In The Sheikh's Marriage Bed

Emily struggled to keep pace with the man who had collected her from the entrance to the palace. ‘Could you slow down a bit, please? I only brought one pair of shoes with me and they’re not suitable for sprinting on marble floors,’ she muttered, wondering where they were going. ‘I don’t want to see the prince with a broken ankle.’

In fact she’d just decided that she didn’t actually want to see the prince at all—

The man glanced at her with something that looked like pity in his eyes and Emily felt sicker and sicker.

All her instincts were telling her that this had been a bad, bad decision.

Why was everyone so afraid of Zak al-Farisi?

Was he really as heartless and ruthless as his reputation suggested?

Reminding herself firmly that there was good in everyone, she fought a battle with the panic that was threatening to swamp her.

The man stopped outside a door flanked by yet more guards and then entered, indicating that she should follow.

The panic suddenly won the battle.

‘You know, I’m not sure about this. It’s really my brother who should be here. If the prince is that busy then maybe I should just go home—’ she said hopefully and then broke off, hustled by the man into yet another enormous room.

She stopped dead and her mouth fell open as she gazed around her in stunned amazement.

The room was beautiful. And exotic.

Light shone in from the numerous curved windows, illuminating an exquisite tapestry that hung on the far wall of the room.

‘Oh—!’ Intrigued, Emily peered closer, her eyes taking in every tiny detail. It depicted a horse race and for a moment she stood still, enchanted by the wildness of the horses and the life that pulsed from the tapestry. It was so skilfully woven that Emily could almost hear the thud of hooves and the snort of animals caught up in the excitement of the race.

Her awed gaze slid from the tapestry to the low sofas that nestled in one corner of the room, upholstered in gold silk and piled with layers of cushions in rich colours.

In the other corner of the room was an enormous desk, elaborately carved and providing a home for a state-of-the-art computer.

The contrast between the exotic and the functional made Emily blink. Whoever occupied this room obviously used it as an office.

She glanced round her and suddenly wished that she’d worn something different. The blue linen dress she’d chosen was cool and practical but it certainly wasn’t the latest designer fashion. But then her teacher’s income didn’t exactly fund an elaborate wardrobe and because she worked with small children most of her clothes were chosen for practicality rather than style.

‘Excuse me.’ She tried one more time to communicate with the man. ‘Can you tell me when I’m going to meet the prince? You know, if he’s really that busy perhaps I should just go—’

Maybe there was still time to get out of this. She could phone Peter and tell him that she’d changed her mind.

Instead of answering the man dropped to his knees on the beautifully woven rug, leaving her to stare at him in astonishment.

‘You wish to leave, Miss Kingston?’ A dry voice came from directly behind her. ‘Is our hospitality really so lacking that the moment you arrive in our country, you suddenly wish to leave it? Or is something else fuelling this desire for flight? The knowledge that your sins are about to catch up with you, perhaps?’

‘Sins?’ She whirled round to face the speaker and felt her eyes lock with those of a stranger.

Her mouth dried and her heart started to bump heavily against her chest.

She was held prisoner by the force of that hard gaze, the lethal glitter in his dark eyes holding her captive. Intense sexual awareness ripped through her and she ceased to breathe. She felt light-headed and shaky, her whole body reacting with such shockingly powerful excitement that she couldn’t move or think. It was only when he finally strolled forward that she was able to free herself from his grip.

He must have been standing there when she’d entered, but she’d been so overwhelmed by her surroundings that she’d failed to notice him.

How? she wondered helplessly. How had she failed to notice him? He dominated the room with his powerful presence, strolling across the room with a cool authority that couldn’t be ignored.

If ever a man was designed to tempt a woman to stray from the straight and narrow, it was this one. He was dressed in a superbly tailored suit, his appearance conventional enough at first glance. But despite the outward display of Western sophistication, she would never have placed him in the traditional confines of a business institution. Had she been asked to choose a setting for him, she would have placed him on the ocean as a pirate.

Or in the desert.

His looks and his presence matched the wildness of the landscape that she’d passed on her way to Kazban.

Everything about him was blatantly, savagely masculine from the gleaming jet-black hair smoothed back from his tanned brow to the perfect symmetry of his staggeringly handsome face. His nose was strong and aristocratic and his shoulders broad and powerful.

He was shockingly, breathtakingly handsome and Emily felt her limbs weaken.

Dizzy from lack of air and shaken by her own uncharacteristic response, she sucked in several breaths and tried to pull herself together while the man who had brought her to the room scrambled to his feet and shot her a black look.

‘You should bow in the presence of the prince,’ he hissed and she looked at him in confusion.

‘The prince? Well, I will, of course, but—’ She broke off as understanding dawned and hot colour flooded her cheeks. ‘Oh, my goodness—’

She swallowed and bowed quickly, trying to rectify her mistake, painfully aware of that glittering dark gaze following her every move.

She should have guessed, of course. He was much younger than she’d expected and dressed in Western style, but power throbbed from every line of his impressive physique and everything about him shrieked of royalty. His carriage, his manner and the slightly cynical gleam in his midnight black eyes.

‘I—I’m sorry—’ She stammered her apology awkwardly and bowed her head again to be on the safe side. ‘But you are partly to blame. You don’t dress like a prince and you didn’t introduce yourself.’

There was a muffled sound of alarm and disbelief from the man who had led her to the room but the prince’s cool gaze didn’t flicker.

‘And how am I supposed to dress, Miss Kingston?’ he enquired smoothly and Emily shivered as his deep, masculine voice slid over her bones like melted chocolate. He had the blazing self-confidence of someone who’d been on the receiving end of female adoration for his entire life.

‘Well like—like—an Arabian prince,’ she finished lamely. ‘You know—robes and things…’ Her voice tailed off and she closed her eyes briefly and cringed slightly. She sounded so stupid.

The prince obviously thought so too if his sardonic expression was anything to go by. ‘Do you think this is some sort of pantomime,’ he observed silkily, one dark eyebrow lifting in mockery, ‘and that we should all be in costume?’

Without waiting for her reply he turned to the man who had been listening to the exchange with undisguised horror and snapped out a few words of a strange language.

The man made a hasty retreat, throwing pitying looks at Emily on the way out.

‘I—I’m sorry for the confusion, Your Highness,’ she mumbled, her cheeks burning with mortification.

How could she have made such a stupid mistake?

‘There was no confusion on my part, Miss Kingston.’

He strode over to the window and stared down into the courtyard, momentarily distracted by something that was happening below him.

Emily just stared.

He was spectacular. Her eyes fixed on those thick dark lashes, slid down the hard planes of his handsome face to rest on his darkened jaw, before sliding down still further to the bulk of his shoulders.