The Sultan Demands His Heir Page 7

  ‘Easy,’ Zaid drawled from across her. ‘You’re in danger of ripping the seat to shreds.’

  Esme looked down. Her knuckles were white from her death grip on the soft leather. With a deep breath, she released her hold on it, but her gaze returned to the looming structure. There were no outward signs of unrest. Which should have brought a little relief. Until her gaze flickered once more to Zaid.

  ‘Should you be here?’

  Dark brows clamped in a frown. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You’re the Sultan. You’re also the man who presumably put a lot of the criminals in there behind bars. Aren’t you...won’t you be exposing yourself to...um, danger at the prison?’

  His brow slowly cleared. ‘Are you concerned about my welfare, Esmeralda?’ The softly voiced question rumbled between them, gaining an electric note that sent a jolt of awareness through her.

  ‘I’m merely making a pertinent observation,’ she replied.

  The dangerous sensuality left his expression, replaced by the merciless resolution she was beginning to associate with the ruler of Ja’ahr. ‘You expect me to cower behind the safety of my palace walls in times of crisis?’

  It was the last thing she expected. His presence in her hotel room alone when he needn’t have come to her aid at all was testament to the fact that Zaid Al-Ameen didn’t back down from confrontations.

  Letting his police chief take her would have been one less problem for him to contend with. Instead, he’d done the opposite. ‘No, but that doesn’t mean you should rush into danger either. What if...something happens to you?’

  ‘So you are troubled by the idea of harm coming to me.’ His voice held definite mockery, but it also held another ephemeral note. One that stroked her senses, and drew her gaze magnetically to his. The gold flecks that swirled through his eyes were almost hypnotic, transmitting a call that struck a curious hunger within her. When his gaze dropped to her lips, Esme’s breath stuttered then died in her lungs. The need to slick her tongue over the tingling lower lip grew too strong to resist. She watched his eyes darken as he followed the slow glide.

  ‘Being concerned about someone’s safety is an act of common decency. Is that so bad?’ Her voice was a husky murmur laden with emotions she didn’t want to name.

  A touch of hard cynicism fleeted over his face. ‘In my experience, most acts of selflessness come at a price. I have learned that it’s better to look a gift horse in the mouth. That way you know exactly what you’re getting.’

  The helicopter jostled gently as it rotated and landed with barely a bump on a designated platform near the outer perimeter of the prison. Zaid made no move to get out. Neither did she. The cocoon they were wrapped in felt too intimate, too powerful to break.

  ‘You’re entitled to your opinion, I suppose. But I assure you, my concern doesn’t come with a price.’

  ‘Perhaps not in this instance. Can you say the same for the future?’ he queried.

  ‘I can’t predict the future, Zaid. Neither can you.’

  His smile didn’t touch his eyes, and his gaze flicked from her eyes to her mouth and back again, as if he couldn’t look away. ‘But it’s in my interest to mitigate against it.’

  ‘And that includes any emotional support offered to you? What kind of life is that?’

  ‘One that grants me a high percentage of not being surprised by the unexpected. I much prefer to see things coming than not.’

  She shook her head, unable to come up with an appropriate response. Another handful of seconds passed, then he lifted his hand in a subtle, graceful command.

  The doors slid back. Just like in the early hours of this morning, he alighted first, then turned to take her hand.

  She attempted to guard herself against the pulse of erotic static she suspected would strike again when she touched him. But it was no use. The moment her palm brushed his, tiny volts of electricity shot over her skin. The short, sharp breath she sucked in was echoed by a more masculine sound from him.

  Esme wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or terrified that Zaid was just as affected as she was. Since Bryan she’d taken pains to avoid any form of emotional entanglement. The cost of her single mistake had been too much to ever risk letting her guard down. Nevertheless, the notion that she wasn’t in this alone, that she wasn’t imagining this powerful chemistry between them, was slightly easier to bear. Besides, from what he’d said only minutes ago, Zaid had no intention of letting any of this...disquieting reaction affect him. So her panic was unnecessary.

  Satisfied with that conclusion, she stepped out beside him, even risked a glance at the dominant, patrician features of the King. To find his own gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made the hairs rise on her nape.

  ‘Had we the time, I would be curious to know what machinations were being hatched behind that exquisite face,’ he murmured.

  Any response from her was forestalled by the swift arrival of a tall, lean man. He barely spared her a glance, his brisk bow and effusive greeting reserved for his Sultan.

  But after a minute Zaid turned to her, no trace of the jittery sensation that still fizzed beneath her skin visible on his face. He was back to being the imperial overlord of his desert kingdom. ‘This is the warden of the prison. He has arranged for you to see your father, while I attend to other matters.’

  They sailed through three security checkpoints and arrived at a surprisingly well-appointed reception hall.

  ‘Your father will be brought to you presently, Miss Scott,’ the warden stiffly informed her, gesturing to one of the seats.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied, then, as if drawn by a magnet, her gaze darted back to Zaid. He was clearly issuing instructions in Arabic to two of his bodyguards. She watched, stunned, as they approached and flanked her. Zaid’s eyes met hers for an instant, then he turned and left the room with the warden.

  The notion that she was under guard should have disturbed her. Except, again, the notion that Zaid was ensuring her safety assumed paramount proportions in her mind.

  Or he’s making sure you won’t attempt to do anything else to embarrass him.

  She was mulling that over when the doors opened.

  Esme’s heart jumped into her throat.

  Despite the wheelchair he sat in, he was still restrained, the chains binding his hands connected to his ankles over the cuffs of his dark grey jumpsuit. But that wasn’t the most shocking aspect of the prisoner rolling forward towards her.

  The Jeffrey Scott she’d walked away from eight years ago had been the quintessential English gentleman, impeccable from the carefully groomed hair, slightly greying the temples, right down to the Oxford wingtip shoes he’d favoured.

  The man in front of her was painfully thin, with severely dishevelled, shocking white hair and a full, unkempt beard. His skin was sallow, his cheeks and forehead grazed with signs of the fight he’d been involved in.

  He saw her shock and gave a wry smile as the grim-faced guard applied the brakes to the wheelchair and retreated to a watchful distance.

  They stared at each other for a long minute before he indicated his chains and gave a bitter laugh. ‘I know I look a dreadful sight. Not like you, though.’

  And just like that the faint tendrils of guilt that had always dwelled beneath the surface of her relationship with her father threatened to resurface.

  Before Esme had come along, her parents had lived a high-octane lifestyle financed through fraud. Then Abigail Scott had got pregnant and decided to settle down. Her father had managed enforced domesticity for a few years, but had eventually succumbed to his old ways. Their disagreements and unhappiness had finally culminated in her mother walking out when Esme was fourteen. Abigail had moved to the Australian outback and was killed in a horse-riding accident barely a year later.

  For months after her mother had left, she’d watched her father grapple with what to do with her. The ultimatum of boarding school with holidays spent with him or foster care had been delivered with the clear expect
ation that she would choose the latter option. He was all she had left in the world, for better or worse. It was why Esme had chosen to spend her holidays with him, even though she’d disapproved of his lifestyle. Better that than foster care.

  It wasn’t until it was too late that she’d realised just how unlovable she was to the man who should have loved and cared for her during her childhood. Perhaps being cast adrift in the foster care system would have been preferable.

  She pushed the pain back now and returned her father’s gaze as he continued, ‘You look very well, Esmeralda. Even better than you did on TV.’

  ‘You saw the broadcast?’

  He smiled, eyes the same shade as hers twinkling wickedly. ‘Only about a dozen times, until the warden banned it. Thanks for giving them hell.’

  Esme winced. ‘I may have caused more harm than good.’

  He shrugged. ‘Who cares?’

  She frowned. ‘I do.’

  His smile dimmed, a harsher look entering his eyes. ‘You have a soft heart. That’s always been your downfall. But don’t beat yourself up about it. You achieved what you wanted, didn’t you?’

  ‘At what price, though? Isn’t there a riot brewing now because of it?’

  His chains rattled as he waved away her concern. ‘A riot is always brewing in this place.’ After a quick glance at the guard, he leaned forward and said under his breath, ‘But we can work all this to our advantage. The moment I saw you on TV, I knew things were looking up.’

  ‘You couldn’t possibly have predicted this?’

  He sent her a droll look. ‘How many times did you see me place the most unlikely bet and come out on top?’

  Her unease grew, her heart picking up its beat as she stared at him. ‘So you gambled with your health, with your life?’

  He sat back with a huff. ‘What life? I’d much rather throw a final dice than end up here for the long term. And I was right to do so, wasn’t I? The rumours are true? You’re living with Sultan Al-Ameen at the Royal Palace?’

  ‘How do you—?’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘No, not in that way—’

  ‘Don’t lie to me!’

  A knot of anger burst through her. ‘I’m not lying! And I don’t intend to, not for you, or for anyone.’

  ‘That’s a shame. You could have been so good at it if you hadn’t been so pious and boring.’

  The anger disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, leaving her sad and disappointed. ‘I was a child, Dad. A child you manipulated and blackmailed to suit your own selfish gains.’

  ‘Those selfish gains you’re sneering at put you through boarding school, put food in your belly and gave you a front seat to a life most people dream of.’

  ‘You were...are a con artist,’ she whispered raggedly.

  ‘And you benefitted from the fruits of my labour.’ He grinned suddenly, as if the memory brought him paternal pride. ‘So does the Sultan know what you did to that poor sucker in Vegas?’

  Icy fingers crawled up her spine and latched onto her nape, along with a renewed dose of anger. ‘That man’s name was Bryan. And I didn’t do anything to him. He was my friend before you ruined everything.’

  ‘Still doesn’t answer my question. Does the big man know?’

  She blinked back tears, and pursed her lips. ‘I haven’t divulged every detail of my personal life to him, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  All traces of laughter left his face. ‘Because you don’t plan on being here that long?’

  ‘I’ll be here for your trial.’

  ‘And then what? You’ll wait until they lock me up permanently and then wash your hands of me once and for all?’ he sneered.

  ‘I don’t—’

  His chains jangled again as his hand slashed through the air. ‘Forget it. Maybe I’ll die before any of this happens.’

  She inhaled sharply. ‘Don’t say that!’

  ‘Why not? Maybe expecting you to forget the past was too much to hope for—’

  Whatever he’d been about to say was suddenly chopped off by the deep spate of coughing that racked him. The horrendous sound, accompanied by the sound of the rattling chains in jarring synchronicity, went on for almost a minute. And then he lowered his hand.

  Three things happened almost simultaneously.

  Esme’s heart lurched at the bright red smear of blood coating her father’s palm.

  Her father’s eyes caught hers for a moment then began to roll back in his head as his body listed sickeningly to the side.

  Zaid walked back into the room, his eyes latching on her as she lunged for her father.

  ‘Esmeralda.’

  She barely heeded the taut command in his voice. Barely felt him arrive beside her as she dropped to her knees next to the wheelchair.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Step away from him, Esmeralda.’

  ‘No!’ Fear climbing into her throat, she placed her hand on his father’s cheek. ‘Dad!’

  He didn’t respond.

  Zaid spoke sharply in Arabic, and she heard the sound of running feet. ‘Esmeralda.’

  She shook her head, her gaze fixed on the unmoving form of her father. ‘Dad!’

  Strong hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her up. Blindly she turned, fisted Zaid’s lapels and stared into his grim face. ‘I’ll give you whatever you want. Please. Just help him!’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE NEXT WEEK passed at times in a dizzying blur, at times in nerve-racking slow motion.

  Her father had received the diagnosis of severe bronchitis and possible pneumonia with a shrug when he finally came round, and his fatalistic attitude seemed to deepen by the minute. Esme, her despair escalating, pleaded with Zaid again. His response after she’d been summoned to his office on her return from the hospital that first night had been bracing, to say the least.

  ‘And what do you expect me to do about it?’

  ‘Something. Anything! Please, Zaid. His lawyer isn’t answering his phone calls. I know you’re the prosecutor but surely you can make a recommendation for something to be done?’

  ‘Something like what?’ he enquired coldly. ‘And don’t be coy about what you want. I know many conversations have taken place between you and your father at the hospital.’

  ‘I’m not asking for anything that’s outside the law. Can’t you offer him protective custody or something like that? And before you say he’s a criminal, remember he hasn’t been tried and found guilty yet. If the rule of law means so much to you, then prove it. Treat him like a human being and help me stop this from happening again.’

  Despite the condemning emotions that swirled through his eyes at her outburst, he didn’t respond immediately. She knew the tide was about to turn. So far his actions had been those of the ruler of a rich, if somewhat turbulent kingdom. But the ruthless lawyer whose skills had been honed in the glass and chrome power corridors of Washington DC was finally emerging.

  He rounded his desk and placed himself squarely before her. ‘You wish me to help your father?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is this where you suggest a quid pro quo arrangement? Reiterate your offer to do anything?’

  The knot of apprehension didn’t prevent her from responding. ‘If it’ll help my father, then yes.’

  Again a contemplative silence greeted her question. Then he returned to his desk. ‘Very well. You will be informed of the exact details in due course.’

  In due course resulted in days of being left in suspense by his absolute silence until her summons today to the house two hours outside Ja’ahr City.

  The trip to Jeddebah had been as rough and unforgiving as the terrain surrounding the stunning property in which she now stood, although Esme admitted some parts of it had been raw in their beauty and magnificent to witness.

  The mountains, for instance. Green and majestic to the east, they formed a sharp contrast to the distant and endless roll of the desert to the west. Until they dramatically gave way to the turbulent waters of the
Persian Gulf. She’d arrived three hours ago at the location on the southernmost point of Ja’ahr half an hour before a security escort had delivered her father.

  Esme had been relieved to see his mood dramatically improved, despite the armed guards surrounding him and the menacing-looking security monitor attached to his left ankle. Despite his state, it didn’t take long for the healthier-looking Jeffrey Scott to begin subtly owning the place.

  A place she’d secured for him at a price she had yet to be fully cognisant of.

  She’d been informed of her father’s transfer to house arrest by Fawzi this morning, but the Sultan’s private secretary had been mute about everything else, including when she would see Zaid again.

  But she wasn’t going to be kept in the dark for long.

  She’d watched the helicopter land on the vast green lawn abutting the sheer cliffs of the house minutes ago. From the west-facing window she’d followed the tall, imposing figure silhouetted against the setting sun as he’d ducked beneath the rotor blades before striking a path for the house. His dark robes flowed dramatically around his head and body as he walked. He went out of sight, and her stomach hollowed. The sensation wasn’t acute but it was real and astonishing enough to realise that she’d missed seeing Zaid.

  Exhaling in a burst of unnerving disquiet, she frowned as her brain wrestled with the astounding revelation. She was still frozen in place when she sensed his presence. She didn’t need to turn around to confirm that those penetrating eyes were on her body. Her spine was tingling, the skin between her shoulders twitching with an awareness she had no hope of suppressing. But still she fought what was happening to her. She had to try. Giving in to even a tiny bit of it would be risking emotions she’d sworn never to dally with again. Letting emotions get the better of her, letting herself be swept away with possibilities of a different life had ended badly the only time she’d allowed someone in.

  So she stood at the window, fighting the sensations rampaging through her body with everything she had.

  ‘Are you going to turn around and greet me, Esmeralda?’ he drawled in a deep, low voice.