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Forged in the Desert Heat
Maisey Yates
A woman who could start a warThe Gypsy Sheikh. Betrayer. Modern-day marauder. Zafar Nejem has been called many things, and now he is to be called Your Majesty. Returning to the throne of Al Sabah, his first act is to rescue American heiress Analise Christensen from her desert kidnappers.Ana is engaged to the ruler of a neighbouring kingdom, and her discovery must be concealed until Zafar can explain her presence or else he risks war. But as the sun rises over the sand dunes so does the forbidden heat that burns between them, threatening everything…‘The hardest working woman in romance!I never miss a Maisey!’– Annabelle, 39, Wakefieldwww.maiseyyates.com
‘I don’t have to be good, Ana, I just have to win. In the end Al Sabah has to win. The rest … The rest doesn’t matter.’
‘And you’ll do anything to win?’
‘Anything,’ Zafar said.
Ana believed him. There was no doubt. The way he said it—so dark and sure and certain—sent a shiver through her body, down into her bones. And yet it didn’t repel her. It didn’t make her want to run. Perversely, it almost made her want to get closer.
The shock of fear that ran through her body was electric. It sent ripples of warning, showers of sparks that sent a crackling heat along her veins. She felt like a child standing before a fire. Fascinated and awed by its warmth, knowing there was something that might make it all dangerous, but not having any real concept of the damage it could do.
Even having that moment of clarity, she didn’t draw back.
MAISEY YATES was an avid Mills & Boon
Modern™ Romance reader before she began to write them. She still can’t quite believe she’s lucky enough to get to create her very own sexy alpha heroes and feisty heroines. Seeing her name on one of those lovely covers is a dream come true.
Maisey lives with her handsome, wonderful, diaper-changing husband and three small children across the street from her extremely supportive parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of Southern Oregon, USA. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch and then heading into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic urban locales.
Recent titles by the same author:
HIS RING IS NOT ENOUGH
THE COUPLE WHO FOOLED THE WORLD
HEIR TO A DARK INHERITANCE
(Secret Heirs of Powerful Men) HEIR TO A DESERT LEGACY (Secret Heirs of Powerful Men)
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Forged in the Desert Heat
Maisey Yates
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my daughter.
Never be afraid to stand up for yourself, or to stand for what’s right.
You’re the hero of your story.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u7b82d84e-007f-5425-a945-df40e9eed037)
CHAPTER TWO (#uf3f30fdb-9690-50eb-aa9d-f2ff4b8626cb)
CHAPTER THREE (#ubd7df52a-bff7-522e-b759-e70435b0f699)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u8c9aedf2-ef52-5303-93bd-ddd1581f309f)
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)
EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
SHEIKH ZAFAR NEJEM scanned the encampment, the sun burning what little of his skin was revealed. He was as covered as he could possibly be, both to avoid the harsh elements of the desert, and to avoid being recognized.
Though, for most, the odds of that would be low out here, hundreds of miles from any city. But this was his home. Where he’d been raised. The place where he’d made his name as the most fearsome man in Al Sabah.
And considering his competition for the position, there was weight to the title.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary here. Cooking fires were smoldering, and he could hear voices in the tents. He stopped for a moment. This was no family encampment, but that of a band of highway men. Thieves. Outlaws, not unlike himself. He knew these men, and they knew him. He had a tentative truce with them, but that didn’t mean he was ready to show himself.
It didn’t mean he trusted them. He trusted no one.
Especially not now.
Not now that there was certain to be unrest. Anger, backlash over his installation in the palace. On the throne.
Back to his rightful position.
The Gypsy Sheikh’s return had not been met with delight, at least not in the more “civilized” corners of the country. His uncle had done far too efficient a job in destroying his reputation for anyone to be pleased at his coronation.
If only he could dispel the rumors surrounding his exile. But he could not.
Because they were true.
But here, among the people who felt like his own—among the people who had suffered most at his uncle’s hand—there was happiness here at least. They knew that whatever his sins, he had been working to atone.
Zafar looked out toward the horizon, all flat and barren from this point to Bihar. There was one more place to stop and seek shelter, but it was another five hours’ ride, and he didn’t relish the idea of more time spent in the saddle today.
He dismounted his horse and patted the animal, dust rising from his black coat. “I think we’ll take our chances here,” he said, leading him to a makeshift corral, where other horses were hemmed in, and opened the gate.
He closed it, making sure it was secure before walking back toward the main tent.
One of the men was already coming out to greet him.
“Sheikh,” he said, inclining his head. “A surprise.”
“Is it? You had to know I was heading back to Bihar.” A growing suspicion. The desert was vast and it seemed strange to intersect with Jamal’s band of thugs at this particular moment.
“I may have heard something about it. But there is more than one road to the capital city.”
“So you had no desire for a meeting with me?”
The other man smiled, dark eyes glinting in the golden light. “I didn’t say that. We were hoping to run into you. Or, at least, someone of your means.”
“My means are still limited. I haven’t yet been back to Bihar.”
“And yet, you do find ways to acquire what you need.”
Zafar looked the man over. “As do you. Will you invite me in?”
“Not yet.”
Zafar knew something wasn’t right. His truce with Jamal and his men was tentative. It was probably why they wanted to see him. He was in a position to put a stop to what they did out here in the desert, and he knew the places they liked to hit.
They weren’t dangerous men; at least, they weren’t entirely without conscience. And so they were on the bottom of a long list of concerns, but, as was human nature, they clearly believed themselves more important in his world than they were.
“Then have you gifts to offer me in place of hospitality?” Zafar asked dryly, a reference to common custom out in the desert.
“Hospitality will come,” Jamal said. “And while we don’t have gifts, we do have some items you might take an interest in.”
“The horses in the corral?”
“Most are for sale.”
“Camels?”
“Them, as well.”
“What use have I for camels? I imagine there is an entire menagerie of them waiting for me in Bihar. Cars, as well.” It had been a long time since he’d ridden in a car. Utterly impractical for his lifestyle. They were a near-foreign thought now, as were most other modern conveniences.
The other man smiled, his teeth brilliantly white against his dark beard. “I have something better. An offer we hope might appease you.”
“Not a gift, though.”
“Items this rare and precious cannot be given away, your highness.”
“Perhaps you should allow me to be the judge of that.”
Jamal turned and shouted toward the tent and Zafar watched as two men emerged, holding a small, blonde woman between them. She looked up at him, pale eyes wide, red rimmed. She wasn’t dirty, neither did she look like she’d been handled too roughly. She wasn’t attempting an escape, either, but given their location...there would be no point. She would have nowhere to go.
“You have brought me a woman?”
“A potential bride, perhaps? Or just a plaything.”
“When have I ever given the indication that I’m the sort of man who buys women?”
“You seem like the sort of man who would not leave a woman in the middle of the desert.”
“And you would?” he asked.
“In no uncertain terms, Your Highness.”
“Why should I care about one Western woman? I have a country to consider.”
“You will buy her, I think. And for our asking price.”
Zafar shrugged and turned away. “Ransom her. I’m sure her loved ones will pay much more than I am willing or able to.”
“I would ransom her, but it is not my intention to start a war.”
Zafar stopped and turned, his muscles locked tight, his heart pounding hard. “What?”
“A war, Sheikh. It is not in my best interest to start one. I don’t want those Shakari bastards all over my desert.”
Shakar was the closest neighboring country to Al Sabah and relations between the two nations were at a breaking point, thanks to Zafar’s uncle. “What does Shakar have to do with this woman? She’s Western, clearly.”
“Yes. Clearly. She is also, if we believe her ranting from when we first took her, American heiress Analise Christensen. I imagine you have heard the name. She is betrothed to the Sheikh of Shakar.”
Yes, he had heard the name. He was largely cut off from matters of State but he still heard things. He made sure he did. And clearly, Jamal made certain he heard things, as well. “And how is it I play into this? What is it you want with her?” he spat.
“We can start a war here, or end one, the choice is yours. Also, with the wrong words in the right ear, even if you take her, but threaten us? We can put you in a very bad position. How is it you ended up with her? The future bride of a man rumored to be the enemy of Al Sabah? Your hands are bound, Zafar.”
In truth, he would never have considered leaving the woman here with them, but what they were suggesting was blackmail, and one problem he didn’t need. One problem too many.
So, buy her and drop her off at the nearest airport.
Yes. He could do. He didn’t have very much money on him, but he didn’t think their aim was to get the highest price off the beauty’s head so much as to seek protection. Zafar was, after all, ready to assume the throne, and he knew all of their secrets.
He looked down at the woman who claimed to be an heiress, betrothed to a sheikh. Anger blazed from those eyes, he could see it clearly now. She was not defeated, but she was also smart enough to save her energy. To not waste time fighting here and now.
“You have not harmed her?” he asked, his throat getting tight with disgust at the thought.
“We have not laid a finger on her, beyond binding her to keep her from escaping. Where would her value be, where would our protection be, if she were damaged?”
