At the Sheikh's Command: She Was His Prisoner First, His Lover Next. But Would She Be His Princess?

by Clare Connelly

  Steph looked at Miranda, her pretty face flushed. “Is this true?” She implored, her face a mask of emotion.

  Miranda sent an angry look at Radiz. “Not entirely. It makes it sound worse than it was.”

  “She was my prisoner, Mastepha. She was caught in your apartment, holding millions of pounds worth of jewellery.”

  “So you thought you’d make her your mistress? What kind of… foolish, arrogant… how dare you? Since I came to this country, Miranda has been like a sister to me.”

  “Yes, she is apparently loyal to you, and only you,” he retorted calmly.

  Miranda blanked Radiz out with great difficulty. “Steph,” her voice cracked a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Your pregnancy was difficult enough, I didn’t want to burden you with anything else. Not then, and definitely not once Hakim came along.”

  “I know you only acted with my best interests at heart,” Steph said warmly, though her voice shook. “I’m so sorry I put you in that position. I’m so sorry it was Radiz that… who… Oh, my God.” She lifted a hand to her head and cried properly now.

  Miranda shook her head. “Please, Steph, stop thinking about me. I’m fine. But you and your brother need to talk. I’m going to go for a walk, then I’ll come back and check on you in an hour or so.” She sent Radiz a cold look. “I have my phone, and I want you to call me if you need anything between now and then.” She hugged her friend. “I’ll see you soon.”

  She began to stride out of the apartment, without looking in Radiz’s direction. He snaked an arm out as she passed him, catching her hand. “Stay.”

  She stood perfectly still, forcing her eyes to meet his. “No.”

  “Stay,” he said more softly, his eyes scanning her face.

  She shook her head, and pulled her hand back. “Good bye.”

  She hoped against hope he’d be gone when she returned. She didn’t know how many times she could pass through the emotional ringer and survive. She felt exhausted. Just having seen him again, had sent her body into a tailspin.

  Miranda walked slowly with her head down. She didn’t want to meet the eyes of anyone, lest it lead to conversation. She walked, and she tried not to think about Radiz.

  I seduced her, and interrogated her. I tormented her.

  He had. And he’d known it.

  I made her my mistress.

  Her heart rolled. Mistress. She had been his mistress, and he had been her everything. She groaned and bumped into someone. “Sorry,” she said without looking up, pushing away and moving further down the street. Her favourite department store appeared out of nowhere; she walked inside and wandered the cosmetic level aimlessly. After traipsing past the displays twice, she bought a lipstick and then moved back out onto the street.

  Miranda knew, as she re-traced her steps towards Steph’s flat, that she was wasting time. She didn’t want to go back to her friend and have to confront Radiz again. She stopped walking across the street, and stared at the building. She’d spent so much time there, it felt like her home as much as Steph’s. But it wasn’t. Steph was her friend, and though they were close, Steph was closer to Radiz. He would demand that she return to Fasiya, and Miranda would be left alone. She pulled at the strap of her handbag, diagonal across her body, and lifted her face to the seventh floor. Steph had little window boxes with Fasiyan herbs. It was easy to spot her flat.

  Miranda stared at it, as though she could divine with a look alone whether or not Radiz was still inside. She thought longingly of her own flat; less warm than Steph’s, and definitely minus an adorably chubby little occupant, but also guaranteed to be Radiz-free.

  There was no sense delaying any longer. She took a deep breath and stepped onto the street. A cab sped past at that exact moment, and if Miranda hadn’t heard it coming and jumped back, she would have been flattened to the bitumen. She stared after it, her heart racing, and then resumed the walk across the street. But Radiz was there, stalking towards her. He put his arms around her and lifted her off the road, holding her easily to his chest.

  “Hey!” She shouted, pummelling his shoulder. “Put me down.”

  “You could have been killed, Miranda,” he said angrily, but he did place her down, against the building front.

  “I beg your pardon, I was perfectly safe. I heard the taxi coming.

  “First you burn yourself, then you try to get slammed by a car. Is this how you have been living for six months?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You have no right to ask about how I’ve spent my time since leaving y… since leaving Fasiya.” She dropped her gaze, unable to look at him anymore. “Is Steph upstairs?”

  He clamped his hands into fists in his pockets. “Yes. She’s fine. She and Tom are going to join us for dinner tonight.”

  “Us?” Miranda demanded, her heart palpating inside of her. “Us?”

  “Yes. At my hotel.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’ve had dinner with Tom and Stephie a thousand times. And I have no interest in spending more time with you.”

  A muscle flecked in his cheek. “I’m afraid your attendance is not optional.”

  She crossed her arms across her chest, her face pinched. “Want to bet?”

  His smile was laced with sensual intent. “I’d love to bet you, Miranda. In fact, I think we should play poker sometime. But right now, I want answers.”

  “No,” she glared at him, and to her chagrin, felt a film of tears moisten her pale blue eyes. “I can’t do it, Radiz. Six months and now you want to talk?”

  He lifted a hand to her cheek and she stepped away as though he’d burned her. “I could not love a thief, Miranda.”

  “But sleeping with one was fine.”

  “Actually, no. I behaved completely out of character from the moment I saw you.”

  She shrugged. “So?”

  “I will not discuss our situation here, on the street. Come to my limousine, where we can be assured of privacy.” She looked across from where they stood and saw the stately black car parked just down from the building. Orange cones marked it as above the usual parking restrictions. It would have been a far easier way to detect Radiz’s presence than staring forlornly at Steph’s windows.

  “I…”

  “For a moment,” he interrupted, his tone firm.

  “Fine.” She gave him a wide berth as she walked across the street, refusing to fall into step beside him or to let him touch her in any way. A security agent opened the rear door of the car, and another stood behind the back wheel arch. She stepped inside and slid across to the far side.

  Radiz paused to speak to his agents for a moment and then slid in beside her.

  He smirked knowingly when he saw her, pressed firm against the door, her knees tightly together, her hands in her lap. “You look relaxed,” he remarked sarcastically, reaching across her to buckle her belt.

  “I don’t need a seatbelt to talk.”

  His eyes met hers as the engine started.

  “Radiz,” she exclaimed, staring with consternation out the window as the car pulled into traffic. “Are you actually adding kidnapping to your litany of sins?”

  He nodded gravely. “Don’t you have an expression about Pennies and Pounds?”

  She glared at him, but her pulse was firing through her body. “In for a penny, in for a pound?”

  “The very one,” he agreed cordially. “And I am not kidnapping you, Miranda. Simply encouraging you to be more reasonable.”

  “No,” she snapped crossly, her eyes round and furious in her face. It was as though all the emotions of the last six months had caught up with her, and they were ramming at her now, refusing to be quashed.

  “Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are when you’re angry?”

  “Then I must be really, really flipping beautiful all the time when I’m with you.”

  He didn’t say anything. He reached out and traced a finger from her chin to her lips, then padded his thumb across her mouth. “You are the most beauti
ful sight I’ve ever beheld.”

  “That’s crap,” she snapped, turning away from him and focussing her attention on the view of the London streets.

  His low, husky laugh made her body tingle and ache. “You don’t believe me?”

  “Believe you? I’m just trying to work out if you’re looking for one last session in bed, or if you’re feeling so guilty about thinking the worst of me that you’re working overtime to make it up to me.”

  “Neither, I promise.”

  Disappointment dipped her stomach. Was she so desperate that she really wanted to climb back into his bed? She felt her insides churn with moist anticipation at the very idea and inwardly groaned. Yes, she was that desperate.

  “Then what do you want to talk about?”

  “It will wait until we are alone, in my suite.”

  “We’re alone now, more or less,” she challenged, her pulse ratcheting up yet another gear at the idea of being in his hotel.

  “You don’t want to come to my room?” He pushed, his eyes lowering to her chest, which was rising and falling rapidly.

  She lowered her gaze, not willing to deny it.

  He laughed again, softly. “You wish you didn’t, but you want me still.”

  “So?” She said coldly, flicking her eyes back to the window. It was so much safer to look outside. “That’s just chemistry.”

  “Yes.” His eyes held hers mockingly. “It’s chemistry.”

  The car eased into a sweeping curved driveway and pulled to a stop. The door was opened almost instantaneously by a uniformed bellhop.

  “Welcome back, Your Highness,” he said deferentially.

  Radiz’s expression transformed instantly. Gone was the man she knew so well, and in his place was the ruler of a land. Cold, untouchable and distant. He stood from the car and then held a hand out for Miranda. She briefly contemplated ignoring it but a warning look from Radiz stilled that notion. Such childishness was beneath her, anyway.

  “Thank you,” she simpered instead, her sarcasm obvious only to him.

  His smile was minuscule but it made her stomach clench.

  Radiz’s suite of rooms was at the top of the exclusive hotel. Even after the splendour of his palace, the luxury was somewhat overwhelming. Miranda paused inside the doorway, so that she could take in the elegant furnishings and extravagant decoration. “Is that a real Monet?” She demanded, pointing to an impressionist painting on the wall.

  “Yes.”

  “Wow.” She slid her handbag over her head and looked around for somewhere to put it. Suddenly, the vintage leather looked tarnished and old, as though it would leave smudges on the pristine room.

  “Allow me,” he said thickly, hooking the bag on his finger and carrying it to the lounge. He placed it on the coffee table then turned back to Miranda. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No.” She was too nervous to eat or drink anything. “What did you want to talk about, Radiz?”

  “Talk?” Oh, he had plenty to say. But first, he had to touch her. To feel for himself their connection. To know he hadn’t imagined it. He strode across to her quickly, and pulled her to his chest. He couldn’t have said who kissed whom first, he only knew that their lips were drawn together, like magnets, or heat seeking missiles on a collision course.

  Their hands were tangled in one another’s clothes, pushing and needing and demanding. Miranda lifted his shirt, and tossed it clear across the room, wincing when it knocked a lamp. He laughed and scooped her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bedroom. He unzipped her dress as they went, sliding it down her shoulders and pushing it off her body. He put her on her feet, so that it could fall to the floor, and then he groaned. She was not wearing a bra, and her underpants were a tiny excuse of lace. He reached out and flicked the elastic, laughing again when she exclaimed.

  “I couldn’t help it,” he murmured, pulling her back against him and groaning at the closeness. “I am so angry with you right now.”

  “Angry with me?” She pushed his jean button apart and lowered the zip. He stepped out of them as she pushed the denim down; his underpants followed.

  “You should have told me about Steph. You should have told me about the jewels. Do you know what you’ve put me through? Thinking I was sleeping with someone who wanted to defraud me? Someone who should have spent the rest of her life in prison?”

  She shivered, her mood taking a serious dive. Radiz lifted her again and this time placed her on the bed.

  “Are you still on the pill?” He asked, easing her lace thong down her legs and tossing it to the floor.

  She nodded, a small part of her brain wondering how the hell they’d ended up here. Then she thought about not sleeping with Radiz and cold emptiness overcame her. She had no choice but to be with him. She needed it. She needed him. And she was pretty damned sure he needed her too.

  His mouth ran down her neck, across her flesh, to her breast and lower still. She arched her back as the traced a line of kisses to her stomach and then nipped at the flesh at the top of her legs. “I need you, little one. I wanted to draw this out. To tease you and make you crazy with longing, but I am selfish and I need to have you now.”

  “Believe me, I’m crazy with longing,” she husked, lifting her arms above her head and hitching them behind her neck. “Please, Radiz. I need you.”

  He nodded, relief evident on his features. He parted her legs and paused at her entrance. He locked his eyes with hers, and then thrust into her, so hard and deep that Miranda moaned loudly into the room. Deep waves of pleasure rocked her; and her body began to convulse. “Radiz,” she cried, dragging her fingers down his back.

  He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, so that she straddled his chest. “I want to watch you,” he said with a deep tremor to his voice. “I have never seen anything more beautiful than you, moving over me.”

  She flushed with pleasure and embarrassment at the compliment, as she rotated her hips. He gripped her sides, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he guided her motions. Her face contorted as pleasure, too great to contain, burst inside of her. Her screams were loud; it was impossible to mute them. Radiz matched her, increasing his speed and lifting his hands to her breasts. He cupped her as he drove her over the edge, and then he allowed himself to follow her. There would be time later for slow, decadent pleasuring. He needed to feel the sweet release that only his Miranda could offer.

  She collapsed onto his chest, spent and exhausted, and he held her tight. He stroked her back, running his fingers over her gently, then moving them to her hair. He freed it from the plaits and ran his fingers through its silky blonde lengths, as he had done night after night in Fasiya.

  “I’ve missed you, Miranda,” he murmured against her head, some interminable period later. She was silent. He shifted a little, and smiled when he saw that she was fast asleep.

  She was so peaceful, her face completely relaxed, a smile on her lips. He rearranged her carefully, as though she was cotton wool and he might pull her apart if he weren’t careful. He lay her head on the soft pillows and pulled the sheet over her body, then pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

  As much as he wanted to stay with her, he had too many tasks to accomplish. He showered and dressed in record time, then slipped out of the suite of rooms. “Is he here? Good. He’s punctual. I like him already.”

  * * *

  Miranda awoke disoriented and confused. She reached out for Radiz instinctively, and then propped to her elbows when she felt the cold side of his bed. Her mouth was claggy, and her eyes stung. What time was it? She looked at the clock on the bedside table until the numbers came into focus.

  “Shit!” She pushed off the mattress and looked around for her clothes. It was after seven o’clock. He’d said something about dinner with Tom and Steph. What time were they coming? Were they already there? She pulled her underwear on and then her dress, then ran her fingers through her hair. The memory of Radiz touching it, pulling his h
ands through it, made her gasp. What had happened? And why?

  She zipped her dress up, but her whole body seemed to tingle and fizz. She knew only one thing for certain. She had to get out of there. But what if Tom and Steph were on the other side of the door? She grimaced at the prospect of being caught looking like she’d just been in Radiz’s bed, and made the decision to at least fix her appearance properly. The bathroom was just as glamorous as she’d expected; an enormous spa bath, a shower cubicle large enough for five adults, and two basins side by side. She grabbed one of the courtesy tooth brushes and freshened her mouth, then braided her hair again. She didn’t know where her hair tie was, but she was able to feed the ends back in on themselves to get it into place. Her cheeks were pink enough, but she pinched them for good measure. She looked… fine. She could tell that she’d just been thoroughly ravaged, but hopefully no one else would be able to tell.

  She sucked in a deep breath and braced herself, then walked out into the lounge.

  Voices met her ears as soon as she stepped out of the room and she paused to listen. Radiz’s deep timbre met her ears and she had to grab the wall for support. Even just his tone could send her pulse skittering.

  “The ruins of Neman are fascinating,” he was saying. “I have heard them described as both macabre and beautiful, and it’s exactly what they are.”

  She bit down on her lower lip, when she heard her own description repeated by Radiz.

  “I will be happy to arrange your tour. Simply let me know when you are available to travel to Fasiya.”

  She frowned. It couldn’t be Tom; he had precisely no interest in history.

  “I’d be thrilled.”

  Miranda gasped and broke into a fast walk. “Daddy?”

  The two men in her life stood as she entered the palatial salon area. Her father, dressed in a suit, with a tie, was strangely formal. Radiz had likewise changed into a suit. Black, with a crisp white shirt and a grey tie.

  “What’s going on?”

  “His Highness…”

  “Radiz, please,” The Sheikh corrected quietly, his eyes locked to Miranda. “We are, after all, to be family.”