Bella and the Merciless Sheikh

With a shiver of panic, she touched the mare’s neck, feeling the animal quiver in response. ‘Miss Balfour?’

Hearing her name, Bella turned automatically and saw an elderly man studying her. He knew who she was. Her eyes flickered nervously to Zafiq but he was surrounded by people and she suddenly realised that up until this point she’d had no real sense of just how important he was. In the desert he had seemed like a strong, powerful man. Here, he was a ruler.

For a moment her mind flickered back to the unsmiling, cold man who had rescued her and then she remembered how he’d laughed with her, how they’d held each other in passion.

Suddenly she was desperate for him to smile at her again—

‘I am Kalif, His Royal Highness’s chief adviser. If you come with me, I can make the necessary arrangements.’

Still staring at Zafiq, Bella craned her neck to get a better view through the crowd, only half listening to the man. ‘Necessary arrangements for what?’

‘For your journey home.’

Arrangements to have her removed from the Sheikh’s life like some diseased piece of flesh.

She wasn’t a suitable woman for a sheikh to consort with in public.

Knowing that she was not being given a choice, Bella swung her leg over the horse and dismounted. ‘Thank you.’ Determined to maintain her dignity, she followed Kalif across the court yard, struggling not to look back. It felt as though someone was pulling at her head and it was almost a relief when Kalif led her through a heavy door and into an ornate corridor.

‘Your things were for warded from the Retreat, Miss Balfour. I have them here.’ He led her into a large airy room, dominated by an antique desk and large, colourful tapestries depicting desert scenes.

Bella stared at her designer suitcase, feeling as though it had come from a different life. A few days ago she would have been desperate to lay her hands on it, but now?

Wordlessly, she crossed the room and yanked the zip down. Inside was everything she’d been craving. There was her laptop, her phone, her iPod, a mirror, make-up—all the things she’d learned to live without.

She had everything. She stared at the contents blankly, realising that the only thing she wanted was Zafiq.

That feeling of being wanted. That feeling of being connected with someone.

Confronting the unpalatable fact that for him it had just been sexual, Bella gave a twisted smile. When had men ever wanted anything else from her?

Kalif cleared his throat. ‘The owner of the Retreat asked me to deliver a message to you.’

Staring down at the stark reminder of her real life, Bella barely heard him. ‘What was the message?’

‘He said that he hopes you will find peace.’

‘Fat chance,’ Bella muttered, zipping the bag closed so violently that the mechanism jammed.

‘Bella Balfour?’

Zafiq’s hand whitened on the newspaper article. Dropping it on his desk, he picked up the next one, this time a glossy gossip magazine with a stunningly beautiful blonde snapped arriving at Balfour Manor for the annual ball. The headline was Bella of the Ball and the girl was wearing a shocking dress so short that it barely skimmed the top of her incredible legs. Her blonde hair gleamed like a sun flower on a summer day and her bold blue eyes flirted with the camera.

She was so impossibly glamorous he barely recognised her as the girl who had plaited her hair and tied it with the leaf of a date palm. The girl who had galloped across the sand, an expression of sheer happiness on her face.

Kalif cleared his throat. ‘As you can see, Your Highness, she is extremely high profile.’

Zafiq gave a hollow laugh as he flicked through the magazines.

Fashion icon.