Desert Prince's Stolen Bride

‘Where was Halina?’

‘Sitting on the sofa. She was in the next room when you came in through the window. I could hear her humming.’ Olivia shook her head slowly, her eyes wide. ‘This all feels so completely surreal.’

And yet, unfortunately for both of them, it wasn’t. He hadn’t even seen Halina. In truth, he’d only had eyes for Olivia. Even through the blur of binoculars he’d been arrested by her slender form, her movements of efficient grace. And yet...

‘You look like her.’

Olivia frowned. ‘You think I look like her? No.’ She shook her head. ‘Not really. A pale shadow, perhaps.’

A pale shadow? It was a revealing choice of words. ‘You have the same colouring,’ he continued. ‘Dark hair...’

‘Halina is much prettier than I am,’ Olivia insisted. ‘Her hair is darker and wavier and...’ She paused, biting her lip, and Zayed raised his eyebrows, curious now.

‘And?’

‘Her figure is...curvier.’ Olivia flushed. ‘Everyone thinks she is very beautiful.’ The implication seemed to be that they thought Olivia was not. Yet Zayed had enjoyed her curves, slight as they were, and her hair—a deep, rich brown—was dark enough for him. Although, now that he was studying her properly, not blinded by the wilful determination he’d felt earlier, he saw that Olivia was right. She resembled Halina only to a small degree. Her colouring was lighter, more European, and she was a bit taller as well as slenderer. Even he could see that, having only glimpsed Halina in blurry photos. So why hadn’t he realised it earlier? Because he’d been too focused. Too desperate.

‘You don’t speak Arabic,’ he recalled slowly. ‘And your name sounds English. Where were you raised?’

‘All over the world. My father was British, a diplomat. We moved every few years to a new posting and then I went to boarding school with Halina in England. My mother was Spanish.’

Was. ‘You are an orphan?’

Olivia nodded. ‘My mother died when I was small, my father five years ago when I was seventeen. Since I was a friend of Halina’s, Sultan Hassan took me under his protection. It was very kind of him.’ Zayed nodded slowly. Hassan had presumably taken Olivia on as a paid employee. It wasn’t quite the same, yet Olivia seemed grateful.

He took a sip of arak, needing his senses blunted even if he knew he couldn’t afford the luxury. His mind moved in circles, seeking a way out of this trap he’d unwittingly made for himself, but all he felt was it tightening inexorably.

‘So people know we’re married,’ Olivia said slowly. ‘Too many people, it seems. What...what will this mean for you? And for Kalidar?’

‘I don’t know.’ He glanced at her from beneath his lashes, suspicious all over again. She seemed too good to be true—innocent and helpful and eager to please, caring more for his situation than her own. Was she hoping to become the next Queen of Kalidar? Not that he could offer her that much yet. He had tents in the desert and a small cadre of loyal men. In ten years he had not left the barren desert of his country; he had not wanted to give Malouf an opportunity to seize even more power or let his men think he’d abandoned them. If Olivia was hoping for a life of luxury and ease, it would be a long time coming...but it would come. Was she banking on that? Or had she sacrificed herself for Halina’s sake?

What did she want?

‘I’m sorry,’ Olivia said after a moment, her voice soft and sad, and Zayed let out a harsh huff of laughter. Now he really was suspicious. She was laying it on a bit thick, her concern for him and his country, when he’d taken her innocence and ruined her reputation.

‘You’re sorry?’

She hunched one slender shoulder. ‘You have more to lose than I do.

That’s what you meant by “millions,” isn’t it? The people of Kalidar. This marriage—marriage to Halina—was important to you politically. Wasn’t it?’ She searched his face, her expression both guileless and compassionate. ‘I don’t know the details, of course.’

‘You don’t need to know them.’

‘But what will you do if you cannot marry Halina?’ Olivia’s eyes were round, her hair tousled, her lips parted. Even now she looked desirable, and Zayed wanted her all over again.

He suppressed that painful stab of inconvenient desire. Was this her ploy, to get him to admit that he had to stay married to her? Because he wouldn’t do it. He’d make her no promises. He’d made far too many already. ‘I don’t know what I will do,’ Zayed said shortly. ‘I have to think.’ He looked away, a muscle working in his throat, a pain lodging in his chest like a cold, hard stone. This marriage had been essential. Without it...without it...

He had to get out of this marriage. He had to make it right with Sultan Hassan. Anything else would be failure, doom for his kingship, his country. Far too much was at stake for him to worry about the finer feelings of one forgettable woman.

Zayed rose from his seat while Olivia watched with wide eyes, apprehension visible in every taut line of her body. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Out,’ Zayed said brusquely. ‘I need to think.’

‘But what...what am I meant to do?’

He raked her with one deliberately dismissive glance, determined not to care about this woman to even the smallest degree. He still suspected her. How could he not? To have fallen into bed with him... Maybe he was being judgemental, but he had to be. Too much was at stake for him to trust her an inch.

‘You can do what you like,’ he informed her. ‘Get some sleep, stay in the tent or wander around. I wouldn’t go far, though. Outside this camp there is nothing but barren desert for a hundred miles in any direction. You wouldn’t last long, Miss Taylor.’