Claimed For The Desert Prince's Heir / A Shocking Proposal In Sicily

‘He can’t force you to marry him,’ Cat said, covering her clasped hands. ‘Even if you went to him willingly and didn’t tell him you were a virgin. If he follows you here and tries to insist, Zane will have his advisors explain the law to him. You don’t even have to see him again if you don’t want to. You certainly don’t have to go back to England to avoid that confrontation.’

‘I know,’ she said. She turned her hands over and clutched Cat’s.

Now would be the perfect time to tell Cat the whole truth, to reveal that the man she’d slept with was the ruler of the Kholadi and Zane’s half-brother. And the reason he was demanding marriage was bound up in his bloodline and his legacy and the responsibilities he had to his position—it wasn’t just a generic obsession with Narabia’s more traditional and outdated customs.

But she couldn’t tell Cat.

Not only was she hopelessly ashamed of her behaviour, she knew if she told Cat, and by extension Zane, they would still back her to the hilt. But it would put them in an impossible position. Especially given Zane’s strained relationship with Raif.

She’d screwed up, and the only way she could see to fix it was to leave. If she returned to the UK, Raif wouldn’t follow her there. It would let them both off the hook—erasing the problem and releasing him from an obligation he didn’t want. He would no longer be bound by the ancient law if the woman he had compromised, or thought he had compromised, was thousands of miles away. Surely even his honour wouldn’t dictate that he leave the desert, leave his people to venture out into a world he knew nothing about to track down a woman he’d had an ill-advised one-morning stand with?

‘I’d rather just go back to the UK,’ she said. ‘And forget this ever happened.’ Not that she ever would be able to forget Raif, she thought miserably, as the swelling in her throat was joined by the hot throb of reaction in her sex.

He was going to be a hard act to follow. But that’s what happened when you chose to lose your virginity to the man of your dreams, and he lived up to every single one of them.

‘Are you sure?’ Cat said, her eyes shadowed with concern.

‘Yes, I’m positive. If the man follows me here…’ There was always the possibility that Raif wouldn’t come to the Golden Palace, but from the furious frown on his face the last time she’d seen him, she wasn’t taking that chance. If nothing else, she felt sure he would want to get his beautiful horse back. She ought to have at least a couple of days’ grace as he only had the small pack pony to ride and would have to return to the Kholadi encampment first to get a new mount. ‘It’ll be easier for everyone concerned if you can explain I’m no longer here. I know it’s cowardly but I—’

‘Stop saying that, Kasia. There’s not a cowardly bone in your body. I totally understand if you want to avoid this guy,’ she added, patting Kasia’s arm. ‘I’ll help you pack. Then I’ll arrange a car to take you to the airport in Kallah—we can book you on the flight out tonight.’

‘Thanks.’ Kasia smiled at her friend, so pathetically grateful for Cat’s stalwart support she had to swallow down another wave of tears. ‘Will Zane be okay with that?’

‘He’ll have questions, I expect,’ Cat said. ‘But he trusts my judgement and he trusts you, too, Kasia. And no way would he make you face this guy if you don’t want to, okay?’

Kasia nodded. ‘Thanks.’

Cat smiled. ‘At least it’s good to know you got two orgasms out of him before he turned into a jerk.’

Kasia forced herself to smile back. ‘And they were spectacular ones, to be fair.’

Cat laughed. ‘There you go. Spectacular orgasms are never bad.’

But Kasia’s heart shrank in her chest as Cat dashed off to make the travel arrangements and left her to finish packing.

Zane trusted Cat’s judgement because he adored his queen. Theirs was the kind of relationship Kasia had always hoped to emulate. It was one of the other reasons she had never dated seriously in Cambridge. Because she’d wanted what Zane and Cat had—before she’d been hijacked by her own pheromones.

But it wasn’t just her pheromones that were to blame for this disaster.

The bedrock of a relationship like Zane and Cat’s was trust and honesty—something Kasia had failed at the very first time she was tested.

Somehow she doubted Zane would trust her once he found out to whom she’d given her virginity so thoughtlessly. In fact, he might well hate her a little if there was any political fallout from this mess. She may well have soured her relationship with the Sheikh—a man she had always admired a great deal and whose respect meant a lot.

But why did it hurt so much more to know the person who would probably hate her most was Raif?

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘KASIA SALAH—I need to speak to her. Now.’

Raif controlled the fury that had been building for four days now, and held onto the curse word lodged in his throat as the woman standing at the gate of the Golden Palace’s women’s quarters trembled visibly but still refused to open the damn gate.

He didn’t bully women. But this was intolerable. He’d arrived fifteen minutes ago and he still hadn’t been able to locate Kasia.

Following a short ride and a very long walk to the nearest Kholadi encampment, he’d been forced to rest overnight to get his strength back after a bout of vomiting before he’d been able to make the two-day ride to Zafari.

A pain in his right side had developed during the journey. And he’d had to stop several times to recuperate—turning the two-day ride into three. Somehow in the midst of this titanic mess he’d managed to pick up a very persistent stomach bug as well.

He probably should have waited until he had completely recovered from it before making the journey. But the urge to find Kasia and confront her had been stronger than his common sense.

She’d run out on him. Stolen his horse. And all after promising to consider his proposal of marriage. He should have expected it. No one was ever as guileless as they appeared. He should never have trusted her.

‘I’m sorry, Prince Kasim, but she is not here,’ the girl said.

‘Then where the hell is she?’ The shout rang out as his smouldering temper burst into flames and the aching pain ground in his gut. The girl cowered.

‘Kasim, I’ve only just been informed of your arrival. We hadn’t expected you.’

Raif swung round to see his brother striding across the courtyard towards him, followed by two of his advisors.

Terrific. Just what I need—a political delegation to slow this process down even more.

His brother clasped his hand, giving him a jolt that seemed to knife into his gut. Raif struggled not to flinch.

‘It’s good to see you, as always, brother.’ While Zane’s smile was tight—he was probably wondering what Raif had been doing at the gates of the women’s quarters, shouting at one of his staff—it looked genuine, which only annoyed Raif more.

He was far too irritable and out of sorts right now to make the effort to pretend a brotherly bonhomie he didn’t feel.

He respected his half-brother, had been forced to acknowledge over the last ten years that Zane was a good Sheikh. But they were hardly friends. Even if Zane could overlook the difference in their upbringing—as the legitimate, wanted son of the old Sheikh and the son he had never acknowledged—Raif could not.

For some reason, Zane always acted as if their tainted past didn’t exist, often going to extraordinary lengths to deny the strained nature of their sibling relationship.

The only time Raif had managed to get a rise out of Zane had been five years ago when Zane had arrived at the Kholadi camp with the academic he had hired to write a book about the kingdom. Raif had sensed the attraction between Zane and Catherine Smith and had decided to have some fun at his brother’s expense, mercilessly flirting with the young woman during their evening meal and then assigning her the same tent as Zane, even though Zane had insisted they be accommodated separately. Raif had won that round. Zane had been furious with him, but unable to show it because he had been maintaining the fiction he wasn’t sleeping with his beautiful biographer. But the last laugh had eventually been on Raif when the two of them had married a scant three weeks later and Catherine had become Zane’s queen.

Since then, and for the sake of diplomacy, Raif had made an effort to be civil to his brother. But right now he just wanted to see Kasia, to talk to her, to find out why she’d run from him and to impress upon her again the reality of their situation. And to have this damn pain in his gut go away.

He did not have the time or the patience to deal with his brother.

‘Come, Kasim, and have coffee with me.’ Zane finally let go of Raif’s hand and held out his arm, directing him away from the gates. ‘We can catch up.’

‘Okay,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice low despite his rising temper. His tender stomach ached after the endless ride through the desert, his skin felt clammy, his head was pounding as if Zarak had kicked him in the temple. But he would have to humour his brother before he returned to discover where Kasia was. Because he had no desire to explain his situation with the girl.

Never show weakness, that was the motto he lived by. And especially not to the man who his father had decided mattered, when Raif did not.

He knew that the way he had been treated by their father was not Zane’s fault—both of them had been pawns in Tariq’s political manoeuvres—but still he couldn’t shake the feeling that where Zane was concerned he always had to be better, stronger, and smarter to prove himself worthy.

Sweat trickled down his back beneath his robe, his mind fogging with frustration and exhaustion, the pain in his right side making it hard for him to walk. But as they approached the ornate silver doors to the Sheikh’s private chambers, the pain sliced agonisingly into his gut.

He bent over, his grunt of agony echoing through the corridor.

‘Kasim, what the…?’

He could hear Zane’s voice through the wildfire spreading through his body.

He locked his knees.

Stay upright, dammit.

But his legs refused to obey him, dissolving beneath him like sand.

The dull thud reverberated through him as he went down hard on his knees.

Zane’s arms wrapped around Raif’s torso as he tried to catch him, but it was already too late and darkness rushed towards him.

‘Malik, get the doctor for Prince Kasim. Now.’

‘My name is Raif,’ he corrected his brother. ‘Not Kasim.’ The words were expelled on a final tortured breath as he crashed head first into the abyss.

Raif blinked up at the luxurious velvet drapes, the scent of jasmine echoing in his groin.

My angel? Where is my angel?

The powerful sense of déjà vu overwhelmed him, but as he turned his head, he saw a middle-aged woman beside the bed in a white coat, who stood up and leaned over him. But as she spoke in a stream of Narabian—while checking his temperature and his vital signs—the deep sense of disappointment became a hollow ache.

She isn’t here. Not this time. She ran away from you.

‘Where am I?’ he asked in English, his throat raw with thirst as he tried to dispel the miserable inadequacy that had plagued him as a child.

‘You are in His Divine Majesty’s private chambers, Prince Kasim,’ the doctor replied. ‘Nurse, tell the Sheikh that Prince Kasim is conscious.’

A young man seated at the end of the bed rushed from the room.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

He had collapsed, fainted like a fool, in front of his brother. Humiliation washed over him. He shifted, tried to lift himself, clenching his teeth against the dull pain in his stomach. And the pinch in his forearm as the movement tugged on the drip taped to his skin.

He needed to get the hell out of this bed. He was lying here naked and exposed, like an invalid.

But the doctor placed a hand on his sternum, finding it pathetically easy to press him into the sheets—he had no more strength than a newborn baby.

‘You must not move, Prince Kasim,’ she said, the pity in her voice increasing his humiliation. ‘You have a lot more healing to do. We had to operate as there was an infection.’

Operate? Infection?

He noticed for the first time the stars in the dark sky glinting through the elegant carved wooden screens on the chamber’s window. Hadn’t he arrived here in the afternoon? How could it already be night-time? Had he been lying here for hours?

‘How…?’ he rasped, the effort to speak exhausting him. He cleared his throat. ‘How long have I been here?’ he managed.

‘Two weeks, Your Highness,’ she said.

Two weeks!

Horror replaced his humiliation as a flush of shame engulfed him.

He’d been helpless, laid out like a child, relying on his brother’s charity for two whole weeks?

‘Raif, you’re finally awake.’

Zane strode into the chamber, the picture of health and vitality, the bastard.

Except he isn’t the bastard—you are.

But why had Zane called him by his Kholadi name? Raif frowned, confusion adding to his growing misery. His tired mind struggled to grasp the implications. The new intimacy between them was almost as disturbing as knowing he’d been at his brother’s mercy for two weeks.

‘How is he?’ Zane addressed the doctor.

She reeled off a string of jargon and he realised he had been operated on because of a burst appendix. That he had nearly died. Then she told his brother he was on the mend.

But he didn’t feel on the mend, he felt broken. And it had nothing to do with the tenderness still lingering in his gut.

How could he have sunk this low? To have risked his life. To follow a woman. A woman who didn’t want him. Who had run from him and had no respect for his honour or her own. And how could he still want her?

The burning shame in his chest began to change into something more fortifying. He was limp with exhaustion, yes, but that would pass, and when it did he would find Kasia Salah. And he would make her pay for bringing him to this.

After more admonitions for him to remain in bed and focused on his recovery, the doctor left the room, leaving him alone with his brother.

Zane sat in the chair the doctor had vacated and leaned forward. ‘So, Kasim…’ He paused. ‘Sorry, I mean Raif.’ He folded his fingers together, levelling Raif with a stare that brooked no argument. ‘Why didn’t you tell me years ago you prefer to use the name Raif? And why the hell did you ride all the way here in agony?’

CHAPTER NINE

Hey, Kaz,

I hope all’s good with you, and you’re over your hot night with the mystery tribesman. You’ll be glad to know no one has turned up here to claim your hand in marriage, so I hope you’ll consider coming back for a visit again very soon.

Why haven’t you been in touch? Six texts saying precisely nothing in four weeks doesn’t count btw—just in case you were wondering.

All’s good on the home front.

Zane has bought Kaliah her own pony and begun teaching her to ride. Personally, I think five-going-on-fifteen is too young, but I’ve been overruled by both of them, as usual! I include photos of her on her horse for her Auntie Kaz, at her insistence.

William, meanwhile, continues to be an absolute terror. I can’t believe he still isn’t sleeping through the night and he’s nearly two. Neither can Zane, who says he’s going to get tough on his son, then doesn’t…

His Divine Majesty is a complete push-over where his children are concerned, and unfortunately for us both they know it.

We got a surprise visit from Prince Kasim—over a month ago now—who promptly collapsed and had to be nursed back to health. He turned up unannounced and without the usual honour guard of tribesmen. He left us last week.

He had a burst appendix and had to be operated on. When he finally came round he steadfastly refused to talk about why he had come to visit us in the first place and ridden for three days in agony to get here.

I told him he was definitely taking the whole ‘Bad-Boy Sheikh’ thing a bit too far. He did not see the funny side—having apparently had a major sense of humour failure. As it turns out, desert princes make the worst possible patients! Who knew?

The doctor also noticed he had a fresh scar on his arm from what she thought might be a bullet wound—which made me think of your mystery tribesman. But I’m guessing your guy couldn’t possibly be Prince Kasim—or Raif, as Zane now calls him, for no reason I can fathom—because you totally would not have kept the juiciest piece of girl talk in a millennium a secret from your BFF, now, would you?

Give me a call soon and let me know how everything is going.

I miss you.

All my love

C xox

KASIA RE-READ THE handwritten letter, which had arrived that morning, for the sixth time in as many minutes. Tears stung her eyes and dripped onto the photo Cat had sent of her five-year-old daughter. Kaliah’s wide grin showed off her missing front tooth as she sat on her new pony.

Kasia wiped the moisture off her cheeks and stuffed the letter back into its envelope. Then, with trembling fingers, pinned the print of Kaliah and her pony onto the board above her desk.

Raif had been seriously ill for three weeks because of her. He’d only just recovered. How would she ever forgive herself?

Guilt and nausea roiled in her stomach, making the fatigue that had been dragging her down for a week weigh on her shoulders like a slab of concrete.

Placing the letter in the top drawer of the desk, she fished out the cardboard box she’d bought from the chemist’s yesterday.

She turned the pregnancy testing kit over in her hands and read the instructions. Again.

She couldn’t put it off any longer. Cat’s letter and the devastating news about Raif’s illness and recovery was a sign. A sign she had to start taking responsibility for her actions. She was convinced her symptoms were psychosomatic—even though he hadn’t pulled out during their lovemaking, she had been at the very beginning of her cycle. And her period was only two days overdue, which wasn’t that unusual for her.

This obsession with her so-called symptoms—the mild nausea, the tender breasts, the emotional roller-coaster, the bone-deep fatigue that had hit every evening for a week—was some weird psychological hangover from her time in the desert, which she hadn’t been able to get out of her head.

Every night she dreamed of him. Not just the vivid erotic dreams that woke her up sweaty and unfulfilled, her skin prickling with sensation, her heart thundering, her clitoris slick and swollen from the far-too-real memory of his tongue stroking her to orgasm. But also the much more unsettling visions of him when they had ridden together through the storm, when he’d cried out in his sleep and the harsh frown of disbelief on his face as she’d galloped away from him.

And now Cat’s letter had made all those symptoms that much more pronounced.

Something had happened to her at the oasis, something profound and life-changing that went beyond the sex. Something she wasn’t going to be able to come to terms with until she made absolutely sure, once and for all, that she wasn’t pregnant with Raif Kasim Ali Kholadi Khan’s child.

Emotion caused a lump to form in her throat as she walked into the small en suite bathroom of her room in the hall of residence.

After unwrapping the test stick, it took her several agonising minutes to manage to pee on it. She placed it on the vanity unit and washed her hands, then sat on the toilet seat and set the stopwatch on her smartphone to the required two minutes to get the result.

Which turned in to the longest two minutes of her entire life.

The questions she didn’t want to answer that were roaring around in her head were almost as deafening as the sandstorm she and Raif had survived all those weeks ago.

She should have done this yesterday when she’d bought the test. Why hadn’t she? Was it because she didn’t want to have a pregnancy confirmed, or the much more disturbing thought that she did? Why would she want to be pregnant by a man she barely knew? A man who appeared to comprehensively lack the sensibilities she had always dreamed of finding in a life partner? Was she really that needy and lonely and insecure that she yearned to have a child, whatever the circumstances of its birth?

But the combination of anticipation and dread tangling with the nausea in her stomach didn’t feel as if it was just a result of her long-held desire that one day she wanted to be a mother. No, these complex urges were not generic or anonymous, but intrinsically linked to Raif and the intense time they had shared together, every single moment of which she kept reliving.

Her phone buzzed and she shrieked.

Okay, it’s official—you are actually going insane.

But when she looked at the stopwatch she realised her two minutes weren’t up yet. Instead, a message had appeared on the phone screen from the sponsorship team at Devereaux College. She frowned as she read the message.

Ms Salah,

We’ve received a request that you attend a black-tie reception tonight in London at eight p.m.

The guest of honour Mr R Khan—a billionaire businessman from your home region, I understand—is thinking of funding a scholarship programme at Devereaux. We would very much appreciate it if you would agree to attend this event so that you can discuss your current research with him. We are hopeful that a scholarship programme of this nature, if agreed, will help fund your PhD.

A car will be made available to transport you to London.

Regards

Alice Evershot

Devereaux Scholarship Team

The request was not at all what she needed right now. But she would have to attend the event tonight and make a good impression—any chance of getting her PhD funded was not something she could afford to pass up.

But when the alarm on her phone buzzed again, making her jump, she realised Alice Evershot’s request had managed to take her mind off Raif and that one seminal night in the desert for ten full seconds—a record for the last month.

Drawing a breath into her lungs, she reached for the test stick, finally ready to face what the rest of her life might hold.

The breath was released in a shattered gasp as she read the result.

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