Bella and the Merciless Sheikh

And he would not be making the same choices as his father.

He would never allow his judgement to be clouded by his feelings for a woman.

It wasn’t even as if she was his type of woman. She showed neither respect nor modesty. Accustomed to women who were usually over whelmed to meet him in person, Zafiq found her vitality and lack of deference disconcerting to say the least.

Today he would urge her to remain inside the tent, away from the harsh desert sun. And he’d make sure she didn’t remove her robe again during their time in the desert. If she had to stay, then she had to learn to behave, he thought savagely, shielding his eyes against the sun as he focused on the horizon.

Having formulated what he believed to be a workable solution to the problem, Zafiq rode back to the desert camp, confident that he had his emotions well in hand.

Suddenly Batal gave a shriek of anger and rose on his hind legs, sawing at the air with his hooves. Welded to the back of the plunging animal, Zafiq spoke to the horse quietly, using all his strength to hold the powerful stallion in check.

Only when he’d calmed Batal did he look to see what had spooked him.

She stood in the shadow of the tent, her hair damp from another cooling dip in the oasis.

‘Sorry, I didn’t know you were out on the horse. You startled me.’ The redness of her skin had calmed over night and her beautiful face now had a healthy glow.

But what really caught his attention was the way she was dressed.

For the first time in his life Zafiq found it difficult to speak. ‘What have you done to the robe?’

‘I altered it a bit.’ She glanced down at herself, her blonde hair sliding forward in a silken mass of temptation. ‘It was too long.’

‘It was a perfect length,’ Zafiq ground out, and she looked up at him with a stunning smile, her eyes challenging him to a fight.

‘If this is offending you, you could always take me to the city.’

So that was her plan.

She was trying to drive him mad.

And she was succeeding.

Rigid in the saddle, Zafiq scanned her outfit in silent disbelief.

Somehow she’d turned a modest, shapeless robe into a high-fashion item.

She’d ripped the fabric with her hands, tearing a metre off the bottom so that it now skimmed her thighs, exposing her incredible legs. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d taken some of the leaves from a date palm and woven them into a belt, accentuating her tiny waist.

Suffering from an explosive blast of sexual arousal, Zafiq took a deep breath and acknowledged that his plan to cover her up had failed spectacularly.

She looked like a temptress straight from a Greek myth.

Frustrated by his own response, he raked his brain for an alternative solution to concealing her. ‘You will stay in the tent today,’ he commanded, and she raised her eyebrows, a hint of humour in her gorgeous blue eyes.

‘Am I supposed to say, “Yes, Your Highness”?’

‘“Yes, Your Highness” would be fine.’

Her smile was apologetic. ‘Trouble is, I’ve never been much good at doing what people want me to do. I was brought up to challenge and question. I have a tendency to do the opposite of what I’m asked.’

Zafiq’s gaze didn’t shift. ‘In that case, I order you to stay out of the tent and to walk around half naked until we leave this place.’

She collapsed into a fit of giggles, her laughter so infectious that he felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

‘You see?’ She was still grinning, a tiny dimple flickering at the corner of her full mouth. ‘You do have a sense of humour. You’re smiling.’

Was he? Zafiq vaulted from the horse, removed the animal’s bridle and urged him towards the oasis to drink, reminding himself that there was nothing amusing about this situation. But he had to admit that there was something incredibly refreshing about being with someone who didn’t automatically say what they thought he wanted to hear. ‘How is your headache?’