The Heartbreaker Prince

Hannah twitched the silk back into place and in doing so caught sight of someone who was approaching across the tarmac. Her eyes widened to large pools of blue terror in a face that had become dramatically pale.

‘Do not run.’

Fear clutched her belly. ‘He...’

Kamel watched as she licked her dry lips. Her eyes were darting from side to side like a cornered animal seeking an avenue of escape, but they kept moving back to the army colonel who carried a cane and an air of self-importance as he approached them, flanked by a small armed guard.

It didn’t take a second for Kamel to experience a flash of vengeful rage that reminded him strongly of a time in his youth when, after escaping the security that he hated, he had encountered three much older boys in a narrow side street. He had not known at first what was lying on the ground there, but he had seen one boy aim a kick at it, and they had all laughed. It was the laughter he had reacted to with sheer, blinding, red-mist rage.

He had arrived back at the palace later, looking worse than the poor stray dog the trio had been systematically kicking the hell out of. He had freed the dog in the end, not by physical means but by offering them the ring he wore.

His father, the antithesis of a tyrannical parent, had been more bemused than angry when he’d discovered the ring was gone.

‘You gave a priceless heirloom for this flea-ridden thing?’ He had then progressed to remind Kamel how important breeding was.

It was an important lesson, not in breeding but in negotiation. In a tight situation, it was often a clear head rather than physical force that turned the tide. He controlled his instinctive rage now. Summing up the man in a glance, he knew he had come across the kind before many times: a bully who took pleasure from intimidating those he controlled.

‘Did he interrogate you?’

Hannah shivered, not from the ice in Kamel’s voice, but the memory.

‘He watched.’ And tapped a cane on the floor, she thought, shivering again as she remembered the sound. The man’s silence had seemed more threatening to her than the men who asked the questions. That and the look in his eyes.

Kamel’s jaw was taut, and his voice flat. ‘Lift your head up. He can’t do a thing to you.’

* * *

‘Highness, I am here to offer our sincere apologies for any misunderstanding. I hope it has not given Miss Latimer a dislike of our beautiful country.’

And now it was his turn.

His turn to smile and lie through his teeth. It was a talent that he had worked on to the point where his diplomacy looked effortless even though it frequently veiled less civilised instincts.

He uncurled his clenched fingers, unmaking the fists they had instinctively balled into, but he was spared having to produce the words that stuck in his throat by sudden activity around the waiting jet.

As something came screaming down towards them, one man raised a pistol. Kamel, who had the advantage of faster reflexes, reached casually out and chopped the man’s arm, causing him to drop the gun to the ground. It went off, sending a bullet into a distant brick wall.

‘Relax, it’s just...’

He stopped as the hawk that had been flying above their heads dropped down, claws extended, straight onto the head of the uniformed colonel. His hat went flying and he covered his head protectively as the hooded hawk swooped again—this time escaping with what looked like a dead animal in his talons.

The colonel stood there, his hands on his bald head.

Releasing a hissing signal from between his teeth, Kamel extended his arm. The hawk responded to the sound and landed on his wrist.

‘You are quite safe now, Colonel.’ Kamel took the toupee from the bird and, holding it on one finger, extended it to the man who had curled into a foetal crouch, his head between his hands.

Red-faced, the older man rose to his feet, his dignity less intact than his face, which had only suffered a couple of superficial scratches, oozing blood onto the ground.

He took the hairpiece and crammed it on his head, drawing a smothered laugh from one of his escorts. When he spun around the men stared ahead stonily.

‘That thing should be destroyed. It nearly blinded me.’

Kamel touched the jewel attached to that bird’s hood. ‘My apologies, Colonel. No matter how many jewels you put on a bird of prey, she remains at heart a creature of impulse. But then that is the attraction of wild things, don’t you think?’

The other man opened his mouth and a grunt emerged through his clenched teeth as he bowed.

Kamel smiled. He handed back the pistol to the man who had tried to shoot it, having first emptied the barrel with a mild reproach of, ‘Unwise.’ He then turned to Rafiq and issued a soft-voiced command in French that Hannah struggled to make sense of.

The big man bowed his head, murmured, ‘Highness,’ and took Hannah’s elbow.

Hannah, who had remained glued to the spot while the drama had played out around her, did not respond to the pressure.

Kamel, his dark eyes flashing warning, touched her cheek.

Like someone waking from a deep sleep, she started and lifted her blue eyes to his face. ‘Go with Rafiq. I will be with you presently, my little dove.’ Without waiting to see if she responded, he turned to the bleeding and humiliated colonel. ‘Please forgive Emerald. She is very protective and responds when she senses danger. She is...unpredictable. But as you see—’ he ran a finger down the bird’s neck ‘—quite docile.’

Kamel could feel the effort it cost the man to smile. ‘You have an unusual pet, Prince Kamel.’

Kamel produced a smile that was equally insincere. ‘She is not a pet, Colonel.’

He could feel the man’s eyes in his back as he walked away. Still, a poisonous stare was less painful than the bullet he would no doubt have preferred to deliver.

* * *

‘No.’ Hannah shook her head and refused to take the seat that she was guided to. ‘Where is he?’ she asked the monolith of a man who didn’t react to her question. ‘My father! Where is he?’

As the door closed behind him the hawk flew off Kamel’s hand and onto her perch, the tinkle of bells making Hannah turn her head. ‘Where is my father? I want my—’

He cut across her, his tone as bleak as winter, but not as cold and derisive as his eyes. ‘You should know I have no taste for hysteria.’

‘And you should know I don’t give a damn.’

Kamel, who had anticipated her reaction to be of the standard ‘poor little me’ variety, was actually pleasantly surprised by her anger. If nothing else the girl was resilient. Just as well—as it was a quality she was going to need.

‘I suppose it was too much to hope that you have learnt anything from your experience.’ He arched a sardonic ebony brow. ‘Like humility.’

Now wasn’t that the ultimate in irony? She was being lectured on humility by a man who had just produced a master class in arrogance.

She hadn’t expected to be told she’d done brilliantly or receive a pat on the back...but a lecture?

‘You got me out of there, so thanks. But I’m damned if I’m going to be lectured by the hired help!’ It came out all wrong. But what did it matter if he thought she was a snob? She needed to know what the hell was happening and he wouldn’t even give her a straight answer.

At last she was now living down to his expectations. He peeled off his head gear, revealing a head of close-cropped raven-black hair. The austere style emphasised the classical strength of his strongly sculpted features. ‘I suggest that we postpone this discussion until we are actually in the air.’

It wasn’t a suggestion so much as an order, and his back was already to her. She had just spent two days in a cell experiencing a total lack of control—this man was going to give her answers!

‘Don’t walk away from me like that!’