The Sultan Demands His Heir Page 6

  ‘We are here to serve at His Highness’s pleasure,’ Nashwa replied, gesturing gracefully to one of the many well-lit corridors that led away from Zaid’s office. ‘No command will ever be too great.’

  Aisha nodded enthusiastically, smiling as she cast a furtive glance at Esme.

  ‘Well, thank you, all the same,’ Esme said.

  Nashwa nodded, the soft fall of her gown brushing the floor as she led the way at a brisk pace.

  Esme couldn’t help her gasp at first sight of the elegant salmon-pink and rose-gold room she’d been allocated.

  The highly polished marble floor flowed from the doorway and into the large living room. Just before the gorgeously upholstered set of sofas arranged on a Persian rug, the largest bouquet of flowers she’d ever seen had been arranged in a giant vase atop a round console table made of black lacquered wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

  ‘The bedroom is this way, Madam,’ Nashwa urged in a soft voice.

  Esme dragged her gaze from the white baby grand piano that adorned the room and followed through a smaller set of doors.

  She barely managed to suppress another gasp as she was confronted with a king-sized bed whose carved posts were painted in swirling designs of pure rose gold. Muslin curtains fluttered in cascading drapes around the pristinely covered bed, while on either side, large Moroccan lamps glowed on twin bedside tables. Smaller bouquets holding long-stemmed exotic orchids sat on the tables and when she took a breath, Esme inhaled their delicate scent.

  ‘We took the liberty of unpacking for you, Madam. Aisha will help you with your night things or, if you prefer, we have provided you with alternative clothing.’

  Following Nashwa’s direction, Esme spotted a set of lingerie folded neatly on the bed. She wasn’t aware she’d moved over the plush carpet until her fingers caressed the silk and lace concoction. The slip was short and similarly styled to the one she owned but with a matching robe and made of far more expensive material than her own.

  Beautiful, expensive things. All around her. Things meant to be admired. Decadently enjoyed. Except everything came at a price. She’d known it from the moment her father had given her an unimaginable choice on her fourteenth birthday—foster care or boarding school with her holidays spent on the road with him. With her mother’s abandonment a fresh trauma in her reality, choosing her father for a few months of the year, despite the knowledge that he was prepared to abandon her too, had felt like her only option. Until that life too had come crashing down on her head.

  ‘Would Madam prefer this set?’ Nashwa enquired.

  Esme snatched her hand away, the memories and the notion that things were spinning out of her control churning faster until she felt nauseous.

  ‘No, thank you.’ She stopped, cleared her husky throat and summoned a smile. ‘If you don’t mind showing me where my things are?’

  The older woman nodded immediately, her diplomacy firmly back in place. ‘Of course, Madam.’ She led the way to a dressing room and adjoining bathroom that was bigger than Esme’s flat back in London.

  Amongst the vast square footage of empty shelves and drawers, her meagre belongings looked forlorn occupying a single shelf. The absence of her peach night slip reminded her she was still wearing it under her dress. Unbidden, her mind skipped back to the hotel room and the sizzling effect of Zaid’s gaze on her just a few short hours ago. Heat threatened to fire up again as her body tightened in recollection.

  ‘Do you need assistance in undressing?’

  Esme jumped guiltily at the softly voiced question and turned to see Aisha gliding forward with a smile.

  She shook her head, then raised her hand to rub the tension headache that was making its presence felt at her temples.

  ‘Some chamomile tea perhaps, to aid a restful sleep?’ Nashwa urged.

  Esme dropped her hand as weariness seeped into her bones. ‘Normally I would say yes, but I don’t think I’ll need it. I’m ready to drop off.’

  Aisha took that as a sign to make herself busy elsewhere, and Esme emerged from a quick trip to the bathroom to find that she had indeed been busy. The covers of the bed were turned down, a crystal jug of water and a glass stood on her bedside table, and the lamps were dimmed to a pleasant glow.

  Both women were standing just inside the bedroom doors. With twin curtsies, they bade her goodnight and left.

  Alone at last, she slipped off her dress and slid between the sheets, replaying the day’s mind-boggling cascade of events. Esme wasn’t unfamiliar with how one decision could change the course of one’s life. She’d lived through one such unforgettable event at seventeen, and wore the scars to prove it. But even she couldn’t have foreseen how a three-minute interview could have set off such a roller-coaster.

  A roller-coaster that had only slowed momentarily. Come daylight, she would once again be fighting to hold on, because Zaid Al-Ameen wasn’t done with her. She intended to push for a visit to her father but whether or not that plea would be granted was another matter.

  * * *

  It was still uppermost in her mind the moment she opened her eyes. Contrary to thinking she would toss and turn for the rest of the night, she’d slept soundly, waking to the sound of a bath being run and the scent of eucalyptus and crushed roses in the air.

  Nashwa’s courteous greeting and apology for waking her was followed by the announcement that the Sultan wished to see her within the hour.

  After bathing, she secured her hair in a neat bun, slipped into her short-sleeved chocolate shirtdress and cinched the wide gold belt in place. The three-inch leather wedges and a touch of light make-up finished the ensemble, and five minutes later, after navigating a dozen or so corridors, she was shown into a large dining room.

  Zaid was already seated at the head of the table, with two butlers standing to attention next to a sideboard heaving with food. The room, like every one she’d seen so far, was stunning beyond words, every inch draped in breath-taking masterpieces.

  She would never get used to the jaw-dropping beauty of Ja’ahr’s Royal Palace, but her senses were over-saturated with it. So it was easy to focus on the man dressed in a different set of traditional clothes, this time a dark gold with black trim. Or so she told herself. Deep down, she was unwilling to admit that his presence in any room in the world would command immediate and complete attention.

  The black keffiyeh secured with gold ropes framing his head threw his sharp, handsome features into stunning relief. But the eyes that swept over her body to meet her eyes were the cause of the dipping and diving in her belly as she made her way down the long banquet table towards him.

  Just like the first time they’d met, he rose to his feet, the gallant greeting belying the primitive aura that surrounded his hard, lean body. She didn’t want to admit that she found it sexy. Just as she didn’t want to admit that the whole package that comprised Sultan Zaid Al-Ameen was so alluring it threatened to trigger another tongue-tied episode. Fear of that happening caused Esme to force out the words tripping on her tongue.

  ‘I want to see my father. Before any further discussion happens between us, I want to see him,’ she said the moment she reached him.

  ‘Good morning, Esmeralda. I trust you slept well?’ he drawled after a telling bubble of silence.

  Embarrassment temporarily swamped every other emotion. She inwardly grimaced at her lack of grace. ‘I’m sorry. Good morning, Your Highness.’

  He stepped towards her and pulled out her chair. About to sink gratefully into it, she froze when she felt him lean towards her. ‘Despite your questionable manners, since there is a great chance we’ll be in each other’s company for a while, you may drop the formalities when we are alone.’

  Her head swivelled to his in surprise, and then other urgent sensations took over when she realised how close he was. Heat from his body buffeted hers, along with the lingering scent of soap and aftershave that punched a potent awareness straight into her bloodstream.

  ‘I... What should I c
all you, then?’ she murmured.

  His gaze drifted over her face, lingering on her lips before rising to meet hers once more. ‘My given name will suffice,’ he replied.

  Her mouth tingling, she attempted to nod. When she barely succeeded in moving her head, she swallowed and tried her voice instead. ‘I... Okay.’

  That damnable brow lifted. ‘Okay? Perhaps you should try using my name. Let’s be sure it is satisfactory to both of us. Perhaps in a morning greeting?’

  ‘Good morning... Zaid.’

  Brandy-coloured eyes turned a shade darker. He stared at her for a handful of seconds before his lids swept down, masking his gaze. This close, Esme couldn’t help but appreciate the indecently long male beauty of his lashes. Too soon, he speared her with those piercing eyes, his mouth quirking when he caught her staring.

  ‘Sit down, Esmeralda. Our breakfast is getting cold.’

  She sat. She even managed to chew and swallow a few morsels of food. All in silence while several members of staff approached to speak to Zaid. Belatedly, she realised that for him this was a working breakfast. She was thankful for the chance to collect her scattered thoughts.

  What she wasn’t thankful for was the ominous approach of Fawzi as they were finishing their meal. The sixth sense she’d honed during her time with her father warned her that whatever news he was about to deliver wouldn’t be welcome.

  To give him his due, he didn’t glance her way once. But even before he bent to murmur in his master’s ear, even before Zaid’s jaw clenched and he cast a glance at her, Esme’s belly was rolling with dread.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ she demanded the moment Fawzi straightened.

  ‘It looks like you’ll get to see your father much sooner than planned. There’s been another altercation at the prison.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ESME HURRIED TO keep up with Zaid’s strides, although she had no idea where they were headed. He’d merely risen from his chair and instructed her to come with him.

  ‘How could there have been another altercation? He’s still in the prison hospital,’ she said.

  ‘No, he’s not. Apparently, he was moved back to his cell in the middle of the night.’

  Her heart lurched. ‘And he’s been attacked again already?’

  ‘The details are still sketchy. But I’ll have answers within the hour.’

  She believed him. The grim set of his jaw and the purpose to his stride told her so. What she didn’t realise until they approached double doors manned by sentries who swung them open to reveal a walled terrace was that he intended on seeking the answers first-hand.

  Stone steps led down to meticulously landscaped gardens that rolled for almost a quarter mile. In the middle of it all, on a patch of grass, a helipad the size of two tennis courts held three helicopters with the royal insignia emblazoned on their gleaming frames.

  Time slowed, along with her feet. A loud buzzing sounded in her ears, her palms growing clammy as she stared at the helicopter that Zaid was heading towards. Dry-mouthed, she urged her feet to move, but it was like being stuck in treacle.

  Zaid, noticing that she wasn’t beside him, turned sharply. Esme sensed more than saw his frown. ‘Is something the matter?’ he demanded.

  The sound of his voice brought time rushing back, fast-forwarded in a kaleidoscope of shameful, cutting memories.

  Vegas.

  A thrilling helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon.

  Hopeful smiles and a stumbling proposal of marriage. Bryan’s haunting expression when he’d discovered the truth—

  ‘What is wrong? Are you feeling unwell?’ came the sharp query.

  Esme jumped, blinking back into the present and the man whose towering shadow dwarfed her.

  He was staring at her with a puzzled frown, one that grew darker with each second.

  ‘I... I’m not a fan of helicopters.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You suffer from vertigo?’

  It would have been so easy to lie and say yes. But the opposite was true. Her first and last ride on a helicopter had been an exhilarating experience. It was what had come after that shot raw pain through her. Her father had laid the trap, but she’d unwittingly led Bryan into it. For that she would never forgive herself. She’d known what her father was like. ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Then what exactly?’

  ‘I just don’t like them.’

  ‘Not even when they’re the quickest means of getting you to your father?’ His tone suggested he found her reluctance odd.

  ‘How long will a car journey take?’

  ‘Too long, considering the inmates are on the verge of a full-blown riot.’

  Her breath caught. ‘What?’

  ‘Your father isn’t the only person I’m concerned about, Esmeralda. So if you wish to get to him quickly, we need to go.’

  She swallowed, glanced at the aircraft and nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll come.’

  As if he didn’t totally believe her, he grasped her elbow. Her already frenzied senses spun even faster, a shiver coursing down her spine as they neared the helicopter.

  If Zaid noticed, he didn’t react. His attention was focused on the sharply dressed pilot who gave a stiff salute and held the door open. One bodyguard climbed in beside the pilot and another four scrambled into the second aircraft.

  Zaid helped her up and she slid to the far side of the chopper. The two bench seats facing one another were cut off from the pilot section, affording them complete privacy. And unlike her first ride, Esme noted the moment the door shut that they wouldn’t need headphones in order to communicate. The space was completely soundproof.

  A fact confirmed when Zaid settled into the seat opposite her and instructed in a low, deep voice, ‘Put on your seat belt.’

  She fumbled to comply, very much aware the eyes that rested on her remained inquisitive.

  She glanced over at him, to find his unwavering gaze still pinned on her. ‘I’m fine now. You don’t need to be concerned that I’ll freak out again.’

  ‘Do you want to explain why you chose such a critical time to go into a trance?’ he asked.

  She bit her inner lip. One of the many vows she’d made to herself when she’d walked away from her father eight years ago had been never to engage in the subterfuge Jeffrey Scott loved to indulge in. The truth, no matter how brutal, was always preferable to lies. If she’d confronted the truth eight years ago, seen her father for who he really was, Bryan might still be alive.

  But telling Zaid the unvarnished truth right now would be opening not just herself but also her father up to total annihilation because Zaid was still the prosecutor intent on putting her father away. She could, however, offer an explanation without incriminating herself or her father.

  ‘I had a bad experience after a helicopter ride a long time ago.’

  ‘Where?’ he fired back.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  He didn’t answer. At least not with his lips anyway. His eyebrow, however, lifted in direct challenge of her defensive response.

  She glanced out of the window, noted the severely dilapidated landscape abutting the desert in the distance. ‘In... Las Vegas.’

  ‘You were with a lover?’ he asked.

  Her gaze flew to his, her breath crushing in her lungs at the bold demand stamped across his face.

  She wanted to tell him that it was none of his business.

  But somehow, in that moment, denying Bryan’s existence felt like dishonouring the man who’d been marked just by associating with her.

  She prevaricated for a moment, then exhaled. ‘I was with someone who cared about me.’ Bryan hadn’t been her lover. But he was the reason she’d never taken a lover. He was the reason that, at twenty-five, she was still a virgin.

  ‘You were the reason the experience ended badly?’

  His mildly condemning tone made her insides clench. ‘Why would you assume that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be good at my profession if simple deduction elude
d me that easily, Esmeralda. Besides, a high percentage of couples who take such helicopter rides are already involved or about to be. You choose your words carefully, but correct me if I’m mistaken that things ended badly because you had a change of heart about advancing the relationship?’

  He struck so close to the truth it robbed her of breath. He took her slack-jawed look as confirmation, and his gaze hardened. ‘Let me guess, he wanted to take things to the next level, and you suddenly decided you had somewhere else to be?’

  ‘You make me sound so...calculating.’ Which was such an apt description of Jeffrey Scott’s annihilation of Bryan, she suppressed a shiver.

  ‘Do I? If not that, then what? What was this bad experience that still makes you green at the gills with guilt?’ His voice was harsher, his expression haughtily superior.

  He’d seen her guilt. She had nowhere to hide. ‘He...proposed to me...after the helicopter ride.’

  Sharp, narrowed eyes darted to her bare left hand, then back to her face. ‘And you said no, obviously.’ Why was there such a thick vein of satisfaction in his voice? Was he that glad that he’d proved her as callous as she’d been forced to be with Bryan?

  ‘Yes, I said no. I couldn’t marry him.’ For one thing, she’d been not quite eighteen to Bryan’s twenty-one. For another, she hadn’t been in love with him. And that was even before she’d discovered what her father had done to him.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I just couldn’t.’

  Although his gaze remained on her, he didn’t probe further. Which was a relief, since everything that had occurred afterwards ate like acid in her belly, even after all this time. The pain of it would never go away. Someday it might lessen, enough for her to forge something of a life she could be proud of. Until then, her work would be her life.

  The sudden dip of the helicopter had her gripping her seat, her heart tripping over itself. A quick look out the window showed they were approaching their destination. Like most prisons in the world, this one too consisted of large, interconnecting buildings ring-fenced by miles of menacing barbed wire, towers with guards armed to the teeth. Despite the awful things he’d done, the thought of her father spending the rest of his days there—