Claiming His Replacement Queen

She froze as he placed a glass of water into her hands, the heat of his fingers scorching her skin for a few short seconds. The cold water calmed both her raw throat and her overheated brain.

Cressida looked up to find he had moved to the seat directly beside her. This close, she could see tiny flecks of gold in his deep brown irises. The way he was looking at her so intently made her feel as though she had walked under a spotlight. She was too warm, too exposed.

‘Thank you,’ she blurted, forcing herself to meet his eyes. ‘For the water.’

‘It’s my pleasure.’ His eyes did not leave hers. ‘However, I believe it is now irresponsible of me to leave you unsupervised while you finish your drink.’

‘I must seem quite ridiculous, really.’ Cressida half laughed, feeling rather blinded under the intense spotlight of his attention.

‘That’s the last word I would use,’ he said silkily, tilting his head to one side.

She managed a slight smile, wondering again why he had chosen to sit with her. Men like him did not show interest in women like her; it was hard not to be suspicious. Not that she was here seeking male attention; far from it. Tonight was simply about freedom, she reminded herself with a firm shrug of her shoulders.

‘I find myself wondering...’ his dark voice rumbled somewhere close to her ear ‘...what might have brought you here tonight to this particular club?’

Cressida felt the vibration of his deep voice travel down to her toes. She shifted in her seat. ‘The same reason as everyone else, I assume. It’s an escape.’

‘You are looking to escape something?’

‘If I say the outside world, is that rather a cliché?’ She grimaced with a half laugh, feeling herself relax slightly. ‘I must go back eventually, of course.’

He seemed thoughtful for a moment. ‘While you are here, what do you plan to do?’

‘I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.’ She laughed, shocked at how feminine she sounded. ‘I’m trying to be spontaneous for once. Perhaps I might dance?’

‘Alone?’

‘If no one asked me, I suppose I would have to dance alone.’ It was hardly a suggestive statement, but still she felt herself blush a little, knowing she suddenly wanted him to ask her to dance. What on earth had come over her?

She had never flirted with a man before—she wasn’t even sure if this qualified as flirting—but it definitely felt different to any previous conversations with a member of the opposite sex. What was she even doing? She was promised to another man, both morally and legally. She might not have met her fiancé yet, but she still knew where the boundaries stood. But a simple dance...that was hardly improper. Maybe it was the wine, though she knew herself that two sips could hardly provide enough stimulant. It was becoming intoxicating, feeling so free. That was the only explanation. It was making her feel different, bolder.

‘By all means, then. You should dance,’ he said.

‘Yes, I would love to.’ She smiled, feeling the sense of bravado heighten further. She slid off the barstool, biting her lower lip as he made no move to stand.

You should dance, he had said, not we. Silly girl.

She smiled a little too widely before turning to take a few steps towards the crowded dance floor. Throwing a final look over her shoulder as she walked away, she found herself momentarily pinned by a dark gaze. Heat sizzled through the air, seeming to settle somewhere in the region of her solar plexus.

Her painfully shy nature and workaholic tendencies had stopped her from ever having a dating life. So much so that the opposite sex might well have become a foreign species altogether, apart from her interactions with her bodyguards and driver. She could read and write fluently in eight languages and yet she could not formulate a simple sentence in English to ask a man if he wanted to dance with her. It was so utterly ridiculous that she laughed. Her laughter caught the attention of a blond-haired man nearby and he moved to dance beside her.

She smiled back briefly and continued dancing, distracted by wondering if he was still sitting at the bar, watching her. It was a ridiculous thought, that a complete stranger might feel the same hum of attraction after a moment of idle conversation. It was not as though she planned to do anything about it, but she had to admit it felt nice being noticed.

In the background, she registered the beat shifting seamlessly into a soft, seductive ballad. She let her gaze drift around the dance floor just as a handful of couples moved close and began moulding their bodies together sensually. She looked away for a moment then looked back, transfixed by the sight of a couple melting together in a haze of locked lips and intertwined limbs, all the while maintaining a perfect rhythm.

Without warning, the blond man moved close. A chunky arm snaked around her waist and she froze. She took a step away, trying to think of a kind way to decline the dance without hurting his feelings, but he moved with her, not forcefully but still determined to get close. Needing to be free of the situation, she placed her hand calmly against the man’s chest, shaking her head to show that she was leaving. Worried he wasn’t going to take the hint, she turned fully and took a few steps away from the dance floor, only to be blocked by a wall of warm, hard muscle.

‘Waiting for me?’ The stranger’s deep voice was like a balm to her nerves as he extended a hand towards her. To her surprise, she instantly placed her hand in his, allowing herself to be drawn into the delicious warm scent of his cologne until their bodies were mere inches apart. She was vaguely aware of the other man disappearing into the crowd, but it was becoming increasingly harder to form a coherent thought as a strong male arm moved slowly around her waist.

The smooth, steady rhythm of the music seemed to pound through the wall of her chest before joining her own erratic heartbeat. He pulled her close. So close that the smooth dark skin of his open collar was directly in her eye line, mere inches away. The tips of her breasts pressed momentarily against a wall of warm hard muscle before he moved back slightly. Her free hand hovered uncertainly for a moment before she bravely moved it upwards to link around his neck, her fingers resting between warm skin and the thick dark hair of his nape as he led her into an easy rhythm.

She had been given the finest dancing lessons as a young teenager to prepare her for the many occasions that a princess was required to perform a simple waltz or foxtrot. Nine times out of ten she tripped over her own feet, of course, but she knew the basics. But none of that could have prepared her for this moment. They seemed to dance for hours, moving in perfect unison. He was an excellent lead, confident and strong. He held her in such a way that she almost felt graceful for the first time in her life. His hands did not wander from their place on her waist; he didn’t even try to pull her too close against him. She felt safe, she realised. What a strange thing to feel in the arms of a man she barely knew.

Her dark stranger bent his head and for a moment she wondered if he planned to kiss her. She held her breath, relaxing when instead his mouth stopped somewhere just above her earlobe.

‘In my country, dancing like this is considered a very intimate act.’ His voice was a soft rumble that sent an earthquake of shivers down her spine.

‘Is that so?’ Cressida breathed, hardly believing that such a husky murmur had just escaped her own suddenly dry throat. ‘I can’t imagine why.’

A mischievous smile played on his lips. ‘You can’t?’

‘People dance all of the time. It’s hardly dangerous.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ he murmured. ‘Swaying like this...pressed so close... I can see how it would be seen as temptation.’

‘Temptation for what...?’ Her feverish brain wondered momentarily at his choice of words before realisation dawned with all the grace of a sledgehammer. She clumsily missed a step but her dancing partner barely reacted, correcting her misstep with graceful ease and continuing as though nothing had occurred.

‘It is usually only married couples who might dance like this,’ he continued, oblivious to her embarrassment. ‘Or perhaps those who are engaged to be married.’

She barely registered his words as her mind focused on the heat of his hand as it began to move higher on her waist, resting ever so slightly on the bared skin of her lower back. It was as though the movement of his hand shifted some kind of invisible barrier between them. She looked up, meeting the visible heat in his eyes for a long silent moment. The air seemed to pulse with heat along with the slow seductive crooning of the jazz in the background.

Suddenly it felt as though every inch of her front was glued to a wall of warm hard muscle. Her body felt heated and loose in his arms, her mind telling her to move closer. A tiny fragment of her logical brain warned her to walk away. She ignored it.

‘I doubt anyone else in here considers slow dancing to be such an important act.’ She kept her tone even, trying to maintain some level of worldly composure in the face of her body’s ridiculous reaction.

‘I had quite forgotten that there was anyone else here at all,’ he said softly.

Cressida looked up to meet his eyes; they were dark and earnest, no trace of humour or sarcasm. She felt her cheeks heat, her eyes lowering to rest comfortably on his chin. This was it, she told herself sternly—this was the moment where she should thank him for a lovely dance and make a calm and graceful exit.

The dance had been perfect, she told herself sternly—exactly what she had needed. She had sought a little excitement on her night of freedom and now she would leave London tomorrow and go happily to her duty. She could forget about this night, forget about this handsome stranger and easily go on for ever without wondering...

Suddenly she became aware that they had stopped dancing. The music had got faster and the other couples moved around the spot where they stood, entirely still in their embrace. She looked up. He was still watching her with that impenetrable gaze in a moment that seemed to stretch on as though separate from time entirely. His fingers flexed slightly at her waist, sending tingles up her spine.

What would it be like to feel his mouth on hers and his hands roaming over her body? The thought caught her by surprise, her cheeks heating as she ran the tip of her tongue along her suddenly dry lips. Her sister had described a kind of madness that had taken over when she’d met the man who was now her fiancé, an attraction that had overcome logic and reason. She doubted she could ever harbour such a passion. All of a sudden she despised the calm, rational Cressida who lived in fear of straying too far from her comfort zone. What would it feel like to simply have a thought pop into one’s mind and act on it? To be a different version of herself, even for just a moment?

He cleared his throat and she felt the moment slipping away; the small window of time she had been granted seemed to be disappearing, leaving nothing but the promise of tomorrow. Of the life being forced upon her. The choices she would no longer be free to make. But not yet...a small voice inside whispered.

She looked up into the deep brown of his gaze, catching her breath at the blatant heat she saw there. Madness indeed, she thought as her breath stopped completely, realising what she was about to do. Letting impulse take the lead, she flexed her body upwards and pressed her lips to his.

Soft, firm lips remained still under the clumsy touch of her inexperienced kiss. The hands on her waist applied pressure, holding her where she stood as his lips began to move against hers, hard and fast. Suddenly the kiss was demanding and filled with a hunger that took her breath away. It was intoxicating and overwhelming and...utterly perfect.

Was this what everyone felt when they kissed a man for the first time? Was this what she had been missing out on all these years? It felt as though she was waking up from a deep sleep and feeling her body come to life for the first time.

When he pulled his mouth from hers all too soon, she felt the loss keenly, as though going from the warmth of a fire to the bitter cold.

He uttered something harsh and guttural in a foreign language before she felt herself being unceremoniously hauled away from the dance floor towards the private area at the back of the club. Still dazed by the earth-shattering kiss, she didn’t think to protest, allowing herself to be steered into a semi-private booth shielded partially from view by a thick red velvet curtain.

‘I didn’t mean for that to happen.’ He spoke harshly, his breathing slightly laboured. ‘I didn’t intend to—’

‘Please, don’t apologise,’ she blurted, not wanting his regretful words to taint what had been such a wonderful moment for her. One half of her prayed silently that he would leave, while the other half wanted nothing more than for him to take her in his arms again. ‘I kissed you, after all.’ She forced a smile. ‘And I’m glad that I did.’

‘You might not feel that way if you knew who I was.’ He spoke evenly, but his expression held a trace of darkness that had not been there before.

‘Maybe it adds to the sense of mystery.’ She attempted a smile.

‘Is this what you were seeking tonight, coming here?’ His voice was a low rumble as he took a step closer. ‘Kissing strangers on a darkened dance floor?’

Something in his eyes brought gooseflesh to her exposed skin. She couldn’t put her finger on it but the atmosphere no longer felt warm and anonymous; she felt suddenly exposed and thoroughly out of her depth. The realisation of what she had just done came crashing upon her like a cold shower and she took a few slow backwards steps.

‘Thank you for the dance,’ she murmured, avoiding his eyes. ‘It was...wonderful.’

He raised one brow, leaning against the side panel on the wall. ‘Time to return to reality already?’

Cressida nodded once, feeling a strange pull between needing to get away and desperately wanting to stay. She wondered what his name was, where he came from. So many questions would be left unanswered once she left.

And still she walked away.

She left the club and its swaying music behind as she emerged into the night, the sharp wind making her wish she had brought a jacket. As she looked around to find where her chauffeur had got to, a trio of men in dark suits seemed to appear from nowhere.

‘Your Highness,’ the tallest one said in accented English, ‘do not be frightened. We are ordered here to assure your safety.’

‘My safety?’ she breathed, looking around the street wildly. ‘Where is my driver? How do you know who I am? Ordered by whom?’

‘Ordered by me,’ a familiarly accented voice rang out in the silent night from the nightclub doorway.

Cressida whirled, inhaling hard as she was met by the sight of the dark stranger from the dance floor walking towards her. Wordlessly, he draped a heavy woollen coat across her shoulders, guiding her a few steps away from the small army of what she presumed to be bodyguards.

His accented voice rang in her ears, intensifying the sensation of unease along her spine that warned her she had made a grave mistake tonight. She had overlooked something important. Her heart beat frantically in her chest as she met his dark gaze. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Sheikh Khalil Al Rhas, ruler of Zayyar.’ He held her pinned with his dark gaze. ‘And you, Princess, are in a world of trouble.’

CHAPTER TWO

CRESSIDA FELT THE weight of his words settle somewhere in her chest. His accent, the way he had looked at her when they’d first spoken—it all fell horribly into place. ‘You can’t be him,’ she breathed.

‘And yet I am,’ he said smoothly.

Disbelief held her body frozen for what felt like an eternity. Gone was the warmth from his eyes, replaced by a hardness that sent prickles along her skin.

She had sourced a few photographs online of the notoriously private Sheikh Khalil but the images she had seen had shown pictures of a man who seemed older, dressed in traditional white robes, his features obscured by a headdress and sunglasses. Not smooth shaven in a sleek open-collared suit, practically vibrating the air around him with a dark virility that made her knees weak.

This was her fiancé? The man her father had described as old-world and ruthless? She thought of all the anxiety that had plagued her, worrying what to say when they first met or how she should behave...

‘Was this a game to you?’ Her voice was suddenly ice-cold. ‘Was it some kind of test to see how I might...perform?’

‘No,’ he said simply, a strange look crossing his features. ‘This was most definitely not a part of my plan for our first meeting.’

Cressida swallowed hard. ‘Did you know who I was from the start?’

His jaw seemed to tighten before he answered. ‘Yes.’

‘Well, then, I fail to see how you weren’t toying with me.’ She shook her head, unable to stand still a moment longer. She had taken no more than two steps towards the street and he was by her side. A muscular hand encircled her wrist, stopping her progress.

‘Let me go,’ she gritted, snatching her hand from him with force.

‘You will not walk away from me, Princess,’ he said softly. ‘We have not yet finished our conversation.’

‘I most certainly am finished. I never want to see you again.’

His mouth hardened into a thin line. ‘You can come with me calmly so that we can resolve this privately, or you can make things needlessly difficult.’

As she watched, his eyes drifted to the handful of men surrounding them. She felt the distinct sensation of being caged in and it was not pleasant. ‘Where is Frank?’ she asked quietly, suddenly worried for her loyal chauffeur.

He raised one dark brow. ‘Your driver has been relieved of his duties, along with your incompetent bodyguards.’

‘You can’t do that,’ she breathed, aghast. ‘They are not at fault for my actions.’

His head cocked to one side. ‘It’s a little late for remorse now, don’t you think? If a driver can be persuaded to overlook protocol by a pair of fluttering lashes, then he has no business being entrusted with the responsibility.’

‘You can’t do this.’

‘Oh, I most certainly can,’ he purred, encircling her wrist with his strong hand.

‘For tonight, at least, your safety is my responsibility.’

She did not know why, shock perhaps, but she put up virtually no fight as he guided her into the limousine that lay in wait by the roadside. The team of guards retreated into their own imposing vehicles to the front and behind. Even when it became clear that they were driving in completely the opposite direction to her apartment, she could not speak. She felt cold, the skin on her arms prickling with gooseflesh.

If her driver and guards had truly been dismissed, then that meant they would have already alerted King Fabian. Her father had already made it clear that he was depending on her to ensure this union went ahead at any cost. Guilt gnawed at her stomach as she closed her eyes, focusing on the gentle sway of the car to distract herself from the many reasons why, once again, she was an utter disappointment to her parents. This was the first and only thing the King had ever asked of her directly, the first time he had spoken to her since...well, since he had decided she was no longer worth speaking to. She had finally been given an opportunity to prove herself, to save her kingdom. And, as per usual, she had failed spectacularly.

‘Are we to travel in silence?’ The Sheikh was facing her, one long leg propped over the other, making him seem larger and more imposing in the small space.

‘I fail to see how making idle chit-chat with you will make this situation any easier.’ She purposefully directed her gaze out at the passing blur of streetlamps and shadows.

‘You seem quite indignant for someone who chose to run away from her guards for a wild night out.’ His voice held only the smallest hint of impatience.

‘I am not the one who did anything wrong here.’

‘Aren’t you?’ He met her gaze evenly.

Before she could retaliate, the car came to a stop outside one of the most exclusive hotels in London. They were escorted inside by the Sheikh’s entourage, who shielded them both from view until they were safely inside a private lift.

The Sheikh’s suite spanned the entire top floor of the building, offering a breathtaking view of the London skyline. She was instantly drawn to look out at the majestic sea of lights of the city she had spent virtually no time exploring in the past five years.

She was aware of the bodyguards moving around as they performed a thorough check of the rooms. A handful of other men and women appeared briefly, speaking to the Sheikh in a language she assumed to be Zayyari. Her studies had included most European languages, along with ancient Greek and Latin, but she had no experience of Middle Eastern tongues. The way the syllables cut and rolled off their tongues was fascinating; it was a struggle not to turn and observe the conversations.

After a while she became aware of the lack of noise in the open-plan living space. She turned just as he reached her side.

Sheikh Khalil cleared his throat gently. ‘Have you spent all of this time appreciating the view or plotting on ways to escape, I wonder.’

She turned to face him fully. ‘At what point did I become your prisoner?’

‘Despite how others may portray me, I am not a tyrant. I assured your family that I would escort you to Monteverre personally and I will not go back on my word, even if you choose to end our arrangement.’

His gaze travelled briefly to her mouth before returning upwards. Did she imagine the slight dart of his tongue to moisten his lips before he spoke again?

He took another step so that he was by her side, one hand braced on the glass. ‘I came to London to meet my future Queen on neutral ground. To ensure that we might begin our union on equal footing and avoid history repeating itself. It seems I’m destined to fail on that point.’

Cressida lowered her gaze, knowing he was referring to his failed engagement with her older sister, Olivia. The fact that she was a replacement bride should offend her, but she couldn’t blame him for wanting Olivia as his first choice. Her sister was graceful and beautiful with a flawless talent for public speaking. Who wouldn’t want her as their Queen? The arrangement between Monteverre and Zayyar had been in negotiations for months until her sister had chosen to walk away before accepting the proposal.

‘You are our last chance, Cressida. Make me proud.’

‘Tell me why you didn’t reveal yourself straight away,’ she said, ignoring the echo of her father’s voice in her mind and firmly throwing down the gauntlet between them. She simply could not go ahead with the deal if tonight had been some kind of practical joke. She had some pride. But could she truly return to Monteverre a failure?

‘It was interesting to find myself meeting you without the complication of my own identity in the way,’ he said simply.

‘You see yourself as a complication?’ she asked quietly, mulling over his words.

‘When seeing a person as they truly are, yes.’

She raised her brows at his honesty. She knew all too well how the world changed once people knew you had a title in front of your name. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

‘I am not in the habit of using women as toys to amuse myself—was that what you accused me of?’ He raised one brow in challenge. ‘However, I will admit when I am wrong. I should have immediately announced my identity once I realised you had no idea who I was.’

‘Yes. You should have.’ She bit her bottom lip, trying not to look at him directly lest she be overtaken by another flashback to what it had felt like to be in his arms.