Desert Prince's Stolen Bride

He must have sensed her acquiescence for his mouth curved in a deeper smile, and Olivia saw the triumph flare in his eyes along with the desire. He pulled her gently towards him and she came, hips swaying, heart beating. Their bodies nudged and bumped and he gazed down at her, standing so close she could feel the beat of his heart against her own.

‘You are very beautiful. Very desirable.’

No one had ever said such things to her before. She was too skinny, too quiet, all hair and eyes. She didn’t have Halina’s generous curves and lush mouth, her engaging smile and contagious laughter. She always stayed in the background and no one ever noticed her at all. Until now.

Shyly she laid her hand on his chest, felt the steady thud of his heart underneath the press of her palm. ‘As are you.’

He laughed softly at that, and then he took her hand and raised it to his mouth, kissing her palm, his gaze never leaving hers. ‘Then we are well matched,’ he murmured, and his mouth moved from her palm to her fingertips, kissing and nibbling each one in turn until Olivia’s knees went weak.

The man drew her to the mattress, bringing her down to its feathery softness, the silken covers slippery beneath her. He stretched out alongside her, his body relaxed but his gaze so intent.

‘So very beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘But I want to see all of you. May I?’

Everything in Olivia trembled. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, unable to say anything more. He tugged at the ties of her robe so it fell open, revealing the simple chemise she wore underneath. Keeping his gaze on her, he reached out and cupped her breast, his thumb sliding over the peak, making her shudder. She’d never been touched so intimately, so knowingly.

‘You like that?’ he murmured, and she nodded jerkily.

‘Yes.’

He lowered his mouth to where his hand had just touched, and Olivia jerked again, arching off the mattress as his mouth closed over her breast, damp and hot, sending darts of intense sensation through her. She gripped his head, unsure if she wanted to anchor him to her or push him away, because it was so much. All her nerve endings felt flayed, yet she wanted more of him.

He moved his mouth to her other breast and she gasped out loud. The novels and films had never described it like this. And then he was moving lower, placing lazy kisses along her abdomen, her navel, and then lower still.

Olivia tensed as he nudged her thighs apart. Surely not...? But he was, his warm breath fanning her very centre, and she let out a long, shuddering sigh as he kissed her in the most intimate way possible. Pleasure licked through her veins and her hips arched helplessly, her fingers threaded through his hair, her body on fire. She’d never, ever felt anything like it; it consumed her. He did.

And then she felt as if she were burning right up; she cried out loud, a jagged sound, as pleasure exploded inside her, took her over, blazing through her. When she came to, everything hazy around her, he’d come up to rest on his forearms and was smiling down at her.

‘And that’s just the beginning.’

The beginning? He’d kill her, at this rate. Kill her with pleasure. He laughed softly. ‘Don’t look so disbelieving, hayete. I intend to make this a night you shall never forget.’

He already had. Still smiling, he shrugged out of his own clothes and then rid her of the rest of her own. Their bodies came together, naked, skin on skin, limbs twining and tangling. It felt so intensely intimate, to be pressed against someone like that, every part of herself on display, on offer for him. And he took it, his gaze roving over her, his mouth curved, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. He liked what he saw, and that thrilled her.

‘Touch me,’ he commanded, his voice a throb, and she gazed at him in surprise. Then, hesitantly, she let her hands drift from his powerful shoulders to the satiny skin of his back, and then down to his hips. His arousal pulsed against her, exciting and terrifying her all at once. But he’d told her not to be afraid, and somehow she wasn’t.

‘Touch me,’ he said again, his voice ragged, and Olivia knew what he meant. Feeling shy and bold at the same time, she moved her hand from his hip to curl around the pulsing length of his arousal. His breath hissed between his teeth as she stroked him, hardly able to believe that she could create this response in a man so fierce and beautiful.

He kissed her again, hard, the lazy sensuality he’d shown earlier now becoming something far more raw and primal that Olivia matched, the heat and need an insistent pulse inside her, an ache that demanded satiation—again.

He slid his fingers to her core, moving against her slick heat, making her moan. ‘You’re ready,’ he said and Olivia tensed, knowing she was, of course she was, and yet...

Slowly, surely, he slid inside her, an invasion that felt both shocking and overwhelming, the smooth slide of him filling her right up. She gasped out loud, her hips twitching in instinctive discomfort as she struggled to accommodate the sheer size of him.

Sweat sheened on his brow as he braced himself on his forearms and held himself still inside her, waiting for her to adjust to the entirely unfamiliar sensation. ‘You are not hurt?’ he asked through gritted teeth. Holding back was clearly a huge effort.

Wordlessly Olivia shook her head. She felt too overwhelmed to speak, too emotional. The dazed pleasure that had drugged her senses was trickling away, replaced by a tidal wave of realisation at the enormity of what she’d done. What could not be undone.

As if sensing her thoughts, he brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead and then pressed a kiss against her temple, the gesture almost as intimate as the pulse of his body inside hers. ‘It is all right, hayete. This is right, what is between us. There is no shame in it. None at all.’

Her body was relaxing into him, instinctively learning his shape, accepting it, and his words were the balm she so desperately needed. She put her arms around his taut shoulders, drawing him closer, bringing him even more fully into herself, gasping at the feel of it. It was as if he’d gone right into her centre, invaded her soul.

‘Please,’ she whispered, needing something more from him, craving it. ‘Please.’ And then he began to move, each slow thrust creating a delicious friction that had the pleasure rushing back, lapping at her senses in wave after wave of sensation and then engulfing her entirely.

Her cry shattered the still air as he pulsed inside her and her body felt as if it were dissolving into sated fragments. She cried again, a sob of joy and wonder, as she pressed her face against his damp shoulder, her body shuddering underneath his as the waves subsided but the wonder remained.

* * *

Zayed held his bride in his arms as she shuddered and wept, clearly overwhelmed by what they had experienced. Hell, but he was overwhelmed too. It had been a long time since he’d lain with a woman, a very long time. Yet he didn’t think it had ever felt like this.

Was it different, perhaps, knowing his life was linked with this woman for ever? She would bear his children; she would stand by his side. She was his bride, his wife, his Queen. Yet none of that had been in his mind when he’d held her, when he’d been inside her. The need to consume her had been too overpowering—and that was a dangerous thing.

He didn’t need people, just as he didn’t trust them. Betrayal had taught him the latter; grief had taught him the first. Zayed rolled onto his back and stared up at the roof of the tent as Halina lay quietly beside him, faint tremors still going through her body.

‘You are not in any discomfort?’ he asked eventually and she pushed her hair away from her flushed face.

‘No...no.’ She looked rosy and satisfied and a little bit uncertain. He wanted her all over again, so he rolled away from her, into a sitting position.

‘Good.’ It was done. Nothing could break the bond they’d created; she was his wife both in name and physical fact. Zayed rose from the mattress in one fluid movement and shrugged on his clothes.

‘Where are you going?’ Halina asked. She suddenly sounded very young, and Zayed was reminded that she was only twenty-two—ten years younger than him.

‘I have things to do.’ His voice came out brusque so he tried to moderate it. ‘I will see you later.’

‘You will?’

‘Of course.’ He suppressed a flash of annoyance. Already she sounded needy, clinging, and that was the last thing he wanted. ‘If you need anything, you can ask Suma.’

‘Suma? But I can’t understand her.’

The flash of annoyance came again, and with it an odd sense of unease. ‘What do you mean?’

‘She speaks a dialect I can’t understand.’ She was clutching a sheet to her breasts, her hair tumbled around her face. Zayed fought the urge to climb back into the bed and take her in his arms all over again.

‘I did not realise she was so difficult to understand,’ he said stiffly. ‘You will have to get used to it. She is the only woman here to serve your needs.’

‘But...what...what are you going to do with me?’ Her voice was both tremulous and brave.

Zayed’s gaze narrowed. ‘What am I going to do with you? I have already done it, hayete. It is finished.’

She bit her lip. ‘I know that. I mean, I wasn’t expecting more than...than this. But now what are you going to...? Why did you kidnap me?’ She lifted her chin, holding her gaze steady as if steeling herself for a blow.

Zayed stared at her, completely nonplussed. ‘Why did I kidnap you?’ he repeated. ‘Surely that is obvious? I told you I could not wait any longer.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Your father will not be pleased, I grant you, but he will not be able to affect the outcome. Of that I am certain.’

Now she looked genuinely confused, her brow creased, her lips parting. ‘My father...’ She shook her head slowly. ‘But my father is dead.’

‘What?’ Zayed stared at her in complete shock. Sultan Hassan dead? When? How? But no; surely he would have heard of it? He would have known. His informants in the palace would have said something. Still, a cold fist clutched his heart. If Sultan Hassan was dead, all his plans fell apart, crumbled to dust. To nothing. The man had no sons, and his heir was a distant cousin, someone Zayed could not rely on to help him. ‘When did this happen?’ he bit out.

His bride stared at him in wary confusion. ‘Years ago. Five years now.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t understand. What could my father possibly have to do with any of this?’

‘Wait.’ Zayed felt as if he’d entered some weird, alternative reality. How could Halina be saying this? Sultan Hassan had most certainly not died five years ago. What the hell was going on?

‘Why do you care about my father?’ she asked, her voice trembling. ‘Who are you?’

For a moment he could only stare. She knew who he was. She had to know. ‘I am Prince Zayed al bin Nur,’ he said, biting off each word. She’d wed him, she’d slept with him! Of course she’d known he was her fiancé, her intended husband. Because, if she hadn’t known, why the hell had she slept with him? Agreed to marry him?

‘Zayed...’ Her face had gone pale, her lips bloodless, dawning horror in her eyes. Something was very, very wrong, and the cold fist that was clutching Zayed’s heart squeezed painfully.

‘And you,’ he said forcefully, each word a throb of insistent intensity, ‘are Princess Halina Amari.’ She had to be. He’d seen photographs—blurry, yes, but he’d watched her in the palace. She’d played with her sisters; she’d gone into her bedroom. She had to be his intended bride. His wife.

But already she was shaking her head.

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No, I’m not Halina.’

CHAPTER FOUR

REALISATION UPON REALISATION was crashing through Olivia, filling her with more and more horror. This was Prince Zayed, her friend’s fiancé, and she’d slept with him. And he’d thought she was Halina! He’d taken her from the palace believing her to be his bride-to-be. Had this been some sort of romantic seduction, and she’d botched it completely?

‘If you’re not Princess Halina,’ Zayed asked through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowed to silvery slits, every muscle tensing as if for a fight, ‘then who the hell are you?’

Olivia swallowed hard, her heart beating like a wild bird inside her chest. She clutched the blanket to her, more than ever conscious of her nakedness. ‘My name is Olivia Taylor. I’m governess to the Amari Princesses.’

He stared at her for a single second and then he swore, viciously and fluently. Olivia flinched, and wondered if his solemn vow not to hurt her still stood. She had a feeling it didn’t, although Zayed kept himself restrained, that pulsing fury leashed, if barely.

‘Why, then,’ he asked, his voice one of tightly controlled and yet clearly explosive anger, ‘did you sleep with me?’

‘I...’ There was no excuse, no explanation. She’d lost her head, her virginity to a stranger. And he’d thought he was bedding his future bride! Olivia closed her eyes, wanting to blot out her shame, erase everything that had happened in the last few hours.

And yet, with the flickers of pleasure still pulsing through her body, she couldn’t quite make herself regret it. In Zayed’s arms she’d felt so cherished; what a joke. He hadn’t even realised who she was. The knowledge of how she’d been duped, how she’d let herself be duped and talked herself into bed with a stranger, was utterly shaming.

‘I...’ she tried again, and then shrugged helplessly. She had no answer, except that she’d been completely swept away by the force of him, of her attraction to him, and she wasn’t courageous or stupid enough to admit that. Surely it had been obvious, anyway?

Zayed whirled away from her in one abrupt movement, raking a hand through his hair. ‘Didn’t you know who I was?’

‘No.’

‘And yet you slept with me.’

‘You slept with me,’ Olivia fired back, finding her courage. She wasn’t going to take all the blame. ‘And obviously you didn’t know who I was.’

‘Obviously.’ The single word was scathing. ‘But I would have expected you to correct my mistake, preferably before we’d said our vows.’

‘Vows?’ Olivia stared at him, dread seeping into her stomach like acid. ‘What do you mean—’

‘Unless,’ Zayed cut across her, ruthless now, any gentleness well and truly gone as his face, his body, his voice all hardened. ‘You meant this to happen?’

‘Meant it to happen?’ Olivia stared at him in outrage. ‘I meant for you to kidnap me? I planned it? Are you insane?’ She could hardly believe she was talking to a prince this way—she, meek Olivia Taylor—but the situation was so surreal, his suggestion so ludicrous and insulting, that for a moment she forgot who she was. Where she was. And even what had happened.

Zayed had the grace to look slightly abashed for a millisecond, and then he simply looked impatient. ‘No, not then, of course. But after. Perhaps you saw an opportunity and took it. You wanted to better your situation. You said you were a governess?’

Olivia shook her head. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ She felt furious and humiliated, and she really wished she were wearing some clothes. ‘And I certainly don’t see how I’ve bettered my situation.’

Zayed’s mouth twisted in something like a sneer. ‘Don’t you?’

‘No, I really don’t. But since I’m not Halina, and you’re not kidnapping me for ransom or something like that, perhaps you could see fit to return me to the palace.’ She spoke with as much as dignity as she could muster, considering she was naked. And near tears, which thankfully she blinked back. She would not cry in front of this man, even if she’d already wept in his arms. Even if she’d already experienced more vulnerability and pleasure, more heights and depths, than she had with any other person, ever. Just the memory of how he’d felt inside her, how she’d felt in his arms, the completeness of it, made heat scorch through her, along with something more powerful and dangerous, a longing she could not bear to name. ‘I would like to go back home,’ she added stiffly.

Zayed stared at her unblinkingly for several long, taut moments. ‘Clearly,’ he said finally, his voice clipped, ‘that is impossible at this juncture.’

‘Clearly?’ Olivia tried for a look of disdain. ‘I don’t see how that is at all clear.’ Holding the blanket to her, she scooted out of bed and grabbed the diaphanous robe she’d refused to wear earlier in the evening. Her more modest robe was on the other side of the bed, where Zayed had tossed it after undressing her only a short while ago—it felt like a lifetime. A terrible lifetime. She shrugged into the robe, tying the sash as tightly as she could. It wasn’t much coverage, but at least it was something. She folded her arms over her breasts and lifted her chin, giving Zayed as challenging a stare as she could. ‘So why exactly can’t you return me to Abkar?’

Zayed’s gaze was penetrating, relentless. His mouth had thinned into a hard, unforgiving line, his eyes blazing steel. Anger and animosity rolled off him in thick, choking waves. How on earth had she ever thought he was gentle? ‘I don’t know what game you are playing,’ he said, each precise word feeling like a threat, ‘but I advise that you cease immediately. This is no laughing matter, Miss Taylor. Millions of lives are at stake.’

Millions of lives? Surely that was an exaggeration, yet Olivia wasn’t about to debate the point. She could see well enough how grim Zayed looked.

‘I’m hardly laughing,’ she answered levelly. ‘You’re the one who took me from the palace, Prince Zayed. You’re the one who—’ Her breath rushed out. Seduced me. She couldn’t say the words. She’d been so stupidly willing, so eager, to be seduced. It beggared belief now, but only moments ago she’d been putty in his arms, wanting only to be moulded to whatever shape he chose. Still she met his gaze. ‘I didn’t ask for any of this.’

‘Not at first, perhaps.’ He took a step towards her, a different kind of fire in his eyes, one Olivia recognised, and it made her catch her breath. Even now, he could feel it. She could. The banked heat in his eyes flared to life and she felt its answer scorch through her. ‘But later, Olivia,’ he said, his voice low and menacing. ‘Later you weren’t asking. You were begging.’

She hated him. Officially, she hated him. Even as she felt the pulse of desire go through her, an insistent throb, she hated him. Damn her treacherous body. She knew Zayed saw it too, from the way his lip curled and his eyes travelled down her body, raking her in one scathing glance. A short while ago he’d made her feel cherished and important, and now he was making her feel tawdry and cheap, more than she ever had before. Everything about this was awful.

‘I regret everything that happened between us this evening,’ she said stiffly. ‘More than you can possibly imagine.’

‘You cannot regret it more than I do,’ Zayed snapped. He swore again, turning away from her. ‘Dear heaven, do you know what this is going to cost? Everything.’ His voice choked and for a second he covered his face with his hands. ‘Everything.’

Watching him, Olivia saw a man in torment and she didn’t fully understand it. She had a bizarre yet deep-seated urge to comfort him, to make it better. ‘Is it because you—you have been unfaithful to Halina? I don’t think she expects such fidelity until you’re wed. You haven’t even met. She’ll understand.’ She probably wouldn’t care. She hadn’t wanted to marry Zayed in the first place.

‘Unfaithful?’ He dropped his hands and let out a bark of humourless laughter. ‘I have not merely been unfaithful.’

‘You mean because you kidnapped me,’ she said slowly, as reality caught up with her. ‘And Sultan Hassan will know you meant to kidnap his daughter. He might call the engagement off.’ He would be angry, she supposed, but that angry? She liked her employer, found him to be generous and carelessly affectionate, but she knew he had a strong and unwavering core of honour and dignity. She had no idea how he’d react to what Zayed had done.

‘Might?’ Zayed turned around to face her, his expression one of weary scorn. ‘There is no might. He most certainly will. He will be furious that I dared to try to take his precious daughter. That I slipped through his defences.’

‘How did you? Why were the gates open when we left?’

Zayed shrugged. ‘A cousin of a cousin is one of the guards. He has been my spy for years. He made sure the gates were open to me.’

No, Sultan Hassan would not like that. He would be furious that someone had breached his security, and also threatened and maybe even a little scared by how seemingly easily it had been done. Unless...

‘They might not even know I’m gone,’ Olivia said slowly. She could hardly believe she was trying to help him, this man whom had taken so much from her, whom she had told herself she hated. Perhaps it was simply that ever-present urge she had to be helpful. Needed. Or perhaps it was the connection they shared, whether they wanted to or not. They’d been lovers. It was not something she would forget easily, or ever. ‘If no one saw your men come or go...’

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