by Leslie North
Fiona kept up a steady chatter as they wended their way through the palace, mostly pointing out the sights to Noah, but Jayne found herself distracted. Her thoughts kept skipping back to Danny, how he’d held Noah so naturally, thought of her comfort before his own. He was everything his profile had promised, and a prince to boot.
Was it so crazy to imagine she’d felt a spark?
Grab your copy of
The Sheikh’s Mail-Order Bride
Available 20 May 2021
www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
BLURB
Hamid Al-Qasha has been a stickler for his country’s traditions ever since his father the king died when Hamid was just sixteen. But even he’s thrown when a merchant insists on paying a debt by invoking an ancient law allowing him to use his lovely daughter Talitha as collateral. Such payment is repugnant to Hamid, so while he accepts the bargain to keep tradition alive, he decides instead to treat Tali as an honored guest of his palace for one month. Yet before he knows what’s happening, Tali has charmed everyone in the palace, including Hamid’s young son. When a compromising but innocent picture of Hamid and Tali is secretly taken and made public, Hamid, in an effort to protect Tali’s honor, blurts out all is well—they’re engaged.
They are so not engaged, but what can Tali do except go along with the fake engagement to appease her angry father? Now, thanks to tradition, her stay at the palace must be extended for another month. As much as Tali embraces the modern and pushes the traditional envelope, she’s secretly glad to stay. Hamid may be a bit old-fashioned, but he’s not the tyrant her father is—plus his kisses make her knees weak and his sexy voice makes her insides melt. When they’re in public, he’s the perfect fiancé: caring, loving, attentive. If only it weren’t just a show for the paparazzi. If only she could stop her heart leaping every time she sees him. If only she were smart enough to not fall in love…
Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s Fake Engagement (The Blooming Desert Series Book One) from
www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
EXCERPT
Usually, the King of Qasha could see the beauty in traffic in the capital city of Qasharouz. Traffic meant bustle. Bustle meant business. And business meant a thriving economy, for which he was ultimately responsible.
Things were different today. After forty-five minutes of creeping through the mid-morning traffic jam, Hamid Al-Qasha—also known as his royal highness or simply the king to the people around the car and around the country—was done.
“I’m getting out,” he announced to the others in the armored SUV. The SUV was one of a fleet reserved for the use of the royal family, and it was sandwiched by two others in the motorcade. It could survive a bomb dropping on it, but it could not make traffic go any faster unless he was willing to use its sirens and horns. Hamid wasn’t the type. Kings didn’t need a flashy entrance. He didn’t want a flashy entrance—not for this errand. All he wanted was to get the meeting over with.
His driver met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Meet us there.”
His head of security, a man named Amir Haik, was already out on the blacktop, holding the door open and scanning for threats.
“Are you sure, Your Highness?” Hamid’s secretary Mahir, a stout man with bags under his eyes, hesitated. Hamid gave him a look. “Ah, yes,” said Mahir. “Walking it is.”
The three of them and an additional guard left the SUV and made their way to the crowded sidewalk. Amir fell into place a few strides ahead of Hamid, the second man a few strides behind. Mahir struggled to keep up under the clear blue skies of the morning, hemmed in by the market buildings around them. This part of the market was alive with vendors and customers, chatting and negotiating at top volume.
“You’re prepared for when we reach Rahman’s Fine Jewelry?” Hamid called to Amir, who had paused to let a gaggle of young women pass. They all stared at Amir, and then their eyes slipped to Hamid. He saw recognition light up their features. The king, one of them whispered, and she clutched her friend’s hand with a barely muffled shriek. They scurried away as if he might order them dragged from the market. A path opened up in front of them, people stepping back to get out of his way. Whispers that Hamid was in the market traveled faster than electricity. And no wonder: the royal family rarely mingled with the public, preferring a respectable remove and an air of mystery.
“I’m prepared to seize assets, yes,” Amir said crisply. “Poor Rahman won’t like it.”
“Poor Rahman should have paid back the money he owes.”
“Yes.” Amir’s normally stoic face broke into a quick smile. “But now he has to face you. I wouldn’t relish it.”
Hamid rolled his eyes. He’d met Amir years before, when they were both teenagers. Amir had gone on to take a position in the special forces. He still looked ready to go into battle, with his shaved head and solid muscles. Hamid didn’t trust anyone else to manage his security. And though Amir might look dangerous, he was only so to the people who threatened the royal family—particularly Hamid and his son, Rafiq.
The streets cleared as they walked, the sidewalks getting wider and more clean-swept. People out shopping hurried to make way, though there were fewer of them in this part of the market. Their clothes were slightly more upmarket. The men wore jackets. The women wore lipstick. They didn’t stare as nakedly as the teenagers who’d crossed Hamid’s path before. He and his people were getting close to Rahman’s Fine Jewelry.
Amir jogged ahead, pulling open the next door. A whoosh of air conditioning greeted them, and then the sparkling interior of the jewelry store. The Rahmans had been making jewelry in Qasharouz for almost as long as the royal family had been there. Hamid gritted his teeth with irritation. Yusuf, the patriarch and head jeweler, should have known better than to steal from the crown.
The staff at the front of the store scattered, disappearing through a curtained entrance to the side. Hamid didn’t have any business with them. He only wanted Yusuf, whom he found in the spacious back workshop, bent over a piece of jewelry with another man at his side. Slowly, slowly, Yusuf raised his head from the work in front of him and then sank into a bow. The other man stepped back, eyes wide.
“Your Royal Highness.” Yusuf put on a faltering smile that did nothing to distract from the beads of sweat at his hairline. “It’s a pleasure having you in my humble shop.”
“I’m not here for pleasure.” Hamid stepped up to the workbench, only a few feet from Yusuf, and Amir stuck close to his side. “You know exactly why I’m here.”
“If you’d like to commission another piece for the jubilee, I’d be honored to—”
“Stop, Yusuf.” The other man’s lips snapped closed. “Would you rather I announce to the whole city that your design has been irrevocably tainted by the fact that you stole from the crown?”
“Theft is the first of the charges,” Amir chimed in, taking an official document from his pocket. “There are others, of course. Obstructing—”
Yusuf held his hands up. “I’m not attempting to obstruct anything, your highness. Were you not pleased with the ring?”
These questions threatened to drive Hamid mad. Yusuf, as one of the prominent jewelers in the city, had entered his own design into a competition. The prizewinning ring would be presented to the Queen Mother as part of the upcoming Qasha Jubilee celebrations. Hamid felt the weight of all two hundred years since the Al-Qasha family united the nation’s regions and established the country pressing down on his shoulders. Yusuf had won the contest, of course, but then he’d asked for his payment in advance. After the piece had been delivered, he was mistakenly paid the exorbitant sum twice. He had been dragging his feet about returning the money ever since.
And with the jubilee growing nearer each day, Hamid couldn’t stand it. The media would seize on the thief the palace had elevated, and it would tarnish the coverage of the event.
“Read the rest of the charges, Amir.”
“Theft from the crown, a charge of treason,” Amir said crisply.
“Knowingly deceiving the crown, a charge of treason. Failure to return royal property—”
“Wait, wait.” Yusuf’s face had gone quite pale. It wasn’t the first time Hamid had seen a man’s face go that particular shade of white. He’d been king since he was sixteen, upon the sudden death of his father, and that meant holding people responsible for their actions. It meant observing the traditions that his father had held in such high esteem. Let Yusuf squirm. “Your Highness, there’s another solution.”
Ah. So Yusuf did recognize that there was a problem. The other man swallowed hard.
“Quickly, then. I don’t have all day.”
“Your Royal Highness—”
Hamid stared across at Yusuf, daring him to argue that he should be forgiven. Behind a temporary wall in the back there came a rustling sound, then a little gasp. It drew Hamid’s attention like a magnet. What was going on back there? Curiosity roared to life, but he didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t let it show on his face. He never would. Yusuf’s eyes flicked to that back wall, and he squared his shoulders.
“It is, of course, my fault entirely that the celebrations have been...tainted by this disagreement. You’re right to stick to the laws.” Yusuf gained steam. “You’re absolutely right, Your Royal Highness, and I admire you for it. Of all the rulers my family has served under, you are the one with the greatest knowledge of the law and the sense to apply it fairly.”
What was he getting at? Hamid said nothing to interrupt him. He’d learned years ago that silence could gain him more than bluster.
“So I’d like to invoke one of our most ancient traditions,” Yusuf continued. “The tradition of family collateral.”
Family collateral was indeed one of Qasha’s most ancient traditions. Hamid blinked. It had been used in previous centuries, when debts to the monarchy or the upper class could be satisfied by offering a person up as collateral for a debt. To Hamid’s knowledge, it hadn’t been used in many decades. But technically—and Hamid had always been very interested in the technicalities of his society, which ultimately held the whole thing together—it was within the bounds of the law for Yusuf to do it.
“Surely you’re not offering yourself as collateral,” Hamid managed. “You’re about to be charged with several crimes, ranging in severity from misdemeanor to treason. You’re useless to me.”
“Not me.” Yusuf looked him straight in the eye. “My eldest daughter. Talitha!” he shouted. “Talitha, come here.”
A woman appeared from behind the temporary wall, honey-blonde and lithe, with dark eyes narrowed at her father’s shouting. “Papa, what is it?” She took in Hamid and Amir, standing there with Mahir, and shock crossed her expression. “Your—Your Royal Highness.”
She bobbed a curtsy and when her eyes met Hamid’s, a shock went through him. It opened up a deep hunger in him, one that he was not accustomed to feeling. Hamid didn’t get hungry for people. He wanted to be a good king, a steadfast leader, which meant that everything he did was in service of the country and tradition. But this? This gnawing ache inside of him? It made him want nothing more than to cross the room, take her in his arms, and kiss her.
Hard.
Yusuf was saying something about buying a month’s grace to pay his debts. “Talitha,” he said. “Pay attention.”
Her gaze swung away from Hamid, and he felt like the sun had gone behind a thick cloud. He took in a quick breath. Get those lungs moving.
Yusuf put a hand on Talitha’s shoulder. “Your role is to help the family business, is it not? This is how I need you to help the business now.” There was a note of panic in his voice, and Hamid realized all at once the depth of the man’s desperation. “You’re being offered as collateral for the debts we owe to the crown. You’ll be Sheikh Hamid’s property for a month.”
Talitha’s mouth dropped open and her hand flew up to cover it. Anger burst into open flame at the pit of his gut. This was wrong. Wrong. Ancient laws didn’t mean that Yusuf could offer his daughter in place of money. What was he thinking? The law was the law, of course, and Hamid had made it his life’s work to follow those laws. To enforce those laws.
Ah. Ah. A flash of understanding. Yusuf was bluffing him.
A second wave of anger came hard and fast. Even pretending to give up his own daughter was a low move. Yusuf was no doubt hoping that Hamid would back down. Forgive his debt.
“Amir.” Hamid waved him forward. “Take Talitha into custody.”
Amir, bless him, didn’t hesitate. He strode around the workbench toward Talitha. Her father didn’t move to step in front of her. He stood frozen, his mouth hanging open, cheeks a violent red.
“I—” Yusuf struggled for words. “I didn’t—Your Highness.”
“Wait, Amir.” His head of security stopped, an arm’s length away from Talitha. A strange jealousy burned through Hamid’s core. He wanted to be the one standing so close to her. Forget tradition. No—no. He could not forget tradition. Tradition made him who he was. “Take her home.”
“What?” gasped Talitha.
“Take her to her home, Amir. Help her collect her necessities. Then bring her to the palace where she will be welcomed as an invited, honored guest. Not property.” Hamid let his words hang in the air between them. “She is not property.”
Then he turned on his heel and went, leaving Yusuf silent and stricken. Hamid waited for the fallout—for Talitha to refuse, to protest. But he’d seen the way she looked at him. Had she felt that shock, too?
Hamid stopped at the door, waiting for his security man. Mahir rushed up next to him. And then Amir came out from the back, Talitha by his side. Hamid swore he saw a flicker of a smile on her face, there and then gone in the blink of an eye.
Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s Fake Engagement (The Blooming Desert Series Book One) from
www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
