The Chatsfield: Series 2

Sheikh’s Desert Duty

Maisey Yates

Delucca’s Marriage Contract

Abby Green

Princess’s Secret Baby

Carol Marinelli

Virgin’s Sweet Rebellion

Kate Hewitt

Greek’s Last Redemption

Caitlin Crews

Russian’s Ruthless Demand

Michelle Conder

Tycoon’s Delicious Debt

Susanna Carr

Billionaire’s Ultimate Acquisition

Melanie Milburne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Sheikh’s Desert Duty

Back Cover Text

Introduction

The Chatsfield

About the Author

Dedication

Harrington Family Tree

Chatsfield Family Tree

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extract

Welcome Ms Yates

Welcome Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar

Delucca’s Marriage Contract

Introduction

The Chatsfield

About the Author

Dedication

Harrington Family Tree

Chatsfield Family Tree

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Welcome Ms Green

Welcome Mr. Delucca

Princess’s Secret Baby

Introduction

About the Author

Harrington Family Tree

Chatsfield Family Tree

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extra’s

Virgin’s Sweet Rebellion

Introduction

The Chatsfield

About the Author

Dedication

Harrington Family Tree

Chatsfield Family Tree

PROLOGUE

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

Extras

Extract

Greek’s Last Redemption

Introduction

The Chatsfield

About the Author

Dedication

Harrington Family Tree

Chatsfield Family Tree

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extras

Extract

Russian’s Ruthless Demand

Excerpt

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Extras

Extract

Tycoon’s Delicious Debt

Excerpt

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Extras

Epilogue

Extract

Billionaire’s Ultimate Acquisition

Excerpt

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extras

Endpages

Copyright

Sheikh’s Desert Duty

Maisey Yates

A Chatsfield Scandal!

Journalist Sophie Parsons needs a scoop to stop the sale of her friend’s hotel chain. And she’s found it! But being abducted by a sheikh goes way beyond the call of duty...

Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar has a wedding to arrange, a sister to protect and a country to rule. He’s not going to let one woman bring it all down with a headline! Kidnapping Sophie seemed like a good idea, but soon her delectable company puts everything he values at risk.

Only one mistress can rule Zayn’s heart—will it be Sophie, or his duty?

Welcome to The Chatsfield, New York!

‘I’m working on something that concerns the Chatsfield family,’ Sophie said finally.

‘Clearly not something they would be very happy about.’

‘Well, probably not. But I can see you’re not one of their fans. It should please you to know that I’m not a big fan of the Chatsfields either. And I don’t think they necessarily deserve the somewhat pristine reputation they seem to have cultivated recently.’

‘So what is it you’re after?’ asked Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar. ‘A scandal.’

‘Of course. I should’ve known you were after a scandal. What good reporter isn’t?’

Unfortunately, she was very close to a scandal. One that would involve his family, his sister. One that would be unacceptable to have out in the open.

‘Well, exactly.’

‘And you know that I’m not James’s biggest fan?’

‘Well, clearly not. As he seems to have got involved with your sister.’

And just like that he realised that, whatever else she knew, she knew too much. With an entire newspaper to back her, she would be giving information to interested parties, who would do much more digging than he would like done.

‘Yes, indeed.’

And just like that he realised he had made his decision. He leaned forward and pressed the intercom button on the partition between the back seat and the front seat.

‘We are not going back to the hotel. We will be going straight to the airport.’

USA TODAY bestselling author MAISEY YATES lives in rural Oregon, USA, with her three children and her husband, whose chiselled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. She feels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffeemaker is a true example of her pioneer spirit.

In 2009, at the age of twenty-three, Maisey sold her first book. Since then it’s been a whirlwind of sexy alpha males and happily-ever-afters, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Maisey divides her writing time between dark, passionate category romances, set just about everywhere on earth, and light, sexy contemporary romances set practically in her backyard. She believes that she clearly has the best job in the world.

To Pippa, Laura and Jackie. Thanks for talking me through this one. Sometimes you need the whole team.

CHAPTER ONE

SHEIKH ZAYN AL-AHMAR had many regrets in his life. The kind of regrets that reached into the darkness in the middle of the night, and tried to strangle him while he slept. The kind of regrets that followed him all through the day, and informed his every action; constant reminders of why he’d had to leave the old version of himself behind, and become something entirely different.

But however pressing his past regrets might be, right now he could think of only one. Right now, his most sincere regret was that he could not close his fist around James Chatsfield’s throat and end the worthless man’s life here and now, in an alley behind his family hotel.

Instead, he settled for something much less satisfying. He curled his hands around the lapels of James’s jacket and shoved the other man back against the brick wall. It was a violent action but, Zayn found, not quite violent enough for his current mood.

“I’m not quite sure what has your knickers in a twist, Al-Ahmar,” James said. His pretty-boy face, filled with that kind of insouciance he excelled at, only enraged Zayn further. The mocking gleam in his eyes only stoking the fires higher. Because Zayn was so well acquainted with both. Because Zayn might well have been looking into a mirror that showed a reflection of the past.

But most especially because what the man had done was unforgivable.

“I think you very well know, Chatsfield.” Zayn didn’t see the point in playing games. Not here in a darkened alley with no one around to witness his actions.

For sixteen years, his life had been consumed with the protection of his family. With the protection of his reputation, and that of his country. And now, this one man was threatening to undo it all. Right now, this man represented the single greatest threat to Surhaadi, its people and to everything Zayn had built his new life on.

“Please, tell me this isn’t about your sister.”

Violence surged through Zayn’s blood, and he took the opportunity to reacquaint the back of James’s head with the wall. “What else could this be about? You have dishonored her. And in so doing you have dishonored me, the royal family and my people.”

James didn’t even have the decency to look scared. Instead of trembling, he arched a brow, his lips curved into a mocking smile. “That is a very heavy burden to place on one woman’s body. I was not aware that the integrity of the nation rested upon your sister’s maidenhead.”

“You have no place to comment on integrity,” Zayn said, tightening his grasp on James. “You are a man in possession of none.”

“But at least I don’t treat women like they are my property.”

No, James Chatsfield would never treat a woman like she was his property. Because once he had slept with a woman, he had no further association with her. Worse than treating them like he owned them, he treated them as though they were disposable. Paper dolls that he could dress, and undress, at will, before crumpling them up and throwing them away.

And in Zayn’s sister’s case, leaving them forever altered. Leaving her with child. A fact Zayn preferred James Chatsfield never even know. He didn’t have a right to know. Because he had never had a right to touch Leila in the first place. And as far as Zayn was concerned, James would never touch her again.

“Perhaps not, Chatsfield, but the fact remains that you have badly handled what belongs to me. My family, anyone beneath my protection, belongs to me. You are fortunate we are not in my country, for there, I would not hesitate to remove the member that committed the offense.”

Chatsfield shifted, suddenly breaking Zayn’s hold, his agility and strength surprising. Indeed, contrary to Zayn’s initial appraisal, the man was not the lazy playboy he appeared to be. Oh, the fact remained that he was a playboy, but there was a sharpness to him that Zayn found surprising.

“You’re positively biblical, Al-Ahmar.” Chatsfield straightened his suit jacket, and his tie, brushing off an imagined bit of dust. “Sadly, I haven’t the time to engage in any eye-for-an-eye nonsense.”

Rage poured through Zayn, and he wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off Chatsfield’s face. But he would not risk drawing attention. Would not risk giving Chatsfield a reason to wonder if there was more to Zayn’s rage than him simply sleeping with Leila. “You will not speak of your dalliance with my sister to anyone in the press.”

James made a scoffing sound. “Why would I ever speak to the press about such a thing?”

“Because while Leila was simply one in a long line of your exploits, the fact remains she is a princess. The media would love to get their hands on that.”

“You insult me, Al-Ahmar. In this country I am royalty in my own right. I hardly need to trade on your name to create a scandal so I can get featured in the headlines. I have my own.”

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will have your head. And I do not speak metaphorically.”

Something in Chatsfield’s expression hardened. “Oh, I have no doubt.” He straightened his jacket yet again and turned, walking back inside the hotel, leaving Zayn alone in the alleyway to curse into the emptiness around him.

The feeling of helplessness that was pouring through him was unwelcome, and all too familiar. It echoed a time he’d failed another sister. Another time the problems had been too big to fix. Regret piling on top of regret.

Rain was starting to fall, the only light coming from a lone streetlamp, casting everything in a yellow glow. Zayn’s mind was racing, his pulse in overdrive. If any of this got out, the press would have a field day. He had no idea what Leila intended to do about her pregnancy, and with the heightened interest surrounding the royal family, due to Zayn’s own upcoming marriage, she was in a much more precarious position than she might have been.

She was vulnerable enough without introducing the variable of public opinion and scrutiny. That would add pressure she didn’t need, judgment she didn’t deserve. No, he would not have that. He would not expose his family to such criticism and judgment. Not again. Not while he drew breath.

He heard a clattering sound in the corner of the alley, a trash can turning over on its side, a blur of motion catching his eye.

He was not alone. And he and Chatsfield had not been the only two involved in the conversation that had taken place only minutes before. They had a witness.

And that was unacceptable.

The feeling of helplessness drained, a shot of adrenaline moving through his veins. Action. He craved action. He craved a plan.

Zayn stalked toward the movement, his body on high alert, muscles tensing, ready to strike. When a man lived as he did, he had ample time to train his body. And Zayn had done just that. Had taken every opportunity to spend hours channeling physical frustration into strength training.

He didn’t fear whatever would be waiting for him in the shadow. He had no reason to. Because he had no doubt whatsoever that he was the most dangerous thing in this alley.

There was more clattering, followed by a squeak, and he acted, reaching into the darkness and coming up with a fistful of hair, resistance and a sharp squeal.

Not the sound of a hardened criminal.

He released his hold on the person he had seized, and straightened.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What do you want?”

“Ow,” his quarry made a plaintive noise.

“I doubt very much that you’re injured,” he said. “Come into the light.”

The intruder obliged, moving from the shadow and into the golden haze cast by the streetlight. He wasn’t entirely certain what he’d expected, but the slim blonde with long honey-colored hair, disheveled—likely from when he had grabbed it—wearing a sequined dress with a hemline that fell well above her knee, and mutinous expression on her face, was not at all what he’d imagined he might find.

“I am very much injured.” She sniffed.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you are so easily damaged, it is advisable that perhaps you shouldn’t spend time hiding in dark alleys. They are dangerous.”

“It would seem so.” She was frantically straightening her dress now, moving her hands over her slight curves, smoothing the wrinkles in the fabric.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, suspicion pressing down on him.

“I followed Chatsfield out into the alley.” She straightened, flipping long hair back over her shoulder, a pale, glimmering wave in the streetlight.

That made sense. She was very likely one of Chatsfield’s hopefuls, or one of his previous acquisitions. Probably trying to find out if she could finagle another night in his bed. Or perhaps just hoping she could trade on her connection with him for money or status.

Either way, she was dangerous. Either way, she would have motive to take her story to the press. The opportunity for revenge in the hands of a woman scorned by a playboy could prove dangerous for his sister.

“I see. And how much did you hear?”

Her eyes, which were already quite wide, widened further. “Nothing of interest. I was actually quite bored. I was actually taking a nap.”

“Try again.” He found he had little patience to continue standing out here as rain began to pour down on them. He found he had little patience for any of this. To face another failure where his family was concerned. To face another threat to them, after all they had been through.

It was in his power to spare them more pain, and he would do so. And he would not let one large-eyed blonde get in his way.

“I’m really into the free-food movement. And I like to make sure that there are no salvageable edibles in various trash cans surrounding posh hotels.” She started to move away from him. “You would be surprised how much gourmet food is simply tossed. I have found foie gras that was still quite fresh just cast out into the gutter. It’s egregious.”

“You said you followed Chatsfield out into the alley.”

She squinted. “I thought he might be looking for the foie gras.”

“It is getting quite cold out.” He reached out and grabbed hold of her arm, and she tugged back. But he held fast. “Why don’t we finish this conversation in my car?”

“Oh, you know—” she waved a hand “—I would, but I have a thing.”

“What thing?” he asked.

“A thing that is not getting into a car with a stranger.”

“I feel that after all you must have surely heard from your vantage point, we can hardly be considered strangers.”

He tugged her along through the alley with him, heading to where his limousine was idling. She walked along with him, but her hesitance was clear. For a moment he questioned himself. Asked himself what the hell he was doing.

But then he imagined Leila, in her distress, confessing her indiscretion, and worrying about the consequences. No, he would do whatever he had to do. No matter what that was.

There was no room, no time, for guilt.

“I really need to go,” she said. “My bicycle is double-parked. I think there’s a timer on the rack. I bet they’re going to cut my chain.”

“I will buy you a new bicycle.”

“That one has sentimental value.”

He paused, and looked down at her. “Why did you ride a bicycle in this weather? In that dress.”

“We don’t all hemorrhage gold.”

“No, indeed we do not. I imagine you have realized that James Chatsfield does.”

“What exactly are you implying?”

He propelled her forward to the passenger door of the limousine, and jerked it open. “I’m implying that you need to get into my car now.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“I’m sorry, I see you’ve confused my command with a request.” Not breaking his hold on her, he moved down into the limo, bringing her with him, her soft body flush against his.

And because it had been so very long since he had touched a woman, even given the circumstances, he could not help but take a moment to pause and enjoy the feel of her against him.

She wiggled, her bottom coming into contact with things he would rather not have her in contact with. “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

He did not answer. He only held fast to her, trying to figure out exactly where to take it from here.

Though he was immediately drawn back to the moment by the feel of her body against his.

It was in moments like this, moments when heat and curves overtook the gravity of the situation, that he wondered whether or not he’d truly managed to change. Or if he had simply spent years burying his weakness beneath the rock of good intention. Though, as he had so rarely found himself in this position since he had changed the focus of his life, he supposed it was neither here nor there. It did not matter how soft this woman was. It did not matter how good it felt to have her in his arms.

All that mattered was Leila. Her honor. Her safety, both physical and emotional.

No one could be allowed to compromise that.

He closed the limo door, and kept his hold on the woman, who seemed to have gone limp in his grasp. For one moment he wondered if she had fainted. And then she started talking again.

“Somehow I don’t think you’ve brought me in here because you’re concerned about me getting wet.” She turned to face him, concern lighting her eyes.

“It’s quite possible you’re correct.”

“Are you kidnapping me?”

“I feel that term implies both premeditation and a desire for ransom money. And as we’ve established that I hemorrhage gold, and you do not, I have no need of ransom money. Also, there was no premeditation involved, how could there have been? I had no idea you would be in the alleyway.”

“I don’t feel that either of those things is a necessary requirement to call something kidnapping.” She cocked her head to the side. “Are you detaining me against my will?”

“That all depends.” He shifted as the car started to move, releasing his hold on her. “Do you want to stay in the limo?”

“No.”

“Then yes, I am detaining you against your will.”

“Well, I think we’re going to have a problem.” She lifted her chin, her expression defiant, eyes glittering.

He looked around the darkened car, at the streetlights moving quickly by, bathing her face in quick flashes of light. “Excuse me, little sheikha, but I fail to see what problem you could possibly pose to me in this position.”

She drew back slightly. “I scream very loudly.”

“I am certain you do.” He reached up and thumped his knuckles on the back of the black partition between the back and front seats. “But everything in here is soundproof. And bulletproof.”

“What does it being bulletproof have to do with anything?”

“Just in case you were going to get some ideas about breaking a window. If a sniper’s bullet couldn’t manage it, you certainly can’t.” He leaned back in his seat. “I don’t want you breaking an elbow trying to force your way out.”

She sniffed loudly. “I don’t know why you would worry about my elbow. Not when you have seized my person.”

“I have not broken your person, have I?” She only glared at him, her expression mutinous. “No, I have not,” he said, answering his own question. “And I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“I assume this is supposed to make me feel calmer about the fact that you forced me into your car and are now taking me who knows where.”

“I know where.” A bit of an overstatement. He wasn’t entirely certain where he was going to take her, or what he was going to do with her. He didn’t know if she knew who he was, or what she had overheard. And he needed to find a way to ascertain that without giving away any more than he needed to.

He only knew he had to keep her. That this was his chance to seize control of this situation. To fix it.

“Oh, how interesting,” she said. “I might appreciate being let in on that information.”

“Sorry, that sort of information is a privilege.”

“What are you doing? Why are you bothering with me? I’m not anyone. No, scratch that, I am someone. I work for a very prestigious newspaper and if you don’t let me go...”

“You’re a reporter?”

“Yes,” she said, seeming to change tactic abruptly. “I am. An intrepid one. A real one. Kind of a big deal.”

“What were you doing in that alley?” He had to know now, because if she was telling the truth, that meant that she was far more dangerous to him than an ex-lover of Chatsfield’s would be. She was the very thing he feared most. The very thing that could do the most damage to his family.

To Leila.

Leila had made a mistake in sleeping with James. But ultimately, Leila was so innocent that her stake in it was much lower than Chatsfield’s. She had been taken advantage of, of that Zayn was certain. And this woman would drag her before the press, who would tear her apart like ravenous wolves. Because she was a woman, because the media, and the public, would see her fault as the greater fault.

Because she was a princess and being royalty she would be the bigger target.

No, he could not allow it. He had already put one innocent sister in harm’s way. He’d already failed her. In a way there was no coming back from. He would be damned if he’d do it again.

He would fix this. By any means necessary. A disgruntled lover might have taken a payoff, but not a reporter. No, this would require more extreme measures.

He would remove her from contact if need be. Even if he had to pick her up and carry her back to Surhaadi.

She hesitated, clearly trying to decide what she could say now that would help her out of her current situation. That was enough to inform him that whatever she said was very likely to be a lie.

“I was following James,” she said finally. “I’m working on something that concerns the Chatsfield family.”

“Clearly not something they would be very happy about.”

“Well, probably not. But I can see you’re not James’s biggest fan. It would please you to know that I’m not a big fan of the Chatsfield family as a whole. And I don’t think they necessarily deserve the somewhat pristine reputation in the public they seem to have cultivated recently.”

“So what is it you’re after?”

“A scandal.”

“Of course, I should’ve known you were after a scandal. What good reporter isn’t?” Unfortunately, she was very close to a scandal. One that would involve his family, his sister. One that was simply unacceptable to have out in the open.

“Well, exactly.”

“And you know that I’m not James’s biggest fan?”

“Well, clearly not. As he seems to have gotten himself involved with your sister.”

Instantly he realized that whatever else she knew, she knew too much. With an entire newspaper to back her, she would be parlaying this information to interested parties, who would likely do much more digging than he would like done.

“Yes, indeed.” And just like that, he made his decision. He leaned forward and pressed the intercom button on the partition between the backseat and the front seat. “We are not going back to the hotel. We will be going straight to the airport.”

CHAPTER TWO

IT TOOK QUITE a bit to rattle Sophie Parsons. She hadn’t gotten where she was in life by being a shrinking violet. But currently, she was feeling extremely rattled. And slightly like shrinking.

She figured it was understandable. As she had just been forced into a limo by a man who stood nearly a foot taller than she did, and who must outweigh her by more than one hundred pounds of lean muscle. And now they were going to the airport, apparently.

She eyed the speedily passing scenery and considered attempting doing a tuck and roll.

“The doors are locked.”

It seemed he was a mind reader in addition to being a kidnapper. Except he seemed to take offense to the term kidnapper. Did she really care? She took offense to being forced inside of a limo and taken to God knows where.

“Right, well, it’s not like I was going to go jumping out of a moving vehicle.” Except she had been thinking of doing just that. “Although you’ve given me no reason to believe that I wouldn’t be better off taking my chances with the asphalt than I am staying here with you.”

“You have nothing to fear from me. I do not intend to hurt you.”

She assessed him, his hard expression, his dark eyes glittering. She had yet to get a good look at his face; from the dim lighting outside, to the even dimmer lighting in here, it made it difficult to assess his features fully. But from what she could tell, he was an exceptionally handsome man. An odd thing to observe about one’s captor, but in her line of work observation was everything. He had high cheekbones, a square jaw and a strong chin. The planes and angles of his face cast into sharp relief each time they passed a brightly lit building, or row of streetlights.

“What do you intend for me, then?” It was important to know. Because if he was intending evil things for her she needed to know whether or not she should be trying to fashion a weapon out of the paper clips and Chapstick in the bottom of her purse.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Inconveniently for you, I find I’m exceptionally worried about what exactly a stranger intends to do with me. Even if it is rather mundane. Even if you just intend to ask me about different styles of napkin folding, which I could give you a comprehensive lesson on because I am something of an expert.”

“I do not wish to learn to fold napkins.”

No, of course he didn’t. And she didn’t, for one moment, think he had. But it was a better thought than the others swirling in her head. Because as far as she knew, men only had a few things they wanted from women when they removed them from a place forcibly. None of them were any good. None of them were anything she wanted a part of.

She really was in over her head now. She’d wanted to help Isabelle out, and she still did. But she had not realized that digging up scandal on the Chatsfield family to get Spencer Chatsfield off her friend’s back would end with her being shoved into a car by an angry stranger. No, indeed, she had imagined she would do a little bit of reconnaissance, and catch James doing what James did. He had been, in her mind, the easiest target.

The Chatsfields were currently making it their mission to take over Harrington Hotels, Spencer Chatsfield doing his best to ruin Isabelle Harrington’s life, as if he hadn’t already done enough years ago. That was why Isabelle had asked her to do what she could to dig up the scandal on the family, to throw the press a headline bone they couldn’t ignore and keep the Chatsfields busy scrambling to cover their butts while Isabelle shored up the defenses for The Harrington.

No, she wasn’t exactly a lead reporter for the Herald. She was more lead coffee maker and vapid party summarizer for the society pages. But, given that, she had the authority to run a piece on the Chatsfields.

Though, as much as Sophie loved Isabelle, as much as she wanted to help out her friend, she wasn’t sure if this was what she signed on for. No, she was certain this wasn’t what she’d signed on for.

“So what is it you want?”

“It’s quite simple, really. I need to keep you busy for a while.”

“I like a scavenger hunt. If you wanted to set up some kind of elaborate game, I might be persuaded to participate. That could keep me busy for a bit.”

“That is not what I had in mind.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, goose bumps breaking out over her arms. “Organizing your sock drawer?”

“Getting warmer.”

“Okay, you need to start talking, because I’m starting to panic.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“I have an idea.” She had overheard enough of his conversation with James to start piecing some things together. And what she surmised was that he was royalty of some sort. Because he had accused James of sleeping with his sister. His sister, who happened to be a princess. So unless he was some kind of royal bastard, he had to be a prince, sheikh or otherwise titled person. A quick internet search when she’d gotten back to her computer would’ve clarified everything. Of course, now she was separated from her computer, for who knew how long, so finding out who he was wouldn’t be as simple as she imagined.

Though if she could get her phone...

“I am Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar, of Surhaadi. And I am taking you back to my country for the foreseeable future.”

Her stomach jumped up and hit the back of her throat.

“What do you mean I’m coming back to your country with you?”

“Just exactly what I said. You are returning to Surhaadi with me, until I can figure out a means of dealing with you.”

“Well, I don’t want to.”

He shifted in his seat, one arm draped over the back of it, his legs thrown out in front of him. He had the posture of a lazy cat, as though this were mundane. As though he kidnapped women from alleys in New York every day, and threatened to take them back to his desert kingdom. As though this were as commonplace as ordering sparkling water instead of still.

But she had a feeling it was only an illusion. That, much like a cat, the lazy posture was simply lulling her into a false sense of security, so that she would be all the more surprised when he pounced. She decided then and there that she would not be lulled.

“All of this has very little to do with want, as far as I’m concerned,” he said. “Do you truly think I want to bring you back to my country with me? If so, you are mistaken. This goes deeper than want. This is about what I must do.”

“Well, what is it you must do? Let me help you with that, and perhaps we can both be spared this whole taking me back to the desert thing.”

“I am afraid I do not have time to negotiate.”

“I’m asking honestly, what is it you need? What is it you want from me?” Anything was preferable to this. Well, okay, not anything. But a lot of things.

“I require your silence, habibti. And while under normal circumstances I would be willing to pay for your silence, I find that I must be even more diligent in this instance. I cannot take the chance you will simply take my money and then give away my secrets, anyway.”

“I have a lot of honor. And I also have a lot of bills. So, all things considered, a payoff might be your best bet.” At this point, she just wanted to forget she had ever even seen the man. No payoff required. She was starting to get seriously freaked out.

“As I said, under normal circumstances I might have gone that route. But there is too much at stake. Anyway, what sort of paltry story do you suppose you could bring out of the Chatsfield name? There is more to this story. More to what I know about James Chatsfield. Come back to the palace with me, and I will tell you everything.”

Oh, no, that was far too easy, and made absolutely no sense. The man was trying to get her away from people, away from New York, to keep something secret. He was hardly going to give her surrounding information.

“I don’t trust you.”

“All things considered, I doubt there is any chance of there being trust between us.”

“Well, perhaps we don’t need trust. Perhaps we just need you to not force me to go someplace against my will. Right now, I would take that over trust.”

The limo started to slow, pulling into a driveway that she didn’t recognize. This didn’t look like any of the airports she was familiar with, or at least not a terminal she was familiar with. Not that she had spent very much time traveling, but she had dropped friends off when they went on trips.

Still, she was not an authority on air travel. “Where are we?”

“A private section of the airport, reserved for visiting dignitaries. It allows us to sidestep a lot of bureaucracy.”

She was starting to put the pieces together, but between the general feeling of shock and the haze of disbelief covering this whole thing she wasn’t feeling as quick as she usually did.

“I need you out of the way for a while. Surhaadi is the best place, where I can keep you close. Where I can keep an eye on you. But never fear, you will come away from this rewarded.”

A chill spread over her. “I have a job, I have a life, I can’t just leave.”

Okay, so saying she had a life was pushing it a bit. She had a life of working sixty hours a week, and doing her very best to climb the ladder, such as that was in her industry. She had spent her entire life working her way up from, if not the gutter, certainly a disadvantaged position, to where she was now.

Isabelle Harrington had helped her secure her place at the Herald, and Sophie owed her. More than that, she refused to squander any opportunity she was given. The vast majority of the work she had done to elevate her status had been accomplished on her own. Due to nothing more than sheer bloody-mindedness, determination and a burning sense of injustice that sat in her stomach, making her feel hollow. Driving her on, looking for a way to fill it.

But her position at the Herald was one of the few things that had been provided for her by her creative friends. Isabelle had recommended her for the position, and Sophie took it very seriously. She didn’t take for granted what she had been given. The thought of just leaving the job, for an indefinite amount of time, was unthinkable.

“Where is it you work?”

“I work at the New York Herald, and I can’t just leave.”

“I will call your boss, and I will speak to him.”

“Uh...no. You won’t. That is not happening.” Knowing Colin, he would smell a story and be no help in bailing her out. Her boss had the morals of a vulture. He was opportunistic in the extreme. A man who had attached himself to a very wealthy wife, using those connections to land himself a position as head editor for the Herald, all while sleeping with younger socialites behind her back.

He was opportunistic, but not, in Sophie’s experience, particularly sneaky. Either way, she did not want to bring him into this.

“You have now told me where you work. I am more than happy to take the ID out of your bag, find your name and call your boss. I will tell him that one of his reporters has greatly offended the sheikh of Surhaadi. And I will tell him I want you fired.”

Fear streaked through her. She despised it. Despised this feeling of being so disadvantaged because she was, by birth, lesser.

But I shouldn’t be. I should be one of them. But because my father didn’t choose me...

“You don’t actually think that would work, do you?”

“I do not see why it wouldn’t.”

“Well, perhaps in any other industry, it would work. But this is the media, if you give any hint of a scandal, they’ll just want to know what the scandal is. No one is going to fire me for creating a little bit of dust between myself and a sheikh.”

“You see, that is where you’re wrong. Because I have the capability of offering them a much bigger story than you ever could with your half-heard findings in the alleyway. But I would make it contingent upon them letting you go. And rest assured they would.”

“I can’t believe this. Are you seriously going to get me fired from my job? Because of...just because I overheard that Chatsfield slept with your sister?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice grave. “I would do just that. Do not doubt it. There are two things in this life that are dear to me. My people, and my family. I will do whatever is necessary to protect them. Sometimes, when you are the ruler of the country, that means being willing to go to war. When you are the head of the family, that means being willing to wage war on a more personal scale.” His gaze met hers, and even in the darkness of the car, she could feel the righteous fury emanating from him, could feel the heat. “There is nothing I would not do to protect my family. And right now, I feel that my hand is being forced.”

“I’m not forcing anything.”

“Your very presence does. Your name?”

“Why should I tell you?” He gave her a hard look, one that told her he would get it one way or another. She would just tell him. At least then it would be her choice. “Sophie Parsons.”

“And who do you report to directly?”

“Colin Fairfax.”

“Phone number?”

She rattled it off, because at this point, if she had her boss on the other end of the phone, perhaps she could at least signal her distress. Sheikh whatever-his-name-was retrieved the phone from the interior pocket of his jacket, and dialed the number she had given. A moment later she heard the phone stop ringing on the other end, and heard her boss’s voice coming through the line, muffled but recognizable.

“Yes, I am calling about an employee of yours. Sophie Parsons.”

She could hear words, but not what they were.

“She has done nothing wrong. She is with me, in fact...Sheikh Zayn, of Surhaadi...Yes, that one. We got into a bit of a discussion, and we spoke about her coming to Surhaadi to run a piece on my upcoming marriage.”

The implications of what he was saying turned over in her mind, and for the first time, she realized that some of this could actually go her way. That she could get something out of this.

Except where Isabelle is concerned. You’re leaving Isabelle up a creek without a paddle.

Not that she was doing it on purpose. If she had her way, she would escape the limo and run screaming into the night. But she didn’t seem to have much choice. He would load her onto the plane kicking and screaming if he had to, of that she had no doubt. There was barely another living soul out here, at least no one who didn’t work for him. And he had her boss on the line, her job in his hands, and if she did not have access to the media, the help that she could be to Isabelle was limited, anyway.

No, she wasn’t deserting her friend for self-serving reasons. She wasn’t deserting her friend for any reason that was in her control.

“She is a very charming young woman,” Zayn continued. “I find myself captivated by her. I should like to read her perspective of the goings-on.”

Her boss responded, his voice sounding much more cheerful and genial than it ever did when he spoke to her. Probably because she was a gopher and not a sheikh.

“I am not certain how long I will have her in Surhaadi, but of course we do have internet connections, and she will be able to make contact.” Somehow, Sophie doubted he would allow her free contact.

“Yes, I daresay it will be a wonderful exclusive for your paper. She will be in touch soon.” Zayn hung up, putting the phone back inside his jacket pocket. “There, that was relatively painless, wasn’t it?”

“For you, perhaps. I find all this has been quite painful.”

“I have scarcely laid a finger on you.”

“Pain can come in a lot of forms. Often I find the physical is the least of my worries.” That much was true, she had enough emotional garbage to last a lifetime.

“Well, it is all settled, your boss is happy to have you come to Surhaadi with me. And if you refuse, I will not hesitate to call him back and let him know you blew the story, and that I will require your immediate termination if the paper is to get the exclusive that I have now promised.”

“So those are my options? Be carried onto the plane kicking and screaming and lose my job, or get on the plane and keep my job.”

“That about sums it up.”

“What about my scandal? I need to do this. If you think I was out here for my own gratification, you’re wrong. I’m doing this for someone else. For a friend, and it’s important.”

“Come with me, and you will have your scandal.” His dark eyes were fathomless, impossible to read. But she could also see that she had no choice but to go with him.

She swallowed hard, trying to combat the swarm of nerves crawling through her system like a hoard of ants. “Then I guess we are going to Surhaadi.”

* * *

Zayn’s private plane was far more luxurious than anything Sophie had been exposed to before. And in the years since she’d moved up from her nondescript existence in a quiet neighborhood, tucked away from people she and her mother might encounter who would know who her father was, she had seen a fair bit of luxury.

She had not, however, seen private plane levels of luxury.

She felt like it had to be some kind of mental disconnect happening within her brain right now. Because she was essentially being kidnapped, and yet she was admiring the butter-soft quality of the leather that covered the chairs that were stationed throughout the airplane cabin.

All things considered, she didn’t feel like this was the time to be admiring the qualities of leather. Though if she thought about anything much deeper she might go insane. Because all of this was just too much to digest at once. She needed time to get used to this whole being kidnapped by a sheikh thing.

“There are two bedrooms in the back of the plane, and you’re welcome to use whichever one you like,” he said, speaking as though he was playing host at an extremely civilized dinner party. “You are also welcome to stay up here should you prefer. Can I get you a drink?”

“Well, the offer of the bedroom is certainly appreciated. As is the offer of a drink. Which I accept.”

She had never been much for drinking. After Isabelle had accepted her into her group of friends, Sophie had often found herself dining in places that were way above her pay grade. Soup or salad, coupled with the water, had often been the only thing on her menu. Certainly, had her friend been aware of the fact that Sophie couldn’t afford the places they’d gone, Isabelle would have happily given Sophie the money to pay for her meal. But charity had never sat well with Sophie. And anyway, the burning hunger to one day be able to order the fish dish, rather than ordering from the appetizer section, was one of the things that kept her going.

She had often been afraid that if she took those kinds of incentives from herself she would lose some of her drive. And that, in her mind, was unacceptable.

Of course, a fish-based entrée was not the be-all and end-all to her ambition. She’d worked for what she had. Every single bit of prestige and education. She’d gained tentative acceptance, acceptance that would have simply been her due had she been one of her father’s legitimate children.

The university she had attended had been a given for her half siblings. Something they could simply have because of their parentage. While she had not been afforded the same.

Because she and her mother had been secret. Because she and her mother had been kept separate. So she had set out to prove that she didn’t need her father’s influence, or money. She had worked her way to university on her own, graduating in the top of her class with a degree in journalism.

Three years on, and now that she was doing very little else beyond making coffee for the Herald, some of that triumph had dwindled.

But she was determined to hold on to her ambition. Because it had gotten her this far. Because it was the only thing she had to get her the rest of the way.

Which was why she couldn’t curl into a ball and give up now. This was the only way she could figure out how to help Isabelle, anyway. The sheikh claimed to know more than he let on, and she had to find out what it was he knew. She was stuck with him for a while, then.

And her boss now expected a profile of the royal wedding in Surhaadi. Which meant she might as well take in the whole experience. A certain amount of observation, including the quality of the leather, would be required of her.

She was, after all, a journalist. And so, she was hardly working to her full capacity at the moment as to what she intended to be one day. What was it they said? Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.

Well, right now, she would be taking in details, acting the part of the journalist she wanted to be, rather than the journalist she was. True, all of this had a bit more of a society bent than she cared for. She was interested in, someday, taking on stories that might be a little more hard-hitting than a sheikh’s upcoming marriage. But this was several rungs up the ladder she was currently standing on, and she would be foolish if she didn’t just go ahead and embrace it.

Frankly, she was kidnapped either way.

“What do you prefer?” he asked.

“Oh, something red, I should think. Do you drink white for a kidnapping?”

“I would think most people would prefer something a little bit stiffer for their kidnapping.”

“So, you admit that you’re kidnapping me.”

He wandered over to an ornate covered bar that was set into the wall, bottles closed into shelves, secured into carved wooden holders. He opened the doors, and selected a bottle of wine. “I do not see the point in quibbling over semantics. It changes nothing either way.”

“Well, one allows me a little bit of justified anger.”

“I do not see what you have to be angry about. Unless you have a lover you are meant to meet tonight.”

The very idea was ridiculous. She didn’t do the whole man-woman thing. Who had the time? Or the inclination toward heartbreak. Maybe, when she got to where she was going, maybe, if she ever found a man she thought she might be able to trust. Maybe. Two very big maybes.

“My diary for the evening was free,” she said.

“Then I would imagine that, as a journalist, a drink on a private plane with royalty makes for a much better story than you sitting on your couch and watching sitcoms.”

He had a point. But she wasn’t going to tell him that.

“I’m sure, but in the end most of this will make for a very good story. So what exactly am I supposed to be covering? You mentioned there being more to the Chatsfield scandal, but since then you’ve been awfully quiet about it.”

She could hear the engines of the plane being fired up, and her stomach flipped. She wasn’t used to flying. She had done a little bit domestically, but certainly nothing international. She didn’t even know how to calculate the estimated length of the flight from New York to Surhaadi.

“James Chatsfield is an ass. You can quote me directly on that, if you would like.”

“Forgive me, Sheikh Zayn, but there is full documentation proving that about James Chatsfield already. It’s hardly breaking news.”

The plane started to move down the runway and she wobbled where she stood. “You may want to sit down.”

And with that, it was clear the subject was closed. She did not find that acceptable in the least.

“Don’t you want to sit down?” she asked.

“I have a drink to pour.”

She walked across the expanse of the plane, and took a seat in one of the chairs. They were, indeed, as soft as they looked. Just for her mental records. For when she was writing a piece on this experience. On what it had been like to be in the private plane of the sheikh of Surhaadi.

He poured her a very full glass of red, not even looking unsteady when the plane picked up momentum. Then he put a stopper back in the bottle, and put it back in the cabinet. Before walking nonchalantly across the cabin and handing her the glass. He took a seat across from her, his hands noticeably empty of a drink.

“I think you and I have a lot in common, really. We both want Chatsfield blood. I think you should help me get some.” She took a sip of the wine, and fought to keep her expression neutral. This was not cheap wine.

If she ever did buy herself wine for home, it usually came in mini-bottles or a box. Silk taste, polyester budget and all that.

“Later. Later you will have your scandal. For now we can talk wedding business.”

Irritation spiked through her, and she fought to keep from showing him, fought to keep from revealing her hand any more than she already had. “But you are getting married? That’s true, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

She noticed he didn’t sound overjoyed at the mention of the upcoming union. She would file that away, as well. She would also continue down this line of questioning, because he was being a bit more forthcoming on this topic than on the topic of the Chatsfields.

She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs, and holding the wine out over the cream-colored carpet as the plane started to ascend. She didn’t have very many nice dresses, and she would be darned if she was going to get a red wine stain on one of the few she did own. His carpet would pay the price before this sequined masterpiece did.

“When is the wedding?”

A strange-looking smile curved the corners of his lips. It was not a happy expression, neither did it hold very much humor. “Three weeks.”

That would likely put her right at the center of the action. In spite of herself, she did find that exciting. “I imagine a lot of the preparation is under way already.”

“While my staff is executing much of it, my fiancée is dictating the activity from her home country.”

“She isn’t from Surhaadi?”

“No. My fiancée is the princess of a small European country. The fourth-born child in the family, and the only girl. She is still living in the palace there.”

“Long-distance relationship, understandable. Though not ideal.”

He shrugged. “I find nothing terribly un-ideal about it. There is no reason for Christine to uproot her life prior to our union becoming official.”

“Some people might not consider it very inconvenient to uproot things for the person they love.”

“Who said anything about love?” His dark eyes connected with hers and sent a shock wave down to her stomach. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore it.

She supposed she of all people shouldn’t have inferred love into a conversation about marriage. She hardly thought her own father loved the woman he was married to. Now, she didn’t suppose that the man loved her mother, either, but he certainly didn’t love his wife. If he did, why would he conduct so many affairs? Why would he conduct affairs with anyone at all?

“I don’t suppose anyone did. Except for me.”

“It is not a secret that my union with Christine has more to do with politics than feelings.”

“Oh, but the world loves a love match.” She leaned back in her seat, lifting her wineglass to her lips. “I should very much doubt if the public is content to imagine that you are simply allies for politics and not for pleasure.”

A political union would not make for a very strong hook in her piece. A piece she would have to give some consideration to, regardless of her primary aim of interviewing Zayn. Because Colin was expecting a story about a royal wedding now, and she had to deliver.

That wasn’t a problem, though, she was used to multitasking. Unlike most of her peers she’d had to hold on to a part-time job while going to school. And again, unlike most of her classmates, there had been no job waiting for her when she graduated. So there had been internships, combined with late shifts waitressing at bars.

No, multitasking wasn’t a problem for her.

“Yes, I daresay the public will be disappointed on that score.”

“Unless you decide to show them something else.”

“To what end?” He looked at her, and she could see that he was clearly intrigued.

“To the end of positive public opinion. Which I should think for a world leader would be of the utmost importance.” She knew all about playing that game, because in her life presenting a positive front, presenting a polished front, had been imperative.

Most everyone she’d gone to university with were simply accepted, based on their names and connections, but she hadn’t had that. Sophie had been forced to earn respect. She hadn’t been able to afford the mistakes the rest of her friends had been allowed to make. Any slip-up in behavior for them could be perceived as a simple youthful rebellion. For her, it was a revealing window into just how unsophisticated she was. Just how unsuitable she was. It was proof that, as they all expected, she didn’t belong.

For those reasons she’d had to be above reproach, because she was starting at a place of disadvantage.

Yes, Sophie knew all about manipulating public opinion—or in her case, the opinion of university administration and her fellow students—to her advantage.

“It certainly is, but shouldn’t my efforts to improve relations between countries count for something?”

“Certainly, and I’m sure for some it will. But it will be lost on others. And while they might accept your union with a kind of blissful neutrality, or at least a bit of interest in what your bride will be wearing, they would be a lot more interested in romance.”

“Then I give you leave to infer romance to your heart’s content when you write your piece.”

Sophie took another sip of wine. “I promise to read between the lines judiciously.”

“By which you mean you promise to read things that aren’t there?”

“That is a particular specialty of those who report on high-society stories.”

For the first time since he’d pulled her unceremoniously from the alley, the corners of his lips turned upward into a smile. It was not a smile that expressed happiness, but rather one that seemed to be laughing at some kind of perverse amusement. He rubbed his hand across his chin, fingertips grazing his square jaw, and she found herself distracted by the sound of his skin rubbing against the dark stubble. It was a very masculine thing, and she had not been exposed to many masculine things in her life.

An all-female household, female roommates, until she finally got her tiny apartment and lived alone.

Men were something of a foreign animal to her, and as she looked across to the man sitting opposite her, she realized he was an extremely foreign animal indeed.

He was magnetic, his features strong, dark brows, a blade-straight nose, eyes the color of midnight, framed by sooty lashes, the sort of lips that would entice lesser women to compose poetry about them.

Had he any softness to him, he might’ve been called beautiful. But he did not, so she would not. Beautiful wasn’t the right word.

Powerful, that was the word. The kind of power that far exceeded most of the people she’d been exposed to. No matter how influential a society family in New York might be, a sheikh certainly outstripped them.

He was the sort of man with ultimate power, not a man ruled by the laws of this, or any, land, really. Beneath his well-tailored suit, she could sense he was a man who didn’t ascribe to civility in a typical sense. Well, her presence on this plane was proof enough of that.

He was dangerous, she realized with a sudden jolt. And for some reason, she found that more fascinating than repulsing. She couldn’t figure out why.

She would attribute that to the masculine inexperience thing. Because it was easier than having to examine it deeper. This way, she could stick it in the “men are mystery” drawer and close it tight.

She suddenly became very aware of the fact that her heart was beating faster than normal. She would ignore that, too.

“Yes, I am well aware that it is a skill of the press, to imply all kinds of things.” The smile stayed fixed on his face, but there was a darkness to it now. A terrifying emptiness that was reflected in his eyes.

“In this case, perhaps it will benefit you.”

The smile widened, and she felt an answering tightness in her chest, as though he had managed to forge a link between his facial expressions and her insides. As though he had not just kidnapped her body, but had seized control over other parts of her. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

“Perhaps it will benefit both of us in the end.”

CHAPTER THREE

NOTHING COULD HAVE prepared her for the overwhelming heat of Surhaadi. The arid wind that had whipped across her face as she made her way down the staircase from the plane into the waiting limo had been dry and hot like an oven. Her pale skin starting to burn the moment she got beneath the sun’s rays.

In truth, it felt as though they were closer to the sun here than they had been in New York. It was beyond anything in her experience, and while it was uncomfortable, it was also fascinating.

Her level of fascination with her new surroundings far surpassed the unease she had been feeling on the plane ride over. She’d managed to sleep for a good portion of the flight, disengaging herself from conversation with Zayn after their little talk about love matches. For some reason, being close to him made her feel jittery.

Okay, so it was normal to feel jittery around the man who’d essentially forced her to come back to his country with him, but this was something else. Something that went beyond the expected unease that one might feel in the situation.

And she was still ignoring it. Ignoring it, and focusing on the view of the Surhaadi desert, and then, of the looming palace walls, and the massive structure that rose up from behind them.

Every window in the palace seemed to be lit with an orange flame, each line, every detail of stone carved into the walls, illuminated by a thin band of light. A blue dome rose from the center of the roof, an intricate pattern fashioned from the gleaming tile that covered it.

It was a modern-day fantasy. An updated take on classic stories that she’d read as a child.

But sadly reading about it could not have prepared her for the reality. For the sheer size of the place.

Yet again, going to friends’ holiday homes upstate was a poor comparison to the home of actual royalty.

“What do you think?” he asked as the limo drove through the parting gates and into a beautifully appointed courtyard, the ground covered in gleaming tile, and fountains stationed throughout.

“I suppose it will have to do,” she said, her tone dry as the desert sand.

“I daresay not many people get kidnapped into such luxury.”

“That all depends, I suppose, on whether or not you intend to throw me in the dungeon.”

“You shall have your own quarters.”

Her own quarters in a massive palace. Things continued to seem unreal. “Oh.”

“No matter what you might think, I am not an animal. I am simply a man. Doing what I must to ensure that my family remains safe.”

She wasn’t familiar with that kind of loyalty. And for a moment, the desire to be on the receiving end of it, from someone, anyone, him even, was so strong it made her ache.

What would it be like to have someone do whatever must be done, to protect you?

She and her mother had never been close, and they had only grown more distant throughout the years. Her mother had no ambition beyond being a rich man’s plaything. Worse, as the years had gone on, she hadn’t even been the rich man’s plaything, but his discarded toy. And she had never moved on from that. She’d never been able to connect with her only child, because her heart had been given over to a man who didn’t care about her at all.

Sophie would have loved her. But she’d never given Sophie the chance.

And Sophie hadn’t been able to watch her mother endure that existence after a certain point, either.

And as for her father, she may as well have not existed. Except for a card, with a check, on every birthday. A check she had summarily put into savings and hadn’t touched until her university years.

This kind of familial love, this kind of protectiveness, wasn’t something she had any experience with.

It was best to just focus on the palace.

“So, is this the original palace? Or is this something of a redo?”

“There have been extensive renovations in the past twenty years. Lots of modernizing. But the majority of it is original. A couple hundred years old. Of course, while homes that are that age are magnificent, they are rarely comfortable to live in. Hence the renovation.”

“Sure, I imagine that’s the case.”

She knew for a fact that living in a home that was fifty years old wasn’t overly comfortable, so anything spanning back centuries probably wasn’t any better. Though it looked immeasurably fancier.

The limousine came to a stop, and Zayn got out without waiting for a driver to come to his aid. He walked to her side of the car, and opened the door for her, standing there as though he was some kind of chivalrous paragon, rather than the marauder she knew he was.

She collected her purse, and got out, rising slowly, her body a little bit stiff from such a long plane ride followed by a ride in a car. The wind whipped through her hair, and she flicked some of the honey strands away from her face, the sun reflecting on it and casting a golden haze over her vision.

He stood tall, regarding her, his expression like granite.

“What?” she asked.

“Just thinking about how strange it is.”

“What?”

“How quickly things can change.”

She lifted her shoulder. “I feel like that should be something I’m pondering more than you.”

“I know you feel quite inconvenienced by all of this. But you must realize that it is a difficulty for me, as well.”

“No, I really don’t think I have to acknowledge that.”

“I wasn’t prepared to host a guest. And I have a wedding to plan.”

“Forgive me for feeling short on apologies at the moment. I find I’m not all that sympathetic to your fate.”

Yet again, she earned one of his odd smiles. “No, I imagine you wouldn’t be. Follow me, I will escort you to your room.”

He turned away from her, and started to walk toward the palace without waiting for her. She took a deep breath, and scampered after him, having to take two steps to his every one to try and keep up, last night’s high heels feeling like bricks nailed to the soles of her feet after so many hours in them.

She estimated that he was nearly a foot taller than her own five foot four, her head landing just below his shoulder. And he was broad, incredibly muscular with a trim waist and...

Again, just filing away details about him, for when she wrote her piece on the wedding. It had nothing to do with her own personal need to catalog details about him.

The double doors to the palace swung open, as if by magic, and the two were admitted into the cool antechamber.

Dimly, she realized that comparing the doors to magic was a bit silly. Had they been in a shopping mall, automatic doors would not have seemed at all out of place. It was this place, this strange mix of old and new, of fairy tale and blazing-hot reality, that had her creating fanciful metaphors in her head.

Inside, there were members of what she assumed to be palace staff milling around, but if the presence of their ruler was notable, they didn’t show any sign of it. They moved around like they were ghosts, intent on being invisible to anyone in the land of the living. And Zayn did not appear to notice them at all. So that, she assumed, was palace protocol.

The help going unnoticed, the antics of their ruler going unnoticed, too, apparently. Because nobody seemed to blink over the fact that their sheikh had just walked into the palace with an unknown woman trailing behind him. An unknown woman wearing a sequined party dress quite early in the day. Truly, no one seemed concerned at all.

“I made a phone call from the plane while you were sleeping, and had your room prepared for you.”

So, they were expecting her. Or at least whoever had made her bed was expecting her. Though she imagined they made it a practice not to question their orders too deeply.

“Well, I will happily allow you to lead me there.” She felt suddenly stale from travel. As though her body had been folded and packed away tightly in a suitcase for the duration of the journey.

She needed to get out of the dress and into something a little bit less constricting.

And that was when it occurred to her that she didn’t have any clothes. Nothing at all. She didn’t even have a toothbrush.

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even pause.

Zayn was pressing through the antechamber, barely looking at anything or anyone, or at the opulent surroundings. Though she imagined this was all commonplace to him.

But nothing about this was commonplace to her, from the ornate mosaics on the floor and walls, to the marble pillars placed throughout the room to the ceilings inlaid with precious stones.

The palace was like a jewelry box, more than a dwelling. Evidence of riches beyond her wildest dreams built into the framework.

She imagined if she took a chisel and mallet to one of the walls she would come away from them with enough gold dust to pay her rent for the next couple of months.

He led her down a narrow passageway that fed into another massive room with two curving staircases on either side. He paused for a moment, then turned to face her. “This way.”

He started up the staircase on the left side of the room, his footsteps almost silent on the stone. She did her best to keep up with him, her heels echoing loudly in the empty, cavernous room. She was not quite as stealthy as he was.

“This is the part of the palace that is often reserved for visiting dignitaries. And members of the press.”

“From my limited research on Surhaadi,” she said, speaking to his back, “I didn’t think you had a lot of visitors. Dignitaries, press or otherwise.”

“Not in recent years, no.”

“If by recent years you mean the past decade and a half.”

“For a family as old as mine, that is recent years. In the fabric of history, fifteen years is nothing.”

She cleared her throat. “Well, in the fabric of my lifetime, fifteen years is quite a bit.”

He paused, the expression on his face strange. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

He stopped walking and swore, the sound harsh. “Barely older than my sister.”

“Is that a problem?” She could tell from the look on his face that it was.

“It is very young.”

“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. I imagine in many ways I’m years older than your sister, and in fact many years older than you might assume someone my age would be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. People in your position have the luxury of clinging to their innocence a lot longer than people in mine.”

He laughed, the sound hollow, reverberating off the walls. “I have never been accused of being innocent.”

He turned away from her again, and continued walking down the corridor, and she took a deep breath, and went after him, doing her best to keep up. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“Do I hear a hint of the journalist in your tone?”

“You ought to. It’s the only reason I’m here.”

“That, and you were essentially forced into coming.”

“For the sake of my pride, let’s not speak of that.” Not that one really had any pride to speak of when one was tromping down the hall after a stranger in last night’s dress, trying not to twist an ankle on the uneven mosaic floor.

“Well, then, for your pride.”

“My pride thanks you,” she said, her tone dry.

“Somehow I doubt it.”

“I’m trying to make small talk,” she said.

“Perhaps it’s best if you don’t.”

It seemed that this area of the palace was deserted. Such a strange thing. Especially when she knew there had to be hundreds of members of staff and residents. Especially when the house she’d grown up in could easily fit inside one of the large antechambers.

The cavernous, empty feel was kind of unsettling.

They came to the end of the hallway and he stopped at a pair of double doors, inlaid with gold and jade. They were a stunning piece of art, rather than just a means of entry or exit.

“This is your room.”

He didn’t make a move to open the door, so she cautiously reached past him and pushed it open.

Calling it a mere room was a grave disservice. It was a suite of rooms, with a plush seating area in front, and great pillars dividing it into sections, separating it from a raised bedroom area at the back. The bed was large and plush, swaths of fabric hanging from the ceiling, sweeping outward before being caught by an ornate golden canopy that guided the lush silk to the floor.

To the right, through a domed entryway, she could see what looked like a bathing chamber. Not a mere bathroom, that was way too tame of a description for a room so grand, with what looked like a sunken bathtub that was larger than some backyard pools.

Zayn turned to face her. “I trust you will find everything you need here. And if not, do not hesitate to ask a member of staff, or myself, for something that might make you more comfortable.”

“A computer with internet?”

He shook his head. “Anything but that.”

“Satellite phone?”

“You can’t have that, either.”

She tapped her chin. “So when you said anything...”

“I meant a cold drink, or shoes in a different size or color.”

“Wait... Shoes?”

He looked down at her feet, at the platform high heels that were starting to make her feel achy all the way up her calves. “I thought that you might be in need of something else to wear.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. But did you seriously...buy clothes for me?”

“I had my sister’s personal shopper do it, but yes.”

“And how do you know what size I wear?”

“I took a guess. And anything that doesn’t fit can be returned.”

“You did not take a guess at what size my feet were.”

He shrugged. “All right, I looked at the bottom of your shoe when you were sleeping on the couch in the plane. I could see the number. But your dress size I did take a guess on.”

The thought of just what him guessing her dress size might entail sent a shiver through her. He would have had to look at her awfully closely. Taken visual measurements...

She closed off that line of thinking, and quickly. “Well, indeed.”

He inclined his head. “I will leave you now, you are formally invited to dinner tonight.”

“And at dinner we discuss the scandal?”

“All in good time.” Then he turned and walked from the room, leaving her standing there alone.

She took a breath. No offer of shoes, or pretty clothes, could be allowed to distract her from what she was doing here, she had to remember that. The wedding was window dressing, the beauty of the palace was window dressing, everything but the Chatsfield scandal was window dressing.

Isabelle had done so much for her. Without her, Sophie doubted she would’ve ever found her place at university. She doubted if she would have ever made friends at all. She certainly wouldn’t have her job at the Herald. More than that, Isabelle had been a true friend to her, regardless of where Sophie had come from. And that was something Sophie couldn’t put a price on.

She owed her this now. Isabelle had been through enough at the hands of Spencer Chatsfield, and the idea of her losing The Harrington was inconceivable.

She would not allow it. If she could play even a small part in preventing it from happening, she would.

And she would not be distracted.

Now, she just had to get cleaned up, and begin to feel human again. Then she could choose something to wear for dinner. She really hoped that there was something stunning in the closet. Because she had a feeling she would need it to feel confident. She had a feeling that interviewing Zayn would be a lot like going into battle.

And that meant she needed to get her armor on.

She went to the closet and examined the contents. Inside she saw a rainbow of fine fabrics, the lush textures denoting a quality that she could scarcely believe was at her fingertips. A quality that she was, frankly, almost afraid to put her fingertips on.

The kinds of clothes she passed in a store with barely a glance because she knew she couldn’t afford them, and she always had a feeling the store employees knew it, too.

She reached out and laid a hand on a dress that was a vibrant orange and an involuntary breath escaped her lips.

This was the one.

As she took her clothes off and got ready to slip the dress on, she had a sudden fear that it wouldn’t fit. But she pulled it up over her hips and contorted, sliding the zipper up, and found that it conformed perfectly to her curves.

He had indeed guessed accurately. Again, she got all weird and tingly thinking about what the guessing entailed. She shook her head and turned, coming face-to-face with her reflection in the vanity mirror.

And she lost her breath.

Standing here in a castle, in a dress that fit like a dream. Like magic mice and birds had tailored it to suit her, or a fairy godmother had conjured it up using nothing but silk and magic.

She turned away sharply, her heart hammering hard. She was being an idiot. This wasn’t a fairy tale. She wasn’t the maid-turned-princess. She was a journalist. She was a friend. And she did not have time to indulge in fantasy.

She had a job to do.

CHAPTER FOUR

ZAYN WAS UNPREPARED for the sight that greeted him when he entered the dining room that night. Sophie was already there, seated next to the head of the table.

She was a far cry from the woman he had found crouched behind trash cans in the alley. Certainly, it had been apparent she was beautiful even then, but just now she was somewhere beyond beautiful.

Radiant was one word that could be used to describe her. If he was given to such flights of fancy, and he was not.

Her golden hair was piled on top of her head, giving the impression of a halo, which was laughable all things considered.

Her face was made up, but done so in a very subtle way. Her cheeks glowed, an iridescent shimmer around her eyes brightening the green of them. Her lips were slick with some kind of pale pink gloss.

But it was the dress that she wore that made him want to call his sister’s personal shopper and fire her on the spot. Not because it wasn’t perfect, but because it was too perfect.

The burnished orange fabric molded itself to her skin, the structured bodice cupping her breasts, drawing his eyes to them. It was the dress, and not him, and certainly not her. Because he had been celibate for nearly three years now, ever since his engagement had been made official. And in all that time, he had never had any trouble keeping his eyes where they ought to be. He respected women, he did not see them as tools for his personal pleasure, or visual enjoyment. He did not leer at them when he invited them to join him for dinner.

That meant the only answer was that the dress was sincerely inappropriate. Because he was most certainly not. He had been nothing but appropriate for a great many years now. And he was hardly going to start changing his ways now.

“I did not expect you to be here already.” He strode past her, and took his seat at the head of the table.

“I thought I would spend some time taking in the sights. Getting oriented. I made it to the dining room a little quicker than anticipated.”

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I trust a member of staff has already been by to collect your drink order?”

She smiled, her lush lips curving upward. “I have been expertly cared for, thank you.”

“Good,” he said, his eyes fixed on her.

Last night there had been no time to notice just how beautiful she was, because he had been too busy trying to figure out what he was going to do with her.

Now suddenly he had noticed, and his body had a whole different idea as to what one might do with her.

No question, his captive was lovely. It was a shame he didn’t trust her. It was a shame that her loveliness simply couldn’t come into play. He was not in that place in his life. And even if he was, she would be the last person on earth he would ever touch.

She was privy to pieces of information that, were they ever connected, would bring press attention he did not need. Or want.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected you to serve my drink when we were here in the palace. But I got used to my royal treatment on the plane.” She sounded sincere enough, but he wasn’t fooled. She was angry with him. And he knew she had every right to be. But it did not mean he felt any remorse over his actions.

He’d had to act, there was no question about that. And her staying in the Surhaadi palace for a while would hardly damage her.

There was the slight issue of the fact that he would not be giving her any additional information on the Chatsfields, if for no other reason than he didn’t have any. But she didn’t need to know that. He simply needed to keep her here until the wedding.

By then, Leila would’ve made a decision, by then the media would be distracted with the proceedings. Yes, he needed to keep her here for three weeks, and then things would take care of themselves. She would return to New York with the story that her boss wanted, and his family would be safe.

He could not subject them to the kind of firestorm that had happened when Jasmine, his other sister, had died. That had been his fault, a failure on his part to protect her, and this with Leila was no different. He would handle it better.

Because he was not the same stupid boy he had been. He did not only care for himself and his pleasure; to the contrary, his pleasure took a backseat to everything else. He had a duty to fulfill, both to his country, and his family. He would never fail in that, never again.

He would be damned if he allowed a media firestorm to force Leila’s hand. That meant as far as Sophie was concerned, he had to keep his wits about him. There was no time for him to allow her dress to distract him.

It was everything. It was the essence of who he was.

“I think I will allow the staff to serve us both tonight.”

As if on cue a member of staff appeared not only with her drink, but with his. She had ordered wine, and they had brought one for him, as well. He was not a devout man, his faith left crumbled and scattered somewhere in his debauched past, and he did often drink a glass of wine with dinner. However, given the fact that his control seemed to be closer to the edge than usual, he was wondering if it was a wise decision.

He accepted the glass, a feeling of determination blooming in his chest and spreading outward. He would not allow her to control the situation. Not in regards to what he drank, or ate, or did. He was not a slave to his body, or her dress.

He leaned back in the chair, keeping his eyes on her, on the way her fingertips slid uneasily along the stem of her wineglass. It was a small display of nerves, but he would take it. Would take it as a sign that he was very much in control.

“I do hope you don’t have any particular dietary restrictions.” He regarded her closely.

“Such as?”

“Vegetarian, gluten-free.”

“I don’t. But thank you for asking.”

“Well, don’t thank me prematurely. I was about to tell you that if you do I will not be able to accommodate you tonight, but tomorrow and the evenings thereafter we would have.”

“Thankfully, there is nothing to accommodate. So, I thank you again, for your thoughtfulness.”

“Have you poisoned my wine?”

“Why would you ask such a thing?” Her green eyes were wide, the essence of wounded innocence. He didn’t buy it for a moment.

“You are being awfully nice considering your current situation. Much nicer than you were only hours ago.”

“I’m being professional. This is a professional meal, isn’t it?”

He lifted his wineglass to his lips. “I see.”

“Do you? What is it you see, exactly?”

“I see that you are ready to play the game.”

“This is the game, this is my career. And beyond that, this is a friend’s livelihood at stake.”

“Interesting. What does your friend’s livelihood have to do with any of this?” She looked away from him, biting her lip. “I see, you have given away more than you intended to. This is very interesting.”

“The only thing you need to know is that we have a common enemy,” she said, looking up, her eyes blazing now. “I don’t think either of us are James Chatsfield’s biggest fan. As far as I can see, that’s all either of us need to know. For now.”

“For now.”

The double doors to the dining room opened again, and more staff entered, with platters laden with food. They set them down in the center of the table, they did not speak, as the palace staff here in Surhaadi were trained to do. In his own quarters, he treated staff differently. When he had lived predominantly in the other palace, things had been structured differently. But this was the way his father had run things, and the way his mother preferred to run things, as well. And while they were no longer in residence here, the established protocol remained the same.

They were served in silence, and both he and Sophie let the silence rest. Once their plates were filled, and the staff had filed back out again, she turned her sharp green eyes to him. “You promised me an interview. You promised me a scandal. I would like to collect on that now.”

“During dinner? I do not conduct business during dinner.” That was a lie, he had conducted business during dinner plenty of times, but he did not like her dictating the terms. And he also needed to figure out how to keep her interested for the next few weeks. There was also the small matter of what he was going to tell her.

The simple fact was, he had no information on James Chatsfield he was willing to share. That was the sort of scandal she was after, and it was not one he could give. Which meant he was going to have to lead her on a journey that would not end where she expected..

He just hadn’t decided where yet.

“It is a very good dinner. But I did anticipate getting down to things. We traveled quite a lot, and I am feeling tired.”

“Do you want your story? Or not?”

“Obviously I do.”

“Then you will wait and you will hear it on my terms.”

He could read the annoyance plainly on her face, and he found it perversely enjoyable. Yet another point in his win column. Yet more evidence that he was still in command, no matter how well fitted her dress was.

“Tell me, then,” she said, looking back up at him, attempting to look friendly, but still looking like she would rather sink her teeth into his neck. Unfortunately, something about that image sent a sharp jolt of heat straight to his gut. He ignored it.

She cleared her throat. “Which topics are on the table for dinner? So that I know for future evenings.”

“We may discuss the weather, though, invariably it is hot.”

“The weather is hot, there we have covered that.”

“Very well done.” He took a bite of couscous, and let the conversation rest until he was finished. “We may also discuss issues of the day. I see no reason why we ought not to occasionally discuss politics, or even religion. Seeing as I doubt either of us are worried about offending each other.”

“True, after you take control of someone’s person and force them to come back to their country with you, you have sort of made it clear that you don’t care whether or not you offend them. But I do wonder if discussing politics might get dicey, as the fact remains that if we discuss politics in Surhaadi, we will be discussing you.”

“Then we can stick to American politics.”

She laughed, a short, one-note sound. “No, that’s something I can’t discuss while eating, for fear I will be sick,” she said, her tone dry.

“Fair enough. Perhaps I will take this opportunity to ask you about you.” He didn’t really care about his beautiful captive, neither should he. She was a liability, and she needed to be minimized. That was what one did when something was a liability. It did not matter where she came from, or who her friend was that she seemed to be intent on protecting. It did not matter if she had a lover, or if she did not.

All that mattered was protecting Leila.

“And what is it exactly you want to know about me?” she asked.

“Whatever it is you would like to tell me.”

“I’m not sure how it would make any difference to you.”

“Why wouldn’t it make a difference to me?”

“We seem to have these kind of circular conversations, and I find them quite annoying.”

“Indulge me,” he said.

“Fine. I don’t see why you would care because you’re a sheikh. Because you’re important. Because you have money and that means other people rarely matter in a sincere way.”

“Is that what you think? It seems a very cynical way to view the world.”

Her cheeks colored, her mouth pulled into a tightly drawn line. “Hey, I’ve earned my worldview, on that you can trust me. I wasn’t from a family with a name anyone recognized. That made me lesser. So you can see why I feel a little bit surprised that someone like you would care to hear about me.”

He was happy to use this moment to keep the microscope on her. To keep her in the iron sights of this conversation rather than submitting himself to an examination. “Your surprise is misplaced. Now that you’ve said all that, I find I’m even more curious.” What she was talking about was something that was far outside his experience in many ways. People had always treated him with a certain amount of deference because he was a ruler. Because he had power and, as she had mentioned before, money. However, he also knew far too well that it did not erase all of one’s problems.

“There isn’t much to be curious about. I grew up in your standard low-end neighborhood. On a small street, with smaller houses. I had a single mother who worked quite a bit, so I was left on my own a lot. But it didn’t bother me. It gave me time to study. I decided from a really early age that I wasn’t going to settle for the kind of life my mother had.”

“It sounds to me like your mother was admirable. Working to keep you fed.”

“I don’t disrespect that. But my mother had an unhealthy attachment to my father. And I watched it destroy her. I watched it kill any chance she might have had at happiness. She didn’t ever want to move because he had bought the house for us. She didn’t want to go where he could not easily come and visit. She didn’t want to get too invested in a job, because she needed to be able to drop it at a moment’s notice if he came for her. He rarely did. And as I got older he stopped coming at all. I swore I would never be that way. I swore that I would be independent. And I knew that the only way I would manage that was by getting an education, and getting a job that could support me. So here I am.”

“That is very admirable indeed.”

“You don’t have to sound so dry about it. It actually is admirable. I worked hard. I’m still working hard.”

“I didn’t mean for it to sound dry.” He knew how hard it was to change yourself, how hard it was to break patterns of behavior. He had done it with himself. Though he had not had the type of obstacles she’d had. In fact, all of his obstacles had been self-built. But in the end he knew the sort of thing she was talking about was no simple task.

“Well, then your sincerity is unexpected, and appreciated.”

“Very good.” They finished their meal, and when they were done he stood. “Would you like to accompany me to my study?”

“I assume there you will discuss business.”

“You assume correctly. You answered my questions. Now, I will answer some of yours.” He extended his arm, and she looked at it as though he was offering her a lizard. “I will not bite you. I am simply being chivalrous.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I missed it somehow. You know, considering our history together.”

“Fair enough.” But he kept his arm extended.

She took a step toward him and curled her slender arm through his elbow, her body sliding close to his. And in that moment he knew he had vastly underestimated the dress. Because the moment she touched him he burned. The moment she touched him he thought of nothing but pressing her up against the nearest wall and bringing his mouth down on hers.

It was a wild and errant fantasy. The kind he had not had in more years than he could count.

While he had not given up sex entirely until his engagement had become official, he had given up this. This kind of intense heat. The driving sort of need that transcended everything. From duty and honor to decorum and appropriate behavior for the public. Because once he had her against that wall, once his mouth touched hers, he would be hard-pressed to stop.

He shut down that line of thinking. It would not happen. He would not touch her.

His engagement to Christine would be honored. Though he and his fiancée did not have a physical relationship, they had made an agreement. And he would respect that.

If Samson had had the foresight to stay away from Delilah, he would’ve been spared quite a bit of trouble. Zayn intended to spare himself the trouble. He would not touch Sophie.

He adjusted his hold on her, disengaging his arm from hers and placing his hand on her lower back. The gesture was provocative, more intimate than the previous one. He was doing it to test himself. Doing it to prove to himself that he was not a slave.

She tensed beneath his touch, but did not look at him. She didn’t stop. Perhaps she was testing herself, too.

No, he would not think of that. That way lay madness.

They walked from the dining room, and down the corridor that led to his quarters.

The study was different to the rest of the palace. Most of this portion of it was. Zayn had never moved quarters when his parents had left. Instead choosing to stay in the rooms he had called home from the time he was a child. He had remodeled them as an adult. The study had a more European feel to it. Dark wood bookcases, large windows that overlooked the gardens outside. And armchairs. Places for him to read. When he had given up partying, when he’d given up womanizing, he’d had to find a hobby. Reading seemed as good as any.

“Well, this is different than what I imagined.”

“What is it you imagined?” he asked.

“Well, not this.”

“I am gratified that I was able to surprise you.” He released his hold on her and gestured to one of the velvet armchairs. “Please have a seat.”

He took a seat across from her, a healthy amount of space between them. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I feel a brandy is in order.”

He chuckled. “A brandy. Yes, naturally.” He stood again and made his way over to the bar in the corner of the room, picking up a decanter and pouring both of them a healthy portion of amber liquid. He made his way back over to the chairs, handing her a glass, careful to ensure that his fingers did not brush hers.

He took a seat across from her again.

“Thank you.” She swirled the liquid, lifting it to her lips, blinking when it touched her tongue.

“Strong?”

“No. Not strong at all.”

“We wouldn’t want it going to your head. You have an interview to conduct.”

She cleared her throat and straightened, setting the glass on the rich wood side table. “Yes, so...about the Chatsfields.”

He waved his hand, silencing her. “No, that is not how we are doing this.”

“What?”

“If you want to interview me, it will be on my terms. We will do this my way, or we will not do it at all. We will go back to talking about the very hot weather.”

“That isn’t how an interview works. I’m not sure if you’ve ever had one conducted?”

“It is how an interview works with me. If you don’t like it, spend the remainder of your time here in your room, and get nothing from me.”

“You know, you really are a demanding bastard.”

“I have never claimed to be anything else.”

“Fair point,” she said, her tone dry.

“Your boss wants an article on the wedding. And I think in order for you to get a good picture of the wedding, you need to understand some things about the circumstances my country is in.”

“Okay,” she answered slowly.

“In order to understand why the marriage is important, you must understand the monarchy.”

“I was always a very good study in world history. I do know some things about Surhaadi.”

He leaned back in his chair, a smile curving his lips. “Really? Do enlighten me on all of your knowledge of my country.”

“I didn’t mean to sound all arrogant about it. It’s only that I am somewhat familiar.”

“Yes, well, you may be somewhat familiar, but it is in my blood. The history of Surhaadi is a part of me, like flesh over bone.”

She reached down and picked up her purse, pulling out a small black device. “Tape recorder.”

He inclined his head. “Of course.”

It stood to reason that she would be recording their interactions, for ease when she compiled the conversations into an article. But it also made him conscious of the fact that he would have to be very careful in what he told her. She would have his words recorded, and she would be able to play them back, turn them over. Dissect them for meaning.

He continued. “But, of course, before you can understand the monarchy, you must understand how it was founded.”

“If you insist.”

He could tell that she was quite annoyed with him. Quite annoyed at being subjected to a history lesson rather than simply being handed the information she was after. But he had to keep her here, and he was busily trying to construct a way to do that. To keep her hanging out for information that he did not have, so that she would remain of her own accord. There was little honor in this kind of behavior, but he had given up any chances of being truly honorable years ago. He could hardly grieve the loss of it now. He could only afford it where the treatment of his family was concerned. And nowhere else.

In actuality, he had no intention of throwing her in a dungeon. And were she to escape the palace there was a limit to what he could do. Certainly, he was the sheikh, but he could hardly have a woman going to the media and claiming he had kidnapped her, and was holding her in the palace. Which meant that if she escaped he could not go after her. In which case she would simply be written off as a spurned lover. Or a woman who had been spurned in an attempt to be his lover.

That his reputation could transcend. The kidnapping very likely not.

“I do insist.”

“Okay, then let’s start at the beginning.” She leaned back in her chair, her hand poised on the record button.

“My family has been in Surhaadi for at least a thousand years. Of course, at the time it was not one unified kingdom. Rather, it was a territory populated by a series of independently ruled tribes.” This was like reciting remedial history, and he’d never paid much attention to history in school, but as an adult he had started to appreciate his country’s past. Had started investigating it on his own.

Another hobby he’d started after giving up partying.

“The desert is large, and so there is ample access to territory, but what there is not ample access to is water. The need for water, the need for plants to graze animals, the need for food, occasionally caused battles to break out among the tribes. As the landscape changed, water became more scarce. And it came to a point where a specific tribe refused to move away from an oasis. Refused to allow others passage to water. That was when my people knew changes had to be made. There was a call for unification. If only temporarily so that the people could have food. Could have the water they needed. So that they could band together and deal with the threat facing their lives.”

“When was this?”

“About three hundred years ago. As kingdoms go we aren’t an old one.” He could see that in spite of herself she was interested. He found it gratifying that she might be. Because for all that he had scorned the traditions of his country in his youth, as a man the pulse of the desert ran through his blood. It was a part of him, as was each and every soul that populated the kingdom. “The tribes banded together, and due to their increase in number they not only successfully regained control of the oasis, they were able to do so without starting a war. This led to the desire for further change. Concern over outside threats brought a call for more permanent unity.”

“So they decided to form one nation?”

“Eventually. Even though there were, of course, some issues. And the tribe that was defeated at the oasis declined to join.”

“And now? Have they moved? Have they joined?”

“They still live in Surhaadi. And they still claim independence from the monarchy. Though we do have some hand in their lives. They have the option to partake in various government programs, though for the most part they decline. They are broken into several different groups now, and live most of the year away from the city deep in the desert.”

“And you don’t have any issues with them?”

“Not as such. Though the leaders are not overly friendly. They see me as a challenge to their authority, and my authority is not readily recognized within the borders of their territory.”

“But you aren’t afraid of them? You haven’t seen the need to draw them into the fold, so to speak.”

“I see no need to destroy centuries worth of culture in a power grab. A treaty was signed long ago between their family and mine. As long as we do not interfere with them to their detriment, they will not interfere with us. And if we are in need, we are allowed use of any oasis we might find in their territory.”

“That seems fair enough. But how did your family find itself being selected as the ruling family?”

He placed his glass back down on the table. “That, I think, is a story for another night.”

“You seem to fundamentally misunderstand your function in an interview.”

“It seems to me that you should be exhausted from the trip.”

“I slept on the plane.”

“Hours ago. And if you do not get on schedule here in Surhaadi as quickly as possible, your jet lag will be fierce.”

“I’ve never been in a position where I might be jet-lagged. So I have no idea what it’s like.”

“It’s a bit like being hungover.”

She blinked. “Well, I’ve never been hungover before, either.”

“How is that possible?”

“You aren’t the only person who prizes a bit of control.”

Suddenly, she seemed even more intriguing than she had before. “You must have quite a bit of control in your possession, then.”

“People like me do not have power bestowed upon them from birth. We have to find it in ourselves. We have to take it where we can. In my case, that meant seizing control over my own life. Over my own behavior. It never mattered to me what my contemporaries did. It only ever mattered what I did.”

“Admirable.”

“I don’t know if it’s admirable. I don’t particularly care if it’s admirable. But it has worked for me. At least up until the moment when I got pulled out of an alleyway in New York City.”

“Yes, I would apologize for that, but I’m not sorry.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

“I appreciate the exchange of information—” he inclined his head “—it has been very informative.”

Her cheeks blushed rose. “Is that what we’re doing? Exchanging information?”

“It seems fair, doesn’t it?”

“Not particularly. I didn’t think that was part of our deal. I interview you, you tell me about the Chatsfields.”

Technically, he had not said that. Technically, all he had promised her was a scandal. But he would not correct her, not now. “Instant gratification can be damaging. I believe in working for what you want.”

“That’s rich coming from a man who was undoubtedly born with a golden scepter in his hand.”

She was not wrong, for many things in his life had been delivered to him at the snap of his fingers. But that had been a contributing factor in forming the man he had become. And the man he had been was not one he could be proud of. It had taken hardship to change him.

“It’s true. I cannot deny it. I have also suffered. And no amount of money could insulate me from that suffering. I’ve learned that sometimes you simply have no choice but to walk through the fire. And if you come out the other side, then the reward is great.”

“Are you my trial by fire?” she asked.

“Perhaps one of them. I wouldn’t presume to know if you’d had others or not.”

“I appreciate that. I’m sure you’ve suffered greatly here in your palace. But I am no stranger to suffering. I’m also no stranger to hard work, so trust me when I tell you you’re preaching to the choir. Though, also, forgive me for saying I’m a bit jaded to the concept that hard work somehow makes something more rewarding. I’ve put in more hard work to get where I am than many people ever will. I find it more exhausting than rewarding. There were some times when I would’ve simply rather had the playing field even, rather than subjecting myself to character-building exercises. It is easy to romanticize what we’ve never had to endure.”

He almost laughed at the irony of the statement. He looked around the ornate room. “Indeed.”

“I suppose I should take my leave. I might need a map of this place, if you have one handy, otherwise I fear I will spend a good portion of my time wandering around feeling lost.”

“I have a feeling it would be best for me if you felt a little bit lost. In which case, you would cause me less trouble.”

“Don’t bet on that. I imagine I will contrive new ways to cause you trouble daily. Until I get what I want.”

“What is it you want?” he asked, knowing what her answer would be.

“What is it you’re hiding?” she asked.

The question took him off guard. Perhaps because she had grazed far too close to the bone.

Not just in terms of Leila.

“Nothing but the usual skeletons,” he managed, knowing his voice sounded strangled, affected.

“I look forward to seeing them,” she said.

He gritted his teeth. “I am not James Chatsfield.” Neither did he actually have any information on Chatsfield he could share.

“I know,” she said, nodding once.

If he had thought he’d understood her, he’d been wrong. Bitterly so. She’d put him on his back foot, and he didn’t like it. For one thing, she was far too beautiful. For another, she was unpredictable. “Excellent. And on that note, I bid you good-night. My quarters are just here, so you will forgive me if I do not walk you back to yours. It is quite a trek.” And he had a feeling, that were he to accompany her in dark corridors, his control would be tested in ways he did not want to think of.

“I shall manage. Though if I end up in a royal vault and decide to abscond with the crown jewels, you will have no one to blame but yourself.”

“It is a risk I shall have to take.”

“Clearly you’re a man who lives on the edge.”

Her words brought them up short. “On that score you would be wrong.” He nodded firmly, turning away from her, breaking the connection between them. The sooner he got rid of her, the better. “Good night.”

Behind him he heard her voice, slightly shaken, confused. He did not care, or rather, he should not. “Good night.”

Her tone of voice made him want to speak again. Made him want to say something kinder, something not quite so short and harsh.

“Later this week I shall take you to see the desert...”

He did not know why he was offering this, except that it was a chance to show the world what Surhaadi was, who they were. And she had seemed interested.

Moreover, he needed to keep her busy. He could not have her wandering about the palace appearing to be a lover, or a captive. Not considering the fact that media attention would be on them very soon for the wedding, not considering that he had a fiancée he had made certain he was faithful to.

If he had a story to give his staff, things would be better. Yes, she was a reporter covering the wedding and the history of Surhaadi.

Yes, getting her out of the palace for the day would be the best course of action. Taking her out to see the Bedouin tribe would be good, seeing as it would give her something to focus on that had nothing to do with Leila or James Chatsfield.

“And after that?” She was fishing for the scandal, still. She was right, she was rather stubborn.

“After that we will continue the interview.”

“And I will have my scandal?”

“You will have your scandal.”

And with that, he strode from the room, without looking back.

CHAPTER FIVE

ZAYN MANAGED TO avoid her for the next several days, setting a firm departure time for their trip to the desert late in the week.

She spent those days rattling around the palace, feeling slightly shaky and deprived since she had no contact with the outside world. She was ready to trade her kingdom for some internet. Or Zayn’s, since she didn’t actually have a kingdom.

The day of their desert trek dawned bright and early. She’d lost some sense of time and place after being cooped up in the palace, but still she was up, and dressed, courtesy of the clothing that had been provided for her by Zayn. It was a strange thing, having an entirely new wardrobe just sitting there for her. Not so idly she wondered if she would be able to bring it home with her. Then she felt guilty for wondering about that. But it wasn’t as though she could afford to go refresh her wardrobe every season, or even every year. And as projecting a polished, professional image was important in her line of work, she knew the clothing was important, too. And, as always, she was conscious of the fact that she was working from a disadvantaged place. People were more likely to be watching for her to appear low class, disheveled or cheap. Because once they knew where she came from they expected those things.

Isabelle could go to work in sweatpants and it would be assumed she was on the cutting edge of some fashion statement. The same consideration would not be given to Sophie. Not that either of them would ever go to work in sweatpants. For all that Isabelle had many advantages due to her name, she never seemed to take them for granted. Neither did she seem to rest on her laurels. It was just another reason why the two had become fast friends in spite of their differences.

And as she wandered through the corridor, wondering where she was supposed to meet Zayn, her thoughts turned back to why she was here.

She took a deep breath, and adjusted the loose, flowing tunic top she was wearing. She had a mission, and she would do well to remember that.

The interview she’d conducted earlier in the week had been informative, and certainly held information she could use in the piece she would write for the Herald. But it had not furthered her cause where Isabelle was concerned. And she could not allow herself to be too distracted.

Nevertheless, she was excited to get out of the palace and see some of the countryside. This was her first experience with world travel, with seeing a culture that was different from her own, that wasn’t just confined to a few blocks somewhere in New York City.

She walked into the entryway of the palace and stopped in her tracks when she saw Zayn standing there. He was dressed in a tunic and light pants, similar to her own, a headdress covering his dark hair. He had a length of fabric in his hands, strong brown fingers curved tightly around it.

“It is hot today, and there will be a lot of wind as we head away from the city. This will help.”

He held the fabric out to her and she approached slowly. “We won’t get caught in a sandstorm or anything like that, will we?” she asked.

The little she knew about weather in the desert was that it could be unpredictable, and very harsh.

“It can be a risk. Sandstorms hit hard and without warning when they come. Sometimes there are floods to contend with, but those at least come with warning. But we do have state-of-the-art transportation, and if things get bad before we leave the encampment, we will be cared for there.”

“So, we’re actually going to visit the people who refused to become part of Surhaadi as a nation?”

“Yes, but as I said, while they do not like to give me too much deference, for obvious reasons, we are quite friendly with each other. And they will not let me die out in the middle of the sands. At least, I hope not.”

“Your confidence astounds.” She accepted the scarf from him and surreptitiously studied the way he had draped his own over his head. She did her best to try and copy the fashion. She hated asking for help more than just about anything. She always wanted to step right in, and pick something up by observation. Never revealing the fact that she didn’t simply arrive knowing how things work.

That stubbornness again, and yes, a bit of misplaced pride. But it came with a lot of long-held anger over what might have been. That if her father weren’t a philanderer, or if he were at least honest about the fact that he was, she might have been treated like a child, and not a dirty secret. That if she’d been part of her family, raised in that glittering home upstate, she would have absorbed social graces, would have known how to navigate university and different social situations. Instead, she’d had to conduct herself with trial and error, and she had learned to fear the error.

So she had observed those around her, painstakingly so, in order to look as though she belonged. She hated asking for help. Hated admitting her shortcomings.

“Let me help you.” He took a step closer to her, and she took a step back.

“I have it.” She knew she was being stubborn, she didn’t care.

“You do not.” He extended his hands, and gripped the fabric, adjusting it where it sat on her head, drawing a swath of it around and bringing it beneath her chin before tucking it into the folds of fabric at the base of her neck.

His thumb brushed against her jaw, the heat from his skin a shock to her system. She looked up, her eyes crashing into his. The expression she found there intense, dark, hinting at things she could scarcely understand. She wondered if he always operated at this level of intensity, or if it was something about her. If he was reacting to the touch, in the same way she had.

She should look away, and she knew it. She should pretend that this hadn’t happened.

That he had touched her, but that it hadn’t registered as anything. But she couldn’t look away, she couldn’t pretend. Because something about his gaze held her fast, something about it called her, tugged at something deep inside of her that had been previously unknown, previously untouched. And it didn’t matter how much she wanted to ignore it, because her body simply wouldn’t let her.

And she found she still couldn’t look away.

She needed to. Oh, Lord, she needed to. This dark, yawning chasm that opened up in her stomach when he looked at her had to be covered up and never looked in. Never examined.

The idea that his could be attraction was unthinkable. That she could find herself interested in a man who was so far above her, who was engaged...

It would make her no better than her mother. And she could never allow that to happen.

Not to mention the fact that she should hate him on principle for forcing her hand and bringing her here.

Why was it so hard to hate him?

He cleared his throat and straightened. “There, that is more secure. You will find you have better protection against the elements.”

“I appreciate that.” It sounded so insipid, so forced, and she had a feeling he knew it. But it was the best she could do. Because her throat had gone drier than the desert sand outside, and all of her words seemed intent on sticking to it.

“I do strive to be of service to those who are in my country.” His voice was rough, yet smooth at the same time, like velvet. It slid over her skin, leaving a strange sensation behind, causing goose bumps to rise up on her arms.

“Well, given the fact that I am currently in your country for an unforeseeable amount of time, I do take that as a comfort.”

“I’m glad.”

“I suppose we should leave?” She had no idea if they should leave, if they were on any kind of timeline at all, but anything seemed better than standing here in the entryway feeling like the tile was shifting beneath her feet, feeling like she might die of heatstroke in spite of the cool air around them.

“Certainly.” He turned sharply and headed toward the double doors, which opened when he approached. She followed him closely, blinking against the harsh light as they stepped outside.

There was a large SUV parked near the doors. There was no driver, which surprised her.

“We aren’t going by ourselves, are we?”

“I am very familiar with the terrain, it shall be fine.”

For some reason she couldn’t quantify, his driving skills were not the concern. It was the idea of being alone with him. Even the other night in the study, though it had felt isolated, she had been aware of the fact that there were still people around them.

“Why are we going alone?”

“So as not to look like a descending army. I do all my business with Jamal and his people alone.”

“You’re not taking me out to the desert to kill me.”

“Don’t be absurd. If I was going to do such a thing, I would simply leave you to die. I wouldn’t do anything so prosaic as killing you.”

“Color me relieved. I don’t suppose you would joke about leaving me out in the desert to die if that were actually your plan.”

“It is very difficult to say.” He opened the passenger door and held it for her.

She looked at him hard. He was impossible to read, but she didn’t imagine that the man who had just so carefully adjusted her veil so that she might be protected against the elements could have any intention of leaving her out in the middle of the desert. No point in making her comfortable only to let her die of heatstroke.

With that in mind, she got into the car, but kept her eyes on him as he closed the door behind her. He rounded the front of the vehicle and got in, buckling his seat belt and putting the car in gear. She hurried to buckle, as well.

“How long does it take to get there?”

He flashed her a smile, his teeth bright against his dark skin, and she realized it was the first time she had ever seen a genuine smile on his face. “That all depends on where we might find them today.”

* * *

They drove for ages, until the road faded, until the sand rose higher, turning a richer golden brown, as though the sun were closer here, baking it like bread. And in spite of the care that Zayn had taken with her head covering earlier, she was starting to get worried again about the possibility of him leaving her out in the middle of nowhere. Paranoid, possibly, but she supposed not entirely without merit, seeing as he had already brought her to his country by force. Well, partial force, partial bribery. She still wasn’t certain whether or not he would’ve chased her if she had tried to run off, but she would’ve found herself jobless, and that was threat enough.

Just when she was starting to get truly nervous, she saw a spiral of smoke rising up from behind a dune.

“That would be them.” Zayn’s deep voice answered the question she hadn’t even been able to ask yet.

“They really are quite a ways out here. What happens if there’s some kind of medical emergency?”

“Often it isn’t a happy ending. Though now they have satellite phones, and they do often use the rescue services available in Surhaadi.”

“They use the medical services, even though they don’t acknowledge the government?”

“Most of the time. Though there are some elders who refuse to do so. I prefer that they do.”

“That’s very decent of you. I think there are a lot of leaders who wouldn’t like that. Who would say that it was the cost of their stubbornness.”

She looked over at him, at his strong profile, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “Yes, I suppose that is the case. But then, we all make decisions, often they are not wholly bad, but not wholly good, either. They want to preserve their heritage, and I understand that. And then, when tragedy strikes, often it becomes apparent that remaining separate can cause damage. But there is no real right or wrong answer in this. And I do not fault them for wanting help when they are desperate. I know what it’s like to change because of circumstances. I know what it’s like to see the error of your ways when it’s too late.”

This was a different side of him, the strong ruler versus the modern-day marauder who had taken her from New York. The man who served an entire populace, not just his family. This was the history of his country personified, and she could see now why he had wanted her to come out here.

The car maneuvered slowly over the top of the dune, and the encampment came into view. Nestled on the edge of an oasis that had been invisible until this very moment. The sun shone on the water, the still surface reflected everything like a mirror. Tents were erected along the embankment, children running in circles around them. There were cooking fires already started, clothes hanging across lines, blowing in the breeze.

“I’m hoping we’ll receive a warm welcome.”

“Do you think there’s a chance we won’t?” she asked.

“I never take anything for granted, especially out here. Because out here, it does not matter that I am the sheikh. Not to them, and not to the desert. We are simply guests, myself as much as you. Though they are familiar with me.”

He brought the car to a stop, and turned the engine off. They were still a great distance away from the encampment, but she imagined this was part of not seeming as though he was storming the camp.

He got out and she followed suit, her feet sinking into the sand. She adjusted her weight, and shook the remaining sand out of her pant leg. “You almost need snowshoes to walk on this.”

“Or practice,” he said.

“Don’t sound so amused. I don’t often make a habit of going to the beach, but this is kind of an extreme version of that. And I’m unpracticed as it is.”

“Too late, habibti, I am amused. It cannot be helped.”

“Perhaps I should simply slide down the dune, and make a grand entrance.”

“I would prefer if you did not. But I am not in total control of your actions, neither do I pretend to be.”

She laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. I think you fancy yourself entirely in control of my actions.”

“I am not so foolish as to think that I could control you entirely.”

She shook her head, her hair hemmed in by the head covering. “Good. I would hate for you to be so deceived. Because as we discussed previously, I am nothing if not determined.”

“I believe the word you used earlier was stubborn.”

“They’re the same, aren’t they?”

“I imagine for the purposes of dealing with you, they are about the same.”

“I’m flattered to hear you say that.”

She would’ve liked nothing more than to walk on ahead of him, gliding gracefully over the surface of the sand, but for several reasons that wasn’t going to happen. One, because she was incapable of gliding across the surface of the sand, and two, because she was not going into the encampment alone.

Fortunately, Zayn took the lead, and she was able to follow behind him. It all felt very medieval, her walking in his shadow. But then, in the moment, there was very little she could do about it.

She was quite annoyed to see that he had no issues walking across the sand at all. It made her feel clunky, it made her feel disadvantaged. And she hated all of that. Yes, it was a little bit silly to be worrying about it out here in the middle of nowhere. To be worried about the fact that she looked so out of place, but it was ingrained in her that that was a bad thing, and she could hardly change her feelings on the subject now.

When they got to the bottom of the dune, he paused, and turned back to face her. “Wait here. I’m going to go forward and see if they are in a mind to receive visitors, and I do not want you near me just in case.”

“Just in case what?

“As I said, I don’t take anything in the desert for granted.”

She watched Zayn walk ahead, fear tightening her stomach and she wasn’t sure why. For herself, obviously. But then, she could always make a run for the dune, and for the vehicle. But she feared that it wasn’t only concern for herself that had her feeling on edge. But concern for Zayn. And he did not deserve her concern, all things considered.

But it was hard to wish the loss of a ruler on a nation, especially when the ruler appeared to be as caring as Zayn was. Yes, on a personal level she had found him difficult to deal with, but whenever he spoke of his country, whenever he spoke of his people, he seemed ideal. He was even willing to marry to further things for his people, and how could she fault him for that?

How could a nation ask for a stronger leader? For one who was willing to sacrifice himself on a greater level? Was there a greater level other than death to sacrifice yourself on? She doubted it.

So, that was why she was nervous. It had nothing to do with the way she felt about him, because all she felt for him was annoyance. Simple as.

He approached the edge of the encampment and stood, his hands outstretched, proving that he had no weapons, or at least that was what Sophie imagined he was doing. It was very possible that she was getting a bit overdramatic.

Overdramatic or not, she watched with bated breath, unsure of what might happen next. She wished he had brought some kind of protection with him because on this score she would be of no use to him. All she could do was plot her own escape. Which would be foiled by her inability to move quickly in the terrain. She might as well go out with honor.

Suddenly the man Zayn was talking to pulled him into an embrace. When they parted, Zayn looked back at Sophie, then started to walk her direction. His dark eyes were locked with hers and her stomach tightened in response. She did her best to school her expression into one of neutrality, but she wasn’t sure if she was quite managing it. Because he threw her off, darn it. Of course, who could blame her? He had brought her out to the middle of the desert and then had, in no uncertain terms, told her that their reception might be less than warm. And then he had left her standing on top of the dune. Yes, it wasn’t him that was throwing her off. It was the situation.

Then he moved closer, his dark eyes trained on hers, and a shiver worked its way down her spine. It was a lot harder, in that moment, to pretend the fear had been entirely for her.

“We are welcome,” Zayn said.

“Well, that’s good. I was already mentally planning on how I would relay your valiant fight to save yourself to your staff when I returned back in the SUV without you.”

She took a step toward him and stumbled. The wry smile that curved his lips said everything his voice didn’t. She was not running anywhere out here, and they both knew it. Not when she could scarcely walk a few steps without nearly falling on her face.

“I even explained to Jamal that you are a reporter. He still didn’t kick us out. I think that’s a good sign.”

“So he doesn’t mind me making observations that will end up in the news?”

“They remain fairly unaffected by world events out here, but that isn’t to say it doesn’t matter. As long as your representation is fair, he will not mind. Though I have to say I’m surprised that you care one way or the other.”

Heat stung Sophie’s face, and it wasn’t just from the sun. “Look, you’ve made some assumptions about me based on what you think a reporter is, and based on the fact that you think I’m basically a tabloid journalist, and given what I was up to when we met I can’t really blame you. But I write for the society pages for the New York Herald and that’s a far cry from the tabloids. Also, I’m a human being with feelings, and I acknowledge that other human beings have feelings. I’m not out to destroy anybody.”

“Except for the Chatsfields.”

She cleared her throat. “I never said I wanted to destroy them. I merely want to distract them.”

“To what end?”

“If you get to keep your secrets, then I get to keep mine. Now, rather than keeping me standing out here in the middle of the sand, why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

“Friend is used loosely here.” Zayn moved to her side, and put his hand on her lower back, guiding her in the direction of the man he had called Jamal.

The man was tall, nearly the same height as Zayn, his expression even more imposing. “You must be the reporter,” he said.

“Yes, that’s me.” She extended her hand, only to find it ignored. She put it awkwardly back at her side, wobbling a bit on the uneven sand. “Sophie. Sophie Parsons.”

The man nodded his head. “I suppose then we should give you something interesting to report on.”

CHAPTER SIX

“WE HAVE SENT your woman back to the tent.”

Zayn looked at Jamal, something strange twisting in his gut as he turned over the words the other man had just spoken. “She is merely under my protection. Nothing more.”

“Then would you prefer she sleep elsewhere?”

“As I said,” Zayn replied, knowing he should be taking Jamal up on his offer, knowing he wouldn’t, “she is under my protection. That means she must stay close with me.”

“As you wish.”

“There is nothing between us.”

Jamal looked off into the distance, his eyes fixed on the horizon line. “It is none of my concern what you do or with whom. I care not for your affairs, Al-Ahmar. You should know this by now. So long as you stay out of my business, I will stay out of yours.”

“To a point, I’m certain.”

“Well, you are here now. So obviously it only extends to a point. Though I will say it is lucky for you that you now have me to deal with rather than my father. His welcome for you may not have been so hospitable.”

“And yet, hostility between us is pointless. We both want the same things. We both want what is absolutely best for those we rule over.”

“Ah, yes. But I do believe you and I often have differing opinions on what is best.”

Zayn looked toward the tent that was being provided for Sophie and himself. “I sometimes differ with myself as to what is best.”

“Indeed.” Jamal laughed. “Don’t we all?”

Far too often. “I shall retire now.”

Jamal arched a brow. “As would I if I had a woman such as that waiting for me in my tent.”

“You have a wife. And this woman is not my lover.”

“Calm down, Al-Ahmar. I have no designs on your woman. Neither will I repeat what I have seen here. We may not agree on everything, but I believe you are a man of honor. And for that reason I do not see the point in causing you any trouble.”

Zayn extended his hand, and Jamal clasped it and shook it. “On that we agree. And I must bid you good-night now.”

He turned and walked away from the other man, ignoring his assumptions. Doing his best to push them away from his mind. Yes, he and Sophie would share a tent tonight. But there was plenty of room for both of them. And he would not touch her.

He crossed the courtyard, passing the campfires that were starting to die down. He swept up the closure of the tent and encountered a wide-eyed-looking Sophie.

“Good evening.” He turned away from her and continued on to the corner of the massive space, where there was a seating area, where the bags he had had his staff prepare for them were sitting.

“What are you doing here?”

“This is a guest quarters. And as we are both guests, this is where we will both be staying.”

“I don’t even have any...” Her sentence trailed off as she looked at the bags he was now standing next to.

“You have everything. Naturally.”

“Naturally. I’m beginning to discover that staying with you means being taken care of whether I want to be or not.” He only stared at her. “Well, that’s not what I mean exactly.”

“You mean I give you absolutely no excuses for being unhappy? I make you comfortable. It must be awful considering you’re trying to feel like the wounded prisoner.”

“Well, I do feel slightly like the invaded prisoner at the moment. I was not aware we would be sharing a tent.”

He swept his hand across the expanse of the vast space. “Did you think you would have such a place to yourself?”

She blinked, tossing golden hair over her shoulders, the strands turning to golden fire in the lantern light. “I confess I didn’t really think it through.”

“I don’t suppose you did.” He gestured toward a swath of silk that was suspended from the ceiling. “Back there you will find the bed. It is fine with me if you have it. I’m happy to sleep on the couch.”

“As long as you acknowledge we’re sleeping in separate places.” He watched as her cheeks turned a fascinating shade of pink after the words left her lips.

“Naturally.” He jerked up the zipper on the duffel bag sitting on the couch, only to discover that it was the bag that had been filled with Sophie’s clothes. His hands came into contact with silk, smooth and slick, and not what he needed right at the moment. “I am not in the market for a lover. And were I in the market for a lover, it would certainly not be you.”

She sniffed. “Good. As long as we have an understanding.”

“Yes, as long as we do.” Heat burned in his chest, and his palms burned from where he had just made contact with the feminine clothing. Three years of celibacy really was far too long. If women’s clothing had the ability to get him hard, it was obvious things had been left untended for way too much time.

“Changing topic completely,” she said, “I think it’s time for the second part of our interview.”

“Do you think so?”

She crossed the space and moved to the sitting area, to the low chaise that sat across from the couch he was currently standing next to. She sat on the chaise, leaning against the back, the position accentuating her shape, forcing his eyes to her curves.

He shoved the duffel bags onto the floor and took a seat across from her. “I fear tonight there is no alcohol to help make this process any less painful.”

“I’m okay with that. I don’t actually drink all that much.” She propped her cheek on her fist.

“Why is that?”

“High in calories, expensive. Compromises control.”

“Yes, so you said. When you mentioned you had never had a hangover.”

She reached into the pocket of her pants and produced the little black recorder again. “You seem to be forgetting who’s doing the interviewing again.”

“No, I never forget. But I never give without getting in return. It is simply not how I operate.”

“And I don’t like to talk about myself. And you keep forcing the situation so that I am. It’s very irritating.”

“My apologies.”

“I doubt I have any sincere apologies from you. So let’s continue, shall we?”

He abruptly changed his mind about sitting. And pushed himself back to his feet. “What was it you asked me the other night?”

“I asked how it was your family ended up being in power. How are they chosen? I’m curious about the history of the Al-Ahmar family.”

“Yes.” He remembered, of course, but he had wanted her to bring it up again. Had wanted her to feel as though she was directing the flow of the interview. “Yes, that’s right. That is what you asked. As with anything, changes are imperfect. There was a time when we all lived like this.” He swept his hand around the tent. “Of course, we had no satellite phones.”

“Naturally not.”

“When we banded together, it was natural to want to come together under one leader. It was what we were used to.”

“You talk about it like you were there.”

He shrugged his shoulders. He supposed he did. Though it was something he barely gave any thought to. This was his history. “In many ways I was. My bloodline was there. It is not my direct family line that rules now, though we are the blood ancestors of the tribe that ended up taking control. It is a part of me.”

She shifted her position, and he turned away. “I’m curious, though, what it was that singled your people out as being worthy of leadership.”

“Do not think it wasn’t highly contested. It was no unanimous vote that brought my bloodline into power. But when war with a neighboring country broke out, a country that had long been unified especially in comparison with ours, it was my people who proved to be the greatest warriors. And it was in fact the death of our tribal leader in that battle, saving the women and children of another tribal group, that decided it. He would have been king, he would have been the sheikh, but he had perished protecting others. And so his son was made the first ruler of what became known as Surhaadi.”

Silence fell between them. There was no sound beyond the wind pushing against the tent.

“What a sad story. He sacrificed himself and he never knew what it accomplished.”

He turned back to her. “I like to think he knew. Whether or not he ever knew that it accomplished installing our family as the ruling power, I like to believe he knew in the end his sacrifice saved the women and children he set out to protect. He fought until he could not move, destroyed enemies, removed every threat, before breathing his last. I like to think he knew the most important thing his sacrifice accomplished.”

She looked away. “Well, it’s certainly a better ending. Even if you can’t quite call it a happier ending.”

“I like to think his sacrifice established what kind of leaders the Al-Ahmar family became. It is certainly the unspoken covenant that was made. That whoever should take charge of the newly banded-together tribes would lay down his life to protect the weakest among them. That he would not love his own life so much that he would seek protection for himself over others.”

She sat up, her hands folded in her lap, the recorder clutched in one of them. “Do you feel you do that? Do you feel you are carrying on the tradition?”

“Do I feel I am as self-sacrificial as an ancestor of mine who physically died protecting those around him? No. I don’t. However, I have done what I can to make sacrifices when I can, where I can.”

“Your marriage?”

He hesitated. This was on the record, this was an interview. One that would go out to millions of people worldwide. And as Sophie had already mentioned, the public loved a love story. But beyond that, he had no desire to hurt Christine with unvarnished honesty. That was assuming, of course, that Christine could be hurt by honesty, and he had doubts that she could be. But even so, sensitivity was very likely the better part of valor in this situation. Too bad he had not often been accused of being overly sensitive.

“I have always known that I would marry. For many years I had known it would be Christine. Ours is not a traditional relationship. We have not spent much time together, it is not physical. But it is based on love. A love for our countries. A desire to see things improve. If you see parallels there in terms of sacrifice, that is up to you.”

She leaned forward, green eyes intent on his. “Do you feel the love of a country is enough?”

“It is the truest love I know. It runs through my veins.”

“And you do not believe in love between two people?”

He had not picked her for a romantic, and indeed, there was only curiosity in her tone now. But still, there was something beneath it, something that fascinated him. Something that made him ache.

He thought of his own parents’ cold, distant union. And then he thought of Jasmine and her lover. Jasmine and that despicable playboy Damien, who he had once called a friend. Had that been love? An emotion so strong it pushed you to alienate friends and family and make fatal decisions? No, he had never seen evidence of love in his life.

“I am certain such a thing exists—” except that he wasn’t, but he was being recorded “—however, for my purposes this is the more lasting. This is more important.”

“Have you always felt that way?”

“No,” he said, an honest answer slipping from his lips before he could stop it.

“When did it change?”

He froze, his blood turning to ice. “Some time ago.”

“Was there a specific event?”

He gritted his teeth, feeling like she’d skillfully led him into a corner. Either he answered with some measure of honesty, or he refused. Refusal, at this point, would only make things worse.

“There used to be three of us. Myself, Jasmine and Leila. Jasmine passed away some years ago,” he said, trying to block the images from his mind that always came when he thought of Jasmine. Trying to forget the yelling, the accusations... “Grief like that, loss like that...changes you. It makes you reevaluate.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For your loss.”

“It was a long time ago. But it changed things. For all of us.”

“Naturally. And anyway, in many ways your life is entirely different to the average person’s.”

“What do you mean?”

She brushed a strand of blond hair out of her face, and his gaze was caught by the elegant motion of her fingers. The action pulled his thoughts from the past, tugged him out of the mire of it before it could claim him completely.

She was all fine-boned sophistication, and yet there was more to her than that. Something deeper, something grittier and stronger. Were she only softness, were she only grace and poise, he would not be so captivated. It was the strength beneath it, the contrast, that held him in thrall.

“In my life I’ve only ever had to worry about myself for the most part. I mean, I certainly worry about what other people think of me, make no mistake. But only as it pertains to the way it affects me. You have to do things for other reasons. For bigger reasons. Your whole life is proof positive of the butterfly effect. When you make a small movement it really does affect millions. And I don’t think most of us can say that.”

“I don’t know. You’re a journalist. There is information you could bring the world that could easily affect millions. Or at least change the way they think about things.” He relished the chance to turn the spotlight back on her. To stop her from shining light on the dark places in his own life.

“That’s the ultimate goal. Although I never really thought of it in terms of what I did changing things for other people.”

“Did you not?”

“No, I thought about changing things for me. Because the minute I’m done making coffee and doing fluff pieces, I’m sure I’ll be able to see changes happening in my own life. Maybe being able to afford a nice new outfit for work. Not having to worry about paying my rent on time. Just being able to rest in the fact that I’ve made it.” She looked like she was about to say something else, her full lips twitching as though something uncomfortable was hovering over them.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It is something, or you would not look so much like holding it back was threatening to make you burst.” He knew it, because he’d felt it only moments ago.

She shook her head. “I want to reach a point where I will be admitted into certain functions. And when I am, I will walk up to my father and I will hold out my hand and I will say, ‘My name is Sophie Parsons. I don’t have your name because I wasn’t good enough for you to give it to me. But I’m here now in the same room you are, and whether you like it or not, and whether you want to acknowledge it or not, I am your daughter.’” She blinked rapidly. “And I will tell him that I made it into that room on my own merit. Without his help. Without his name, which is something none of his other children did. I will tell him that the child that wasn’t good enough for him is the one who really made it the farthest.”

Her words hit him with the force of a punch. In them he could hear where her determination came from. In them he gathered her motivation. And he suddenly understood why she worked so hard to fit in, why she had worked so hard to bring herself up from her modest background.

And it made sense suddenly why she had spoken of her mother with such disdain. It sounded as though the woman had loved someone who had abandoned them entirely, a man who had had other children while refusing to acknowledge her.

It was nothing he could relate to. His place in life had been assured from birth. His blood had assured him entry. His family name a given. A name that stretched back hundreds of years, that brought him reputation, that brought him admiration.

It had been a reputation he hadn’t been deserving of for a great many years, one he was striving to deserve now.

And in contrast, the woman across from him had been given nothing in terms of name and reputation. The woman sitting across from him had had to make her own way entirely. If he’d had to do that he would’ve never been able to transcend the mistakes of his past. But as it was, he had been forgiven. Simply a rebellious wayward royal who’d had too much power, and too much money. A young man who had been far too handsome for his own good, and who had only taken advantage of all that had been naturally afforded him as a result.

He’d had none of her disadvantages, and he’d abused every advantage he had been given.

He felt like saying something to her, and yet he felt advice from him was empty. Still, she had shared with him, and he owed something.

“They say the best revenge is living well,” he said. “And I feel you are doing that already.”

“You can’t deny the fact that I’m staying with royalty. Although not so much right now.”

“Jamal is royalty in his own right.”

“True.”

“But in all sincerity, I think your father was a fool. I think he was a fool to deny a daughter such as you.”

“Are you complimenting me?” She blinked owlishly.

“Do not seem so surprised. I have admiration for your determination and your mind, even if I cannot leave you entirely to your own devices. I was born with privilege. I was born belonging to my family. And I squandered it. I did not deserve it. It was something I took for granted. I would not be surprised if your other siblings have done the same. Someone like you, a daughter like you, should be appreciated. He did not, and so I think he is a fool.”

“How is it that you abused what you were given?” she asked, her voice muted. Her question sounded much more genuine than questions from her did typically. Much more personal, and much less like she was asking as a reporter.

“That I think we will save for tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. And we still didn’t get to my scandal.”

“We’re getting there.” His stomach sank as he said the words, as he realized the truth in them. They were getting to the scandal, and he was starting to realize what he would have to give her as substitution for his lack of knowledge about James Chatsfield. As a substitution for the secret his sister carried. The one he had to keep Sophie away from at all costs.

He realized now where his stories were leading her, where they were leading them both. He had not before this moment, but he did now. The founding of a nation, self-sacrifice being the cornerstone of the monarchy. And the importance of acting with honor above all else. Of being worthy of the birthright he had been given without having to do any work at all.

“For tonight I suggest we get some sleep,” he said.

She stood, and he stopped pacing, pausing to look at her. The glowing of the lanterns overhead was more pronounced now that the light had dimmed further outside, and it was casting a golden sheen over her. And suddenly everything seemed to narrow in on Sophie.

Everything around her faded, the air growing tight. Pulling him nearer to her. Her green eyes glittered in the low light, her hair shimmering. She was temptation personified, sent to test him. While at the same time reminding him of his fatal weaknesses.

How was it one woman could represent both? How was it one woman could make him want to strive forward doing better, sacrificing himself for the greater good, while also inspiring him to drop it all, so that his arms were free to pull her into them? To bring her up against his body, kiss her, claim her, make her his?

He had no answers, he had nothing other than the burning ache in his gut. Nothing at all.

“Would you mind giving me some privacy while I get ready?” she asked.

He had no choice but to give her privacy. If he were in here while she readied herself for bed he doubted he would be able to control himself.

And with Jasmine so freshly on his mind, it seemed a blasphemy. With Leila, her secret and the weight of his responsibility pressing down upon him, he should be able to think of nothing else. Of Christine and their upcoming marriage.

And yet none of it seemed to matter half as much as what he felt when he looked at Sophie. It was a blasphemy. And yet it was one he was not certain he knew how to combat. It was one he was not certain he wanted to combat. It was such a foreign feeling, something lost back in time, something that had been bound up and twisted up in tragedy, in disgrace.

He’d had lovers in the years since he’d decided to take his role as sheikh more seriously. But it had been different. It had been with careful calculation and decision. It’d been at appropriate times, and in appropriate places. It had been nothing like this, this heady rush of heat and need that seemed to transcend reality, that seemed to transcend duty.

No, nothing transcended duty.

He could not afford to disrupt what was happening now. He could not throw away his future, his country’s future, Leila’s future, for the sake of a dalliance with an American journalist who would probably turn the entire thing into a tell-all.

She wouldn’t do that.

He gritted his teeth. He did not trust people easily as a rule, not anymore. Not after the betrayal of his friend Damien. And certainly, Sophie was not who he had originally assumed she was. She was not the cold-blooded tabloid leech, but he doubted she was a kitten, either.

She was a woman who had gotten into her position in life with sheer bloody-mindedness and determination. Underestimating that could be fatal. At least in terms of reputation.

Things were far too precarious for him to upset anything.

And he had an agreement with Christine, he had made her promises, and he could not go back on that.

“Of course I will step outside. Let me know when you are ready for me to return.”

* * *

Never. I will never be ready for you to return. Sophie kept all of that to herself, but she thought it at full volume. If he could somehow read thoughts it would be extremely helpful. Of course, if he could read thoughts he would know just how affected she was by being in close quarters with him. She didn’t like it at all. Not one bit.

She was much more disturbed by him than she could’ve ever imagined she might be.

She waited until he was gone, then went to the place where the bags were sitting, digging through them until she found a pair of silk pajamas. Of course he had made sure she would have overnight things. Because of course he had known they would end up spending the night out here. Perhaps he had even known they would end up staying in the same tent. Well, he had to have known.

He’s not trying to seduce you.

No, of course he wasn’t. And anyway, she was not seduceable. Not in the least. Men had tried, and men had failed. It wasn’t as though she intended to never have a relationship as long as she lived, it was just there had never been an appropriate time.

She’d watched her mother become a slave to sex, to desire, which she had always called love, but Sophie had doubted that very much.

It was weakness, and she would not be that weak. Would not be that sad and desperate. She’d gone out and made her own life, on her own terms.

Zayn was hot, there was no denying that. He was, in fact, the hottest guy she had ever seen in person. So there was that. And she was ready to admit it. It had been difficult to sort through her feelings for him when she had been half-afraid of him, but she wasn’t really afraid of him now. And now that the fog of terror had cleared a bit, she could say objectively that, yes, he was very handsome.

But handsomeness didn’t have anything to do with anything. She was here to do a job, not get distracted by a pretty face. Though she wouldn’t exactly characterize his face as pretty. His cheekbones were enviable, to be certain, and he had amazing eyelashes. If he were a woman he wouldn’t need to wear mascara. But that didn’t make him pretty. No, he was far too rugged for that. The dark stubble that covered his jaw by midday helped with that. As did the intensity in his dark eyes.

Magnetic. That was a better word for him.

And hot, hot still worked.

She mentally castigated herself while she put her pajamas on, while she tried to ignore just how sensual the fabric felt against her skin. Fabric was not sensual. None of this was.

Annoying was what it was. Well, not the fabric, the fabric was quite nice. But the feelings that he evoked in her were certainly annoying.

He was still stringing her along, too. She didn’t feel like she was any closer to getting the scandal than she had been on day one. He was interesting, and yes, she could use the material he was providing her for her career, but it wasn’t why she was here. It didn’t help Isabelle in any way. And neither did thinking about how pretty he was. Or wasn’t.

She finished dressing and went to the opening of the tent, pushing the flap back and poking her head outside. It was dark now, the golden light of the sun long since disappearing behind the dunes. Everything was golden brown during the day, fading into a strange yellowish white in the sky, a color she had never seen anywhere else. And now, in the dark, it was similarly monochromatic. Inky blues and slate grays covering the landscape.

She could see he was standing with his back to the tent, an imposing figure, a living shadow in the night.

“I’m ready.”

He turned to face her. “I find I am not.”

“Oh, well, so then...I guess I just can get in bed now?”

He waved a hand. “Do what you like. I will not be returning for the evening.”

“Where are you going?” She shouldn’t care, she didn’t care. In fact, she should be nothing but relieved that he was leaving. Somehow, though, relief wasn’t what she felt. She was just confused. Confused and concerned.

“I am going for a walk, and perhaps I will find somewhere to sleep for the night.”

“Well, you can sleep in here,” she said, the words dying on her lips when she caught sight of the feral glint in his eye. There was something dangerous there, something she couldn’t easily identify. But it called her, tugged at something deep inside of her, made her want to move forward, to close the distance between them rather than turn away. Which was not what she should be feeling. She should want to run, she should want to turn away from whatever that meant. But she didn’t.

She took a step toward him.

“Stop,” he bit out, the command coming down like a hammer on a nail.

She obeyed, because she was powerless to do anything else.

“The tent is big enough for the both of us. I’m sorry I made a big deal out of it before.” She tried again, even though she was certain she was making a mistake.

“I cannot stay. I would only do something we would both regret later.”

And before she could ask him what he meant he began to walk away from her, disappearing into the darkness. As though he had been swallowed up whole, consumed by a blackness that would never give him back.

Still, Sophie stood there and watched. She stood there until her eyes hurt from straining to see into the night. Stood there until she started to feel cold.

She didn’t know what it was about this man. She only knew that he was challenging things in her that no one else had ever been able to challenge before.

But what was far more frightening than that was the fact that she wanted him to challenge them. Was the fact that she was more intrigued than afraid?

She shook her head and turned away from the desert, walking back into the tent.

She was only having a moment of temporary insanity. It would pass.

She was in here for this. And anyway, Zayn was promised to another woman. And she would never be the kind of person who ignored something like that. She wasn’t going to tread on another woman’s territory. Her mother hadn’t minded, hadn’t cared that her lover had said vows to someone else, and Sophie had seen the destruction it had brought. Sophie would never be a part of something like that.

Though, even if she were that sort of woman, in the end, Zayn would never choose her. Men like him never chose the woman like her. They married the princess, they stayed with the socialite. That was the end of the discussion.

But it was moot because she wasn’t going there. She wasn’t even tempted.

She ignored the tightening in her stomach that called her a liar, and went to bed.

* * *

The next morning when Zayn returned to the tent, he was stiff and cold. It felt like the night air had worked its way into his joints, leaving behind a chill he couldn’t shake. Even so, sleeping out on the dunes had been preferable to sharing the space with Sophie. Well, perhaps it had not been preferable in the strictest sense of the word. But it had been necessary.

Though now he was in desperate need of some warmth. For all the brutality of the desert heat during the day, the cold was almost as biting. Though not quite as deadly.

He pushed the flap to the tent back, and strode inside. He was greeted by a sharp squeak and a flurry of motion.

Sophie was standing just behind the nearly sheer divider next to the bed hurriedly tugging a tunic over her head. A moment later she scrambled from behind the curtain, her cheeks pink, her face void of makeup, her blond hair fuzzy.

“Don’t you knock?”

He looked around at the canvas walls. “On what?”

“Oh, ha, ha. You could have at least signaled your presence. You could’ve shouted, or made some kind of a bird sound.”

“If we were staying a few extra days we might work out some kind of system, or code. But as we are leaving, I do not think it matters.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, her expression fierce. “Well, of course you would say that, you weren’t the one who got walked in on while you were changing.”

“I doubt I would have been as concerned as you are.”

“Of course you wouldn’t be, I’m tiny. You’re invulnerable to me.”

It was an odd choice of words, because while he could see her point, he wasn’t entirely certain they were true. “But the fact you are vulnerable to me only matters if you think I would take advantage of you. And I would not.”

She arched a brow. “So you say.”

He gave her a look that he hoped telegraphed disdain. “So you can be confident of.”

“Right, well, a woman has to have a sense of self-preservation. The world is a scary place. Men can kidnap you from alleys.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve heard stories.”

He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Very terrifying. Are you about ready to go?”

She looked around the room. “I think I have everything all packed.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Quite. The bed was very comfortable. Did you?”

With the stiffness in his joints lingering, and the cold still wrapped around his bones, the idea of a good night’s sleep seemed laughable. “Not as such.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“I found a comfortable dune.”

He did not know why he was being honest with her. He should’ve told her that he had found a woman who’d been willing to share her sleeping bag. But then, that would imply that he had betrayed Christine, and he did not want her thinking that. Because she might tell someone. And because he did not want her to think he would do such a thing.

The first bit of reasoning was understandable, the second was somewhat beyond him, but it was true nonetheless.

“Please don’t tell me you slept outside.”

“Okay, then I won’t.”

“But you’re lying, aren’t you?” Her green eyes were wide now, the concern in them causing a strange warm feeling to spread outward from the center of his chest.

“Do not waste your tender feelings and large eyes on me. It was nothing I’ve never done before.”

“Well, now I feel bad. Because I made a big deal out of a sharing a tent together and then you went and slept outside.”

“You had a right to your privacy.”

She huffed. “Yes, of course I have a right to my privacy. But you were going to sleep on the couch. And as you said, you are no danger to me. I do know that.”

The warmth from a moment ago caught fire, and turned into something else. Turned into annoyance, and anger. “I would never hurt you, Sophie, on that you can trust me. But I might do something I should not. Something both of us would regret in the end.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If you wouldn’t hurt me what could you possibly do that we would both regret?”

The flames climbed higher, and he advanced on her. He was beyond thought now, the only thing he could think of was warmth. The warmth she made him feel, that was banishing the cold that had been there only a moment before. And just how much warmer he knew she could make him feel if he but touched her. “Do you not understand?”

“No. I guess I don’t.”

He reached out and grabbed her arm, tugging her forward. He regretted it the moment he did it, but not enough to release her. “I would not hurt you, little Sophie, I would never do that. No, what I am tempted to do is something that would bring us both pleasure. But in the end I fear it would be something that could cause incredible damage.”

Her eyes widened, her pupils expanding in her green eyes, erasing the color. Her lips rounded into a perfect O, and he wondered if they would feel as soft as they looked beneath his own. He wondered what it would feel like to press her curves up against his body, to run his hands down the elegant line of her spine and grip the curve of her bottom. But those were questions that would go unanswered. Because he was determined to turn away from this. Any moment, he would turn away from this.

It didn’t matter that his blood was streaking through his veins like fire, it didn’t matter that he was so hard he could barely think straight, it didn’t matter that he wanted to taste her more than he wanted his next breath. Because it was something that could simply not happen. Because control was more important than this. Because duty was more important than anything.

Because of Christine. Because of Leila.

Because of Jasmine.

Three women who were all more important than the one who was standing in front of him, and yet, he could not bring himself to let her go.

Which is why you have to. This is insanity.

He released his hold on her and took a step backward, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

She pushed shaking hands through her hair, and guilt tore at him like a savage beast. “Oh, I guess I get what you meant now.”

“There is no need for us to speak of this again.”

“But...I mean... You can’t just pretend this didn’t happen.”

“We will. We will both pretend that it didn’t happen. Pretend I never said anything.” He turned away from her, keeping his eyes on the bland brown walls of the tent. “Now you know why I had to leave.”

“Because I tempt you?” The way she said it, with such innocence, with such wonder, only served to heighten the arousal that was already coursing through him.

“More than anything,” he said, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable even to his own ears.

“How is that possible? How can I possibly tempt you to do...anything?”

“You say that as though you have no idea of your appeal.”

“I don’t. I mean, you’re not the first man to ever hit on me, but I don’t think I can recall a man ever wanting me when he shouldn’t.”

He turned back to her. “There is a first time for everything, is there not?”

“I...I suppose so.”

He knew that he shouldn’t ask her the next question. Knew he should say nothing. And yet, the words burned in his mouth like hot coals. He had to spit them out, or swallow them whole, and leave them to burn him from the inside out. “Do I not tempt you?”

Her head jerked up sharply, her mouth falling open. “Do you tempt me?”

“I will not repeat myself.”

“I would have to be the most foolish woman in the world, or a very classic sufferer of Stockholm syndrome, to be tempted by you.”

“And yet, that does not answer the question.”

She turned away from him, her shoulders rising and falling sharply with her breath. “Do you know, I’ve only kissed one man.”

“I do not understand where this story is leading.” All he knew was that the moment the words had left her lips, the desire that he felt coiling in his stomach had gone unbearably tight, his need ramping up to unendurable proportions.

When she spoke again, her tone was thin, shaky. “It was at a party at university. And he was very popular. One of those very upper-crust-type guys. The kind that I would’ve done well to align myself with. Anyway, we ended up sitting on the couch together, and at one point during the evening he leaned over and kissed me. It was very disappointing. And yet sort of a relief, too. Because I knew then that I wouldn’t feel anything like the madness my mother seems to feel for my father. I knew that I was above it. I knew that it would never be a temptation.” She turned back to him, her green eyes fierce now. “But for some reason I’ve been wondering what it might be like to kiss you from the moment I saw you. I should want to hit you, not kiss you. And yet I find it’s just all mixed up. I don’t know why.”

Her words hit him with the force of a punch. And he gave thanks for the fact that he’d had the good sense to leave last night. Had he not they might have woken up to a world of regret in the morning. As it was, he would take the stiff joints. He refused to even allow his brain to process the full implication of what she was saying, because he knew that way lay further temptation. And he did not think he could handle that.

“You need not worry about it. Because nothing can come of it.” He said it is a warning to himself, more than he said it to her. “You can go on as you have done, and I will go on as I have done.”

“Of course. Obviously.”

“Good,” he said.

His stomach tightened, his entire body screaming at him to give in. To chase the feelings that were firing through his blood.

But he could not. It was impossible. Now and always. No matter how much he might want it.

If there was one thing the years had taught him, it was that he desired things that would ruin him. That would ruin other people.

He had no choice but to deny himself.

When they were back at the palace, back in their own quarters, things would be easier. They had to be. Otherwise he would find himself sleeping outside in the cold again, just to try and get a handle on his control.

“All right, then, shall we go?”

She nodded, a determined light in her eye that had nothing to do with going to eat breakfast, he was sure. “Yes, ready.”

* * *

Sophie could feel the tension stretching between herself and Zayn in the close confines of the SUV. She should never have been so honest with him earlier. He should never have been so honest with her. What had they been thinking?

More to the point, it was disturbing that what had passed between them was honesty.

How could she be attracted to him? How could she have confessed all of her secrets to him, and how could she still want to kiss him? None of it made sense. She knew better than to expose her inexperience, she knew better than to let anyone know when she felt in over her head. And yet she had done just that today when she had confessed to him that she’d only kissed one man, and only once. And then she made matters worse by immediately confessing that she would like to kiss him. It was all bad. All very, very bad.

And it all felt worse now that they were sitting in the close confines of the vehicle, driving down the road that seemed endless, with no sign of civilization anywhere around them. But overhead, the sky was starting to change color. The pale blue taking on a silver edge as clouds formed, rolling in quickly, looking ominous.

The farther away they got from the dunes, onto harder ground, the worse it became.

“What’s happening?” she asked, looking out at the swelling clouds.

“Nothing good.”

“Like...not normal not good?”

“Worse,” he said, looking out the windshield and up. “It is normal. And I have a feeling I know what’s going to happen.”

Fear twisted her stomach. “What?”

“Are you familiar with flash floods?”

“What, like on a personal level? No, I can’t say that I am.”

“I fear we are about to have one. And if we are, then the best thing we can possibly do is pull over and wait it out.”

“Is that all we can do?” She was feeling panicky now, and it had nothing to do with their previous conversation. In fact, at this moment, it was all but forgotten.

“We should get to higher ground. Hopefully I can set the tent up before it starts raining.”

“You have a tent?”

“Of course. It’s important to know how to survive out here, if you’re going to go out.”

“Well, I guess it’s my luck that I went out with the sheikh who happens to be a Boy Scout.”

“I don’t know about a Boy Scout. But I do know how to keep us alive.”

The relief that washed over her was palpable. Silly, because not even a drop of rain had fallen yet, and she was already imagining great torrents of water rushing down the road to meet them. She was being overdramatic again. But then when one was concerned about being washed away on a tide, was there such a thing as being overdramatic?

He maneuvered the vehicle off the road, and she gripped the door handle, trying to brace herself as they rolled over bumps, up an untraveled hillside. “I’m going to keep driving until I feel like we’re high enough, okay?”

She was somewhat touched that he seemed to have sensed her nerves, and somewhat defensive also. Because she didn’t like people to see her weaknesses, but then hadn’t she already showed hers to him? Not now, but earlier. Anyway, she supposed there were no points for pretending she knew what she was doing out here. It was obvious she didn’t. She was a stranger in a strange land, so to speak.

The thought made her feel an odd kind of weightlessness, and it had nothing to do with the pitching and rolling of the vehicle. Out here, in this vast, unknown desert, there was no reason to pretend. Because he already knew.

“Okay.” They kept on driving until they reached the top of the ridge, and then Zayn put the vehicle in Park.

“We’ll make camp here. We may not need to stay, but if it does start to rain it will flood the road. All of it will run down the side of this embankment, and none of it should pool here. We should be safe.”

“Your tent is going to keep us dry in a torrential downpour?”

“Of course it will. It isn’t as though it’s the sort of thing you could buy at a sporting goods store. It is made for this kind of weather.”

“I suppose that’s the perk of being royalty.”

“This has nothing to do with being royalty. Nothing to do with the latest technology. These tents were made by Surhaadi’s finest craftsmen. Using the same techniques that have been used for hundreds of years. We have always had rain such as this in the desert, and sandstorms. And we have always needed to seek shelter away from it.”

She looked back up at the sky, which had grown even angrier in the past few minutes. “I suppose we should hurry.”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” He opened the driver side door and got out.

She opened her door, and followed. “Well, I didn’t figure I would leave you to set up the tent all by yourself.”

“Do you know how to set up a tent?”

“Not really. Not much camping happening while growing up in suburban New York. But still, I thought you might need help holding some things, or something.”

He raised the dark brow. “Or something.”

He rounded the SUV and opened the back hatch, pulling out a compact bundle. It didn’t look like it could be much of anything, much less large enough for the two of them. But then, she doubted it would be anything half so large or luxurious as the one she had stayed in with the tribe last night.

“Will Jamal and his people be all right?” It occurred to her suddenly that they seemed to be at a lower elevation.

“Yes, that area is not so affected by these thunderstorms. The ground has more moisture and the water sinks faster. Even if they get a downpour it’s very likely it won’t flood.”

“It’s amazing how different it can be only fifty miles away.”

“Yes, indeed. The capital city is built at a higher elevation so that torrential downpours like this don’t affect the infrastructure. Jamal and his tribe stay farther east where they are not as likely to get floods. It’s this in-between part that is less hospitable to all.”

He picked up the bundle and slung it over his shoulder, walking across the expanse of bare ground to a place on the ridge that seemed to be flat. At least as flat as they were going to find on the rocky terrain.

He started to unpack the bundle.

“Is there anything I can do?”

He looked up at the sky. “Well, if it starts to rain you could always hold an umbrella.”

“You’re joking, right?”

He leveled his dark gaze on her. “Yes, I am joking.”

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

He smiled, and she felt the impact down to her toes. “I may yet have some surprises in store for you, Sophie Parsons.”

* * *

As Sophie had guessed, the tent was small. Oh...so small. If the tent back by the oasis had felt crowded with his presence, this would be unendurable. She would melt. She was sure of it. And she could not afford to melt.

But you already are...

She ignored the treacherous thought and went back to examining the tent.

It was not tall enough for either of them to stand. Sophie only had to crouch, but Zayn had to bend at the waist. There was room enough for them to sit, but it was very close quarters and she feared it would drive them both to the edge of madness.

Before this she had had no experience with firsthand lust madness. In fact, she had absolutely fancied herself immune. Now, she was not so cocky.

As soon as Zayn was finished, fat raindrops started to fall on them, and Sophie made a dash for the tent. Zayn followed closely behind, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

“I have food in here,” he said as he ducked his head and entered the tent, dropping to his knees near where she was standing, hunched over in the corner.

“Well, I am a fan of food.”

The rain started to fall in earnest, as if the skies had cracked open, letting it all pour out now with no restraint, making up for the countless dry days that had come before. It splattered against the roof of the tent, the sound like a handful of pins being dropped on a marble floor.

“It is nothing special.” He unzipped the top of the backpack and produced sealed bags of flatbread, grapes and some other fruits she couldn’t readily identify.

“It all works.”

He also took out two bottles of water, handing her one and keeping one for himself.

He adjusted his position so that he was sitting with his legs crossed and he gestured for her to sit, as well. She did, unscrewing the cap on the water bottle and taking a long drink.

He extended his hand and offered the bag to her. She plucked one round purple fruit off the stem and popped it into her mouth. She suddenly realized she was still looking at him, looking at his dark eyes. She looked away. Her stomach was tight, her heart fluttering.

She was getting distracted again. She did her best to get a grip on herself. But she still felt that strange weightless feeling she’d felt since the moment she’d accepted that she didn’t have to pretend just now. It made her want to hold on to the feeling, made her want to hold it close and examine it, not push it down.

Too bad she didn’t have a choice. Maybe she needed to get a date when she got back to New York. Stop ignoring this part of herself. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe it wasn’t Zayn, but the culmination of twenty-five years of celibacy. She hadn’t really intended to leave it that long, but all things considered she’d had a lot of stipulations placed on the whole sleeping with someone thing.

Maybe she needed to stop taking it so seriously. Because this wasn’t normal. The strange, intense feeling that was blooming in her chest, spreading down to her stomach, and into her extremities.

No, this could not be normal at all. She’d heard people talk about butterflies, but this was somewhere beyond that. This was beyond anything she’d ever heard about.

But no matter how strong it was, it didn’t make it any less impossible.

She looked away from him, desperate to catch her breath, desperate to catch her sanity.

She adjusted one of the blankets he had laid on the floor so that it offered a bit of support for her back. “Since we’re here for a while...I think it’s time for the third interview.”

“Do you?” he asked, his expression growing guarded.

Every so often she had the feeling she was skirting around the edges of something deep. Something real. It made her both curious, and afraid.

Part of her didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to be the keeper of his secrets.

“Since we’ve talked about how the country came to be, and how the monarchy came to be. I think it’s time to talk about you.” She took another sip of water and reached out for the bag of grapes.

“Me?” he asked, and there was no question of whether or not he was guarded now. She could see it happening, watch the depth in his dark eyes recede, replaced by a flatness that terrified her.

But she couldn’t back down. Not now. She had to get to the heart of why she was here. And she had a feeling it would never happen until she got to the heart of the man.

He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed behind her. Then he started speaking again. His words slow, monotone.

“It is interesting how time changes things. Surhaadi has been a very wealthy country since before my birth. So far removed from the scattered groups of people living in tents in the desert. This has brought positive change, new developments, the opportunity for good education. And yet, prosperity does not always build the best of characters. This is a story about a flawed character.”

His tone was grave, stoic, and she found herself looking at him again, even though she’d just been telling herself to get a grip. “And this is about you?”

“When a man knows from the day of his birth that one day an entire nation will bow at his feet, it affects him. I was told the history of our country, but unfortunately I missed the moral. It was all a very interesting story about battles, about destroying the bad guys. What I did not realize was that it was also about sacrifice. That it was intended to form the way I saw the throne. That it was not enough for a leader to simply have power. It is woven into the fabric of our country that a leader must be willing to sacrifice above all else. But those realities were lost on me. Those stories, those values, were dusty relics in my mind. And everything in life was shiny and new.”

He adjusted his position and opened one of the bags that contained a piece of flat bread. He tore off a piece and ate it slowly, as if he was carefully considering his next words. He swallowed and continued. “Nothing was off-limits to me and I set no boundaries for myself. I was the despair of my mother, and I earned my father’s disdain. Make no mistake, it was earned. My father was a wise man, serious, and consumed with the idea of honor. And I was a son who had none. I was a son who cared for nothing more than acquiring the latest model of car, or finding the best nightspots throughout Europe. I had a large network of friends who helped me gain access to those places. Who helped me pick up women.”

It was jarring to think of him in this way. As a young man consumed by the idea of acquiring more wealth. She had seen nothing of that in him from the moment she met him. His only concern had ever been for his family. His family and his country.

“My father warned me that my behavior would lead to ruin, that it would lead to death. But I didn’t care. Because I had never seen evidence of a consequence. Because money and power had spared me from every single one. If we trashed a hotel room, I could more than afford to pay someone to clean it up. If we got into a fender bender, it was easy to throw money at the owner of the other car and make it all go away. When I was through with a lover, all I had to do was give her a trinket and she would be happy again. She would go on her way feeling pleased at her dalliance with a sheikh. Yes, I lived my life consequence-free for a great many years.”

She tried to read what he was feeling, tried to understand what he was thinking by looking into his eyes. But there was nothing there. Nothing but an endless black well. “What changed? Because something had to. Otherwise I very much believe you would still be cutting a party swath through Europe.” And who wouldn’t? She’d never had the luxury of living consequence-free, she’d always had to work harder. Had her life been different, she very likely would have been different to.

“You are not wrong. Something did change. My father was proven right.”

“What do you mean?”

He drew in a sharp breath and looked down, his shoulders tightened.

“Zayn,” she pressed. “What is it that he said?”

There was nothing but silence in the tent for long moments. Nothing but water on canvas. Then Zayn looked up at her, his eyes dark pits.

“My father said my behavior would end in ruin. He said it would end in death. And it did, Sophie. My actions caused the death of my sister.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

SOPHIE COULD ONLY stare at Zayn, his admission settling heavily in the room, like a blanket of dust, covering everything it touched. She didn’t want to speak for fear she might disturb it all, for fear she might disrupt it, cloud the air and stop his confession. Interrupt what he was about to say. And yet, she found she could hardly breathe in the silence, waiting for him to continue. Waiting for him to explain.

But he didn’t speak. He only sat, his dark eyes fixed on a spot behind her, not the tent wall, somewhere more distant than that. Perhaps somewhere back in the past.

“Zayn?” she asked. Her voice seemed far too loud in the stillness, competing with the rain falling on the tent top. Disturbing the natural order.

He still didn’t speak, a sharp breath making his chest pitch, lifting his shoulders. And then he looked back at her, snapping back to the present, as though he had never been gone. But he had been, she knew it as certainly as she was sitting there.

“I am responsible for the death of my younger sister Jasmine.” He said the words again as though to affirm them both to himself and to her.

He had mentioned his sister just last night, and yet, at the time nothing had been brought up in her memory. But now... Dimly she thought she might be able to remember a news story about the death of a royal princess somewhere in the world. But it was hard to say what was memory and what was her brain trying to forge a connection between this moment and a moment in her past. Trying to find a way to connect even more deeply than she already had. Which was a mistake, and yet she couldn’t stop herself.

“And she was younger?”

“By only a couple of years. Leila, my sister who is still alive, is the baby. Jasmine and I were much closer in age. And we were friends. Often, we got into trouble together. Until I outgrew her, until I started to do things I did not want my sister involved in. Of course, I did not want my younger sister sleeping around and drinking to excess. Those things were fine for me but in my mind off-limits to her. To this day I cannot say what I was thinking. Because I do not understand. I do not understand that man. That man I was sixteen years ago.”

“Why have I heard so little about this? It seems as though if there were a real scandal here it would be covered in the news even now.”

“Yes, and it would be, if anyone knew the full story.”

“Are you sure you want to tell the whole story to me?”

She had to give him a chance to change his mind. A chance to leave it unspoken. To leave her in the dark. But she wanted to push him to tell her, too, because this might be the scandal he’d mentioned. The one she needed to stop the Chatsfields.

Did you ever stop to think who else it could ruin?

No. And she couldn’t. This was for Isabelle.

His dark eyes leveled with hers. “I am going to tell you the story. What you do with it after is up to you. You want the scandal, and this is the scandal I can give you.”

“The scandal I’m after?” she asked, her throat dry.

“Somehow I doubt it. But does it matter? You’re a journalist. And this is the better story. This is the thing you need.”

Her throat tightened, her stomach cramping uncomfortably. “Is it about James Chatsfield?”

“No, it is not. The only villain in this story is me. Or perhaps Damien, should you wish to cast him as such. But I don’t blame you if you do not wish to speak ill of the dead.”

Dimly she thought she should turn on her digital recorder, but she didn’t want to interrupt him for anything. Didn’t want him to become conscious of her recording his words. It was okay, though, because she wouldn’t forget them. No matter what she did with his words after this, she would not forget them.

“I’m listening.”

“When you live a lifestyle such as mine you attract a certain sort of person. And it must be acknowledged that I was one of them. I was not above any of those I brought to the family palace. I was a part of them. I was the chief of sinners, in no way above any of their actions, and often leading them. These were the people I brought home. And my sister, who had been my closest friend growing up, was confused as to why I preferred these people over her now. Damien was my partner in crime. The drinking, the womanizing, he was there for all of it. I knew what manner of man he was, and yet, I introduced him to Jasmine.”

Again she wanted to say something, wanted to interrupt and offer comfort in some way. Wanted to stop the flow of words from coming out of his mouth, so he wouldn’t expose himself in this way. So he wouldn’t reveal his secrets to her. Because she wasn’t certain she was equal to them, wasn’t certain she was worthy of them.

She had no armor in this moment, adrift in a sea, rather than clinging doggedly to the pier and trying to appear as though she was secure.

“She was taken with Damien from the first, but I assumed, in my arrogance, that Damien knew better than to touch her. Still, when I noticed my sister’s fascination with him I warned her away. I was not kind. I told her that silly virgins should never even speak to men like that. She asked if that meant she should not speak to me. Of course I said that was different. But I started to wonder if it was. I started to wonder why I was content to be the sort of person I would not allow my sister to associate with. But it was too late.”

He continued. “One day I walked into my chambers to find Damien with Jasmine. He had clearly given her alcohol, and possibly another substance, and she was impaired. Laughing, and hanging all over him. And then Damien, my friend, looked at me and told me that she was no longer a silly virgin and asked if it was okay now for her to associate with him.” Zayn clenched his jaw, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “I was enraged, Sophie. Were there a weapon in my hand I think I might have destroyed Damien there and then. I told them to go. I told him to get out of my sight, to leave my home and never come back. And Jasmine, in love with him as she was, clung to him and told me she was going with him. And I told her I did not want to see her again. I told her...that she had brought shame onto our family and that she was dead to me. I said...I said terrible things to her.”

He pushed his hands through his hair, and lowered his head. “So she left with him. And only an hour later we received word they were in a terrible accident, and that none involved had survived. So you see the reason there was no scandal. No hint of what went on between us. How could there be? It would endanger public opinion of me if word were to get out how I spoke to her at the end. Of course, I never imagined he would drive, not in the state he was in. But I should’ve known. Because the most disturbing thing about my confrontation with Damien was that it was like looking into a mirror. It was realizing that had the roles been reversed, had he invited me into his home, had his innocent sister showed interest in me, I cannot guarantee I would not have done the same thing he’d done. He didn’t love Jasmine. And yet he took her, took her from the palace, took her from this world. And I do not believe I would have done any better. I do not believe I would have acted any more honorably. It destroyed me to lose her. It destroyed me that I introduced her to the man who led her down that path, that I drove her away from the palace and into his car with him. And that was when I knew I had to change.”

She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. “That’s why you believe so strongly in duty. That’s why you’re marrying Christine.”

“I trust nothing in myself, which is why I don’t depend on what I feel. I simply must do what’s right. It’s the only thing that matters. It’s the only thing that can matter.”

“Zayn, surely you have to know that it wasn’t your fault. Not really.”

“Do you remember what I told you about consequences? I had never in my life faced a consequence before that moment. Before my angry words, before my own selfishness, my own desire to deny my behavior for my sister. Killed her. There was no amount of money, no amount of power, that could bring her back. In that moment I was simply a man, and nothing I had would fix the devastation that I had wrought. It was my consequence. One I could not pay off. One I could not ignore. And I will not turn from it now. A man is meant to learn from his mistakes, to learn from the ramifications of his actions. I’d avoided that for years. Until the moment I could not avoid it anymore. So I bear it now, so I let it change me. Because if not, then her death truly is in vain. That cannot be.”

He stood, stooped beneath the roof of the tent, a strange kind of desolation in his dark eyes. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I am going out to check the SUV. And to get a look at the roads. I will return.”

He pushed open the flap on the tent and went out into the downpour, leaving her sitting there, shell-shocked and alone.

And then she realized, this was the end of the story. Or rather the end as it had happened so far. Ultimately, it would end with the wedding, the wedding to Christine. A wedding that was taking place as part of Zayn’s quest for atonement. The story of the nation, the story of the monarchy and the story of Zayn. He had told her to try and make her understand why he felt he’d fallen short, why he must go on to do his duty for his people.

And she ached for him, for the pain he had been through when he lost his sister. But she could not blame him. She could not blame him because she had spent her life refusing to accept what she had been given. Refusing to allow the decisions of other people to shape who she was. Jasmine had made a decision, one that might have been different with the benefit of age, but a decision all the same.

When Sophie had been that age she had already decided she would not drink or do drugs. She had already decided that she had too many things ahead of her to allow herself to be distracted. She barely had friends, she’d never dated. Maybe her decisions hadn’t been healthier, but she’d been safe. And in many ways, she’d been in control of her fate, rather than someone who’d followed a guy blindly.

She had never seen the point of sitting back and blaming her father, her mother, for her situation in life. Not when she could transcend it.

Jasmine, as tragic as her death was, could have done the same. And may well have if her poor decision had not been the first and last poor decision she’d ever made. Life was unfair that way. There were those who made mistake after mistake and came out just fine, and there were those who put one foot wrong and paid a dear cost.

But Jasmine’s hand had not been forced. Not by Zayn, not by anyone.

She burst into a sitting position, and scurried out the door of the tent, shrieking when a fat drop of water landed on her head and rolled down her face. The rain was cold, torrential, creating tributaries that flowed down the side of the embankment, down to the road below. A road that now appeared to be a river.

She looked toward the SUV, but didn’t see Zayn anywhere. Then she looked the other way, and saw nothing but scrub brush and dark clouds. “Zayn!” she called, looking all around, hoping to catch sight of him. But she couldn’t. She didn’t see him anywhere. “Zayn!” She called his name again.

Her voice was swallowed up by the wind, swallowed up by the falling rain.

She pressed forward, moving away from the tent, away from the vehicle. Because she had a feeling he had gone toward the wilderness. Because it just seemed like something he would do. She knew it, as deeply as she knew anything about herself.

In many ways, he seemed to perpetually be wandering the wilderness alone. Standing separate from everyone else, from everything else. From the law, from modern mores, from anything that might interfere with the protection of his country and his family.

A strange realization, followed closely by the realization that she had been doing the same.

Yes, Isabelle was her friend, yes, she had other casual acquaintances. She went into an office every day and worked with people surrounding her. But she was alone. She did not allow people to touch her. Because she was in the wilderness, fighting to survive.

Because she was afraid of revealing weakness, afraid of depending on anyone. Afraid of nearly everything. And so she insulated herself, kept herself separate, so that no one would ever know.

How very strange that the two of them, wandering alone in separate parts of the world, had managed to find each other.

If only she could find him now, in this literal wilderness.

Then she saw him, down on one knee, rain pouring over his back, seeping through his tunic, his head bent low.

“Zayn?” She approached him cautiously, her heart thundering in her temples.

He lifted his head, then straightened slowly. He turned to face her, water drops sliding down his face, a haunted look at his eyes. She blinked back tears, not sure if they had already fallen or not. There was water on her face, but it was very hard to say where it had come from.

They simply looked at each other, an expanse of dirt between them, the rain pouring down on them.

“I wanted to tell you—I needed to tell you—it’s not your fault.”

He shook his head. “You are hardly going to undo sixteen years of guilt with a simple phrase. But you must know I appreciate the effort, Sophie.”

“The effort isn’t enough. I need you to understand it.”

“This has nothing to do with your story. I don’t see why you would care what I think.”

She blinked against the rain. “I care because I don’t think you should carry this burden. I don’t feel like you should blame yourself like this. You can’t live your life for other people.”

“Are you any different? Answer me, Sophie, are you any different?”

“I live for myself, Zayn. How can you ask if I’m different?”

“Do you? I don’t think you do. You are here because of your friend Isabelle, even if you won’t tell me the reasoning. You are questioning me to benefit her. You are afraid to show that you are vulnerable because of what other people might think. You went to university so you can show your father that you were worthy. Yes, Sophie, you do live for other people.”

“How dare you use what I shared with you against me?”

“Is it a bad thing, Sophie? Is it a bad thing to live for others? I have lived for myself, and I’ve never seen anything fruitful come of it. It brought nothing but death and destruction. I will not apologize for living for a higher calling. I am not insulting you by pointing out that you do the same. But I will not allow you to stand there and accuse me of something that you yourself do.”

“She made a choice, Zayn.” Sophie continued as though he hadn’t spoken. Because she didn’t want to process what he had said.

Because he cast her in a different role than the one she had placed herself in. It didn’t make her sound like a hard worker, like an independent person who had made her own choices. It made her sound like someone who was beholden to the expectations of others. Who had only succeeded because she was afraid of what others might think.

Yes, she knew she worried about what others might think, but it was only because she needed them to think highly of her in order to achieve what she needed to. She was using their approval, she was not dependent on it. And that was an entirely different thing.

“And I made choices that delivered her choice to her. We affect the choices others make, Sophie. Your life is a classic example of that. Your father’s actions affected your choices.”

“I make my decisions. I have controlled my life. Nothing controls me.”

Suddenly he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her up hard against his chest. She could feel his heart beating hard against her breast, could feel the sharp rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in deep. “Nothing controls you? How about this, habibti. Does this control you? Or are you immune to me?”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. In spite of the cold, in spite of the wet, she felt like she was overheating. Felt as though she might melt into a puddle, and flow down the mountainside along with the rest of the rain.

“Who controls you now?” he asked, his voice rough and soft, sending a shiver through her body.

She looked into his eyes, and she was suddenly hit with a swell of longing that overtook her completely. That nearly made her knees buckle, that made her feel as though if she didn’t close this minute distance between them she would die.

She had been in this position once before. With a man’s lips hovering near inches from hers, and she had felt nothing. Nothing but vague curiosity. A curiosity that had been satisfied, to a degree that she had never felt the need to experience it again.

And yet, for all the similarities between these two situations, she knew that the end result would be completely different. She knew she was on the verge of something that would be unlike anything she ever experienced before. And she knew she should turn away from it.

Because there was no hope here, no future.

But they were out in the wilderness together. Two travelers who had been alone for so long, finally meeting in one place. And it would never go beyond here. Would never go back to real life, would never be something that had a future. But there was now.

And she didn’t have to pretend now, didn’t have to act as though she had everything together. Because she had given that up when they’d come up the mountain. Had set it all aside and embraced the freedom in being honest about who she was, and what she knew. Because she had lowered her shield, and made herself vulnerable.

It was already done, so there was no point in pretending now.

Not when he had shared with her his greatest failing. Not when he had stripped himself bare for her.

“Right now? I feel as though you control me.” They were some of the hardest words she had ever spoken. One of the most difficult admissions she had ever made. “I feel like you’ve taken my body and made it yours. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want.”

He gripped her chin, tilting her face up so that her eyes met his again. “Liar. You know what you want.”

“Does it matter what I want? Does it matter when nothing can come of it?”

“I have been lost in the past for a while now. And I have done nothing but plan for the future. Perhaps for this moment you and I can enjoy the present.”

His words echoed in her soul, reverberated through her. Because they were true for her, as well. The past had informed what she wanted for her future, and she had spent very little time actually in the present. She had always been looking ahead, using the things behind her to keep her moving.

But in her life, there had been no now. There had been no moments where she had simply existed.

But in this moment she wanted it. More than anything, she simply wanted now.

“It won’t fix anything,” she said, her voice small.

“A great many things are unfixable. Are they not?” He shifted position, cupping her face with his hands, sliding his thumbs over her cheekbones, wiping the rain from her face.

“I suppose so. Although, it could be argued that we are just making more problems.” She didn’t know why she was playing devil’s advocate in this, because all she wanted him to do was lean in, touch his lips to hers. And it didn’t matter that it was crazy. It didn’t matter that this could never become anything. Didn’t matter that he had forcibly dragged her to his country. Didn’t matter that she had simply been using him to try and help Isabelle. None of it mattered. Because if those things mattered, it meant the rest of the world existed, and she was certain, in this moment, that it did not.

“A great many things could be argued. For one, that I should not touch you for your sake. For another...” He let his sentence trail off, and she allowed it. Because she didn’t want to know what he’d been about say. She had an idea, but she didn’t want the reminder.

“I’m a lot stronger than I look.”

And that was all she said before he dipped his head, pressing his mouth against hers. Their lips were slick with rainwater, and he angled his head, sliding his tongue across her upper lip and her lower lip, sipping the water from her skin. She shook, the decadent contact washing through her like a raging river devastating everything in its path. Reshaping the landscape, uprooting the anchors that had always held her fast.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then the center, moving to the other corner before going back again. “Kiss me,” he said, his lips moving against hers.

She realized then that she was frozen, simply letting herself be washed away on this tide of pleasure, on this wave of need. And while it was a wonderful feeling, she was not the kind of woman to allow herself to drift out to sea.

She would swim against the current.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself more firmly against him, parting her lips and allowing him deeper access into her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers. It was like the darkest, smoothest chocolate dessert. Imbued with the kind of richness that made you feel as though you couldn’t possibly take another bite, while at the same time making you feel as though you could go on tasting it forever.

That was what kissing Zayn was like. Like too much and not enough, all at once. Like something she needed more of, while needing badly to break away, and take gulps of air.

But she continued to indulge, because he was holding her tight. Because he was so firm and sure. A pillar for her to cling to in the storm.

He was stability, and desire. Strength and heat. And she wanted nothing more than to cling to him until it all subsided. Though now, she could not tell if the greater storm waged above them, or inside of them. Between them.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight and kissed him with all of the ferocity in her body. Because she wanted to, and because she wanted him to know that he was okay. That he was not a terrible man, but a man who was worthy of this moment. Of being the only man she had ever wanted to kiss in this way. She didn’t know if her admiration was worth anything, but she would give it to him, if it would only take away that terrible haunted look in his eyes.

When they parted, they were both breathing heavily, both soaked through with rain. “We should get back to the tent,” he said.

She didn’t want to go back to the tent, because she feared it would break the spell they were under right now, right here. Back in the tent, sanity may return, and she didn’t want it to come back. She didn’t want reality to intrude at all. She would rather stand in the rain and nearly drown in it than go back where it was dry and warm and lose this connection they had found out here.

He must have sensed her hesitancy, because he traced her upper lip with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers. “I will not pretend this didn’t happen.”

She nodded and he moved away from her, walking back in the direction of the tent. She stood for a moment and watched him, before going after him.

She followed him inside, suddenly very aware of the fact that her clothes were sticking to her skin. That she was cold. That she was shivering. She had not anticipated being cold out in the middle of the Surhaadi desert.

Of course, she hadn’t anticipated being caught in a downpour, either.

Her teeth chattered, and Zayn looked at her. The concern in his eyes made her warmer. And she wondered when the last time was that she’d been looked at that way. If she ever had been. When last someone had wanted to take care of her. When last she had wanted to let someone.

“You will freeze in that.”

She lifted her shoulder. “I suppose I might. It is very cold.”

“You could take it off.” His voice was rough, and it brushed against her nerves, sending a shower of sparks through her.

She nodded wordlessly, catching the hem of her top and tugging it over her head before she could think twice. For some reason, it did not seem embarrassing. For some reason, it seemed as natural as breathing.

She pushed the linen pants down her legs, and stepped out of them. She was only wearing her underwear now, Zayn’s eyes sharp, intense, as he looked her over.

Her hands shook as she reached around behind her and unclasped her bra, discarding it along with the rest of her clothes.

Zayn bent and picked up a blanket, holding it out to her. “Get warm.”

It was a command, and one she felt compelled to obey, even though she thought it was strange he wanted her to cover up now that she had uncovered.

She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, closing it in the front. And then she looked at Zayn, her mouth drying. He had pulled his shirt off, leaving him standing half-naked in front of her, his broad chest and slim waist on display. Every muscle was clearly defined, brushed lightly with the perfect amount of dark body hair. She’d been around half-naked men at pool parties, of course, but for some reason she had never been quite so conscious of all the skin on display. Perhaps because she had not been standing less than a foot away from them completely naked. Perhaps because she had not kissed them.

And perhaps because they hadn’t looked at her as though she was dessert and they were starving.

She started trembling again, and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.

He turned away from her, and pushed his pants down to the floor, her eyes widening when she saw his backside, the fabric of his dark underwear clinging tightly to his skin. Some mature, sensual part of her recognized that he was a work of art. While a much more prurient side of her nature only registered that he was hot and she wanted to touch him.

Of course, if she did touch him, she would have no idea what to do with him.

Really, she had only just got her first proper kiss a few moments ago. She didn’t think she was ready for more. She didn’t think she could possibly pull off more.

He turned back to her and she tried to redirect her gaze. “I think we would both be warmer if we laid down.”

“Sure.” She nodded dumbly, not entirely sure if she’d spoken, or if she had just stared at him like a dazed marmoset, all wide eyes and soaking wet hair.

He went over to the nest of blankets that was in the corner of the tent, and rearranged the pillows. She swallowed hard and went to where he was, sitting down alongside him, her blanket still wrapped firmly around her.

“You know, the quickest way to get warm is to be skin to skin,” he said, his tone grave.

She opened up the front of her blanket and adjusted herself, throwing one side over him and drawing herself beneath the same one he was under. Heart pounding she folded herself into his embrace. She rested her cheek on his chest, felt his heart raging against his skin. The hair over his skin was rough, the flesh beneath smooth and hot. She raised her hand and pressed her palm flat against him, reveling in the feel of him. In the differences between their bodies.

This moment should have been surreal, and yet it wasn’t. It was too sharp, too all-consuming. She was wholly in this moment with him, completely aware of who he was, who she was and what they were doing.

She lowered her head, resting it in the curve of his neck. He tightened his hold on her, one hand rested between her shoulder blades, the other on her lower back.

His breathing was ragged, fanning over her temple.

“I want...” She didn’t know quite what to say, because she didn’t know quite what she wanted. She only knew that her heart was raging out of control, that she felt shaky, that she felt needy. And she knew he had the answer. “I want—”

He cut off her words with a kiss, a gentle one, a soft one. This wasn’t a claiming, but a tasting. A question.

She slid her hands up his chest, and locked them around his neck, deepening the kiss. She could feel his arousal, hardening beneath her hip. She shifted, bringing his hardness between her thighs.

He moved, bracing his weight on his arms, settling between her legs. His dark eyes bored into hers, his focus unwavering.

“Sophie—” his voice was rough “—do you know what you’re asking for?”

Pressure built in her chest, built in her body, squeezing her throat tight. All she could do was nod. And she hoped she was being honest.

This seemed like the right time. It seemed like the right place.

He seemed like the wrong man. Engaged to another woman, the ruler of a country worlds apart from her own. A man who controlled the fate of the nation, a man who held the fate of millions in the palm of his hand.

He seemed like the wrong man, but at the same time he seemed like the only man. Because no one else had come close to this, no one else had made her feel this way.

Attraction, lust, it always seemed like something terrifying to her. Something to be avoided. It had seemed like great bouts of weeping, depression and a stalled-out life that was enslaved by one person who held all the control, all in the name of something that was supposed to be love.

But this wasn’t like that at all. This had been so easy. So easy to kiss him. So easy to take her clothes off for him. So easy to lay down with him, and let him take her into his arms. It was right in a way she had never imagined something like this could be.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before lifting his head and looking into her eyes, sweeping her hair out of her face. Yes, when she looked at his face it made it all feel very easy.

She had to wonder at who she was right now, at who this woman, lying in a desert tent in the arms of a man who should feel like a stranger, was. Because a week ago this wouldn’t have been possible. A week ago she would never have been able to imagine this.

She didn’t know what she was doing, and it was okay. For the first time it was okay. Because she had stripped off her clothes in the tent, but she had stripped off her armor down at the bottom of the mountain. And now she could feel everything. Every touch, every whisper against her skin, unprotected, vulnerable, exposed. But it wasn’t scary.

It was right. It was everything.

“Sophie,” he said her name again, “I need you to say you want this. I need to know.”

“Of course I do, Zayn.” She put her hand on his cheek, kept her eyes on his. “How could I not? I think this was always going to happen. From the very first.”

Whether it made sense or not, there had been something compelling about him from the instant they’d laid eyes on each other. Something different. Whether it made sense or not, knowing him had begun changing her from that very first moment.

“Nothing is inevitable. Isn’t it all about choices? Weren’t you just saying that?”

Something shifted inside of her, an avalanche of feelings pouring through her. “Yes, it is about choices. I had a choice when we met. If I had told you I was leaving, you would have let me go. I’m confident in that now. You didn’t force me, even if you did manipulate the situation. I chose to come with you. I’m choosing to be here now. I’m choosing this.”

“I shouldn’t,” he said.

Her heart squeezed tight. “I know.” Because she did know, she knew that this didn’t make sense. But she also knew she needed it. Needed him. “Doesn’t it feel like we’re the only ones in the world?”

“Out here it’s easy to believe,” he said.

“Yes, a little bit too easy. But you have to know that I feel different right now. What you said about why I make choices... It was true. Everything I do has been in reaction to other people. But if other people didn’t exist, if there was nothing but this, if there weren’t kingdoms, and cities. If there weren’t mansions and hovels, if there weren’t haves and have-nots. If there was only this, I would want to be here with you. And I know that when we leave, all of that other stuff will come back. But right now, right now it’s not here.”

He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back, his expression pained. Then he lowered his head, opening his eyes slowly, black fire blazing from them. “If there are no kingdoms, then there are no kings. And if there are no kings, there is no duty that must be kept. And if there is no duty, if there is only myself, then I choose you.”

She swallowed hard, an ache building in her chest, her throat burning. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, choose me.”

He groaned and cupped her cheeks, kissing her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opened herself to him. He tangled his fingers through her hair, let one hand slide down the curve of her neck, down her back, before he shifted position and cupped her rear, tugging her up against him. He kept on kissing her, the world beyond the desert a distant memory, and the desert itself slowly falling away, sand through an hourglass. It was a countdown timer that couldn’t be denied. But she was also weightless, falling, all while being held in Zayn’s arms.

He abandoned her mouth, kissed the hollow of her throat, before moving lower, tracing the valley between her breasts with his tongue before adjusting position and sliding the flat of his tongue over one hardened nipple. She gasped, arching her back, pressing herself more firmly against him.

A dull ache beat at the apex of her thighs, a deep feeling of emptiness at her core. She had no idea being hollow could be painful, but it was. In this moment it was.

He palmed her breast with his other hand, as he drew one tight bud into his mouth. She laced her fingers through his hair and held him tightly against her, not wanting the sensual assault to end.

He lifted his head, and she released her hold on him reluctantly. “Sophie, I need to ask you something.”

She shook her head. She knew whatever it was she didn’t want to talk about it right now. Because she didn’t want to talk about anything right now. She only wanted to feel, she didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to discuss.

Instead, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of her panties and shoved them down as far as she could, kicking them the rest of the way when she could no longer reach, her eyes locked with his as she did.

He nodded slowly, then he shifted, tugging his own underwear down. Then he bent to kiss her again, his lips soft and tender against hers. A surprise after the claiming from earlier. He shifted his weight, and put his hand between her thighs, guiding his fingertips through her slick folds. She was wet for him, ready for all of this, for everything.

A little shock of nerves went through her when she realized she hadn’t even seen him naked. But there would be plenty of time for that, plenty of time later. She ignored the feeling of the sand shifting beneath them, more time running out.

She gasped as he slipped one finger deep inside of her, the invasion strange and foreign. But not unpleasant. Not at all. He moved his thumb over her clitoris in time with the thrust of his finger, winding up the tension that had already been building in her core.

He continued to apply steady pressure, continued to keep the rhythm going, drawing her closer and closer to an abyss she could not see the bottom of. To a point she could not envision. It was all beyond her, beyond her experience.

And she was finding power in that. Power in being at his mercy, power in allowing him to teach her. To show her what her body wanted, what her body was made for. For the first time in her memory she felt like she was simply existing, not striving, not hiding. She felt so gloriously out in the open, so wonderfully exposed. And she had never imagined either of those things could possibly be good. But Zayn made them good. Zayn made them wonderful.

He kissed her, deep and hard, as he intensified the pressure between her thighs. The subtle change was just enough to show her how deep the well was. To drag her all the way to the bottom, holding her under until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but simply allow the release to wash over her, pleasure overcoming her completely. When she surfaced, she was breathing hard.

“I don’t know...I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was rough, his breathing ragged.

“You won’t,” she said, the words meaningless, her lips numb. She didn’t know if she was telling the truth, didn’t know if it would hurt or not, but it seemed like the right thing to say. It seemed like the thing he needed to hear.

He slid his hand on her back, cupping her butt, and lifting her hips as he positioned the blunt head of his arousal against the slick entrance to her body. He met her eyes as he thrust deep inside of her, a shaft of pain shooting through her.

She gritted her teeth, screwing her eyes shut tight.

“Sophie,” he said, his voice gravel. “You said I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I was wrong. I’m sorry.” Her throat was tight, the words difficult to force through the lump that was forming there.

“Don’t apologize to me.” His tone was regretful. “I should apologize to you.”

“Please don’t apologize to me. Please. Let’s just... Please.”

She was beyond speech, beyond thought. Yes, it had hurt, yes, it still hurt a little bit, but it was also wonderful. She had never felt so connected to anyone in her entire life. For the first time, she felt as though all of the pieces of herself and been swept up and pushed together. Made one. Not only was it impossible to tell where her body began and his ended, it was impossible to be anything but wholly her. Impossible to be false, impossible to be fragmented.

It was right. The most essentially right thing she had ever experienced.

He waited a moment, the tendons in his neck standing out, his jaw clenched tight. She noticed the muscles in his arms were trembling, as he held himself still.

“Zayn.” She said his name, and he started to move.

He started with slow, measured strokes, giving her time to adjust to the feeling of fullness, to the feeling of his body inside hers. Gradually, the discomfort began to recede, pleasure started to build.

She rocked against him, chasing the climax that was beginning to build inside of her again. His movements began to fracture, his control fraying, everything becoming harder, more desperate. And she was right there with him. She didn’t want slow anymore, she didn’t want gentle. She wanted it all. She wanted it fast, she wanted it now.

She clung to his shoulders, met his every thrust, her clitoris making contact with his pelvis, white-hot pleasure streaking through her body with each movement.

She could feel herself starting to slip, starting to head back toward the void. She tightened her hold on him, intent on dragging him down with her. This time, she wouldn’t go alone.

“Zayn,” she whispered, her lips near his ear. “Zayn, come with me.”

He shuddered, his body shaking, the evidence of his loss of control the final ingredient needed to push her over completely. Climax ripped through her, harder this time, more intense than the first. That had only been preparation, it’d only been a primer. It had not prepared her for this. For what it was like to lose control completely, with Zayn. To shake as he did. To be drowning in the swell of pleasure, as he did, too.

When it was over, they clung to each other. She could feel his heart raging against her chest, could see his pulse beating at the base of his neck.

And she heard silence, no more rain, nothing at all.

And she could feel the final bits of sand slipping away.

Time had run out, and the world was encroaching. And she knew that she had been a fool. Because she had imagined that she would walk back into that world unchanged.

But she was changed. Utterly, irrevocably.

She had just made love with Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar, and everything inside of her felt new. Felt different. But the world, the monarchy, his engagement, all of the social hierarchy, stood firm. Unmoving, uncaring of everything that had passed between them.

“Zayn?”

He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her against his chest, reversing their position so that she was partially on top of him. “The roads will still be flooded for a while. You should rest.”

And with those words, he turned the hourglass again, granting them an extension on their time out in the wilderness.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BY THE TIME the light of dawn broke through the edges of the tent door, Zayn had already been awake for hours. He was holding Sophie in his arms, warm, soft and bare, her skin pressed against his. Satisfaction flowed through his veins like warm honey, but then it hardened, turned bitter, as it mixed with the realization of what he had done.

Sophie did not deserve this. She did not deserve to have her virginity taken in a tent, in the middle of the desert, by a man who would have to ignore her when they returned to real life. She did not deserve to be the conduit by which he expended his frustrations. He had reached a breaking point, and it would’ve been far better for him to stand out in the rain and let it wash over him until he was numb again. Until he remembered who he was. And what his responsibilities were.

But she had been there, she had been there saying the things he wanted to hear, offering him the things he wanted most. And she had told him to pretend as though the rest of the world didn’t exist, and he had been far too eager to refuse.

And then, rather than distancing himself the moment he realized his mistake, he had pulled her into his arms, granting them an extension. Granting himself an extension.

Were his spot in hell not already well assured, and likely well appointed in preparation for his arrival, a space would certainly be reserved now.

Where was his sense of duty now? Where was the honor in taking advantage of an innocent woman and using her to sate his own lust? There was none. Because while Sophie might have believed she knew what she wanted, she had no real way of knowing. A virgin had no way of knowing the ways sex might affect her emotionally. And he had suspected as much, especially given what she had told him about the kiss. Her one and only kiss, with one man. He had known what that meant, but he had chosen to ignore it. And when he had decided to ask her about it, at the worst moment possible, after turning back was impossible, he had known what her immediate deflection had meant. Still he had ignored it. Because of what he had wanted.

It was his greatest fear realized. That he had not changed at all. That he was still the same selfish, spoiled boy he had always been. The years of adhering to a code of honor could be undone by lust that was just strong enough.

A moment that his selfishness could not transcend.

He sat up, pushing his hands through his hair, looking down at the woman sleeping next to him. She moaned, and rolled over onto her side, drawing her knees up to her chest. She looked so young, so vulnerable. And he felt even more like an ass than he had only a few seconds ago.

He stood, as straight as he could in the tent, and found his pants, which were crumpled on the floor. They were wet, still, and he probably deserved that. He pulled them on quickly, and went outside.

The sun was up now, the sky clear. The roads below looked like they had dried. They had no excuse to linger here. And indeed, they should not. He would only do more damage out here away from reality. He had managed to trick himself, but he would do it no more.

He looked back at the tent and cursed. He would still have to go in there and face her, would still have to see her all rumpled, naked, and deal with all of the heady memories from last night. How wonderful it had felt to be inside of her, to be skin to skin with her.

He went to the SUV and opened the back, pulling out their bags and slamming the tailgate shut. He hefted both bags over his shoulder, and went back to the tent. When he opened the flap, Sophie was stirring, the blankets pulled up over her breasts, her shoulders bare.

She blinked sleepily and scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. She was everything fresh and sweet, perfect. Everything he had no right to touch. No right to ruin.

“Good morning.” He dropped both bags on the floor of the tent. “The weather is nice, so we should have no difficulty getting back into the city.”

She blinked more rapidly, trying to focus on him, squinting at the light that was filtering through the opening of the tent. “Oh.” She shifted, holding tightly to the blankets. “It is morning.” She looked like she was thinking deeply about something, and it disturbed him. Made something ache in his chest.

“I can wait outside while you get dressed if you like.”

She nodded wordlessly and he turned away from her, taking the bag that contained his clothes with him, walking back outside. He took in a deep breath of air. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing when he’d seen her. But now his lungs burned. He dressed quickly, out in the open, discarding the damp pants and trading them for a dry pair, and a T-shirt.

He waited a few moments, then went back to the tent, throwing the flap aside. She was dressed in a loose-fitting top and a pair of linen pants, sitting in the nest of blankets they had used as a bed the night before. She was looking at him, the expression on her face expectant, but of what he had no idea. He didn’t know what she wanted from him, because the reality of what was possible in the fantasy that had been last night created a gulf between them that was so wide it could not be crossed.

There was no way to bring any of it back with them. There was no way to keep pieces of it, keep it hidden. Keep it going.

It was a clean break here, and there was no other option.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

She shook her head, looking away from him.

“Then we will leave soon.” She didn’t rise from where she was nestled in the blankets. “And you will have to be out of the tent, so that I can dismantle it.”

“Is it cold outside?” she asked, not looking at him still.

“It is not cold.”

She sniffed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I don’t like being cold.”

“Well, you will not be cold.”

She looked up at him, and stood slowly. “I had better not be.” Then she walked past him, her head held high, her chin pointed upward. She looked like a little sheikha, all haughty and defensive. And it made him want to kiss her lips until she was no longer pursing them. Until she was soft, until she was pliant and ready for him again. But he had no right to do that. None at all. It should not have happened last night, and it could not happen again.

* * *

Sophie held herself together as she waited outside the tent while Zayn took it down. She held herself together on the drive back to the palace. She held herself together until she was safely in the privacy of her own room. And then she wept. Great gasping sobs that seemed to come endlessly. And when she was done, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up, curling into a ball. She felt miserable. She felt changed.

Last night everything had made sense. It felt so amazing. But when they had come down the mountain she had failed to collect her armor. It was lost somewhere out there in the middle of the desert, and she did not know if she would ever be able to retrieve it.

But it was over now, that much was clear. Zayn had made that clear when he’d gone cold on her this morning. And it was for the best. Because it could not go on. Because they could not go on.

He was marrying another woman.

The thought sent a stab of pain straight through her chest. She should never have touched him. She didn’t have the right.

She looked up at the ceiling, tears sliding down toward her temple, disappearing down into her hairline.

Unfortunately, though she knew she’d had no right to touch him, it didn’t change the fact that she was afraid she might have fallen in love with him.

She had no idea how that had happened. It had something to do with the fact that he had managed to get beneath her protection, that he was the first person to ever reach beneath all the layers she had built up around herself. He had touched her heart. And once that had happened she never had a chance.

She loved this man who wanted nothing more than to serve those around him. Who had taken a tragedy and allowed it to turn and twist inside of him until it had wrapped itself around him like tree roots until they had taken control over him, worked their way in so deep they couldn’t be extracted. Until they had changed who he was, controlled him in every way.

She had worked all of her life for recognition, for validation. While he gave everything in the service of his family, in the service of his country. How could she not be changed by knowing him? How could she not love him?

And yet, she would have to figure out a way not to love him. Because she would be leaving here soon and when she did she would need to leave these feelings behind, too.

No matter how difficult it was.

* * *

Sophie successfully avoided Zayn for the next few days. She busied herself writing up an article detailing what she had learned so far about Surhaadi and its culture. She couldn’t bring herself to write about his personal tragedy. Couldn’t bring herself to write about Zayn at all. Because she had a feeling that every word would bleed with her love for him, and that it would be obvious to anyone who saw it. And while she was exposing herself a bit more lately than she had ever done before, that was a step too far.

Part of her had hoped that Zayn would end the silence between them. That part of her was foolish, and she acknowledged that, but it didn’t stop her from wishing he might.

She stood up from her computer and rubbed her fingertips over her forehead, trying to smooth out the lines she was certain were etched there permanently now. No matter how many days, no matter how much distance, between her, Zayn and that tent in the desert, her skin still burned with his touch. Her chest aching with the memory of what it had been like to be joined with him in that way. With what it had been like to feel so close to someone.

She hadn’t realized how much of her life she’d spent alone until that moment. Until that moment of perfect togetherness.

If there is only myself, then I choose you.

His words played over and over in her mind, echoed in her heart. Made her hope where there should be none.

Before she realized what she was doing, she had walked over to the door of her bedroom and wandered out into the corridor. As usual, her end of the palace was empty, and only the sound of her footsteps kept her company as she moved down the long hall.

She continued to walk until she reached the entryway, where there were a few staff members still milling around. It was late, and it seemed as though nearly everyone had retired for the evening.

As usual, no one looked at her. She wondered what they really thought of her. Who they really thought she might be. If they had assumed from the beginning that she was Zayn’s lover, if they cared either way.

She wasn’t entirely certain of what she was doing, only that she needed to find him. Only that she needed to end this separation. They hadn’t even seen each other for meals, so skilled was his avoidance. He was always consumed with something very important, something that always took precedence over sitting down with her again.

Because he was avoiding her, too. Which she actually found encouraging.

This love thing was a strange business.

Her stomach tightened as she got closer to Zayn’s quarters. Anticipation, nerves, excitement, all vied for top position as she continued to walk through the palace.

When she came to the doors, she paused. Should she knock? Probably. But would he answer? Was he even in his rooms? If not, it was probably locked. That meant she could at least try the handle.

She did, and much to her surprise it gave. Heart thundering in her throat, she pushed the door open.

The lighting in his study was dim, and her eye was drawn to the brightest thing in the room—the fire, which blazed in the hearth. She was so distracted by that, she missed the dark outline of Zayn sitting in one of the chairs until he moved.

It was a subtle motion, his hand lifting his glass from the side table.

“Oh, I didn’t expect to find you here.” She stood near the door, not sure if she should stay, or run. Although, since he had seen her already, running seemed a little bit of an overreaction. It wasn’t as though he was going to throw her in a dungeon.

“If you didn’t expect to find me here, what did you expect to find?” He took a sip of whatever drink he had in his glass, and set it back down on the table.

“Well, I hoped to find you, I just didn’t expect to be successful.”

“I see.” He took another drink. “And why were you looking for me?”

“Because we hadn’t seen each other. Because...because I thought we might do another interview.” She didn’t know that’s what she thought until she spoke the words out loud. But the moment she did, she knew it was true.

“I think I’ve told you all I can.” He looked up at her, his eyes dark, glittering hollows in the firelight.

“I haven’t.” Her heart was pounding hard, her throat dry.

“Are you suggesting that I interview you?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

He was silent for a long time, looking at her, his expression unreadable, shrouded in darkness. Then he finally spoke. “Have a seat.”

She obeyed, moving deeper into the room and settling in the armchair across from him. She clasped her hands in her lap, and waited.

“So I’m meant to ask you anything?” he asked, his eyes fixed on hers, unreadable.

“It’s your interview.” The blood in her veins seemed to have slowed, breathing becoming difficult.

“I have nowhere to sell the story.”

“So, then I suppose it’s up to you to decide what is most interesting.”

“Then I’ll start with what interests me most.” She braced herself. “Why were you a virgin?”

Her stomach tightened, she might have known that this was the question he would ask. Well, she might have known that had she taken the time to think through where this might be going. The idea had come to her on the spur of the moment and she hadn’t really thought it through to the end game.

“See, now I have to think about myself. And it’s much easier not to. At least, it’s much easier to just keep doing what you’ve always done and never ask yourself why. But now you’re asking me why, and I guess that means I have to know. The easy answer is that I never wanted to be like my mother. That I never wanted to be enslaved to the kind of passion she seemed to be held captive to. But now? Now I think there was something else.”

“And what was that something else?”

“You have to get naked to have sex.”

He looked her over, his expression inscrutable, but his eyes filled with heat. “You have nothing to be concerned about on that score.”

“I’m not just talking about physically. Making love with someone makes you vulnerable. Even without having done it, I knew it. That’s what I had seen in my mother that scared me so much. Vulnerability. And when you get stripped down to the point of revealing your vulnerabilities, you can’t hide anything. You can’t hide who you really are. And it’s funny, because I told you about the way I think about finding my dad. About how I’ve had fantasies about going to that party, and saying all of that stuff to him. And in those fantasies I’m an entirely different person. That’s my entire life. Working to become something other than what I was born into. To become the thing that I thought I deserved to be. But that had nothing to do with who I actually am. I’ve been afraid of exposing who I am, because I’ve always thought that person might be looked at and found wanting. Because if somebody doesn’t like your facade, then you can change it. But if someone doesn’t like you...that’s much more difficult. I think what I was avoiding was being naked in that sense.”

A metallic flavor filled her mouth, something she recognized as panic. Because this was the most terrifying moment of her entire life. The most frightening thing she had ever admitted. That with him she was real, that she was desperately afraid of being found wanting. This was honesty, and it was easy for her to see why she had avoided honesty in the past.

Zayn didn’t speak, instead he reached for his glass and took another drink.

Silence filled the room expanding like a living thing, building upon the fear that was pressing on her chest.

He set the glass back down on the table, the click on the hard surface nearly deafening.

“And have you been naked with me?”

It was the question she feared the most, and yet she knew she had no choice but to answer it honestly.

“Yes.”

“Have I seen you?”

“Yes.” She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. “Have I seen you, Zayn?”

He spread his hands. “I’m not certain what you mean by that. Of course you have seen me.”

“I’ve seen the ruler. I have seen the sheikh. But have I seen the man?” She thought of him, trembling above her as he found his release, the intensity that had passed between them. She felt as though she had seen glimpses of the man, like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. But a shaft of light shining briefly through the darkness did not make for a clear day.

“The sheikh is the man, the man is the sheikh, et cetera.”

“If there were no kingdoms, if there were no kings, who would you be?” she asked, her voice rough as she echoed the words he had spoken to her when he’d held her in his arms.

“It is a question that cannot be answered. For the fact remains that there are kingdoms. And I am the king of one of them. And I must do the right thing by my people.”

“And why is this the right thing? Why is marrying a woman you don’t love the best thing for your people?”

“The preparations are in full effect. I have given my word. Going back on that could be nothing but detrimental. Leila is... My sister is going through something. I can’t talk about it. It is not my secret. I failed one sister, Sophie. I failed to protect Jasmine. I will not fail on that level, not again. I have hurt too many people to ever risk it again.”

She could sense the desperation in his tone, read the urgency that ran beneath his words. And she could hear things that were not spoken.

“You are the strongest man I have ever met. You give more of yourself with every breath than I will ever be able to give in my entire life. I have spent years consumed with the idea of showing up some man who barely even cares that I exist. How is that even a life? What have I ever done for anyone?”

“You are here because of a friend, Sophie. Don’t think I have forgotten that. I don’t have a scandal for you. Not the one you were looking for.”

“It isn’t about that now. I’ll help Isabelle how I can. But I realize you don’t really know anything about the Chatsfields.” She had realized it for a while now, and she could barely bring herself to be angry about it. Because she had been doing something for a person she loved, and he’d been doing the same. But things were different now, now that she understood him.

Now that he had seen her naked.

“What is it about?” His voice was rough, frayed.

“Right now it just feels like it’s about you and me. It feels like...it feels like something I’ve never experienced before. I feel like a person I’ve never been brave enough to be before.”

“We needed to leave this in the desert.” He sounded tortured now, angry almost, but also desperate. And it was that desperation that she clung to. “We cannot do this here.”

“Please, just for one more night. Please be the man. Because the man is not the king. I want to see the man.”

“Sophie,” he said, his voice a growl now, “you don’t know what you’re asking. The man is better off dead and buried. He is nothing. He is selfish, destructive. He brought death upon his house. And he deserves to remain locked down so deep that he cannot breathe, much less move, much less resurface and destroy anything else.”

“No, I don’t believe that’s true. Because I think the man is wonderful.”

He rose, fire blazing in his eyes as he closed the distance between them. He reached down, wrapping his hand around her arm, tugging her up to her feet. “You are a fool.”

Perhaps she was, perhaps she was seeing things that didn’t exist. Or perhaps she was the only one who saw the truth. Perhaps she simply needed to make him see.

She rose up on her tiptoes, and leaned in, brushing her lips against his. The spark that burned between them quickly ignited, raging out of control the moment they made contact with each other. He tightened his hold on her, wrapping his other arm around her waist and pulling her firmly against him, crushing her breasts against the hard wall of his chest.

She tilted her head, deepening their kiss, her heart pounding out of control. She wanted to do for him what he had done for her, wanted to strip away the layers, strip away the obligation, every outside influence that had managed to wrap itself around him and reveal who he really was beneath it all.

No matter what he said, she knew that he was hiding himself. She knew she had to find him.

Because he had found her. And how could she offer him anything less?

She pulled at his shirt, desperate to have his skin against hers. Desperate to find that moment of clarity she had felt out in the desert. That moment of connection. So perfect, so unlike anything she had ever experienced before. He growled, and deepened the kiss, pushing her back against the wall, her back hitting hard against the stone surface. But she didn’t care. It didn’t hurt, on the contrary it felt wonderful. To have the intensity that burned inside of her matched in their movements on the outside.

He pulled her shirt over her head, giving himself over to this completely. There was no restraint in him, not now, and it was absolutely perfect. Everything she wanted, everything she needed. She wanted to release the man that he wanted to keep contained. Wanted to set him free.

And she damn well would.

She put her hands on his belt, working the leather through the brass buckle, then moving to the closure of his pants. She pushed them down his lean hips, taking his underwear with them, not even remotely shocked at her boldness. She would have been, only days ago. But not now. She had left her fear behind.

She had left her protection behind, too, and she was revealing herself. Now.

She lowered herself slowly to her knees, wrapping her hand around his hardened length, squeezing him gently. His breath hissed through his teeth, his head falling back, his Adam’s apple bobbing. She could tell he was on the edge, could tell that she was close to accomplishing her goal. Because while she might be the one in the submissive position, he was the one who was at her mercy. On her knees before the king, she was about to bring him to his.

She leaned in, flicking her tongue over the head of his erection. She had no preconceived ideas about this act, she had never given it much thought. Yes, the subject had come up in groups of friends at university. But she had often tuned them out. Because it simply hadn’t mattered to her, because she had other things on her mind. She would simply sit there, and nod, and giggle at the appropriate moment. All the while her mind would be somewhere else.

Right now, it was certainly in the present. And right now, she knew exactly what she wanted.

“Sophie,” he growled, his hand going to her hair, holding her fast. “Be very sure you know what you’re doing.”

A sense of freedom flooded her, something intense blooming in her chest, spreading outward. A feeling of strength, a feeling of confidence. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never even fantasized about doing it before. I’ll probably do it wrong. But I want to do this with you.” For the first time, she felt completely at ease admitting that she wasn’t an expert, she didn’t feel the need to stumble through, pretending that she was in her element. She didn’t need to be in her element, not when she was with him. She simply needed to be.

“You couldn’t possibly do it wrong,” he said, his voice rough.

She leaned in, sliding her tongue more confidently now over the head of him. Because he had said she couldn’t do it wrong, and now she felt confident in that. Felt free in that. She parted her lips, and took him in deeper, running her tongue along his length, tasting him fully. She squeezed the base of him with her hand, continuing to tease him with her mouth.

He tightened his hold on her hair, tugging hard as she continued her sensual assault. She could feel the layers he’d wrapped himself in starting to fall away. Feel the grip he had on his control loosening, as his grip on her tightened.

He pulled up hard, and she froze. “Stop it, now.” She had never heard him sound so close to the edge, and the thrill shot through her, canceling out any discomfort she felt from his hold on her hair.

“Why?” She knew why, and that was the best part.

“Unless you want it to end this way.”

Her face got hot, arousal rushing through her. “That might be nice.”

“Oh, no, I can make it so much better for you.”

He took hold of both of her arms, and lifted her to her feet, before shifting positions, and sweeping her up into his arms. He held her tightly to his chest as he strode through the study, heading deeper into his quarters. She looped her arms around his neck, her eyes fixed on his. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking ahead.

She leaned in and kissed his neck, pressing her lips right over the place where his pulse throbbed.

He pushed open the door, and she looked away from him so that she could take in their new surroundings. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the size of the bed at the far end of the room. Being with him had been perfect, even in a pile of blankets, in a tent. This, this was a fantasy. A fantasy and a half. One she had never allowed herself, one that she almost ached over not having had before. Because it might have made the moment more poignant. Because it would have been the culmination of a dream, rather than the realization of all the dreams she’d never let herself have. Though this moment needed nothing to be more important. It was impossible for it to be more important. It was everything.

Her heart swelled in her chest as he deposited her on the bed, curling his fingers into the waistband of her pants and taking them down, along with her panties. He positioned himself between her thighs, his dark eyes blazing into hers. “I will take the time to explore you, later.”

They both knew there was every chance there would not be a later. But it didn’t matter. It made for a lovely fantasy, added to all the fantasies she’d never had before. She might as well have one now. In this moment, she might as well believe that anything was possible. In this moment, she might as well believe in the possibility of everything. She shoved aside all of her practicality, all of her cynicism, and simply embraced this moment.

She nodded. “Later.”

He kissed her deeply as he tested the entrance to her body with the blunt head of his arousal, sliding inside of her slowly. She clung to him as he did, as he closed the distance between them. He shifted, gathering her wrists in his hand, and pushing her hands above her head, holding them there, as he continued to kiss her. He flexed his hips, sending a spike of pleasure through her body.

She lost herself in the motions, and the feeling of him inside of her. He broke their kiss, lowering his head and taking one nipple in his mouth, sucking it in deep. He lifted his head as he quickened his movements, as he started to lose himself in his own pleasure. She loved that she could recognize that, that she could feel the control burning away. It was what she wanted, it was what she craved.

He released his hold on her wrists, adjusting his position so that he was holding her hands, his fingers laced through hers, holding them above her head as he continued to thrust deep inside of her. She watched him, watched as the lines of tension in his forehead deepened, before they finally relaxed, as he shook, gave himself up to his orgasm and released his hold on the world. As Surhaadi fell away, as his need to care for everyone but himself fell away.

She watched his face as he became Zayn. Nothing more.

And then she was caught up in the same storm, everything ripped from her as pleasure took over, as she joined with him at the summit, caught in a storm that consumed them both.

She held him close after, listened to him breathe, felt his muscles tremble beneath her fingers.

And with every bit of confidence she had, a confidence that was now placed in herself, in who she really was, and not just in her ability to fool people into thinking she was something they wanted to see, she knew what she wanted. She knew what she needed. She knew how she felt.

“I love you.”

CHAPTER NINE

ZAYN STRUGGLED TO catch his breath, the weight of Sophie on his chest suddenly so great he couldn’t breathe.

He pulled away from her, rolling out of the bed, cursing himself in every language he knew, cursing his own weakness. He had sworn not to touch her again, and now he had. And now this. A wave of shame washed over him, a sick feeling that slid through his stomach like tar, coating everything it touched.

If it were only him. If he were all that mattered, he would break his engagement. He would keep her forever. But there was Surhaadi. And Christine. And Leila.

And, most of all, Sophie. Who deserved something better. Something other than him.

“Don’t do this, Sophie. Please.” He didn’t know why he was pleading with her, he should have done all this bargaining with himself, he should have done it before he ever touched her, before he ever touched her for the first time. But he had given in so easily, and then he had given in again.

“Don’t do what?” She sat up, her green eyes rounded.

“You know exactly what. Don’t bring feelings into this. There is no place for them.”

“This is the only place for them. I told you, I’ve spent far too long hiding to start doing it again now.” She flung the covers away from her body, revealing her soft pale skin, skin he had just tasted, just touched. Skin he had no right to look upon, a representation of trust he had no right to.

He wished that she would hide again, because looking at her like this was like staring into the sun. Too intense, too bright, a light that was too clean and pure for him to possibly process.

“Are you really going to do this?” she asked.

“Am I going to do what?”

“Are you going to marry her? Are you really going to marry her for your country?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He pressed down hard on the wound in his chest that seemed to be flowing freely, stopped the bleeding. He shut it all down, redirected the walls that she had demolished only moments ago.

“You can’t live like this. You can’t live your life for everyone else.”

“Yes, I can. It’s what I should do. It’s what I was always meant to do, but it’s what I was too cowardly to do when I was a young man. But I do it now, I am determined to continue to do it. And a couple of brief moments of insanity are hardly going to change that. When Christine arrives here, I will confess what I have done. And for every moment hereafter I will be faithful to her. I will be faithful to my country.”

“That is no reason to take a wife. It is no reason to pledge fidelity to somebody. Because you want to show faith to your country? What about love?”

“What is love?” he growled, rage rising up inside of him, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. Why this was affecting him so deeply. Why did it hurt like he was being stabbed with a pike straight to the heart. “What does it matter, anyway? I’ve never seen it do any good. I’ve never seen it help a damn thing. Jasmine loved Damien. Do you suppose Leila loves James Chatsfield? Do you suppose it will do her any good?” He knew he was betraying too much, but he could not hold it back right now, could not stem the tide of anger that was pouring from him.

Dimly, he realized that he was raging against something far bigger than Sophie, that he was pouring it all out onto her petite frame, and yet he could not hold it back.

“What does love have to do with anything? What bearing does it have on the world, on the things I must concern myself with? Love cannot come into it. It is only duty.”

“What is duty without love? An obligation. It is empty.”

“It’s only empty if you don’t act on it. I am acting. I am doing what I must.”

“Do something for yourself.”

“Myself? I do not deserve anything. I had my years of debauchery, of serving me. It is over. And it is for the best.”

“Do you know, Zayn? I lived for that moment in my mind, when I would go up to my father and tell him the mistake he made. I directed my entire life for that moment. I stayed in New York because of that moment. Because I was going to claim what had been lost to me. I selected the school I went to for that reason. I worked hard for that reason. I took this job as a journalist for that reason. And suddenly I just...I don’t care. I built my entire life around that. Around a triumphant moment in front of a man who doesn’t care that I exist. I would give it all up for you. To be here, to stay here. I was going to stand before my father and ask him to choose me now that I was worthy. I’m standing in front of you and I know I’m not worthy. I’m not a princess, I can’t help you. I can’t help your country. But I love you. I’m not waiting until I feel like I’m worthy, I’m just asking. Because what’s the point of being afraid? What’s the point of trying to contort myself into something I’m not even sure I want to be? I can’t be a princess, but I can love you. And that’s what I’m bringing.” She spread her hands wide, totally exposed, totally open. It terrified him to see it. Because she was so unprotected, and he would be the one to take advantage of that. He would be the one to wound her. “This is all I have. But I will give it all to you.”

“I cannot accept it.” His throat was so tight, it was nearly closed. “I can make no other decision but the one that has already been made. I have promised myself to Christine, and I must keep that promise.” It was becoming harder and harder to remember why. But he knew that he must, because it served his country, because it didn’t serve himself. Because it would keep eyes on him while Leila figured out what to do with her pregnancy. Those reasons. He knew all of the reasons. And he could not forget them.

She nodded slowly, tears glistening in her green eyes. “Okay.”

He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulled her to him. “You are not alone. I swear to you, I will take care of you.”

* * *

Sophie looked at Zayn, her heart burning. She knew he was offering everything he could. At least, he was offering what he wasn’t afraid to offer. He was clinging to the idea of duty, because duty was important, she knew that. But she knew there were other ways. And she knew that for whatever reason, he was keeping himself from seeing them.

She needed to turn away from him. She needed to leave. But it was impossible. When he was offering to care for her, when he was there, bronzed, strong and naked. Everything she had ever wanted. A fantasy she had never had before. All of him, all of this. She’d had a goal, she had a dream, but it had been so narrow. So limited. Now, suddenly, she saw all of the possibilities, all of the things that she could want, and they were still out of reach. And even though she knew this would end, even though he was promising an end, she knew she wasn’t strong enough to leave now. Not while there was still some time.

So she stood, waiting for him to tell her to go. Because until he told her to go, she wasn’t going to move.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arm around her waist and bringing her into contact with his body. “I will take care of you.” His words were intense, steady, a promise she knew he intended to keep. Another duty he was adding to his list. “No matter how far we are from each other, no matter how the years distance us, I will make sure you lack for nothing.”

For a moment she simply let his words wash over her, a balm she hadn’t realized her soul had needed.

She said nothing, instead she stretched up on her toes and kissed him. She didn’t want any more words to pass between them tonight. She simply wanted to be held. She simply wanted to be with him.

He picked her up, and brought her back to bed. And for the rest of the night she thought of nothing but the moment.

* * *

When Zayn woke up the next morning to an empty bed, he was certain of two things. Sophie loved him. And he desperately craved that love. He didn’t know if he was equal to it. If he could return it in the way she deserved, but there was no limit to how much he wanted it.

So many years of wanting nothing for himself, and now that he did, he could think of little else.

Except for Christine.

Sophie was right. They would make each other miserable in the end because while they would both fulfill their function, they would never meet their deepest purpose.

Because when Sophie had said she loved him, he’d felt something shift deep inside him. It had changed him.

It had exposed his weaknesses. Brought them out into the light of day. Sophie didn’t let him hide. She made him face the truth, face himself. And he knew he could do the same for her.

But not for Christine.

Duty without love is void.

It would be so for both of them. An empty, wasteland of duty, dry as the desert heat.

But for a moment, when Sophie had spoken those words, he had imagined a future that did not stretch out before him, dull, lifeless and bleak. An endless stretch of time that would mean so little. Married to a woman whose face he could scarcely picture. Whose voice he couldn’t conjure up. Whose lips he had never tasted, whose body he didn’t want. Was he truly going to have children with her? Was he going to bind her to him knowing that all she would ever be was a political means to an end?

Could he truly consign himself and Christine to a lifetime of dry, empty duty?

He had been using Christine all this time. Using her to ensure his stability, using her to ensure the stability of his family. And certainly, she was using him, too, but there had to be more. He suddenly wanted more for them both.

And he knew no matter what, he could not marry her. Not now. Regardless of what happened with Sophie, and he still didn’t know what might, he couldn’t promise himself to Christine now.

His heart raged as he reached for his phone. His decision was made. It was not in line with his duty. It was not the most honorable.

But it was right.

CHAPTER TEN

SOPHIE WENT BACK to her room the next morning before Zayn woke up. She had no desire to repeat the scene that they’d played out in the tent in the desert. And she figured he would be in much the same mind-set today as he’d been then. Possibly worse. Seeing as she had pronounced her love for him and he had rejected it. Well, he hadn’t rejected it entirely, he hadn’t sent her away, rather he had offered to take care of her. And in some ways she found that even worse.

Things that had made sense last night now seemed mostly embarrassing in the cold light of day. But then, pride wasn’t the most important thing. The fact that she had tried was. Because she had to. Because it had been worth all of the potential humiliation to finally demand that somebody want her for who she was.

She heard her phone vibrating on the table and she crossed the room, catching her boss’s name on the screen as she bent down to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Sophie, we haven’t spoken in a while.”

Probably because she meant less than nothing to him. She was as low on the totem pole as it got, and there was no reason for him to call and check in with her when he had no interest. “I know.”

“I hope that things have been going well there. I hope that you have some good buzz about the wedding.”

“Oh, yes, great stuff about the wedding.” Just thinking about the wedding made her want to shove something sharp beneath her fingernails. “I’ve had a look at the menu, I’ve spoken to the coordinator and I even know which designer the bride is wearing. And I may be able to talk my way into getting a sneak peek of the gown. The future sheikha hasn’t arrived yet, but when she does...”

“There’s been a lot of curiosity swirling around the royal family because of this whole shindig.”

“Oh, has there?” It stood to reason, it was probably why Zayn’s protective instincts were in such overdrive. Though she had a feeling he was just that way all the time.

“Oh, yeah, big-time. In fact, because of that building interest, I came into the possession of something rather interesting.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “What do you have?”

“More than a decade ago one of the princesses died in a terrible accident. It was big news at the time, but you would probably barely remember it. Anyway, the guy she was with was part of a pretty rich family. And apparently they have a recording of the last conversation the sheikh had with his sister. I mean, the alleged last conversation the sheikh had with his sister. We don’t really want to invite lawsuits.”

She thought of Zayn’s pain when he had spoken of Jasmine, when he had spoken of his faults in it. What if they released this tape? What if they resurrected all of that pain, all of that agony he had already gone through, and all of that soul crushing guilt he carried with him every day?

“Yes,” she said, her voice wooden, “I am familiar with that. With the tragedy, not with the invitation of lawsuits.” Her words sounded distant, as though they were being spoken by a stranger.

“It’s pretty juicy stuff. Here, I’ll play a little bit for you.”

She started to protest, but then she heard Zayn’s voice coming through the receiver. He was shouting, a tone she had never heard him use before. Swearing, words she had never heard him use before. Telling her to go, telling her to get out of his life. Forever.

The audio recording stopped, and so did her heart. Colin, on the other hand, kept talking.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

“Damien Coltrane’s father. Damien was the driver in the accident that killed the princess. It turns out that when his son’s body was removed from the wreckage, he had a tape recorder on him. And on that was this little encounter with Al-Ahmar. Coltrane is pretty angry at the sheikh, which shouldn’t be too tough to imagine. And he doesn’t figure Mr. Al-Ahmar deserves his nuptials to go off without a hitch. Not after Damien’s death. Which, of course, Mr. Coltrane feels our sheikh was responsible for. And as you can hear on the tape, it seems like he certainly sent the two of them out in a hurry. Anyway, I think the public is going to eat this up. It’ll go nicely with your wedding piece. I’d like for you to incorporate it.”

“I don’t... No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“Exactly what I said. No, I will not incorporate that into my story. It’s distasteful. She died. He grieved. He is still grieving. They all are. That is his last conversation with her, and you just want to play it to create a little bit of public titillation. I don’t want any part of that.”

“You don’t have a choice, Sophie. You have to have a part in it or you won’t have a job. Anyway, I need a story. Because it turns out one of our competitors is about to break something huge.”

“What?” Her voice was thin, crackling.

“Sheikha Leila Al-Ahmar is pregnant with a royal bastard. No one even knows who the father is. Now if I knew that, I could skip the story about the sheikh. But sadly, all I have is an old audiotape.”

Suddenly it all came together, all of the pieces. Why he was so protective of Leila, and why he had been threatening James Chatsfield with an early death in that alley weeks ago. It wasn’t only that James had slept with Leila, he had gotten her pregnant. The princess was pregnant with a Chatsfield baby. And that was the scandal. The scandal that Zayn could not give her, the scandal that she needed. For Isabelle... But right now, for Zayn, most of all.

“I know who the father is.”

“You do? How?”

“I...I’ve gotten close with the sheikh. And I know. But it will cost you that audiotape. You don’t release it. That’s my price. You sell the tape to me in exchange for the name of Leila Al-Ahmar’s child’s father.”

“That’s a steep price.” He was angry, but he was treading carefully.

“It might be. But trust me, the public will care a whole lot more about this than they will about resurrecting an old accident. This will be nothing but fascinating, you revealing a final argument between the sheikh and his sister is potentially upsetting. You could face backlash. This is relevant, and the news is all about relevance. Unless you’re solving some great mystery of the past, an argument that happened sixteen years ago isn’t exactly news.”

“Fine, you have it. The tape is yours. I’ll put it in the mail.”

“Promise me. Promise me you won’t release the tape, anyway. I’m not that naive.”

“You’re naive enough to think that my promise would mean much.”

“Oh, I’m not. But I’m also not above blackmailing you.” She swallowed hard. “I know you’re cheating on your wife.” She’d heard him order flowers for women with several different names, and she had a feeling most of them were not sources. Sources tended to prefer money over blossoms, as money was a little bit less temporary. “I have no problem letting your wife know about it, and I’m pretty sure she would take you for everything. Seeing as she came into the marriage with a whole lot more money than you, I’m betting that prenup is pretty airtight.” She was playing hardball, and bluffing in addition. She hated the hard edge in her voice, hated what she was having to do. But when you made deals with the devil you had to be aware of that fact. If she was going to give up this information, she had to be certain that it would protect Zayn from harm.

Because the paternity of Leila’s child would be revealed. There would be no hiding it forever. Yes, she was bringing it out in the open early, but the moment the story broke James would know that he was the father. He wouldn’t need a newspaper to tell him that. The big secret would be out as soon as the sun rose in New York, but she had the last piece, and with that last piece she would protect Zayn.

Because he was already broken. Because he did not need to relive those final ugly words.

“You drive a hard bargain, Sophie. I think I underestimated you. I didn’t think you had the balls to make it in this business. Apparently I was wrong.”

“I don’t really take that as a compliment. But then, I don’t really care if you compliment me. All I care about is the tape.”

“Yours. We have a deal. Now, you tell me the name of the Al-Ahmar princess’s baby daddy.”

“All right, the father of Leila Al-Ahmar’s baby is James Chatsfield.”

Colin swore. “Now that was worth the price.”

“I told you it was. I’m done talking to you now. Make sure I have the tape.” She hung up the phone and then turned, freezing when her eyes locked with a very angry dark gaze of Zayn Al-Ahmar.

Her phone slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor, the screen shattering, sending glass in every direction.

He took a step toward her, the glass crunching beneath his shoe. “What have you done?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him, to defend herself. And suddenly, as clear as anything, she knew she couldn’t. Because it was better that he thought this. If not, she would continue to be a duty to him, one that lasted into his marriage. And she really would become her mother. A woman who lingered in the background, who shaped her entire life after a man she could never have.

And on the heels of that, she realized she already had been her mother for her whole life. She had judged her mother, thought her pathetic, for staying in one place waiting for her father to come back. Sophie had done exactly the same thing, for the same man. She had simply decided to go to him instead.

But she was done with all of that. She had to ask for better for herself. She had to ask for better for Zayn.

This was part of protecting him. Removing herself from his life completely, so that neither of them would ever be tempted. So that neither of them would linger, ghosts in each other’s lives, never able to touch each other, never able to speak to each other. Never able to do anything but ache.

No, this was for the best. It was better to end it now. Better to end it forever.

“That was my boss. I told him who the father of Leila’s baby is.”

The words ripped through her like a bullet, tearing her insides apart. Twisting them, tearing them, so that nothing could ever be put back like it was.

It was what she needed to do. And she hated it. She had to lie to him, to save them both.

His expression contorted. “How did you know?”

She tried to look neutral, even while her entire world fell down around her. While her body screamed in pain. “I pay attention.”

“Why would you do this? Because I didn’t cast aside my fiancée and offer to make you a queen? Is that why? Are you punishing me because I would not make you royalty?” He growled. “And after—you vengeful shrew.”

She thrust her chin upward, trying to hold back tears, trying to look defiant. “No, that’s not it. It’s much, much simpler than that,” she said, her voice breaking. “A scandal. You promised me a scandal. And you did not deliver.”

“The hell I didn’t,” he growled, advancing on her. “I told you everything.”

“But it wasn’t the scandal I wanted. I told you, I needed to find out what happened with James Chatsfield. I needed a scandal about the Chatsfields. Well, I found it. And it isn’t personal. But I had to do this for Isabelle. I told you, from the beginning.”

He turned away from her. “You did.”

Her chest broke apart, a flood of pain roaring through her. “Zayn...”

He held up a hand. “Do not speak to me. The only purpose of keeping you here was to prevent that secret from getting out. And it is now too late. I want you out. I do not want to see you again. I will send a servant to help you collect your things, I will send a car for you and I will arrange for your flights back to New York. We will have no need to speak after this.”

And with that, he strode from the room, leaving her more alone than she had ever thought possible.

She dropped to her knees, desperately sweeping the glass from her phone screen up with her hands, not quite sure what she thought she would accomplish. There was no fixing it. There was no fixing any of this. It was broken. Broken into too many pieces to ever be reassembled. To ever be healed.

She picked up the phone, stared at the hollow place where it had been lit up, stared at everything she had broken. She hurled it across the room, and broke the rest of it. She leaned forward, her forehead touching the ground, a sob escaping her lips followed by a wrenching cry.

Finally she had wanted everything. Finally she had asked for everything.

And just as she had always feared, it was out of reach to her. Because Zayn could not choose her, Zayn could never choose her.

The bastard child of a rich man who had never wanted her would hardly ever grow up to be a princess.

She had been right all along. Fairy tales simply weren’t for girls like her.

And they never would be.

But Isabelle would be protected. In the end, she had accomplished what she had set out to do. She had brought scandal onto the Chatsfields. She had brought her friend salvation.

And in the process, she had lost her heart.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ZAYN CALLED HIMSELF a hundred kinds of fool after Sophie left. He poured himself a drink, intent on washing away the pain in his lungs, the pain in his chest. That he feared he would not be able to.

He would have to call Leila, he would have to call his mother. He would have to warn them what was about to happen. And worse, he would have to admit his fault in it. This was his doing, as it had been when Jasmine had died. He did this, he exposed them to these sorts of things, because of who he trusted.

“No.” He spoke the words out loud to the room, as if that would make them magically be true. As if it would make Sophie the woman he had believed her to be, and not the woman she had proven herself to be.

He could not believe she had betrayed him. Not really.

She had asked him to want more for himself, more than a marriage that was simply for his country. She had made him believe he might find that. With her.

This was why he shouldn’t want more. Because the moment he did...the moment he did, he ruined everything.

He had brought her into his home, he had given her the tools she needed to destroy them.

But why? He still didn’t know why. Didn’t know what Isabelle needed, or why Sophie had felt compelled to do this. And he needed answers, dammit. He needed them.

He took another drink. And his chest burned, but not from the alcohol.

What was it that she had said to him? That duty without love was empty. Well, his actions had certainly proven empty in the end where she was concerned. And he had thought...he had felt things for her. He had given up so much for her.

And though he wanted to lock her in a dungeon for what she’d done...he could not wholly regret the change in himself.

Yes, Sophie had turned out to be false, but she had also given him hope, hope in something that had turned out to be a lie, but he wondered now what was possible. And he feared it was too late to turn back.

Too late to want less.

“Damn you, Sophie,” he said. How could she have done this? Made him believe. Made him love.

And yet...had she really betrayed him? He couldn’t imagine it. He couldn’t fathom that—the woman he’d held in the tent, the woman he’d kissed in the rain, the woman who’d told him it wasn’t his fault. That he was more than the tragedy he’d always blamed on himself.

There was no reason for her to do those things. None at all. And there was a part of him that couldn’t believe she’d done it for a story. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be.

He picked up his phone and dialed her number. It went straight to voice mail, unsurprising, really, since she was likely to still be flying. He hung up, his mind racing. He had doubts. And he had to know. He had to know for sure.

Colin Fairfax. That was who he needed on the line. Colin Fairfax was responsible for this, and he would answer for it.

He pressed the intercom. “Connect me to Colin Fairfax. New York Herald.”

In a few moments, the phone was ringing, and a man answered. “Fairfax.”

“I need to speak with you about Sophie,” he said.

“Who is this?” Fairfax asked, his voice sounding concerned.

“Do I need an introduction?” Zayn asked. “I should have thought you would expect a call from me.”

“Sheikh Al-Ahmar.” And now his voice had crossed over into terrified. “I mailed Sophie the tape already. As promised. And whatever she does with it after is not my business. She said she’d destroy it, that’s the deal. But she’s the person you want to deal with. Not me.”

Zayn’s mind was racing, trying to piece together what Fairfax was saying, unwilling to look like he wasn’t in the know. “What else might Sophie do with it?” he asked, thinking this line of questioning might be best to find out what he needed.

“Sell it to another media company. But I’d sue the hell out of her for it. Anyway, that wasn’t what she wanted. She said she wanted the tape destroyed, and in exchange she told me the thing about Leila. But the story about the pregnancy was already broken. It’s not slander to fill in the details.”

“I don’t want to sue you,” Zayn growled. “I want to tear your limbs from your body. But it will have to wait.”

“Sheikh...”

“You have lost your chance to apologize. Or explain. Be very hopeful that I do not change my mind about acting on my desires.”

He hung up the phone, trying to sort through the implications of what Fairfax had just let slip. There was a tape. It pertained to him. Sophie had made a deal so she could destroy it, and that was why she had told him about Leila.

Heart pounding, he stood and was walking out of his study before he even realized what he was doing.

She had not betrayed him. Sophie had not betrayed him. He had known it, deep in his soul he had known it.

But he had sent her away. In a rage. He had said he would not see her again, and with Jasmine, those words had been prophetic.

Terror, anger, pain, gripped his stomach. Echoes from the past tearing through him.

He had to go to her now.

Because he had already lost one person he loved with nothing but venom hanging between them when she’d breathed her last.

He would be damned if that happened again.

* * *

She hadn’t thought to bargain for her job. Oh, well, you couldn’t have everything. Sophie ran across the street, and made it onto the last block that she had to walk to get to her apartment, her arms aching from holding the box that contained all of her possessions. Well, not all of her possessions, just all of the possessions that had been in her desk—her shared desk—at the Herald.

Colin was playing hardball. Which, he said, a person like her should appreciate. Too bad she wasn’t the kind of person he thought she was. Too bad she was just heartbroken.

She imagined that wedding coverage would start soon. She needed to find a very fluffy blanket to hide under until it all passed. She imagined not even a fluffy blanket would be able to insulate her from that kind of pain. But she couldn’t watch Zayn pledge himself to another woman.

Christine would fall in love with him, that was a certainty. Because how could she not?

“But I loved him first.” She said the words angrily, defiantly, as she continued to walk down the street.

She was the one who had known he wasn’t just stone. She was the one who knew he was flesh and blood. A beating heart.

There was someone standing in front of her building, a tall man, dressed in a suit. She slowed her walk, her eyes pinned to him. His posture was familiar, the way he stood was familiar, everything about him was familiar. But that was impossible. It couldn’t be him. He wouldn’t be here.

He lifted his head, and his eyes locked with hers, and even at this distance, she knew. She stopped, and the box slipped from her fingertips, falling to the sidewalk. A little ladybug planter that had been inside popped out the top of the box and landed on its back on the cement. She looked at it for a moment, but only a moment. Then her eyes went back to the man who was now walking toward her.

“Zayn?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I thought you said we were never going to speak again.” He had said they wouldn’t see each other. He had said they wouldn’t speak. Oh, how she had needed him to keep that promise. Because she couldn’t look at him again, not without having her heart torn to pieces. And it had already been torn to pieces, barely smashed back together on the flight home, just in the interest of keeping her breathing, and now he was going to destroy it again.

“That was before I realized I had unanswered questions. And I will do what I must to have them all answered.”

“I don’t think I can answer all of your questions.”

“You’re going to. I’m going to start now. Who is Isabelle Harrington to you? Why did you need this scandal for her? What was so important that you came from New York to Surhaadi on the promise of a stranger?”

There was no harm in saying so now. Or maybe there was. Or maybe there had never been. She couldn’t tell anymore. All she knew was that she was tired, tired of dishonesty. Tired of the dull pain in her chest. Tired of how unfair life was.

“Isabelle was the only person who made friends with me when I went to college. She didn’t mind that I was younger, she didn’t mind that I had come from nothing, that my family name wasn’t important. She got me my job at the Herald—I lost that today, by the way—and she needed me.”

“Why?”

“Because I made my boss mad.”

“No, why did Isabelle need you? Why does it require you to get a scandal attached to the Chatsfield name. Because that’s why you did this, isn’t it? I need to know.”

“Yes, I did it for her. Spencer...Spencer Chatsfield. He’s harassing her about buying The Harrington, right out from under her. The hotel is everything to her. And if you knew what Spencer had done to her...Spencer hurt her. Badly. And now he wants to take this from her, too. I swore I wouldn’t let it happen. I swore to her I would help her with the tools I had, the tools that she gave to me. My job. You can understand why I needed to do this. Why I would go with you, why I would skulk around in an alley. Because I needed to. Because I owe Isabelle so much.”

He nodded gravely, and closed the distance between them, tugging her into his arms and kissing her hard, deep on the mouth. She tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him back, her foot brushing the ladybug planter to the side as she moved in closer.

When they parted, she blinked, breathing hard. “Why would you do that?”

“A scandal is going to hit the paper today. I am sorry if it adversely affects your friend, but I cannot be sorry if it varies the headline about my sister.”

“What have you done, Zayn?”

“I’m going to make an announcement later today that my wedding has been canceled.”

“You canceled your wedding? Permanently...or is this just a way for you to protect Leila?”

“It is certainly a pleasant side effect. But I actually called off the wedding some days ago. Just before you left. Before we last spoke.”

“What?” she asked, her lips numb, her fingers icy. “You did what?”

“I called off the wedding.”

“I’m glad,” she said, reaching to pick up the box from the pavement. Standing up, she stiffened her spine, looking straight ahead, her heart hammering, fingers stiff around the edges of the box. “Because you deserve better than that. You do. You deserve so much more than a loveless marriage. You both do.”

“You were right about that,” he said, his voice rough. “I was punishing myself, using Christine as...part of that. It was unfair of me. And you were brave. You asked for everything from life. While I was still protecting myself. Still paying penance for the sins of my past. I was going to make everyone else pay with me. I was going to make Christine pay. I was going to bind us both to an unhappy union. I realized that I could not do that. Not to her. Not to me.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you kissed me. I thought you hated me. For what I had done.”

“You did it for a friend. You did it to protect someone you love. Part of me knew it had to be something like this. Because I know you. I know you didn’t just do it to hurt me, or to further your career. I know you didn’t do it lightly. I knew the woman that I love wouldn’t do something like that.”

“You...you love me?”

“Yes. In spite of myself. In spite of all this. I do. And it makes me want. It makes me want things I didn’t think I ever would. It makes me want more. More than an endless, blank desert of life stretching out before me. It makes me want color. Laughter. It makes me want you.”

“I can’t believe you ended your engagement for me... I...I...”

“Sophie, I have to tell you...I called Colin Fairfax. He mentioned a trade. A tape. I know you didn’t do this simply to get a scandal. I know there was more. And it isn’t only because of what he said, but because I knew in my gut, in my heart, that you were the woman I fell for out in the desert. I knew that was truly who you were and I think I would have come for you no matter what.”

“Really?”

“I have a bad habit of kidnapping you.”

She laughed, a sniffly, watery sound.

“Sophie....what was the tape? I need to know.”

She wanted to protect him from this. Didn’t want to do anything to destroy the moment, but she owed him honesty. Because she refused to hide herself from him. Refused to hide anything from him.

“I feel like...I do need to tell you this,” she said, the words coming out slowly. “Because I want you to know something. Because I want you to understand that as much as I love Isabelle...I wouldn’t have told about Leila and James if I didn’t have to. Because I love you, Zayn. I love you more than anything or anyone. I would have chosen you. I would have chosen your family. It’s more than just a trade, it’s all of that. And since you know about the recording...I need you to know that.”

She took a shaky breath and continued. “My boss called after I got back to my room and told me he had a recording. He says he got it from Damien’s father. He...he played some of it for me. It’s a recording of you. Of your last altercation with Jasmine. He was going to release it, and I offered him a trade. And to ensure he kept his word...I sort of blackmailed him and threatened to tell his wife he’s been cheating. Well, and then he fired me. But the thing is, I didn’t want you to know about the tape. I don’t want you to ever hear it. I didn’t want it...I didn’t want it out there. Because you have to understand that no matter how sad it is that your last moment with your sister was a bad one, you didn’t force her to make the decision she did. We all make our own choices. I made this one. To protect you. And I sort of sacrificed Leila to do it, and I know you never would have. But that was my choice. You. Always you.”

* * *

Zayn’s heart felt full. Like it would burst. Pain, grief and a strange release were rising in him like a tide.

He had come back for her. But this...this was beyond anything he had imagined.

And yes, it brought about the pain of that day. Knowing there was a recording of those angry words spoken between them, a tape he would never need to hear because he could replay it in his mind without error.

“I do not...I do not deserve this,” he said. It was all he could say, all he could think.

“You’ve saved everyone else, why won’t you let someone save you?” she asked, the words so innocent, so perfect, he could hardly accept them. Could hardly accept that she was real. That she had seen him, and still wanted him. That she knew his darkest secrets, and still loved him.

“Is that what you have come to do?” he asked. “Save me?”

“You kidnapped me. And I grant you, saving your kidnapper...it’s strange. But so are we. I’m...well, I’m the girl from the wrong side of the tracks. And you? You’re a sheikh. We don’t go together.”

Emotion nearly choked him. “Perhaps that is why we are perfect for each other.”

“Zayn...are we? Do you want this? Do you want...me?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation, because he had known the answer. Always.

“That’s the moment I was waiting for,” she said, her green eyes glittering with tears, “that triumphant moment...it was this all along. I’m Sophie Parsons. You know me. I don’t have any money or any status. Or a job. My bank account is empty. But my heart is full. It’s full of love for you.”

His chest tightened, so much it was painful, his eyes stinging. “I will tell you another story,” he said.

“Will you?”

“Yes. Once there was a man who did things for others, so he would not have to look at the pain inside himself. And he met a princess. But he did not love her. And she did not heal him. Then he met a woman, and he loved her with everything in him. And that love is what healed him.”

“I hope this story has a happy ending,” she said, a tear sliding down her cheek.

“That is up to you.”

“This is like a fairy tale, you know. And I never bothered with those, because I always figured they weren’t for girls like me. But now...now I think...it was always the girl locked in the tower. Or the girl who scrubbed the floors. Or the one whose father didn’t love her. These stories...they’re for everyone. They’re for me. This is for me. So yes, this will have a happy ending. We will have a happy ending.”

“You’re going to have to be a princess now. Sheikha, technically.”

“Me?” She blinked. “But...what will that do for your country?”

“Everything,” he said. “Because I love you. And a wise woman told me that duty void of love is empty. It is only obligation. And I saw that life, stretched before me. And I hated it. I would have grown bitter. I would have grown hard. But with you by my side? With your children as mine? With love? It is what we need. Without it...without it all, good intentions are dead. I need you, Sophie Parsons, just as you are.”

She leaned in, kissing him, tears running down her cheeks. And he could feel her smile against his lips.

“Zayn, you love me. I wouldn’t ask for another life. For the first time, I’m so very happy to be me.”

* * * * *

Gianni cursed volubly when his cufflink slipped free for the third time while trying to close it.

Dio.

He stopped and took a breath. What the hell was wrong with him? Anyone would think he was having traditional bridegroom jitters! For what was in all essence just part of a business merger.

Part of a business merger that was happening today. He’d been reliably informed that Keelin O’Connor was in her hotel, apparently making her own preparations. And that she hadn’t fled the country.

Perhaps she was hoping that he would baulk at the final hurdle? The reality of marriage a little too much to take? And in truth, he did feel slightly constricted at the thought but not enough to jeopardise everything he’d worked so hard for. It had more to do with her effect on him, that lack of control he felt around her.

The cufflink finally slid home and Gianni gave himself a critical once-over in the mirror. Dressed in a dark grey morning suit with a light grey silk

cravat tie, he was the epitome of sartorial elegance, but for once he didn’t feel that measure of satisfaction at another sign that he was removing himself from his past.

He felt uneasy now that he’d allowed Keelin to needle him enough to give her carte blanche to organise the wedding arrangements. He’d assured himself that she couldn’t get up to too much trouble right under his nose, could she?

For someone who never doubted his instincts, Gianni pushed aside the concern and flicked a glance at his watch and cursed himself again. He was ready too early for the afternoon ceremony. Like some kind of besotted fool? No, he assured himself, he just wanted to get this wedding over with so that he could get on with merging forces with O’Connor.

This urgency he felt was purely for that, nothing else.

When someone knocked on the door of his apartment he welcomed the distraction, opening it to reveal his assistant, looking scared and holding a local tabloid paper. The young man cleared his voice. ‘Have you spoken to Miss O’Connor today?’

Gianni immediately went cold. ‘No. Why?’

His assistant handed him the paper, where a blazing headline read Delucca’s Fiancée Snubs Harrington in Favour of Chatsfield for Lavish Wedding Ceremony!

It took a long second for the news to sink in. Keelin had gone behind his back and changed the venue, capitalising on the very public rivalry between the hotel dynasties to generate as much adverse publicity as possible.

Gianni forced the swell of rage down and said grimly, ‘Get my driver and car.’

The assistant rushed off, only too happy to get out of Gianni’s dark angry orbit.

Keelin would not get away with this. But first, it was time to go and make her his wife.

* * *

‘Well, where the hell is he?’

Keelin tried to curb any sense of obvious excitement at her father’s increasingly angry questions as to the whereabouts of her apparently absent fiancé.

She was light-headed at the audacity of what she was doing and she quashed the niggle of her conscience when she recalled the injured looks and feverish whispering she’d left behind at the Harrington Hotel after telling them she was moving the wedding. But it had been too good an opportunity to miss.

Gianni had clearly favoured a discreetly elegant affair at The Harrington with the emphasis on discretion, and so Keelin had seen an opportunity to turn the wedding into a far more publicly opulent and luxurious extravaganza, much to The Chatsfield PR’s delight, always eager to score points where possible and take the focus off The Harrington’s latest venture—an ice bar in Russia which was all over the papers because it was being created by billionaire Lukas Kovach.

It also just so happened that one of Keelin’s oldest school friends from her junior boarding school in Ireland was Orla Kennedy, who was now married to Antonio Chatsfield, the scion of the

Chatsfield family, so one phone call was all it had taken to unleash a little carnage.

Where forty guests had been expected, over a hundred now jostled for space in The Chatsfield’s sumptuously decorated ballroom. There were enough flowers to open a shop.

‘Well?’

Her father’s voice and the low rumble of voices from the ballroom next door made her snap back to attention. Keelin tried to look worried. ‘I don’t know, Father, maybe he’s had second thoughts.’

Her conscience twinged. Or maybe Gianni wasn’t completely unaware about the latest developments thanks to her blithely informing everyone that he’d sanctioned the changes and didn’t want to be bothered about the minutiae.

Her father went pale and Keelin’s gaze narrowed on him. Did he really care that much? But before she could interpret that nugget, a knock came on the door and Allessandra the wedding planner stepped into the room.

The woman had been looking almost sick with anxiety before, but now her face was wreathed in smiles and Keelin barely had a chance to suspect the worst when she said with clear relief, ‘The groom has arrived. You should take your places.’

Keelin could feel the colour leach from her face. No. This wasn’t how it was meant to go. She’d deliberately made sure everyone but Gianni was aware of the location and earlier time change. And right about when everyone would be feeling sorry for the jilted bride, he’d be realising far too late what she’d done. Too late to do anything but appear to have stood her up.

But he was here.

She was barely aware of her father taking her arm in a firm grip and saying, ‘About time. I knew he wouldn’t bail.’

Keelin was in too much shock to see the colour return to her father’s face. The Wedding March was playing, the guests had gone quiet. Someone pulled her veil over her face and pushed a bouquet into her hands. And then the door opened and her father propelled her forward.

* * *

Gianni felt Keelin arrive alongside him in front of the registrar for this civil ceremony. He was still too angry to look at her but he turned his head eventually and his eyes widened at the sight of her. A shot of lust went straight to his groin.

He didn’t know why he should have expected her to be wearing the elegant wedding dress he’d picked out, but he still wasn’t prepared to see her in a tight lace sheath of a dress that ended somewhere around her upper thighs, displaying those long bare legs to perfection.

Sheer sleeves and a lace neckline above the bodice was almost laughingly demure when every provocative curve of her body was lovingly outlined by the material.

Her hair was down in sleek red waves and a short veil covered her face but he could see through the gauzy material that she was pale and looking straight ahead. Something caught the corner of his eye and he looked down to see her hands in a white-knuckle grip around the bouquet, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Gianni recognised that she was obviously in shock that he’d thwarted her plans, so with a quick nod to the celebrant he urged him on, knowing he needed to take advantage of this moment. He ruthlessly drove down any concerns about the evident lengths Keelin had gone to to signal her reluctance for this union. He’d narrowly averted a PR disaster but he was here now and he would deal with his errant wife afterwards.

* * *

Keelin was walking back down the aisle, her mouth still tingling from Gianni’s hard kiss with her hand tucked firmly in his arm, before she seemed to come out of the slightly nightmarish paralysis that had gripped her ever since she’d realised she hadn’t succeeded in derailing the wedding.

Everyone was clapping as they walked into a lavishly laid-out ballroom for the wedding reception/lunch. But Gianni veered away from the waiting staff and guests, saying curtly, ‘Give us a minute please,’ and took Keelin’s hand, all but dragging her over to a doorway which led into a little anteroom.

He pushed her in ahead of him none too gently and came in behind her, shutting the door. Keelin turned to face him, legs wobbly from shock, and a delayed surge of adrenalin. Had she really just repeated vows to this man? And signed a register? Like some kind of pathetic automaton?

Gianni was livid, and somewhere it registered uncomfortably into Keelin’s mind that she felt a kick of excitement to see him after the few days of little or no contact.

His accent was thicker than she’d heard it before. ‘Did you imagine that right about now you’d be playing the part of the poor jilted bride crying crocodile tears while the local rags drooled over the salacious headlines?’

Keelin opened her mouth but clearly he didn’t expect an answer.

‘If your acting was going to be anything like the performance you subjected me to when we first met, then they would have seen through you in seconds,’ Gianni said with derision dripping from his voice.

Keelin’s own anger at having sleepwalked through her worst nightmare finally broke through the shock and she gesticulated wildly with the hand holding the bouquet. ‘Well, you didn’t! So I might just have got away with it.’

Gianni’s mouth tightened. ‘You won’t be walking anywhere now except out of this hotel with me, as man and wife.’

He reached for her free hand and held it up to face her so she could see the platinum band of her wedding ring glinting mockingly under the lights. And then he held up his own hand, displaying the matching ring. ‘See? For better or worse, mia moglie.’ My wife.

The sight of those wedding bands side by side gave Keelin a jolt and it wasn’t one entirely of disgust. She’d always vowed not to be like her mother, married to a man just for the sake of security. Yet here she was, married, and she couldn’t seem to drum up the appropriate sense of rage. Gianni was scrambling her responses. And her brain.

But before she could make sense of that, he cupped her jaw, a look of unmistakable determination on his face, voice rough. ‘The sooner we consummate this marriage and make it real in every sense, the better.’

Keelin immediately felt breathless, a rush of excitement zinging straight to the cluster of nerves between her legs. She gritted her jaw. No way was he going to have her flat on her back and exposing all of her vulnerabilities to his blistering gaze. She still hid so much from him, not least of which was the fact that she was innocent and had a very real fear of a man making her feel powerless, and threatened. ‘Dream on, Delucca. I will not be sharing your bed.’

He just smiled. Infuriatingly confident. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’

Step into the gilded world of The Chatsfield! Where secrets and scandal lurk behind every door …

Reserve your room! March 2015

Get your copy today at www.millsandboon.co.uk/delucca

WELCOME TO

Dear Ms Yates,

We are delighted that you have booked your rooms to stay at The Chatsfield. And because we pride ourselves on creating the most unique and bespoke services during your stay, we have a few questions that we’d like to ask.

What time will you be checking in? I’d like an early check in, since my plane lands in the morning.

Will you be checking in alone? No, I’ll be with my fabulously handsome husband.

What morning paper would you like delivered?

Financial Times

Hello

InStyle

The Guardian

The Times

We would like to arrange some music for your listening pleasure. Is there a particular album or selection of music you would like to listen to in your room during your stay?

1  “Sophie” by Bear’s Den

2  “Samson” by Regina Spektor

3  “Kiss Me” by Ed Sheeran

4  “One Night Town” by Ingrid Michaelson

5  “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons

6  “Devils’ Backbone” by the Civil Wars

7  “Broken” by Seether and Amy Lee

As we know that you may be working during your stay, we are aware how important it is for you to have all your creature comforts around you. In order to ensure that your stay is as fulfilling as possible...

We have a wide selection of food available for room service delivery. What would your most decadent meal be that you would have delivered and why?

I want the hummus platter, with roasted vegetables and lots of bread, olives and cheese! And then an array of mini cupcakes. One must be salted caramel, and another pumpkin spice.

Do you have any special requests for your stay at our hotel?

Slippers and a robe. I’m always cold!

What is your worst habit when writing?

Eating. See above cupcake demands.

Do you have a writing routine? If so, could you share a bit about it with us?

I like to light a candle and play music from my specific book ‘s playlist. The above music was all music that inspired me while writing about the Chatsfield.

We’re always looking to expand the Chatsfield Library and welcome recommendations. What are the last two books you read and why?

I read All I Have by Nicole Helm because sometimes it’s wonderful to get lost in a down to earth, humorous romance when everything is a bit intense around you. And I also read Mine to Take by Jackie Ashenden which is much more intense and glamorous and all about a VERY sexy revenge plot...

If you could write anywhere in the world, where would it be?

I was in Paris recently, but only for six hours! I want to go back and sit at the café I ate lunch in and work on my next Presents!

We can tell from your recent published book that you have a vested interest in our very own hotels! So (curious minds want to know!) are you team Chatsfield or Team Harrington?!

Team Harrington all the way! Those Chatsfields are bad news.

What did you most love about writing this story?

The tent scene. You’ll see.

What has been your best hotel experience and what made it memorable?

A lady never tells!

What has been your most unusual hotel experience and why?

Definitely in New Orleans while waiting for a friend in the lobby of the Hotel Monteleone. It’s rumoured to be haunted, and she went to use the restrooms...when she came out she said she’d been startled by a woman standing behind her. But no one else had gone into the bathrooms that I had seen...and we stood and waited and no one came out after her!

If you could have given your hero or heroine a piece of advice before they started on their journey in your story, what would it have been?

To Sophie, don’t hide in alleys and listen to private conversations. To Zayn: Kidnapping? Really?

Thank you for answering our questions. We very much hope you enjoy your stay!

WELCOME TO

Dear Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar,

To ensure that your stay at the Chatsfield is as exclusive and private as possible, we will need to ask you a few questions of perhaps a delicate nature, to ensure that our private security team will be best placed to support you.

If you had to pick your most public scandalous moment, what would it be?

I don’t like to talk about it as it centers around a death in my family.

Was there an even more scandalous event that didn’t make it into the press?

There were quite a few wild parties in my younger years...

What is your biggest secret?

If I told you it wouldn’t be a secret. And I would have to have you killed. I am not joking. I never joke.

What do you love most about Sophie?

She sees me. Not just the sheikh, but the man.

What were your first thoughts when you saw you Sophie?

That I had to kidnap her to minimize the damage she might do to my family. As meetings go, it was not the most romantic.

If your house was on fire and you could only save one thing, what would it be?

Sophie, of course.

What is the naughtiest thing you did at school?

I did whatever I wanted then. There were too many misdeeds to ever count them all.

What is your guiltiest pleasure?

Crime novels.

What is your worst habit?

Sophie says I am entirely too serious sometimes.

What is your favourite film?

The Avengers. In 3D, which I watch in my private theatre. Tony Stark amuses me.

What present would you put beneath the Christmas tree for Sophie?

I bought her a car. It did not fit beneath the tree. Next year we shall acquire a larger tree.

How will you spend your first anniversary as a couple?

Sophie was denied the luxurious things in life for far too long. I intend to take her a private island for a week of pampering.

Thank you for your candour. We will endeavour to ensure a scandal free time during your stay with us!

Delucca’s Marriage Contract

Abby Green

Gianni’s mouth twisted. ‘You might not want this situation but you want me, as much as I want you.’

The air seemed to throb and shimmer between them with heat and tension, and Gianni stared at her for such a long moment that Keelin almost begged him to stop, but then he lifted his hand and looked at the watch on his wrist. He looked at her again, coolness in his eyes now. ‘A stylist and beauty team are on their way here to get you ready for the party. I’ll be back later to pick you up.’

Clearly nothing she’d said had made one dent in his bid to secure this deal with her father; he was steamrollering ahead and taking her with him.

She put her hands on her hips, aware of the little betraying tremor. ‘Now wait just a minute, if you think that I’m going to just—’

The words died in her throat when Gianni stalked closer, a look of dangerous intent on his face. It didn’t scare Keelin that he might kiss her again, it excited her. But he didn’t.

‘This marriage is happening, Keelin. Now more than ever. And if you don’t start washing off that persona you’ve been playing with for the last forty-eight hours, then I’ll be more than happy to take you to the shower to help you. So what’s it to be?’

ABBY GREEN deferred doing a social anthropology degree to work freelance as an assistant director in the film and television industry—which is a social study in itself! Since then it’s been early starts, long hours, mucky fields, ugly car parks and wet-weather gear—especially working in Ireland. She has no bona fide qualifications, but could probably help negotiate a peace agreement between two warring countries after years of dealing with recalcitrant actors. Since discovering a guide to writing romance one day, she decided to capitalise on her long-time love for Mills & Boon® romances and attempt to follow in the footsteps of such authors as Kate Walker and Penny Jordan.

She’s enjoying the excuse to be paid to sit inside, away from the elements. She lives in Dublin and hopes that you will enjoy her stories. You can e-mail her at abbygreen3@yahoo.co.uk.

This is for Paul Gallant, my Canadian pen pal since we worked waiting tables together in Dublin’s Temple Bar (pre stag/hen party era) in 1990. It’s been a pleasure communicating in the old-fashioned way with you. Here’s to many more years of Irish/Canadian dispatches. x

PROLOGUE

‘THAT’S THE DEAL, Delucca, take it or leave it. I don’t think I need to tell you that if you leave it the O’Connor brand won’t be affected.’

Giancarlo Delucca gritted his jaw at the arrogant tone. The unspoken insinuation from the older Irish man wasn’t subtle: But the Delucca brand might languish in European shopping aisles for years before making it globally.

Gianni, still reeling slightly, looked at Liam O’Connor, who sat in a leather chair with his back to the impressive view of Dublin’s financial district.

‘And what does your daughter think of this proposed arranged marriage?’

O’Connor’s grey eyes narrowed, and there was a barely perceptible tightening around his mouth. ‘Keelin is loyal to the family business.’

Gianni responded with a hint of incredulity. ‘Loyal enough to agree to a marriage of convenience?’

Suddenly feeling agitated, Gianni didn’t wait for a reply and went to stand at one of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. He put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from running them impatiently through his hair—a bad habit. He felt claustrophobic. Marriage. That word called up all sorts of dark images and bad memories. He’d only ever seen the worst a marriage had to offer so he’d vowed never to take that route himself. But the unpalatable fact was that he needed this merger with the vastly successful O’Connor Foods brand to break into the more lucrative global market, and namely, America.

That would take him away from the bitter memories of his childhood and young adulthood. It would civilise the Delucca name, make him invulnerable, and in time no one would ever remember that Delucca had once been one of the Mafia’s most notorious names.

O’Connor’s voice came from behind him. ‘Keelin is a beautiful woman. Well educated. She’ll be an asset on your arm as you move forward and expand.’

Gianni’s mouth tightened as the kind of domestic scenario he hadn’t ever envisaged took root in his mind, much to his disgust. He didn’t want O’Connor to see the myriad emotions he was feeling in his eyes, so didn’t turn around. ‘You think that I can’t find a wife of my own choosing?’ Not that he’d contemplated it!

Liam O’Connor laughed dryly. ‘Delucca, I have no doubt that you could click your fingers and find a wife in seconds. Your reputation—’

Gianni swung around then, cutting the other man off. He forced his voice to sound calm when inside he felt hot, irritated. ‘Be very careful, O’Connor.’

The other man stood up from behind his desk and came around it. He was tall and imposing. Handsome, with a head of thick silver hair. The older alpha male squaring up to the younger one, even if Gianni was taller, younger and infinitely more handsome than O’Connor ever had been. Gianni knew all about alpha males; he’d squared up to the most alpha of them all: his father.

O’Connor spoke bluntly. ‘No other company can give you the instant sheen of respectability that we can, merely by association. If we merge, people trust our name enough to automatically trust you. Your products will be on shelves across the world within months. I am offering you the chance to prove your commitment to both your brand and your family name. You don’t need me to tell you that the people you will be dealing with will be more likely to put their trust and investment in a family man.’

Again the unspoken rang as loudly as a bell in the room: And in someone who didn’t have links to the underworld, or who had the damaging reputation of a playboy. Damn him. O’Connor was right. So how badly did he want this? Badly enough to embark on a union he’d never wished for? For the sake of a deal? Social acceptance? Professional respectability?

But it’s the deal of a lifetime, whispered a little voice.

Wanting to assert his position more, Gianni pointed out, ‘That may very well be the case but don’t forget that your own business will be reinvigorated by a new association with a luxury Italian brand of products, the first merger of its kind.’

O’Connor inclined his head with a spark in his eyes. He obviously didn’t like to be reminded that his motives weren’t exactly altruistic.

And then Gianni asked abruptly, ‘Why is it so important to you that marriage to your daughter is part of the deal?’

The spark in O’Connor’s eyes was quickly veiled as he said easily, ‘She’s our only child and heir. I’m an old-fashioned man, Delucca. I want her future to be secure, and through her and you, we keep our name alive.’

Gianni felt a niggle of suspicion but then something caught his peripheral vision and he looked past O’Connor to where a group of framed photos were hung on a wall. He walked over. There were pictures of O’Connor with various celebrities, including two American presidents, and then presumably his wife—an attractive woman with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes.

And below them all was an image of a young woman on a horse, head back and wide generous mouth open, clearly laughing. Slim shoulders. A snug T-shirt hugged generous firm breasts. He could just make out a narrow waist, gently flaring hips. Taut thighs. She was stunningly beautiful. Almond-shaped green eyes, lighter than her mother’s. Vibrant red hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Pale skin with flushed rosy cheeks. Freckles.

Something deep in Gianni’s gut clenched at her unadorned beauty. Even though she wasn’t remotely his type.

He barely picked up on the faintly smug tone in O’Connor’s voice when the man said, ‘That’s my daughter, Keelin. So have you come to a decision?’

Gianni didn’t answer out loud. He didn’t need to. They both knew the answer.

CHAPTER ONE

KEELIN O’CONNOR SURVEYED the lavishly decorated hotel room in the exclusive Harrington Hotel in Rome. Almost nothing was visible because glossy shopping bags covered every surface. As a shopping novice, she hoped she’d gone far enough, not really knowing what constituted gross levels of consumerism beyond what she saw on some trashy reality-TV programmes of the rich and famous.

Her fiancé—who also happened to be a complete stranger—was due any minute and she hated that the palms of her hands were sweaty with nerves when her blood still boiled with anger and humiliation at what her father expected her to do.

‘You can’t be serious.’ She’d looked at her father two weeks ago and battled a very familiar sense of angry futility.

Liam O’Connor’s expression was as hard as flint. ‘I am.’

Keelin had spoken slowly as if to make sure she wasn’t in the middle of a nightmare. ‘You’ve sold me off in some marriage deal to a complete stranger—’

Her father slashed a hand through the air. ‘It is not like that. Giancarlo Delucca is one of Italy’s most innovative entrepreneurs. Italian food and wine exports are booming and in the space of only three years the Delucca name has gained respect all over Europe, not to mention tripled its profits, which is unheard of at the moment.’

‘So what the hell does that have to do with me?’

Her tall father had put his hands on his desk and leant forward. ‘What it has to do with you, my girl, is everything. I want a merger with this man to secure the future of O’Connor Foods and as my daughter you are part of the deal.’

Keelin’s hands curled to fists but she’d barely noticed her nails digging into soft skin. ‘This is archaic.’

Her father straightened up and said scathingly, ‘Don’t be so naive. This is about business. Giancarlo Delucca is a young man, and good-looking. Rich. Any woman would be delighted to have him as her husband.’

Keelin had responded bitterly. ‘Any woman, perhaps, with about two brain cells to rub together.’ She’d ignored her father’s darkening expression and tried to call up the little she knew of Delucca from her overheated brain. ‘Doesn’t he have links to the Mafia?’

Her father replied tautly. ‘His father had links to the Mafia. And he’s dead. That’s all in the past now. Delucca is determined to put it behind him and prove to people that he’s respectable. That’s why he’s willing to marry and settle down.’

Keelin laughed but it sounded strangled and semi-hysterical. ‘Lucky me!’

Liam O’Connor’s grey gaze, so different to Keelin’s own green one, narrowed on her. ‘Haven’t you always wanted me to involve you in the business?’

‘Yes,’ she’d said huskily, emotion a tight ball in her chest to be reminded of how comprehensively she’d been shut out. ‘But as the person who stands to inherit the O’Connor brand. Not as some chattel to be sold off to the highest bidder.’

Her father’s mouth had tightened. ‘You’ve hardly given me the confidence that you can be trusted to inherit anything, Keelin.’

Futile anger rose in a dizzying rush and, terrified emotion might leak out of her eyes, she’d stalked over to the large window which showcased an impressive view of a soaring modern bridge, named after the great playwright Samuel Beckett, over the River Liffey. Dublin had sparkled benignly in the spring sunshine.

But she’d seen none of it. She’d felt only an inner tsunami of pain to be so misunderstood, still. She’d known for ever that she was a disappointment to her parents: to her mother for not being the girlie girl she wanted to show off. And to her father for being a girl, and not a worthier boy. And as soon as Keelin had recognised that as a distinct lack of love, it had seared a need into her psyche to get her father’s attention at all costs, which had manifested in a series of teenage rebellions that had been as futile as they were excruciating to remember now.

And even though she’d matured and left those petty rebellions behind, nothing had really changed. Her parents hadn’t even deigned to come and see her graduate from university recently.

Her own reflection was distorted in the glass-pale face, huge eyes. Red hair. Too red. It had always marked her out as far too easy to pinpoint when there was trouble, unwittingly helping her to act out her pathetic bid for love and attention.

When she’d felt composed enough she’d turned around again. ‘And what about our name? If I marry him it’ll die out anyway!’

Her father had shaken his head. ‘No, it won’t. Delucca has agreed that our name and branding will remain and be passed down to your sons.’

Her sons. With a complete stranger. A gangster.

Her father had walked around the desk to come and stand a few feet away from her, his face softening slightly. Emotion had gripped her again. Was she such a sucker for any sliver of affection that she would fall for this thinly veiled act?

He’d sighed heavily. ‘The truth is that O’Connor Foods is struggling, like almost every other business out there.’

Keelin had frowned; she’d been aware that the company hadn’t been doing as well as in previous years but not badly enough to merit alarm. And how would she really know when she was kept firmly excluded from the inner sanctum? ‘Struggling—how do you mean?’

He’d waved a hand, avoiding a direct answer. ‘Aligning with Delucca will give us the boost we need, and the protection, going forward. And then there’s you. I want to know that your future is secured.’

Keelin hadn’t been fooled for a second that he genuinely cared for her welfare even though a weak part of her yearned for it. She’d taken advantage of his softer stance to try to make him see that she was serious about wanting to be involved. ‘But my future will be secure. I can work with you to help shore up the defences, take the company forward. I’m ready to—’

He’d lifted a hand, any trace of softness disappearing. ‘If you truly want to prove that you can be part of this company in a meaningful way, then this marriage is the only solution, Keelin.’

A tiny flame of hope sputtered out. It mocked the defences she thought she’d honed over years of neglect. She shook her head, a sense of betrayal rising within her. ‘I won’t do it.’

Her father lashed back angrily. ‘I should have known you’d balk when it came to proving the depth of your loyalty. If you walk away from this, you can consider yourself on your own.’

For a moment she’d felt as if he’d punched her in the softest part of her belly. All she wanted was to show her loyalty to her family legacy, and she was finally being offered a chance but in exchange for her personal freedom.

She’d felt sick to think that it had come to this—the ultimate rejection, if she said no. But then, in a blinding flash of inspiration, a scenario had taken shape. A burgeoning sense of hope had filled her as she said slowly, ‘What if we meet and Delucca doesn’t want to marry me?’

Her father waved a hand dismissively. ‘Of course he’ll want to marry you. You’re a beautiful young woman, and you’re bringing with you the opportunity he needs to break into the global market. He won’t let that slip away.’

But Keelin had been barely listening to her father any more, her heart palpitating at the thought of a way out of this crazy scenario without having to burn her bridges entirely. So she’d agreed to meet with Delucca and here she was now, seconds away from that meeting.

She’d exhaustively researched him in the meantime and found that clearly he was obsessed with proving that the persistent rumour of links to the Mafia were just that. In every interview he put the focus on his business concerns and moving forward. He was the epitomy of casual Italian elegance, and to Keelin’s chagrin she hadn’t been able to repress a shiver of awareness when she’d seen his photos. He was darkly gorgeous, masculine. An air of intensity about him. And also danger.

He seemed hell-bent on proving himself to be a million miles removed from the scandals of his father’s life, a man who had been brutally murdered by a rival Mafia faction.

And when it came to lovers he was never pictured with the same stunning woman more than twice. They were all of the same ilk: tall, brunette, sleek and gorgeous. Discreet, and oozing effortless classy style. Which was in keeping with his apparent bid not to draw adverse attention to himself. True, he skirted on the edges of being known as a playboy, but was never photographed behaving badly. And there were no salacious kiss-and-tell stories. So the playboy moniker was pretty benign.

Evidently he didn’t let women get in his way when it came to his ruthless ambition. And respectability and discretion were important to him. So this gave Keelin all the ammunition she needed. A man like that couldn’t want a wife! And she’d decided she needed to make herself over into everything that might possibly repel him from this union.

She’d ended up with an over-the-top trashy caricature of the kind of girl she’d known in her school peer group: rich, privileged, shallow, vain. And hopefully the kind of woman someone like Giancarlo Delucca would run screaming from.

She checked herself now in a nearby mirror—dress: short; long red hair: big; make-up: a lot. She made a face. Her mother would approve wholeheartedly. She spritzed more perfume on, swallowing back a sneeze at the overwhelming fumes.

A peremptory knock came to the hotel room door and Keelin’s belly swooped alarmingly. She wasn’t ready for this, she felt ridiculous. He’d see through her in an instant.

The knock came again, a little sharper. She steeled herself. She had to be ready. This was a fight for her independence and future.

Fixing what she hoped was a bright vacuous smile on her face she walked to the door and opened it. But the smile faltered when she had to lift her eyeline to the hunk in the dark blue suit on the other side.

One thing got through to her shocked brain: no mere picture could have prepared her for Giancarlo Delucca in the flesh.

* * *

Gianni reeled as he tried to take in the woman before him and not suffocate with the wave of noxious perfume that had enveloped him as soon as she’d opened the door.

His first impression was excess and everything in him recoiled from it. Lots of vibrant red hair, lots of make-up and a tight sleeveless bandeau dress that was eye-wateringly short, showing off acres of suspiciously tanned-looking skin, and an abundant amount of equally faux-tanned cleavage.

The woman in front of him didn’t remotely resemble the picture he’d seen in O’Connor’s office. Anger pierced him to think he’d been deceived. And rendered speechless for a moment, a state he was not used to, they just stared at each other.

And then the perfume seemed to dissipate mercifully, bringing some oxygen to his brain, restoring his faculties. He pushed the anger down, telling himself he was being too hasty.

Just as he thought that, he saw the gold necklace nestling close to that upsurge of cleavage. Joined-together looping letters spelled out K-e-e-l-i-n. Diamonds twinkled from either end.

His last lover had favoured nothing more obvious than tiny diamond stud earrings. But he forced himself to look at his potential future wife, smile and say smoothly, ‘Miss O’Connor, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Giancarlo Delucca, welcome to Italy.’

She blinked, smiled and stepped back. ‘Please excuse me. I just got back from doing some shopping near the Via del Corso.’

Gianni walked into the room, aware that even though she was in spindly high heels, she’d be tall without them. About five foot eight, he guessed. A dart of awareness pierced him, surprising him.

He heard the door click behind him and he had the most bizarre urge to turn around and escape. Fast. He pushed it down. He’d agreed to this cold-blooded agreement for lots of reasons, but also because he’d decided that he could handle a marriage that was a business transaction, not an emotional or romantic endeavour.

He steeled himself and turned to face Keelin again. For a second something about her over-the-top look felt slightly off but he got distracted by those unbelievably long legs and that impressive cleavage. Dio. He’d expected fresh-faced natural beauty. An intelligent refined woman, not a tarted-up society girl.

Keelin waved an arm to indicate the hundreds of luxe bags and gushed, ‘Thank you so much for the welcome gift of the credit card, such a thoughtful gesture. Shopping in Rome is my absolute favourite. It’s made me feel right at home.’

She glanced up from under her lashes in a way that set his teeth on edge, even as he realised that under all that smoky eye make-up her eyes were as huge and stunning as he might have expected. A kind of mossy green he’d never seen before.

‘I’m afraid I saw the word trousseau and I got a little excited. They’re delivering the rest tomorrow.’

‘The rest?’ He blanched at that, eyes widening slightly.

‘Oh, yes.’ She trilled a little laugh. ‘This is just a few things to keep me going.

‘Actually—’ she looked around speculatively and bit her lip ‘—the Harrington Hotel is a beautiful hotel, Mr Delucca, but I’m used to a little more space. At The Chatsfield, for instance, they’re so wonderful about storing shopping.’

Gianni bit down the distaste—he’d chosen this hotel because of its hushed discreet exclusivity. The Chatsfield’s opulent luxuriousness tended to attract more attention, which Gianni instinctively shied away from.

‘Anyway,’ Keelin said brightly, drawing Gianni’s attention back to her, ‘this is fine for now, and I just heard a rumour that Sheikh Zayn and Sophie Parsons might be staying here.’ She rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘Did you see the pictures of their wedding? So glamorous and romantic. I’d love to catch a glimpse of them.’

No, Gianni thought grimly. He hadn’t seen pictures of some society wedding. However, it rang a bell and he did recall something now about James Chatsfield hitting the headlines again for living up to his playboy reputation in some exclusive ski resort, which was just another reason to prefer the discretion of The Harrington.

Keelin was smiling at him guilelessly. She looked sweet but vacant. And for the first time Gianni felt something inside him tighten in rejection of a wife who would be little more than a glossy appendage on the end of his arm. Even though that’s what he’d told himself he’d be happy with for the sake of a deal.

Before he could formulate another sentence though, Keelin had moved over to a small table with an ice bucket on top. As she bent forward slightly Gianni couldn’t help but let his eyes follow the lean lines of her body. She was slim and toned, yet as undeniably curvy as she’d been in the photo. That at least hadn’t lied.

The swell of her breast against the taut material of the dress made heat pulse in his groin. It confounded him. His head rejected everything about this woman but his body was running to a different beat. A much more visceral one.

Keelin was pouring the sparkling golden liquid into a glass. She turned back to him and said brightly, ‘Champers?’

Gianni noticed that she had full lips and the slightest overbite, an anomaly that made him think of carnal things, like how her mouth would look wrapped around—

‘I love champagne, a little weakness of mine, I’m afraid.’

She was thrusting a full glass at him and breaking apart the completely unwelcome X-rated image before he could respond. Gianni took it and watched as she turned to put the bottle back, the tight black sheath of her designer dress stretching over those curves again, teasing him.

When she turned back, his eyes tracked to her breasts and she caught him looking, but before he could lambast himself for this completely unsuave behaviour, she was saying excitedly, ‘Do you like the look? I love Italian designers.’

She held up her glass and smiled brightly. ‘Cheers, Mr Delucca.’

Gianni forced down the sense of things veering out of his control to see that wide smile caked in so much lipstick. He held up his glass too. He would not be deterred by some bad taste and heavy make-up. Or by the fact that the photo he’d seen must have been taken when she was sixteen.

All this woman needed was a little finessing. He would hire an expert stylist to make her over. Already he was imagining what she might look like without that dreadful tan job and make-up. In a dress that flowed over her curves.

He felt as if some measure of control was returning for the first time since she’d opened the suite door. He smiled. ‘Please call me Gianni.’

For a second he thought he saw a flash of something like panic in those huge eyes but it disappeared and she frowned, a small line marring the otherwise smooth perfection of her forehead. ‘But isn’t your name Giancarlo?’

Her Irish accent mangled his name charmingly. ‘I prefer Gianni.’

She shrugged and smiled before throwing back at least half a glass of the champagne in one go. ‘Gianni, it is then.’

She reached for the bottle again to refill her glass and a memory of his drunk father exploded into his head. Angry and unsettled at that intrusive and unwelcome image because it reminded him of so much more, Gianni put his glass down on a nearby table.

She looked at him, surprised, and he said abruptly, ‘I’m afraid I can’t indulge. I just came to see how you were settling in. Needless to say we have lots to talk about.’

She looked at him blankly for a moment before what he said seemed to register and then she let out a slightly embarrassed giggle. ‘Oh, you mean the wedding. Of course, silly me. Yes, lots to talk about.’

She threw back more champagne and the action alternately annoyed and aroused him. His recent sense of being in control eroding slightly. ‘We’ll meet downstairs in the bar at seven-thirty?’

She nodded enthusiastically. ‘Fab, can’t wait.’

Gianni pulled a card out of his inside pocket and handed it to her; for a moment she did that blank thing again before taking it.

He quashed the flash of irritation and explained, ‘Those are my private numbers in case you need to contact me in the meantime.’

She looked at him and smiled and for a second lust rose again to drown out all of the very mixed things Gianni was feeling. This meeting had definitely been surreal and disturbing in a way he hadn’t expected.

He backed away, determined not to allow the sense of disappointment to rise. ‘Till later, Keelin. I look forward to getting to know you.’ He had to quash the uncharitable thought that there wasn’t much more to know.

She tipped her glass towards him and some champagne sloshed out onto the stunning carpet but she was oblivious. ‘Ciao.’ She giggled, ‘See? I’m already practically fluent.’

Gianni smiled but it was hard. He let himself out of the suite and took the lift back to the lobby and strode back out to this waiting car. The sense of relief was enormous. But he refused to be dissuaded by the fact that his evidently not very bright fiancée had apparently spent what looked to him to be the national debt of a small country in the space of a few hours. He’d given her the credit card after all, as a little sweetener. So, she was a shopaholic? What woman wasn’t? He just needed to guide her in a more tasteful direction.

As his car moved off smoothly into the Rome traffic, a muscle pulsed in his jaw. He didn’t mind the prospect of making over his fiancée; after all, style was something that had to be learned. He knew because he’d done it. But the image of her knocking back the champagne stuck in his craw; the thought of her hostessing a private dinner party filled with VIPs made his skin go clammy with panic.

He thought then of the women he’d chosen as lovers—their impeccable taste and style. Their ability to seamlessly blend into any social environment without drawing adverse attention to themselves, or him. Keelin was like a vivid bird of paradise in comparison, and not in a good way. It made him nervous. He was under so much scrutiny because of his father that he’d made it part of his life’s ambition to never give anyone an excuse to say, Like father like son.

He needed to project an air of unimpeachability and stability, so people would trust him professionally. His early life had been a litany of violence, fear and ugliness. Gianni forced himself to take a deep breath. Keelin was not of that world. She was just a bit garish. He could handle this, handle her. He would have to, because marrying her meant a fast track to that respectability and acceptability he craved.

Gianni made a terse call to his assistants instructing them to make sure that a table had been booked for dinner that evening. He sighed and told himself that he was not dissuaded from his course just because his fiancée appeared all too coarse.

* * *

Keelin paced in the hotel suite, agitation making her movements jerky. She angrily kicked off the too-high shoes and opened another window to try and get rid of the noxious stench of perfume. As soon as Gianni had left she’d tipped the remaining contents of the glasses and bottle down the sink. She’d normally never touch the stuff, because it gave her thumping headaches and she could feel one brewing now.

She felt silly all over again, like a child playing dress-up, even though it was something she’d never indulged in because she’d been too busy adoringly trailing her father and looking for the smallest sliver of attention.

Also, she had not been prepared for the physicality of Gianni Delucca, or that he would have such an effect on her. It was disconcerting to say the least. She recalled the way his dark gaze had rested on her breasts and how a flash of heat had bloomed in her solar plexus. It had almost knocked her off her feet with its force.

She’d put blinkers on where men were concerned for a long time, after a traumatic incident in her last year of secondary level school. She’d allowed herself to be vulnerable one time too many in a bid to seek the kind of male attention she’d been starved of from her father and it had resulted in a nightmare scenario that had shocked her out of her teenage angst and rebellion, and forced her to grow up overnight.

And until now no one had managed to make her feel remotely interested...but one look at Gianni and a slumbering part of her had woken right up.

She struggled to refocus and not think about her disturbing reaction to him—had she at least helped to convince him that she was a dizzy, overindulged, spoilt, shopaholic heiress with nothing between her ears except which celebrities might be staying in the hotel? The fact that she’d pulled that nugget of information from a headline she’d seen recently was a pure fluke.

She hoped it was doing the trick, and yet her act felt tawdry and flimsy now. She itched to get out of the too-tight dress and back into her favourite jeans and shirt, hair pulled messily into a knot on top of her head. She also longed to get out and see some of Rome’s best known sights but unfortunately she couldn’t play the part of herself right now. The stakes were too high.

For a long time Keelin had been weak enough to believe that a man’s love and attention could fill the aching chasm in her soul, until she’d realised that it was only herself she could rely on for that sustenance, and that any such notions had been borne out of the lack of love her parents, and father in particular, had shown her. Freud would have analysed her in seconds, she’d been so pathetically transparent.

She’d come to understand that her focus had to be on concrete things like staking her claim on her family business—not wishy-washy notions that the unconditional love of a man would heal something that had broken a long time ago.

She assured herself she could do this. Gianni Delucca, and his disturbing brand of masculinity and fathomless dark eyes that had watched her far too carefully, was not going to deter her from her path.

* * *

That evening Gianni looked at his watch impatiently. Keelin was late, over half an hour late to be precise. For someone who was a stickler for punctuality, this grated on his still-jangling nerves. He’d never waited for a woman in his life. And he really did not relish overhearing the bar staff discussing rumours about a merger between the Harrington and the Chatsfield hotels. The last thing he wanted was a blaze of publicity to accompany this wedding. He was about to take out his mobile when he heard a hush descend on the exclusive Harrington Hotel bar and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled just before he looked up.

Keelin stood silhouetted in the doorway. Every head turned towards her. Gianni’s eyes felt like they might explode out of his skull with a mixture of horror and unwelcome desire. He’d thought her dress earlier was short, but what she wore now would have made it look like a nun’s habit. Her legs were completely bare, all the way up to where her modesty was just about preserved by the multicoloured lamé material of her dress. If it could even be called that.

A dress that skimmed out over womanly hips, dipping in to her small waist before curving sinuously over perfect breasts, tantalisingly visible in the open V that showed her flesh from neck to navel. The whole apparatus seemed to be precariously held in place by a gold hoop necklace that showed off her bare shoulders and arms.

That glorious red hair was bigger than it had been earlier, tousled and falling down behind her shoulders. Gianni was stunned. In shock. She looked like a call girl, but he felt the sharp kick of a lust so powerful it shocked him. Even as he was vowing that she would never, ever, appear in public with him again dressed like this.

And then that green, heavily made-up gaze settled on him and she raised an arm and called across the muted dimly lit bar, ‘There you are!’

Gianni winced and hated himself for it, as those long legs ate up the luxuriously carpeted distance and every head swivelled to follow her leonine progress. Dio. He’d seen more clothes on a Las Vegas showgirl. Even if she did move with an innately sensual grace that made his lust kick even more, confounding him. Was he really so rough underneath the respectable sheen he’d acquired that he appreciated this?

She reached him and stopped, her feet strapped into insanely delicate and ornate-looking gold high-heeled sandals. She obviously misread his interest and lifted one foot and said chummily as if he really cared, ‘Just off the catwalk.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Like, this is ridiculous. I could happily live and shop here for ever.’

Then she looked at him and clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes widening comically before she said, ‘I can’t believe I just said that! That’s exactly what I’ll be doing when we get married!’

Gianni was conscious of people looking and whispering and felt the prickle of that public scrutiny. And the need to get away from it. Which is what Keelin O’Connor should be helping him with, along with the kudos of joining forces with O’Connor Foods.

Angry that she was putting doubts in his mind again, Gianni took her elbow and said tightly, ‘We should go, they’re waiting for us in the restaurant.’

He gritted his jaw as a wave of that noxious perfume assaulted his nostrils again. Keelin was resisting ever so slightly and he looked at her. She made a small pout. ‘Not even time for a weensy glass of prosecco?’

She gushed, ‘I love prosecco, it’s my new favourite drink. I had it in the spa this afternoon while I was getting my nails done.’

She shoved her hand under his nose then and waggled her fingers, showing off blood-red talons with a diamanté sparkle in the center of each one. His stomach lurched.

‘You like?’

Gianni swallowed a sense of doom and took advantage of her momentary distraction to keep moving. ‘They’re fantastic.’

As they walked out of the bar and across the marbled lobby, Gianni noticed a few men almost get whiplash, their heads jerked so hard when they saw Keelin. To his disgust, he felt a very uncharacteristic urge to go and snarl at every one of those men to keep their gazes on their own women.

Keelin was chattering away, blissfully unaware, ‘...and I’m sorry I was late but I saw the most divine ruby necklace that would set off the peach resort dress I bought today, and then they had this thing on the Discovery channel about dogs—’ She gripped his arm just as the maître d’ of the restaurant caught his eye and ushered him in.

Gianni stopped and looked at her impatiently. ‘Yes?’

She was gazing up at him, wide green eyes hopeful. ‘Can we have a dog, please? I’ve always wanted a dog and Daddy never let me have one because he said I wasn’t responsible enough.’

Her lower lip trembled. Cristo, was she about to cry? Gianni felt a clawing sense of claustrophobia, desperation. He dragged in a breath and reassured himself she was just excited and overwhelmed. It had been a mistake to give her the credit card; clearly she couldn’t be trusted with unlimited funds. They’d talk over dinner and she wouldn’t be as silly as he feared she was. She couldn’t be.

‘We’ll discuss it, okay?’

Her green eyes shone with hope and gratitude, bright with unshed tears. ‘Thank you, Gianni, so much. I know we’re going to be really happy together. Daddy promised you’d take care of me, just like he has.’

Gianni didn’t have time to let that last little bombshell land because the maître d’ was leading them to the table. Daddy promised you’d take care of me? She was looking at him like a father figure? When he was looking at her and feeling a powerful mix of desire and disgust? Now he was freaked out on top of everything else.

An hour later, Gianni was also very much in doubt that any kind of happiness lay on the horizon. Irritation perhaps. Now that definitely featured. But he schooled his features and affected nothing but extreme interest in his fiancée, who he suspected could make an Olympic sport out of chattering inanely without drawing breath.

When she did pause to draw breath for one moment, Gianni took advantage and put up a hand to stop her next monologue about the way she felt reality-TV shows were so true to life.

‘Keelin, we need to talk about this marriage.’

CHAPTER TWO

KEELIN WAS ACTUALLY relieved that Gianni had cut her off. She’d been ready to scream and had just been wondering what the hell she could witter on about next. But now she registered what he’d just said and suddenly air was in short supply. She forced a bright vacuous smile. ‘Okay.’

He looked at her and she felt acutely self-conscious in the ridiculous outfit she was wearing. Her skin felt tight, sensitive. She was aware of her bare breasts brushing against the material of her dress or the material that called itself a dress. Her nipples were as hard as bullets and Keelin’s frustration mounted.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I won’t lie. I want this deal with your father and if that means marrying you, then I’m willing to do it, but I’m not such an ogre that I’ll force someone into a marriage they don’t want.’

The fact that he was actually being reasonable barely impacted. Keelin thought fast. If she fessed up now, then Gianni would walk away but tell her father that she’d called it off. And her father would never give her a chance to prove herself. It would be seen as one more rebellion, even though she’d stopped rebelling long ago.

No. She needed it to look like Gianni had rejected her, and at least that way she’d have proved her devotion to the company and her father would have to give her a chance.

Crossing everything she could, Keelin said breathily, ‘My father loves me and I know he would only choose someone he really respected and trusted to marry me.’ She widened her eyes. ‘I only want what’s best for O’Connor Foods and if I can help Daddy by doing this, then I’m happy.’ She almost choked on the word Daddy.

Gianni’s face was utterly expressionless and it made Keelin nervous. She couldn’t read him. Was she overacting? Underacting?

He spoke slowly. ‘You need to know this will only ever be a marriage born out of a business arrangement. This will never be about hearts and flowers, Keelin. Any children will be heirs to both our family legacies, keeping the names alive. That’s why we’re doing this. And if you think you can live with those circumstances, then I’ll be happy to let your father know we’ll marry in two weeks.’

Gianni’s words resonated deep inside her. This will never be about hearts and flowers. The thought of falling in love with a ruthless businessman like Gianni made Keelin go cold all over. It would be the worst kind of repetition of a lesson she’d already learnt too well. It would never happen. She felt vulnerable just thinking about it and repressed a shudder.

She pushed that revelation down deep and giggled girlishly. ‘After the way you’ve been looking after me already? I just know I’m going to love it here.’

A muscle in his jaw popped slightly at that and Keelin felt a rush of satisfaction. He couldn’t be as sanguine as he looked. He would have a breaking point as to what kind of a wife he’d accept and she intended to find it.

Gianni put down his napkin. ‘Very well then, I’ll let your father know the good news.’

Keelin was already relishing the chance to get out of this man’s disturbing orbit so she could think of her next move, but then he said, ‘I have something for you.’

She looked at him, and then at the small velvet box he’d taken out of his jacket pocket. Damn. A ring.

Gianni opened the box and Keelin was almost dazzled by a huge square-cut diamond. It was a beautiful ring but not remotely original. Impersonal. Which was fitting. So why did something deep inside her feel ever so slightly disappointed at this evidence of Gianni’s lack of consideration. She should be rejoicing!

‘It’s lovely.’ She commented dutifully, and with what she hoped was a suitably dazzled smile.

‘See if it fits.’ Gianni plucked it out of the box and held it out.

Keelin slid the glittering ring onto her finger. It fit like a glove. As if the universe was conspiring with Gianni and her father to trap her. She dutifully moved her hand this way and that and thought to herself how far removed it was from the kind of ring she’d choose for herself.

Gianni was looking at his watch now and Keelin had a clear sense that she and the ring were on a checklist of things to do and she didn’t like the old sensation of resentment that surged up like bile.

He looked back at her. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m sure you’d like to get some rest. I’ll call the wedding planner in the morning to arrange a meeting.’

Keelin smiled sweetly and let Gianni guide her back out of the hotel restaurant even as she realised that she needed to up her game if she was going to really ruffle this man’s incredible sense of complacency.

He turned to her at the lifts and smiled and for a second Keelin forgot everything as she registered his sheer charisma and good looks. The lift doors opened and he held them back while she stepped in. His scent wound around her, making her feel a little hazy.

‘Buonanotte, Keelin. Till tomorrow.’

She smiled when she wanted to grimace, hating his effect on her. ‘Goodnight, Gianni.’

The lift doors closed on that far too distracting and darkly handsome face and Keelin sagged back against the mirrored wall. Delucca was about to learn that the meek and biddable wife he believed he’d acquired was anything but. And why did that suddenly feel like such an uphill battle?

For all of his apparent civility, Keelin had seen something hard in the depths of those dark eyes. Something immovable. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tangle with it, no matter how determined she was.

* * *

It was the following evening before Keelin got to see Gianni again. He’d called her that morning and made his apologies but something had come up and he was going to be unavoidably detained in meetings all day.

Keelin had sweetly said not to worry about it. She was used to that treatment and couldn’t let it get to her now. It wasn’t as if she was actually going to have to deal with it after all.

In any case she had been busy all day, too, with the enthusiastic wedding planner and very obsequious Harrington Hotel PR manager. She’d almost felt sorry for them both, knowing that she was likely to make this wedding more infamous than famous.

Keelin checked her reflection in the mirror now and grimaced. She was wearing a glittery all-in-one black jumpsuit, complete with gold belt and slits up the side of each leg, visible when she walked. Together with vertiginous heels and copious amounts of gold jewellery, she was blingtastic.

When the knock came on her suite door she took a deep breath, not liking the flutters in her belly at the thought of seeing Gianni again. What was that about?

She opened the door and her hand tightened around the knob reflexively. He was even more devastating than she remembered. A dark shadow of stubble on his jaw. Shirt and tie, dark suit. A picture of casual Italian elegance yet with a masculine edge that was all too raw.

‘Buonasera, Keelin, are you ready?’

Keelin nodded and noticed that his eyes dropped over her attire but he didn’t compliment her. Because he couldn’t bring himself to? She hoped so, because she guessed with another kind of woman compliments would roll off his tongue. A rogue part of her shivered to think of standing before him in something far more her, and wanting his compliments. On the way down to the lobby he apologised again for being detained and she waved it aside, smiling. ‘Please don’t worry. I had a hectic day too.’

As he led her out of the hotel, she managed to keep up an inconsequential but hopefully very annoying chatter about all the minutiae of the wedding preparations, knowing how men in general detested anything like that.

She was still chattering while Gianni led her outside to a low-slung silver bullet of a sports car and then started again as soon as he sat into the driver’s seat. Only the flicker of that muscle in his jaw told her she was hitting any kind of mark.

When she was drawing breath for another round of the most uninteresting conversation ever, Gianni interjected smoothly, ‘I thought you might like to have dinner at my apartment? I have a view overlooking the Colosseum.’

Dammit. Those flutters were back at the prospect of being alone with this man. She made a small pout. ‘I do love to people-watch but I suppose we have lots to discuss.’

He slid her a dark glance—and was that a hint of irritation she could see around his mouth? She hoped so.

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘we do have lots to talk about. I thought a quieter location might be more suitable.’

In any other instance Keelin would have appreciated his consideration but not now. But was she already going so far that he was reluctant to show her off in public? That had to be a good thing. It wasn’t long before they were pulling up outside a formidable-looking building. Very old, but with an interesting architectural twist of lots of glass. Keelin liked it and found herself asking without thinking, ‘Is this where you live?’

Gianni nodded as he parked the car with effortlessly sexy skill. ‘It houses my offices too. I own the whole building.’

Keelin watched, a little dumbfounded by his admission, as he unfolded his tall powerful frame from the car and came around to her side to let her out. She had to put out a hand for his help and when his strong fingers closed around hers she felt the blood pulse between her legs.

No! Everything in her rejected this attraction.

He drew her up and they were so close they were almost touching. Keelin saw his eyes track down to the top of her jumpsuit and saw them flare. Panic gripped her. She was meant to be turning him off, not on. And that went for herself too.

Something resolute crossed his face as if he was fighting a similar battle in his own head. He stepped back and let her hand go. Keelin’s blood was pumping so fast that she felt a little light-headed.

A doorman opened the door for them and Gianni introduced him as Lorenzo. Keelin smiled politely, and then they were ascending in the lift and the confined steel box was doing little to make her less aware of him. He seemed to take up a ridiculous amount of space.

When the doors slid open, there was a small plush corridor and Gianni was opening the door into the most stunning apartment Keelin had ever seen. She tried not to be impressed, to affect a blasé response, but it was a challenge not to let her jaw drop.

It was enormous, obviously the length and width of the building. Open plan but broken up by seriously luxurious discreet furnishings. Everything from the art on the walls to the rugs on the floors was perfectly pitched and placed. Seriously impressive.

She’d been facing away from Gianni and now he walked around in front of her. She quickly schooled her features into something more disinterested and said, ‘This is your only home in Rome?’

Gianni nodded. ‘What did you expect, cara? A palatial villa on one of Rome’s most exclusive hills overlooking gardens that belonged to emperors?’

Keelin made a small shrug and said, ‘I wasn’t sure what to expect.’ Hoping to project disappointment.

Gianni said dryly, ‘I do also own a villa in Umbria.’

Keelin feigned delight. ‘I believe it’s beautiful there.’

‘It is. I expect it’s where you’ll spend a lot of time once we’re married, but of course you’ll be welcome in the city whenever you need diversion.’

Gianni walked over to a phone, saying, ‘I’ll call the chef and let him know we’re ready to eat.’

It was just as well he was facing away from her because Keelin was glaring at his back. He expected that she’d be happy to be farmed out to some crumbling Italian villa so that he could get on with his own, obviously far more important, life?

Maybe he saw her out there with a brood of dark-haired sons, grooming them to be the perfect heirs. For a second though, Keelin’s anger was pierced by something very scary to think of a miniature Gianni running around.

She crushed that image ruthlessly. This is exactly what her parents had done. Left her alone in their cavernous house for long months at a time. It was time to push Gianni off his complacent perch.

Within seconds of him making the call, discreet staff were preparing the dining room and he led her into the glass-walled space. Keelin did her best not to notice the stunning decor and assured herself she wouldn’t be coming here for diversions.

Staff opened some champagne and she pushed down the queasiness, saying brightly, ‘We should probably discuss the important stuff, like children.’

Gianni looked at her, cheeks flaring slightly with colour—because she was talking about this in front of his staff? He waited until they were alone and he lifted his glass of sparkling wine. ‘You want to discuss that now?’

Keelin took a sip of the champagne and tried not to let her aversion to it show on her face. When she put her glass down she tried to look serious. ‘Better now than never.’

She leant forward a little and said conspiratorially, ‘Honestly? I didn’t imagine even contemplating children until I’m in my thirties. But obviously in light of this engagement I’ve been thinking about it.’

She bit her lip as if this pained her to say. ‘To be perfectly frank, the idea of labour and being pregnant is a serious downer. But I’d be open to adopting.’

She sat back again and elaborated as their starters were delivered. ‘A friend of mine adopted a baby from Africa and she’s so cute! All the big designers have kids’ collections now, and naturally she has a nanny to take care of the day-to-day stuff.’

‘You mean the child rearing.’

Keelin took a bite of food and pretended to be distracted. ‘What? Oh, yes, that’s what I mean.’

She risked a glance and Gianni was looking at her with a hard expression and Keelin feigned surprise and put her fork down. ‘Oh, had you intended on having children, for real? Like, your own?’

His jaw was tight, he wasn’t touching his food. ‘Call me old-fashioned but yes, I had anticipated having children of my own.’

Keelin’s anger flared again at the way he’d obviously decided he’d have no problem with children resulting from a cold and clinical union. She forced her irritation down and said pseudo-sympathetically, ‘And you’d imagined your wife bringing them up in the villa?’

‘Something like that. My mother was my main carer, not a nanny.’

Keelin rolled her eyes. ‘Lucky you. I had a veritable parade of nannies.’ She made a faint grimace. ‘I wasn’t the easiest child apparently, but I’m sure it’s not hereditary.’

Gianni seemed prepared to let that little nugget go and frowned. ‘Where was your mother?’

Keelin pushed down the old bitterness and said airily as if it hadn’t mattered a jot, ‘Oh, you know, with Daddy on trips, or away on holidays, or shopping. I was in boarding school most of the time.’

She looked at him after eating more of her starter and washing it down with champagne. ‘You should probably hear it from me that I was expelled from four schools, including my last one, a finishing school in Switzerland.’

Gianni hadn’t touched his starter and when the staff returned he let them take it. His eyes were hooded, dangerous. ‘Hear it from you?’

Keelin shrugged. ‘In case the papers pick up on it when they find out we’re getting married.’

Gianni went rigid. He hadn’t thought about that. ‘You were expelled from all your schools?’

Keelin pouted. ‘Well, not all. Not my primary one. Just the later ones, you know how teenage rebellion is.’

She continued chummily, ‘But I can see how good that discipline was for me so I’d be a big advocate of boarding school—the earlier, the better. There are lots of great schools in Ireland.’

* * *

Gianni fought down the urge to stand up and pace up and down. Keelin was not painting a good picture, and dammit, he hated feeling as if he was being made a fool of. Her father hadn’t hinted at any of this. She was practically a delinquent! And yet she’d be only too happy to send any children they had down the same route! He’d always thought of boarding schools as upper-class nonsense.

Once again he forced himself to remain civil. ‘May I ask what your transgressions were?’

Keelin ticked off her fingers. ‘Being caught in a local bar, smoking, being caught with boys in the dorm, running away...’

Gianni felt disgust rise, not because they were serious crimes since they weren’t especially, but he hated that evidence of someone from a life of privilege taking it so much for granted, exuding a kind of supercilious confidence that said she could do whatever she liked and get away with it.

And clearly she had the idea that her life would be going in the same direction as her mother’s—that of leaving the care of her children to strangers or to a school. And they wouldn’t even be their own children if she had her way! This conversation was also making a completely hitherto unexplored sense of protectiveness at the thought of a child of his own rise up within him.

It was too much. Gianni was feeling seriously claustrophobic. But then the main course arrived and he absently picked a suitable wine to go with the meat. Only to see Keelin wrinkle up her nose and say, ‘I’ll stick to the champagne, if that’s okay. I can’t abide wine.’

Gianni took a deep calming breath and tried not to dwell on that image of Keelin at important functions insisting on champagne when everyone else was drinking wine. He made a gesture to the chef’s waiter and said urbanely, ‘Of course, have what you like.’

Blissfully, for a moment as they ate, there was silence. And once Keelin wasn’t talking and saying anything that was guaranteed to wind him up, he became uncomfortably aware of her.

In spite of the bling jewellery, big hair, lots of make-up and fake tan, she was clearly a beauty. Those eyes, especially when she widened them, threatened to distract him every time. And those lush lips. And the curves underneath the provocative silk of the jumpsuit, not to mention the flash of long shapely legs every time she moved. One thing was very clear—his body would marry this woman in a second, his head though was another matter.

When their plates had been cleared, Gianni’s eyes narrowed on Keelin. For a moment she wasn’t looking at him, or looking vacant, or chattering nonsensically, and he had the strangest notion that this was all some kind of elaborate—what? Was she deliberately sending him crazy? Making him doubt himself? Maybe he was being too hasty? Surely they could talk about these things, and if they had children, then perhaps she could be persuaded that a nanny was sufficient, and not necessarily a boarding school in the remote reaches of Ireland?

But just then she looked at him again, and a small frown marred her smooth forehead. ‘There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.’

Gianni tried not to let his eyes drop to the voluptuous swell of her breasts. ‘Yes?’

Keelin looked exceedingly uncomfortable; a faint blush stained her cheeks. ‘I wanted to talk to you about sex.’

Gianni blanched a little. Had he been so obvious?

‘You see,’ she said hesitantly, ‘the thing is that it’s not for me.’

Gianni reacted on a deeply primal level. The strength of the rejection he felt at that statement was surprising. ‘Not for you?’

Keelin shook her head and looked pained. ‘No. It’s just—I hate it, to be honest.’

She shuddered delicately. ‘All that fuss over nothing. All that sweatiness and bodily fluids. Ugh.’

She must have seen something on his face because she said with a kind of dawning comprehension, ‘You didn’t expect me to be innocent, did you? Because I’ve been with, like, tons of guys. Which is how I know I hate it.’

She just wouldn’t want to be with him? The thought was like a red flag to a highly sexed male like Gianni. His jaw clenched. ‘Of course I didn’t expect you to be innocent.’

She continued in a conversational tone, ‘I’ve thought about this a lot and while I’m not willing to have sex, I don’t mind if you want to, you know, keep a mistress. You see,’ she said hurriedly, ‘that’s really why I’d prefer to adopt.’

She sighed a big sigh of relief and smiled, as if she hadn’t just landed a bomb between them. ‘I’m glad I got that out there. I was worried.’

Then she put her hand on his and said, ‘You’re a good listener, Gianni. I’m so lucky to be marrying you.’

Her smile almost dazzled him. He was beginning to feel slightly ill. And then that anger surged again to think of her father giving him an impression of a mature, intelligent woman. He took his hand out from under hers, not liking how those cool fingers had felt on his skin.

He put down his napkin, finally tipping over the edge of his patience. ‘I have no intention of taking a mistress during our marriage and I refuse to partake in the dubious exploitation of children and babies from third-world countries.’

He leant forward and tried to ignore those widening luminous green eyes. ‘And as for sex? Maybe you don’t like it because you haven’t been doing it right?’

He had a sudden urge to take Keelin’s face between his hands and stop that mouth from saying any more in the most effective way possible. His blood was pumping and he was afraid he might say something he’d regret, so he stood up abruptly. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment?’

Gianni barely waited for an answer; he strode out of the room, cursing the day Liam O’Connor had added the condition of a marriage of convenience to their contract.

He found himself pacing in his study, no less calm now that a few walls separated him and Keelin O’Connor. He could almost see her vacuous look of surprise.

Merda!

The woman was insufferable. The prospect of marrying her was unconscionable. She didn’t want children? And any children they did have or adopt she wanted to put in some stuffy boarding school? And she didn’t like sex? Well, right now, he had no desire to prove her wrong no matter how rogue his physical reactions to her were. He cursed again.

He took his mobile out of his pocket and dialled. As soon as his friend answered he instructed him curtly to do some digging into Keelin O’Connor. Something he should have done from the very start, instead of taking her father’s word that she would make him the perfect wife and partner as they went forward in business together.

He’d been so caught up with work and clearing his schedule for the merger and the wedding that he’d told himself he’d give Keelin the benefit of meeting her face to face to get to know her. He felt wrong-footed now.

He also had that persistent niggling sensation that something was amiss and he didn’t like not knowing what it was. He wanted to go back into the dining room and tell Keelin that he’d made a mistake but even now something was stopping him. The prospect of letting the deal of a lifetime go. Wasn’t there some way he could handle her? Women were usually the least of his worries!

But when Gianni did go back, something made him stop in his tracks just where he could see through a crack in the doorway to the room beyond. Keelin was looking around surreptitiously before pouring the contents of her champagne glass into a nearby plant. He kept watching, feeling a rush of shock and anger along with something else—a kind of relief, as he saw Keelin check her watch and sigh heavily.

A mix of irritation, boredom and weariness crossed her face. Nothing close to the vaguely surprised expression when he’d walked out moments ago. She could be a different person.

Gianni was glad he’d just called his friend, because it was no longer a niggling suspicion that something was off about his fiancée’s behaviour. It was a fact and he was determined to play her at her own game until he knew exactly what was going on.

* * *

About two hours later Gianni was standing back at the window of his study in his Rome apartment. He’d just seen Keelin back to her hotel, more distracted than he cared to admit by her wide pouting mouth and slightly tipsy demeanour. When he’d returned to the dining room she’d smiled brightly at him and for a second he’d almost wondered if he’d imagined what he’d seen through the crack in the door.

But then, when he’d put his hand over hers, and promised that he would do his utmost to make their marriage work, he’d seen the panic flare in her eyes.

And now he burned with anger. No one took him by surprise. His life had been full enough of surprises and danger already. He’d carefully cultivated an existence that was as far removed from all that as possible.

But Keelin O’Connor had almost taken him in. A second conversation with his friend Davide just now had told him enough to know for sure that she’d been playing him.

For one thing, his supposedly vacuous fiancée had recently graduated from one of Dublin’s most prestigious universities with the highest marks in her class, and a degree in business and economics. Not a degree in reality-TV trends, or the retail industry.

His mobile rang then and he answered curtly. His expression darkened as he bit out, ‘Which club?’

Gianni terminated the call and picked up the jacket he’d discarded earlier, his face grim. Anger turned to rage. Apparently his tipsy dizzy fiancée was not done with her sham act for the evening; she was now in one of Rome’s most exclusive nightclubs making a spectacle of herself on the dance floor while paparazzi congregated outside, tipped off that Giancarlo Delucca’s new fiancée was inside.

And tipped off by whom exactly? Gianni suspected he already knew exactly who and now he wanted to know why she was going to these lengths.

CHAPTER THREE

THE FLESHY SWEATY man grabbed Keelin around her waist and she put her hands on his to dislodge them, while trying to make it look like she wasn’t really gritting her teeth. The idea of tipping off the paparazzi had seemed like a great idea about an hour ago after she’d sobered up with a few stiff coffees in her hotel room.

She’d had the strangest sensation after Gianni had returned to the dining room that he’d been looking at her with some kind of suspicion and it had been enough to galvanise her to pull out all the stops in her bid to deter him.

She forced another rictus grin at the dozen or so new best friends she’d made when she’d arrived at a VIP table and bought a round of champagne for everyone, courtesy of her fiancé’s black credit card.

Just when she was about to recoil in disgust because the man’s hot breath was getting closer and closer to her neck, his hands were removed and he was gone. To be replaced by someone infinitely taller, darker and more gorgeous.

Gianni. And just like that, her heart tripped.

She barely registered that he’d taken off his tie and his shirt was open at the top, giving him a rakish appeal. He came close and slid a hand around the back of her neck under her hair, tugging her shocked body towards him. He hadn’t touched her intimately up to now. Keelin had to put her hands on his chest to steady herself and could feel nothing but steel-hard pecs.

Between her legs pulsed. She was so stunned to see him and be touching him that she could only look up into eyes so dark they were black.

‘Cara,’ he said, low and seductive, ‘you really should have told me you wanted to go out after dinner. I would have taken you.’

‘I—’ Keelin stopped, her voice rusty. Not working properly. All of her usual inhibitions around men were dissolving away. Somehow he seemed to be able to reach right inside her, bypassing any rational consideration. Without even being aware of what she was doing her hands were spreading out over his chest as if to touch more of him. His smell was intoxicating, decadent and spicy. Very male.

She focused with effort. ‘I didn’t think you’d be into it.’

Gianni shook his head and smiled as if at some private joke. ‘Bella, I’m into anything you’re into. Now let’s dance.’

He took Keelin’s hand in an iron grip as he tugged her behind him to the dance floor. She felt sick, her legs wobbly in her high heels as she tried to assimilate this information and wonder how the hell Gianni had known where she was? Then she remembered tipping off the paparazzi and had her answer. No doubt Rome was full of people who would report back to him.

And without the fog of champagne clouding her judgement—she’d stuck to water since she’d arrived—she sensed an edgy tension coming from him. His hand on hers was hot and large. Experimentally she tried to pull away but his hold tightened. They got to the dance floor and the music worked against Keelin when it became slow and sexy, couples moving into sinuous embraces.

She was aware of people around them looking and whispering. This was not what she’d planned. At all. She’d planned on being all but carried out of the club, for maximum adverse news coverage.

But now Gianni was spreading his hands on her hips, and pulling her close, a wicked smile making his sensual mouth curve. But when she dragged her gaze up, there was something hard in his eyes. Keelin wobbled, and that suspicion returned. It was too huge to contemplate that he’d seen through her—so, weakly, she didn’t.

She kept her hands firmly between them even though a very rogue part of her was seriously tempted to melt against him and twine them around his neck. Gianni moved a hand down to leave it resting uncomfortably close to the swell of her buttocks. Keelin’s skin prickled into goosebumps of awareness.

He started to move in time to the music, their bodies fitting together far too well for Keelin’s liking. Gianni’s hand moved lower and Keelin’s breath came quicker as he subtly pressed her hips into his even more. When she felt the hardness of his thick arousal against her belly her feet stopped and heat climbed up over her chest to her face. It was shocking. Shockingly exciting. And what was even more shocking was that her immediate reaction wasn’t one of repulsion or fear.

Far too late Keelin tried to push him back a little. She was aware of how scantily dressed she was. The flimsy barrier of her silk jumpsuit affording no protection against his lean and aroused body.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his. They were definitely hard now, and assessing. Panic flared. Keelin tried to put some space between them when all her body seemed to want to do was press even closer, imprint herself on him. Shocked at her reaction and angry now, remembering her agenda, she hissed, ‘I told you, I’m not into this kind of thing.’

Gianni, not remotely fazed, queried with a raised brow, ‘What? The sex thing?’

The music was low and throbbing, colluding with Keelin’s heartbeat and body. She felt hot, flustered and out of her depth.

‘Yes,’ she hissed again.

Gianni’s hands moved over her languorously, sensually, heightening every nerve ending in her body. He put his mouth near her ear and drawled, ‘I think, bella, that we’ll have to agree to disagree. You see, I think you will be very good at this sex thing.’

Keelin jerked her head back but it was too late. Just as she realised what Gianni intended and as he pressed her even closer, his head swooped and his mouth covered hers.

Keelin had been kissed before. Plenty of times. She’d become something of an expert in her teens, having perfected the art of kissing and going so far with boys without going further—until that traumatic night when she’d realised just how close she’d skirted to the edges of danger in a bid to seek male attention.

But Gianni was no lanky twenty-year-old testosterone-fuelled guy. He was all man. In his virile prime. And Keelin had no defences.

She was pressed so hard into his body that she could feel every taut sinew and hard muscle. His mouth on hers was firm, but demanding. Hard. His tongue touched the seam of her lips and without even being really conscious of what she was doing her mouth opened to him.

And then Gianni dominated her with sensual ease. His tongue swept in, stroking hers roughly, eliciting a response that made her legs weak, and hot sensations eddy between her legs. Her lower gut tightened with a kind of need she’d never felt before.

That finally sent some kind of awareness to her brain and Keelin pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide, staring into pools of dark brown.

Gianni’s face was all stark lines and an unsmiling mouth. Keelin’s lips tingled and felt swollen.

‘I think it’s time to leave, cara, don’t you?’

He didn’t wait for an answer; he just took his arms from around her and led her off the dance floor, taking her hand when people crushed around them. The music had changed to fast again and Keelin felt humiliated to imagine how they’d looked standing in the middle of energetically dancing couples while Gianni had demonstrated his easy dominance.

Everything in her chafed at that and when they got back up to the seating area she pulled her hand free. A girl was approaching with her short gold jacket and Gianni took it and held it out, for all the world the solicitous fiancé who was eager to get to a more private location.

Keelin had half a mind to stalk out and made a minute move but Gianni was blocking her way, as if reading her mind. She glared at him and he stared back.

With the utmost reluctance she put her arms in the jacket and let him settle it on her shoulders. Was it her imagination or was his slightly heavy-handed touch a warning?

When she turned again he had her clutch bag. She took it, just as he reached for her other hand again. But just like that kiss hadn’t been a lover’s kiss, his touch now was not gentle. It was an exercise in proving his strength and will.

And all she could think about was how she’d arched closer to him and let her tongue slip into his own mouth to explore all that heat and his intoxicating male taste. Humiliation burned her again; the minute he’d touched her she should have been flouncing off the dance floor, not pressing closer to him like a needy little kitten.

A sleek chauffeur-driven car was waiting outside the entrance to the nightclub. There was also a crowd of baying paparazzi. They started snapping as soon as Gianni appeared and he brought Keelin protectively forward with his arm around her, turning her into him so she was shielded.

The feel of all that taut musculature scrambled her brain cells again and he was saying something indistinct in Italian just before he all but pushed her into the back of the car and the door slammed. Before she had time to formulate a thought, Gianni was sliding in the other side and the car was pulling away.

Trapped.

Keelin was breathing hard. She looked at Gianni and there was ice in his expression. Her belly sank.

And then he said with more than a hint of steel, ‘What the hell do you think you’re up to?’

* * *

Gianni did not like to admit that he could still feel the imprint of Keelin’s lush curves against his body from when he’d pulled her close on the dance floor. He’d meant it as an exercise in getting her away from that sweaty-handed creep, but all it had done was fire up his libido so much that he’d been sporting his first unwarranted erection in public since he was an oversexed teenager.

Dio. She should be turning him off with her over-the-top persona, but all he wanted to do was rip off that jumpsuit and get his hands on her naked curves. He could barely keep his gaze from roving over the firm swells of those generous breasts and those ridiculously long legs. He dragged his brain back from the edge.

‘Well?’

She was all but curled into the door, looking at him as if he had two heads. And then she blinked, and straightened her shoulders. And pouted.

‘I was having a good time, you know.’

Gianni curbed a grimace at her sulky tone. It was perfectly pitched and she could very well still be fooling him with it, if he didn’t know better. A sense of humiliation made him smart again.

‘Yes,’ he said dryly. ‘You looked like it with Federico Prezzi, one of Rome’s most notorious porn kings.’

She couldn’t disguise her instantaneous look of shock and disgust, but before she could manufacture some other false response Gianni put up a hand. ‘Look, you might be happy to continue this ridiculous charade, but frankly, I’ve better things to be doing than hauling my fiancée out of nightclubs at three a.m.’

Her eyes went wide and wounded. ‘Charade? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Gianni snorted. They were pulling up outside the sleekly exclusive Harrington Hotel for the second time that night and he got out to open Keelin’s door when being polite was the last thing on his mind. Especially when he saw a flash of one long bare leg through the slit in her jumpsuit as she got out.

He took her arm and all but marched her into the hotel. When they were in the lift she pulled free and looked at him accusingly. ‘There’s no need to manhandle me.’

Her big green eyes shone suspiciously and even though Gianni knew it was an act, he had to steel something inside of him, which only made his irritation levels rise further.

‘I don’t know why you’re being such a grouch. I just wanted to have some fun. I love clubbing.’

I love clubbing. Something sparked in Gianni’s brain. It was one of his pet hates. He could actually remember filling out one of those asinine ten questions for some weekend newspaper review magazine and that had been one of his answers. In fact, every single little thing about Keelin seemed to be perfectly pitched to annoy him or rub him up the wrong way.

The lift doors opened and, feeling very grim now, he took Keelin’s arm again. He opened the door to her suite and let her go to precede him into the room. He hated to admit it but he knew that if he stayed and forced this conversation now, he might not be able to resist touching her because his anger and that feeling of having been made a fool of was pushing him to the limits of his control.

And that was enough to make him want to retreat. His father hadn’t been able to control himself and Gianni had always had a very deep fear that he’d inherited his weakness. Not that he’d be violent, but that something of this rawness inside him might not be contained. He didn’t want Keelin to see that part of him.

And he still didn’t know enough. Yet.

She rounded on him with an injured expression on her face but before she could say anything Gianni folded his arms. ‘Basta!’ Enough.

‘I don’t know what game you’re playing, Keelin, but it’s about as fake as the tan on that delectable body. I have an important meeting in the morning, early, so I’m not prepared to sit up all night and drag a confession out of you. When I see you tomorrow I expect to meet the real Keelin O’Connor.’

His gaze dropped down, taking in overtanned flesh and a blingy outfit more suited to Studio 54’s heyday. ‘And you can put that card I gave you to use and find some more suitable clothes to wear.’

Keelin’s mouth opened, eyes wide, and Gianni cut her off. ‘Save it for the morning, cara. Buonanotte.’

He turned at the door to see a decidedly mutinous look on her face now, eyes sparking with the intelligence he’d caught a glimpse of in his apartment. Unexpectedly he felt a flare of excitement to recognise that a part of him relished getting to know this woman.

‘And don’t even think of trying to pull any more cute stunts. You make one move out of this hotel room and I’ll know about it in seconds.’

She sputtered indignantly, ‘You can’t do—’

But he’d closed the door.

* * *

Keelin was left looking at a blank space. For a long moment she stood in shock and then the pain of her feet in the heels impinged and she kicked them off angrily. He knew. He had somehow figured it out.

A sense of panic warred with relief that she didn’t have to put on this elaborate act any more. And also trepidation, to know that she’d have to face that man as herself. She went into the bathroom, looked at her reflection in the artfully lit mirror over the enormous sink. Her eyes were wide and bright. Cheeks flushed. Her gaze dropped and she sucked in a breath to see the stark outline of her nipples pressing against the flimsy silk of her jumpsuit.

She could recall all too easily how she’d wanted to rub them against Gianni’s chest in the club, to assuage the burning ache. Dammit. Once again she felt that vulnerability to know that he had a unique effect on her, cutting right through her defences. She wasn’t prepared for this unprecedented physical reaction to him. It was as if when he touched her something fused in her brain.

She was afraid of Gianni’s effect on her, that if he kissed her again she wouldn’t be able to protect herself in time. And that he might make her feel as powerless as she had when—

She closed her eyes against the memories and sucked in a deep breath.

This was why she’d avoided any kind of intimacy before now, in spite of the picture she’d painted to Gianni. She assured herself resolutely that he wouldn’t be kissing her again because she’d do whatever it took to persuade him that this union was wrong.

* * *

When Keelin woke the following morning after a fitful sleep, she felt a wave of optimism—perhaps she was wrong and Gianni just suspected something? Galvanised by the thought that all was not lost, she dressed again with inappropriate zeal in a figure-hugging red dress, and made her way to the entrance of the hotel, determined to go shopping again as if nothing had happened and hope for the best.

But when she got to the door, a tall dark familiar figure was waiting for her. She cursed silently as he approached her and took her arm before bending and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her heart spasmed.

He pulled back and she looked at him. He smiled but his eyes were hard. ‘Buongiorno, cara. So nice of you to come down and meet me.’

‘But I wasn’t, I was—’

But Gianni wasn’t listening. He was all but frog-marching her out of the hotel to where his sleek chauffeur-driven car was waiting. She was in the back of the car and he was on the other side in a louche sprawl before she could get her breath and register that they were moving away from the hotel.

Keelin had given in to the bitter tang of defeat. He knew.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, feeling mutinous.

‘My apartment. We need to talk.’

Keelin looked out of her window, refusing to so much as glance in his direction for the duration of the journey, furiously trying to think of what he might say. And how much did he know? The fact that he might know of her degree made her feel inordinately exposed. Old and familiar urges rose. To rebel. To run. But she couldn’t. She had to be smart and roll with the punches and ensure that no matter what happened she’d come out on top and her father would be forced to acknowledge her role in their family’s company. Solo. Not married.

A memory of when she’d been about eleven years old sprang into her head. She’d been with her paternal grandfather in one of the O’Connor Foods factories. It had been a very rare visit—usually she was never taken to the factories. Huge articulated lorries had been peeling away, out of the forecourt, on their way across Europe with foods, and her father was standing in the middle, like the conductor of an orchestra.

She’d been mesmerised by all this industry and the family legend that it had all originated from one field and a herd of cattle in the west of Ireland.

In her mind at that moment she’d made the connection between her father’s obsession with work and his lack of obsession with her. She’d turned to her grandfather and said excitedly, ‘When I grow up I want to work with Daddy.’

Her grandfather had looked at her with disappointment lining his old face and had bent down to her level and said very clearly, ‘That won’t ever happen, Keelin. If you had a brother, maybe—’

Even now, she could remember the awful hollowing-out sensation, and the feeling of guilt, that she wasn’t enough, because she was a girl. She’d looked out over the forecourt again and had realised that, because of her, all of this would cease to exist some day. And that’s when she’d vowed to do everything she could to show her father that she could be enough.

‘We’re here.’

Keelin blinked and looked to see the by-now-familiar building. A sense of déjà vu assailed her as Gianni got out and came around to let her out. She felt silly, trussed up like some kind of over-the-top reality-TV star.

She pettily refused to take his hand of help and got out herself, less elegantly than she would have liked. He just shrugged minutely and led the way into his building.

The elevator felt even more claustrophobic this time, because now she knew what it felt like to be in Gianni’s arms, his mouth on hers. That hard body pressing against hers. Her face was flaming by the time the lift came to a stop and she almost fell out in her haste to put some space between them.

It was almost a relief to step into his palatial apartment again and she quickly moved over to one of the windows, dreading what was coming.

Reluctantly she turned to look at Gianni and he was stern and formidable. Distant. Perhaps she could convince him to see sense? A small voice somewhere laughed at that. Facing up to the unpalatable suspicion that he would not rest until he knew everything, Keelin steeled herself and said bluntly, ‘I don’t want to marry you.’

His expression didn’t change but she saw a flash of something in those dark eyes. ‘Did it occur to you to say this when we met first and I gave you the opportunity instead of putting on the elaborate act?’

She flushed as his gaze narrowed on her. He came closer and Keelin could sense the tension reaching out to touch her like the sharp end of a nail across her skin. This was a man who didn’t appreciate being messed with. And she’d been like a mouse teasing a lion for the past two days.

She lifted her chin and avoided answering that question directly. ‘I’m sorry if you’ve been inconvenienced, but I have no intention of marrying you.’

Gianni was grim. ‘And would you care to explain why you didn’t walk away when your father proposed this arrangement?’

Not really. Keelin swallowed and crossed her arms defensively. There was no way she could physically move past Gianni. He seemed to take up all the space in the room. Hell. Eventually, with the utmost reluctance, she said, ‘If I walk away, then my father will effectively disown me.’

The prickle of exposure to have said that out loud made her irritated now. She didn’t want to feel any vulnerability here in front of this man.

Gianni mirrored her, folding his arms across his chest, making the muscles of his arms stand out against the cloth of his suit.

‘Need I point out that by marrying me you’ll become obscenely wealthy?’

Keelin flushed, angry to be so aware of him. ‘It’s not about the money.’

He arched a brow. ‘Could have fooled me. You spent a small fortune yesterday.’

She felt slightly sick to think of it now. ‘That was just part of...’ She faltered and stopped. ‘I can send the clothes back.’

His voice was cooler than the Arctic. ‘Don’t worry, my assistants are already in the process of doing that. So this was your grand plan? To try and convince me that you were entirely unsuitable?’

Some of Keelin’s anger drained away. ‘In a nutshell, yes.’ She felt supremely foolish now to have underestimated Gianni so much.

He snorted derisively. ‘You thought that if you could make me believe you were the total opposite of what I wanted, then I’d show you the door?’

Keelin looked at him, determined not to let him intimidate her. ‘You have to admit it, you had doubts.’

As if Gianni Delucca would admit such a thing. And then he took the wind out of her sails, saying, ‘You’re not the only one who did some digging.’

Keelin’s stomach dropped. She’d been afraid of this but tried to brazen it out, unconsciously tossing her hair over her shoulder. ‘And?’

His gaze became speculative. ‘Surprisingly enough in spite of your teenage fits of rebellion no photographic evidence showed up of you behaving as the vacuous socialite you’d have me believe you are.

‘What did turn up,’ he continued, ‘was evidence of a model student in college, recently graduating with flying colours.’

Once again the memory stung of all her friends celebrating with their adoring families while she’d had no one there for her. The momentary self-pity mocked her and added a bitter twinge to her voice. ‘Don’t let that fool you, Gianni, it served a purpose. If I’m to take over my family business some day I’m not so arrogant as to assume I don’t need any preparation.’

Another derisive-sounding snort. ‘You take over O’Connor’s? A global company?’

Keelin saw red. ‘Just because I’m a woman—’

Gianni cut her off with ice-cold precision. ‘It has nothing to do with you being a woman. Some of the best CEOs in the world are women. It has to do with the fact that you have zero experience and seem to think it should be handed to you on a platter.’

The unfairness of Gianni’s attack made something hot prickle behind Keelin’s eyelids. Aghast that he might see how high her emotions were and afraid of what might come out of her mouth, she whirled around and went to stand at a nearby window, arms even tighter across her chest. She felt intimidated and cornered. Misunderstood.

When she was more in control she turned around again and it was as if she was seeing Gianni for the first time. His sheer dark good looks and charisma reached out almost like a taunt.

‘You don’t get it, Delucca. My father believes that because I’m a woman I’m not entitled to inherit my place in the family business. All I’ve ever wanted is a chance to prove to him that I’m capable of being his heir. That’s the only reason I agreed to this farcical arrangement, because he literally gave me no other choice. But I have no intention of going through with it, and you are going to be the one to call it off, or so help me I’ll attract all the attention you don’t want in a convenient wife.’

Danger crackled in the air between them but Keelin fought not to back down.

Gianni sneered faintly. ‘You expect me to walk away from the deal of a lifetime because you’re too scared to stand up to Daddy Dearest?’

Keelin gritted out, ‘He’s not my Daddy Dearest, far from it.’

She realised she was breathing heavily and that her blood was high. Damn this man for pushing her buttons and making her blurt everything out.

Gianni’s narrowed gaze was far too assessing, and then he said silkily, ‘Perhaps you should have this discussion with your father when you see him this evening?’

Keelin felt her blood go cold. ‘My father? What are you talking about?’

Tension stretched between them, as brittle as glass.

‘I’ve arranged an engagement party for this evening in The Harrington’s penthouse suite. It’ll be an intimate exclusive party to introduce you to my friends and business associates.’

Keelin’s heart thumped hard. Once. Her mouth felt dry. ‘Since when?’

Gianni looked all too innocent and yet as sinful as the devil. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, bella, did I not mention it before now?’

‘No,’ she responded tightly as dread skittered over her skin that he was turning the tables on her, and at the thought of this being made public. Official. ‘You didn’t.’

Gianni smiled and it was the smile of a shark. ‘Please forgive me. It must have escaped my attention. Your beauty continues to—how do you say in English?—divert me...’

The compliment rang hollow with insincerity, and she was nothing like his usual women. He spoke English better than she did. But it was effective enough to bring back the memory of the throbbing beat of the music in the club and the feel of Gianni’s tongue sliding into her mouth with carnal intent, the way his body had felt against hers.

She blurted out, ‘Why are you doing this?’

Gianni ignored her question and since when had he moved closer? Now only a couple of feet separated them, his arms down by his sides. Keelin felt hot.

‘Both your parents will be there. Our guests of honour. They fly in this evening. They’re staying at The Harrington. Your mother said something about wanting to see the plans for the ceremony and the reception.’

Keelin’s brain froze. She looked into those fathomless dark eyes that were utterly guileless and yet not. Vulnerability hit her right between the eyes at the thought of her parents suddenly showing a level of support and interest that had never existed until now. And at the thought that Gianni was colluding with them, which of course he was. So why was she feeling a bizarre dart of hurt?

‘How dare you do this without consulting me?’

Colour slashed Gianni’s cheeks and Keelin felt something else vibrate in the air between them, something much more physical.

‘I dare because you were hell-bent on making me a laughing stock and that is not going to happen.’

Frustration mounted inside Keelin to have him so baldly lay out how helpless she was. And then she became blisteringly angry at him for accepting this status quo just because he was greedy for success and more power.

She lashed out. ‘Did you seriously not question why a complete stranger would agree to marry you? Are you so arrogant? So full of your own importance that it didn’t even seem strange?’

Not waiting for an answer, she went on. ‘I mean, who in their right mind would agree to marry a man who has links to the Mafia?’

Gianni went very still, not that he’d been moving around much before, but Keelin had felt his restless energy. And now it was as if he had sensed his prey and every muscle was locked tight in preparation to pounce. His hands were out of his pockets and by his sides, hands curled to fists.

Shivers raced over Keelin’s skin. She’d pushed a button. A big one. And it didn’t make her feel a sense of triumph.

He was cold. ‘I do not have links to the Mafia.’

Keelin pushed down a sense of having stepped over a huge mark. ‘But your father—’

He cut her off brutally. ‘My father is dead, and you will not mention this again. Damn you.’

Keelin had only the merest sliver of warning before Gianni’s arms reached out to grab her upper arms and he hauled her into his chest, his mouth covering hers with such precision that she wondered if somehow he’d read her mind and known that she’d been thinking about that kiss endlessly since last night.

And just as she’d feared, being kissed by him again was setting off a chain reaction of tumbling all of her defences like dominoes, making her pliant, making between her legs throb and ache. Her hands were caught between them and from somewhere that hadn’t yet been enslaved by his touch she curled her hands to fists and pushed, wrenching her head back.

She opened her eyes and saw nothing but black. She pushed herself free, out of his hands, and stepped back shakily. ‘I don’t want this, I don’t want you.’

Gianni’s mouth twisted. ‘You might not want this situation but you want me, as much as I want you.’

And then before she could respond, he said, ‘Are you a chess player, Keelin?’

It was clearly a rhetorical question when he continued, ‘I’m not willing to call this wedding and merger off, not in a million years. And you can’t walk away because you’ll be left out in the cold—so it would appear that we have a stalemate.’

The air seemed to throb and shimmer between them with heat and tension, and Gianni stared at her for such a long moment that Keelin almost begged him to stop, but then he lifted his hand and looked at the watch on his wrist. He looked at her again, coolness in his eyes now. ‘A stylist and hair and make-up team are on their way here to get you ready for the party. They told me it would take that long to get rid of the day-glo look. I’ll be back later to pick you up.’

Clearly nothing she’d said had made one dent in his bid to secure this deal with her father. He was steamrollering ahead and taking her with him.

She put her hands on her hips, aware of the little betraying tremor. ‘Now wait just a minute, if you think that I’m going to—’

The words died in her throat when Gianni stalked closer, a look of dangerous intent on his face. Perversely it didn’t scare Keelin that he might kiss her again; it excited her. But he didn’t.

‘This marriage is happening, Keelin. Now more than ever. And if you don’t start washing off that persona you’ve been playing with for the past forty-eight hours, then I’ll be more than happy to take you to the shower to help you. So what’s it to be?’

CHAPTER FOUR

THAT EVENING GIANNI was still struggling to control his temper. When Keelin had mentioned his father and Mafia he’d seen red. For some reason the fact that she’d levelled that accusation at him had stung more than most. Enough to want to silence her by putting his mouth over hers and losing himself in the inferno of need that had spiralled up through his body, almost taking his head off.

Cristo. No woman had ever made him so hot, or hot-headed, in his life. Up until now he’d chosen women he desired but none of them had made him feel out of control enough to want to devour them, or had reduced him almost to some kind of animalistic state. And that made him very nervous. He’d considered his father an animal whenever he’d come home drunk and taken out his aggression on his wife. Or when he’d disappeared for days on end only to reappear with money and blood-spattered clothes.

His father’s poisonous legacy was something Gianni desperately wanted to dissociate himself from. It symbolised everything that was dark and violent and base. And that was not him. Yet, he took one look at Keelin and felt nothing but feral desire. Disconcerting as it was, he was sure that once he’d slaked his desire, her hold on him would decrease.

He’d changed in the dressing room attached to his office and the classic tuxedo he wore now made him feel constricted when it never had before. He could remember his first occasion wearing a tuxedo to a glittery event and how for the first time in his life he’d received looks of admiration, respect.

As constricting as the suit might feel right now, this was what separated him from his father’s legacy—this ability to appreciate the fine things in life and to know that the way forward was through promoting integrity and honesty. Building a business to be proud of. The business his grandfather had set up, before his own son had taken it and crushed it to the ground.

Earlier, when Gianni’s assistant had shown stylists with clothes rails and an assortment of other suitably qualified people up to his apartment, he’d found himself almost relishing the thought of Keelin’s expression when she knew she had no choice but to comply.

But then his conscience smarted when he thought of what she’d revealed about her reasons for wanting out of this marriage. He’d scoffed at her intentions to be a part of her family’s business, yet didn’t she have that right? After all, at least he’d had the shell of his grandfather’s business to build an empire upon and after a lot of blood and sweat and ingenuity he was finally here, or would be, once he merged with O’Connor.

He had to admit that Keelin’s evident determination to succeed no matter what inspired a grudging sense of kinship within him. But he couldn’t let the niggle of his conscience sway him. He needed this deal. Now more than ever.

His chief executive advisor had just informed him that the very rumour that Delucca Emporium was merging with O’Connor Foods had caused a soar in stocks. The news wouldn’t be officially announced until the day after the wedding took place—as per O’Connor’s request, even though they’d already signed contracts.

So he couldn’t afford to let this momentum drop now. He needed every ounce of positive press to convince people he could be trusted, and as much as he might sympathise with Keelin’s bid for independence, she was not going to stand in his way. He’d worked too hard for this chance.

* * *

Keelin hated that she felt bizarrely excited. She should be steamingly angry. The threat of Gianni washing the spray tan off her body himself had been enough to galvanise her into the bathroom earlier that day, locking herself inside and scowling when she heard his mocking, ‘Later, cara,’ through the door.

A veritable army had then appeared in the apartment when she’d emerged from the shower with skin pink from scrubbing and had proceeded to take her in hand, undoing all of the hard work she’d put in to appear as trashy as possible.

And now she hated to admit that she didn’t look a million miles off what she’d choose to look like, if she didn’t have a war of personal independence on her hands.

She was wearing a strapless dark green dress that made her eyes stand out. Fitted around her breasts, it fell in soft swirls of silk and chiffon from below her bust to the floor where she wore delicate high-heeled sandals.

She was back to her habitual paleness, and felt a little naked now without the copious amounts of make-up and tan. Her hair had been teased and coiffed out of its natural wildness and lay over one shoulder in glossy soft waves, held back on the other side by a long diamond comb.

Make-up was subtle and enhanced her features. Her cheekbones stood out, and her mouth looked even bigger than usual. She wanted to scowl at the reflection in the bathroom mirror as she inspected herself, but in truth she felt a funny catch in her throat at the thought of Gianni seeing her like this, as if she was meeting him for the first time all over again.

‘Keelin?’

Speak of the devil. Her heart thumped hard and she took a deep breath, cursing the fact that she’d allowed herself to get distracted enough not to analyse what had been said earlier and figure out what her next step would be.

She heard Gianni come closer. ‘Keelin, so help me, if you’re not here and ready—’

He appeared in the doorway of the master bedroom en suite and stopped talking, those dark eyes raking her from head to toe. Heat climbed up over Keelin’s chest to her neck and face.

She registered how gorgeous he was in his tuxedo, clean jaw, hair short. Suddenly there was no air; her skin felt tight and hot. Terrified he might see her reaction she moved forward and pushed past him. ‘I am here.’

When she was on the other side of him the hardness of his body registered on her brain with a searing flash of heat. She stalked out into the main living area, desperate to put some space between them, sucking in a deep breath. When she turned around again, Gianni had followed her and was leaning against the door frame, hands in pockets, eyes hooded and unreadable.

Keelin’s hands clutched the bag that went with the dress. She wanted to squirm; no man had ever looked at her so intently.

‘Well, well, well,’ he drawled softly. ‘I knew there was a gem hiding underneath all that artifice.’

Keelin was about to say something waspish but Gianni added, ‘But I had no idea how beautiful that gem would be.’

For a moment she felt stunned. Even though he’d kissed her, somehow this felt more intimate, as if he was stroking his tongue along hers all over again, that hard mouth demanding she give up her softness to him. Demanding she expose all her weaknesses and vulnerabilities.

At a loss as to how to respond, and feeling gauche when she recalled how she’d noticed he hadn’t complimented her the previous evening, Keelin just said, ‘Save your breath for the woman who’ll become your fiancée for real some day. She’ll be far more appreciative.’

Gianni stood away from the door and came towards her. Keelin’s feet were glued to the floor. He stopped far too close and answered, ‘Cara, you’re the only fiancée I’m ever going to have, so you might as well give in to the inevitable—unless you’re willing to walk out that door right now, we will be getting married in two weeks.’

The fact that Keelin couldn’t seem to find the urge to walk away from Gianni now that she had the opportunity was not as annoying as the suspicion that it had less to do with her father’s ultimatum and intransigence and more to do with the fact that something enigmatic in his black gaze held her to the spot.

An hour later Keelin’s feet burned in her high heels. She was in a sleek and sophisticated private suite at the Harrington Hotel surrounded by beautiful and equally sleek people with white besuited waiters moving through the crowd carrying trays of sparkling champagne, and yet all she could see were the women openly lusting after Gianni, and sending her less than friendly glances. She felt like saying to them, Take him! while alternately battling a very curious urge to gouge their eyes out.

He bent close and said by her ear in his deep voice, ‘Your parents are here.’ Instantly she tensed all over, an inevitable reaction, her hand tightening on her glass of champagne. The drink she’d not even touched. No point in pretending she liked it any more.

She barely noticed Gianni sending her an assessing sidelong glance as her mother came forward with arms outstretched to envelop Keelin in a stiff hug and a noxious wave of perfume. Keelin couldn’t help tensing even more. She’d learnt long ago that these rare displays of affection were for appearances only, never to be repeated in private.

Her father gave her a kiss on the cheek. Equally awkward. Keelin felt old emotions rise—a mix of anger, disappointment and frustration, and swallowed it down with effort.

Her mother was oblivious, beaming at Gianni and gushing, ‘So pleased to meet you, Mr Delucca. Liam’s told me all about you. You’ll take care of our beloved Keelin, now won’t you?’

He was oozing charm as they shook hands. ‘Call me Gianni, please.’

Beloved Keelin. It had been the wrong moment to take a reflexive sip of her drink; it promptly went down the wrong way and Keelin had a coughing fit, earning a familiar look of irritation from her mother and a hand on her bare upper back from Gianni which was far more disturbing. Keelin wasn’t someone who felt comfortable around tactile people but whenever Gianni touched her she felt the disturbing urge to close her eyes and purr gently.

‘Okay, cara?’

His careless endearment sent shivers through her. She nodded and blinked quickly and croaked, ‘Fine.’

His fingers spread out now, just above the bodice of the dress, and his touch became more caressing. The kind of touch anyone might expect of a man to his fiancée.

But there was something else in it too; as she stood there by Gianni’s side and faced her parents she had the bizarre sense for the first time in her life of not standing alone against them. Which was crazy because Gianni only wanted this marriage as a business deal; he wasn’t genuinely interested in the kind of support that should come with a real marriage.

That galvanised her to move subtly away from his touch and she hated how she felt bereft when his hand dropped. She sent him a dark look for having this effect on her but he merely raised a brow in return. Completely bemused.

An arm went through hers. ‘Darling, let’s let the men talk boring work and tell me all about your plans for the wedding.’

Keelin blinked at her mother before letting herself be led away, fuming inwardly at the implication that she couldn’t be part of that conversation. And as if for all the world this was a genuine wedding and she and Gianni were some sort of besotted couple. She said acerbically, ‘Don’t you mean discuss the plans for this business arrangement?’

Her mother darted a glance around and then pulled Keelin into a secluded corner. Gone was any attempt to feign affection and the truth was visible of an attractive woman who was ageing and not happy about the process or the fact that her daughter was far more beautiful than she’d ever been.

‘What is wrong with you? That man is young, handsome and rich. You could do a lot worse, you know.’ Her mother sounded almost peevish.

Keelin sighed inwardly. That was all her mother understood—the currency of a rich husband and being socially acceptable. After all, she’d made it her life’s work, especially when she hadn’t been able to have more children after Keelin, which she’d borne a totally irrational sense of guilt about for as long as she could remember.

Keelin valiantly pushed aside old wounds. ‘You mean worse than have a chance to work for the family business and be independent?’

Her mother all but snorted. ‘Darling, I’ve never understood this obsession you have, and why work when you don’t have to?’

Her darker green eyes narrowed on her daughter. ‘I really hope you’re not going to be difficult about this. Your father will be very angry—’

Keelin cut her off crisply. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve already been told what’ll happen if I walk away.’

Dolores O’Connor didn’t even have the grace to look remotely concerned or guilty. ‘Most girls would give their eye teeth to be in your position.’

Keelin felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck just before an arm slid around her waist and a large hot body came alongside hers. Once again she had to battle that urge to just sink against him. She stiffened against the tide of sensations that washed through her. It only showed up a lingering pathetic need for some kind of male approval.

Her mother gave a completely unsubtle look to Keelin and excused herself with a wholly inappropriate girlish giggle. Keelin rounded on Gianni when they were alone, dislodging his arm from around her.

‘What’s with the PDA? I don’t think anyone could care less how authentic we are.’

She glanced around at the chattering crowd and surmised, ‘It’s not as if all these people are actually in love with their partners.’

Gianni tutted and drawled, ‘So cynical and so young. What made you like this, Keelin?’

She looked at him. ‘And you’re not?’ The man oozed cynicism. She hated that he could slide a blade under her skin so neatly and declared, ‘I need a drink.’

He looked pointedly at her champagne and she answered expressively, ‘Of something I actually like.’

She went to move around him and he stopped her with a hand on her upper arm again, fingers brushing far too close to the swell of her breasts.

‘No one else might care how authentic we are, Keelin, but I do. Do I need to remind you how authentic we can be if I touch you? So when we’re in public we are together.’

Keelin fought down the panic at the thought of Gianni demonstrating how weak she was in front of all these people and said as witheringly as she could, ‘I wouldn’t have had you down as a romantic fantasist, Gianni.’

Childishly pleased that she’d had the parting shot, she pulled her arm free and walked away, steering well clear of where her parents were talking to another couple nearby. The last thing she needed now was for her father to join in loading on the pressure.

By the time Keelin got to the discreet bar in the corner of the room and ordered a drink, she was wondering what was stopping her from just walking out the door and to hell with the lot of them.

She turned around and surveyed the room. Some of the world’s most powerful and important people were here. People whose opinions counted and mattered. And that’s why she couldn’t walk away. Not yet. Because she wanted this too—to be counted and listened to. Given a chance. And also, disturbingly, Gianni’s darkly handsome face kept flashing into her mind.

As if loath to let her have that parting shot, he approached her through the crowd now, eyes on her in such an assessing way that her skin rose up in goosebumps of anticipation.

He stopped before her and looked at the bottle of beer in her hand. ‘Must you?’

She gritted her jaw and vowed that she would get through this experience and come out on the other side with everything she’d ever wanted. And for it to make not walking away worth it.

In answer, she took a healthy swig from the bottle and dared him to take it off her and replace it with something far more genteel and ladylike.

* * *

Gianni swallowed down the urge to rip the bottle out of Keelin’s hands. But if drinking out of a beer bottle was going to be the worst of her behaviour tonight, then he’d put up with it.

She stood out with her pale skin and red hair like a bird of paradise against a much duller background. And it galled him that he’d observed her smiling at people all evening, only for that smile to fade as soon as he came close.

It wasn’t a smile as wide as the one he’d seen in the photo at her father’s office but it was close. And since when had that become some kind of barometer? He cursed himself now as he steered Keelin back towards the crowd to introduce her to some colleagues. And he also pushed down the niggle of curiosity about how she’d been with her parents. She’d almost recoiled when he’d mentioned that they’d arrived and it certainly hadn’t been a happy family reunion.

God knew, he had the experience of despising his father until the day he’d died, so he knew antipathy when he saw it. But in spite of that relationship, he and his mother were close, even if she did insist on living outside of Rome in the family home, keeping the house like some kind of mausoleum to his father’s memory. Gianni had never been able to understand his mother’s slavish devotion to the man who had made her life miserable on a regular basis. He’d decided long ago that if that was love, then he could quite happily live without it.

Thinking of that now made Gianni feel a little raw. He knew he didn’t want love so why was he even remembering that? But right then he also didn’t want a wife who was hell-bent on thwarting him at every turn. Acting on impulse, counting on Keelin’s ambition, he pulled her aside just before they entered the throng again and said in a low voice, ‘If you do want out, Keelin, truly, then this is your chance.’

* * *

Caught by surprise Keelin looked at Gianni and saw the gleam of challenge in his eyes just before he deftly caught a passing waiter and swapped her bottle of beer for a glass of champagne. Then he took up a small spoon from a nearby table and tapped his glass so that a melodic ring chimed out and everyone stopped talking and turned to face them.

Keelin’s stomach went into freefall. What the hell was he up to?

When they had everyone’s attention, and Keelin could see her parents looking at them with faux fondness, Gianni said in a voice that commanded attention, ‘Thank you all for coming this evening to help celebrate my engagement to this beautiful woman.’

Keelin’s sense of nausea rose. Gianni pulled her close and raised his glass. ‘To my fiancée, Keelin, with whom I look forward to a very successful, long and enduring partnership.’

Everyone clinked glasses and saluted them, taking drinks of the sparkling wine. When they’d done the toast Gianni let her go slightly and looked down. Keelin met his gaze with a murderous one of her own. As every second passed she felt as if she were being hurtled further and further away from where she wanted to be.

But he wasn’t finished. He added now, ‘If you could indulge us a few moments more, I do believe my fiancée has something she wishes to say.’

Comprehension sank in. He was daring her to do her worst. To declare in front of everyone that this was a sham, or worse? Walk out the door? She recognised that this was a moment of no return. Everything would be dictated by what she did now. Gianni was calling her bluff, asking her to prove how badly she wanted out of this arrangement.

All she had to do was to say the words and walk away. She could already imagine the look on her parents’ faces. Her father’s going red, her mother’s shock and embarrassment in front of all these important people.

And for a moment she was sorely tempted. She opened her mouth. And then she caught Gianni’s eye; he was taunting her for his amusement. And that was the thing that firmed her resolve. She would not let him goad her into jeopardising everything.

So she channelled her anger and frustration to be so caught and smiled brightly. ‘I’m a woman who believes that actions speak louder than words.’

And then she deliberately put her drink down on a nearby table and turned to her fiancé. She put both hands around his face and caught his look of shock a second before their mouths met. She poured all of that anger and frustration into a bruising-hard kiss.

* * *

Gianni recovered swiftly, snaking his free arm around Keelin’s waist and hauling her even closer. He could taste the rage in her kiss and it infected his blood with an urgent need to dominate and seduce.

He moved his hand up her back and caught her hair in his fist, tugging her head back gently, but just enough so that she had to ease the pressure on his mouth. And as soon as he had that tiny space, he took over, coaxing her to open to him, sensing her resistance but using every trick in the book.

When he felt resistance give way and those lush lips open under his, the sense of triumph was faintly disturbing. He shouldn’t be feeling so buoyant just from a kiss. But there was something about this woman giving in to him, even as minutely as this, that made him ridiculously triumphant.

Gianni was aware on some dim level that they were in a room full of people whose opinion mattered to him, but he couldn’t seem to care. All he wanted to do was wrap both arms around Keelin and plunder her mouth until he was drunk on her scent and taste. Until he could taste all of her.

He finally broke the kiss and drew back, looking down at her. It took a long second for her to open her eyes and when she did they were dark green and filled with depths and lights that made Gianni want to push her away. Fast. But he couldn’t. They were being watched. And now their appreciative crowd was clapping and cheering.

Every provocative curve of her body was imprinted against him and he cursed silently, furiously willing his body to cool down for fear of people seeing just how undone she made him feel.

* * *

‘I’ve been looking for you for the past thirty minutes.’

Keelin whirled around from where she’d been standing on an empty terrace just off a quiet garden courtyard in the hotel, seeing but not seeing the amazing view of Rome at night laid out before her.

Her head was still too consumed with that kiss and how effortlessly Gianni had shown his dominance, again. As soon as she could she’d escaped, feeling far too claustrophobic, as if a net was tightening around her. And hot, needing air to cool down.

She raised the hand that still held her clutch bag. ‘Well, now you’ve found me.’

He said in a low voice, as if mindful they might not be totally alone, ‘I don’t appreciate being ambushed in public.’

‘That’s rich coming from you!’ Keelin said with reproof, still vibrating angrily from that explosive kiss. Not that she could even blame him!

She turned her back to the view. ‘And what do you call staging that party and inviting my parents if not an ambush?’

Gianni’s bow tie was undone, his top button open—as if he’d done it with impatience, looking for her? She tried not to notice how dark and gorgeous he was against the lush backdrop of the hotel garden.

He narrowed his gaze. ‘Seeing you with your parents certainly was interesting.’

Keelin tossed her head and batted away the vulnerability. It wasn’t her fault her parents didn’t love her, even though she’d not truly believed that for a long time. They were just supremely selfish people who never should have had a child.

‘Believe me, they’ll be only too happy to wash their hands of me and hand me over like some kind of medieval chattel. Does that make me a little less palatable?’

He smiled but it was hard. ‘Not in the least. I won’t have to endure interminable in-law dinners with them.’

His obduracy pushed Keelin over an edge. She threw up her hands. ‘This is crazy! We should just call it off here and now. It’ll never work.’

‘That’s the problem, you can’t call it off and I won’t,’ Gianni pointed out calmly enough to make her frustration increase. ‘It’ll work just fine. You’ll have everything you could possibly need. I’ll make sure you’re happy.’

Keelin stalked forward, quivering with anger. ‘You wouldn’t have the first clue about what might make me happy but I’ll give you a hint—you’re nowhere near the vicinity of that picture.’

She was shocked to find herself feeling so agitated and hated it. It reminded her of the futile rage she’d felt growing up that had ended up in bids for attention and she was damned if she was going to let this man induce it again. She forced herself to calm.

Gianni’s voice had an edge. ‘You know, I think I preferred it when you were vacuous and shallow.’

Something awfully like hurt gripped Keelin inside. ‘Most men would prefer that easier option, my father certainly does. And tell me,’ she asked in a rush, ‘where exactly will I fit into your life—presumably while you’re off building your empire?’

She put up a hand. ‘Wait, don’t tell me—I’ll be tied to a bed, awaiting your return for the next bout of conjugal rights?’

Gianni folded his arms, making muscles bunch. Keelin hated being so aware of him.

‘I’ve never indulged in bondage before,’ he drawled, ‘but I’m certainly willing to give it a go. I hear it’s the in thing.’

To her shock and horror, an image popped into her head of Gianni on his back, naked, with his arms tied high above his head, as she straddled him and bent down, her hair trailing over his chest, mouth watering at the prospect of tasting his skin—

She abruptly shut down that very rogue thought and blurted out hotly, ‘You’re impossible. This whole situation is impossible.’

‘Like I said before, there’s nothing stopping you from walking out the door, Keelin. I’m no gaoler,’ he pointed out unhelpfully.

She made a pfft sound. ‘As if you’d let me thwart your chances now.’

Gianni shrugged and gave all the appearance of being at ease but she could sense the tension in him. ‘I’m sure I can find a deal to achieve global distribution elsewhere, but not with half the kudos that O’Connor’s can bring me, so no, I won’t let you thwart my chances.’

In a fit of angry frustration, Keelin turned back to the view, aghast to feel the prickle of hot tears. Dammit. She would not let this man make her cry.

‘You looked happy in the photo in your father’s office.’

Keelin blinked and went still, surprised as much by the abrupt change of subject as the fact that Gianni had noticed that photo.

Slowly she turned around again, crossing her arms tight across her chest. ‘What did you imagine, Gianni? That the picture was taken by a loving father indulging his daughter in her favourite activity?’

She answered herself. ‘As you’ve seen this evening, that’s hardly the case. That picture was taken on a hacienda in Andalusia. I went out there one summer with a schoolfriend—’ She just stopped herself in time from saying, Because my parents were too busy to spend time with me, hating the moment of self-pity.

‘One of the trainers took the picture. When my father saw it on my phone he insisted he get a copy of it. It’s not in his office as a tender reminder of his daughter. It’s there because he likes to promote the myth that we are a normal loving family.’

Gianni’s face was inscrutable. ‘What was it about the horses that you liked so much?’

Now Keelin felt even more exposed. ‘Why do you want to know?’ she asked tetchily.

Gianni sounded almost weary. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘We need to get to know each other, Keelin.’

Her immediate instinct was to deny this but then something of his weariness and the futility of this whole situation crept into her system and the urge to fight seemed to dissolve away, treacherously.

She avoided Gianni’s eye and shrugged minutely. ‘It was the first time anyone gave me responsibility for something. Proper responsibility. They needed an extra pair of hands because one of their grooms was taken ill.’

She looked up, but Gianni was still expressionless. It made it easier. ‘I stayed at the stables with the grooms, in the most rudimentary of accommodation. When we weren’t working with the horses and exercising them, we helped with picking the vines for the harvest. I’d never worked so hard. I don’t think I knew what work was until then and it made me realise that I could be of use, that I had the ability to make a difference, work within a team.’

What she didn’t say was that those were the happiest days of her life, living so simply and freely. For once not thinking of some new way to make her father notice her. Even though, when he found out what she’d been doing, he hit the roof and dragged her back home. He wouldn’t let her into his world, but he also wasn’t going to see his daughter doing dirty work. Her mother had been disgusted. She’d gone conker brown and had calluses all over her hands.

Then Gianni said, ‘I spent some of my summers picking vines too.’

Keelin’s heart lurched. ‘You did?’

He nodded. ‘I used to go back to Sicily with my grandfather to help pick vines for his oldest friend. That’s where I learnt everything there is to know about wine.’

‘Oh,’ Keelin said a little lamely, finding it hard not to think of a young Gianni stripped to the waist, olive skin gleaming with sweat and muscles moving sinuously as he worked.

‘I mean it, Keelin.’ He said softly now, ‘I will build you a hacienda and fill it with horses if that’s what will make you happy.’

Before, this statement might have incited her to rage, but now she felt as if he’d soothed something inside her. Dangerous. He was just using another tactic to get her where he wanted.

‘I want to work, Gianni. I want to be counted. I want a place on the board of O’Connor’s, my rightful place. That’s what I want, and I don’t think it fits in with your idea of a dutiful wife.’

His mouth firmed. They were back to square one. ‘I have to admit that it isn’t exactly how I envisaged things but that’s not to say that we can’t discuss it. I want you to be happy, Keelin.’

She knew without pursuing it that Gianni might concede her some kind of Mickey Mouse position just to placate her. She’d been too inured by her father’s ways to trust that once they were married Gianni would give her any power at all. She realised then that she’d lost the ability to trust in any man giving her what she wanted.

She hated that she’d revealed herself to him now. She’d never told anyone about how important that time in Spain had been to her. She felt exposed.

‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Her weary tone matched his. ‘I can buy my own hacienda and fill it with horses if I so wish, but I’ll do it on my terms, with my own hard-earned money. I’m still going to do everything in my power to see that this marriage falls apart.’

‘That’s the annoying thing though,’ Gianni said with deceptive mildness. ‘I’ve no intention of this falling apart.’

CHAPTER FIVE

KEELIN KNEW THAT Gianni meant what he said. He would do whatever it took to get her up that aisle and then firmly sequester her somewhere out of the way while he got on with amassing power and a fortune, exactly like her father. Even though, for a second, she’d caught a glimpse of another side of Gianni. One that she never would have expected to feel empathy with.

He unfolded his arms then and checked his watch. ‘Much as I’d love to stay and chat, I have some international calls to make.’

He was backing away, leaving, and to Keelin’s horror she felt a lurch, as if all the cells in her body wanted to go with him. She took a step back.

He stopped then as if he’d just thought of something. He said silkily, ‘Oh, and I should let you know that I’ve decided to bring our wedding forward by a week, to capitalise on the success of this evening.’

Shock took a second to reverberate through her system. Her mouth opened. She’d been a fool to consider a mutual feeling of empathy for a second. He was ruthless to the bone. ‘Can you even do that?’

Gianni smiled but it was infinitely mocking. ‘With my underground connections? I can do what I like. So by this time next week we’ll be man and wife, Keelin.’

Her arms were so tight around herself that she was almost stopping the blood flow to her upper body. She forced out sarcastically, ‘Your eagerness to marry me is truly personally flattering.’

Gianni’s smile turned enigmatic. ‘I wouldn’t be so cruel as to pretend otherwise for a second.’

And with a brief hard smile, he turned and left the garden, disappearing through overhanging foliage. In a fit of delayed anger—why was it that her reactions which were usually so crystal-sharp felt more sluggish around Gianni?—Keelin made an inarticulate sound of frustration and turned around again, the view doing little to soothe her. It mocked her, as if to say, Why can’t you just be happy with this?

She looked down then and saw Gianni emerge confidently from the main hotel entrance just below. Instinctively she moved closer to the terrace wall so she could see better. His driver jumped out to open his door for him but at the last second Gianni stopped and said something to him. He pulled off his jacket and threw it into the car and turned and walked off, hands in his pockets, broad shoulders slightly hunched, head down. Dark and formidable against the mild early-summer Roman night.

Keelin drew back a little, almost as if he might turn and look up at her, catch her staring.

Curiously, her anger defused slightly. She found herself wondering why he’d decided to walk. Was he having a fit of conscience? Wondering if he really could go through with a marriage of convenience to someone who hated him?

And did she hate him? She hated this situation she was in. But she had to admit that in other circumstances she would find Gianni intriguing, and far too dangerously attractive. He was so composed. Controlled. And ruthless. Something roiled inside her to think that after all she’d been through, some part of her psyche resonated with powerful ambitious men like her father.

And then she had to realise that by pursuing this dogged and crazy plan, she was doing nothing less than exhibiting her own ruthlessness and ambition. The fact that she embodied those traits, too, did not sit well for a moment.

A very rogue image slid into Keelin’s mind; of her, coming out of the hotel behind Gianni and slipping her hand into his. And of him turning to look down, a smile on his face. The kind of easy smile that she’d seen him bestow on people all night at the party but not her. Because when he looked at her it was always with a mix of mockery, disdain or anger. But maybe he’d stop this time and turn and put his hands around her face and there would be a different look in his eyes—

What the hell was wrong with her?

Keelin whirled away from the wall with enough force to make her stumble slightly. She was breathing heavily, her heart racing. Damn Gianni Delucca. What was she doing mooning after him like some kind of groupie, forgetting about the bombshell he’d just dropped?

Keelin went back up to her suite, and once inside, she kicked off her heels and paced up and down, restless at the thought of the wedding happening in a few days. She had nothing to hide from Gianni any more. They were on a level playing pitch now, so as far as she was concerned, nothing had changed and it was still very much game on to derail this wedding and she would utilise whatever arsenal she could lay her hands on to achieve this.

As if the universe wanted to help her, Keelin noticed the front of the local newspaper that was delivered to her suite every day. It featured a colourful picture of a famous celebrity leaving the rival Chatsfield Hotel in Rome.Keelin’s mouth curved into a smile as an audacious plan took root in her head.

* * *

As Gianni approached his apartment and office building after walking from the Harrington Hotel, he still felt restless. And he knew it wasn’t just the pent-up lust in his system. He still wasn’t quite sure how he’d kept his hands off Keelin after that incendiary kiss at the party. And just now? She’d looked as mad as hell and sexy with it. Her vibrant red hair tumbled over one pale shoulder. Cheeks pink, mouth still slightly swollen from that kiss. Green eyes flashing when he’d imparted the news of bringing the wedding forward, a mutinous set to her jaw.

Knowing how determined she was to get out of this marriage, Gianni had decided to bring the wedding forward, telling himself it was purely a strategic business move.

So why had he had to steel himself inwardly and call on the kind of ruthlessness he employed when making a tough business decision when he’d told her? Because when Keelin had confided in him about her time in Andalusia, it had impacted him on a level he hadn’t expected. He’d been able to see that fresh-faced image of her all too easily and it was a million miles from the kind of woman he might have believed her to be, even without all the fake tan and blingy jewellery.

And the fact that she always seemed so ready to fight, to rebel, had impacted on him too. Gianni had the strong and uncomfortable feeling that life for her had been one battle or another for a long time. He didn’t like how that made him feel, almost protective.

So he’d had to push all that down. Be remorseless. For all he knew, it was a sob story, concocted to appeal to his sympathies. Although something about the reluctance with which she’d told him made it ring true. And now he couldn’t get that image of her smiling face out of his head.

But he had to. Because she would be upping her game now and pulling out every trick in the book to try and sabotage this wedding and Gianni would be the biggest fool on the planet if he didn’t suspect as much and act accordingly.

* * *

‘Miss O’Connor, are you sure that Signor Delucca has agreed to this?’

Keelin smiled sweetly. ‘Oh, yes, my fiancé has given me carte blanche to make all the arrangements and he really doesn’t expect to be bothered with questions. You can leave all that to me.’

The nice wedding planner, Allessandra, looked at Keelin a little doubtfully but then smiled too, and said confidentially and not without a little relief, ‘In all honesty I find Signor Delucca quite intimidating.’

Keelin patted the girl’s hand. ‘I understand completely, so it’s better this way.’

It was two days before the wedding and Keelin had finally pushed Gianni so far with a never-ending list of questions about the arrangements that he’d texted her the previous day and said succinctly, Do what you like, Keelin. I don’t care if you turn up in a clown’s outfit on Saturday afternoon as long as you’re there. G.

So she had taken his words to heart and was calmly and diligently wreaking a little havoc with everything Gianni had ordered for the wedding.

The first thing to go had been the wedding dress he’d apparently chosen for her. She’d taken one look at it and felt a betraying hitch in her breathing. Because if she had one uncynical bone left in her body, one tiny atom left where she harboured any kind of romantic dream of marrying a soul mate, then this was the dress she would wear.

It was elegant, off-white. Strapless with an unstructured sweetheart neckline, it hugged the breasts and torso before falling in delicate folds of chiffon to the floor. Whimsical and romantic.

So naturally, she’d chosen another, altogether far less suitable dress. Not that she had any hopes he’d actually see her in it. But it would be enough that she might be photographed in it to add to the furore.

She’d barely seen Gianni in the past few days because he’d been busy with meetings. This suited Keelin fine. She was still suffering from sudden and random memory flashes of the rough and smooth slide of his tongue against hers as he’d kissed her senseless in front of everyone at the engagement party. And she couldn’t even blame him!

She pushed down the niggle of her conscience as she made the most drastic changes to the wedding yet, and told herself that she was doing this for her very survival.

* * *

Gianni cursed volubly when his cufflink slipped free for the third time while trying to close it.

Dio.

He stopped and took a breath. What the hell was wrong with him? Anyone would think he was having traditional bridegroom jitters! For what was in all essence just part of a business merger.

Part of a business merger that was happening today. He’d been reliably informed that Keelin O’Connor was in her hotel, apparently making her own preparations. And that she hadn’t fled the country.

Perhaps she was hoping that he would balk at the final hurdle? The reality of marriage a little too much to take? And in truth, he did feel slightly constricted at the thought but not enough to jeopardise everything he’d worked so hard for. It had more to do with her effect on him, that lack of control he felt around her.

The cufflink finally slid home and Gianni gave himself a critical once-over in the mirror. Dressed in a dark grey morning suit with a light grey silk cravat tie, he was the epitomy of sartorial elegance, but for once he didn’t feel that measure of satisfaction at another sign that he was removing himself from his past.

He felt uneasy now that he’d allowed Keelin to needle him enough to give her carte blanche to organise the wedding arrangements. He’d assured himself that she couldn’t get up to too much trouble right under his nose, could she?

For someone who never doubted his instincts, Gianni pushed aside the concern and flicked a glance at his watch and cursed himself again. He was ready too early for the afternoon ceremony. Like some kind of besotted fool? No, he assured himself, he just wanted to get this wedding over with so that he could get on with merging forces with O’Connor.

This urgency he felt was purely for that, nothing else.

When someone knocked on the door of his apartment he welcomed the distraction, opening it to reveal his assistant, looking scared and holding a local tabloid paper. The young man cleared his voice. ‘Have you spoken to Miss O’Connor today?’

Gianni immediately went cold. ‘No. Why?’

His assistant handed him the paper, where a blazing headline read Delucca’s Fiancée Snubs Harrington in Favour of Chatsfield for Lavish Wedding Ceremony!

It took a long second for the news to sink in. Keelin had gone behind his back and changed the venue, capitalising on the very public rivalry between the hotel dynasties to generate as much adverse publicity as possible.

Gianni forced the swell of rage down and said grimly, ‘Get my driver and car.’

The assistant rushed off, only too happy to get out of Gianni’s dark angry orbit.

Keelin would not get away with this. But first, it was time to go and make her his wife.

* * *

‘Well, where the hell is he?’

Keelin tried to curb any sense of obvious excitement at her father’s increasingly angry questions as to the whereabouts of her apparently absent fiancé.

She was light-headed at the audacity of what she was doing and she quashed the niggle of her conscience when she recalled the injured looks and feverish whispering she’d left behind at the Harrington Hotel after telling them she was moving the wedding. But it had been too good an opportunity to miss. Gianni had clearly favoured a discreetly elegant affair at The Harrington with the emphasis on discretion, and so Keelin had seen an opportunity to turn the wedding into a far more publicly opulent and luxurious extravaganza, much to The Chatsfield PR’s delight, always eager to score points where possible and take the focus off The Harrington’s latest venture—an ice bar in Russia which was all over the papers because it was being created by billionaire Lukas Kovach.

It also just so happened that one of Keelin’s oldest school friends from her junior boarding school in Ireland was Orla Kennedy, who was now married to Antonio Chatsfield, the scion of the Chatsfield family, so one phone call was all it had taken to unleash a little carnage.

Where forty guests had been expected, over a hundred now jostled for space in The Chatsfield’s sumptuously decorated ballroom. There were enough flowers to open a shop.

‘Well?’

Her father’s voice and the low rumble of voices from the ballroom next door made her snap back to attention. Keelin tried to look worried. ‘I don’t know, Father, maybe he’s had second thoughts.’

Her conscience twinged. Or maybe Gianni is completely unaware about the latest developments thanks to her blithely informing everyone that he’d sanctioned the changes and didn’t want to be bothered about the minutiae.

Her father went pale and Keelin’s gaze narrowed on him. Did he really care that much? But before she could interpret that nugget, a knock came on the door and Allessandra the wedding planner stepped into the room.

The woman had been looking almost sick with anxiety before, but now her face was wreathed in smiles and Keelin barely had a chance to suspect the worst when she said with clear relief, ‘The groom has arrived. You should take your places.’

Keelin could feel the colour leach from her face. No. This isn’t how it was meant to go. She’d deliberately made sure everyone but Gianni was aware of the location and earlier time change. And right about when everyone would be feeling sorry for the jilted bride, he’d be realising far too late what she’d done. Too late to do anything but appear to have stood her up.

But he was here.

She was barely aware of her father taking her arm in a firm grip and saying, ‘About time. I knew he wouldn’t bail.’

Keelin was in too much shock to see the colour return to her father’s face. The Wedding March was playing, the guests had gone quiet. Someone pulled her veil over her face and pushed a bouquet into her hands. And then the door opened and her father propelled her forward.

* * *

Gianni felt Keelin arrive alongside him in front of the registrar for this civil ceremony. He was still too angry to look at her but he turned his head eventually and his eyes widened at the sight of her. A shot of lust went straight to his groin.

He didn’t know why he should have expected her to be wearing the elegant wedding dress he’d picked out, but he still wasn’t prepared to see her in a tight lace sheath of a dress that ended somewhere around her upper thighs, displaying those long bare legs to perfection.

Sheer sleeves and a lace neckline above the bodice was almost laughingly demure when every provocative curve of her body was lovingly outlined by the material.

Her hair was down in sleek red waves and a short veil covered her face but he could see through the gauzy material that she was pale and looking straight ahead. Something caught the corner of his eye and he looked down to see her hands in a white-knuckle grip around the bouquet, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Gianni recognised that she was obviously in shock that he’d thwarted her plans, so with a quick nod to the celebrant he urged him on, knowing he needed to take advantage of this moment. He ruthlessly drove down any concerns about the evident lengths Keelin had gone to to signal her reluctance for this union. He’d narrowly averted a PR disaster but he was here now and he would deal with his errant wife afterwards.

* * *

Keelin was walking back down the aisle, her mouth still tingling from Gianni’s hard kiss with her hand tucked firmly in his arm, before she seemed to come out of the slightly nightmarish paralysis that had gripped her ever since she’d realised she hadn’t succeeded in derailing the wedding.

Everyone was clapping as they walked into a lavishly laid-out ballroom for the wedding reception/lunch. But Gianni veered away from the waiting staff and guests, saying curtly, ‘Give us a minute please,’ and took Keelin’s hand, all but dragging her over to a doorway which led into a little anteroom.

He pushed her in ahead of him none too gently and came in behind her, shutting the door. Keelin turned to face him, legs wobbly from shock, and a delayed surge of adrenalin. Had she really just repeated vows to this man? And signed a register? Like some kind of pathetic automaton?

Gianni was livid, and somewhere it registered uncomfortably into Keelin’s mind that she felt a kick of excitement to see him after the few days of little or no contact.

His accent was thicker than she’d heard it before. ‘Did you imagine that right about now you’d be playing the part of the poor jilted bride crying crocodile tears while the local rags drooled over the salacious headlines?’

Keelin opened her mouth but clearly he didn’t expect an answer.

‘If your acting was going to be anything like the performance you subjected me to when we first met, then they would have seen through you in seconds,’ Gianni said with derision dripping from his voice.

Keelin’s own anger at having sleepwalked through her worst nightmare finally broke through the shock and she gesticulated wildly with the hand holding the bouquet. ‘Well, you didn’t! So I might just have got away with it.’

Gianni’s mouth tightened. ‘You won’t be walking anywhere now except out of this hotel with me, as man and wife.’

He reached for her free hand and held it up to face her so she could see the platinum band of her wedding ring glinting mockingly under the lights. And then he held up his own hand, displaying the matching ring. ‘See? For better or worse, mia moglie.’ My wife.

The sight of those wedding bands side by side gave Keelin a jolt and it wasn’t one entirely of disgust. She’d always vowed not to be like her mother, married to a man just for the sake of security. Yet here she was, married, and she couldn’t seem to drum up the appropriate sense of rage. Gianni was scrambling her responses. And her brain.

But before she could make sense of that, he cupped her jaw, a look of unmistakable determination on his face, voice rough. ‘The sooner we consummate this marriage and make it real in every sense, the better.’

Keelin immediately felt breathless, a rush of excitement zinging straight to the cluster of nerves between her legs. She gritted her jaw. No way was he going to have her flat on her back and exposing all of her vulnerabilities to his blistering gaze. She still hid so much from him, not least of which was the fact that she was innocent and had a very real fear of a man making her feel powerless, and threatened. ‘Dream on, Delucca. I will not be sharing your bed.’

He just smiled. Infuriatingly confident. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’

And then with dismayingly easy strength he slid his hand around to the back of her neck and tugged her towards him, his other arm going around her waist to draw her up against his rock-hard aroused body.

To find him so ready, in the midst of this heated exchange, made Keelin burn. A giddy rush of instant desire rose up in answer to his body’s question. She wanted him too, and the knowledge mocked her. Where was the fear now? She’d lie down all too easily for this man, that was the problem, in spite of what had happened to her.

‘I thought I told you already. I have strong moral views and this will be a marriage in name and practice.’

Keelin opened her mouth to object even if her body wouldn’t but the light was blocked and her mouth was covered by the firm contours of Gianni’s lips, moving expertly, enticing. For a betraying few seconds, her entire being cleaved to his, her mouth clinging, tongues tangling passionately. And then, somehow—she wasn’t sure how—just before she lost any ability to stay clear, she bit down on his lower lip, making him pull back abruptly with a crude curse.

When she saw the droplet of blood and his tongue snake out to touch it her insides tightened with remorse. If he knew how innocent she really was, he would laugh his head off.

‘I meant it, Gianni.’ She felt shaky, and wasn’t sure what she really meant any more.

He licked away the blood, his eyes dark. And she found it hard to focus, or remember why she’d bitten him.

‘And I meant it too, gattino. You shouldn’t display your claws unless you’re prepared for the consequences. As much as I’d like to prove you wrong here and now, I refuse to let you reduce us to such baseness with a hundred guests waiting on the other side of this door. Another time perhaps.’

He took her hand and opened the door and then stopped dead. Keelin couldn’t see past him because his big frame blocked the doorway, and then he rounded on her so fast her head spun. If she’d thought he’d looked livid before then, now his rage was infinitely worse.

‘And who the hell invited my father’s old cronies?’

Keelin’s blood drained south and she swallowed. It had felt like a risky thing to do when she’d thought of it but she’d ignored her conscience when she’d decided to make contact with Gianni’s mother before the wedding.

‘I, er, mentioned something to your mother about being sure to welcome anyone she wanted to invite.’

Gianni’s eyes were so black now they looked like cold obsidian, and all that heat had been replaced by ice. Keelin suppressed a shiver. She really didn’t know this man or what he was capable of, although she did trust implicitly that he wouldn’t hurt her. Not physically anyway. Even if he did look as though he wanted to throttle her right now.

‘Don’t you ever use my mother like that again, got it? You leave her out of this vendetta against me, Keelin.’

The clear warning ringing in his voice rendered her a little mute as something went tight in her belly, to recognise his protective streak and know that the last person it would ever be directed towards would be her.

* * *

A few interminable hours later as guests finally began to depart—his mother being one of the first as she hated leaving her home unless it was vitally necessary— Gianni was still seething with a mix of anger and mounting sexual frustration.

How dared Keelin use his mother just to score a point off him?

When he’d properly registered who the extra guests were, his blood had almost boiled over to see those familiar old faces from his father’s past, battered and bruised, hardened by the lives they’d lived and the things they’d seen.

Silly to think he’d felt a measure of complacency in believing he was far enough removed from them by now, but no. It had been like getting a cold blast of water in his face. He’d almost heard his father’s mocking laugh and rough voice in his ear: ‘So you’re too good for us now, heh?’

He could also see the headlines undoubtedly being run up at that very moment: Delucca’s Wedding Brings Out Familiar Faces... Like Father Like Son After All?

Gianni was mildly relieved to note that thankfully most of his father’s friends had left by now.

But the person who had subjected him to this very unwelcome scrutiny was still very much here and on the other side of the room, talking very energetically to a group of rapt-looking guests.

Keelin had studiously avoided him from the moment they’d emerged from the anteroom. Even while eating, she’d been practically sitting in the lap of the person beside her, rather than talk to him.

Wherever he’d moved, she’d gone in the opposite direction as if they were made of opposing magnets, when Gianni knew that was anything but the case. Just before she’d bitten his lip earlier, he’d felt her body tipping over the edge, softening, curving into his. She wanted him.

And he wanted her with a hunger made more intense by that edge of anger. It might have concerned him at any other time, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her sleek curves in that ridiculous dress. His hands itched to take it off and devour her until something of this ravenous beast inside him was slayed. He felt rough and raw, the reminder of the past far too close for comfort.

Making his excuses to the people around him, Gianni strode across the room to his wife. Her back was to him but he saw her stiffen minutely just as he came alongside her and took her hand in his with a firm grip.

Predictably she tried to break free but his grip tightened. He smiled urbanely even as he battled to keep his libido and body under control, just for a while longer. Until he could be alone with this biting gattino and tame her once and for all.

The guests melted away with knowing looks and smiles. Keelin turned to Gianni. She still wore the veil even though it was slightly askew. She held a glass of wine in her hand and her cheeks looked suspiciously flushed.

He took the drink and put it down, saying stringently, ‘I don’t like women who drink excessively in public.’

Keelin hissed, ‘Well, then maybe you shouldn’t have married me. It’s never too early to start divorce proceedings, you know.’

Gianni straightened up and looked at her and something in his chest tightened. She wasn’t drunk, he could see that. She looked beautiful. Angry, but stunning. Green eyes huge and mossy. Mouth ripe for kissing. And he intended to. But not here.

He curbed his libido. Soon—within a matter of hours—she would be under him and finally giving him the first sense of satisfaction and peace he’d had since he’d agreed to this whole thing. With the anticipation of that carnal satisfaction snaking through his blood and taking some of the edge off his anger, he said, ‘There will be no more talk of divorce. It’s time to go, mia amata.’

Immediately she tensed. ‘Where?’

Lust tightened his body in spite of his best efforts and fired up his blood. He smiled. ‘On our honeymoon, of course. I can’t wait to get you all to myself.’

CHAPTER SIX

WITHOUT EVEN GIVING her time to change, Gianni bundled Keelin, veil and all, into a waiting limousine outside the Chatsfield Hotel, accompanied by the inevitable flashes of the paparazzi cameras. They pulled out smoothly into the Rome evening traffic after Gianni had taken his seat in the back.

She had been avoiding him and that simmering rage all afternoon like a coward. Every time she’d looked at him she’d just seen those black eyes and the banked fire in their depths, and could still feel the firmness of his lip between her teeth all over again. And the guilt to have been audacious enough to encourage his mother to invite those people, especially when the meek and mild woman had said nervously, ‘I don’t know, Gianni won’t like it.’

So now she felt doubly guilty. When she was the one who had been marched up the aisle. So why didn’t you just turn and run? asked a snarky inner voice. Keelin ignored it, that feeling of inevitability and how she’d succumbed to it, too vivid for her liking.

She only realised then that she was still, ridiculously, holding on to her bouquet. She said a little redundantly now, ‘I should have thrown it.’

Gianni plucked it out of her hand and pressed a button so that his window slid down. A group of female tourists were standing on a corner reading a map near where the car was stalled at a red light. Gianni shouted out, ‘Signora!’

They looked up and Keelin could see their collective double takes as they took in who was calling to them and she could have rolled her eyes. But then he was calling out, ‘Catch!’ and he lobbed out the bouquet which flew high into the air and then into one of the girl’s outstretched hands. Much to her squealing delight.

Gianni didn’t respond, he just hit the button and the window slid back up again. Keelin’s mouth had opened in shock. He looked at her as the car moved off again, a mocking glint in his eyes. ‘Is it not traditional for the groom to throw it?’

Keelin shut her mouth and then said icily, ‘No, it’s not. But then not a lot about this wedding is traditional.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Gianni growled softly, ‘I have every intention of this marriage becoming very traditional very soon.’

Her breath shortened at the explicit look in Gianni’s eyes. ‘We have to talk about this. You can’t seriously expect that we’re going to just—’

He cut her off. ‘I do seriously expect that this marriage will be a real and enduring one, Keelin, so the sooner you come to terms with that, the better.’

She crossed her arms over her chest and was aware of how ridiculous she must look. Angrily she ripped the veil off her head then, wincing as pins caught in her hair. She shrank back when Gianni hissed his disapproval and put out a hand as if to help.

‘It’s fine. I can do it.’

She continued to pick out pins and said angrily, ‘Since when did someone like you ever want to have a real and enduring marriage?’

Gianni’s anger matched hers. ‘Since it came with a business deal that will make Delucca a brand name all over the world and a wife who I want more than any other woman.’

Keelin was fired up and ready to blast back with a response but her words dissolved on her tongue. A wife who I want more than any other woman.

And just like that she could feel something crumble inside her, give way. Treacherously. She dragged her gaze away from his long enough to notice that they were driving into an airfield where a helicopter was waiting.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, avoiding thinking about what he’d just said and how it made her feel.

Gianni seemed to curb his anger. ‘We’re going to my villa in Umbria. For a week. It’s remote enough to keep you out of mischief and it’s where we can really get to know each other and start our happily married life together.’

The fact that his words held a sarcastic edge made Keelin feel stupid for having lost her focus for a second.

‘Does it have a tower?’ she asked tartly. ‘So you can lock me away and just call this marriage what it is—a prison?’

He tutted and smiled a little. ‘Such a dramatic imagination. Bondage, imprisonment, whatever will you think of next?’

Keelin wanted to launch herself at him across the back of the car and wring his neck but he was opening his door and stepping out of the car before she could do anything. The driver had opened her door and was waiting solicitously for her to get out too.

She eventually did, huffily. Still clutching the veil. Gianni was lifting two small suitcases out of the boot and carrying them over to the helicopter where a pilot was waiting. Keelin followed, reluctantly. ‘What about the rest of my things?’

Gianni threw back carelessly, ‘They’ve been sent on ahead.’

She muttered something under her breath about hoping he’d remembered to pack the hair shirts. When she caught up with him at the helicopter he turned and said dryly, ‘I wouldn’t dream of marking your skin with a hair shirt, Keelin. You’ll dress in nothing but silk and satin, for my delectation.’

She scowled at him, not liking the way she had a sudden urge to see the expression on Gianni’s face if she was to parade before him in some sensual silk concoction.

‘Neanderthal.’

He just smiled but behind it Keelin could see the remnants of his anger. He still hadn’t forgiven her for almost derailing the wedding. Or for engineering the invitation of his father’s henchmen.

He held out a hand and she looked at it warily. Gianni’s smile faded and he said crisply, ‘It’s a long walk back into Rome in a short wedding dress and high heels, Keelin.’

Giving in to the inevitable, she slapped her hand into his and let him help her up and into the aircraft. He buckled her in, big capable hands moving far too close to her belly and breasts with proprietorial ease. As if she was already his. She might be in name, but not in the way it mattered most, deep in her body and soul. And she vowed then that he would never reach that part of her. At least then she’d have rights to sue for divorce on grounds of nonconsummation!

Gianni took the veil out of her hand. ‘I don’t think you need this any more, do you?’

He didn’t wait for an answer, just put it somewhere in the back with the bags. The pilot joined them, climbing into the front, greeting Keelin warmly and not looking remotely fazed to have a petulant-looking bride for a passenger. Gianni shut Keelin’s door and then he swung into the other seat at the front and handed her some headphones. ‘Put these on.’

She took them and smiled faux sweetly. ‘Yes, sir.’

It was only when she saw him communicate with the pilot and flip some switches that she realised that Gianni was co-piloting the helicopter. The rotor blades were whirring now and any grudging admiration she might have felt went south with her belly when the small craft lifted off the ground with a wobbly tilt and then into the dusky sky.

When Keelin had got over her white-knuckle terror of being on her first helicopter ride, she looked down and could see Rome spread out beneath her. Gianni’s voice came into her headphones. ‘Look down to the right, you’ll see the Colosseum.’

Keelin did, and sucked in a breath. It was so beautiful, already illuminated in floodlights for the early evening. Gianni proceeded to point out other landmarks and Keelin was struck dumb by the experience, and also because he was being so solicitous.

He stopped the travelogue when they were clearly leaving Rome behind and she felt absurdly buoyant after the experience. She had to force herself to look away from the back of his dark silky hair and broad shoulders. He’d just been polite, that’s all. But she wouldn’t have expected it of him after the roller coaster of the day.

The problem was, for a small moment Keelin had almost fooled herself into thinking that they were a couple heading off on a romantic honeymoon, for real. And it hadn’t felt all that disturbing.

* * *

By the time they were landing Keelin’s knuckles were white with fear again. It was too dark now to really make out the surroundings. The helicopter touched down with a small bounce, and when the engine was switched off and the blades had stopped turning, the silence was almost deafening.

Gianni was opening her door and Keelin’s mouth went dry. His short hair was tousled and his tie was undone, the top button of his shirt open. He held out a hand and after a moment Keelin let him take hers, feeling those long fingers wrap tight around her.

He said goodbye to the pilot and was leading her over to a jeep parked nearby. After putting bags in the back, he got into the front beside her and she saw that keys had been left in the ignition. Clearly they were on his private estate.

Feeling seriously intimidated she asked, ‘Where are we exactly?’

Gianni was focusing on driving along a rough path. ‘We’re not too far from a town called Montefalco, south of Perugia.’‘Oh.’

They came to a halt outside the entrance of a grand-looking villa. The door opened and light spilled out along with the figure of a petite older woman dressed in black. Gianni got out and greeted her with warm kisses on both cheeks. She was already taking the bags off him and he called something out to her as she went back inside. She laughed in response and it made Keelin’s hackles rise as she could well imagine Gianni had said something about his wife.

She hated not knowing what they’d said and found herself making a vow to learn Italian before she stopped herself—what was she thinking? She wouldn’t be married long enough to need Italian!

Gianni came around to the passenger door and she was out before he could touch her. The old woman was back now, without their bags.

Gianni said, ‘Keelin, meet Lucia Cabreze, who runs the villa.’

Innate good manners made Keelin move forward to accept the hand she was offered and she smiled. No need for this woman to suffer because she hated Gianni.

He explained Lucia’s apologetic expression. ‘She doesn’t speak English but she hopes you’ll be happy here. I’ve assured her you will.’

Keelin smiled back and tried to indicate the same sentiment while shooting Gianni a filthy look.

Then the woman stood back and made a shooing gesture for them to go inside. No doubt so that there could be no further delay in getting down to the business at hand.

Keelin yelped when Gianni dipped and she felt herself being lifted into his arms. ‘What are you doing?’ she gritted, her heart pounding shamefully at this over-the-top masculine gesture.

Gianni, not remotely out of breath as he climbed the steps, said easily, ‘Lucia will expect it, she’s traditional. And don’t you know it’s an ancient Roman custom to carry brides over the threshold because they’re not meant to be happy at leaving their father’s houses? So they had to appear to be all but dragged into their new homes.’

Keelin huffed inelegantly as Gianni climbed an inner set of stairs. ‘Well, this is wrong on both counts, so you could have saved yourself the bother.’

Gianni was striding along a dark corridor now and he said, ‘The other advantage is that it gets me where I want you that bit quicker.’

He finally put her down outside a door and opened it to reveal a vast suite bathed in soft romantic lighting. A huge four-poster bed dressed in lush dark red sheets was the focal point. It was a room for sensual abandon. A room for lovers.

Keelin turned around and came face to face with Gianni’s chest. She looked up and could only see the stark and determined lines of his face. Her gut turned to jelly. He put his hands on her arms and slowly walked her backwards into the room, kicking the door shut behind him with a foot.

Her heart was thumping, blood racing. ‘Gianni, please, we should talk about this.’ She winced inwardly when she recalled her words: I’ve been with, like, tons of guys.

He took his arms off her and moved into the room, saying curtly, ‘Funnily enough, I’m done with talking.’ He pulled off his jacket and threw it down on a chair, a hand reaching up to his cravat.

Keelin gulped.

‘Don’t just stand there, mia moglie, take off your dress.’

When she didn’t move he just said coldly, ‘Now.’ He tore off his cravat and started on the buttons of his shirt to reveal his magnificent chest bit by bit, and panic gripped Keelin in earnest. He was so masculine.

When his shirt was half open he made a sound of frustration and irritation deep in his throat and abandoned undoing more buttons to stride over to Keelin.

Black eyes raked her up and down and he said throatily, ‘Do you know what this dress has done to me all day?’

Keelin shook her head, fascinated by the intensity in his expression. He reached out and traced the lace edging that sat against her collarbone. Her breath hitched and her nipples went stiff against the material. Her hands felt sweaty.

‘This dress has kept me on the very edge of my control. You wore it deliberately to provoke me, didn’t you? Even if you did harbour the somewhat misguided hope that you could actually avoid marrying me.‘Maybe,’ he said now, musingly, ‘I should have tried reverse psychology with you from the start? If I’d sent you this dress to wear, then you might have worn the other one, but you know what? I prefer this, because this dress is all about one thing—the only thing I’m interested in right now.’

Feeling dazed, and mesmerised, conscious of Gianni’s finger moving back and forth seductively under the neck of the dress against her skin, she just said faintly, ‘What’s that?’

He looked at her, black clashing with green.

‘Sex, Keelin. I want to make love to my beautiful wife.’

And with the most gentle yet deliberate of movements he brought his finger down the center of her dress, and the delicate lace ripped apart like butter melting either side of a hot knife until he got to the top of the bodice under the lace, just above her cleavage.

Then his other hand came up and with both hands he tore the lace edging away completely from front and back, so now Keelin stood before him in a strapless sheath of a minidress, with the remains of her sheer lace sleeves still on her arms. She might have appreciated the sartorial edginess of the look if she wasn’t engulfed in shock and heat.

Gianni looked down at her, seeing her breasts barely confined by the bodice. For a moment she had a vision of him ripping that clean apart too. The fact that she wanted him to make love to her was a revelation that she couldn’t really wrap her head around. How had it come to this so quickly? And yet she knew that if she had a choice right now, she wouldn’t walk away. She was burning up inside and only he could assuage that.

She also had a keen sense of just how far she’d pushed him this time. He was clearly not in a gentle mood. And even though a part of her felt excited at his passion, another more sensible part knew she had to tell him the truth.

Her voice was shaky. ‘Gianni, wait, there’s something I should tell you.’

They were way beyond games now. Here was a bristling alpha male demanding his mate, and Keelin knew from the bulge in his trousers that she’d been aware of all day that he was more than ready to take her to bed. And while a part of her thrilled at that and ached for it too, she couldn’t. Not like this. She wasn’t experienced enough for him in this mood.

He bit out, ‘Keelin, so help me, Dio.’

Fear fluttered along Keelin’s nerve endings dousing her desire. ‘The thing is, I haven’t been entirely honest.’

He was silent for a long moment and then he emitted a curt unamused laugh. ‘Honest? Principessa, you wouldn’t know honesty if it jumped up and bit you on the ass.’

Keelin stung at that and she curled in on herself, inwardly. This man hated her. He was only marrying her because she came with a pass to unlimited business growth and potential. And here she was quivering before him like a virgin on their wedding night. Well, that might be because you are a virgin, a voice pointed out.

Gianni wrapped two hands around Keelin’s waist, hauling her into his hard body. His hard, hot body.

‘Bella, I know exactly what you are now. An amoral spoilt little liar who seeks only to get her own way, but I’ve won this round and now it’s time for my prize and I’m going to claim it before I die of frustration.’

Then his mouth was on hers, hot and hard and demanding and so ruthlessly passionate that it scrambled every one of Keelin’s functioning brain cells. Every corner of her body wanted this in spite of what her head was telling her about going slowly.

It was only when she felt his hands come to the zip at the back of the dress that some sanity broke through. She pulled her mouth away and pushed both hands against his chest. Hard. ‘No.’

Gianni looked at her. About to explode. Fingers poised to undress her completely.

‘We need to stop, you need to stop.’ Her mouth felt swollen. She backed away, dislodging his hands, and sucked in a deep quivering breath. ‘The thing is that I’ve never done this before. I’m a virgin...’

Gianni just looked at her. Disbelief was etched onto his face. And then other expressions followed: derision, disdain and disgust. He backed away too.

Humiliation made her skin prickle to know she’d laid herself so bare for his ridicule. ‘Gianni, wait, I—’

He put up a hand. ‘Basta. I don’t want to hear it, Keelin. I’ve had enough of your lies and playacting. Just go to bed. Damn you.’

And then he turned around and walked out, the door closing with incongruous softness behind him. Keelin looked at it in the gloom for a long time before reaction set in and she started to shake. The slivers of lace on the floor mocking her.

Her mind mercifully went to some numb place, induced by shock, fatigue and an overload of emotion. Vaguely aware of what she was doing, she kicked off her shoes and found the zip at the back of the dress, yanking it down. She stepped out of it and went to the bed, and climbed into it, pulling the luxurious covers over her body. And then she weakly shut out all of the voices and recriminations and slept.

* * *

When Keelin woke in the morning it took her long minutes to figure out where she was and why she was in her underwear in the most sumptuously soft bed she’d ever lain in.

Then she opened her eyes and took in the room and it all came flooding back, along with the reality of opulent dark red furnishings and antique furniture.

She came up on her elbows and looked around. The curtains hadn’t been drawn so she pushed back the covers and got out, squinting a little at the daylight outside. A robe was behind the bathroom door, so after splashing some water on her face she pulled it on.

There were French doors and a balcony so she opened the doors and stepped out. The view took her breath away. Undulating green hills as far as the eye could see. For a moment she felt absurdly homesick as it reminded her of Ireland.

And then a low but powerful noise impacted—and she realised that that must have woken her up. And just as she thought that, she saw the helicopter rise up from the back of the property and bank to the left before disappearing off into the horizon, quickly becoming a small black dot. She hadn’t been able to see who was in it but she assumed the pilot was taking it back to Rome.

Something skated over Keelin’s skin to think of Gianni and how angry he’d been last night. And of facing him this morning. Recalling the events of the previous day felt a little dreamlike. Had it really happened?She looked down and saw the enormous diamond of her engagement ring and the slim wedding band.

Oh, yes, it had happened. She’d exchanged vows with the man in front of witnesses. And even now she could recall the strange kind of paralysis that had gripped her.

Knowing she’d have to face him sooner or later, Keelin went back inside and found that her things that had been sent on ahead were hanging up or in drawers. Along with a lot of clothes that looked brand-new. Her blood boiled slightly to think of him instructing someone anonymous to pick things out for her.

After a quick shower she dressed in worn jeans and one of her favourite plaid shirts and thought to herself that if Gianni didn’t like it, then he’d have to get used to it because this was the real her.

But as she found her way downstairs she had the uncanny sensation that Gianni wasn’t here. And until now she hadn’t even realised she’d been so aware of his whereabouts at any given time.

Lucia the housekeeper appeared as Keelin got to the bottom of the stairs looking a little worried. She spoke fast and made some kind of gesture with her hands, as if something was flying away. It was the unmistakable concern mixed with pity in her kind brown eyes that sent the knowledge into Keelin’s gut.

Gianni had been in the helicopter. He’d gone somewhere and left her here. For a second she almost couldn’t breathe. Her belly lurched. Lucia was taking her by the arm, still speaking unintelligible Italian, guiding Keelin to a gorgeous outdoor terrace where a table was set for breakfast.

Lucia fussed around her but Keelin was struggling to compute what that might mean, if Gianni had left. Mechanically she ate what was put in front of her and drank hot strong coffee.

She didn’t like the awful creeping sensation of isolation, of being somehow powerless. She was in a villa in the middle of nowhere—it seemed—with not a word of Italian and no idea why Gianni had left or when he’d be back.

She tried to ask Lucia if he’d left a note but Lucia just shook her head, clearly not understanding. Smiling at Keelin apologetically, she seemed to make some more motions as if to say that Gianni would return.

When she’d bustled off again, Keelin decided to try his office in case he’d left a note there, but there was nothing but blank paper.

She sank down into his chair. Maybe this was it? She’d pushed him so far that he’d just left her here? So why didn’t that evoke some sense of satisfaction or triumph? A kind of hysteria bubbled up but she pushed it back down. But she couldn’t stop the edges of panic from gathering in the wings, ready to pounce and drag her back to her childhood.

Telling herself that he must have left momentarily and that there had to be some explanation, Keelin got up and forced herself to explore the villa. It was only when she returned about an hour later after having seen not another soul that the panic started to grip her in earnest.

Lucia couldn’t be found now. It didn’t even occur to Keelin to try and phone Gianni. He’d given her that card with his numbers when they’d met but she had no idea where it was now. And in any case her mobile phone battery was dead and she couldn’t find her charger.

She was entirely alone in this vast villa somewhere south of Perugia and as the day wore on with no sign of Gianni returning, Keelin wasn’t in Italy any more. She wasn’t twenty-three. She was back in her past, at some indeterminate age, and she knew that there was not one person in the world who cared remotely where she was. Or that she was alone.

And slowly, the walls that she’d so painstakingly built over the years started to crumble, because she’d sworn she’d never allow this to happen again.

* * *

As Gianni drove back to the villa late that night the anger he’d been feeling all day was still there. His eyes were gritty from fatigue, and frustration pounded like a pulse in his blood.

Damn her. His wife, who he should have bedded last night. His wife. He’d almost been tempted to stay in Rome for the night but some very unwelcome sense of guilt had stopped him. Even though he shouldn’t be feeling guilt.

When he thought of Keelin now though, all he could see in his mind’s eye were the lurid images from last night, and how feral he’d felt as he stood in front of her. How badly he’d wanted to just rip that dress apart completely, baring her to his gaze.

And then Keelin had spouted the latest lie from her pretty mouth. A virgin. Ha! Virgins were as extinct as the dodo as far as Gianni was concerned. He’d stopped believing in virgins right about the time that the sixteen-year-old girl he’d been in love with had said to him patronisingly, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. It’s your first time, isn’t it?’

The memory faded...last night he’d felt as if he was climbing an interminable mountain. He’d also felt raw and exposed in his desire for Keelin when she kept pulling back, denying her own desire. A shudder of disgust went through him, to have been reduced to something almost mindless. Again. It had been enough to make him leave, get some space.

He cursed softly as he drove into the forecourt of the villa. No lights shone. Irritation surged, along with a sense of panic at the thought that Keelin might have gone. Disappeared.

A faint sense of unease prickled over his skin. He got out of the jeep and went up the steps, opening the door, flicking on a light. There wasn’t a sound. But somehow Gianni sensed that she was here and something eased inside him, even as that irritation remained.

He took off his jacket and made his way up to the bedroom. It was dark up here too, and for a moment Gianni thought Keelin might be in bed asleep but then he saw a shape by the window.

He flicked on a light and Keelin was illuminated sitting in the window seat, legs drawn up under her chin, hair long and wild around her shoulders. And just like that, lust gripped him with a force that almost made him sway.

But something wasn’t right about the picture. She wasn’t moving. Gianni came further in. Feeling afraid now and not liking it, he rapped out, ‘Keelin?’

Slowly she turned to look at him and he sucked in a breath at how pale she was and how huge her eyes looked. And as he watched, she seemed to come back to life, emotion making those eyes flash and burn like bright jewels.

She got up from the seat and came straight over to him, and lashed out, landing a blow to his chest before he could deflect it. It had enough force to make him take a step back.

‘Don’t you ever, ever, leave me alone like this again. Do you hear me? Never.’

Gianni stared at her. The anger in her voice was palpable. She looked haunted. Not piqued that he’d left her for a day. Haunted.

He said slowly, ‘I would have thought that’s exactly what you wanted since the day we met.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

KEELIN MIGHT HAVE agreed with Gianni if being abandoned wasn’t her particular pyschological demon. Sensations were rushing into limbs that had been locked tight for hours, giving her shooting pains and pins and needles. Her hand throbbed from where she’d hit him. His chest was like a steel wall.

And worse, emotion was rising. Just to see him again. He’d come back. Damn him.

‘You said nothing.’ Keelin was accusing. ‘You didn’t even leave a note.’

Gianni’s jaw tightened. ‘I thought Lucia would tell you.’

Keelin let out a short harsh laugh. ‘Via sign language? I don’t speak Italian and she doesn’t speak English.’

‘You could have phoned me.’

Keelin felt a kind of shame wash over her. She’d slowly become more and more paralysed as the day had gone on. How could she explain that when one was in the grip of something like a panic attack, the last thing you did was the logical one?

‘I couldn’t find your number, and my phone was dead,’ she supplied weakly. And then stronger, ‘There was no one here. Even Lucia disappeared after a while. I was all alone. Anything could have happened, did you think of that?’

Irritation crossed Gianni’s face. ‘For God’s sake, Keelin, it was only a day. You are in one of the most luxurious villas in Italy. There’s an indoor pool and an outdoor pool—’

Keelin whirled away from him and the suggestion she should have been happy to amuse herself, emotion reaching her eyes, making them sting. Making her chest hurt with the pressure it took to contain it. She’d not cried in years, learning that tears only caused her parents to look at her with bafflement. So rousing their ire had become her default position.

Gianni sounded exasperated. ‘Look—’

She kept her back to him and cut him off, saying with a low voice, ‘When I was fourteen I got a taxi home from the train station for my summer half-term holidays. The whole house was locked up. When I rang my father he was in Sao Paulo in Brazil and wouldn’t be home for days. My mother was in St Barts with friends. They’d given the staff a week off. They’d not even bothered to find out what I was doing.’

She turned around to face Gianni, arms folded tightly. ‘They had to send the housekeeper back to take care of me and she was not happy to have her holiday cut short but at least it wasn’t anything new so she wasn’t surprised.’

Gianni interjected in a tight-sounding voice, ‘This had happened before?’

Keelin lifted one shoulder in a gesture of assent. ‘It was a fairly regular occurrence except usually there’d be staff at home. When I was three they left me alone with my nanny for two and a half months while they went to America on business. When they came back I didn’t recognise them.‘Today...’ Emotion tightened her chest again but Keelin forced out, ‘Today, it just got to me. It’s isolated here. I don’t speak the language. I hate that it affected me. But I just—don’t do it again.’

Gianni came closer, all traces of exasperation and irritation gone. In his eyes was not pity, because Keelin couldn’t have handled that. But something else. A kind of understanding.

He cupped his hands around her face, and it was only when he smoothed his thumbs back and forth across her cheeks she realised that she was crying. Mortification rushed through her and she tried to take his hands down but he wouldn’t let her.

She’d planned on being icy and dismissive when he returned and instead she was blubbing all over him and spilling her guts. Keelin said, ‘Look, it’s not a big—’

He cut her off. ‘I shouldn’t have left you here with no explanation. The truth is that I was still angry after last night and I took it out on you by leaving you to go to Rome today. And the reason no one is here apart from Lucia is because I gave the staff a week off in a bid for some privacy. Today is Sunday so Lucia goes to her family in the local village for the day and night.’

Gianni’s mouth was a tight line. ‘It was careless and rude of me.’

Keelin’s heart flip-flopped. Uh-oh.

And then he changed the subject abruptly. ‘Have you eaten today?’

Keelin thought about it for a second and shook her head, feeling mortified again. Imagining he must be thinking, She’s such a drama queen. ‘Not since breakfast.’‘How about we get something to eat then, hmm?’

Keelin looked at him. ‘Okay.’

He stepped back and took her hand and led her out of the room. All of Keelin’s anger was washing away, to be replaced by something far more disturbing.

When they got down to the huge open-plan and surprisingly modern kitchen, Gianni directed Keelin to sit on a stool while he prepared pasta with a pesto sauce. Even though Keelin could see that he wasn’t exactly making pasta from scratch, he seemed to know his way around a kitchen.

He poured her a glass of red wine and when she took a sip he said dryly, ‘I take it that you do like wine?’

Keelin flushed and put the glass down, answering a little sheepishly, ‘Yes.’

Gianni had rolled his shirtsleeves up, and taken his tie off, and even though he wore smart trousers, this was the most relaxed she’d seen him since they’d met. The open top button of his shirt drew her eye to the strong column of his throat. His jaw was dark with stubble. Keelin thought of him being angry enough to go to Rome that morning and sensed that he didn’t normally let things provoke him to that extent. The realisation that she’d got to him made her feel somehow hollow though.

He looked at her as the pasta cooked, his gaze incisive. ‘I’m also guessing your views on children and boarding school were not entirely accurate?’

She met his gaze. She guessed she deserved to give him an answer after stringing him along. And she was passionate about this. She shook her head. ‘No child of mine will ever go to one of those places.’

Gianni quirked a brow and instantly looked younger and even more devilishly handsome. ‘Care to revise any more of your opinions?’

Keelin grimaced slightly and took another fortifying sip of wine before gesturing to her shirt and jeans. Bare feet. ‘I’ve always been inclined to dress down more than up. And,’ she admitted sheepishly, ‘I hate shopping with a passion.’

But before he could probe any further and already feeling far too exposed, Keelin asked, ‘What about you? You always seem to be so composed, pristine.’

Heat fizzed in her belly at the thought of what Gianni might look like completely undone. Naked.

Thankfully he was dishing up the pasta now and indicating for Keelin to go to the table, so he wasn’t looking at her too closely. He put the plates down, brought over the wine. When Keelin tasted a mouthful of the perfectly al dente pasta with pesto sauce she closed her eyes for a second in appreciation. It was simple and rustic but it was heaven.

When she looked again, Gianni was taking a sip of wine, eyes unreadable, on her. Awareness made her self-conscious. She’d almost forgotten what she’d asked him when he said, ‘Almost everything I do, and am, is a direct result of wanting to be the exact opposite of my father.’

Keelin remembered the way he’d retreated so spectacularly when she’d mentioned his father before, and his rage when he’d seen those men at the wedding, and kept silent.

He swallowed some pasta and put his fork down. Keelin couldn’t seem to stop herself focusing on those lean hands. He spoke again, distracting her.

‘My father was rough, tough, uncivilised. He got in with the wrong people at a young age in Sicily, and believed that the way to getting ahead was via violence and terrorising people, including my mother. I needed to prove to myself that I could be different.’

A million questions flooded into her brain but she sensed that Gianni was already regretting saying too much as he looked away and ate some pasta. She ignored the questions and said, ‘Your mother seemed nice, quiet.’

Gianni grimaced slightly. ‘She is. And she refuses to leave our old home just outside Rome. When my father died, I thought she’d move back to Sicily but she won’t. She insists on keeping our home like a shrine.’

He shook his head and Keelin could understand that he didn’t get why a woman who had been brutalised by her husband would want to do that. And it surprised Keelin too, but on some level she could understand that Gianni’s mother perhaps still felt a sense of loyalty, and even love. After all, look at how far she herself had gone in a bid to prove something to her father after a lifetime of disinterest.

Quietly, before she could lose her nerve, she said, ‘I’m sorry about what I did at the wedding, encouraging her to invite those men. I had no idea.’

Gianni looked at her and just inclined his head before smiling a little wryly. ‘I can see how tempting it must have been to maximise a PR disaster.’

Keelin winced, but then he was saying, ‘I’ve asked my mother to move here as I know she’d love it, but she won’t.’

‘It is beautiful,’ Keelin offered, and he looked at her, surprised. She responded to his look with a dry, ‘You know, if you’re into that isolated bucolic crumbling idyll.’

He grimaced slightly as he pushed his empty plate away. ‘It is isolated. Which is why I love it, but I never thought about what it might be like for someone else.’

Keelin felt a bit light-headed and knew she couldn’t put it down to the wine, as she’d only had a drop. There was tension crackling between them but it was different to the tension she’d come to recognise. After all, things were different—they were married, so Gianni had won this round. But in that moment, Keelin couldn’t seem to rouse herself to care all that much.

All she could see was the powerful man lounging just feet away from her, full of latent danger. And suddenly all she could think about was how he’d ordered her to take off her dress last night and how easily he’d ripped off the lace. And how badly she’d wanted him to rip off the dress.

She needed to explain. ‘Look, about last night—’

He put up a hand, cutting her off. ‘It’s just us now, Keelin. No more lies, or acting, okay?’

She sat up straight, protesting hotly, ‘But I wasn’t lying about—’

Cutting her off again he said, ‘It doesn’t matter, okay? Let’s have a cessation in hostilities. For now.’

Keelin’s heart thumped hard. A truce. She was irritated he wouldn’t give her a chance to explain but at the same time she was feeling incredibly vulnerable and didn’t exactly want to go into it. But she had to.

‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘I need to tell you this.’

Gianni looked at her, exasperation clear on his face. Keelin couldn’t be so close to him and think straight. She got up and moved away, standing with her back to the sink, arms folded. She bit her lip and then said quickly, ‘I wasn’t lying last night. I am a virgin. I’ve never slept with anyone.’

He straightened up, his mouth thinned. ‘Have you forgotten what you told me? Are you getting your stories so tangled up now that—’

Keelin cut him off. ‘I told you that to wind you up. Why would I lie about this? It’s not as if it wouldn’t become pretty apparent.’

The blood seemed to leach from Gianni’s face. He stood up and shook his head, clearly not understanding. ‘You’re twenty-three, how is it possible?’

Humiliation coiled in her belly. ‘I know.’ She steeled herself. ‘The truth is that something happened to me—it kind of put me off wanting to have sex with anyone.’ Except you. The knowledge beat like a drum in her blood.

Gianni folded his arms. ‘What happened?’

Keelin couldn’t stay still under that black gaze. She started to pace back and forth. She stopped and looked at him and took a breath. ‘When I was seventeen, I was in a boarding school in Switzerland—it was my last school.’

He frowned. ‘The one you ran away from?’

Keelin exhaled. ‘Yes, that’s the one.’

She went on. ‘It was a weekend and I’d snuck out of school with some friends to go to the local town. We were drinking at a bar and a group of guys came over. We all paired off, but then the guy I was with brought me outside to a secluded spot.’

Keelin felt embarrassed now to remember how she’d hungered for the male attention. ‘We were fooling around, just kissing, nothing heavy, and then some of his friends came out.’

Something in Gianni’s face hardened. ‘Go on.’

Keelin’s hands were curled to fists by her sides. ‘I thought he’d tell them to leave, but they were laughing and joking. I tried to go back into the bar to find my friends but one of the guys blocked my way.’

She spoke quickly now. ‘To be honest I don’t remember much of what happened next...they overpowered me pretty quickly. Tripped me up and held me down on the ground. Two held my arms and someone else had my legs. They pulled my top off, tried to undo my trousers.’

‘Dio, Keelin.’ He looked shocked.

‘Nothing happened,’ she said quickly. ‘I screamed and kicked out. I got one of them on the jaw. A staff member heard me and found us. The guys ran.’

Gianni was disgusted. ‘Animals.’

Something very vulnerable moved inside Keelin to have blurted all that out. ‘In a way it made me grow up. After that I focused on getting into college and studying. I did self-defence classes while I was in college, so I’d never feel helpless again. But that’s why I shut down for so long.’

Gianni crossed the space between them and Keelin’s heart thumped heavily. Gruffly he said, ‘Do you feel threatened by me?’

Stripped bare of her defences, intoxicated by his proximity and infused with a headiness to have unburdened herself like that, she just shook her head. ‘No.’

Gianni reached out and his hand cupped her jaw, thumb moving lightly over her cheek. His touch was amazingly gentle and it further defused something inside Keelin. Everything fell away except here and now, and them. And the heat suffusing the air between them.

‘Will you let me make love to you, Keelin?’

A giddy rush of desire almost knocked her over with its force. She’d never wanted anything so badly. If he’d called her his wife, or made some allusion to their situation, it might have jarred her out of the moment, but he didn’t. And in truth, she didn’t care about any of that now. She just wanted him.

Jerkily, she nodded her head. ‘Yes.’

He took her hand and led her out of the kitchen, up through the house and to the bedroom. With every step it only felt more right to Keelin. She wasn’t someone who believed in any kind of mysticism but she had the sensation that there was literally nowhere else on earth she was meant to be, except here, right now, with this man.

When they were in the dimly lit bedroom with the door shut firmly behind them, Gianni led her over to the bed and turned around. He looked impossibly tall and broad. Strong and powerful, and something very feminine within Keelin reacted to that.

He lifted his hands and started to undo the buttons of her shirt, the backs of his fingers glancing off her hot skin. When they were all undone, he pushed open the shirt and drew it off her shoulders and down her arms so that it fell to the floor.

She felt intensely self-conscious in just her lace bra and almost jumped out of her skin when Gianni cupped the weight of one full breast and said softly, ‘You’re beautiful.’

She looked up, but words died in her mouth at the look in his eyes. He was so intent. Focused. Desirous. Her nipples drew tight, aching for his touch.

‘Gianni,’ she said weakly, not even sure how to articulate her desire.

‘Shh, I know. We’ll take this slow.’

An absurd lurch of emotion made Keelin’s throat tighten. She’d never have expected this of Gianni.

His fingers were on the buttons of his shirt now, but in a bid to drive down the emotion, Keelin said impulsively, ‘Let me.’

His hands dropped and his eyes were hooded as she stepped closer and started to undo his buttons, revealing his broad chest bit by gorgeous bit. When she’d undone them all she pushed his shirt apart, over his shoulders and down his arms, just like he’d done to her.

Her eyes widened. He was truly magnificent. Not an ounce of spare flesh. A male animal in his muscular prime. Dark skin, lightly covered with hair, blunt nipples. And the enticing ridges of muscles leading down to his pants.

Galvanised by something she’d never felt before, Keelin brought her hands to his belt, undoing it and sliding it through the loops with a sibilant hiss. She let it fall to the floor. And then she was undoing the top button, the skin of his hard flat abdomen hot against her knuckles.

His hand came to the back of her neck and she looked up at him, only realising then that she was breathing hard, and sweating lightly.

Gianni pulled her against him and he was tugging on her hair gently to tip her face up. The hard thrust of his erection pressed against her belly and she wanted to move against it, but then his mouth was on hers and his hand was on her bare back, fingers expertly undoing the clasp of her bra and spreading out over her naked skin.

Their mouths fit like missing pieces of a jigsaw, welded together, tongues duelling, teeth nipping. Keelin’s hands spread across Gianni’s chest, fingers curling against his skin, nails scraping those blunt nipples, making him shudder against her. It was heady, intoxicating.

She was dimly aware of his hands moving to the straps of her bra and pulling them down—the scrap of material being tugged free from between them until her bare breasts brushed against his hot skin enticingly.

And then they’d stopped kissing and Gianni moved back slightly to look at her, that dark gaze glittering in the dim light. She felt self-conscious and wanted to bring her hands up. He stopped her. ‘Dio, you are so beautiful.’

He reached out and rubbed a thumb back and forth across one hard peak, making it harden even more, almost painfully. Stinging.

‘Gianni,’ she whispered, not even aware she was saying his name.

‘Hmm?’

It was as if they were both drugged. Falling deeper and deeper into some sensual vortex.

He sat down on the bed but kept his hands on her waist, bringing her with him so that she stood between his legs. She looked down to see his head come close and then his mouth closed over one tight peak, and she gasped at the intensely pleasurable sensation of his hot mouth and tongue suckling her, licking, biting gently.

Her legs wobbled and his hands tightened on her as his mouth wreaked sensual havoc on her other breast. She wasn’t even aware of her hands on his head, fingers tangling in short silky hair, clasping him to her.

When he took his mouth away, she felt dizzy. His hands came to her jeans, undoing the button, pulling down the zip, pulling them and her panties down. She helped him by kicking them off, any hint of self-consciousness gone now. She just wanted to be naked, no barriers between them.

When he stood up, her hands went automatically to his trousers, to finish what she’d started. Pulling the zip down, feeling that provocative bulge of male flesh.

His trousers dropped to the floor and he stepped out of them. Now he was confined only by snug jocks and they did little to hide his potent masculinity. Acting on blind feminine instinct, Keelin reached out to touch him, running her fingers along his shape and length under the material of his underwear. He jerked against her touch.

Gianni hissed out a breath and she looked at him. His cheeks were flushed, the lines of his face stark with need, and she felt a flutter of trepidation, for a moment jarred back to the fact that she was an innocent. Then something eased inside her. He knew. He wouldn’t hurt her.

Gianni was pushing down his briefs now, freeing his erection and then sinking down onto the bed and pulling her with him, so that she fell on top of him in a tangle of limbs. Six foot three of honed lean muscle was underneath her and around her and she couldn’t think.

Her naked breasts were crushed against Gianni’s hard chest, and then he moved so that she lay on her back. His thigh was between hers and the ache between her legs made her increase the pressure against him subtly.

He smiled. ‘Impatient gattino.’

A hand smoothed over her breast, exploring its shape and firmness, cupping it so that her nipple was offered up to him like an enticement. Every nerve ending screamed for satisfaction as Gianni slowly lowered his dark head, not to her breast but to her mouth.

That wicked mouth teased hers first and then lower, leaving a trail of hot blazing marks all over her skin before the hot wet slide of his tongue explored her nipples again with a sensual laziness that did nothing to help keep her from the brink. She moaned and moved against him, silently pleading for more.

She couldn’t find purchase anywhere, hands slipping and sliding over his taut flesh as she tried to hang on to sanity.

But Gianni was remorseless. His other hand explored down over her belly, fingers moving between her legs, making them part, before he cupped the heated moist center of her body and Keelin went still.

He lifted his head from the torture of her breasts. She was flushed, hot, aroused, impatient—it had been a long time since she’d orgasmed, and when she had before, it had been because of ineffectual teenage explorations, not this far more adult and carnal experience.

Gianni’s hand was moving against her now, finding her slick heat and releasing it. Fingers slipping and sliding against her. Exploring her body with a thoroughness that made her back arch in a silent plea. Without even knowing what she was doing, her legs parted to allow him more access and his fingers were sliding inside her, moving insistently, winding a tension so tight in her body that she bit her lip and tasted blood with the effort it took not to call out.

‘Come for me, cara, I want to see you lose yourself.’

With two fingers thrusting in and out of her body, his thumb exerting subtle but expert pressure on her clitoris, Keelin hadn’t a hope. She came around his fingers, almost on cue, and was blinded by the dizzying sweeping rush of clenching pleasure as it tipped her over the edge and into his expert hands, her mouth blindly seeking his, arms wrapped around him as she sobbed it out against him, shaken to her core by what had just happened.

* * *

Gianni was engulfed in heat and lust so powerful that he shook with it. Keelin’s body was still spasming powerfully around his fingers; he could feel her teeth biting into his shoulder and welcomed the brief sharp pain.

Her breasts were pressed against him. In truth he wasn’t sure how he’d held it together this long. Even that first sight of her naked body had almost tipped him over the edge. She was Venus incarnate, perfectly proportioned, with generous curves. All woman.

The tension left her body, finally. She lay back, eyes slumberous, looking at him. Slightly dazed. For some reason Gianni’s chest tightened.

‘Okay, gattino?’

Sounding deliciously sated, she said with a little slur, ‘What’s that mean?’

Gianni smiled, aware that since the moment he’d laid eyes on this woman, even in her trashy incarnation, he’d had this vision somewhere in his head. He smoothed back some hair from her flushed face.

‘It means kitten.’

She half smiled, shy, and it made his chest tighter. ‘I like it.’

Gianni moved against Keelin now and her eyes widened when she felt his erection. As if answering a prayer he hadn’t even been aware of articulating, one small soft hand tentatively explored him but with such a light touch that it almost killed him.

He gritted out, ‘I won’t break.’

She bit her lower lip and her hand firmed around him, holding him in a snug embrace. Something about her shy hesitation made fresh anger surge to think of those animals and how terrified she must have been, how horrifically it might have ended. He forced the ugly image out, wanting to erase it from her head as well as his.

He needed to be inside her now or he’d spill on the sheets and make a fool of himself. He reached for protection and gently pulled Keelin’s hand away so he could smooth it on. When he was sheathed, he moved so that he lay between her legs, the tip of his erection against where she was slick and hot. He touched her there with his thumb, rousing her again, until her breaths were coming shorter and sharper, muscles tensing with pre-pleasure.

‘I want you, mia bella.’

She looked at him and her eyes were huge, and she said simply, ‘Yes.’

Something crumbled apart inside him. He’d never experienced a moment like this with a woman before. But before he could allow that revelation to sink in, he drove into Keelin’s body and felt the most intense rush of carnal euphoria explode along every nerve end, until he realised that her face was pale with shock, and her muscles were clamping like a vice around him. There was also something else on her face—fear. And he had a sudden image of how he must look above her. Feral. Intimidating.

He pulled free and fought not to wince.

‘No,’ she said fiercely, determination replacing the shock on her face. ‘Don’t stop.’

Something in Gianni’s chest tightened to see her bravery, when clearly this had to be bringing back some memories.

‘It’s okay, I’m not stopping. We’re just going to do it a little differently.’ He came down on his back and encouraged Keelin to straddle him. When her legs were either side of his hips and he could feel that hot centre of her body slide against him he had to clench his jaw tight for a moment.

She sounded incredibly vulnerable when she said, ‘What are you doing?’

Her hands were on his chest and he put his on her waist. ‘I thought this might make it easier. Just now, you were scared for a second, weren’t you?’

He could see her bite her lip, loath to admit it, but then she nodded. ‘A little, but it’s okay. I know you won’t hurt me.’

Gianni shifted and felt his erection rise against her buttocks and bit back a groan. ‘This way you won’t feel so threatened...you can control the pace.’

She looked deliciously tousled, hair tumbling around her shoulders. Subtly Gianni moved her up, so that his erection was between them. He could see when she felt it—when her cheeks flushed. The centre of her body was poised over him, pushing him to the very limits of his control.

And then, with some kind of innate feminine understanding of her body and his, she slowly slid down and took him inside her. He could see her wince when her body clamped around his thick length again and he soothed her with words in Italian and English, hands moving her slowly up and down so that gradually she took more and more, until he was past the resistance and he was buried so deep he saw stars.

They were both breathing heavily. And then slowly, Keelin started to move her hips in a sinuous exploratory rhythm. He could feel her body grow slicker, her eyes widen as pleasure registered, cancelling out everything else.

He moved easier inside her and it made him even harder. He pulled her down over his chest and her hands went either side of his head, her breasts moving against him with the thrust of their bodies. Sweat slickened their skin. Gianni brought a hand down and caressed her bottom, squeezing the flesh as he gave in to the urge of his body to hold her still so that he could thrust up, harder and deeper.

His mouth found Keelin’s nipple and tugged it deep, making her moan. ‘Gianni, I need—’

He drew his mouth away and looked at her face. Her eyes were glazed, cheeks flushed. Their bodies were locked in a relentless dance.

‘What do you need?’ His voice was hoarse with restraint and longing.‘Oh, God, I need you.’ The half-coherent plea made him clasp her close, driving his body even deeper. Their mouths met and clung as they both finally tipped over the edge and fell crashing and burning to the ground.

In the minutes that followed, arms wrapped tight around her, Keelin’s head tucked into his neck, and still buried deep inside her, Gianni had the rogue and very disturbing urge to never move again, loath to break the connection.

* * *

Keelin had never known such an intense feeling of satisfaction. Her whole body was throbbing lightly as her blood flow finally slowed down to normal, along with her heart rate.

And she had also never known what it was like to truly connect with someone else—when he’d pushed past her resistance, she’d had the sensation that he’d pushed past something much more than the physical. And that moment when Gianni had recognised her momentary fear and had pulled her over him so that she was on top—it was all too huge to think about now.

They were still connected and when he moved from underneath her she had to resist an urge to tighten her thighs around him so that he couldn’t pull free.

When he lay beside her, she was too languorous to move, and too cowardly to open her eyes.

‘Did I hurt you?’

She couldn’t not open her eyes now. How could he think that? It had been the most profound experience of her life. But somehow she knew he might not appreciate that. So she just shook her head and said huskily, ‘No, you didn’t hurt me.’

He smoothed some damp hair off her cheek. He smiled but she could sense a tension in his smile. ‘Good.’ He drew her close then and the soporific effects of lovemaking made it easy for her to shut out all the scary revelations of what this now meant for their relationship. Or wonder what the tension behind his smile meant.

And then he just said, ‘Go to sleep, Keelin.’

And almost before he’d finished saying it, her body had grown slack against him.

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