For Better for Worse

Grown-up! Not really. Not yet, Eleanor reflected as she informed her that she could eat whatever she could find in the fridge, pointing out that she wasn’t running a twenty-four-hour canteen service.

It wasn’t too late. There was still time for them to get to know one another, to learn to love one another. After all, they already had the best start they could have: they already shared their love for Marcus.

For better or for worse; they were a family and somehow she had a very, very strong and hopeful feeling that it was going to be for better.

* * * * *

Now, read on for a tantalizing excerpt of Abby Green’s new release,

A DIAMOND FOR THE SHEIKH’S MISTRESS

The first book in her Rulers of the Desert duet!

Hiring model Kat is the perfect opportunity for Sheikh Zafir Al-Noury to resume their burning hot nights. Once again, Zafir tempts Kat to sensual surrender. Even if that means exposing every part of herself to the man who once ruled her soul…

Keep reading to get a glimpse of

A DIAMOND FOR THE SHEIKH’S MISTRESS

CHAPTER ONE

SHEIKH ZAFIR IBN HAFIZ AL-NOURY, King of Jandor, was oblivious to the exquisite mosaics on the path under his feet as he paced restlessly, and he was equally oblivious to the water burbling from the ornate central fountain. The tiny multi-coloured birds darting between the lush exotic blooms also went unnoticed in this, just one of the many stunning courtyards of his royal palace in Jahor, the imposing capital city of his kingdom, which ran from snow-capped mountains in the east, across a vast desert to the sea in the west.

Zafir was oblivious to it all because all he could think about was her. It was getting worse. He’d had to call an important meeting to a premature end because he’d felt constricted and claustrophobic, aware of the heat in his blood and the ache in his core. An ache he’d largely managed to ignore for the last eighteen months.

Liar, whispered a voice, those first three months were hell.

Zafir scowled in remembrance. But then his father had died, and all his time and attention since then had been taken up with his accession to the throne and taking control of his country.

But now it was as if he finally had time to breathe again, and she was back. Infiltrating his thoughts and dreams. Haunting him.

Zafir loosened his robe at his neck with jerky movements. Sexual frustration, he told himself, momentarily coming to a halt on the path. It was just sexual frustration. After all, he hadn’t taken a woman to bed since…her, and that incensed him even more now.

It wasn’t due to lack of interest from women. It was due to Zafir’s single-minded focus on his job and his commitment to his people. But he was aware of the growing pressure from his council and his people to find a suitable Queen and provide heirs, so they would have faith and feel secure in their King and future.

Zafir issued a loud curse, scattering the birds around him in a flurry. Enough. He whirled around and strode back out of the courtyard, determined to set in motion the search for an appropriate match and put her out of his head once and for all.

He stop

ped in his tracks, though, as he passed the overgrown entrance to the high-walled garden nearby. None of the gardeners had touched it in years, and Zafir hadn’t had the heart to enforce its clean-up since taking power. He knew that his staff viewed it almost superstitiously; some believed it was haunted.

Maybe it was, he thought bleakly, his thoughts momentarily diverted.

He went and stood at the entrance and looked at the wildly overgrown space and realised with a jolt that today was the anniversary. The anniversary of his sister’s death. Nineteen years ago. He’d been thirteen and she’d been just eleven. He stepped in, almost without realising what he was doing.

Unlike the rest of the pristinely manicured grounds, there was no water trickling into the circular pool that could barely be seen under greedy weeds. There were no lush flowers or exotic birds. It was dormant. Still. Dead.

He could still remember hearing the almost otherworldly scream of his brother Salim, Sara’s twin. When Zafir had burst into the garden he’d found his brother cradling Sara’s limp body, her head dangling over his arm at an unnatural angle. Her face had been whiter than white, her long black hair matted with the blood which had been dripping into the fountain’s pool behind them, staining the water.

Salim had screamed at him to do something…save her… But Zafir had known instinctively that she was gone. He’d tried to take Sara out of Salim’s arms to carry her into the palace, to find help, see if there was any chance, but Salim, sensing Zafir’s grim assessment had only tightened his hold on his twin sister’s body and shouted hoarsely, ‘If you can’t help then don’t touch her…leave us alone!’

Sara had died from a massive head and neck injury after falling from the high wall around this garden where they’d used to play and climb, in spite of Zafir’s protests. Salim hadn’t spoken for weeks afterwards…

To Zafir’s shame, the dominating thing he now recalled was the awfully familiar disconnect between him and his siblings. The sense of isolation that had pervaded his whole life. He’d always been envious of Salim and Sara’s very special and close bond, which had been to the exclusion of everyone else. But right then he would have gladly given up his own life to see his sister’s brought back…

‘Ahem… Sire?’

Zafir tensed. Very few people managed to catch him unawares and he didn’t appreciate this intrusion into such a private moment.