Desert Prince's Stolen Bride

Zayed started from his ill-humoured reverie to see Jahmal at the entrance to his private tent, a respectful but inquisitive look on his face. Did he know of his mistake? From the guarded curiosity on his aide’s face, Zayed doubted it, but Jahmal could sense something was wrong.

‘It...went well?’ he asked cautiously.

Zayed almost laughed, except there was nothing remotely funny about this situation. Nothing at all. He’d spent the last hour pacing his tent and trying to figure a way out of this mess of his own making. Because it was of his own making, no matter what Olivia Taylor was in it for. If he’d kidnapped the right woman, he would not be here, cursing his fate as well as his own idiocy.

‘It went,’ he said tersely. He scrubbed his face with his hands, exhaustion crashing through him. He hadn’t slept for over twenty-four hours and he didn’t foresee much sleep in his future. He still had no idea what to do to fix this situation. Send an envoy to Hassan? How the hell could he explain?

‘The Princess is...happy?’ Jahmal ventured, his forehead creasing as his dark eyes searched Zayed’s fierce expression.

This time Zayed did laugh, because what else could he do? There were no walls to punch, no way to let out the fury he felt, directed solely at himself. For ten years failure had not been an option—and yet after all the war, all the bloodshed, all the loss, grief and pain, he wondered if the last decade had been nothing but failure. And now this.

‘I have no idea how the Princess feels,’ he told Jahmal, ‘because she’s not here.’

Jahmal’s frown deepened. ‘My Prince? I don’t understand...’

‘I took the wrong woman,’ Zayed explained, biting each word off and spitting it out. It was like some ridiculous farce. ‘I kidnapped the governess, not Princess Halina.’ Colour surged into his face just from stating it so baldly. How could he have been so stupid?

‘The wrong woman...’ Jahmal’s face drained of colour. ‘But...did she not say...?’

‘No, she didn’t say. She didn’t protest at the wedding, either.’ An hour of sitting here stewing had made suspicion solidify in Zayed. He might be to blame for taking the wrong woman, but why the hell hadn’t Olivia spoken up? There had been plenty of opportunity. Why hadn’t she asked who he was? He’d assumed she’d known, because she’d never said otherwise. Really, she’d been remarkably quiet, all things considered. And that made him wonder if she’d seen a good deal and decided to take it.

There was, he knew, only one way to find out. Not that it would make much difference to the outcome, but at least it would ease his conscience when he informed Olivia in no uncertain terms that he was divorcing her and marrying Halina at the earliest opportunity...and that she would help him to achieve that goal.

After Jahmal left, Zayed decided to go talk to Olivia. The sooner he could implement some damage control, the better. But when he went to the tent, it was empty, and Suma informed him that Olivia had gone down to the oasis to bathe. Fine. He would see her there.

The small camp was built around a verdant oasis, shaped like a kidney, so there were several private inlets. Olivia had gone to one of these, well out of sight of the camp, and Zayed strode down the palm-fringed path to the private cove to find her.

He paused as he crested a gently rolling dune; Olivia was hip-deep in water and wearing absolutely nothing. The breath rushed out of Zayed’s lungs as he took in her perfect slender form, the bright morning sunlight gilding her body in gold.

She held a cloth above her head, squeezing it so water dripped out, the droplets running down her shoulders and back. Desire surged through him, an irrepressible force. Zayed clenched his fists, willing it back. Lust for this woman had weakened him once. It would not do so again.

He came down the hill, the long grasses that fringed the oasis rustling as he moved, and Olivia turned, gasping as she caught sight of him. She rushed to cover herself and Zayed’s mouth twisted sardonically. Her maidenly outrage was just a little too melodramatic to be convincing, especially considering what they’d been doing together mere hours ago.

‘You don’t need to rush,’ he drawled as she waded out of the water and snatched a towel. ‘I’ve seen it all before.’

‘That doesn’t mean you need to see it again.’ She knotted the towel above her breasts, her hands shaking. Zayed folded his arms and surveyed her dispassionately. Never mind that she looked utterly lovely, with her dark, damp hair already starting to dry and curl in tendrils about her heart-shaped face. Never mind that her eyes looked huge and blue, and that those thick, sooty lashes drove him to distraction. Never mind.

‘As soon as possible, I am going to send an envoy to Sultan Hassan, explaining the situation.’

Her eyes widened and Zayed thought he saw disappointment flicker in their stormy depths, vindicating his suspicions. She was in it for herself. She had to be.

‘Everything about our situation?’ she asked cautiously.

‘Word will already have got out.’

‘Even so...’

‘I am not a liar.’ His voice came out hard. ‘I will be honest with Hassan, and so will you.’

‘Me?’

‘You will write him a letter that I will include as part of my correspondence, explaining what happened and how you did not correct my misinformation.’

Anger flared in her eyes and she hugged her arms to herself, hitching the towel higher. ‘Correct your misinformation?’ she repeated with a surprising edge of acid to her voice. ‘I didn’t realise it was my responsibility to make sure my abductor’s kidnapping attempt went smoothly.’ She planted her hands on her hips, making the towel slip and affording Zayed a tantalising glimpse of the rounded curves of her breasts. ‘When should I have done that, Prince Zayed? When I was being thrown out of a window? Or when I was gagged on horseback?’

‘I removed the gag.’ Pain flickered at his temples as he set his jaw.

‘Or when I was thrust into a tent and a marriage ceremony without having exchanged a word with you? What should I have done? Said, Pardon me, but I think you might have the wrong woman?’