Captive to the sheikh...
Seduced by his touch!
Certain that Regan James has information on his sister’s disappearance, Sheikh Jaeger steals her away to his palace. He doesn’t expect compliance from his beautiful captive, but when defiant Regan accidentally causes a media storm, it must be resolved. How? He’ll have to marry her! Their engagement is for appearances, but the electricity sparked by their passion feels exquisitely—dangerously—real...
“For the last half hour,” Jaeger murmured, “you’ve been wondering what it would be like to kiss me.”
Regan sputtered out the words massive and ego, her hands coming up between them to press firmly against his hard, naked chest.
A light came into his eyes that turned her lips as dry as his desert land. “Your pulse is hammering, begging for me to put my mouth on it.” His hands threaded into her hair. His gaze held hers for an interminable second, and then his head lowered to hers.
He gave a husky groan as his tongue traced the line between her lips, urging them to part. Sensation rocked through her, and without any conscious thought her lips shaped themselves to his.
Regan’s hands gripped fistfuls of his hair, urging him closer. “Jaeger... Jag. Please...” His name on her lips seemed to shift something in both of them. He lifted his mouth from her, his breathing hard.
His eyes narrowed at her. “I’ve wanted to taste you since the first moment I met you. Now I have.”
Conveniently Wed!
Conveniently wedded, passionately bedded!
Whether there’s a debt to be paid, a will to be obeyed or a business to be saved...she’s got no choice but to say, “I do!”
But these billionaire bridegrooms have got another think coming if they imagine marriage will be that easy...
Soon their convenient brides become the objects of inconvenient desires!
Find out what happens after the vows in:
His Merciless Marriage Bargain by Jane Porter
Bought with the Italian’s Ring by Tara Pammi
Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed by Sharon Kendrick
Imprisoned by the Greek’s Ring by Caitlin Crews
Desert Prince’s Stolen Bride by Kate Hewitt
Blackmailed by the Greek’s Vows by Tara Pammi
Look out for more Conveniently Wed! stories coming soon!
MICHELLE CONDER
Bound to Her Desert Captor
With two university degrees and a variety of false career starts under her belt, Michelle Conder decided to satisfy her lifelong desire to write and finally found her dream job. She currently lives in Melbourne, Australia, with one superindulgent husband, three self-indulgent (but exquisite) children, a menagerie of overindulged pets and the intention of doing some form of exercise daily. She loves to hear from her readers at michelleconder.com.
Books by Michelle Conder
Harlequin Presents
The Italian’s Virgin Acquisition
Defying the Billionaire’s Command
Hidden in the Sheikh’s Harem
The Most Expensive Lie of All
Duty at What Cost?
Living the Charade
The Chatsfield
Socialite’s Gamble
Russian’s Ruthless Demand
One Night With Consequences
Prince Nadir’s Secret Heir
Scandal in the Spotlight
Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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This is for Robyn, who is always warm and welcoming no matter what. Thanks for taking care of my dad.
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
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM A MISTRESS, A SCANDAL, A RING BY ANGELA BISSELL
CHAPTER ONE
‘I’M SORRY, YOUR MAJESTY, but there has been no further information as to your sister’s whereabouts.’
Jaeger al-Hadrid, King of Santara, nodded once then turned his back on his silver-haired senior aide. He stared out of the arched windows of his palace office on to the city of Aran below. It was early, the dawn sun bouncing off the Gulf of Ma’an and bathing the sleepy capital of Santara in a golden glow. The pale pink palace perched on the crest of a hill faced the once industrious port that had recently been transformed into a tourist mecca: hotels, restaurants and shopping outlets, tastefully designed to blend the old with the new. It was just one of Jaeger’s successful attention-grabbing visions to boost the local economy and showcase the changing face of his kingdom.
He didn’t see any of it right now, his mind locked down by the worry brought about by his sister’s disappearance.
Where was she? And, more importantly, was she all right?
A week ago he had returned from a business trip to London to find a note on his desk.
Dear Jag,
I know you won’t like this but I’ve taken off for a few weeks. I’m not going to tell you where I’m going because this is important to me. That’s why I haven’t taken my cell phone.
No doubt if I did you’d figure out where I’m going before I even get there! But don’t worry, I’ll be fine.
I love you,
Milena xxx
Don’t worry? Don’t worry? After what had happened three years ago, how could he do anything but worry?
He reached for the note on his desk, now enclosed in an evidence bag, and had to force himself not to crumple it in his fist. So far the only thing his elite security team had been able to find out was that she had taken a flight to Athens and then disappeared with a man. A man who had been identified as Chad James. An employee, no less, whom Jaeger had personally allowed his sister to work alongside for the past six months.
His jaw hardened and he had to force himself to breathe deeply. Chad James was a brilliant graduate who had been recruited from the States last year to work for his pet company, GeoTech Industries. The company only employed high-energy, intelligent men and women who could think outside the box to create leading-edge technologies that rivalled anything coming out of Silicon Valley. A week ago the young graduate had put in for one month’s leave without pay.
Had he coerced Milena into going with him for some lovers’ tryst? Or, worse, kidnapped her and planted the note, planning to ask for a ransom any day now?
Jag cursed silently. Since becoming King a decade ago he’d done his best to keep his siblings safe from harm. How had he failed so extraordinarily in that endeavour? How had he got it so spectacularly wrong? Again! Because it was his fault. He’d put his sister in harm’s way, even if he hadn’t known it at the time, and he held himself fully responsible.
And it couldn’t have come at a worse time.
For the past decade he had worked tirelessly to pull Santara out of the economic and political quagmire his father had inadvertently left it in, and, right when he was on the verge of having Santara recognised as an integral political powerhouse on the world stage, his sister went missing.
The worry was eating him alive.
‘How is it possible,’ he growled in Tarik’s direction, ‘that in this day and age no one can find out where she is?’
The elderly man Jag had known since his boyhood shook his head. ‘Without her mobile phone or computer there’s no way to track her,’ Tarik answered, not telling him anything he didn’t already know. ‘We have accessed security footage in and around the ports of Piraeus, Rafina and Lavrio, as well as the local train stations, but so far we have come up empty-handed.’
A knock at the door cut off Jag’s vicious string of curse words. His PA entered, and murmured something to Tarik before casting him a quick, sympathetic glance.
Jaeger’s heart thumped into his throat. Please don’t let his sister be in trouble.
Noticing his granite-like expression, Tarik shook his head. No, not the Princess.
Jag let out a rough breath. Only his tight inner circle knew that Milena was missing. Together they had mobilised a small taskforce of elite soldiers to hunt for her and Chad James, demanding absolute silence in the meantime. Jag hadn’t even alerted his brother to Milena’s disappearance and he didn’t plan to until he had something concrete to give him. Nor had he alerted the Crown Prince of Toran whom Milena was due to marry in a month’s time.
The last thing he needed was a scandal of this magnitude, a week out from hosting one of the most important international summits in Santara’s history. Leaders from all over the globe would be descending on Santara for four days to discuss world matters including environmental affairs, world health issues, banking and trade deficits. It would be the largest summit of its kind; a pinnacle moment in Santara’s rebirth, and his staff had worked tirelessly to see that it came off without a hitch.
‘Tell me,’ he demanded, noticing the slight hesitation on his aide’s pale face.
‘I have just been informed that Chad James’s older sister landed in Santara an hour ago.’
Jag frowned. ‘The sister he emailed the day before he disappeared?’
‘I believe so. A report on her has been sent to your inbox.’
Jag sat down at his desk, touching the mouse pad on his computer to awaken the screen. Quickly he found the relevant email, scanned it, and opened the attachment. It was a dossier of sorts.
Name: Regan James
Age: Twenty-five
Height, weight and social security number were all there. Her eyes were brown, her hair brown, and she worked at some posh-sounding school as a teacher. According to the report, she lived alone in Brooklyn, and volunteered at a bereavement centre for kids. No pets and no known convictions or outstanding warrants for her arrest. Parents deceased.
Which Jag already knew from the file that had been compiled on her brother. She also had a photography website. Jaeger flicked to the next page. On it was a photo of Regan James. It was a half-body shot of her standing on a beach somewhere, her hair tied back in a low ponytail, wisps of it caught by the breeze on the day and flattering her oval-shaped face, her hand raised as if to keep it back. She was smiling, a full-faced smile, showing even white teeth. A camera hung around her slender neck, resting between her breasts. It was a photo of a beautiful woman who didn’t look as if she would hurt a fly. And her hair wasn’t brown. Not in this photo. It was more auburn. Or russet. And her eyes weren’t just brown either, they were...they were... Jag frowned, caught his train of thought and shut it down. They were brown, just as the report said.
‘Where is she now?’
‘She booked into the Santara International. That’s all we know.’
Jag stared at the photo that shimmered on his screen. This woman’s brother had taken his sister somewhere and he would move heaven and earth to find them and bring Milena home.
He only hoped Chad James had an army to help him when he finally got his hands around the bastard’s scrawny neck, because nothing else would be able to.
‘Have her followed,’ Jag ordered. ‘I want to know where she goes, who she talks to, what she eats and how often she goes to the bathroom. If the woman so much as buys a packet of gum I want to know about it. Is that clear?’
‘Crystal, Your Majesty.’
* * *
Regan knew as soon as she walked into the shisha bar that she should turn right back around and walk out again. All day she’d trudged around the city of Aran looking for information on Chad, but the only thing she’d learned was that there was hot and then there was desert hot.
Despite that, she knew that she would have fallen in love with the ancient walled city if she were here for any other reason than to find out what had happened to her brother. Unfortunately the more she had searched the city for him the more worried she had become. Which was why she couldn’t follow her instinct now and leave the small, dimly lit bar Chad had frequented, no matter how tempting that might be.
The dinky little bar was dressed with various-sized wooden tables and chairs that looked to be filled with mostly local men playing cards or smoking a hookah. Sometimes both. Lilting Arabic music played from some unknown source and the air seemed to be perfumed with a fruity scent she couldn’t place. Not wanting to be caught staring, she straightened the scarf she had draped over her head and shoulders in deference to the local custom, and wound her way to the scarred wooden bar lined with faded red leather stools.
The truth was this place was almost her last resort. All day she’d been stymied either by her own sense of inadequacy in trying to navigate the confusing streets of Aran, or by the local people she met who were nowhere near as approachable as the travel-friendly propaganda would suggest. Especially Chad’s weasel-like landlord, who had flicked her with a dismissive gaze and informed her that he would not open the apartment without permission from the tenant himself. Having just come from GlobalTech Industries, where she couldn’t get anyone at all to answer her questions, Regan hadn’t been in the mood to be told no. She’d threatened to sue the shifty little man and when he’d responded by informing her that he would call the police she had said not to bother—she’d go there herself.
Unfortunately the officer on duty had told her that Chad hadn’t been missing long enough to warrant an investigation and that she should come back the next day. Everything in Santara functioned at a much slower pace than she was used to. She remembered it was one of the things Chad enjoyed most about the country, but when you were desperate it was hard to appreciate.
Utterly spent and weighed down by both jet lag and worry, she’d nearly cried all over the unhelpful officer. Then she’d remembered Chad mentioning this shisha bar so after a quick shower she had asked for directions from one of the hotel staff. Usually when she went out in New York it was with Penny, and right now she wished she’d persuaded Penny to come with her because she didn’t feel completely comfortable arriving at an unknown bar alone. She felt as though everyone was watching her and, truth be told, she’d felt like that all day.
Most likely she was being overly dramatic because she was weighed down by a deep-seated sense of dread that something awful had happened to her brother. She’d felt it as soon as she’d received his off-the-cuff email a week ago warning her not to try and contact him over the next little while because he would be unreachable.
For a man who was so attached to his phone that she often joked it was his ‘best friend’, that was enough to raise a number of red flags in her head and, try as she might, she hadn’t been able to dispel them. A spill-over effect, no doubt, from when she’d had to take over parenting him when he was fourteen. Still, she might have been able to set her worry aside if it hadn’t been for her friend and work colleague, Penny, who had regaled her with every morbid story she could remember about how travellers and foreign workers went missing in faraway lands, never to be heard from again.
For two days Regan had ignored her growing fear and tried to contact Chad, but when she’d continued to have no luck Penny had almost bought her t
he plane ticket to Santara herself. ‘Go and make sure everything is okay,’ Penny had insisted. ‘You won’t be any good to the kids here until you do. Plus, you’ve never been on a decent holiday in the whole time I’ve known you. At best you’ll have a great adventure, at worst...’ She’d left the statement unfinished other than to say ‘And for God’s sake be careful,’ which hadn’t exactly filled Regan with a lot of confidence.
As she cast a quick glance around the bar as if she knew exactly what she was doing, her gaze was momentarily snagged by a shadowy figure in the far right corner. He was dressed all in black with a keffiyeh or shemagh of some sort on his head, his wide-shouldered frame relaxed and unmoving in a rickety wooden chair, his long legs extending out from beneath the table. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that gave her pause but nor could she shake the feeling that he was dangerous.
A shiver raced down her spine and she told herself not to be paranoid. Still, she felt for the can of mace in her handbag and, satisfied that it was there, pinned a smile on her face and turned towards the bar. A man as big as a fridge stood behind the counter, drying a glass, his expression one of utter boredom.
‘What’ll it be?’ he asked, his voice as rough as chipped cement. As far as greetings went it fell far short of the welcome mark.
‘I don’t need anything,’ Regan began politely. ‘I’m looking for a man.’
The bartender’s brow rose slowly over black beetled eyes. ‘Many men here.’
‘Oh, no.’ Regan fumbled in her pocket when she realised how that had sounded and pulled out a recent photo of Chad. ‘I’m looking for this man.’
The bartender eyed the photo. ‘Never seen him before.’
‘Are you sure?’ She frowned. ‘I know he comes here. He said so.’
‘I’m sure,’ he said, clearly unamused at being questioned. He reached for another glass and started drying it with a dishtowel that looked as if it hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine for days. Maybe weeks. ‘You want hookah? I have strawberry, blackberry and peach.’ Which would explain the fruity scent she’d noticed when she’d first walked in.
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