Desert Princes Bundle

by Sharon Kendrick

  There was Giovanni at a circus, standing in a sweet little coat next to an elephant. Were elephants safe? Alexa wondered inconsequentially, as she turned the page.

  There was Giovanni smiling next to his mother, by the seaside down in Chiaia, and there they were in Paris, walking among the flowers in the Tuilleries. There was a record of Gio in just about every country in Europe, and every photo was distinguished by his mother gazing into the eyes of a tall and handsome man.

  And it was a different man in every photo.

  She looked closely at the image of the child who so resembled Paolo and saw the confusion and vulnerability in his young face. This wasn’t a boy enjoying a rip-roaring series of holidays—this was a boy who was an appendage, an extra. A boy who funded a rich and expensive lifestyle. A little boy lost.

  Oh, Gio, she thought.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  The words broke into her thoughts, and with a start Alexa looked up to see Giovanni framed in the doorway of the library, an implacable look darkening his face, the whole stance of his body tense and watchful as his black gaze swept over her.

  She sat back on her heels again, her heart beating very fast. ‘Looking around.’

  ‘Impicciona!’ he accused.

  The word shot out like a bullet—an obscure word, but wasn’t the human memory a strange and selective thing? For its meaning came back to her as if she used it every day of the week. Alexa shook her head. ‘No, I’m not snooping.’

  His glance swept over to the window—to the panorama of the verdant countryside, culminating in that heart-stopping aspect of Naples which was so beautiful that you could understand where the expression See Naples and die came from. Some views were almost priceless, such was their beauty—and this was one of them. A stunning vista bought by a sheikh in order to guarantee his mother’s silence. Buying a woman’s compliance was not a trait he admired in his father—and yet wasn’t he guilty of attempting to do the same with Alexa?

  This morning, when he had gone with his son down to the city and felt the grip of the child’s trusting hand in his, he had felt his heart breaking open with happiness. Only to be left with a sickly scar of realisation in its wake.

  It had hit him like another thunderbolt—that what he desired above all else was love. And love could not be bought, nor forced, nor demanded. Love was like a plant—it needed nurturing and light and space in order to thrive. All the things he had denied Alexa when they’d first been married, because of his stupid, arrogant pride.

  He wanted the kind of authentic, warm family life that he had never had for himself—but he couldn’t have that without the mother of his only child there. And Alexa didn’t want to be there. Being there, with him, in Naples, was the last thing she wanted—she had told him that herself—and could he blame her? For he had tried to keep her there as an emotional prisoner—tied to him by false threats of how he would ruin her if she failed to comply with his unreasonable demands.

  He had been angered by her failure to tell him about his son—but in view of his behaviour both before and since the discovery could he really blame her? How could he possibly berate her for her deception when she must have known that once he found out he would move heaven and earth in an attempt to possess Paolo in the way he had once tried to possess her?

  For all the mess they had made of their own relationship, no one—least of all him—was denying that she was a good mother. So was this how he was attempting to reward her for her exemplary care of his son? By intimidating her?

  He would tell her now that he would be generous with her. ‘You can have the alimony you deserve. Enough to guarantee you a life of comfort in England. I won’t try to keep you here against your will any longer, Lex.’ He shrugged. ‘You can go.’

  Alexa blinked, taken aback. ‘Go?’

  Did she wish to twist the knife? To make him beg for her forgiveness? ‘Yes—go!’ he said angrily. ‘For that is what you wish!’

  The freedom and the financial security he was offering her beckoned, and Alexa suddenly realised that these things meant nothing. But then she was beginning to understand what motivated this powerful but ultimately lonely man.

  Alexa stared into his face for a long moment. His jealousy had started the chain of events which had led to her keeping their child a secret—but she had never stopped to question why it was etched so sharply on his character. It was almost as if she had imagined he’d been born with it—in the same way that he’d been born with black eyes and olive skin.

  But people didn’t just inherit jealousy—it wasn’t up there with eye colour and long, lean legs. It developed for a reason—and the reason was there in black and white, and in colour, too—locked within the pages of his childhood photograph album.

  A different man on every page—with Giovanni’s discomfiture plain to see. Alexa knew that little boys were notoriously protective of their mothers, and that children often over-simplified life, based on their own experience of it. Paolo had taken to Gio perhaps because he’d felt some primitive bond straight away, but his acceptance had almost certainly been helped by the fact that he was the first man—the only man—she’d been intimate with since his conception.

  She tried to imagine Paolo’s confusion and rage if she had brought in a succession of ‘uncles’ to part-share his life. Was it any wonder that Giovanni had grown up thinking that women liked variety rather than constancy?

  That was why he had overreacted on their wedding night she realised. Not because she wasn’t innocent—but because of what her lack of virginity stood for. Virginity implied inexperience. Virginity was safe—from it he would know as much of her back-story as he needed to. He had thought her a goddess and discovered that she was just a woman. And the role-model he’d been exposed to as a child had made him uneasy.

  Emotionally, he had flailed out at her like a little boy, and her perceived deception about her virginity had then been compounded by her real deception over their child. Both of them had acted rashly and selfishly—but as she stared into his eyes Alexa realised that she couldn’t keep hiding behind her fear and the mistakes of the past for ever. Someone had to cross this ever-widening chasm, and if she had to embrace humility to do so—well, there were a lot worse things than that.

  ‘I’m sorry, Giovanni,’ she whispered. ‘So…very sorry.’

  He had been mentally assessing how best to work at formalising their separation, and her words came as a shock. He froze, his black eyes narrowing into ebony shards. ‘Is there something you’ve done that I should know about?’

  ‘No. It’s nothing like that.’ She hesitated. ‘I meant for the pain I’ve caused you. For the years of Paolo’s life I’ve denied you.’

  He shook his head, angry now. He wanted her to leave well alone—to leave him to come to terms with his decision. ‘You don’t have to say these things, Alexa. You can have your freedom. You can go home to England as soon as you wish.’

  Was he sending her away in any case? Alexa stared at him aghast. ‘And what if…?’ Flicking the tip of her tongue around her lips, she swallowed. ‘What if I don’t want to go home to England?’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said flatly. For the steel barriers around his heart had been in place for too long to be vanquished by a stumbled denial, however prettily she made it. ‘Don’t say things you don’t mean.’

  ‘But I do mean it! I…’ She hesitated, knowing that she had to put her feelings on the line, and knowing also that there was no guarantee he would treat them with anything other than mistrust or contempt. This was the hardest thing to say when the face you were saying them to looked like a stony mask. ‘I love you, Giovanni,’ she whispered. ‘Deep down I’ve never stopped loving you, and I never will.’

  The words shot through him like little darts. Deliberately, he turned his back on her, blocking out the look of naked appeal in her eyes and concealing the hunger in his own eyes, too—such a raw and savage hunger. Not for her body, nor even for their son—but
for the dream which had eluded him all his life.

  He wanted to turn back to her, to tell her that he was sorry too, for the twists and turns their lives had taken, but he was scared—strong, powerful and autocratic Giovanni da Verrazzano was actually scared. What if these things were simply being said carelessly—here today and forgotten tomorrow?

  Yet as he turned and looked into her face he found himself believing her. The truth blazed out like a beacon from those shining green eyes. Maybe it had been there all along—he just hadn’t known how to look for it. He had something wonderful within his grasp, but everything to lose—and he didn’t think he could bear to lose it. Not for a second time.

  ‘I don’t want your words,’ he said harshly. For how could words undo all the bitterness of the past, all the wounds they had knowingly and unknowingly inflicted on each other?

  ‘Then take my heart,’ she said softly, walking up to him, touching her fingertips to his tense face. ‘Take everything I have. But please, Giovanni—take me with you on your journey through life. I don’t care if you don’t love me back—just so long as you stay a good father to our son. And I will stay faithful to you, my one true love—as I have done since the first time you took me into your arms. And, besides, I have enough love to go round.’

  There was a pause. He felt the slam of his heart and the kick of some powerful emotion deep inside him—as if some great block of ice had suddenly been melted by the furnace within. For a moment he didn’t move, and then, when he did, so did she—and they clung to each other like two survivors from a shipwreck.

  A sigh shuddered from his lips and washed over her mouth as they began to kiss, and it was a kiss like no other they had shared. For it was not one of lust or anger or frustration, it was a symbol of their love—real, adult love—and it was their commitment to their future. Because through the tears and the joy Alexa sensed that they would never again be parted.

  At first neither of them noticed that a small boy had crept into the library, and when they did they saw the look of tentative hope on his little face. Together, they opened their arms to their son—and he went right into them.

  EPILOGUE

  SHEIKH ZAHIR was delighted but apparently not surprised that Alexa and Giovanni had quietly renewed their wedding vows in Naples—and he insisted on throwing an enormous party for them in Kharastan. Teri was invited, and naturally Alexa’s mother—‘Darling! You’ve done better than I could ever have dreamed!’—as well as some of Paolo’s little school friends and his old childminder.

  But during the six months since they had last seen him, the Sheikh had grown more frail. Alexa remarked on it to Giovanni when they were lying in their huge palace bedroom, with the faint smell of jasmine-scented breeze wafting over their naked bodies.

  Giovanni stared at the ceiling. ‘I know,’ he said, in a sombre voice. ‘I do not think that he has long left.’

  Alexa was aware of the bond which had been forged between father and son, two proud men who had difficulty expressing emotions—one because the starchy formality of duty forbade it, and the other because he had never been shown how. But Giovanni was getting better at it every day. Oh, yes. She turned to him and stroked her finger softly over the hard contours of his lean face.

  ‘Do you want to come and live out here, caro?’ She asked Giovanni softly. ‘You’re older than Xavier. Do you think Zahir wants to pass the kingdom on to you? Has he said anything about it?’

  He turned and smiled and kissed the tip of her nose, marvelling in this woman who was his wife in every sense of the word. This woman who cared not for the trappings of wealth, nor for status, nor trinkets—her heart’s desire lay in those closest to her, and mirrored his. Her family. He shook his dark head. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he murmured.

  ‘You can’t just pass it off like that, Gio!’ she protested. ‘And I’m not worried about it—I’m worried about you! What if—’

  ‘Shh,’ he whispered, and silenced her with a kiss. ‘Just wait.’

  The following day a formal announcement was made—that the last of the Sheikh’s three sons was to be identified.

  ‘Another son?’ demanded Alexa, as the excited buzz of chatter grew around the capital. ‘You mean the Sheikh’s got a third son?’

  Giovanni nodded. ‘The third and final son, I am assured,’ he said dryly.

  Alexa stared at Giovanni with wide eyes. ‘You aren’t surprised?’

  Giovanni laughed. ‘No, I’m not—for the hell of me I can’t work out why, but I was kind of expecting it. Xavier and I were informed just before the announcement was made.’

  ‘And do you know who it is?’

  ‘No—although I was given the opportunity to do so. But Xavier and I said we would prefer to find out at the same time as our wives.’

  ‘Oh, Gio!’ she gurgled delightedly.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve guessed. It’s Malik.’

  ‘Malik?’

  ‘I’d stake my fortune on it.’

  But he didn’t have to. Because he was right. The Sheikh’s loyal and trusted aide—the only one with pure Kharastani blood running through his veins was—in fact, the oldest son and Zahir’s true heir.

  Alexa had grown fond of Malik, but her first and most fervent loyalty was to her beloved husband.

  ‘Did you imagine that you might have ruled Kharastan before you found out about Malik? And would you have done it?’

  ‘I would have had no choice,’ Giovanni said simply. ‘Destiny is not something which can be chosen at will—like goods in a supermarket—and if my destiny had been to take over the mantle from my father, then I would have embraced it wholeheartedly.’

  She would have been a sheikha, thought Alexa fleetingly—and their son would, have one day worn the crown. Suddenly she was glad for Paolo—rejoicing that such a great burden would not be placed upon shoulders which had already carried much in their young life. ‘You don’t mind?’ she asked her husband anxiously. ‘That you won’t be Sheikh and rule this beautiful land?’

  Giovanni smiled as he lifted his hand to her face with an air of wonder of his own—but then, he still hadn’t lost that Am I going to wake up in a minute feeling? she always induced in him. How had she so transformed his life? he wondered. But he knew the answer—love had a transformative power like no other. For both of them. He had seen Alexa blossom and bloom like a flower as she basked in the warmth of his love.

  ‘No, amata mia, I do not mind—for I have riches far greater than those contained in any kingdom.’ His black eyes crinkled with their now-familiar smile as he raised her fingertips to his lips in the regal gesture which came so naturally to him. ‘I have you, and I have Paolo—what more could any man ask from his life than that?’

  The Desert King’s Virgin Bride

  By Sharon Kendrick

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘MALIK, I’m…’ There was a slight pause as Sorrel struggled to push the words out. She cleared her throat and tried again—forcing a smile which felt as if it was slicing her face in two. ‘I’m leaving you,’ she said, and then wished she could have bitten the words right back, wondering why the hell it had come out like that.

  Malik looked up from the document he had been reading and a spark of undisguised irritation flashed from his black eyes.
Eyes which had been described by the press as cold, or intimidating, or even—in the more colourful publications—as being like those of a lithe predator, about to strike its helpless victim. ‘What?’ he questioned impatiently.

  ‘I mean…’ Sorrel stared at the dark-skinned Sheikh, sitting in his shimmering silken robes at his desk. He had barely noticed her entering the room and he was barely looking at her now—and worrying about how her words had been interpreted was obviously a complete waste of time, since he obviously hadn’t been listening either! ‘That I’m leaving Kharastan,’ she finished huskily.

  A frown creased Malik’s olive brow—for he was too preoccupied with affairs of state to have heard her. More importantly, he had no desire to bother himself with the internal domestic squabbling of the palace. Surely she knew that? ‘Not now, Sorrel,’ he growled.

  Not now? If ever Sorrel had needed confirmation that she was doing the right thing, then it came in the Sheikh’s moody and offhand response to her. He spoke as if she was a troublesome fly who had buzzed into his large office suite and he was just about to carelessly swat it.

  Amber sunlight slanted in through the window, turning the sumptuous apartment into a tableau of pure gold and illuminating the man who sat at the desk like some glorious living statue. As always, just the sight of him made Sorrel’s heart yearn—but the sooner she got out of the habit of doing that then the sooner she would recover from the impact of his potent charm. Instead, Sorrel tried very hard to ignore his physical attributes, and fixed him with a questioning look instead. ‘When, then? When can we discuss it, Malik?’