скачать книгу бесплатно
The Sultan's Harem Bride
Annie West
WANTED: Desert princess to join haremSultan Asim of Jazeer has hundreds of women at his beck and call. So why does he want the only one who threatens to reveal his family’s shameful secrets?Journalist Jacqui Fletcher jumped at the chance to write a history of the harem – not to become a sultan’s plaything! But it’s hard to remember her assignment when the sultan’s sensuous caresses spark a fire she’s never experienced before…Asim is looking for a pliable princess for a marriage of duty. Brave, beautiful Jacqui couldn’t be more wrong for him. So why does holding her feel so right?Desert Vows DuetTwo powerful desert princes…and the only women who can tame them.As desire burns hotter than the desert sand, can these powerful sheikhs withstand the heat of temptation?Book 1: The Sultan’s Harem BrideBook 2: The Sheikh’s Princess BridePraise for Annie WestThe Sultan’s Harem Bride 4.5* TOP PICK RT Book ReviewWest’s desert romance of duty versus love stars a haunted but brave heroine and an autocratic yet caring hero. The exotic, sumptuous settings exemplify palace life, and the royal co-stars are memorable. The first love scene is a sensual buffet.Rebel’s Bargain 4.5* RT Book ReviewWest’s second-chance romance is an imaginative and intensely thrilling brainteaser, ripe with shrouded misconceptions. Her silver-spoon hero and wounded heroine are passionate and convincing.Damaso Claims His Heir 4.5* TOP PICK RT Book ReviewWest’s page-turner set in colorful Brazil is impressively perfect, starring her well-matched, rags-to-riches hero and her unjustly scandal-ridden royal heroine. Her illuminating, expert narrative brings the breathtaking story and the explosive lovemaking to life.
‘Don’t apologise.’ Asim breathed deep, filling the void in his lungs. ‘I don’t like it when you’re…meek.’
The words surprised him as much as her. He felt the shock of the admission reverberate through him even as he saw it ripple across her face.
He didn’t approve of the way she argued with him, refusing to be silenced after he’d made a decision. It happened daily when she tried to wheedle access to records or palace staff or ancient pavilions that had been locked up as unsafe generations ago. Yet seeing her hesitant and downcast was like watching a bright light dim.
For long seconds their eyes locked. Long enough for him to notice that in the syrupy lateafternoon light her eyes flashed with shards of gold.
Slowly her mouth eased into a crooked smile.
‘In that case, Asim…’ Jacqui paused over his name as if savouring it ‘…I promise not to be meek with you again.’
She scooped up her towel and wrapped it around herself, hurrying towards her room. But her chin was up and her shoulders back and, despite his body’s howl of protest at her departure, Asim found himself smiling.
DESERT VOWS (#ulink_90ddac4a-0583-5180-ab81-8d43d22302fd)
Two powerful desert princes…and the only women who can tame them
Sultan Asim of Jazeer and Sheikh Tariq of Al-Sarath are both bound by honour, duty and tradition. They’ve always known they must marry, but it will be for the good of their kingdoms—not for love. Yet now two very different women threaten the vows Asim and Tariq have always sworn to uphold.
As desire burns hotter than the desert sand can these powerful men withstand the heat of temptation?
Find out in:
THE SULTAN’S HAREM BRIDEFebruary 2015
THE SHEIKH’S PRINCESS BRIDEApril 2015
The Sultan’s
Harem Bride
Annie West
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards’early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love-lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food.
You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com (mailto:annie@annie-west.com) or PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.
To my dear friend Karen
with love and thanks, not just for now, but always.
Contents
Cover (#u60d902f1-09d9-5be4-867e-0eea2884fe25)
Introduction (#ue66f6cc2-cbf9-5253-b5de-0697ef77bb05)
Desert Vows (#u6cceb540-2f4d-5b1e-aaa2-ba362d432196)
Title Page (#uc45ef8bc-6890-5d5e-a649-904473c53869)
About the Author (#u8b23d2ad-ac6e-5d37-b482-4e6928c3cc52)
Dedication (#u0bc4bb42-557b-5049-8f10-8cee3a99e358)
CHAPTER ONE (#u24906b5a-9b12-5e90-acf4-46b4b6052b22)
CHAPTER TWO (#u861cf5cb-bb47-5ad0-a78e-be5bcff302d0)
CHAPTER THREE (#ue8723774-db55-5c1e-af10-b52ab9dae041)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ubf21526e-67bb-5607-9585-ca8176ad3912)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_551f1cfc-8155-54dc-b988-f42d31f443cd)
‘GIVE IT UP, JACK. This is a wild goose chase.’ Imran’s voice came over the hubbub of vehicles, people and livestock thronging the pre-election cavalcade.
‘No!’ Jacqui shook her head. ‘You’ll see. It will be worth it.’
It had to be worth it. They had a chance to interview one of the world’s most hard to meet opposition leaders, an inspirational reformer the authorities would do anything to silence. It was an opportunity not to be missed.
Yet uneasiness stirred. This jammed street was strangely familiar, as if she’d been here before. The pungent aromas of dust, sweat, spices and dung teased her nostrils. A disturbing sense of déjà vu made her pause.
Jacqui swung round, looking for Imran’s familiar face.
Anxiety speared her. Her nape prickled. ‘Imran?’
‘Right here, Jack.’ She spun round and there he was, large as life, his camera over one shoulder, his laughing eyes narrowed against the sun.
Relief thudded in her chest. For a moment Jacqui had feared... Feared what? Her train of thought dissolved.
‘This is a long shot, despite the tip-off,’ she said. ‘If you’d rather go to the hotel, I’ll try to locate him then call you.’
Imran’s expression didn’t change.
Had she spoken aloud or just thought about it? Confused, she lifted a hand to her hot forehead. Everything felt unreal, strangely distant. Even the faces of the people around them seemed blurred.
All except Imran.
Jacqui blinked and tried to focus. The job. The lead. This would be their best story yet. Their news editor wouldn’t believe it if they came in with this exclusive.
It was an opportunity to reveal the truth about this oppressive regime. Then world powers could no longer plead ignorance and turn a blind eye to the violence.
‘Come on, Jack. Don’t dawdle.’ Imran strode ahead, forging easily through the packed street.
Jacqui tried to follow but her feet seemed stuck to the ground, her limbs weighted. With a supreme effort, she struggled forward a pace. Just one. Around her the crowd slowed too, like a film moving frame by frame.
All except Imran, striding through the barely moving people. Each step took him further away.
Jacqui opened her mouth to call his name, urge him to stop. The déjà vu was back, stronger this time. Her flesh crawled in horrified premonition. Her throat constricted, silencing her strained vocal cords.
Helplessly she watched him meld into the crowd.
Then it came. The nameless thing she’d been expecting without knowing. A soundless judder of vibration on the air. A quake that made the ground beneath her feet shudder and heave.
Then the cataclysmic roar. A deafening well of sound, spiralling round her. So loud her ears rang and kept on ringing.
Finally her stasis broke. She ran, lungs pumping, breath tearing in her throat. Still she couldn’t call out.
She slammed to a stop. Imran’s camera lay on the ground, its shattered lens glinting in dusty sunlight. He held it fast, fingers clamped round it.
Jacqui knelt, her brain trying to make sense of the picture before her. The ungainly jumble of limbs, the shapes impossible to comprehend. An unholy cocktail of dust and bright-red liquid spread all round her, soaking the ground, filling her nostrils.
She put out a hand to touch what had once been the man she knew better than anyone. A man fit, whole...
Finally she found her voice. It rose, filling the air, an anguished, wordless scream.
* * *
Asim stalked the empty corridor and out into a moonlit courtyard. Annoyance lengthened his stride and made the blood steam in his veins.
What had possessed his ambassador to suggest that woman as a possible bride? Or hint to the old Emir that he should bring his niece? This should have been a simple state visit to finalise an energy venture between their countries. Instead the Emir’s visit to Jazeer was a potential diplomatic disaster.
Asim strode past the scented garden and into another passage. The sprawling old palace provided plenty of space to be alone with his impatience.
Not as good as the freedom of a four-wheel drive on the desert dunes but that luxury was denied him. Asim had to remain here to play host to the Emir and his unwanted niece in the morning. He’d need to soothe the Emir’s pride but make it clear his choice of bride lay elsewhere.
He grimaced. If beauty were all he required, she might have been a contender. She was one of the most flagrantly gorgeous women he’d met.
That was saying something. In his youth, Asim had acquired a well-deserved reputation as a connoisseur of beautiful women. Blonde, brunette, redhead, slim, curvaceous, tall or petite. He’d enjoyed them all.
Did they believe he’d be so seduced by her charms he’d ignore her character? She’d been demure tonight. But Asim knew that in the exclusive holiday hideaways of the mega-wealthy she had an unrivalled reputation for pleasure, for multiple lovers and chemical stimulants.
Only a fool could think he’d turn a blind eye to that!
The woman Asim married would become wife to the Sultan of Jazeer. She would be intelligent, beautiful and capable; a devoted mother. She would be a woman of dignity and self-control, of impeccable standards. Not the subject of salacious gossip.
His wife would be everything his mother hadn’t been.
Oh, she had been beautiful. And loving, in her own way.
An icy finger tracked down Asim’s spine.
Fate preserve him from love!
That curse had destroyed his parents and now his sister. He had no intention of suffering a similar destiny.
He drew a slow breath. He’d hoped to keep his decision to acquire a wife quiet. Now speculation would be rife and he’d be bombarded with hopeful candidates.
A sharp cry brought Asim up short. He lifted his head, searching for its source.
It came again, an unearthly shriek on the still night air, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. It wasn’t a peacock, or a wild dog beyond the city outskirts.
Asim strode down an arched passageway to an even older building, long disused. The cry sounded again as he emerged into a space wilder and less formal than the other gardens.
He knew this place. As a boy he’d listened to the old stories of tragedy and avidly watched for proof that the garden was, indeed, haunted.
Now, at thirty-five, Asim didn’t consider the possibility of meeting a ghost. He was more concerned with the flesh and blood source of that scream.
It came again. High, anguished, wordless. Its tenor of distress catapulted him forward. As he neared the pavilion on the far side of the garden a glow caught his eye and adrenalin pumped hard in his blood.
Asim sprinted towards the light. Fire in the centuries-old building would be disastrous.
Yet there was no scent of smoke, no crackle of burning. Perhaps the flames hadn’t taken hold.
