Demanding His Desert Queen

by Annie West

  ‘And it matters that he stopped you from doing something you love just to save himself embarrassment.’

  It was the action of a coward. But Karim kept the thought to himself. He was, after all, talking to the man’s widow.

  Something dark and bitter curled through his belly. He ignored the sensation, shifting his stance.

  Safiyah curved her mouth into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Well, you’ll be able to fill the stables if you wish.’ Before he could respond she looked at her watch. ‘It’s getting late. Time for Tarek to go to bed. If you’ll excuse me...?’

  ‘Introduce me—’ Karim stopped, wondering. Did four-year-olds do introductions, or should he just get down on his haunches and say hello?

  For the first time since he’d agreed to come here and take on the kingdom he felt unsure of himself. He ignored his uncertainty and crossed the grass to where the child and dog lay, panting, after their game. The kid registered his presence, looking up, then up again, till a pair of brown eyes met his. Brown flecked with honey, just like his mother’s.

  Why that should affect Karim he didn’t know, but he registered a thump in the vicinity of his ribs as that little face with those wide eyes turned to his.

  ‘Tarek, I want you to meet...’ Safiyah paused. Was she wondering how to describe him? Not father...not Sheikh yet.

  ‘Hello. My name is Karim. I’ve come to live at the palace.’

  The boy scrambled to his feet and, after swiping his dirty hands on the back of his shorts, stood straight and extended one hand. ‘Hello. I’m Tarek ibn Abbas of Assara. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

  Karim closed his palm around the tiny hand and gave it a gentle shake. He stared into the small, serious face regarding him so intently, as if looking for signs of disapproval.

  With an audible whoosh of sound in his ears Karim found himself back in time, learning from a courtier the precise grades of greeting and which was suitable for royalty, for members of court, foreign dignitaries and ordinary citizens. He must have been about Tarek’s age and he’d mastered the lesson quickly, since the alternative—disappointing his irritable father—hadn’t been an option.

  ‘The pleasure is mine, Prince Tarek.’ Karim inclined his head over the boy’s hand before releasing it.

  The child nodded in acknowledgement but his eyes were already flicking back to the puppy chewing at his shoe. Tarek might be a prince but he was above all a little boy. And in that instant Karim was swamped by a determination to achieve at least one thing. To allow Tarek to have a childhood despite being royal.

  Something Karim had never had.

  He’d grown up with no time for idle play or cuddles. Instead there’d been constricting rules and a strict regimen devised to ensure he became a miniature copy of his father.

  Seeing the yearning look on the boy’s face as his royal training battled his inclination for fun, Karim smiled and squatted down. ‘He’s a fine-looking dog.’

  In fact the boisterous pup was anything but beautiful. It had the long, silky tail and soft ears of a hunting dog but those short legs and nuggety body belonged to some other breed entirely.

  Karim recalled the pure-bred hounds his father had kept, whose pedigree was as important as any other quality. Karim felt a surge of empathy with the mongrel pup and reached out to pat it—only to have it gnaw experimentally on his fingers.

  ‘He likes you!’ The last of Prince Tarek’s gravity disintegrated as he threw himself down on the ground with his pet. ‘He doesn’t mean to hurt you,’ he added earnestly. ‘He bites people he likes.’

  ‘I know. It’s what puppies do.’

  Karim was rewarded with a wide smile and responded with a grin.

  ‘Do you have a dog?’ the boy enquired.

  Karim shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘You could play with us if you like.’

  He was surprised to find himself moved by the child’s generosity. How long since he’d done something as simple as play with a dog? Or talk to a child?

  ‘I’d like that, thank you.’ He scratched the dog’s spotted belly. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Blackie. I picked it.’

  Karim nodded. ‘You picked well. Is he yours?’

  ‘Yes. But he doesn’t sleep with me.’ The boy pouted, using rounded cheeks and outthrust lip to full advantage as his gaze slid reproachfully towards his mother. ‘He should sleep in my bed. So I can look after him if he gets lonely in the night. Don’t you think?’

  Karim sensed Safiyah standing behind him, yet she said nothing. Was she waiting to see how he responded?

  ‘Dogs need space, just like people do. I’m sure Blackie has a cosy bed of his own.’

  ‘He certainly does,’ Safiyah chimed in. ‘Just down the hall. He sleeps so well that Tarek has to wake him up to play sometimes. Now, it’s time to say goodnight. Tarek and Blackie need to go to bed.’

  Karim watched the little boy struggle with the urge to argue. But eventually he got to his feet.

  His eyes were on the same level as Karim’s as he said, ‘I like you. Come and play again.’ Then, with a flickering look at his mother he smiled and added, ‘Please.’

  Tarek’s mixture of royal imperiousness and friendliness appealed. Far more than the cautious, almost obsequious approaches Karim usually got from those eager to impress.

  ‘I’d like that. Thank you,’ Karim said again. He returned the smile with one of his own.

  He’d enjoy spending time with little Tarek. For one thing, it would be a pleasant change. For as long as he could recall he’d been unable to trust that the people who tried to get close to him did so out of affection instead of for personal gain.

  Safiyah bent to scoop the tired pup into her arms and take Tarek by the hand. Karim felt that all too familiar clench in his groin as her dress pulled over ripe curves.

  Once she’d played up to him because she’d believed he could make her a queen. Now she’d come to him because she needed his protection.

  Always because she wanted something from him.

  Not because she wanted him.

  It was a timely reminder. One he wouldn’t forget.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the benefits of having Safiyah as his wife.

  Suddenly the tedium and frustrations of the afternoon’s long meeting disintegrated. Karim found himself looking forward to embracing his new life.

  * * *

  The vast, circular audience chamber was filled to the brim. Guests even outnumbered the stars of pure gold that decorated the domed ceiling of midnight-blue. The crush of people made Safiyah glad she was on the raised royal dais. Yet her heart still pounded as if she’d had to fight her way through the throng.

  As of a few minutes ago, Karim had become Assara’s ruler.

  Thinking about it made her light-headed—with relief, she told herself, not nerves. Yet she kept her eyes on the crowd, not on the man further along the dais.

  She had a perfect view of their faces, the VIPs of Assara, as they took turns to swear fealty to their new Sheikh. There were politicians, clan elders and powerful businessmen. Even the other men who’d hoped to be Sheikh.

  Safiyah watched, her breath stalling, as the person before Karim bowed and backed away. Next in line was Hassan Shakroun. Shakroun’s lips twisted unpleasantly, but that wasn’t unusual. The man rarely looked content.

  To her immense relief, when Karim had been proclaimed Sheikh there’d been no protest. Karim’s swift acceptance of the crown meant Shakroun had had no time to act against him.

  Now Shakroun moved forward and bowed perfunctorily, then backed away.

  Safiyah sighed in relief. She’d done right. Shakroun had no reason now to harm Tarek. He was safe. It was Karim who had the power to make or break Tarek’s future.

  Despite his assurances, it was imp
ossible not to wonder what sort of ruler he’d make, and what sort of father.

  What sort of husband?

  A jitter of nerves shot through her, churning her stomach. She breathed out slowly, forcing her heartbeat to slow.

  As soon as the coronation ceremony was over their marriage would take place, and then Karim’s formal adoption of Tarek.

  What she’d give for her sister to be here. But, following tradition, there were no females in the room. Except her. Karim had made an exception to past practice by inviting her to attend the ceremony that would make him Sheikh.

  Reluctantly she looked again at the centre of the dais. There, surrounded by the leaders of the Council, stood Karim, regal in pure white trimmed with gold. Even the agal encircling his headscarf was gold, a symbol of his new status.

  He stood a head taller than the older men around him. Confident and commanding. His strong profile was proud, betraying no hint of doubt or weakness.

  Tarek would grow up as the adopted son of the Sheikh. And she... She was destined to become once again wife of a sheikh.

  Another breath, snatched into lungs that didn’t seem to work.

  Even the knowledge that this would be a marriage in name only couldn’t ease the hammer-beat of her heart or the uneasy feeling that she’d acted against her better judgement.

  Her second marriage of convenience. Her second marriage without love or real caring.

  Safiyah pressed her palm to her abdomen as pain sheared through her. She’d learned to live with Abbas’s indifference. Theirs hadn’t been a close relationship, and in some ways there’d been relief in the fact they hadn’t spent much time together.

  Surely this new marriage would be similar. Karim’s distaste had been clear after that kiss in Switzerland. She’d been the one swept away. He’d been as unmoved as one of those looming Swiss mountains. Her cheeks flamed at the memory.

  And yet, this marriage wouldn’t be like her one to Abbas. Then she’d been so miserable and lost that even going through the motions of marriage had been just one more burden. Dazed with grief over her father and her broken heart, nothing had mattered but doing her duty.

  Now there was nothing to cushion her from the reality of her actions.

  Her gaze returned to the arrogantly masculine profile of the new Sheikh. A riot of emotions roiled through her.

  This marriage was going to be far worse than her first. She was marrying not a stranger, but the one man she’d ever loved. The man she’d yearned for with all her youthful heart.

  She didn’t love him any more. The very idea chilled her. Because doing so would make her impossibly vulnerable. But she’d cared for him once and felt sickened by the idea of living a pale imitation of the life she’d once hoped for.

  Yet it was worse even than that. For though she didn’t love him, and he was indifferent to her, Safiyah still wanted Karim as a woman wanted a man.

  She desired him.

  How was she to survive this marriage? Ignoring his indifference and the women he’d take into his bed? She didn’t—

  Suddenly the old men around the Sheikh shuffled back and that bronzed, handsome face turned. Safiyah felt the impact of that stare. It seemed as if his gaze bored straight past her blushing cheeks, past the sumptuous gown and jewels, deep into her aching heart.

  The illusion strengthened when his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, as if he sensed her doubts and the urge to flee which she had only just mastered.

  But Safiyah was strong. Or she could pretend to be—even if she felt weak-kneed and terrified.

  She lifted her chin and held that keen gaze like a queen.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘SAFIYAH.’ KARIM FOUND himself crossing the dais to stand before her instead of simply summoning her with a gesture.

  He heard the murmur of voices as people noted his action, and he didn’t care. The previous Sheikhs of Assara might have moved for no one, but Karim would rule in his own way. He’d wanted to go to her from the moment she’d paced decorously into the room, like some exquisite medieval illumination come to life.

  She glowed in jewel tones, her long dress of gold brocade revealing amber and red depths when she moved. The tiara of old gold and rubies turned the sensual woman he knew into a regal beauty. The matching chandelier earrings drew attention to the delicate line of her slender neck. Her air of shuttered stillness made him want to muss her hair with his hands as he tasted those luscious lips again and brought her to frenzied, rapturous life.

  Drawing back from her passionate kiss, pretending to be unmoved by it, had been appallingly difficult. Fortunately pride and his once-bruised ego had come to the rescue.

  ‘Your Majesty.’

  She sank into a curtsey so low that the shimmering gown rippled across the floor around her like a molten lake. Head bent, she stayed there, awaiting his pleasure. But despite the profound gesture of obeisance there was an indefinable air of challenge about her.

  This woman kept her own counsel and tried to maintain her distance. When he’d spent a little time with her and Tarek he’d been even more aware of the wall she’d built around herself.

  He reached down and touched her hand, felt her flinch, and then, as he slid his hand around her wrist, the quick flutter of her pulse.

  ‘You may rise.’

  She did, but even so kept her eyes downcast. Anyone observing would see a beautiful queen, modestly showing respect for her new Sheikh. But Karim was close enough to read the swift rise and fall of her breasts and see the tiny tremors that ran through her.

  Not so indifferent, my fine beauty, no matter how you try to hide it.

  ‘You look magnificent.’ His voice deepened in appreciation.

  She lifted her eyes then. The velvety brown looked darker than usual, without the gold highlights he used to admire. They looked soul-deep and...worried? Despite his impatience, the idea disturbed him. What had she to worry about now he’d come to her rescue?

  He told himself not to be taken in.

  His feelings for her were too confused.

  Once he’d been well on the way to being enchanted by Safiyah. He’d believed her gentle, honest and sweet. Then he’d wanted to hate her for deserting him.

  Since meeting her again he’d experienced a mixture of distrust, anger, lust and a surprising protectiveness. Whatever else, she’d proved herself courageous when danger threatened her son. Or was she just grasping, scheming to retain her privileged position?

  But marriage had been his idea, not hers.

  He didn’t trust her, didn’t want to like her, and yet his hunger for her was tempered by reluctant admiration. It took guts for her to face him again, to consent to marry him and carry it off with such panache.

  He lifted her hand and kissed it. A whisper of a kiss, yet he felt the resonance of her shock in his own body.

  Want. Need. Hunger.

  Soon they’d be assuaged.

  ‘Come...’ He smiled down at her, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. ‘It’s time for our wedding.’

  * * *

  Safiyah closed the door to her apartments behind her and sagged back, grateful for the solid wood supporting her spine. She felt drained. The ceremony hadn’t taken long, but the celebrations had lasted hours. And that was just the first day. Tomorrow the celebrations continued—and the day after that.

  Yet it wasn’t the hours in heavy brocade and jewels, performing her royal duties, that had exhausted her. It was stress. The knowledge that she was now Karim’s wife!

  A sob rose and she stifled it, pushing away from the door, making herself walk into her rooms though every limb felt shaky.

  It was a paper marriage. It didn’t mean anything except that Tarek was safe. And that she’d have to keep on playing the public role of adoring, compliant spouse of a man who didn’t give a damn about her.

  Again
that tangle of emotions rose, almost choking her. She swallowed, blinked back the heat glazing her eyes, and kept walking.

  Usually her maid would be there, but Safiyah had known she wouldn’t be able to face anyone and had dismissed her for the night. Now she half wished she hadn’t. Just unpinning the tiara would take ages. But better to wrestle with it and her overwrought emotions alone.

  At least she had practice in doing that. It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d had anyone she could lean on emotionally. Not since her mother had died when Safiyah was in her teens. She’d loved her father, but he’d never fully recovered from the loss of his wife. And her little sister had spent years battling her own demons of anxiety and depression, so Safiyah had supported her rather than the other way around.

  As for Abbas...despite their physical intimacy there’d never been any question of sharing her feelings with him. He hadn’t been interested. And life at the palace had isolated her from her friends.

  She swung around, caught sight of herself in a mirror, all gold and jewels, and grimaced, feeling ashamed. She had so much. She had no right to feel sorry for herself.

  Nevertheless, she turned on the music her sister had given her for her last birthday—a compilation of gentle tunes harmonised with wild birdsong and even the occasional sound of water falling. Rana said it helped to relax her and Safiyah had found the same.

  She switched on a couple more lamps so the room felt cosy, unhooking the heavy earrings with a sigh of relief and placing them on the waiting tray in her dressing room. Her bangles followed—ornate, old, and incredibly precious heirloom pieces.

  With each piece she imagined a little more of the weight lifting from her shoulders.

  She lifted her hands to the tiara, turning towards the full-length mirror that took up one wall of the dressing space.

  ‘Would you like help with that?’

  The voice, smoky and low, rolled out of the shadows behind her.

  Safiyah froze, elbows up, staring at the figure that had stepped into her line of vision in the mirror. Her pulse rocketed and the remnants of distress she’d been battling coalesced into a churning, burning nugget of fire in her abdomen.