The Sheikh's Wedding Contract Read online

  ‘Good God, woman.’ He stopped, appalled, twisting the black strand of her hair in his fingers. He had simply meant to brush it away from her heated face. ‘What sort of brute do you think I am?’

  Nadia shook her head. ‘No, I don’t...’

  ‘What desperation would bring you to the bed of someone you obviously think would strike you?’

  If only he knew. If only she could tell him the truth. But if she revealed who she was now, admitted that she was from Harith, she was certain he would instantly carry out his threat and have her clapped in irons and left to rot in the palace dungeons. That was the strength of hatred between the two kingdoms.

  ‘I’m not letting you go until you tell me, Nadia.’ His voice was low and grating, and she knew he was fighting to keep his patience, her silence obviously antagonising him even more. Shifting his weight, he leaned forward again, one muscled arm on either side of her head, his chest hovering just an inch above her own. ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I will tell you. The reason I am here...’

  Suddenly Nadia stopped, saved from having to continue by the sound of a brisk tap on the door behind them. Zayed hesitated, poised and alert. There was another tap.

  ‘Your Royal Highness?’ A male voice came through the door.

  Zayed abruptly pulled his body off hers, and, pushing aside the drapes from the bed, got out. Turning away, he adjusted the towel around his hips before heading for the door. ‘Stay here.’ He hissed the order. ‘I’ll get rid of them.’

  Nadia didn’t intend to do any such thing. If this was her only chance of escape she was going to grab it. Leaping up, she started to scrabble on all fours across the slippery satin sheets to the edge of this enormous bed in a desperate bid for freedom.

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ She hadn’t so much as got a foot to the floor before he was on her again, pushing her back against the pillows. Desperate now, Nadia bucked wildly beneath him, kicking her legs out to the side, wildly grabbing at anything she could get hold of. Which turned out to be a handful of Zayed’s towel. As she inadvertently ripped it from his hips she caught a glimpse of tight, naked buttocks before his body closed down on hers again.

  ‘Ahem.’ A polite cough alerted them both to the presence of someone else in the room. ‘Forgive me, Your Royal Highness.’

  ‘Go away!’ Furious, Zayed barked the words over his shoulder as he glared down at the now frozen Nadia.

  ‘I do apologise, sire, but I come with a message.’ There was another nervous cough. ‘From your father, sire. I believe it is a matter of some importance.’

  * * *

  Nadia started at the sound of the key turning in the lock and quickly turned to face the door, her hands behind her back.

  It was about half an hour since Zayed had imprisoned her in his bedchamber. Having pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, the quick flash of his naked rear widening Nadia’s eyes still farther, he had locked the door to the interconnecting suite of rooms, theatrically jangling the bunch of keys in front of her face to make sure she had got the message. Finally, hissing a few curt words through his teeth to the effect that he would deal with her later, he had marched from the room, locking the door behind him.

  Nadia’s first thought was that there had to be some way to escape. After futilely rattling the door handles she had felt along the panelled walls, convinced that there had to be a hidden doorway somewhere. But if there was, it was too well hidden for her to discover. And one look at the terrifying drop from the fourth-floor windows had convinced her that, unless she could somehow sprout wings before she hit the ground, that wasn’t an option, either.

  So instead she had ended up pacing round the room, impotent fury pumping through her veins that she, Princess Nadia of Harith, should be held captive against her will by this maddening sheikh. Furious, too, that all her plans had gone so horribly wrong and she couldn’t see any way out of this mess.

  Her pacing had taken her over to a large ormolu-mounted desk in the corner of the room. A collection of electronic devices littered the top: a laptop, a smartphone, a tablet. Nadia had never been allowed any of these things, her brother insisting that they would be a corrupting influence on her. But it was the modestly framed photo at the back of the desk that caught her eye. Picking it up, Nadia studied the four fine young men wearing grey gowns and mortar boards and grinning widely for the camera. Graduation day. Four young men with the world at their feet. There was Zayed, second from the left with his arms slung over the shoulders of his friends, several years younger but already heartbreakingly handsome and a twinkle in his eye that said he knew it. Nadia felt something pull inside.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Nadia glared back at him, fumbling to replace the photo behind her on the desk. ‘I’m hardly in a position to do anything, locked in here like a prisoner.’

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ He growled the words as he ran his hand over his thick dark hair. Nadia recognised the weariness of the gesture, sensed the heavy weight of responsibility that he carried, quite apart from the trouble she was causing him. She almost felt sorry for adding to his burden. Almost. ‘You are damned lucky I haven’t called security—’ he paused ‘—yet.’

  Nadia felt his eyes scanning her body again, starting with the bra top and sweeping down the length of her torso to her bare stomach that contracted under his gaze, lower to her belted hips and long, shapely legs that the sheer, gauzy fabric twisting around them made no attempt to conceal.

  She squirmed visibly. Zayed cleared his throat.

  ‘The question is, what do I do with you now?’

  From the fierce look on his face Nadia suspected he wasn’t waiting for an answer from her. And even if he had been she wasn’t sure how to reply.

  Despite her earlier determination to escape, she had no idea what she would do if she was set free, where she would go, especially still dressed in this hateful outfit.

  Returning to Harith was out of the question. She knew that by now her disappearance would have sparked a full-scale search of the kingdom, that her father and brother would be seething with rage when she had not returned from the ‘shopping trip’ she had set out on earlier that morning, a morning that now seemed an eon ago. She knew that her mother would already be worried sick, and for that she was genuinely sorry. She would have loved to have been able to confide in her, tell her of her daring plan, but she knew that she couldn’t. Years of persecution from her husband and then her son had weakened her mother from the highly intelligent, spirited young woman of her youth to the nervous, fearful woman she was today. Nadia had watched her decline, powerless to do anything about it. But one thing was for sure. She was never going to let that happen to her.

  And so she had made her escape. Accompanied by her chaperone, a young woman called Jana whom Nadia had secretly befriended, she had set out with instructions to buy ‘the fine clothes for her trousseau.’ The money her family had given her for this task had been extremely generous and, added to the stash that Nadia had been accumulating over the past months, amounted to a small fortune.

  In fact, she and Jana had only made one purchase of clothing, the harem outfit that the two nervously giggling young women had chosen hardly being what her family had had in mind. Then, taking just enough for her flight ticket to Gazbiyaa, Nadia had insisted that Jana had the rest of the money, and the two women had embraced long and hard before Jana had set off on her own adventure, fleeing back to her family with the money for her mother’s operation tucked safely away beneath her hijab. Nadia just hoped she was having more luck than she was.

  Zayed had walked across the room, positioning himself in front of one of the balcony windows with his arms folded across his chest, the middle finger of one hand tapping an impatient beat. Nadia could do nothing but silently watch as he decided what he was going to do with her.

  ‘You know what—’ he sighed heavily ‘—I could stand here all night, trying to figure out what you are doing here,
why you have broken into my bedroom, sneaked into my bed. But frankly—’ he stopped to give Nadia a particularly derisory stare that shrivelled her insides ‘—I don’t even care.’

  ‘Your Royal Highness, if I could just be allowed to explain—’

  ‘No, Nadia.’ Raising a firm hand, Zayed stopped her. ‘I refuse to listen to any more of your explanations. I’ve heard more than enough of your half-baked nonsense for one evening. But, as much as I would like to be rid of you, I am not going to be held responsible for whatever fate might befall you walking the city streets at this time of night looking like that.’

  The sneering gesture, along with the look of distaste on his face that went with it, clearly spelled out just what he thought of her attire.

  ‘You will stay tonight in the palace.’

  As Nadia opened her mouth to protest he barked, ‘And that’s an order.’

  * * *

  Moving over to the marble-topped credenza, Zayed took out a bottle of Scotch and a crystal tumbler and poured himself a generous measure. Then, pulling out a chair, he sat down heavily, stretching his long legs out in front of him and flexing his muscled arms behind his head. This evening had to rank as one of the most bizarre of his life—and that was saying something.

  When he had found out that he, rather than his brother Azeed, was to be crowned sheikh of Gazbiyaa, he had immediately known that his life would change dramatically and forever. He could never have foreseen the circumstances that had led to his being in this position, but the fact was that the future of the kingdom was now in his hands and duty to his country and his subjects had to come before everything else.

  From a practical point of view he could do it, he knew that. He had absolute faith in his abilities. His hugely successful global company was a testament to his business acumen and he was certain he could further the prosperity of the fledgling but rapidly moving expansion of the kingdom’s economy. More than that, his keen intelligence and insightful mind meant he instinctively made astute judgements, knowing just when to take the hard line or to follow a more diplomatic approach. Something that could only stand him in good stead with the role he now found himself in.

  But emotionally he was still struggling to come to terms with the idea of being the sheikh of Gazbiyaa. This was not the life he had planned for, not the life he had ever wanted. And the more he saw of it, the less he liked it.

  Because beneath the flashy, showy front that Gazbiyaa presented to the world, the front that he had let himself believe when he had been thousands of miles away in New York pursuing his own career, there was a bedrock of injustice and ignorance. Like a cloak of the finest gold brocade thrown over a rotting pit of wolves and snakes. What his father called honour and tradition he would term bigotry and prejudice, and the more closely he examined this place, the more deep-rooted he saw that it was. Something he knew he was going to have to address.

  The conversation he had just had with his father had done nothing to lighten the load. It seemed that news had come through that Azeed, who had fled Gazbiyaa in a furious rage on learning he would never be crowned sheikh, was heading for the kingdom of Harith. And far from being a cause for relief that his exiled brother was safe and well, this had simply heightened the threat of war between the two kingdoms.

  The conflict between Gazbiyaa and Harith went back centuries, originating over disputed land territory. The animosity and bitterness on both sides was now so ingrained that its roots were all but forgotten. The shifting sands of time had done nothing to smooth over the differences between the two nations; in fact with each generation it seemed the wall of resentment grew ever higher.

  Which made this debacle surrounding Azeed all the more dangerous. Zayed knew that his first momentous job as the newly crowned sheikh had to be to negotiate a peace initiative before the absurd threat of war that was rumbling between the two countries was allowed to take hold. Only then could he begin to tackle the other inherent problems.

  Taking a deep slug of the burning whisky, he slammed the glass back down on the sideboard and rolled back his shoulders to ease the tension. If my friends could see me now. Zayed let out a low snort of derision. He imagined meeting up with Stefan, Rocco and Christian in some swanky bar somewhere and regaling them with the story of what had happened this evening. The Columbia Four, he and his three trusty comrades were so named because they had met at Columbia University, shared their larger than life experiences whenever they got together, each one more than living up to the youthful motto they had adopted: memento vivere, remember to live. This year was certainly proving to be a momentous year for all of them, all three of his friends having married in quick succession, the last wedding, Stefan’s, having taken place just a month ago.

  Now, as the last remaining bachelor, it was up to Zayed to provide the outrageous entertainment. And he could make a good story of tonight. The lilac-eyed beauty huddled in his bed, him leaping on top of her, pinning her down, nothing but a skimpy towel around his waist to protect his modesty. He could imagine them roaring with laughter, slapping him on the back, ordering another round of drinks from one of the elegant hostesses to toast his hilarious escapade.

  Except that Zayed didn’t feel like laughing, and he certainly didn’t feel like celebrating. Something about the look in Nadia’s dazzling eyes as she had been escorted from the room by a servant niggled at him, haunted him. He still had no idea what she was doing here. What would make a young woman like that do something so debasing, so extreme, so downright dangerous? Reaching thoughtfully for his glass, Zayed raised it to his lips. Despite her provocative behaviour, the more Zayed thought about her, the more sure he was that she was not at all what she appeared to be. The haughty tilt of her chin, the imperious way she had spoken to him, the delicate, pale-skinned hands that looked as if they had never seen a day’s toil in their life, all added up to a very different creature from the one who had virtually prostituted herself in his bed.

  Tomorrow he would find out. And with a jolt of surprise he realised he was already looking forward to it. Infuriating she might be, but this Nadia was also a very beautiful, intriguing, not to mention sexy young woman. Something the very male part of him was refusing to ignore.

  CHAPTER THREE

  NADIA AWOKE THE next morning against the sumptuous pillows of her gilded four-poster bed. But with a flash of realisation she remembered where she was, not in the straitjacketed safety of her bedroom in the palace of Harith, but somewhere deep within the walls of the sworn enemy of her kingdom, the palace of Gazbiyaa.

  But not for much longer. Presumably she would shortly be escorted to the gates and told to disappear. She didn’t know where to, or even how, but she had to accept that her mission here had failed. Her attempt to seduce Sheikh Zayed, to persuade him to take her virginity and then marry her out of honour, had failed miserably. Far from building the framework to try to find peace between their two nations, all she had done was antagonise the man she was trying to seduce and humiliate herself into the bargain.

  And as for her family... Was there any possibility that she could return home and keep from them what she had done? Come up with some plausible story for her absence?

  For that was her only hope now, all she could cling to. Because one thing was for sure: if her father and brother ever found out that she had even visited the kingdom of Gazbiyaa, let alone prostituted herself in the sheikh’s bed, she would be dead to them now. And that was in the literal use of the word.

  Some clothes had been mysteriously laid out for her: a demure outfit of a knee-length skirt and a cream silk blouse. Hardly what she would have chosen, but certainly a darned sight better than yesterday’s costume, whose gems still winked at her from the corner of the room where she had hurled it last night. She was just getting dressed when there was a tap on the door and a servant entered.

  ‘I come with a message from His Royal Highness.’ The servant’s eyes were respectfully cast down. ‘His Highness wishes to speak with you. I am to accompany
you to his quarters.’

  Nadia hesitated. To be honest she had assumed that she would be the last person he would want to see. By the look of disgust on his face last night it had appeared that if he never saw her again it would be too soon, and only the fear of her being raped or murdered on the night streets of Gazbiyaa had prevented him from having her evicted from the palace there and then. But then, the feeling was mutual. Having to face the handsome sheikh in the cold light of day after the way she had behaved was more than she could bear. No, this was a new day and there was no reason why she should have to take orders from him.

  ‘Please inform His Royal Highness that I have made other plans.’ As if to demonstrate those plans, as much to herself as to the elderly servant, she straightened her skirt and arranged the collar of her blouse. ‘I’m afraid a meeting this morning will not be possible.’

  The servant shifted uncomfortably. ‘His Royal Highness is expecting me to accompany you now.’

  Nadia felt herself bristle with indignation. While she had no desire to get this servant into trouble, at little more than five feet tall and old enough to be her grandmother, she hardly looked as if she was going to be able to force Nadia to go against her will. But just as this thought was taking hold two burly guards appeared from nowhere, flanking the servant, the rippling muscles of their folded arms providing all the proof she needed that, actually, she probably would do as she was told.

  * * *

  Zayed was sitting at the far end of a vast conference table when Nadia was borne forward in her bodyguard sandwich. She scowled as she found herself sinking into a chair opposite him.

  ‘Good morning.’ He dismissed the guards with a curt wave of his hand. ‘I trust you slept well?’

  Nadia’s scowl deepened. As if he would care how well she slept. She had no intention of swapping false pleasantries with him. ‘Perhaps you would like to tell me what I am doing here.’ She tossed back her head.