by Mel Teshco
What the fuck?
He crossed the road, irritation buzzing through his blood. He’d always known she was a rebel. What else could be expected when her late Italian mother had been a top catwalk model? But Sofia was still a princess and should always be protected as such.
“Princess Sofia Jemila al Jazad?” He gave a formal bow, his hand extended, but instead of accepting his greeting she dropped her phone onto the ground. Gritting his teeth he snatched up her phone before straightening, and his gaze clashed with hers.
His irritation sizzled into a sharp stab of lust. Up close, her eyes were an enchanting honey-brown, fringed with long black lashes and for some incomprehensible reason the lack of ceremonial makeup only enhanced her delicate features. Black curls escaped from beneath her hideous hat, framing her face, and he smiled, turning on his legendary charm. This marriage won’t be such a hardship, after all.
She didn’t incline her head in the accepted manner. Neither did she return his smile. He squashed his lascivious thoughts. Focus. Perhaps she hadn’t received an official photo of him, and had no idea who he was.
The reprimand he’d planned on delivering to her, for her discourteous behavior in ignoring him during the last two weeks, evaporated. It was possible that she’d never received his gifts. “I’m Tariq El-Amin. It’s my pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
Instead of relaxing at the knowledge he wasn’t a crazy stalker, she stiffened further, and her smile held all the warmth of an Artic winter. “Greetings, Your Highness. May I have my phone back?”
She might’ve given him his title, but the ice in her voice conveyed exactly what she thought of him. It was rare—make that never—that a woman spoke to him in such a manner, never mind actually recoiled from him.
First time for everything. Unfortunately, her barely disguised contempt didn’t manage to curb the hardening of his unruly cock, despite his best intentions, which was another first. He was hardly a horny teen who couldn’t control his base impulses, but Sofia’s icy reserve was inexplicably intriguing.
Get your mind out of the gutter. There would be plenty of time for sex once they were officially married. For the first time the indecent haste of this betrothal didn’t feel like a chain compressing his chest, although her attitude did confirm one thing.
His first instincts had been right. She’d received his overtures, and deliberately ignored them.
He handed back her phone and she dropped it into her cavernous purse without a word.
“We need to talk.” He indicated his Maserati convertible parked across the road. “I’ve hired you a suite at the Clifton.”
He always stayed at the luxurious Clifton Hotel when he was in London. When it became clear he’d have to hunt his recalcitrant bride down, it had made sense to ensure she stayed where he could keep an eye on her until they flew back to his province of Zanzar.
Instead of following him, as protocol demanded, she remained rooted to the spot. Incredulity flared through him as he swung about, to find her glaring at him with her arms crossed.
“I’m not staying at the Clifton. If you want to talk, we can go to a local café.”
Throughout university he’d dated a multitude of beautiful Western girls who hung off his arm and agreed with every suggestion he made. Sure, they enjoyed having a prince by their side and the relationships had never been serious, but none of them had ever defied him. That Sofia, born into the royal house of al Jazad, should do so now, after he’d rescheduled his plans in order to find her, was unbelievable.
“I don’t go to local cafes.” He loaded the words with the derision they deserved. Just because he found her more desirable than he’d anticipated didn’t mean he’d tolerate her disrespect. “And until we leave the U.K. you’re staying at the Clifton as befits my future wife.”
She drew in a ragged breath. “Your Highness—“
“Please.” He couldn’t help the note of mockery. “Call me Tariq.”
“Tariq. Surely you can’t be seriously considering this…alliance between us?”
When the Grand Vizier had told him of the arrangement, Tariq hadn’t been thrilled, but he knew his duty. Strong political marriages with Qutum’s allies was essential, not only to strengthen the region’s borders but also to mollify the tribal elders who disapproved of the progressive laws his brothers and he were determined to enact.
When Sofia had ignored the letters and gifts his private secretary had sent, Tariq guessed she wasn’t delighted about the betrothal, either.
But it had never occurred to him that once they met she’d continue to challenge his word. Certainly not on a matter of state that neither of them could afford to disregard if they wished to protect their respective peoples.
“Surely you, Sofia, cannot seriously be considering ignoring it?” He turned her question back at her, and a faint blush heated her cheeks. Damn, she was beautiful. Her Italian blood gave her an exotic allure her photo hadn’t done justice to. If only she wasn’t his intended bride he’d seduce her this very night, but unfortunately her royal, virtuous, status made that plan a non-starter.
“It’s barbaric. A throwback to medieval times. I can’t believe that you, with your alleged commitment to equality, agreed to it.”
The truth was he concurred with her medieval jibe, and under other circumstances would’ve been willing to discuss the contradiction with her, but her unsubtle censure grated along his nerves. Alleged commitment to equality? It was that very pledge that had impelled the Grand Vizier, with his anachronistic ideals, into forging these political alliances.
“Perhaps you’re unaware of the advantages this marriage will have on Bahmen.” Was she really that ignorant of her country’s predicament? That hadn’t even occurred to him until now. “Your father has been assured of our protection from the moment the ink dried on the contract.”
“And Qutum, and in particular your province, Zanzar, will have unfettered access through Bahmen to the sea route.”
Huh. So she did know the situation. It didn’t improve his temper.
“Indeed. Just one of the many mutual benefits our countries will enjoy through our union.”
“Benefits that could be negotiated between our governments, without the need for a ritualistic sacrifice.”
A ritualistic sacrifice? He was damn sure Sofia wasn’t referring to him, and the implication she saw their marriage in such an unflattering way annoyed him more than it should.
It doesn’t matter what she thinks. The wedding would be formalized despite their personal objections, but hell. He’d spent the last six years since he was eighteen telling women who professed undying love that marriage was out of the question. And here was his bride attempting to convince him there was an alternative diplomatic solution to the problem.
Ironic, much?
For some reason he didn’t find the situation amusing.
“We’ve progressed from burning virgin brides at the altar.” His voice was scathing, so she wouldn’t guess his damn pride was stinging from her response.
“Oh.” She widened her eyes and he tried not to let their beautiful depths distract him. “So it’s virgin brides only? I guess that means our contract is null and void.”
It took a second for her breezy comment to penetrate. He sucked in a harsh breath and raked his gaze over her. Such a thing had never crossed his mind, despite her Western education. Had he misunderstood? “You’re not a virgin?”
“Are you?”
“This isn’t about me.” Why hadn’t he ordered her into his car before starting this conversation? Anyone might overhear them, and the thought of this discussion going public was horrifying.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
He’d never talked about such things before, and had certainly never envisaged discussing his previous sex life with his intended wife. But that paled into insignificance at her casual disclosure that she, a valuable princess, hadn’t waited until her wedding night.
Was her father aw
are?
“Are you living with a man?” He ground the words between his teeth. Surely such information would’ve been passed onto him? Except her father had been desperate for this marriage to take place, and it was doubtful he would’ve told the Grand Vizier anything likely to invalidate the contract.
Such as disclosing the fact his daughter was no longer a virgin.
Even so, it was astonishing the Grand Vizier hadn’t discovered such a fact. The man’s network of spies and ability to gather sensitive intel was truly impressive.
“I am not.” She gave him a haughty look. “But naturally I understand the wedding can’t go ahead now you’re in possession of the full facts.”
It was regrettable that the princess wasn’t untouched, as tradition decreed. But wasn’t breaking through those rigid patriarchal dictates something he and his brothers were working toward?
And since she wasn’t the inexperienced girl he’d imagined, there was no need to wait until their official wedding night before he took her.
Tonight I’ll make you mine. That agreeable prospect more than made up for her breach in convention.
“Come with me.” Without waiting for her reply he grasped her elbow and propelled her forward. Surprisingly she didn’t resist, and he’d pulled open the door of his car before she tugged herself free.
“I’m not getting in your car.” She looked up at him, disbelief clear on her face. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
His patience frayed and he planted his hand on the car beside her shoulder. “It’s not a request, Sofia. You’ll obey me with the dignity your royal position commands.” He lowered his head and breathed against her cheek. “Or do I need to force you?”
Chapter Two
Sofia backed up against the car, trapped between the open door and Tariq’s arm. After her call with her father she’d looked Tariq up on the internet, and discovered a couple of years ago he’d spent six months serving his country with his two brothers against the rebellious Zimbian tribes, before his father’s ill health had brought all three of them back to Qutum. He loomed over her, a barbaric foreign prince in Savile Row disguise, his black hair ruffling in the wind and his beautiful, autocratic features harsh with displeasure.
What have I done?
He should’ve backed away in disgust as soon as she cast speculation on her virtue. Not frog-marched her across the road before she had time to draw breath.
Not act as though it didn’t matter that, in the eyes of his world, she was soiled goods.
It had been her ace, just about the only weapon she’d come up with in the two weeks since her father’s phone call had turned her life inside out with his absurd proposition. A prince of Qutum would expect his wife to be a submissive virgin, obedient to his every whim.
A lifetime of submission and obedience went against everything she stood for. Even her father, a traditionalist in many ways, hadn’t demanded that from her mother or from her three older half-sisters.
Why didn’t I think of a Plan B?
It was hard to think of anything at all, with Tariq’s intense gaze burning into her. When their fingers had grazed as he’d handed back her phone, her knees had wobbled and breath tangled in her throat. How ridiculous was that?
She’d gone through every scenario in her head over the last couple of weeks, but finding the prince hot in real life hadn’t been one of them. The photos she’d found of him on the Net hadn’t done nearly enough to prepare her for facing the flesh-and-blood man. Trying to remain cool and aloof was taking every shred of self-control she possessed.
I’m so screwed.
And what did he mean by saying if she didn’t willingly go with him he’d force her? That he would pick her up in his strong arms and toss her into his car?
Heat washed through her, and not just because that image was so wrong on every level she couldn’t even figure out her tangled thoughts. It was because a tiny part of her wondered…
What would that be like?
She gripped her purse for courage and straightened. Bahmen might be Qutum’s poor neighbor, but its history and past achievements were just as glorious as Qutum and her blood as royal as Tariq’s own.
There was a way out of this. She simply needed to find it, and until she did he’d find no fault in her behavior.
With as much dignity as she could manage under the circumstances, she slid into the sports car. The luxurious scent of new leather and wax surrounded her, and when Tariq sat beside her she tried not to stare at his mesmerizing profile.
Never in a million years had she imagined the prince himself would come looking for her. She’d been expecting a delegation from her aged father, perhaps headed by her half-brother Rashad, with a command to return home where he would try to change her mind on the matter.
When she and her father had spoken he hadn’t said anything about contracts being signed, or her prospective bridegroom being under the illusion that she was a willing participant in this farce. She’d thought it all academic, not something that was already in the works.
Until three days ago, when a spectacular ruby necklace and matching earrings had been delivered, in a silk lined casket emblazoned with the El-Amin royal crest. Then she’d totally freaked out. Obviously burying her head in the sand and pretending it was all a bad dream hadn’t worked, which meant she’d have to go home and confront her father.
No matter how advantageous this alliance was, he would never force her to go through with it, not when they were in the same room and he saw how much the prospect horrified her. After all, he hadn’t forced her half-sisters into an arranged marriage, had he?
Only as a last resort had she planned on throwing down the V Card. She shivered, relief snaking through her that she hadn’t needed to tell that blatant lie to his face. Although her mother had lovingly exposed Sofia’s father to many aspects of the modern world, he still didn’t believe women should have sex before marriage.
Didn’t Tariq think that too? Was this alliance so important that he was prepared to overlook her supposed transgression?
“Don’t you have a personal bodyguard?” He sounded as though that possibility was outrageous, as he expertly navigated the sleek car along the narrow backstreets.
“Of course I do.” It was a requirement, even though she doubted anyone in London knew who she was, and even if they did, why would they care? Bahmen had lost all political clout decades ago.
“The invisible man, is he?” He shot her a glance, a frown slashing his brow, belying any humor his comment might’ve otherwise conveyed. Unfortunately, his obvious displeasure didn’t affect his devastating magnetism.
Stay calm. “No. He’s recovering from the flu.”
“So you have only one bodyguard. That’s somewhat unconventional for a princess.”
Before she could stop herself she shot a pointed look over her shoulder at the vacant rear seats. “What of you? Isn’t it unconventional for a prince to roam without his security detail?”
“Trust me. I can take care of myself.”
His tone implied he doubted the same was true of her.
Don’t rise to his bait. She couldn’t help herself. “So you believe in freedom for princes, but not princesses. How illuminating.”
Shut up, Sofia. The last thing she needed was to antagonize him even more.
“It’s nothing to do with freedom. And if you must know,” his glance this time showed a shadow of amusement, but surely that was only her imagination. “I don’t generally roam without my security detail. But I believed I’d be safe enough this once, to collect my reluctant bride.”
“I’m not your bride.” The words came out harsher than she intended and she grasped her hands together on her lap, trying to calm her racing heart. Of course they needed to talk, but he couldn’t still be determined to go through with this charade.
“Would you prefer I call you my bride-to-be? My betrothed?”
Was he mocking her? She glared at him, but couldn’t tell from the grani
te expression on his face.
Maybe he genuinely doesn’t care if his bride isn’t a virgin on her wedding night.
Her stomach pitched. Was she truly promised to the only prince of her homeland’s region who didn’t care about such a thing?
“I’d prefer if you simply called me Sofia.”
He laughed, or maybe he coughed, it was hard to tell when he swallowed the sound as though it had escaped without his permission.
“Very well, Sofia.” There was no mistaking the amusement in his voice this time. “So tell me. How many staff comprises your household?”
Household was stretching it. Her beloved housekeeper, Luisa, had been her mother’s faithful companion throughout her marriage, and now looked after Sofia’s pretty garden flat and ensured she ate properly. There was also a local lady who popped in twice a week to do the cleaning, and then of course there was Borak, her currently incapacitated bodyguard.
“Why?”
“Because they need to be accommodated. I’m assuming you wish your personal staff to accompany you when you leave for your new home.”
“What? We haven’t even spoken about this yet, Tariq. I’m not—“ Her words lodged in her throat as he parked under the monogrammed awning of the spectacular Clifton Hotel, and a liveried member of staff opened her door.
She pressed her lips together and got out of the car. Tariq was by her side in an instant and took her arm, as if he expected her to make a run for it.
I should’ve run the day those jewels arrived. Too late now. She tried to ignore the way he held her, as though he owned her, but her heart hammered and breath caught in her throat despite herself.
He escorted her into the magnificent foyer, all Carara gray marble and gleaming white porcelain accessories, and every head turned to watch their progress toward the elevators.
She didn’t miss the glances aimed her way, either. Although she’d stayed at luxurious hotels all over the world, she’d always dressed the part of the dutiful princess and was used to admiring looks. But these glances weren’t admiring. They were…kind of disbelieving.
