THE SULTAN’S RELUCTANT PRINCESS
Clare Connelly
All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.
The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.
First published 2015
(c) Clare Connelly
Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com/mrcats
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CHAPTER ONE
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 infini
tely 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 they 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.
“Eugene,” Tamir greeted, his smile warm despite his frustration, his hand extended in greeting to his late father’s friend.
“Mir,” the man said deferentially, causing Olivia to do a double take. Standing before her was one of the most powerful men in the world, and yet Tamir overshadowed him in every way. Eugene Simmons’s eyes drifted to Olivia, the curious blankness in his face requiring an introduction.
“Hello, young lady,” he said kindly.
“Mr Vice President.” She might have been British through and through, but she’d done two semesters of her degree at Yale. She knew the ins and outs of the American political system, and she knew that the man before her was a stalwart of Capitol Hill.
“Please, call me Eugene.”
She flushed. It simply wasn’t possible. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Olivia Anderson.” She extended her hand, and was embarrassed to see that it was shaking slightly. The Vice President appeared not to notice, but Tamir did. In fact, he saw that her flesh was covered with goosebumps. Was she cold? Or overcome by nerves?
At least he now had her name.
“Did you enjoy the show, dear?”
“I did, thank you, sir. It was a masterpiece.”
“Indeed. An excellent production. Do you play an instrument?”
“Goodness, no!” She laughed. “I’m not musical at all. But I speak three languages.” She flushed to the roots of her hair. “I don’t know why I just told you that. I babble when I’m nervous.”
The older man nodded, a kind smile on his face. She didn’t dare look at Tamir.
“Are you a Liam Marsh fan?” The Vice President continued, brushing past her overshare.
“Oh, yes,” she responded with an enthusiastic nod. It sent her blonde hair flying about her face, and Tamir had to shove his hands in his pockets to resist the temptation to touch the silky curtain of gold.
“Are you?” Tamir probed curiously, his dark eyes forcing her to meet curious gaze. “Why?”
To her credit, she didn’t shy away from the probing look he was subjecting her to. “There’s something incredible about the juxtaposition of the macabre with the hopeful, don’t you think? They’re these incredibly gothic tales with a deep vein of morality and rightness to them. I always find the way he weaves narrative incredibly fulfilling.”
Tamir’s gut clenched. Olivia Anderson was herself a fascinating juxtaposition. Her body was built for pleasure, and he unashamedly intended to use it thus. But he hadn’t expected her to hold an emotional appeal to him. He hadn’t expected her to shy away from his position of influence and wealth. Nor had he expected her to enter into academic appraisals of the work of Liam Marsh with the Vice President of America.
His eyes scanned her face. He wanted to know everything about her. To understand intimately what made her tick. He wanted to know that he could arouse the same degree of enthusiasm from her as she’d just evinced whilst describing the performance.
“Eugene, thank you for the invitation this evening. I must escort Miss Anderson home, now. Are you still free for lunch tomorrow?”
The older man’s eyes sparked with understanding. His chuckle was benevolent. “Indeed, Mir.” He nodded towards Olivia and then headed to the door. Once the agents had left the room, and they were alone again, Olivia spun around to face Tamir.
“You realise you just dismissed the Vice President from this room?”
He shrugged. “He’ll get over it.”
“But… that was rude.”
“No. Eugene is like a second father to me. He could never be offended by my actions. He knows I hold him in the highest regard.”
“Oh.” Her tongue darted out, running along her lower lip. Tamir’s eyes dropped to it, and his gut kicked with desire.
“May I escort you home.”
Her eyes flared. “Absolutely not.”
“May I ask why not?”
She bit down on her lower lip. “I came here with Jack, for one thing.”
Tamir was surprised by the searing flash of jealousy. After all, Olivia was not his. Not yet. Their acquaintance was characterised by minutes, not months. “So? Can he not find his own way home?”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. I… I can’t go home with you.”
“I am not asking you to.” Not yet, anyway, he silently tacked on.
She lowered her gaze, focussing on a small mark in the rich red carpet. “I don’t believe you.”
God, she was sexy. He stepped closer, and was pleased when she didn’t step away.
Olivia’s breath was laboured; her whole body seemed to throb with a completely foreign sensation. The power and appeal of this man was like a drug, pulsing through her, making her limbs heavy, and her heart race.
“I saw you as soon as you entered the theatre this evening.” His words were a thick, quiet promise. An unspoken pledge of what he wanted to give her. “And I thought you were captivating.”
She shook
her head, but her shoes seemed filled with lead, for all the power she had to step away from him. He moved closer again, his broad frame now so close she could almost feel the warmth emanating from his body.
“I’m not, I assure you.”
He pressed a finger under her chin, gently coaxing her face to look at his. Her sharp intake of breath was thrilling. She wanted him to kiss her. He’d known many women in his thirty four years. And he was an expert at reading their body language. Her eyes dropped to his lips, as though she were willing him to close the gap. And he would, in good time.
“Why do you say that?”
Her heart turned over in her chest. Her body seemed to hum with a fever pitch of need. Out of nowhere, she felt like everything in her life had brought her to this moment. Her blood was pounding through her veins so fast she could hear it in her ears. Like a drum beat of encouragement, it was drowning out her doubts and common sense.
“Huh?”
He lifted his thumb and padded it across her lower lip. “Why do you say you’re not captivating?”
Her moan was a husk of sound, but he heard it. His body tightened in response. “Because… I’m just… me. If anything, I’m very boring.”
He nodded, allowing his other hand to lift to her hip. He could feel her body through the thin fabric of her dress. He ached for more. So much more.
“I don’t believe it.”
Olivia couldn’t reply. Her mouth was too dry to form words. Her lips were parted. And her body, without her permission, pressed forward, connecting their torsos. Tamir’s eyes flared wide, his whole sense of need threatening to spiral out of control.
“Come to my embassy tomorrow,” he said darkly, aching to plunge his tongue between her parted lips, and show her what her body was capable of feeling.
Olivia would go to the moon with him, if he asked. In that moment, she wanted to stay in the little bubble that seemed to have engulfed them, and never break free. “Why?” She whispered, keeping her hands at her side, though they were tingling with the instinct to touch.
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