“It’s… so beautiful,” she whispered, turning her attention back to the city.
“He’s waiting for you.”
Miranda pulled a face, and looked down at the exquisite white silk gown. “I’m well aware of that.”
“You’re not having second thoughts are you?
“Of course not,” Miranda reassured her soon-to-be sister-in-law. “You know I can’t wait to marry him. It’s just…” she bit down on her lip.
Steph reached up and tapped her hand away. “Your make up is glorious. Do not ruin it by biting your lip.”
Miranda laughed, and shook her head. “I’m a hopeless bride, what can I say?”
“You are not a hopeless bride, my dear Mirry. You’re marrying a King, and you’re understandably nervous.” She leaned closer. “But we are late. He will be worried.”
“I know.” She nodded. “It’s just… what if I’m not really what he wants?” She exhaled slowly. “I haven’t seen him in two months, Steph, since he left London. What if he’s changed his mind? What if he doesn’t want this anymore?”
Steph laughed, and the sound was like bells peeling through the deserted, disused streets. “Have you changed your mind?”
Miranda shook her head, her blue eyes blinking quickly. “Of course not.”
“Trust me, nor has he.”
“Okay.” Miranda sucked in a deep breath of air. “I can do this.”
“Yes, you can. And I’m right here with you.”
The ancient city was formed around a large square. At one time, it had been green with verdant grass, fed by a naturally occurring spring, and bordered with decorative flowers. Now, it was paved, with little sprigs of weeds springing up. But Radiz had insisted that even more of the glorious jasmine be planted, and it now surrounded the space. Fairy lights glittered above, and a classical orchestra had been broken up by section and placed in the various buildings. As Miranda approached the square, they began to play in unison, so that music floated down to the town from all directions.
She met her father at the foot of the makeshift aisle.
“Darling,” he smiled through the sheen of tears. “You look remarkable.”
“Thank you. I feel… I don’t know how I feel. Overwhelmed.”
He nodded. “You should. It’s a big day.”
“Look at this place. It’s sensational, isn’t it?”
He put an arm around her waist. “Your groom insisted on every detail being perfect for you.” He leaned closer. “I don’t think you’re the only one experiencing a few wedding day jitters.”
Several hundred dignitaries were gathered and watching the entrance of the square, but Miranda didn’t move. “He’s nervous?”
“Oh, only that you might back out,” he grinned. “Seems he won’t see this marriage as a done deal until it’s all official. Come on, Miranda. It’s time.”
She linked her hand through his. It was time. It was time for the rest of her life to begin. Besides, once they were married, she could finally give him the wedding present she’d been saving.
As soon as her foot touched the square, the orchestra changed to a traditional Fasiyan wedding song. It was mysterious and hauntingly beautiful, and every step Miranda took towards Radiz increased her sense of profound happiness.
Of total acceptance.
This was what she’d been destined for.
Her eyes lifted to the stone steps at the front of the square, and landed square on Radiz. Dressed in flowing white robes, with gold and burgundy thread, his dark hair brushed back from his face, and a golden crown on his head, he was both awe-inspiring and sexy as hell. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and focussed on keeping her footing.
“I love you, Mirry,” her father kissed her cheek, squeezed her hand, then took up a seat in the front row.
Miranda fixed her groom with a steady, relaxed gaze. For she was relaxed now. Seeing him had centred her; he was her anchor. She reached a hand out, not caring that it wasn’t protocol.
He smiled as he took it, and lifted it to his lips. “Are you ready, Miranda?”
“I’ve been ready all my life.”
The ceremony was brief; a formality to be got through, before Radiz could slide a simple wedding band onto her finger, and a bejewelled crown onto her head.
The orchestra began to play a jubilant song of celebration, and the crowd erupted into applause. Radiz pulled his wife close, regretting the lengthy reception they still had to endure before they could be alone. Two ridiculous months apart, while he finalised wedding plans and made sure the palace was ready to welcome Miranda back – as his wife and equal.
“I had almost forgotten how you make me feel,” he whispered, as they walked down the aisle.
She threw him a sidelong glance. “I hadn’t.”
His smile was pure promise. “Soon it will be over, your highness.”
“Your highness,” she mused. “I like that.”
“Excellent. Because it’s a title you’re stuck with.”
Much later, when the reception was in full swing, Radiz pulled his bride close. “Are you ready to leave, my dear, lovely, little one?”
She smiled against his robe, her feet aching, her heart bursting with love. “Yes,” she agreed simply, slipping her hand into his. “I have a wedding present I want to give you, too.”
He kissed her cheek and whispered, “There is only one wedding present I need, and it’s you yourself.”
She smirked. “I think you’ll feel a little differently soon.”
“Very well, let us leave and discuss it further.”
She nodded happily. They did the briefest farewells they could manage and slipped away, into a waiting limousine. As soon as they were ensconced in the privacy of the leather seats, he kissed her properly, his passion a physical force that almost overpowered her. She groaned and gripped the fabric of his robe.
“I needed that,” she said against his mouth, refusing to let go of him even when he’d broken the kiss.
“I need more than that, “ he promised quietly.
“It was a beautiful wedding,” she sighed happily. “Absolutely perfect, in fact.”
“I’m pleased Steph and Tom are here for you, little one. To help you adapt to life in Fasiya.”
“Me too,” she agreed. “I would have followed you to the ends of the earth, Radiz. I would have gone anywhere with you, and just you. But knowing that I get my best friend into the bargain is almost too much.”
“And Hakim,” he said with a laugh. “I have seen the way you dote on my heir.”
His heir. The word stuck discordantly in her brain. “The thing is, Radiz, I would say he’s only got another seven months or so of being your heir before he has to resign the title.”
Radiz frowned, dismissing the first thing that came to mind. She couldn’t mean… he shook his head. She was on birth control. “Miranda?”
She laced her fingers through his hand and pulled it to her stomach. “I know we weren’t trying. And I have no idea how this happened… but apparently our little baby has about as much patience as you, Radiz.”
He laughed, the surprise evident in his tone.
“You are happy, aren’t you?” Miranda asked, as it occurred to her that they’d never discussed children.
“Happy?” His voice was a low whisper. “I’m looking at my wife, the only woman I have ever loved, and I am learning that I am to be a father. Happy is a word that is too bland and banal for how I feel. Euphoric would be more apt.”
Miranda exhaled slowly and squeezed his fingers. “I think our baby is going to be perfect.”
“With you as a mother, how could it not be?” He agreed, lifting her hand and kissing it.
The stars shone brightly overhead, and the road to their future was paved with joy. The trees whispered in the gentle desert breeze. Miranda was home, where she belonged, and all was right in the world.
THE END
The Sultan’s Reluctant Princess
Chapter O
ne
Everything about her was mesmerising.
Sheikh Tamir Al’ani leaned forward in the red velvet private box, not caring that he was obstructing his host’s view. He simply had to get a better view of the woman.
Her hair was fair like sunflowers, and it sat long and straight, all the way down her back. Her eyes were a vivid green, from what he could see, wide set and almond shaped. But it was her smile that drew his gaze. Her whole face seemed to beam with the power of a thousand stars as the performance continued. With every tone of the flute, her smile widened, her eyes popped, until she was almost laughing in her seat.
Under the Sheikh’s watch, she turned to her companion, a young man, with blonde hair wearing a black tuxedo. That caused Tamir to frown slightly. He didn’t like the way she whispered in the man’s ear; with such easy familiarity.
When the violin solo began, and she leaned forward eagerly in her seat, he knew.
He wanted her.
The performance continued, but Tamir no longer heard it. Every fibre of his being was focussed on this curiously fascinating creature in the seats far beneath him.
He leaned across to his aide, Eleni. “There is someone I intend to speak to. Have my entourage wait.”
She bowed obediently and stepped back into the shadows.
His eyes fell to the woman again. Her clothes were perfect for her. The dress she wore was emerald green in colour, fitted across the bodice, and then it appeared to be a full skirt to the knees. It was hard to tell from where he was sitting, but he intended to inspect it far more thoroughly as the night progressed.
He stood abruptly, the moment it finished, and strode confidently out of the private seating area, moving with the assurance of one born to unimaginable wealth and unparalleled power. He marched past those who would detain him; those who sought to share words with a man as powerful as he.
He had a goal, and he did not intend to fail.
He reached her as the audience began its standing ovation. He felt his security officers step closer. Crowds such as this always sent them into a panic. Tamir’s lips twisted into a smile that was pure arrogance. After all, he was hardly a shrinking violet. Four years in the Talidarian military had seen him gain a full appreciation for self-defence.
“Excuse me,” he interrupted, placing a hand on the young woman’s bare arm. Immediately, he felt himself tighten. Her skin was warm and supple beneath his touch, smooth and soft. Unbidden, he imagined what the rest of her would feel like, and he comforted himself that he would know, for sure, in a matter of hours. “My name is Tamir. May I speak with you a moment?”
She looked over her shoulder at her friend, a flicker of doubt crossing her face.
“Jack,” she whispered. “Did you pay for these tickets?” After all, he was always in on some scam or another, but he’d assured her these seats were above board.
The blonde man was clearly confused. “Of course. Why?”
“This guy wants to talk to us.” She thumbed towards the imposing wall of muscle that was Tamir. Now that she looked again, she realised that he wasn’t security. He was too powerful looking. Too confident.
Tamir put a hand in the small of the woman’s back, and propelled her out of the seats, leading her towards the side of the auditorium.
A room had been prepared for his use. Such was the perk of being royalty from one of the wealthiest countries on the planet.
“Wait outside,” he ordered the friend, closing the door in his face before the blonde could object.
The beautiful woman with the intense green eyes spun around, her startling gaze wide. “Wait a minute. Who are you? And what do you want with me?”
He uncuffed his wrists and placed the diamond links on the table. His eyes were black chips in his face as he regarded her. What did he want from her? That was a fascinating question. His lips hinted at a smile, as he decided it would be far better to show her rather than tell her.
“Did you enjoy the performance?”
Olivia blinked at him in confusion.
“Huh? Who are you? Look. If it’s about the tickets, Jack swears he bought them.” She frowned. “And I’m almost positive that he’s telling the truth. Though… I can’t be absolutely certain.” Her frown deepened, causing a pretty little crease between her eyes. Her face was the most expressive he’d ever seen. When she’d watched the performance, she’d seemed to sparkle and glow. Now, she was so stricken that he longed to pull her into his arms and offer comfort. “If there’s a problem, I can pay for them. How much are they?”
He made an effort to conceal his amusement.
Unsuccessfully.
Olivia’s eyes widened as she finally gave him her full attention. She had never met the man before, but there was something intensely familiar about him. She’d have remembered, though, if their paths had crossed before. Never in her life had she seen someone so formidable. He stood at least six and a half feet tall, and his body seemed to be packed with pure muscle. His skin was dark, tanned like mahogany, and his eyes were darker still, like black gems in his handsome face. His jaw seemed to be carved from granite, and his nose likewise. His hair was black like a raven, and brushed back from his face it fell to just above his shoulders.
“I asked if you enjoyed the performance?”
She didn’t know what was going on, but in a split second, she decided the best thing to do was to answer him directly. “Yes.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “It was beautiful.”
“You were beautiful,” he contradicted softly. “A world class performance and I could not take my eyes off you.”
She arched a perfectly shaped brow, hoping the nonchalant gesture hid how wildly her heart was fluttering. “Then that’s a waste of your money, mister.”
His laugh was thick with amusement. “The tickets were a gift. And I consider it was time very well spent.”
She crossed her arms across her chest, distinctly aware of the way her heart was hammering against her ribcage. “I should get back to my friend.”
His eyes were darkly speculative, as they dragged over her body, lingering for a moment on the swell of cleavage revealed by her dress.
“Why?”
Olivia had a habit of pointing the tip of her tongue out to the corner of her lips, when she was deep in thought. She did so now, and traced the line of her top lip, as her eyes remained stuck as though welded to this stranger’s magnificent face. His skin looked so soft; and yet there was an underlying hardness to him that communicated itself to her with his every breath.
“Why?” She queried, furrowing her brow.
“Why should you go? And not stay, with me, a man who finds you infinitely interesting.”
She pulled a face, but her blood was gushing through her veins. “I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name.”
“Call me Mir.” The way he said it, with the foreign husk to his voice, it sounded like Me-ar.
She frowned. “Mir?”
“Close enough.”
His accent was thick, difficult to place. Definitely not European. His voice was deep and sexy, like warm chocolate and spices.
“And you are?” He asked, keeping his physical distance but somehow pushing through all the barriers of resistance she was trying to keep in place.
Olivia stayed quiet. Her brain, a little foggy from the beautiful performance and the glass of champagne Jack had plied her with during the intermission. She was struggling to make sense of what was happening. Belatedly, she looked around the room they were in. It was large enough to house a large group of people comfortably. It boasted a burgundy carpet and the same architectural details as the rest of Royal Albert Hall. Her eyes were drawn to the ceiling rose above them, but only for a fraction of a second. Then, the sheer force of the man’s presence pulled her gaze lower.
“Who are you?” She asked on a quiet whisper, as the surreal situation she found herself in finally punctuated her clouded brain.
Tamir ached to pull her into his arms. If the
y were in his country, she would be bowing before him. Although, he realised with a speculative twist to his lips, this woman was not one likely to bow before anyone. Her spirit seemed to glow from her skin; the strength of determination and suspicion reminding him of himself. For the briefest of moments he contemplated withholding his identity, before sharply realising such deception and trickery was beneath him.
“I am Tamir Al’ani, Sultan of Talidar.”
Olivia didn’t visibly react, but a fierce flock of butterflies began to beat at the sides of her stomach. She had heard of him, of course. It explained why he had such a tangible air of authority, at least. Or did it? Olivia suspected that even in a menial position, this man would exude confidence and power. She closed her eyes briefly and then fixed him with a clear green stare. “Well, Your Highness, I’d better get back to my friend.”
His smile was slow to spread across his lips, and it was darkly, sinfully sexy. It changed his whole face, draping it in a sheath of dangerously seductive appeal. Olivia took a step back, unable to help the involuntary action. Oh, but it was betraying. In that tiny step, she conveyed her awareness of his position, and the fear and awe it invoked.
A knock at the door stopped him from uttering the invitation he’d been about to extend to the beautiful, bewitching blonde. He looked towards the entrance, a small flicker of frustration obvious on his face.
The door was opened inwards by secret service personnel, four of them in total. It amused Tamir, for his own security delegation had made this room as secure as any palace in his wealthy country. The Vice President of the United States entered a moment later, his expression diffident, his thick grey brows like two furry caterpillars above his dark brown eyes.
Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees... Page 33
