Everyone says it was you who began to make Za’daq better for those who weren’t born rich.’

Karim felt his eyebrows climb. He was tempted to think she was trying to flatter him into accepting the position. Except there was nothing toadying about her demeanour.

‘The nobles trust you. The people trust you.’

He shook his head. ‘That was a long time ago.’

‘Your qualities and experience will stand you in good stead no matter how long it’s been. And it’s only been a few years.’

Years since he’d left his homeland and turned his back on everything he’d known. He was only now beginning to feel that he’d settled into his new life.

Safiyah leaned forward, and he felt for the first time since she’d arrived that she wasn’t conscious of her body language. Earlier she’d seemed very self-aware. Now she was too caught up in their discussion to be guarded. He read animation in her brown eyes and knew, whatever her real reason for being here, that she meant what she said.

Karim canted closer, drawn to her in spite of himself.

‘It’s what you were born to do and you’d excel at it.’

Abruptly Karim sank back in his seat. Her words had unravelled the spell she’d woven. The moment of connection broke, shattered by a wave of revulsion.

‘It doesn’t matter what I was born to do.’ His nostrils flared as he swallowed rising acid. ‘I’ve renounced all that.’

Because he wasn’t the man the world thought him. He was the bastard son of an unfaithful queen and her shadowy lover.

‘Of course it matters!’ Her clasped hands trembled as if with the force of her emotion. ‘Assara desperately needs a ruler who can keep the country together—especially now, when rival clans are stirring dissension and jealousy. Each wants their own man on the throne.’

Karim shrugged. ‘Why should I bother? One of them will be elected and the others will have to put up with it. Maybe there’ll be unrest for a bit, but it will die down.’

‘You don’t see…’

She paused and looked down at her hands. Karim saw a tiny cleft appear in her cheek and then vanish. She was biting the inside of her mouth again. Absurdly, the sight moved him.

‘What aren’t you saying, Safiyah?’

It was the first time he’d spoken her name aloud in years. Her chin jerked up and for a moment her gaze clung to his. But he wasn’t foolish enough to be beguiled by that haunted look.

See? Already it was gone, replaced by a smooth, composed mask.

‘You’re the best man for the role, Karim—far better than any of the other contenders. You’d make a real difference in Assara. The country needs a strong, honest leader who’ll work for all his people.’

Karim digested that. Was she implying that her dead husband hadn’t been a good ruler? The idea intrigued him. Or was she just referring to unrest now?

To his annoyance her expression gave little away. The Safiyah he’d once known, or thought he’d known, had been far easier to read. Even more annoying was the fact his interest was aroused by the idea of doing something intrinsically worthwhile. Something more meaningful than merely building his own wealth.

Karim frowned. How had Safiyah guessed such an appeal would tempt him?

He enjoyed the challenge of expanding his business interests. The cut and thrust of negotiation, of locating opportunities ripe for development and capitalising on them. That took skill, dedication and a fine sense of timing. Yet was it as satisfying as the work he’d been trained to do—using his skills to rule a nation?

The thought of Safiyah knowing him so well—better, it seemed, than he knew himself—infuriated him. This was the woman who’d spurned him when she discovered the secret taint of his illegitimacy. He’d believed in her, yet she’d turned her back on him without even the pretence of regret, much less a farewell. It galled him that anything she said could make him doubt even for a second his chosen course.

What was wrong with concentrating on his own life, his own needs? Let others devote themselves to public service. He’d done his bit. Assara wasn’t even his country.

Karim leaned back in his seat, raising his eyebrows. ‘But I’m not a contender. I have already made that clear.’

He almost stood then, signifying the interview was over. But something prevented him. Something not at all fine or statesmanlike. An impulse grounded in the hurt he’d felt when she’d abandoned him.

‘Unless…’

Satisfaction rose as she leaned closer, avid to hear more, her lush, cherry-red lips parted.

Karim had a sudden disconcerting memory of those lips pressed against his. They’d been devoid of lipstick and petal-soft. Her ardent, slightly clumsy kiss had enchanted and worried him. For, much as he’d wanted her, he had known he shouldn’t seduce an innocent, even if they were on the verge of marriage. Especially an innocent who, with her father, was a guest in the royal palace.

Safiyah had been all the things Karim hadn’t even known he wanted in a wife: generous, bright, shyly engaging and incredibly sexy. She’d been the reason he’d finally decided to give in to his father’s demand that he marry.

‘Unless?’ Her voice was like honey.

‘Unless there was more to the deal…an inducement.’

He leaned forward, and for a moment the space between them was negligible. He was close enough to see the tiny amber flecks in her brown eyes, to reacquaint himself with the creamy perfection of her skin and inhale a teasing drift of scent. A delicate floral perfume, with a warm, enticing undertone, that was unique to Safiyah.

That hint of fragrance hit him like a body-blow, sweeping him back to a time when he’d had everything. He’d been a prince, secure in his position, his place in the world and his family. He’d enjoyed his work, helping his father run Za’daq. He hadn’t even regretted giving up his sexual freedom because Safiyah had turned the prospect of marriage from a duty to a pleasure.

‘What sort of inducement?’ Her voice was steady but her eyes were wary.

Karim told himself to leave it. To walk away. He had no intention of taking this further.

Then he heard his own voice saying, ‘Marriage.’

He couldn’t mean it.

He wasn’t talking about marriage to her. Yet a strange shivery feeling rippled down her spine and curled into her belly like large fingers digging deep. Her skin prickled all over and heat eddied in disturbing places.

‘I’m sure that will be no problem.’ She forced a smile. ‘You’ll have your pick of eligible women.’

And Karim didn’t need a crown or wealth to attract them. He was handsome, urbane and, she knew to her cost, charming. He could coax the birds from the trees if he set his mind to it. No wonder she, so unworldly and inexperienced at twenty-two, had been taken in, thinking his attentions meant something special.

‘I don’t need to pick when there’s one obvious choice.’

His crystalline gaze locked on hers and his voice deepened to a baritone note she felt vibrate through her bones.

‘The Queen of Assara.’

His words were clear. Safiyah heard them, and yet she told herself Karim had said something else. He couldn’t really mean—

‘You, Safiyah.’

‘Me?’ Her voice rose to a wobbly high note.

Once she’d believed he wanted to marry her, that he cared for her. Her father had been sure too. And so had Karim’s father. He’d permitted her and her father to stay at the Za’daqi palace even while, as they’d discovered later, he was in the final stages of terminal illness.

But when a family emergency had dragged her and her father back to Assara everything had fallen apart. Karim hadn’t farewelled them. Nor had he responded to the note she’d left him. A note she’d written and rewritten. There’d been no attempt to contact her since. Just…nothing. Not a single word. When she’d tried to contact him at the palace she’d been fobbed off.

Then had come the news that Karim’s father had died. To everyone’s amazement Karim had renounced the throne and left Za’daq. Even then she’d waited, refusing to believe he’d really abandoned her. Days had turned into weeks. Weeks to months. And still no word. And over those months her faith in him had shrivelled and turned into hurt, disbelief and finally anger.

Even at the last moment, when she’d been cornered in a situation she’d never wanted, a small, irrepressible part of her had hoped he’d step in and stop—

‘Safiyah?’

She blinked and looked into that dark gaze. Once those eyes had glowed warm and she’d read affection there. Now they gave nothing away. The coldness emanating from him chilled her to the core.

‘You want to marry me?’ Finally she managed to control her vocal cords. The words emerged husky but even.

‘Want…?’ Forehead crinkling, he tilted his head as if musing on the idea. But the eyes pinioning hers held nothing like desire or pleasure. His expression was calculating.

That was what gave Safiyah the strength to sit up, spine stiff, eyebrows raised, as if his answer was only of mild interest. As if his patent lack of interest in her as a potential wife, a woman and a lover, didn’t hurt.

She would not let him guess the terrible pain his indifference stirred. Everything inside her shrivelled. Bizarre that, even after his rejection years before, part of her had obstinately clung to the idea that he’d cared.

‘You’re right. No sensible man would want to marry a woman who ran out on him like a thief in the night.’

She gaped at the way he’d twisted the past. How dared he? Hearing the devastating news of her sister’s attempted suicide, of course Safiyah and her father had gone to her immediately. Her father had made their apologies for the sudden departure, referring to a family emergency. Safiyah had assumed she’d have a chance to explain to Karim personally later.

Except he’d refused to take her calls. He’d led her on to believe he cared, then dumped her, and now he was pretending she’d been the one at fault!

‘Now, look here! I—’

‘Not that it matters now. The past is dead, not worth discussing.’ He sliced the air with a decisive chopping motion, his expression cold. ‘As for wanting marriage now… Perhaps need is a better word.’ He opened those wide shoulders and spread his hands in a fatalistic gesture.

‘I can’t see your logic.’

Safiyah’s voice was clipped, that of a woman ostensibly in control. She wouldn’t demean herself by rehashing the past. He was right. It was over. She should count herself lucky she’d discovered Karim’s true nature when she had. He hadn’t been the paragon she’d believed.

‘There’s no reason for us to marry.’

‘You don’t think so?’ He shook his head. ‘I disagree. Despite what your law says, even the most optimistic supporter couldn’t expect me to take the throne of Assara without a ripple. I’m a foreigner, an unknown quantity. You’ve said yourself that there are political undercurrents and rivalry in the country’s ruling elite. To overcome those an incoming ruler would need to show a strong link to Assara and to the throne.’

He paused, watching her reaction. Now, with a sinking heart, Safiyah understood where he was going. And it made a horrible sort of sense.

‘What better way of showing my respect for Assara and cultivating a sense of continuity than to marry the current Queen?’

Except said Queen would do just about anything to avoid another marriage. Particularly marriage to this man. Call it pride, call it self-preservation, but she’d be mad to agree.

‘I disagree. With the Council’s backing a newcomer, especially one with your qualities and experience, would be able to establish himself.’ He was far, far better than the other alternatives.

Karim steepled his fingertips beneath his chin as if considering. But his response came so quickly she knew he’d immediately discounted her words.

‘Besides, if I married you…’

Was it her imagination or did his voice slow on the words?

‘Your son wouldn’t be disinherited. That would satisfy any elements concerned at him being replaced by a foreigner. It would ensure the long-term continuity of the current dynasty.’

Safiyah sat in stunned silence, thinking through the implications of his words. ‘You mean Tarek would be your heir? You’d adopt him?’ The idea stunned her.

Emotion flickered across Karim’s unreadable expression. ‘I’m not a man who’d happily rip away someone’s birthright, no matter what the constitution allows.’

There was something in his tone of voice, a peculiar resonance, that piqued her curiosity. Safiyah sensed there was more to his words than there seemed. But what?

She was on the verge of probing, till she read his body language. His hard-set jaw and flared nostrils revealed a man holding in strong emotion. Now wasn’t the time to pursue this—not if she wanted him to take the throne.

Which was why she didn’t instantly refuse. She needed time to persuade him.

‘Are you saying if I agree to marry you…’ she paused, fighting to keep her voice even ‘…you’d take the crown?’

His gaze sharpened. She felt it like an abrasive scrape across her flesh. The grooves bracketing those firm lips deepened, as if hinting at a smile, yet there was no softening in that austere, powerful face.

‘I’m saying that if you agree to marry me I’ll consider changing my mind about accepting the sheikhdom.’

Well, that put her in her place. Safiyah felt the air whoosh from her lungs, her chest crumpling with the force of that outward breath. Even if she agreed to marriage, it might not be enough to persuade him.

She’d never thought herself a particularly proud woman, but she hated that Karim had the power, still, to deflate her. To make her feel she was of no consequence. That incensed her.

For years she’d fought to maintain her self-respect and sense of worth, married to a man who adhered to the traditional view that a wife was merely an extension of her husband’s will. Particularly a wife who’d been exalted by marrying a royal sheikh.

Fury surged at Karim’s off-hand attitude. How dared he on the one hand ask her to marry him and on the other make it clear that even such a sacrifice on her part might not be enough to sway him?

Not that he’d asked her to marry him. He’d put it out there like some clause in a business contract.

Safiyah felt hot blood creep up her throat and into her cheeks. She wanted to let rip. To tell him he was an arrogant jerk, despite his royal blood. Her marriage had taught her that royals were no more perfect than anyone else. If anything, their ability to command not only great wealth, but the obedience of everyone around them, could amplify their character flaws.

But she didn’t have the luxury of plain speaking. This wasn’t about her. It was about Tarek’s future, his safety. As well as the future of their country.

‘What do you say, Safiyah? Is your country’s wellbeing enough to tempt you into marriage again?’ He sat back, relaxed in his chair, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.

‘There’s something else.’

She’d hoped to persuade Karim without telling him of her fears, knowing he might well dismiss them since she had no proof. But what proof could she have till it was too late? The idea curdled her stomach.

‘Another important reason for you to accept the throne. Hassan Shakroun—’

Karim cut her off. ‘No more! I’ve already heard everything I need from the official envoy.’

As if she, the Queen of Assara, had no insight to offer! Perhaps he believed as Abbas had—that women weren’t suited for politics. Or perhaps he was simply impatient that she hadn’t leapt at the chance to marry him.

Safiyah was convinced Tarek would be in danger if Shakroun took the throne. She’d never liked the man, but the things she’d learned recently made her blood freeze at the idea of him in the palace. He wouldn’t leave a potential rival sheikh with royal blood alive, even if that rival was a mere toddler.

Her throat closed, making her voice husky. ‘But you must listen—’

‘No.’

Karim didn’t raise his voice, but that decisive tone stopped her.

‘No more arguments. I don’t have to listen to anything. You came to me, not the other way around.’

His words stilled her instinctive protest.

‘I’m not inclined to accept the throne, but I’ll consider it more thoroughly if you’re willing to marry.’

Safiyah drew a deep breath, frantically searching for a semblance of calm. She couldn’t believe the direction this conversation had taken. What had begun simply had become a nightmare.

She was about to ignore his warning and spill out her fears, but the stern lines of his expression stopped her. Karim didn’t look like Abbas, but she recognised the pugnacious attitude of a man who’d made up his mind. Not just any man, but one raised to expect unquestioning obedience.

She’d learned with her husband that defiance of his pronouncements, even in the most trivial, unintended way, only made him less likely to listen. Safiyah couldn’t afford to have Karim reject the crown.

Carefully she chose her words. ‘I need time to consider too.’

Karim raised one supercilious eyebrow, obviously questioning the fact that she hadn’t instantly leapt at the chance to marry him.

Except the thought of being tied in marriage to any man, especially Karim, sent a flurry of nervous dread through her.

‘You need time?’

His tone made it clear he thought it inexplicable. He was right. Any other woman, she was sure, would jump at the chance to marry him.

‘It seems we both do.’ She held his gaze, refusing to look away. She might be reeling with shock inside, but she refused to betray the fact.

‘Very well. We’ll meet tomorrow at nine. A lot rides on your answer, Safiyah.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I LIKE IT,’ Ashraf said over the phone. ‘Accepting the Assaran crown is a perfect solution.’

Karim frowned at his brother’s words as he wiped the sweat from his torso. The morning’s visits had left him unsettled, and he’d sought to find calm through a workout in the gym, only to be interrupted by Ashraf’s call.

‘Solution? I don’t see that there’s a problem to be solved from your perspective—and especially not from mine.’

Yet, if not a problem, Karim sensed there was something. He and Ashraf had spoken at the weekend. It was unlike his brother to call again so soon. Unless something important had arisen. They didn’t live in each other’s pockets, but there was a genuine bond between them, all the more remarkable given the fact they’d been kept apart as much as possible by their father.

The old man had been prejudiced against Ashraf, believing him to be another man’s son. He’d neglected the younger boy, fixing all his focus and energy on the elder. Not because he’d cared for Karim—the old tartar had been incapable of love—but because, as the eldest, he was the one to be moulded into a future sheikh.

If it hadn’t been so personally painful Karim would have laughed when the truth had been revealed, that the Sheikh had picked the wrong heir. That Ashraf was the true son and Karim the bastard.

‘I’ve no need of a throne, Ashraf. You know that.’

There was a growl in his voice. A morning besieged—first by the envoy from the Assaran Royal Council, and then by the only woman he’d ever seriously thought of marrying—had impaired his mood. The idea that Safiyah believed he still cared enough about her to be coaxed into doing her bidding set his teeth on edge. It would take more than an hour in the gym to ease the anger cramping his belly.

Karim stared through the huge windows, streaming with rain, towards the mountains, now shrouded in cloud. He usually found peace in a long ride. But he had no horses here. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have subjected any poor beast to a hard ride in this weather just to shift his bad mood.

‘Of course you don’t need a throne.’ Ashraf’s tone was matter-of-fact. ‘You’ve taken to being an independent businessman like a duck to water. Not to mention having the freedom to enjoy lovers without raising expectations that you’re looking for a royal life partner.’

Karim’s frown deepened. Did his brother miss his old life? Ashraf and Tori had been blissfully wrapped up in each other when he’d seen them last, but… ‘What’s wrong? Are you pining for your days as a carefree bachelor?’

Ashraf’s laugh reassured him. ‘Not a bit. I’ve never been happier.’ He paused, his voice dropping to a more serious note. ‘Except I’d rather you were here more often.’

It was a familiar argument, but Karim was adamant about not returning to Za’daq long-term. His brother was a fine leader, yet there were still a few powerful men who chafed at the idea of being ruled by a younger son.

His brother sighed at the other end of the line. ‘Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t mention it.’

‘Why don’t you just get to the point?’

The point being the outlandish suggestion that he, Karim, should take the Assaran throne. Interestingly, the proposal hadn’t been news to Ashraf. Nor did he think it outlandish.

‘You rang to persuade me. Why?’

‘Pure self-interest.’ Ashraf’s answer came instantly. ‘Life will be much easier and better for our country if there’s a stable government in Assara.’

Karim didn’t dispute his logic. The two countries shared a border, and what affected one ended up affecting the other.

‘If Shakroun becomes Sheikh there’ll be stability.’ Karim didn’t like the man, but that was irrelevant. ‘He’s strong and he’ll hang on to power.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ his brother murmured.

‘What?’ Surely Ashraf wouldn’t advocate civil unrest.

‘You’ve been away a long time. Certain things have come to light that put a different slant on Shakroun and his activities.’

‘I haven’t heard anything.’

Despite removing himself from the Middle East, Karim followed press reports from the region. He’d told himself more than once that his interest in matters he’d left behind was a mistake, but though he’d cut so many ties he couldn’t conquer his innate interest. He’d been bred to it, after all, had spent a lifetime living and breathing regional politics.

‘We’re not talking about anything known publicly. But a number of investigations are bearing fruit. Remember that people-smuggling ring that worked out of both countries?’

‘How could I forget?’

Za’daq was a peaceable country, but years before the borderland between the two nations had been lawless, controlled by a ruthless criminal called Qadri. Qadri had unofficially run the region through violence and intimidation. One of his most profitable ventures had been people-smuggling from Za’daq into Assara and then to more distant markets. Tori, before she’d become Ashraf’s wife, had been kidnapped for the trade, and Qadri had attempted to execute Ashraf himself.

‘We don’t have enough quite yet to prove it in a court of law, but we know Qadri’s partner in the flesh trade was Hassan Shakroun.’

‘I see…’ The surprising thing was that Karim wasn’t surprised. Not that he’d guessed Shakroun was a criminal. He’d just thought him deeply unpleasant and far too fixated on his own prestige and power. ‘How sure are you?’

‘I’m sure. The evidence is clear. But it will take time till the police are ready to press charges. Since Qadri’s death Shakroun has taken over some of his criminal enterprises. They’re trying to get an iron-clad case against him on a number of fronts. It’s tough getting evidence, because Shakroun gets others to do his dirty work and witnesses are thin on the ground. A couple of people who stirred up trouble for him met with unfortunate “accidents”.’

Karim felt an icy prickle across his rapidly cooling flesh. He grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it one-handed over his head, then shoved his arms through the sleeves.

‘That’s one of the reasons the Council is searching for someone else to become Sheikh.’

Now it made so much more sense. Did Safiyah know?

Immediately he dragged his thoughts back. Safiyah wasn’t the issue. He refused to be swayed by her. Yet the thought of her with her small child in the Assaran palace and Shakroun moving in made his stomach curdle.

‘It’s also why they’re eager for an outsider,’ Ashraf added. ‘If they choose from within the country Shakroun is the obvious choice. He’s from an influential family, and on the face of it would make a better leader than the other contenders. But with you they’d get someone they know and respect, who has a track record of ruling during those years when our father was ill.’

Karim let the words wash over him, ignoring Ashraf’s reference to the man who’d raised him as his father. His thoughts were already moving on.

‘How many know about this?’

‘Very few. It’s too early to accuse him publicly—not until the evidence is watertight. But if he becomes Sheikh…’

Karim could imagine. A criminal thug with almost absolute power. It didn’t bear thinking about.

He ploughed his hand through his damp hair. ‘It’s still a matter for the Assarans.’

‘And they want you, Karim.’

Karim’s mouth flattened. His nostrils flared as he dragged in a deep breath. ‘I’ve got a life here.’

He watched the stream of rain down the windows and another chill encompassed him. It didn’t matter how long he spent in Europe and North America. He still missed the wide open skies of his homeland. The brilliant, harsh sun, and even the arid heartland where only the hardiest survived.

‘I’ve got a business to run,’ he added.

Ashraf didn’t respond.

‘I’m a private citizen now. I’ve had my fill of being royal. From the moment I could walk I was moulded into a prince, crammed full of lessons on public responsibility and politics. Now I’m living for myself.’

Not that he expected sympathy.

Finally his brother spoke. ‘So you’re telling me you’ll just turn your back on the situation? Because you’re having such a good time answering to no one but yourself?’ He didn’t hide his scepticism.

‘Damn it, Ashraf! Do I look like a hero?’

His brother’s voice held no laughter when he answered. ‘I always thought so, bro.’

Karim flinched, feeling the twelve-month age difference between them like a weight on his shoulders. Some hero! He hadn’t been able to protect his own brother.

Karim had been a serious, responsible child, his world hemmed in by constant demands that he learn, achieve, excel, work harder and longer. Even so, he’d devoted himself to finding ingenious ways to keep the old Sheikh’s attention off his younger brother. When he hadn’t succeeded—when the old man had focused his hate on the boy he’d believed a bastard—Ashraf had been bullied and beaten. Karim hadn’t been able to protect him all the time.

Ashraf had never blamed him for not looking after him better, but the twist of guilt in Karim’s belly was something he’d always carry.

‘You don’t have to be a hero to become Sheikh,’ Ashraf continued, as if he hadn’t just shaken Karim to the core. ‘Shakroun would have no qualms about taking the throne and there’s nothing heroic about him. He’d enjoy the perks of the position.’

The words hauled Karim’s thoughts out of the past and straight back to Assara. To the idea of Safiyah at the mercy of a man like Shakroun. Hassan Shakroun wouldn’t be slow to recognise that tying himself to the previous Sheikh’s beautiful widow would cement his position. Karim might not care for Safiyah any more but the thought of her with a thug like Shakroun…

Karim cursed under his breath, long and low. His brother, having made his point, merely said goodbye and left him with his thoughts.

Instinct warned Karim to keep a wide berth from Assara and its troubles. Yet his sense of responsibility nagged. It wasn’t helped by the realisation, crystallised during the meeting with Safiyah, that his new life wasn’t as fulfilling as he’d like. Yes, he had an aptitude for business and making money. Yes, he enjoyed the freedom to choose for himself, without pondering the impact of his decisions on millions of others. And Ashraf was right: it was far easier enjoying a discreet affair without the encumbrance of royalty.

But Karim had spent his life developing the skills to administer a nation. He’d had a few years of taking on more responsibility when the old Sheikh’s health had faded. He’d thrived on it. It had been his vocation. Which was why he’d been so devastated when he’d had to step away. Ashraf had told him to stay as Sheikh but Karim hadn’t been able to do it. His brother had already been robbed of so much. Karim had refused to take what was rightfully his.

The idea of making a real difference in Assara, doing what he was trained for and what he enjoyed, tempted him. He could do a lot for the place and its people. Assara was a fine country, but it was behind Za’daq in many ways. He’d enjoy the challenge.

Yet behind all those considerations was the thought of Safiyah. Of what would happen to her and her son if Shakroun became Sheikh.

Karim paced the private gym from end to end. Safiyah was nothing to him—no more important than any other Assaran citizen. He should be able to contemplate her without any stirring of emotion.

He grimaced. Emotion had lured him into playing out that scene with her earlier. He’d drawn out the interview with talk of marriage purely so he could watch her squirm. It had been a low act. Karim was ashamed of stooping to it. He couldn’t recall ever deliberately lying before. But he’d lied blatantly today. To salve his pride. And because he hated the fact that Safiyah could make him feel anything when she felt nothing. To her he was, as he’d always been, a means to an end.

But his talk of marriage had backfired mightily.

Because now he couldn’t get it out of his head.

Karim was intrigued by her. He kept circling back to the idea of Safiyah as his lover. Maybe because although they’d once been on the verge of betrothal, they’d never shared more than a few kisses. The night she’d agreed to come to him had been the night his world had been blown apart.

That had to be the reason he felt so unsettled. Safiyah was unfinished business.

Lust speared him, dark and urgent, as he remembered her in the crimson dress that had clung like a lover’s hands. The delicate pendant she’d worn, with a single glowing red stone, had drawn his eyes to the pale perfection of her throat. He’d wanted to bury his face where her pulse beat too fast and find out if she was still as sensitive there as he remembered. Or if that too had been a hoax. Like the way she’d pretended to fall for him.

He knew he should walk away.

Safiyah tested his limits more than any woman he’d met. He didn’t want to spend his life with a woman he couldn’t trust or respect. Even to satisfy his lust.

But what if he did walk away? If he let Shakroun take the throne?

Karim would be in part responsible for what that thug did to Assara. And what he might do to Safiyah and her boy.

Karim stopped pacing and stared at the tall figure reflected in the mirror on the far side of the room. He saw hands clenched into fists, tendons standing taut, a body tensed for action.

He’d been raised to put the welfare of a nation before his own. That conditioning was hard to break.

Surely that was what made him hesitate.

He had a major decision to make and it would not hinge on Safiyah.

Karim forked his hand through his hair, scraping his fingers along his scalp. The trouble was, the more he thought about it, the more he realised marriage to the Assaran Queen was the best way to ensure he was accepted as Sheikh.

If he chose to take the role.

If he could bring himself to marry the woman who’d once spurned him.

‘He’s fine, Safiyah. Truly. It was just a runny nose and he’s okay now. He’s bright as anything and he’s been playing with the puppies.’

The phone to her ear, Safiyah rolled onto her back on the wide bed, imagining Tarek with a tumble of puppies. He’d be in his element. He loved animals, but Abbas had always said a palace was no place for pets.

‘You brought them to the palace on purpose, didn’t you, Rana? You’re hoping we’ll keep one.’

Not that she minded. These last few years she’d missed being around dogs and horses. There was something soothing about their unquestioning love.

‘Guilty as charged.’

Her sister’s chuckle made Safiyah smile. It was such a carefree sound, and one she still cherished. Rana was happy and settled now—such a tremendous change from a few years ago.

‘But you know how hard it can be to find homes for a litter. Especially since they’re not pure-bred. What’s one little puppy…?’

Safiyah laughed at Rana’s exaggerated tone of innocence. ‘Probably a lot of trouble until it’s house-trained and learns not to chew everything in sight. But you’re right. A dog would be good company for Tarek.’

Not that her son showed any sign of missing Abbas. He’d rarely seen his father more than once a week, and then only for short periods, usually in the throne room or the royal study.

Those meetings had been formal affairs. Abbas hadn’t been one to cuddle his son, or play games. He’d said that was how royal heirs were raised. They weren’t supposed to cling to their parents. And besides, as Sheikh he’d had other things to keep him busy. He’d assured Safiyah that when Tarek was old enough he’d take him in hand and teach him what he needed to know to rule Assara.

That was never going to happen now.

Tarek would grow up without knowing his father.

Nor would he become Sheikh.

A pang of fear pierced her chest. Would her son be allowed to grow up in safety? What would happen if Karim didn’t take the crown? He’d looked anything but happy about the idea. But if he didn’t and Hassan Shakroun became Sheikh—

‘Safiyah? Are you still there?’

‘Sorry, Rana. I got distracted.’

‘Things didn’t go well?’

‘I’m sure it will work out just fine.’ Safiyah was so used to putting a positive spin on things, protecting her sister as much as possible, that the words emerged automatically.

‘Reading between the lines, it doesn’t sound like it.’ Rana paused, then, ‘You can talk to me, you know, Safiyah. I’m not as fragile as I used to be.’

‘I know that.’

These days Rana seemed a different person entirely from the severely depressed young woman she’d once been. It was habit rather than need that fed Safiyah’s protectiveness, yet old ways died hard.

‘But there’s no news yet—nothing to share.’

Other than the fact Karim had asked her to be his wife.

No, not asked. Demanded. Made it a condition of him even considering accepting the sheikhdom.

She couldn’t share that fact. Not till she’d worked out what answer she was going to give.

Marrying Karim seemed impossible. Especially as there’d been not even a hint of warmth when he spoke of it. Instead he’d looked so cold, so brooding…

She couldn’t say yes. The very thought of accepting another marriage of convenience when she’d just escaped one sent shivers scudding down her spine.

Naturally they were shivers of distaste. They couldn’t be anything else.

But if she said no what would happen to Tarek? She’d do whatever it took to see him safe. Of course she would. Yet surely there was some other way. Surely marriage wasn’t essential.

‘Well, if you need to talk I’m just here.’

It struck Safiyah how far Rana had come from the troubled girl she’d been. ‘Thank you, Rana. I’m so lucky to have you.’ Especially as a few short years ago Safiyah had almost lost her. ‘To be honest, I—’

A knock on the door interrupted her. ‘Sorry, there’s someone here. I’ll just see who it is.’

Safiyah swung her bare feet off the bed, retying the belt of her long robe. She glanced at the time. Nine o’clock. Too late for a casual visitor, even if she’d known anyone else in Switzerland. And the special envoy who’d accompanied her from Assara would never dream of simply turning up at her door. He’d ring first.

‘That’s fine. I need to go anyway.’

In the background Safiyah heard yapping. She grinned as she crossed the bedroom and entered the suite’s sitting room, flicking on a lamp as she went.

‘Okay. Give Tarek a hug and kiss from me and tell him I’ll be home soon.’

‘I will. And good luck!’

More yapping, this time more frenzied, and Rana hung up.

Safiyah reached the entrance of her suite and peered through the peephole. Her vision was obscured by a large fist, raised to knock. When it lowered she was looking at a broad chest, straight shoulders and the dark gold flesh of a masculine neck and jaw.

Karim!

Safiyah’s pulse catapulted against her ribs, taking up a rackety, uneven beat. They’d agreed to meet tomorrow morning. Not tonight. She wasn’t prepared.

She glanced down at the silk robe of deep rose-pink. It covered her to her ankles, but abruptly Safiyah became aware that beneath it she wore nothing but an equally thin nightgown.

That hand rose to knock again, and she knew she had no choice but to answer.

She cracked the door open, keeping out of view behind it as much as possible.

‘Karim. This is a surprise.’ Despite her efforts her voice sounded husky, betraying her lack of calm.

‘Safiyah.’ He nodded and stepped forward, clearly expecting her to admit him.

She held the door firmly, not budging. ‘It’s late. I’m afraid it’s not convenient to talk now.’ Not when she was barefoot and wearing next to nothing. ‘Can this wait till the morning?’

By then she’d have some idea of what she was going to say. Hopefully. Plus she’d be dressed. Definitely. Dressed in something that didn’t make her feel appallingly feminine and vulnerable just standing close to Karim.

Was she entertaining a lover? The idea flashed into his brain, splintering thoughts of sheikhdoms and politics.

Her cheeks were pink and her hair was a messy dark cloud drifting over her shoulders, as if she’d just climbed out of bed. Her eyes shone like gems and he saw the pulse jitter at the base of her throat, drawing attention both to her elegant neck and her agitation.

Karim’s pulse revved as he propped the door open with his shoulder. He heard no noise in the room behind her but that meant nothing.

‘I’m afraid this can’t wait.’

Wide eyes looked up at him. Still she didn’t move. He watched her swallow, the movement convulsive. Karim felt a stab of hunger. He fought the urge to stroke that pale skin and discover if it was as soft as he remembered.

Such weakness only fired his annoyance. Bad enough that his every attempt to think logically about this situation and his future kept swinging back to thoughts of Safiyah. Karim chafed at his unwanted weakness for this woman.

‘Surely tomorrow—’

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