Harlequin Presents January 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Ruthless Caleb WildeBeholden to the ThroneThe Incorrigible Playboy

by Sandra Marton

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘That’s just what you say, isn’t it,’ Allegra responded, wishing he wouldn’t make her cheeks burn so, wishing he didn’t make her over-think every last word.

  ‘He wasn’t a friend,’ Alex said, and topped up his champagne. ‘Really, I hardly knew him—you don’t have to be sorry.’

  ‘Then I’m not!’ She blew up her fringe with her breath, gorgeous to look at he may be, but he really was rather hard work. ‘I’m not in the least sorry that you’ve been to a funeral and that you’re feeling a bit low. Funerals do that...’ she added. ‘Even if you hardly know the person.’

  ‘They don’t bother me,’ Alex said. ‘And believe me, I’ve been to many.’ And then he conceded. ‘Well, usually they don’t get to me.’

  She wasn’t going to risk saying sorry again.

  ‘So what’s your excuse?’ He looked up from his glass. ‘Or do you regularly sit nursing a bottle of champagne in the afternoon.’

  She actually laughed. ‘Er, no. I lost my job.’ He didn’t fill the silence, he didn’t offer condolences as anyone else would; he just sat until it was Allegra who spoke on. ‘Or rather I just walked out.’

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  She hesitated, and then gave a tight shrug. ‘My boss, he...’ The blush on her cheeks said it all.

  ‘Not in your job description?’ Alex said, and she was relieved that he got it. ‘There are avenues for you...tribunals.’

  ‘I don’t want to go down that route,’ Allegra said. ‘I don’t want...’ She didn’t finish what she was saying, not quite comfortable to reveal who her family was, so she moved on without elaborating. ‘I thought I’d easily get another. It would seem I was wrong. Things really are tough out there.’

  ‘Very tough,’ Alex said, and though she had been looking at him, she flicked her eyes away, bit down a smart retort, for what would a man like him know about tough times?

  ‘I’m very conscious of my responsibility,’ Alex explained, something she had never really considered. ‘If I screw up...’ She felt the tension in her jaw seep out just a little. ‘I employ a lot of people.’ He did what for him was unusual, yet he did not hesitate; he went into his jacket and handed her his card.

  ‘You just found another job.’

  She looked at the name—Santina Financiers—and of course she knew who he was then: Alex Santina. His companies seemed to ride the wave of financial crisis with ease. He was all over the business magazines, and... She screwed up her forehead, trying to place him further, for she had read about him elsewhere, but half a bottle of Bollinger on a very empty stomach didn’t aide instant recall.

  She looked at the card and then back to him, to liquid brown eyes and the smile that was, frankly, dangerous. There was a confidence to him, an air of certainty—and she knew in that moment why he was so completely successful. There was an absence of fear to him; there was no other way she could describe it. ‘You don’t even know what I do for a living.’

  His mind was constantly busy and he tried to hazard a guess. He doubted fashion—he’d seen the sensible tweed trousers that were beneath the table. And it wasn’t make-up—she wasn’t wearing a scrap. He could see the teeny indent at the bridge of her nose from glasses....

  ‘Schoolteacher perhaps?’ Alex mused, and he saw her pale neck lengthen as she threw her head back and laughed. ‘Librarian...’ She shook her head. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. Was it ridiculous that he was vaguely turned on as he tried to fathom her? He looked into eyes that were very green, a rare green that took him to a place he hadn’t been in ages, to long horse rides in Santina, right into the hills and the shaded woods, to the moss he would like to lie her down on. No, he wasn’t just vaguely turned on; he saw the dilation of her pupils, like a black full moon rising, and maybe he knew what she did, because there was comfort there in her eyes, there was deep knowing too, and he wanted to stay there. ‘Those phone lines—’ he moved forward just a little ‘—when people don’t know what to do...’ He saw her blink, could feel the warmth of her knee as he brushed against it. ‘They ring you?’

  ‘No.’ She didn’t laugh at this suggestion, she hardly dared move, because she could feel his leg and wanted it to stay there, wanted to lean across the table and meet his mouth, but she snapped herself out of it, pulled back in her seat and ended whatever strange place he had just beckoned her to. ‘I work in publishing—I’m a copy editor. Was,’ she added. She wanted to signal the waitress, wanted a glass of water, hell, she’d take the jug and pour it over herself this second.

  ‘I’m sure I could find you something....’

  That really would be out of the frying pan and into the fire, Allegra thought, offering him back his card with a shake of her head. But her hand trembled slightly as it did so, because what a lovely fire it would be to burn in.

  ‘I’ll find something.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ Alex said. ‘Keep it. You might change your mind.’

  ‘Do you normally go around hiring your staff in bars?’

  ‘I leave the hiring to others. If you ring that number you would only get as far as my assistant, Belinda. I can tell her to expect—’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Allegra interrupted. ‘I’m just talking, not asking for a solution.’

  ‘It is how my brain works,’ Alex admitted. ‘Problem—solve it.’

  ‘When sometimes all you have to do is listen.’

  She watched as he visibly wrestled with such a suggestion, guessed that this man was not used to sitting idly by in any situation, that he was more than used to coming up with a rapid solution. But as he took another drink and stared out to the bar where he had stood with his colleague last week, perhaps it dawned on him then that not everything came with a solution, and he gave a small nod. ‘Charles had many plans for his retirement—he was talking about them last week. I guess it got me thinking.’

  Allegra nodded.

  ‘All the things you want to do,’ he continued, ‘intend to do...cannot do.’

  ‘Cannot?’ Allegra asked, because surely a man like Alex could do anything he wanted. He had looks that opened doors, and from his name, from the cut of his hair to the beautifully shod feet, she knew it wasn’t his finances that would stop him.

  ‘This time next year...’ He was unusually pensive, not that she could know, but now, this afternoon, he felt as if time were running out. ‘I’ll be married.’

  Allegra gave him a very wide-eyed look. ‘If you’re engaged then you should not be joining women in a bar and sharing a bottle of champagne with them. Shouldn’t be...’ She halted, not wanting to voice the word, because for a little while there they’d been flirting—not even flirting, far more than that. It had felt as if they had been kissing. She really was going now anyway; he’d nearly finished the bottle. And maybe it was an overreaction to leave so hastily, but there was something about him that screamed warning. Not that he was inappropriate, more the wander of her own thoughts, because his mere finger on a glass had had her mind wandering. Something about him told her he’d make it terribly, terribly easy to break very firm rules.

  ‘Don’t leave...’ As she put down the note his fingers pressed over hers, wrapped them around the bill and held them a fraction. It was first contact and it was blistering; she could feel the heat from his fingers warm not just her own but race, too, to her face. ‘I’m not in love...I’m betrothed.’

  ‘There’s a difference?’ She smarted, though she was curious as to his unusual choice of word. She’d never heard a man, never heard anyone, describe themselves as betrothed. What was the difference?

  ‘God, yes.’

  Go, her mind told her, just turn around and go! Except his hand was still curled around her fingers and there was sudden torture in the dark eyes that held hers.

 
‘I am Crown Prince Alessandro Santina.’ He was too weary to dodge the facts and so rarely wanting of conversation, strangely willing to reveal his truth. ‘I have been told I am to return and fulfill my duties.’

  She could not have known just how many times she would replay that moment—could never have guessed how often she would look back to the very last time that she could simply have walked away.

  She didn’t though.

  Despite herself, Allegra sat and heard the rest.

  Beholden to the Throne

  Carol Marinelli

  Suitable for his bed...

  Outspoken nanny Amy Bannester seems to forget that servitude and silence should go hand in hand. But Sheikh Emir can think of more pleasurable uses for her luscious mouth....

  But not as his bride!

  Despite their all-consuming passion, the rules governing the desert kingdom of Alzan make it impossible for her to wear his crown. He lost his first wife as she gave birth to his precious twin daughters, but Emir must have a male heir for his lineage to continue—and it’s the one thing that Amy can’t give him....

  Dear Reader,

  Great news—in February 2013 Harlequin Presents Extra is merging with Presents so you will now be able to find more of your favorite authors in one place as Presents increases from six books a month to eight.

  There will be more of the themes you love such as secret babies, marriages of convenience, scandalous affairs, all with exciting international settings and delicious alpha heroes. You can also look forward to linked books by some of your most-loved authors and a new exciting eight-book continuity starting in May.

  So remember, starting in February there will be eight new Presents books available each month!

  Happy reading!

  The Presents Editors

  P.S. Also available this month:

  #3107 A RING TO SECURE HIS HEIR

  Lynne Graham

  #3108 THE RUTHLESS CALEB WILDE

  The Wilde Brothers

  Sandra Marton

  #3109 BEHOLDEN TO THE THRONE

  Empire of the Sands

  Carol Marinelli

  #3110 The Incorrigible Playboy

  The Legendary Finn Brothers

  Emma Darcy

  #3111 BENEATH THE VEIL OF PARADISE

  The Bryants: Powerful & Proud

  Kate Hewitt

  #3112 AT HIS MAJESTY’S REQUEST

  The Call of Duty

  Maisey Yates

  “I can’t do this again....”

  Amy was so upset she didn’t focus on his touch, just the thought of next year and the next, of watching the babies she loved lost to strange laws. “I can’t do this Emir...” She was frantic. “I have to leave....”

  “No,” Emir said, for he could not lose her now. “You can be there for them, comfort them, and explain to them...” She could, he knew that. The answer to his prayers was here and he bent his mouth to taste her, taste the salty tears on her cheeks.

  His lips moved to her mouth and her fear for the girls was replaced, but only with terror, for she was kissing a king, and she was kissing him. Her mouth sought escape from her agony and for a moment she found it; she let her mind hush beneath the skill of his lips. His arms wrapped around her and drew her in and his tongue didn’t need to prize her lips because they readily opened and then she knew where this was leading, knew then the plans he had in mind.

  It wasn’t her that he wanted, but that she be there for his daughters. He wanted to ensure she would stay... so she pulled back, as her head told her, too, because for Amy, this was too dangerous a game, for with this kiss came her heart.

  One powerful legacy, two desert kings

  Empire of the Sands

  For rival sheikhs Rakhal and Emir, kingdom comes first, last and always.

  But underneath their steely control lies an unfathomable passion—deeper than an oasis and hotter than the scorching desert sun.

  By day they rule with an iron fist, but by night, under a blanket of diamond-like stars, pleasure reigns!

  Banished to the Harem

  November 2012

  Emir, ruler of Alzan, is preparing to marry again. Nanny Amy may meet his exacting requirements in the bedroom, but is she suitable to be the sheikh’s wife?

  Beholden to the Throne

  January 2013

  Other titles by Carol Marinelli available in ebook:

  Harlequin Presents®

  3102—PLAYING THE ROYAL GAME (The Santina Crown)

  3097—BANISHED TO THE HAREM (Empire of the Sands)

  3053—AN INDECENT PROPOSITION (The Secrets of Xanos)

  For Penny Jordan

  Who made me fall in love with sheikhs.

  Rest in peace, Penny.

  Loved, missed and always remembered

  C xxx

  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 SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘SHEIKH King Emir has agreed that he will speak with you.’

  Amy looked up as Fatima, one of the servants, entered the nursery where Amy was feeding the young Princesses their dinner. ‘Thank you for letting me know. What time—?’

  ‘He is ready for you now,’ Fatima interrupted, impatience evident in her voice at Amy’s lack of haste, for Amy continued to feed the twins.

  ‘They’re just having their dinner...’ Amy started, but didn’t bother to continue—after all, what would the King know about his daughters’ routines? Emir barely saw the twins and, quite simply, it was breaking Amy’s heart.

  What would he know about how clingy they had become lately and how fussy they were with their food? It was one of the reasons Amy had requested a meeting with him—tomorrow they were to be handed over to the Bedouins. First they would be immersed in the desert oasis and then they would be handed over to strangers for the night. It was a tradition that dated back centuries, Fatima had told her, and it was a tradition that could not be challenged.

  Well, Amy would see about that!

  The little girls had lost their mother when they were just two weeks old, and since his wife’s death Emir had hardly seen them. It was Amy they relied on. Amy who was with them day in and day out. Amy they trusted. She would not simply hand them over to strangers without a fight on their behalf.

  ‘I will look after the twins and give them dinner,’ Fatima said. ‘You need to make yourself presentable for your audience with the King.’ She ran disapproving eyes over Amy’s pale blue robe, which was the uniform of the Royal Nanny. It had been fresh on that morning, but now it wore the telltale signs that she had been finger-painting with Clemira and Nakia this afternoon. Surely Emir should not care about the neatness of her robe? He should expect that if the nanny was doing her job properly she would be less than immaculate in appearance. But, again, what would Emir know about the goings-on in the nursery? He hadn’t been in to visit his daughters for weeks.

  Amy changed into a fresh robe and retied her shoulder-length blonde hair into a neat ponytail. Then she covered her hair with a length of darker blue silk, arranging the cloth around her neck and leaving the end to trail over her shoulder. She wore no make-up but, as routinely as most women might check their li
pstick, Amy checked to see that the scar low on her neck was covered by the silk. She hated how, in any conversation, eyes were often drawn to it, and more than that she hated the inevitable questions that followed.

  The accident and its aftermath were something she would far rather forget than discuss.

  ‘They are too fussy with their food,’ Fatima said as Amy walked back into the nursery.

  Amy suppressed a smile as Clemira pulled a face and then grabbed at the spoon Fatima was offering and threw it to the floor.

  ‘They just need to be cajoled,’ Amy explained. ‘They haven’t eaten this before.’

  ‘They need to know how to behave!’ Fatima said. ‘There will be eyes on them when they are out in public, and tomorrow they leave to go to the desert—there they must eat only fruit, and the desert people will not be impressed by two spoiled princesses spitting out their food.’ She looked Amy up and down. ‘Remember to bow your head when you enter, and to keep it bowed until the King speaks. And you are to thank him for any suggestions that he makes.’

  Thank him!

  Amy bit down on a smart retort. It would be wasted on Fatima and, after all, she might do better to save her responses for Emir. As she turned to go, Clemira, only now realising that she was being left with Fatima, called out to Amy.

  ‘Ummi!’ her little voice wailed. ‘Ummi!’

  She called again and Fatima stared in horror as Clemira used the Arabic word for mother.

  ‘Is this what she calls you?’

  ‘She doesn’t mean it,’ Amy said quickly, but Fatima was standing now, the twins’ dinner forgotten, fury evident on her face.

  ‘What have you been teaching her?’ Fatima accused.

  ‘I have not been teaching her to say it,’ Amy said in panic. ‘I’ve been trying to stop her.’

  She had been. Over and over she had repeated her name these past few days, but the twins had discovered a new version. Clemira must have picked it up from the stories she had heard Amy tell, and from the small gatherings they attended with other children who naturally called out to their mothers. No matter how often she was corrected, Clemira persisted with her new word.