The Sultan Demands His Heir Page 5

  The moment the doors shut, her breathing altered. Her eyes darted to him and he noted that they reflected more green than grey with her suppressed agitation. When he leaned forward to press the button, she jumped and he smiled.

  ‘I’m glad you find this amusing, Your Highness.’

  ‘I will take my amusements where I please since I interrupted my night to come to your aid. A task for which you have yet to thank me.’

  She hesitated for a moment before she answered. ‘You told me less than five minutes ago that you’ve effectively kidnapped me. Pardon me for not reserving the right to find out first if I’ve been whisked from one undesirable situation into another before frothing at the mouth with gratitude.’

  With a magnetic pull he couldn’t resist, his gaze dropped to her mouth again. Rouged from the distressed biting of moments ago, the plump Cupid’s bow was more enticing than he wanted to acknowledge. Again it took an irritatingly large amount of control to drag his gaze away.

  ‘I look forward to witnessing this...frothing when the time comes.’

  He exited the lift straight into the office he preferred to use when he wasn’t attending to scheduled matters of state.

  Zaid crossed to the extensive drinks cabinet and looked over his shoulder. ‘Would you like something to drink?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she murmured, a touch distractedly.

  Her gaze was taking in the less formal layout of the room—the grouping of large cushions centred around a Bedouin carpet said to have been woven by his great-grandmother, with the rarely used hookah set on a bronze tray in the middle of it; the half-divan tucked beneath an arched window, upon which lay a set of papers and his reading glasses. The suit jacket hanging at the back of a chair, and the keffiyeh he’d discarded hours ago when he’d come upstairs.

  Zaid wasn’t sure why seeing her gaze on his personal effects strummed the pulsing hunger within him. But as he turned to pour a glass of mineral water, he considered that perhaps the time had come to attend to his baser needs. Before it impinged on clear and concise thinking. Just as quickly as the thought had come, he was already discarding it. He had neither the time nor inclination to pursue any of the women from his past life, nor did he feel compelled to entertain the advances of noble families both in Ja’ahr and its prosperous neighbours, wishing to marry off their daughters to the new Sultan.

  The time was coming when he’d have to do his duty, marry and produce heirs. He knew that. But not before he’d attempted to bring change to Ja’ahr and set it on a much more stable course. He didn’t just owe it to his people, he owed it to the memory of his parents, who’d been assassinated in the name of power and greed.

  The raw reminder helped him suppress the primal hunger caused by the presence of the woman now turning to face him again.

  ‘You have questions,’ he stated, after finishing his drink and setting down his glass. ‘If you’re going to demand to leave come morning, let me pre-empt that by saying I don’t foresee this being a situation that will be resolved in twenty-four hours so, no, you won’t be leaving any time soon.’

  Her lips parted, but she didn’t immediately reply. She took a moment to absorb his words before she spoke again. ‘I understand now that things are done a little...differently here. But I need to know what any time soon entails. I can’t stay here indefinitely. I have a life to get back to.’

  ‘Eventually, but not immediately,’ he said.

  She frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘You flew to Ja’ahr to support your father, did you not? I believe you’ve taken a month’s leave of absence from work for that purpose.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I make it my business to know pertinent details surrounding my cases. Of course, your conduct yesterday afternoon also warranted a little more research into you personally.’

  Zaid couldn’t recall moving closer to her but suddenly they were mere feet apart. He knew it because he could see the green-grey shades of her eyes much more clearly, read the bewilderment in her expression and the rapid pulse beating at her throat.

  He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets to kill the urge to splay his fingers over that silken pulse.

  ‘Surely you can’t expect me to remain here for all that time? Besides, you spoke to the chief of police, didn’t you? That’s why he didn’t arrest me tonight?’ she pressed.

  Zaid shrugged. ‘I bought you a temporary reprieve, but let me lay it out for you so there’s no mistake. Attempt to leave this palace before I deem it safe for you to do so, and you will be arrested and imprisoned. The chief has some influence in the right circles.’

  Esmeralda shook her head, her puzzlement evident as her gaze probed his. The action caused the long sheaf of her ponytail to swing, drawing his gaze to the thick rope of hair. Zaid didn’t welcome the reminder of the way it had looked unbound. After a moment, she turned away, hugging her arms to her middle as she paced to the edge of the floor cushions. In the silence that pulsed between them his gaze dropped, tracing over her slim shoulders to her delicate spine and the womanly flaring of hips and curve of buttocks to the shapely length of her legs.

  The sudden image of her lying on top of his cushions, wearing nothing but that saucy little see-through night slip, with her hair spread out over his pillows, punched so hard through him that his stomach muscles clenched viciously.

  The fists in his pockets bunched tighter, and he veiled his eyes as she whirled back around.

  ‘I still don’t understand. Why did you save...um, come to my aid at all?’

  It took precious seconds for his mind to track long enough to refocus on the decision he’d made the previous afternoon.

  Raising his gaze, he reaffirmed the fact that Esmeralda Scott would not be gracing his cushions or anywhere else in his personal space. Not unless he wanted to court trouble. The woman in front of him had been in his kingdom for only a short time, and yet she’d already caused ripples that could destabilise everything he’d worked so hard for. It was time to draw some boundaries and put her firmly in her place.

  ‘No matter your failings, I’ve decided you’re more useful to me out of prison than in it.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘USEFUL?’ ESME ECHOED.

  Dark eyes gleamed at her, the haughty expression having deepened between the time she’d paced to and from the stunning arrangement of cushions on the floor. But alongside that expression she sensed something else, something that accelerated her heartbeat. Something she desperately wanted to deny. But no matter how hard she tried, a part of her brain remained locked on the magnificence of the man before her.

  In her hotel room, fear and adrenaline had ruled, dictating her actions, although the keen awareness of him had been present too. Now, in the soft, exotic luxury of the lamplit room filled with his towering presence, her awareness of him had heightened to far more disturbing proportions.

  ‘Do you need the word defined for you? I have a need for you other than as an inmate wasting away in my prison cell.’

  She shook her head in confusion, an action she seemed to have repeated a few times in his presence. ‘Let me get this straight. You didn’t come to my aid out of the goodness of your heart but rather on the basis of what I could give you?’

  The moment she said the words she realised how needy and damning they sounded. But the all-powerful man in front of her didn’t give an indication that he cared one way or the other.

  Zaid Al-Ameen merely shrugged, his hands easing out of his pockets to remove the robe that layered his tunic and drape it lazily over an armchair. ‘Primarily. But there’s room to negotiate what you could stand to gain from this arrangement.’

  Through the prickling of an even sharper awareness at the sight of the impressive chest and muscles straining beneath the black tunic, Esme absorbed his words.

  He wanted something from her.

  Just like her father did and had done for the endless years before she’d been forced to walk away fro
m him. Just like everyone did at one point or another in her interaction with them.

  The emotion that lodged in her chest felt absurdly like hurt. Absurd because in no way should this man have the power to wound her. She’d barely known him for a day.

  Pushing the feeling away, she tightened the arms clasped around her middle and returned his stare. ‘And what arrangement would that be, exactly? Your Highness?’ She tagged on the title to remind herself of the vast differences between them.

  ‘Reparations for the damage you’ve caused,’ he stated imperiously.

  ‘Reparations?’ Damn it, she really needed to stop parroting his words. ‘But I have nothing to give you.’

  ‘On the contrary, I have a need for you that would restore some goodwill in your favour.’

  Her spine tingled with premonition. ‘I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.’

  His long arms clasped behind his back, the movement tugging her attention once again to the ripple of muscle beneath cotton. ‘You’re a social worker, are you not?’

  She frowned. ‘Yes.’

  ‘There are organisations here in Ja’ahr that could use your expertise. While you’re here, you will work for me.’

  ‘Work for you? Doing what?’

  ‘Exactly what you do back in England, helping displaced families and offering practical guidance to young adults who need it.’

  She reeled at his accurate description of her role at Touch Global. ‘Just how much research did you do on me?’ she asked, a thudding starting in her chest at the prospect of Zaid Al-Ameen finding out everything about her, including the one incident she could never wash from her soul.

  ‘I know relevant details.’

  The imprecise response didn’t bring a single ounce of relief. But she clung to the hope that if he’d gone searching for facts about her work, then Sultan Zaid wouldn’t have uncovered her most damning secret.

  But the man you’re dealing with is a ruthless prosecutor also known as The Butcher.

  Her relief collapsed under the stark reminder.

  ‘Do I have your agreement?’ Zaid pressed.

  She yanked herself from the black abyss of her past and shook her head. ‘No. I’m not...’ She stumbled to a halt, her mind reeling at what he’d demanded of her.

  ‘It was your wish to speak now, instead of in the morning when you would have had some sleep. It’s not too late to take that option if it’ll help you be less confused.’

  His faint mocking tone sparked heat in her cheeks. ‘I’m not confused, just...’ She stopped again and took a breath. ‘Well, for starters, I have no clue how your social care system works.’

  He paced closer. She had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. The sensation of being small in his presence registered once again. ‘The basics of social care are the same no matter where you are in the world,’ he said.

  She couldn’t disagree. ‘Okay, but there are other things to consider.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘The language barrier, for one thing.’

  ‘Children are taught English alongside their Arabic lessons. Every citizen in Ja’ahr speaks English. Communication won’t be a problem.’

  Esme couldn’t deny that everywhere she’d been since her arrival, she’d been met with impeccably spoken English. ‘I’m only here for a month. To support my father. Everything else would be secondary to that. What good would that do anyone? And even if that weren’t an issue, where would I live?’

  ‘Here in the palace,’ he responded in a low, deep voice.

  ‘With you?’

  An inscrutable look fleeted across his face, gone too quickly for her to catch, but it didn’t stop another tingle of awareness from stinging her skin.

  ‘Under my roof,’ he clarified. ‘Under my protection.’

  The tiny catch of her breath somewhere in her midriff told her she was affording far too much importance to his words. Dozens of people lived in the Royal Palace. She would be one of many. Nothing special.

  ‘As to how long you intend to be here,’ he continued, ‘if you’d taken time to do a little more research, you would’ve found out that a month wouldn’t be anywhere near an accurate timescale to give yourself.’

  ‘That was all I was entitled to.’

  ‘Then an extension will need to be obtained from your employer if you truly intend to be here for your father for the entirety of the legal proceedings. I can request it from Touch Global on your behalf, if you wish. Or you can see to it yourself. Either way, the only thing that’ll happen in the next four weeks is the setting of your father’s trial date hearing.’

  She should have waited till morning to discuss this but, then, how much deeper would he have probed and strategised?

  Esme frowned. ‘It takes a whole month to obtain a trial date? I thought you were pushing for an expedited trial?’

  ‘Yes, and that won’t be for six months at the earliest.’

  Shock punched the breath from her lungs. ‘Six months?’

  ‘Yes. Were I to request a normal trial, he would be looking at two years in jail before his case was even heard.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You have that many untried people languishing in your prisons?’ She cringed the moment the guileless words left her lips.

  His head jerked back anyway, his eyes growing a touch colder. ‘I believe I’ve already mentioned the ways in which change comes. The pursuit of zero tolerance accountability also has its unique challenges.’

  Esme bit her lip, and judged it wise to choose her battles. ‘I’m...sorry, I didn’t mean to criticise the way you run your country. Your Highness.’

  She caught another gleam in his eyes at her use of his title a second before his lashes swept low and concealed his expression, but his answer to her response was to stroll past her to the conference table. As she watched, he pressed a button on a futuristic-looking gadget sitting on the polished surface and issued fast, lyrical Arabic before he turned back to her.

  ‘My staff will escort you to your suite. We will speak again in the morning when you are better rested.’ The dismissal was final.

  ‘But I need—’

  He gave a single, implacable shake of his head, his jet-black hair gleaming beneath the soft lit chandelier. ‘I have other matters to attend to, Miss Scott.’

  A glance at the grand antique clock proudly displayed on his wall showed it was almost three a.m. ‘At this time of night?’

  ‘The office of the King never sleeps.’

  ‘What about the King himself? Does he sleep? Or is he superhuman?’ she asked, before she thought better of it. To be fair, she told herself, he looked superhuman enough to attest to the fact that sleep was a very minor impediment that could be overlooked at will.

  A knock came on the door a moment later but, unlike before, no one entered. It became clear that whoever he’d summoned was waiting for his permission to enter. Permission he withheld as he stared at her for a long, charged moment.

  ‘You wish to discuss my sleep patterns, Miss Scott?’ The question was softly voiced, but the low rumble of his tone pulsed with a new, sensual danger that heated the blood in her veins.

  Despite the shifting sands beneath her feet, Esme didn’t heed the warning. Esmeralda, she wanted to say. Call me Esmeralda. She bit off the urge at the last moment, blindly stabbing at another, more grounding question. ‘I wanted to discuss what you would do if I refused you come morning. If I say no, what then?’

  Everything hardened. His eyes. His face. His body. In that moment, she became fully intimate with the reason he’d earned his moniker.

  ‘I would advise you against it because if you refuse, we will be having a very different conversation,’ he rasped.

  She was gritting her teeth against the chill his words brought when the door opened and Fawzi entered. Despite the late hour, he was sharp-eyed and alert, his posture ramrod straight after bowing to his master. Without taking his eyes off her, Zaid spoke in low, firm tones to his private secretary, who nodded.

&
nbsp; ‘If you would come with me, Madam, your staff is waiting to escort you to your suite.’

  Surprise helped her break the power of Zaid’s stare. ‘My staff?’

  Fawzi tensed, once again perturbed at her direct address to him in his Sultan’s presence.

  ‘Each guest in the Royal Palace is assigned their own staff for the duration of their stay,’ Zaid supplied silkily. The timbre of his tone dared her to take umbrage with that.

  Esme chose retreat instead, even though something inside her pinched in disappointment that their conversation was over. ‘Goodnight, Your Highness.’

  As she turned to leave, she caught the mocking tilt of Zaid’s brow. She silently cursed the wave of heat that rose again, studiously keeping her face averted as she followed his private secretary to the door. The ripple of awareness down her spine told her Zaid’s sharp gaze stayed with her until she was out of view.

  At which point, she once again experienced a plummeting of her mood. All that disappeared the moment she was faced with two women wearing varying expressions of curiosity. The older woman, dressed in a deep purple abaya and headscarf, was more successful at keeping her expression neutral than the younger woman, who stared at Esme with open interest.

  ‘This is Nashwa and her assistant, Aisha.’ Fawzi introduced them. ‘Nashwa is in charge of the guest suites in the south wing. I will leave you in their care.’

  He hurried away, leaving an awkward little silence in his wake before Esme recalled that these two women most likely spoke English.

  She attempted a small smile. ‘I apologise if you were woken up because of me.’