Stolen by the Desert King

by Clare Connelly

  Accordingly, she’d travelled in a pair of linen pants and a long sleeved cotton shirt. Her long blonde hair she wore loose about her face. Phoebe tried to tell herself she was imagining it, but it was clearly a lie.

  She stared directly ahead, refusing to be cowered by the speculation. After what felt like miles and miles of palace corridors, they reached a small hallway with three golden doors, in the shape of onion domes.

  “This is to be your suite,” the man spoke, not meeting her eyes.

  Phoebe had been born to an aristocratic mother, and had been raised by Etienne much of her life. The Sheikh had sent her to the most exclusive private boarding house on Earth. Though she was somehow unfailingly egalitarian, Phoebe had no problems assuming an air of command now. “Show me my room,” she said firmly.

  The man’s face didn’t express any emotion. He moved to the first door and opened it inwards, stepping back with great care not to touch her. She stood and cast her eyes about it. This was a bedroom. Large and opulently furnished, as she had expected.

  “There is a washroom beyond the wall,” he indicated a large, blue mosaiced wall at the end of the room.

  “And the other rooms?” She asked, stepping back into the hallway and looking at the doorways.

  He seemed uncomfortable for a moment, and Phoebe, intent on asserting herself, did not waver. After all, she was to be there three months. She could not have men like this refusing to so much as look in her eyes.

  “Dining room.” He pushed into the space, and moved across to a telephone. “This phone will put you directly in contact with the palace kitchen staff. You may order anything you like, at any time.”

  She nodded, striving to look unimpressed.

  “Fine. Thank you. And the third door?”

  The man’s face didn’t color, but a fine bead of sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “That is something you may wish to see privately, madam.”

  She arched a brow, in a sign of impatience. “Please, show me.” It was not a request, and they both knew it.

  The man shook his head. “I cannot, madam. Only you and the Sheikh are able to enter the seraglio.”

  “Seraglio?” She queried, her curiosity piqued.

  The man nodded. “Excuse me, madam.”

  Perplexed, Phoebe watched him disappear quickly down the corridor and turn sharply, as soon as he could. She had grown up reading Nancy Drew adventure stories, and nothing excited Phoebe like the hint of mystery.

  She counted to five, to be sure he wouldn’t return, and then strode toward the door. It opened inwards with the slightest touch.

  At first, she couldn’t understand the man’s reluctance. This was simply another bed room. A far nicer, more luxurious room than her own. There was something magical about this space; as if the very air seemed to throb with emotion and mystery. She took another step inwards, feeling like a child stepping through the back of a wardrobe and entering Narnia.

  A large, ancient bed stood in the middle of the room. It was carved from wood, and each poster was sculpted to resemble a fierce desert animal. The oriental influence was obvious. The bed had been covered in gold leaf, except for the eyes of the animals, which glittered with enormous gems. She ran her fingers over the cold black eyes of the panther, wondering if they were onyx or diamond.

  A hook was in the panther’s back, which seemed odd. She looked, and each animal had the same detail. There were curtains that could be pull closed; a heavy, purple velvet. She followed the fabric to the top of the bed and saw the mirror. It made something strange lodge in her breast.

  The only purpose a mirror had above a bed was a sexual one. Wasn’t it? Phoebe couldn’t be certain. She was regrettably inexperienced, but her girlfriends weren’t. She knew enough of their escapades to know a little about sexual exploration. She jumped away from the bed as though she’d been bitten.

  She bumped into a chair. Not a normal chair, though. It had restraints on the arms, and foot holds that were spread far apart. She touched a lever on the back and it reclined immediately.

  Her blue eyes jumped around the room now, taking in every detail. The magic she’d originally sensed gave way to a darker, more alluring power. A thrill of adrenalin spiked inside of her, and fear too, for this world that was so removed from her comfort zone. The artwork on the walls was provocative. Ancient tapestries depicting sexual orgies, dark wooden furniture with little bottles. She had no idea what was in them, and she didn’t want to know.

  Shaking from head to toe, she crossed the room and pulled the door open. She emerged, her cheeks pink and her eyes shining. She told herself she felt scandalized. The outrage was the reason her heart was racing. With force, she shut the door, and looked longingly to the sanctuary of the now-perfect-seeming bedroom she had seen been shown to.

  It was then that she saw him.

  Hakim.

  Unmistakable, for he had not changed since that first meeting, except, perhaps, that he now exuded an even greater air of authority.

  She crossed her arms across her chest, and she could feel her chest shaking beneath her shirt.

  “So,” he drawled slowly, his eyes glinting in his handsome face as he looked her up and down with slow derision, “you have arrived.”

  IN THE HANDS OF THE SHEIKH a steamy book of mistaken beliefs, desire, seduction and betrayal is available now.