The Sultan Demands His Heir Read online

  Her breath audibly caught. The predator in him enjoyed that sound immensely. ‘Zaid, I thought we agreed that there would be nothing—’

  ‘Tell me you don’t want me and I will leave,’ he cut her off, unwilling to be reminded of what he’d so readily accepted earlier tonight.

  ‘I...’ She stopped, shook her head. ‘This is a bad idea.’

  He cupped her shoulders, felt her soft warm skin beneath the thin cotton of her dress. Hunger pounded harder. ‘It’s not the confirmation I requested. Admit how you feel and tell me you want me, Esmeralda. Or do you imagine a lie would be easier?’

  A vein of hurt passed through her eyes. Despite her fixed stare, her mouth trembled for a telling second before she curbed the weakness. ‘I don’t lie.’

  He brushed the hurt and the response aside, as he did with the reminder that even if she didn’t lie, she still hadn’t told him the complete truth about her past during their conversation earlier. ‘Then tell me what I want to know.’

  She looked cornered, defeated for a wild second. Then that defiant little chin rose. ‘Fine! I want you. But I still think this is a bad—’

  He slanted his mouth over hers, kissing the words that held undeniable truth in them from her delectable mouth. And just like that, the fuse of desire leapt high and became all-consuming. Zaid clasped her tighter to him, moulded her lissom body to his until her softness was pressed against his hardness. And still he wanted her closer. As if she felt the same, her hands rose to slide around his waist. Soft, velvety lips opened beneath his. He delved with an eagerness that bordered on the uncouth. But he didn’t care. Her responsiveness, the little moans she gave at the back of her throat each time their tongues met, triggered the headiest sensation he’d ever experienced. But even as he deepened the kiss, Zaid knew there was more in store. He knew and he hungered for it.

  It was what drew his fingers to tunnel through her hair, disposing of the handful of pins that secured the loose knot. Honey-gold strands tumbled over his fingers in a fall of glorious silk. Suffused in her wild feminine scent, he caressed her scalp, tightened his hold on her and pulled her even closer. The unmistakeable feeling of her belly cradling his erection was a thousand highs distilled into one glorious sensation.

  The hands wrapped around his waist splayed over his back, her fingers exploring, digging, sending him wild as she strained and whimpered against him. Mouths devouring each other, Zaid walked them backwards until the arm of the nearest sofa halted their progress. Expertly manoeuvring them, he sank down and pulled her into his lap without breaking the kiss. Still keeping her prisoner against him, he tasted her, deeper, longer, until their frantic breathing echoed lustily through the room. Zaid was aware he was getting carried away, that the servants he’d so cavalierly dismissed were hovering right outside the double doors.

  But still he slid his hand from her hip and up her side to rest beneath the sweet curve of one full breast.

  Her breath caught. He broke the kiss long enough to voice what he couldn’t keep silent. ‘You’re like a lush oasis after a long exile in the desert, jamila,’ before he sealed his lips to hers once more. Her long, helpless moan drove his hand up.

  Firm, gorgeous, magnificent, he gloried in the weight of her full breast before sliding his thumb over the engorged peak. The beautiful little jerk she gave powered his arousal higher. Then, unable to resist the clarion call, he pulled down the elastic neckline of her dress. Zaid kissed her for a moment longer before the other temptation grew too much to resist. The straining pink tip of her nipple was visible through the delicate white lace covering her. With fingers that trembled with the force of his desire he tugged the material out of the way. The strangled sound she made in her throat drew his gaze up. Flushed. Breathless. Beautiful.

  He deliberately kept their gazes locked as he lowered his head and drew her nipple into his mouth. Watched her lovely eyes darken with drowning desire before her eyelids began to flutter. Gripped with the need to witness even more of her pleasure, he flicked his tongue over her peak, again and again, then repeated it with the twin. Only when the heat coursing through his body threatened to rage completely out of control did he finally lift his head.

  ‘Ambrosia, habiba,’ he muttered roughly. ‘You taste like pure, heavenly ambrosia.’

  Her answer was to slide her hand over his nape and tug his head back down to her. With a ragged chuckle that spoke of his own unstoppable desire, he tossed himself headlong back into the drugging power of her body.

  He was well and truly lost in it when she started to murmur something. With the scent of her arousal joining the maelstrom of powerful elixirs surrounding them, he didn’t realise she was calling to him urgently until she began to push frantically at his shoulders.

  ‘Zaid, stop!’

  ‘Not yet,’ he responded thickly. His other hand had left her hair a long time ago, and both hands now cupped the glorious globes of her breasts. He was nowhere near ready to relinquish his prize.

  ‘Please!’

  The frantic plea finally impinged on his senses. A deep but highly unsatisfying breath later, he drew back. And finally heard the sound of cautious knocking. He was glad she didn’t understand his language as he issued a crude, pithy curse and reluctantly let her go.

  She got the gist, though. Her face flamed as she hurriedly straightened her clothes and tumbled off his lap. She swayed slightly as she regained her feet. Zaid caught her hips and steadied her as he attempted to pin down his own runaway control.

  Her shoes had come off at some point during their torrid interlude. In her bare feet, her face flushed and her hair in disarray, she was a deliciously petite morsel, one he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist devouring in the very near future.

  He couldn’t stem the growl of anticipation that rose in his throat at the thought. She shifted beneath his hold, her agitated gaze darting to the door.

  ‘Be calm. They will not come in until I give permission,’ he reassured her gruffly.

  Her teeth mangled her swollen bottom lip. ‘Then give it,’ she urged in a rushed whisper. ‘Before they think you’re...that we’re...’ She pressed her lips together as another blush deepened her colour.

  ‘Making love? Get used to saying the words, Esmeralda, because it is going to happen. The next time I have you in my arms I won’t stop at tasting those tempting lips and gorgeous breasts. When I have you in my bed, I won’t stop until I possess you, thoroughly and completely.’

  Her shaky inhalation drew his gaze back to her chest. Already he craved another taste. He rose to his feet, bent down and brushed her lips with his, gratified when she clung to him for a second. Then he forced himself to release her. Step back.

  ‘Our journey begins early tomorrow. Be ready.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE NEXT TIME I have you in my arms...

  For some stupid, sleep-depriving reason, Esme had assumed those words carried with them a very imminent time stamp.

  She’d spent the next several nights after their departure from Ja’ahr City and the Royal Palace vacillating between the urge to give in and reiterating stern warnings of why she couldn’t. Every night in the breath-taking beauty of her surroundings, be it in a camp made up of giant Bedouin tents or a hut in a desert village as they travelled north towards the oil fields that were the life blood of Ja’ahr, was spent wondering if that would be the night Zaid made his move.

  Before she knew it, three weeks had passed.

  Three weeks, when he’d treated her like a respected member of his travelling staff, each night reading the detailed reports she’d made on the social care needs of the communities they’d visited and peppering her with questions on points she’d made as they’d shared a simple dinner in the community tent or a mini-banquet in a chieftain’s dining room, depending on which host they’d been blessed to spend the evening with.

  Each night she’d retreated to her sleeping quarters with Nashwa and Aisha as her constant companions. The two had proved themselves i
nvaluable sources of information, with Nashwa acting as an informal translator when needed. Esme had even learned to accept the presence of the two bodyguards who shadowed her at all times.

  Had she not been thoroughly enjoying her new role, Esme was sure she would have gone completely out her mind. But the joy she’d gained from knowing she was making a difference went a long way towards helping her sleep at night, despite being dogged by thoughts of Zaid.

  Because it wasn’t as if Zaid had lost interest in her. Many times, she’d looked up from a conversation with a matriarch of a community, or a group of teenagers, to find his intense gaze on her. At those times, the depth of his hunger had been plain to see, although those long, lush eyelashes would all too soon sweep away the glimpse into his emotions as he returned to whatever conversation he was engrossed in.

  The breathless yearning those looks left behind would leave her feeling needy and bereft for hours, a part of her hating him for eliciting such a devastating craving, and the other part admonishing herself for falling beneath his spell in the first place.

  It wasn’t surprising therefore then that she was feeling irritable as the sun set on another glorious day on their second night in Tujullah. The northernmost settlement of Ja’ahr was little more than a desert encampment, although the permanent tents were huge and contained an assortment of rooms.

  As usual, she’d been allotted her own tent far from the one Zaid occupied—she knew that because she’d watched him disappear with Fawzi into his twenty minutes ago after he’d grilled her on her latest report. Her answers had grown increasingly short until he’d looked up from the document, his narrow-eyed gaze piercing hers before he’d dismissed her and conducted a terse conversation of his own with his personal secretary.

  Normally, she would have lingered in the middle of the encampment where groups of men played musical instruments or engaged in heated discussions about the state of the world at large. Tonight, she’d chosen to take a long, relaxing bath in the privacy of her tent. Aisha had looked slightly put out after she’d filled the bath and Esme had dismissed her for the night but she hadn’t thought it fair to visit her bad mood on the young girl.

  So now she drew the soft sponge filled with jasmine-and-rosewater-scented water over her arm and absently watched the water sparkle in the light of the two dozen candles within the room. In four days they would be returning to Ja’ahr, remaining there for a fortnight before they made another trek east. Zaid had other matters of state to deal with, including a few court cases. Their return would also give her another chance to visit her father. She’d flown back by helicopter for her once weekly visit with him. Although their conversation had got increasingly terse after he’d tried to pry into her relationship with Zaid, she’d promised to return. All she had to do was remind herself that he no longer had any power over her.

  She would also be able to liaise with Touch Global about her recommendations for the communities she’d assessed.

  But tonight she couldn’t concentrate on any of that. Her thoughts were fully centred on Zaid. On whether he’d changed his mind about having her, and why the thought that he might have made her gut clench with such keen disappointment. She was still grappling with those frustratingly divergent thoughts when she left the bath an hour later. Although she yearned for the oblivion of eventual sleep, it was too early to head to bed.

  After spending mindless minutes brushing her hair, Esme tugged a lilac-coloured floor-length tunic over her head. Made of the softest silk with delicate gold embroidery at the wide cuffs and hem, the material whispered over her body with silken seduction, drawing a pleasured sigh from her before she grimaced at herself. It was true that she was falling in love with all things Ja’ahr, including the new wardrobe that Zaid had informed her via Nashwa was part of her welcome package. Esme didn’t deny the new clothes helped her blend in better and gave her an extra boost of confidence in her new role.

  She freed her hair from the collar, tying it into a loose knot at her nape before slipping her feet into matching Arabian slippers. A pair of simple gold chandelier earrings she’d bought at a bazaar two weeks ago and the glide of peach gloss over her lips rounded off her attire.

  She was arranging a white scarf over her head when Aisha entered.

  Surprised that she’d returned, Esme turned around, ready to gently dismiss her again. But the young girl curtsied shyly.

  ‘Pardon me for the intrusion, Madam, but Fawzi Suleiman is here to see you.’

  ‘Oh...okay.’

  Aisha gave a quick nod and dashed back outside. A moment later Fawzi stepped into the tent. He hovered respectfully in the doorway, his fingers in a steeple in front of him.

  ‘His Highness requests your presence, Miss Scott.’

  Esme cursed the wild leap of her heart and bit back the strong urge to tell the unfortunate messenger where to tell His Highness to stick his request. She didn’t think she could stand another roasting over her meticulous reports. Not to mention the prospect of her current heart rate soaring even higher in Zaid’s presence.

  ‘If you would be so kind.’ He stepped back and made that elegant inviting gesture with his hand that was nevertheless subtly insistent.

  She pursed her lips even as her feet moved towards the large black tent set apart from the rest of the dwellings. Unlike her own, the large opening was barred by a secondary wall of cured leather a few feet from the first, with the entrance to the tent on either side of that taut wall.

  She followed Fawzi through the right entrance, and immediately stepped onto the first of a dozen priceless Persian rugs. The royal blue and gold theme of his palace was repeated in the immense cushions bordered by large cylindrical ones that served as a seating area, with dozens of smaller cushions tossed over the floor in sumptuous invitation.

  Lit by a giant chandelier of candles hanging from the centre point in the ceiling, the living area was illuminated further by intricately carved Moroccan lanterns hung on various posts inside the tent. There was a smaller grouping of cushions in the centre of which was laid a large platter of fruits and nuts.

  Esme took in all of this in seconds, before her senses and gaze zeroed in on the man rising lithely to his feet from the largest divan-like cushion.

  A curt nod from him dismissed Fawzi. When his gaze returned to her, his eyes glowed an intense topaz in the light.

  She hated the way her breath caught anew. So much she locked her knees to keep her in place. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  He advanced, a powerful being draped in a rich wine-red tunic, trousers and robe. He wasn’t wearing his headgear, and his jet-black hair gleamed under the lamplight. ‘You look...irritated,’ he observed almost lazily.

  But she wasn’t fooled. There was a coiled tension within him that sent her pulse racing faster.

  ‘Do I?’ she replied. ‘It must be because I was planning to go for an evening stroll before I was summoned here.’

  A ghost of a smile whispered over his lips. Lips that had possessed hers with such bone-melting mastery. Lips she’d yearned for in her dreams and in her wakeful hours.

  ‘Or perhaps you’re feeling a little neglected?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m doing the job I’m here to do. I’ve seen you every day to make my report. I’m constantly surrounded by Nashwa and Aisha. Oh, and my personal bodyguards. Let’s not forget them,’ she tagged on waspishly.

  ‘The guards are here for your safety.’

  ‘Are they? It’s all a little OTT, if you ask me. I mean, each guest having a staff? What’s that all about?’

  A little of his indolence evaporated. ‘There used to be five to a guest, half of whom were given three meals a day and nothing else in the form of a salary. The two members of staff assigned to you now earn enough to be able to feed and clothe their families.’

  Contrition bit hard. ‘Oh... I didn’t know that. And the other three? Are they now on the unemployment line?’

  He turned away and led her to the seat he’d just vacated. One o
f the things she’d learned in the past three weeks was how to sit on floor divans. She sank down sideways, and propped herself up with two cushions, noting too late that Zaid was doing the same. But in her direction.

  Within one heartbeat and the next they were a mere foot apart. The slightly shaky breath she took infused her senses with his powerfully evocative scent.

  Move.

  But the voice of self-preservation was smothered beneath the mounting yearning that had dogged her for three long weeks. Her willpower was eroded in the face of the need to experience what had happened in her suite just one more time.

  Although would it stop at one? Or was she deluding herself?

  ‘They are in the process of being retrained in other skills,’ he replied to the question she had already forgotten. She told herself to focus.

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘Brilliant people like you will guide them towards the right jobs,’ he stated simply.

  A warm glow fired up inside her. ‘So you do think I’m doing a good job?’

  His gaze turned slightly mocking. ‘Are you fishing for compliments, Esmeralda?’

  ‘I’m seeking enlightenment as to why you grill me so hard every evening if you’re happy with the job I’m doing.’

  ‘Perhaps I give you a hard time because I don’t want you to rest on your laurels. Or...’ he drawled in an even deeper, lower voice, ‘perhaps giving you a hard time is my way of coping.’

  She stopped breathing altogether. ‘Coping with what?’ Her voice was just above a husky murmur.

  ‘With the fact that I want you in my bed, beneath me, more than I want sustenance,’ he admitted gruffly.

  The warm glow erupted into an inferno, but a large dose of confusion remained. ‘Then why haven’t you done anything...or said anything before now?’

  He gave an elegant roll of one shoulder that was more an animalistic stretch than a shrug. ‘It was supposed to be a noble act. I wanted you to get embedded in your role without distractions. I was going to wait until we returned to my palace before making you mine.’