The Sultan Demands His Heir

Zaid watched her process his reply. She may have been joking, but he was deadly serious.

Slowly, every trace of amusement drained from her face. He told himself the apprehension that replaced it was much more useful to him. It would keep her focused properly on what lay ahead of her. It would also serve to draw his attention from the luscious curve of her mouth and the tiny twitch of her nose when she was amused.

He was already battling with the heated tug of his libido at the way her skin had shone under the bathroom lights, like the pearls mined in the sea bordering his kingdom. The way the scrap of silk she had worn to bed had caressed her flesh had made him infinitely glad he’d been wearing a shrouding tunic. The urge to touch her, to relive the memory of holding her warm body captive in his arms was so strong it was a visceral ache deep within him. He smashed down hard on the unwelcome sensation and concentrated on the matter at hand.

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ Her eyes were widening, her hushed voice stained with burgeoning realisation.

‘I have a kingdom to rule. I don’t undertake missions like this just for the fun of it.’ His words emerged clipped.

She flinched. He experienced the tiniest dart of remorse before he firmed his lips.

Before he could say anything further, his vehicle drew to a stop. His head of security jumped out and opened his door.

Zaid didn’t exit immediately. For some reason, he found himself staring at her, taking in her pale features, the lower lip she was worrying as she stared back at him. The shadows under her eyes. ‘It’s almost two o’clock in the morning. We will continue this conversation at a more appropriate hour, once you’ve had some rest.’

He stepped out of the car and held out his hand. Her gaze dropped warily. For a tense moment he watched her silently debate whether or not to take it, then she reached out, almost in slow motion, to finally accept his help.

The sensation of her sliding her hand into his ramped up the volatile tension inside him. Zaid ruthlessly dismissed his body’s response, just as he’d dismissed almost all extraneous emotions since his return to Ja’ahr. He’d needed to, to be able to focus on rebuilding what his uncle had so brutally destroyed. It was the reason he hadn’t taken a woman to his bed in well over eighteen months. It was the reason his work days were so long and sleep was a luxury he afforded himself only when necessary.

Nevertheless, he found his grip tightening, his touch lingering even after she stood before him, her face upturned to his. In the floodlights gracing the entrance to his palace, her unique beauty struck him all over again.

Enough.

He turned and started to walk away, leaving Fawzi and the rest of his staff to make the arrangements for her care and comfort. Right now there were a hundred other tasks that needed his attention. ‘Goodnight, Miss Scott.’

He’d only taken a few steps when heard her rush after him. ‘Wait. Please. Your Highness.’

Against his will, Zaid felt the whisper of a smile tug at his lips at the way she’d tagged on his title. Reluctantly. Grudgingly.

Recalling his insistence that she use it the previous afternoon, he grimaced. Although his veins pulsed with royal blood, Zaid had never forced the outer trappings of his nobility on anyone, until her. Something about Esmeralda Scott had made him want to assert his dominion over her. Perhaps, even absurdly, he wanted to see that defiant chin and insubordinate body lowered in the archaic, submissive bow he hated from everyone else.

‘Your Highness, please.’

Zaid gritted his teeth and paused at the entrance to the hallway that led to his private lift. The small group of staff who found it necessary to follow him everywhere within the palace, night or day, paused at a respectful distance.

Esmeralda, however, kept coming, her lissom, curvy body swaying sensually beneath the cotton dress. Zaid dragged his gaze from her shapely legs and hips to her face, stamping down once more on the insistent tug to his groin.

‘I know it’s the middle of the night, but it may as well be the middle of the day for me. I won’t be able to sleep. Not until I know more about what’s going to...happen.’

To me.

Zaid silently applauded her for leaving those words out. She was determined to show no weakness, despite the precarious position in which she’d placed herself and her father. A situation he’d been monitoring since she’d left his office the previous afternoon. The repercussions of her interview had been more damaging than he’d initially thought. He’d been in the process of considering ways to mitigate it when he’d been alerted to the chief of police’s intentions.

Recollection of their conversation in the hotel foyer made him grit his teeth. If Esmeralda Scott wanted to know what fruit her actions had borne, he would gladly apprise her. And since he hadn’t been heading for his own bed, now was as good a time as any.

He dismissed his staff, although he knew Fawzi and his bodyguards would remain awake and in close proximity until Zaid himself retired to bed. ‘Very well. We will talk now,’ he said to her.

He caught her quick, nervous swallow before she gave a firm, responding nod. ‘Lead the way, Your Highness.’

Zaid didn’t know whether to commend her fearlessness or condemn her for it, because the spirit she’d displayed, which had led her into hot water in the first place, would be what she would need to keep her going in the days to come. He was still tossing the thought around in his head when he entered his private lift. She followed him into the small space, but immediately plastered herself to the wall farthest from him. Zaid would have been amused by the action if his senses hadn’t been immediately assailed with the delicate scent of her cherry blossom shampoo and the elusive wisps of perfume that clung to her skin.

The moment the doors shut, her breathing altered. Her eyes darted to him and he noted that they reflected more green than grey with her suppressed agitation. When he leaned forward to press the button, she jumped and he smiled.