The dress was so much more revealing than she’d expected – oh, it covered her from the base of her throat to the tips of her toes but it was a fine silk and cut on the bias so that the outline of her breasts and hips showed clearly and the gauze wrap embroidered with diamonds did little to disguise the shape of her figure beneath the gown.
She sucked in a deep breath as she stepped into the heels that had been delivered earlier. They pinched a little but she barely noticed. Other feelings were flowing through her too keenly to allow for foot discomfort.
Soon, she would see him again.
Her stomach dropped like she’d crested over the high-point of a roller coaster and she dropped a hand to it, checking her appearance one last time. Beyond the enormous doors to the room she was waiting in there was the sound of an ever-growing crowd. Nerves clipped at her designer-clad feet.
People were talking. Laughing. Life went on.
But for Kylie, she could only feel … so many things! A closeness to her parents, who had wanted this so badly. Anticipation. Desire. Anxiety. Fatefulness.
She sucked in a breath, scanning the room with her enormous green eyes. There was nothing left to do but wait.
“Madam?” She blinked towards the door as a young woman approached. Her smile was kind and Kylie returned it, despite the flood of anticipation that was making her knees knock and her pulse race.
Her body craved him.
Her lover.
The month between the afternoon on his yacht and this day had stretched interminably, and yet there’d been so much to do.
“It’s time.”
Her heart soared. It was time.
She fell into step beside the woman and they emerged into a small corridor just behind the main ball room, where the ceremony was to take place. The fragrance of roses was overwhelming and Kylie sneezed.
The woman nodded with understanding. “It’s overwhelming.”
Kylie had been prepared for the wedding earlier that day, when a protocol advisor engaged by the Haddad family had explained that she would walk the aisle on her own, to a large floral vestibule at the front of the church. There she would sit, with her intended, for the better part of the afternoon, as the sacred vows of Argenon were recited.
She was prepared for that. Hell, she could handle anything with him by her side.
She took the first step, her eyes trained on the vestibule before dipping lower to the man she was desperate to see – the man who had filled her dreams.
And frowned.
Who was that, looking back at her? An officiant, perhaps? Someone related to the family or the event? Her eyes skimmed left then right, searching for the man she had been longing to see. And drew a blank.
Doubts made her stomach flip and flop. She didn’t like the way this man was looking at her. His eyes were raking over her body, as if her dress were invisible and her flesh on display for him to see, touch, taste. A shiver of revulsion crept along her spine.
But she kept walking; so ingrained were the deportment lessons she’d been given as a child. She kept walking even when a voice in her head was shouting at her to turn and run; when every instinct in her body was making her wish she was anywhere else. She walked with her head high until she reached the front of the assembled guests and then she looked around once more.
Where was he?
The other man held a hand out, as if for her to take it. She stared back at him, like a rabbit in headlights.
His expression flashed with something like anger and she frowned. What was going on?
“Here.” He pointed at the floor beside him.
She moved towards him with a frown on her face. “I don’t understand,” she whispered when she was close enough. “Who are you?”
“Fayez Haddad. Your groom.”
Her jaw dropped, her eyes huge in her face. “I…” She shook her head, confusion driving any etiquette concerns from her mind. “No.”
His eyes lifted heavenwards. “It is a little late for ‘no’.”
Her heart thumped and again her eyes scanned the front row of guests. Had something happened to him? Where was he? Her fantasies had sustained her through the thirty days they’d spent apart. But it had all been coming towards this moment – a moment in which she fully expected to come face to face with him again. The Sheikh.
“There’s been a mistake,” she whispered, hating it when this man reached down and gripped her hand in his.
“No. It is too late for that.” His eyes met hers and they were laced with scorn. “You are bought, azeezi.”
How different an effect that word had, coming from his mouth!
The sound of footsteps travelled down the length of the ballroom to Kylie’s ears. She angled her head backwards and expelled a breath at the exact moment Fayez sucked one in. An angry breath. His grip on her hand tightened.
“Stop this,” The Sheikh said in his own language. Kylie understood it perfectly though. The crowd dropped as one, bowing low, all eyes dropped to the floor save for Fayez beside her, and a few of the guests near the front of the church.
“Why?” Fayez interjected. “This is a wedding; what right do you have…”
Only for the smallest moment did the Sheikh’s eyes meet Kylie’s, as he came close enough that she could see the swirling emotion in his gaze and she could remember the way his body had felt on hers. A charge of awareness tore through her.
“You will not marry her.” The words were delivered in a command and his eyes dropped scathingly to the way they were holding hands.
“You have no say in this matter,” Fayez retorted, turning back to the officiant, his face hardened by rage. Kylie shivered once more at the sense she had that he was not a kind man.
“This is my country. I have a say in everything that takes place in it.”
Kylie’s head jerked towards his, her pulse racing even harder, pounding her body from the inside out. His country?
“And why would you object to a … love match?” Fayez prompted disingenuously.
“I believe that would be better discussed in a private location.” The Sheikh’s look would have turned ice to rock.
“There is nothing to discuss.”
A movement behind The Sheikh alerted Kylie to the presence of several men. Security guards, she presumed, but the Sheikh held a hand up, holding them at bay.
“Come.” He turned and began to move down the long corridor, confident that Fayez and Kylie would follow. The security guards parted like a wave. For Kylie’s part, she began to move, but Fayez jerked her back, his expression furious. After a few moments’ pause, he began to stalk behind the Sheikh and as they passed, chatter began to rise, causing an enormous din. Kylie winced as they left the ballroom finally, grateful beyond words for the possibility of escape.
A woman was standing outside the room Kylie had dressed in. She looked professional and polite, though there was something in her manner that conveyed apprehension. She tilted her head slightly, indicating that they should enter Kylie’s dressing room.
Fayez gripped her elbow as they entered the room, holding her tight.
While Khalifa didn’t act, she could feel tension emanating from him in waves. “Do not touch her.”
“Why?” A lascivious sound that made Kylie’s skin crawl.
Kylie pulled away, the very idea setting her teeth chattering.
“Because I am marrying her, that’s why.”
The hand that had been digging into her elbow dropped suddenly and Kylie didn’t need another opportunity. She stepped away quickly, rubbing her flesh as if she could erase his touch.
“That’s absurd. My family entered into this arrangement – and paid for the privilege – seventeen years ago. Do not cry because you were not fast enough to act,” the other man sneered.
“Oh, I was fast enough to act.” Khalifa’s smile was almost a leer and colour burned Kylie’s cheeks at the implication she understood all too well. And, gathering by the way the other man looked from Khalifa
to Kylie, he did too.
“You mean…”
“She is mine,” Khalifa said slowly, seriously, a dark edge to the words. “I made her mine.”
Finally, the world stopped spinning like a pin and Kylie remembered she had a voice and a say in matters. “I beg your pardon,” the words came out softly, but with the intonation a lifetime of deportment and training had given her. “I am not anyone’s.”
Khalifa looked at her now, his eyes dragging over her body slowly.
His eyes were mocking when they met hers; there was a coldness to him she hadn’t appreciated in Sydney. He stared at her lips, pink and soft, parted to let air escape, down lower to the slender column of throat, where her pulse was beating like butterfly wings against glass, lower, to the breasts that were highlighted by the sheathe of her dress. She felt her nipples tighten, and hated that they would be visible to the man’s inspection. Indeed, his grin flicked with acknowledgement as he raked his eyes lower, to her neat waist, and then to her womanhood.
Lower still, and now, she looked away, unable to bear his proprietorial attention for a moment longer. Because it so easily made a mockery of her words. He had made her his. He had imprinted on her soul and her heart and nothing would change that. Even if he didn’t feel the same way.
“You slept with her?” The outrage in the other man was palpable. “You had no right! She has been betrothed to me for years. We have paid millions for her upkeep, with the intention of her marrying me.”
The idea turned Kylie’s stomach but she could barely argue. His words weren’t false, they just weren’t representing the situation properly.
“You were to marry me. And you were to be just for me. That was your part of the deal. And instead you gave yourself to this man like one of his dirty whores?”
Kylie reeled as though she’d been slapped. “He t-told me… I was… you said you were the man I was going to marry.” Her eyes were pleading as she looked from one to the other. The reality of her situation was beginning to unfurl in her brain though and shock was sinking in. She was in danger. This was a foreign country with foreign rules and she’d found herself at the heart of something she didn’t understand.
“As I am.” The man she’d slept with, who’d pleasured her again and again, nodded curtly and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a golden piece of paper and handed it to the other man, who took it instinctively.
“What is that?” Kylie demanded wearily.
“That covers your investment. And your pride.” Khalifa’s smile was menacing. “My guards are outside. I suggest you leave without doing what you’re thinking.”
The smaller man ground his teeth together and Kylie noticed he had a hand balled into a fist by his side. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She’d never seen a fistfight; she’d never so much as looked at a picture of a person after being punched. She averted her gaze now, her body trembling, her mind in shock. She would find a way out of this. She would work it out. The Sheikh, as he’d been in Australia, was a reasonable man.
She heard Fayez walking towards the door, but what happened next was wholly unexpected. Her hair was being pulled, dragging her head back, and a hand was around her throat. She had only the briefest impression of pain – agonizing pain – as breath began to burn inside of her, and then it was over. A single, cracking sound and she was herself again.
It all happened so quickly, she didn’t comprehend it, but Fayez was stumbling
“Get out.” Khalifa placed himself in front of Kylie, his voice ringing with fury. “Now.”
The other man had blood coming from his mouth. So Khalifa had punched him? Kylie’s eyes dropped and yes, she saw blood on Khalifa’s hand and winced. The involuntary reaction made her eyes sting.
“You’ll regret this.” The threat was directed straight at Kylie and she flinched as though he’d touched her again. She was trembling from head to toe and reality was fading in and out. She reached behind her, pressing her hand into the wall for support.
“Get. Out.” Khalifa demanded.
The smaller man did just that, slamming the door behind him and shouting something on the other side. Loud voices could be heard but they were not disturbed. Kylie drew in a breath, rallying her senses, trying to compose her thoughts. But they were tangled beyond comprehension.
“You’re hurt.” Khalifa turned to Kylie, and his look was clinical as he surveyed her. “May I?”
The sob in her chest was inevitable. He had slid a finger inside of her while they’d dined on his yacht; he’d taken her virginity to stop her from marrying into the Haddads and now? He was asking to do something as innocuous as check her injuries?
“I’m fine,” she denied, stepped backwards and connecting with the wall of the room. She lifted a hand to her throat, feeling the sensitive flesh with the certainty there’d be a bruise within hours.
He looked poised to argue but apparently thought better of it. Clever him! In the mood Kylie was in, she was spoiling for a fight.
“I will call a doctor…”
“You will do no such thing,” she interrupted. And perhaps he saw something in her expression – a hint of panic that was bordering on a complete breakdown, because he didn’t push his point. “I’m fine. But I need to know… what the hell is going on?”
He straightened, his expression almost unrecognisable. “Nothing has changed.”
“Like hell it hasn’t. You’re not the man I was supposed to marry, are you?”
A muscle jerked in his cheek. “What difference does it make to you?” The words were scathing. He made no attempt to soften his disapproval. “You valued your choice so little you were happy to marry whomever arrived today.”
Her jaw dropped, her mouth gaping. “That’s not true! I trusted my parents.”
“Your parents sold you, Kylie.” She noted the use of her name, rather than the diminutives he’d employed in Sydney. Little Princess. Azeezi. “They needed money and the Haddad family offered that.”
Kylie swallowed. Her neck was sore and the action hurt. She lifted a hand, unconsciously stroking the sensitive flesh. The gesture brought a frown to Khalifa’s face. He moved to the door without taking his attention from her. He opened it and called something, then moved back to Kylie.
“You were meant to arrive today.” She said the words bleakly, her eyes not meeting his. “I came here expecting to see you.”
His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer. “And you are.” He cupped her cheeks, lifting her face to his. “Nothing has changed since Sydney. You will marry me.”
She shook her head, her eyes watery with unshed tears. “No.”
His laugh was soft. “No?”
“You lied to me,” she whispered. “Why?”
“Do you really not know?”
She shook her head, then lifted a hand to the back of her head, where her scalp was sensitive from Fayez’s touch. “You obviously hate him?”
“Fayez? Yes.” He nodded. “But that is not why.”
“So?”
There was a knock at the door and Khalifa called a single word out without shifting his gaze from her face. The door pushed inwards and three men appeared, all wearing the same white robes she’d seen in Sydney.
And then, they paused and bowed, low to the ground, their heads bent towards the floor. Kylie stared at the action with confusion, her eyes moving to … the Sheikh’s. A frown crossed her face.
“The crowds are dispersing, sir,” the man at the back spoke first, straightening and moving towards Khalifa. “The Haddad family is … discontent.”
“Yes, I can imagine.” He tilted his head towards Kylie as if appraising her. “This wedding meant the world to them.”
“You did the right thing to end it.”
Kylie’s heart squeezed in her chest. Did this man know the methods Khalifa had employed to bring about an end to her betrothal? Did he know that Khalifa had flown to Sydney, had lied, had seduced her under the pretence of being someone else?
“Yes.” Khalifa’s eyes glittered in his commanding face. “I need her checked out by a doctor before our ceremony.”
“Wait just a second…”
At her interruption, the three men who’d entered the room stared at her, as though they’d never before heard a woman raise her voice.
“If you think I’m marrying you…”
“Silence.” One of the men spoke, his shock reverberating around the room. Khalifa lifted a hand, a single palm in the middle of the air that stopped whatever else the man was going to say.
“I need someone to tell me what the hell is going on,” Kylie muttered. Again, she felt the collective shock of the three servants, though no one said anything.
“The Haddad family have long since sought to challenge my family’s rule. If Fayez had married you, it would have unified two factions of supporters under one banner. I could not allow it.” Khalifa saw no reason to elaborate on his own personal reasons for wanting to thwart and embarrass Fayez.
She gasped, her mouth dropping open. “I don’t understand.” Was he saying… she looked at the men who were standing to the side, their deference obvious, and she thought back to Sydney, and his obvious wealth and power.
“I am Sheikh Sultan bin Khalifa al Asouri.”
“Sheikh Sultan,” she repeated, her eyes huge. “Does that mean what I think it does?”
He felt his lips twitch with amusement and stifled it. The situation was far from funny. “Yes.”
Flashes of comprehension – the way the crowd had bowed down to him. The deferential way his servants were with him. “You’re … you rule this country?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, boy.” She spun away from him, moving towards one of the enormous windows. She looked out of it without expecting to see anything remarkable, but the streets had filled with people. Absolutely filled. And flashes went off as soon as she appeared at the window.
Stolen by the Desert King Page 5