The Sheikh's Heir

It was the corniest line Ella had ever heard and yet, somehow, it worked. For some insane reason it made her want to smile—a little I’m-so-pleased-with-myself sort of smile to accompany the embarrassing rise of colour to her cheeks.

But she didn’t fall for meaningless chat-up lines, did she? Hadn’t she learnt—from the humiliating example set by her own father—that men spent their lives saying things to women that they didn’t mean? And hadn’t she vowed never to become one of those women who drank up worthless compliments and then let their hearts get broken as a result?

Drawing back her shoulders, she stared at the exotic-looking man, pleased that she’d worn such ridiculously high heels which meant that their eyes were almost on a level. ‘So you’re a real live prince, are you?’

‘Indeed I am.’ For a moment, Hassan felt a flicker of impatience, acknowledging his own obstinacy. He didn’t like being recognised for his royal blood and yet he found it faintly irritating when his regal status was not alluded to. He wasn’t expecting her to curtsey—which was a good thing, since she clearly had no intention of doing so!—but a little deference surely wouldn’t have gone amiss? Surely she could have allowed a small amount of awe to creep into an English accent which he found oddly difficult to place. ‘In fact, I am a sheikh,’ he expanded proudly. ‘My name is Hassan, and I am a prince of the desert.’

‘Wow!’

Hassan’s eyes narrowed. Was that sarcasm he had heard tingeing her voice? Surely not. People were always impressed by his sheikhdom, indeed being ravished by a sheikh seemed to be the number-one sexual fantasy among most of the Western women he met. Yet the uncertainty of her response fired his blood into a slow, pulsing heat. The cat-like slant of her blue eyes was very appealing and he felt another kick of lust as he imagined those eyes growing opaque in time to the powerful thrust of his body. He swallowed, for his groin had grown exquisitely hard in conjunction with his thoughts.

‘And now I think we are supposed to dance,’ he said unevenly. Slowly, he allowed his gaze to travel all the way down her legs to where her feet were encased in a pair of toweringly high stilettos. ‘Before you run off as the clock strikes midnight, and leave one of those gravity-defying and very sexy shoes behind.’

Ella’s heart hammered. Of course she knew the shoes were sexy—you didn’t wear heels this high because they were comfortable. But it came as something of a shock to hear him come right out and say so like that. There was something very blatant about his remark. It made her feel … weird…. As if she was something she wasn’t. As if she’d worn them so that an arrogant sheikh might look at her legs with unashamed appraisal. And she had certainly not done that.

Every instinct she possessed was screaming out to her to get away from him. But even as the adrenalin pumped around her body, wasn’t there a contrary instinct urging her to do precisely the opposite? Didn’t she have some insane desire for him to take her into his arms and pull her against his powerful body to see whether he felt as good as he looked?

‘I’m not really that into dancing,’ she said truthfully.

‘Ah, but that’s because you’ve never danced with me,’ he drawled as he took her by the hand and led her onto the dance floor. ‘Once you have, you’ll change your mind. You’ll become an instant convert, believe me.’

Ella swallowed. What an arrogant boast to make! Now was the moment for her to wrench her hand away from the firm grip of his fingers and walk away from him and these confused emotions she was experiencing.

So why was she letting him lead her to a spot where the overhanging chandeliers spilled their fractured diamond spangles onto the glossy dance floor? Because she liked his touch, that was why. It was that simple and that complex and it was doing strange things to her. Making her feel light-headed and excited. Making her heart race as if she had just endured an hour’s hard workout at the gym.

She felt a brief flash of shame but still she didn’t move. And she knew she was about to betray her family by dancing with a man who despised them.

Without warning, Hassan took her into his arms and his presence enveloped her, just as his shadow had done earlier. His body felt as warm and as hard as she’d imagined and she moved closer to him, as his hands splayed possessively across her back.

Remember all those things he said about your family, she reminded herself dazedly. About Izzy sounding like a crow and them all being nothing but tramps.

And yet it was difficult to remember the insults when he was holding her in his arms like this. Difficult to do anything other than melt against him.

‘You smell beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘Of summer meadows in the sun.’

With an effort, Ella lifted her head to stare at the proud jut of his jaw. ‘What do sheikhs know of summer meadows?’

‘Plenty. When I was a boy, I used to come and visit Alex and sometimes we would go to England, to play the polo at which we both excelled. It was there that I learned that the smell of newly mown grass was one of the most seductive smells in the world.’ He smiled against her hair. Particularly if there was a nubile and willing female lying in it, with most of her clothes undone.

Ella could now feel the gentle caress of his fingertips on her bare skin and she knew she had to stop this before it went any further. Before his sexy voice and sure touch made her do anything else she regretted. Turning her face up, she flashed him a smile which was completely insincere. ‘You must have been amazed to find someone tolerably attractive to dance with among all these women here tonight,’ she observed. ‘Should I be flattered?’

Hassan frowned at the unexpected change of topic, some subtle emphasis in her words nudging at a faint memory. ‘Perhaps you should.’ He moved his hand to allow his fingers to tangle briefly in the spill of curls which danced around at the base of her waist. ‘Though I imagine that flattery is something you’re quite used to.’

The easy compliment slipped off his tongue and it helped fuel her indignation. Ella wriggled a little in his arms. ‘Are you always this predictable when you talk to women?’

‘Predictable? You want me to be a little more original, do you, Cinderella?’ he questioned, feeling the provocative thrust of her beaded breasts pressing into his chest. ‘But that would be exceedingly difficult with someone who looks like you. What can I tell you that countless men haven’t said before? You must be bored with hearing that your eyes are the blue of a summer sky. Or that your hair is so lustrous that if I moved a little closer, I’d swear I’d be able to see my face in its reflection.’

He positioned his head as if he intended to do just that, but instead he found that his eyes were closing and that he was breathing her in and pulling her against his body. And that suddenly he wanted her very much. It had been, he realised achingly, a long time since he’d held a woman in his arms. Particularly a woman who sent out messages as conflicting as this one …

Ella felt his arms tighten around her and was appalled at how much she wanted to sink further into that embrace. To feel the beat of his heart and to listen to those admiring comments which he probably said to every woman and which meant precisely nothing.

‘Hassan,’ she said, realising how thready her voice sounded. But why wouldn’t it sound like that when he had just splayed his hands so proprietarily over her back? She was wearing a dress which left a lot of skin on show. Skin to which he now had access. She felt the almost imperceptible caress of his fingers and she shivered with a strange kind longing. She had to stop this.

‘Or the most beautiful pair of lips I’ve ever seen. Tell me, does that lipstick come off when a man kisses you and does it taste of roses, or berries?’

‘Hassan,’ she said again, more weakly this time.

‘Mmm? I like it when you say my name. Say it again. Say it as if you want to ask me a big, big favour and let me see if I can guess what that favour might be.’

With an effort, she ignored the shockingly erotic command and pulled away from him so that she could see his reaction. ‘What do you think of the bride-to-be?’

A look of displeasure crossed his face as the sensual mood was broken by her unexpected question. For a moment back then, he’d almost forgotten where he was—and he did not care to be reminded. ‘I don’t think you want to know,’ he said, an unmistakable note of finality in his voice warning her that he did not wish to pursue the topic.

‘Oh, but I do,’ argued Ella. ‘I’m fascinated to hear your opinion. I’m sure it’ll be really enlightening.’

He drew back. She was enchanting in her own way, but he thought that she was in danger of overstepping the mark. Didn’t she realise that if he wanted a subject closed, then it was closed? Immediately. And that persisting with her girlie questionnaire to test out his views on marriage—which was clearly what this was all about—would put a complete dampener on the rest of the evening? Because if he told her the truth—that marriage was not for him—wouldn’t her beautiful scarlet lips inevitably crumple with disappointment?

He wanted to dance with her, to feel the softness of her skin and the press of her flesh against his. If she continued to please him, then he might later take her to his bed, but she must quickly learn that his word was law.

‘I think that the less said about the bride-to-be, the better, don’t you?’ he drawled dismissively.

‘No, I don’t, actually.’ Ella saw the spark of warning glittering in the depths of his black eyes and a sudden, heady power infused her. Was he so spoiled that he was used to people just falling in with his wishes every time he snapped his fingers? Yes, he probably was. She recalled the words of his aide. The smarmy way he had tried to talk him round. Ugh! She leaned forward, her voice probably not as low as it should have been but her rage was so profound that she didn’t care. ‘But then you’ve probably exhausted the topic since you’ve already said quite a few nasty things about Allegra, haven’t you?’

He stiffened. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He had relaxed his hold on her and Ella took the opportunity to step away from the distraction of his touch, staring fearlessly into the ebony glitter of his eyes. ‘You heard me,’ she said. ‘But perhaps you’re suffering from some sort of short-term memory loss and need me to remind you of the things you said. Shall I do that?’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Ella began to count the facts off against her fingers. ‘Let’s see, you think she’s highly unsuitable and that Alex shouldn’t be marrying her. Didn’t you describe her as a “tramp”—just like her mother and sisters? And didn’t you say that you considered the whole Jackson family far too “vulgar” ever to be related to the Crown Prince of Santina?’

‘Where the hell did you hear all this?’ he demanded.

‘I notice that you don’t deny it!’ she accused, her voice growing louder as several of the other dancers turned their heads to see what was going on. She could see the dawning light of recognition in his eyes and she leapt in for the final thrust, a fierce protectiveness sweeping over her as she thought of her wayward family. ‘You delivered your damning verdict on people you have never met, didn’t you? And then you left to find someone “tolerably attractive” to dance with. And that someone just happened to be me!’

There was a split second of a pause before his eyes narrowed as he looked at her. ‘You’re one of the Jacksons?’ he guessed.

‘Oh, bravo, Sheikh Hassan! Prince of the desert! It took you long enough to work it out, didn’t it? Yes, I’m one of the Jacksons!’

Resisting the desire to show her just how speedy his responses could be, he glared at her. ‘You were eavesdropping in the anteroom!’

‘And if I was?’

‘Eavesdropping!’ he repeated contemptuously. A slow anger began to build inside him as he met the defiant light in her blue eyes. But in truth, he was furious with himself for not having followed his own instincts. He had thought that he’d heard something, and yet he had allowed himself to be convinced otherwise. And wasn’t that lazy and dangerous behaviour from a king, especially one who had just left behind a war zone? Was he getting complacent now that he was away from the battlefields?

He lowered his voice to an angry hiss. ‘That’s exactly the kind of vulgar attitude I would have expected from a family such as yours, and one which completely vindicates my belief about your general unsuitability to be mixing in royal circles. I rest my case.’

It wasn’t so much the hateful things he was saying which made Ella’s blood boil, but the sanctimonious way he was saying them. As if he was in the right and she was in the wrong! As if he was allowed to say what he pleased and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. Her blood was pounding in her veins as she felt her rage rise, and an odd kind of hurt and frustration come bubbling to the surface.

People were staring at them quite openly now, but she didn’t care.

‘Unsuitability?’ she declared. ‘I’ll show you unsuitability if you want!’ Almost without thinking, she grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and tossed it over his dark, mocking face before turning to push her way through the throng of openmouthed spectators.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR a moment Hassan was frozen into shocked immobility, scarcely able to believe what had just happened. The impudent minx of a Jackson girl had thrown champagne over him!

Angrily, he wiped both cheeks, aware that people were staring at him, their voices beginning to rise in excited chatter above the brief, stunned silence which had followed their very public row. But he barely paid them any attention. He was too busy watching the tottering sway of ‘Cinderella’ Jackson’s silver-clad bottom as she moved through the ballroom, as swiftly as her ridiculously high heels would allow.

He could see his bodyguard fixing him with a questioning look, as if seeking permission to go after her and give her a crash course in royal protocol. But Hassan gave a decisive shake of his head as a cold realisation crept over him.

How dare she humiliate him in such a way? And in public! Why, if a man in his own country had done such a thing, he would have been thrown immediately into the city jail!

His mouth hardening into a grim line, he began to follow her, his long stride quickly covering the distance between them. Now he was close enough to hear the clatter of her high heels on the marble floor and see the gleam of light as it highlighted the curve of her silver-beaded bottom. He saw her glance over her shoulder, her blue eyes widening when she saw him behind her, and a brief sensation of anticipation rippled over his skin as she increased her speed.

Silently, he pursued her, pleased when she briefly hesitated between two corridors—one wide and one narrow. She wouldn’t have a clue where she was going, he thought with satisfaction, whereas he knew well the labyrinth network of passageways which comprised the Santina palace. Hadn’t he and Alex played hide-and-seek in them often enough when they were children?

She chose the narrower passage and he continued to shadow her, knowing that he could easily have caught up with her there and then but he was enjoying the thrill of the chase too much to want to end it. It was like being back in battle, his senses honed and heightened as he pursued his quarry….

Only when the main body of the palace had retreated and the corridors were bare of servants did he surge forward. She whirled round as he backed her into a corner, her breath coming in short little pants. Her abundant curls were spilling down over the silver dress, one thigh was pushed forward as if to showcase its honed perfection, and he thought that he had never seen a woman look so wild and so wanton.

‘Got you,’ he said, his voice a triumphant murmur, but he didn’t touch her.

Ella stared at him, her heart pounding so hard that it felt as if it was about to leap out of her chest. She was hot and out of breath. Running in these heels had been a stupid thing to try to do because her feet now felt as if they were on fire. What had possessed her to react like that? To dare to chuck a drink over a man who was now towering above her looking like the devil incarnate, a patch of his pristine white shirt clinging wetly to his chest. A man who was different from every other man she’d ever met. Well, she had done it, and now she just had to keep her nerve.

‘You don’t scare me!’ she blurted out, but she wondered how convincing her words were as she met emptiness of his eyes.

‘Don’t I?’ Hassan leaned in a little. ‘Then maybe I need to try a little harder. Most people would be pretty scared of my reaction if they’d done what you’ve just done.’ He observed her rapid breathing which was causing the silver beads over her breasts to shimmer in a provocative sway. And suddenly it was difficult to remember just why he was so angry. He swallowed, so unbearably turned on that for a moment he could not speak. ‘That was some scene you created back there.’

Ella told herself that she ought to tread carefully. That she was dealing with someone who had danger written all over him. Someone who she, with her laughable lack of experience, didn’t have a clue how to deal with. The voice of reason was telling her to try to make it right between them, yet the apology she knew she really ought to make stayed stubbornly unspoken. For how could she forget those harsh things he’d said?

‘Who cares about a scene?’ she questioned stubbornly.

He met the defiance in her ice-blue eyes. ‘Clearly you don’t, but then you don’t have any reputation to wreck, do you?’

Actually, she did. She’d worked hard to build her own business and she survived on the income it provided. But the irony was that causing a scene with the sheikh was likely to bring new customers flocking to her, instead of taking their custom elsewhere. The fact that she was even mixing with royals would be great publicity. A bit of scandal never seemed to affect her client base. Hadn’t she noticed a definite growth in business whenever her father’s face was splashed all over the papers, no matter how dodgy the story? ‘And you do, I suppose?’

‘Of course I do!’ he snapped. ‘I am the ruler of a desert kingdom and my word is law. In fact, I make the laws.’

‘Wow! Mr. Powerful,’ she mocked.

Her insolence was turning him on almost as much as it was infuriating him. He felt a muscle working in his cheek and an even more insistent throbbing at his groin. ‘And I have people who look up to me who will not enjoy reading that their king had champagne flung at him by a brazen English nobody.’

‘I should have thought that people would have been used to your flings by now!’ she returned, and for one brief moment she thought she saw the edges of his lips tilt in the beginning of a smile. But it quickly disappeared and so did her small moment of triumph as she reminded herself that this man was the enemy. ‘Anyway, you should have thought about that before you started laying into my family.’

‘By telling the truth, you mean?’

‘It’s not—’

‘Oh, please, spare me the empty defence!’ His eyes took on a look of challenge. ‘You’re denying that your father is no stranger to the bankruptcy court? Or that your sister’s awful singing brought the house down, but not in a good way? Or that the Crown Prince has dumped his long-term girlfriend and fiancée in order to marry your other sister?’

Ella gritted her teeth. ‘If only there was another waitress nearby, I’d happily upend another drink all over you!’

‘Would you now?’ He tilted his head to one side and studied her. ‘And do you make a habit of resorting to playground tactics?’

‘Only if I’m forced to deal with the class bully!’ Ella stared at him with growing bewilderment. Why did she feel this overpowering sense of frustration which was making her want to pummel her fists against the solid wall of his chest? ‘Actually, I’ve never done anything like that before.’

‘No? You just thought you’d make an exception for me, did you?’ He stared at her, wanting to crush her rosy lips beneath his. Wanting more than that. Wanting to feel the soft surrender of her body as it gave itself up to the hard dominance of his own. ‘I wonder why?’

The arrogant flick of his gaze made her skin grow heated. ‘Because you’re overbearing, overopinionated and ridiculously traditional? Could that give you some sort of clue? You spout such outdated and macho comments that it’s obviously made me react to you in an uncharacteristically primitive way!’ Raking her fingers back through the wayward spill of her curls, she glared at him. ‘And you obviously haven’t got a clue what the modern world is like.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You think that I am a stranger to the modern world?’

Suddenly, Ella wasn’t sure what she thought. Not any more. Not when he was staring at her so intently and every cell in her body was responding to that black-eyed scrutiny. Her senses seemed to be short-circuiting her brain, but there was one thing she was certain of. He’d just lumped her in with the rest of her family and he seemed stubbornly unrepentant about doing it. Maybe it was time he discovered how it felt to be treated as if you were simply a stereotype, instead of an individual.

She met the challenge in his eyes with one of her own. ‘Yes, I think you’re a stranger to the modern world! How can you not be? How can you know how most people live if you’re stuck in some remote desert country where you probably travel round by camel and sleep in a tent?’

For a moment Hassan could scarcely believe his ears. Camel? It was true that his most recent months had been spent on horseback as he had battled to settle the long-running dispute on the borders of his country. But although much in his life involved the ancient and the traditional, he had also insisted on embracing every new technology, for he recognised that there could be no real progress without it. He thought about his fleet of cars, the state-of-the-art aircraft and the engineers he employed to search for ever more eco-friendly alternative travel.

‘Now you insult my land,’ he observed furiously. ‘And thus my honour.’

‘As you did mine!’

He met the rebellious gleam in her blue eyes. ‘I said nothing which isn’t true. Whereas you have just passed judgement on my homeland without knowing a single thing about it.’

‘Well, that’s tough. Deal with it. And now, if you wouldn’t mind stepping out of the way, I’d like to leave.’

Hassan tensed. Was it her continuing defiance which made something inside him tighten? Something which had been tightening ever since he’d first started dancing with her and felt her soft and fragrant body in his arms.

Women never answered him back like this. They usually went out of their way to accommodate him. They didn’t hurl champagne at him and then storm away, wiggling their silver bottom in a provocative movement which was designed to ensnare his fast-hardening body. For all her professed disdain of him and all he stood for, there was an undeniable sexual charge sparking through the air between them. It had been there from the outset and nothing they’d said or done had diminished it. He could read her hunger in the darkening of her eyes and in the flagrant thrust of her nipples as they pushed against the tiny silver beads of her dress.

He felt urgent sexual desire fire him up, heating his blood with its insistent throb. He’d barely been a week back from battle when he had flown here to Alex’s party and the contrast between this glittering event and the months of arid hardship could not have been greater.

Warfare put many pressures on a man and perhaps the greatest of those was the absence of sex. For so long now he had sublimated his fierce sexual appetite in battle that it had become almost habitual. In some ways he welcomed it, for not only did it channel his energy into fighting, it also made him feel powerful. It gave him strength to know that he could subdue the weaknesses of the flesh. Yet how could he have forgotten what it felt like to be in thrall to his senses? And how could he not but thank a fate which had conspired to put him alone with a beautiful and eager young woman?