by Mel Teshco
The helicopter rotors were still spinning fast when her husband flung open the cabin door and jumped free, his thobe and headgear wildly flapping, his face darkened by a short beard.
Her heart twisted and her belly somersaulted. If she’d been surer of her emotions she would have ran into his arms. But she had no way of trusting her heart or her instincts, not when they conflicted with everything her father had told her. Instead she simply stared, longing pulling at her like an invisible force.
God, she’d missed him.
He stilled for a moment, his dark eyes staring back at her just as hungrily. He seemed to approve of her western clothes, the heeled black ankle boots, short emerald blouse and loose fitting black pants. Then he was striding toward her, his entourage hanging back, as though aware the moment was Amber and Zafar’s.
She swallowed hard, only vaguely aware Makina had finished cleaning up the spillage and disappeared into the palace to give them privacy.
Zafar stilled before her. Shock gleamed in his stare followed by pride and more than a little satisfaction when he asked, “You are with child?”
Her lashes fluttered closed. After five weeks this was all he had to say? All he cared about? She couldn’t even find the strength to respond.
“Dare I ask that you at least missed me?” he asked into the silence.
Her eyes opened and even in her heels she had to tilt back her head to stare into his eyes. Her belly churned. He was close, yet he wasn’t close enough. She drew in a steadying breath, his gorgeous citrus and honey scent filling her lungs and making her heart squeeze with longing.
But she refused to reply, she refused even to react. He was far too astute and would easily read through her lies. Because she had missed him and the sentiment left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. “What happened to my father, to my people?”
His mouth relaxed, his hard features softening when he said, “They’re alive and well.”
Tension left her body and joy took its place, a warmth that centered in her chest. “You saved them?” she whispered.
He raised a brow. “I had my pilot drop me behind enemy lines. From there the not-so-friendly insurgents escorted me to their leader where we spent many long weeks discussing options.”
Her mouth dropped open. He’d risked his life for her people, her country. She could only imagine the heated and passionate arguments. He’d been in the hands of her enemy, a people who were known for their cruelty and senseless violence.
Her eyes burned with gratitude and her voice cracked when she said, “You’re seriously crazy.”
He smiled grimly. “Husam the Sword has quite the reputation. I had a lot to live up to.”
She looked him over, checking for wounds and even bruises, anything she could find. “What did they do to you when you were there? Did they hurt you?”
He shrugged. “Not as badly as you’d expect. I know many of the insurgents. Unfortunately whatever friendship we had dried up quickly when I refused to help fund their fight.”
Amber swayed a little on her feet, her relief all-consuming. “So you really weren’t there to support them. You were there to placate them.”
He nodded. “Of course. Did you seriously believe otherwise?”
“I wasn’t sure what to think,” she admitted.
His jaw tightened fractionally, before he sighed and murmured, “It’s my belief that good sense and common decency trumps guns and warfare anytime.”
“So you just…talked the insurgents out of war in Yhemen?” she asked, gob smacked that he’d achieved the impossible.
“It wasn’t quite that easy,” he allowed. “But yeah, that’s pretty much what happened in the end.”
She pressed a hand to her heart, feeling ill at what might have happened. “Their leader could have had you shot!”
He shook his head, though a part of her sensed he’d been lucky to get out alive even before he explained. “The leader of the insurgents is cruel but he’s not stupid. He knows better than to alienate my country completely.” His smile was closer to a grimace. “It was the insurgents who gave me the name Husam.”
“What did you do to earn that name?” She bit into her bottom lip, thinking dirty thoughts. “Wait, do I want to know?”
His white teeth flashed behind the dark bristles of his beard, and she lifted a hand and touched the coarse hair. He hadn’t shaved for some time, but somehow the short beard suited him, gave him an even tougher edge.
His eyes darkened with need, but he didn’t act on it. Instead he answered her questions with a practicality that was laughable considering he’d put his neck on the line. “The insurgents practice their one-on-one combat moves inside a roped-off ring with an agreed weapon of choice. My choice was always the sword. And since death and serious injury wasn’t uncommon, I quickly earned the name, Husam.”
Her eyes widened. “How many of your opponents did you kill?”
He expelled a harsh breath. “Does it matter? Death was unavoidable. To win their respect I had to kill…or be killed.”
At least now she understood his remark when she’d told him to go to hell.
Already been there, little dove.
Not that she was a stranger to violence. War changed people. Aggression and brutality chipped away at the shell to reveal the real person beneath. Somehow Zafar hadn’t broken, he still had his soul. They both did.
He stepped forward, placing his hand behind the small of her back and leading her back toward the palace. “Come, you look about ready to drop. You should lie down.”
The cool of the palace was a relief and she sighed luxuriously, everything within her made calm at Zafar’s return. She glanced up at him, his strides clearly shortened so she’d easily keep up. “I want to hear everything about your time away.”
“And you will, but not until you’ve rested. The slightest breeze might blow you over.”
It wasn’t until she was comfortable on the bed and he sat near her that he placed a gentle, outspread hand across her belly and asked, “Tell me about your pregnancy. I hate that I’ve missed out on anything.”
She blinked at him. “What you’ve missed out on is me being sick from dusk to dawn, almost from the day of conception.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said huskily. “I promise to do everything in my power to make it up to you.”
She sighed, all her tension evaporating. “You’ve already done that and more. You saved my father, and my people. And now thanks to you, my country has a chance to be great again.”
Zafar smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Your father’s palace is being rebuilt as we speak, along with the nearby town of Pzerae.”
Warmth spread through her, her delight unstoppable. “I can only imagine my people’s happiness.”
“You don’t have to imagine it.” At her perplexed look, he added, “If you’re up to it, I’ve planned a day trip tomorrow to see your father and some of your beloved people.”
She gaped. After being locked up inside the palace for so long, the thought of being outside and seeing her father and her precious people was almost more than she could bear. Her voice cracked. “You have no idea how much I’d love that.”
He bent and kissed her gently. “Oh, I think I do.” His hand slid from her belly to lower between her legs. “What is the doctor’s verdict about making love with your husband?”
Her giggle morphed into a moan when he used his thumb to rub in a circular motion. She would have worn a dress if she’d known he’d be back today. She blinked and focused on him. “He recommends that we make love many times a day.”
Zafar raised a brow. “I think I like this doctor a whole lot.”
She pushed even closer his hand. “I think you’ll like my pussy a whole lot more.”
His eyes shone with mirth and more than a little desire. “Oh, I have no doubt about that, little dove. No doubts at all.”
Epilogue
Amber sat in the helicopter beside her husband, her chest aching with te
nderness and hope. If even half of what he’d told her was true, her country of Yhemen was now at peace and free of war.
Free.
She sighed at that one word, totally awed by its power.
Zafar squeezed her hand. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and smiled. “I’m so okay right now I feel as if I should pinch myself.”
“Your happiness is my happiness.” His eyes darkened. “And I plan to keep you happy for the rest of our days.”
Her heart skipped a little beat and she dragged her stare away so she could gather in her composure. But as she looked out the chopper’s window, gratitude filled her. Yhemen was spread out beneath as far as the eye could see, and though much of it might be ravished by war, it would be rebuilt again, stronger and better than ever.
“I doubt you could make me any gladder than I am now,” she said.
“Oh?”
She turned back to him. He looked so predatory in his traditional thobe, like nothing got past him and escaped his attention. “A sheikh of my very own who makes my panties wet at the simplest touch.” She placed an outspread hand over her stomach. “And a child on the way. The only thing missing—“
His eyebrows shot up. “Yes?”
She blushed, feeling silly and insecure and way too self-conscious. She exhaled softly, then admitted, “The only thing missing is to hear my husband say those three little words.”
His eyes gleamed. “Have my actions not spoken for me?”
“Of course they have.”
“But?”
“But sometimes a woman needs to hear the words to truly believe in them.”
“You’re right, I’ve been remiss.” He clasped her chin, his eyes softening with tenderness. “Sheikha Amber El-Amin. I love you.”
Her chest warmed and tears pricked her eyes. She was beyond blessed. “Sheikh Zafar El-Amin, I love you too.”
He bent his head and claimed her mouth, and she gave herself up to the feeling that was no longer just at a physical level, it went soul-deep. Her whole psyche was filled with wonder.
How had she gotten so lucky?
And to think she’d imagined she’d never lose her heart to this man. Huh. She hadn’t just lost it, she’d given it to him on a silver platter.
She didn’t recall much of the rest of the flight, she was too overcome with joy. Even her morning sickness, or as she called it, her all-day sickness, had abated.
She leaned closer to Zafar, soaking in his energy and fearlessness. She wanted to be by his side for the rest of her days, and never again have to wait for him to return home and wonder if he’d even make it back.
The helicopter descended and she looked out at the palace she’d grown up in. Repairs were well underway, with one of the walls already rebuilt where the mortars had struck. Her heart ached. Mortars that had killed her mother and so many servants.
But the grief was bearable now, especially seeing the crowd of people, her people, standing behind her father, waiting for her and her husband to arrive.
Zafar climbed out first, then held out his hand to help her alight. He was a gentleman who was all too aware of her still delicate knee. Knowing she was pregnant with his child probably helped too, she thought with a small smile.
The crowd roared the moment she stepped free.
“Sheikha Amber, our warrior princess!”
“Husam the sword!”
Soon enough the whole crowd was chanting their names, and Amber laughed with giddy exhilaration as her father embraced her. He looked down at her, then bent his head a little so she could hear him over the noise. “I’m sorry for misjudging your husband.”
She smiled up at him. “He’s a good man.”
He nodded. “You’re perfect for one another.” Gesturing for a servant who hovered behind him, he retrieved whatever the servant carefully clasped, before he held it up to his daughter. “I thought you might want to wear this again now.”
Joy flooded through her but she managed to stay demure and graceful as she bent her head, allowing her father to place the tiara back on her head where it belonged. Then turning away from her father, she returned to her husband, who waited for beside the steps of a podium.
He beamed at seeing her with the tiara in place, then claimed her hand before she climbed the steps beside him to an even bigger roar from the crowd.
Their honeymoon could wait. It was time to help lead their people.
Thank you for reading The Sheikh’s Rebel, I hope you enjoyed it!
You might also enjoy my contemporary call girl series, The VIP Desire Agency, Welcome to the VIP Desire Agency, where only a privileged few are allowed…
Or for something out of this world, try my alien dragon shape shifter series, Dragons of Riddich, The dragons will search the universe for their one true mate...
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About the Author
Mel Teshco is an award winning, Amazon bestselling author with a love for the written word, along with a short attention span that sees her juggling a variety of genres and heat levels in her stories. From contemporary to paranormal, inspirational to erotic, she hopes there's a little of something for every reader out there to enjoy.
Her gypsy-like upbringing saw her living in many places along Australia's east coast. Each new home stimulated an already over-active imagination, where she spent as much time dreaming about fantasy worlds as the real world - the fantasy sometimes being much better.
Now living on a beautiful rural property with views of the mountains keeping her horse, three cats, and two hyper dogs happy, she is happily married to Mr Patience, and adores her three children and two grandchildren.
The Sheikh’s Reluctant Princess
Christina Phillips
Copyright 2017 Christina Phillips
Cover Art by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design
www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.
Acknowledgments
Big high fives to Cathleen and Mel. It’s always so much fun working on our boxed sets together! Here’s to many more And mega thanks to Sara and Amanda for your eagle eyes and the wet kipper. What would I do without you both!
The Sheikh’s Reluctant Princess
Chapter One
Prince Tariq shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat as the cold November wind whipped through the narrow London backstreet. Had he got the right address? He fixed his stony gaze on the dilapidated building across the road. If it wasn’t bad enough that he needed to follow the example of his two older brothers and marry a woman he’d never met, his intended bride had ignored his every attempt to contact her, and that really pissed him off.
It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been informed of this damned arrangement two weeks ago. Just like him. And while he’d always known he’d have to make a strategic marriage at some point, he hadn’t expected he’d be required to do his duty until he was at least thirty, but the un
expected death of his father six months ago had ignited an already simmering political situation.
He dragged in a deep breath, but it didn’t help smother the ache in his chest. He’d never been close to his father, unlike his two older brothers, but he’d harbored the secret desire to one day gain his approval.
Guess that dream’s dead.
He forcibly pushed the regrets aside. Princess Sofia Jemila al Jazad was a volunteer in a civil rights office and it was one of the few positive things he could see about this upcoming marriage. As his consort of his province, Zanzar, in Qutum, she’d be a magnificent figurehead for the education program he and his brothers were implementing.
He hadn’t imagined for one moment the place she worked would be so sordid. Far from working at a prestigious firm in the heart of the city, the entire area looked as though it should be condemned. Hardly fitting for a princess, even a princess of the impoverished country of Bahmen.
It’s only a marriage of convenience. A political contract. Once the formalities were over he could return to his former lifestyle. Just because both his brothers had found love with their arranged brides didn’t mean lightning would strike three times. In fact, that made it even less likely he’d fall for the princess.
All he could hope was they were compatible in bed and produced an heir as quickly as possible. That’s all anyone expected of this union.
The door swung open and a girl emerged, wearing knee high boots, jeans, an overlarge jacket and multi-colored scarf and hat. Anyone attired less like a princess he couldn’t imagine. But there was no mistaking her face. This was his bride-to-be, but without the gloss and glamour that had been evident in the official photo his brother, Jamal, had given him.
For a moment he waited, expecting her bodyguard to follow her, although protocol dictated the idiot should have left the building first, to ensure the princess was in no danger. For several moments she rummaged in the ugliest, most oversized purse he’d ever seen, and it was clear that she was alone.
