Desert Prince's Stolen Bride

The conversation continued through five courses of a meal that could have been served in a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris and, as Zayed had promised, Serrat did not ask any awkward questions about who she was or what she was doing there. Neither did he talk of politics or policy. Olivia suspected that would come later, when she wasn’t present, if it hadn’t already happened.

As she sipped her wine she let herself drift into a daydream that this was her reality—that Zayed had been restored as King and she was his Queen. That they were entertaining together, as they often would, a partnership, a team. It was such a pleasant daydream, but it also created an ache in her that was painful. It hurt to let herself imagine things that would never come to pass. Even if Zayed insisted on keeping her as his Queen, she knew instinctively that he would not want the kind of loving partnership she dreamed of. But perhaps it would come in time...

Was it foolishness to hope for such a thing? Madness? Yet she did. To her own weakness and shame, she did, because she wanted to be pregnant with Zayed’s child so she could live as his Queen...whatever he felt for her.

* * *

Olivia sparkled like the most brilliant jewel. All evening Zayed had trouble keeping his eyes off her and so, he’d noticed bemusedly, did Serrat. He’d made the right decision in having Olivia attend. Serrat had relaxed, seeing the western influence in Zayed’s life, speaking his own language. Their discussions that afternoon had been tenuous and wary; France was willing to support Zayed against Malouf but wanted to be reassured that Zayed would take Kalidar in a different direction—and what better way to prove that than by taking a western wife?

When Jahmal had told him that Sultan Hassan had sent Halina away and was refusing to accept his message or his gifts, Zayed had realised he needed to think seriously about an alternative. And he had, quite suddenly, realised that Olivia was the alternative, and a good one at that...even if she wasn’t pregnant.

Admittedly, he would have preferred a wife with further-reaching connections, but Olivia’s background as a diplomat’s daughter, her ease with languages and the fact that she was European were all points in her favour. If she was carrying his child, so much the better.

It was after midnight when Serrat said goodnight, and left Zayed and Olivia alone in the dining room, the room flickering with shadows and candlelight. Zayed ached just to look at her, her slender body encased in the sheath-like evening gown, the diamanté details making her sparkle so she looked like a blue flame.

‘You were lovely tonight,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Perfect.’

‘I didn’t do much,’ Olivia answered with a little laugh. ‘Just made small talk.’

‘Which was exactly what was needed.’ Zayed had a desperate urge to make love to her. He’d been fighting it all evening; he hadn’t touched her in ten days, since that madness had overtaken them both in his study, and he’d had her on his own desk. Even now he couldn’t believe how quickly and completely he’d lost control, yet it had felt so good. So right. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of her—and why should he? She was his wife. And she could stay his wife.

‘Do you think France will support your claim?’ Olivia asked. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him and Zayed knew she felt it too. The desire twanged between them; the air felt electric. He reached forward and took her hand, her fingertips sliding along his.

‘I hope so. Serrat will return to his government with a very favourable report, I have no doubt, and in no small part thanks to you.’ He drew her towards him and she came hesitantly, a question in her eyes. ‘I want to make love to you, Olivia,’ Zayed said, a ragged note entering his voice. His need was too great to hide it. ‘I’ve been wanting to make love to you all evening. For ten days, in fact. I’m in agony.’

She laughed softly at that, and as her hips nudged his heat flared. ‘I would hate to be the cause of your pain.’

‘You are the only one who can assuage it.’ His hands cupped her face, his palms sliding over her silken skin. He could never get enough of her. She tilted her face up to gaze at him, everything about her open and trusting. When he told her he intended to keep her as his Queen no matter what, pregnancy or no, she would give no objections. Of that he was certain.

Zayed lowered his head and brushed his lips against Olivia’s. She tasted cool and swee

t and so very lovely. He deepened the kiss, loving the feel of her softness against the hard planes of his chest and thighs.

‘Zayed,’ she murmured against his mouth, a protest. He stilled, surprised. Surely she would not deny him now? She wanted this as much as he did—even more. ‘Someone will come in.’ She gestured to the table strewn with dirty dishes. ‘To clear up.’

‘Not while I’m in here,’ Zayed answered confidently, and started drawing her towards him again, aching to feel her mouth once more.

Olivia shook her head. ‘They’ll be waiting until you leave. And they’ll be tired, having served us all night. Let’s not make them wait any longer.’

‘You are thinking of my staff?’

Olivia’s eyes flashed. ‘Having worked in a royal household for four years, I have some sympathy.’

‘Of course.’ With a smile he reached for her hand. ‘You are talking sense, especially as I would much rather make love to you on a bed. My bed.’

Her cheeks went pink. ‘Do you really think this is a—’

‘I don’t think.’ Zayed cut her off before she could verbalise any concerns. ‘I know. I want you, Olivia, and you want me. It’s that simple.’

‘Yes, but...’ Shadows crept into her stormy eyes. ‘What about...?’

‘Shh.’ He silenced her with a kiss. ‘Tonight is for us. Only for us.’ And, as she kissed him back, he knew he had her acquiescence. Her surrender.

Silently, holding her hand, he led her to his bedroom. The corridors were dark and shadowy, the mood singing with expectation. Her hand felt small and fragile in his.

Back in his bedroom his bed had been turned down by one his staff, the lamps turned to low, the perfect setting for seduction. Except this wasn’t even a seduction; this was both of them wanting each other. Revelling in each other.

As soon as the door closed behind them Zayed turned to Olivia and she came willingly; their bodies clashed, their mouths tangled and his blood and heart both sang. He backed her towards the bed and she tripped on her dress; the fragile material tore but Zayed didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but the woman in his arms.