The Sultan's Choice (8 page)

She couldn’t stop an image forming in her head of a small dark haired toddler running into Sadiq’s arms, and put a hand to her mouth in shock at her wayward imagination—and, worse, the yearning feeling that accompanied it. She’d never thought of herself as maternal, and it would be emotional suicide to harbour such fantasies when marrying someone who would only see children as
heirs
and
spares.
Sadiq hadn’t said as much, but he hadn’t said anything, either, to discount that view.

Samia groaned softly, and jumped when the driver asked, ‘Is everything all right, Your Highness?’

She got out a garbled yes, and resolutely pushed aside her disturbing line of thinking. She had to concentrate on packing up her life here in London. Movers would be taking most of her stuff to Sadiq’s London home, and the rest would be shipped to Al-Omar. In two weeks she’d be meeting
her fiancé again in her new home, and her life would change for ever. But that wasn’t half as daunting as the prospect of seeing Sadiq again.

B
Y
the end of the third day in B’harani, two weeks later, Samia knew she needn’t have worried about how seeing Sadiq would affect her because he’d spent a grand total of five minutes with her.

The day she’d arrived she’d been looking around the extensive and luxurious surroundings of her private suite of rooms when a peremptory knock had come on the door. Without waiting for an answer someone had opened it. Samia’s crazy heartbeat had told her that it could only be one person, as everyone else had been deferential to the point of embarrassment.

Sadiq had swept into the room, dominating the entire space immediately, resplendent in traditional white and gold Al-Omari robes. And even though she’d grown up seeing men in traditional dress he’d still taken her breath away. There had been something intensely masterful about the image he’d presented.

He’d been brusque and short, blue eyes disturbingly intense. ‘I trust you had a good journey and that your rooms are to your liking?’

Samia had nodded, her mouth dry, tongue-tied in the face of his overwhelming presence and sheer masculinity. And this cool reception.

‘Everything was …
is
fine. Thank you.’

‘Good. I’m afraid I won’t have much free time to spend with you as I’m trying to clear my schedule for the wedding and honeymoon.’

He had looked tired, dark stubble lining his jaw, and absurdly concern had risen within Samia. She had shrugged lightly, suddenly relieved that she wouldn’t be the focus of his attention straight away, while trying not to think about his reference to the
honeymoon.
‘That’s fine. I understand.’

He’d cracked a small tight smile and then said, with a rough quality to his voice that had resonated deep within her, ‘You don’t have to look so pleased to see the back of me. I’ll make sure you’re given tours of the castle and one of my aides will show you around B’harani. We have a public function to attend on Thursday night, before the wedding festivities start at the weekend. By Sunday we will be man and wife, and you will be Queen.’

The memory died away. Samia had just returned to her room after having dinner with Sadiq’s mother, Yasmeena. She’d been kind enough to take her under her wing, and Samia had seen from where Sadiq had inherited his unusual blue eyes. The elegant older woman had shown her around the castle. She was friendly, if a little reserved, and carried an air of deep sadness that reminded Samia poignantly of her father.

Responding to the allure of the dusky view outside her patio doors now, she went out to the private terrace which also held a small lap pool, complete with a kaleidescope of coloured mosaics, and walked across to the trellised wall. The balmy heat caressed her skin like a silken touch, and Samia realised just how much she’d missed this: the heat and the open spaces and the huge sky twinkling with stars.

Laid out before her eyes was the gleaming city of B’harani, a veritable jewel in the Middle East’s crown. An ancient port which had grown to become one of the most developed
cities in the region. Sparkling skyscrapers soaring against the mauve sky managed not to look incongruous alongside the more ancient buildings. They looked triumphant, a shining example of ambition and success.

She’d made trips here when she was a child, and while her father might have been a guest of the Sultan she and her siblings had stayed outside the castle grounds.

Samia had always loved B’harani. It had been so much more developed than Burquat had been back then. So inspirational. And nothing had changed. It had only become even more beautiful and fantastic since then. She knew that Sadiq was a keen amateur architect and had a big hand in every building that was designed. She still loved the clean, wide boulevards with plenty of trees giving leafy shade, and the numerous liberally watered green spaces where people strolled and children played.

But her favourite place so far had been the gritty docks—the oldest part of the city. It was heaving with history, a warren of ancient markets and potent smells. Ships and boats groaning under the weight of their cargoes sailed in and out of the huge harbour all day and night. And, since she’d been last, a stunningly modern marina had come to sit very sympathetically within the old port, which Samia had already vowed to come back and visit when she had more time.

She had been invisible as she’d walked around in casual trousers and a loose top, with a headscarf hiding her distinctive hair, not wanting to draw any attention in case someone had seen the tabloids in the UK. Even though she knew well that after this week she’d become one of the most recognisable faces in the country. She would be Queen to these people. As she looked out over the sprawling city now she was daunted and scared, yes, but also for the first time a fledgling sense of something else took root. It was a sense of responsibility. Ever since she’d said yes to Sadiq, the prospect
of taking on such a huge role had become less about fear and more about a burgeoning sense of excitement, which alternately scared her and made her want to see what she could start doing now. Something she’d never have guessed she’d feel in a million years.

Her hands gripped the wall when she imagined what the reality of marriage to Sadiq would be like. What it would be like to share a bedroom, and a
bed.
Heat flowed within her lower body and she grimaced. Perhaps he wouldn’t expect to share a room at all. Perhaps they would keep separate rooms and he would come to her, do his matrimonial duty and then leave.

An ominous lurching in her chest when she thought of that was so strong that she gripped the wall even tighter. She absolutely refused to investigate that surge of sudden emotion. For someone who had always vowed not to fall in love after seeing it wreak nothing but destruction she should be ecstatic at the possibility that Sadiq might want to keep things as impersonal as possible.

All she had to do was think of the perfume her maid Alia had brought her in a distinctive Al-Omari gold-and-red box. Al-Omar was famed for its perfume production all over the world, and some bottles sold for thousands of dollars. Alia had informed her that it was a gift from the Sultan, made especially to celebrate their engagement.

But when Samia had taken a sniff she’d nearly been knocked out. It was so strong. It was way too musky and overbearing for her. Nothing like the kind of delicate scent she would favour. And it had seemed to epitomise everything about her situation and the Sultan’s clear lack of interest now that his convenient wife had arrived.

Sadiq let his breath out and it was unsteady—as unsteady as the pounding of his heart. Ambition and the danger of the
desert, or a challenging sailing race got his heart pounding.
Not
the sight of his wife-to-be. He had been standing on the balcony terrace just outside his office when he’d seen a movement out of the corner of his eye and looked down to see Samia standing by the wall surrounding her own private terrace. She was in profile to him but he could make out the intensity of the expression on her face.

Day was tipping slowly into night—usually his favourite time to look out over the busily winding down city. But that suddenly paled into insignificance next to the sheen of light gold from Samia’s hair which flowed long and wavy down to the middle of her gently arched back.

He drank in the sight of her, slender in capri pants and a figure hugging cardigan, her breasts in provocative profile, and his whole body tightened in an instant. The slow burn of desire became faster, licking through his veins as he watched her like a voyeur. A curious dismay gripped him at this rampant response. At least he could say he now desired his fiancée. But he just couldn’t fathom this attraction, which only seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

Perhaps the real root of his ambiguous feelings was the fact that she evoked something within him that no other woman ever had. Something that was fiercely primal and at the same time protective. Not even Analia had evoked such a strong mix of reactions. His mouth twisted bitterly. No. That had been much more straightforward. She’d cruelly stepped on his heart and that would never happen again.

As the day of Samia’s arrival had grown nearer and nearer Sadiq had grown more irritable, not liking the sense of anticipation one bit. It was his fear of the strength of that anticipation that had led him to be so brusque when he’d welcomed her. And he hadn’t liked the feeling of spreading relief at seeing her here one little bit. When he’d said he was busy he hadn’t lied, but he knew he was also using it as a convenient
excuse. And for someone who’d never had to make excuses in his life it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

The day he’d said goodbye to her in London, after that kiss, when she’d turned that regal profile on him and been so cool, he’d wanted to reach in and pluck her from the back of the car, carry her to his private jet and bring her straight to Al-Omar. He’d felt like one of the nomads in the desert—raw and uncultivated.

The impulse had been so strong, but he’d told himself it was just because he didn’t trust that she wouldn’t get cold feet. And, telling himself it was for that reason each day in the interim, he’d instructed one of his PAs to call her bodyguards and track her movements, becoming increasingly obsessed with what she was doing.

One night she’d gone to a small dinner party thrown by her work colleagues in a restaurant in Mayfair, dressed in one of her new dresses. Sadiq knew because he’d asked the bodyguard to send him pictures. It had been a perfectly modest dress—black V-neck with sleeves, and to the knee—but she’d worn her hair down and the curves she’d been hiding for years had been on display. For the first time in his life Sadiq had felt
jealous.
He’d precipitated that change and resented that other people were seeing it.

Suddenly the figure down below spun away from the wall and hurried back inside, and Sadiq realised his hands were gripping the iron railing. He consciously relaxed and looked out over the city again. His wife-to-be was proving to be a monumental distraction—something that wasn’t meant to happen. The sooner he got control of himself the better. This marriage signified the next phase in development for his country. Nothing more and nothing less.

All he had to do was stop his mind straying with irritating predictability to his fiancée …

The next day Sadiq was looking out of his main study window, and he cursed colourfully enough to have his chief aide go red in the face. But he was unaware of that as he took in the scene down below in the main courtyard of his extensive stables. ‘What
is
she doing?’ he muttered out loud.

And then, before Kamil, his aide, could intervene, Sadiq spun around and clipped out, ‘This meeting is over. Get my horse saddled immediately.’ And he left the room, ignoring the open-mouthed older man, to change into something more suitable.

Belatedly Kamil rushed after him. ‘But, sire, you have to meet with the committee in two hours!’

‘I’ll be back by then,’ Sadiq said grimly, and disappeared.

Samia felt mildly guilty that she’d convinced the young groom to let her take a horse out without checking with Sadiq first. But the last thing she’d wanted to do was disturb him with such a small thing. She’d decided stoutly that as he didn’t want to spend time with her, that suited her fine too. And she’d been feeling increasingly claustrophobic. Even though the Hussein castle was as stunning as it was vast, with hundreds of secluded gardens and tantalising labyrinthine corridors which would take weeks to explore, its walls seemed to be closing in on Samia. Everywhere she went someone popped out to see if she needed anything.

While she appreciated their dedication, and knew they were only doing their jobs, she craved some freedom and some space, knowing very well that once she was married her sense of claustrophobia would only increase. Her every move would be accounted for and long days of back-to-back appointments would become the norm.

When she’d seen the stables a few days ago a rare excitement had kicked in her belly. She’d used to love riding when she’d been smaller, until her stepmother had seen that joy
and with typical malice had announced that it was too unladylike and forbidden Samia from riding again.

Unbeknownst to her stepmother, Kaden had taken Samia out on covert riding excursions, so her skills were not too rusty. The powerful stallion moved restlessly beneath her, and Samia felt the power move through those huge muscles. A sense of burgeoning exhilaration flowed through her blood. From here the gates opened straight out onto castle-owned desert lands, which led in turn to the desert proper, which then stretched for many miles to the north and away from B’harani. All the way up to Burquat, in fact. When Samia realised that she felt a pang of homesickness. Spurring the horse on, she left the castle behind and they surged forward.

Sadiq saw them in the distance, where clouds of sand were being kicked up by the powerful horse’s hooves. Samia looked tiny on the back of the huge black animal, her hair streaming out behind her. She wasn’t even wearing a hat, and Sadiq’s blood thundered in his veins as he started to close the distance between them. He could recognise that she was an excellent horsewoman but even that didn’t douse his anger.

Samia only sensed another’s presence when she heard a thundering sound behind her. She looked around and saw an almost mythically huge stallion bearing down on her and the livid features of Sadiq. The realisation that it was
him
behind her, chasing her, made her turn back and speed up. She knew she was reacting to something deep and primal. A fear of this man and his effect on her, how he made her feel.

But before she knew it Sadiq had pulled alongside and had reached for her reins to bring both horses to a stop. Within the space of what felt like seconds the horses had stopped and Sadiq had jumped down and plucked Samia out from
her saddle. Her legs nearly gave way, they were shaking so much, and it was only his big hands on her waist that kept her standing. He was glaring down at her and looked wild and gorgeous. A long robe was moulded to his body by the desert breeze and he’d ripped away the material of the turban that had shielded his mouth from the sand. Blue eyes like chips of diamond ice stood out in stark relief. He could have been a desert nomad. A hot beat of desire went through Samia’s body.