The Sultan's Choice

She got out a garbled yes, and resolutely pushed aside her disturbing line of thinking. She had to concentrate on packing up her life here in London. Movers would be taking most of her stuff to Sadiq’s London home, and the rest would be shipped to Al-Omar. In two weeks she’d be meeting her fiancé again in her new home, and her life would change for ever. But that wasn’t half as daunting as the prospect of seeing Sadiq again.

CHAPTER SIX

BY the end of the third day in B’harani, two weeks later, Samia knew she needn’t have worried about how seeing Sadiq would affect her because he’d spent a grand total of five minutes with her.

The day she’d arrived she’d been looking around the extensive and luxurious surroundings of her private suite of rooms when a peremptory knock had come on the door. Without waiting for an answer someone had opened it. Samia’s crazy heartbeat had told her that it could only be one person, as everyone else had been deferential to the point of embarrassment.

Sadiq had swept into the room, dominating the entire space immediately, resplendent in traditional white and gold Al-Omari robes. And even though she’d grown up seeing men in traditional dress he’d still taken her breath away. There had been something intensely masterful about the image he’d presented.

He’d been brusque and short, blue eyes disturbingly intense. ‘I trust you had a good journey and that your rooms are to your liking?’

Samia had nodded, her mouth dry, tongue-tied in the face of his overwhelming presence and sheer masculinity. And this cool reception.

‘Everything was … is fine. Thank you.’

‘Good. I’m afraid I won’t have much free time to spend with you as I’m trying to clear my schedule for the wedding and honeymoon.’

He had looked tired, dark stubble lining his jaw, and absurdly concern had risen within Samia. She had shrugged lightly, suddenly relieved that she wouldn’t be the focus of his attention straight away, while trying not to think about his reference to the honeymoon. ‘That’s fine. I understand.’

He’d cracked a small tight smile and then said, with a rough quality to his voice that had resonated deep within her, ‘You don’t have to look so pleased to see the back of me. I’ll make sure you’re given tours of the castle and one of my aides will show you around B’harani. We have a public function to attend on Thursday night, before the wedding festivities start at the weekend. By Sunday we will be man and wife, and you will be Queen.’

The memory died away. Samia had just returned to her room after having dinner with Sadiq’s mother, Yasmeena. She’d been kind enough to take her under her wing, and Samia had seen from where Sadiq had inherited his unusual blue eyes. The elegant older woman had shown her around the castle. She was friendly, if a little reserved, and carried an air of deep sadness that reminded Samia poignantly of her father.

Responding to the allure of the dusky view outside her patio doors now, she went out to the private terrace which also held a small lap pool, complete with a kaleidescope of coloured mosaics, and walked across to the trellised wall. The balmy heat caressed her skin like a silken touch, and Samia realised just how much she’d missed this: the heat and the open spaces and the huge sky twinkling with stars.

Laid out before her eyes was the gleaming city of B’harani, a veritable jewel in the Middle East’s crown. An ancient port which had grown to become one of the most developed cities in the region. Sparkling skyscrapers soaring against the mauve sky managed not to look incongruous alongside the more ancient buildings. They looked triumphant, a shining example of ambition and success.

She’d made trips here when she was a child, and while her father might have been a guest of the Sultan she and her siblings had stayed outside the castle grounds.

Samia had always loved B’harani. It had been so much more developed than Burquat had been back then. So inspirational. And nothing had changed. It had only become even more beautiful and fantastic since then. She knew that Sadiq was a keen amateur architect and had a big hand in every building that was designed. She still loved the clean, wide boulevards with plenty of trees giving leafy shade, and the numerous liberally watered green spaces where people strolled and children played.

But her favourite place so far had been the gritty docks—the oldest part of the city. It was heaving with history, a warren of ancient markets and potent smells. Ships and boats groaning under the weight of their cargoes sailed in and out of the huge harbour all day and night. And, since she’d been last, a stunningly modern marina had come to sit very sympathetically within the old port, which Samia had already vowed to come back and visit when she had more time.

She had been invisible as she’d walked around in casual trousers and a loose top, with a headscarf hiding her distinctive hair, not wanting to draw any attention in case someone had seen the tabloids in the UK. Even though she knew well that after this week she’d become one of the most recognisable faces in the country. She would be Queen to these people. As she looked out over the sprawling city now she was daunted and scared, yes, but also for the first time a fledgling sense of something else took root. It was a sense of responsibility. Ever since she’d said yes to Sadiq, the prospect of taking on such a huge role had become less about fear and more about a burgeoning sense of excitement, which alternately scared her and made her want to see what she could start doing now. Something she’d never have guessed she’d feel in a million years.

Her hands gripped the wall when she imagined what the reality of marriage to Sadiq would be like. What it would be like to share a bedroom, and a bed. Heat flowed within her lower body and she grimaced. Perhaps he wouldn’t expect to share a room at all. Perhaps they would keep separate rooms and he would come to her, do his matrimonial duty and then leave.

An ominous lurching in her chest when she thought of that was so strong that she gripped the wall even tighter. She absolutely refused to investigate that surge of sudden emotion. For someone who had always vowed not to fall in love after seeing it wreak nothing but destruction she should be ecstatic at the possibility that Sadiq might want to keep things as impersonal as possible.

All she had to do was think of the perfume her maid Alia had brought her in a distinctive Al-Omari gold-and-red box. Al-Omar was famed for its perfume production all over the world, and some bottles sold for thousands of dollars. Alia had informed her that it was a gift from the Sultan, made especially to celebrate their engagement.

But when Samia had taken a sniff she’d nearly been knocked out. It was so strong. It was way too musky and overbearing for her. Nothing like the kind of delicate scent she would favour. And it had seemed to epitomise everything about her situation and the Sultan’s clear lack of interest now that his convenient wife had arrived.

Sadiq let his breath out and it was unsteady—as unsteady as the pounding of his heart. Ambition and the danger of the desert, or a challenging sailing race got his heart pounding. Not the sight of his wife-to-be. He had been standing on the balcony terrace just outside his office when he’d seen a movement out of the corner of his eye and looked down to see Samia standing by the wall surrounding her own private terrace. She was in profile to him but he could make out the intensity of the expression on her face.

Day was tipping slowly into night—usually his favourite time to look out over the busily winding down city. But that suddenly paled into insignificance next to the sheen of light gold from Samia’s hair which flowed long and wavy down to the middle of her gently arched back.

He drank in the sight of her, slender in capri pants and a figure hugging cardigan, her breasts in provocative profile, and his whole body tightened in an instant. The slow burn of desire became faster, licking through his veins as he watched her like a voyeur. A curious dismay gripped him at this rampant response. At least he could say he now desired his fiancée. But he just couldn’t fathom this attraction, which only seemed to grow stro

nger with each passing day.

Perhaps the real root of his ambiguous feelings was the fact that she evoked something within him that no other woman ever had. Something that was fiercely primal and at the same time protective. Not even Analia had evoked such a strong mix of reactions. His mouth twisted bitterly. No. That had been much more straightforward. She’d cruelly stepped on his heart and that would never happen again.

As the day of Samia’s arrival had grown nearer and nearer Sadiq had grown more irritable, not liking the sense of anticipation one bit. It was his fear of the strength of that anticipation that had led him to be so brusque when he’d welcomed her. And he hadn’t liked the feeling of spreading relief at seeing her here one little bit. When he’d said he was busy he hadn’t lied, but he knew he was also using it as a convenient excuse. And for someone who’d never had to make excuses in his life it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

The day he’d said goodbye to her in London, after that kiss, when she’d turned that regal profile on him and been so cool, he’d wanted to reach in and pluck her from the back of the car, carry her to his private jet and bring her straight to Al-Omar. He’d felt like one of the nomads in the desert—raw and uncultivated.

The impulse had been so strong, but he’d told himself it was just because he didn’t trust that she wouldn’t get cold feet. And, telling himself it was for that reason each day in the interim, he’d instructed one of his PAs to call her bodyguards and track her movements, becoming increasingly obsessed with what she was doing.