Demanding His Desert Queen

by Annie West

  Pain bloomed as if from a stabbing dagger. She breathed slowly and rode the hurt, forcing it down. ‘My apologies for interrupting your...important business.’ Pointedly she raised her eyebrows and glanced about the luxuriously furnished sitting room, as if expecting to see a conference table or a bevy of secretaries.

  The voice inside told her not to rile him. She was supposed to persuade, even cajole him. But Safiyah refused to let him think he could brush her off.

  ‘To what do I owe this...pleasure?’

  There it was again, that emphasis that made it clear she was uninvited in his private space. Wounded pride made her want to lash out, but she reined in the impulse. She owed it to Tarek to stay calm.

  ‘I need to talk with you.’

  ‘About?’

  Even now he didn’t move closer. As if he preferred her to be at a disadvantage, unable to see him clearly while she stood in the full light from the windows.

  She’d thought better of him.

  ‘May I sit?’ Did she imagine that tall body stiffened? She took her time moving to a cluster of chairs around a fireplace, then paused, waiting for an invitation.

  ‘Please.’

  Safiyah sank gracefully onto a seat and was glad of it, because when he moved into the light something inside her slipped undone.

  Karim was the same, and yet more. The years had given his features a stark edge that accentuated his potent good looks. Once he’d been handsome. Now there was a gravity, an added depth that turned his slanted cheekbones, high-bridged nose and surprisingly sensual mouth into a face that arrested the breath in her lungs.

  That black-as-night hair was shorter than before, close-cropped to his skull. That, too, reinforced the startling power of those masculine features. Then there were his eyes, dark moss-green, so intense she feared he saw beneath her façade of calm.

  His clothes, dark trousers and a jacket, clearly made to measure, reinforced his aura of command. The snowy shirt emphasised the gold tone of his skin and she had to force herself not to stare at the space where the open top couple of buttons revealed a sliver of flesh.

  Her breath snagged and a trickle of something she hadn’t felt in years unfurled inside. Heat seared her cheeks. She didn’t want to feel it. Would give anything not to feel it.

  For a frantic moment Safiyah thought of surging to her feet and leaving. Anything rather than face the discomfiting stir of response deep in her feminine core.

  This couldn’t be happening! For so long she’d told herself her reaction to him all those years ago had been the product of girlish fantasy.

  ‘My condolences on your recent loss.’

  Karim’s words leached the fiery blush from her face and doused the insidious sizzle of awareness. Shame enveloped her, leaving her hollow and surprisingly weak.

  How could she respond like that to the mere sight of Karim when she’d buried her husband just weeks ago?

  Abbas might not have been perfect. He might have been cold and demanding. But she owed his memory respect. He’d been her husband.

  Safiyah looked at her clenched hands, white-knuckled in her lap. Slowly she unknotted them, spreading stiff fingers and composing them in a practised attitude of ease.

  She lifted her head to find Karim sitting opposite her, long legs stretched out in a relaxed attitude. Yet his eyes told another story. Their gaze was sharp as a bird of prey’s.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She said no more. None of the platitudes she’d hidden behind for the past few weeks would protect her from the guilt she harboured within. A guilt she feared Karim, with his unnerving perceptiveness, might somehow guess. Guilt because after the first shock of discovering she was a widow, and learning that Abbas hadn’t suffered, she’d felt relief.

  Not because she’d wanted her husband dead. Instead it was the relief of a wild animal held in captivity and suddenly given a glimpse of freedom. No matter how hard she tried, she hadn’t yet managed to quell that undercurrent of excitement at the idea of taking control of her own life—hers and Tarek’s. Of being simply...happy.

  But it was too early to dream of freedom. Time enough to do that when she knew Tarek was safe.

  ‘I’m waiting to hear the reason for your visit.’

  Safiyah had imagined herself capable of handling most things life threw at her. She was stunned to discover Karim’s brusque tone had the power to hurt.

  She blinked, reminding herself that to hurt she would have to care about him, and she’d stopped caring long ago. She’d meant nothing to him. All the time he’d pretended to be interested in her he’d had other plans. Plans she hadn’t understood and which hadn’t included her. At best she’d been a smokescreen, at worst an amusement.

  Safiyah lifted her chin and looked him full in the face, determined to get this over as soon as possible.

  ‘I want you to take the Assaran crown.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘YOU WANT ME to become your Sheikh?’

  Karim’s brow knitted. Before today he’d have said not much had the power to surprise him.

  How wrong he’d been.

  He’d assumed only self-interest would have budged Safiyah from the Assaran royal palace at such a time. He’d imagined she’d come here to dissuade him from accepting the sheikhdom.

  Surely having him as her King would be the last thing she’d want? Shouldn’t she be looking for ways to preserve the crown for her son?

  ‘Yes. That’s exactly what I want.’

  Karim stared at the poised, beautiful woman before him. The whole day had been surreal, but seeing Safiyah again was the most extraordinary part of it.

  The moment she’d walked into the room Karim’s blood had thickened, his pulse growing ponderous. As if his body, even his brain, worked in slow motion.

  He wasn’t surprised that the shy young woman he’d known had disappeared. He’d long since realised her doe-eyed glances and quiet ardour had been ploys to snare his interest. The real Safiyah had been more calculating and pragmatic than he’d given her credit for.

  Yet the change in her was remarkable. The way she’d sashayed into the room as if she owned it. The way she’d all but demanded he play by the rules and offer her a seat, as if they were polite strangers, or perhaps old friends about to enjoy a cosy chat.

  But then life as an honoured and adored queen would give any woman confidence.

  To Karim’s chagrin, it wasn’t merely her manner that got under his skin. Had her hourglass figure been that stunning when he’d known her? In the old days she’d worn muted colours and loosely fitting clothes, presumably to assure him that she was the ‘nice’ girl his father had assured him she was. The complete antithesis to the sultry sirens his brother had so scandalously bedded.

  Safiyah’s dress today might cover her from neck to shin, but the gleam of the fabric encasing those generous curves and tiny waist made it utterly provocative. Even the soft, sibilant shush of sound it made when she crossed her legs was suggestive.

  Then there was her face. Arresting rather than beautiful. Pure skin, far paler than his. Eyes that looked too big as she stared back at him, as if hanging on his every word. Dark, sleek hair with the tiniest, intriguing hint of auburn. Lips that he’d once—

  ‘Why do you want me to take the throne? Why not fight for your son’s right to it?’

  ‘Tarek is too young. Even if the Council could be persuaded to appoint a regent for him, I can’t imagine many men would willingly take the role of ruler and then meekly hand it over after fifteen years.’

  A man of honour would.

  Karim didn’t bother voicing the thought.

  ‘Why not leave the decision to the Royal Council? Why interfere? Are you so eager to choose your next husband?’

  Safiyah’s breath hissed between pearly teeth and her creamy skin turned parchment-pale.

 
Satisfaction stirred as he saw his jibe hit the mark. For he hated how she made him feel. She dredged up emotions he’d told himself were dead and buried. He felt them scrape up his gullet, across his skin. The searing hurt and disbelief, the sense of worthlessness and shock as his life had been turned inside out in one short night. At that crisis in his life her faithlessness had burned like acid—the final insult to a man who’d lost everything.

  Nevertheless, as Karim watched the convulsive movement of her throat and the sudden appearance of a dimple in her cheek, his satisfaction bled away. Years ago she’d had a habit of biting her cheek when nervous. But Karim doubted nerves had anything to do with Safiyah’s response now. Maybe she was trying to garner sympathy.

  Yet he felt ashamed. He’d never been so petty as to take satisfaction in another’s distress, even if it was feigned. He was better than that.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

  ‘I’m not...’ she paused after the word, her chin tilting up as she caught his eye ‘...looking for a new husband.’

  Her voice was low, the words barely above a whisper, yet he heard steel behind them.

  Because she’d loved Abbas so deeply?

  Karim found himself torn between hoping it was true and wanting to protest that she’d never loved her husband. Because just months before her marriage to the Assaran King she’d supposedly loved Karim.

  He gritted his teeth, discomfited by the way feelings undermined his thought processes. He’d been taught to think clearly, to disengage his emotions, not to feel too much. His response to Safiyah’s presence was out of character for a man renowned for his even temper, his consideration of others and careful thinking.

  ‘That’s not how things are done in Assara,’ she added. ‘The new Sheikh will be named by the Royal Council. There is no requirement for him to marry his predecessor’s widow.’

  Was it his imagination, or had she shivered at the idea? She couldn’t have made her disdain more obvious.

  Which was tantamount to a lance, piercing Karim’s pride. Once she’d welcomed his attentions. But then he’d been first in line to a royal throne of his own. The eldest son of a family proud of its noble lineage.

  ‘What will happen to you when the new Sheikh is crowned?’

  ‘To me?’ Her eyes widened, as if she was surprised he’d even ask. ‘Tarek and I will leave the palace and live elsewhere.’

  Tarek. Her son.

  He’d imagined once that she’d give him a son...

  Karim slammed a barrier down on such sentimental thoughts. He didn’t know what was wrong with him today. It was as if the feelings he’d put away years before hadn’t gone away at all, but had festered, waiting to surge up and slap him down when he least expected it.

  Deliberately he did what he did best—focused on the problem at hand, ready to find a solution.

  ‘So if you have no personal interest in the next Sheikh, why come all the way here to see me? The Assaran envoy saw me a couple of hours ago. Couldn’t you trust him to do the job he was chosen for?’

  Karim knew something of Assaran politics. He couldn’t believe the previous Sheikh had allowed his wife to play any significant role in matters of state. Whichever way he examined it, Safiyah’s behaviour was odd.

  ‘I didn’t want to get involved.’ Again her voice was low. ‘But I felt duty-bound to come, just in case...’ She shook her head and looked at a point near his ear. ‘The Council is very eager to convince you. It was agreed that I should add my arguments if necessary.’

  ‘And what arguments might those be?’

  Karim kept his eyes fixed on her face. He wasn’t tacky enough to stare at all the female bounty encased in rustling silk. But perhaps she’d guessed that he was wondering what persuasions she’d try. Colour streaked her cheekbones and her breasts lifted high on a suddenly indrawn breath.

  ‘Assara needs you—’

  ‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not into a life of public service any more. I work for myself now.’

  Her mouth settled in a line that spoke of determination. Had he ever seen her look like that? His memory of Safiyah at twenty-two was that she’d been gentle and eager to go along with whatever he suggested.

  But that had been almost five years ago. He couldn’t be expected to remember everything about her clearly, even if it felt like he did.

  ‘I could talk about the wealth and honour that will be yours if you take the throne...’

  She paused, but he didn’t respond. Karim had his own money. He also knew that being Sheikh meant a lifetime of duty and responsibility. Riches and the glamour of a royal title didn’t sway him.

  Safiyah inclined her head, as if his non-response confirmed what she’d expected. ‘Most important of all, you’d make a fine leader. You have the qualities Assara needs. You’re honest, fair and hardworking. The political elite respect you. Plus you’re interested in the wellbeing of the people. Everyone says it was you who began to make Za’daq better for those who weren’t born rich.’

  Karim felt his eyebrows climb. He was tempted to think she was trying to flatter him into accepting the position. Except there was nothing toadying about her demeanour.

  ‘The nobles trust you. The people trust you.’

  He shook his head. ‘That was a long time ago.’

  ‘Your qualities and experience will stand you in good stead no matter how long it’s been. And it’s only been a few years.’

  Years since he’d left his homeland and turned his back on everything he’d known. He was only now beginning to feel that he’d settled into his new life.

  Safiyah leaned forward, and he felt for the first time since she’d arrived that she wasn’t conscious of her body language. Earlier she’d seemed very self-aware. Now she was too caught up in their discussion to be guarded. He read animation in her brown eyes and knew, whatever her real reason for being here, that she meant what she said.

  Karim canted closer, drawn to her in spite of himself.

  ‘It’s what you were born to do and you’d excel at it.’

  Abruptly Karim sank back in his seat. Her words had unravelled the spell she’d woven. The moment of connection broke, shattered by a wave of revulsion.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I was born to do.’ His nostrils flared as he swallowed rising acid. ‘I’ve renounced all that.’

  Because he wasn’t the man the world thought him. He was the bastard son of an unfaithful queen and her shadowy lover.

  ‘Of course it matters!’ Her clasped hands trembled as if with the force of her emotion. ‘Assara desperately needs a ruler who can keep the country together—especially now, when rival clans are stirring dissension and jealousy. Each wants their own man on the throne.’

  Karim shrugged. ‘Why should I bother? One of them will be elected and the others will have to put up with it. Maybe there’ll be unrest for a bit, but it will die down.’

  ‘You don’t see...’

  She paused and looked down at her hands. Karim saw a tiny cleft appear in her cheek and then vanish. She was biting the inside of her mouth again. Absurdly, the sight moved him.

  ‘What aren’t you saying, Safiyah?’

  It was the first time he’d spoken her name aloud in years. Her chin jerked up and for a moment her gaze clung to his. But he wasn’t foolish enough to be beguiled by that haunted look.

  See? Already it was gone, replaced by a smooth, composed mask.

  ‘You’re the best man for the role, Karim—far better than any of the other contenders. You’d make a real difference in Assara. The country needs a strong, honest leader who’ll work for all his people.’

  Karim digested that. Was she implying that her dead husband hadn’t been a good ruler? The idea intrigued him. Or was she just referring to unrest now?

  To his annoyance her expression gave little away.
The Safiyah he’d once known, or thought he’d known, had been far easier to read. Even more annoying was the fact his interest was aroused by the idea of doing something intrinsically worthwhile. Something more meaningful than merely building his own wealth.

  Karim frowned. How had Safiyah guessed such an appeal would tempt him?

  He enjoyed the challenge of expanding his business interests. The cut and thrust of negotiation, of locating opportunities ripe for development and capitalising on them. That took skill, dedication and a fine sense of timing. Yet was it as satisfying as the work he’d been trained to do—using his skills to rule a nation?

  The thought of Safiyah knowing him so well—better, it seemed, than he knew himself—infuriated him. This was the woman who’d spurned him when she discovered the secret taint of his illegitimacy. He’d believed in her, yet she’d turned her back on him without even the pretence of regret, much less a farewell. It galled him that anything she said could make him doubt even for a second his chosen course.

  What was wrong with concentrating on his own life, his own needs? Let others devote themselves to public service. He’d done his bit. Assara wasn’t even his country.

  Karim leaned back in his seat, raising his eyebrows. ‘But I’m not a contender. I have already made that clear.’

  He almost stood then, signifying the interview was over. But something prevented him. Something not at all fine or statesmanlike. An impulse grounded in the hurt he’d felt when she’d abandoned him.

  ‘Unless...’

  Satisfaction rose as she leaned closer, avid to hear more, her lush, cherry-red lips parted.

  Karim had a sudden disconcerting memory of those lips pressed against his. They’d been devoid of lipstick and petal-soft. Her ardent, slightly clumsy kiss had enchanted and worried him. For, much as he’d wanted her, he had known he shouldn’t seduce an innocent, even if they were on the verge of marriage. Especially an innocent who, with her father, was a guest in the royal palace.