Taken by the Desert Sheikh

by Mel Teshco

  As though they wondered what a gorgeous prince was doing with a girl in faded jeans, no makeup and a hand knitted scarf and hat.

  He took a private elevator that went direct to one of the penthouse suites, and Sofia was confronted with her less than regal appearance reflected in the mirrored walls. That morning she’d thought she looked okay, dressed for the chilly British winter, but right now the only word that came to mind was frump.

  It doesn’t matter how I look. It wasn’t as if she wanted Tariq to find her devastatingly irresistible, was it? In fact the less desirable he found her, the greater her chances of wriggling out of this ridiculous contract.

  I have friends in high places. She might not be a lawyer yet, but she knew several, and if she couldn’t get out of this mess by herself then she’d call in a couple of favors.

  The doors glided open and a black-suited guy with an earpiece bowed his head as they stepped into the private hallway. “Your Royal Highnesses.”

  “Nasser.” Tariq nodded in greeting. “Arrange transport and accommodation for Her Royal Highness’ staff and ensure her personal belongings are delivered here as soon as possible.”

  “At once, Highness.”

  Sofia managed to keep her mouth shut until they entered his suite. She pulled free of his proprietorial grasp and rounded on him.

  “I didn’t give permission for you to reorganize my household.”

  “If you prefer not to have your staff accompany you, I’ll cancel the order.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  He raised an indulgent eyebrow and shrugged off his coat and jacket. As he tossed them over a Queen Anne chair, she was momentarily distracted by his broad shoulders and the play of his muscles beneath the crisp white shirt.

  Her mouth dried. Concentrate. What had she been saying?

  His tie followed his jacket and when he turned back to face her, the top couple of buttons on his shirt were undone, showing a tantalizing glimpse of bronzed chest.

  Was he doing it on purpose?

  “I accept this arrangement isn’t to your liking, Sofia, but since we have no alternative I suggest we at least try to be civil to one another.”

  Blood heated her cheeks at his rebuke, and not just because he had the nerve to say such a thing to her. It was because she knew he was right. She was behaving like a spoiled brat, something her beloved mamma had never stood for, no matter how the palace servants or her much older half-siblings had doted on their small royal princess.

  “My apologies.” Her voice was stiff, and she pulled off her hat and scarf. I hope my hair isn’t standing on end.

  Self-consciously she forked her fingers through the long curls, but the way Tariq watched her was a little off-putting. Especially since he looked as though he’d just stepped off the cover of a top fashion magazine. No airbrushing required.

  She swallowed a groan and pulled off her jacket. Just because he was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, with an irresistible edge of danger thrown in for good measure, didn’t change the facts. He was everything she despised about her paternal heritage and no amount of sex appeal would change that.

  All she had to do was resist melting at his feet in a puddle of need for a couple of hours, until she’d made some phone calls and ensured her freedom. After all, she was half-Italian. That had to count for something. Then, when she was safely at home, she could melt all she damn well wanted.

  No problem.

  “Apology accepted.” He indicated she should precede him into the drawing room where the elegant Queen Anne style continued, with a royal blue and old gold rug complementing the graceful curtains at the floor to ceiling windows. “Your suite adjoins this one, but I have no objection if you’d prefer to share mine tonight. It will give us the chance to get to know each other better before we arrive in Zanzar.”

  Chapter Three

  Tariq smiled with anticipation as Sofia whirled around to face him. The tedious evening he’d envisaged with an ill-mannered, pampered princess had faded the moment he’d first spoken to her, and their subsequent conversations had snared his interest further.

  She might have been indulged by her besotted father, but her apology proved that, when it mattered, she knew her duty.

  “Share your suite?” She sounded as though his invitation bordered on treason. “I’ve no intention of staying here tonight. This marriage is not going ahead.”

  Irritation spiked once again. He’d never known a woman who was so damn stubborn. “The contract’s already signed. If you wish to be pedantic, we’re as good as married in the eyes of our people, despite not having gone through the traditional ceremony yet.” He’d also paid her father the bride price, as required by the ancient laws and negotiated by the Grand Vizier. “I assumed your father had explained this to you.”

  For a moment she looked stunned, and he regretted his harsh words. Obviously, her father hadn’t told her everything. Was she even aware of the true political situation?

  “Forgive me if I don’t take your word for that.” Despite being so much shorter than him, she somehow managed to look down her nose and it took him a second to realize she’d just insulted his integrity. “May I have some privacy in order to call my father?”

  “Certainly.” His voice was clipped. He wasn’t used to anyone, least of all a woman, questioning him in such a manner. If the Grand Vizier could hear this conversation he’d probably die of shock. Since right now that prospect was too grimly appealing for comfort, he shoved it to the back of his mind and marched toward the master bedroom. “In here.”

  When she reached the door she pulled up short. “Really?” She didn’t even try to hide her disbelief. Did she imagine he was so enamored with her that he wanted to ravish her on the king size bed?

  She wasn’t far wrong. But he could wait a few hours until her mood had mellowed.

  “Yes, really.” He folded his arms and after a silent battle of wills she appeared to realize he had no intention of leaving the room while she made her call.

  She turned her back and walked to the far end of the room and then out onto the balcony. He heaved an impatient sigh and threw himself onto one of the wingback chairs that flanked the fireplace.

  Had his brothers’ brides been so damn awkward about accepting their destiny? Somehow he couldn’t see it. He’d only met them briefly two weeks ago, and his new sisters-in-law appeared to worship their husbands.

  Perhaps Sofia would come to worship him, in time. He gave a snort of amusement at the unlikely notion. He didn’t need her adoration. He just needed her agreement to make this alliance a success.

  She stepped back into the room and even from this distance she looked ashen. Clearly her father hadn’t given her the news she’d hoped for. His ego was having a hell of a day so far.

  He went to her side. She was clutching her phone as though she wanted to crush it. It’s not personal. She just needed some time to get used to the idea. “Would you like tea?” Maybe she could do with something stronger. “A whiskey?”

  She drew in a ragged breath. “Why was I kept in ignorance of the extent of the problems in Bahmen?” It was clear she didn’t expect him to answer, which was just as well, since the obvious response of because you’re a woman would likely infuriate her.

  Not that he blamed her. The notion that girls should remain uneducated and subservient was another major source of dissent between him and his brothers and the Grand fucking Vizier. Fortunately, being the youngest brother, he didn’t have to deal with the man often, unlike Jamal and Zafar who were clearly the favored ones.

  Just as they had been the favorite sons of their revered father. After all, it was neither of his brothers’ fault that their mother had died in childbirth while only twenty years old. That’s all down to me.

  “Here.” He handed her a lead crystal glass with a shot of Scotch.

  She gazed into the glass for a moment as though she had no idea what it was, before hitching in a ragged breath. “It appears the only way
to protect my country from the ripples that the insurrection in Zimbia has created is by agreeing to this alliance.”

  He tossed back the Scotch he’d poured himself and wished it was a double. “Yes. My brothers’ marriages have strengthened our borders and ensured loyalty with our neighboring countries, but Bahmen remains vulnerable without Qutum and our allies’ protection.”

  Of course, Qutum profited from the arrangement as well, and not only with direct access to the sea route. But, on balance, Bahmen stood to gain far more from having blood ties with a country as powerful as Qutum.

  Sofia took a gulp of the Scotch and shuddered. “My father made no mention of this when we last spoke. He only revealed the truth now because I gave him no choice.”

  “Doubtless he failed to take into account the fact you’ve been educated in the West and allowed far more freedom than any princess of his generation was permitted.” He gave a wry smile. The Grand Vizier believed modern thinking princes were bad enough. Wait until he discovered Princess Sofia was no malleable puppet, either.

  She placed her glass on the small table between the wingback chairs. “It would appear so.” She sounded as though the world was ending and his pride took another hit.

  “Surely marriage to me won’t be that much of a hardship?”

  “I’m sorry. I know this is almost as difficult for you, being coerced into marrying a stranger.”

  Coerced? He guessed that was a good as word as any and he tended to agree with it. Which was more than could be said for the other point she raised.

  “Almost as difficult for me?”

  She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, which would have irritated him if the expression on her face wasn’t so tragic. “Of course. You’re a man.”

  “I’m flattered you noticed.” He couldn’t help the touch of self-derision in his tone. Of every woman he’d found desirable, why did the only one who appeared determined to ignore the lust simmering between them have to be his intended wife?

  Then again, he’d never backed away from a challenge and what better challenge could there be than making Sofia fall in love with him? It would certainly ease marital life.

  “Of course I noticed.” There was a faint blush on her cheeks he found oddly fascinating, and she dropped her gaze to stare at his chest. “But while this marriage will change my life irrevocably, I doubt yours will alter at all.”

  Unwanted guilt stabbed through him at the truth in her words. But to agree with her was unthinkable, especially if he wanted her in his bed tonight.

  He took her hand, and she didn’t pull free. “You will want for nothing in our life together, I promise you that.”

  She bit her lip, and an odd tightness clutched his chest. She looked so lost and vulnerable, he wanted to pull her into his arms and show her just how good it would be between them.

  “Except for my freedom.” Her voice was husky and her fingers curled around his, an odd reaction given her words.

  “You’re not my captive,” he reminded her. “You’ll be my wife.”

  “Of course.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Although I’d always imagined falling in love first and actually being asked if I wanted to get married. Not given an ultimatum with no choice at all.”

  He kissed her knuckles and then pressed her hand against his chest. If that was all she wished, it was an easy task to please her. “Princess Sofia, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  ***

  It was hard to think straight with Tariq holding her hand against his heart and gazing at her as though she was the only woman in his world. His evocative cologne teased her senses, and his deep brown eyes were mesmeric, weaving an exotic spell around her. If she wasn’t careful she’d fall for his honeyed words and practiced charm, and if she had any hope of surviving this marriage she had to remember it was nothing more than a political arrangement.

  Her father had been sympathetic when she’d spoken to him just now, assuring her he’d had no idea Tariq intended to find her himself. He seemed to think she’d been adjusting to the idea of an arranged marriage during the last couple of weeks and had intended returning to Bahmen to complete the formal arrangements.

  How had he possibly thought that from our conversation two weeks ago? Sometimes she didn’t think her father knew her at all.

  But her pleas for diplomatic intervention had fallen on deaf ears. Despite his regret for her distress there was no apology for using her as a pawn or for accepting a hefty bride price from Tariq. Only the request that she would carefully consider stepping up and embracing her royal duty, since the future stability of her country was in her hands.

  What kind of choice is that? If she refused she’d disgrace her homeland, her father, and her ancestors who had sacrificed so much for the glory of Bahmen.

  I’m nothing but a bought and paid for wife. Her dreams of marrying for love were over.

  “Of course.” Her response was as hollow as his question. Words were easy when they meant nothing.

  How desperately ironic that she, who’d decided to study law so she could return to Bahmen and help fight for the rights of women, was herself now victim to an ancient patriarchal custom. And why is Tariq still holding my hand?

  Illicit tremors danced between her thighs, and she was torn between pulling herself free of his proprietary grasp and clinging onto him for just a little longer.

  Pull. Back. Now.

  In the end it was he who released her fingers, although it seemed he did so with reluctance. Or was that her heated imagination playing tricks?

  Pull yourself together. Tariq would soon be her husband, with all that entailed, and he certainly appeared to be looking forward to their wedding night. Heat flooded through her and she resisted the overwhelming urge to pat her hot cheeks. She was not going to think about their wedding night.

  Yes, I am…

  She bit her lip and hoped he had no idea of the graphic images racing around her head. She might not have any personal experience of sex, but she’d read enough steamy romance novels and right now Tariq was the hero of every dominant scene she’d secretly drooled over.

  Help.

  The quizzical smile on his kissable lips wasn’t helping any. She had to say something, anything, before she fell into his arms and made a complete fool of herself.

  “I’d like to finish my degree.” The words came out in an undignified rush and she swallowed a groan. She sounded like an idiot.

  “Excuse me?” He cocked his head as though he didn’t understand, although, like her, his English was flawless.

  She took a deep breath but instead of helping to center her, it just made her lightheaded. “My degree. After the formalities have been completed in Qutum, I’d like to return to London so I can finish it.”

  “I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”

  She blinked up at him. He hadn’t taken even a second to think about it. “Why? The blood ties will be in place. That’s all that’s required, isn’t it?”

  “No.” His tone was guarded, as though he wasn’t sure whether she was being serious. “As my wife, you’ll have many public functions to attend, besides which if you vanish the moment the ceremony’s over, it won’t inspire either of our people that our union is a success, will it?”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “But surely it’s not impossible? Perhaps I could defer for a year, so I can show my face at all the important occasions, cut ribbons or make speeches, and then resume my studies. Would that be acceptable?” She hated having to ask permission to pursue her own future but it was a small concession if it got her what she wanted, and they needed to set out the ground rules from the start.

  He stepped toward her and traced his knuckles along her face. It was unexpected and oddly tender, and anything else she might’ve said died in her throat at the dark lust she saw in his eyes.

  “I would hope that within a year of our marriage I would have an heir, Sofia.” His voice was low and husky, and sent shiv
ers of awareness along her spine, even as his words thundered through her shocked mind. “That’s your single most important function as the Sheikha of Zanzar.”

  Chapter Four

  No. Denial hammered with every erratic beat of her heart, as Tariq continued to smile at her as though she was nothing but a charming addition to his harem.

  “You expect me to be a brood mare?” She could hardly push the words through the blockage in her throat. “What century are you living in?”

  His smile morphed into a frown but if anything that made him look sexier than ever. I’m seriously losing it…

  “Of course I don’t expect you to be a brood mare.” He repeated her words as though they left a bad taste in his mouth. “But an heir to cement our relationship is imperative. Surely you understand this, Sofia.”

  How did he make her name sound so deliciously decadent? Why was she even thinking about something as crazy as that, when her life was plummeting over a cliff?

  The room spun, and she dropped onto one of the chairs by the fireplace before she fell at his feet in an ignoble heap. This couldn’t be happening. Two weeks ago she was neck deep in her work experience placement, and now she was expected to produce a baby within twelve months.

  She gripped the armrests, as though they were her only anchor with reality. Except this was her new reality and the chances of escaping it, without causing an international diplomatic incident, were remote.

  He pulled the other chair next to hers, before sitting and taking her hand between his. Nervous flutters filled her stomach and despite her best intentions she dragged her gaze up to his.

  Darkly hypnotic eyes entrapped her and her breath grew shallow. How mortifying that his slightest touch made her damp with need when he didn’t appear affected at all.

  “Once we have a child,” he said, his thumb caressing the back of her hand in a strangely intimate manner, “we can talk further about your future. But perhaps by then you’ll have changed your mind, and wish to remain in Zanzar with your new family.”