Ruling Sheikh, Unruly Mistress

PROLOGUE

‘DARKER than night and twice as dangerous’ was how the magazine he’d snaffled from his secretary’s desk referred to the al Maktabi brothers. Razi al Maktabi replaced it with a wink at the only woman who knew how he took his coffee.

Razi’s lips were still curving when he shut his office door. The media was struggling for dirt on him, apparently. Coming to a halt in front of a wall of windows, he placed his first call. While he waited for it to connect he studied a gunmetal slice of the Thames, where the never-ending action soothed him. Across the river, in what felt like touching distance from his penthouse, stood the Houses of Parliament, while behind him was the sleek cocoon of the CEO of Maktabi Communications, a company he had driven to international prominence. Ahead of him lay the Phoenix throne of the Isla de Sinnebar, but before he assumed the duties of his desert kingdom he was calling one last reunion.

The magazine article had got some things right, Razi reflected as the telephone droned in Lord Thomas Spencer-Dayly’s Gloucestershire mansion. Razi’s elder brother, Sheikh Ra’id al Maktabi, was every bit as hard as the journalist supposed and with good reason. Their father had sown enough wild oats to seed the whole of the American Midwest and there were numerous pretenders to Ra’id’s Sapphire throne.

This went some way to explaining why Ra’id ruled mainland Sinnebar with a rod of iron, earning him the sobriquet ‘The Sword of Vengeance’ by those who liked a lick of Hollywood with their sheikh. The journalist had left one thing out. Razi would die for the brother who had made his childhood bearable, and who had fought for him to share the same rights Ra’id enjoyed as their father’s legitimate son…

Razi’s face lit as the voice of his closest friend came on the line.

‘What’s up, bad boy?’ Tom growled, sounding as if he had just climbed out of bed.

Razi outlined his proposal.

‘The press turning up the heat?’ Tom suggested with amusement.

‘They don’t bother me. I’m more interested in us taking one last break before I assume control.’

The air between London and Gloucestershire stilled. Both men knew the seriousness of the task awaiting Razi. The moment he was hailed ruling Sheikh of the Isla de Sinnebar, Razi would immerse himself in caring for his people. ‘It’s a task I relish, Tom.’

‘I know…I know.’

Tom had his serious side too, but today was all about lifting his best friend’s mood. ‘I can’t pick up a newspaper without seeing your ugly face staring back at me,’ he complained. ‘I’ve got the morning press right here.’

Razi’s lips tugged with amusement. Brought to Tom’s suite of rooms having been ironed first by his butler, no doubt.

‘Here’s just one example…’

Furious rustling ensued as Tom attempted to tame the broadsheets. ‘Can the playboy prince work the same magic on the Isla de Sinnebar as he has on Maktabi Communications.’

‘I’ve heard it, Tom,’ Razi interrupted good-naturedly.

‘They say you’re a danger to women everywhere.’

‘Business is my passion,’ Razi cut across Tom flatly. And now he would turn those skills to the management of a country.

‘And the women?’ Tom pressed, not ready yet to let him off the hook.

‘I have a vacancy.’ And could be as dangerous as any woman wanted him to be.

Tom laughed. ‘That shouldn’t take long to fill. This journalist describes you and Ra’id as educated muscle.’

‘Yes, I rather liked that,’ Razi admitted, succumbing to Tom’s good mood with a grin. ‘Doesn’t it go on to say we’ve proved ourselves to be fighters and lovers of unparalleled vigour?’

‘Was the woman talking from personal experience?’

‘Hang on while I rack my brain for memorable encounters with someone audacious enough to take notes while I made love to her.’

Tom laughed and read on. ‘It’s Razi al Maktabi’s unforgiving gaze and striking physique, clothed in misleadingly sedate Savile Row, that gives him the edge, in the opinion of this writer.’

Razi’s looks were the result of a union between the Middle East and middle England, but even he would admit they were unusual. Emerald eyes contrasted sharply with the jet-black hair and deep bronze complexion of his Bedouin ancestors, and it was said he had the eyes and lips of the courtesan who had bewitched his father.

The same courtesan who had dumped him in the arms of whichever child-care professional court officials had seen fit to appoint. But that was another story. He’d moved on. He wasn’t interested in looking back, breaking hearts or taking revenge. On the contrary, he adored women. His love for them had remained undiminished throughout numerous attempts to trap him into marriage. As had his determination never to be tied down.

‘Enough,’ Razi exclaimed as Tom started reading another article about him. ‘Are you coming skiing with me or not?’

As he might have predicted

Tom embraced his suggestion with enthusiasm. The ski company was a small part of Razi’s business empire and he kept it for pleasure rather than gain, moving to a different chalet each year, both to test them for his guests and to keep the press guessing. Was there any better way of celebrating life, loyalty and friendship before the duties and responsibilities of ruling a country ruled him than this one last trip into the mountains?

Tom gave a short, masculine laugh. ‘Though we’ll have to put a bag over your head if we’re to get any peace from the ladies.’

‘With you and the rest of the boys around I’ll blend into the crowd.’

‘Really?’ Tom murmured dryly.

‘This is a boys-only trip. There won’t be a woman in sight.’

‘With you involved I find that hard to believe,’ Tom argued in the upper-class drawl that always made Razi smile. ‘How do you intend keeping them away?’

‘That’s your job, Tom.’ He was lapping up this return to the easy humour they’d shared as boys at school and then later in the special forces. ‘You always were my first choice of wing man. Just watch my back.’

‘And if it’s a frontal attack?’

Razi’s lips settled in a smile of happy anticipation at the thought of all the beautiful women in the world waiting to be adored. ‘In that case, Tom, wait for my signal.’

Chapter One