Читать книгу The Sultan's Choice - Эбби Грин, ABBY GREEN - Страница 8

24 hours later

‘I’M not going to marry you.’

Sadiq’s mouth was open and he was already smiling urbanely in anticipation of the Princess’s acquiescence—already thinking ahead to buying her a trousseau and getting her out of those unflattering suits. Her bottom had barely touched the seat of the chair opposite him. He frowned. Surely she couldn’t have just said—

‘I said I don’t want to marry you.’

Her voice was low and husky, but firm, and it tugged somewhere deep inside him again. Sadiq’s mouth closed. She sat before him like a prim nun, hair pulled back and dressed in a similarly boxy suit to the one she’d worn yesterday. This one was just a slightly darker hue of blue. Not a scrap of make-up enhanced those pale features or those aquamarine eyes. Disconcertingly, at that moment he noticed a splash of freckles across her delicately patrician nose.

Freckles. Since when had he noticed freckles on anyone? Any woman of his acquaintance would view freckles with the same distaste as acne. Something nebulous unfurled within Sadiq, and he sat back and realised that it was a surprise—because it was so long since anyone had said no to him. Or been so reluctant to impress him. Princess Samia’s chin lifted minutely, and for a second Sadiq could see her innately regal hauteur. She might be the most unprepossessing princess he’d ever met, but she was still royalty and she couldn’t hide it.

The thin line of her mouth drew his focus then, and bizarrely he found himself wondering how full and soft those lips would be when relaxed … or kissed. Would they be pink and pouting, begging for another kiss?

Samia could see the conflict on the Sultan’s face, the clear disbelief. That was why she’d repeated herself. It had been as much to check she hadn’t been dreaming. She was trembling all over like a leaf. She’d tossed and turned all night and had kept coming back to the stark realisation that she really did not have a choice.

But when faced with Sadiq again, and the clear expectation on his face that she was there to say yes, she had felt some rebellious part of her rise up. This was her only chance of escaping this union. She crushed the lancing feeling of guilt. She couldn’t worry now about the fallout or she’d never go through with it. The thought of marrying this man was just so downright threatening that she had to do something—no matter how selfish it felt.

Sadiq’s voice rumbled over her, causing her pulse to jump. ‘There’s a difference between not marrying me, and not wanting to marry me. One implies that there is no room for discussion, and the other implies that there is. So which is it, Samia?’

Samia tried to avoid that searing gaze. He was sitting forward, elbows on his desk, fingers steepled together. The way he said her name made her feel hot. She was already unravelling at the seams because she was facing this man again, even though the heavy oak desk separated them. Even the threat to her sister wasn’t enough right now to make her reconsider. She’d cross that bridge if it came to it.

He hadn’t kept her waiting today. He’d been waiting for her. Standing at his window like a tall, dark and gorgeous spectre. And now he was utterly indolent—as if they might be discussing the weather. He wore a shirt and no tie. The top button was undone, revealing the bronzed column of his throat. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, showing off muscled forearms more suited to an athlete than a head of state. Samia felt unbearably restless all of a sudden.

Abruptly she stood up, wanting to put space between them. She couldn’t seem to sit still around this man, and she couldn’t concentrate while he was looking at her like that—as if she were under a microscope. So clinically.

She went and stood behind the chair, breathing erratically. ‘Discussion …’ she finally got out. ‘Defintely the discussion one.’

Great. Now she couldn’t string a sentence together—and what was she doing, encouraging a discussion with one of the world’s greatest debaters? She paced away from the chair, feeling constricted in her suit. She’d never been as self-conscious about what she wore as she had been in the last thirty-six hours. Samia had always been supremely aware of her own allure, or more accurately the lack of it, and was very comfortable with a uniform of plain clothes to help her fade into the background. Or at least she had been till now.

She avoided his eye. ‘Look, I know you need a wife, and on paper I might look like the perfect candidate—’

Sadiq cut in with a low voice. ‘You are the perfect candidate.’ He stifled intense irritation. She was the only candidate. After carefully vetting potentially suitable brides from his world and dismissing them, she was the only one he’d kept coming back to. And once he’d set his mind on something he would not rest until he had full compliance. Failure was not an option.

Samia turned back to face him, and quailed slightly under the glowering look he was sending her. ‘But I’m not! You’ll see.’ She searched frantically for something to say. ‘I don’t go out!’

‘A perfectly commendable quality. Despite what you’ve been led to believe, I’m not actually the most social of animals.’

Samia forced her mind away from that nugget of information. This man and a quiet evening in by the fire just did not compute. ‘You find it commendable that I don’t have a life? That’s not something to applaud—it’s something to avoid. How can I be your queen when the last party I was at was probably yours? You must have parties every week—you move in those circles. I wouldn’t know what to do … or say.’

Samia’s tirade faltered, because the Sultan had moved and was now sitting on the edge of the desk, one hip hitched up. She swallowed and wished he hadn’t moved. Heat was rising, and dimly she wondered if he had any heating on.

‘Of course you’d know what to do and say. You’ve been brought up to know exactly what to do and say. And if you’re out of practice you’ll learn again quickly enough.’

Samia choked back her furious denial. She ran a hand through her hair impatiently, which was something she did when she was agitated. She forgot that it was tied back and felt it come loose but had to ignore it.

She faced him fully. ‘You really don’t want me for your wife. I don’t like parties. I get tongue-tied when I’m faced with more than three people, I’m not sophisticated and polished.’ Like all your other women. Samia just about managed not to let those words slip out.

Sadiq was watching the woman in front of him with growing fascination. She wasn’t sophisticated and polished—and he suddenly relished that fact for its sheer uniqueness. She was literally coming apart in front of him, revealing someone very different from the woman she was describing. He agreed with absolutely everything she was saying—apart from the bit about her not being a suitable wife.

‘And yet,’ he drawled, ‘you’ve been educated most of your life in a royal court, and your whole existence has held within it the potential for this moment. How can you say you’re not ready for this?’

Samia could feel the unfashionably heavy length of her hair starting to unravel down her back. Her inner thermostat was about to explode. With the utmost reluctance she opened her jacket, afraid that if she didn’t she’d melt in a puddle or faint.

Before she could stop him Sadiq was reaching out and plucking the coat from her body as easily as if she were a child, placing it on the chair she’d vacated. Too stunned to be chagrined, Samia continued, ‘You need someone who is used to sophisticated social gatherings. I’ve been in libraries for as long as I can remember.’

The ancient library in the royal Burquat castle had always been her refuge from the constant taunting of her stepmother, Alesha. She started to pace again, disturbed by Sadiq’s innate cool.

‘You need someone who can stand up to you.’ She stopped and stood a few feet away, facing him. She had to make him see. ‘I had a chronic stutter until I was twelve. I’m pathologically shy. I’m so shy that I went to cognitive behavioural therapy when I was a teenager to try and counteract it.’ Which had precipitated another steady stream of taunts and insults from her stepmother, telling her that she would amount to nothing and never become a queen when she couldn’t even manage to hold a conversation without blushing or stuttering.

Sadiq had stood up and come closer to Samia while she’d been talking. He was frowning down at her now, arms folded across that impressive chest. ‘You don’t have a stutter any more, and I’d wager that your therapist, if he or she was any good, said that you were just going through a phase that any teenager might go through. And plenty of children suffer from stuttering. It’s usually related back to some minor incident in their childhood.’

Samia blinked. She felt as if he could see inside her head to one of her first memories, when she had been trying to get her new stepmother’s attention and was stuttering in her anxiety to be heard. She would bet that he’d never gone through anything like that. But he’d repeated more or less exactly what her therapist had said. It was so unexpected to hear this from him of all people that any more words dried in her throat as he started to move around her.

Sadiq was growing more intrigued by the second. Her hair had come completely undone by now, and it lay in a wavy coil down her back. His fingers itched to reach out and loosen it. It looked silky and fragrant … a little wild. It was at such odds with that uptight exterior.

So close to her like this, for the first time he noticed the disparity in their heights. She was a lot smaller than the women he was used to, and he felt a surprising surge of something almost protective within him. With the jacket gone he could see that she was slight and delicate, yet he sensed a strength about her—an innate athleticism. He could see the whiteness of her bra strap through her shirt, and how her shirt was tucked into the trousers, drawing his eye to a slim waist and the gentle flare of her hips. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a prospective lover so demurely dressed, and that thought caught him up short. She was to be his wife. Lovemaking would be purely functional. If he got any enjoyment out of it, it would be a bonus.

He came to stand in front of her and could see where she’d opened the top button of her shirt, revealing the slender length of her neck right down to the hollow at the base of her throat. It looked pink and slightly dewed with moisture. She must be hot. He had the most bizarre urge to push her shirt aside and press a finger there. His eyes dropped again, and he could see very plainly the twin thrusts of her breasts, rising and falling with her breath and fuller than he had first imagined.

To his utter shock, the unmistakable and familiar spark of desire lit within him. With more difficulty than he would have liked, he brought his gaze back up to hers and felt a punch to his gut at the way those aquamarine depths suddenly looked as dark blue as the Arabian sea on a stormy day. Tendrils of hair were curling softly around her face, and she looked softer, infinitely more feminine. In fact in that moment she looked almost … beautiful. Sadiq reeled at this completely unexpected development.

Samia was helpless under Sadiq’s assessing gaze. No man had ever looked at her so explicitly, his gaze lingering on her breasts like that. And yet she wasn’t insulted or shocked. A languorous heat was snaking through her veins. She was caught in a bubble. A bubble of heat and sensation. As soon as he had walked behind her she’d had to undo her top button because she couldn’t breathe—she’d felt so constricted. And now he was looking at her as though … as though—

‘You say I need someone to stand up to me and that’s what you’ve been doing since yesterday.’ His beautifully sculpted mouth firmed. ‘It’s a long time since anyone has refused my wishes. I encounter people every day who are overawed and inhibited by what they perceive me to be and yet I don’t get that from you.’ Before Samia could articulate anything, he continued. ‘Very few people would feel they had the authority to do that, but we’re the same, Princess Samia, you and I.’

Samia nearly blanched at that. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she and this man were not the same. Not in a million years. Polar opposites. ‘We’re not the same,’ she got out painfully. ‘Really, we’re not.’

He ignored her. ‘I know you’ve got a closely knit and loyal group of friends.’

Without a hint of self-pity and vaguely surprised that he knew this, she said, ‘That says more about who I am and the background I come from than anything else.’ Remembering one painful episode in college, she went on, ‘I could never fully trust that people weren’t making friends just because they thought they could get something out of me.’ When he still looked unmoved she said desperately, ‘I’m boring!’

He arched an incredulous brow. ‘Someone who is boring doesn’t embark on a three-woman trip across the Atlantic in a catamaran made out of recycled materials in a bid to raise awareness about the environment.’

Samia was immediately disconcerted. ‘You know about that?’

He nodded and looked a little stern. ‘I think it was either one of the most foolhardy or one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.’

She flushed deeper and couldn’t stop a dart of pleasure rushing through her at the thought she’d earned this man’s admiration. ‘I care about the environment … The other two were old friends from college, and they couldn’t raise the funding required on their own … But once I got involved …’ Her voice trailed off, her modesty not wanting to make it sound as if she’d been instrumental in the project.

Sadiq rocked back on his heels. ‘I have a well-established environmental team in Al-Omar that could do with your support. I often find I’m too tied up with other concerns to give it my full attention. We’ve both grown up in rarefied environments, Samia, both grown up being aware of public duty. If anything, your teenage and childhood experiences will make you more empathetic with people—an essential quality in any queen.’

Samia objected to his constant avowal of partnership, and the tantalising carrot of being able to work constructively for the environment, but her attempt to halt him in his tracks with a weak-sounding ‘Sadiq …’ made no impact.

‘You might find social situations intimidating, but with time they’ll become second nature. Also, you can’t deny that having grown up as a princess in a royal court you are aware of castle politics and protocol. You would have learnt that by osmosis. These are all invaluable assets to me in any marriage I undertake. I don’t have the time or the inclincation to train someone.’

Samia blinked up at him again. She couldn’t deny it. As much as she might want to. Even though she’d spent her formative years avoiding her stepmother, she knew castle politics like the back of her hand—she’d had to learn to survive. Her knowledge of the things he spoke had been engraved invisibly on her psyche like a tattoo from birth.

‘I want to create a solid alliance between Al-Omar, Merkazad and Burquat. We live in unstable times and need to be able to depend on each other. Marrying you will ensure a strong alliance with your brother. I already have it with Merkazad. Your father’s rule put Burquat firmly in an isolated position, which did your country no favours. Thankfully your brother is reversing that stance. I don’t see how you have any grounds at all—apart from your own personal concerns—to believe that you are not fit to become my queen, and in so doing ensure the future stability of your country.’

Samia swallowed painfully, glued to his glittering blue eyes in sick fascination. He was right. She could no more stand there and deny these facts than she could deny her very heritage and lineage. She might have hidden herself away in a college and then a dusty library for the past few years, but she’d always had the knowledge of this ultimate responsibility within her.

And her concerns were personal—selfish, in fact. She just did not have that luxury. She wasn’t the same as the average person on the street. She had obligations, responsibilities.

As if he could sense her weakening, Sadiq moved closer and Samia’s breath faltered. That embarrassing heat was back, rising inexorably through her body, and for the first time she recognised it not as the heat of embarrassment or shyness but as a totally different kind of heat. The heat of desire. The fact that he was having the same inevitable effect on her as every other woman he must encounter was humiliating. She was not immune.

‘I …’ She had to swallow to get her voice to work. He was standing so close now that all she could see was those dark blue irises, sucking her in and down into a vortex of nebulous needs she’d never felt before. She battled her own sapping will and focused. ‘I accept what you’re saying. They’re all valid points.’

‘I know they are.’

Had his voice dropped an octave? It sounded like it. They were standing so close now that Samia could feel his warm breath feather around her, could smell the intensely masculine scent of sandalwood and musky spice. It was the memory of that scent that had kept her awake for long hours last night.

To her utter shock he reached out a hand and touched his thumb to her bottom lip, tugging it. She had the most bizarre urge to flick out her tongue and taste his finger. Her heart slowed to about a beat a minute.

‘That’s better. You shouldn’t be so tense. You have a very pretty mouth.’

A pretty mouth? No one had ever referred to her as pretty in her life. Instantly Samia felt as if a cold bucket of water had been flung over her. She stepped back abruptly, forcing the Sultan’s hand down, breaking the spell. Clearly the man felt the need to placate her with false compliments. What was wrong with her? Believing for half a second that she was in some sensual bubble with the Sultan of Al-Omar who had courted and bedded some of the world’s greatest beauties?

Her face flaming again, Samia looked away and tried to regain control, breathing a sigh of relief when she sensed Sadiq move back too.

His voice was tight. ‘Samia, it’s inevitable. You might as well give in now, because I won’t. Not until you say yes.’

She gulped and shook her head. Words were strangled in her throat. She was more sure than ever that she couldn’t do this. Especially after she’d all but sucked his finger into her mouth like some wanton groupie!

She heard him sigh expressively and sneaked a look. He was glancing at his watch and then looking at her. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m hungry. I’ve had a busy day.’

Samia just looked at him stupidly for a moment. The tension in the atmosphere diminished. And then her stomach gurgled loudly at the thought of food. She’d been so wound up for the last thirty-six hours that she’d barely eaten a thing.

As if Sadiq could see the turmoil on her face he quirked his mouth and came close again, playing havoc with Samia’s hearbeat, and tipped up her chin with a finger.

‘Rest assured I won’t stop until you have agreed to become my wife and queen. But we might as well start to get to know one another a little better in the meantime. And eat.’

Before she knew what was happening Sadiq was leading the way from the study with her jacket over his arm. She opened her mouth to protest, but then they were in the hall and he was conferring with his butler who bowed and indicated for Samia to follow Sadiq into what turned out to be a dining room.

It was more than impressive. Dark walls were lined with portraits of Sadiq’s ancestors in western dress, looking very exotic, a huge gleaming oak table dominated the room and there was a setting for two at the top of the table.

Sadiq was standing behind a chair, looking at her expectantly, and, feeling very weak, Samia went forward and sat down. There was a flurry of activity as the butler came back with more staff and they were presented with options for dinner. Samia made her choice without even thinking about what she was ordering.

When they were momentarily alone Samia bit her lip for a moment and began to speak, not even sure what she wanted to say. ‘Sadiq …’

But he just poured her a glass of chilled white wine and said disarmingly, ‘You made the right choice with the fish. Marcel, our chef, is an expert. He used to work for the Ritz in Paris.’

Samia took the proffered glass and felt her unruly hair slip over her shoulder. She’d long lamented the fact that her hair didn’t fall in sleek and smooth waves like her younger sisters’, who’d all inherited their own mother’s exotic dark colouring. Kaden had inherited their father’s dark looks, so she’d always been the odd one out. Her stepmother had only had to breathe air into Samia’s own sense of isolation to compound it.

She felt a little naked with her hair down like this—somehow exposed, as if some secret feminine part of herself was being bared to the sun. It wasn’t altogether uncomfortable, which made it even more disturbing. Sadiq sat back and smiled at Samia urbanely, making her stomach flip-flop. If he turned on the charm she didn’t know how she would cope.

As if privy to her private thoughts, that was exactly what he did.

For the next hour and a half, while they ate delicious food, he managed to draw Samia out of her shell. At first she did her best to resist, but it was like trying to resist the force of a white water rapid. Something was happening—some intangible shift.

Perhaps she’d started feeling this softening, melting sensation when he’d mentioned her sailing trip? Or perhaps it had been his easy acceptance when she’d told him about her stuttering and shyness. She’d never told anyone about that before, and had done so with him purely in a bid to repel him. But it hadn’t worked. He’d empathised. It was almost like a betrayal to witness the sudden ease with which she was finding herself talking to him now, albeit about superficial subjects.

He was disarming her enough to make her forget for a moment who he was. It was seductive evidence of a self-deprecating side, and of the undeniable bond they shared in both coming from the same part of the world, from a similar background. Everything he had already pointed out. She had not expected self-deprecation from this man, or any kind of feeling of kinship with him. She hadn’t expected him to defuse the tension like this.

They were finishing their coffee when Samia looked at Sadiq, somewhat emboldened after the meal and a glass of wine. ‘You’re very good you know,’ she said.

He quirked a brow, his eyes breathtakingly blue against the olive tone of his skin. ‘Good? In what way?’

Samia had to concentrate. It was like sitting across the table from a Hollywood heart-throb, not a head of state. ‘At charming people.’

He shrugged minutely, and for a second Samia saw something stern flash across his face and into those eyes.

Immediately the warm bubble of fuzziness that had been infusing her dissipated. Of course. How could she have been so silly? This was all an act—an act put on her for benefit and his, to get to her to acquiesce to his plans for marriage. Of course he was charming her. And she was falling for it and believing it like any other woman with a pulse would.

She made a point of looking at her watch, even though she didn’t register the time, and then looked back at Sadiq, tensing herself against his effect on her.

‘I have to be up early tomorrow. I’m still handing over to my successor.’

Sadiq sat forward. ‘You like working in the library here?’

That rebellious streak rising again, Samia said defiantly, ‘Yes. And a queen who is more at home surrounded by books is hardly the queen for you.’

Sadiq had to quell the sudden urge to wipe that prim look off Samia’s face by kissing her. He’d had her in the palm of his hand during the meal—he knew it. She’d been more relaxed than he’d seen her. And with that had come the realisation that he had grossly underestimated her appeal. The spark of desire that had lit earlier had erupted into full-on lust as he’d watched her natural effervescence emerge.

She’d blossomed quite literally before his eyes—like a flower being exposed to heat and light after being hidden in a dark corner. It was the most amazing thing. She reminded him of a dimond in the rough. Actually, he amended, more like a dark and glowing yellow diamond. A rare jewel.

But now she’d clammed up again like an oyster shell, protecting the bounty within. Those full lips were once again a thin line, the eyes downcast. He signalled discreetly to his staff and rose smoothly to his feet once his wayward body felt more under control. A dart of satisfaction went through him at seeing Samia look confused for a moment, as if she’d expected him to challenge her. And then she rose to her feet too, somewhat less assuredly, and that protective instinct surged again. Sadiq had to clench his hands to fists to stop himself reaching out to steady her.

He couldn’t understand his physical response. The last woman he’d been with had been hailed as the most beautiful woman in the world three years running. And there had never been one moment when he’d felt protective of her. When he tried to picture her now all he remembered was that his desire for her had waned long before he’d admitted it to himself. And yet this woman, whose appeal was more wholesomely pretty than beautiful, was having a more incendiary effect on his libido than he could remember.

As Samia preceded Sadiq out of the dining room, he thought of something to test her. She got to the front door and turned around. Clearly she was hoping he wouldn’t challenge her again. He almost pitied her for her blind optimisim. He handed her her jacket and watched her expression closely.

‘You know,’ he mused, ‘perhaps you’re right after all. Perhaps you’re not suitable to be my wife.’

Something suspiciously exultant moved through him as he caught the split second of a reaction she couldn’t hide because her face was just too expressive.

Samia opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She stilled in the act of putting her jacket on. He’d completely surprised her. And, to her utter chagrin, instead of feeling relieved she had the absurd desire to contradict him and tell him that she could be a good wife for him. What was going on?

She tried desperately to hide her confusion as she continued putting on her jacket. ‘You mean if I was to walk out of here right now you wouldn’t stop me? Or pursue this matter?’

Sadiq smiled, but it was the smile of a shark. ‘You don’t really believe I’m just going to let you walk away, do you?’

Anger rose bright and rapid at the realisation that he was playing with her. Samia grabbed for the door and tried to wrench it open, but it wouldn’t budge. She turned back, exasperated at being trapped. ‘If your door worked you could watch me walk out right now, and there wouldn’t be one thing you could do about it.’

Samia was mortified, because she knew well that he’d caught her out. She’d shown her reaction before she could hide it. He knew how conflicted she was about this.

‘The door works fine, Samia. I just wanted to see how you’d react if you got a sniff of freedom, and your face told me all I need to know.’

Acting on a purely animal instinct to escape a threat, Samia turned back to the door and this time it opened. She stood in the doorway, breathing deep, and almost simultaneously lights exploded all around her.

The paparazzi.

Samia heard a colourful Arabic curse behind her even as she registered big burly bodyguards materializing as if from thin air to hold the photographers back. Strong arms came around her and pulled her into a lean and hard muscled body. Samia was plastered against Sadiq’s length as he all but carried her back over the threshold and into the house.

It took a second for her to register that it was quiet again and the door was shut behind them. Samia’s breath sounded laboured, and she realised that she was still clamped to Sadiq like a limpet. Breasts crushed to his chest. She scrambled backwards, face flaming.

Sadiq raked a hand through his hair. ‘Are you okay? I’m sorry about that. Sometimes they lie in wait once they know I’m here, and the bodyguards can’t do anything.’

He could still feel the imprint of her body—the firm swells of her breasts pressed against him just for that brief moment. How delicate she’d been. She’d fit into his body like a missing jigsaw piece. For someone used to women who almost matched him in height, it had been a novel sensation.

She was standing there, looking dishevelled and innocently sexy with colour high in her cheeks, and he knew that she had no idea how alluring she was—which only inflamed him more, because he was used to women being all too aware of their so-called allure.

‘You knew about that.’

He frowned, not liking the accusatory tone in her voice. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You just said that you know they lie in wait. I’m going to be all over the papers with you. Leaving your house.’

Samia realised she was shaking violently. She heard another curse and felt Sadiq take her arm in a firm grip. ‘Come back into the study. You’re in shock.’

Once in the big stately room, Sadiq all but pressed Samia down into a chair and went to get a tumbler of brandy. He came back and handed it to her. ‘Take a sip. You’ll feel better in a minute.’

Hating feeling so vulnerable, Samia took the glass and a gulp of the drink, coughing slightly. She watched Sadiq pour himself a drink and come to sit opposite her on a matching chair. The lights in the room made his amazing good-looks stand out. An awful alien yearning tugged low in her belly and she put down the drink and crossed her arms across her chest defensively.

Grimly he said, ‘I’d forgotten all about the paparazzi. Of course I had no intention of putting you in that situation.’

Samia gulped, her anger dissipating. She knew he was telling the truth. A man like him would not have to resort to such measures. Restless, Samia stood up. ‘Look, thank you for the dinner … I—’

She stopped when Sadiq stood too, and she had to curb the ridiculous urge to look for an exit, as if she were alone with a wild animal. Samia put out her hands wide in an unconsciously pleading gesture.

‘What happened just now should prove how unsuitable I am. That was my first time being caught by the paparazzi. You need someone who is used to that kind of thing—who knows how to handle it.’

Distaste curdled in Sadiq’s belly. That was exactly what he didn’t want. He was more sure than ever that he wanted her—and for reasons that went beyond the practical and mundane.

He came closer to Samia and an unmistakable glint of triumph shone in his eyes and she felt sick. She could talk till she was blue in the face but the game was up. He’d called her bluff. She’d shown her telltale confusion. He’d manipulated her beautifully. Bitter recrimination burnt her. He was so close now that all she could see were those mesmerising eyes, and all she could smell was that uniquely male scent.

‘Your reaction tells me you’re conflicted about this decision, Samia. So let me take the conflict out of it for you. Agree to become my wife because there simply is no other alternative. You are of royal blood, from an ancient lineage. You were born for this role, and nothing you do or say can change that. To fight this is to fight fate, me and your brother.’

From his jacket pocket he pulled out a small velvet box, and all the while his eyes never left hers. He opened it, and Samia couldn’t help but look down between them. The ring was surprisingly simple. It was obviously an antique—a square-cut stone in a gold setting, strikingly unusual and beautiful.

‘It’s a yellow sapphire. It was my paternal grandmother’s—a gift from my grandfather on one of their wedding anniversaries.’

Sadiq didn’t tell her that this distinctive ring had been in his mind’s eye ever since he’d met her, and that it was a lucky coincidence it had been in the family’s jewel vault in London. He’d sent back the diamond ring he’d planned on using, feeling absurdly exposed in acknowledging that he hadn’t been happy with a stock ring, which should have been perfectly adequate for what was essentially a stock wedding.

Samia looked up, and Sadiq took her hand in his. He looked so deep into her eyes that she felt as if she might drown and diappear for ever. She knew on some rational level that he was probably not even aware of his power. Unconsciously her fingers tightened around his as if to anchor herself, and something undefinable lit in Sadiq’s eyes, hypnotising her even more.

‘Princess Samia Binte Rashad al Abbas, will you please do me the very great honour of becoming my wife and Queen of Al-Omar?’