The Desert King's Secret Heir

‘You’ll have to come home for the ceremony. It will be good to have you there for a while instead of buried in this cold, grey place.’

Hamid smiled. ‘You’re biased. There’s much to be said for England.’

‘Of course there is. It’s an admirable country.’ Idris glanced around, reminding himself they might be overheard.

Hamid’s smile became a chuckle. ‘It’s got a lot going for it.’ He leaned even closer, his voice dropping further. ‘Including a very special woman. Someone I want you to meet.’

Idris felt his eyes widen. Hamid with a serious girlfriend? ‘She must be out of the ordinary.’

One thing the men in his family excelled at was avoiding commitment to women. He’d been a case in point until political necessity forced his hand. His father had been famous for sowing his wild oats, even after marriage. And their uncle, the previous Sheikh, had been too busy enjoying the charms of his mistresses to father a child with his long-suffering spouse.

‘She is. Enough to make me rethink my life.’

‘Another academic?’

‘Nothing so dull.’

Idris stared. Hamid lived for his research. That was why he’d been passed over for the throne when their uncle died. Everyone, Hamid included, acknowledged he was too absorbed in history to excel at running a nation.

‘Will I meet this paragon tonight?’

Hamid nodded, his eyes alight. ‘She’s just gone to freshen up before—ah, there she is.’ He gestured to the far end of the room. ‘Isn’t she lovely?’

Only a man besotted would expect him to identify an unknown woman in that crowd. Idris followed Hamid’s eager gaze. Was it the tall brunette in black? The svelte blonde in beads and diamonds? Surely not the woman with the braying laugh and the oversized rings flashing like beacons beneath the chandelier?

The crowd shifted and he caught a sliver of silk in softest green, skin as pale as milk and hair that shone like the sky at dawn, rose and gold together.

His pulse thudded once, hard enough to stall his breath. Low in his belly an unfamiliar sensation eddied. A sensation that made his nape prickle.

Then his view was blocked by a couple of men in dinner jackets.

‘Which one is she?’ His voice echoed strangely, no doubt due to the acoustics of the filled-to-capacity ballroom.

For a second he’d experienced something he hadn’t felt in years. A tug of attraction so strong he’d convinced himself it hadn’t been real, that imagination had turned a brief interlude into something almost...significant. No doubt because of the dark, relentlessly tough days that had followed. She’d been the one lover he’d had to put aside before his passion was spent. That explained the illusion she was different from the rest.

But the woman he’d known had had a cloud of vibrant curls, not that sleek, conformist chignon.

‘I can’t see her now. I’ll go and fetch her. Unless—’ Hamid’s smile turned conspiratorial ‘—you’d like a break from the formalities.’

Tradition decreed that the ruler received his guests on the raised royal dais, complete with a gilded, velvet-cushioned throne for formal audiences. Idris was about to say he’d wait here when something made him pause. How long since he’d allowed himself the luxury of doing something he wanted, not because it was his duty?

Idris’s eyes flicked to Ghizlan, easily holding her own with a minor royal and some politicians. As if sensing his regard she looked up, smiled slightly then turned back to her companions.

No doubt about it, she’d make a suitable queen—capable and helpful. Not clinging or needy. Not demanding his attention as too many ex-lovers had done.

Idris turned to Hamid. ‘Lead on, Cousin. I’m agog to meet this woman who’s captured your heart.’

They wove through the crowd till Hamid halted beside the woman in green. The woman with creamy skin and strawberry-blonde hair and a supple, delicate figure. Idris’s attention caught on the lustre of her dress, clinging to her hips and pert bottom.

He stilled, struck by a sensation of déjà vu so strong it eclipsed all else. She said something to his cousin in a soft, lilting voice.

A voice Idris knew.

He frowned, watching Hamid bend his head towards her, seeing her turn a little more so she was in profile.

The conversations around them became white noise, a buzz like swarming insects.

His vision telescoped.

Her lush lips.

Her neat nose.

Her slender, delicate throat.

Two facts hammered into his brain. He knew her, remembered her better than any of the multitude of women who’d once paraded in and out of his life.

And that strange feeling surging up from his gullet and choking his throat with bile was more than surprise or disbelief at the coincidence of meeting her again.

It was fury at the idea she belonged to Hamid.

* * *

‘Here he is at last. Arden, I’d like to present you to my cousin Idris, Sheikh of Zahrat.’

Arden widened her smile, determined not to be overawed by meeting her very first and no doubt last sheikh. Coming to this formal reception, surrounded by VIPs who oozed money and privilege, had already tested her nerves.

She turned, tilting her head to look up, and felt the world drop away.

His face was severely sculpted as if scored by desert winds. Yet there was beauty in those high cheekbones and his firm yet sensual mouth. His nose and jaw were honed and strong. The harsh angle of those beetling black brows intimidated. So did the wide flare of his nostrils, as if the Sheikh scented something unexpected.

Shock dragged at her, loosening her knees till her legs felt like rubber.

His eyes...

Dark as a midnight storm, those eyes fixed on her instinctive movement as she clutched at Hamid for support. Slowly they lifted again to clash with hers, disdain clear in that haughty stare.

A shuddering wave of disquiet rolled through her as she blinked up, telling herself it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

Despite the frantic messages her body was sending her, she couldn’t know this man.

Yet her brain wouldn’t listen to reason. It told her it was him. The man who’d changed her life.

Heat seared from scalp to toe. Then just as quickly it vanished, leaving her so cold she wouldn’t be surprised to hear the crackle of ice forming along her bones, weighing her down.

Her grip on Hamid’s arm grew desperate as tiny spots formed and blurred before her eyes. She felt as if she’d slipped out of the real world and into an alternate reality. One where dreams did come true, but so distorted as to be almost unrecognisable.

It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Yet her gaze dropped to his collarbone. Did he have a scar there?