The Desert King's Secret Heir Read online

  Arden lifted her hands, palm up. ‘He’s here and has an encyclopaedic knowledge of royal ritual and custom. I might as well make the most of him, even if he does make me want to gnash my teeth sometimes.’

  Idris’s laugh curled round her like tendrils of silk, caressing tight muscles. Even the dull headache diminished a fraction.

  ‘On one condition.’ The laughter faded. ‘If you change your mind, or if I catch a hint of disapproval from him, he’s out.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Yet still Idris didn’t look totally sold.

  ‘I’ll be fine, really.’ Surprisingly, after the doubts that had dogged her so long, she actually believed it. Something had changed tonight and it made her more than ever determined to make a go of this official side of their marriage.

  The private part was already working well.

  Well? She’d never imagined anything so good. Dawud was thriving. Idris was a caring, involved father and as a husband...she couldn’t ask for more. He was considerate, passionate and respectful of her needs.

  It would be too easy to believe their union was real, a marriage of hearts as well as minds. Alarms sounded in Arden’s head. This was no match made in heaven.

  She shifted back a fraction, making her point. ‘I appreciate you supporting me. But it’s important that I stand on my own two feet. It’s the only way I know.’

  * * *

  Freshly showered, Idris flicked off all the lights except a bedside lamp and slipped naked between the sheets. Arden was in her bathroom and he’d been tempted to seduce her there. Except he remembered how she’d trembled with tiredness as they talked. He’d seen her tension and guessed her head ached. She’d slitted her eyes against the light and more than once lifted her hand to her forehead, massaging absently.

  When her bathroom door opened, predictably his body tightened with desire. Her hair was a frothing, rich gleam around pale shoulders and her lacy nightgown clung to that delicious body the way his hands itched to.

  Day after day, night after night, he couldn’t get enough of Arden. A heavy schedule, the burden of renegotiating a new agreement with neighbouring kingdoms, all the concerns of a ruler for his country, couldn’t distract from this hunger. It puzzled him how passion kept growing, intensifying rather than diminishing with familiarity.

  She slipped into bed and he saw the shadows beneath her eyes, the furrow of pain on her brow. Regret rose. He could convince her into sex. She’d enjoy it—he’d make sure of it. But Arden had had enough for one night.

  ‘Here, move closer.’ He lifted the sheet, encouraging her to his side of the bed.

  ‘I’m tired, Idris.’ Even so, he saw the way her gaze dipped down his bare body.

  ‘I know, habibti. You can just sleep.’

  He’d never been fond of sleeping tangled up against anyone. The exception had always been Arden. When they’d first met he’d put it down to exhaustion, after wearing themselves to the point of oblivion with sex. These past months, though, Idris had discovered he liked holding her as they rested. It felt...satisfying.

  ‘It doesn’t look like it’s sleep you have in mind.’

  His erection throbbed in response to her stare and Idris hauled her close. Instantly his body hardened still further, eager for intimacy. The wriggle of her hip then her buttocks against his arousal as she turned to spoon against him, tore the air from his lungs.

  ‘Stop twitching,’ he growled.

  Was that a tiny, breathless laugh? He slid his arm around her and cupped her breast, his thumb moving in a deliberate, slow caress of her peaking nipple.

  ‘Idris!’ The sibilant was soft and drawn out, just the way he liked her saying his name. A grim smile tightened his features as he tried to ignore the pleas of his body.

  He distracted himself with the fact she’d called him Idris. In the first weeks of marriage Shakil had been the name on her lips when she urged him on in the throes of passion, or when she cried out in climax. It had felt oddly as if she betrayed him with another man. Shakil might only have been his younger self but Idris had wanted Arden in the present, making love to him, not a memory.

  He hadn’t heard the name Shakil for more than a month. That pleased him, satisfying a proprietorial side to his nature he’d never before recognised.

  ‘Shh. Relax.’

  ‘How can I relax when you do that?’

  Sighing, Idris released her breast, sliding his hand down lace and silk to splay over her belly.

  He focused on controlling his breathing and found his thoughts turning to the idea of Arden carrying his baby. He’d missed so much—her pregnancy and Dawud’s early years. The idea of sharing such experiences appealed, the idea of her pregnant again stirring impulses he was trying to stifle.

  ‘You’re twitching,’ she murmured.

  ‘You’re distracting me.’ He only had to catch her light orange blossom scent and he was distracted. ‘You said you were used to looking after yourself. Why is that?’ Talking would take his mind off his body’s torture. Besides, he wanted to know.

  ‘I’m used to being alone.’

  Idris found that hard to believe. But then he’d been stunned all those years ago in Greece to discover Arden was a virgin. ‘Are all the men in England blind?’

  She huffed out a laugh and the movement made him grit his teeth. He was sensitive—too sensitive.

  ‘You’re such a smooth talker.’

  ‘Only stating the truth. Surely in all these years there was someone...with you.’ Idris chose his words carefully.

  ‘I told you; your cousin was just a friend. A good friend and, after a time, my landlord. But that’s all.’

  ‘No need to get het up. I believe you. But in four years there must have been someone.’

  ‘Must there?’ She paused and Idris realised he had second thoughts. He didn’t want to know about her love life after all. ‘Well, you’re wrong. There was no one.’

  ‘No one?’ It barely seemed possible. Yet elation rose in a soaring wave. It shouldn’t matter. She’d been a free agent, like him. Yet the idea of Arden with other men—

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised. I was pregnant to start with and later...’ Later, what? Surely he didn’t expect her to say she’d pined for him. Not when she’d thought he’d dumped her. ‘Later there were barely enough hours in the day for everything that had to be done, looking after Dawud, working, scrimping to make ends meet.’

  Guilt tightened his gut. His splayed hand pressed her close. ‘You don’t have to worry about being alone ever again.’ He’d take care of them both. They were his responsibility. More, he wanted to look after Arden and Dawud.

  Instead of easing in his embrace, Arden stiffened as if she might pull free of his hold.

  ‘What is it?’ Sixth sense told him he’d hit a nerve.

  ‘Nothing. I’d like to sleep now.’ But she held herself rigid, her breathing short. She was hiding something or, he amended, protecting herself. From him? The idea was like biting down on a crisp apple, only to taste the sourness of decay.

  ‘I mean it, Arden. You have me now, as well as Dawud.’ Surely she didn’t think he’d abandon them? Not after he’d gone to such lengths to marry her?

  ‘Yes.’ Yet her voice didn’t convince.

  ‘Why did you make such a point earlier about the fact you were used to standing up for yourself?’ She’d made similar comments in London.

  ‘I told you; it’s what I’ve always done.’

  Silence. Not the companionable silence of a few minutes ago, but an edgy wariness. He’d bet her eyes were wide open. He felt tension hum through her.

  ‘Me too,’ he said slowly, deciding against another direct query. ‘I was an only child. That makes a difference, don’t you think?’

  She shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I wasn�
�t close to my parents. Well,’ he amended, ‘to my mother when I was very young. But she died when I was just a kid.’

  ‘Really? How old were you?’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It was a long time ago. I had my father and aunts and uncles, plus my cousin, Hamid.’

  ‘Your father brought you up?’

  Idris felt his lips tighten. ‘My father wasn’t a hands-on dad. He had other interests.’ Like seducing other men’s wives. His father’s relentless pursuit of pleasure and string of conquests hadn’t made him warm or contented.

  Idris had started out the same. Not seducing other men’s wives, but sowing plenty of wild oats.

  ‘I was brought up by tutors and members of my uncle’s court. There was a focus on honour and duty.’ Probably to counteract the wayward tendencies of the males in his family. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Who brought you up? I know your parents died but I have no idea when.’

  Seconds stretched before she answered. ‘They died when I was six.’

  ‘Both?’ His voice was sharp with surprise.

  ‘It was a car accident. They died at the scene of the crash.’

  Something about her tone made his nape prickle. ‘You were there?’

  ‘In the back seat.’

  ‘Oh, Arden.’ He wrapped himself tighter around her, tugging her back against him. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Like in your case, it was a long time ago.’

  ‘But still tragic.’ And difficult for her even now. It was there in her too flat voice and the way she held herself. ‘It’s young to lose your family.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said dully. ‘I was losing them anyway but death is so final.’ She drew a deep breath, her ribs expanding against his chest. ‘They used to argue a lot. That night in the car, they thought I was asleep and they were at it again. Dad said he was getting a divorce and they were fighting over who’d have me. Dad didn’t want to take me and Mum was upset, saying she couldn’t manage alone. In the end they didn’t have to worry.’

  What could he say to that? Idris didn’t try. He pressed his lips to her hair, gently reminding her of his presence.

  ‘Did you have any family at all? Aunts and uncles?’ He, at least, had had extended family when he’d lost his mother.

  Arden shook her head. ‘I went into foster care.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Idris couldn’t believe he’d never thought to learn her history. Surely it had shaped Arden. Shame was a hot blade in his belly. He’d been too busy with other things to try understanding the woman he’d married.

  ‘Don’t be. It was okay most of the time.’

  ‘And the rest of the time?’ He’d heard appalling stories about defenceless, vulnerable children.

  ‘Truly, it was okay. I was with one family for years. They treated me like their own little girl and I was happy. They were very kind.’ Yet sadness lingered in her voice.

  ‘But you left them?’ he guessed.

  ‘They planned to adopt me. They couldn’t have children and wanted to keep me as theirs. But right at the end, before everything could be finalised, a miracle happened.’ Her voice was matter-of-fact, as if she recited words supplied by someone else. It made his chest clench. ‘They discovered they were expecting, not just one baby but twins.’

  Arden drew a deep breath. ‘They were nice people and upset they’d led me on only to disappoint me. They just couldn’t afford three children or find space for that many. It wasn’t anything personal.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Yet he wanted to find them and screw their necks for the pain they’d caused her.

  Now he had some inkling of why Arden was so adamant about standing up for herself. Had there ever been anyone she could rely on long term?

  She’d witnessed her parents squabbling about who’d have to take her as they tore their family apart. Then she’d lost them both in horrific circumstances. Years later she’d lost the second secure home she’d known in a way guaranteed to break any child’s heart.

  And don’t forget your part in her life. You seduced her and walked away without a backward glance. She thought you’d deliberately dumped her, abandoned her without a thought that she might be pregnant.

  It hadn’t been deliberate but he hadn’t considered possible consequences. He hadn’t made sure she was okay. He’d been too wrapped up in Zahrat and his own concerns.

  He tightened his arms about her but now there was nothing sexual about his embrace. ‘I’m here and I’m not leaving,’ he whispered against her hair, shutting his eyes as her sweet fragrance filled his senses. ‘I’m not walking away from this marriage. You and Dawud are safe with me.’

  He’d make her happy. Make sure she never regretted marrying him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A SHARP RAP on his open office door made Idris look up from his computer. Ashar, his aide, was already crossing the room, his expression shadowed. Foreboding streaked through Idris at that look.

  ‘What is it?’ Some new disaster. The treaty?

  ‘Everything’s under control; they’re both safe.’ Which meant it was Arden and Dawud.

  Idris surged to his feet. ‘Define under control. What’s happened now?’ It wasn’t that Arden attracted trouble. It was more that her limited knowledge of Zahrat and her enthusiasm sometimes led her into unexpected situations.

  Not just her. The palace was awash with children’s artwork: flowers, animals, even a few dragons and a sea monster. Since news of the decorated banqueting hall got out, schools across the country had sent contributions for display. The Ministry of Education had quickly brought forward reforms to encourage creativity and innovation in schools to take advantage of public interest. A display of the art was planned for the new city hall, along with awards for teaching innovation—all part of the agenda to increase school attendance.

  ‘You’re sure they’re both safe?’ Idris leaned forward on fisted hands.

  ‘They’re fine. Their bodyguard is following them.’

  The steely grip of tension in Idris’s shoulders and spine didn’t ease. ‘Following? That implies they don’t know where they’re going.’

  ‘That’s why I came to see you. To check if you know of the Sheikha’s plans for the afternoon.’

  Idris shook his head. ‘A visit to a community playgroup with Dawud then back here.’ Idris had thought long and hard about letting his son accompany Arden on the visit, but she’d been so eager and so persuasive. He’d wondered if Arden was lonely for the company of women her own age, young mothers with children. Her life was so different here from what it had been in London.

  ‘They went to the playgroup, then they walked to the covered market where they bought food.’

  Food? When they had a galley of chefs busy in the palace? It didn’t make sense. There’d been no mention of a trip to the market this morning. ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Driving the inland highway. The Sheikha is driving herself.’

  Idris frowned. It was usual for Arden to have a driver as well as bodyguards. Mainly as a symbol of her status, since the threat level in Zahrat was virtually non-existent. But there was still the possibility of danger.

  A new thought struck. That highway led to Zahrat’s interior mountain range and to the airport. Arden wouldn’t head to the mountains so late in the day. But the airport?

  He rounded his desk, heading for the door. ‘Get me the chopper now, and a line to the head of security.’

  * * *

  The whoomp, whoomp, whoomp of a helicopter split the late-afternoon quiet. Arden looked up, wondering where it was heading, but the endless blue sky was clear and the sound ceased. It must have landed nearby. She recalled Idris saying they used helicopters for mercy hospital flights. Perhaps so
meone had been injured on the highway.

  ‘Mama. Look at fiss.’ Dawud dragged her attention back to the pond where ornamental fish darted, glinting in the sunlight.

  ‘Yes, darling. Lovely fish.’ She grinned at her son’s fascination with water—an unexpected trait in the son of a desert sheikh. Back at the palace he loved nothing better than paddling in the reflection pools. It was time she taught him to swim. She’d feel better when she knew he could keep himself afloat.

  ‘Come on, our picnic’s ready.’ She patted the soft grass beside her in the dappled shade.

  ‘Bye-bye, fiss.’ He waved solemnly to the fish then trotted over to plop down beside her.

  In the same instant swift movement in her peripheral vision made her twist around.

  ‘Idris!’ He strode across the garden courtyard, his expression harsh. Behind him she saw two men in black, her security detail, melting back behind the golden stone arches of this ancient palace. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same thing.’ He sounded different, his accent pronounced, his tone terse.

  He looked different too.

  Almost, she realised in shock, like the arrogant man she remembered from London. The autocratic warrior prince who expected instant obedience. His expression was stern, almost harsh.

  ‘Baba!’ Dawud was on his feet in a moment, hurrying towards his father, arms upstretched. Idris scooped him up in one easy movement, swinging him so high he giggled.

  Arden watched the carved lines of Idris’s face ease, his face creasing into a smile as Dawud wrapped his arms around his neck, burrowing close. Her heart leapt hard against her breastbone, seeing her son’s unquestioning love for the big man who’d been a stranger till a few months ago, and such tenderness in Idris’s expression. She’d done the right thing for Dawud, marrying Idris.

  His gaze caught hers again and something hot and potent shivered through her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Having a picnic.’ She waved to the packets she was unwrapping—dates and apricots, flat bread, soft goat’s cheese, nuts and her favourite tiny pastries filled with pistachios and drenched in sweet syrup. ‘Would you like to join us? I wasn’t expecting to see you till tonight. Did your plans change?’