She pulled out of his hold and rushed to stand in front of the two men like Joan of Arc facing off against the English at Orleans. ‘You can’t send them to prison.’
Any other time her loyalty might have impressed him. Just not this time. ‘And just how do you propose to stop me?’
‘Zach...’ He heard his brother’s cautioning tone but ignored it.
‘Not even you could lock up your own father-in-law,’ she announced belligerently.
Her father stiffened. ‘That’s enough, Farah!’ he scolded. ‘I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.’
Zach stared at the woman in front of him, all willowy and beautiful, a touch of vulnerability in her eyes most would probably have missed. He’d noticed it earlier as well, when her father had insulted her, and it had made him want to protect her then, as it did now.
Unable to stop himself, he reached out and ran the back of his knuckles down the smooth line of her cheek. Her breath hitched and he didn’t miss that, either. ‘So tough, my little spitfire,’ he murmured. ‘So passionate.’
She knocked his hand away. ‘About things I care about, yes.’ Her voice was husky and made his body ache to have her.
‘Hell.’ His brother’s low curse spoke volumes. ‘She has a point, Zach, and I need to get back to Imogen. I’ll let you go, Hajjar,’ his brother informed the older man. ‘But you put one foot out of line and I’ll haul you into prison so fast your head will spin.’
A lead silence filled the room.
‘Come, Farah,’ her father finally said with a regal dignity that made Zach want to laugh. ‘I will take you home.’
‘No, you won’t,’ Zach found himself saying. He smiled. ‘Your daughter is now my fiancée and that means she’s mine to do with as I please.’
CHAPTER NINE
WITH THE RUSH of adrenaline behind him, Zach was seriously starting to question his sanity. He’d just committed himself to marry a woman he barely knew. A woman he didn’t even like!
He stormed down the corridor with said woman in tow. How had this happened? One minute he’d been celebrating not only his brother’s wedding but also the fact that Nadir had agreed to take the throne and the next he was...he was...getting married? Any minute now and he was sure doctors in white coats were going to come rushing around the corner looking for him.
The cause of his immense irritation tugged against his hold. ‘I’m tired of you dragging me around like this.’
Zach tightened his grip. ‘Not as tired as I am of having to do it.’
Especially when they were in this predicament because she hadn’t spoken up and admitted that nothing had happened between them.
Nothing? his conscience mocked.
A growl rose up in his throat. A few kisses did not require a marriage proposal. In the West they might not, but in Bakaan a man didn’t trifle with a woman unless he was serious.
But marry Farah Hajjar?
Zach inwardly cursed himself. All his life he’d ignored the exotic Bakaani girls who had thrown themselves in his path with one purpose in mind. All his life, until this one. And she hadn’t even thrown herself at him. No. She’d done something much worse: she’d kidnapped him. Or her father had.
He still didn’t know why the old man had done it, although he could guess. With Zach’s father gone, Hajjar had probably hoped to destabilise the country and attempt a coup. The thought was as ludicrous as his suggestion that Zach marry his daughter. And then another possibility hit him and his whole body went still.
Farah squeaked as she nearly ran into him from behind. Zach stared at her. Was that why Hajjar had done it? To get the two of them together so that they were forced to marry and get a Hajjar on the throne any way possible? His rational side discounted the idea as absurd—the Hajjars had hated the Darkhans since the dawn of time—but he’d underestimated Farah once before and had the scar on his arm to show for it. Had he underestimated her father, as well?
‘We need to talk.’ He pushed open the door to his apartment.
Farah glanced up at him as she swept past. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’
Dismissing his guards with a nod, Zach followed her inside. He bypassed his sofas, headed straight for his wet bar and grabbed a crystal decanter half filled with whisky. ‘Drink?’
She eyed the offer disparagingly. ‘I thought you wanted to talk.’