The Sultan Demands His Heir. Maya Blake

was in the presence of the ruler of Ja’ahr.

      She forced her feet to move over the thick, expensive Persian rugs she was certain cost more than she would earn in two lifetimes as she emerged into the largest personal office she’d ever seen. Esme’s entire focus immediately zeroed in on the man behind the massive antique desk.

      From the photos on the Internet she’d known he was a big man. But the flesh and blood version, the larger-than-life presence watching her in golden-eyed silence, was so shockingly visceral, she stumbled. She caught herself quickly, silently admonishing herself for the blunder.

      A dozen feet from his desk, his magnetic aura hit her, hard and jolting. She wanted to stop walking but she forced herself to take another step. And then she froze as he rose to his feet.

      It was like being hit with a tidal wave of raw masculinity. At five feet five, she considered herself of average height but her heels added a confidence-bolstering three inches. None of that mattered now as she took in the towering man looking down his domineering royal nose at her.

      He was dressed in a three-piece suit, but he may as well have been adorned in an ancient warrior’s suit of armour, such was the primitive air of aggression Zaid Al-Ameen gave off as he watched her. Above his head, a giant emblem depicting his royal kingdom’s coat of arms hung, emphasising the glory and authority of its ruler.

      But even without the trappings of all-encompassing wealth and power, Esme would have been foolish to underestimate the might of the man before her.

      She summoned every last ounce of composure. ‘I...don’t know why I’ve been brought here. I haven’t done anything wrong. Your Highness,’ she tagged on after a taut second.

      He didn’t respond. Esme forced herself to return his intense stare as she fought the urge to wet her dry lips. ‘And I hope you don’t expect me to bow. I’m not sure I can do it correctly.’

      One imperious brow lifted. ‘How would you know unless you try?’ he drawled.

      A spike of something hot and unnerving shot through her midriff at the sound of his accented voice. Deep, gravel rough, filled with power, it rumbled like ominous thunder. Esme’s shiver coursed down to her toes.

      ‘It may be the done thing, but I don’t think I want to.’

      An enigmatic expression crossed his face, disappearing before she could accurately decipher it. ‘“But I don’t think I want to, Your Highness”.’

      She blinked, dragging her attention from his exotically captivating face. ‘What?’

      ‘You were told of the correct form of address, were you not? Or does your lack of respect for my country and my judicial system extend to my station as well?’

      The throb of anger in his voice sent a chill over her nape. She was in the lion’s den, faced with its incredibly displeased occupant. Regardless of her personal feelings, she needed to tread carefully if she wanted to escape with her hide intact.

      ‘My apologies, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to cause offence.’

      ‘How is it possible that I’ve known of your existence only a short time and yet I’m ready to add insincere to the list of your unsavoury attributes?’

      Her mouth gaped. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘Excuse me, Your Highness.’ This time the command was coated in ice, his eyes reflecting the same frigid displeasure as he regarded her.

      Esme attempted to curb the angry words tripping over her tongue. She failed. ‘Perhaps it has something to do with being brought here against my will. Your Highness.’

      With measured strides, he rounded his desk. Esme couldn’t help but stare. Despite his immense size, he moved like poetry in motion. Like a stealthy predator, focused on only one goal.

      Vanquishing his prey.

       CHAPTER THREE

      ESME EXPECTED A cataclysmic event to occur in the seconds it took for him to prowl closer. Such was the power of the force field he wielded. Instead, Zaid Al-Ameen stopped a few feet from her, his gaze capturing hers as a frown pleated his brow.

      ‘You were brought here against your will?’

      ‘Well...yes. Somewhat. Your Highness.’

      ‘The answer is either yes or no. Did my men lay their hands on you?’ he enquired, his voice a touch rougher.

      She had to lock her knees to keep from doing something stupid. Like crumbling into an inelegant heap at his feet. Because the closer he got, the higher she craned her neck, the more her brain scrambled. ‘I...er...’

      ‘Were you harmed in any way, Miss Scott?’ he demanded in a near growl.

      ‘No...but your emissary misrepresented himself.’

      He stopped moving, his eyes narrowing. ‘How?’

      ‘He didn’t tell me he was bringing me here for a start. He gave me the impression that he was taking me to my father—’

      ‘But no one touched you?’

      Esme couldn’t understand why he was so hung up on that. But she shook her head. ‘No one touched me, but that doesn’t alter the fact that this is a form of kidnapping.’

      He clasped his hands behind his back, but that didn’t diffuse the power of his presence. If anything, his focus sharpened on her face, his eyes raking her from temple to chin and back again. ‘You weren’t told that I wished to speak to you?’

      ‘Not until we got here. And I got the feeling that I wouldn’t be allowed to leave even if I wanted to.’

      He remained silent for a moment, hawk-like eyes probing her every breath. ‘First you allege that the authorities wanted a bribe in order for you to see your father, and now you’re alleging a potential kidnapping, even though you came here of your own free will. Are you in the habit of making assumptions about everything, Miss Scott? Or getting into the vehicles of men you think wish you harm?’ The accusation was delivered in a low, pithy tone as he took yet another step closer.

      The icy fingers crawling up her back shrieked at her to retreat from the wall of bristling manhood coming at her. But Esme had learned to stand her ground a long time ago.

      So, even though her instinct warned that Sultan Zaid Al-Ameen posed a different sort of danger from that she was used to, perhaps an even more potent kind, she angled her chin and stubbornly met his gaze. ‘No, Your Highness. I’m in the habit of judging a situation for myself. But if I’m wrong, here’s your chance to prove it. I wish to leave,’ she threw out.

      That left brow arched again. ‘You just got here.’

      ‘And as I said, Your Highness, I thought I was being taken to see my father and not...’

      ‘Not?’

      ‘Bundled here for...whatever reason you’ve had me brought here. I’m assuming you’re going to tell me?’

      ‘In due course.’

      Her response stuck in her throat as he strode past her. The mingled trail of incense, aftershave and man that sneaked into her senses momentarily distracted her. Esme found herself turning after him, her feet magnetically taking a step in his direction.

      ‘Come and sit down,’ Zaid Al-Ameen said.

      The invitation was low and even, but another layer of apprehension dragged over her skin. She glanced at the closed doors through which she’d walked a few minutes ago.

      ‘Just for the hell of it, if I said no, that I want to leave, will you let me?’

      ‘You may leave if you wish to. But not until we’ve had a conversation. Sit down, Miss Scott.’ There was no mistaking the command this time, or the inference that she wouldn’t