“Of course I’m right. I’m Mika.”
It was something Mika had said when Charlotte was young – the princess had been five and Mika only twenty when she’d come to work for the royal household. The two had formed an instant bond and Charlotte had insisted, stridently, that only Mika was to help her. Whether it had been convincing Charlotte to wash before bed, or brush her teeth, or later, to do her homework and put her cell phone away for the night, Mika would always refrain, “I’m right. I’m Mika.”
Now, in her early forties, Mika was just as valued by Charlotte – she was also, undoubtedly, just as right.
“So you think it’s what I should do?”
Mika wrinkled her nose. “I think Syed Al’Eba is one seriously handsome prince and I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed.”
Charlotte’s jaw dropped and she nudged her friend lightly. “Mika!” She laughed, dropping her head forward and catching it in her palm. Unshackled by the chains of royalty that bound Charlotte, and with European parents, Mika was by far Charlotte’s least conservative friend. Charlotte so admired those aspects of Mika, even though Mika took great care to keep her private life private, so as not to draw the King and Queen’s disapproval.
Charlotte might have been laughing at Mika’s comment, but a retort had been born from the statement.
She didn’t say what she was thinking, though. It was her little secret to hold onto. The thing was, the problem Charlotte faced, was that if Syed Al’Eba was handsome, Ash had surely broken the mould when he was born.
* * *
He didn’t hear the phone ringing at first. His mind was elsewhere. Two feet elsewhere, to be precise, on the seat she’d occupied during their brief and troublesome meeting earlier that day.
His attraction to her had very little to do with how she looked. He knew that now, because several hours after she’d left, the things he kept obsessing over were the tiny details of who she was. The way she’d eaten her fruit. The way she’d considered her words carefully at times and fired them at him like bullets from a gun at others. The way emotions seemed to run just beneath her skin, flicking and firing almost beyond her control.
The way she’d seemed to bring a tornado of life with her into this very room, creating a different universe than the one he existed in.
He frowned as the ringing became louder, and stood, walking towards his desk and scooping up his phone. In the back of his mind he wondered if it would be her, calling to organise their next meeting. She wouldn’t wait long, surely, to make contact. The wedding was supposed to go ahead as soon as possible.
The wedding.
Just how the hell was he going to manage with Charlotte married to Syed?
“Ashad Al’Eba?” He barked into the phone, his eyes moving back to the chair.
“Bad time?”
Guilt was a spiral in his gut at the sound of his cousin’s voice. “Not at all,” he responded with the appearance of calm.
“How are things?” Syed asked.
“Things? You mean getting your wedding cancelled?”
Syed’s laugh was deep. “Something like that.”
“I’ve just met with your bride,” Ash muttered, forcing himself to look away from the seat. Her ghost was haunting him. Those bright red toenails were in his mind. He dragged a palm across his eyes, but the spell remained.
“What for?”
“Well, she is the woman you’re supposed to marry,” Ash pointed out.
“Yes, but since when is she interested in meeting anyone from Kalastan? Her father has a team of legal experts appointed to smooth out the final details …”
“Do you want the final details smoothed out?” Ash asked pointedly.
“No.” Syed shook his head. “Perhaps it’s better you’re dealing with her. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to work out how to put an end to this.”
Ashad was torn. Loyalty to his cousin was heavy in his heart. His dick was hard with need for Charlotte. The two sentiments were at odds. It was a death match, but in the end, his heart won. “You’re making a mistake,” he said, the words pulled from him slowly. “She is an excellent match. She would make any man proud.”
“I don’t want to marry her,” Syed responded. “My father will not tolerate my reasoning.”
“What is your reasoning?” Ash interrupted urgently.
“That I don’t want to marry her. That I don’t see the need.”
“I’m hard pressed to think of a woman who would make a better wife.”
“You like her?” Syed asked, with the insight of a man who knew his cousin almost as well as himself.
“No, I hardly know her,” Ash’s response was short. “But I can see, even after a brief meeting, that she has all the qualities you would want.”
“Such as?” Syed prompted.
“She is beautiful and intelligent, fierce and strong. She is truly a fascinating woman, Syed.” His gut turned. “Why don’t you fly over and meet her?”
Syed’s sigh was heavy. “I have my reasons. Reasons I can’t give you, or anyone. I’m not asking you to break this betrothal lightly, my friend. I am aware of the shame I risk bringing to our family. But everything in my soul prevents me from taking these vows. I cannot do it. It is better for Charlotte to be released from our engagement now rather than have it go any further.”
“Then release her,” Ashad said simply. “I will tell her you wish to break the betrothal.”
“No. It has to come from Falina. If there was any other way, I would take it, believe me.”
“I don’t think you understand quite how sublime she is,” Ash heard himself say, and cringed as the words hit the phone line and travelled across the ocean.
“Sublime?” Syed laughed. “Hell, cousin, it sounds as though you are quite captivated by her.”
Ash laughed to cover his remorse. He’d said too much. “As your bride, yes.”
“I don’t know,” Syed teased. “If you want her, perhaps you should find a way to make her want you too. Sleep with her, Ash; seduce her. That would solve all our problems, for you know I could never marry a woman you’d lain with.”
Ash ground his teeth together, incensed at the way they were discussing Charlotte as though she were a pawn on the chess board Adin adored so much. “I think it would be the beginning of our problems,” Ash contradicted.
“Perhaps. You’ll keep me posted?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. I’m in your debt.”
Ash expelled a breath and disconnected the call. He wasn’t sure quite how he’d get through the next few weeks but he was pretty sure they’d involve a lot of ice cold showers.
CHAPTER THREE
He read the email with a smile, for he thought of Charlotte and the black and white words breathed to life as though she were speaking them.
Your Highness,
Thank you for your time yesterday. It was an honour to meet you. I have attached a document which includes my chief concerns for the marriage negotiations. I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look before our next meeting.
Many thanks,
Her Royal Highness
Charlotte Shareef.
So much for ‘call me Charlotte, we’re going to be family’, he thought with a grin. It wasn’t possible for her to have sent a more stilted or formal note, and for all that she’d tried to put distance between them, it had the opposite effect on Ash. He imagined her typing these words, pausing as she deleted and rephrased sentences, looking to convey just the right mix of professionalism and formality.
He hit reply and wrote,
Good morning, Charlotte. I trust you slept well. I find it hard to get used to the sounds of boats in the distance.
I will review the document over breakfast (guava fruit and toast). Shall we meet later today?
A.
He sent it imagining the effect his casual address and subjects would have on her. Would she come back with yet another stilted, rehearsed email? Or would she reply in kind?
/>
He wasn’t disappointed. Only five minutes later, another email zipped into his phone.
Ashad,
I barely hear the boats anymore. If you think they’re loud at the embassy, you should see the marina! Today is fine. I have appointments this morning but can come to you again in the afternoon.
Charlotte.
He made a small sound and shook his head. He was playing with fire, he knew it. Despite Syed’s suggestion, there was no way Ash could act on his attraction for this woman. Was flirting with her the next best thing?
Charlotte,
This afternoon is fine. But I am in your debt already – let me make the effort of travel today.
A.
He clicked into the attachment and began to read his way through it.
Country of residence – expectation of visits to home country.
Home – expectation of privacy.
Employment – expectation of being able to continue to perform functions beyond ‘princess’.
Intimacy and family – expect input and clarity on this before wedding.
Financial terms.
There was nothing new there. She had already enumerated these issues and he intended to get to each of them. Point four, intimacy and family, he would save for last. It was the only subject matter he dreaded discussing with her.
Ashad,
That’s fine. I have an apartment near the marina. You can be deafened by the boats. I’ll have my security detail contact yours with the address. Four o’clock?
Charlotte.
He smiled. A dangerous smile, because it was borne from a happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time – if ever.
I’m looking forward to it.
A.
What the hell are you doing, he groaned inwardly, polishing off his breakfast and draining his coffee. He had a full morning of business to attend to and he threw himself into it, desperate for a chance to be distracted by his obligations. As the afternoon sped past, he found himself looking at his watch frequently. Waiting. Anticipating. Wondering.
Would the sense of attraction still be there? Or had it been enhanced by surprise at seeing her unexpectedly? Would Ash discover today that Charlotte was beautiful, yes, but that she inspired no greater desire in him than any other attractive woman he came across? Would he find that instantaneous arousal he felt at the sight of her (hell, the thought of her) no longer the case?
He hoped so.
He needed to focus on extricating Syed from this betrothal without hurting Charlotte. Both concerns were now of equal importance to him. This was a task that required more finesse and skill than his libido made him feel he possessed – he was like a bull in a china shop, wanting to ravage his way past her objections and make her his, to hell with the consequences. To hell with what his uncle Adin would say, what Charlotte’s father would say.
He had never felt such an animalistic need to possess a woman.
He changed into jeans and a shirt for their meeting. The robes he wore with the colours of Kalastan weaved into the sleeve were conspicuous and he didn’t feel like seeing Charlotte as a prince of Kalastan today. He wanted to meet with her as a man.
Which was all the more reason he should have stuck with the robe, he thought, as his limousine pulled out of the embassy car park and turned onto a narrow road. He sat back and watched the city pass, waiting, waiting, wondering.
* * *
A kaleidoscope of wild butterflies was battering her stomach from the inside. Charlotte clamped a hand over her skin, willing them to settle. They didn’t. She moved around her apartment, checking it for the tenth time that hour. It was immaculate. How could it not be? Set high above the Royal Marina, this was Charlotte’s own private bolt-hole. Her home away from the palace, where she came when she wanted to be undisturbed; to pretend she was a normal woman, looking out at the world and seeing it for its possibilities. Imagining that she had every right to choose her own adventures in life rather than succumbing to the footsteps that had been painted on the ground before her many years earlier.
The rooms had been filled with flowers, as was usual before her arrival. There had been a time when the flowers had always been freshened but Charlotte had despised the waste. It had cost a small fortune and often she would go weeks without making it to her penthouse apartment. She had issued a directive that she only wanted flowers when she was in attendance.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Mika observed, propped against the door jamb.
Charlotte froze, turning to face her friend. “I know.”
“You’re nervous?”
“Yes.” She bit down on her lip. “I’m negotiating my wedding,” she said slowly.
Mika nodded, and Charlotte was drawn to confess her confusion to the woman she knew best in the world. “But it’s more than that.”
“Oh?” Mika moved deeper into the room, walking over to where Charlotte stood.
“It’s this man. Ashad.”
“I have heard that he is hugely intimidating. A man who will do whatever is necessary to achieve his goals, and those of his uncle.”
Charlotte swallowed. She didn’t want to think of Ashad being all dominant and determined. Her heart was already thumping at the thought of seeing him, and imagining him taking a room of diplomats or executives to task was impossibly sexy.
“I can see that,” Charlotte conceded, the words breathy.
“Does he intimidate you? Is that it?” Mika leaned closer, her tone solicitous. “Because I can stay with you if that helps? Let him try to bully me around when it comes to your marriage.”
Charlotte let out a weak laugh at the thought of Mika and Ash butting heads. But it wasn’t just that. A kernel of jealousy, hot and unwelcome, speared her gut. Mika was beautiful. Yes, she was older than Ashad, but any man who saw her would surely notice her long, lean figure, her tanned skin, her white blonde hair and exotic, aquamarine eyes. No way did Charlotte want Mika and Ashad spending time together.
“That’s okay,” she muttered, her cheeks colouring at the ungenerous direction of her thoughts.
“I mean it, Charlotte. You can’t let him override your opinions on this matter. You have fought to be included in the discussion, as you have every right to be. So discuss.”
Charlotte nodded. “The thing is, Mika,” she said, searching for the best way to admit that she stared at the man who was her groom’s cousin and wanted to peel his clothes off his body bit by bit. “I’m …”
There was a knock on the door. Sharp and imperious. Demanding attention.
A line formed between Mika’s brows and she leaned closer. “Go on.”
Charlotte nodded, but she was incapable now of giving voice to her feelings. Not when he was at the other end of the penthouse, minutes away – if that – from being right there in the room with her.
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter,” Charlotte murmured.
“You’re sure?”
She wasn’t; not even remotely. “I’ll be fine.”
“Then let me go and welcome him. I will leave him in doubts as to how I feel about this business.”
Charlotte’s smile was uneven. Her heart hammered. She moved across the room, positioning herself near the glass doors that led to the balcony. It wrapped around the apartment and showed views in every direction. It was stunning. She pushed the door open a little and caught a hint of the sea breeze, tainted only slightly at this height by the suggestion of fish that had been caught earlier that day.
She’d dressed with care for the meeting, choosing a white dress that fell to the floor. It was sleeveless and had a scooped neckline which made it cool and comfortable, but which hinted at her curves in a way that she had been ashamed to admit she wanted. She’d teamed the dress with a lightweight jacket and Chanel sandals, and chunky gold jewellery at her neck. It was the kind of outfit she would have worn with her friends, so why should she feel worried now that it was somehow inappropriate?
It must have been a fine outfit s
election as Mika hadn’t said anything, and Mika was not one to let an objection go unexpressed.
Voices carried to her and she froze outwardly. Inwardly her organs were vibrating and screaming. The butterflies were frantic. Her mouth was dry; her pulse was a raging river. She turned, slowly, her eyes landing on the frame of the door at the moment Mika walked through, just a step ahead of Ashad.
He looked to her instantly and any doubts she’d had about the veracity of her desires were instantly dismissed. The same urge to run at him and push his clothes from his body assaulted her, just as it had in his office at the embassy the day before.
Her skin paled. Her body heated.
“Your highness,” he grinned, a smile that sparked fever and chills deep inside of her. “I am pleased to see you again.” He crossed the room and lifted one of her hands – it was like a cadaver’s limb, numb and unyielding. He squeezed it and then leaned forward, surprising her by placing a kiss on first one cheek and then brushing his stubbled jaw across her face and kissing the other.
It was nothing.
The work of an instant. But the effect was lasting and profound for Charlotte.
Oh, heavens. Charlotte could easily push his shirt off at this range. His masculine scent was tying her stomach in knots. She stiffened and stepped backwards, needing to not be touching him, smelling him, fantasising about him.
“Hello,” she murmured, the word a crisp rebuke of the overly-friendly greeting. “I see you’ve met Mika?”
He nodded. “I expected more pomp and circumstance,” he teased, taking her lead and putting distance between them.
Charlotte swallowed, forcing herself to look away from him even when she wanted to drink him in. Mika was standing near the door, unmistakable speculation in her eyes.
The Sheikh's Stolen Bride: The only way to make her happy was to make her his... (The Sheikhs' Brides Book 2) Page 3