‘He doesn’t give up easily,’ her sister, Kat, commented.
‘No, he’s like Zahir in that.’ Saffy smiled at her sibling, loving the fact that she and Mikhail had come to stay with them in Maraban but aching for the couple at the same time. Kat had recently gone through IVF in Russia in an attempt to conceive but, sadly, the procedure hadn’t worked. In another month the couple were set for a second try and Saffy was praying that the treatment would deliver a successful result, for if any woman deserved a child of her own it was Kat, who had raised her three sisters with so much love and support.
‘The servants wait on him hand and foot,’ Kat commented. ‘You’ll have to watch that.’
‘I do. He tidies up his own toys. Zahir doesn’t want him spoiled the same way he was.’
‘The way your husband spoils you?’ Kat laughed, secure in the knowledge that Saffy was deliriously happy in Maraban.
‘Spoiling me gives Zahir a kick,’ Saffy confided with a grin, thinking of the vast selection of jewels and luxuries she was continually showered in.
More importantly, Saffy had found a real role to keep her busy in her husband’s country. She had participated in making a promotional film of Maraban and had impressed everybody with her skill as a presenter. But then she had thoroughly enjoyed the personalised tour of the various sites of interest with Zahir by her side and had become almost as knowledgeable about his country of birth as he was in the process. The warm welcome of the locals had increased her identification with Maraban as her new home. She had got involved with local charities, now sat on the board of the newest hospital in the city and regularly visited educational institutions. But most precious of all on her terms had been spending an entire week with Zahir and Karim at the orphanage school in South Africa, which she had long supported.
As a rule she usually went to London to see her sisters. Topsy was at university, studying hard and rarely free for more than a weekend, but Emmie often visited London to shop and the twins now got together as often as they could contrive it. Rediscovering her relationship with her sister meant a great deal to Saffy and the process was helped by the reality that both women now had much more in common.
Zahir strode through the door with Mikhail a mere step in his wake. Kat’s husband, a Russian billionaire, was currently advising the Marabani government on how best to invest the oil revenues that kept the country afloat. Zahir swept his son off the bike a split second before the child fell again.
‘He won’t stop trying,’ Saffy told her handsome husband. ‘He won’t give up. He’s so like you.’
‘But he has your eyes and impatience,’ Zahir remarked appreciatively as he set his squirming son down again and watched him head straight back to the demon bike that still wouldn’t do what he wanted it to do.
Zahir linked his fingers with Saffy and walked her out onto the terrace. Overhead the sun was sinking in a peach and orange blaze of colour and soon they would sit down to dinner by candlelight and talk long into the night. Just for a moment, even though she was very much enjoying having her sister and her husband as guests, she wished she were alone with Zahir.
He looked down at her with smouldering dark golden eyes and butterflies leapt in her tummy and her mouth ran dry. ‘We should get dressed for dinner,’ he murmured lazily.
A smile tugging at her lush lips, Saffy leant back against his lean powerful body in an attitude of complete trust, knowing they would end up in bed, loving the fact that he found it as hard to keep his hands off her as she did him. She was deliriously happy in her marriage and Karim’s arrival had enriched and deepened the ties between her and Zahir. ‘I love you,’ she whispered.
‘I love you too,’ Zahir purred, pressing his mouth hungrily to the base of her throat and making her shiver against him.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Beholden to the Throne by Carol Marinelli
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Presents title.
You want alpha males, decadent glamour and jet-set lifestyles. Step into the sensational,
sophisticated world of Harlequin Presents, where sinfully tempting heroes ignite a fierce and
wickedly irresistible passion!
Enjoy eight new stories from Harlequin Presents every month!
Visit Harlequin.com to find your next great read.
We like you—why not like us on Facebook: Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Follow us on Twitter: Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
Read our blog for all the latest news on our authors and books: HarlequinBlog.com
Subscribe to our newsletter for special offers, new releases, and more!
Harlequin.com/newsletters
CHAPTER ONE
‘SHEIKH King Emir has agreed that he will speak with you.’
Amy looked up as Fatima, one of the servants, entered the nursery where Amy was feeding the young Princesses their dinner. ‘Thank you for letting me know. What time—?’
‘He is ready for you now,’ Fatima interrupted, impatience evident in her voice at Amy’s lack of haste, for Amy continued to feed the twins.
‘They’re just having their dinner…’ Amy started, but didn’t bother to continue—after all, what would the King know about his daughters’ routines? Emir barely saw the twins and, quite simply, it was breaking Amy’s heart.
What would he know about how clingy they had become lately and how fussy they were with their food? It was one of the reasons Amy had requested a meeting with him—tomorrow they were to be handed over to the Bedouins. First they would be immersed in the desert oasis and then they would be handed over to strangers for the night. It was a tradition that dated back centuries, Fatima had told her, and it was a tradition that could not be challenged.
Well, Amy would see about that!
The little girls had lost their mother when they were just two weeks old, and since his wife’s death Emir had hardly seen them. It was Amy they relied on. Amy who was with them day in and day out. Amy they trusted. She would not simply hand them over to strangers without a fight on their behalf.
‘I will look after the twins and give them dinner,’ Fatima said. ‘You need to make yourself presentable for your audience with the King.’ She ran disapproving eyes over Amy’s pale blue robe, which was the uniform of the Royal Nanny. It had been fresh on that morning, but now it wore the telltale signs that she had been finger-painting with Clemira and Nakia this afternoon. Surely Emir should not care about the neatness of her robe? He should expect that if the nanny was doing her job properly she would be less than immaculate in appearance. But, again, what would Emir know about the goings-on in the nursery? He hadn’t been in to visit his daughters for weeks.
Amy changed into a fresh robe and retied her shoulder-length blonde hair into a neat ponytail. Then she covered her hair with a length of darker blue silk, arranging the cloth around her neck and leaving the end to trail over her shoulder. She wore no make-up but, as routinely as most women might check their lipstick, Amy checked to see that the scar low on her neck was covered by the silk. She hated how, in any conversation, eyes were often drawn to it, and more than that she hated the inevitable questions that followed.
The accident and its aftermath were something she would far rather forget than discuss.
‘They are too fussy with their food,’ Fatima said as Amy walked back into the nursery.
Amy suppressed a smile as Clemira pulled a face and then grabbed at the spoon Fatima was offering and threw it to the floor.
‘They just need to be cajoled,’ Amy explained. ‘They haven’t eaten this before.’
‘They need to know how to behave!’ Fatima said. ‘There will be eyes on them when they are out in public, and tomorrow they leave to go to the desert—there they must eat only fruit, and the desert people will not be impressed by two spoiled princesses spitting out their food.’ She looked Amy up and down. ‘Remember to bow your head when you enter, and to keep it bowed until the King speaks. And you are to thank h
im for any suggestions that he makes.’
Thank him!
Amy bit down on a smart retort. It would be wasted on Fatima and, after all, she might do better to save her responses for Emir. As she turned to go, Clemira, only now realising that she was being left with Fatima, called out to Amy.
‘Ummi!’ her little voice wailed. ‘Ummi!’
She called again and Fatima stared in horror as Clemira used the Arabic word for mother.
‘Is this what she calls you?’
‘She doesn’t mean it,’ Amy said quickly, but Fatima was standing now, the twins’ dinner forgotten, fury evident on her face.
‘What have you been teaching her?’ Fatima accused.