The Desert King's Secret Heir

by Annie West

  She was already heading for the door when his words pulled her up short.

  ‘That’s not quite all.’

  ‘Yes?’ She tried to guess what other condition he’d put on their arrangement. Limiting contact with her other friends perhaps? Or her freedom of movement? Wearily Arden pushed her shoulders back and turned, ready to fight for her rights.

  ‘The wedding.’

  ‘Yes?’ The wedding. Not our wedding. The formal ceremony that would seal her fate and Dawud’s. A tremor shot from her nape to the soles of her feet.

  ‘It will be held in ten days.’ His tone was even and unemotional. Everything Arden didn’t feel at the prospect of marriage.

  ‘So soon?’ She pressed a palm to her chest where her heart nosedived.

  He shrugged. ‘There’s no point waiting. The sooner this situation is settled the better.’

  Situation being code for scandal. For an unwanted wife and an illegitimate son.

  ‘Don’t worry, all the arrangements will be taken care of.’

  In other words she’d have no say in her own wedding.

  Arden told herself that suited her perfectly. ‘And if I want to invite anyone?’

  ‘Let Ashar know and he’ll organise the invitations.’

  ‘I will.’ She paused. ‘That’s all now?’

  A tiny frown settled on Idris’s brow. Why? Had he expected her to make demands about the size of the cake or the colour scheme? As far as Arden was concerned it was far better someone else organised the nuptial extravaganza. She didn’t have the stomach for it.

  ‘No, that’s all.’

  ‘Good. Then I’ll see you later.’

  * * *

  She needn’t have worried about Idris coming to her room. For ten days she never saw him alone.

  So much for the rogue idea he might want her in his bed.

  At least he was serious about building a relationship with his son. He’d breakfast with them then stop by after Dawud’s bath to play a game or read a story in his own language. The gleam in Idris’s eyes when he was with Dawud, the rich, enveloping sound of his laughter, tugged her back to those halcyon days on Santorini. Except, unlike their affair, this would last. For, to her surprise, she saw something like love in Idris’s expression when he looked at their son, not duty. Their connection was real and growing. It brought a lump to her throat, seeing them together. She’d done the right thing—Dawud needed his dad too.

  Inevitably though, Ashar waited in the wings, reminding Idris of his next meeting, making her wonder when he ever stopped.

  Arden told herself she was grateful. She didn’t want to see Idris alone. She had enough to do.

  There were the language classes, classes on Zahrati customs and history, plus an increasing number of appointments and requests. Would she wear a gift of exquisite ivory silk from the silk weavers’ guild at her wedding? Would she permit a women’s embroidery group the honour of decorating the cloth with traditional bridal designs? Would she visit the school Leila, the girl she’d met during the procession, attended?

  Her days were crammed and she lived on tenterhooks, knowing and hating the fact she’d inevitably make mistakes. It seemed impossible she’d ever succeed in this new role Idris expected of her. But if she failed would Dawud be accepted? That worry kept her trying, despite her reservations. Despite her exhaustion, she was too wired to sleep. Instead, each night she’d watch the shadows wheel across the vaulted ceiling above her bed.

  Tonight, though, she’d sleep. Wedding preparations had begun at dawn and there would be not one but two ceremonies, one English and one Zahrati, followed by feasting and celebrations.

  Butterflies, or perhaps a huge Zahrati eagle, emblem of the royal house, swooped and swirled in Arden’s stomach as her attendants led her through the palace. As they approached the state rooms the exquisite furnishings became even more lavish, the scale of the interior growing till the cluster of twenty women were dwarfed.

  With each step Arden felt the swish of fine fabric around her legs, the weight of heavy antique pearl necklaces so fabulous she hadn’t believed they could be real. That was until her golden wedding coronet was placed on her head. Delicately made, it had flowers of ruby and sapphire, each with lustrous pearl petals.

  Arden’s neck was tight, her shoulders stiff and achy. She told herself it was fear that if she bent her head the coronet would slip off, despite the pins securing it.

  But deep down she knew it was the thought of marriage to Idris knotting tension within her. Her heart raced as she halted before vast gilded doors.

  Was she doing the right thing?

  She was doing the only thing that seemed right for her son.

  Still she was more nervous even than when she’d gone into labour.

  Her retinue fussed and fiddled, tweaking her long skirts, adjusting her necklaces and bracelets. One elegant lady took Arden’s hand in both of hers and said something earnestly in a lilting voice. The other women murmured the same words, smiling, and she guessed it was a blessing.

  She was about to ask what they’d said when the doors swung open and sound assaulted her. Laughter, music, voices. Her eyes widened. She’d seen the Hall of a Thousand Pillars before. It was one of the most spectacular rooms in the palace, but never had she seen it filled to capacity. It looked and sounded as if the whole city had crowded in.

  Arden stood, dazed. She swallowed hard and told herself she would not flee.

  Abruptly all sound ceased as if someone had switched off a soundtrack. Every head turned towards her. She breathed deep, telling herself to enter, but her feet stuck to the floor.

  She heard a noise—the steady pace of the man approaching her, tall and magnificent in traditional robes, dazzling in white and gold.

  Arden’s heart stuttered as he filled her vision, so imposing, so attractive. She reminded herself this was a sham marriage, perpetrated to protect their son. But as Idris smiled and took her hand, heat poured through her. Her pulse leapt and she leaned towards him, as naturally as years ago when she’d loved him with all her youthful heart.

  ‘You are beautiful, Arden. Breathtaking.’ The words were for her alone as his lips brushed her temple.

  That was when she realised how dangerous this was. How easy it would be to believe the fantasy that she and Idris shared something more than the need to protect their boy.

  It was as if she wanted to believe Idris desired her, respected her, loved her.

  Arden closed her eyes, summoning the courage she’d built over the years when she needed to face down the odds and be strong for Dawud.

  When she opened them Idris was still there, still looking like the answer to every woman’s prayer.

  But he was her partner in a contract, not her lover. Together they would protect Dawud and give him the future he deserved.

  ‘Thank you for the compliment.’ It was only encouragement to see her through a difficult day. ‘And you look spectacular too.’ She let him lead her into the vast room, head up, spine straight and a smile fixed on her lips.

  * * *

  Arden swayed with tiredness as her attendants stripped the exquisite ivory and gold wedding gown away and led her to the bathroom. Steam curled invitingly from the bath in the centre of the room and blush-pink rose petals covered the surface of the water.

  A bath fit for a royal bride.

  Suddenly all the pomp, glamour and luxury of the day mocked her.

  She needed to be alone.

  She’d done her best to play her part, smiling through the endless speeches and ceremonies. Not flinching when Idris took her hand and led her to a fabulous gilded throne. Nor when he fed her delicacies from his plate, his eyes shining with a look anyone who didn’t know the truth would interpret as desire. Only Arden knew it was satisfaction that they’d got throug
h the day without a hitch.

  But enough was enough.

  ‘Thanks very much, but no.’ She shook her head as a servant approached, ready to attend her in the bath. ‘I prefer to bathe alone.’

  Still it took a few moments to convince them she was serious. When they’d gone she stripped off her lace underwear, pinned her hair and sank into the bath.

  A sigh escaped. Or was it a groan? The warm water did marvellous things to muscles twisted with tension. For the first time in hours she began to relax in the bliss of the fragrant bath.

  She was dozing, her head lolling against the cushioned headrest when she heard the door open.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she murmured drowsily. ‘I don’t need any help.’

  ‘Not even to scrub your back?’ The voice, deep and soft like a ribbon of plush velvet, stroked her bare skin.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WATER SPLASHED AS she sat up, twisting towards the door.

  ‘Idris!’ It was the barest wisp of sound. Her voice disintegrated as she took him in.

  Gone were the white robes he’d worn for their wedding. Now there were only loose trousers of fine cotton, slung low across his hips. His torso was bare, a muscled, glorious expanse of dark gold with a smattering of ebony hair across his pectorals, resolving into a thin, dark line bisecting his abdomen. Arden remembered being fascinated by that line, and where it led, in the week they’d once spent together.

  She swallowed hard.

  As she watched, muscles rippled across his chest and abdomen, as if stirred by her stare.

  Instantly she dragged her gaze up. It collided with a bright, intense look that reminded her she was naked.

  Arden drew her knees up to her breasts, looping an arm tight around her legs.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  His mouth curled in a smile that drove a sexy groove down one cheek and made her aware of a sudden ache of emptiness high between her legs.

  It was the first genuine smile he’d given her in four years and it made her feel like the lovestruck innocent she’d been on Santorini, all breathless anticipation and hammering heart.

  She hated that he had such power over her.

  ‘Why are you here, Idris?’ Her voice was sharp.

  ‘I thought that was obvious.’ He walked closer and crouched down so his breath feathered her face. ‘I’m here to help my wife bathe.’

  ‘Wife in name only. And I’m perfectly able to take a bath alone.’

  ‘But why should you when you have a husband willing and able to assist?’

  ‘Husband in name only.’ Arden gritted her teeth, annoyed at the way her body reacted to the rich, clean scent of sandalwood and man. As if four years hadn’t passed. As if she were still besotted with him.

  ‘On the contrary, our marriage is as real as two wedding ceremonies can make it.’

  She shook her head, not in the mood for semantics. ‘You agreed not to come into my room without permission.’ It was a struggle to keep her voice even. All those years he’d visited her in her dreams, taunting her with the knowledge that, despite being an exhausted single mum, she was also a woman with needs. Now here he was in the too tempting flesh.

  He braced his forearm on the edge of the bath, inches from her bare shoulder, and she shivered as if he’d touched her. ‘Ah. That’s where you’re wrong. You mentioned that, but if you think back you’ll remember it was one condition I never agreed to.’

  He lifted his other hand and trailed the tips of his fingers in the water near her knees. He didn’t touch her but the ripples he made were like tiny caresses teasing her flesh.

  ‘Stop that!’ He stilled and Arden dragged in a shuddery breath. ‘Stop playing word games. You’re not welcome here and you know it.’

  Yet as she spoke Arden felt excitement rip through her at his heavy-lidded look. It stirred her body to tingling anticipation for his touch and, despite everything, for the unique sense of belonging and well-being she’d known in his arms. She reminded herself that was illusory but still her body trembled, igniting anger.

  ‘We married for pragmatic reasons. Don’t try to pretend this is about love.’ She wasn’t foolish enough to fall for that.

  Idris shook his head, his expression too close to smug for her liking. ‘That doesn’t mean we need to keep our distance. Why should we when we want each other?’

  ‘I don’t—’ Her voice cut out when his hand swirled through the water to caress her knee. Instantly a powerful judder of response racked her.

  From a touch to her knee! That should be impossible. But so too should the avid look on Idris’s face, as if he wanted to lean in and gobble her up, or maybe taste her slowly. Another quiver coursed through her and she pulled sideways, away from his touch, wrapping her arms tighter round her folded legs.

  ‘Why don’t you amuse yourself with one of your lovers and leave me alone?’

  ‘One of my...?’ For the first time Idris seemed lost for words.

  ‘I don’t want you in my suite.’ Even though her body cried out for him. It was a shocking realisation but she’d get over it, just as she’d got over so much in the past.

  ‘First—’ he leaned in, all trace of a smile gone ‘—this is our suite. My bathroom and dressing room are on the other side of the bedroom.’ Behind what she’d thought were blank walls? ‘Rather than have you and Dawud settle into guest rooms then move after the wedding, I thought it would be less disruptive for Dawud in particular not to have to move twice. I’ve been sleeping elsewhere till the wedding.’

  Dimly, part of her applauded his concern for their son. But mainly she was stunned by the revelation he’d expected her to share his bed all this time.

  ‘Second, I don’t have lovers waiting in the wings. I haven’t had a lover in...’ he shook his head ‘...a long time. I’ve been busy with other things.’ He drew in a deep breath that expanded his chest mightily, reminding her of his sheer physical strength and beauty.

  ‘Do you really think I’d go to another woman on my wedding night?’ He looked angry, as if she’d insulted him.

  ‘Why not? Unless you think because I’m conveniently close I’m available. If so, you’re completely wrong.’ Old bitterness welled. She understood now that Idris hadn’t deliberately avoided her all those years ago but it was hard to erase the pain of rejection. ‘You can’t ignore me for weeks then swan in here, expecting intimacy.’

  ‘Ignore you! I’ve seen you every day.’ His face drew tight in that dangerous expression she’d privately dubbed his bronzed warrior look. ‘I’ve spent every waking hour trying to smooth the way so that our marriage is viewed positively instead of as a hole-and-corner affair. So you and Dawud are accepted and welcomed. So we can live in peace and safety if I manage to salvage this treaty.’

  Idris looked proud and forbidding. Yet Arden’s heart leapt. There was something incredibly invigorating about being at the epicentre of all that furious energy.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  ‘I’m not some duty.’ She tipped back her head and glared. ‘I’m a person. You can’t treat me like a stranger then expect me to have sex with you.’

  The harsh words jarred. Once she’d thought of it as making love. Glorious, heaven-touching love. But she’d learned a lot since those days of innocence. Idris had never loved her, though she’d been besotted enough to throw in her job and follow him to Paris.

  His nostrils flared as he bent closer.

  There was something incredibly intimate about the fact he was inhaling the scent of her skin and the exotic cinnamon and pomegranate wash they’d used on her hair this morning. He was drawing her in and, despite her anger, her body was eager for him to devour her.

  ‘You think I treated you as a stranger?’ His voice dropped to a deep note that wove its way into every sense receptor in
her body. ‘You think I ignored you?’

  Idris tilted his head from side to side in a slow, emphatic negative. His hand closed around her knee in a deliberate, possessive hold that stilled her breath.

  She’d never been attuned to any man as she was to Idris. Even wanting to break free, she couldn’t deny the connection between them.

  ‘For ten days I’ve worked myself into a stupor rather than come to your bed.’ His voice grated, harsh and low. ‘For ten days I’ve done the right thing, honouring you as a bride should be honoured. For ten days I’ve tortured myself with the sight and sound and scent of you.’ He paused, inhaling again, and another of those erotic quivers coursed through her. ‘But I didn’t touch because I respected you. And I wanted everyone to know that.’

  Idris leaned in, so close his dark eyes and golden skin filled her vision.

  Arden was drowning in a sea of sensation. His touch on her bare skin, the intoxicating promise of sensual pleasure in his velvety eyes, the scent of him, potent male with a hint of sandalwood, even the sound of his breathing, steady and strong, dragged her down into a well of desire.

  ‘And because you want me I’m supposed to welcome you with open arms?’ Fear spiked. She suspected surrendering herself physically to Idris would be more complete, more irrevocable even than marrying him. A piece of paper, however important, was nothing compared with the intimacy of sharing herself.

  ‘No, habibti. You’ll welcome me because you want me too. That hasn’t changed, has it? The desire is as strong as ever.’

  Arden opened her mouth to deny it when she realised he’d taken his hand from her knee. She felt it now underwater. Deep underwater.

  Unerringly his big hand stroked between her legs, insinuating itself between her thighs and finding the spot where the heavy, sensual pulse of arousal struck hard and fast at the core of her.

  Arden gasped and stiffened, clamping her thighs tight. It was too late. He was already there, stroking that most secret place with a sure yet delicate touch that sent whorls of excitement spiralling through her.