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  The disturbing sense of equanimity that had washed over her when she’d said yes to Sadiq’s proposal had long disappeared. It would be the wedding of the decade, and she would be annihilated when people realised she was nothing like his long line of mistresses. Not to mention the other aspects of their marriage—like the physical one. Samia felt a dart of despair. She was so far out of Sadiq’s league in that respect that she fully expected he would have to take a mistress to stay satisfied.

  The really galling thing was that she was as innocent and pure as the virgin brides rulers like Sadiq would have expected for millenia. She’d had a bad experience in college when a boy who had been pursuing her had become very pushy after a couple of dates. Samia had turned his advances down and he’d stormed off, saying, ‘I was only trying to get you into bed for a dare anyway, because of who you are, but I’m glad I didn’t! Life is too short! ‘

  She’d repressed any hint of sexuality since then, not wanting to invite any cruel criticism or attention. Diverting her mind from the painful memory, she thought back to the phone call she’d received from Sadiq early that morning, just before she’d left for work.

  ‘I’ve set up an appointment with a personal shopper this weekend. You’ll need a trousseau. And wedding outfits. The festivities alone will last three days.’

  Samia had sat down on the chair beside the phone, the future yawning open before her and looking scarier and scarier. ‘Does it have to be three days? Why can’t we just get married here in a civil ceremony with a couple of witnesses?’

  He’d chuckled darkly and it had made Samia want to hit him. ‘Because I’m a sultan and you’re a princess about to become a queen, that’s why. Also,’ he’d continued briskly, ‘you need to be protected. As of this morning you’ll have two bodyguards, and you will be transported to and from work in one of my cars. The news may not be public yet, but enough people know, or suspect something.’

  Samia’s sense of personal freedom was disappearing fast, like an elusive shimmering oasis in the desert. ‘But—’ She’d started to protest, but had been cut off.

  ‘That’s non-negotiable. As of this moment you are under my protection. It’s simply too dangerous for you to proceed as you have done. You’re about to be married to one of the biggest fortunes in the world, not to mention the fact that you can also lay claim to one of the world’s last remaining untapped oil bounties.’

  At least, thought Samia with a hint of hysteria, she didn’t have to worry that Sadiq was marrying her for her money! Any lingering sense of anonymity was a delicate thread about to break for ever.

  Five days later

  Sadiq was in the waiting area of one of the private dressing suites in London’s most exclusive department store. Samia had been spirited away to somewhere within the labyrinthine rooms to be fitted out in a range of designer outfits, while he was waited upon hand and foot by a veritable army of beautiful women, all of whom were making their interest glaringly obvious.

  The latest blonde offered him an array of newspapers and he picked one. She lingered far too long, causing Sadiq to bid her a curt thank-you. Once, not so long ago, he would have looked and decided if she was worth bedding. But not today, and never again.

  That thought didn’t fill him with the claustrophobia he might have expected. He had to admit that his resolve to stay faithful wasn’t entirely down to the fact that he was about to be married but because curiosity and desire just weren’t there.

  He hadn’t seen Samia again until he’d picked her up that morning. He’d told himself that he had to come with her because, after seeing her wardrobe, he couldn’t trust that she would pick appropriate outfits. He conveniently ignored the fact that she’d been assigned a stylist with plenty of experience.

  Samia had been waiting outside her apartment building, her hair tied back and looking pale and haunted in faded jeans, a light long-sleeved top and jacket. More unadorned than the servants who worked for him at the Hussein castle in B’harani. He’d had to quell irritation and also the disturbing flare of desire. Her jeans clung lovingly to slim legs and a pertly plump bottom. And the thin material of her top showed him again that her breasts were well shaped and more generous than he’d first assumed.

  He’d reassured himself that his burgeoning desire for his fiancée was purely his head instructing his body to feel something for the only woman he would sleep with ever again, but the anticipation firing up his blood made a mockery of that assertion.

  When he’d formally asked Samia to marry him after their dinner, he’d been overcome with a sense of desperation that she should agree—the first time he’d felt anything like it. or the first time in a long time. And he hadn’t welcomed it.

  A curious sense of fear tightened his body now, as he heard the whisper of movement which meant his fiancée was returning to parade the first of her outfits for his pleasure. He’d decided that Princess Samia would make him a good, uncomplicated wife, and suddenly the road ahead seemed paved with complications he’d not accounted for.

  Samia wanted to yank the silver sheath excuse for a dress up over her bust and down over her knees, but was too intimidated by the personal shopper who reminded her painfully of her stepmother. Looking her up and down while she’d stood there in her plain underwear, she’d muttered something like, ‘Well, there’s not much we can do. You ‘re too short for most of these dresses …’

  Battling back trepidation at the thought of being paraded in front of Sadiq like a slave girl at an auction, Samia fixed her gaze forward, determined not to see the undoubtedly disappointed expression on his face. She’d not even looked at herself in the numerous mirrors.

  They emerged into the waiting room and Samia was aware of the big, powerful body lounging indolently on a cream sofa. Instantly her pulse quickened and that heat coiled low in her belly. She was teetering in sky-high heels and felt as unstable as a new foal on spindly legs.

  Sadiq saw Samia emerge from behind a luxurious velvet curtain. He automatically raked her up and down with his eyes, as he had done with numerous women in the past—a reflex. This was usually an erotic prequel for their mutual pleasures later on. But never in his life had any of those women had this immediate an effect on him. So immediate and forcible that he had to angle his body in such a way as to disguise its rampant response.

  Samia’s hair was still tied back in a bun at the nape of her neck. He’d had to curb his urge to ask her to take it down earlier, as if she were his mistress and she wasn’t pleasing him. Now she was avoiding his eye, and she was obviously excruciatingly embarrassed. He could see the telling red flush creep over her chest and up her neck and something inside him twisted.

  But she was simply the most erotic vision he’d ever seen in his life. Far from his first impression of no curves, an almost boyish figure, she actually possessed the body of a houri. Without the boxy suits, jeans and unflattering top, she was all slender limbs and curves. He couldn’t take his eyes off the full line of her bosom, like some kind of out-of-control teenager. Her skin looked silky-soft and pale golden, and he could imagine the contrast between his skin and hers as their limbs entwined. The acute ache in his groin intensified.

  His voice came, low and authoratitive. ‘Leave us for a moment, please.’

  To his relief the stylist and her assistants melted away.

  Privacy was something he’d never had to worry about before, having always managed to stay in control. It was as if some invisible barrier had existed between him and women before, keeping them at some kind of a distance, but here with Samia … there was no barrier … just heat.

  The dress was totally inappropriate, but it revealed the intoxicating combination of Samia’s innocence and an earthy sexuality that she clearly had no clue she possessed. He didn’t expect for a moment that she wasn’t experienced, but he would bet right then that any lover she’d had hadn’t awoken her sensuality, and a fiercely primitive feeling swept through him.

  And then he realised that Samia was still r
esolutely avoiding his gaze. Her reluctance for this scenario was palpable. He had an uncomfortable flashback to the way his father had used to insist on his mother parading the latest fashions from Paris he’d bought for her. He knew this was nothing like that, but his desire was doused as effectively as if he’d stepped into a freezing cold shower.

  His voice was arctic. ‘That dress is entirely unsuitable. Clearly we’ve come to the wrong place. Go and change. We’re leaving.’

  Sadiq saw Samia’s jaw tense, and the set of her shoulders as she turned and walked stiffly back through the curtain, and had to restrain himself from stopping her and explaining … what? That for a second he’d been afraid that he’d turned into his father? His overweight, overbearing father, who had flaunted his women in front of his only son as if it was something to be proud of, and in front of his stoic wife like a punishment for as long as Sadiq could remember?

  Distaste curdled his insides, and he got up and paced impatiently while he waited for Samia.

  At least he would never subject her to what his mother had had to endure for years, despite whatever justification his father might have believed he had. Sadiq had always vowed he would do things differently. He would have nothing but respect for his wife and would treat his heirs like human beings, not pawns.

  Samia took a breath and stepped back into the main suite. She was still stinging inside at Sadiq’s cold condemnation of the outfit—and her. She hadn’t looked at him once but she hadn’t had to to know that his eyes had inspected every single piece of her and found it lacking. It had taken all of her strength to stand there and endure it. Even her rejection at the hands of that college boy was paling into insignificance next to Sadiq’s silent but damning appraisal.

  She stepped back into the suite to see Sadiq looking so broodingly at the floor that she had to battle the almost overwhelming feeling of déjà vu and curb the impulse to ask him if anything was wrong. She almost laughed at herself. As if she needed to ask! He was marrying her. And it was all wrong—if only he would agree with her.

  He turned to look at her and her hands gripped her jacket. She felt shabby and more unsuitable then ever to be Queen. ‘That dress—I don’t think it—’

  His hand slashed through the air. ‘It did nothing for you because it was far too obvious and your beauty is not obvious. It’s subtle. Clearly this was the wrong place to come. We’ll have to go to Paris instead.’

  Samia’s mouth opened but nothing came out. She hadn’t known what he would say but she hadn’t expected that. For a moment her weak heart had fluttered to hear him describe her as beautiful, but then the subtle had struck home. It was just another way of saying she was plain.

  Sadiq was already pacing away and speaking rapidly into his phone in fluent French, taking her arm to hustle her out of the suite and the shop. Anger was starting to bubble low in her belly at his heavy-handed behaviour, but now he was on his third phone call and she could tell from the guttural Arabic that it was about politics in Al-Omar. Samia was used to her brother switching off and becoming impossible to deal with at times like this, so she just crossed her arms and seethed silently beside Sadiq.

  Within an hour they were ascending into the clear blue sky from a private airfield in the middle of London. Samia wasn’t unused to private air travel—her own family had a fleet of jets and helicopters—but she and her brother only used them when absolutely necessary. Both were keenly aware of the environment and their carbon footprint, and of wanting to set an example.

  She wasn’t aware that Sadiq had terminated his phone call until a drawling voice asked, ‘Are you going to ignore me for the entire flight?’

  Samia turned to face him, instantly cowed by how gorgeous he looked with his jacket off and his shirt open at the throat. She wanted to know what he would look like in jeans and a T-shirt.

  Her wayward imaginings made her snap more caustically than she would have intended, ‘I could ask the same of you. And I’ve told you all along how unsuitable I am, so I don’t appreciate your silent, cold condemnation when I don’t morph into the bride you want.’

  His eyes narrowed on her. ‘I meant what I said back there, Samia. I don’t hand out platitudes or compliments for the sake of it. It’s not my style. I simply recognised that the establishment I’d chosen was entirely wrong for you.’ His eyes travelled up and down her body with leisurely appraisal, and then back to her face, which was hot. ‘Like I said, your beauty is subtle and needs a more … delicate approach.’

  Samia still refused to believe for a second that he really meant what he’d said. This was just his way of placating her.

  And now he was taking her somewhere they could camouflage her better. Stiffly she said, ‘Well, I hope it’s worth the expense and environmental impact of taking a private plane all the way to Paris just to dress me.’

  Dark amusement made his eyes glint and Samia’s heart speed up.

  ‘Don’t worry, Princess. I can assure you that our carbon footprint will be as minimal as possible. One of my own team of scientists is using this plane as a vehicle to test out more environmentally friendly fuels. So, actually, we’re providing valuable research.’

  Samia refused to let his humour infect her. ‘You really have an answer for everything, don’t you?’

  He smiled properly now, and it made him look ten years younger and less cynical. ‘Of course.’

  Samia had to turn away. He was far too attractive at that moment, and she feared that he’d see something of the ambiguous emotions she was feeling on her far too expressive face. That she found him attractive was undeniable, but that was just pure human reaction to one of the most virile specimens of man on the planet. She denied to herself that the attraction went any deeper than that—that what she felt went beyond the physical.

  ‘Believe me,’ he said now, ‘when we announce our engagement to the press on Monday you’ll be grateful for the armour of suitable clothing.’

  ‘Monday …’ Samia looked around, feeling herself pale. If there was any last moment when she could try and get out of this, it was now.

  She was unaware of the wistful look on her face or the way Sadiq’s tightened.

  ‘Don’t even think about it, Samia. We’ve gone too far to turn back now. There’s already been speculation in the papers after that photo. Now they’re just waiting for an announcement.’

  Her eyes narrowed on Sadiq and any hope was doused at the steely look on his face. Bitterly she said, ‘It’s so easy for you, isn’t it? You’ve had your life of hedonistic freedom, and now you’ve decided to marry it’ll be executed with the minimum of fuss and maximum haste.’

  Sadiq’s eyes flashed. ‘You’ve had your freedom too, Samia. As a modern twenty-five-year-old woman you can’t expect me to assume you’ve led such a nun’s existence that you’re still a virgin?’

  Instantly reacting to his mocking tone with a visceral need to protect herself, Samia taunted, ‘You mean you don’t mind that you won’t be getting a pure wife on your wedding night? I would have thought with the amount of care you put into choosing your oh-so-suitable bride that it would have been part of the checklist.’

  Their gazes locked. Samia was breathing far too rapidly for her liking. And she couldn’t believe she’d more or less lied so blatantly. She was leading him to believe she’d had plenty of lovers.

  A cynical smile curved Sadiq’s sensual mouth. ‘It doesn’t bother me in the least,’ he drawled. ‘Of course I didn’t expect a pure bride. I’m not so old-fashioned or such a hypocrite. I’ve got a healthy sexual appetite and quite frankly the thought of sleeping with a novice is not something I relish.’

  A sudden pain lanced Samia. Ever since that experience in college she’d locked away any romantic desire that she would one day give herself to someone who would appreciate her for unique self. She’d told herself she didn’t harbour such dreams. And now she had to face the prospect of Sadiq’s horror when he found that he had indeed bagged himself an innocent bride on their wedding n
ight.

  Overcome with an emotion she didn’t want to analyse, and feeling terribly vulnerable, Samia scrambled inelegantly out of her seat. She felt permanently inelegant next to this man. Muttering something about being tired, she escaped to the back of the cabin, where she’d been shown a bedroom earlier, and firmly closed the door behind her. They’d be landing soon, but Samia curled up on the bed anyway and tried to block out the taunting and gorgeous face of Sadiq in her mind’s eye. She wondered how on earth she’d ever been deluded enough to think he might be vulnerable.

  Sadiq flung down his phone and glared out of the small oval window of the plane. All he could see were clouds upon clouds—and Samia’s face, with those big wounded aquamarine eyes shimmering more blue than green against the pale skin of her face. He had already come to notice how her eyes went dark blue when she was emotional.

  She’d looked close to tears just then, but he couldn’t fathom what he’d said to upset her. His mouth twisted wryly. Apart from asking her to marry him. He hadn’t had such a comprehensive attack on his ego ever … and he had to acknowledge at the same time that it wasn’t altogether unwelcome. Being surrounded by yes people and sycophants became wearing after a while.

  He thought back to what he’d said, and still couldn’t see that he’d said anything untoward. Of course he hadn’t expected her to be pure and untainted. He was a modern man and a modern ruler. Why would he behave one way himself and expect his wife to have lived like a nun? The important thing was that, whatever Samia had been doing, he’d seen no evidence of it.

  He gritted his jaw against the pervasive memory that threatened to burst free when he thought of the words pure and untainted. A woman had said those words to him with a scathing voice a long time ago.

  Analia Medena-Gonzalez. A stunningly beautiful socialite from Europe who had come to visit Al-Omar with her ambassador father when Sadiq had been eighteen. He’d been no innocent youth then, but he hadn’t exactly been experienced either.