A Christmas Bride For The King

Charlotte stopped and took a breath, slightly aghast at how much had just tumbled from her mouth.

Sheikh Al-Noury barely moved a muscle from his louche pose as he said, ‘Mrs McQuillan—’

‘And it’s not Mrs McQuillan,’ Charlotte snapped, feeling as if she was fraying from the inside out while this man remained utterly nonchalant. ‘It’s Miss.’

The sheikh’s bright gaze dropped down over her upper body and back up, making Charlotte feel hot all over and yet as if she’d suddenly been found wanting. He’d obviously come to some unflattering conclusion about her single status.

He looked at her and said, with an almost infinitesimal twitching at the corner of his sensual mouth, ‘Quite. Forgive me for the error. I’m afraid I’d just assumed...’ He sat up straighter then, and pointed to the chair on the other side of his desk. ‘Please, sit down, Miss McQuillan. You’re making me nervous, looming over me like that.’

Charlotte doubted anything would make this man remotely nervous, and to her disgust felt perilously close to wanting to stamp her foot and storm out. Did he have to make her feel like an admonishing parent? And why should that be pricking at her insides like a hot poker?

Charlotte’s habitual cool head was irritatingly elusive. She’d never been so aware of herself. She knew that she presented a slightly conservative front, but in her business it was paramount to appear at all times elegant and refined. Giving no cause for possible offence or provocation.

She reluctantly did as he’d bade and sat down, aware of her skirt feeling tight and the top button of her shirt digging into her throat. Clothes that had never felt restrictive before, now felt shrink-wrapped to her body.

He put the glass down on the desk and said, ‘Look, your credentials are not in doubt. King Alix of Isle Saint Croix rang me himself to sing your praises. But the fact is that I did not look for your expertise. My brother hired you in spite of my protests. I would have told you before not to bother coming, but I’m afraid I got caught up in ensuring my business concerns are attended to in my absence. However, I will be more than happy to ensure your return to the UK immediately, and of course you will receive full payment in recompense.’

This man’s casual disregard for who and what she was made Charlotte’s hackles rise. As did his arrogant assumption that she would be so easily dismissed.

She pointed out with faux sweetness, ‘As it was your brother who hired me, then I’m afraid he is the only one who has the power to terminate this contract.’

Sheikh Al-Noury immediately scowled, but it only enhanced the wickedly beautiful symmetry of his features. His gaze narrowed on her and she stopped herself from fidgeting.

‘Are you seriously telling me that you would prefer to stay here in this landlocked sandpit of a country, in a city that is routinely plunged into darkness when the archaic electricity infrastructure fails, rather than be at home amongst your first-world comforts enjoying all of the festivities of the season? My coronation is due to take place a couple of days before Christmas, Miss McQuillan, and if you stay I can’t guarantee that you’ll make it home in time. You might not be married, but I’m sure there’s someone who is expecting your...company.’

It took Charlotte a few precious seconds to assimilate everything he was saying, but what caught at her gut was the way he’d hesitated over the word company, as if he’d had to find a diplomatic—ha!—way of suggesting that there might be someone waiting for her.

Next she registered his obvious disdain for his inherited kingdom—this landlocked sandpit of a country. True, there was something pitilessly unrelenting about the sea of sand on all sides of this ancient city, but Charlotte had felt a quickening of something deep in her soul—an urge to go out and explore, knowing from her research and studies of this region that it hid treasures not immediately apparent.

Collecting her wits, she said coolly, ‘I’m not in the habit of reneging on agreements, Sheikh Al-Noury, and it would be unprofessional in the extreme for me to walk away at this early stage. As for your kind concern about my missing Christmas, I can assure you that I have no particular desire or need to return in time for the holiday. In fact, it suits me perfectly well to be here right now.’

Salim looked at the woman on the other side of his desk—more than a little taken aback. He was used to issuing an order, or, in this case a very polite suggestion—and having it obeyed. But she was not walking out of his office as he’d fully intended—who wouldn’t take pay for nothing?—instead she was sitting opposite him as straight and upright as a haughty ballet dancer, staring at him with eyes the kind of green he’d only ever seen in Scotland, on one of those ethereally misty days. Distracting. Irritating.

She wasn’t remotely his type, so why was he noticing her eyes? Salim preferred his women a lot more deshabillée, accessible and amenable. Everything about her, from her shining cap of neatly bobbed shoulder-length hair to her pristine dark grey suit and light grey blouse, screamed control and order—constraints Salim had rebelled against for so long now that he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted to upset the status quo.

And yet...much to his irritation...he couldn’t help noticing the fact that her surprisingly lush mouth was at odds with her cool demeanour, making him wonder what other lushness might be hiding under her oh-so-prim and neat exterior.

His gaze dropped to the bow at her throat and he imagined tugging on one silken length—would her whole shirt fall open? As he watched, the silky material moved more rapidly over her chest, as if she was breathing quickly, and when Salim glanced up again her cheeks had a slight telltale flush.

He was well inured to the signs of attraction in women, but it was patently evident that this woman didn’t welcome it. Which was a total novelty.

When he caught her eye again he almost felt the blast of ice along with an accusatory light. She definitely didn’t like being attracted to him.

This intrigued him more than he cared to admit—as did her assertion that she didn’t mind missing Christmas. But he curbed the impulse to ask her why. He avoided asking women searching questions.

Salim cursed himself and shifted in his chair to ease the sudden constriction in his pants. To find himself reacting to a woman who desired him but looked at him as if he was a naughty schoolboy was galling.

He forced his body back under control and stood up. Her gaze lingered around his chest area for a moment before rising. She stood up too—hurriedly. He had a sense that she was usually more composed—if that was possible—than she was now and that thought gave him some perverse pleasure.

‘You’re determined to see out your contract, then?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘How long did my dear brother hire you for?’

‘Until the coronation takes place. He said that if you require my services after that you can extend the contract yourself.’

Salim thought to himself that as he had no intention of staying in his role as king for long that would be highly unlikely, but he desisted from sharing that information with a complete stranger.

‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘If you really want to stay in this sand-blown place—’

‘Oh, but I think it’s beautiful...’ She stopped, her cheeks going pink. ‘I mean, from what I’ve seen so far. It’s run down, yes, but one can see the potential.’

Salim arched a brow and ignored the pulse in his blood seeing this small glimpse of something like passion. ‘Can one?’

Her green eyes flashed. Once again Salim found himself a little mesmerised by the vivid emotions crossing her face. He couldn’t remember meeting a woman so lacking in artifice. And then something in him hardened. Was he losing his mind? All women wanted something from him—even this one.

Maybe she just wanted the kudos of working for him—it would certainly elevate her professional standing to be the one who had wrangled Sheikh Salim Al-Noury into accepting his crown and toeing the line like a good little king.

He thought of something and folded his arms. ‘Aren’t you worried that by being associated with me you’ll taint your reputation?’

She tipped up her chin. ‘I am here to see that that doesn’t happen, Sheikh Al-Noury, and I’m very good at my job.’

For a second he stood in stunned silence, and then he couldn’t stop a smile—a genuine smile—from curving his mouth upwards. It had been so long since anyone had exhibited such confidence in front of him. And a lack of awe that was as refreshing as it was slightly insulting.

She frowned. ‘If you’re going to make fun of me—’

Salim shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t dare, Miss McQuillan. I’d be afraid you’d put me over your knee and spank me for being naughty.’

The colour deepened in her cheeks, as if she was having trouble controlling her temper and Salim almost, but not quite, regretted goading her like this.

But then she recovered and reached for her case. She avoided his eye. ‘If that’s all for now, Sheikh Al-Noury, I think I’d like to settle in and get acquainted with my surroundings.’

He put out a hand. ‘By all means. Let me show you to your room.’

She preceded him out of the Royal Office. She was taller than he’d initially registered. The top of her head would come to just under his chin. Her body would stand tantalisingly flush against his in heels. But if she wasn’t wearing heels... Once again sexual interest flared in his groin and he scowled. She was buttoned up to within an inch of her life. Since when had he found prim attractive?

Charlotte was burningly aware of Sheikh Al-Noury close behind her, and it made her tense—even though she knew that he wasn’t remotely interested in her in that way. She was sure he didn’t taunt women he found attractive and suggest they might put him over their knee, which had caused all manner of completely inappropriate images to flood her mind.

The man was so charismatic, he could probably make an inanimate object feel something.

He led her away from the office down a long, imposing corridor. She’d only seen a handful of staff so far, which added to the surreal sense of the whole palace being in a state of arrested development.

Salim glanced at her when she’d caught up with his long-legged stride and she said, ‘I’m surprised the palace is so quiet. Is there only a skeleton staff because no one has been in residence for so long?’

Sheikh Al-Noury stopped, causing Charlotte to come to a halt too. ‘There is minimal staff today because it’s a national holiday—don’t tell me you missed that in your research?’

She had missed that pertinent detail, and now she felt foolish after spouting off all her qualifications.

‘Don’t worry,’ he drawled, striding off again, ‘I’ll make sure someone attends to you and brings you food. Tomorrow you’ll be assigned a maid—’

‘That’s really not necessary,’ Charlotte protested as she started after him. She was aware of the customs here, but wasn’t comfortable at the thought of someone waiting on her.

‘It’s how things are done, Ms McQuillan,’ the sheikh pointed out. ‘If you insist on staying then you will abide by our ways.’

Charlotte stopped for a moment, surprised that in this he seemed to be happy that customs were adhered to, but she had to keep going when he showed no signs of slowing down and was about to disappear around a corner. She wouldn’t put it past him to leave her lost in this vast palace. It couldn’t be more obvious that he’d prefer to be putting her on the next flight home.

She longed to be able to stop and explore as they passed intriguing-looking courtyards with colourful mosaics and ornate fountains. They rounded another corner and Charlotte jumped when a peacock appeared in their path, as nonchalant as if they were intruding on its turf, its long and vibrantly coloured tail trailing behind it.

Sheikh Al-Noury stepped around it and kept going. Charlotte felt disorientated. She’d built a picture of this man in her mind that had been based on lurid headlines:

Playboy Sheikh opens new nightclub

in Monte Carlo!

Al-Noury triples fortune overnight by

floating new social media messaging site!

And, while he wasn’t doing much to dispel that image with his appearance or attitude, he didn’t seem as...shallow as Charlotte might have expected.

They came to a set of huge double doors at the end of the corridor. Sheikh Al-Noury opened them and stood back to let her precede him. When Charlotte stepped over the threshold she sucked in a breath. This was a different palace. One that hadn’t been frozen in time and left to crumble to pieces.

It was a suite containing numerous rooms, each one covered in exquisite Persian carpets. The furnishings were sumptuous and sensual—dark reds and purples. A little over the top for her tastes, but effortlessly regal. There was a private dining area, and a living room that led into a palatial en-suite bedroom dominated by a four-poster bed.

She avoided looking at that, acutely aware of the man only feet away and how he might be observing her reaction and somehow judging her. She’d never felt so conscious of being a woman before. And a woman who was lacking.

The room was pleasantly cool, thanks to the air-conditioning, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows and French doors that led out onto a private terrace, complete with a decorative swimming pool.

She turned around to face her reluctant host. ‘These rooms are beautiful, but I’d be quite happy in something less...luxurious.’

He waved a dismissive hand. ‘These are usually reserved for my mother’s use, and they were decorated to her specifications, but as she won’t be visiting any time soon you are welcome to use them.’

There was a distinctly chilly tone to his voice and Charlotte said, ‘Not even for your coronation?’

Sheikh Al-Noury’s face became shuttered. ‘She knows she’s not welcome here while I’m in residence.’

Charlotte couldn’t claim much of a relationship with either of her parents, but the cold tone of Sheikh Al-Noury’s voice shocked her. ‘But isn’t this her homeland?’

He responded curtly. ‘It was.’

He backed away then, and suddenly Charlotte had an irrational fear of being left alone in this seemingly empty palace. In truth, it wasn’t a totally irrational fear because she’d had plenty of experience being left to her own devices, with only a nanny and staff for company in big houses, but she refused to think of her own demons now.

She’d already revealed too much by admitting she had no desire to be at home for Christmas. Not that he’d shown much interest in why that might be. Not that she wanted him to show interest she told herself fervently. So she said nothing.

He was almost at the door when he turned back and said, ‘Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll instruct someone to bring you some dinner.’

So she was to be consigned to her rooms.

But then he added, ‘Do feel free to explore... I must warn you, though, that it is perilously easy to get lost in this place, so don’t stray too far. The palace library is on this corridor, if you go left when you step outside.’

Just before he disappeared Charlotte blurted out, ‘Sheikh Al-Noury?’

He turned around, his hand on the door. ‘Yes?’

For a moment her mind went dismayingly blank at the way he so effortlessly dominated even this vast room, but she forced herself to focus and said, ‘I’m not here to be a nuisance... I am actually here to try and help ease your transition into becoming king.’

She could see his jaw clench from where she stood, and he said, ‘Miss McQuillan, you wouldn’t be here if it had been up to me. The last thing I need is an expert in diplomacy. But you are here, and I suspect you’re going to prove to be a nuisance whether you intend to or not, so you can start by calling me Salim. The way you say Sheikh Al-Noury makes me feel old.’

Before Charlotte could respond to that, or object to the way he insisted on calling her Miss McQuillan, as if she were a headmistress, he said, ‘I’ll have someone bring you some food, and I suggest that in the meantime we stay out of each other’s way.’

CHAPTER TWO

CHARLOTTE WATCHED THE door close on the most infuriating man she’d ever met, not to mention the most disturbing, and she had to quell a childish urge to hurl something at the door behind him. Instead she kicked off her shoes and paced back and forth on the sumptuous silken rugs.

She fumed. She was used to dealing with clients who thought they knew everything about international relations and diplomacy until something blew up in their faces, and then suddenly Charlotte became their most valuable asset. But she’d never encountered such downright...antipathy before.

She was patently unwelcome—and she could call him Salim but he wouldn’t deign to call her Charlotte. She thought about that for a moment and felt a frisson run down her spine at the thought of his tongue wrapping itself around her name. That little frisson was humiliating, because it was glaringly obvious that he didn’t view her as female—more as an asexual irritation.

Sheikh Al-Noury was affecting her in a way that she hadn’t experienced before, because she was good at keeping people at a distance and yet from the first moment they’d met he’d slid under her skin with disconcerting ease.

Charlotte shucked off her jacket and undid the bow at her neck and her top button. Then, spying her bags in the bedroom near the dressing room, she set about unpacking. She found herself dwelling on the animosity the sheikh had demonstrated towards his mother. She didn’t like the way it resonated within her, reminding her of her own fractured relationship with her mother, brought on by years of careless parenting after a bitter divorce.

But she diverted her mind away from wondering too much about anything personal to do with the sheikh. It wasn’t her business. And the last thing she wanted to think about was her own pitiful family history.

After taking a refreshing shower in the lavish bathroom, Charlotte changed into stretchy pants and a soft long-sleeved top. Just as her stomach rumbled she heard a knock on the door. Her gut clenched as she imagined it might be him, but when she opened the door there was a young girl, with a trolley full of food and wine in an ice bucket on the other side.

She admonished herself; he’d hardly be delivering her dinner.

Charlotte stood back to let the girl in and watched as she silently laid the dining table for one and set out the food. Tantalising scents filled the air and her stomach rumbled louder. The girl scurried out again, too shy to return Charlotte’s smile.

Charlotte sat down to explore what she’d been given. Balls of rice mixed with herbs. Lamb infused with spices and scented rice. Flat bread with hummus. It looked delicious and she found that she was ravenous.

She ate as dusk fell outside, not noticing it had got dark until she stood up and went to the window with her wine glass in her hand, feeling a little more settled after an unsettling day.

She opened the French doors and was surprised to find that it was much cooler than she’d expected—and then she chastised herself: basic geography, of course it got cold in the desert at night. She fetched a cashmere wrap and then went back outside, sitting on a seat, relishing the peace.

The thought of the vast expanse of empty desert surrounding her made a thrum of excitement pulse in her blood. She’d always found this part of the world fascinating, hence her choice of master’s degree. The stars were so low and bright in the dark sky she imagined she could reach out and pluck one into her hand.

Tabat intrigued her.

And so does its enigmatic ruler, whispered a voice.

Charlotte scowled and took a sip of wine, telling herself that Sheikh Al-Noury—Salim—didn’t intrigue her at all. He was thoroughly charmless and clearly reluctant to change his hedonistic existence before becoming king.

He didn’t intrigue her because she knew his type all too well. As the only child of two high-profile parents, who had used her as an unwitting pawn in their bitter divorce and custody battle, she recognised the traits of a selfish person who was here under sufferance. After all, when her father had lost in the custody battle with her mother he’d always let it be known that her visits with him had been something he’d done purely out of legal obligation, not because he really cared for her, so she was in far too familiar territory.

However, she wouldn’t let her own personal feelings intrude on her professional life. She’d worked too hard to separate herself from her parents and that time. She’d even changed her name, vowing to live a life much different from theirs, which was smack at the centre of the public eye.

She’d built an independent life and a reputation based on her intellect—not her name or the infamy associated with it. She had a strong desire never to be at the mercy of anyone else again, to the point that she’d instinctively avoided intimate relationships, too afraid of letting someone close enough to devastate her world as her parents had.

Diverting her mind away from her past, she assured herself that all she had to do was make sure the sheikh didn’t cause an international scandal in the run-up to his coronation, which was due to take place in three weeks. And then, once the man had been crowned king, Charlotte could walk away and hopefully never see him again.

So why did she find her mind wandering back to him now? Wondering where he was in this vast and largely empty palace?

Then she cursed her naivety as a wave of embarrassment made her feel hot. He had surely not denied himself the pleasures of a mistress. A man like that? He’d left his life of excess in Europe and the States, to return to take up his rightful place, but he’d hardly have denied himself his base comforts, and sex and women were one of his most well-documented pastimes. And only the most beautiful women at that—albeit never for long.

Charlotte shook her head and stood up, returning to her suite. She told herself firmly that she couldn’t care less if Sheikh Salim was entertaining a harem of mistresses right now as long as he was discreet about it.

The fact that it took her ages to fall asleep in the huge bed, only for her dreams to be populated by a mysteriously masked and robed man on a huge stallion cantering across vast desert sands, was a pure coincidence. And not disturbing in the slightest.

Not even when she had to concede when she woke the following morning that he hadn’t really been mysterious at all. Not with those blue eyes.

A week later

‘Sire, we are so grateful that you are here, finally. There is so much work to do in two weeks! And then, once you are king—’

Salim turned around abruptly from where he’d been trying to tune out his chief aide, stopping the man’s words. They caused a sensation not unlike panic in his chest and Salim did not panic.

His aide—an old man who had known his grandfather—looked at him expectantly. Salim said tightly, ‘Do whatever it is that you deem necessary, Rafa. You know more about this place than me, after all.’

The slightest flare of something in those old eyes was the only hint that his aide was not impressed that it had taken Salim so long to take up his role, or that he’d spent most of the last week out of Tabat.

Salim told himself that part of his motivation for leaving Tabat behind for a few days hadn’t had anything to do with Charlotte McQuillan and her big green eyes looking at him so incisively. Not unlike the way Rafa was looking at him right now.

It had actually had to do with the secret meetings he’d set up with his legal team, and a close friend who ruled a nearby sultanate, to discuss who best to approach to take over from him as king once he’d abdicated.

The meetings hadn’t gone well. The one person he and his team had identified as a suitable prospective king had turned them down flat. A distant cousin of Salim’s, Riad Arnaud.