by Kate Hewitt
‘I have no idea how the Princess feels,’ he told Jahmal, ‘because she’s not here.’
Jahmal’s frown deepened. ‘My Prince? I don’t understand...’
‘I took the wrong woman,’ Zayed explained, biting each word off and spitting it out. It was like some ridiculous farce. ‘I kidnapped the governess, not Princess Halina.’ Colour surged into his face just from stating it so baldly. How could he have been so stupid?
‘The wrong woman...’ Jahmal’s face drained of colour. ‘But...did she not say...?’
‘No, she didn’t say. She didn’t protest at the wedding, either.’ An hour of sitting here stewing had made suspicion solidify in Zayed. He might be to blame for taking the wrong woman, but why the hell hadn’t Olivia spoken up? There had been plenty of opportunity. Why hadn’t she asked who he was? He’d assumed she’d known, because she’d never said otherwise. Really, she’d been remarkably quiet, all things considered. And that made him wonder if she’d seen a good deal and decided to take it.
There was, he knew, only one way to find out. Not that it would make much difference to the outcome, but at least it would ease his conscience when he informed Olivia in no uncertain terms that he was divorcing her and marrying Halina at the earliest opportunity...and that she would help him to achieve that goal.
After Jahmal left, Zayed decided to go talk to Olivia. The sooner he could implement some damage control, the better. But when he went to the tent, it was empty, and Suma informed him that Olivia had gone down to the oasis to bathe. Fine. He would see her there.
The small camp was built around a verdant oasis, shaped like a kidney, so there were several private inlets. Olivia had gone to one of these, well out of sight of the camp, and Zayed strode down the palm-fringed path to the private cove to find her.
He paused as he crested a gently rolling dune; Olivia was hip-deep in water and wearing absolutely nothing. The breath rushed out of Zayed’s lungs as he took in her perfect slender form, the bright morning sunlight gilding her body in gold.
She held a cloth above her head, squeezing it so water dripped out, the droplets running down her shoulders and back. Desire surged through him, an irrepressible force. Zayed clenched his fists, willing it back. Lust for this woman had weakened him once. It would not do so again.
He came down the hill, the long grasses that fringed the oasis rustling as he moved, and Olivia turned, gasping as she caught sight of him. She rushed to cover herself and Zayed’s mouth twisted sardonically. Her maidenly outrage was just a little too melodramatic to be convincing, especially considering what they’d been doing together mere hours ago.
‘You don’t need to rush,’ he drawled as she waded out of the water and snatched a towel. ‘I’ve seen it all before.’
‘That doesn’t mean you need to see it again.’ She knotted the towel above her breasts, her hands shaking. Zayed folded his arms and surveyed her dispassionately. Never mind that she looked utterly lovely, with her dark, damp hair already starting to dry and curl in tendrils about her heart-shaped face. Never mind that her eyes looked huge and blue, and that those thick, sooty lashes drove him to distraction. Never mind.
‘As soon as possible, I am going to send an envoy to Sultan Hassan, explaining the situation.’
Her eyes widened and Zayed thought he saw disappointment flicker in their stormy depths, vindicating his suspicions. She was in it for herself. She had to be.
‘Everything about our situation?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Word will already have got out.’
‘Even so...’
‘I am not a liar.’ His voice came out hard. ‘I will be honest with Hassan, and so will you.’
‘Me?’
‘You will write him a letter that I will include as part of my correspondence, explaining what happened and how you did not correct my misinformation.’
Anger flared in her eyes and she hugged her arms to herself, hitching the towel higher. ‘Correct your misinformation?’ she repeated with a surprising edge of acid to her voice. ‘I didn’t realise it was my responsibility to make sure my abductor’s kidnapping attempt went smoothly.’ She planted her hands on her hips, making the towel slip and affording Zayed a tantalising glimpse of the rounded curves of her breasts. ‘When should I have done that, Prince Zayed? When I was being thrown out of a window? Or when I was gagged on horseback?’
‘I removed the gag.’ Pain flickered at his temples as he set his jaw.
‘Or when I was thrust into a tent and a marriage ceremony without having exchanged a word with you? What should I have done? Said, Pardon me, but I think you might have the wrong woman?’
‘Surely,’ Zayed gritted, ‘you realised a mere employee would not be kidnapped?’
‘A mere employee.’ Hurt flashed in her eyes and she looked away. Zayed suppressed an unnecessary flicker of guilt. He’d only been stating the truth. It wasn’t meant to be an insult. ‘I’m afraid I was too overwhelmed and fearful for my life to consider the practicality of it all,’ she said after a moment, her gaze still averted.
Rage billowed inside him, rage he knew shouldn’t be directed at her, or at least solely at her. Yet he could not keep himself from it. ‘And later? When we were in the tent alone, eating and drinking—surely you could have said something then?’
Colour washed over her cheekbones. ‘What should I have said?’ she asked in a suffocated voice.
‘You could have said who you were! You could have asked who I was. We could have avoided consummating the marriage, which would have made things much simpler now.’ Olivia didn’t answer and Zayed took another step towards her. ‘Unless you had no intention of revealing who you were. Or that you knew who I was.’ It wasn’t quite a question and her gaze swung back to him, her fine eyebrows drawn together.
‘What are you implying?’
‘That you took advantage of the situation,’ Zayed said evenly, ignoring the flicker of unease that rippled through him. Olivia had gone very still, her blue eyes wide, her expression strangely fathomless.
‘Advantage,’ she said after a moment, her tone as fathomless as her face.
‘Yes, advantage. As a lowly governess, essentially a servant in the royal household with few prospects, you saw the advantage in being my wife. Being Queen.’
‘Queen? Of what?’ Contempt rolled off every syllable. ‘A huddle of tents in the desert?’
Zayed flinched under the words, although he knew they were more or less true. ‘I will regain my inheritance,’ he said in a near growl. ‘I promise you that.’
‘When? And why would I take such an enormous risk?’ She hitched the towel higher, her face flushed now, her eyes bright with anger and even hurt. ‘You are contemptible to suggest such a thing.’
‘What am I supposed to think?’ Zayed demanded. ‘There were any number of opportunities for you to tell me who you were.’
‘I didn’t realise I needed to! Why should I?’
‘And what about after?’ Zayed took another step towards her; he could smell the freshness of her damp skin, almost feel her quiver. ‘What about the wedding night?’
She set her jaw, although her hands shook on the towel. ‘What about it?’
‘You fell into my arms easily enough. Too easily, I think.’
‘It is to my own shame and regret that I did.’ Tears trembled on her lashes and she blinked them back. ‘Whatever you believe.’
‘What woman falls into bed with her kidnapper, without even knowing his name?’
‘What man seduces a woman without checking who she is first?’ Olivia snapped. ‘I accept I was seduced, and far too easily at that. But you are the one who kidnapped me, Prince Zayed. You are the one who took me from my home and forced—’
‘I did not force.’ The words were low and deadly.
‘Not...not that. But the wedding ceremony. You didn’t even explain—’
‘I thought you knew.’
‘Then you made a lot of assumptions, and now you are paying
the price, as am I.’ With her chin held high, Olivia went to move past him, but Zayed grabbed her wrist, feeling the fragile bones beneath her skin.
‘We are not done here.’
She whirled around to face him, fury tautening her features, the towel slipping so her breasts spilled out, golden and perfect. Despite everything, or perhaps because of it, desire arrowed through Zayed, impossible to resist. He drew her towards him and she came, willingly, her lips parting, her features already softening. It was that easy. Her instant acquiescence hardened something inside him and he dropped her wrist.
‘Even now you are willing,’ he said, not bothering to hide his disgust, and Olivia flushed crimson as she yanked the towel back up.
‘As were you,’ she choked. ‘Don’t deny it.’
‘I am not now,’ he told her coldly, and then turned away, only to still when he saw Jahmal coming over the hill. How much had his aide seen?
‘My Prince.’ Jahmal’s gaze flicked to Olivia and then away again quickly. ‘Forgive my interruption, but a message has just come through.’
‘A message?’ Zayed tensed, wondering if Hassan had already heard, was already angry. If he broke the betrothal... Except, of course, Zayed had already broken it by marrying another woman.
‘It is Malouf.’
Olivia might not have understood the Arabic, but she clearly understood that name, for she gasped softly.
‘What has he done?’ Zayed demanded.
‘He sent some men to raid a village two hours’ ride from here. There are wounded.’
Zayed swore. Malouf wreaked his bloody war to no purpose and innocents paid the price.
‘Let us depart at once.’ He started to stride from the oasis when Olivia’s voice stopped him.
‘Wait!’ she cried, and Zayed turned around impatiently.
‘What is it?’
She stretched out one slender hand. ‘Take me with you.’
CHAPTER SIX
OLIVIA WATCHED AS Zayed’s eyes flared with both impatience and irritation and knew he would consider no such thing. She was a liability, a burden, in every possible way. He despised her, it seemed, for having given in to him...just as she despised herself.
And yet she didn’t want to be abandoned. Who knew when Zayed would come back? He might leave her here to languish; conveniently forget about her while he pursed his political destiny. And, more importantly, she wanted to do something, to feel useful, rather than sit and wait and worry. If she went with Zayed, she could help.
‘Take me with you,’ she said again, her voice stronger now. ‘I have training in first aid, and I can help if any women or children have been hurt.’ She pulled the towel around her more tightly, conscious of the other man’s carefully averted gaze. ‘I can be of use; I know it.’
Zayed’s lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. ‘But you don’t speak Arabic.’
‘I speak enough.’ Olivia lifted her chin, willing him to agree. She was afraid to be left here, alone with strangers. Zayed might hate her at the moment, but at least he knew her. He knew her all too well.
Zayed glanced at the other man, who was keeping a deliberately neutral expression. Then he gave a terse nod. ‘Very well. Suma will see you have the appropriate clothes. Jahmal will fetch you in five minutes.’
He strode away from the oasis, followed by Jahmal, and Olivia’s breath came out in a whoosh of both relief and trepidation. What had she just got herself into? Yet anything was better than staying here and waiting, wondering. The future seemed like so much fog, impossible to know...and yet terrifying at the same time.
Back at the tent Suma brought her some more clothes—desert boots and a headscarf to keep out the sand. Olivia finished dressing quickly, her fingers shaking as she did up the laces on her boots.
Zayed’s horrid accusation ricocheted through her brain, filling her with both shame and fury. How could he think she’d somehow planned this? But what was he supposed to think, when she’d fallen into bed with him so willingly, so instantly? Olivia didn’t know what was worse—Zayed thinking she was a scheming gold-digger or a wanton woman.
Exactly five minutes later Jahmal entered the tent and Olivia followed him out, her heart thudding in her chest.
Prince Zayed was waiting in front of a desert camouflage Jeep parked outside the camp, looking both fierce and royal in combat boots, loose trousers and a camouflage shirt that clung to the muscles of his chest and arms. His agate gaze swept over her, giving nothing away. With one brief nod he indicated she should get into the back of the Jeep, so Olivia did. Zayed climbed into the driver’s seat and Jahmal slid in next to him.
The sky was a hard, bright blue, the unforgiving sunlight illuminating the barren desert landscape Olivia had been unable to see last night. She’d glimpsed a bit of it on the way to the oasis but now, as the Jeep started away from the camp, she grasped something of the utter isolation of their location.
Undulating sand dunes swept to the horizon, interspersed with large, jagged-looking boulders. She felt as if they were a million miles from anywhere.
The Jeep jostled over the sand and Olivia leaned back, fatigue crashing over her now that the initial adrenalin burst of her confrontation with Zayed had gone.
What was he going to do with her? He’d mentioned sending an envoy to the palace and her writing a letter. But what on earth could she write? Would Sultan Hassan even employ her after hearing that she’d slept with his daughter’s fiancé? The thought of being out of a job, potentially without a reference, filled her with fear.
Even worse was the prospect of being without a home, which filled her with a worse grief. For years she’d called the palace on the outskirts of Abkar’s capital city home. She’d loved Sultan Hassan’s little daughters, had played with them and plaited their hair, taught them English and teased them about their future husbands. She’d felt part of a family for the first time in her life, even if it had been in a small way, as an employee. She would lose it all, she feared, when Hassan heard about what she’d done. Never mind that Zayed had abducted her; Olivia knew how these things played out in this culture. A woman would not be forgiven.
And now, in the hard, bright light of day, she wondered yet again how she had succumbed so easily. He’d been a stranger, a threat, yet when he’d touched her she hadn’t cared. She’d only wanted to feel more, to experience the wonder of desiring and being desired. It was as if her common sense, usually in such abundance, had abandoned her completely. She supposed she wasn’t the first woman to be in such a position, but it still smote her sorely.
Still, Zayed would annul the marriage on some obscure grounds, or else simply divorce her. They wouldn’t stay married and she would hopefully be able to find another position. The thought made her feel mixed up inside, a jumble of emotions she couldn’t let herself untangle quite yet.
She’d felt too much already, from the electric tingle of Zayed’s touch to the churning fear when she’d first been taken, and then the overwhelming shock, like a tidal wave of numbness, when she’d realised the colossal mistake they’d both made.
Zayed glanced back at her, his expression closed, his eyes hard. ‘Are you holding up?’ he asked brusquely, and Olivia nodded, knowing she shouldn’t be touched by such a small, simple question, yet feeling it all the same. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back fiercely. The last thing she wanted to do now was cry. She didn’t even know what she’d be crying for—for what she was about to lose, or what she’d already lost?
They rode in silence, bumping over dunes for two hours, until they came to a huddle of Bedouin tents by a small oasis fringed with palms. Even before the Jeep came to a stop outside the circle of tents Olivia could feel the sense of desolation and despair. It hung like a mist over the camp, a darkness despite the sun that glinted diamond-bright off rock and boulders in the distance.
Zayed leapt out of the Jeep in one graceful movement and then, to Olivia’s surprise, he reached behind and held out his hand for her. Olivia took it, th
e feel of his rough, callused palm on hers reminding her of how he’d touched her earlier, and how she’d responded to it.
It seemed incredible that she could be affected by him even now, with confusion all around them, but her body felt as if it were supernaturally attuned to his. Or was she just naïve because no man had ever paid her any attention before? Either way, she had to ignore the fizzing sensation in her stomach, the electric excitement that pulsed through her as his hand brushed hers.
‘Come.’ Zayed dropped her hand once she’d exited the Jeep and Olivia followed him into the camp. Men, women and children milled about in states of sadness and anxiety; after speaking to some of the leaders, Zayed told Olivia that Malouf’s men had raided the camp and stolen their goats and camels, roughed up a few of their men. A few of the women and children were hurt, collateral damage, but fortunately no one had been too badly injured.
‘It could have been worse,’ Zayed said grimly, his expression making Olivia think that he had seen worse before, more than once.
‘Let me help,’ she said. ‘Where are the women and children who have been hurt?’
Zayed nodded towards the tranquil pool of water the camp had been built around. ‘They are washing in the oasis.’
Nodding, Olivia started towards the group of women she saw huddled by the pool. She didn’t know exactly what she could do to help, only that she wanted to be of some use. Her heart ached for these people, the confusion they felt at having their home so needlessly destroyed.
The women turned as she approached, eyes narrowing with curiosity, and Olivia wondered how on earth she could explain who she was. But then, for better or worse, it turned out there was no explanation needed.
‘I...help,’ she said haltingly, and a child ran towards her, tackling her around the knees. Relief poured through her. Until that moment she hadn’t quite realised how much she needed to feel useful. To be needed.
She spent the next few hours bandaging cuts and cleaning scrapes, communicating in a mixture of halting Arabic and miming that made the children chortle with glee.