The Sheikh’s Untamed Bride

Lost to the Desert Warrior

Sarah Morgan

Sheikh in the City

Jackie Braun

Her Ardent Sheikh

Kristi Gold

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Lost to the Desert Warrior

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sheikh in the City

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Her Ardent Sheikh

Dedication

About the Author

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Copyright

Lost to the Desert Warrior

Sarah Morgan

Bestselling author SARAH MORGAN writes lively, sexy contemporary stories for Mills & Boon. RT Book Reviews has described her as “a magician with words” and has nominated her books for their Reviewers’ Choice Awards and their “Top Pick” slot. In 2012 Sarah received the prestigious RITA® Award from the Romance Writers of America. She lives near London with her family. Find out more at www.sarahmorgan.com.

CHAPTER ONE

‘The Persians teach their sons, between the ages of five and twenty, only three things: to ride a horse, use a bow and speak the truth.’

—from The Histories by Herodotus, Greek historian, about 484-425 BC

‘SHH, DON’T MAKE a sound.’ Layla slammed her hand over her sister’s mouth. ‘I can hear them coming. They mustn’t find us.’

She wished she’d had time to find a better hiding place. Behind the long velvet curtains in her father’s private rooms hardly seemed like an obvious place for concealment, and yet she knew in some ways this was the safest place. No one would think to look for the princesses here. They were never allowed in his bedroom. Not even today, on the day of his death.

But Layla had wanted to see for herself that the man who’d called himself her father lay cold and still in his bed and wasn’t about to leap up and commit some other sin against her or her sister. She’d stood there, hidden by the curtain, and heard him seal her fate with his dying breath. His last words hadn’t expressed regret for a life misspent. There had been no demand to see his daughters, nor even a request to pass on a loving message to make up for years of cold neglect. No apology for all the grievous wrongs. Just one last wrong—one that would seal her fate forever.

‘Hassan must marry Layla. It is the only way the people will accept him as ruler of Tazkhan.’

Hearing footsteps, Layla kept her hand pressed over her younger sister’s mouth. Her forehead brushed the curtains and she could smell the dust. The dark was disorientating and she held herself rigid, waiting for the curtains to be flung back, afraid that the slightest movement would give them away.

From behind the protection of rich, heavy velvet she heard several people enter the room.

‘We have searched the palace. They are nowhere to be found.’

‘They cannot just have vanished.’ The voice was harsh and instantly recognisable. It was Hassan, her father’s cousin, and if his last wishes were carried out, soon to be her bridegroom. Sixty years old and more power-hungry even than her father.

In a moment of horrifying clarity Layla saw her future and it was blacker than the inside of the curtain. She stared into darkness, feeling her sister’s breath warm her hand, afraid to breathe herself in case she gave them both away.

‘We will find them, Hassan.’

‘In a few hours you’ll be addressing me as Your Excellency,’ Hassan snapped. ‘And you’d better find them. Try the library. The older one is always there. As for the younger one—she has far too much to say for herself. We’re flying her to America, where she will be out of sight and out of mind. The people will soon forget her. My marriage to the eldest will take place before dawn. Fortunately she is the quiet one. She has nothing to say for herself and is unlikely to object.’

He didn’t even know her name, Layla thought numbly, let alone her view on the world. She was ‘the eldest’. ‘The quiet one’. She doubted he knew or cared what she looked like. He certainly didn’t care what she wanted. But then neither had her father. The only person who cared about her was currently shivering in her grasp.

Her young sister. Her friend. Her family.

The news that they were planning to send Yasmin to America intensified the horror of the situation. Of everything that was happening, losing her sister would be the worst.

‘Why rush into the marriage?’

Hassan’s companion echoed Layla’s thoughts.

‘Because we both know that as soon as he finds out about the old Sheikh’s death he will come.’

He will come.

Layla knew immediately who ‘he’ was. And she also knew Hassan was afraid. So afraid he couldn’t bring himself to speak the name of his enemy. The formidable reputation of the desert warrior and rightful ruler of the wild desert country of Tazkhan frightened Hassan so badly it was now forbidden to speak his name within the walled city. The irony was that by banning all mention of the true heir to the sheikdom he had increased his status to that of hero in the minds of the people.

In a small moment of personal rebellion, Layla thought the name.

Raz Al Zahki.

A prince who lived like a Bedouin among the people who loved him. A man of the desert with steely determination, strength and patience, who played a waiting game. Right now he was out there somewhere, his exact whereabouts a secret known only to those closest to him. The secrecy surrounding him increased tensions in the Citadel of Tazkhan.

Footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the bedroom.

As the door closed behind them Yasmin pulled away, gasping for air. ‘I thought you were going to suffocate me.’

‘I thought you were going to scream.’

‘I’ve never screamed in my life. I’m not that pathetic.’ But her sister looked shaken and Layla took her hand and held it firmly as she peeped around the heavy velvet curtain.

‘They’ve gone. We’re safe.’

‘Safe? Layla, that wrinkled, overweight monster is going to marry you before dawn and he’s going to send me away to America, miles from home and miles from you.’

Layla heard the break in her sister’s voice and tightened her grip on her hand. ‘No, he won’t. I’m not going to allow him to take you away.’

‘How can you stop it? I don’t care what happens, but I want us to stay together. It’s been the two of us for so long I can’t imagine any other life. I need you to stop me opening my mouth when I should close it and you need me to stop you living your life in a book.’

Her sister’s voice was soaked with despair and Layla felt crushed by the weight of responsibility.

She felt small and powerless as she stood alone against the brutal force of Hassan’s limitless ambition.

‘I promise we won’t be separated.’

‘How can you promise that?’

‘I don’t know yet. But I’m thinking...’

‘Well, think fast, because in a few hours I’ll be on a plane to America and you’ll be in Hassan’s bed.’

‘Yasmin!’ Shocked, Layla gaped at her sister, who shrugged defiantly.

‘It’s true.’

‘What do you know about being in a man’s bed?’

‘Nowhere near as much as I’d like. I suppose that might be one of the advantages of being banished to America.’

Despite their circumstances, a dimple flickered at the corner of Yasmin’s mouth and Layla felt a lump in her throat. No matter how dire the circumstances, her sister always managed to find a reason to smile. She’d brought laughter to places without humour and light into the dark.

‘I can’t lose you.’ She couldn’t even bear to think of that option. ‘I won’t lose you.’

Yasmin peered cautiously across the room. ‘Is our father really dead?’

‘Yes.’ Layla tried to find some emotion inside herself but all she felt was numb. ‘Are you sad?’

‘Why would I be sad? This is only the fifth time I’ve ever seen him in person and I don’t think this one counts so that’s only four times. He made our lives hell and he’s still making it hell even though he’s dead.’ Yasmin’s unusual blue eyes darkened with fury. ‘Do you know what I wish? I wish Raz Al Zahki would ride into the city on that terrifying black stallion of his and finish off Hassan. I’d cheer. In fact I’d be so grateful I’d marry him myself and give him a hundred babies just to make sure his line is safe.’

Layla tried not to look at the figure on the bed. Even dead, she didn’t want to see him. ‘He wouldn’t want to marry you. You are the daughter of the man responsible for the death of his father and his beautiful wife. He hates us, and I cannot blame him for that.’ She hated herself too, for sharing the blood of a man with so little humanity. For sharing in his shame.

‘He should marry you. Then no one would be able to challenge him and Hassan would be finished.’

The idea was so outrageous, so typical of Yasmin, Layla’s instinct was to dismiss it instantly and preach caution as she always did. But how was caution going to help them when her marriage was only hours away?

Her mind picked at the idea gingerly. ‘Yasmin—’

‘It is said he loved his wife so deeply that when she died he made a vow never to love again.’ Yasmin spoke in an awed whisper. ‘Have you ever heard anything so romantic?’

Layla’s courage evaporated along with the idea. She couldn’t do it. ‘It’s not romantic. It’s tragic. It was a terrible thing.’

‘But to be loved that much by a man as strong and honourable as him—I want that one day.’

Yasmin stared into the distance and Layla gave her a shake.

‘Stop dreaming.’ The whole thing was alien to her. The only love she knew was her love for her sister. She’d never felt anything remotely romantic when she’d looked at a man. And nothing she’d read on the subject had led her to believe that would change in the future. She was far too practical a person, and it was the practical side that drove her now. ‘If they take you to America I’ll never see you again. I’m not going to let that happen.’

‘How can you stop it? Hassan is at his most dangerous when he’s afraid and he’s terrified of Raz Al Zahki. He won’t even allow his name to be spoken in the city. But everyone does speak it, of course. Especially the women. I’ve been listening.’

‘You’ve been to the souk again? Do you have no sense of danger?’

Yasmin ignored her and her voice was an awed whisper. ‘They say his heart is frozen into ice and only the right woman can melt it. It’s a bit like the legend of the Sword in the Stone you read me when I was little.’

‘Oh, Yasmin, grow up! A man’s heart cannot be frozen into ice unless he finds himself lost in Antarctica with insufficient equipment. A heart is responsible for pumping blood around the body. It cannot be “frozen” or “broken”.’ Exasperated, Layla wondered how two sisters could be so different. Their experience was the same, except that Layla had protected Yasmin from the worst of her father’s actions. ‘This isn’t legend, this is real. Stop romanticising everything.’

‘They think he will come.’ This time there was an undertone of excitement in her sister’s voice. ‘He has been playing a waiting game while our father and Hassan plotted. With our father dead, he has to have a plan for taking up his rightful place as Sheikh. Hassan is terrified. The council is terrified. They have extra guards on the doors at night. They’ve sent patrols into the desert, although goodness knows why because everyone knows Raz Al Zahki knows the desert better than anyone. No one is sleeping because they’re afraid he might enter the Citadel at night and murder them in their beds. Frankly, I wish he’d just get on with it. If I bumped into him in the dark I’d show him the way.’

Layla covered her sister’s lips with her fingers. ‘You need to be careful what you say.’

‘Why? What else can they do to me? They’re splitting us up! I’m going to America and you’re going to marry Hassan. How much worse can it get?’

‘I’m not marrying Hassan.’ Layla made her decision. ‘I’m not going to let that happen.’

‘How can you stop it? Hassan can only be the next ruler if he marries you. That’s a pretty powerful motivation.’

‘Then he mustn’t marry me.’

Yasmin looked at her with pity. ‘He is going to make you.’

‘If he can’t find me, he can’t make me.’ Not daring to give too much thought to what she was about to do, Layla sprinted to her father’s dressing room and removed a couple of robes. She thrust one at her sister. ‘Put this on. Cover your hair and as much of your face as you can. Wait here for me behind the curtain until I come and fetch you. I need to get something from the library before we leave.’

‘The library? How can you think of books right now?’

‘Because a book can be many things—a friend, an escape, a teacher—’ Layla broke off and hoped her sister didn’t notice her high colour. ‘Never mind. The important thing is that we’re going away from here. It will be like the game of Hide we played as children.’ She caught her sister’s horrified glance and wished she hadn’t used that reference. Both of them knew what that game had really meant. She changed the subject quickly. ‘Those horses you love so much—can you actually ride one if you have to?’

‘Of course!’

Her sister’s hesitation was so brief Layla told herself she’d imagined it.

‘And I’ve read extensively on the theory of riding and the history of the Arabian horse, so between us I’m sure we’ll be fine.’ She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. ‘We’ll take the back route to the stables and ride into the desert from there.’

‘The desert? Why are we riding into the desert?’

Layla felt her mouth move even though her brain was telling her this was a terrible idea. ‘We’re going to find Raz Al Zahki.’

* * *

The wind blew across the desert, bringing with it whispers of the Sheikh’s death.

Raz Al Zahki stood at the edge of the camp and stared into the darkness of the night. ‘Is it truth or rumour?’

‘Truth.’ Salem stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder. ‘It’s been confirmed by more than one source.’

‘Then it is time.’ Raz had learned long before to keep his feelings buried, and he kept them buried now, but he felt the familiar ache of tension across his shoulders. ‘We leave for the city tonight.’

Abdul, his advisor and long-time friend stepped forward. ‘There is something else, Your Highness. As you predicted, Hassan plans to marry the eldest princess in a matter of hours. Preparations for the wedding are already underway.’

‘Before her father’s body is even cold?’ Raz gave a cynical laugh. ‘Her grief clearly overwhelms her.’

‘Hassan must be at least forty years older than her,’ Salem murmured. ‘One wonders what she gains from the match.’

‘There is no mystery there. She continues to live in a palace and enjoy benefits that should never have been hers to begin with.’ Raz stared at the horizon. ‘She is the daughter of the most ruthless man who ever ruled Tazkhan. Don’t waste your sympathy.’

‘If Hassan marries the girl it will be harder for you to challenge the succession legally.’

‘Which is why I intend to make sure the wedding does not take place.’

Abdul shot him a startled look. ‘So you intend to go ahead with your plan? Even though what you’re suggesting is—’

‘The only option available.’ Raz cut him off, hearing the hardness in his own tone. It was the same hardness that ran right through him. Once, he’d been capable of warmth, but that part of him had died along with the woman he’d loved. ‘We have considered every other option, and—’ He broke off as he heard a commotion in the darkness and then lifted a hand as his bodyguards emerged silently to flank him.

They were men who had followed him for fifteen years, since the brutal slaying of his father. Men who would die for him.

Abdul thrust himself in front of Raz and that gesture touched him more than any other, because his trusted advisor was neither physically fit nor skilled with weapons.

Gently, but firmly, he moved him to one side, but Abdul protested.

‘Go. Go! It could be the attempt on your life we have been expecting.’

Aware that Salem had his hand on his weapon, Raz fixed his gaze on the slim figure of a boy whose arms were gripped by two of his men. ‘If my death were the objective then surely they would give the responsibility to someone I could not so easily crush.’

‘We found him wandering in the desert along the border with Zubran. He appears to be alone. He says he has a message for Raz Al Zahki.’

Knowing that his men were protecting his identity, Raz signalled for them to bring their captive forward.

His hands were tied and as they released him the boy stumbled and fell to his knees. Raz stared down at him, noticing absently that his robes swamped his thin body.

It was Salem who spoke. Salem, his brother, who rarely left his side. ‘What message do you have for Raz Al Zahki, boy?’

‘I have to speak to him in person.’ The words were mumbled and barely audible. ‘And I have to be alone when I do it. What I have to say is just for him and no other.’

The guard closest to him gave a grunt of disgust. ‘Someone like you wouldn’t get close enough to Raz Al Zahki to wave from a distance, let alone be alone with him, and you should be grateful for that. He’d eat you alive.’

‘I don’t care what he does to me as long as he hears what I have to say. Take me to him. Please.’

The boy kept his head bowed and something in the set of those narrow shoulders drew Raz’s attention.

Ignoring Salem’s attempts to hold him back, he stepped forward. ‘So you’re not afraid?’

There was a brief pause. The wind blew across the desert, whipping up sand and catching the edges of the boy’s robe. He clutched it desperately.

‘Yes, I am afraid. But not of Raz Al Zahki.’

‘Then you need to be educated.’ The guard dragged his captive to his feet and the boy gasped in pain. ‘We’ll keep him here tonight and question him again in the morning.’

‘No!’ The boy struggled frantically in the man’s grip. ‘By morning it will be too late. I have to speak to him now. Please. The future of Tazkhan depends on it.’

Raz stared at the boy, half shrouded by robes that were too big for him. ‘Take him to my tent.’

Salem, Abdul and the guards looked at him in disbelief.

‘Do it,’ Raz said softly, but still the guards hesitated.

‘We’ll strip-search him first—’

‘Take him to my tent and then leave us.’

Abdul touched his arm, his voice low. ‘I have never before questioned your decisions, Your Highness, but this time I beg you, at least keep the guards with you.’

‘You think I can’t defend myself from someone half my height and weight?’

‘I think Hassan will try anything at this late stage in the game. He is frightened and desperate and a desperate man should never be underestimated. I think it could be a trap.’

‘I agree.’ Salem’s voice was hard. ‘I’ll come with you.’

Raz put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘Your love and loyalty means more to me than you can possibly know, but you must trust me.’

‘If anything happened to you—’

Raz felt the weight of it settle onto his shoulders. He, better than anyone, knew that there were some promises that shouldn’t be made. ‘Make sure I’m not disturbed.’ He dismissed his bodyguards with a single movement of his hand and strode into his tent.

He closed the flap, muffling the sound of the wind and protecting them from prying eyes.

The boy was on his knees in the furthest corner of the tent, his hands still tied.

Raz studied him for a moment and then strolled over to him and cut the rope with a swift movement of his knife. ‘Stand up.’

The boy hesitated and then stood in a graceful movement, only to fall again a moment later.

‘I don’t think I can stand—’ The words were uttered through clenched teeth. ‘My legs are stiff from riding and I injured my ankle when I fell.’

Raz looked down at the slender body bowed at his feet. ‘Tell me why you’re here.’

‘I’ll talk to Raz Al Zahki himself, and no one else.’

‘Then speak,’ Raz commanded softly, and the boy lifted his head in shock.

Under the concealing robes, dark eyes widened. ‘You’re him?’

‘I’m the one asking the questions.’ Raz sheathed his knife. ‘And the first thing I want to know is what a woman is doing creeping around my camp in the middle of the night. What are you doing walking into the lion’s den unprotected, Princess?’

* * *

Layla was in agony. Physical agony from her fall from the horse, and emotional agony from the knowledge that her sister was missing and alone in the vast emptiness of the baking desert and it was all her fault.

She was the one who had suggested this stupid, crazy plan. She, who never did anything stupid or crazy. She, who studied all available evidence before she made a decision, had acted on impulse. Which just proved that a cautious nature wasn’t to be mocked.

It would have been better had Hassan sent Yasmin to America. At least then Layla would have known she was alive.

As it was, Yasmin was lost, and she was now a captive in the desert camp of Raz Al Zahki, a man who had more reason to hate her than any other.

A man who knew who she was.

Staring into those cold black eyes, she suddenly knew the meaning of the phrase ‘between a rock and a hard place.’ If her cousin was the hard place then this man was the rock. He stood legs spread, handsome face unsmiling as he stared at her. His body had the muscular structure of a warrior’s, his shoulders broad and hard. She knew he had suffered terribly and yet there was no sign of suffering in face. This man wasn’t broken, he was whole and strong—at least on the outside. There was nothing soft about him. Nothing vulnerable. Even before he’d revealed his identity she’d sensed his place at the head of the pack. He had the confidence and authority of a man born to lead others, and even though Layla had expected nothing less still he intimidated her.

‘You knew who I was the whole time?’

‘Within five seconds. You have a memorable face, Princess. And very distinctive eyes.’

It was the first personal comment anyone had ever made to her and it took her by surprise.

She’d studied him on paper and committed all the facts to memory, from his year and place of birth to his impressive military career and his degree in engineering. She knew he was a skilled rider and an authority on the Arabian horse. She knew all that, but was only just realising that facts could only tell you so much about a man.

They couldn’t tell you that his eyes were darker than the desert at night or that the power he commanded on paper was surpassed a thousand times by the power he commanded in person. They couldn’t tell you that those eyes were capable of seeing right through a person to the very centre of their being. They couldn’t tell you that meeting those eyes would make your heart thunder like the hooves of a hundred wild horses pounding across the desert plain.

She was fast realising that a list of dates and qualifications didn’t convey strength or charisma.

Unsettled that the facts had given her such an incomplete picture, Layla remembered what her sister had said about the rumours. That Raz Al Zahki was a man who knew women. Before he’d fallen in love he’d been wild, and afterwards he’d locked it all away. Every emotion. Every feeling.

‘How do you know me?’

‘I make a point of knowing my enemy.’

‘I am not your enemy.’ And yet she could hardly blame him for thinking that, could she? His family had suffered terribly at the hands of hers. They stood on opposite sides of an enormous rift that had divided their families for generations.

‘Which brings me to my second question—where is Hassan? Or is he so lacking in courage he sends a woman with his messages?’

Layla shivered, but whether it was his tone or his words that affected her she didn’t know.

‘I’m not here because of Hassan. I was with my sister, Yasmin, but I fell from the horse.’ She saw his beautiful mouth tighten. ‘I’m sorry—I—you have to help me find her. Please. She’s alone in the desert and she won’t have a clue how to survive.’ The thought filled her with despair but still he showed no emotion. No sympathy. Nothing.

‘So where is Hassan?’

‘He could be back at the palace, or he could be out there looking for us. I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know? And yet this is the man you’re supposed to be marrying in a matter of hours.’

And if Hassan found Yasmin first—

His words slowly seeped into her numb brain. ‘You know about the wedding?’

‘I know everything.’

‘If you think I want to marry Hassan then clearly you don’t know everything.’ The tent was dimly lit, but there was enough light for her to see the flash of surprise in his eyes.

‘How did you leave, if not with his consent?’

‘We escaped. My sister loves horses. She took the fastest horse in the stables. Unfortunately she omitted to tell me she couldn’t control him.’ Layla rubbed her palm across her bruised back. ‘He proved too much for both of us.’

‘Both of you?’ A dark eyebrow lifted. ‘You rode one horse?’

‘Yes. We’re not that heavy and we didn’t want to be separated.’ Layla didn’t tell him that she’d never ridden before. This man was renowned for his horsemanship. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be impressed by the fact she knew everything about the breeding history of the Arabian horse, but nothing about the reality of riding one. ‘Something scared him and he reared up. I fell and he bolted with Yasmin on his back. She won’t be strong enough to stop him. She’s probably fallen, too.’ Panicking, she tried to stand up again, but her body protested so violently she sank back onto her knees just as two large dogs bounded into the tent.

Terror sucked the strength from her limbs. She was at eye level with the two beasts as they came to a standstill, teeth bared.

Raz said something to them and they whimpered and sank down to their bellies, huge eyes fixed on him in adoration.

‘Saluki?’ The fear was so sharp Layla could hardly breathe. ‘You own Saluki?’

‘You recognise the breed?’

‘Of course.’ Her mouth felt as if she’d swallowed all the sand in the desert. If dogs could smell fear, she was doomed. ‘The Saluki is one of the oldest breeds in existence. They have been found in the Pyramids of Egypt, mummified alongside the bodies of pharaohs.’ She didn’t reveal that her familiarity with the breed came from a darker, more personal experience. An experience she’d tried to block from her mind.

‘You said you were escaping. What was your destination?’

‘You. You were my destination.’ Reminding herself that the dogs were unlikely to attack without provocation or command, Layla kept utterly still, watching the animals. ‘We were trying to find you.’

‘On the night your father died? From the lack of tears it would seem you have inherited his lack of sentimentality.’

Was that what he thought?

Shocked, Layla almost corrected him, but she knew this wasn’t the right time. Misunderstandings could be corrected later. Or maybe they didn’t even matter. ‘It was my father’s dying wish that I marry Hassan.’

The darkening of his eyes was barely perceptible. ‘So why come looking for me?’

She’d practised a hundred alternative ways to say what she wanted to say but every word vanished under that icy scrutiny. ‘You are the rightful ruler, but if he marries me that weakens your claim and strengthens his.’

There was a sudden stillness about him that suggested she had his full attention. ‘That still doesn’t tell me why you’re here.’

Only now did Layla realise just how much she’d been hoping he’d be the one to say it. He was praised for his intelligence, wasn’t he? Couldn’t he see for himself why she was here? Couldn’t he see the one solution that would solve this once and for all?

But perhaps he could see and chose not to look.

‘I don’t blame you for hating us.’ The words tumbling out of her mouth weren’t the ones she’d rehearsed but when she looked at him all she could think of was the loss he’d suffered. ‘If I could change who I am then I would, but I’m asking you to put that aside and do what needs to be done.’

‘And what,’ he prompted softly, ‘do you believe needs to be done, Princess?’

No man had ever asked her opinion. Not once since the day she took her first step to the day she and her sister had slid out of the window of their father’s bedroom. Not once had anyone treated her as anything but a weapon in the considerable armory of the house of Al Habib.

But this man had asked her.

This man was listening to her.

He was regal, she thought, proud and sure of himself. In that moment she caught a glimpse of why so many trusted him and protected him. He was as different from Hassan as the ocean from the desert.

‘You know what needs to be done. You have to take your rightful place. You have to end this before Hassan finishes what my father started. Before he ruins our country in the selfish pursuit of power...’ She paused, wondering whether to mention Yasmin again but deciding this man would be motivated more by his duty to his people than sympathy for her sister. ‘And to do that you have to marry me. Now. Quickly. Before Hassan finds me and takes me back.’

CHAPTER TWO

HE’D BEEN PLANNING to do whatever was necessary to prevent her wedding to Hassan taking place. Yet he had not considered the option of marrying her himself, nor had any of those surrounding him dared to suggest it despite the fact it was the obvious solution.

The tactician in him could see the benefit. The man in him recoiled.

He’d thought there was no price he wouldn’t pay to fulfil his duty.

He’d been wrong.

Tension rippled down his spine. He felt as if he were being strangled.

‘No.’ He’d trained himself to shut down emotion but that skill suddenly failed him and his refusal came from somewhere deep inside him. Some dark part of himself he no longer accessed. ‘I had a wife. I don’t need or want another.’ His voice sounded strange. Thickened by a hundred layers of personal agony. One of the dogs growled, a threatening sound that came from low in the animal’s throat. He saw her gaze flicker to the dog and sensed her fear although he didn’t understand it.

‘I know about your wife.’ Her brief hesitation suggested she was about to say something else on that topic, but then she gave a little shake of her head. ‘Obviously I’m not suggesting myself as a replacement. This would be purely a political arrangement, advantageous to both sides.’

Raz tried to detach his mind from the pain he carried around inside himself. ‘Political?’

‘Hassan’s position is precarious. Marriage to me is his way of securing his place as my father’s successor. He has no support in Tazkhan and has never taken the trouble to earn it. For him, ruling is about what he can gain rather than what he can give and that approach makes him neither popular nor secure.’

Raz hid his surprise. He’d listened to men talk for hours on the problems facing Tazkhan and yet this girl had summarised the situation in four blunt sentences, devoid of emotion, exaggeration or drama.

‘Perhaps he didn’t expect your father to die so soon.’

Again there was hesitation, and it was obvious she was being selective about what she told him. ‘Hassan knows that the only way he will be accepted is to marry me, and he is willing to do anything to make that happen. Do not underestimate him.’

Her words were like the scrape of a knife over an open wound because he’d done exactly that. In his righteous arrogance he’d thought himself untouchable and as a result he’d lost someone he’d loved deeply.

‘You seem very familiar with the workings of his mind.’

‘I’ve studied him. I think there is a strong chance he is clinically disturbed. He demonstrates some of the elements of a sociopath, shows no remorse or guilt for any of his actions.’

Her words were serious, those beautiful, almond-shaped eyes steady on his.

‘He has no care for the feelings or opinions of others and an overinflated idea of his own importance. He is a dangerous man. But you already know that.’

‘Yes.’ He did know. What surprised him was that she knew.

Raz realised he’d made assumptions about her based purely on her bloodline. He also knew she was right that the marriage had to be prevented. He didn’t reveal that he’d had his own plans for making sure it didn’t happen.

There was no doubt her plan was better. Permanent.

And safer for all concerned.

Except for him.

For him, it meant breaking a vow.

His tension levels soaring into the stratosphere, Raz paced the length of the tent.

Whichever way he looked at it, it felt like a betrayal. It pulled him down and tore at him. ‘I cannot do it.’

‘Because I am the daughter of your enemy?’ She spoke in the same calm voice. ‘Aristotle said “a common danger unites the bitterest of enemies”. We have a common danger. I am proposing we unite. It is the right thing to do and you know it.’

Raz turned with a snarl that drew the dogs to their feet. ‘Never assume to guess what I am thinking, Princess.’

Her head was slightly bowed but he could see her eyes were fixed in terror on the two animals now crouched low on the floor of the tent.

‘I beg your pardon.’ She held herself absolutely still, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘It seems a logical solution to me. I assumed it would seem so to you.’

It did. The fact that his emotions defied logic frustrated him. ‘Do you apply logic to everything?’

‘I didn’t apply logic when I chose to steal a horse and point him towards the desert, so the answer has to be no, not to everything. But to most things. I find generally the outcome is better if the action is given the appropriate consideration.’

He’d never met anyone as serious as her.

He wanted to ask if she’d ever laughed, danced or had fun, and then wondered why he was even interested.

‘You are suggesting something I cannot contemplate.’

‘And yet you know it is the right thing for Tazkhan. So your reluctance must be because you once had a wife you loved so very much.’

Raz felt the blood drain from his face. The tips of his fingers were suddenly cold. Anger sharpened his brain and tongue. ‘Logic, if not an instinct for self-preservation, should be warning you that you are now treading on ground that is likely to give way beneath your feet.’

‘I did not bring up that topic to cause you pain, but to try and understand why you would say no to something that is so obviously right.’ Her fingers shook as she smoothed the robe she was wearing. ‘You loved her and exchanged promises, and now you never want to marry again. I understand that.’

‘You understand nothing.’ He heard the growl in his own voice. ‘You have condensed a thousand indescribable emotions into one short sentence.’ The force of his anger shook him, and it clearly shook her too because her eyes flickered to the entrance of the tent, gauging the distance. Raz felt a rush of shame because whatever his sins, and God knew there had been many, frightening women wasn’t one of them.

She spoke before he did. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her tone was a soothing balm against the raw edges of his pain. ‘And you’re right, of course. I don’t understand what you’re feeling because I’ve never loved anyone that way. But I understand that what you lost is somehow linked with your decision never to marry again. And I just want to make clear that what I’m suggesting has nothing to do with what you had before. Ours would be a marriage of political necessity, not of love. Not a betrayal of her memory, but a business arrangement. If you marry me, you take your rightful place as ruler of Tazkhan. You would be unchallenged.’

Not a betrayal of her memory.

So maybe she did understand him better than he’d first thought.

‘You think I’m afraid of a challenge?’

‘No. But I know you love your people and want to give Tazkhan a peaceful and prosperous future.’ Suddenly she sounded very tired, very alone and very young.

Raz frowned as he tried to remember her age. Twenty-three? Younger?

‘And what do you gain from this arrangement, Princess? How do you benefit from entering into a marriage where feelings play no part?’ In the flickering candlelight he could see a hint of smooth cheek beneath the voluminous robes, but very little else except those eyes. And her eyes were mesmerising—as dark as sloes and framed by long, thick lashes that shadowed that smooth skin like the setting sun. Suddenly he wanted to see more of her. He wanted to reach out and rip off the robes that concealed her and see what lay beneath the folds of fabric. He’d heard whispers about the beauty of the elder princess and ignored them all because her physical attributes had been of no interest to him.

Disturbed by the sudden flare of his own curiosity, he stepped back. ‘How do you benefit from this “business arrangement”?’

‘If I am married to you, then I cannot be married to Hassan.’

‘So I am the lesser of two evils?’ Could that truly be the reason? Raz struggled to decipher her intentions. She seemed innocent and yet she came from evil. She appeared to speak the truth but those who surrounded her spoke only lies. Feeling the weight of responsibility, he suppressed his instinct to trust her. ‘You are expecting me to believe that you crept out of the Citadel tonight, stole a horse and rode aimlessly into the desert in the hope of tripping over me so that you could propose marriage?’

‘I had more to lose by staying than leaving. And it is well known that there are plenty of people who know your whereabouts, Your Highness. I trusted that someone would bring me to you.’

She’d called him ‘Your Highness’. It was an acknowledgement he wouldn’t have expected from her, given that they were on opposite sides.

Raz narrowed his eyes. ‘Your loyalties are easily shifted.’

‘My loyalties are to Tazkhan, but I understand that you are afraid to trust me. I do have other reasons—more personal ones.’

‘What other reasons?’

‘If he finds her, Hassan intends to send my sister to America.’ Desperation shook that steady voice. ‘He wants her out of the way.’

‘Why would he want her out of the way?’

‘Because we are stronger together than we are apart and he wants to weaken us. Because my sister has an uncomfortable habit of speaking her mind and she becomes harder to control with each passing day. She is dreamy, passionate, and challenges everything. And Hassan hates to be challenged.’

‘And you don’t challenge him?’

‘I see no point in poking an angry dragon with a stick.’

‘And where is your sister now?’

‘I don’t know.’ There was fear and anxiety under the veneer of calm. ‘The horse galloped off. I’m scared she might have fallen and been injured. I’m scared Hassan’s men will find her before you do.’

Raz lifted an eyebrow. ‘That is almost inevitable since I’m not looking for her.’

‘But will you look for her? Once I’m your bride, will you also offer your protection to my sister?’

So that was why she was here, he thought.

She’d risked everything for love. Not romantic love, perhaps, but love all the same.

‘So to keep your sister with you, and protect Tazkhan, you would marry a stranger. That is the least romantic proposition I have ever heard.’

‘Possibly. But we’ve already established this is not about romance. You wouldn’t want that and neither would I.’

‘Why wouldn’t you?’

‘I am not a romantic person, Your Highness.’

That matter-of-fact statement might have been unremarkable had it come from someone several decades older than she was. Her eyes were dark, luminous pools of pain and he wondered how those eyes would look if she smiled.

‘You don’t believe there can be love between a man and a woman?’

‘Yes, I do believe there can be. Just not for me. I’m not like that. I don’t have those feelings. I’m a very practical person,’ she said with disarming honesty. ‘As you don’t want love either, I assume that won’t be an obstacle for you.’ She brushed it aside as easily as the desert winds shifted sand.

She had no idea, he thought. No idea that love was the most powerful force known to man. No idea how much havoc could be wrought by that emotion.

But he knew.

He’d been caught in the wake of devastation and still ached from his injuries.

‘You say that this is a political arrangement to secure the future of Tazkhan, but for a marriage to be legal and binding in our country it requires more than simply the exchange of vows and rings.’

Her spine was rigid and her eyes were fixed on the ground in front of him. ‘I am aware of that. It’s important that Hassan isn’t able to challenge our union so I’ve already familiarised myself with Tazkhan marriage laws.’

Raz found himself intrigued and exasperated in equal measures. ‘So you understand what marriage entails?’

‘You’re referring to the physical side and, yes, I understand that. I know it has to be a full and proper marriage. I accept that. It won’t be a problem.’ She’d dipped her head so that the folds of her robe almost obscured her features. ‘From what I’ve read, it shouldn’t be a problem for you, either. A man doesn’t need love in order to be able to perform the sexual act.’

‘Perform?’ Raz was torn between amusement and disbelief as he stared down at her. Under the protective folds of the robe she was shy, fragile and clueless. ‘What exactly have you been reading? Whatever it is, it sounds an unusual choice for a girl like you.’

‘I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.’

Not yet. The thought flew into his head and he stared at her for a long moment.

‘You are contemplating a lifetime with a man who cannot love you.’

‘But you will respect me.’ Lifting her head, she looked him directly in the eyes. ‘You will respect me for making the decision to do the right thing for Tazkhan. And that is all I need.’

Raz stared at her for a long moment.

Respect.

Was that really all she needed?

It sounded like very little, and yet right now he wasn’t sure he could deliver even that.

Feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like a thousand tons of sand, he turned and strode to the doorway of the tent. ‘I need air.’

* * *

I need air.

Layla sagged. She needed air, too. She couldn’t breathe. She was suffocating under the heavy fabric of the robes and the stifling heat in the tent and she was terrified she’d blown everything by mentioning his wife. And as for the rest of it—she’d never thought talking about sex could feel so uncomfortable. It was a natural act, performed by animals—of which man was one—since the dawn of time. Why a discussion on the topic should leave her hot and shaky she had no idea.

It was him.

There was something about him—a raw physicality that made her understand for the first time why women talked about him in dreamy tones.

Confused, exhausted and desperately worried about Yasmin, all Layla wanted was to strip off the robes she’d taken from her father’s rooms and lie down.

She looked longingly at the low bed covered in richly coloured silks that dominated the far side of the tent.

His bed?

Just for a moment she had an image of him lying there, strong limbs entwined with the beauty who had been his wife, sharing their love. The image shocked her. Apart from images of the sculptures of Michelangelo she’d never seen a man naked, so she had no reason to be imagining one now.

Her body ached from head to foot and she wanted to stretch her limbs and examine her bruises, but she was too afraid to move with the dogs guarding her.

She watched them as she carefully tried to ease herself into a different position.

The bag she’d tied under the robes pressed uncomfortably against her hip and she pulled out the two books she’d taken from the library. One was her favourite—a book she’d read so many times she almost knew it by heart. The other—

‘What is that?’ His voice came from the doorway of the tent and Layla jumped and dropped both books onto the thick rug that carpeted the floor of the tent.

‘Books. Just books. I brought them from home.’

Before she could snatch them back he stooped and picked one up. And of course it was that one.

There was a tense silence while he scanned the title of the volume. Dark eyebrows rose in incredulity. ‘The Kama Sutra?’

‘If I’m proposing marriage then it’s important I have some knowledge of what is required. There is no skill that cannot be mastered with sufficient studying. I’m ignorant, and in my experience ignorance is never bliss.’

She could hear the blood throbbing in her ears. She felt her mouth dry as if she had swallowed all the sand in the desert and her heart pounded like the hooves of the Arabian stallion who had thrown her onto the sand with such disdain.

His prolonged silence was more humiliating than a refusal and she was grateful for the semi-darkness of the tent that gave her at least some protection from his scrutiny.

Her expectations of this encounter had been modest. She hadn’t exactly expected him to embrace the idea of marriage with enthusiasm, but she’d thought he’d say something. She certainly hadn’t expected him to walk out of the tent.

But perhaps the thought of marrying her sickened him. Perhaps people were wrong and Raz Al Zahki wouldn’t do anything that needed to be done for his country. Perhaps even he wouldn’t stoop so low as to marry the daughter of the man who had destroyed his family.

Perhaps he didn’t want a woman whose knowledge of the world had been gained from the contents of her father’s library.

‘You’re not going to need this.’ He handed the book back to her and her face burned like the desert in the midday heat

Tears formed a hot burning ball in the back of her throat and she almost choked on it.

He was refusing to marry her.

‘I understand. In that case I need to try and find my sister myself, before Hassan does. He is at his most dangerous when he is angry and he will be very angry.’ She struggled to her feet, but her legs cramped from kneeling for so long in one position and she lost her balance.

He caught her and scooped her into his arms.

Afraid of being dropped to the ground for the second time in one day, Layla gripped his shoulders and her fingers dug into an unyielding layer of solid muscle.

In her day-to-day life at the palace she didn’t encounter men like him. Her father had surrounded himself with men like Hassan: men whose flesh was softened from inactivity, sycophants whose purpose in life was to indulge to the fullest.

She doubted Raz Al Zahki had ever overindulged in his life. He was lean, athletic, super-fit—and dangerous in every way.

As she turned her head, her eyes met the fierce black of his. Curiosity turned to fascination. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, now terrifyingly close to hers. Hassan’s mouth was full and fleshy, but this man’s lips were firm and perfectly shaped. His face was beauty blended with hardness. Hardness in the savage slash of his cheekbones and the lean line of his darkened jaw. Hardness in the grim set of his mouth and the glint in his eyes. And that hardness gave him an edge of danger. Even she, with no expertise or interest in men, could see why women might describe him as spectacularly handsome.

Something tightened deep in her stomach. Heat washed across her skin and poured through her veins.

They stared at each other and then his mouth compressed. He strode across the tent and lowered her onto the silken cover draped over the large bed, standing over her, powerful and imposing in every way.

‘Where does it hurt? Explain your injuries.’

That curt command jolted her out of her dreamy state of contemplation.

Layla told herself there was no reason to feel intimidated. He couldn’t help his height. He couldn’t help his powerful build. And she could hardly blame him for not smiling in the circumstances.

He’d asked about her injuries.

All the talk of romance and emotions had stressed her beyond belief, so the practical nature of his question soothed her. She preferred the definable to the indefinable and her injuries were definitely definable.

‘I ache all over, but particularly my legs, my back and my arms. I suspect it’s a mixture of stiffness from unaccustomed muscle use and bruising from the fall. Based on the symptoms, I don’t believe anything is broken.’

His eyes gleamed with irony. ‘Presumably you have studied medical texts along with Aristotle and the Kama Sutra? Your reading matter is diverse, Princess.’

She didn’t tell him she hadn’t even started the Kama Sutra. ‘I read a lot.’

‘You read. Your sister talks.’ He studied her for several long and deeply unsettling minutes. ‘Take the robe off.’

‘What?’ Feeling like a tiny mouse in the sights of a predatory eagle, Layla stared at him. ‘Why?’

‘Because I want to assess the state of your injuries for myself.’

‘I don’t have any injuries,’ she said quickly. ‘Truly, it’s just muscular. Superficial. Nothing for you to worry about but I appreciate your concern.’ She’d been desperate to be out of the robes, but now she was equally desperate to keep them on. The thought of removing them in front of this man unsettled her.

With a sigh he sat down on the bed, his thigh brushing briefly against hers. ‘You say you want marriage and yet you’re afraid even to remove your robe in my presence? Are you proposing that once we’re married we go to bed fully clothed?’

‘No, of course not. That’s different.’

‘How is it different?’

He was testing her. He thought she couldn’t do it.

Desperation blew away modesty. If he refused to marry her she would never see Yasmin again.

‘I will be fine. I will take the responsibilities that come with the role very seriously.’

‘Responsibilities?’

‘Physical intimacy is one of the responsibilities of a wife. I understand that. I understand exactly what is involved.’

‘Are you sure?’ Those dark eyes swept her face with disturbing intensity. ‘How much of the Kama Sutra have you read, Princess?’

If she said she’d read the whole thing cover to cover would he marry her?

Layla opened her mouth and then closed it again, because she knew her skills at lying were on a par with her horse-riding abilities. ‘Not much.’ She hoped honesty wasn’t going to kill her future. ‘In fact just the title so far. But I’m a fast reader,’ she added quickly, afraid that her lack of knowledge might put him off. ‘And you have experience.’

For some reason just saying that made her body warm.

Because looking at his face made her feel hot and uncomfortable she stared instead at his hands, but for some reason that didn’t make her feel any better. She felt as if she’d had a shot of adrenaline straight into the heart.

‘You are reluctant to take off your robe,’ he said softly, ‘but once we’re married you are going to be naked when you share my bed.’

Layla felt her stomach curl. Everything inside her twisted and heated. She felt dizzy and strange.

Nerves, she thought. ‘Does this mean you’re agreeing to my suggestion?’

Without warning he lifted a powerful hand and pushed back the swath of fabric covering her head. His handsome face was taut and unsmiling, as if he were weighing up a decision of enormous importance.

Layla tried not to flinch even though the gentle brush of those strong fingers against her cheeks made everything inside her clench. She told herself he had every right to look at the woman he might marry.

Was he looking to see if she were as beautiful as his wife? Or was he deciding if he could look upon her every day and not see the face of her father and Hassan and think of the destruction they’d caused in his life.

He continued to look, his gaze disturbingly intense as his fingers trailed slowly over her cheek.

She knew her face was flushed. She could feel the heat and knew he would be able to feel it, too, with those fingers that seemed in no hurry to cease their exploration of her skin.

Her heart started to pound.

The seconds passed and a minute became two minutes and longer.

His forefinger traced the line of her jaw.

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

Layla was rigid with discomfort. She had no idea of the correct etiquette in this situation. Was she supposed to do something? Say something? Was it some sort of test?

She remembered Yasmin telling her that his wife had been stunningly beautiful.

Was this all about comparison?

When he spoke, there was something in his tone she couldn’t identify. ‘You are brave.’

Torn between relief that there was at least one thing about her he liked and disappointment that such close examination hadn’t uncovered anything else to commend her, Layla felt obliged to tell the truth. ‘I’m not very brave. I ran away from the palace.’

‘And you ran to me and offered me everything, even though deep down the thought of it frightens you.’

‘I’m not frightened.’

‘So far I believe you have been honest with me. I advise you not to change that.’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t think you’ll hurt me.’

His eyes darkened. ‘I will inevitably hurt you—as you would know if you’d read the book.’

Was he talking physically? Out of her depth in a conversation that felt like a swim in boiling oil, Layla had never felt more mortified in her life. ‘If there is pain then I’ll bear it.’

‘You seem determined to pursue this course, but what you are proposing will tie us together for a lifetime, so I urge you to think carefully and be sure this is what you want.’

‘That’s why I came to you and suggested it.’ Surely the facts spoke for themselves? Why did he keep asking her? ‘The alternative is being tied to Hassan for a lifetime and you must see that lacks appeal for so many reasons.’

There was a glimmer of something in his eyes. It might have been admiration or it might have been pity or even humour.

‘You have strength and honesty and I respect those traits. If respect is truly all you need from a relationship then I can promise you that. It will be done.’ He rose to his feet, sure and confident and very much the one in control. ‘I will send Salem to find your sister and instruct him to bring her here. I agree that there is no time to lose, so you and I will be married within the hour. I will send someone to help you prepare. Oh, and princess...’ He paused by the entrance to the tent, his eyes a wicked shade of black. ‘You have no need of that book. When the time comes I will teach you what you need to know.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I AM TO search for a princess who talks too much? What sort of a description is that? Every woman I know talks too much.’ Salem sat relaxed on his horse, a look of incredulity on his handsome face as he looked at his brother. ‘If the stallion she stole is the one we think it is, he was bred for speed and endurance. He could have carried her for miles. She could be anywhere. Or lying dead somewhere in the desert.’

‘The fact that she talks too much should make her all the easier to find and we both know that with your abilities you can track anyone.’ Raz rode alongside him, controlling a horse who snorted and pawed at the sand, yearning for speed. ‘Be careful. Hassan will be looking for her and the horse. And also for you.’

‘And for you. You should not be asking me to leave you at this time.’

‘I’m not asking you. I’m giving you an order.’

‘Is it true that you are going to marry the Princess tonight?’

Salem’s voice was soft and Raz kept his hand steady as he soothed the horse.

‘It is the right thing to do. The only thing.’

‘It may be the right thing for Tazkhan, but is it right for you?’

Raz ignored the question. ‘You will do everything in your power to find the younger sister.’

‘You vowed never to marry again.’

No one but his brother would have dared make such a personal remark and the words were like the sharp flick of a whip.

‘There is more than one type of marriage. This will be a marriage of the head, not of the heart.’

‘And the Princess?’ There was a creak of leather as Salem shifted his position in the saddle. ‘She’s young. Is that the life she wants?’

‘She claims that it is.’

‘Does she know about—?’

‘No.’ Raz interrupted him before he could finish the sentence. ‘But she understands exactly what I am able to offer her.’

‘And you trust her? You can live with her, knowing who she is?’

‘I will learn to live with her.’ He blocked thoughts of her heritage and instead thought of her sitting huddled on his bed, gripping the oversized robe in clenched hands. He thought of the book she’d chosen to bring from the library to equip her for her new role. Thought of the courage it must have taken to come to him. ‘She has very little life experience.’

‘Whereas you have decades too much. You’re not an easy man to know, Raz—are you being fair to her?’

‘I will endeavour to be as fair as possible.’ Frowning, Raz released his hold on the reins and urged the stallion forward. ‘You’re wasting time. The key to my bride’s happiness will be finding her sister safe and well. Make that happen.’

Salem rode away from him. ‘Just watch your back, brother.’

* * *

‘His Highness instructed us to bring you clothes.’ The girl dropped a dress on the bed. Resentment and animosity throbbed from her and it was obvious she wished she had not been the one chosen for the task.

‘Thank you.’ Having washed away the dust from her fall in the water that had been hastily provided, Layla stared at the exquisite fall of silk, caught at the waist with a silver belt. ‘I didn’t expect a dress.’ Especially not a dress like this one. A romantic dress. Where had he found it?

She remembered his comment about romance and felt a flash of panic that Raz Al Zahki would think she was secretly nurturing dreams about their relationship, and then remembered that he was the last person to encourage such a delusion.

He didn’t want this any more than she did.

‘You cannot marry His Highness in dusty robes that swamp you. You have to look your best on your wedding day.’ There was censorship in her tone and something else. Jealousy?

Feeling desperately alone, Layla missed her sister more than ever. She suppressed the urge to point out there was no reason for anyone to feel jealous. That this marriage was driven by loyalty to his country and no other emotion.

Surely it was obvious?

‘The Sheikh and I met for the first time a few hours ago.’

‘But you have been chosen as the one to warm his bed and his heart.’ The girl removed the bowl of water that she’d placed by Layla’s feet. ‘You carry a big responsibility.’

The words did nothing to ease the churning in her stomach. Layla knew she’d warm the bed simply by lying in it, but she also knew that wasn’t what the girl meant. She did not feel it appropriate to point out the absurdity of being chosen to warm his heart when his heart was in his thoracic cavity and more than capable of maintaining its own temperature. No, what the girl was really pointing out was that she was filling the gap left by his wife. Suddenly Layla realised that it was all very well to speak blithely of a different sort of marriage but in the end this union was about a man and a woman spending their lives together, and she had no idea if he would even be able to treat her with civility, given everything that had happened.

But what difference did it make? Her alternative was marriage to Hassan and nothing could be worse.

Rationalising that, Layla only half listened as the girl braided her hair and continued to praise Raz in terms close to hero-worship. She was aware of the worsening throb in her head and the steady gnawing of anxiety about her sister. And beneath all that there was anxiety about herself. About what lay ahead. About him.

It was all very well to state bravely that this was what she wanted. Quite another thing to contemplate the reality.

I will inevitably hurt you—as you would know if you’d read the book.

‘The book’ was safely tucked away in her bag, along with the other book she’d smuggled out of the Citadel. Raz had told her she didn’t need to read it but she couldn’t think of anything worse than relying entirely on someone else for information.

She wished she could have time alone to study it before the wedding, but there seemed to be no chance of that and she couldn’t argue with his decision to proceed as quickly as possible.

Hassan would be out looking for her. And for Yasmin.

She winced as the girl’s fingers encountered a fresh bruise.

‘His Highness told me you fell from your horse. It’s a shame that you can’t ride because he is a magnificent horseman.’

The implication being that he couldn’t have picked a worse match in her.

Her confidence plummeting as each of Raz’s qualities was revealed, Layla sank into gloom. She was starting to wonder if this might not have been the worst idea of her life.

And then she heard noise from outside the tent and sat up, clutching the towel, terrified that Hassan might have found them. ‘Who is that?’

‘The wedding guests. A Bedouin wedding gives everyone a chance to dress up and celebrate. Word has spread that His Royal Highness Raz Al Zahki is to marry Her Royal Highness Princess Layla of Tazkhan.’ There was a brittle note to her tone. ‘Even though it is short notice, he wants as many of the local people here as possible. It’s important that it is witnessed.’

He wanted rumour spread. He wanted Hassan to hear and be afraid.

‘Even when I’m married to Raz Al Zahki, Hassan is unlikely to step aside.’

‘His Highness will know what to do.’

Layla was surprised by how much faith people seemed to have in him. She was used to living in an atmosphere of negativity and resentment, not of trust.

Nothing about this new life seemed familiar, and certainly not the dress.

She had never worn anything so beautiful. Her hair, now shiny and clean, was concealed by a veil and her eyes had been accentuated by kohl. The shiny gloss the girl applied to her mouth felt sticky and strange and Layla felt utterly unlike herself.

Any hopes she’d had of being able to sneak a look at the Kama Sutra died as she was immediately led outside. It seemed that she and Raz Al Zahki agreed on at least one thing, and that was that the marriage should take place as fast as possible.

And clearly he had also decided that there should be as many witnesses as possible, because a surprising number of people had poured into the desert camp in the time it had taken her to wash and change.

The wedding itself was a blur, conducted with an urgency driven not by feelings of sentimentality but by the knowledge that any delay could give Hassan an advantage.

Layla kept her gaze focused ahead of her, aware of what felt like a thousand pairs of eyes fixed on her—some curious, others with unconcealed hostility.

And all the time she was aware of Raz next to her, tall and powerful, doing his duty for the good of his people, his own personal wishes set aside.

The event held no emotional meaning for either of them, but they stood side by side, spoke the words required of them, and Layla felt a rush of relief that came from the knowledge that no matter what happened now Hassan couldn’t make her his wife.

As Raz turned towards her relief was washed away by reality.

She was now living in the enemy camp with a man who had no reason to feel anything but animosity and contempt for her.

The fact that this was a marriage of expediency didn’t seem to bother the guests, who danced and celebrated until Layla was almost dropping with exhaustion.

And he noticed, of course, because it seemed he noticed everything—from the slightest change in the wind’s direction to a child who had wandered off unattended.

‘Come.’

Just a single word, but delivered with such authority that it didn’t occur to her to contradict him. Or maybe it was that she was too preoccupied with what lay ahead.

She hoped the physical side of their relationship didn’t require too much input from her because she was fairly sure she was going to fall asleep the moment she lay flat.

They were halfway towards the tent when there was a sound in the distance. She heard horses and shouts and Raz tightened his hand over hers and hauled her close to his side. Moments later two men she recognised from her arrival at the camp galloped up with the Sheikh’s stallion—that same huge black beast that had become as much of a legend as its master.

Layla strained her ears to catch what they were saying and then gasped as firm hands grasped her and swung her onto the back of the animal. Less than thrilled at being back on a horse so soon after her last experience, she clutched at the stallion’s mane feeling unbalanced and horribly unsafe.

Moments later Raz vaulted on behind her and locked his arm around her waist.

‘I’m sorry to do this to you when you’re still bruised after your last encounter with a horse, but Hassan has discovered your absence.’ His mouth was right by her ear. ‘Right now he is doing everything in his power to find you. It isn’t safe to stay. We must move on.’

‘But now that we’re married—’

‘That does not make it safe. No matter what circumstances led to our marriage, you are mine now and I will protect you. You have my word on that.’

Layla heard the steel in his voice and wondered if he were thinking of his wife.

Did he blame himself for not preventing the accident that had killed her?

Had she given him yet more responsibility to add to the load he already carried?

‘Could we use a different mode of transport? I’ll slow you down. I can’t ride.’

‘I am the one doing the riding. You are merely the passenger.’

‘I’ll fall off.’ She glanced down and then wished she hadn’t. It was a long way to the ground. The stallion was enormous and she felt the power of him beneath her, felt the quivering suppressed energy, and remembered how the horse Yasmin had taken from her father’s stables had shot forward like an arrow from a bow, leaving her in an aching heap on the sand.

His arm tightened around her. ‘I will not let you fall.’

‘Can’t we use a helicopter or a Jeep or something?’

‘One of my men is flying the helicopter and another is taking a Jeep to provide a decoy. They will not expect us to be on horseback. It is the safest way.’

Thinking that he had a very different idea of the definition of ‘safe’, Layla gripped tightly with her legs and felt the warm flanks of the quivering horse pressing against her bare thighs. ‘I’m not dressed for this.’

Even as she said the words a cloak was wrapped around her and he said something to someone close by.

‘There is no time to change. You will be fine. Trust me.’

Layla was about to point out that she didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her, but the horse sprang forward and she squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Is it wise to ride at night?’

‘No. Which is why Hassan will not look for us on horseback.’

‘Is that supposed to be comforting?’ She thought she heard him laugh but decided it must have been the wind, because who could find such a dangerous situation amusing?

‘I know this area as well as you know the palace. We are following the stars and the riverbed. Now, relax and go with the rhythm of the horse. You are very tense and that will make the whole thing more uncomfortable,’

Go with the rhythm of the horse...

She told herself that last time she hadn’t had a skilled rider in control or a strong male arm wrapped around her.

‘Pull the scarf across your mouth.’

She released her rigid grip on the horse’s mane to do as he instructed.

She wanted to ask where they were going, but knew the question was not only superfluous but also potentially hazardous because the hooves of the horses sent sand flying into the air and she only had a thin layer of scarf protecting her. So she kept her mouth closed and tried to remember what she’d read about riding, and then realised it didn’t matter because he knew and was driving the horse forward, controlling the animal with one hand on the reins while the other remained firmly locked around her waist.

She was aware of the dull thud of hooves on sand, of the feel of Raz’s thighs pressed hard against hers and the brush of the cool night air on her face. A sensation tore through her that she didn’t recognise and it took her a few moments to realise it was exhilaration. With the responsibility for controlling the horse in someone else’s hands, the ride on the back of this powerful animal was the most exciting, breathtaking experience of her life. In her restricted, regimented life this was the closest she’d ever come to freedom, and it felt so good she smiled behind the protective covering of the scarf. She couldn’t remember when she’d last smiled, but she was smiling now as each pounding stride of the horse took her further away from Hassan. It felt like the end of something—and then she remembered that Hassan was unlikely to give up that easily.

And Yasmin was out in the desert alone and lost.

Her smile faded.

She hoped Salem’s knowledge of the desert was as good as it was reputed to be and that he’d find her sister quickly.

They rode for several hours, until time blurred and sleep overcame her. Several times she was jarred awake as her head hit his shoulder, and eventually he shifted position to give her somewhere to rest her head.

‘Sleep, Princess.’

And she did, because her body gave her no choice, exhausted by the exertions of the past twenty-four hours. Her last coherent thought before her brain shut down was that sleeping against his chest like this was the safest she’d felt in her life.

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE WAS SNUGGLED against him, lulled to sleep by the movement of the horse.

The closeness of her disturbed him as much as the realisation that she was nothing like he’d imagined her to be when people had spoken her name. He’d visualised someone pampered and privileged. Someone spoiled and entitled. When he’d first seen her in his tent he’d assumed she was an opportunist, switching sides to protect herself before the inevitable shift in power.

At some point from her arrival in the camp to her falling asleep against him his view on her had become clouded, and now he was forced to admit he didn’t know what he was dealing with.

Dawn rose over the desert, and in the distance he saw the familiar shape of trees and tents clustered around the small, lush oasis that marked one of his favourite places on earth.

His heart clenched as it always did when he arrived here.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought her, but what choice did he have?

Alerted to their presence, people emerged from tents. The rising sun glinted off the dunes and Raz brought his horse to a halt.

‘Princess?’ He spoke the word softly and she stirred against him, her hand locked on the sleeve of his robe.

Raz looked down at that hand. Her fingers were slender and he realised this was the first time he’d seen any part of her other than her face. ‘Layla!’ He used her name for the first time and she came awake with a start, her eyes blurred with sleep as she tried to focus and orientate herself.

‘I fell asleep?’

‘For several hours.’ He held the stallion steady and then dismounted in a smooth movement. ‘Swing your leg over the saddle and I’ll help you down.’

She did it without fuss, but the moment her feet touched the ground she winced and gripped the horse for balance. They’d ridden for hours and she was already aching and bruised from her ride from the Citadel. He knew virtually nothing about her but suspected only dire need would drive her to steady herself against his horse.

The stallion gave a snort of disapproval and threw up its head in disgust.

Raz put his hand on his horse’s neck and spoke calmly. ‘Your muscles will soon become accustomed to riding.’

‘I’m fine, really.’

‘You are hoping never to see another horse in your life,’ he said dryly, ‘but horses are an essential part of my life. I own several stud farms. Two in the US, one in England and one here in Tazkhan.’

‘I know. Your aim is to promote the highest standards in breeding. You specialise in endurance and racing. People send mares from all over the world to be covered by your stallions. You rode in the endurance team on your favourite horse, Raja.’

He hid his surprise. ‘You know a great deal about my horses.’

‘I know nothing about your horses.’ This time she was the one to speak in a dry tone. ‘But I will try very hard to learn.’

‘Is that what you want?’

She hesitated. ‘Of course. Although I can’t promise I’ll show any aptitude. I’m not very coordinated and I’m not sure animals like me much.’ Hesitant, she reached out and patted the stallion’s neck. ‘Is this Raja? I’m incredibly grateful to him for not throwing me off.’

‘I bred him. He was sired by my father’s stallion.’

‘He’s beautiful. But big.’

Presumably her legs had steadied because she stepped back and looked around her for the first time.

‘Where are we? We can stay with these people? In their homes? Will we be welcome?’

There wasn’t a place in the desert where he wasn’t welcome, but he didn’t say that to her.

‘The Bedouin pride themselves on their hospitality. A visitor may stay three days and three nights, after which he is considered sufficiently refreshed to be able to continue his journey.’

‘Is that what we’re going to do?’

Raz didn’t reply. He wasn’t used to sharing his plans with anyone, least of all the daughter of the man who had ripped his life into shreds. ‘The oasis here is famed for its beauty. You can relax here, knowing you are safe.’

‘And my sister?’

‘When I have news from Salem I will tell you. And now I have things I must do.’

She didn’t ask what things. She simply stared at the red-gold of the dunes as they rose against the sunrise as if she were seeing the desert for the first time, while Raz found himself looking at her profile. She had to be exhausted and in pain after the long ride, but she hadn’t once complained.

He wondered what she was thinking.

Was she still relieved not to have married Hassan?

Was she nervous? Regretting her decision to marry a man she didn’t know?

On impulse he reached out to touch her shoulder, and then changed his mind and withdrew his hand. ‘The waters of the oasis are good for muscle ache.’

‘I’ll remember that, thank you.’

A young woman emerged from one of the tents and Raz felt a sudden rush of tension. In an ideal world he would have prepared for this encounter with more care, but the world was rarely ideal.

‘This is Nadia. If there is anything you need she will help you.’

Nadia looked from him to Layla, unable to hide her dismay. ‘So it’s true? You married her?’

Her voice shook and Raz shot her a warning look.

‘Yes. And you will make her welcome.’

For a moment he thought she was going to refuse.

Their eyes met and suddenly he wondered whether her feelings about this development were more complicated than he’d imagined.

Nadia’s breathing was shallow, but she gave a brief nod. ‘Of course. Come this way, Your Highness.’ The correct mode of address was spoken through clenched teeth, but Raz decided to overlook that for now.

His sudden marriage would have come as a massive shock to Nadia. It was fair that she be given time to adjust.

Raz saw Layla glance towards him and wondered if the other girl’s open hostility had upset her.

Or perhaps she was suddenly realising that this marriage was real.

Out of the frying pan into the fire?

‘Bathe, eat, rest,’ he told her quietly, ‘and I will see you later.’

* * *

Bathe, eat, rest.

All of it seemed to be leading to one thing. The night.

I will see you later.

Layla tried not to think about it. It was something to be done, that was all. She would endure it as she had endured the long gallop on the horse and a thousand other discomforts in her life. Really, how bad could it be?

‘His Highness gave instructions that you are to swim. He says it will ease the pain in your muscles.’ Nadia was barely civil as she led her towards the tents, but Layla was starting to get used to that attitude from everyone close to the Sheikh.

She felt as welcome as a scorpion in the heel of someone’s boot.

All the same, she wondered what the other girl’s relationship was with him. She’d seen the look they’d exchanged and it had been obvious to her that they knew each other well.

She wondered if the woman had been his lover, but told herself she had no reason to mind even if she had.

Baking hot under the desert sun, Layla removed her cloak. Nadia turned pale.

‘Where did you get that dress?’

Layla glanced down at herself and noticed that the silk was discoloured by sand and dust from the ride. ‘I was given it. Why?’

‘No reason.’ Nadia’s lips were bloodless. ‘I will leave towels on the rocks, Your Highness, and lay out clean clothes in the tent for you to change into when you have finished.’

‘I can’t swim,’ Layla admitted. ‘Is the oasis deep?’

Nadia led her along a narrow path. ‘Not if you enter the pool by the rocks on the far side.’

The rocks on the far side.

Layla committed that to memory because she didn’t want to get it wrong.

Nothing about her first glimpse of the camp had prepared her for the beauty of the oasis. Shaded by date palms, the still pool of water looked temptingly cool after the long, dusty ride.

This part of the pool was secluded, the view from the other tents obscured by palms and citrus trees. Just one tent stood close by and Nadia gestured with her head. ‘That is His Highness’s tent. I will leave clothes there and put food in the tent. If you need anything, just call, but the pool is safe in the daytime. I’ll go and fetch towels.’

Layla didn’t ask what happened at night. She was too busy wondering who had given up their tent for the Sheikh.

It was obvious it had prime position, set apart from the others and opening onto what effectively became a private pool.

But not that private.

Layla glanced around her, aware that anyone could walk past at any time.

Having only ever undressed behind a locked door, she decided to keep her dress on. It was ruined anyway, so she might as well get one last use out of it.

Removing the belt, she walked to the rocks at the far side of the pool, as Nadia had instructed, and slid into the water.

Stretching out her legs, she felt for the bottom with her feet—but there was no bottom.

Too late, she realised how deep it was and clung tightly to the slippery rock with her fingers, trying to pull herself out again. Just as the thought flashed into her head that Nadia had deliberately sent her to deep water she sank under the surface, dragged down by the weight of the saturated dress.

Trying not to panic, Layla attempted to haul herself up, but her fingers slipped and she sank under the surface, choking.

Water flooded through her mouth and her ears and she kicked hard, but the dress wrapped itself around her ankles, pulling her down.

Just when she’d thought there was no way she was ever going to get out of this alive she felt a disturbance in the water next to her and strong hands hauled her upwards, towards the light. Layla broke the surface of the water, gasping and coughing.

‘Are you trying to drown yourself?’ His black hair plastered to his head, Raz lifted her onto the rocks and then launched himself out of the water next to her, water streaming from the gleaming, pumped muscles of his bare chest. ‘What were you thinking, swimming in a dress?’

Layla couldn’t answer. She was too busy coughing and trying not to be sick.

Cursing softly under his breath, he smoothed her soaked hair away from her face. ‘You are all right now. You are safe. It was lucky I decided to come back and check on you.’

‘I went under—’

‘Because you chose to swim in your dress,’ he breathed, and she shook her head.

‘I never intended to swim. I can’t swim. I was just going to dip myself in the water.’

‘Fully clothed?’

It sounded ridiculous, spelled out like that, and her face turned fiery hot. ‘I thought someone might walk along and see me. The dress was ruined anyway so I thought I’d just keep it on and paddle.’

‘In the deepest end of the pool?’

‘I thought it was the shallow end.’ Layla glanced up at him, puzzled, and saw his eyes darken dangerously.

‘Why would you think that? Who told you it was the shallow end?’

She wasn’t going to tell him that when there was already friction. ‘It was my fault,’ Layla muttered ‘I should have checked for myself.’

Without speaking, he unfastened the back of her dress. ‘Take this off. Go to the other end of the pool where the water is only waist deep. You will be safe and undisturbed, I promise.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘There is a conversation I need to have and it would seem that it can’t wait.’ His voice vibrating with anger, he vaulted to his feet and strode back towards the tent.

Moments later Layla heard his voice and winced, because it was obvious to her that however much Nadia had loathed her before this, she was going to loathe her a thousand times more by the time Raz had finished ripping strips from her in that icy voice of his. She thought she heard muffled sobs and closed her eyes, because the whole situation was turning into a complex mess and without the facts she had no idea how she was supposed to handle it.

Taking refuge in the practical, she peeled off the soaked dress and forced herself back into the water again—more because she didn’t want to let fear beat her than because she wanted to wash. This time she was relieved to feel the bottom under her feet. As he had promised, the water only reached her waist and she washed herself quickly, still shocked by how close she’d come to drowning in this beautiful place.

The sun sent sparkles of light dancing over the still surface of the pool. Somewhere nearby she heard children playing, their laughter cutting through the stillness of the baking hot air, and the sound surprised her because she hadn’t expected to hear children.

She couldn’t think of the time she’d last heard children laugh like that. It reminded her of when Yasmin had been very young and Layla had been constantly putting her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles in case the sound drew unwanted attention. But here no one was trying to muffle the sound and the children played happily, unrestricted.

Thinking of her sister brought a lump to her throat.

Where was she now?

If only she were at least alive, Layla would never complain about anything ever again.

Listening to the children, she was tempted to go and watch them, but then decided she’d encountered enough hostility for one day. Instead she wrapped herself in the towels that had been left for her and walked the short distance to the tent, hoping that Nadia wouldn’t be there.

Stepping inside, she stopped in surprise.

She’d expected something basic, but this tent was not only fully furnished but luxurious, decorated in rich reds and deep purples. There was a seating area piled with soft cushions and a low bed covered in silk sheets, with a thick cover for cold desert nights.

It was idyllic.

It was—Layla swallowed hard—it was romantic.

Someone had laid food on a low table near to the door, but Layla wasn’t hungry. She couldn’t even think about food after everything that had happened. Did Nadia really hate her so much she would want her dead? And what had Raz said to her that had caused her such distress?

Feeling sick from nerves and oasis water, she pulled on the clothes and sank onto the cushions.

Despite worry about Nadia, and anxiety for her sister, her mind was dominated by thoughts of the night ahead.

She would have spent the day reading, but her books had been left behind at the first camp so she had nothing but her imagination to occupy her time, and by the time Raz finally appeared she was so worked up she jumped out of her skin.

‘You startled me.’

His gaze rested on the untouched food and a faint frown touched his forehead. ‘You haven’t touched the food. Are you unwell after the incident earlier?’

‘No. I just wasn’t hungry.’

‘If you do not eat you will make yourself ill.’

She didn’t tell him that she already felt ill. That nerves had created an uncomfortable lump in her stomach, leaving no room for food. ‘I won’t be ill. I’m very fit.’

‘But you can’t swim?’

‘There is nowhere to swim in the palace so I’ve never had opportunity.’

‘Then that’s something we must fix.’ A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. ‘Swimming in the oasis is one of life’s pleasures.’

Her heart was pumping so fast she worried she was going to pass out, and when he took her hand and drew her towards him she stopped breathing.

‘I am sorry for what happened to you.’

‘Is Nadia—?’

‘I don’t want to talk about Nadia. She has no relevance to what is happening between us and I’ve dealt with her. Now you need to relax.’ His voice soft, he smoothed her hair back from her face. ‘You are very tense and there is no need to be.’

Behind him, through the crack in the tent, she could see the sun turning dark red as it set and it shocked her because she hadn’t realised it was so late.

‘I’m not tense.’

‘Yes, you are, and that is hardly surprising.’ His fingers lingered in her hair. ‘This is not how you dreamed your wedding night would be, I’m sure.’

‘I never dreamed about it. I’m not a dreamy person, Your Highness.’

‘Raz.’ He let a strand of her hair twist itself around his fingers, frowning as she flinched away from him. ‘You don’t have to be afraid of me.’

It wasn’t fear that made her stomach cramp, but she wasn’t sure what it was because it was a feeling she didn’t recognise.

All she knew was that she’d never felt more uncomfortable in her life. He clearly thought she’d spent her formative years dreaming of weddings and happy endings whereas nothing could have been further from the truth.

‘I am not a romantic person,’ she reminded him. ‘I thought I’d made that clear. I hope that won’t be a problem. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.’

What if he did?

Perhaps he was expecting her to fall instantly in love with him and she knew that was never going to happen.

The heat in the tent was stifling and he was standing close to her. So close she could feel the heat and power of him. The breath was locked in her throat and Layla had no idea what she was supposed to do next. Was he expecting her to kiss him? Was he supposed to go first or was she? Both together?

Layla desperately wished she’d had time to study the various options.

She wished she’d read that book long before now, instead of grabbing it as an afterthought on the run from the palace and her old life.

The gaps in her knowledge were glaringly obvious. For a start, she was confused by how long he’d stood there just looking at her. She’d assumed it would all be over quickly. Instead he seemed to be taking his time. His hand had migrated from her hair to her cheek and the slow, exploratory stroke of his fingers unsettled her.

Her tummy tightened into a knot and her pulse leaped and pounded.

She wanted to look away but his gaze drew her to him, holding her eyes with his. And then his eyes flickered to her mouth and that made her feel strange, too. As did his next words.

‘So what did you dream about when you were growing up in the palace?’

How was she supposed to answer that? Every day had been focused on survival. On protecting her sister. ‘I didn’t really dream. I prefer to focus on things that are real. Tangible.’

‘You had no wish for the future?’

‘If I did then it was a hope that the future would be better than the present.’ She saw him frown slightly and felt his thumb slide slowly over the line of her jaw.

‘The present was hard for you?’

What could she say? However hard it had been for her, she knew it must have been so much harder for him. He’d lost his father and the woman he’d loved. ‘I had my sister.’

A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘You’re being evasive, but I’ll overlook it for now because the past has no place in our bedroom.’

Our bedroom.

Her heart was pounding furiously and she found herself trapped by his dark gaze as he slid his hands into her hair and tilted her face to his.

‘If I do anything you don’t like you must tell me,’ he breathed.

She’d just had time to think that was a very strange thing to say, because she had no expectation of liking any of it, when he lowered his head.

Anticipation held her rigid.

That sensuously curved mouth hovered close to hers, prolonging the moment of contact. Just as Layla was beginning to wonder whether there was a reason he was taking so long, whether there was something she was supposed to be doing that she wasn’t, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her.

The gentleness threw her. Braced for something quite different, she found the slow, deliberate movement of his lips on hers shocking. Equally unexpected was the sudden tightening of her stomach and the warmth that rushed through her body and into her limbs. The feelings intensified but still his mouth moved over hers while his hands, buried in her hair, held her head trapped.

She felt his tongue trace the seam of her mouth, teasing, coaxing, and she parted her lips, shocked to feel his tongue delve into her mouth.

Something—nerves?—made her shaky? and she closed her hands over his arms to steady herself, her fingers moving over the solid muscle of his biceps. His physical power was undeniable, and she remembered the way he’d controlled the stallion and lifted her out of the pool. But he used that strength lightly now, his hands gentle as he smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her mouth, all the time watching her through slumbrous dark eyes that made her aware of every part of herself.

Layla had never felt anything like this before, and she felt a flash of panic because she was a person who liked to understand things and rationalise them. But there was no understanding the searing heat that shot through her body and pooled low in her belly.

Releasing her head, he curved one arm around her back, slid the other around her waist and pulled her into him. She felt the strength and power of his thighs and the hardness of him. Pressed against the evidence of his masculinity, she discovered that the works of Michaelangelo didn’t tell the whole story.

Layla was confused by the torrent of sensation that flooded her skin and seeped into her nerve-endings.

‘Kiss me back.’

His husky command was spoken against her lips and she stared up at him, unable to see him properly in the darkness but knowing her mouth was just a shadow away from the dangerous curve of his.

Kiss me back.

Wishing she had more knowledge of technique, Layla tentatively touched her lips to his. She wanted to ask, Is this right? But then she felt his arm tighten around her waist, drawing her closer. Pressed this close to him, she felt hot and unbalanced in every way. She knew her cheeks were flushed, knew he could taste her confusion on her lips, but still he kissed her and the slowness of it, together with the long drawn-out ache of anticipation and something else she couldn’t name, was agonising.

He kissed her until their surroundings faded and the only thing in her vision was him, and then he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. The practical side of her prompted her to tell him she was capable of walking, but she thought it might be a lie so she kept silent and wondered how nerves could weaken limbs.

The light in the tent was dim, but not so dim she couldn’t see his face, and she remembered Yasmin dreamily telling her how handsome he was—how he was ‘hot’. At the time Layla hadn’t understood how a word used to describe temperature could be used as a positive indicator of visual appeal, but now she realised that looking at him made her feel hot. Burning hot. Her skin, her lips and other more sensitive parts of her that she rarely had reason to think about. And while he was kissing her he extracted her from her clothing. The ease with which he accomplished that feat was almost as embarrassing as being naked in front of him.

Grateful for the semi-darkness, she somehow resisted the desperate urge to cover herself. Never in her life had she felt so out of her depth and inadequate, and she lay there, her breathing shallow, staring up at him as he wrenched off his shirt, all the time watching her with eyes almost black in the candlelight.

Layla held her breath because even she, with her limited experience and previously limited interest in the masculine form, could see that his was perfectly proportioned.

Unable to help herself, she let her gaze slide over bronzed, muscular shoulders, down over his chest with its haze of dark hair, and lower still to his board-flat abdomen. She didn’t look lower and he slid his fingers under her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to look at him.

‘You’re scared.’

‘No.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘But I wish I’d read more.’

‘Not all the answers can be found in books.’ His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth and his fingers slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head. ‘Perhaps you know more than you think you do. Follow your instincts.’

As he drew her head down to his she wanted to tell him that she didn’t have any instincts when it came to men, but her tongue wouldn’t form the words. Instead it tangled with his, and she heard herself moan into the heat of his clever mouth.

And she discovered she did have instincts, because it was instinct that had her sliding her hands into his hair, clutching his head, meeting his hot, seductive kisses with her own. And instinct had her pressing herself closer to him. Later, she’d wonder how a kiss involving her lips could have an effect on her whole body, but right then she wasn’t capable of wondering about anything except what was going to happen next.

‘Next’ was his mouth on her neck—slow, lingering, as everything he did was slow and lingering—and she lay still, hardly breathing as the warmth of his tongue traced the line of her shoulder and moved lower, to her bare breasts.

Her nipples were standing erect and she watched in tense fascination as he paused with his mouth close to that sensitive part of her. She felt the warmth of his breath brush over her skin, followed by the slow, deliberate flick of his tongue as he skilfully teased and toyed with that part of her that had never been touched before. Sensation shot right through her, pooling in her pelvis, until she found it almost impossible to keep still, until the urge to cry out was so powerful she had to bite her lip to stay silent. And what he did to one nipple he did to the other, and when he finally lifted his head and looked at her she found it impossible to look away.

For a moment they stared at each other.

There was a hardness in his eyes, a coldness she wished she hadn’t seen, and then he leaned across the bed and blew out the candle, sending the tent into darkness.

She could no longer see, but she could feel, and the feelings became more acute because everything was focused on that one sense—touch.

The warmth of his palm rested low on her abdomen and she wondered if he knew how much she was aching, just how badly she needed—needed something. But of course he knew. She remembered Yasmin’s breathless statement that he was supposed to be a skilled lover and knew now that it was true.

No wonder he hadn’t bothered returning her book.

I will teach you everything you need to know.

The fact that he knew her body better than she did embarrassed her, but nowhere near as much as when he gently spread her thighs and shifted lower on the bed.

Shocked, and feeling intensely vulnerable, Layla gave a soft gasp as his hand moved with sure, leisurely ease over her abdomen and lower still. He took his time, but whether that was out of respect for her inexperience, patience or just a maddening ability to know how to ramp up the tension until she was at screaming pitch, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she was moving her pelvis against his hand, and then his fingers were there, sliding skilfully over that part of her, exploring her with slow, knowing strokes of strong, clever fingers, until her breathing was shallow and her hands fisted in the sheets.

She hadn’t known it was possible to feel this.

She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see anything except darkness, and that darkness intensified feeling because she never knew what was coming next. She felt him shift above her, then move lower, and this time he put his mouth on her there. Shock rocketed through her and her hands moved to push him away, but he caught both her wrists in one hand and held her securely, so that all she could do was lie there and let him do exactly what he wanted to do. And what he did was sinfully good, and he did it again and again, until her body quivered and heated, until she was slippery wet and sensitive, embarrassment blown away by sensation. And with each erotic slide of his tongue the feelings intensified, until the heat of it was so maddening she thought she’d explode.

She knew there was something more, that her body was trying to reach something, somewhere, and she squirmed and shifted, trying to relieve the unfamiliar feelings, and then he shifted position in a lithe movement and came over her, his hand under her bottom.

‘I will try not to hurt you...’

His voice was husky and he slid his hand down her thigh, encouraging her to wind her legs across his back. Like this, she was open to him and she was once again grateful for the darkness as she felt the silken power of him against her and the warmth of his breath against her mouth as he lowered his head to kiss her again.

He licked at her lips, kissing her gently as he stayed still, letting her grow used to the feel of him against her. It was shockingly intimate with her legs wrapped around him, and for endless moments he held himself still. Then he eased forward and entered her slowly, gently, holding himself in check with ruthless control, taking it so slowly that the discomfort seemed minimal in comparison to the building frustration. Pain and pleasure mingled. Layla felt herself clench around the hard thickness of him, felt the heat and power of him stretching her, and when his hand tightened on her bottom she lifted herself against him and heard a low sound rumble in his throat as he sheathed himself deep. Her breath caught. The intimacy of it shocked her and she curled her fingers over his biceps and then up to his shoulders, aware that he was holding himself still and knowing that he did it for her.

‘Are you all right?’

His voice was low and very male, and she opened her eyes, even though she couldn’t see him, and said yes, even though she wasn’t sure it was true.

She wasn’t all right. With him so deeply inside her she felt shaken and unbalanced, as out of her depth as she had in the pool. Only this time instead of drowning in water she was drowning in sensation.

She didn’t know what was happening, but she knew she wanted this, needed this, and when he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his.

He eased back slightly and then moved into her again. She felt her body yield against the male thickness of him, discovered that if she relaxed it was easier, that when he shifted his angle the pleasure intensified and poured through her in long, wicked waves of ecstasy. He was deep, deep inside her, his hand locked in her hair as he controlled the rhythm, all the time kissing her. And she recognised nothing that was happening to her body, knew nothing—but he did, and he used that skill and experience to drive her higher and higher, until something strange happened, something unfamiliar and intensely exciting, until screaming ecstasy exploded into an almost unbearable shower of sensation that made her cry out despite her attempts to stay silent.

He trapped the sound with his mouth, kissing her through it as she felt her body tighten around the smooth, hard length of him. She felt the sudden tension of his shoulders under her fingers and then heard him groan deep in his throat as her body drove his over the edge. It was the most thrilling, explosive, intense experience of her life and afterwards Layla lay still, crushed by the weight of him and the knowledge that she had lived with herself for twenty-three years and yet not known herself at all.

She’d had no idea she was even capable of feeling that way.

Her illusions about herself had disintegrated. She’d never thought of herself as romantic, nor particularly physical. Nothing in her past had prepared her for what she’d just experienced. And she realised that delving into a book for information wouldn’t have made a difference, because there were no words that could adequately describe what she’d just experienced.

Nothing she’d read could have prepared her for pleasure.

Shattered by the experience, her expectations blown apart, Layla lay there, not knowing what words were appropriate. They’d shared the ultimate intimacy and yet outside the silken haven of his bed they were strangers.

She lay rigid, feeling as if she should say something, trying out various sentences in her head. But before she could utter any of them she felt him rise from the bed. Her burning skin chilled instantly and that chill spread through her bones as rapidly as the heat had done.

Shattered and confused, Layla lay still in the darkness, listening as he dressed. Was this normal?

Was it usual for a man to stand up and leave the bed afterwards?

Or did his response have something to do with his wife?

Was that why he’d blown out the candle? Had he been imagining that he was with someone else? Or was it that he couldn’t bear to look at her?

It sounded as if he were going to stride out of the tent without looking back, but then he paused, his hand on the heavy fabric that protected them from the heat of the sun and the cold of the night. Moonlight shone through the slit in the tent and in that moment Layla saw him. Saw the hard, savage lines of his handsome face and the emptiness in those cold eyes that were as black as a starless night.

She stared at him in silence, trying to read him, trying to understand what was going on and failing.

She had no idea what that look meant. No idea what was going through his head.

And now she wished she’d kept her eyes closed. Pretended to be asleep. Anything, to avoid a situation in which she was clueless.

Should she speak?

Was he waiting for her to say something?

And then, before she could decide whether to speak or not, he turned and strode out of the tent, leaving her alone.

CHAPTER FIVE

HE RODE RAJA deep into the desert, trying to escape the weight of his feelings but failing, because wherever he went they followed. His mouth was dry with the bitter taste of betrayal, the past a deep ache inside him that wouldn’t heal.

There were so many issues demanding his attention, but the only thing on his mind was Layla.

He’d felt nothing but contempt for her family for so long that when she’d arrived in his camp and offered herself to him he’d treated her proposal with suspicion. Even when it had become clear to him that her life had been very different from the one he’d imagined for her, his feelings towards her hadn’t warmed.

But now?

The scent of her clung to his skin and her soft gasps echoed around his head, refusing to be silenced by his own vicious conflict.

As if sensing his tension, the horse under him stamped impatiently. Raz soothed him gently with his hands and his voice until Raja calmed and stood still.

He had a sudden vision of Layla smuggling the Kama Sutra from her father’s library before leaving the only home she’d ever known. He thought of her climbing onto a horse, even though she didn’t ride, and then going in search of him even though she knew exactly how he felt about her family.

And then he thought about her standing still and straight next to him, speaking her vows in the hope that the union would ensure the safety of her sister, and writhing under his hands as he’d shown her what her body could do.

The thought of it sent heat rushing through him and he cursed softly.

He told himself that respect and powerful sexual chemistry didn’t change the fact he wasn’t ready to feel anything for another woman. Nor did it change the fact that he didn’t want her feeling anything for him.

Nothing changed the fact that this marriage politically motivated.

Was she all she seemed to be, or was she a clever opportunist who had the sense to change sides for her own protection?

His suspicions were deep-set, rooted in a lifetime of bitter feud.

So why did the knowledge that he’d hurt her rub at his nerves like sand wedged in his boot?

Staring at the sunrise, he told himself it was a good thing.

He told himself that anger was a thousand times safer than those softer emotions that could fell a man faster than a samurai sword.

‘Your Highness.’

It was Abdul, never far from his side and as much a father to him as his own had been.

‘You should not be out here alone.’

‘I don’t appear to be alone.’

Ignoring the irony in his voice, Abdul touched his arm. ‘This is hard for you, but you did the right thing marrying her.’

‘Did I?’ He heard the harshness in his own voice and winced, because he wasn’t in the habit of revealing his weaknesses to those around him. ‘We need to keep an eye on Nadia.’

‘Yes. I can imagine she is very upset. But no doubt Her Highness will deal with that sensitively. She seems like a very sensible young woman.’

Sensible? Raz could have agreed with him, but he knew it wasn’t her logic or her ordered thought-processes that teased and tormented his brain.

It was something far more intimate and a thousand times more dangerous.

* * *

Layla awoke slowly, aware of the sounds of animals, the laughter of children, the hum of voices. None of them belonged to Raz.

The side of the bed where he would have slept was cold, the pillow smooth and untouched.

Her body ached from her night with him, making it impossible to blot it out or forget.

He’d come to her in darkness and then he’d walked away.

Had he known how his touch had made her feel?

Of course he had. His expertise had never been in question. From the first touch to the last, he’d known exactly what he was doing to her.

Layla rolled onto her back and stared up at the roof of the tent.

But as for the rest of it—as for how she felt inside and in her head...

How could he understand that when she didn’t understand it herself?

She’d thought she knew herself very well but it turned out she didn’t know herself at all, because she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling like that.

Sheltered by the silk sheets, she slid her hand over her breasts, still tender from the touch of his mouth and the roughness of his jaw. He’d touched her there and then he’d—

‘Your Highness?’ Nadia stood in the entrance to the tent, her expression frozen as she saw the clothes piled on the floor. ‘I have instructions to help you dress and fetch you anything you need.’

What did she need?

Layla had no idea. She felt like a jigsaw someone had dropped. She had no idea how to fit the pieces back together because she no longer recognised the picture. And she had no idea how to make peace with Nadia. It didn’t feel good to watch the other woman’s pain and know she was somehow the cause.

It was the first time they’d seen each other since the incident in the pool, but Layla decided that Raz had already said whatever needed to be said so didn’t raise the topic.

‘There is nothing I need, thank you.’ She watched as Nadia moved around the tent, placing food on the rug and laying out fresh clothes. She wanted to ask where Raz was, but didn’t want to reveal how much she minded his absence— especially not to this girl, who clearly resented Layla’s presence and wished she were anywhere but there.

Layla wondered again if she were in love with Raz herself. Was that the reason for the rigid expression and the fact she didn’t meet her eyes? Or was it because of who Layla was?

In the end concern for him overruled pride.

‘Have you seen His Highness?’

Nadia paused in the entrance of the tent. ‘The rumour is that he has gone to find Hassan and talk to him. If he is killed it will be your fault.’

The girl blurted out the words and then left the tent, leaving Layla alone with nothing but her conscience to keep her company.

The news that he’d gone to find Hassan disturbed her—not because she underestimated Raz’s strength, but because she knew just how duplicitous Hassan could be. He was neither honest nor honourable, and she knew better than most that he was at his most dangerous when he was cornered.

Should she have voiced her suspicions to Raz?

Weighed down by her worry, the hours dragged past. Without access to the library Layla had nothing to distract her from her thoughts, no hope of reaching a state of relaxation. She would have loved to talk to someone but no one came near her. Even Nadia stayed away, and Layla realised that when she’d suggested this marriage she’d given no consideration to how others would feel about it.

Did they all think she’d put Raz at risk?

What if Nadia was right and by coming to him she’d created trouble?

What if Hassan found them here?

It felt like the longest day of her life, and she spent most of it alone, sitting by the oasis, aware of the unfamiliar soreness and aching in her body.

Several times she heard children laughing and the sound reminded her so much of her sister that a lump wedged itself in her throat. Where was she? Had Salem found her? Was she in trouble? Dead?

If Hassan had found her before Salem then the chances were she was already in America.

As darkness fell the noise of chatter faded, leaving only the sounds of the desert at night.

Layla lay still on the bed, staring at the single candle that had been lit for her, so tense she could hear her own breathing in the silence of the tent.

Would he come?

Would it be like the night before?

The question swirled around in her head until eventually she fell asleep. When she woke it was light, his side of the bed was still cold, and she had her answer.

He hadn’t come.

She was still alone in the bed and she had no idea if Raz had even returned.

Seriously concerned, she swallowed her pride and sought out Nadia once more.

‘I do not know where he is, Your Highness.’ Her voice was frosty and hovered on the edge of rude. ‘He never reveals his plans. And now he’s brought you here the risk to him personally will be even greater.’

With no hard evidence with which to refute that challenge, Layla bowed out of the conversation. Guilt gnawed at her, driven by anxiety that Nadia could be right. Had she increased his problems? Had she made things worse, not better?

Or did his unexplained absence have nothing to do with Hassan?

What if it were driven by something even more personal?

Something to do with the night they’d spent together.

Was he thinking of his wife?

Layla spent a second day alone, with only her imagination for company, and was beginning another night the same way when she heard the sound of horses and knew it was him.

The rush of relief was quickly followed by other, more complex feelings.

All day she’d wanted to see him, but now he was here she wished she were on her own again. She had no idea what to say or what to do. She was hardly in a position to play the role of concerned wife, but still she was concerned.

Embarrassed, uncomfortable, and burning hot at the thought of the night before them, Layla sat rigid, wishing that there was a rulebook she could follow, an instruction manual—anything that might give her clues about how she was supposed to behave.

She heard his voice, deep and instantly recognizable, as he responded to people around him, but still he didn’t appear in the tent. It seemed he had time for everyone except her. Or maybe he was once again waiting for darkness. Maybe he just couldn’t face looking at her.

As that explanation occurred to her embarrassment turned to humiliation.

Everyone would know the Sheikh had stayed away from his new bride.

That indisputable fact was a stark reminder that physical intimacy didn’t mean emotional intimacy.

Curled up in a ball under the covers, Layla felt more alone than she ever had in her life.

At least back in the Citadel she’d had Yasmin. Her life had been wretched, but familiar. She’d known the rules, known what was expected of her and been able to rationalise every one of her thoughts and feelings.

Here, she was totally isolated, living with a man who apparently loathed her so deeply he couldn’t bear to set eyes on her, tormented by emotions and feelings that were totally unfamiliar.

She heard a splash from nearby and assumed he’d gone for a swim in the oasis.

The fact that he hadn’t even greeted her first upset her more than she could rationalise. She shouldn’t care, should she? She wasn’t allowed to care.

Layla hesitated for a moment, but then slid quietly out of the bed and peeped through the slit in the tent. It was dark, but without the pollution of the city there was sufficient light for her to make out powerful shoulders as he swam.

She stared at those bare, powerful shoulders, fascinated and shocked in equal amounts. If anyone had told her days ago she’d be hiding in a tent in the hope of getting a glimpse of a naked man she would have laughed at them. But this wasn’t any naked man, of course. This was Raz. And because he’d blown out the candles she had yet to see his body.

And she couldn’t really see it now—just the occasional tantalising hint of male muscle and power as he swam with smooth, steady movements.

He reached the far side of the pool and turned. Layla shot back into bed, terrified of being caught.

By the time he walked into the tent she was safely under the covers with her eyes closed.

She heard his soft tread, then silence, and she knew he was looking at her although surely the lack of light would restrict his vision.

Feeling as if someone had set fire to her, Layla kept her eyes closed and tried to breathe evenly. She stayed completely still. Even when the mattress moved under his weight she didn’t move.

She lay rigid, churned up inside by his reappearance, shocked that he’d stayed away for two days and then not even greeted her on his return, and shocked that such an action on his part could hurt so badly.

‘A tip for the future. No one is that tense when they sleep.’

His voice was deep and soft and she turned, giving up the pretence. What was the point?

She saw that he had lit a single candle. Not much, but enough to send a golden shadow of light across the bed. Enough for her to see his face.

‘Where have you been?’

Shock flared in his eyes. ‘I’m not in the habit of disclosing my plans to anyone—least of all to a woman I met for the first time only three days ago.’

She wanted to point out that it might only have been three days but that he knew her more intimately than anyone, had revealed a part of her she hadn’t even known existed, but she realised there were dark depths to him she hadn’t begun to uncover.

‘Has there been any news of my sister?’

His gaze was shuttered. ‘None.’

Just one word but it made her feel sick, and suddenly all the daydreams were blown out of her head and replaced by stark reality. ‘That’s bad, isn’t it? We should have heard something.’

‘If she is alive then Salem will find her.’

‘If?’

‘Do you want false hope? Because I won’t give you that. Lies destroy trust and create nothing but confusion. But until we have evidence that something has happened to her I urge you to stay positive. We have to hope she will have found a way to survive.’

‘How? Neither of us spent any time in the desert when we were growing up.’

‘And yet Tazkhan is ninety-eight percent desert. How can you serve a country when you are ignorant of the life its people lead?’

Thrown off balance by that unexpected attack, Layla sat up, clutching the silk sheet to her neck as she rose to her own defence. ‘That is an unfair accusation. You know nothing of the life my sister and I led.’

‘You were in a position of power and lived a life of luxury. There must have been something you could have done.’

Luxury? ‘There was, and I did it. I came to you.’

Cold black eyes met hers. ‘I am supposed to believe that was an altruistic act on your part? How do I know you didn’t just have the sense to move to the winning side?’

It was like being slapped.

‘If you believe that, why did you marry me?’

‘Because your motivation has no impact on my decision. I am doing what is best for Tazkhan. My personal wishes have no part in this.’

‘So when we were in bed you had to force yourself to do those things to me?’

His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. Two streaks of colour highlighted the hard, savage lines of his cheekbones. ‘For a virgin whose first glimpse of a naked man was from behind a curtain, you suddenly have a great deal to say for yourself.’

She had the distinct impression that he was trying to pick a fight, and suspected she knew why. It was logical, wasn’t it?

‘You’re angry,’ she said softly, banking down her own feelings to try and understand his. ‘You feel guilty and it’s making you angry.’

‘You know nothing about my feelings, Princess.’

‘And you know nothing about my feelings, either. I may be inexperienced, and I admit I’m shy, but don’t ever assume you know what my life has been. The reason my sister and I have no knowledge of the desert is not because we weren’t interested but because we were unable to leave the city walls.’

‘Did you ever try?’

Her heart was pounding. ‘Yes.’

‘And what happened?’

Her mouth was dry. The sudden emergence of a memory she’d squashed down brought sweat to her palms. ‘There are some aspects of our past neither one of us wishes to revisit. I think we should both accept that and move on.’ Her desperate statement earned her a long, questioning look.

‘If your sister is in the desert then Salem will find her.’

He blew out the candle, there was a rustle of clothing as he undressed, and then he joined her in the bed.

Rigid with discomfort, heart pounding, Layla shot to the furthest end of the bed and lay still, hardly daring to breathe in case breathing brought her into contact with him. ‘You think I came here to guarantee the continuation of some glittering lifestyle you’ve imagined for me and yet, feeling that way, you still want to share the bed with me?’

‘We’re married.’

‘But you don’t trust me.’

‘Sharing a bed doesn’t require trust, Princess.’ Reaching for her in the darkness, he hauled her against him. ‘It simply requires sexual chemistry, and fortunately we have plenty of that.’

Layla wondered if he could feel her shivering. Wondered if he could feel the heat of her skin and the rapid beat of her heart.

She wanted to ask why he had to blow out the candle before he shared a bed with her, but before she could form words his mouth slanted over hers and his hand slid into her hair. As a concession to the desert heat and the sand she’d tied it back, but he freed it instantly and it tumbled down over her shoulders.

She felt his hand, warm and strong against her bare back, as he pressed her down onto the soft mattress and shifted her underneath him. She felt the weight of him, the strength and the power. Felt his lips move over hers in a kiss that created an instant response. It started deep inside her and then exploded outwards.

Intense excitement shimmered over layers of despair.

Was this how their relationship was going to be?

Days where they saw nothing of each other and nights spent in the dark?

Intimate strangers?

She wondered how his kiss could make her melt when her emotions weren’t involved and tried to control her response to him, but her nerve-endings were already on fire and the erotic skill of his mouth left her with no choice but to kiss him back.

His mouth closed over her nipple and Layla moaned. Just like before, he used all his skill and knowledge to drive her crazy, until she was hot and desperate. The only difference was that this time she knew. This time she knew what was to come. And when he surged into her with sure, deep strokes she climaxed instantly, and again and then again, while he possessed and controlled her totally.

Afterwards Layla lay there, numb. Maybe she should be grateful for the protection of the darkness, but she wasn’t. The knowledge that he could only make love to her if it was in the dark hurt her more than she would have thought possible.

She turned her head, plucking up the courage to talk to him about it, but before she could speak she heard a high-pitched cry coming from close by.

Layla sat upright, heart pounding. ‘What’s that? It sounded like a child.’

And then the screams began.

* * *

Raz moved quickly, his hand on the knife he kept strapped to his belt whenever he was in the desert.

The screams sliced through him, ripping his composure into shreds, because he knew who screamed.

His strides fuelled by a primal need to protect, he tore open the entrance of the tent next to his and saw the child sitting upright, eyes staring in terror, forehead glistening with sweat, as she screamed while Nadia stood there helplessly, hopelessly out of her depth.

‘I can’t get her to stop.’

In seconds he had the child in his arms, folding her tightly. ‘What is wrong with her?’

He heard the raw edge to his tone but the girl simply shrugged defensively.

‘She’s awake but she won’t respond to me. It’s as if she’s having a fit or something.’

He smoothed the child’s hair, gazed into those staring eyes and felt an anxiety so acute it slowed his thinking. He prided himself on the speed and accuracy of his decision-making and yet now, when it was so important to get it right, his brain was motionless.

‘Her breathing is fast. Her pulse is fast. Get someone medical in here immediately.’

A calm voice came from the entrance to the tent.

‘It isn’t a fit and she isn’t awake.’

He turned his head and saw Layla, dressed only in a thin nightdress, her hair tangled and tousled from his hands. Her gaze was fixed on the child. ‘She’s having a night terror. My sister had them all the time at the same age. You shouldn’t wake her.’

“She’s already awake. Her eyes are open.’ Nadia’s eyes were cold and unfriendly.

Raz ignored her. ‘You have seen this before?’ Fear made his voice harsh, but Layla seemed calm and unflustered.

‘Many times. It’s very unsettling to witness, but I can assure you she will remember nothing of it in the morning. Who is closest to her? Who does she know the best?’

Her gaze flickered expectantly to Nadia and Raz drew a deep breath.

‘Me.’ The confession was dragged from him, because he hadn’t yet decided how to broach this topic and this wasn’t the way he would have chosen. ‘I have the closest relationship with her.’

Was she shocked?

If so, she didn’t show it. Nor did she question what that relationship was.

‘In that case you should be the one to tuck her back into bed. Snuggle the sheets around her to make her feel safe. Talk to her quietly. It’s not what you say that matters, it’s the way you say it. You need to hold her securely. Blow out all the candles except one. Darkness helps. When she goes back to sleep, stay with her for about ten minutes. Once she is deeply asleep it’s unlikely to happen again.’ Having delivered that set of instructions, she looked at Nadia. ‘We should leave. The fewer people the better.’

The other girl’s expression was stubborn. ‘She knows me.’

‘It’s better that way.’ Layla’s voice was firm. ‘She needs quiet and just one person she trusts.’

‘Do as she says.’ Raz lowered his voice and eased the child back under the covers. She was quivering and shivering and it broke his heart to see her. His urge to call a doctor was powerful, but for some reason he was inclined to give Layla’s suggestion a try, all the while wondering why he was following the advice of a woman he had no reason to trust.

She’d said it was the tone that mattered, so he spoke nonsense, reciting poetry from his childhood, his hand stroking those fragile shoulders until gradually the little girl calmed and relaxed under his fingers.

Her breathing slowed. Her pulse slowed with it. And as hers did so did his.

Her eyes fluttered shut, those eyelashes dark shadows against cheeks swollen by crying.

Raz sat until the change in her breathing told him she was deeply asleep.

His shoulders ached with tension. His head throbbed with it. Responsibility pressed down on him until he felt not as if he had the world on his shoulders but the universe.

Satisfied that she really was asleep, and unlikely to stir, he rose carefully to his feet and left the tent in search of answers.

Nadia was hovering outside, her expression defensive and defiant. ‘I could have settled her. You should not have asked her advice.’

‘How long has this been going on?’

Her hesitation told him everything.

‘A while.’

That reluctant admission did nothing to ease his stress levels.

‘Why wasn’t I told?’

‘You were away.’

‘But everyone knows I wish to be told of anything that affects my daughter.’

‘I didn’t think it was significant. She doesn’t remember it in the morning.’

Holding onto his temper, knowing that he needed time to cool down before he spoke what was on his mind, Raz clenched his jaw and gestured to the tent he’d just left. ‘Stay with her.’ Ideally he would have stayed himself, but he needed information so he strode back into his own tent and found Layla standing still in the middle of the room, her hands clenched into fists by her sides, stress evident in every rigid line of her body.

She’d lit the candles and the tent was bathed in a soft, gentle light that revealed sheets still rumpled and twisted from the wild heat of their lovemaking.

She turned as he entered the tent and their gazes locked and held.

Awareness rushed between them and sexual tension crackled like static in the air.

Now you’re a woman, he thought, and then blocked that out because he knew this was not the time to address the other issues that were piling up.

‘Thank you for your help. You knew what was wrong? You called it a night terror?’

‘Yes.’ Her confidence reassured him, because he was far from convinced he shouldn’t have called for medical assistance.

‘You have seen it before?’

‘Many times.’ Her voice was tight, her eyes shadowed by ghosts and darkness. ‘My sister Yasmin started having them when she was five and it carried on for over a year. It might have been longer. I don’t really remember. Every night, about an hour after she’d fallen asleep, she’d wake screaming, eyes wide open. She seemed to be awake, but she was asleep. The first time it happened I was just like you—I thought she was awake.’

‘But she wasn’t?’

‘No, and it’s very unsettling. It took me a while and some research to realise she was actually asleep.’

Of course she would have researched it. He knew virtually nothing about her, but he knew that much. ‘And did your research suggest a cause?’

‘There is no single cause, but there are different triggers. A fever, extreme tiredness, and—’ She licked her lips and turned her head away so that he could no longer see her eyes. ‘And stress. Stress can cause it.’

Guilt twisted inside him, because he knew without a doubt that the trigger in this case was very likely to be stress. And he knew the cause of the stress. ‘And in your sister’s case?’

‘It was definitely stress.’

Still she didn’t look at him, and he remembered her reaction to their conversation earlier.

You know nothing of the life my sister and I led.

Raz looked at the tension in those slender shoulders and realised he was looking at far more than a reaction to what had just happened in the tent next door. ‘What was she stressed about?’

‘This isn’t about my sister.’ She evaded the question. ‘This is about the little girl. Has she been through a bad experience?’

How was he supposed to answer that?

The truth lodged somewhere behind his ribs, Raz turned away and paced to the far side of the tent.

It occurred to him that their relationship was already turning into a minefield of things they didn’t talk about, issues they didn’t address. The complications were endless.

‘How did you stop it happening?’

‘I couldn’t stop it. I could only deal with it. And I tried to make her feel more secure so that she didn’t go to bed scared.’

‘She was scared?’

They were exploring two parallel lines of conversation and he was aware that she was avoiding his questions as skilfully as he was avoiding hers.

‘They say overstimulation of the central nervous system can cause it. The temptation is always to shake them awake, but it’s better if they can just go back to sleep.’

‘So there was nothing you could do?’

‘I tried very hard not to let anything frighten her.’

There are some aspects of our past neither one of us wishes to revisit.

He caught the bleak look in her eyes and realised just as there were layers to him she hadn’t even glimpsed, so there were layers to her. And they were dark layers.

How could it be otherwise, growing up with a man like her father?

Only now did it occur to him how little he knew about his new bride.

An uncomfortable feeling spread down his neck and across his shoulders. ‘Did she have reason to be frightened?’

‘I started sleeping in the room with her. Sometimes that helped.’

‘Layla, why was your sister frightened?’

It was only the second time he’d used her name and he saw her still.

Then she turned her back on him and picked up a robe, slipping it on and covering herself, shielding herself from him in every way. ‘If you want to deal with the night terrors, the best thing is to talk to her family and find out what is likely to be causing them.’ She fastened the robe around her waist. Her hair poured down her back, thick, shiny and as dark as a starless night. ‘That shouldn’t be a problem as you seem to know her well.’

Was that the second or third time she’d ignored his question about her life in the palace? Every time he raised it she deflected it. And suddenly he knew this relationship was going to be impossible if they shared nothing.

One of them had to make the first move.

‘I do know her well. I know her better than anyone.’ He had to push the words past his own natural reluctance to confide. ‘She’s my daughter.’

CHAPTER SIX

‘YOUR DAUGHTER?’ UNPREPARED for that revelation, Layla simply stared at him. ‘You have a daughter?’

‘She is six years old.’

He had a daughter.

She sank down onto the bed, her legs shaking, racking her brain for the information she had on him and discovering it to be depressingly sparse. ‘I—I didn’t know. I had no idea.’

She muttered the words to herself, examining this further piece of evidence to support her suspicion that it was possible to be intimate with someone and yet still know nothing about them.

It didn’t make any difference that she’d shared something with him she’d never shared with anyone else. He was still a stranger.

‘There are few who know, and those who do know better than to speak of it.’

His voice was flat and she looked at him blankly, shocked into silence and shaken by the enormity of it.

‘Why don’t people speak of it? Why would you hide the fact that you have a child?’

‘I lost my father. I lost my wife—’ He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Layla knew her face matched the colour of his.

‘No.’ She shook her head in instinctive denial of that hypothesis. ‘That wouldn’t have happened.’

‘How can you be sure?’ His tone was raw. ‘You insist on having evidence for everything—show me the evidence that my daughter would have been safe. Did your father live by a code of honour? Did he have boundaries beyond which he wouldn’t go? If so, then please enlighten me, because I have seen nothing like that in my dealings with him.’

The shame of it covered her like a filthy, dark sludge. She wanted to dive into the oasis and scrub her skin clean. ‘I can’t show you evidence. I understand why you kept your daughter’s existence a secret. But when I suggested marriage I would have thought—’

‘What would you have thought? That I would have confided in you? You arrived in the desert out of nowhere. I married you because I saw the sense in what you proposed but let’s not pretend that this marriage is a union of trust.’

His words shook her because in her head she’d started to spin a different scenario. When she looked at him all she could see was the burning heat in his eyes and all she could think of was his body, hard and hot against hers. Out of bed they were strangers but in bed? In bed they were as close as it was possible for two people to be and what they did in bed had started to dominate her brain. The craving inside her had intensified to the point that she found herself wishing the daylight hours away because at night there was a chance they’d be together. She found herself hoping desperately for the dark because it was only in the dark that he came to her. Swept away by the darkness and the wildness of the passion she’d started to imagine that this was real but now she realised she’d been deluding herself.

‘That is all true, but I am your wife now and that also makes me—’

‘Do not say the words.’ His voice was thickened with emotion. ‘Do not even think of yourself as my daughter’s mother.’

The words slid under her ribs like a blade.

She tried to ignore the sharp pain that made it difficult to breathe. Used logic to remind herself that his response was understandable in the circumstances.

The fact that he would kiss her, touch her, didn’t mean he trusted her with his daughter.

And she really couldn’t blame him for that, could she?

Right now he was the powerful protector, ready to shield his daughter from any threat, and it was clear he considered that threat to be her.

Feeling his struggle to suppress the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, Layla groped for the best way to handle the situation. ‘At least tell me her name.’

‘Her name is Zahra.’

‘That’s a pretty name. Does she know you have married me?’

‘No.’ He was brutally frank. Everything about him was designed to repel her gentle attempts to ease closer. ‘There is no easy way to tell a child I have married the daughter of the man responsible for the death of her mother.’

The knife in her ribs twisted. ‘Had I known you had a daughter I never would have suggested this marriage. I had no idea there was a child involved. It changes everything.’

‘It changes nothing. This marriage was never personal so what difference would it have made?’

‘I would not have sacrificed your daughter’s happiness for—’

‘For the future of Tazkhan? And what about your sister’s safety? What about your own marriage to Hassan? Because that’s why you came to me, isn’t it? You wanted my protection.’

‘Yes, that’s all true. I was honest about that right from the start. But I didn’t want those things at the expense of a little girl’s happiness. A little girl who has already suffered a major trauma in her life.’ Layla was shaking so badly she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her. ‘There is no way I would have foisted myself on her as a stranger. At the very least I would have suggested I take time to get to know her. To gain her trust.’

‘That would have created a delay we could not afford, and this was never about building a relationship. And you are assuming you would have gained her trust.’

‘I would certainly have worked hard to do that. I have experience with children. Give me the opportunity and I will prove it to you.’

The shutters came down on those eyes. ‘No. We will wait and see if the night terrors settle and then re-evaluate.’

‘Perhaps they would settle if she had someone she could bond with. Someone she is close to.’

He turned slowly, his eyes like ice. ‘My relationship with my daughter is very close.’

‘Yes, I can see that.’ She thought about the way he’d soothed the child. About the anxiety and love on his face and the patience he’d shown. It had warmed her because she’d never seen a man like that with a child. ‘But you’re away a great deal. You have your business interests—’

‘That is an inevitable part of life. When I can, I take her with me, and when I can’t I make sure I return here as quickly I can.’

‘But when you are away who looks after her?’

He didn’t answer immediately. ‘She is with Nadia, who loves her very much.’

Nadia?

Layla felt as if she were walking on eggshells. This wasn’t the time to point out that Nadia had seemed out of her depth at the moment of crisis. ‘How have you kept Zahra’s existence a secret?’

‘I have the support of many people.’

‘But I don’t.’

He glanced at her with a frown. ‘What does that mean?’

‘No one speaks to me. This marriage has not been welcomed by the people who love you.’ Suddenly she felt overwhelmed by it all. By the distance that couldn’t be closed by physical intimacy alone. ‘How can this possibly work even on the most basic level? If you don’t trust me, why would they?’

‘Because this union was never about trust.’ He towered over her, powerful and imposing. ‘Most of them understand why we did this. They know it is the right thing.’

But not all of them.

Layla thought about the hatred she sensed in Nadia and wondered again if the cause of it didn’t go deeper than dismay at seeing the Sheikh marry the daughter of his enemy.

‘So what happens now? You have a daughter. Are you saying you don’t want me to meet her?’

‘For the time being, no. She is already having night terrors. I don’t want to risk making those worse by introducing you to her.’

His belief that she might make it worse hurt more than she would have thought possible, but how could she, of all people, blame a man for wanting to protect his child?

She’d never had that and she felt the loss of it keenly.

‘Of course, if that is what you prefer.’ Layla’s jaw was stiff, her thoughts a mess of pain as she thought what she would have given to have a father who fought so fiercely to protect her from harm. ‘But I don’t think it’s the right decision.’

‘You think you know better than me what is right for my child?’

‘No, what I think is that you don’t know me at all. You married me with a set of preconceived ideas of who I am, and I don’t blame you for that, but we’re married now and for this to work you have to start seeing me. The real me. I may not be able to swim or ride a horse, but I am good with children. I think if we are to become a family we need to start somewhere.’

‘We have started somewhere.’

His gaze shifted to the rumpled sheets and then back to her and she felt a tiny shiver run through her. Right now he was distant and intimidating but she knew it wasn’t fear that made her knees weak. Looking into those brooding black eyes, gazing at the dangerous curve of his sensual mouth, all she could think of was how it felt to have those lips on her body, how it felt when he filled her, possessed her, drove her mindless. Her skin still burned from his touch. Her head was dizzy with the memory of how he made her feel and she slid her fingers into her hair and shook her head in frustration.

‘A relationship cannot just be about sex.’

His eyes held hers, hard and unsympathetic. ‘It has to be, because I can give you nothing else.’

* * *

In the morning he was gone again.

If she’d thought their shared confidences would have moved their relationship forward, she was disappointed.

And this time when she heard children laughing she knew one of the voices belonged to his daughter.

It felt unnatural not to approach her and build a relationship, but he’d made his wishes clear on that matter so Layla sat in the shade on a smooth rock by the oasis and forced herself not to initiate contact with the little girl. And she seemed happy enough, playing with her friends, laughing as a child should laugh. Laughing without fear that the sound might draw unwanted attention.

The child laughed until darkness fell over the desert.

And then the screams started again.

Instinct drove Layla from her bed. Heart pounding, she came to a screeching halt outside the entrance to the tent.

He didn’t want her near his daughter, did he?

Unless she wanted to create a rift between them she had to respect that decision.

Torn, she stood there, waiting for the child’s screams to settle, telling herself that Nadia was there and would comfort the girl.

The screams grew louder and more desperate.

Sweat beaded on Layla’s forehead. Just listening to it stressed her so badly her heart raced. The sound reminded her so much of Yasmin in the early days, and to stand there and do nothing demanded a self-control and thick skin Layla didn’t possess.

Pressing her palm to her forehead, she breathed deeply and tried to calm herself. She told herself it wasn’t her concern, that if she suddenly appeared in the tent it would probably just frighten the child even more. But none of that reasoning did anything to ease her urge to do something.

Why didn’t someone else go to her? Where was Nadia?

Her will-power stretched taut, she lasted another five seconds before giving in. If Raz never spoke to her again, so be it. He hardly spoke to her anyway so it wouldn’t be that much of a loss.

As she pushed aside the flap she expected to see Nadia, but the tent was empty apart from the little girl who sat alone in the enormous bed, shuddering and screaming at some imaginary terror. At her feet lay the two Saluki, whimpering and looking at the child in alarm and confusion, as if they sensed a threat but couldn’t identify it.

Mouth dry, Layla stared at the dogs. Nothing but a screaming child could have propelled her forward.

Her heart was kicking at her ribcage—not just because to get to the child meant stepping over fur and teeth, but because the sound of the screaming brought back so many memories of Yasmin, terrified and clinging to her.

She threw one last glance over her shoulder, in case there was someone else who could do this, but there was no sign of Nadia or the bodyguards who were supposed to be in attendance.

Trying to look confident, she stepped over the Saluki as gracefully as a ballerina, braced to feel those sharp teeth close around her ankle.

The dog closest to the bed growled, a menacing rumble low in its throat, but it didn’t move from its position.

Taking that as a good sign, Layla crawled onto the bed and snuggled down with the child, stroking her back and talking to her, hoping desperately that the tone of her voice would do the trick and the child wouldn’t wake and realize that the comfort came from a stranger.

‘There, you’re safe now—and you need to go back to sleep.’ She talked nonsense, and then decided a story might help. ‘Once upon a time...’ She told the same stories she’d told her sister at the same age, remembered them word for word, and the familiarity of the ritual soothed her as well as the child. She talked quietly until the little girl’s breathing suggested she was deeply asleep while all the time the two Saluki lay by the bed, heads on paws, watching her.

Afraid that if she moved she’d wake the child, Layla stayed still, her fingers tangled in the dark curls that belonged to Raz Al Zahki’s daughter. Looking down at that sweet, vulnerable face, now smeared with tears, she felt her heart twist.

What had she been through?

What had she suffered?

She’d stay just a while. Until she was sure the girl was asleep.

Then she’d return to her bed and he wouldn’t be any the wiser.

* * *

The red ball of the dawn sun was rising up behind the mountainous dunes when Raz rode back into the camp two days later. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, his head pounding following long days spent in meetings with senior tribal members.

He needed sleep, but nowhere near as much as he needed a swim.

It was still early and everything was quiet and still. No one was stirring.

Having handed over his stallion to one of the waiting grooms, he made straight towards the tent where his daughter slept, noticing with a frown that there was no sign of the guard.

Fear for his daughter fuelled his stride.

Entering quietly, he stood for a moment on the threshold, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, relieved to see the dogs sprawled protectively at the foot of the bed.

The familiar sight of the lump in the bed brought relief rushing down on him—and then he realised that the lump was bigger than usual.

Stepping closer, he saw that there in the bed, with her arms wrapped around his daughter, was Layla.

Shock and surprise were replaced by anger, and then another, darker emotion he didn’t dare examine too closely.

The dogs sensed the change in his mood and growled, and those growls woke the child. Her expression brightened as she saw her father and she sat up sleepily, the movement waking Layla.

Her eyes opened and her gaze met his, blank at first and then alight with consternation.

Sitting up, she clutched at the sheet. ‘We weren’t expecting you so early.’

‘Evidently.’ His tone was silky soft and he saw the colour return to her cheeks as she met his hostile gaze.

‘I’m pleased you’re early.’ Zahra slid out of the bed, paused to hug and kiss the dog closest to her, and ran across to him, arms outstretched. ‘Has Shakira had her foal?’

‘Not yet.’ Raz scooped her into his arms. Her hair brushed against his jaw and he felt his insides knot with love. It was a love that overwhelmed every emotion he’d ever felt. A love that made a strong man vulnerable. And he felt that vulnerability now as he held her and felt those slender arms tighten around his neck.

‘When can we go and see her?’

‘Soon.’ He hugged her protectively, his eyes still on the woman in the bed. ‘Zahra, I want you to play with your toys for a minute while I speak to Layla.’

‘Can’t she stay?’ Zahra was openly disappointed. ‘She hasn’t finished the end of the story. We both fell asleep.’

‘I can finish it later.’ Without meeting his eyes, Layla slid out of the bed.

He saw her hesitate before allowing her feet to touch the ground and saw her hold her breath as she stepped carefully over the dog blocking her path, as if doing so required nerves of steel.

Oblivious to the atmosphere, Zahra smiled at her. ‘When you’ve finished talking, can we play in the sand like yesterday?’

The news that she’d been spending her days with his daughter was the final straw. ‘No, you cannot, because we are going riding.’

‘Together?’

‘Together.’ Touched by her expression of delight, he put her down gently. ‘Play with Isis and Horus for a moment.’

She needed no encouragement to play with the dogs, and they in turn fussed around the child, proving themselves better guards than the people he’d paid to stand over her and keep watch in his absence.

Keeping his anger in check, he left the tent, noticing that one of the guards assigned to watch over his daughter was now standing outside, having no doubt taken a badly timed bathroom break.

Deciding to deal with him later, Raz followed Layla to the edge of the oasis, noticing that she stopped a safe distance from the water’s edge.

‘You deliberately went against my orders.’

‘Yes, I did.’

She turned to face him, her expression calm. She made no excuses. Nor did she apologise and that surprised him.

‘I thought I’d made my wishes clear on this matter.’

‘Would you rather I’d left your daughter to scream, Your Highness?’

The news that Zahra had been screaming again sent ice down the rigid length of his spine. ‘If she was screaming then it would have been better for someone familiar to comfort her. That was your advice.’

‘And I stand by it. But there was no one familiar. She was alone.’

‘My daughter is never alone. She is under twenty-four-hour guard and Nadia is with her at all times.’ Even as he said it he remembered that the guard had not been present when he’d arrived, and her next words confirmed that.

‘She was alone last night. And the night before. And the night before that. There was no guard and there was no Nadia.’ She seemed more annoyed than intimidated. ‘You weren’t here. I made the decision I thought was best, Your Highness.’

‘My name is Raz,’ he said tightly. ‘I think we are now sufficiently well acquainted for you to use it.’

‘Evidently not, since you don’t see me as fit company for your daughter.’

Raz breathed deeply. ‘Nadia is supposed to stay with her at night.’

‘Then no doubt that is something you will wish to explore with her.’

Listening to that calm appraisal, Raz realised just how much he’d underestimated her. He’d mistaken silence for a lack of opinion, and shyness for a lack of forcefulness, but it seemed his new wife had a layer of steel, visible only if someone pressed hard enough. On this she wasn’t budging.

‘Nadia would not have left her alone.’

‘Are you accusing me of lying?’

‘Perhaps it was a simple misunderstanding. Perhaps she went to fetch Zahra a drink or something to eat.’

‘There was no sign of her at any point during the night, nor of the guard. I understand that as her nanny you believe Nadia to be the best person to care for her, but I’m providing you with evidence that she left the child alone. Why would you doubt me?’

‘Because Nadia isn’t Zahra’s nanny. She is her aunt.’ That confession was met by a tense silence.

For a moment she said nothing and simply stared at him. Then her mouth moved and finally words emerged.

‘Her aunt?’

Raz stayed perfectly still. ‘Nadia is my late wife’s sister.’

‘S-sister?’ She stammered the word, visibly shocked. Again she said nothing, and then she shook her head briefly. ‘And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning? You let me turn up here in my wedding dress and you didn’t even warn her or tell me who she was?’

‘When would I have had the opportunity to warn her? We were married only hours after you appeared unannounced at my desert camp. Then we arrived here and she came out of the tent before I had a chance to speak to her privately.’

‘It is no wonder she can barely look at me.’ Her words were barely audible. ‘It explains so much.’

‘It does not explain why she would leave Zahra unattended.’

‘Maybe it does. Maybe...’ She frowned slightly and then stared at the still surface of the oasis. ‘You should have told me. There is so much you should have told me.’

‘Why would I tell you?’

‘You really have to ask me that?’ Her head was turned towards him, pain and accusation in her eyes. ‘Because keeping secrets is doing nothing but harm. I understand that this is hard for you, I understand that you have to make love to me in the dark because touching me makes you think of your wife and that makes you feel guilty, and I understand that you don’t want to be here during the day because it’s like a slap every time you look at me. I understand that, given the way you feel about my family, you are reluctant to trust me with your child. I don’t blame you for that. But it wasn’t Nadia who comforted Zahra in the night, Your Highness. It wasn’t Nadia who read to her and played with her. For the past two days it hasn’t been Nadia who has cared for your daughter. It has been me.’

Raz was stunned into silence by her interpretation of the facts, but before he could respond she took a step closer to him.

‘Do you think I’m not a caring person? Is that what you think?’ Her voice vibrated with tension. ‘Do you think I would have crossed a desert I didn’t know, on a horse I had no idea how to ride, to find a man who hates me, if I weren’t a caring person? Just in case the facts don’t speak for themselves, let me tell you I’m a very caring person—and if you looked at the facts you’d be able to see that. And, yes, I was thinking of my sister and my future, but I also care about the people of Tazkhan. And before you dismiss that, based only on my bloodline, let me remind you that we can choose many things in life, but whom we are related to isn’t one of them. I chose to go to your daughter in the night because I couldn’t sit there and listen to her distress. And I chose to step over those horrible, scary dogs in order to comfort her. So never imply I’m not trustworthy enough to care for you daughter.’

The stillness of the baking desert heat intensified the silence.

Raz stood still, her words stinging as they sank into his flesh. ‘Why do you find the dogs scary?’

‘After everything I just said to you, that is the question you choose to ask?’ She gave a choked laugh—a sound loaded with disbelief—and he frowned.

‘Layla—’

‘No. Enough.’ Her voice was shaky as she backed away from him. ‘This conversation is going nowhere. You don’t want to come anywhere near me and you can’t bear it when I come anywhere near you, so just leave me alone.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

LAYLA PACED THE width of the tent and back again, so upset she didn’t know how to calm herself. Once again she was ripped apart by emotions new to her and she tried desperately to rationalise them.

Why would he trust her? He didn’t know her. Of course he’d be reluctant to allow her near his child—a child whose existence he’d taken great care to keep secret from her family. It was a sign of his love for his child, and she was the last person ever to criticise a father for loving his child.

So why did his attitude towards her hurt so badly?

And why couldn’t she share the same space with him and not think about sex?

Hyped up and unsettled, she picked up a ripe peach from the bowl on the table and then put it down again, knowing that she was already in possession of the answer. And the answer was that it hurt so badly because it felt as if he cared. When his mouth was on hers, when his hands were holding her face and his body was buried deep in hers, it felt as if he cared. And it felt incredible. So incredible she wanted more. And in wanting more she also wanted it to mean something.

The whole thing was turning her brain into a churning mess. She was used to using logic, but the feelings inside her defied logic.

With a murmur of frustration Layla turned and paced back again, trying to filter out the facts, but even the facts were confusing. To be so intimate in bed and so distant out of bed was muddling her brain. In bed, the signals were that he cared. Out of bed, it was clear he considered her on a level with the life forms occupying the bottom of the oasis.

Having admitted that to herself, it horrified her when he strode into the tent and closed the flap between them and the rest of the world.

‘Go away—’ Her voice cracked and she stepped back from him, still reeling from their conversation and feelings that were new to her. She wanted to turn them off and had no idea how. ‘Don’t say anything else. I can’t take any more right now. I got the message. If you really don’t want me near your daughter I won’t go near her, but please make sure that someone does because I can’t lie here listening to her screaming.’

‘And that is very much to your credit.’ His voice was low, his expression guarded as he watched her pace from one end of the tent to the other. ‘I came to tell you that you’re wrong.’

She couldn’t focus.

She couldn’t concentrate on the conversation because she wanted to look at him all the time. Not just because he was a man who naturally commanded attention, or even because he was sensationally good-looking—although that had to play a part—no, it was something so much more personal. It was because he knew her in a way no one had ever known her before. Whenever he was near she felt as if they were being pulled together. She had to fight the impulse to walk up to him and touch him. And because she had no experience of feeling that way she had no idea how to cure herself.

She’d never felt like this before and it was driving her mad. They had huge issues, but all she could think about was the feel of his hands on her and the way it felt to be kissed by him.

Layla pressed her fingers to her forehead, trying to clear her brain, trying to harness her old way of thinking. Trying to push out thoughts she didn’t want in her head. Her stress levels were running into the red, her grip on control so loose she was afraid the whole thing was going to slip from her grasp. She knew the only way to pull herself back together was not to be near him. She needed to be on her own so that she could rebalance herself.

‘I probably am wrong. You know Nadia much better than I do. I don’t have all the facts. If you think she’s the right person to care for your daughter, it’s not my place to disagree with you.’

‘I don’t mean that you’re wrong about Nadia. I mean that you’re wrong about the other things you said.’

She was so aware of him standing there that the whole conversation blurred in her head. ‘What things?’ Was this the ultimate in humiliation? To know a man could do those things to her and feel nothing and yet still her head could be full of nothing but him? Why couldn’t she detach the physical from the emotional as he evidently could?

The intimate atmosphere suffocated her, and the way he was looking at her made her feel as if he’d touched her skin with the flame of a candle.

‘I make love to you in the dark not because I am thinking of my wife, but because you are very shy and I am trying to be sensitive to your feelings. On that first night you would not even remove your robe to show me your bruises, so I assumed you would want to take that side of our relationship very slowly.’

Slowly?

Layla felt as if she were burning up inside. She thought about what they’d shared. Was that slowly? Trembling, she hid her damp palms behind her back. ‘Oh.’

‘You came to me clutching a copy of the Kama Sutra, but you hadn’t even glanced between the pages and clearly had no idea of what lay ahead of you. I decided you might be less self-conscious if you were in darkness.’ He paused to draw breath. ‘I don’t spend time with you during the day, that is true, but it’s because I have a million and one demands on my time—not least the upheaval in Tazkhan. I have spent the past two days meeting with certain members of the council in secret. Hassan has disappeared. That is another reason I am particularly concerned about my daughter’s safety right now.’

Still dealing with the news that he’d been thinking of her feelings, Layla felt her stomach lurch. ‘Hassan has disappeared?’

‘Yes, and until we know his whereabouts I don’t want my daughter left alone.’ He hesitated. ‘Or you. He is a desperate man. Who knows what he could decide to do, given that he now has so little to lose? He has lost any chance of taking your father’s place and he has few, if any, supporters among the people. Speaking of which, I have been learning a great deal of interesting information about you in the past few days.’

‘You have?’

‘I spent some time with the people. I visited hospitals and local schools—including a school where you apparently help out.’

‘I love books and I like to help the children who struggle with reading. The school doesn’t have enough staff to offer that sort of help.’ Layla stammered over the words, horrified that he’d found out with such ease. So much of her life had been conducted with discretion, if not secrecy. ‘Who told you?’

‘Apparently the staff don’t feel the need to keep it a secret any longer as your father is dead and Hassan missing. There is no shortage of people willing to tell me how good you are with the children and what an excellent decision I made in marrying you.’

She stood rigid, thrown by that news. ‘But you don’t think that. I know you don’t. On that first night you left the tent because you felt guilty about what we’d done.’

‘No. I felt guilty because the sex was incredible. I agreed to this marriage because of what it meant for Tazkhan, but what we shared that night went well beyond duty and I couldn’t pretend otherwise.’

Shocked into silence by his honesty, Layla tilted her head and stared up at him, feeling a shift in their relationship. ‘I didn’t know—’

‘That I felt that way? I would have thought it was obvious.’

His dry tone made her blush and the look in his ebony eyes made her stomach flip.

‘Your Highness—’

‘Raz.’

He was standing so close to her she could hardly breathe. She lifted her hand and placed it on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart under her fingers. ‘Raz.’ It felt strange to say his name. Strange to be this close to someone.

He cupped her face in his hands. ‘Do you realise that, despite the intimacies we have shared, that is the first time you have spoken my name?’

‘It felt wrong to use your name. You were a stranger.’

There was a prolonged silence. His eyes dropped to her mouth. ‘But I’m not a stranger now.’

His self-assurance was in direct contrast to her own mixed-up, tangled emotions.

‘You hate me.’

‘No. But I admit it’s a complicated situation.’ A wry smile tugged at his sensual mouth. ‘You are a person who likes facts, so I will tell you that the facts in this case are that nothing is going the way I thought it would go when you turned up at my camp that night.’

She wanted to reach up and sink her hands into that glossy dark hair. She wanted to pull his head down to hers and see if his kiss felt as good in daylight as it did in darkness. She wanted to give herself up to the emotion and the confusion and stop trying to rationalise the mess in her head.

‘It’s not going the way I thought it would go, either.’

‘I owe you an apology for ordering you to stay away from my daughter. You should know that I am very overprotective where she is concerned and the past week has been a particularly unsettling time.’

Standing this close to him, it was a struggle for her to concentrate. ‘I would never criticise any father for being overprotective.’

‘Please understand that my reluctance to allow you near her was less about you as an individual and more about my determination to keep life as stable as possible for her. I thought Nadia was the perfect person to care for her. It seems I may have been wrong.’

‘Maybe you weren’t. As you said, there is probably some perfectly reasonable explanation for her absence.’ What right did she have to comment on the behaviour of another person when she didn’t even understand her own?

‘Possibly, but at the current time we are unlikely to find that out.’ There was an edge to his tone. ‘She has gone missing, along with one of my guards. I suspect that when they both should have been with Zahra they were together. We are trying to find them. In the meantime I must thank you for being so incredibly kind to my daughter when she was upset.’

His apology was as unexpected and unsettling as it was touching.

She’d craved distance, but instead she had closeness and a new sense of understanding that simply intensified the feelings inside her.

‘She is very sweet and good-natured. And I love her sense of mischief. She reminds me so much of Yasmin.’

‘The people here have noticed your kindness to her and it has done much to make them warm towards you. What are these stories you’ve been telling Zahra that make her so desperate to go to bed at night?’

‘One Thousand and One Nights. I read them to my sister.’

His eyes glittered. ‘So now you think you are Scheherazade?’

‘Hardly. But I thought if I could relax Zahra before she sleeps she might be less likely to wake.’

‘It was a good plan. Did it work?’

‘It’s too soon to know. I just wish I’d brought the book with me instead of leaving it at the first camp.’

‘That was the other book you brought with you?’

‘Yes. It’s one of my favourites. I decided I could only carry two, because of the weight, so I picked that one.’

His hands were still on her face, his gaze intent on hers. ‘And the Kama Sutra.’

‘It was a matter of priorities.’ She knew her face was hot against his palm. ‘And ignorance.’

‘You have no need to explain yourself to me and no need to feel embarrassed.’ His eyes darkened. ‘These last few days have been a terrible strain for you. The threat of marriage to Hassan, whom you clearly fear and loathe, escaping from the palace, losing your sister in the desert and then being picked up by my men. Marriage to a stranger, a near drowning, and then living with a husband with whom you’ve barely shared a conversation but are expected to undress for.’

Layla tried to smile. ‘When you put it like that, it’s no wonder I’m a little wound up.’

‘A little?’

‘A lot. I’d be a lot better if there was news of Yasmin.’

His hand dropped from her face. ‘So far there is none, but that does not mean you should worry. Salem is renowned for not communicating.’

Remembering the dark, forbidding profile of the man she’d seen only briefly on that first night, Layla found that of little comfort. ‘What if he can’t find her?’ She blurted the words out, seeking reassurance.

‘If anyone can find her it will be Salem.’ Raz hesitated, as if he were deciding how much to tell her. ‘He has a special set of skills.’

‘But what if Hassan has already tracked her down? What if he has her right now?’

‘Then Salem will find both of them and you can safely feel sorry for Hassan.’

Layla hesitated, because to make an accusation unsupported by solid evidence felt wrong. ‘I have nothing but instinct on which to base this suspicion, but I think Hassan may have played a part in the death of my father.’

His expression didn’t change. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

The relief that came from having someone to discuss it with was overwhelming. ‘You suspect it too?’

‘Of course. The moment I heard about the Sheikh’s sudden illness it was the first thing that came to mind. We have no proof, but we believe it was Hassan who ordered someone to tamper with the brakes of my car two years ago. I don’t believe it was his intention to kill or injure my wife, because that would have brought him no political benefit. There is little doubt I was the intended victim, but sadly she chose that day to borrow my car.’

His voice was thickened with a mix of regret, guilt and anger, his pain so powerful she felt it as if it were her own.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I do not hold you in any way responsible. But it is true that Hassan would do anything for power. He and your father were cut from the same cloth.’

She knew that, but it was the first time she’d heard anyone else say it. ‘If he finds my sister—’

‘I would trust my brother with my life and we must now trust him with your sister’s life.’ He turned to look at her, the lines of his handsome face set and serious. ‘When did you last eat?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You’ve barely eaten in the whole time we’ve been together.’

‘I’ve eaten.’

‘We may be in the dark for much of the time, but that does not make me blind.’ His tone was dry. He hesitated. ‘Zahra is keen for me to take her riding today. I know your experience with horses to date has been less than encouraging, but if you would like to learn to ride it would give me pleasure to teach you.’

The thought of spending yet more time on a horse horrified her, but she could tell he was reaching out to her and didn’t want to do anything that could be considered a rebuff. ‘Teaching a beginner would drive you mad.’

‘I have been teaching Zahra since she was able to sit unsupported. Believe me when I say that nothing you throw at me can be more of a challenge than putting an overexcited toddler on a horse.’

‘You taught her to ride that young?’

‘It is the best age. She has grown up around horses, as I did. It wouldn’t surprise me if she chooses to make that her career in some way in the future.’

Career?

‘You see her having a career?’

‘Of course. And I can’t see it being diplomacy, because my daughter is as outspoken as your sister.’

That fact clearly amused him, and Layla thought about the times she’d had to haul Yasmin away from a situation before her comments created havoc.

‘You’re proud of your daughter.’

‘Very.’

The contrast between his love for his daughter and her own barren childhood was so vividly accentuated that the breath caught in her throat. Wondering what was wrong with her that she could envy a child, Layla stepped away from him.

‘Thank you for the offer of riding lessons, but I don’t want to intrude on your time with Zahra.’

He curved an arm round her waist, trapping her. ‘You’re still upset?’

‘No.’ All she had around this man were uncomfortable feelings. Feelings about him. Feelings about herself. She’d arrived here thinking she knew herself well and had discovered she didn’t know herself at all. It was like being inside the body of a stranger. ‘I just don’t want to intrude on your relationship with your daughter.’

‘You were the one who pointed out that you should be part of my relationship with my daughter.’

Did it make her a bad person that it was almost too painful to watch? ‘You have a very special bond.’

‘A bond that will not be threatened or broken by the presence of another person.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But that isn’t the issue, is it? Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘There is no issue. Nothing is wrong.’ She tried to walk away but he locked his arm tightly around her waist.

‘Your father wanted you to marry Hassan, so I assume from that your relationship with him was difficult. You don’t have to hide it from me. I want to know. All of it.’

‘Why? What difference does it make?’

‘As you just pointed out to me, keeping secrets isn’t going to do anything for the progression of our relationship.’

Did he see a progression? This was a man who had loved his wife totally and completely. A man who had vowed never to love again. What progression could there be? She could have asked, but she wasn’t sure she could cope with the answer. They were together now, and nothing could change that.

‘My relationship with my father wasn’t just difficult, it was non-existent. You’re so proud of Zahra and you want the best for her.’ She stared at a point in the middle of his chest, trying to contain her emotions and relate only the facts. ‘My father was never proud of me. His interest in us extended no further than how useful we could be to him. He met Yasmin just four times in his life.’

Shock flared in his eyes. ‘Four times? That is all?’

‘Five, if you count the day he died, when we were both hiding behind the curtain in his rooms.’ Layla was surprised by her sudden need to confide when she’d lived her life relying on no one.

There was a long, tense silence. ‘I had no idea. I assumed—’ He broke off and rubbed his fingers over his forehead, apparently struggling for words.

‘I cared for Yasmin. We’ve never been apart. She’s the only person in the world I’ve ever been close to until—’ She stopped, feeling her face burn. Feeling his eyes on her.

‘Until me.’

‘I know we’re not close in that sense,’ she said quickly. ‘I know what our relationship is.’

‘Do you?’ His voice was soft and his eyes didn’t shift from her face. Slowly his hand dropped. ‘Then you’re making more progress than I, because I truly have no clue what our relationship is.’

The air was thickened with a tension she’d never felt before.

Something changed when she was with this man. Something she couldn’t put a name too, and didn’t understand.

She wanted desperately to reach out to him, to touch him as he’d touched her, but she wasn’t sure he’d want that and didn’t have the confidence to risk being rejected.

‘You should go to Zahra.’

‘You will come too. It would please her if you were to join us.’

‘I really don’t—’

‘And it would please me, too. Get dressed and meet us outside. Zahra’s favourite treat is to have breakfast by the oasis, so we will do that and then fly the helicopter to Bohara—my home.’

‘You have a home?’ It was something else she hadn’t known about him. ‘All the rumours are that you live in the desert and move around for your own safety.’

‘I do live in the desert, and I do move around—because how else is a man expected to know his people if not by living among them? But I also have a place that is mine. A stud farm just inside the border with Zubran. On paper it is owned by the Sultan of that country, who just happens to be a friend of mine.’ When Layla stared at him he flashed her a smile. ‘I don’t spend all my nights in a tent. After the last few days I think you deserve a taste of luxury.’

* * *

‘Just practise everything I taught you. I will keep you on a leading rein so there is no way she can run away with you.’

‘That’s comforting to know.’ Layla sat rigid on the calm, placid mare and Raz hid a smile, oddly touched by her determination to ride even though she clearly found the whole experience uncomfortable and unnatural. So far she had fallen three times, but each time she’d insisted on getting back on the horse.

‘If you want to give up, just tell me.’

‘I don’t want to give up. I won’t give up.’ Her jaw was set, her wrists inflexible as she gripped the reins.

‘Relax,’ Raz said mildly. ‘If you relax you will not fall.’

‘We both know I am going to fall whatever I do.’

But still she got back up again. He wondered if that was a skill she’d developed during her loveless childhood. But it hadn’t been completely loveless, had it? She’d had her sister. The sister who was now missing.

He made a mental note to try again to contact Salem, even though he knew such persistence would irritate his brother. ‘Relax your wrists and lower your hands slightly.’

She did as he instructed. ‘At least it isn’t as far to fall as it is from your stallion.’

‘I promise I will not let you fall again. Don’t grip the reins so tightly—you’re pulling on her mouth.’

‘I am?’ Dismayed, she immediately loosened the reins and rubbed the mare’s neck by way of apology.

He watched, intrigued by her and wondering how such gentleness could come from so much evil.

In all the rumours that had oozed from the corrupt walls of the Citadel there had been little about the princesses and most hadn’t thought to question the detail of their existence.

‘You’re doing well.’

‘We both know I’m not doing well, but I will learn. Just as long as I don’t hurt an innocent horse in the process.’ She balanced herself carefully and then risked a glance at him. It was the first time she’d taken her eyes off the horse’s ears. ‘Thank you for being so patient.’

‘You are very easy to teach because you listen. Sit up straight. Sit down in the saddle. That’s good.’

Her jaw was rigid and he could see her concentrating, going through his instructions one by one. The mare walked forward without fuss, as accommodating as he’d known she would be.

‘She’s very pretty. Is she pure Arabian?’

‘Yes. She is brave, spirited and intelligent, like all of her breed. And very strong. She could carry you for days in the desert and not tire. It’s the reason we choose this breed for endurance racing.’ It occurred to him that she shared many of those qualities. ‘The Arab horse is surefooted and agile in difficult terrain and bred for stamina. It can withstand the daytime heat of the desert and the cold at night.’

‘You bred her?’

‘My father bred her. He gave her to me as a foal but I am too heavy for her now. She taught Zahra to ride.’

‘You mean you taught her.’

‘The horse did most of the teaching.’

‘Did your wife ride?’

She asked the question quietly and he realised how sensitive the situation must be for her.

‘She didn’t ride, but she was an artist and she loved to paint the horses. She spent hours studying equine anatomy and her attention to detail was astonishing. Her mother was an artist, too, and she always hoped that Zahra would be equally artistic. But Zahra only ever wanted to ride the horse, not immortalise its image on paper.’

‘The greatest gift a parent can give is to allow a child to be who they want to be.’

Her wistful tone caught his attention.

‘You have told me about your father, but nothing about your mother.’

‘My mother died just after I was born.’

‘So your sister—?’

‘Yasmin is my half sister. Her mother was a model who caught my father’s attention for a short time. She left when Yasmin was five and we haven’t seen her since.’

It was a brief delivery of the facts, devoid of emotion, but he could imagine how much emotion was simmering below the composure that seemed to be part of her. She’d learned to hold it all in, he thought. Learned to feel without expressing the feeling.

‘But you said you cared for your sister. How is that possible?’

She sat without moving, her gaze focused on the horse’s ears. ‘It’s possible.’

‘You were seven and she was five.’

‘We learned what we had to learn.’

The mare, perhaps sensing the sudden tension of her rider, threw up her head and he saw Layla’s fingers whiten on the reins.

‘She is the most reliable horse in my stables, but if you feel unsafe you can always grab a piece of her mane.’

‘It doesn’t seem fair to make her suffer just because I’m nervous.’ But her fingers closed gently and carefully around a hunk of the mare’s mane.

Watching her, Raz felt himself harden. His gaze focused on those slim fingers. Heat shot through him as he remembered how those fingers felt against his skin.

He lifted his gaze from her fingers to her face, studying the curve of her cheek and the sweep of her inky lashes, and she must have felt his scrutiny because she turned her head and her eyes met his.

Raz felt that look all the way through him.

‘Can she gallop yet?’ Zahra cantered up, disturbing the moment, glued to the back of her horse as if she’d been born in the saddle, Isis and Horus running by her side. ‘I want you to learn fast, Layla, so we can ride together. Isis and Horus can come with us too. They love it when we gallop.’

Layla had switched her attention from the horse to the dogs and Raz frowned.

‘The dogs make you nervous?’

‘I’m worried they might upset the horse.’

Her response made perfect sense, but he sensed something more and wondered if she’d been bitten as a child. That would certainly explain the fear he saw in her eyes whenever his dogs were nearby.

‘Did you keep Saluki as pets when you were young?’

‘No.’ Her lips were bloodless, her slim fingers clenched in the horse’s mane. ‘Not as pets.’

‘Layla...’ He rode closer to her, his knee brushing against hers. ‘If the dogs are a problem you must tell me.’

‘The dogs aren’t a problem. Zahra adores them and they adore her. They also guard her, which can only be a good thing.’

Her response was neutral and composed but he glimpsed something in her eyes—a shadow of something so dark and bleak he wasn’t sure he even wanted to explore it further. He wondered again what her life must have been like. What it would have taken to drive someone like her to cross the desert to seek out a stranger.

The more he knew her, the more he realised that such impulsive behaviour was completely out of character. She was a woman who thought everything through, who relied on evidence to make decisions, and yet she’d chosen to risk everything to find him. She’d known nothing about him, and yet she’d preferred to commit herself to the unknown than spend another day in her old life. So what did that say about her life?

‘When can we gallop?’ It was Zahra who asked the question, circling her pony like a polo player as she waited impatiently for her father.

‘Later,’ Raz told her. ‘I don’t want to leave Layla.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I think I might have had enough for one day and so has this poor horse.’

Apparently relieved to have an excuse to finish, she rode the mare to a halt the way he’d taught her.

‘You two gallop and I’ll go back. See you at the stables. But I think I’ll walk and lead her, if that’s all right.’

Before she could dismount, Raz reached out and covered her hand with his.

‘You are doing well.’

Her mouth twitched at the corners. ‘We both know I’m doing terribly,’ she said dryly, ‘but thank you for saying that.’

‘It’s always harder to learn as an adult than as a child because your awareness of danger is more sharply focused.’ And he suspected her awareness of danger was even more sharply focused than most. He watched her face, searching for clues, but her expression didn’t change and he released her hand. ‘Go and relax. Abdul will show you my library.’

‘You have a library?’ Her face brightened but Zahra shuddered.

‘Who wants books when they can have horses?’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.