The Sultan Demands His Heir

He stepped forward and she saw that he held her black cotton dress in his hand. ‘I don’t have time to debate the matter with you. Put this on. We need to leave now, unless you plan on walking out of the hotel dressed in that wispy scrap of nothing?’ he rasped. Although his expression remained stoically impersonal, his voice was a touch more raw than before.

Esme stared down at the peach night slip she wore. The silky, lace-edged material was short, barely coming to mid-thigh. The bodice consisted of two cupped triangles also edged in lace, with thin straps joining at her nape in a halter design. As nightwear went, it was intended to be feminine and sexy, hugging, flattering and titivating where necessary.

Except, with Zaid Al-Ameen’s piercing gaze on her, Esme bypassed those middling sensations and went straight to fiery hot awareness between one heartbeat and the next. Mild shock rippled through her belly at the intensity of the feeling singeing her body as his gaze conducted a slow journey over her. When it rose from her feet to linger at her thighs, a heavy throbbing commenced between her legs. The sensation rippled outward, sparking tiny fireworks that exploded beneath her skin as it spread.

Dark golden eyes rose higher, over her stomach to rest on her breasts. Suddenly sensitive peaks prickled, then slowly tightened into hard nubs. Realising that the silk exhibited every reaction of her body, Esme hastily threw her arm up over her chest, even as she defied the hot flush staining her neck and cheeks to stare challengingly at him.

But she might as well have been a gnat challenging an elephant. The eyes that met hers may have been a touch more turbulent than they were moments ago, perhaps even gleaming with a hint of suppressed hunger, but the man who strode determinedly over to her and thrust her dress at her was once again the supreme marauder intent on having his way.

‘You have two minutes to put this dress on or I will do it for you myself,’ he pronounced succinctly.

Even though she caught the dress, Esme stood her ground. ‘I’ll put the dress on, but I’m not leaving this room until you tell me what is going on.’

At his curt nod, she stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her. About to put the dress on, she froze when she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her long loose hair was in complete disarray, her colour high as her chest rose and fell in agitation. But it was the brightness of her eyes that shocked her most of all. Where she’d expected fear, she read something else. Something that made her skin tingle even more wildly. Her nipples were still tight twin points of blatant arousal and belatedly she realised that, standing in the light of the doorway, Sultan Zaid would have been able to see right through her slip.

With renewed chagrin and heightened disquiet, she turned away and tugged the dress over the night slip. There was no way she was going back in there to retrieve her bra so the nightgown would have to offer the extra protection she needed. Besides, she could feel Sultan Zaid’s restless prowling through the bathroom door.

After sliding her fingers through her hair in a vain effort to control the unruly mess, she tugged it into a ponytail and left the bathroom to confront the figure pacing the room. ‘Okay, I deserve to know what’s going on, and I’m not moving until I do.’

‘The chief of police is on his way to arrest you. And unless you come with me, you will be in jail within the hour. It won’t be a pleasant experience.’

Her mouth dropped opened, but the stark words had shrivelled her vocal cords and killed any further protest in her throat. Her gaze swung to the guards standing at the door. They hadn’t moved, but she sensed an escalated urgency in the air.

He’d turned on a lamp while she’d been in the bathroom and Esme hurried across the room to shove her feet into the heels she’d discarded at the bottom of the bed. Then she went to the wardrobe and tugged out her suitcase. It was ripped from her hand a second later.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded.

‘I’m getting my things.’

‘There’s no time for that. Your belongings will be taken care of.’

Again she wanted to protest, but at the implacable look in his eyes she nodded. Her purse held her passport, credit cards and phone. He waited long enough for her to grab it before he marched her to the door.

Eight bodyguards immediately positioned themselves in a protective cordon around them. A lift she suspected had been held especially for him transported them swiftly to the ground floor.

They exited to a large, empty foyer with only a sleepy male receptionist stationed behind the desk. He straightened to attention, then bowed respectfully as they moved past him.

Sultan Zaid barely glanced at him, his focus on the revolving doors. And the small group of armed men walking through it.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Beside her, Zaid tensed, even though he didn’t break his stride.

‘Remain by my side and do not speak.’ The words were delivered in a low, even voice, but the stern command that pulsed through them was unmistakeable.

She nodded as the small group drew closer. Their posture and uniforms announced who they were before she read the insignia on their attire.

The leader, a small, rotund man, came forward and in unison they executed a bow, but she noted that although the chief of police paid his respects to his ruler, the act was delivered with reluctance and more than a hint of antagonism.

‘Your Highness, I am surprised to see you here at this time of night,’ he said, slowly tucking the cap he’d removed from his head under his arm. His black, beady eyes swung to the Sultan’s bodyguards protecting them before returning to Zaid.

‘Matters of state do not always wait for civilised hours to demand attention.’

The man’s gaze settled on her and Esme spied the distinct gleam of malevolence in the black depths. ‘And that is what is happening here? A matter of state?’

Zaid’s response was spoken in sharp, rapid-fire Arabic, his posture seething with unbridled authority. Esme watch the man shrink back slowly. The hostile expression in his eyes didn’t abate, and his gaze darted to her many times during the conversation but he didn’t attempt to arrest her.

Although only mere minutes passed, it felt like a lifetime before Zaid glanced her way.

‘We’re leaving now,’ he said.

Relief punched through her and she gave a swift nod as she hurried to match her steps to his.

The moment she slid into the car he climbed in after her. A second later, after she’d slotted in her seat belt, they were moving with the smoothness borne of military precision.

She took a deep, shaky breath, but the thousand questions that crowded Esme’s brain were momentarily suppressed when her senses were suffused with the very male scent of the man sitting next to her.

The man staring at her with silent, watchful intensity.

‘What...?’ She stopped and flicked her tongue over her dry lips. ‘Why was he coming to arrest me?’

‘Because he found out, like I did, that the allegations you made against his police force weren’t entirely accurate. Your interview has been televised every hour for the past twelve hours. There are those who called for your arrest the moment it was aired. It came to my attention that the police chief was beginning to gather his forces.’

Ice cascaded down her spine. ‘Oh, my God.’ The hand she lifted to push back a swathe of hair shook badly. Tightening it into a fist, she placed it in her lap. ‘What...what was he going to charge me with?’ Not that it mattered. Jail was jail. And prison in Ja’ahr wasn’t something she wanted to experience, even for a minute.

To her surprise, Zaid Al-Ameen’s lips pursed before his powerful shoulders moved in a shrug. ‘He would’ve found something.’

‘What? You mean he could’ve just made something up?’

‘It could’ve been something as simple as questioning you about what you said, or it could’ve been more. You supplied him with all the base he could have wanted. All he needed to do was capitalise on it.’

Her heart dropped to her stomach. ‘But isn’t that...illegal?’ she questioned carefully, unwilling to add further fuel to the fire it seemed she’d started.

In the semi-darkness of the vehicle she watched his jaw clench harshly, his expression turn grave. ‘The wheels of change are turning in Ja’ahr, but not fast enough,’ he said semi-cryptically. ‘True democracy comes at a cost. Not everyone is ready to pay that price yet.’

The bald statement left very little room for more questions after that. The convoy rolled swiftly along near deserted streets, silence reigning in the vehicle. Until Esme realise the familiar road they travelled on.

Her gaze swung from the elevated road and the familiar dome ahead to the man sitting next to her. He was staring at her, shrewd sharp eyes waiting. ‘You’re taking me—’

‘Back to the Royal Palace, yes,’ he confirmed.

Wild hysteria powered through her. ‘So I was right. You are kidnapping me after all.’

She’d meant the words half-jokingly, a way for her tumbling thoughts to grapple with the events of the last hour and the enormity of what might have happened to her.

When he didn’t immediately answer, she glanced at him.

The look he levelled at her was in no way mirthful. It was filled with solemn, unwavering resolve. ‘For want of a better word...and for the foreseeable future, yes.’

* * *