The Desert King's Secret Heir Read online

  The child she hid...

  Surrounded by society’s glitterati, Arden Wills finds herself staring up into the eyes of her first and only love. But Sheikh Idris Baddour has a surprise title and heavy responsibilities...so she clings to her precious secret even tighter.

  Time has done nothing to dampen the intense ardor between them. And when their kiss is blasted across the world’s front pages, Arden’s truth comes to light—the sheikh has a secret son! To avoid further scandal, Idris must legitimize his heir and make English rose Arden his dutiful desert queen!

  “Here he is at last. Arden, I’d like to present you to my cousin Idris, Sheikh of Zahrat.”

  Arden widened her smile, determined not to be overawed by meeting her very first, and no doubt last, sheikh. Coming to this formal reception, surrounded by VIPs who oozed money and privilege, had already tested her nerves.

  She turned, tilted her head to look up and felt the world drop away.

  His face was severely sculpted as if scored by desert winds. Yet there was beauty in those high cheekbones and his firm yet sensual mouth. His nose and jaw were honed and strong. The harsh angle of those beetling black brows intimidated. So did the wide flare of his nostrils, as if the sheikh scented something unexpected.

  Shock dragged at her, loosening her knees till her legs felt like rubber.

  His eyes...

  Dark as a midnight storm, those eyes fixed on her instinctive movement as she clutched Hamid for support. Slowly they lifted again to clash with hers, disdain clear in that haughty stare.

  A shuddering wave of disquiet rolled through her as she blinked up, telling herself it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

  Despite the frantic messages her body was sending her, she couldn’t know this man.

  Yet her brain wouldn’t listen to reason. It told her it was him. The man who’d changed her life.

  Secret Heirs of Billionaires

  There are some things money can’t buy...

  Living life at lightning pace, these magnates are no strangers to stakes at their highest. It seems they’ve got it all... That is, until they find out that there’s an unplanned item to add to their list of accomplishments!

  Achieved:

  1. Successful business empire

  2. Beautiful women in their bed

  3. An heir to bear their name...?

  Though every billionaire needs to leave his legacy in safe hands, discovering a secret heir shakes up his carefully orchestrated plan in more ways than one!

  Uncover their secrets in:

  Unwrapping the Castelli Secret by Caitlin Crews

  Brunetti’s Secret Son by Maya Blake

  The Secret to Marrying Marchesi by Amanda Cinelli

  Demetriou Demands His Child by Kate Hewitt

  Look out for more stories in the Secret Heirs of Billionaires series coming soon!

  ANNIE WEST

  The Desert King’s Secret Heir

  Growing up near the beach, Annie West spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasizing about gorgeous men and their love lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at [email protected] or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

  Books by Annie West

  Harlequin Presents

  The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge

  Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter

  Damaso Claims His Heir

  Imprisoned by a Vow

  Captive in the Spotlight

  Defying Her Desert Duty

  Prince of Scandal

  One Night With Consequences

  A Vow to Secure His Legacy

  Seven Sexy Sins

  The Sinner’s Marriage Redemption

  Desert Vows

  The Sheikh’s Princess Bride

  The Sultan’s Harem Bride

  At His Service

  An Enticing Debt to Pay

  Dark-Hearted Tycoons

  Undone by His Touch

  Sinful Desert Nights

  Girl in the Bedouin Tent

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  This book is dedicated to the wonderful men in my family across three generations: all heroic in their own way.

  What excellent role models for my heroes!

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EXCERPT FROM SURRENDERING TO THE VENGEFUL ITALIAN BY ANGELA BISSELL

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘LET ME BE the first to congratulate you, Cousin. May you and your Princess be happy all your days.’

  Hamid beamed with such goodwill Idris felt his own mouth kick up in a rare smile. They might not be close but Idris had missed his older cousin as they’d carved separate lives for themselves, Idris in Zahrat and Hamid as a UK-based academic.

  ‘Not my Princess yet, Hamid.’ He kept his voice soft, aware that, despite the chatter of a few hundred VIPs, there were plenty of ears eager for news of his impending nuptials.

  Hamid’s eyes widened behind rimless glasses. ‘Have I put my foot in it? I’d heard—’

  ‘You heard correctly.’ Idris paused, tugging in a breath before it lengthened into a sigh. He had to conquer this sense of constraint whenever he thought of his upcoming marriage.

  No one forced his hand. He was Sheikh Idris Baddour, supreme ruler of Zahrat, protector of the weak, defender of his nation. His word was law in his own country and, for that matter, here in his opulent London embassy.

  Yet he hadn’t chosen marriage. It had chosen him—a necessary arrangement. To cement stability in his region. To ensure the line of succession. To prove that, despite his modern reformist ways, he respected the traditions of his people. So much rode on his wedding.

  Change had been hard won in Zahrat. A willingness to conform in the matter of a suitable, dynastically necessary marriage would win over the last of the old guard who’d fretted over his reforms. They’d viewed him as an unseasoned pup when he’d taken over at just twenty-six. After four years they knew better. But there was no escaping the fact this wedding would achieve what strong leadership and diplomacy hadn’t.

  ‘It’s not official yet,’ he murmured to Hamid. ‘You know how slowly such negotiations proceed.’

  ‘You’re a lucky man. Princess Ghizlan is beautiful and intelligent. She’ll make you a perfect wife.’

  Idris glanced to the woman holding court nearby. Resplendent in a blood-red evening gown that clung to a perfect hourglass figure, she was the stuff of male fantasy. Add her bred-in-the-bone understanding of Middle Eastern politics and her charming yet assured manner and he knew he was a lucky man.

  Pity he didn’t feel like one.

  Even the thought of acquainting himself with that lush body didn’t excite him.

&
nbsp; What did that say about his libido?

  Too many hours brokering peace negotiations with not one but two difficult neighbouring countries. Too many evenings strategising to push reform in a nation still catching up with the twenty-first century.

  And before that too many shallow sexual encounters with women who were accommodating but unimportant.

  ‘Thank you, Hamid. I’m sure she will.’ As the daughter of a neighbouring ruler and a means to ensure long-term peace, Ghizlan would be invaluable. As the prospective mother of a brood of children she’d be priceless. Those children would ensure his sheikhdom wasn’t racked by the disruption it had faced when his uncle died without a son.

  Idris told himself his lack of enthusiasm would evaporate once he and Ghizlan shared a bed. He tried to picture her there, her ebony hair spread on the pillow. But to his chagrin his mind inserted an image of hair the colour of a sunburst. Of curling locks soft as down.

  ‘You’ll have to come home for the ceremony. It will be good to have you there for a while instead of buried in this cold, grey place.’

  Hamid smiled. ‘You’re biased. There’s much to be said for England.’

  ‘Of course there is. It’s an admirable country.’ Idris glanced around, reminding himself they might be overheard.

  Hamid’s smile became a chuckle. ‘It’s got a lot going for it.’ He leaned even closer, his voice dropping further. ‘Including a very special woman. Someone I want you to meet.’

  Idris felt his eyes widen. Hamid with a serious girlfriend? ‘She must be out of the ordinary.’

  One thing the men in his family excelled at was avoiding commitment to women. He’d been a case in point until political necessity forced his hand. His father had been famous for sowing his wild oats, even after marriage. And their uncle, the previous Sheikh, had been too busy enjoying the charms of his mistresses to father a child with his long-suffering spouse.

  ‘She is. Enough to make me rethink my life.’

  ‘Another academic?’

  ‘Nothing so dull.’

  Idris stared. Hamid lived for his research. That was why he’d been passed over for the throne when their uncle died. Everyone, Hamid included, acknowledged he was too absorbed in history to excel at running a nation.

  ‘Will I meet this paragon tonight?’

  Hamid nodded, his eyes alight. ‘She’s just gone to freshen up before—ah, there she is.’ He gestured to the far end of the room. ‘Isn’t she lovely?’

  Only a man besotted would expect him to identify an unknown woman in that crowd. Idris followed Hamid’s eager gaze. Was it the tall brunette in black? The svelte blonde in beads and diamonds? Surely not the woman with the braying laugh and the oversized rings flashing like beacons beneath the chandelier?

  The crowd shifted and he caught a sliver of silk in softest green, skin as pale as milk and hair that shone like the sky at dawn, rose and gold together.

  His pulse thudded once, hard enough to stall his breath. Low in his belly an unfamiliar sensation eddied. A sensation that made his nape prickle.

  Then his view was blocked by a couple of men in dinner jackets.

  ‘Which one is she?’ His voice echoed strangely, no doubt due to the acoustics of the filled-to-capacity ballroom.

  For a second he’d experienced something he hadn’t felt in years. A tug of attraction so strong he’d convinced himself it hadn’t been real, that imagination had turned a brief interlude into something almost...significant. No doubt because of the dark, relentlessly tough days that had followed. She’d been the one lover he’d had to put aside before his passion was spent. That explained the illusion she was different from the rest.

  But the woman he’d known had had a cloud of vibrant curls, not that sleek, conformist chignon.

  ‘I can’t see her now. I’ll go and fetch her. Unless—’ Hamid’s smile turned conspiratorial ‘—you’d like a break from the formalities.’

  Tradition decreed that the ruler received his guests on the raised royal dais, complete with a gilded, velvet-cushioned throne for formal audiences. Idris was about to say he’d wait here when something made him pause. How long since he’d allowed himself the luxury of doing something he wanted, not because it was his duty?

  Idris’s eyes flicked to Ghizlan, easily holding her own with a minor royal and some politicians. As if sensing his regard she looked up, smiled slightly then turned back to her companions.

  No doubt about it, she’d make a suitable queen—capable and helpful. Not clinging or needy. Not demanding his attention as too many ex-lovers had done.

  Idris turned to Hamid. ‘Lead on, Cousin. I’m agog to meet this woman who’s captured your heart.’

  They wove through the crowd till Hamid halted beside the woman in green. The woman with creamy skin and strawberry-blonde hair and a supple, delicate figure. Idris’s attention caught on the lustre of her dress, clinging to her hips and pert bottom.

  He stilled, struck by a sensation of déjà vu so strong it eclipsed all else. She said something to his cousin in a soft, lilting voice.

  A voice Idris knew.

  He frowned, watching Hamid bend his head towards her, seeing her turn a little more so she was in profile.

  The conversations around them became white noise, a buzz like swarming insects.

  His vision telescoped.

  Her lush lips.

  Her neat nose.

  Her slender, delicate throat.

  Two facts hammered into his brain. He knew her, remembered her better than any of the multitude of women who’d once paraded in and out of his life.

  And that strange feeling surging up from his gullet and choking his throat with bile was more than surprise or disbelief at the coincidence of meeting her again.

  It was fury at the idea she belonged to Hamid.

  * * *

  ‘Here he is at last. Arden, I’d like to present you to my cousin Idris, Sheikh of Zahrat.’

  Arden widened her smile, determined not to be overawed by meeting her very first and no doubt last sheikh. Coming to this formal reception, surrounded by VIPs who oozed money and privilege, had already tested her nerves.

  She turned, tilting her head to look up, and felt the world drop away.

  His face was severely sculpted as if scored by desert winds. Yet there was beauty in those high cheekbones and his firm yet sensual mouth. His nose and jaw were honed and strong. The harsh angle of those beetling black brows intimidated. So did the wide flare of his nostrils, as if the Sheikh scented something unexpected.

  Shock dragged at her, loosening her knees till her legs felt like rubber.

  His eyes...

  Dark as a midnight storm, those eyes fixed on her instinctive movement as she clutched at Hamid for support. Slowly they lifted again to clash with hers, disdain clear in that haughty stare.

  A shuddering wave of disquiet rolled through her as she blinked up, telling herself it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

  Despite the frantic messages her body was sending her, she couldn’t know this man.

  Yet her brain wouldn’t listen to reason. It told her it was him. The man who’d changed her life.

  Heat seared from scalp to toe. Then just as quickly it vanished, leaving her so cold she wouldn’t be surprised to hear the crackle of ice forming along her bones, weighing her down.

  Her grip on Hamid’s arm grew desperate as tiny spots formed and blurred before her eyes. She felt as if she’d slipped out of the real world and into an alternate reality. One where dreams did come true, but so distorted as to be almost unrecognisable.

  It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Yet her gaze dropped to his collarbone. Did he have a scar there?

  Of course he didn’t. This man was tougher, far more daunting than Shakil. She’d bet he didn’t do e
asy, charming smiles. Instead he wore royal authority like a cloak.

  Yet she could almost hear herself asking, Excuse me, Your Highness, would you mind undoing that exquisitely tailored suit and tie so I can check if you have a scar from a riding accident?

  ‘Arden, are you okay?’ Hamid’s voice was concerned, his hand warm as it closed over hers.

  His touch jerked her back to reality. She slipped her hand from his arm and locked her wobbly knees.

  Tonight had revealed, to her astonishment, that Hamid now thought of himself as more than a friend. She couldn’t let him labour under that illusion, no matter how grateful she was to him.

  ‘I’m...’ She cleared her throat, hesitating. What could she say? I’m reeling with shock? ‘I’ll be all right.’

  Yet her gaze clung to that of the man towering before her as if he was some sort of miracle.

  It was that realisation that snapped her back to reality. He wasn’t Shakil. If he had been Shakil, he’d be no miracle, just another of life’s tough lessons. A man who’d used her and tossed her aside.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.’ Her voice sounded wispy but she persevered. ‘I hope you’re enjoying your stay in London.’

  Belatedly she wondered if she was supposed to curtsey. Had she offended him? His flesh looked drawn too tight and she glimpsed the rigid line of a tendon standing proud in his neck. He looked ready for battle, not a society meet and greet.

  For long seconds silence stretched, as if he didn’t want to acknowledge her. She felt her eyebrows pucker into a frown. Beside her Hamid’s head swung sharply towards the Sheikh.

  ‘Welcome to my embassy, Ms...’

  That voice. He had the same voice.

  ‘Wills, Arden Wills.’ Hamid spoke since Arden’s voice had disappeared, sucked away by the tidal wave of horror that seized her lungs and stopped her breath.

  ‘Ms Wills.’ The Sheikh paused and she glimpsed what almost looked like confusion in those dark eyes, as if he wasn’t used to pronouncing such a commonplace name.

  But Arden was too busy grappling with her own response to Hamid’s cousin. He looked and sounded exactly like Shakil. Or as Shakil would if he’d sloughed off his laid-back, live-for-the-moment attitude and aged a few years.