Desert Rogues Part 2

by Susan Mallery

  He urged Billie to go up to her room and promised to notify her when he had word. Then he closed the door and faced his father.

  “I am furious,” the king said.

  “Yes. You appear most upset. I am surprised.”

  His father glared at him. “Why? Tahira is like a daughter to me. To think she would be so disobedient injures me greatly. Plus there is the shame she visits on our family.”

  “Yes. A wayward bride is fodder for the media.” Jefri narrowed his gaze. “You said you have seen them together?”

  “What?” His father paced to the window and stared out. “A few times. In the garden. I thought nothing of it.”

  Jefri found that difficult to believe. “Tahira might be eighteen chronologically, but in experience, she is still very much a child. Did you not consider that Doyle Van Horn could easily seduce her?”

  “I trusted him! I allowed him to live in my palace and in return I expected him to respect his place.”

  “But to put temptation in his path like that.”

  His father turned on him. “What are you saying?”

  “That you could have stopped this some time ago, and yet did not. I wonder why.”

  The king turned back to the window without speaking. An idea formed in Jefri’s mind and he could not seem to shake it.

  Was this all part of a plan on his father’s part? Not Tahira’s arrival—Jefri himself had set that disaster in motion—but the rest of it? Under normal circumstances the king would never allow a future bride to one of his sons to spend afternoons alone with another man, let alone enough time for them to plan an escape. Then there was his father’s insistence that Jefri marry Tahira. That she would be destroyed if he broke off the engagement. Had that been a ploy to make him realize the depth of his feelings about Billie?

  “You are a wily old man,” Jefri said with a shake of his head.

  His father stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “You have too much time on your hands. First you played Reyhan with Emma, insisting they spend time with each other before you would grant them their divorce. You suspected they were still in love and forced them into each other’s company until they could not deny what they felt.”

  His father smiled. “What makes you think Reyhan was the first?” he asked before walking out of the room.

  Jefri stared after him. Had his father played a hand in Sadik’s marriage to Cleo? Had he been toying with Jefri as well?

  He was torn between fury at the old man’s meddling and pity for Murat—the last single brother.

  Two hours later a shamefaced Tahira and a pale but defiant Doyle were returned to the palace. The king chose to meet them in the royal chamber where the large throne and formally dressed guards were designed to shake the confidence of the strongest of men.

  Jefri stood at his father’s right hand and glared down at Doyle. Whether or not Jefri wanted to marry Tahira, she was his responsibility and he did not take the situation lightly.

  “You were a guest in this house,” Jefri told Doyle. “You were treated with honor and expected to act in kind. Instead you have taken one of our greatest treasures for your own personal pleasures.”

  Doyle frowned. “She’s not a vase or a picture. She’s a woman.”

  “Exactly. A special young woman with great potential. She is not yours, Doyle Van Horn. You had no right.”

  Tahira choked on a breath and threw herself in front of Doyle.

  “Don’t hurt him. Please, Prince Jefri. I know what I did was wrong and unforgivable, but don’t hurt him.”

  Doyle put his arm around her. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

  “In that you are correct,” Jefri said. “You are the one charged here.”

  Tahira blanched. “No! You can’t. Please. I beg you.”

  Doyle stood straight and strong. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “You should be,” the king said sternly. “We have kept the peace here for over a thousand years and we have done that through the use of fair laws that apply to all. No one has the right to kidnap an innocent young woman for his own debased pleasures.”

  “I didn’t kidnap her,” Doyle ground out through clenched teeth. “I was trying to help her escape.” He looked at Jefri. “You don’t want her. You can barely stand her and you’ll never love her. So why the hell are you insisting on marrying her?”

  He turned to Tahira. “You’re just as bad. Tell him the truth.”

  She ducked her head. “I am here to do Prince Jefri’s bidding.”

  Doyle swore. “Tahira, for once would you just say what you want? Nothing horrible will happen. I promise.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “They’re going to kill you.”

  “We’re not that savage,” the king said. “But there must be a reckoning.”

  Jefri had heard enough. He stepped down and took Tahira’s hand. “Come, child,” he said kindly. “We will speak in private.”

  As he led her out of the room, he glanced back at the guards. “Hold him until I return.”

  He showed Tahira to a small antechamber behind the throne. There he settled her on a chair and got her a glass of water. When she had the tears under control, he pulled up a chair next to her and sat down.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, careful to keep his voice calm and gentle.

  She nodded, clutching the glass in both hands. “Doyle didn’t hurt me. You have to believe me.”

  “I do. I know he didn’t carry you off against your will. You wanted to go with him, didn’t you?”

  Her eyes widened as she nodded.

  “Over the past few weeks, you have become friends.”

  “Yes.”

  Good. His father had been telling the truth about that. Now to get the rest of the information.

  “Do you love him?”

  She shrank back in her seat. “No, Prince Jefri. No. I would never…We haven’t…”

  “I believe you, but you do care for him?”

  She blushed and stared at the glass. “Doyle is very kind to me. When we talk, he makes me laugh. We talk about different things. The world. There is so much I haven’t seen.”

  “And you want to see it?”

  She nodded.

  “Without me?”

  Her breath caught and she raised her face. “You are so wonderful. You have honored me in so many ways and I am grateful.”

  “Tahira, I am not interested in your gratitude. I want your happiness. I was led to believe that you desired this marriage above all things, yet I now think that is not true. Would it not be better to simply tell me what is in your heart rather than risk a life of unhappiness because you are momentarily afraid?”

  “You sound like Doyle.”

  “Apparently he has occasions of true wisdom.”

  That made her smile. She sucked in a deep breath. “I do not want to be married,” she said, speaking quickly as she tightened her grip on the glass.

  He took it from her before she snapped it and cut herself. Relief swept through him. He thought he might drown in the sensation. His future suddenly lay before him, a bright road of promise. But he had to be sure.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I would like to study fashion design. In Paris. That’s where Doyle and I were going. We weren’t running away to be together.” She blushed again. “Not exactly. He was going to help me find a place to stay and look into school.”

  “You speak French?” he asked.

  “Yes. And Italian. They make lovely shoes there.”

  He smiled. “So I have heard.” He took her hand in his. “Tahira, you have honored me with your loyalty. I am sorry you felt you had to sneak away to achieve your heart’s desire. That was never my intent. I would very much like to help you get settled and find a school.”

  He would take care of her financially, as well, but there was no need to discuss that now.

  “You’re not angry?” she asked, sounding stunned.

&nbs
p; “No. I am delighted.” More than that, but again not a conversation they needed to have.

  She flung herself at him. “Thank you, Prince Jefri. Thank you a thousand times.”

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm at not becoming my wife.”

  She giggled. “You know I don’t mean it that way.”

  “I do.”

  She straightened and stared at him. “About Doyle. Please don’t hurt him. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “So you keep saying.” He pretended to consider the matter. “I suppose you want to keep seeing him.”

  Tahira nodded eagerly.

  “He is several years older than you,” Jefri reminded her. “That could present some problems.”

  “I can handle them.”

  Her confidence made him smile. “As you wish. But your visits with Doyle will be chaperoned for the time being. Until you find your place in the world.”

  Tahira hugged him again. He held her briefly, knowing there was somewhere else he would rather be.

  Billie paced the length of her suite, pausing every few minutes to listen for footsteps. When she finally heard them she raced to the door and jerked it open.

  “What happened?” she demanded as Jefri entered the room and pulled her into his arms.

  “I love you,” he said as he kicked the door closed and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Billie surrendered to his embrace, to the feel of his body pressing against hers.

  “I love you, too,” she murmured, barely able to speak as she clung to him.

  He bent low and swept her up in his arms. Muffin looked up from a cushion on the sofa, yawned and went back to sleep. He laughed.

  “Good. Because you are not invited.” Then he walked into the bedroom and closed the door there.

  “What happened?” Billie asked again as he set her on her feet and reached for the buttons on her blouse.

  “Tahira wishes to study fashion design in Paris. She has no interest in marrying me and seems to have some fondness for Doyle.”

  He pulled the blouse open and gazed at her breasts. “You are so beautiful.”

  Warmth flooded her. She tugged his shirt free of his trousers. “You’re not half-bad yourself. So there’s no engagement?”

  “Not anymore. I suspect my father knew what was going on the whole time and that he played me to get me to see how much you mattered.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  He bent down and claimed her with a kiss that left her weak with longing. He stroked her body, removing clothing as he went. She did her best to help take off his, but she was continually distracted by things like his mouth on her breasts or his fingers between her legs.

  He touched her and loved her until she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel.

  Poised between her thighs, he stared into her eyes.

  “Stay,” he breathed. “Stay with me.”

  She lost herself in his dark eyes. “Of course I’ll stay.”

  “I want you to marry me. Have my children. Be a part of me, a part of my country. I cannot survive without you.”

  Tears burned in her eyes. She blinked them away. “I love you, Jefri. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

  “Then you’ll say yes?”

  “Yes. For always.”

  He plunged into her, claiming her with an intimate pleasure that swept her into another dimension.

  Later, when they could both breathe easily, she snuggled close.

  “I guess I never have to take this off now,” she said, holding up her wrist and admiring the bracelet.

  “You will never have to worry,” he told her. “My people will love you as I do. This will be your home. The palace and the skies.”

  She rested her chin on his chest and looked at him. “So you’re not going to get all weird and tell me I have to give up flying?”

  “Of course not. You belong with the clouds. The difference is now I will join you there.”

  “I’ll still beat you in a dogfight. Don’t think marrying me is going to change that.”

  He laughed. “I now have a lifetime to practice. Eventually I will win.”

  “In your dreams.”

  His smile faded. “You are my dream. My fantasy. For always.”

  She sighed. “You’re really good at this.”

  “I am very much in love.”

  “Me, too. In fact—”

  A faint scratching caught her attention. “Oh, give me a sec. Muffin needs to go out. I just have to open the suite door.”

  Billie stood, slipped on Jefri’s shirt then walked out to the living room where she let out her dog. Then she hurried back to the bedroom.

  “Where were we?” she asked as she slipped back under the covers.

  Jefri reached for her. “I believe we were here.”

  Muffin trotted down the long corridors of the palace, ignoring all the cats she passed. At the large, carved doors she waited while the guard let her in, then she hurried over to the big sofa opposite the window.

  “There you are,” the king said as he patted the cushion next to his. “Did you not see? I told you things would work out.”

  Muffin jumped up next to the king. The white cat there shifted to make room, then began to groom Muffin’s face. The small dog sighed with pleasure.

  “Only Murat is left,” the king said. “But not to worry. I have given the situation much thought and I have come up with an excellent plan. Would you like to hear it?”

  The Sheik & the Bride Who Said No

  by Susan Mallery

  Published by Silhouette Books

  America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter One

  “I know marrying the crown prince and eventually being queen sounds terrific,” Daphne Snowden said in what she hoped was a calm I’m-your-aunt-who-loves-you-and-I-know-better voice instead of a shrill, panicked tone. “But the truth of the matter is very different. You’ve never met Prince Murat. He’s a difficult and stubborn man.”

  Daphne knew this from personal experience. “He’s also nearly twice your age.”

  Brittany looked up from the fashion magazine she’d been scanning. “You worry too much,” she said. “Relax, Aunt Daphne. I’ll be fine.”

  Fine? Fine? Daphne sank back into the comfortable leather seat of the luxury private jet and tried not to scream. This could not be happening. It was a dream. It had to be. She refused to believe that her favorite—and only—niece had agreed to marry a man she’d never met. Prince or no prince, this could be a disaster. Despite the fact that she and Brittany had been having the same series of conversations for nearly three weeks now, she felt compelled to make all her points again.

  “I want you to be happy,” Daphne said. “I love you.”

  Brittany, a tall willowy blonde with delicately pretty features in the tradition of the Snowden women, smiled. “I love you, too, and you’re worrying about nothing. I know Murat is, like, really old.”

  Daphne pressed her lips together and tried not to wince. She knew that to an eighteen-year-old, thirty-five was practically geriatric, but it was only five years beyond her own thirty years.

  “But he’s pretty cute,” her niece added. “And rich. I’ll get to travel and live in a palace.” She put down the magazine and stuck out her feet. “Do you think I should have gone with the other sandals instead of these?”

  Daphne held in a shriek. “I don’t care about your shoes. I’m talking about your life here. Being marrie
d to the crown prince means you won’t get to spend your day shopping. You’ll have responsibilities for the welfare of the people of Bahania. You’ll have to entertain visiting dignitaries and support charities. You’ll be expected to produce children.”

  Brittany nodded. “I figured that part out. The parties will be great. I can invite all my friends, and we’ll talk about, like, what the guy who runs France is wearing.”

  “And the baby part?”

  Brittany shrugged. “If he’s old, he probably knows what he’s doing. My friend Deanna had sex with her college boyfriend and she said it was totally better than with her boyfriend in high school. Experience counts.”

  Daphne wanted to shake Brittany. She knew from dozens of after-midnight conversations, when her niece had spent the night, that Brittany had never been intimate with any of her boyfriends. Brittany had been very careful not to let things go too far. So what had changed? Daphne couldn’t believe that the child she’d loved from birth and had practically raised, could have turned into this shallow, unfeeling young woman.

  She glanced at her watch and knew that time was running short. Once they landed and reached the palace, there would be no turning back. One Snowden bride-to-be had already left Murat practically at the altar. She had a feeling that Brittany wouldn’t be given the opportunity to bolt.

  “What was your mother thinking?” she asked, more to herself than Brittany. “Why did she agree?”

  “Mom thought it would be completely cool,” Brittany said easily. “I think she’s hoping there will be some amazing jewelry for the mother of the bride. Plus me marrying a prince beats out Aunt Grace’s piggy Justin getting into Harvard any day, right?”

  Daphne nodded without speaking. Some families were competitive about sports while others kept score using social status and money. In her family it was all about power—political or otherwise. One of her sisters had married a senator who planned to run for president, the other married a captain of industry. She had been the only sibling to pick another path.