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Commanded by the Sheikh
‘And how do I live, Olivia?’
‘You know as well as I do. Parties till dawn and a different woman in your bed every night.’
‘You disapprove?’
‘It’s not for me to judge, but it’s certainly not how I want to live my life.’
‘Surely there’s a balance? We’re opposites, you and I, in our pursuit of pleasure, but don’t you think we could find some middle ground?’
Her eyes flashed. ‘And where would that be?’
In bed. Aziz had a sudden vivid image of Olivia lying on top of tangled satin sheets, her glorious hair spread out on the pillow, her lips rosy and swollen from his kisses. His libido stirred insistently. He knew he had no business thinking like this, feeling like this.
And yet he did.
RIVALS TO THE CROWN OF KADAR
Ruthless in battle, ruthless in love …
Two powerful men locked in a struggle to rule the country of their birth …
One a desert prince, once banished and shamed, the other a royal playboy, cutting a swathe through the beautiful women of Europe.
Tortured by their memories of the past, these bitter enemies will use any means necessary to win. But neither expects the women who will change the course of their revenge!
Read Khalil’s story in CAPTURED BY THE SHEIKH September 2014
Read Aziz’s story in COMMANDED BY THE SHEIKH October 2014
Commanded by the Sheikh
Kate Hewitt
KATE HEWITT discovered her first Mills & Boon® romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen, and she’s continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it too. That story was one sentence long—fortunately they’ve become a bit more detailed as she’s grown older. She has written plays, short stories and magazine serials for many years, but writing romance remains her first love. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, travelling and learning to knit.
After marrying the man of her dreams—her older brother’s childhood friend—she lived in England for six years, and now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her three young children, and the possibility of one day getting a dog.
Kate loves to hear from readers—you can contact her through her website: www.kate-hewitt.com
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Contents
Cover
Excerpt
Title Page
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
Extract
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
‘I NEED YOU, OLIVIA.’
Olivia Ellis quickly suppressed the flare of feeling Sheikh Aziz al Bakir’s simply stated words caused inside her. Of course he needed her. He needed her to change his sheets, polish his silver and keep his Parisian townhouse on the Ile de la Cité pristine.
That didn’t explain what she was doing here, in the royal palace of Kadar.
Less than eight hours ago she’d been summoned by one of Aziz’s men, asked unequivocally to accompany him on the royal jet to Siyad—the capital of Kadar—where Aziz had recently ascended the throne.
Olivia had gone reluctantly, because she liked the quiet life she’d made for herself in Paris: mornings with the concierge across the street sipping coffee, afternoons in the garden pruning roses. It was a life that held no excitement or passion, but it was hers and it made her happy, or as happy as she knew how to be. It was enough, and she didn’t want it to change.
‘What do you need of me, Your Highness?’ she asked. She’d spent the endless flight to Kadar composing reasons why she should stay in Paris. She needed to stay in Paris, needed the safety and comfort of her quiet life.
‘Considering the circumstances, I think you should call me Aziz.’ The smile he gave her was whimsical, effortlessly charming, yet Olivia tried to remain unmoved. She’d often observed Aziz’s charm from a distance, had heard the honeyed words slide from his lips as he entertained one of his many female guests in Paris. She’d picked up the discarded lingerie from the staircase and had poured coffee for the women who crept from his bed before breakfast, their hair mussed and their lips swollen.
She, however, had always considered herself immune to ‘the Gentleman Playboy’, as the tabloids had nicknamed him. A bit of an oxymoron, Olivia thought, but she had to admit Aziz possessed a certain charisma.
She felt it now, with him focusing all of his attention on her, the opulent palace with its frescoed walls and gold fixtures stretching around them.
‘Very well, Aziz. What do you need of me?’ She spoke briskly, as she had when discussing replacing the roof tiles or the guest list for a dinner party. Yet it took a little more effort now, being in this strange and overwhelming place with this man.
He was, Olivia had to admit, beautiful. She could acknowledge that, just as she acknowledged that Michelangelo’s David was a magnificent sculpture; it was nothing more than a simple appreciation of undeniable beauty. In any case, she didn’t have anything left inside her to feel more than that. Not for Aziz, not for anyone.
She gazed now at the ink-black hair that flopped carelessly over his forehead; his grey eyes that could flare silver; the surprisingly full lips that could curve into a most engaging smile.
And as for his body...powerful, lean perfection, without an extra ounce of fat anywhere, just pure, perfect muscle.
Aziz steepled his fingers under his chin and turned towards the window so his back was partially to her. Olivia waited, felt the silence inexplicably tauten between them. ‘You have been in my employ for six years now?’ he said after a moment, his voice lilting as if it was a question, even though Olivia knew it was not.
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘And I have been very pleased with your dedicated service in all of that time.’
She tensed. He sounded as if he were about to fire her. And so now I’m afraid I have to tell you that I have no need of you any more...
She took a careful breath, let it out silently. ‘I’m very glad to hear that, Your Highness.’
‘Aziz, remember.’
‘Considering your status, it doesn’t seem appropriate to call you by your first name.’
‘Even if I demand it by royal decree?’
He turned around and raised his eyebrows, clearing teasing her. Olivia’s mouth compressed. ‘If you demand it, I shall of course comply,’ she answered coolly. ‘But in any case I shall do my best to call you by your first name.’
‘I know you will. You have always done your best, Olivia, and that is exactly what I need from you today.’
She waited, unease creeping its cold fingers along her spine. What on earth could he need her for now, here in Kadar? She didn’t like surprises or uncertainty; she’d spent six years creating something safe, small and good and she was terribly afraid of losing it. Of losing herself.
‘In Paris you have done an admirable job keeping my home clean and comfortable and welcoming,’ Aziz told her. ‘I have another task entirely for you here, but it shall be short, and I trust you are capable of it.’
She had no idea what he was talking about, but if it was short she hoped it meant that she’d be able to return to Paris, and soon. ‘I hope that I am, Your—Aziz.’
He smiled, his gaze sweeping over her in approval. ‘See what a quick learner you are?’ he murmured.
Olivia said nothing. She ignored the little flutter of—something—Aziz’s lazy murmur had caused inside her. In Paris their conversations were so mundane Olivia simply hadn’t felt the full force of the Gentleman Playboy’s charisma. That she should feel it here, now, was disconcerting but understandable. She was out of her element, in this beautiful yet overwhelming palace, and Aziz wasn’t talking to her about house repairs or his social diary.
She gave him a quick, cool, professional smile. ‘I’m afraid I still don’t understand why I’m here.’
‘All in good time.’ Aziz flashed her an answering smile before walking over to a walnut desk inlaid with hand-tooled leather. He pressed a button on the side of the desk and within seconds Olivia heard a knock on the door.
‘Enter,’ Aziz said, and the same man who had escorted her to the room came in.
‘Your Highness?’
Aziz braced one hip against the desk. ‘What do you think, Malik? Will she do?’
Malik’s gaze flicked to Olivia. ‘The hair...’
Aziz snapped his fingers. ‘Easily dealt with.’
‘Eyes?’
‘Not necessary.’
Malik nodded slowly. ‘She’s about the right height.’
‘I thought so.’
The man turned to look at Aziz. ‘Discreet?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Then I think it’s a possibility.’
‘It’s more than a possibility, Malik, it’s a necessity. I’m holding a press conference in one hour.’
Malik shook his head. ‘One hour—there won’t be time.’
‘There has to be. You know I can’t risk any more instability.’ Olivia watched as Aziz’s expression shuttered, his mouth hardening into a grim line, turning him into someone utterly unlike the laughing, careless playboy she was familiar with. ‘One rumour at this point will be like a lit match. Everything could go up in flames.’
‘Indeed, Your Highness. I’ll start making preparations.’
‘Thank you.’
Malik withdrew and Olivia turned to Aziz. ‘What on earth was all that about?’
‘I apologise for speaking in such a way with Malik. I’m sure you are more confused than ever.’
‘You’re right,’ Olivia answered, her voice coming out in something close to a snap. She hadn’t liked the way the two men had discussed her...as if she were an object. She might be Aziz’s housekeeper, but she wasn’t his possession, and she had no intention of letting another person control her actions or attitude ever again.
‘Pax, Olivia.’ Aziz held up his hands. ‘There would have been no point continuing our discussion if Malik hadn’t approved of you.’
‘Approved of me?’
‘Found you suitable.’
‘For what?’
Aziz let out a little sigh, the sound sudden. ‘I presume you are not aware of the terms of my father’s will?’ he asked.
‘No, I’m not,’ Olivia replied. ‘I’m not privy to such information, naturally.’
He shrugged, the movement careless, negligent, yet utterly graceful. ‘It could have leaked out. There have been rumours of what the will requires.’
‘I don’t pay any attention to rumours.’ She didn’t even know what they were; she didn’t read gossip magazines or tabloids.
Aziz lifted his eyebrows. ‘You know I am engaged to Queen Elena of Thallia?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Their engagement had been announced publicly last week; Olivia knew the wedding was in the next few days, here in Kadar.
‘You might have wondered why Queen Elena and I became engaged so quickly,’ Aziz remarked, his dark gaze steady on her as he waited for her reaction.
Olivia gave a little shrug. Gentleman though he might be, Aziz was still a playboy. She’d seen the evidence herself in the women he’d brought home to his Paris house, had turned away more than one ardent admirer who’d received the diamond bracelet and bouquet of lilies that was Aziz’s standard parting gift.
‘I expect you feel a need to marry, now that you are Sheikh,’ she said, and Aziz let out a little laugh, the sound hard, abrupt and utterly unlike him.
‘You could say that.’ He gazed out of the window once more, his lips pressed together in a firm line. ‘My father has never approved of my choices,’ he said after a moment. ‘Or of me. I suspect the requirements of his will were put in place so he could keep me in Kadar, bound by the old traditions.’ He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ‘Or perhaps he just wanted to punish me. That is perfectly possible.’ He spoke easily, almost as if he was mentioning something pleasant or perhaps trivial, but she saw a coldness, or perhaps even a hurt, in his eyes.
Curiosity flickered and she quickly stamped it out. She had no need to know about Aziz’s relationship with his father, or with anyone. No need to wonder about what emotions he tried to hide, if any. ‘What requirements?’
‘In order to remain Sheikh, I must marry within six weeks of my father’s death.’ Aziz’s mouth possessed a cynical twist, his eyes flinty. She’d never seen him look so bitter.
‘It’s been over a month already.’
‘Exactly, Olivia. It has, in fact, been five weeks and four days. And my wedding to Queen Elena of Thallia is set for the day after tomorrow.’
‘Then you will succeed,’ she answered. ‘You will marry within the time required and there’ll be no problem.’
‘But there is a problem,’ Aziz informed her, his voice turning dangerously silky and soft. ‘There is a big problem, because Elena has gone missing.’
‘Missing?’
‘Kidnapped by an insurgent two days ago.’
Olivia gaped before she managed to reassemble her features into her usual composed countenance. ‘I had no idea things like this still happened in a civilised country.’
‘You’d be surprised what can happen in any country, when power is involved. What secrets people keep, what lies they tell.’ He swung away from her, the movement sudden, strangely defensive; again Olivia had the sense he was hiding something from her. Hiding himself.
In the six years she’d worked for him, Aziz had always seemed like nothing more than what he was on the surface: a charming, careless playboy. But for a moment, as he angled his face away from her, he seemed as if he had secrets. Darkness.
And she knew all about secrets and darkness.
‘Do you know where this—this insurgent might be keeping Queen Elena?’ Olivia asked after a moment.
‘Somewhere in the desert, most likely.’
‘And you’re looking for her?’
‘Of course, as best as I can.’ Aziz turned around to meet her troubled gaze with an unflinching one of his own. ‘I have not been back to Kadar in five years and I spent as little time here as a boy as possible. The people don’t know me.’ His mouth twisted. ‘And, if they don’t know me, they won’t be loyal to me. Not until I’ve proved myself to them, if I can.’
‘What are you saying—?’ she began, only to have Aziz cut her off in a hard voice.
‘I’m saying it is very difficult to find Queen Elena in the desert. Her kidnapper has the loyalty of the Bedouin tribes, and they will shelter both him and her. So until I find her, or come to some agreement with him, I need to make alternative arrangements.’
‘What kind of alternative arrangements?’ Olivia asked, although she had a horrible, creeping feeling just what they might be, or at least who they might concern. Her. Somehow he wanted to involve her in this debacle.
Aziz gave her a dazzling grin, his eyes flaring silver, his teeth blindingly white. Olivia felt her body involuntarily respond, her insides pulse with awareness of him, not as an employer or even an attractive person, a work of art, but as a man. A desirable man.
She blinked and forced back that rush of surprising, and completely inappropriate, feeling. Clearly it was just a basic biological reaction she had no control over. She had thought she was past such things, that she didn’t have anything left in her to fizz or spark, but perhaps her body thought otherwise. Even so, her mind would prevail. ‘Your Highness—’
‘Aziz.’
‘Aziz. What alternative arrangements are you talking about?’
‘It is important that no one knows Elena is missing. Such knowledge would make Kadar more unstable than it already is.’
‘More unstable?’
‘Some of the desert tribes have rallied around this rebel.’ Aziz’s mouth twisted. ‘Khalil.’
He spoke tersely, without emotion, yet Olivia still sensed something underneath his flat tone, something that seethed. Who exactly, she wondered, was Khalil?
‘Why have they rallied around this Khalil? You’re the legal heir.’
‘Thank you for your vote of confidence, but I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.’
He spoke lightly again, but Olivia wasn’t fooled. ‘How is it complicated? And what could I possibly have to do with any of this?’
‘Since I can’t let the public know my bride is missing,’ Aziz said, turning the full force of his silvery gaze on her once more, ‘I need someone else.’
Olivia felt as if someone had caught her by the throat and squeezed. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. ‘Someone else,’ she finally repeated, her voice coming out flat and strange.
‘Yes, Olivia. Someone else. Someone to be my bride.’
‘But—’
‘And that’s where you come in.’ Aziz cut her off smoothly, something almost like amusement glinting in his eyes. Olivia stared at him, disbelieving and appalled. ‘I need you to be my bride.’
CHAPTER TWO
HIS COOL, CAPABLE HOUSEKEEPER, Aziz thought in bemusement, looked as if she was about to hyperventilate. Or faint. She swayed slightly, her lovely slate-blue eyes going wider, her lush, pink lips parted in a rather delectable o.
She was a beautiful woman, he acknowledged as he had many times before, but it was a cool, contained beauty. Sleek, caramel hair she always kept clipped back at the base of her neck. Dark blue eyes. Smooth skin and rosy lips, neither ever enhanced by make-up, at least that he’d seen. Not that she needed any cosmetics, particularly right now. A flush was rising up her throat, sweeping across her face as she shook her head and compressed her mouth.
‘I’m not quite sure what you even mean, Your Highness, but whatever it is it’s not possible.’
‘To start with, you need to remember to call me Aziz.’
Temper blazed so briefly in her eyes he almost missed it. He was glad, contrarily, perhaps, that she actually possessed a temper. He’d often wondered how much passion lurked beneath that reserved exterior.
He’d known Olivia for six years, admittedly seeing her only a few times a year, and he’d had only a scant few glimpses of any deeper feeling. A silk scarf in deep reds and purples that he’d been surprised to see her wear. A sudden rich, full-throated laugh he’d heard from the kitchen. Once, when he’d arrived in Paris a day early, he’d come upon her playing piano in the sitting room. The music had been haunting, full of grief and beauty. And the look on her face as she’d played... She’d been pouring her soul into that piece of music, and it was, he’d thought in that moment, a soul that had known anguish and even torment.
He’d crept away before she’d seen him, knowing how horrified she would have been to realise he’d been listening. But he’d wondered just what lay underneath her cool façade. What secrets she might be hiding.
And yet it was her cool façade, her calm capability, that had made him choose Olivia Ellis for this particular role. She was intelligent, discreet and wonderfully competent. That was all he needed.
He hoped.
‘Let me rephrase,’ he said, watching as her chest rose and fell in indignant breaths. She wore a white blouse that still managed to be crisp after a nine-hour flight from Paris, and her hair, as sleek and styled as ever, was held back in its usual clip. She’d matched her blouse with a pair of tailored black trousers and sensible flats. He knew she was twenty-nine but she dressed conservatively, like a woman who was middle-aged rather than in the prime of her youth. Though still stylish, he acknowledged. Her clothes, while staid, were of good quality and cut.
‘Rephrase, then,’ she said evenly, and the temper he’d seen in her eyes was now banked. He saw the old Olivia, the familiar Olivia, return now. Calm and in control. Good. That was what he needed, after all.
So why did he feel just a tiny bit disappointed?
‘I need you to be my temporary bride. A stand-in for Queen Elena, until I can find her.’
‘And why do you need a stand-in?’
‘Because I want to dispel any rumours that she might be missing. I’m holding a press conference in one hour and we’re meant to appear together on the palace balcony.’
She pursed her lips. ‘And then?’
He hesitated, but only briefly. ‘And then, that’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘If you only needed a woman for one balcony appearance, surely you could have found someone a bit more local?’
‘I wanted someone I knew and trusted and, as I told you before, I have not been back to Kadar in many years. There are few I trust here.’
She swallowed and he watched the working of her slender throat. Then she gave a little shake of her head.
‘I don’t even look like Queen Elena. She’s got dark hair and we’re not the same height, no matter what you said earlier to your staff. I must be a few inches taller.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘You’re familiar with Queen Elena’s height?’
‘I’m familiar with my own,’ she answered coolly. ‘And I have seen photos of her. I’m guessing, of course, but—’
‘No one will concern themselves with a few inches.’
‘And my hair?’
‘We’ll dye it.’
‘In the next hour?’
‘If need be.’
She stared at him for a long beat, and he felt tension gather inside him in a tight, hard knot. He knew he was making an unusual request, to say the least. He also knew he had to get Olivia to agree. He didn’t want to threaten her, God knew, but he needed her. He didn’t have any other woman in his life who he trusted to be discreet and competent, the way Olivia was. He supposed that said something about his own life, but at this moment all he could care about was achieving his goal. Securing the crown of a kingdom he’d been born to rule...even if many didn’t believe it. Even if he’d never been sure he would.
Never sure if his father would change his mind and disinherit him, just as he had Khalil.
‘And if I say no?’ Olivia asked and Aziz gave her his most charming smile.
‘But why would you?’
‘Because it’s insanity?’ she shot back without a shred of humour. ‘Because any paparazzi with a telephoto lens could figure out I’m not Queen Elena and plaster it all over the tabloids? I don’t think even the Gentleman Playboy could charm himself out of that disaster.’
‘So cutting, Olivia.’ He shook his head in gentle mockery. ‘If that happened, I’d be responsible. All the blame would fall to me.’
‘You don’t think I’d be dragged through the gossip mill, every aspect of my life dissected in the tabloids?’ For a second her features contorted, as if such a possibility caused her actual physical pain. ‘No.’
‘If you were discovered, which you won’t be,’ Aziz answered calmly, ‘No one would who know you are.’
‘You don’t think they could find out?’
