Captive of Kadar

by Trish Morey

  ‘Kadar, I said yes.’

  He frowned and it made her smile. ‘I love you. I did my best to hate you, and I did, and more than a little. But it didn’t stop me loving you. I don’t know if it’s possible to do that. I don’t think it’s something I can switch off like a tap. It’s there and there’s nothing, it seems, that I can do about it.’

  ‘You love me, after everything that’s happened?’

  ‘I know,’ she said, grinning now, because this supremely confident man had never looked more vulnerable or mortal. ‘It’s mad, but I do, and yes, I will marry you.’

  And he growled like the Kadar of old as he swung the front door shut and collected her in his arms to kiss her.

  His kiss was like coming home, his body hard and so familiar, warm and welcoming. With mouths and bodies meshed, she steered him to her room and her narrow single bed and as they peeled off their clothes they peeled away the layers of their past, all the wrongs and the misunderstandings and the pain, until there was nothing left but their love to bind them together.

  EPILOGUE

  THEY WERE MARRIED in Melbourne four months later, when the heat of the Australian summer had given way to the balmy days of autumn. Amber’s father proudly waited to walk her down the aisle of the old Melbourne city church, Amber wearing a gown of lace that flared from the hips in a silk skirt that floated about her legs.

  Kadar waited nervously, exchanging small talk with his best man, Rashid, and Amber’s younger brother beside him. In the rows behind sat his friends, Zoltan and Bahir and their families. And finally, when he thought he could stand the waiting no longer, the music started, and he dragged in a deep breath. Rashid slapped him on the back. ‘This is it,’ he said, and Kadar turned.

  One at a time Amber’s two bridesmaids walked down the aisle, her two cousins, Tash’s older sisters. He’d met them several times now, their names on the tip of his tongue, right until he saw the woman walking behind on her father’s arm.

  The woman he loved and there was only one name he could remember.

  Amber.

  She looked like a goddess in a gown that made her look as if she were floating down the aisle towards him, her blond hair coiled up high behind her head, her blue eyes sparkling and her smile wide as she nodded to the guests as she passed.

  And on her wrist was the bracelet that had once graced a Sultan’s favourite, the stones sparkling in their gold setting.

  And then her eyes connected with his and it was as if she had flicked a switch as her face lit up, her smile electric, her eyes dazzling, and he knew he was the luckiest man alive.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he whispered to her as she joined him at the front. ‘I love you.’

  And she smiled and whispered back those words to him as the ceremony that would begin their lives together as man and wife got under way.

  He was still holding hands with Amber while her mother and her friends hugged her, when Kadar’s friends, Zoltan and Bahir, with their wives, Aisha and Marina, were the first to congratulate him after the ceremony. ‘Another desert brother down,’ said Zoltan. ‘Bahir and I wondered how long it would take either of you two to come to your senses.’

  ‘You sure made us wait long enough,’ Bahir said.

  Rashid joined his desert brothers and their wives. ‘I guess this makes me the winner, huh?’ and the three friends looked at each other and laughed.

  ‘If you say so,’ said Kadar.

  His new wife joined the group. ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, and Kadar pulled her close and pressed his lips to her forehead. ‘Rashid’s funny.’

  ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘just because you guys felt the need to get all domesticated and settle down, don’t take it out on me.’

  ‘You just wait,’ said Zoltan.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Bahir, with a knowing smile. ‘You won’t know what’s hit you.’

  ‘I never saw it coming,’ admitted Kadar as he pulled his new wife closer. ‘So you better watch out.’

  Rashid shook his head. ‘I don’t know, maybe I’m just wired differently from you guys.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Kadar. ‘Just keep telling yourself that.’

  Around them children ducked and weaved through the crowd. Bahir and Marina’s son and daughter, Chakir and Hana, now six and five, along with their two-year-old brother, Karim, trying to keep up, and behind him toddled Zoltan and Aisha’s pigeon pair, only six months younger.

  ‘This is the best day of my life,’ Kadar told Amber later at the reception as he waltzed her around the dance floor.

  ‘Mine too.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I’m only sorry Mehmet couldn’t be here to witness it.’

  ‘We’ll see him next week,’ he said. ‘But he knows how happy we are. He knew you were right for me from the very beginning.’

  ‘He was right. I love you, Kadar.’

  His heart swelled so big, he wanted to howl at the moon. How could a man be so lucky?

  ‘I love you, Amber.’ And he kissed her sweetly on the lips and then he took her hand and pressed his lips to the bracelet that her great-great-great-grandmother had been given a century and a half before. The bracelet that had been given to the Sultan’s favourite.

  Because Amber was his favourite now, as she would be for ever.

  * * * * *

  Look out for SHACKLED TO THE SHEIKH, the final instalment of Trish Morey’s DESERT BROTHERS series. Coming soon!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from CRAVING HER ENEMY’S TOUCH by Rachael Thomas.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  THE PURR OF a sports car broke the quietness of the afternoon, taking Charlie’s mind hurtling back to the past. To events she’d been hiding from for the last year.

  She had grown up in the glamour of the racing world, but her brother’s death had sent her retreating to the country and the sanctuary of her cottage garden. It was a place that was safe, but instinct warned her that this safety was now under threat.

  Unable to help herself, she listened to the unmistakable sound of the V8 engine as it slowed in the lane beyond her garden, appreciative of its throaty restraint. All thoughts of planting bulbs for next spring disappeared as memories were unleashed. Images of happier times filled her mind, colliding with those of the moment her world had fallen apart.

  Kneeling on the grass in the corner of her garden, she couldn’t see the car on the other side of the hedge, but she knew it was powerful and expensive—and that it had stopped in the lane outside her cottage.

  The engine fell silent and only birdsong disturbed the peace of the English countryside. She closed her eyes against the dread which rushed over her. She didn’t need visits from the past, however well meaning. This unexpected visitor had to be her father’s doing; he’d been pushing her to move on for weeks now.

  The heavy clunk of the car door shutting was followed by purposeful footsteps on the road. A few seconds later they crunched on the gravel of her pathway and she knew that whoever it was would see her at any second.

  ‘Scusi.’ The deep male voice startled her more than the Italian he spoke and she jumped up a
s though she were a child with her hand caught in the sweet jar.

  The six foot plus of dark Italian male which stood in her garden robbed her of the ability to think, let alone speak, and all she could do was look at him. Dressed in casual but very much designer jeans which hugged his thighs to perfection, he appeared totally out of place and yet vaguely familiar. Over a dark shirt he wore a leather jacket and was everything she’d expect an Italian man to be. Self-assured and confident, oozing undeniable sex appeal.

  His dark collar-length hair was thick and gleamed in the sunshine, his tanned face showed a light growth of stubble, which only enhanced his handsome features. But it was the intense blackness of his eyes as they pierced into her which made breathing almost impossible.

  ‘I am looking for Charlotte Warrington.’ His accent was heavy and incredibly sexy, as was the way he said her name, caressing it until it sounded like a melody. She fought hard against the urge to allow it to wrap itself around her. She had to. She was out of practice in dealing with such men.

  Slowly pulling off her gardening gloves, she became acutely aware she was wearing her oldest jeans and T-shirt and that her hair was scraped back in something which almost resembled a ponytail. Could she get away with not admitting who she was? But the arrogance in those dark eyes as they watched her made her want to shock him.

  He was undoubtedly her brother’s business partner, the man who had whisked him deeper into the world of performance cars, so far that he’d almost forgotten his family’s existence. Indignation surfaced rapidly.

  ‘What can I do for you, Mr...?’ The question of his name hung in the warm air around them, testing and challenging him. She stood tall as his astonished gaze travelled down her body, taking in her dishevelled appearance. Her skin tingled as those eyes all but caressed every part of her, making her breath catch as if he’d actually touched her.

  ‘You are Sebastian’s sister?’ Accusation and disbelief laced through every word, but it was lost on her as the grief she’d thought she’d finally begun to get over hit her once more as he said her brother’s name.

  The urge to defend herself rose up, but she had no idea where it came from. ‘Yes,’ she said curtly, hearing the irritation in her own voice. ‘And you are?’

  She asked the question although she knew the answer and it was not one she wanted to hear. She curled her fingers into her palms, knowing that the one man she’d never wanted to meet, the man she held responsible, first for taking Seb away from her, then for his death, stood impudently in her garden. Looking for her.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, there had been a spark of attraction in that first second she’d seen him. Already she hated herself for it. How could she feel anything other than contempt for the man who’d deprived her of her brother?

  ‘Roselli,’ he said and stepped off the path and onto her newly cut lawn, confirming her worst suspicions. He smiled at her as he walked closer, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Alessandro Roselli.’

  She glared at him and he stopped a few paces away from her. Had he felt the heat of her anger? She certainly hoped so. He deserved every bit of it and so much more.

  ‘I have nothing to say to you, Mr Roselli.’ She stood firm, looked him in the eye and tried not to be affected by the way his met and held hers, shamelessly, without any trace of guilt. ‘Now, please leave.’

  She walked across the lawn, past him and towards her cottage, sure that he would go, that her cold dismissal would be enough. As she neared him the breeze carried his scent. Pure, unadulterated male. Her head became light, her breath hard to catch. In disgust at the way he distracted her thoughts, she marched off.

  ‘No.’ That one word, deep and accented, froze her to the spot as if a winter frost had descended, coating everything in white crystals.

  A tremor of fear slipped down her spine. Not just fear of the man standing so close to her, but fear of all he represented. Slowly she turned her face to look directly at him. ‘We have nothing to say. I made that clear in my response to your letter after Sebastian’s death.’

  Sebastian’s death.

  It was hard to say those words aloud. Hard to admit her brother was gone, that she’d never see him again. But, worse, the man responsible had the nerve to ignore her early grief-laden requests and then invade the cottage, her one place of sanctuary.

  ‘You may not, but I do.’ He stepped closer to her, too close. She held his gaze, noticing the bronze sparks in his eyes and the firm set of his mouth. This was a man who did exactly what he wanted, without regard for anyone else. Even without knowing his reputation she’d be left in no doubt of that as he all but towered over her.

  ‘I don’t want to hear what you’ve got to say.’ She didn’t even want to talk to him. He had as good as killed her brother. She didn’t want to look at him, to acknowledge him, but something, some undeniable primal instinct, made her and she fought hard to keep the heady mix of anger and grief under control. An emotional meltdown was not something she wanted to display, especially in front of the man she’d steadfastly refused to meet.

  ‘I’m going to say it anyway.’ His voice lowered, resembling a growl, and she wondered which of them was fighting the hardest to hold onto their composure.

  She lifted a brow in haughty question at him and watched his lips press firmly together as he clenched his jaw. Good, she was getting to him. With that satisfaction racing through her, she walked away, desperate for the safety of her cottage. She didn’t want to hear anything he had to say.

  ‘I am here because Sebastian asked me to come.’ His words, staccato and deeply accented, made another step impossible.

  ‘How dare you?’ She whirled round to face him, all thought of restraint abandoned. ‘You are here because of your guilt.’

  ‘My guilt?’ He stepped towards her, quickly closing that final bit of space between them, his eyes glittering and hard.

  Her heart thumped frantically in her chest and her knees weakened, but she couldn’t let him know that. ‘It’s your fault. You are the one responsible for Sebastian’s death.’

  Her words hung accusingly between them, and the sun slipped behind a cloud as if sensing trouble. She watched his handsome face turn to stone and even thought she saw the veil of guilt shadow it, but it was brief, swiftly followed by cold anger, making his eyes sharper than flint.

  He was so close, so tall, and she wished she was wearing the heels she used to favour before her life had been shaken up into total turmoil. She kept her gaze focused on him, determined to match his aggressive stance.

  ‘If, as you say, it was my fault I would not have waited a year to come here.’ His voice was cool and level, his eyes, changing to gleaming bronze, fixed her accusingly to the spot.

  He took one final step towards her, so close now he could have kissed her. That thought shocked her and she resisted the need to step back away from him, as far as she could. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He was the guilty one. He was the one who’d intruded on her life.

  ‘It was your car that crashed, Mr Roselli.’ She forced each word out, his proximity making it almost impossible.

  ‘Your brother and I designed that car. We built it together.’ His voice, deep and accented, hinted at pain. Or was she just imagining it, reflecting her grief onto him?

  ‘But it was Sebastian who test drove it.’ She fought the memories he was dragging up. Demons she’d thought she’d finally shut the door on.

  He didn’t say anything and she held her ground, looking up into his eyes as they searched her face. Her heart pounded wildly and deep down she knew it wasn’t just the memories of Sebastian. It was as much to do with this man. Instinctively she knew his potent maleness had disturbed the slumbering woman hidden within her—and she hated him for that.

  ‘It couldn’t have done your company’s reputation any good when an up-and-coming racing driver was kille
d at the wheel of your prototype.’ She injected a jaunty edge to her words, issuing a challenge. At the same time she wished she could run and hide—from the memories he stirred as much as from the way her body reacted to each glance from his devilishly dark eyes.

  He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch at all. He was in complete control as his eyes glittered, sharp sparks like diamonds spiking her soul.

  ‘It wasn’t good for anyone.’ His voice was icy cold and, despite the warmth of the September sun, she shivered, but still he remained, watching as if he could read every thought that raced through her mind.

  She drew in a ragged tear-laden breath and swallowed hard. She couldn’t cry, not now. Not again. She was done with crying. It was time to move on, time to forge a new path through life. She couldn’t go back to what she’d been doing before. Her time in front of the cameras, representing Seb’s team, was over. The memories would be too much, yet this man seemed hell-bent on bringing the past into the present.

  ‘I think you should leave, Mr Roselli.’ She stepped away from him, out of his shadow and into the sun as it crept out from behind the clouds. ‘Neither is it doing me any good.’

  With eyes narrowed by suspicion, he watched her as she took another step back and away from him. ‘I am here because Sebastian asked me to come.’

  She shook her head, the emotional meltdown she’d wanted to keep at bay threatening to erupt. ‘I still want you to leave.’

  She didn’t care if he remained standing in her precious garden; she just wanted to escape him, escape the aura of a man obviously used to getting all he wanted, no matter what the cost to anyone else.

  * * *

  Alessandro closed his eyes and sighed as Charlie fled across the garden, heading for the open door of the cottage. Hysteria had not been on his agenda. He didn’t need this now. For a moment he thought about turning and walking away, getting in his car and driving as fast and as far away as he could. He’d kept part of his promise to Sebastian, after all. But had he even achieved that?