Desert Princes Bundle

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Oh, it’s beautiful,’ breathed Alexa as she looked out of the limousine window, all her troubles momentarily dissolved by the impact the building made on her senses. ‘Utterly beautiful.’

  Every shade of blue she had ever seen—and a few more besides—was there, culminating in a soaring dome which tantalised the eyes. The combination of blues made a colour so intense that it rivalled anything produced by nature. But, in contrast, the flowers which grew everywhere were many-hued—pinks and reds and purples and creams, and the deep saffron shade of egg yolk. The powerful scent from the massed blooms pervaded her senses as they climbed out of the car, and made her feel weak.

  And that was when the blonde woman called Sorrel had appeared from within the shadowed sanctuary of the palace to welcome them—looking so cool and ethereal in her gossamer-fine veil that Alexa had half wondered if she might have dreamt her up.

  Alexa found herself wishing that she had worn a hat, or something a little cooler than the linen trousers and jacket she had worn—but she had been too self-conscious to wear anything more ethnic to Heathrow Airport.

  ‘Come inside, into the cool and the shade,’ Sorrel urged. ‘You look hot.’

  ‘I am hot,’ Alexa confessed. And tired and disenchanted—and terrified that I’m going to lose my son to a man who once said he loved me but now looks at me with nothing but hatred in his black eyes. Licking her dry lips, and feeling ever more disorientated, Alexa looked at the blonde woman. ‘H-how come you speak English so perfectly?’ she enquired, in a voice which sounded wobbly.

  A faint crease appeared between Sorrel’s brows. ‘I shall tell you everything you wish to know—but you are in no fit state to ask or answer questions at the moment. Come with me and I shall direct you to your suite. There you can bathe and change into something more suitable for our climate.’

  ‘But I’m waiting for my son,’ protested Alexa.

  ‘Your son will be fine,’ soothed Sorrel. ‘I promise you. One of the servants will bring him to you—the best thing that you could do for him would be to have yourself some rest. You look dead on your feet.’

  Could Alexa trust Sorrel? More importantly—could she trust Giovanni to look after Paolo? Alexa was feeling light-headed now, and yet she knew with a bone-deep certainty that Paolo would be safe.

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said shakily.

  Sorrel led her along a series of seemingly endless and interlinking marble corridors. Alexa felt as if she was in a honeycomb. At the very heart of the palace was a central courtyard, which contained the most exquisite garden Alexa had ever seen.

  Yellow flowers tumbled down through the branches of tall trees which provided welcome shade, and there were waxy white flowers which filled the air with their heady scent. The paths which divided the garden into a series of rooms were of blue and white mosaic tiles, and the sweet, swishing sound of a fountain playing made Alexa long to jump into the refreshing water.

  ‘These are your rooms,’ said Sorrel, throwing open a set of double doors.

  Inside was a huge salon, with faded silk rugs and exquisite inlaid furniture, and chandeliers which glittered like a million diamond icicles suspended from the ceiling.

  ‘There are two bedrooms and three bathrooms,’ said Sorrel softly. ‘Perhaps,’ she added gently, ‘you might wish to freshen up?’

  There was a part of Alexa which was past protesting at the way her life seemed to have been taken over. She was so weary—emotionally and physically, that even putting one foot in front of the other seemed to take the most monumental effort.

  ‘But Paolo—’

  ‘I suspect that Xavier is on his way to meet him and Giovanni to give the child a quick tour of the palace—it will help him get orientated—so you certainly have time to change.’ Her face softened. ‘Better Paolo sees his mother refreshed and with a smile on her face.’

  A smile? Was it possible to smile whole-heartedly when inside you felt as if your heart was breaking?

  ‘Look,’ said Sorrel softly, and guided her towards a lovely oval mirror which hung on one of the walls. ‘See for yourself.’

  Alexa stared back at herself, and if she hadn’t already been as white as a wedding veil she might have blanched from the shock. She looked frightful. Apart from the dispirited set of her shoulders, her eyes were tired, and there was a dark streak of something across her cheek, where she must have run the back of her hand—now, why hadn’t Giovanni told her about that? Because he wanted her to look a fool? The shop girl she really was—out of place in such lavish surroundings?

  Was he hoping she would make such a bad impression that the Sheikh and other members of his newfound family would consider her unfit to be the mother of a child with royal blood?

  If Alexa had thought Giovanni powerful enough to snatch her son away from her—she hadn’t even considered what it would be like to have the full might of the Kharastani royal family banked against her.

  But along with her fear came a renewed wave of determination. Was she just going to play into his hands? To sit back and let it happen?

  Like hell she was!

  ‘Why is an Englishwoman such as yourself living in this strange and exotic place, Sorrel?’ she questioned quietly, because the other woman’s kindness was making her warm to her.

  ‘My father was the British ambassador here in Kharastan for many years,’ said Sorrel. ‘I spent all my vacations out here, and I quickly learned the language and a love for its people.’ A cloud passed over her beautiful face. ‘My parents were killed in an aircraft over the mountains of Maraban when I was sixteen, and I was made the ward of Malik, the Sheikh’s aide—a very important man, whom you will meet later.’

  ‘You didn’t want to go back to live in England?’ questioned Alexa, fascinated by a story which momentarily made her own troubles fade into the background.

  Sorrel shook her head. ‘Not a bit. I felt an indescribable affinity with Kharastan,’ she said earnestly. ‘Maybe I learned that from my parents, who taught me much about its culture and its turbulent history, and I was lucky enough to be fluent in the language, which is rare for a Western woman. Whenever I was in England I seemed to live for my time here—so I decided to complete my schooling and university here.’ She shrugged her narrow shoulders and gave a shy smile. ‘And here I am.’

  ‘So what is your role here now?’ asked Alexa tentatively.

  ‘Ah, my role.’ Sorrel gave a dry laugh. ‘I work at the British Embassy and live within the palace walls. I do not think a definition exists for my role here!’

  Alexa wondered about the slightly acid tone which had coloured Sorrel’s voice, but told herself it was none of her business. She certainly had enough on her own plate to worry about. Yet the other woman’s words had been kind and encouraging—she had not appeared to mind Alexa’s interest. Was it too much to hope for a tentative sisterhood between herself and her fellow countrywoman? An alliance, perhaps?

  ‘Are Giovanni, Paolo and I all staying in this suite together?’ she asked Sorrel softly.

  ‘Yes.’ There was a barely perceptible pause. ‘That was what Giovanni requested.’ Sorrel’s face was impassive and she gave a helpless shrug. Don’t blame me, it seemed to say. Don’t ask me questions I cannot in conscience answer.

  And Alexa understood perfectly. Sorrel’s silent gesture was telling her something she had already guessed—that Giovanni had all the power here, and his wishes would be paramount. There was little choice for Alexa other than to go along with it.

  But that didn’t mean that he could actually take her child from her by force.

  If she was about to have a custody fight on her hands, then Giovanni had better realise that a mother’s love could move mountains. Yet, just as a general going into battle would not do so if he was weary and unkempt, so neither could Alexa meet anyone while she was looking like this.

  ‘Can I have a quick bath?’ she asked Sorrel.

  ‘A quick bath!’ Sorrel laughed. ‘I haven’t heard someone sa
y that since I was at boarding school in England, many years ago! Yes, of course you can—I took the liberty of having one drawn for you in preparation.’

  And, despite her distracted state, Alexa couldn’t help but exclaim out loud when Sorrel opened the door to one of the bathrooms and she saw the vast circular bathtub, lined with inlaid mosaic. The water within it was sweetly scented, and there were rose petals floating on the steaming surface.

  ‘Like something out of the Arabian Nights?’ guessed Sorrel, with a smile. ‘It’s not exactly asses’ milk, but I think you’ll enjoy it.’

  Enjoy it?

  After Sorrel had left, Alexia pulled off her crumpled clothes and slipped into the perfumed waters, letting out a long, instinctive sigh of pleasure. The bath was almost deep enough to float in, and never had the sensation of warm water embracing her wearing limbs seemed so utterly pleasurable. She could have stayed there all day. But she didn’t have all day—so she washed her hair and then pulled on a fluffy towelling robe and tried not to compare this to her small bathroom at home, where she had to contort yourself like an ostrich to dry herself off, and where Paolo’s socks and pants hung on a drying stand during the winter months.

  Her case had been produced and unpacked in the dressing room, and hanging in the wardrobe were Alexa’s brand-new clothes. Before the trip she had gone online and discovered what was acceptable garb in Kharastan—and then she’d left Paolo with the childminder and hit the fabulous Asian bazaar which visited her corner of southern England once a month.

  For a song, Alexa been able to purchase swatches of silks in different colours, which she had made up into close approximations of the long, floaty tunics Kharastani women wore. Now she picked out one of them and ran her fingertips over a light material, the most delicate and gossamer-fine silk, and couldn’t wait to slip it on.

  Pulling on the delicate fabric, she heard it whisper in a silken kiss over her warm skin, and just at that moment she felt almost decadent—not like the responsible and nun-like single mother she had become out of necessity. This isn’t real, she told herself in slight desperation. None of this is real.

  With one final glance in the mirror, she walked back through into the dim light of the suite and went to find her son.

  Narrowing her eyes against the bright light which blazed outside, she looked around to see Paolo sitting at a table on the wide terrace, drinking through a straw from a glass of juice the colour of a sunset, watched by a young Kharastani woman who was clearly some kind of nanny figure.

  At the sound of Alexa’s footsteps he turned his dark head, his eyes lighting up as he scrambled down from the chair, running full-pelt into her arms and squealing with excitement.

  ‘Mamma, Mamma! The garden is much bigger than the park at home!’

  ‘Is it? Oh, Paolo.’ She tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes. ‘How are you, my darling?’

  He wriggled free from the constriction of her motherly embrace. ‘I saw the palace an’ it’s huge, and I met Uncle X-Xavier, an’ there’s a toy box in my bedroom, an’ we can have sore-bet for dinner!’

  ‘What’s sore-bet?’

  ‘He means sorbet,’ came a low, silky voice from behind them, and Alexa whirled round to see Giovanni emerging from the shadows of the room. ‘I told him it was a dessert which tastes like an ice lolly.’

  Her heart skipped, a beat and then began pounding as if it had only just learned how to. He looked like some dark, sensual predator, and Alexa hated the instinctive prickle of her skin and the tingling of her nerve-endings as her body instinctively acknowledged his. Because he was the father of her child—was that why she felt this bond which was almost tangible?

  ‘Papà!’ squealed Paolo in delight, as he extricated himself from her arms and jumped down, rushing over to Giovanni to attach himself with all the easy confidence of young puppy.

  Papà? thought Alexa weakly. Already? When the hell had that happened?

  Giovanni reached down to rumple the dark curls, and smiled. ‘Did you drink lots of water? Because it’s hot, and because—’

  ‘Water makes lions strong!’ put in Paolo enthusiastically, and went running back out onto the terrace as if he had lived in a palace all his life.

  The unfamiliar expression threw her, and Alexa wondered what else Giovanni had managed to teach him in such a short space of time. That Italy was a much warmer and more hospitable climate than England? Or had Giovanni dangled the carrot of his wealth—telling Paolo that he owned a turquoise rectangle of a swimming pool which was as big as their local lido. And more. Much, much more.

  ‘How quickly you have influenced him,’ she said softly.

  ‘Can you blame me?’ Giovanni’s mouth curved into a cruel line. ‘I have four years’ catching up to do.’

  Face your fears, she told herself. Face them head-on. ‘Are you working towards getting full custody of him, Giovanni? Is that what I’m fighting against?’

  ‘Whoever said anything about fighting?’ The sight of her—all bathed and fresh and sweetly scented—had just begun to register on his senses. ‘That’s the very last thing on my mind at the moment,’ he murmured huskily, his black eyes sliding over her in a look of pure sexual scrutiny. ‘How perfect you look, cara.’

  Alexa sucked in a breath, trying to claw in enough oxygen so that she wouldn’t do something unforgivable—like crumpling to the ground in front of him. Because that look was sheer, sizzling temptation. And because beneath the delicate silk of her new and unfamiliar robes she felt curiously naked. She felt the sudden melt of longing—was terrified that he might be able to detect from the subtle perfume of heightened sexual desire how much she wanted him. Through dry lips, she swallowed. ‘Giovanni…’

  He raised arrogant black brows. ‘What?’

  ‘Your son is out on the terrace,’ she whispered, alarmed.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So stop trying to be provocative. He might see us.’

  ‘What do you think most married couples do?’ he demanded softly. ‘They send silent messages with their eyes, and they whisper just what they plan to do when their child is safely tucked up in bed.’

  It was both a warning and an invitation.

  ‘But we’re not married. Not properly.’

  ‘Improperly, then. And maybe that’s better. Marriage complicates things with emotions—this way we are free from such constraints. We can just enjoy the sex for what it is.’ Just as I originally intended, he thought. Deliberately, he ran his tongue over his lips, and watched her eyes following the movement with a greed she could not hide, no matter how much she wanted to. ‘Want me to do that to you, cara mia?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Liar.’

  He was right, damn him—but that didn’t mean she was going to give in to what she really wanted. ‘Please don’t do this, Gio.’

  He smiled. But it was a cruel, hard smile. Let her squirm. Let her plead. And then later let her gasp his name out loud in a different kind of plea altogether. ‘I am not doing anything other than looking at you.’

  How could she tell him that his looking at her was enough to set off a whole series of complex reactions to him—both physical and psychological? That the blaze of his ebony stare was making her turn to mush, drying her mouth to dust and making her knees shake? And her heart was hurting, as if he had taken a long sabre and stabbed it right through, because she could see the naked hostility which shone through his heavy-lidded desire.

  Alexa opened her mouth to protest, but no words came. She felt as helpless as a newborn. He took advantage of her momentary weakness, snaking his hand out to capture her waist and pull her into his body.

  It was an arrogant gesture of ownership which he had demonstrated many times with many women over the years. But this was different. Against her hair, Giovanni briefly closed his eyes, uncharacteristically weakened, just for a moment. It felt different. Because it was ownership? Because she was his wife, who had borne him a son? Yet she had cleverly run away and built hers
elf a life without him—she who should have been closest to him was in fact a million miles away. But not for very much longer.

  With the fingers of his free hand Giovanni jerked her chin up, so that her face was staring directly at him—the pale green eyes wary, the full lips trembling under his burning scrutiny.

  ‘But you are right,’ he conceded huskily. ‘This is neither the time nor the place for love. Our son, as you reminded me, is out there on the terrace, and I must go to meet with Xavier, my half-brother.’

  His mouth hardened. From being a man who had considered himself all alone in the world—it now seemed that he had relatives. He had already decided to make his claim on Alexa for Paolo—but how would having a half-brother impact on him? Would his sudden new royal status bring any influence to bear on his life? He forced himself to concentrate on that which he could control, and as he felt the distracting soft silk of her skin beneath his fingers he felt the sudden urgent leap of hunger. ‘Have you seen the sleeping arrangements yet?’

  ‘I’m afraid I have.’ Turning her head, she wrenched her face away from his touch, from all the dangerous messages it was sending skittering along her skin.

  ‘It will be quite like old times to share a bed, will it not, Alexa mia?’ His smile was one of mocking triumph as he sensed her obvious discomfiture—enjoying the fact that she was fighting her feelings and trying to suppress her own desire. ‘I, for one, cannot wait.’

  ‘Well, I can—and I will. ‘She drew a deep breath, knowing that this needed to be said. ‘It doesn’t matter how you’ve plotted or planned or connived to put us in the same bed—proximity means nothing in the face of my own determination. You won’t have me, Giovanni—it would only complicate things,’ she vowed softly, and she turned to walk outside.

  Giovanni began to laugh softly as he watched her moving towards the terrace, seeing the pert thrust of her buttocks pushing against the fine, filmy fabric of her robe. How pointless her protest! How wasted her words!