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

by Clare Connelly

  Miranda nodded. “I don’t want that either. I understand that you’re worried about her, and that you want me to tell you something you don’t know. That you’re hoping I’m going to give you information you don’t currently have. But Radiz, I am scared. This is all new to me. I need you to be… kind.”

  He wanted to be kind to her, but the mention of Mastepha inflamed his fraternal instincts. “Perhaps you should have thought of this before committing such a serious crime,” he intoned flatly. “We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow night.”

  She gasped at his cruel finality. “Radiz…”

  “Good night, Miranda. Sleep tight.”

  He pulled his robe on at the door and left without a backwards glance. Miranda was glad for that. She wasn’t proud of the tears that shimmered on her eyes, and she would have been mortified if he’d seen them.

  Chapter Five

  The following morning, an iPad arrived in her room. Like his phone, it was gold – not just gold in colour, but actual gold, she suspected. She ran her finger over it dubiously, and then opened it. It had precisely three apps. Tetris, a camera, and email.

  She shook her head with a groan and opened the email software.

  Miranda had hardly slept. The disastrous predicament she was in kept jolting her awake with a start. After all, she wasn’t just a prisoner of Fasiya, she was a prisoner of its Sheikh. Its sexy, all-powerful, gloriously handsome Sheikh. And though she was sure she hated him, and that he was bad for her, she was also absolutely certain that she would never forget him. Certain that she’d never stop wanting him. And she was also certain that she was a tiny bit in love with him.

  In love?

  How ludicrous, she chastised, thinking of the way he’d bossed her around from day one. How could she love a man such as him?

  Oh, it was all too complicated. For the love he felt for Steph was obvious. That he was desperate to reconnect with his sister was apparent in every bad decision he’d made.

  And she understood. She understood that fear and worry, and she wished that Steph would weaken in her resolve and contact him.

  She ran her finger over the glass screen then brought the device back to life. Miranda was not naïve enough to think she could write freely. Undoubtedly, anything she sent would be monitored, perhaps even by Radiz himself. The thought of him reading her emails made her queasy, but she discounted the notion almost instantly. He was far too busy and important to bother himself personally with such a task. More likely he’d hand it off to a security officer and await a report.

  Reassured, she loaded up a blank email.

  Dear Thelma,

  It would appear that my adventure has taken on a slightly more filmic quality than we’d anticipated – I’m having my Louise moment, that’s for sure. Let’s just hope no one ends up dead or on the run from the law! Try not to worry, I’m absolutely fine. Just delayed. The truth is… She paused, lifting her fingers from the keyboard so that she could stare across at the rumpled bed linen. How much could she tell Steph? She didn’t want to worry her, but Steph was not stupid. The delay would be enough to arouse her deepest concern; anything other than a more fulsome explanation would surely cause her to worry unduly. Unduly? Yes, unduly, because Miranda was reasonably sure she had things under control. Or at least that if she didn’t, she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  She pressed her fingers back to the keyboard and typed without looking. The truth is, I’ve met someone. I know, I know. I can hear your jaw hitting the floor from here. Me, who had sworn off men after Andrew! What are the chances? It’s just a holiday fling, but it’s intense and passionate and I just need a few more days to let it run its course. Please don’t let anything exciting happen without me (best to keep talk of such matters off email, dear Thelma…) and I’ll be in touch soon.

  I love you and miss you.

  Yours,

  Mirry.

  The simple act of sending the email made her feel better. As though she had spoken to her best friend, and all was right in the world once more. She wasn’t expecting an immediate reply; Steph was terrible with technology. Still, a moment after sending it, the iPad made a little sound.

  She opened it impatiently and went into the emails.

  Miranda! I have been worried out of my mind. You said you were going to Neman, I know, but I still expected news before this. Now that I’ve heard from you, I can relax, at least, and ask you more about this mystery man. Do tell, young lady. I’m bored, waiting for Tom to finish work, feeling fat and exhausted. Entertain me.

  Miranda curled her legs up beneath her and smiled.

  I can’t say too much. He’s gorgeous and sexy but definitely not a long term prospect. Just a bit of fun, I promise.

  Miranda, you’re not the kind of person to be so flippant about relationships. Are you sure you’re okay?

  Miranda shook her head, both frustrated and amused by her best friend’s powers of perception even at this distance. I’m fine, Thelma. More importantly, how are you?

  Miranda stayed on the sofa for a few minutes, but when no reply buzzed through, she moved to the intercom system. “Hello, may I have a coffee please?” She requested in halting Fasiyan. Her grip on the language had been slight before she’d arrived, but she’d been reading books and practicing. After all, she didn’t know how long she’d be there, but her best friend hailed from this land. Learning the language felt like a positive way to kill time.

  The iPad made another little buzz and Miranda scooted back to it swiftly. She expected a longer reply, given the time it had taken Steph to respond, but the email contained only a few sentences.

  I’m fine, on the whole. Nothing medical to report. Just tired and a bit teary. I never imagined doing what I’m doing away from home, and away from family. I guess I miss it.

  Miranda’s heart squeezed in her chest. Her fingers hovered on the keyboard as she pondered just what to say. Then go home for a while. Just a week. I seriously think you would find a better reception than you’re anticipating.

  A moment later, Steph’s reply. No. I know what response I’d get. I can’t even imagine the fury. I’ll be fine. I miss you, too.

  Guilt washed over her. Even though she was essentially a prisoner, she felt guilt at staying away. I miss you too. How’s Tom?

  Working his delightful bottom off to put some money in the bank. I just wish there was more I could do. Unfortunately, I’m just about the worst employment prospect ever.

  Miranda grinned. Yes, royal heiresses weren’t really desirable employees, especially not when coupled with being seven months pregnant.

  Try not to worry yourself so much. Are you watering my avocado tree?

  Steph’s reply was just three letters. Lol.

  Then, a moment later, a more fulsome reply. You do realise it will be at least seven years before you get any fruit. And that London is not known for its Avocado growing climate…

  Miranda smiled and nodded. Yes, but I turned that seed into roots and branches. All on my own! It’s the only thing I’ve ever grown. We can’t all be as clever as you and your current project!

  She put the tablet down and stared out at the glistening white sand. It was a perfect desert day. Hot and still, with a deep blue sky. And suddenly, she was anxious to be amongst it. To be out of her luxuriously gilded cage.

  That night, when Radiz came to her room, she met him with a question. “Do you have an email address?”

  He paused, only a step inside the door. “An email address?” He frowned, unable to take his eyes off her. Miranda was wearing a pale pink negligee; scooped low at the front and even lower at the back. It left little to the imagination, but he didn’t need his imagination anyway. He had his memories.

  “Yes. You know, that digital form of communication. A bit like sending letters? You might have heard of it?”

  He smothered a smile. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well,” she said, walking towards him with a sense of slow purpose, “I had a conundrum toda
y.”

  “A conundrum, huh?” He met her halfway across the room, but stood still. He wanted to hear what she was saying, and touching one another always led to something entirely different.

  “Yes, precisely. You see, I got this fancy golden iPad delivered to my room –,”

  “And how are your Tetris skills?” He enquired teasingly.

  She rolled her eyes. “As poor as ever. But I was emailing my best friend, when I looked outside and saw that it was the most perfect day.” He was in such a good mood, she wanted to hold onto that, but she also had to ask. “I wanted, more than anything, to be outside, in it. To feel the earth beneath my feet and the sun on my face. If I’d had your email address, I would have asked you for permission.”

  Permission. A perfectly reasonable word, but it split his composure in two. A full blown sense of panic infiltrated him. Permission. They were sleeping together, but she was his prisoner. At his will to command. It offended him on every level. Except one. A very base, sexually-demanding emotion leaped at the idea, but such a desire was beneath him. He swallowed. Permission. The word kept rolling around his brain. He nodded slowly, careful to keep his feelings under wraps. “Where is it?”

  She handed the device to him and he opened a fresh email. He typed his address and pressed send. “There,” he said quietly, handing it back to her. “Now you have it.”

  Miranda took the tablet and placed it carefully down on the table. “Thank you.”

  More gratitude. He could have shouted, he was so furious. He did not want her thanks. Not for something as banal as his email address. He lifted a hand to her face and cupped the soft flesh of her cheek. “Have you had a good day despite being couped up?”

  Her whole body began to thrum with pleasure at the sweetness of the enquiry. She nodded.

  He had been thinking of her for hours. Thinking of her body and her mouth, and the pleasure she inspired in him. But now, he could think only of her desire to enjoy the day.

  “Come with me,” he whispered, lacing his fingers through hers and pulling her behind him.

  “Wait!” She squawked, as he pulled the door inwards. “I’m not going anywhere dressed like this.”

  He paused, having forgotten for a moment that she was practically naked. He nodded, and reached for his phone. “Elan, have the hallways cleared from my current position to the Fabida courtyard.” He looked down at the captivating Miranda and added, “And have one of my coats brought.”

  “The Fabida courtyard?” She asked, falling into step beside him as he ushered her out of her room.

  “Yes,” he agreed, releasing her hand only so that he could slip his arm around her shoulders and hold her close to his side.

  “I haven’t heard of it.”

  “No,” he said, brevity of answer apparently the order of the day.

  It was only a short walk from her quarters, but it was far more stunning than the name could have explained.

  “Oh, Radiz, what is this place?” She breathed in wonderment, as her pale blue eyes took in the marble paving, the central water fountain which shimmered with gold, and the view beyond, of a glistening city in the desert. Before them was a fruit orchard that smelled sweet, like orange blossoms. Miranda breathed it in and smiled. “It’s delicious.”

  “It was my sister’s favourite place,” he responded quietly, watching her for a reaction.

  Miranda was very still. Her heart was in her throat at the oblique reference to Mastepha. “You’re close to her?” She asked, finally, the beauty of their location momentarily forgotten.

  “Not recently,” he responded tautly.

  “Well, if she loved this courtyard, then she has great taste,” Miranda said with a mysterious smile, returning her attention to the space.

  “Yes,” Radiz agreed. Was he wrong about Miranda? Was it possible she was simply a daring thief, intent on taking jewels from his sister’s apartment? Surely it was not a coincidence. Her parents were both historical academics; perhaps she’d grown up learning about foreign cultures and their ancient valuables and decided to take what she coveted. Only that didn’t make sense either. Not with Miranda. He put a hand in the small of her back and propelled her further forward.

  Miranda sucked in another sharp breath when she saw the corner. A hammock in bright turquoise and orange colours hung from one post to another. “I used to lie here, and lecture her,” Radiz remarked distractedly, lying back in the hammock with enviable grace. He shook his head, to clear the thought, and then Miranda a sidelong glance. “Join me.”

  Miranda looked at the hammock dubiously. “It looks a little crowded.”

  His laugh was soft. “Join me,” he repeated, reaching for her hand.

  Miranda put hers in his and sat carefully on the edge of the fabric. She lifted her legs and lay backwards. The natural sway of the hammock meant she had no choice but to lie pressed hard against his side. To her chagrin, and also to her delight, Radiz snaked an arm behind her, and rolled her even closer, pinning her in place with his strength.

  A servant approached, and Miranda immediately reached to pull down the hemline of her negligee. It was an instant and automatic gesture, but it earned a frown from Radiz. He took the proffered coat and spread it over her legs, without releasing his grip around her waist.

  “Tell me, Miranda, what will you do when you graduate from college?”

  “University,” she corrected. “And I’m not sure.”

  He nodded, though he did not comprehend. “I can’t imagine that,” he said softly, running his fingers through her hair. “Not knowing what your future holds. It’s a novel concept for me.”

  Miranda propped her chin on his chest so that she could see his face. Her blonde hair fell loose down her back. In the evening light, it looked laced with stardust. “How old were you when your parents passed away?”

  She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from him.

  “Died,” he corrected. “Passed away implies a gentle easing from their mortal coils. They died abruptly and violently, in a plane accident that was entirely preventable.”

  “What happened?” She prompted.

  He compressed his lips. “My sister Mastepha ran away from the palace. Oh, it sounds dramatic. It wasn’t. She took herself off to the golf course and hid out in a bunker. But security alerted my parents, and they flew back from an island in the Mediterranean. My aunt and uncle were with them – they’d been travelling together. The weather was appalling; they shouldn’t have taken off. The plane crash had been entirely predictable. Mastepha blamed herself.”

  Miranda felt tears spring to her eyes and she didn’t bother to check them. “I didn’t know that,” she whispered, thinking of her dear friend.

  “Why would you?” Radiz prompted, his eyes watchful. It reminded her that she was meant to know very little of the Fasiyan royal family, and she nodded jerkily, hoping to cover the ill-advised statement.

  “I am sorry for your sister, and sorry for you. To have carried that loss for so long – you must miss them.”

  “Miss them?” He queried with a frown. “Yes, I do. My father was a great man, and a great ruler. My mother was kind and gentle; I am nothing like her.”

  A bird began to make a sweet sound, a song that filled Miranda’s heart with awe. Or was it filled with something else? She shifted a little, the idea making her uncomfortable. Her heart had nothing to do with what she felt. She’d already discounted that notion as utterly ridiculous.

  “I miss my sister too,” he said into the night’s breeze.

  It was such a faintly voiced confession that Miranda almost doubted she’d heard it. She wished, then, that she wasn’t so completely loyal to Steph. She felt jammed into the middle of their sibling disagreement, and she wanted desperately to free herself from the tangle. Not only to free herself, but to release both of them, too. She said nothing, because it would be disingenuous to speak. Knowing what she did, she couldn’t lie to him. What could she say to comfort him?

 
“Mastepha and I were so close, but when she needed me most, I was taken up with my duties to the country.”

  Miranda sighed. “I’m sure she understands that now.”

  His sigh made his chest rise and fall, and Miranda’s face moved with it. She could hear his strong, purposeful heart beating beneath her and it made her own beat with a matching tattoo. “I had no choice. But I ignored her. I left her to cope with her bereavement and guilt on her own.”

  “You had your own guilt and bereavement, and a huge new responsibility to come to terms with. You can’t blame yourself for having been a little inattentive.”

  “She blames me,” he pointed out. “I vacillate between regret and fury with her,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  Miranda bit down on her lip, and focussed her eyes on the desert beyond the palace walls. All she could see in the darkness of night was the silhouette of dunes against the sky.

  Regret and fury were two of the principle emotions he felt with Miranda, too. Fury that she’d come into his life through her criminal behaviour, fury that she inspired such all-consuming fascination in him. And regret that he’d overpowered her common sense, using her body’s desire as a weapon against her. He’d taken her innocence, knowing he would put her aside when his body was sated of its fire-blood need for her.

  “Why fury?” Miranda asked, and Radiz was momentarily confused. His thoughts had moved on from Mastepha, and at first, he thought she was asking him about their own complex dynamic. But no, she was still asking about his sister.

  “She is a princess of Fasiya. She owes it to her people, her country and our parents to behave as such.”

  “And you?” Miranda pushed, forcing him to admit he was hurt by Mastepha’s departure.

  “Yes,” he hissed. “Of course me. I am her brother and I am her ruler. I do not begrudge her the opportunity to study abroad and follow her own life’s path.”

  “Then why are you so angry with her?” Miranda asked, hating the knowledge she had of his sister, and her inability to properly reassure him.