The Sultan Demands His Heir

by Maya Blake

  The large hand that clamped over her mouth immediately muffled the sound.

  Terrified by the ease with which the intruder had caught and restrained her, Esme fought harder. She wrapped her fingers around the thick wrist and was attempting to pry him off when she felt his warm breath against her cheek.

  ‘Calm yourself, Miss Scott. It is I, Zaid Al-Ameen. If you wish to remain safe, you need to come with me. Right now.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ESME SLACKENED IN shock for a handful of seconds before outrage kicked in. At her renewed struggle, he held her tighter. ‘Be calm,’ he commanded again.

  She shook her head, her heart tripping over all the possible reasons for his presence here in her room, holding her prisoner. She came up with nothing remotely reassuring. ‘You have my word that I mean you no harm, Esmeralda. But I need your reassurance that you won’t scream before I release you,’ he said, his lips brushing against her ear.

  Despite her racing heart, she felt herself go still. She told herself it wasn’t the effect of the deep but lyrical lilt to her first name as it fell from his lips, or the low, even way he spoke that finally soothed her, but the need to be set free from the deeply disturbing sensation of the body welded to hers.

  No longer fighting, she was keenly aware of the firm strength of his body against hers. The splay of the fingers of his restraining arm branding her hips. Her bare legs dangling against his longer ones. Her back absorbing his unhurried breathing as her bottom snuggled between the widened stance of his hips. And the highly masculine, very proud organ cradled between them.

  Heat surging up her body, Esme jerked her head in quick assent. He waited a beat then released her. She launched herself away from him, slapped her hand on the light switch in the bathroom before whirling to face him.

  The sight of the Sultan of Ja’ahr, dressed from head to toe in black traditional clothes, every inch the dark desert warrior lord he was, threatened to rob her of the breath she’d just regained. The hand she lifted to push back her heavy hair shook as she glared at him. ‘You may be the ruler of this kingdom, but you have no right to invade my privacy,’ she condemned, a touch too shakily. ‘Not to mention the fact that you scared the living—’

  One imperious hand slashed through the air. ‘I understand that you wish to express your outrage. But I highly recommend you do so once we’re away from the hotel.’

  ‘Why?’ she demanded.

  Not bothering to dignify her with a response, he strode to the small wardrobe on the other side of the room. Esme watched, stunned, as he began to rummage through her clothes.

  ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing? If you think I’m going anywhere with you after barging into my room in the middle of the night, think again.’

  He turned from the wardrobe, his eyes narrowed in displeased slits. ‘I caution you against using that tone of voice with me or my men will arrest you, with or without my permission.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Your men?’

  He jerked a head towards the door. Esme followed his action and for the first time she noticed the men who stood guard, their broad backs to the door but rigidly alert. Protecting their King.

  Barring her way.

  ‘Why are they here? Why are you here?’

  He stepped forward and she saw that he held her black cotton dress in his hand. ‘I don’t have time to debate the matter with you. Put this on. We need to leave now, unless you plan on walking out of the hotel dressed in that wispy scrap of nothing?’ he rasped. Although his expression remained stoically impersonal, his voice was a touch more raw than before.

  Esme stared down at the peach night slip she wore. The silky, lace-edged material was short, barely coming to mid-thigh. The bodice consisted of two cupped triangles also edged in lace, with thin straps joining at her nape in a halter design. As nightwear went, it was intended to be feminine and sexy, hugging, flattering and titivating where necessary.

  Except, with Zaid Al-Ameen’s piercing gaze on her, Esme bypassed those middling sensations and went straight to fiery hot awareness between one heartbeat and the next. Mild shock rippled through her belly at the intensity of the feeling singeing her body as his gaze conducted a slow journey over her. When it rose from her feet to linger at her thighs, a heavy throbbing commenced between her legs. The sensation rippled outward, sparking tiny fireworks that exploded beneath her skin as it spread.

  Dark golden eyes rose higher, over her stomach to rest on her breasts. Suddenly sensitive peaks prickled, then slowly tightened into hard nubs. Realising that the silk exhibited every reaction of her body, Esme hastily threw her arm up over her chest, even as she defied the hot flush staining her neck and cheeks to stare challengingly at him.

  But she might as well have been a gnat challenging an elephant. The eyes that met hers may have been a touch more turbulent than they were moments ago, perhaps even gleaming with a hint of suppressed hunger, but the man who strode determinedly over to her and thrust her dress at her was once again the supreme marauder intent on having his way.

  ‘You have two minutes to put this dress on or I will do it for you myself,’ he pronounced succinctly.

  Even though she caught the dress, Esme stood her ground. ‘I’ll put the dress on, but I’m not leaving this room until you tell me what is going on.’

  At his curt nod, she stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her. About to put the dress on, she froze when she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her long loose hair was in complete disarray, her colour high as her chest rose and fell in agitation. But it was the brightness of her eyes that shocked her most of all. Where she’d expected fear, she read something else. Something that made her skin tingle even more wildly. Her nipples were still tight twin points of blatant arousal and belatedly she realised that, standing in the light of the doorway, Sultan Zaid would have been able to see right through her slip.

  With renewed chagrin and heightened disquiet, she turned away and tugged the dress over the night slip. There was no way she was going back in there to retrieve her bra so the nightgown would have to offer the extra protection she needed. Besides, she could feel Sultan Zaid’s restless prowling through the bathroom door.

  After sliding her fingers through her hair in a vain effort to control the unruly mess, she tugged it into a ponytail and left the bathroom to confront the figure pacing the room. ‘Okay, I deserve to know what’s going on, and I’m not moving until I do.’

  ‘The chief of police is on his way to arrest you. And unless you come with me, you will be in jail within the hour. It won’t be a pleasant experience.’

  Her mouth dropped opened, but the stark words had shrivelled her vocal cords and killed any further protest in her throat. Her gaze swung to the guards standing at the door. They hadn’t moved, but she sensed an escalated urgency in the air.

  He’d turned on a lamp while she’d been in the bathroom and Esme hurried across the room to shove her feet into the heels she’d discarded at the bottom of the bed. Then she went to the wardrobe and tugged out her suitcase. It was ripped from her hand a second later.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’m getting my things.’

  ‘There’s no time for that. Your belongings will be taken care of.’

  Again she wanted to protest, but at the implacable look in his eyes she nodded. Her purse held her passport, credit cards and phone. He waited long enough for her to grab it before he marched her to the door.

  Eight bodyguards immediately positioned themselves in a protective cordon around them. A lift she suspected had been held especially for him transported them swiftly to the ground floor.

  They exited to a large, empty foyer with only a sleepy male receptionist stationed behind the desk. He straightened to attention, then bowed respectfully as they moved past him.

  Sultan Zaid barely glanced at him, his focus on the revolving doors. And the small group of armed men walking through it.


  Her heart leapt into her throat. Beside her, Zaid tensed, even though he didn’t break his stride.

  ‘Remain by my side and do not speak.’ The words were delivered in a low, even voice, but the stern command that pulsed through them was unmistakeable.

  She nodded as the small group drew closer. Their posture and uniforms announced who they were before she read the insignia on their attire.

  The leader, a small, rotund man, came forward and in unison they executed a bow, but she noted that although the chief of police paid his respects to his ruler, the act was delivered with reluctance and more than a hint of antagonism.

  ‘Your Highness, I am surprised to see you here at this time of night,’ he said, slowly tucking the cap he’d removed from his head under his arm. His black, beady eyes swung to the Sultan’s bodyguards protecting them before returning to Zaid.

  ‘Matters of state do not always wait for civilised hours to demand attention.’

  The man’s gaze settled on her and Esme spied the distinct gleam of malevolence in the black depths. ‘And that is what is happening here? A matter of state?’

  Zaid’s response was spoken in sharp, rapid-fire Arabic, his posture seething with unbridled authority. Esme watch the man shrink back slowly. The hostile expression in his eyes didn’t abate, and his gaze darted to her many times during the conversation but he didn’t attempt to arrest her.

  Although only mere minutes passed, it felt like a lifetime before Zaid glanced her way.

  ‘We’re leaving now,’ he said.

  Relief punched through her and she gave a swift nod as she hurried to match her steps to his.

  The moment she slid into the car he climbed in after her. A second later, after she’d slotted in her seat belt, they were moving with the smoothness borne of military precision.

  She took a deep, shaky breath, but the thousand questions that crowded Esme’s brain were momentarily suppressed when her senses were suffused with the very male scent of the man sitting next to her.

  The man staring at her with silent, watchful intensity.

  ‘What...?’ She stopped and flicked her tongue over her dry lips. ‘Why was he coming to arrest me?’

  ‘Because he found out, like I did, that the allegations you made against his police force weren’t entirely accurate. Your interview has been televised every hour for the past twelve hours. There are those who called for your arrest the moment it was aired. It came to my attention that the police chief was beginning to gather his forces.’

  Ice cascaded down her spine. ‘Oh, my God.’ The hand she lifted to push back a swathe of hair shook badly. Tightening it into a fist, she placed it in her lap. ‘What...what was he going to charge me with?’ Not that it mattered. Jail was jail. And prison in Ja’ahr wasn’t something she wanted to experience, even for a minute.

  To her surprise, Zaid Al-Ameen’s lips pursed before his powerful shoulders moved in a shrug. ‘He would’ve found something.’

  ‘What? You mean he could’ve just made something up?’

  ‘It could’ve been something as simple as questioning you about what you said, or it could’ve been more. You supplied him with all the base he could have wanted. All he needed to do was capitalise on it.’

  Her heart dropped to her stomach. ‘But isn’t that...illegal?’ she questioned carefully, unwilling to add further fuel to the fire it seemed she’d started.

  In the semi-darkness of the vehicle she watched his jaw clench harshly, his expression turn grave. ‘The wheels of change are turning in Ja’ahr, but not fast enough,’ he said semi-cryptically. ‘True democracy comes at a cost. Not everyone is ready to pay that price yet.’

  The bald statement left very little room for more questions after that. The convoy rolled swiftly along near deserted streets, silence reigning in the vehicle. Until Esme realise the familiar road they travelled on.

  Her gaze swung from the elevated road and the familiar dome ahead to the man sitting next to her. He was staring at her, shrewd sharp eyes waiting. ‘You’re taking me—’

  ‘Back to the Royal Palace, yes,’ he confirmed.

  Wild hysteria powered through her. ‘So I was right. You are kidnapping me after all.’

  She’d meant the words half-jokingly, a way for her tumbling thoughts to grapple with the events of the last hour and the enormity of what might have happened to her.

  When he didn’t immediately answer, she glanced at him.

  The look he levelled at her was in no way mirthful. It was filled with solemn, unwavering resolve. ‘For want of a better word...and for the foreseeable future, yes.’

  * * *

  Zaid watched her process his reply. She may have been joking, but he was deadly serious.

  Slowly, every trace of amusement drained from her face. He told himself the apprehension that replaced it was much more useful to him. It would keep her focused properly on what lay ahead of her. It would also serve to draw his attention from the luscious curve of her mouth and the tiny twitch of her nose when she was amused.

  He was already battling with the heated tug of his libido at the way her skin had shone under the bathroom lights, like the pearls mined in the sea bordering his kingdom. The way the scrap of silk she had worn to bed had caressed her flesh had made him infinitely glad he’d been wearing a shrouding tunic. The urge to touch her, to relive the memory of holding her warm body captive in his arms was so strong it was a visceral ache deep within him. He smashed down hard on the unwelcome sensation and concentrated on the matter at hand.

  ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ Her eyes were widening, her hushed voice stained with burgeoning realisation.

  ‘I have a kingdom to rule. I don’t undertake missions like this just for the fun of it.’ His words emerged clipped.

  She flinched. He experienced the tiniest dart of remorse before he firmed his lips.

  Before he could say anything further, his vehicle drew to a stop. His head of security jumped out and opened his door.

  Zaid didn’t exit immediately. For some reason, he found himself staring at her, taking in her pale features, the lower lip she was worrying as she stared back at him. The shadows under her eyes. ‘It’s almost two o’clock in the morning. We will continue this conversation at a more appropriate hour, once you’ve had some rest.’

  He stepped out of the car and held out his hand. Her gaze dropped warily. For a tense moment he watched her silently debate whether or not to take it, then she reached out, almost in slow motion, to finally accept his help.

  The sensation of her sliding her hand into his ramped up the volatile tension inside him. Zaid ruthlessly dismissed his body’s response, just as he’d dismissed almost all extraneous emotions since his return to Ja’ahr. He’d needed to, to be able to focus on rebuilding what his uncle had so brutally destroyed. It was the reason he hadn’t taken a woman to his bed in well over eighteen months. It was the reason his work days were so long and sleep was a luxury he afforded himself only when necessary.

  Nevertheless, he found his grip tightening, his touch lingering even after she stood before him, her face upturned to his. In the floodlights gracing the entrance to his palace, her unique beauty struck him all over again.

  Enough.

  He turned and started to walk away, leaving Fawzi and the rest of his staff to make the arrangements for her care and comfort. Right now there were a hundred other tasks that needed his attention. ‘Goodnight, Miss Scott.’

  He’d only taken a few steps when heard her rush after him. ‘Wait. Please. Your Highness.’

  Against his will, Zaid felt the whisper of a smile tug at his lips at the way she’d tagged on his title. Reluctantly. Grudgingly.

  Recalling his insistence that she use it the previous afternoon, he grimaced. Although his veins pulsed with royal blood, Zaid had never forced the outer trappings of his nobility on anyone, until her. Something about Esmeralda Scott had made him want to assert his dominion over her. Perhaps, even absurdly, he wanted to see
that defiant chin and insubordinate body lowered in the archaic, submissive bow he hated from everyone else.

  ‘Your Highness, please.’

  Zaid gritted his teeth and paused at the entrance to the hallway that led to his private lift. The small group of staff who found it necessary to follow him everywhere within the palace, night or day, paused at a respectful distance.

  Esmeralda, however, kept coming, her lissom, curvy body swaying sensually beneath the cotton dress. Zaid dragged his gaze from her shapely legs and hips to her face, stamping down once more on the insistent tug to his groin.

  ‘I know it’s the middle of the night, but it may as well be the middle of the day for me. I won’t be able to sleep. Not until I know more about what’s going to...happen.’

  To me.

  Zaid silently applauded her for leaving those words out. She was determined to show no weakness, despite the precarious position in which she’d placed herself and her father. A situation he’d been monitoring since she’d left his office the previous afternoon. The repercussions of her interview had been more damaging than he’d initially thought. He’d been in the process of considering ways to mitigate it when he’d been alerted to the chief of police’s intentions.

  Recollection of their conversation in the hotel foyer made him grit his teeth. If Esmeralda Scott wanted to know what fruit her actions had borne, he would gladly apprise her. And since he hadn’t been heading for his own bed, now was as good a time as any.

  He dismissed his staff, although he knew Fawzi and his bodyguards would remain awake and in close proximity until Zaid himself retired to bed. ‘Very well. We will talk now,’ he said to her.

  He caught her quick, nervous swallow before she gave a firm, responding nod. ‘Lead the way, Your Highness.’

  Zaid didn’t know whether to commend her fearlessness or condemn her for it, because the spirit she’d displayed, which had led her into hot water in the first place, would be what she would need to keep her going in the days to come. He was still tossing the thought around in his head when he entered his private lift. She followed him into the small space, but immediately plastered herself to the wall farthest from him. Zaid would have been amused by the action if his senses hadn’t been immediately assailed with the delicate scent of her cherry blossom shampoo and the elusive wisps of perfume that clung to her skin.