The Desert King's Captive Bride

Relief was so strong it was a punch to the belly. Ghizlan locked her knees to stop herself swaying. She refused to show weakness.

‘You can see her when we finish our discussion.’

‘Is that what you call it?’

His mouth twisted and she wondered if it was in anger or frustration. She didn’t care. She was dangerously close to losing her cool. She’d fought to keep her composure, knowing it was the only way to make him take her, and her demands for the people relying on her, seriously. But she didn’t know how long she could keep this up.

‘Of course.’ He unfolded his arms and abruptly she was aware of how close they stood, and how very big he was. Heat emanated from him, warming her despite the chill gripping her bones. It was an insidious warmth, like the strange flutter of awareness rippling through her when his broad shoulders lifted then settled again.

She’d never been close to a man so blatantly masculine. Not just in size and brute strength, but with a potent, unfamiliar something that made her body want to shiver and melt at the same time.

‘I’ll see the Captain of the Guard first. I need to check the staff are all right.’ She paused as fear for her personal bodyguard struck. She hadn’t seen them since the plane. ‘And my bodyguard. I need to make sure—’

He raised one big hand, palm out. ‘They’re unharmed.’

‘You’ll forgive me for needing to see proof for myself.’ She paused, fighting fear that those who’d devoted themselves to protecting her family had been harmed. ‘Then I’ll see my sister.’

Ghizlan made to walk away but his long arm snapped out and strong fingers shackled her wrist.

Her pulse thudded, staccato and strong. She hated that he could feel it with his bare hand on her wrist. She particularly hated the effervescence that radiated through her from his touch.

‘I prefer not to be manhandled.’

‘Manhandled?’ A jet eyebrow rose and the lips buried in all that undergrowth of beard curved up.

She amused him. The realisation infuriated her.

‘I’m not a plaything, Huseyn. You’ll find most women prefer not to be touched against their will.’

‘Most women enjoy my touch.’ His voice was a low murmur of masculine confidence. His eyes gleamed silver. He thought himself irresistible.

The women in his province of Jumeah must be a sorry lot.

Impossible, appalling man. Was she supposed to thank him for planning to marry her?

‘If you say so.’ She met his look blandly. ‘But I can’t help thinking most women would pretend to enjoy intimacy when a man has so much more...power than they do. Out of self-defence, you understand.’

He dropped her hand as if bitten, his eyes widening in what looked like genuine shock.

‘I would never use force against a woman!’ His growl scuttled along her spine, drawing her skin tight.

‘Is that so?’ She stepped back until she felt the desk behind her. It was good to lean on something solid. ‘Then what would you call your demand that we marry? If it’s a request, I’ve already declined.’

Ghizlan saw his jaw move. Was he grinding his teeth? She hoped he got jaw ache. A pulse throbbed at his temple and the muscles in those big arms bunched and swelled.

She refused to cower.

Always show a calm face, no matter what the provocation.

‘It’s an attempt to avoid bloodshed.’

‘You’ll have to do better than that. Jeirut is a proud and stable democratic monarchy. The new Sheikh will be voted in by the Royal Council, then parliament. There will be no bloodshed. The truth is you want the crown and you’re resorting to force to get it.’

‘Not force. Just a pre-emptive tactical move.’

Ghizlan remained scornfully silent.

He scowled at her and she knew she should be scared. But to her surprise, she was more intrigued than fearful. Clearly she was jet-lagged and had taken leave of her senses!

‘Even you must admit I’m the best choice to rule. I have a solid claim to the crown with my kinship ties. I’m the only one who can say that. More importantly, I’m strong, resolute, a warrior as well as having experience as an administrator. Our marriage will simply make the decision easier and speed the process.’

Ghizlan arched one eyebrow. ‘If you’re such a perfect choice the Council will vote for you.’

‘But that will take time. Time Jeirut doesn’t have.’

‘You may be eager to ascend the throne but—’

‘You think this is about me?’ His shaggy hair brushed his shirt as he shook his head. ‘It’s about keeping Jeirut safe. With your father’s death, Halarq is poised to invade.’

‘Nonsense.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘My father was on the brink of signing peace agreements with both Zahrat and Halarq.’

‘Now he’s gone the old Emir of Halarq sees an opportunity. His troops are mobilising. Intelligence suggests they’ll begin by claiming the disputed territory then pushing as far as they can into Jeirut.’

‘That territory has belonged to Jeirut for two hundred years.’

‘Yet I’ve been fighting border skirmishes with his forces since I was old enough to hold a weapon. You may not realise it here in the safety of the capital.’ His gaze raked the room as if dismissing its fine furnishings. ‘But my province has borne the brunt of our neighbour’s ambitions for years. Believe me, he’s poised to act and the longer it takes us to choose a new leader the better it suits him.’

Ghizlan opened her mouth to protest then closed it. There was a seed of truth in what Huseyn said. ‘Then talk to the Council. Urge a speedy decision.’

He shook his head. ‘The majority are in favour of me but the Council likes to deliberate. A quick decision is seen as a bad one. And there are two other candidates, though their claims aren’t as strong. If Halarq invades it will throw that process into confusion. I need to act now. Convince the Council to choose the best man to protect the country.’

Ghizlan looked at the determined thrust of that dark jaw, and the gleam in his eyes, and she nearly believed him. Until she thought of her sister and the palace in lockdown.

Her hands came together in slow, deliberate applause.

‘That’s some performance. I could almost believe you were sacrificing yourself for the country in claiming the throne. But if you expect me to sacrifice my liberty and marry you, think again. Your rhetoric doesn’t sway me.’

Something flickered across his face. An expression so swift she couldn’t read it. Yet it reminded her of a flash of sheet lightning across mountain peaks in the storm season. Her flesh tightened.

‘You won’t do this for your country?’

‘For my country or for you?’ She didn’t bother hiding her disdain.

He scowled. ‘I should have known not to expect too much from you. You didn’t even hurry home when your father died. Obviously your priorities lie elsewhere.’

Ghizlan sucked in an outraged breath. It was true she’d avoided returning to Jeirut when her planned betrothal to Sheikh Idris was abruptly cancelled. But that had been at her father’s request, to let the scandal die. Since then she’d been cultivating business contacts Jeirut desperately needed if planned new developments were to proceed.

Not that a man like this, a ruthless mountain marauder with no finesse, would understand that.