A Cinderella for the Desert King

by Kim Lawrence

  Zain had taken pity on the guy because he’d lasted longer than most, and his mother was nobody’s idea of low-maintenance.

  ‘Your mother is Italian?’ Her brow speared into a speculative furrow. ‘Spend some time...?’ Her eyes flickered wide. ‘Does that mean—?’

  ‘She left when I was eight.’

  ‘She left you?’ Abby struggled not to sound shocked at the idea.

  ‘She considered it the unselfish thing to do.’ There was no inflection in his voice but the twist of his lips was ironic as he explained his parent’s motivation. ‘She could no longer deprive the operatic world and her public of her talent.’

  Had she really said that to a little boy...? Abby couldn’t bring herself to ask...she wasn’t sure what shocked her most about the story—the seeming total lack of maternal feeling or the impression of total self-absorption.

  ‘So, you see, Italian is quite literally my mother tongue. Most people here in Aarifa speak French and Arabic and a good percentage speak English as well these days, though there are some schools that are giving Mandarin preference. So, to business. If you give Hakim the details of your grandparents’ account I will have the funds deposited by the end of the day.’

  ‘From a hospital bed?’

  ‘It is called delegation...cara.’

  The addition was deliberate but her stomach gave a little kick anyway. ‘You’ve got this planned but aren’t you missing the details? You haven’t asked how much my grandparents need.’

  ‘Then tell me.’

  She took a breath and said the sum she was short of for the house purchase and her grandparents’ pension pot very quickly, but it still sounded an awful lot. She looked at him warily through her lashes.

  ‘Per week, it sounds reasonable.’

  She looked him as though he were mad. ‘Week!’ she yelped. ‘Are you insane?’

  He shook his head. ‘I really hope you have an agent for your modelling work, otherwise you’d be paying them.’

  Abby watched as he reached for the phone that lay on the locker beside the bed and punched in a number while she stood there wondering what the hell she had signed herself up for as he spoke quickly to someone at the other end.

  ‘Well, that is organised,’ he said, sliding seamlessly into English as he finished the call. ‘Hakim has just arrived at the hospital. He was bringing me some personal items,’ he added by way of explanation. ‘He will escort you back, and have Layla, my housekeeper, settle you in.’

  ‘Take me back where?’

  He looked surprised by the question. ‘To the palace.’

  ‘Right now...?’ Panic gave her question a shrill edge.

  ‘What if I see someone, what do I say, and Mr Jones is waiting...he...?’

  ‘I will attend to Mr Jones, and I imagine you will see several people. None of them will ask you any difficult questions; they are there to make you comfortable. If you need anything just ask Hakim.’

  ‘You’re not giving me time to think,’ she protested weakly. ‘And who is Hakim?’

  As if on cue there was a knock on the door before it opened to reveal a man who was so broad you didn’t immediately notice he was not above average height.

  ‘This is Hakim, my right hand.’

  Excluded as Zain slid into what appeared to be a mixture of Arabic and French—presumably he was issuing instructions because the other man nodded several times—it wasn’t until after Zain had finished speaking that Hakim turned and bowed his head once again, this time to her.

  ‘I hope you will enjoy your stay with us, Your Royal Highness.’

  ‘Thank you...’ Her glance skittered towards Zain lying in the bed—his position did not stop him manipulating everyone like some sort of chess master but her little blip of resentment faded as she saw the lines of fatigue around his eyes.

  ‘You should get some sleep,’ she scolded, missing the thick-set man’s startled expression when she added sternly, ‘And don’t do anything really stupid like getting out of bed!’

  * * *

  Zain did close his eyes after the door closed...and lay there wondering if he’d done something very stupid. Did she have the faintest clue of what she had agreed to?

  Though present, the doubts tinged with guilt flickering through his head did not last. Doubts were a luxury, a weakness he could not afford. Opposing a forced marriage to Kayla and making enemies along the way would expend time and energy he also could not afford. His father may have lost sight of the fact that in their position of privilege a personal life must always be secondary to duty, but Zain had not.

  He knew it was essential that, as heir apparent, he must establish his authority without delay if he was to stand any chance of bringing about the reform the country needed.

  And it did need it.

  Always held up as a shining example of liberal thinking and progress over the past few years, Aarifa, without a strong figurehead, was increasingly becoming a country run on a system of patronage and tribal alliances between the ruling families. Corruption was already rampant and worst of all it was becoming an accepted business practice. Zain had watched from the sidelines, painfully aware of the decline but impotent as the younger son to do anything to prevent what was happening. He had watched while the country’s oil wealth was siphoned off into tax-haven accounts, while the growing inequality caused discontent and unrest.

  For those who would resist his reforms Zain knew the scandal of his mother would resurface and they would try to smear him by association. There was nothing he could do about that but he could stop them weaponising his single state. A temporary marriage of convenience was the obvious solution even if that did mean throwing Abby Foster into the palace life of intrigue and deception...how would she cope?

  He ground his teeth as he brushed away the question but not before his thoughts had been infiltrated by guilt once more. She would not lose out by this situation, he reminded himself, and in eighteen months when he had established his authority she would be free to take up her life once more without the burden of debt hanging over her head. She would have the freedom to choose, something that Zain knew he had lost in the moment of his brother’s death.

  He dug his head a little deeper into the pillow and reached behind his head with a grunt of effort to switch off the oxygen and the irritating hiss. Settling back, he closed his eyes.

  Behind his flickering eyelids his thoughts continued to swirl until he closed them down, refusing to allow emotions to rule his actions the way his father always had. He fell asleep not thinking of reform but of a woman with green eyes smiling at him while she wrapped her fiery hair and her slim arms around his body.

  CHAPTER NINE

  YOU THOUGHT THIS was a good idea why, exactly? Abby asked herself as the door finally closed behind Layla. She resisted the temptation to open it to see if the two large men were still stationed there... Were they to keep people out or to keep her in...?

  It didn’t really matter though; the idea of anyone making it this far into a building that had a dizzying number of corridors and discreet but visible security was laughable. Though really, even if intruders got in they would never find their way out...there were probably skeletons of would-be thieves and assassins gathering dust in unknown marble-floored corners of the building even now.

  She was too tired to smile at the fantasy image as the weariness, both mental and physical, went cell-deep. Even a cursory view of one of the bathrooms—the suite had two—did not tempt her to do more than brush her teeth and splash water on her face.

  She stepped out of her borrowed dress, leaving it where it dropped. She could imagine her grandmother’s horror at such slovenly behaviour but was too tired to do anything more than pull her nightshirt over her head before flinging herself face down on the bed where someone had conveniently pulled back the silk sheets.

  She had never seen a be
d this big, let alone slept in one. Despite its size it actually looked small in her vast room, which was part of a suite of similarly palatial rooms, but then it was a palace.

  Perhaps she could ask to be moved to something a little cosier tomorrow, if this place even did cosy...? She was still debating the question when sleep claimed her. She dreamt of the enormous bed she lay in but in her dreams she wasn’t alone...

  As she emerged from a deep sleep the next morning the dreams that had dominated her night slipped away, leaving just an impression, an odd ache deep inside her and a tight feeling in her chest. As these too slipped away she experienced a moment’s total disorientation that tipped over into panic as she stared at the intricately coloured antique-glass panels in the delicately wrought brass chandelier that hung over the bed.

  ‘Where am...?’

  Then she remembered, the previous day’s events trickling through her head like an old-fashioned slide show. With a groan she sat bolt upright, giving a startled gasp when she saw the young woman standing a few feet away holding a tray.

  The girl’s smile slipped a little, but who could blame her being scared, Abby reflected, as her morning look tended towards super-scary even on good days? It didn’t matter how successfully she tamed her hair during the day, at night it went its own wild way, and, as she had no memory of removing any make-up last night, she probably had panda-eyes as well.

  ‘Good morning...you startled me.’ Just as well her tenure in the palace was temporary because she wouldn’t like to think of this as part of her morning routine...of course, Zain’s real wife might enjoy a very different sort of morning routine. She might wake beside, maybe even entangled with... Abby’s eyes half closed and her head extended to one side as she imagined lips moving up the curve of her neck, tracing a sensual path to her mouth. The kiss would be deep and slow, hungry... Her eyes shot open as she sucked in a guilty gasp through flared nostrils.

  What are you doing, Abby?

  A burn of shame joined the other burn already lit low in her belly and she responded to the young woman’s question of, ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Lovely, thank you.’

  The girl sketched a little curtsey, put the tray on a table a few feet away and turned back.

  ‘The curtains...?’ she asked, nodding to the row of four floor-length windows along the opposite wall, all covered by heavily embroidered curtains.

  Abby nodded and lifted a self-conscious hand to her hair as she pulled back the sheet and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The cartoon cat grinning on her chest tugged her lips into a twisted smile—her nightwear looked almost as incongruous in these surroundings as she felt!

  That feeling didn’t diminish when the young woman approached with a floor-length dressing gown in oyster silk. They probably stocked such luxury items in a selection of sizes on the off-chance that an overnight guest might need one.

  Or maybe one of Zain’s personal overnight guests had left it behind? The fabric might have been impregnated with this faceless woman’s perfume... The idea took hold and seemed so strong that Abby found herself taking a step backwards, the young attendant’s face making her realise that her own expression must be reflective of the deep repugnance she was experiencing.

  She dug deep and forced a smile, standing still as the younger woman slid the gown over her arms. Thankfully it smelt of nothing but newness. Frowning faintly, Abby stepped away, fastening the belt around her slim waist and wondering why she had overreacted so much to the hardly surprising idea that Zain slept with women; it would have been naive...actually insane to assume he didn’t have an active sex life.

  What would have been surprising would be the discovery that he lived the life of a monk. She smiled at the thought, ignoring the inexplicable nauseous knot that still lingered in her belly.

  His sex life was not of any interest to her, she told herself, but what was of interest to her was the question of whether he intended to continue enjoying his bachelor lifestyle for the next eighteen months...yes, her interest in that was totally legitimate, she decided with some relief.

  If she was expected to play her part this was exactly the sort of information she needed. If she was expected to look the other way and pretend she didn’t know about his affairs it would be good to know ahead of time what the royal etiquette for that would be.

  Oh, yeah, Abby, that should be a really good Q&A session. What would be a good opening line...? I’m not interested in who you sleep with, but...

  She spared a moment of sympathy for his real wife when he took one, though she supposed there was any number of women in the world willing to make quite a lot of compromises to occupy the position she had temporarily found herself in.

  The knowledge would have been easier to live with if she had been able to pretend that it was his position, his status and conspicuous wealth that attracted these faceless women who in her head were stepping over each other to offer themselves to him, but Abby knew that, even stripped of all the trappings of his position, Zain had more earthy sex appeal in his little finger than any man on the planet.

  She sucked in a breath, dispelling the disturbing image forming in her head. ‘Too much stripping, Abby.’

  The expression of the petite woman who had been holding out the gown was wary as she shook her head to signal she didn’t understand what Abby had said.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m mad but not dangerous.’

  The girl, continuing to look wary, held out a pair of slippers, delicate little velvet things embroidered with open toes and a tiny wedge heel.

  Abby didn’t realise her intention until the girl was about to drop down to her knees, and at this point she snatched the slippers and slid her feet into them herself. ‘Perfect fit...’ Abby arched a delicate brow of enquiry in the younger woman’s direction.

  ‘Mina,’ the young woman supplied shyly as she dragged her curious gaze from Abby’s flamed hair, which seemed to fascinate her.

  ‘Thanks, Mina, but I can take it from here,’ Abby said politely but firmly.

  It took a few attempts but Abby finally managed to convey her message, namely that she didn’t need help to dress, drink or anything else. It had taken five minutes and Abby was on her second cup of reviving strong coffee by the time she walked the younger woman to the door, where she received a startled look in response to her casual parting shot of see you later.

  ‘Morning, guys!’ she called to the men standing outside before ducking back in.

  She leaned against the wall, thought steep learning curve and began to laugh...hysteria, she told herself as the tears ran down her cheeks. Ah, well, as her nan would have said, better to laugh than cry. She might have entered into a very dubious deal with a sinfully good-looking devil who, pointless to pretend otherwise, she was not immune to, but it was a means to an end and she’d make it clear when she saw him that she was probably going to mess up...royally! She dragged a hand though her tousled hair and wondered when she was likely to see him and what she was meant to do in the meantime.

  Zain had seemed convinced that he’d be discharged from hospital today but that seemed unrealistic to Abby.

  Floating in a bath into which she had tipped half a gallon of truly glorious-smelling oil from one of the crystal flagons on the marble-topped washstand, she began to feel slightly more relaxed.

  She didn’t manage to empty her mind but at least she had things more in perspective—a few uncomfortable months of her life was a price worth paying to know that her grandparents would be able to live in comfort for the rest of theirs.

  She had just emerged from the decadent sunken tub and was towelling herself dry when she heard the sound of voices. She took a deep breath, wrapped a towel turban-style around her hair and tightened the sash on the silk robe. Clearly she had not convinced the woman that she could cope alone.

  She took a deep breath, realising she’d just have to be blunt. �
�Thank you, Mina, but I’m—’

  The level of calm she’d achieved in the bath went flying out of the window. Mina was there, along with two other women, one of whom was folding items of clothing that were definitely not Abby’s into a tall chest of drawers, removing layers of tissue paper as she did so. The other was helping Mina fill a wardrobe with hanger-hung items which all had labels still attached.

  This was all disturbing but it was a gnat bite to a mountain lion when compared with the disturbing presence of the man who was standing there supervising them!

  CHAPTER TEN

  SHOCK HELD HER immobile but was it shock that made her body hum or that made the silk suddenly feel heavy against her sensitised nerve-endings?

  In no mood to think about alternative explanations to shock, she caught her lower lip between her teeth, lifted her chin and waited for him to acknowledge her presence, and in the seconds it took she made a comprehensive survey of his tall, dynamic figure, casual in beautifully cut dark trousers and a pale open-necked shirt that didn’t make him any less of a dauntingly elegant figure or lessen the impact of his sheer male physicality.

  There was nothing that even vaguely suggested his invalid status. The bruises she knew were on his body were concealed and with his left profile presented to her the damage to his face was hidden.

  He turned his head then and Abby pulled in a tense breath as their eyes clashed electric-blue on emerald. After a moment that seemed to stretch on for ever he tipped his head in curt acknowledgement.

  Breathing again, she watched as he turned back to the women, said something that had them dropping curtsies and murmuring a respectful chorus of ‘Amir!’ before they hurried from the room, eyes down.

  * * *

  Zain waited until the door had closed and then he waited some more before he turned back; it took the extra moments to get his rampaging libido back under some sort of control. Being celibate for too long went some way to explaining the strength of his reaction...some, but not all.