‘It was Mustafa—’
‘No—for being such a spoilt princess. I’m sorry for leaving you the way I did. My father tried to talk sense into me but I wouldn’t listen. I thought you didn’t care that I’d gone, but all that time you were out there finding my sister.’
She squeezed her eyes shut and put her hands over her face, feeling the dampness on her cheeks from the tears that would be contained no longer. ‘I’m such a fool.’
She felt his arms close around her, felt herself pulled against his chest, and the sheer joy of it brought forth a fresh burst of tears.
‘Aisha,’ he said, stroking her hair, pressing his lips to it.
She lifted her tear-streaked face, blinking away the moisture in her eyes, and he swept the hair from her face with his fingers. ‘You’re not still angry with me?’ she asked.
He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turned up the slightest fraction. ‘It’s me who should be asking that. I have treated you appallingly. I was so angry and so resentful with being forced into this position, that I took it out on you. And I understand why you were so hurt the night of the coronation. I’d betrayed your trust once again. And I was going to follow you and tell you that you were right that same night, even though I knew you wouldn’t believe me, and tell you that I cared for you.
‘And then came the news that Marina had been taken. Hamzah was against me going. But I thought, I hoped, that if I could help reunite you with your sister you might understand, just a little, how much you mean to me.’
Her heart swelled in her chest. ‘I still can’t believe you did that, that you risked everything.’
‘But none of it matters, does it?’ he said. ‘If you can’t have what you truly want.’
‘What do you truly want?’
He looked down at her with his dark, potent eyes. ‘I want you. I want all of you. I want you to be my queen. I want your body. I want your soul. I want you for ever.’
She gasped as he pressed his lips to her forehead before pulling back and she hungered for more of his kiss. ‘And I know I fall short of the kind of man you wanted to marry. I know this has all happened the wrong way around and that you have every right to hate me for ever. So I am offering you a choice.’
‘What choice?’
He dipped his mouth, kissed the tip of her nose, and she drank in his air and the very essence of him while her lips searched in vain for his.
‘You can walk away from our marriage and all that it entails, or you can stay and settle for my flaws and imperfections and, ultimately, my love.’
Her swelling heart sang. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said I’m giving you a choice.’
‘No, not that bit. The other bit.’
‘About walking away?’
‘No!’
He smiled and kissed her eyes, first one and then the other, but when she angled her face higher, to give him access to her hungry mouth, he withdrew. ‘The other choice is my love. You see, I have nothing to offer you, Aisha, that you cannot find in a million other more worthy men, nothing but the one thing only I can give you—my love, if you will accept it.’
‘You never told me. I never knew.’
‘I didn’t know it myself. Not really, not until you walked away and left my heart in pieces on the floor. I love you, Aisha. And I know I am so unworthy. I know I am the last person who deserves it. But will you come back and be my wife? Will you let me love you? Will you find it in your heart to love me one day, even just a little?’
‘Oh, Zoltan, yes—a thousand times yes. I love you so much. And now.’
‘Now?’
‘Now will you kiss me at last?’
He laughed, a low, delicious rumble that vibrated through her all the way to her bones. ‘Only a kiss, Aisha, my queen?’
‘Don’t tell me—you are giving me another choice already?’
His hands scooped down her back to cup her behind, bringing her into even closer contact with the evidence of his desire. ‘Only if you want it.’
She smiled up at him, her blood fizzing in anticipation, dizzy with love. ‘Oh, I want it, Zoltan. I want it all.’
As his head dipped and his lips brushed against hers with that first delicious contact, she heard him say, ‘Then you shall have it.’
And she knew, in her heart, mind and soul, that she already did.
* * * * *
Cinderella and the Sheikh
Natasha Oakley
NATASHA OAKLEY told everyone at her primary school that she wanted to be an author when she grew up. Her plan was to stay at home and have her mum bring her coffee at regular intervals—a drink she didn’t like then. The coffee addiction became reality and the love of storytelling stayed with her. A professional actress, Natasha began writing when her fifth child started to sleep through the night. Born in London, she now lives in Bedfordshire with her husband and young family. When not writing, or needed for ‘crowd control’, she loves to escape to antiques fairs and auctions. Find out more about Natasha and her books on her website www.natashaoakley.com.
For my Dad
CHAPTER ONE
‘SHOULD I know him?’ Polly Anderson pulled the A4 photograph across the table so she could see it more clearly. She squinted down at it, trying to bring it into focus.
Her friend smiled. ‘Forget your contact lenses this morning?’
‘I didn’t forget them.’ Polly accepted the black coffee Minty handed her and took a quick sip of the scalding liquid. ‘It was a late night and my eyes feel like they’re filled with grit if you really want to know.’
‘And you’re too vain to wear your glasses, of course.’
Polly grimaced. More that she’d put them down somewhere and had absolutely no idea where. She set the blue and white mug down on the table. ‘I’m sure I’ve not met him. He’s not exactly in the usual run of sheikhs that do business with Anthony, you know.’
‘Not fat or old.’
‘Something like that.’
Minty laughed her husky laugh and slid a second photograph along the table. ‘You should see him without the headscarf. Then we just get tall, dark and deliciously dangerous.’
‘Nice,’ Polly said, looking down at the image of an aggressively handsome man. Actually very nice. Her sight wasn’t so short she couldn’t see that. It was all about the eyes, she decided. Mostly about the eyes. Unexpectedly blue in a face that was unmistakably Arab.
Exotic and familiar at the same time. And incredibly sexy. Those eyes seemed to promise feelings and sensations she’d no experience of. Or very little.
She smiled. Maybe there was more of her scandalous great-great-grandmother in her than she’d supposed. Now that was an interesting thought—and probably one her mother would prefer her not to dwell on. ‘So, who is he?’ she asked, looking up.
‘Officially, His Highness Prince Rashid bin Khalid bin Abdullah Al Baha. But for Western consumption he’s generally known as Sheikh Rashid Al Baha. Much simpler. Twenty-nine. Six feet two and a half inches. Single. Keen horseman. Rich beyond your wildest dreams.’ Minty leant forward. ‘Pretty damn sexy all round.’
Polly laughed. ‘Not that you’re interested or anything.’
‘Actually I’m not. He’s a bad idea as anything other than eye candy. He’s Crown Prince Khalid’s second son. The one he had with his English wife—’
‘Oh, okay…I’ve heard of him,’ Polly interrupted. ‘He’s Amrah’s playboy sheikh, right?’
Minty nodded. ‘That’s him. Plays hard and fast. Only thing he really exhibits any sort of commitment to is his horses. I don’t understand all that, but he’s something big in the horse world. Breeds them or something. Which is why I thought you might have met him through that slimy stepbrother of yours. But if not it doesn’t really matter. We’ll manage.’
Polly picked up the more traditional of the two pictures and held it out in front of her. Long flowing white robes and his dark hair concealed beneath a white headdress. Minty was right. P
rince Rashid bin thingy was really very sexy. If he’d been to Shelton she’d have remembered.
She closed one eyelid to focus more clearly. ‘A couple of sheikhs did come over from Amrah but they were both much older. And I doubt they were royalty because Anthony would have been much more impressed. I can probably get their names for you if you need them.’
Minty shook her head and bent over to open the file resting against the leg of her chair. ‘I don’t. But while we’re at it, have a look at his elder brother,’ she said, passing across another glossy A4 picture. ‘His Highness Prince Hanif bin Khalid bin Abdullah Al Baha. Again he tends to contract all that to Sheikh Hanif Al Baha. And who can blame him?’
Polly picked up the photograph.
‘Now their daddy’s so ill Hanif’s probably the one we should be talking to,’ Minty said slowly, her eyes focused on her notes. ‘They’ve both got the “bin Khalid bin Abdullah Al Baha”. Exactly the same. Not very imaginative, is it? The only difference is the Hanif-Rashid bit.’
There was more difference between the brothers than that. Sheikh Hanif looked like a ‘safe pair of hands’. At least, he did as far as you could ever judge anything from a single photo when you weren’t wearing your glasses.
Polly closed one eyelid and brought the blurry image into sharp focus again. He had a solid sort of responsibility. Maybe a hint of sadness in his dark eyes? Certainly steeliness.
But Rashid was something else. There was a restlessness about him. A man who exuded an edginess. Danger. As Minty said, a bad idea. Unquestionably. Why were bad boys always so attractive?
‘Neither of them have been to Shelton. I’m sure. They’re both a good twenty years younger than the men I met.’
Minty flicked through the pages of her notebook. ‘I can’t get my head round these names at all. The dad is Crown Prince Khalid bin Abdullah bin Abdul-Aalee Al Baha. Jeez.’
‘“Bin” means “son of”,’ Polly said, putting the photographs down and picking up her coffee. She wrapped her fingers round the comforting warmth and blew across the top of the mug. ‘Think of it like a family tree. And Baha is King Abdullah’s family name so that pinpoints them as being close to the centre of things.’
‘That makes it all as clear as mud.’ Minty rubbed at her forehead. ‘Not that it matters. I think as long as you cover your shoulders and don’t wear miniskirts while in Amrah we’ll be just fine even if we don’t get all that sorted.’
‘Right.’ Polly stretched out long legs encased in the finest ten-denier stockings. ‘I can manage that. Seems a bit of a pity to hide my best feature, though, don’t you think?’
‘Better than getting arrested for immorality in a public place.’
‘Do they do that?’
‘I’ve absolutely no idea. Let’s not risk it.’ Then as she caught the edge of Polly’s startled gaze, ‘Don’t let it worry you. I’ve got a team working on the practical side of things. Nothing horrible will happen to you, I promise.’
Polly nodded, only partially reassured.
‘And Matthew Wriggley, the tame historian we found, is painstakingly putting together some wonderful detail on your Elizabeth Lewis. Really exciting. You’ll love it.’ She gathered the photographs together and put them inside her slip file. ‘It was all going great until Crown Prince Khalid fell ill and the permission to begin filming was mired in red tape.’
Polly said nothing. She took another sip of her coffee and waited. She’d known Minty for something like nine years and she knew there was more to come.
‘So now I need you to cultivate Sheikh Rashid, get his support and encourage him to fast-track it all or we’ll miss the best of the weather. Convince him we don’t have any kind of subversive agenda.’
Two frown lines appeared in the centre of Polly’s forehead. ‘I thought you said we needed to negotiate with the elder brother now Crown Prince Khalid is ill.’
‘I knew you weren’t paying attention to me. Sheikh Hanif is the brother we should be talking to since he’s generally thought to be his father’s right-hand man, but he’s completely un-get-ableat.’
‘That’s not a word.’
‘You know what I mean,’ Minty said, ripping the top off a sachet of artificial sweetener and dropping the contents in her coffee. ‘He’s doing the bedside vigil thing. Which leaves us with Sheikh Rashid—’
‘Ah.’
‘—who isn’t, and who fortunately has a well-documented soft spot for English blondes.’
‘How fortuitous,’ Polly said dryly.
‘Isn’t it? Even better is that he’s going to be at your place for the big charity bash this weekend. I’ve no idea why he isn’t also sitting at his father’s bedside but that’s not important—’
Polly shook her head. That couldn’t be right. ‘His name isn’t on the guest list,’ she said with the quiet certainty of someone who’d been through it twice last week.
‘He is. He’s in the Duke of Aylesbury’s party. Part of the “plus six”.’
‘How the heck do you know that when I don’t?’
‘One very boring dinner party sat next to an inebriated old Etonian and hey presto. It’s all in the flirting.’ Minty picked up her spoon and stirred her coffee. ‘Apparently big brother Hanif was at Eton with the Duke of Aylesbury and they’re close friends. Presumably that friendship has extended to little brother, too, I don’t know. Whatever the reason, he’ll be at Shelton on Saturday.’
Polly sat back in her chair and gazed in frank admiration.
‘So, if you do your “charming lady of the castle” thing and get his support that should speed everything up beautifully. We’ve had all the appropriate forms in now for about four months—’
‘Do my what?’
Minty looked up and laughed. ‘You know what I mean. Foreigners love that stuff. Take him to see the Rembrandt or something. Talk about your mother the dowager duchess. Toss your hair a bit. Don’t mention you’re more the Cinderella of the outfit. He’ll love it.’ Distracted, she glanced over her shoulder, then back at Polly. ‘What is that noise?’
‘Aargh! That’s my phone. Sorry.’ Polly made a dive for her handbag. ‘I should have switched it off.’ The handle caught on her chair arm and by the time she’d opened her bag the ringing had stopped.
‘Important?’
Polly glanced down at the number. ‘Probably not. It’s Anthony.’ She turned it off and returned the phone to the depths of her bag. ‘I’ll call him later.’
‘Good plan! Let him sort out the latest crisis. It’s about bloody time he did something.’
Polly allowed herself a tiny smile. Loyalty to her late stepfather meant she always stopped short of joining in criticism of Anthony.
‘How long is it now since Richard died?’ Minty asked suddenly.
‘Three years. Almost. It’ll be three years in May.’ Was it really that long? Polly replaced her bag back on the floor and picked up her coffee once again. In another four months her mother would have been widowed longer than she’d been married. Unbelievable. So much had happened.
‘Plenty of time for him to have got used to the idea of running the show—’
If only. Anthony still showed absolutely no inclination to do anything of the sort.
‘And if his well-bred wife thought of something other than horses that’d help.’
‘They’ll have to manage while I’m away filming—’
‘If we get our permit.’
‘If,’ Polly agreed mildly.
‘Well, try to sound like you mind one way or the other!’
‘I do.’ Her smiled twisted. Sort of. It was just…leaving Shelton was going to be difficult, particularly since she knew it wasn’t in safe hands. Every time she tried to imagine herself packing her case and walking away from it…she couldn’t.
Instead she’d think about how much there was to do. The Burns Night Supper, for example, or the Valentine’s Ball, or the craft fair held at the castle each Easter weekend…
All bringing in
desperately needed revenue if the conservation programme was to continue. The trouble was she cared. Somehow, and she didn’t really understand how, it had got into her bones. Shelton Castle had become her raison d’être.
And, the truth was, it wasn’t hers to love. It was Anthony’s. His birthright. His privilege to nurture and succour the castle for future generations. And if she didn’t manage to detach herself she would eventually be left with nothing.
Minty watched her with narrowed eyes. ‘We agreed. It’s time you left Shelton.’
They had agreed that.
‘And way past time you did a job for which you’re being properly paid.’
Also true. Her head agreed. It was her heart that was more difficult to control.
‘You’ve got no savings, no pension, no career structure—’
‘I know.’ And she did. It wasn’t something that kept her awake at night, but she did know she’d allowed herself to drift for too long.
And she knew Amrah could be the answer. The first real attempt she’d made to cut the umbilical cord that tied her to the castle.
‘Well, then, be nice to Sheikh Rashid and I’ll have you on a plane within twenty-four hours of getting the paperwork through.’
‘Be nice to Sheikh Rashid.’ That was easier said than done. There was no getting near the man. Polly moved back to conceal herself behind an extravagant white floral display of alstromeria, lisianthus and roses so she could watch him more easily. Or, more accurately, so she could watch him without anyone noticing that was what she was doing.
Sheikh Rashid sat facing out across the ballroom. As he’d done all evening. His long legs stretched out in front of him, a look of faint boredom on his face. Silent. Arrogant. And rude, if she was honest.
From the very first moment he’d arrived he’d been permanently surrounded by women who looked as if they’d stepped out of a Bond movie, but they could have been invisible for all the attention he paid them. Perhaps he was so used to it he didn’t notice they were there?
Desert Jewels & Rising Stars Page 154
