Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees...

by Clare Connelly

  “And until you decide to confide in me, you will remain my guest.”

  Nope. Not so reasonable after all, she thought with a grimace.

  “Your guest?” She prompted sceptically.

  “My guest.” He turned toward the gate and spoke in his own language once more. The guards came and the door was unlocked. “This accommodation is not suitable. Tonight you will be transferred for holding at my palace.”

  “Your palace?” She squeaked, moving to follow him.

  She was so distracted by his statement that she didn’t even realise she was walking through the security gate until a guard, acting on instinct, grabbed her by the shoulders and forcefully threw her back into the cell. She cried out in surprise and pain as an old tennis injury in her shoulder was aggravated by his violent touch.

  Radiz eyed the man with cold fury and pushed past him, moving back into the cell. He stood in front of Miranda, his expression dispassionate at first. But as he saw the way she was biting down on her lower lip in an attempt not to cry, he felt a pang of something unfamiliar to him. A sort of sympathy that he hadn’t known was in his spectrum of emotions.

  “You are hurt.”

  She shook her head. “No.” Her tremulous voice was brave.

  “Yes.” He denied firmly as he lifted a hand. “May I?”

  She nodded, her throat constricted. He pushed his fingers gently against her dress, lowering the shoulder so that he could see her skin. It was bruised where the guard had grabbed her.

  “It’s fine,” she assured him. “I injured it a few years ago, that’s all. It’s a little sensitive.”

  He raised himself to his full height.

  “You will come with me now.”

  His eyes glared at the guard as he swept past, one arm around Miranda’s waist. It all happened so fast. One minute she was in a dark, grimy cell, and the next she was in the blindingly bright sunshine, being led to a glistening grey helicopter. Later, she wondered why she hadn’t objected. Demanded to be taken to her embassy. But at the time, she was so confused and overwhelmed that she simply fell into step beside the powerful ruler and followed him to the chopper.

  She did ask one question, though. “Why… are you doing this?”

  His eyes seemed to glow with emotion. “I believe a ruler is defined by his country. And a country is defined by the treatment of its prisoners.” He reached over and clipped her seatbelt into place, waving away one of his security guards who would otherwise have undertaken the task. “Tell me, Miranda Jones, how would you characterise your treatment so far?”

  She focussed her gaze on the barren desert outside the window of the chopper. Concrete seemed to sprawl for hundreds of meters, and then it gave way to sand and little clumps of faded green grass. “I would characterise it as no different to what – probably – thousands of other people are currently enduring,” she pointed out with a critical lift of her brow.

  She continued to stare out of the window as the chopper lifted into the sky, and so she didn’t see the way his expression shifted into one of grudging amusement. He was not used to being addressed so frankly.

  “So why me?” She wondered aloud, once they were high in the air and heading away from the city.

  “Why my sister’s residence? My sister’s jewels?” He leaned forward, his expression concealing so very much. His voice though was sharp and thick. His suspicions were acute and, as it happened, correct. “You are the same age as Mastepha. You herald from London, where she is currently studying. And you broke into her apartment without setting off an alarm. Which leads me to believe she aided you in some way. And for some reason. Knowing my sister, she has twisted your arm to partake in some kind of scheme on her behalf.”

  Miranda’s face showed her surprise at his accuracy, though she quickly regained control of her expression. “You’re mistaken. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  His smile was without mirth. “Perhaps this is the truth. Though I do not believe so. However, for the sake of argument, let us say that I am wrong. That you do not know Mastepha. That your age, location and the target of your crime are all random coincidences. There is yet another reason I am bringing you to my palace, Miranda.”

  “What is it?”

  He leaned back in his seat, looking completely at ease. The whir of the rota blades was loud, but she would never forget his next words. “Because you fascinate me. A woman who quotes from the parable of Priya… who speaks of the morality of theft from a darkened prison cell, who argues with a ruler who has the power to sentence her to a life of imprisonment… these qualities are rare and intriguing. I wish to understand you better. In fact,” he lowered his gaze to her pouting lips, and her heart began to race, “I wish to understand everything about you.”

  Chapter One

  A month earlier

  “You can’t do it, Mirry. It’s too much. I’ll work out another way.”

  Miranda moved slowly down the ladder, taking it one step at a time. She still had a clutch of nails in her mouth and she spat them into her palm now. “What other way?” She placed the nails on one of the ladder’s steps so that her hands were free to touch her friend’s beautiful, rounded stomach. “You have no money. You can hardly go and get a normal job. At least, not without arousing suspicion. Tom has nothing.”

  “He has some money.”

  Miranda rolled her eyes. “He works in a pub. He can just barely make ends meet for himself, let alone you and a baby.”

  “I know. It’s absurd. When I think about what I have back in Fasiya…”

  “Exactly. And it’s simply a matter of popping home and getting it.”

  “You say that, but you don’t know what my country is like.”

  Miranda frowned. “You’re so proud of your home, though.”

  “I am, I am. But the royal family are feted as Gods. It is not a matter of simply ‘popping’ back. My brother would be furious with me. I haven’t spoken to him in over a year, Mirry.” She closed her eyes and gripped her stomach. “Since Tom and I started dating.”

  “I know. But soon the weather’s going to get warmer, and you’re not going to be able to hide the fact that you’re pregnant by wearing enormous sweaters and scarves. Those security guys that keep tabs on you are going to send your brother a pretty important memo one day soon. Unless I help you.”

  Steph nodded, her face pale. “I know, I know. I need money, so that I can hide out and have this baby in private. If Rad finds out, he’ll force me to come home. Make me have the baby there and turn it into some kind of miniature royal automaton. And he’ll either make me marry Tom or forbid him from being in our lives altogether.”

  “Hey, hey,” Miranda put her hands around her friend’s shoulders, her long blonde hair spilling down her back as she hugged Mastepha. “It’s okay. I’m your best friend. I’m going to help you.”

  “You can’t.” She was truly miserable.

  “Of course I can.” She gnawed on her lip. “Talk me through your apartment. What would be involved in getting in?”

  And so, as Miranda hung pictures all over the wall of her apartment, she also framed a mental picture of Steph’s home in the capital city.

  Still, Steph remained insistent. “It’s too dangerous. If Rad discovers you, he’ll be furious. If he learns the truth of our connection, it will lead him to me. And he will learn the truth.”

  “I promise, I’ll be careful.”

  Steph had known Miranda a long time. Since the first day she’d arrived in London, and they’d bonded over a shared hatred for the drizzly weather. They’d been stranded outside their lecture, and had decided to go for a coffee instead. Coffee had turned into lunch, and lunch had become dinner, and by the end of that first night, they were firm friends and confidantes.

  Of course Miranda was going to help her friend. In fact, she was determined. Being pregnant was hard enough, without the worry of a financial burden that could be eased without great difficulty. “Come on, Steph. We’ll be like
a modern day Thelma and Louise.”

  Mastepha frowned. “Who?”

  “Oh my God. The gap in your movie knowledge is horrifying. First Dirty Dancing, and now this?”

  Steph shook her head and shrugged. “Who are Thessle and…”

  “Thelma!” Miranda corrected with a laugh. “Lord. How have you seen High School Musical twenty eight times and never these classics?”

  “Classics?” Steph giggled. “You mean like the Dickens of film?”

  “Exactly!” Miranda propped against the ladder, lost in thought. “Okay, I won’t be able to do it justice, but they’re two women – one gorgeous and brow-beaten by her overbearing husband, aka your brother the King, and the other is independent and determined. That’s me!” She laughed at Steph’s dubious expression but continued uninterrupted. “They go on holiday together, but one thing leads to another, and before they know it, they’re on the run from the law.”

  “Sounds plausible,” Steph murmured, tongue in cheek.

  “About as plausible as Vanessa Hudgens being a nerdy pariah,” Miranda teased back.

  “Yeah, I’ll give you that. So? What happens?” Steph asked curiously.

  “Oh, well, they drive their convertible off the edge of a cliff.” She held her hands up to block Steph’s sound of protest. “Sounds ghastly, but it was a totally empowering moment of friendship.”

  “I don’t think I want to be Thelma and Louise,” Steph said with a shake of her head.

  “Nor did Thelma, at the start. Come on, Stephie. You need help. And so I’m going to help you.”

  Steph was torn. She did need Miranda’s support, but the risks were too great. Unfortunately for Steph, Miranda was not willing to take no for an answer. The only way forward was for Steph to advise her, so that she was guaranteed a safe and quick trip to Fasiya.

  Miranda’s motives were not completely altruistic though. Helping Steph was her chief goal, but there was more to it than that. For a start, she could put the whole matter of her broken engagement behind her. She was hardly nursing a broken heart, but she’d been with Andrew for a long time. It felt right to punctuate the period between her old life and her new life with a bit of adventure. A little spice and excitement to mark the end of an era…

  “Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical that you have brought me to this palace, but left others to suffer in that squalid prison?”

  His eyes were brooding as they assessed her across the empty tiled corridor of his city palace.

  “No.”

  “No?” She laughed at his absurdly inadequate reply. “Why not?”

  Radiz had been watching her all afternoon. His guards had taken her to a suite of rooms in the east wing of the palace. Given the charges against her, it was necessary for him to arrange for a constant security detail to shadow her every move. And for some reason, that very necessity had irked him.

  Now, as the sun lent the palace a tangerine glow, and the warmth of the desert was finally relenting, he took another step towards his prisoner. She was not simply beautiful. He had known many women, and many of them exquisitely well put together. There was an indefinable quality to this British woman and it both fascinated and terrified him. She was … singularly unique.

  And though it made no sense, he knew himself well enough to know that he would not be easy until he had indulged his fascination. He did not expect to feel obsessed by her for long. His interest in a woman never lasted once it had been tested. His principal love was for his country, and into this he poured all his energy.

  He stepped forward, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed and her pupils dilated at his sudden nearness. “You are beautiful, young, and a woman of the west.” Here, he allowed his hand to lift and tuck a collection of her sunflower yellow hair behind her ear. “No crime you could ever commit would make me want to see you languish in that prison, under the care of those wardens.”

  Her heart was pounding against her chest; her hands were shaking. She wrapped her fingers together to disguise the betraying gesture. “That’s rather superficial.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Is it? Why?”

  She compressed her lips. “Have you heard of the Magna Carta? Or the Rule of Law, perhaps?”

  He laughed. “That all men are equal? And entitled to the same rights and protections?”

  “Yes.”

  “This does not work so well in a society such as Fasiya.”

  “Why not?” She pushed. It was hard to think. If she took a step forward, they would be touching. A tiny step and his chest would be against hers. She forced herself to picture Steph. Her best friend, who would certainly regard it as a betrayal if Miranda were to develop a crush on her brother.

  “In a country such as this, there is no law that can contain me.”

  She frowned, and her brows knitted together. “Not, perhaps, one enshrined into legislation. But surely you realise there is always civil law. The threat of civil revolt. No government exists in a void. You work to please your people, and if you fail to do so, they will overthrow you.”

  Her perception was exactly right. How often he had thought that his supreme power was all an illusion. But he didn’t say as much. “And yet, if I wished to kiss you, for example, there would be no law against it.”

  Miranda would have sworn her heart actually stopped beating. “But you will not kiss me,” she choked out, her voice strained and desperate. “For many reasons, least of all that I hardly know you. And I’m a prisoner here, regardless of the fact my new cage is spectacularly gilded.”

  “Ah.” He nodded shrewdly and stepped back. “It is true. But your prison sentence is dependent entirely on your cooperation.”

  “Is it?” She wondered aloud, her heart still beating a frantic tattoo.

  He nodded. “As soon as you tell me the full truth behind your motives for breaking into my sister’s apartment, and once I have independently verified that your story is true, you will be released.”

  Miranda’s heart sank. She could never give him the information he sought. “Then you might just have to get used to me, your highness.”

  “May I make an observation?”

  She nodded.

  “You don’t seem like a woman who is worried for her future.”

  “Worried?”

  He made a noise of assent. “Do you realise that I could have you detained for life? That I could tear up your passport and keep you here for good?” Oh, God, he felt his arousal stir at the very idea of imprisoning her. He was in trouble. King of a country, and he couldn’t control his own body. At least, not around this woman.

  Miranda sucked in a deep breath, her cheeks drained of all colour. “Oh. I… but you just said…”

  He pushed aside the unwelcome feelings of desire. “And you just said you wouldn’t give me the information I seek. Which puts me in a rather difficult position.”

  He put a hand on her back and propelled her forward, into one of the rooms she’d been invited to use for her stay. When two of his palace guards made to follow them, he shook his head and clicked the door closed in their faces.

  “What is it?” She demanded nervously, her voice like a breeze of breath.

  He couldn’t believe what he was thinking. Worse, he couldn’t believe he was going to say it. “You do have some choice in the matter.”

  Miranda lifted a hand to the column of her neck. “Do I?” Her heart fluttered hopefully.

  “I do not think I am imagining this.” He lifted his hand and gently eased hers aside, so that he could place his fingertips on her frantic pulse. “The moment you saw me, you were… curious about me.”

  Her betraying pulse sped up. “Of course. You scared the hell out of me,” she lied.

  “No.” He demurred with a lazy flicker of his lips, as though he knew how absurd that was. He deliberately moved his body closer so that it touched hers completely. “You were curious about me sexually. You are so tiny, and I am so large.”

  She shook her head, but his words instantl
y sent a spiral of sensation unfurling through her. “No. And you shouldn’t be talking like this.” She looked around nervously, earning a flicker of amusement from him.

  “We are alone. And I can speak however I want. I can do whatever I want.”

  A frisson of awareness ran down her spine. “Is that a threat?”

  His laugh was a low rumble. “No. It is a promise. I have never taken a woman against her will.” He shifted his hips slightly, so that his arousal was pressed close to her pelvis. “I have never needed to.”

  “Is this how you operate? You cruise the local jails looking for women who take your fancy?”

  Again, he laughed, and it made her heart sink. He knew that she thought he was gorgeous. He thought she would be easy. The certainty inspired a courage she didn’t know possible. She raised her hands and pressed them, hard, against his chest.

  “Don’t laugh at me. This is hugely unethical.” She darted her tongue out and licked her lower lip. “I am scared and I am terrified and I am under arrest! I don’t know how to organise a lawyer, or who I should speak to, and you – his royal highness Sheikh Radiz Zamin, have kidnapped me and propositioned me in the space of one afternoon.” Annoyingly, tears stung her eyes. “I haven’t eaten properly in three days. I haven’t bathed. I’ve barely slept. I feel sick. I feel tired. And you expect me to what? Jump into bed with you?” She pushed at his chest again, harder this time, letting all her frustrations come out through her palms. But it was a frustration aimed at herself. An anger at herself for wanting him in the most confusing of situations. “I don’t know what kind of women you usually hit on, but perhaps they’re cowered into some kind of obedience. I do not intend to be.”

  Radiz had never, in his entire life, borne the brunt of such obvious disdain. It sobered him instantly. What the hell had come over him? To proposition her as he had done had reeked of impropriety. Contrary to what she might think, he had never behaved in a manner such as this.