“I was blackmailed into this marriage. I will not be blackmailed into bed.”

Princess Ghizlan of Jeirut has returned home to find that warrior Sheikh Huseyn al Rasheed has seized her late father’s kingdom. With her sister held hostage, Ghizlan has no choice. Her barbarian captor is determined to tame her, rule her—and make her his own!

Forcing Ghizlan’s hand in marriage will not be enough to conquer her body and soul: Huseyn’s iron will is challenged at every step by her magnificent beauty and fierce pride. It won’t be long before they both fall prey to the firestorm between them...

‘I am here to claim my bride.’

Ghizlan loathed his superior, über-confident air, the gloating note in his deep voice. She pitied his bride, whoever she was, but clearly Huseyn wanted her to be impressed. What would it cost her to play along—at least until she got to the bottom of this?

‘Who are you marrying? Do I know her?’

His smile widened and she saw the gleam of strong white teeth. Fear scudded down her spine as she read his expression.

‘That would be you, my dear Ghizlan. I’m taking you as my wife.’

Wedlocked!

Conveniently wedded, passionately bedded!

Whether there’s a debt to be paid, a will to be obeyed or a business to be saved...she’s got no choice but to say “I do”!

But these billionaire bridegrooms have got another think coming if they think marriage will be that easy

Soon their convenient brides become the object of an inconvenient desire!

Find out what happens after the vows in

The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition by Sharon Kendrick

One Night to Wedding Vows by Kim Lawrence

Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed by Michelle Smart

Expecting a Royal Scandal by Caitlin Crews

Trapped by Vialli’s Vows by Chantelle Shaw

Baby of His Revenge by Jennie Lucas

A Diamond for Del Rio’s Housekeeper by Susan Stephens

Bound by His Desert Diamond by Andie Brock

Bride by Royal Decree by Caitlin Crews

Claimed for the De Carrillo Twins by Abby Green

Look out for more Wedlocked! stories coming soon!

The Desert King’s Captive Bride

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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.

Books by Annie West

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge

Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter

Imprisoned by a Vow

Captive in the Spotlight

Prince of Scandal

Secret Heirs of Billionaires

The Desert King’s Secret Heir

One Night With Consequences

Damaso Claims His Heir

A Vow to Secure His Legacy

Seven Sexy Sins

The Sinner’s Marriage Redemption

Desert Vows

The Sultan’s Harem Bride

The Sheikh’s Princess Bride

At His Service

An Enticing Debt to Pay

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

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For my darling Dad

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Wedlocked!

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE STEWARDESS STOOD ASIDE, inviting her to leave the plane. Ghizlan stood, smoothing her moss-green tailored skirt and jacket with a hand that barely trembled.

She’d had days to prepare herself. Days to learn to mask the shock and, yes, grief. She’d never been close to her father, a distant man, more interested in his country than his daughters, yet his sudden death at fifty-three from a brain aneurism had rocked the foundations of her world.

Ghizlan drew herself up, donning the polite smile her father had deemed appropriate for a princess, and, with a murmur of thanks to the staff, stepped out of the aircraft.

A cool evening wind whipped down off the mountains, eddying around her stockinged legs. Briefly she pondered how nice it must be to travel in comfortable, casual clothes, before letting the idle thought tear free on a gust of air. She was the daughter of a royal sheikh. She didn’t have that freedom.

Setting her shoulders, she gripped the rail and descended the stairs to the tarmac, aware that her legs were unsteady.

Falling flat on her face wasn’t an option. Clumsiness had never been allowed and now, more than ever, it was imperative she look calm. Until her father’s heir was named she was the country’s figurehead, a face the people knew. They would rely on her, eldest daughter of their revered Sheikh, to ensure the smooth running of matters while his successor was confirmed.

Who that would be, Ghizlan didn’t know. Her father had been negotiating a new marriage when he died, still hoping to get that all-important male heir.

She reached the tarmac and paused. On three sides rose the mountains, purple in the late afternoon, surrounding the capital on its plateau. Behind her on the fourth side the mountain dropped abruptly to the Great Sand Desert.

Ghizlan breathed deeply. Despite the grave circumstances of her arrival in Jeirut, her heart leapt at the familiar scents of clear mountain air and spices that even airline fuel couldn’t quite eradicate.

‘My lady.’ Azim, her father’s chamberlain, hurried towards her, face drawn and hands twisting.

Ghizlan quickly crossed to the old man. If anyone could claim intimacy with her father it was Azim, his right-hand man for years.

‘Welcome, my lady. It’s a relief to have you back.’

‘It’s good to see you, Azim.’ Ignoring custom, Ghizlan reached for his hands, holding them in hers. Neither of them would ever admit it but she had been closer to Azim than to her father.

‘Highness!’ He darted a worried look to one side where soldiers guarded the perimeter of the airstrip.

Ghizlan ignored them. ‘Azim? How are you?’ She knew her father’s death must have been a terrible blow to him. Together they’d made it their lives’ work to bring Jeirut into the new millennium by a combination of savvy negotiation, insightful reform and sheer iron will.

‘I’m well, my lady. But it’s I who should be asking...’ He paused, gathering himself. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. Your father wasn’t merely a visionary leader, he was the mainstay of our democracy and a protector to you and your sister.’

Ghizlan nodded, releasing Azim’s hands and moving towards the terminal. Her father had been all those things, but her country’s democratic constitution would continue after his death. As for her and Mina, they’d learned long ago not to expect personal support from their father. Instead they were used to being paraded as role models for education, the rights of women and other causes. He might have been a visionary who’d be remembered as a great man, but the sad truth was neither she nor her younger sister could be heartbroken at his passing.

She shivered, knowing she should feel more.

As they approached the terminal Azim spoke again. ‘My lady, I have to tell you...’ He paused as some soldiers marched forward.

‘Wait. My lady.’ His voice was barely above a whisper and Ghizlan stopped, attuned to the urgency radiating from him. ‘I need to warn you—’

‘My lady.’ A uniformed officer bowed before her. ‘I’m here to escort you to the Palace of the Winds.’

Ghizlan didn’t recognise him, a tough-looking man in his thirties, though he wore the uniform of the Palace Guard. But then she’d been away more than a month and military transfers happened all the time.

‘Thank you, but my own bodyguard is sufficient.’ She turned but to her surprise couldn’t see her close personal protection officers.

As if reading her mind the captain spoke again. ‘I believe your men are still busy at the plane. There are new regulations regarding baggage checks. But that needn’t delay you.’ He bowed again. ‘My men can escort you. No doubt you are eager to see the Princess Mina.’

Ghizlan blinked. No palace employee would dream of commenting on the intentions of a member of the royal family. This man was new. But he was right. She’d fretted over how long it had taken to get back to Jeirut. She hated the idea of Mina all alone.

Again she turned but couldn’t see her staff. It went against every instinct to leave them, but now, finally in Jeirut, her worry over Mina had grown to something like panic. Ghizlan hadn’t been able to reach her by phone since yesterday. Her sister was only seventeen, just finished school. How had she coped with their father’s death?

Only men attended Jeiruti funerals, even state funerals, but Ghizlan had wanted to be here to take the burden of the other formalities, receiving the respects of provincial sheikhs and the royal court. But tradition had prevailed and her father had been interred within the requisite three days while Ghizlan had been stuck on another continent.

‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’ She turned to Azim. ‘Would you mind explaining that I’ve gone on to the palace and that I’m in safe hands?’

‘But, my lady...’ Azim darted a glance towards the guards surrounding them. ‘I need to speak with you in private. It’s crucial.’

‘Of course. There are urgent matters to discuss.’ Her father’s death was a constitutional nightmare. With no clear heir to the sheikhdom, it could take weeks to decide his successor. Ghizlan felt the weight of responsibility crush down on her shoulders. She, as a woman, couldn’t succeed, but she’d have a key role in maintaining stability until the succession was finalised. ‘Give me two hours then we’ll meet.’

She nodded to the captain of the guards to proceed.

‘But, my lady—’ Azim fell silent as the captain stepped towards him, deliberately invading the old man’s space, expression stern and body language belligerent.

Ghizlan fixed the officer with a stare she’d learned from her father. ‘If you’re going to work for the palace you need to learn the difference between attentiveness and intimidation.’ The guard’s eyes met hers, widening in surprise. ‘This man is a valued aide. I expect him, and everyone else approaching me, to be treated with respect. Is that understood?’

The officer nodded and stepped away. ‘Of course, my lady.’

Ghizlan wanted to take Azim’s hands once more. He looked old and frail. But she desperately needed to see Mina. Instead she smiled gently. ‘I’ll see you soon and we can discuss everything.’

* * *

‘Thank you for your escort.’ Ghizlan stopped in the vast palace atrium. ‘However, in future, there’s no need for you or your men to come within the palace itself.’ The security arrangements didn’t include armed men in the corridors.

The captain bowed, the slightest of inclines. ‘I’m afraid I have orders to the contrary, my lady. If you’ll come with me?’

‘Orders?’ Ghizlan stared. The man might be new but he overstepped the mark. ‘Until my father’s successor is announced I give the orders in the palace.’

The man’s expression didn’t alter.

Ghizlan was used to soldiers. Protecting the royal family was a prestigious rung on the military career ladder, but never had she met one like this. He looked back, fixed on a point near her ear, his expression wooden.

‘What’s going on here?’ Ghizlan kept her tone calm, despite the unease trickling, ice cold, down her spine. She hadn’t paid attention before, had been too lost in her thoughts to notice, but a quick glance revealed all the guards were unfamiliar. One new face, maybe two, was possible. But this...

‘My orders are to take you to the Sheikh’s office.’

‘My father’s office?’ Despite a lifetime’s training in poise, Ghizlan couldn’t prevent the hammer of her heart against her ribs, or the way her hand fluttered up as if to stop it. An instant later she’d controlled the gesture, forcing her hand down. ‘Who gave this order?’

The captain didn’t speak, but gestured for her to precede him.

From confusion and shock, anger rose. Whatever was going on, she deserved answers and she intended to get them! She strode forward, only to slam to a halt as the whole squad of guards moved with her.

Slowly she spoke, articulating each word precisely. She didn’t bother to turn her head. ‘Dismiss your men, Captain. They are neither required nor welcome in this place.’ For the beat of her pulse, then another she waited. ‘Unless you feel unable to guard a solitary woman?’

Ghizlan didn’t deign to wait for his response, but strode away, her high heels smacking the marble floor, fire fizzing in her veins. It should have been a relief to hear the men moving away in the opposite direction, except she knew their officer followed right behind her.

Something was very, very wrong. The knowledge twisted her insides and raised the hair at the nape of her neck.

Ignoring a lifetime’s training, Ghizlan didn’t bother knocking on the door to the royal office, but thrust it open, barely pausing in her stride.

Her breath escaped in a rush of frustration as she surveyed the room. It was empty. The person who’d allegedly given such outrageous orders to the palace guard, if it was the palace guard, was nowhere to be seen.

She swayed to a halt before the vast desk and her heart spasmed as she inhaled the faint, familiar scents of papers and sandalwood, as well as spearmint from the chews her father kept in a box on his desk.

Time wound back and she could almost believe it all a nightmare. That her father would enter from the rear door to his private quarters, intent on some report or new scheme to help his people.

Ghizlan planted her palms on the satiny wood of the desk and drew in a deep breath. She had to get a grip.

Whatever was going on, and instinct belatedly warned her something was, her father was gone.

A shudder racked her so hard she had to grit her teeth so they didn’t chatter. She’d known all her life that her father’s love was for his country not his children. Yet he’d been vigorous enough to contemplate a third marriage. It still seemed impossible—

Ghizlan straightened. She didn’t have time to wallow in sentiment. She needed to discover what was happening. For it had seemed as if the guards kept her prisoner rather than protected her. Unease stirred again.

She smoothed her palms down her skirt, twitched her jacket in place and pushed her shoulders back, ready to face whatever unpalatable situation awaited.

She was halfway to the study’s rear door when a voice stopped her. It wasn’t loud but the deep, bass rumble cut through her jumbled thoughts like the echo of mountain thunder.

‘Princess Ghizlan.’

She swung around, twisting on a stiletto heel. Her pulse tripped unevenly as she took in the great bear of a man standing before the closed door through which she’d entered.

He towered over her even though she wore heels and was often described as statuesque. The disparity in their heights surprised her. He wasn’t just tall, he was wide across the shoulders, his chest deep and his legs long and heavily muscled.

He wore a horseman’s clothes—a pale shirt and trousers tucked into long leather boots. A cloak was pushed back off his shoulders so she glimpsed the knife at his waist. Not a decorated, ceremonial dagger as her father had worn from time to time, but a plain weapon, its handle gleaming with the patina of use.

‘Weapons aren’t permitted in the palace,’ she snapped out. It was easier to concentrate on that than the strangely heavy thud of her pulse as she met his gaze. It worried her almost as much as the inexplicable behaviour of the palace guards.

The man’s eyes were blue-grey. Light-coloured eyes weren’t uncommon in Jeirut’s provinces, crossed by ancient trade routes between Europe, Asia and Africa. Yet Ghizlan had never seen eyes like this. Even as she watched the hint of blue was erased and his eyes under straight black eyebrows turned cool as mountain mist.

He had a wide forehead, a strong nose a little askew from an old break and a mouth that flattened disapprovingly.

Ghizlan arched her eyebrows. Whoever he was, he knew nothing about common courtesy, much less court etiquette. It was not for him to approve or disapprove.

Especially when he looked like he’d stalked in from the stables with his shaggy black hair curling around his collar and his jaw dark with several days’ growth. It wasn’t carefully sculpted designer stubble on that squared-off jaw but the beard of a man who simply hadn’t bothered to shave for a week.

He stepped closer and she caught a whiff of horse and tangy male sweat. It was a strangely appealing smell, not sour but altogether intriguing.

‘That’s hardly a friendly greeting, Your Highness.’ His words were soft but so resonant they eddied through her insides in the most unsettling way.

‘It wasn’t meant as a greeting. And I prefer not to be addressed as Highness.’ She might be of royal blood but she’d never be ruler. Despite the modernisation of Jeirut, of which her father had been so proud, there was no question of equality of the sexes extending that far.

The intruder didn’t make a move, either to remove his weapon or himself. Instead he angled his head to one side as if taking her measure. His eyes never left hers and heat sparked at the intensity of that look.

Who was this man who entered without a knock and didn’t bother to introduce himself?

‘Please remove your weapon while you’re here.’

One dark eyebrow rose as if he’d never heard such a request. Silently he crossed his arms over his chest.

Make me.

He might as well have said it out loud. The challenge sizzled in the air between them.

Bizarrely, instead of being scared by this big, bold, armed brute, Ghizlan’s blood fizzed as if trading glares with him had finally woken her from the curious, dormant feeling that had encompassed her since the news of her father’s death.

She kept her hands relaxed at her sides but allowed her mouth to quirk up in the tiniest show of superiority. ‘Your manners as much as your appearance make it clear you’re a stranger to the palace and the niceties of polite society.’

His eyes narrowed and Ghizlan felt that stare as if it penetrated her silk-lined suit to graze her flesh.

Then in one swift movement he hauled his dagger from his belt and threw it.

Ghizlan’s breath stopped in her throat and she knew her eyes widened but she didn’t flinch when the unsheathed blade skidded across the desk an arm’s length away.

Slowly she turned her head, seeing the jagged cut in the polished wood. Her father had prized that desk, not for its monetary value, but for the fact it had belonged to an ancestor who had introduced Jeirut’s first constitution. A visionary, her father had called him. His role model.

Ghizlan stared at the deep, haphazard scratch on the beautiful wood and anger welled, raw and potent. An anger born of shock and loss. She knew the stranger’s aim was deliberate. If he’d planned to attack her he wouldn’t have missed.

Why inflict such wanton damage except to make a point of his rudeness? And, of course, to frighten her. Yet it wasn’t fear bubbling up inside her. It was wrath.

Her father had devoted his life, and hers, to the betterment of their people. He may not have been a loving father but he deserved greater respect in death.

She made no move to grab the weapon. She was fit but no match for the sheer bulk of the man filling her father’s study with his presence. He could probably snap her wrist with a single hand and no doubt he’d enjoy demonstrating his greater physical strength like a typical bully. But she refused to be cowed. She swung to face him.

‘Barbarian.’

He didn’t even blink. ‘And you’re a pampered waste of space. But let’s not allow name-calling to get in the way of a sensible conversation.’

Ghizlan almost wished she had lunged for the knife. She wasn’t accustomed to such rudeness and for the first time ever her blood surged with the desire to hurt someone. Slapping him would probably only bruise her palm when it came into contact with that high, sharp cheekbone. But with a knife...

She dragged in a fortifying breath and squashed the errant bloodlust. She blamed it on the creeping certainty that something terrible had happened here. Something that brought unfamiliar faces and armed guards to the royal palace that had epitomised the peace her father had worked so hard to win.

Mina! Where was her sister? Was she safe?

Fear skittered through her but Ghizlan wouldn’t let it show. She wouldn’t reveal it to the man looking so predatory. His eyes never wavered from her face as if he searched for weakness.

Ignoring the tremor in her knees, Ghizlan crossed the fine silk carpet and pulled out her father’s chair from the desk. Deliberately she sank onto the padded leather and planted her arms on the chair, for all the world as if she belonged in her father’s place.

If she was going to face this lout she’d do it from the position of power.

Too late she realised that while he stood, dominating the space with his size and raw energy, she was forced to tilt her neck to view him.

‘Who are you?’ She was relieved to hear her voice revealed none of the emotions roiling inside.

An instant longer that clear, cold gaze rested on her, then he bowed, surprisingly gracefully. It made her wonder what he did when he wasn’t trespassing and threatening unarmed women. There was a magnetism about him that would make him unforgettable even if he hadn’t barged, uninvited into this inner sanctum.

‘I am Huseyn al Rasheed. I come from Jumeah.’

Huseyn al Rasheed. Ghizlan’s stomach plunged and her brow puckered before she smoothed it into an expression of calm.

Trouble. That was who he was. Trouble with a capital T.

‘The Iron Hand of Jumeah.’ Fear prickled her nape.

‘Some call me that.’

Ghizlan sucked in a surreptitious breath between her teeth. This grew worse and worse.

‘Who can blame them? You have a reputation for destruction and brute force.’

She paused, marshalling her thoughts. Huseyn al Rasheed was son to the Sheikh of Jumeah, leader of the furthest province from the capital. Though part of Jeirut it was semi-autonomous and had a reputation for fearsome warriors.

Huseyn al Rasheed was notorious as his father’s enforcer in the continuous border skirmishes with their nation’s most difficult neighbour, Halarq. It had been her father’s dearest hope that the peace treaties he’d been negotiating with both Halarq and their other neighbouring nation, Zahrat, would end generations of unrest. Unrest Huseyn al Rasheed and his father only fed with their confrontational behaviour.

Ghizlan gripped the leather armrests tight, wishing her father were here to deal with this. ‘Did your father send you?’

‘No one sent me. My father, like his cousin, your father, is dead.’

Second cousin, Ghizlan almost blurted, wanting to deny the connection he claimed, but she was well trained in holding her tongue.

‘My condolences on your loss.’ Though she saw nothing in that tough, determined face remotely resembling grief.

‘And my condolences on yours.’

Ghizlan nodded, the movement jerky. She didn’t like the way he stared at her. Like a big cat who’d found some fascinating new prey to torment.

She curled her fingers until her nails dug into leather. This was no time for flights of fantasy.

‘And your reason for entering here, armed and uninvited?’

Was it imagination again or did something flicker in those grey eyes? Surely not because she’d called him on his deplorable behaviour? If the rumours surrounding this man were true she needed to tread very, very carefully.

‘I’m here to claim the crown of Jeirut.’

Ghizlan’s heart stopped then sprinted on frantically.

‘By force of arms?’ Vaguely Ghizlan wondered at her ability to sound calm when horror was turning her very bones cold. A man like the Iron Hand in control of her beloved country? They’d be at war in a week. All her father’s work, and her own, undone.

Pain lanced her chest and her lungs cramped. She blinked and forced herself to breathe.

‘I have no intention of starting a civil war.’

‘Which doesn’t answer my question.’

He shrugged and Ghizlan watched, mesmerised, as those impossibly broad shoulders lifted.

Terror, loathing, anger. That’s what she should feel. Yet that tingling sensation across her breasts and down to her belly didn’t seem like any of those.

She ignored it. She was stressed and anxious.

‘I have no intention of fighting my own people for the royal sheikhdom.’

The constriction banding her chest eased a little. Yet she didn’t trust this man. Everything about him set alarm bells ringing.

‘You think the elders will vote for a man like you as leader?’ She couldn’t sit still. She surged to her feet, her hands clenched in fists on the desk as she leaned forward. How dared he walk in here as if he owned the place?

‘I’m sure they’ll see the wisdom of choosing me.’ He paused, long enough for a flicker of heat to pass between them. Banked fury, Ghizlan decided. ‘Especially given the other happy circumstance.’

‘Happy circumstance?’ Ghizlan frowned.

‘My wedding.’

Ghizlan opened her mouth but realised she would only parrot what he had said. Instead she stood, tension racking her body as she watched his mouth curve up in a smile that was painfully smug. It transformed his face enough that she wondered how he’d look if something genuinely amused him. Heat drilled through her. She could almost see traces of a handsome man beneath that fierce beard and the threat he represented. Then she reminded herself this man didn’t do light-hearted. And even if he did she wasn’t interested in seeing it.

‘That’s my other reason for coming to the capital. To claim my bride.’

Ghizlan loathed his superior, über-confident air, the gloating note in his deep voice.

She pitied his bride, whoever she was, but clearly he wanted her to be impressed. What would it cost her to play along at least until she got to the bottom of this?

‘Who are you marrying? Do I know her?’

His smile widened and she saw the gleam of strong white teeth. Fear scudded down her spine as she read his expression.

‘That would be you, my dear Ghizlan. I’m taking you as my wife.’

CHAPTER TWO

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

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

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

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

Huseyn would love to have seen that.

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

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

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

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

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

And curiosity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘My lady is the correct form of address.’

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

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

She didn’t like him looking at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Business?’

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

That was news but Huseyn didn’t show it.

‘And you’re free to marry.’

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

‘I have no plans to.’

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

‘But—’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘And my sister? Have you hurt her?’

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

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

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

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

‘The guards are here for protection.’

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

‘Temporarily relieved of duty.’

‘If you’ve hurt any of them—’

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

The idea was beyond laughable.

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

He saw her as a chattel.

Like your father did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Is that what you call it?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I prefer not to be manhandled.’

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

She amused him. The realisation infuriated her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She refused to cower.

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

‘It’s an attempt to avoid bloodshed.’

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

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

Ghizlan remained scornfully silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her hands came together in slow, deliberate applause.

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

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

‘You won’t do this for your country?’

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

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

Ghizlan sucked in an outraged breath. It was true she’d avoided returning to Jeirut when her planned betrothal to Sheikh Idris was abruptly cancelled. But that had been at her father’s request, to let the scandal die. Since then she’d been cultivating business contacts Jeirut desperately needed if planned new developments were to proceed.

Not that a man like this, a ruthless mountain marauder with no finesse, would understand that.

‘Clearly news is slow to reach your province,’ she bit out. ‘The dust cloud from a volcano in Iceland stopped all flights for days.’ She’d almost flown home from New York across the Pacific instead but each day the forecasters had predicted the cloud would clear and aviation would recommence. For two days they’d been wrong. ‘I came on the first flight.’

Her voice grew husky. It was ridiculous. She’d never been close to her father. He’d never once indicated he loved her. Yet her chest ached when she thought of not being here for his funeral. Or to support Mina.

‘Not that I care about your opinion. I’d simply never marry a man I despised on sight.’

‘Despised?’ His voice dropped to that bass rumble. Thunder to the lightning she’d seen a moment ago. She felt its vibration shimmer across her nipples and thighs.

‘Absolutely.’ Her chin notched even higher. Had he moved closer?

He had moved closer. She drew in that tangy scent of stable and man as he stepped in, toe to toe.

‘Then how do you explain this, my lady?’

Big, warm, implacable hands closed around her upper arms and his face lowered to hers.

CHAPTER THREE

GHIZLAN WHIPPED HER head to one side but only succeeded in baring her cheek to this...this...bandit.

Whiskers brushed her in a totally unfamiliar caress, sending little shivers dancing across her skin. Warm lips, far softer than she’d imagined, nuzzled her cheek, stealing her breath.

She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of revealing fear. Instead she stood ramrod straight. Frozen.

Yet it wasn’t fear she experienced as his lips moved in a tantalisingly slow trail up to her ear. Ghizlan blinked, surprised at the odd sensation of warmth curling in on itself deep in her belly.

This had gone on long enough.

She yanked her arms back, trying to break his hold, but it was like wrestling a boulder. A huge, warm boulder scented not just with the stables but with an enticing, unfamiliar tang that she suspected was essence of Huseyn al Rasheed.

Teeth nipped her earlobe and she jumped, horrified at the fiery trail zapping from the spot straight to her womb, as if he’d jerked a string and she, like a puppet, responded. Her nipples budded hard and achy against her bra. Did he feel that as his big body pressed against her?

‘Stop it, you lout!’

Hands braced on his chest, she leaned back, trying to escape, but he was taller and stronger. In one swift movement he clamped both her hands against that brawny, powerful chest. His other hand grabbed the back of her head, inexorably turning her face towards him.

Ghizlan saw a flash of smoky blue beneath straight dark brows, then his mouth was on hers.

Heat, power, the rich, zesty scent of male skin. The soft prickle of his whiskers against her flesh contrasted with the sheer force of his mouth grinding down on hers. It was a predictably ruthless assault on her senses by a man determined to dominate.

Fear filtered into her stunned brain. Until she realised, astonished, that despite the power in that massive, muscled body, he’d pulled back a fraction. Even as the thought formed, the pressure on her lips eased and his hand in her hair gentled, cradling and massaging.

Ghizlan stared, trying to focus on the blue of his eyes, but he was too close. He shifted his stance, drawing her lower body in against him until there was no mistaking the monumental evidence of his arousal.

She gasped, stunned, and too late realised her mistake. For Huseyn al Rasheed took the opportunity to invade her mouth.

Not to ravage this time but to seduce. His movements were sure but gentle as his tongue swiped hers, learning the feel and taste of her, just as she discovered he tasted like almonds and something else impossibly, horrifyingly delicious.

Her chest cramped as she realised she enjoyed the sensation of his tongue tangling with hers.

Foggily she fought the drugging pleasure of those slow, sure, sensual movements of lips and tongue, no longer forcing but inviting.

A shiver passed from the back of her skull where his fingers caressed her, down to her curling toes.

She’d been kissed before. Perfectly pleasant kisses from perfectly nice men. Sweet kisses, even eager kisses. But none like this. None that demanded so imperiously then gentled to seduce her into feelings that surely were more dangerous than anything else he could unleash on her.

His kiss invited her to relax and follow the unfamiliar lure of pleasure. To be selfish, just once. His hand cupping her head supported but also caressed, sending whorls of languid delight through her.

And his hard body against hers—that was a totally new, electrifying experience. Ghizlan had kissed, and dated while a student, but, ever conscious of the high expectations placed on her, and the possibility for scandal if caught out publicly in a love affair, she’d never progressed beyond that.

No man had ever made her feel this potent longing for more.

Ghizlan tried to be strong, tried not to respond. Until she heard, and tasted, Huseyn’s low humming growl of satisfaction. It was a sensual assault, as real as his hand in her hair or his tongue stroking hers. The way it vibrated through her, sparking an answering excitement, was unlike anything she’d known.

His kiss slowed, deepened, became positively languorous, and Ghizlan’s bones began to soften. Her hands twitched against that powerful chest and before she knew it they’d slid up, over hard shoulders to tangle in tousled locks, tunnelling and tugging then clamping tight on his skull.

She shifted, angling her mouth to kiss him back and losing her breath as his erection aligned provocatively against her.

Another growl from the back of his throat and he roped one muscled arm around her, lifting her against him so the contact became even more blatantly sexual.

And devastatingly delicious.

Ghizlan gasped, her mind, like her body, running on overdrive. One part of her was aware of curving in, inviting more of that heavy, outrageously improper contact. Another revelled in the strength of a man who could lift her with one arm as if she were made of gossamer. But mainly she was focused on the provocative, delicious kiss she didn’t want to end.

Except this was wrong. On so many levels she couldn’t begin to count them.

The part of her consciousness that had been trained from birth to focus on duty, to be a good example, to do the right thing always, suddenly burst awake and screamed in horror.

Ghizlan dropped her hands to his shoulders and shoved with all her might. She tried to tear her mouth away and only succeeded in inviting him to nuzzle her neck.

Her body trembled and flushed with delight at the sensations bombarding her from his mouth and his hands and that huge body moving deliberately against her pelvis.

‘I don’t want this. Do you hear me? I don’t want it!’ Her voice was a raw whiplash, ragged and desperate. ‘Let me go.’ She gave up pushing and thumped her fists on his shoulders.

Finally, slowly, his head lifted. His eyes pinioned her as effectively as that heavy arm lashing her to him. His gaze was the colour of the sky after sunset, that fleeting blue when the first stars appeared before the sky turned indigo.

He blinked. Once. Twice. His gaze dropped to her lips, throbbing and heavy from that devastating kiss. To Ghizlan’s horror she felt that stare like a stroking caress.

‘Let me go.’ This time her voice was subdued. How she managed to look him in the eye, Ghizlan couldn’t fathom. They both knew that despite her anger she’d responded, lost to everything but the magic of his kiss.

Heat roared in her veins. Shame filled her that she should surrender so easily to such a man!

She told herself she’d responded because of her inexperience. If she’d known what to expect she could have prepared herself. She’d known he fancied himself as a lover—that smugness had been unmistakable. Clearly he’d played his greater expertise to advantage.

‘Well, that was interesting.’ His voice held a husky note that drove a shaft of heat right to her belly.

‘You can let me go now.’

His lips curved slowly into a smile Ghizlan wanted to hate because it was prompted by masculine pride. He was pleased with himself because she hadn’t been able to resist him. But strangely his smile made her heart thud faster.

‘Are you sure you can stand?’

Of all the complacent, self-satisfied...

Ghizlan’s knee-jerk reaction, straight for the soft spot where that monumental male ego was centred, should have crippled him. But his reactions were faster than hers. Her knee grazed his cotton trousers but he’d already whipped back out of reach with the lightning reflexes of a man used to fighting. And fighting dirty.

His hands dropped, leaving her free, panting for breath and propped against the desk.

At least that wiped the grin off his insufferable face.

Ghizlan summoned her strength, standing tall, her hands going automatically to her hair and swiftly pinning what he’d turned into a mare’s nest. Fortunately she could tidy her hair without thinking about it, like she could descend a grand staircase in a full-length dress without looking down or tripping. Or converse with ambassadors in several languages at the same time. Years of practice made some things easy.

What she found difficult was the realisation her own body had betrayed her.

‘You’ve had your fun at my expense.’ She kept her voice even, only because letting him glimpse the depth of her despair at her weakness was untenable. ‘Now, I’d like the see the Captain of the Guard, and my bodyguards and then my sister.’

‘After we’ve concluded our business.’

Ghizlan shook her head. ‘That can wait.’ She hefted a breath, waiting for some tiny sign he relented but none came. He remained immovable, implacable.

She sighed and fought the desire to rub her aching head. ‘Surely you understand I must see them. They’re my responsibility. With my father...gone, it’s my duty to see to their welfare.’ She swallowed, hating the salty tangle of tiredness and emotion blocking her throat. She couldn’t afford to be weak now. ‘You’d feel the same way about the soldiers you command.’

* * *

He’d give her points for perceptiveness. Ghizlan understood him better than he’d expected. Appealing to his sense of duty to his men was the approach he’d expect of an honourable adversary, a general he could respect, even if they were on opposite sides.

He hadn’t thought a pretty princess, spoiled from birth and raised in luxury, would understand that overriding sense of responsibility. Much less share it!

His gaze raked her. This time he tried to take in more than the mutinous, deliciously kiss-swollen mouth, the delectable figure, flawless skin and glossy ebony hair that had run like silk in his hands.

Huseyn discovered an unwavering dark gaze, shoulders as straight as any guard on patrol, and an expression as cool as the snow on the topmost peaks of Jeirut’s highest mountain range. Only the throbbing pulse hammering at her throat belied her calm façade. It ignited a flare of satisfaction that he’d got to her as she had him.

Admiration vied with impatience and lust. He wanted her mouth beneath his, eager and generous, that bountiful body crushed against his still painfully hard arousal.

He shook his head, appalled. This was no time to indulge himself. The future of his province and his country hung in the balance.

‘What do you want? For me to beg? Is that what it will take to satisfy you?’

‘You’d do that?’ Huseyn imagined her on her knees before him, head bent. But the vision swimming before his eyes didn’t involve her begging. With a roaring rush of arousal he realised it was something more satisfying, more earthy, that he desired from this proud princess.

She opened those reddened lips, now devoid of lipstick, and abruptly Huseyn had had enough. He’d have her in his bed soon enough, as his wife. Because he must and because he’d do what was necessary to make that happen. In the meantime he refused to toy with her. Her instincts were honourable and he respected that.

‘No.’ His voice was harsh. ‘No, I don’t expect you to beg.’ He sucked air into constricted lungs and watched as her attention dropped to the rise of his chest, her eyes rounding infinitesimally. As if she liked what she saw.

She’d certainly enjoyed that kiss. She’d been so enthusiastic he’d actually begun to forget why he’d kissed her. To show who had the upper hand, and more, to puncture that haughty air of hers.

Realisation slammed into Huseyn and with it distaste. He’d let her distract him from his purpose. From the vital work that needed to be done.

‘Wait here. I’ll have them each brought to you so you can satisfy yourself that they’re unharmed.’

‘It would be easier if I went—’

‘No.’ A slashing gesture stopped her mid-sentence. There was no way he’d allow her to wander the palace. Not till everything was settled. ‘Give me your phone and I’ll arrange for them to see you here.’

‘My phone?’ She looked puzzled.

Huseyn folded his arms over his chest. ‘I don’t want you contacting people outside the palace till we’ve concluded our business.’ Her gaze sliced to the phone on the desk.

He shook his head. ‘The landlines have been temporarily disconnected. All electronic devices have been confiscated.’

‘While you stage your coup.’

For a minute, caught up in appreciation of her bravery, he’d almost forgotten his dislike of the pampered elite who sucked the country dry with their demands.

‘While I save the nation.’

Her snort of derision was anything but regal and Huseyn found himself suppressing a smile. Despite everything, he warmed to this blue-blooded daughter of privilege.

She swung round, treating Huseyn to a view of her peach-perfect bottom as she leaned over to grab her purse.

‘Here.’ She extended her phone. ‘But I expect it back intact. I’m in the middle of important negotiations and I want my contacts and messages untouched.’

Negotiations? With her hairstylist? Boyfriends? Huseyn didn’t care. She’d be incommunicado till he said so.

His fingers closed around the phone, his big hand scraping her smaller one, and heat shot up his arm. He frowned, lips flattening at that unwanted response.

She pulled her hand back, her face smoothing into the mask of calm he’d learned she wore when something disturbed her. Good. He liked the idea that he disturbed her. For she sure as hell disturbed him!

‘The phone will be returned undamaged.’ He paused. ‘As long as you obey orders.’

Ebony eyebrows arched but she said nothing. She was learning.

‘After you’ve assured yourself no one has been harmed, we’ll talk.’ With that he turned and left. He had business to attend to. He’d deal with his recalcitrant bride later.

* * *

‘Truly, I’m fine.’ Mina squeezed Ghizlan’s hand. ‘But I’m glad you’re here. It’s been pretty grim.’

Ghizlan nodded, the banked embers of fury glowing brighter. Mina was just seventeen. Losing her father was bad enough without being held prisoner in her own home.

‘You’re sure they didn’t hurt you? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?’

‘Of course. But they didn’t hurt me. Just took my phone and laptop and told me I couldn’t leave the palace.’ Her mouth set in a distressed line. ‘But I need to access the net, Ghizlan. It’s vital.’

‘Vital?’ It was such a relief seeing her sister okay. First the Captain of the Palace Guard then her own protection staff. Now Mina. It seemed Huseyn al Rasheed was as good as his word. No one had been harmed. The takeover had been accomplished with the ease and precision of a consummate professional.

A professional coup leader, she reminded herself. And a thug. Look at the way he’d groped her.

‘Are you listening, Ghizlan?’

‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘But I’m still getting used to your new look.’

Mina stroked the dark hair feathering her bare neck. ‘When Father died I realised that at last I could do what I wanted. Not pretend to be someone I’m not.’ Her expression grew earnest. ‘I’m not like you, Ghizlan. I can’t be the consummate diplomat, following duty and public expectation. I tried to please Father but never succeeded. As for studying economics...’ She shuddered.

Ghizlan covered Mina’s hand with hers, emotion welling. ‘You’re fine as you are, Mina. You’re bright and enthusiastic and talented.’ It seemed like betrayal to think it but with their father’s death Mina was free to follow her inclinations and build the life she wanted. Their father couldn’t straitjacket her into a life designed to fulfil some political objective as he had Ghizlan.

‘Actually, I rebelled a while ago. Before Father died, though he didn’t know.’ Mina’s eyes glowed. ‘You know I don’t want to go to that stuffy school to study economics.’

‘I know.’ It had been part of their father’s plan to show Jeiruti women could achieve in nontraditional fields. Which was why Ghizlan had a degree in chemical engineering, though at least she’d been interested in science in the first place. ‘So what have you done?’

‘I applied to art school. A fabulous art school in France. You know that’s always been my dream. I secretly sent off an application and offers should be out now but I can’t check my email.’ Her voice rose in distress. ‘If they make an offer and I don’t reply, they won’t wait. They’ll—’

‘Calm down, Mina. They’ll give you time to respond.’

‘Not if we’re in lockdown for weeks. What if Huseyn doesn’t release us for months? What if—?’

‘Don’t fret. He can’t hold us indefinitely. His plan is to get himself declared Sheikh as soon as possible.’

With her as a vital part of his plan. But he’d soon discover she was no gullible pawn. She’d never marry him.

‘You really think so? I’d shrivel up and die if I had to do the course Father picked.’

‘No one’s going to force you to do anything, Mina. Just relax.’

The thought struck Ghizlan with the force of a lightning bolt. It was true. Once a new sheikh was proclaimed they would leave the palace. Huseyn couldn’t force her to marry him. All she had to do was remain steadfast. When he’d given up they could do what they wanted with their lives. Mina could go to art school and she could... Her brow puckered. It had been so long since she’d thought about what she wanted, rather than what was expected, she didn’t immediately know how she wanted to spend her future.

Now freedom beckoned. A whole world of opportunity.

‘Ghizlan? You have the strangest look on your face.’

Ghizlan smiled. Not the polite smile she used for official occasions, but a beam of excitement. ‘That’s because I’ve realised once Huseyn al Rasheed gets what he wants we’ll be free to do what we want. No one can stop us.’

* * *

‘You demanded my presence?’ Ghizlan lifted her chin to meet those misty blue eyes. The sheer size of the man would daunt her if she let it. She focused on that rather than the peculiar flutter of her pulse when his gaze met hers.

Antagonism. Distrust. That’s what she felt.

The strange excitement she experienced when he turned from her father’s desk to face her was due to the realisation she and Mina would soon be free in a way they’d never dreamed possible. It had nothing to do with the memory of Huseyn’s lips on hers or that hollow ache in her middle when he’d crushed her to him. Or that, minus the long cloak, his pale trousers and shirt emphasised the breathtaking strength in that beautifully proportioned body.

Ghizlan preferred character to brawn.

‘Gracious as ever, I see.’ That deep voice was soft, like plush velvet across her skin. He didn’t look annoyed either, merely watchful as she closed the study door and approached the desk.

That all-encompassing survey was incredibly disquieting. Ghizlan fought to repress a shiver.

‘You expect me to pretend you and your thugs haven’t invaded the capital or taken me and my sister hostage?’ Ghizlan took a sustaining breath and was momentarily discomfited when his gaze flicked down as if taking stock of her body.

Rubbish. He wasn’t interested in her. That scene he’d played out here a couple of hours earlier had been about power, not attraction. Some men got off on that. Men like Huseyn al Rasheed.

‘You don’t give up, do you?’ He leaned back against her father’s desk as if he owned it. The raw, jagged scratch he’d made in it was half hidden by papers. Ghizlan was incensed at how he’d made himself at home.

‘You expect me to treat you like a welcome guest?’

‘Frankly, my manners are the least of your worries, my lady. You should be more concerned about the threat to Jeirut from Halarq.’

‘Ah, but according to you, I’m merely a waste of space.’ She tilted her head as if thinking. As if she didn’t recall precisely what he’d called her. ‘A pampered princess, wasn’t it? It’s obvious that as far as you’re concerned such weighty issues can only be dealt with by armed men. The sort of men who flout the law and imprison law-abiding citizens.’

Silver flashed in those deep-set eyes and he muttered something under his breath.

She locked her hands together behind her, forcing her shoulders back and her chin up. This was pointless. Much as she enjoyed baiting him, there was nothing to be gained from it except personal satisfaction. She had others in her care to worry about. She couldn’t afford to endanger them.

‘Might I suggest that, while the citadel is under armed guard, you release most of your hostages? I’ll stay, of course, but my sister is just a teenager and the staff could leave while this is sorted out.’

Ghizlan tried and failed to repress the pounding thud of her heart at the thought of Mina at this man’s mercy any longer. Mina was young and impulsive, and Huseyn al Rasheed didn’t look like he had an understanding bone in his body.

‘Sorted out? You speak as if I’m here temporarily. I assure you, my lady, that isn’t the case. This is now my home.’ His wide gesture encompassed not just the room, but the whole palace.

‘Once the Council declares you Sheikh.’

‘I expect that within a couple of days. I’ve already informed them of our impending marriage.’

Ghizlan’s eyes popped. ‘You had no right.’

‘I had every right. I’m trying to save our country. Can’t you see that?’

‘What I see is a man so wrapped up in his bid for personal power he’ll do anything to succeed.’ It was a miracle she kept her voice even. Behind her back her knotted hands shook with the force of her outrage. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised to learn you had an army surrounding the city, ready to start a civil war.’

He stopped lounging against the desk. In the blink of an eye he was standing tall, looming over her, his expression one of hauteur and repressed anger. ‘I’ll forgive that. This time. When you know me better you won’t jump to such insulting assumptions.’

‘I have no intention of knowing you better. You can’t make me marry you.’

He didn’t move, didn’t lift a finger, but that smoky blue gaze grazed her face as surely as if he’d stroked rough fingers across her flesh. Beneath the whiskers his mouth curved in a slow smile that sent quivers of foreboding through her.

‘If you’re so set against it, my lady, so be it.’ He paused. ‘I’ll simply marry your sister instead. Her royal blood is as good as yours. She’s seventeen, is that right?’ He paused, his smile widening. ‘No doubt I’ll find her much more amenable to my needs.’

For a second, then another and another, Ghizlan’s heart stalled. Her stomach dropped sickeningly. She looked at the implacable man before her, read the determination in the set of his shoulders and the proud tilt of his head. The certainty in that complacent smile. And felt the world tremble on its foundations.

It was one thing for their father to try bartering Ghizlan into an arranged marriage to Sheikh Idris of Zahrat. At least Idris was a civilised, cultured, caring man. But to expect Mina, her innocent little sister, to marry this brute...

Ghizlan’s arm swung up and she punched Huseyn al Rasheed full in the face.

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