Inherited For The Royal Bed

Everything she’d been taught told her to nod, to back away and make herself scarce, for it wouldn’t do to disobey the man who held her fate, even after he’d washed his hands of her.

He shifted and she sensed his impatience for her to be gone.

Yet Lina knew once she left this room she’d never be allowed to enter again. Once out of the palace she’d be on the street, literally, with no resources, no friends and not even a scrap of respectable clothing.

She shuddered, imagining what would become of her.

Clasping her hands before her, willing them not to shake, she took a fortifying breath, which reminded her of the hated clothes she wore as her breasts swelled against the low-cut top.

‘Sir.’ She swallowed and lifted her chin. The Emir had already begun to turn away. He’d dismissed her and that meant she must go.

Except Lina couldn’t.

‘Well?’ Ebony brows angled down above that imperious nose and his dark-shadowed jaw was set at an angle that warned his hold on patience was precarious.

She tilted her face higher, meeting his narrowed gaze. ‘I have no home to go to, sir. Not any more. Or any family.’ She bit her lip, refusing to let it tremble. ‘Could I be allowed to remain in the palace? I’m a hard worker. I can make myself useful at any task. In the kitchens, the laundries, the...’ She paused, racking her brain, wondering what the multitude of royal servants did all day. ‘I can sew and embroider too.’ Not well enough, as her aunt was fond of reminding her. But then she didn’t do anything well enough for her aunt.

‘You must have a home. Where did you come from?’ No softening in the austere masculine beauty of that sculpted face. But at least he’d paused to listen. Her heart throbbed a hopeful beat.

‘From the home of my father’s brother, sir. But that door is no longer open to me.’ It took everything Lina had to stand erect, meeting his gaze headlong, when harsh memories bombarded her. Of becoming little more than a slave in her own home.

The Emir sighed and lifted his hand to rake his fingers through his short hair. Intriguingly, the movement made muscles swell and tug in his arm, shoulder and chest. Lina had never before realised that such a simple movement could be so spellbinding.

But then she’d never seen a man like the Emir, naked or clothed.

He sighed and turned away. Abruptly her straying thoughts focused sharply. He was walking away, leaving her to her fate. Fear and despair vied with indignation. Lina was sick of fate, in the form of the men who had ruled her destiny, ignoring her.

Yet instead of continuing to the bathroom, he merely flung open a wardrobe and withdrew a shirt.

‘Here.’ The white garment flew through the air towards her. ‘Put that on and sit down.’

Lina’s fingers tightened convulsively on soft white cotton. So finely woven it was translucent. Only the finest material for the leader of the nation.

‘Go on.’ He nodded at the garment in her hands, then turned towards the bed. For a second she thought he was going to sit there, till he abruptly changed direction and headed for an armchair, sinking onto it with a sigh.

Hurriedly, Lina lifted the cotton over her head, pulling it down till it covered her almost to the knees. She had to roll up the sleeves to free her hands.

No doubt she looked like a child playing dress-up.

She puzzled over why the Emir thought the extra layer necessary. It was true, she was more comfortable with the bare skin of her waist and breasts covered, but from what she’d observed of men, they enjoyed such displays.

Unless the Emir wasn’t interested in women?

The startling thought kept her rooted to the spot. Surely not! Such a waste that would be. Besides, there’d been that shimmer of heat when he’d looked at her before. It had been unmistakable.

She darted a curious glance at the man who would decide her future. He wasn’t looking at her. In fact, he’d shut his eyes, which gave her time to take in more of his appearance, to see beyond that grave masculine beauty to the weariness bracketing his eyes and mouth. The slight droop of his head. The slump of that long frame in the cushioned chair.

The man was exhausted.

* * *

Sayid opened his eyes to see the girl dart into his bathroom. What the devil was she up to?

He was about to follow when she emerged, carrying a bowl of water. She sank to the floor before him in a show of fluid grace that made him wonder if she really was a dancer, as that scanty costume suggested.

Savagely he ignored the scorching trail of desire searing through his belly. He reminded himself he’d learned to master his impulsive, carnal nature.

Yet, to his chagrin the addition of his shirt did nothing to hide her allure. With fatigue testing both his patience and his willpower, it had seemed safest to cover her up so he couldn’t see that too-inviting expanse of honey skin, the alluring dips, swells and hollows of her breasts, waist and hips.

Sayid hadn’t reckoned on her being just as sexy, if not more, wearing his shirt. Because it was his shirt? It conjured a sense of intimacy, as if she were a lover who’d already shared her body with him. The thought snagged in his brain, stirring heat in his groin.

The extra covering hinted at her shape, the fine fabric clinging here and there, teasing with what lay beneath.

‘What are you doing?’ His voice emerged brusque, making her jump, yet she didn’t back away.

‘Helping with your boots, sir.’ She’d put the bowl to one side and reached forward as if to touch him, then halted, clearly waiting for permission.

‘Look at me.’ He was tired of the tradition that deterred people from daring to look their ruler in the face. Besides, it made it more difficult for him to read their thoughts.

Violet eyes met his. A burst of dark colour so deep it seemed Sayid could fall into it. Beautiful eyes, wide and slanted at the corners, giving her the look of a woman with secrets, or whose face was made for smiling.

There was no smile now. She still wore that tense expression, as if her flesh had shrunk around her bones, making her look wary, even scared, except the firm angle of her chin belied fear.

‘How old are you?’ The question wasn’t the one he’d planned.

‘Seventeen, sir.’ She swallowed, then licked her bottom lip as if nervous.

A mere teenager. A judder of regret vibrated through him. Seventeen and scared despite her determination not to show it. While he was twenty-five and, right now, felt old beyond his years.

Sayid couldn’t accept the invitation to let her serve him in any way he wished. Having a woman who’d been ordered to serve him was utterly unpalatable.

Or it should be.

Yet despite exhaustion part of him was disappointed. For Lina, with her pouting lips, her intriguing air of composure despite her nerves, and her outrageously luscious body, made the blood roar in his veins and heat stir. After all, he was descended from generations of marauding warriors, used to taking whatever they wanted, including women.

‘May I help you with your boots, sir?’

‘Very well.’ If it helped her to feel useful, he wouldn’t object. It would be tough getting her to speak if she were frozen into silence.

So he leaned back against the padded chair and stretched out one leg towards her, watching as she scooted closer, cradling the boot in her hands then drawing it off as carefully as if it were something precious and fragile.

Both boots, both socks were removed and set aside. Then she moved the bowl, lifted his legs one at a time and placed them in warm water.

Instantly Sayid felt some of the tension locking his muscles release.

‘Thank you, Lina.’ Her startled gaze told him she wasn’t accustomed to thanks. ‘Now, tell me about yourself.’

Again that flare of confusion in her stunning eyes. Whatever her story, she wasn’t used to being asked about herself. She hesitated then moistened her lips with her tongue in a way that sent tension flicking through him like a whip.

‘My name is Lina Rahman. My father was Headman of Narjif.’

Sayid nodded. He knew the distant town and he’d met her father last year as he toured the provinces. A serious man and a traditionalist, set in his ways. But that didn’t explain why he’d send his daughter as a gift to Sayid’s uncle, a man notorious in his younger days for his womanising, and more lately, for his irascible temper.

‘You have siblings?’

A dimple appeared in her cheek as if she bit it. ‘Sadly no. My parents weren’t blessed with sons, only me.’ Clearly she repeated something she’d heard many times. Yet Sayid was pleased to see she met his gaze, not so shy now.

‘He sent you to my uncle? To the old Emir?’

‘No!’ She shook her head and another long strand of dark hair slid over her shoulder to fall in a sinuous curve over her breast. ‘My father is dead. It was his brother who sent me. He and his wife.’

Sayid frowned. ‘And your mother?’

‘She died years ago. If she’d been alive she would not have sent me away.’ Her voice grew stronger with an echo of what might have been indignation. Lina took a small towel from her shoulder and laid it neatly across her knees. Then she lifted his foot and placed it on the towel, her movements sure and deft.

Sayid watched as she patted his foot dry then propped it, heel down on her thigh. With a firm, rhythmic movement she rubbed her thumbs over his sole, finding and working pressure points. Sayid felt warmth rise and spread, not only through his foot but his whole body. His tired eyes flickered and his aching muscles eased as pleasure rushed through him.

‘You’ve done this before.’

‘For my father.’ Her features softened a fraction.

‘Not your uncle?’

Instantly she stiffened, her mouth turning down at the corners and her forehead crinkling. ‘No. It would not be appropriate. My aunt specifically forbade me to touch any of my male relatives.’

‘There is more than your uncle?’

Her thumbs pressed so hard that the massage bordered on pain rather than pleasure. ‘My uncle and aunt have three sons.’

‘And you wanted to touch them?’ For some reason Sayid disliked the idea.

‘Ha! I’d rather touch a flea-ridden, spitting camel with diarrhoea than one of them.’

Sayid bit down a smile, weariness abating as curiosity rose. His demure little gift wasn’t nearly as demure as she seemed.

‘I see. They wanted to touch you.’

Lina nodded, her nostrils flaring in distaste. Her breasts rose high against his shirt as she breathed hard.

‘They accused me of leading them on! Of tempting and teasing, when I never even looked at them. I avoided them as much as I could. But that wasn’t enough. They said I wore perfume deliberately to entice them. That they could smell it when I left my room and it was an invitation for them to follow me.’

In her indignation Lina had forgotten to be cowed or careful. Fire flashed in her fine eyes and her cheeks blushed a soft rose.

Though he deplored their behaviour, Sayid understood too easily why her cousins found her such a temptation. Nervous and cowed she was lovely. Animated, she was glorious.

Even he, bound by his obligation as her ruler, as her host, and by his own honour, felt the dangerous undertow of attraction.

She was young, vulnerable and in his care. Unlike his dead uncle, Sayid didn’t believe people should be given as gifts or treated as expendable.

No wonder her relatives had packed her off to the capital. To keep temptation away from the males of her family. He guessed there was little love lost between Lina and her aunt and uncle.

‘Were there no other relatives willing to take you in?’

Her gaze dropped. She concentrated on drying his other foot and massaging it. Again Sayid felt the tug and release of taut muscles and tendons, and a glorious feeling of well-being. He’d never had a foot massage and was rapidly suspecting it might be addictive. Yet to his consternation the stirring in his loins indicated an inconvenient but growing arousal at odds with that wave of relaxation.

‘My uncle moved his family into my father’s house. And I have no other relatives. Even if there were, my mother...’

She paused so long Sayid wondered if she’d continue.

‘My mother had been a dancer. Much younger than my father. She was not...approved of locally. No one else came forward to offer me a home when my father died.’

Sayid stared at her downcast face, at bone-deep beauty that even tightly pursed lips and a scowl couldn’t mar.

With a nation to rule, a government to revamp and peace to establish, Sayid didn’t have time for one lost girl.

Yet nor could he dismiss her. An orphan, without a family who’d care for her and, by the sound of it, a town that didn’t want her, that was biased against her because of her mother, she’d been given away like a commodity. That easy disregard for people without the means to protect or support themselves was something he abhorred. He’d seen it too often under his uncle’s rule.

He thrust aside the weary voice that protested responsibility for the nation was enough, without taking personal responsibility for a stray female too. A female who, given his powerful reaction, was surely trouble.

Yet she had no options, no home.

Who else would take responsibility if not her Emir?

Sayid took his obligations seriously.

‘Thank you for the massage, Lina.’ He withdrew from her touch, ignoring the tingle along his skin and the urge to let her minister to him with those supple hands.

Sayid sat straighter. He would not act on this burgeoning desire.

‘Now.’ He rose and she did too, again with that sinuous grace that drew the eye and made him think inevitably about a soft female body moving against his. His groin tightened. ‘You can retire.’ His voice was gruff. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. My secretary will schedule a time.’

Her fine eyebrows arched in surprise. Then she smiled, a real smile, unlike that stilted curve of the lips she’d given him originally. The effect was instantaneous. Heat blasted him, feeding an urgent hunger he should be too worn out to experience.

Yet now he didn’t feel worn out. He felt aroused.

‘Thank you, sir. You won’t regret this.’ She actually bounced on the balls of her feet, as if from excitement.

Then she bowed herself out, a diminutive figure who should have looked comical with his shirt hanging loose over those filmy skirts. Instead his gaze locked on her in a mixture of fascination and pure, searing lust.

Seventeen. She’s only seventeen.

Yet there was no mistaking that electric energy, the thunder in his blood and the heaviness in his groin.

Sayid raked his fingers across his scalp and swore.

Apart from her stunning looks, Lina wasn’t like the women he chose for himself.

They were experienced and independent. Passionate enough to appreciate his demanding sex drive and sophisticated enough not to linger. He allowed himself no more than a week of intense carnal pleasure at a time before returning to his onerous responsibilities. It was part of his stringent private control system—giving free rein to his erotic appetites once in a while, then sublimating them while he focused on his work.

Mostly his lovers were foreigners wanting a taste of the exotic in the form of a hereditary prince. And most were blonde. His tastes didn’t run to country-bred brunettes.

Until now.

Sayid swore again, exhaustion forgotten as he remembered those beguiling eyes and that curious mix of innocence and fire that made Lina far too alluring to a man who should know better.

He had to come up with a plan for her. A place for her to live.

Lina couldn’t stay in the palace indefinitely.

His self-restraint only went so far.

CHAPTER THREE

LINA SHIFTED IN her seat. It was a very comfortable seat, but she’d been sitting in it for ages. The Emir’s serious-eyed secretary had looked down his nose at her and warned she’d have a long wait, since the Emir had many important appointments. Far more important, he implied, with a comprehensive glance, than dealing with some tawdry dancing girl.

Lina wanted to tell him the clothes she wore weren’t her choice. She hadn’t been permitted to bring her own clothes with her to the palace, only the outfits her aunt had provided.

She’d stared straight back at the secretary, refusing to drop her gaze, and let him huff and puff. Eventually he’d led her into the library, motioned to a chair and left.

Now, finally, Lina could stand the temptation no more. She’d never seen so many books. They lined three walls. Surely that was more than any person could ever read in a lifetime.

Quietly, she got up and tiptoed to the nearest shelf. The covers were beautiful, leather and fabric in all the hues of a rainbow. Some tall and slim. Others short and stumpy. She reached out and trailed her fingers over one, then another, then another.

Imagine all the secrets hidden in these books. All the nuggets of knowledge. All the explanations of scientific marvels and history. And stories, so many stories contained in this massive collection. Wonderful stories such as her mother had told her and many more besides. The idea left her giddy with the possibilities.

With a quick look over her shoulder, Lina selected a book. Its cover was hard and green with gilt lettering. The secretary hadn’t said she couldn’t touch.

Carefully she slid it out, testing its weight on her hands. She opened it to find gorgeously coloured pictures of plants. A few she recognised, ones that grew in the foothills near her home. Others were unfamiliar. Her fingers traced the delicate shape of one beautiful flower. Its petals were a dark red that looked so real it might have been plucked fresh this morning.

Finally, when she’d looked her fill, she put the book back and moved along the shelf, selecting another at random. This one had a cover of red. Inside there were no pictures, but—

‘Lina.’

She spun, almost dropping the precious book as she started.

The Emir closed the door behind him. Last night, in the warm glow of his lamplit bedroom, he’d thrown her off balance. She’d told herself it was shock because she’d seen so much of his handsome, sculpted body. More than any woman expected to see of a man who was not her husband.

Yet that same thrill of excitement ran through her veins as he crossed the room towards her with that easy stride. The same breathlessness at his sheer masculine beauty and that aura of power he wore as surely as the fine white robes. His face, against the pale fabric, was bronze and arrestingly handsome. His eyes dark and penetrating.

And she knew exactly what he was like beneath his clothing. The moulded muscles, the hard, intriguing line of his shoulders. The wisp of black hair that bisected his flat belly and dipped below his trousers.

That explained why her heart hammered too fast and why, low in her body, she felt a rush of unfamiliar molten heat. It was reaction to him as a man, not as her ruler.

The realisation brought a flush to her cheeks and she hurriedly looked down at the book, open in her hands.

‘It’s good to see someone making use of the library. I doubt my uncle ever opened the books and I haven’t had time yet. Is it something interesting?’ His tone was gentle. Clearly he tried to put her at ease. As if she were his equal, not his...possession. Her breath hitched on the thought.

He stopped before her and every hair on her body prickled in awareness.

‘I...don’t know. I just opened it.’

There was a long pause. Then he reached out and lifted the book from her hands. But instead of keeping it, he merely turned it up the other way and gave it back to her.

Lina stared down at the lines of writing, warmth rising in her cheeks. She swallowed but didn’t look up.

‘Lina?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Can you read?’ She heard the whisper of kindness in his voice, a note that reminded her, abruptly, of her long-dead mother. For even her father, though not mean or cruel, had never been tender.

A lump formed in her throat.

‘Lina?’ That tone, though gentle, compelled. She felt the force of his will drag her head up till her gaze collided with his. She shivered as fire and ice made her skin tingle and her backbone stiffen.

‘No, sir.’ Shame swamped her. She hated to admit the deficiency. It seemed to reinforce every cliché that had been thrown at her and her mother by her father’s relatives and many of their neighbours. As if their lack of learning was a character flaw rather than a lack of opportunity.

‘But there are schools in your town. I’ve seen them.’ The Emir’s brow knotted.

Lina nodded. She’d pleaded to be allowed to attend. But it had not been deemed appropriate.

‘My father didn’t believe it necessary for females to attend school. My mother wanted me to go, but she died when I was young and there was no one else to persuade my father.’ She paused, feeling it necessary to explain. Her father hadn’t been evil, just set in his ways. And he’d been disappointed that his only child was a girl. ‘He had very traditional views.’

Lina’s mother had been his second wife, twenty years his junior. She’d been beautiful, clever and charming, but faced prejudice because poverty and lack of education had forced her into becoming a dancer, performing in public before her marriage. That prejudice tainted Lina too, as if despite her careful upbringing, her morals were questionable because of her mother’s previous profession.

‘Do you want to learn?’

Lina blinked up at the grave face before her. Was he serious?

If it were her uncle or one of his sons asking, she’d expect some sort of teasing trick, to raise her hopes then dash them. But this was the Emir. The man who’d listened to her last night when he could have ignored her. Who’d been polite and almost gentle, despite his obvious fatigue.

The man who’d allowed her to go to her own bed, alone and untouched, instead of doing any of the things she’d been told he’d demand of her.

She hadn’t slept all night, going over and over each word, each gesture and nuance in her mind. The more she’d remembered, the more the glow of warmth inside her built.

‘Of course! I tried to find someone to teach me. But it didn’t work out.’

She’d made the mistake of asking one of her cousins. The quiet, scholarly one who didn’t make brash jokes in her presence and who’d seemed almost pleasant. Except their ‘lesson’ had lasted about five minutes before his hands started to wander. Then he’d grabbed her and tried to kiss her and Lina had never been so glad to see her aunt as when she’d burst in, even though it meant Lina was locked in her room for the next week as punishment.

Her hands shook so much she closed the book and put it down on the shelf beside her. ‘Would you...? Could I really learn to read and write?’

Hope nosedived at his suddenly fierce expression. As if her excitement displeased him. For a long moment he stared at her, his mouth a grim line. Then he nodded curtly and swung away to take a seat behind his imposing desk.

‘Of course it’s possible. In fact, it’s necessary if you’re going to make your way in the world.’

He gestured for her to take the seat before him. It made her feel a little like she had as a child, called before her father to account for some misdeed. Except, despite the shimmer of tension in the air and the hint of anger in the Emir’s tensed jaw, there was compassion in his eyes.

‘Clearly you can’t stay here in the palace.’

‘But I—’

A raised palm stopped her words and she shivered, realising she’d been about to argue with the man who held not only her fate, but her nation’s, in his palm. Her aunt had been right. Lina needed to curb her tongue.

‘I don’t keep a harem and when I want a woman it will never be someone forced to attend me.’