His Queen by Desert Decree

Molly slid upright, her face troubled. ‘No, it’s not, Azrael. I am not that sensitive. It is more distressing for you to be plunged into this drama through no fault of your own.’

‘You are generous,’ Azrael

breathed between gritted teeth. ‘But as you say in the West I am caught between a rock and a hard place. He is my brother and I pity him because I know what he is going through right now...his father had him whipped in punishment for what he did to you.’

Molly turned white, horror flipping her stomach, because while she had wanted Tahir punished to discourage him from any similar behaviour in the future she felt sick at the thought of that much physical violence being employed as a deterrent.

‘Firuz always goes way over the top,’ Azrael declared heavily. ‘Tahir was cosseted and spoiled from birth because he is an only child, but you cannot raise a future leader with such selfish indulgence and then expect him to take brutal punishment like an adult. Tahir is distressed and overwhelmed by what he has brought on himself. After he has cried in my arms like a frightened child, how can I force him to return to Quarein with his father?’

Molly was pacing and thinking fast. ‘Let him stay until the dust settles and tempers have cooled. There’s nothing to be gained from allowing an immediate confrontation between father and son. I would concentrate on keeping a lid on the whole business.’

A slow appreciative smile formed on Azrael’s wide sensual mouth while he watched her lovely pensive face. ‘What do you think I have been doing? Molly, you are a wife in a thousand not to demand that I throw Tahir out.’

‘By the sounds of it, he’s paid for what he did to me...’

And if he hadn’t kidnapped me, I’d never have met you, she was thinking, but she bit back that revealing statement, her cheeks warming to a hot pink and a deep, visceral sexual awareness darting through her slender body as she collided with Azrael’s striking dark golden gaze.

Stray recollections of the night before teased at her memory and the heat in her cheeks arrowed down into her pelvis, encouraging a wanton warm slickness at her feminine core. She shifted position and folded her arms with a jerk, ashamed that Azrael could make her so weak and needy at the most unsuitable moments. Her breath caught in her dry throat.

‘I will still make arrangements to have him moved elsewhere once the doctor gives us permission,’ Azrael declared with determination, stalking over to the window to detach himself from the carnal thoughts that afflicted him whenever he was in his wife’s presence. It was a lust, a primal need and hunger that never dimmed no matter how often he enjoyed the glories of her lush body. Having Molly in his bed had only spawned a powerfully addictive craving.

‘Is he that bad?’ Molly questioned in consternation.

Bold profile silhouetted against the light, Azrael jerked his strong chin in grim confirmation. ‘Firuz has acted like an idiot and his own worst enemy. He has lost his son’s love and trust and it will take a long time to rebuild their relationship.’

‘He did the same to you.’

‘But I was not of his blood and I was a good deal tougher than Tahir has ever had to be. Unfortunately, what Tahir did to you seriously frightened his father. Firuz has a great fear of scandal and sexual licence and he could not countenance that misbehaviour in anyone, least of all his own son. Now what is done is done and there is no easy solution.’

Molly wandered over to him and rested her hands on his rigid shoulders. ‘None of this is your fault. You’re stuck in the middle but don’t get worked up about it. Tahir did wrong and now his father has done wrong. Keep that in mind.’

Azrael swung back to her. ‘I hate that this is happening, because I didn’t want you to be reminded of your ordeal,’ he admitted grimly.

‘Sometimes I think you just love an excuse to beat yourself up and take the worries of the world on your shoulders,’ Molly censored him gently. ‘You didn’t ask for this and you can’t magically solve it. Tahir and his father must sort it out. Will the newspapers write about this?’

‘No. Thankfully our press are restrained. There will be rumours but nobody will see any benefit in embarrassing our closest neighbour or in embarrassing me because Tahir is my brother,’ he completed wryly. ‘He is so irresponsible, so explosive in his defiance of his father—’

‘Stop thinking about it,’ Molly urged.

‘We have to go out this evening. There is a reception at the Quareini Embassy to which we have been invited. Firuz is presiding over it. It will be a gloomy occasion in the mood he will be in. Even before he arrives he is demanding that his son be returned to him.’

‘We’ll manage,’ Molly responded quietly.

His lean brown hands came up to frame her face and tilt up her mouth for the descent of his marauding mouth. The kiss smouldered hotter than fire and she melted down deep inside and shifted closer, leaning into the hard, muscular strength of his big body. He lowered his hands to curve them round her waist until an urgent knock sounded on the door and his head lifted and he loosed a low groan of frustration.

Accustomed to such interruptions, Molly retreated several steps, her cheeks flushed, her mouth swollen from the erotic demand of his. Azrael called out an invitation and Molly headed off to dress for the embassy reception, deciding that if she was finally going to meet Tahir’s father, the difficult Prince Firuz, she would opt to wear something traditional, rather than fashionable.

‘Should I wear the emeralds tonight?’ she asked Azrael when he strode past her, stark naked, to step into the shower she had had completed by telling Butrus to get hold of a plumber who knew how to install a shower, which the castle plumber evidently did not. She savoured her view of her husband’s lithe bronzed beauty. ‘I don’t want to remind your stepfather of your late mother.’

‘She never wore them again after my father’s death,’ he dismissed. ‘Wear them.’

Azrael frowned a little when he saw her garbed in the long embroidered Djalian dress. ‘Why are you wearing that?’

‘Your stepfather isn’t very westernised, is he?’

‘My wife should ignore such prejudices. Wear your own clothes,’ Azrael advised.

A little flushed by the effort of changing again at the very last minute, Molly donned her form-fitting green dress and high heels and Azrael clasped the emerald necklace for her. ‘You look gorgeous,’ he murmured huskily, poised behind her so that she could drink in his reflection in the mirror. ‘I plan to ravish you later but only after you take that devil’s garment off.’