The Only Woman to Defy Him

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Yes.’

  She watched as he clicked the button and then Demyan started to type his first post ever.

  Alina and I are pleased to announce...

  ‘Alina, do you want to be my wife?’

  She lay there.

  ‘I don’t nag.’

  ‘Beg,’ she corrected.

  ‘For you I beg,’ Demyan said, ‘but just this once. Will you please be my wife?’

  ‘What do you think?

  ‘Of course you will,’ he said. ‘You just have to learn how to say yes.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Demyan hadn’t known when he’d use it, just that he would.

  ‘Ready to cut those strings?’ Demyan checked as he typed.

  Alina and I are pleased to announce that we are soon to be married. It will be a small, intimate service, with just the closest of family and friends. We just wanted to share the happy news.

  ‘Ready to soar?’ Demyan asked as he handed her the computer.

  It was up to Alina to hit Send.

  She did.

  They were home.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SHE PAINTED HIM with her fingers.

  It had been an indecently long honeymoon and now, on their final stop, an island off Far North Queensland, as the sun set on their last day, Alina tried to put the finishing touches to her work, her attempt to capture, on canvas, a chameleon called Demyan.

  The sun burnt on her shoulders and their baby slept in her ripe stomach as Demyan lay on the day bed and watched her concentrate and then blush as she painted his dangly bits, which were starting to undangle themselves.

  ‘Stay still,’ Alina said. ‘I don’t usually paint people.’

  ‘I’m bored,’ he said, flicking through his tablet.

  ‘You’re not.’

  ‘I am and I have a surprise for you...’

  ‘I don’t want a surprise.’ Alina smiled. ‘I want to be bored.’

  ‘That I can’t do.’ He leant over and handed his tablet to her.

  Alina stared for a very long moment. There was the princess who had been through their home and she was wearing a dress that Alina would recognise anywhere—not the dress itself but the fabric. The swirls and swirls of poppies she had painted on silk, which was now being worn by royalty.

  ‘Demyan...’ She was embarrassed, cross about his meddling but excited too. ‘I told you not to interfere, I don’t want your help...’

  ‘Alina, I messed them around when I withdrew our home. Of course I had to apologise. I sent some fabric by the artist that the princess had said she liked. Do you think she had it made into a dress to appease me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you think, if she did not love it, that at best I would have got a polite letter thanking me for her gift?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Clearly, she loves your work. Clearly, because I received a very nice response last night, suggesting I look at the news.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to tell me.’

  ‘You wanted to add to your shoe collection,’ Demyan said, watching as Alina still stared at the screen, looking at the poppies and remembering the love she had felt as she’d painted.

  ‘When I did this piece I was thinking if it was a girl to call her Poppy.’

  ‘You know what you can do with that thought.’

  ‘It’s a lovely name.’

  ‘Poppy Zukov is a stripper’s name.’

  Alina laughed but then she was serious. ‘Can we sort out names or is that bad luck?’ There were fewer superstitions these days but plenty of traditions, and they were also making their own, and she wanted their baby named on their honeymoon.

  ‘We can,’ Demyan said, ‘though we will probably change our minds when it is here.’

  ‘Do you still want a girl?’

  ‘If I had enough energy,’ Demyan sighed, ‘I would get up from this day bed and smash my head against the wall. I said that I wanted a girl once. When we were discussing Roman I said that maybe if it was a girl it might be easier, especially if the results were not the news we wanted. That problem is gone.’

  The tests were in. Demyan was Roman’s father, in every way possible. The new baby, if it was a boy, would be Demyan’s second son.

  ‘I said that,’ he attempted again to clarify his words, ‘just because it might be easier on Roman. I don’t care what we have.’ He stroked her stomach. ‘I just want him or her to be here.’

  There was an advantage to being a second wife that Alina thought of then—you knew the sort of father that you were getting for your child.

  ‘So,’ Demyan said, ‘get it in your head that I have no preference.’

  ‘None?’

  ‘You found out, didn’t you?’ Demyan smiled. ‘We’re having a boy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, you didn’t find out or, no, we’re having a girl?’

  ‘Annika.’

  The best he had hoped for was that his mother might rest in peace, but Alina attached a smile to his mother’s name as she returned it to his heart.

  ‘Ya lyublyu tebya vsey dushoy.’ Demyan told Alina just how deeply he loved her and his beautiful mouth moved into a smile when, instead of the more familiar I know you do, Alina answered him back with a truth he would never forget.

  ‘As you should.’

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from GAMBLING WITH THE CROWN by Lynn Raye Harris.

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  PROLOGUE

  THE KING OF Kyr was dying. He sat in his chair on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket—though the desert sun had not yet sunk behind the horizon and brought cooler temperatures with it—and contemplated his life.

  He’d had a long reign, a good reign, but it was time to name his successor and make sure Kyr continued to thrive when he was gone. He could no longer put off calling his wayward sons home and determining which of them would be the next king.

  He pushed to a standing position, unwilling to give up even a tiny bit of independence while he still had strength in his body. The cancer would win, but not today. He moved slowly but surely, making his way toward the desk in his study while a hovering servant shadowed his every move. Waiting to pick him up should he collapse.

  Well, he was not collapsing. Not yet.

  He had one last task to finish. And it began with two phone calls.

  CHAPTER ONE

  EMILY BRYANT STRAIGHTENED the severe black skirt she wore, patted the French twist she’d wedged her hair into and steadied the coffee in her hand as she faced the double doors that led to the bedroom of His Most Exalted Highness, Prince Kadir bin Zaid al-Hassan.

  Outside, the sky was that special blend of salmon and purple that indicated dawn’s approach. Despite the early hour, Paris was awake and rumbling on the city streets below. Soon, Kadir would be awake, too.

  Just as soon as Emily knocked on the carved wooden door. She frowned and dragged in a fortifying breath. The man was impossible—and probably not alone. If this morning was anything like other mornings, she’d be stepping over lacy underwear, rumpled stockings a
nd a couture dress lying in a heap on the floor. On one memorable occasion, a bra had dangled from the priceless Venetian glass chandelier. What city was that in?

  Ah, yes, Milan.

  Emily firmed her lips in what she knew was a distasteful frown—she couldn’t abide messes, especially from people who should know better—and lifted her hand. Then she rapped three times.

  “Prince Kadir? It’s time to get up.”

  No matter the hour he came in the night before, Kadir always wanted to be awakened before the sun rose in the sky. Sometimes he went back to sleep, but not before peppering her with orders and instructions about the day. And not before he drank the coffee she always brought.

  More often than not, he got up. Emily had learned to relax her expression into an impassive and unimpressed mask of cool professionalism when the covers whipped back to reveal sleek tanned skin and acres of lean muscle. She’d also learned to turn her head discreetly to the side on the rare occasions when he’d failed to add clothing to his lower half before he leaped up and shrugged into his robe.

  If he were any other man—if this were any other job—she’d probably be horrified. But this was Prince Kadir, and she knew what the job entailed. He’d warned her as much when he’d hired her. When he’d expressed that a man might be better suited for the job of his personal assistant, she’d assured him she was up for the task.

  Therefore, she endured his quirks and his single-mindedness. If he weren’t brilliant, if he didn’t pay her extremely well—extremely—she might not have stayed as long as she had. Not to mention that getting this job straight out of college had been a coup. She still believed that if Kadir hadn’t been so desperate to find someone who could put up with his shenanigans, he would never have agreed to interview her, no matter how impeccable her references.

  “Come.” His voice was dark and raspy with sleep on the other side of the door.

  Emily opened it up and walked across the darkened room in her sensible heels. There was a time when she’d loved platforms and flash as much as the next girl, but these shoes were a whole lot more comfortable. She opened the thick damask curtains to let in the light and took his coffee over and set it on the antique bedside table.

  A quick perusal of the room indicated he was alone. She breathed a sigh of relief. She did not like the woman he’d been dating recently. Lenore Bradford, fashion’s latest runway darling, was not nice in general and evil to Emily in particular.

  It was as if the woman was jealous, which was insane, since Kadir had never once looked at Emily as anything more than the person who ran his life and kept his calendar up-to-date. But that did not stop Lenore from shooting Emily angry looks or demanding outrageous things from her.

  Like the morning Lenore had wanted chocolate croissants from a boulangerie halfway across Paris. Croissants she knew damn well she would barely sniff before turning to the egg-white omelet instead. Emily had fumed the whole way. Fortunately, she’d not had to do that again, because Kadir had been rather angry when he found out.

  Yet another thing Lenore blamed her for. But Kadir wasn’t a stupid man and he could read the address on the bag, which apparently Lenore did not try to hide when she tossed them aside as predicted.

  Kadir sat up against the headboard and picked up the coffee. His dark hair was tousled and he needed to shave, but he was still one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen. Not that she was attracted to him. Of course not. He was an arrogant, entitled, brilliant jackass and she did not like men like that.

  Heck, she probably wouldn’t like him at all if he didn’t pay her so much.

  Except, dammit, that wasn’t quite true. He drove her crazy with his cool confidence and certainty he was always right, but he remembered her birthday and the anniversary of the date she’d started working for him. She liked to think that meant he cared about people in his own fashion, though it was probably just that mind of his, which never forgot a fact.

  But she chose to believe the former; therefore, she couldn’t dislike him.

  Much.

  Emily flipped open the notebook she’d tucked under one arm and steadfastly ignored the sheet as it slipped down and revealed a hard, muscled chest and that damn arrow of dark hair that marched down the center of his abdomen and disappeared beneath the fabric.

  “You have a seven-thirty meeting with the chairman of RAC Steel, and a phone call after that with Andrakos Shipping. There is also the real estate agent to meet with on the specs for the property and a site inspection this afternoon.”

  Kadir sipped the coffee and peered up at her from beneath those impossibly long lashes of his. His eyes were a clear, dark gray that snapped with intelligence.

  Really, did a man so beautiful also have to be so smart?

  “You are a model of efficiency as always, Miss Bryant. Shukran jazeelan.”

  She glanced at her watch and tried to ignore the flush of pleasure rolling over her. “Breakfast is on the way up, Your Highness. And I have told the driver to be here at seven sharp.”

  Kadir’s gaze slid over her. He was assessing her, the way he assessed everyone, but she always felt that strange little prickle that started at the back of her neck and continued down her spine like electricity dripping through a conduit.

  She didn’t like it. She licked her suddenly dry lips and closed the notebook. Kadir’s eyes narrowed.

  “If that is all, Your Highness?”

  “It is.”

  She turned to go when a racket sounded outside the doors to the bedroom. She wasn’t particularly alarmed, as Kadir traveled nowhere without armed guards, but it was unusual in the extreme. She started toward the door when Lenore Bradford burst in.

  Emily drew up short. When she realized she clutched the notebook to her chest, she lowered it. Her heart thudded alarmingly. Behind Lenore, a man in a dark suit stood there like a mountain. An angry mountain, she realized.

  He would have let Lenore into the suite, because she’d been here before, but he would have expected her to wait while he announced her.

  Clearly, she had not done so.

  “Lenore.” Kadir’s voice would have sounded lazy to anyone listening. But to someone who knew him, who’d worked beside him for four years, the note of danger was distinct.

  Oh, Lenore. You’ve done it now.

  Emily closed her eyes briefly and waited for the coming storm. Behind her, the blankets stirred and she knew that Kadir had risen and put on his robe. He must have flicked a hand in dismissal because the guard melted away.

  “You walked out on me last night,” Lenore shrilled. “It was my party, and you walked out.”

  “Perhaps I would not have done so had you not invited six reporters and a camera crew. I am not bait for your ambition, Lenore.”

  Lenore’s pretty hands fluttered and her eyes widened. She was blonde, tall and thin, perfectly coiffed from head to foot, even at this early hour. A real looker, as Emily’s dad would have said. But she wasn’t very bright where Kadir was concerned. He was not the sort of man to be handled or manipulated.

  Emily started for the door again, intent on getting out of the room before the fight blew into the stratosphere. Not that Kadir would tolerate much of that, but Emily didn’t need to be here for it. It was personal, and while she might like to snatch Lenore bald-headed for being such a bitch, it was none of her concern.

  “Stay where you are, Miss Bryant.” Kadir’s voice was commanding, as always, and Emily froze. “Lenore was just leaving.”

  The other woman’s skin flushed pink. “I won’t leave without discussing this, Kadir. If we are to have a relationship, we have to talk about these things. Perhaps I was wrong, but—”

  “It is Prince Kadir or Your Highness,” he said coolly. “And there is no relationship. There will be no relationship. Now, get out.”

  Every word was m
easured and mild, as if he could hardly be bothered to get angry. Emily almost felt a pinprick of sympathy for the other woman. Almost, but not quite.

  Kadir moved past Emily until he was between her and the door. Facing Lenore. He was clad in a navy silk robe and his hair was still tousled, but he looked every inch a prince. It was hard not to admire him in these moments. Her heart swelled with a strange kind of pride that confused her.

  Lenore had gone purple. “That’s it? You are not even going to talk about it with me?” Kadir didn’t answer as he stood there with his arms folded and gave her his best imperious stare. Emily couldn’t see his face, but she knew the look. And she could see its effect on Lenore’s expression.

  Lenore suddenly pointed a manicured finger at Emily. “You think I don’t know what’s going on here? You think I don’t know about your assistant—” she somehow made the word sound dirty, as if she’d said whore instead “—about how she’s tried to come between us from the beginning? She wants you for herself!”

  Emily opened her mouth to utter a protest, but Kadir was there first. “I don’t particularly care what Miss Bryant thinks of you. It is what I think that matters. And I am finished.”

  He strode to her side, took her by the elbow and marched her toward the front door of his suite while she screamed at him. Then she was thrust through the door, and it closed again with a thud. Kadir turned, his face black with fury. Emily dropped her gaze and studied her shoes while her heart thrummed hard.

  She had never witnessed the breakup scene before, but she knew it had played out again and again over the past four years she’d worked for him. She could almost feel sorry for the women who committed the mistake of thinking there was a future with him. He was rich, titled, wealthy and successful in his own right. Every woman he dated wanted to tame him. None of them had managed it yet.