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Having risen, the person immediately bowed low in a silent gesture of obeisance.
Sayid’s senses screamed a warning. What would have happened if he hadn’t noticed that still, silent figure hiding in the corner? Would they have waited till his back was turned in the shower, or he was fast asleep, to slip a knife between his ribs?
Had he been foolish to write off his dead uncle’s preoccupation with security? The man had been dangerously paranoid and increasingly erratic but he’d been wily.
‘Come here!’
Instantly the figure glided closer.
‘Sire.’ A soft, whispery voice feathered his skin like a lover’s caress. Another bow. This time when the figure straightened, it tugged off the enveloping blanket.
Sayid stared.
His privacy had been invaded by a dancing girl? He shook his head. Did weariness play tricks with his vision?
Women in his country didn’t dress like this. Women in Halarq dressed modestly. Some covered their hair but all covered their bodies.
This one didn’t.
Heat speared his belly and drilled into his groin as he surveyed her. She wore a low-slung skirt that fell in gauzy folds from the curve of her hips. He clearly saw long slim legs through the fabric. She shifted and a glimpse of toned, honey-coloured thigh appeared through a slit in the skirt.
His gaze rose to a bare midriff, deliciously curved into a tiny waist, then up to a cropped, sleeveless top of shiny material that clasped her like a second skin. It was cut low, showing off the upper slopes of enticing breasts that rose and fell with her rapid breathing.
Sayid’s throat closed as if he’d gulped down half the eastern desert. His fingers stretched then curled into fists, bunching at his sides.
Competing impulses warred.
To command she cover herself instantly.
But that wasn’t his first reaction.
To reach out and touch that inviting body.
Yes. That.
To haul her against him and revel in the pleasure a woman’s soft body could afford a man wearied by days, no, weeks of achieving the impossible—first keeping his uncle from invading Jeirut, then, on his uncle’s death, finding a way to ensure a lasting peace between nations that were traditional enemies.
His gaze rose further, taking in a face of extraordinary loveliness. Dark hair, unbound, was pushed behind her shoulders. Her breasts, pert and high, rose shakily with each breath.
Imagination told him her skin would be warm silk, soft and pleasurable.
Sayid, like his uncle before him, was a man of strong desires, with a predilection for pleasure. Yet, unlike his dead uncle, Sayid prided himself on ruling his sensual side. He’d seen what unbridled self-indulgence did to a man. He had no intention of following his uncle down that path. Instead he emulated his father who’d been a warrior prince, bound by an unshakeable code of conduct. A man who channelled strong appetites into a drive to protect and serve his people.
‘Look at me.’ The command was overloud. But Sayid’s control over his body was sorely tried.
Instantly her bowed head tilted up.
Sayid registered another unseen body blow. This time to his solar plexus. For her eyes were unlike any he’d seen. They were the colour of wild violets in the mountains. Darker than blue, softer than purple.
He scowled. Not only was she remarkably pretty, she was young—too young to be alone in his room.
‘Who are you?’
‘Lina, sire.’ Again that low bow, which now, to his horror, made his groin grow tight and hard, for he got an eyeful as she bent forward. It looked as if her breasts might pop free of her top at any moment.
‘Don’t do that!’
She blinked, emotion he couldn’t read flashing across her features. Then it disappeared as she lifted her chin to look somewhere near his shoulder, her hands clasped neatly before her. ‘Do what, sire?’
‘Bowing. Don’t do it again.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘But sire! You are the Emir. It wouldn’t be seemly—’
‘Let me be the judge of seemly.’ Sayid raised a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing at too-tight muscles.
‘Yes, sire.’ Yet her brow twitched as if in disagreement and he’d swear she bit her lip as if to stop herself saying more.
‘Don’t call me that, either.’ His uncle might have enjoyed constant reminders of his status as ruler of the nation, but Sayid had heard the title too often from too many toadying courtiers trying to ingratiate themselves. It grated.
He’d give a lot to talk with someone who didn’t bow and scrape. He scrubbed a hand over his face, knowing fatigue shortened his temper.
His mouth kicked up at the memory of his tense negotiations this week with Huseyn of Jeirut, the man known as the Iron Hand. There’d been no bowing and scraping then. The man was the toughest negotiator Sayid had met, as well as a formidable warrior. Yet, despite the weight of responsibility on their shoulders as they worked towards a peace deal for their nations, Sayid had enjoyed the stimulation of dealing with the man.
Halarq, under the rule of Sayid’s uncle, hadn’t been a place where people spoke their mind. The palace was full of advisers trained to agree with their Emir, rather than advise without fear or favour.
Yet another thing Sayid aimed to change.
‘As you wish...sir.’
He opened his mouth then shut it. ‘Sir’ was marginally better than ‘sire’. What did it matter anyway? He was so tired he’d allowed himself to be distracted.
‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’
‘I’m Lina. I’m here to serve you—’ her gaze skittered away to fix on a point beyond him ‘—in any way you wish.’ She swallowed, the movement accentuating her long slender throat and the beauty of her pale gold skin.
For a dazed second Sayid’s brain snared on the idea of nuzzling her fragrant flesh. He caught the scent of roses on her skin and wondered how she’d taste.
The temptation was so alluring, he stepped back to be sure he didn’t act on it. She stiffened at his movement, revealing a tension she fought to hide.
‘Who sent you?’
‘My father’s brother. He sent me as a goodwill gift to the previous Emir.’
A goodwill gift! Sourness filled Sayid’s mouth. That was the sort of nation his uncle had ruled. Where a woman could be treated as a commodity. Old memories stirred, leaving a rancid taste on his tongue.
As the new Emir, he had a lot of work to bring the country into the current century.
‘The previous Emir is dead.’
Sayid had believed the women in his uncle’s harem had been sent away as the old man’s prostate illness worsened and he became impotent.
‘I know, s...sir. He died soon after my arrival and I never met him.’ Her eyes flickered to his, then away. ‘My condolences on your loss.’
‘Thank you.’ Sayid felt neither loss nor sorrow at his uncle’s death. The old man had been a poor steward for their country and personally deplorable, a mean, brutal voluptuary. ‘But with his death, you are free to go. You’re not required here.’
Huge violet eyes met his. Was that fear he read there? ‘Oh, no. You misunderstand. That is—’ she swallowed, dropping her gaze to the floor as if afraid she’d said the wrong thing ‘—not misunderstand, of course.’
She shook her head and a lock of glossy dark hair slid over her shoulder, curling past her breast all the way to her waist. For the life of him, Sayid couldn’t tear his gaze from it.
‘I can’t leave, sir. It’s all been arranged.’ She curved her lips in a tentative smile that didn’t show in her eyes. ‘With your uncle’s death I now belong to you.’
CHAPTER TWO (#u0fe47d5d-4754-52c5-bbac-0767c9cea2c3)
IF LINA HAD thought Sayid Badawi had looked stern before, he was positively thunderous now. His brow scrunched in a furrow of disapproval and his honed jaw clenched as if biting back an oath.
Yet the gleam of those dark eyes and the sudden flare of his nostrils spoke of something more intimate than fury.
Masculine awareness.
Lina knew something about that. She’d witnessed the way men had reacted to her mother’s beauty. And since Lina herself had reached puberty she’d seen a similar look from the men who’d occasionally visited her home.
She swallowed hard.
Not her home now. Her uncle’s home.
Yet unlike her male cousins, who didn’t just look but who tried to touch, the Emir kept his hands to himself.
Lina dropped her gaze, as she’d been taught. But without the magnetic draw of those dark, glittering eyes to distract her, she became far too aware of the rest of him.
A long, lean body that tapered from straight shoulders down via an intriguing display of bronzed skin and taut muscle to narrow hips that thankfully were still covered in pale trousers. Nor could she help but notice the muscled strength of his thighs. A rider’s thighs. The only thing marring the perfection of his toned form was a pale scar extending down one arm.
Lina didn’t know whether to blame the shock of finally being alone with the man who was to be her master, or her first sight of a half-naked man. Or perhaps his stunning attractiveness. But she felt light-headed. Her breathing came too fast and her thoughts scrambled.
She’d arrived at the palace expecting to be at the beck and call of a much older man, renowned for his short temper and unforgiving nature. Instead she found herself bequeathed to a man in his mid-twenties whose looks would make any woman sigh. He was fit and handsome. But more, there was an inner strength about him and a quality she couldn’t name, yet read in his proud face with its heavy-lidded eyes, strong nose and square, solid jaw.
Whatever it was, it made sensation fizz and burst through her veins. Was she ill? Coming down with a fever? She’d never felt like this before.
‘Lina?’
She darted a look at his face. Clearly he’d spoken and she hadn’t responded. A chill clamped the back of her neck and skittered all the way down her spine. Was his temper as volatile as the old Emir’s? Her aunt had told hair-raising tales of what awaited if she didn’t do exactly as commanded by her royal master, no matter how difficult or...unfamiliar.
‘Sir?’
‘I said you are not needed here. You can return to your home.’
Lina blinked, her eyes widening in dismay. She’d been horrified by the whispered gossip about what the previous Emir would expect her to do for him. Had wondered if some of the suggestions were even physically possible. But to be dismissed from the palace! That held its own terrors.
She swallowed, pain slicing as if her throat closed around a sharpened blade.
‘Please, sir. I can’t.’
Belatedly she lowered her gaze, knowing it was her place to obey, not argue. Her uncle and aunt had warned time after time that she must learn humility and silence. They’d made it their business to try turning her into a mute, obedient damsel. They would be horrified if they could hear her.
‘You can if I tell you.’ The Emir’s tone was brusque, allowing no room for argument.
Lina felt herself stiffen as the enormity of her situation hit her. The freedom he offered, no, commanded she take, was an illusion.
She was utterly alone, with nowhere in the world to call home and no one who cared for her. She had no rights, no call on his compassion. She was nothing to him, or to anyone else.
Everything she’d been taught told her to nod, to back away and make herself scarce, for it wouldn’t do to disobey the man who held her fate, even after he’d washed his hands of her.
He shifted and she sensed his impatience for her to be gone.
Yet Lina knew once she left this room she’d never be allowed to enter again. Once out of the palace she’d be on the street, literally, with no resources, no friends and not even a scrap of respectable clothing.
She shuddered, imagining what would become of her.
Clasping her hands before her, willing them not to shake, she took a fortifying breath, which reminded her of the hated clothes she wore as her breasts swelled against the low-cut top.
‘Sir.’ She swallowed and lifted her chin. The Emir had already begun to turn away. He’d dismissed her and that meant she must go.
Except Lina couldn’t.
‘Well?’ Ebony brows angled down above that imperious nose and his dark-shadowed jaw was set at an angle that warned his hold on patience was precarious.
She tilted her face higher, meeting his narrowed gaze. ‘I have no home to go to, sir. Not any more. Or any family.’ She bit her lip, refusing to let it tremble. ‘Could I be allowed to remain in the palace? I’m a hard worker. I can make myself useful at any task. In the kitchens, the laundries, the...’ She paused, racking her brain, wondering what the multitude of royal servants did all day. ‘I can sew and embroider too.’ Not well enough, as her aunt was fond of reminding her. But then she didn’t do anything well enough for her aunt.
‘You must have a home. Where did you come from?’ No softening in the austere masculine beauty of that sculpted face. But at least he’d paused to listen. Her heart throbbed a hopeful beat.
‘From the home of my father’s brother, sir. But that door is no longer open to me.’ It took everything Lina had to stand erect, meeting his gaze headlong, when harsh memories bombarded her. Of becoming little more than a slave in her own home.
The Emir sighed and lifted his hand to rake his fingers through his short hair. Intriguingly, the movement made muscles swell and tug in his arm, shoulder and chest. Lina had never before realised that such a simple movement could be so spellbinding.
But then she’d never seen a man like the Emir, naked or clothed.
He sighed and turned away. Abruptly her straying thoughts focused sharply. He was walking away, leaving her to her fate. Fear and despair vied with indignation. Lina was sick of fate, in the form of the men who had ruled her destiny, ignoring her.
Yet instead of continuing to the bathroom, he merely flung open a wardrobe and withdrew a shirt.
‘Here.’ The white garment flew through the air towards her. ‘Put that on and sit down.’
Lina’s fingers tightened convulsively on soft white cotton. So finely woven it was translucent. Only the finest material for the leader of the nation.
‘Go on.’ He nodded at the garment in her hands, then turned towards the bed. For a second she thought he was going to sit there, till he abruptly changed direction and headed for an armchair, sinking onto it with a sigh.
Hurriedly, Lina lifted the cotton over her head, pulling it down till it covered her almost to the knees. She had to roll up the sleeves to free her hands.
No doubt she looked like a child playing dress-up.
