The Sultan's Reluctant Princess

by Clare Connelly

“Because I want you, Olivia Anderson.”

  A frisson of dangerous attraction danced along her spine. She wanted him too. But it didn’t make sense. Nothing about this situation made sense. Her whole life, she’d done the sensible thing. Her job. Her life. Caring for her mum. Her boyfriend, or lack thereof. She’d bought a sensible flat when her role had become permanent… carefully laid steps that spoke of a precisely ordered life. This simply did not fit. She shook her head. She would have broken the contact, but Tamir moved his arm around her waist, holding her to him.

  He could see that she was wavering. Between what she wanted; what her body needed, and what she thought she should say. How she thought she ought to behave. He lowered his mouth to hers, plundering her warmth with his tongue, taking possession of her senses with such power that she was totally surprised.

  He did not touch her breasts, as he wanted to. Nor did he remove the fabric from her body. He kissed her with enough intensity for her knees to weaken and her insides to clench. He felt her body buckle and he held her up, not breaking the kiss for an instant. His mouth on hers was insistent and demanding, full of sensual promise.

  “This is just a kiss,” he whispered against her ear. “Imagine what it will be like when I make love to you. Imagine me moving inside you, driving you to orgasm after orgasm.”

  Olivia wanted that. With all her heart, she desired it. It had been so long since she’d indulged her body in any kind of sexual pleasure. She looked around them, at the perfectly good room they found themselves in.

  “No,” he laughed, reading her expressive face. “Though I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink.

  “I am long past wanting a quickie in a side-room of a theatre.” The word ‘quickie’ sounded wrong coming from him. His accent was so cultured, his tone so educated. “I don’t want to rush this. I want to explore your body all night long, without the possibility of being interrupted by anyone.”

  Her stomach churned at the image he’d planted in her mind. But… it was madness. She shook her head, and forced herself to step away from him. She had a swan like grace to every movement. He watched her with complete appreciation.

  “I can’t.” She ran her finger over the fabric top of a chair. “I just met you.”

  He nodded. “So? Is the length of our acquaintance the only impediment you see?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “Of course not. There are a lot of reasons that this is absolutely mad. But that’s certainly one of them.”

  “Then come to my embassy tomorrow. Let’s get to know one other better first.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “First? Why? So I’ll be more comfortable with… with… whatever happens?”

  “Yes,” he responded with a curt nod.

  “No,” she laughed, in spite of the way her body was tingling. It was too ridiculous. And far too tempting.

  He frowned. He had not been expecting any objections from her. “Do you know anything about me, Olivia?”

  She lowered her gaze. She knew plenty. “I spent a month in Talidar, two years ago.”

  “Did you indeed?” His words were a drawl of surprise. “Why so?”

  “I was appraising a collection in Liya.”

  “Appraising a collection?” He prompted curiously.

  “I’m an antiquities appraiser. I work for Christie’s.”

  “I see.” And just like that, he did. Crucially, he understood her weakness, and how he could exploit it. He stepped closer, and put his arms around her waist. She had her back to him, so it was an easy matter to lower his lips and kiss the sensitive flesh at the base of her ear. She trembled in reaction, her body quivering in his arms.

  She sucked in a deep breath. “I specialise in…” she moaned, as his fingers pressed into her waist, making her body ache to be closer to his. “I specialise in ancient collections. Egyptian, Arabic, and Talidarian.”

  He spun her around in the circle of his arms. “Then come and see my collection.” His lips dipped to capture her mouth. “I promise it contains treasures you cannot even imagine.”

  Her heart leaped, for he was holding out a carrot that was, if possible, even more tempting than he himself.

  When still she didn’t agree, he sighed heavily. “Bring your friend, if you are worried I am not going to be able to resist dragging you away to have my way with you.”

  Her lip twisted into a small smile, laced with self-derision. “It’s not you that I’m worried about.”

  “No?”

  She flushed, and shook her head.

  Tamir was pleased. By her desire for him, and her willingness to admit to it. “Bring him. Allow him to act as your escort.”

  “My escort?” She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “That’s a completely out-of-date concept.”

  “Not where I’m from,” he murmured. “Someone like you deserves protection.” Especially from him. Out of nowhere, he saw her as a gentle doe, and he the buck, pursuing and hunting her for pleasure. It was an unpleasant image. He stepped away from her, ignoring the physical jolt he experienced at the distance. “And I’m happy to be old fashioned if it gets you to my home.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was madness. She stood inside the imposing gold doors, staring around the cavernous space with eyes that were round like saucers. “Jack. This place is…”

  “Ridiculous,” he responded with a grim frown, unsure if he was most impressed by the pure gold railings, or the enormous vases of flowers, or the paintings that hung along the walls that were obviously the creation of Renaissance masters. The floor was covered in marble tiles, and the vaulted ceilings were at least three stories high.

  Olivia reached down and laced her fingers through Jack’s, taking immediate comfort from the contact with her friend.

  “What’s the plan, anyway, Olivia?”

  She shrugged, and toyed with the simple gold necklace she wore. She had dressed in a black pantsuit with a cream silk blouse, and a pair of heels. Her hair had been straightened then pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head. She’d kept her make up minimal. She’d deliberately dressed as she might have for a first visit to a prospective client. It was a form of armour, to wear clothes that screamed professional distance.

  Because deep down, the way Tamir Al’ani made her feel was the most terrifying thing she’d ever had to face.

  “The plan is to make yourselves at home in my embassy.” Tamir strode through the foyer, his eyes immediately dropping to the way Olivia was clutching Jack’s hand. She dropped it, a guilty flush brightening her complexion.

  She had a moment, to observe him, as he crossed the tiles. He was wearing a slate grey suit, obviously designed for his frame alone. His shirt was a crisp white, and he had huge diamond cufflinks which, she suspected, were entirely real. His shoes were black, and polished to a high sheen. His dark hair was brushed back from his face, drawing attention to his golden tan and dark, brooding eyes.

  Her heart immediately ratcheted up a notch, and breathing felt a laborious business. Jack ceased to exist. The embassy was just a room, not impressive in the slightest. How could anything be impressive in the vicinity of Tamir?

  She didn’t smile. She couldn’t. Her mouth was filled with concrete dust.

  “Jack,” He greeted the other man with a greater degree of formality than he’d had the night before. He was marking his turf. Olivia recognised it, and she might have been amused by it, except nothing about the quicksand she’d stepped into pleased her.

  “Geez, I don’t know what to call you.” It was a disarmingly naïve admission from her friend, and Olivia smiled at him reassuringly.

  “Tamir is fine,” the Sheikh said dismissively. His eyes were trained on Olivia’s face. He had no interest in her boy-band wannabe friend.

  “Jack, I have some artefacts I’d like Olivia to take a look at. You are welcome to join us, or my assistant can give you a tour of the grounds.”

  Jack looked at Olivia. “What would you like?
”

  “I’ll be fine, Jack. You go have a look around.” In truth, all she wanted was to be alone with Tamir. She hadn’t slept a wink all night. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but acting on instinct seemed to be the only option in that moment.

  “Eleni,” he called, without looking away from Olivia. A tall, buxom woman dressed in a purple lace dress and a sheer purple scarf walked elegantly towards them. She wore sky-high heels that made a click click sound on the marble floor, and her dark hair tumbled out of the scarf, like big, shining curls. Jack, it was obvious, was taken with the woman from first sight.

  “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

  Olivia watched them go with a sense of growing anxiety. Though she’d brought Jack for protection, she’d dismissed him just as soon as she could.

  “How do you know him?” Tamir’s words were tinged with coldness, pulling Olivia’s gaze back to his face.

  “Jack?” She frowned. “We met years ago.”

  “How do you know him?”

  She lifted her eyes to his face. Though his words were serious, she wasn’t intimidated. She felt oddly at ease with him. Her frown deepened. “His family had a collection that was offered for auction. My professor at university undertook the appraisal. I was top of the class. He asked me to go with him. And Jack was there.”

  It was an answer that spawned a thousand more questions. “I see.” He didn’t. But he wanted to. “Have you been romantic with him?”

  “Jack?” She laughed. He didn’t. So she sobered. “Sorry, it’s just… kind of gross to think about. No. We’re not like that. We’re just… great friends.”

  He nodded, but a small shred of doubt lingered inside his chest. “I am glad you are here.” His tone was lighter, his words affable.

  “Me too.” She looked up at him shyly. “How was your lunch with the vice president?”

  Tamir had barely been able to concentrate, for thinking of Olivia. “Fine.”

  “How do you know him?” She turned his own question back on the powerful Sultan.

  “My father and he were at Notre Dame together.”

  “Your father went to Notre Dame?”

  “Why does this surprise you?”

  “Oh. I just… I mean… I would have thought America was persona non gratae back then.”

  His smile was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. The way it spread across his face, etching pleasure into his carved features made her stomach flip over. “No. We’ve always had a good relationship with the West. My country’s wealth does not come from oil. We are not war torn. We have diamonds and gold rich beneath the surface, and my forefathers ensured the harvesting of these was regulated by the royal family.”

  “A monopoly?” She asked seriously, allowing him to place his hand in the small of her back and guide her through the foyer.

  “Perhaps.” He was unapologetic. “We do not have conflict diamonds in Talidar. There is no exploitation of children, forced to work twenty-hour days to dig the earth for its riches. Ours is an industry that ensures the safe production of first-rate gems.”

  “I know that,” she said with a nod. “I mean, I know that gems from Talidar are beyond reproach. They significantly increase an object’s value by their inclusion. I just wonder at the justification of controlling an entire industry.”

  He stopped walking, his eyes scanning her face. “Do you know how much of the revenue raised from this industry is fed back into the country?”

  Olivia bit down on her lip, and shook her head. She felt her long blonde ponytail move from side to side.

  “Almost all of it. My country is my passion, Olivia. I was raised to rule, but the love I feel for it is my own. I want my people to prosper. That means the best schools, universities and libraries in the world. It means a police force that keeps drugs away from impressionable teenage brains. It means research grants from an interested government. It means educating everyone – men and women – and children, to realise that with a clever mind and good education, you can achieve anything. I am in the business of building opportunities from the soil of our land.” His dark eyes seemed to glow with intensity. “I am not a wealthy oligarch, getting rich and fat off the labour of a destitute people.”

  Olivia’s stomach churned at his impassioned speech, for it spoke of a nobility that had nothing to do with noble birth. “I can see that,” she said finally, lowering her eyes to his taut frame. There was nothing fat about him. He was purely honed strength. He was… perfect. She closed her eyes on the thought.

  Her open inspection made Tamir’s gut tighten. He’d been with many women. For decades, they had fallen at his feet, begging to climb into his bed, for however long they could interest him. Even as a teenager, he’d been no stranger to the ways of beautiful women. Enjoying a woman’s body was nothing new. But the wave of attraction he felt for Olivia was like a tsunami, pulling him under and overwhelming him at the same time. There was nothing for him to grab onto that could stop him from being dragged beneath the surface.

  All he could hope was that he would be able to control the force eventually.

  As they approached a set of large, timber doors, two servants opened them inwards. A carpeted corridor opened before them, with floor to ceiling windows running down one side, and carpets and tapestries the other. Olivia paused, unable to walk past the ancient hangings without stopping.

  “Tamir, these are…” She moved closer, her lips parted, her eyes huge, as she took in the elaborate detail of the carpet before her. The colors spoke of an ancient time – faded ochre, black and cream. The patterns were influenced by Egyptian characters, and the craftsmanship was superb.

  Tamir stopped walking and turned. Olivia was so captivated by the art that she wasn’t even aware he was there. He took advantage of her distraction to study her properly. Her clothes were all wrong for her. So conservative and staid. Oh, she looked good. But in a Talidarian robe, draped in jewels, she would be exquisite. What was it about her that drove him so wild? Her figure was lovely – tall and slender with generous breasts. Her fair skin and hair moreso. All of these were pleasing qualities, but each on their own was not enough to torment him the way she had since they’d first met, the night before.

  Her head turned suddenly, her eyes locking with his, and he felt that instant spark of awareness hit him like an electrical current.

  “Tamir, how old are these?”

  He tamped down on his desire, carefully keeping his expression neutral. “You tell me. You’re the expert, aren’t you?”

  She compressed her lips and looked back at the tapestry. “They can’t be… as old as they look.”

  “No?”

  She stepped closer to the wall hanging, completely oblivious to the way he was staring at her. “The depiction of a pastoral scene – the harvest and measuring of grains – is in keeping with works done somewhere around fifteen hundred BC.” She scanned the top of the hanging. “The colors suggest this, too. That particular shade is Madder; it was widely used in ancient art works because the plant that creates the pigment grew freely throughout the continent. And this,” she pointed towards a large Eagle depicted in flight, with a snake clasped in its talons, “is a reference to the first Talidarian ruler. The first Desert King who overthrew the Egyptian rule and established the protection of the Sultan for those who had been sold as slaves to the empire.” She gulped. “Without proper laboratory tests, I’d say this tapestry was completed by one person. The style is identical throughout. Yes. Definitely around fifteen hundred BC.”

  He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. “You’re right.”

  “I know.” She gave the picture one last glance then moved to catch up with Tamir. “Why were you testing me?”

  He slanted her a look. “I am interested in your level of expertise.”

  Olivia’s steps faltered, and he quickly put a steadying arm around her slender waist. “Why?”

  At her hip, his strong fingers pressed into her flesh with a bite of pressure. “Because I
am interested in all of you.”

  Olivia’s eyes were drawn to his, the surprise in her expression causing him amusement. She looked away, focussing on another tapestry as they walked past it. But now, her appraiser’s eye was far from ready. She skimmed past the ancient pieces, seeing without really noticing. All of her energy was focussed on the enormous piece of artwork to her side. The rarest of all commodities – a prince amongst men.

  Olivia had lain awake all night, staring at the peeling paint of the modest two bedroom apartment she shared with her mother in Brixton. Over and over, she’d asked herself the question: What did he want with her?

  Olivia didn’t go in for false modesty. If she’d had any doubts about her physical appearance, they would have been washed away by now, by the frequent remarks she received from men.

  Unfortunately, Olivia wasn’t flattered by the attention. On the contrary, it made her squirm. Her father had taught her, from a young age, that beauty was nothing aspirational. In fact, he’d encouraged her to downplay her looks in any way she could, leading to a disastrous bowl cut just before her twelfth birthday. His belief – that beauty would only get in the way of the perception of brains – was flawed. Olivia had learned to combine the two. In fact, there had been times when her physical presentation had served her well, and she hadn’t been ashamed to use it to her advantage in order to further her career. That was only something she felt comfortable doing because she knew that her academic credentials were excellent.

  She flicked a glance to Tamir and looked away again immediately. He was so handsome and imposing, so tall and dark, strong and powerful, that he sent her pulse skittering with a single look. But therein lay the problem. He was not simply a man she had met, who she found attractive. He was born to rule Talidar, a wealthy, foreign country, skirted by desert on one side and ocean on the other. Any interest he had in her simply didn’t make sense. For a man such as Tamir could have any woman he wanted, at any time. Undoubtedly, he had done so for many years. So why her? And for how long?

  I am interested in all of you. Her blood pounded through her body at his accented admission. But was he serious? A man such as him would find it easy to say what was necessary. He was suave and sophisticated, easily able to click his fingers and make women come running. Was she so predictable? So weak-minded, that she couldn’t resist his charms?