The Sheikh's Collection. Оливия Гейтс

turned to her and suddenly he didn’t care if he was breaking protocol in the eyes of the onlookers. Wasn’t this his opportunity to make amends for having let his lust override his duty to the Sultan, on the night of her brother’s coronation? Couldn’t he say the right thing to her now? The thing she needed to hear, rather than the impure thoughts which were still making him hard whenever he was near her.

      ‘That is genuine passion I hear in your voice, Sara,’ he said. ‘Can’t you piece together the many things you love about the desert? Then you could flick through them as you would a precious photo album—and be grateful for the many beauties of the life which will be yours when you marry.’

      ‘But they won’t be mine, will they?’ she demanded. ‘Everything will belong to my husband—including me! Because we both know that, by law, women in Qurhah are not allowed ownership of anything. I’ll just be there, some bored figurehead, sitting robed and trapped. Free only to communicate with my husband and my female servants—apart from at official functions, and even then the guests to whom I will be introduced will be highly vetted. I don’t know how the Sultan’s sister stands it.’

      ‘The Princess Leila is deeply contented in her royal role,’ said Suleiman.

      Sara closed her lips together. That wasn’t what she’d heard. Apparently, at the famous Qurhah Gold Cup races, Leila had been seen looking glum—but it was hardly her place to drop the princess in it.

      ‘I’ll probably have to fight to be able to ride a horse,’ she continued. ‘And only when any stray man has been cleared away from the scene in case he dares look at me. And I’ll probably be forced to ride side-saddle.’

      ‘You do not have to be bored,’ he argued. ‘Boredom is simply a question of attitude. You could use your good fortune and good health to make Qurhah a better place. You could do important work for charity.’

      ‘That goes without saying,’ she said. ‘I’m more than happy to do that. But am I to be consigned to a loveless marriage, simply because my country got itself into debt?’

      Suleiman felt a terrible conflict raging within him. The conflict of believing what was right and knowing what was wrong. The conflict of duty versus desire. He wanted nothing more than to rescue her from her fate. To tell her that she need not marry a man she did not love. And then to drag her off to some dark corner and slide those silken robes from her lush young body. He wanted to rub the nub of his thumb between her legs, to feel the moist flowering of her sex as her body prepared itself for his entry. He wanted to bite at her breasts. To leave the dark indentation of his teeth behind. His mark. So that no other man would be able to touch her...

      With an effort he closed his mind to the torture of his erotic thoughts—for that way lay madness. He could do nothing other than what he had promised to do. He would deliver Sara to the Sultan and he would forget her, just as he had forgotten every woman he had ever lain with.

      ‘This is your destiny,’ he breathed. ‘And you cannot escape it.’

      ‘No?’

      He watched, fascinated and appalled as the rosy tip of her tongue emerged from her lips and began to trace a featherlight path around their cupid’s bow. And suddenly all he could think about was the exquisite gleam of those lips.

      ‘You can’t think of any alternative solution to my dilemma?’ she questioned softly.

      For a moment he thought of entering eagerly into the madness which was nudging at the edges of his mind. Of telling her that the two of them would fly away and he would spend the rest of his life protecting her and making love to her. That they would create a future together with children of their own. And they would build the kind of home that neither of them had ever known.

      He shook his head, as if emerging from an unexpected dream.

      ‘The solution to your dilemma,’ he said coldly, ‘is to shake off your feelings of self-pity—and start counting your blessings instead. Be grateful that you will soon be the wife of His Imperial Majesty. And now, let us join the caravan and begin our journey—for the Sultan grows impatient. You will take the second camel in the train.’

      ‘I will not,’ she said.

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘You heard—and glaring at me like that won’t make any difference, Suleiman,’ she said. ‘I want to ride one of those beautiful horses.’

      ‘You will not be riding anywhere.’

      ‘Oh, but I will,’ she argued stubbornly. ‘Because either you let me have my own mount, or I’ll refuse to get on one of the camels—and I’d like to see any of you trying to get a woman on top of a camel if she doesn’t want to go. Apart from the glaring problem of propriety—I have a very healthy pair of lungs and I doubt whether screaming is considered appropriate behaviour for a princess. You know how much the servants gossip.’

      Suleiman could feel a growing frustration as he acknowledged the fierce look on her face. ‘Are you calling my bluff?’ he demanded.

      ‘No. I’m just telling you that I don’t intend to spend the next three days sitting on a camel. I get travel-sick on camels—you know that!’

      ‘You have been allocated the strongest and yet most docile beast in the caravan,’ he defended.

      ‘I don’t care if he’s fluent in seven languages—I’m not getting on him. Please, Suleiman,’ she coaxed. ‘Let me ride. I’ve got my eye on that sweet-looking palomino over there.’

      ‘But you told me you haven’t been on a horse for years,’ he growled.

      ‘I know. And that’s precisely why I need the practice. So either you let me ride there, or I shall refuse to come.’

      He met her obstinate expression, knowing she had him beat. Imagine the dishonour to her reputation if he tried to force her onto the back of a camel. ‘If I agree—if I agree...you will stay close beside me at all times!’ he ordered.

      ‘If you insist.’

      ‘I do. And you will not do anything reckless. Is that understood?’

      ‘Perfectly,’ she said.

      Frustratedly, he shook his head—wondering how the Sultan was going to be able to cope with such a headstrong woman.

      But a far more pressing problem was how he was going to get through the next couple of days without succumbing to the temptation of making love to her.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      SARA GAVE A small sigh of satisfaction as she submitted to the ministrations of the female attendant. Luxuriously, she wriggled her toes and rested her head against the back of the small bath tub. It was strange being waited on like this again after so long. On the plane she had decided she didn’t like being treated like a princess, but that wasn’t quite true. Because nobody could deny that it felt wonderful to have your body washed in cool water, especially when you had been on horseback all day beneath the baking heat of the desert sun.

      They had spent hours travelling across the Mekathasinian Sands towards the Sultan’s summer palace and until a few moments ago she had been hot and tired. But according to Suleiman they had made good progress—and hadn’t it felt wonderful to be back in the saddle again after so long?

      She had stubbornly ignored his suggestion that she ride side-saddle. Instead, she had lightly swung up onto her beautiful Akhal-Teke mount with its distinctive metallic golden coat, before going for a gentle trot with the black-eyed emissary close by. When she’d been going for a couple of hours, he had grudgingly agreed to let her canter. She suspected that he was testing her competence in the saddle and she must have passed the test—for it had taken very little persuasion for him to agree to a short gallop with her across the desert plain.

      And that bit. That bit had been