Captive For The Sheikh's Pleasure. Carol Marinelli

chipped from the same block of ice.

      He did not want Hazin to be disinherited, yet he knew that day was approaching. Despite his best efforts, nothing seemed to be able to divert the train wreck in motion.

      There was nothing he could do except remain vigilant, but for now Ilyas did his best to relax.

      Rarely did he have an entire weekend to do with as he pleased.

      Usually there were several engagements to attend and often he travelled overseas, both forging new relationships and attempting to repair the disastrous ones his father’s rule had created.

      Summoning one of the masseuses, Ilyas walked over to the large marble stone at the centre of the area and lay on his stomach as his skin was rubbed with salt.

      Soon he would get up and rinse off under the waterfall. He looked out to the desert from his privileged vantage point—few even knew it existed, for there was an uninterrupted view of desert sands and sky.

      Later he would make his selection from the harem.

      His father still regularly pushed him to select a bride but Ilyas consistently refused.

      And who could blame him!

      Along one of the tunnels he could hear the distant sounds of laughter from the harem and there was a velvet rope above him that at any moment he could pull. As he lay there, with his head on his forearm and sex on his mind, Ilyas thought of the woman in the photo that Mahmoud had handed him earlier.

      Deft hands were working the small of his back but it was not the skill of the masseuse that had Ilyas shift his position on the cold marble stone.

      It was the thought of the woman and her blaze of red hair and pale freckled skin that had him hardening.

      ‘Your Highness.’ The sound of Mahmoud’s voice was not in the least welcome. ‘I apologise for disturbing you.’

      Unless Hazin’s plane had crashed or his father had passed, Mahmoud had no business disturbing Ilyas in the hammam. ‘What now?’ he asked angrily.

      ‘The woman in the photo, the one...’

      ‘What about her?’ Ilyas snapped. He certainly did not need a refresher course on the woman to whom Mahmoud referred, for she was currently on more than his mind.

      ‘I have just found out that she is still in the country. Apparently she is booked on a tour tonight.’

      ‘Then you were right the first time,’ Ilyas growled. ‘She is a fool.’ For no one with any sense would remain in the country having served such an explicit threat.

      ‘We have traced her phone and it would seem that she is attending the star-gazing trip.’

      ‘There shall be few stars tonight since there is a simoom expected.’ It was not due here until tomorrow but the red of the sky was foreboding. ‘There should be no tourists out in the desert tonight.’

      ‘The tour went ahead. She is out there, Your Highness,’ Mahmoud said, and gestured to the desert.

      Ilyas knew that some of the tour operators ignored warnings. It was an ongoing issue but not one that concerned him now.

      ‘I am sure she is calling our bluff but we have a team investigating.’ Ilyas dismissed him but then he wavered. His father had made it exceptionally clear that Hazin was on his final warning.

      If there was the slightest truth behind this threat, the results for Hazin would be dire indeed.

      ‘Bring this Suzanne to me.’

      ‘Here?’ Mahmoud was aghast. ‘If the king gets wind—’

      ‘Not here,’ Ilyas interrupted. ‘Have her taken to the desert abode. I shall speak with her there.’

      ‘You could well find yourself stranded.’

      Ilyas was more than used to the tricks of the desert and always enjoyed his time there. He drew on it for strength and wisdom, and the thought of being stranded didn’t trouble him in the least.

      ‘Perhaps this Suzanne should have considered that before firing off her threats.’

      Ilyas flicked his hand to tell Mahmoud to get to work and carry out his orders and then he went to reach for the rope above to select his concubine. His hand halted midway as he changed his mind and instead rose from the table and walked over to the running water, where he rinsed off.

      He would deal with this impossible woman first, and then he would select from the harem.

       CHAPTER THREE

      MAGGIE DIDN’T WANT to admit it.

      Even to herself.

      But, after all the effort to get here, the much-awaited star-gazing trip wasn’t all she had hoped it would be.

      Unlike everything else she had experienced here in Zayrinia, the trip to the desert had proved more than a little touristy.

      In truth, the journey deep into the desert had taken less than an hour and that allowed for all the time it had taken to mount and dismount from their camels.

      ‘At the wishes of the Bedouins,’ one of the guides explained, ‘we are forbidden from going any further.’

      A couple complained rather loudly but the guide explained that there was nothing that could be done.

      Yet.

      ‘We have put in several formal requests for the law to be changed,’ he said. ‘The final decision rests with the king.’

      Having lined up and been served dinner, the group had sat on rugs by a huge fire and watched belly dancers as the sun had started to set.

      But as the sun dimmed, so too did the hopes of a night of stargazing. The sky was overcast and the visibility was low due to the gathering sandstorm in the east.

      It was still rather spectacular, though.

      The sand and dust carried by the wind turned the tiny new moon pale crimson and Maggie watched, awestruck, as it drifted behind and then peeked out of the huge rolling clouds.

      The tales around the campfire were interesting too, and the guide used his hands as he told expressive tales.

      ‘Beneath the palace there is a river where, to this day, the water runs red. It marks the spot where a young prince was denied marriage to his lover and died of a broken heart.’ Maggie was wide-eyed.

      ‘Since then,’ the guide told them, ‘the crown prince does not court. Love is for lesser mortals. A king must think only with his head.’

      ‘Does the water really run red?’ asked a woman to the side of Maggie, but the guide had moved on to another tale.

      ‘The palace is built on the ruins of what once was a harem,’ he explained. ‘The concubines feasted and rested until summoned by a bell. There were many wild and decadent times but it was considered far safer than allowing a virile prince loose in the land with his heart. It is said that the winds that are heard at night are, in fact, the sounds of debauchery carrying across time...’

      And the winds were starting to gather.

      The campfire tales were halted and the guides gathered in a confab. Maggie guessed they were deciding if the trip should simply be cancelled. But then the annoying couple loudly pointed out that in the event of adverse weather conditions a full refund would be given.

      The tour would go ahead!

      People were soon being guided to their designated sleeping areas but Maggie continued to stand by the fire. Beyond it was a huge canyon and atop that the outline of the palace. She thought of days long gone and the stories of long-dead royals who were given everything except for love.

      Even without stars, Zayrinia, Maggie decided, was beautiful