The Desert King's Captive Bride. Annie West

to rub her aching head. ‘Surely you understand I must see them. They’re my responsibility. With my father...gone, it’s my duty to see to their welfare.’ She swallowed, hating the salty tangle of tiredness and emotion blocking her throat. She couldn’t afford to be weak now. ‘You’d feel the same way about the soldiers you command.’

      * * *

      He’d give her points for perceptiveness. Ghizlan understood him better than he’d expected. Appealing to his sense of duty to his men was the approach he’d expect of an honourable adversary, a general he could respect, even if they were on opposite sides.

      He hadn’t thought a pretty princess, spoiled from birth and raised in luxury, would understand that overriding sense of responsibility. Much less share it!

      His gaze raked her. This time he tried to take in more than the mutinous, deliciously kiss-swollen mouth, the delectable figure, flawless skin and glossy ebony hair that had run like silk in his hands.

      Huseyn discovered an unwavering dark gaze, shoulders as straight as any guard on patrol, and an expression as cool as the snow on the topmost peaks of Jeirut’s highest mountain range. Only the throbbing pulse hammering at her throat belied her calm façade. It ignited a flare of satisfaction that he’d got to her as she had him.

      Admiration vied with impatience and lust. He wanted her mouth beneath his, eager and generous, that bountiful body crushed against his still painfully hard arousal.

      He shook his head, appalled. This was no time to indulge himself. The future of his province and his country hung in the balance.

      ‘What do you want? For me to beg? Is that what it will take to satisfy you?’

      ‘You’d do that?’ Huseyn imagined her on her knees before him, head bent. But the vision swimming before his eyes didn’t involve her begging. With a roaring rush of arousal he realised it was something more satisfying, more earthy, that he desired from this proud princess.

      She opened those reddened lips, now devoid of lipstick, and abruptly Huseyn had had enough. He’d have her in his bed soon enough, as his wife. Because he must and because he’d do what was necessary to make that happen. In the meantime he refused to toy with her. Her instincts were honourable and he respected that.

      ‘No.’ His voice was harsh. ‘No, I don’t expect you to beg.’ He sucked air into constricted lungs and watched as her attention dropped to the rise of his chest, her eyes rounding infinitesimally. As if she liked what she saw.

      She’d certainly enjoyed that kiss. She’d been so enthusiastic he’d actually begun to forget why he’d kissed her. To show who had the upper hand, and more, to puncture that haughty air of hers.

      Realisation slammed into Huseyn and with it distaste. He’d let her distract him from his purpose. From the vital work that needed to be done.

      ‘Wait here. I’ll have them each brought to you so you can satisfy yourself that they’re unharmed.’

      ‘It would be easier if I went—’

      ‘No.’ A slashing gesture stopped her mid-sentence. There was no way he’d allow her to wander the palace. Not till everything was settled. ‘Give me your phone and I’ll arrange for them to see you here.’

      ‘My phone?’ She looked puzzled.

      Huseyn folded his arms over his chest. ‘I don’t want you contacting people outside the palace till we’ve concluded our business.’ Her gaze sliced to the phone on the desk.

      He shook his head. ‘The landlines have been temporarily disconnected. All electronic devices have been confiscated.’

      ‘While you stage your coup.’

      For a minute, caught up in appreciation of her bravery, he’d almost forgotten his dislike of the pampered elite who sucked the country dry with their demands.

      ‘While I save the nation.’

      Her snort of derision was anything but regal and Huseyn found himself suppressing a smile. Despite everything, he warmed to this blue-blooded daughter of privilege.

      She swung round, treating Huseyn to a view of her peach-perfect bottom as she leaned over to grab her purse.

      ‘Here.’ She extended her phone. ‘But I expect it back intact. I’m in the middle of important negotiations and I want my contacts and messages untouched.’

      Negotiations? With her hairstylist? Boyfriends? Huseyn didn’t care. She’d be incommunicado till he said so.

      His fingers closed around the phone, his big hand scraping her smaller one, and heat shot up his arm. He frowned, lips flattening at that unwanted response.

      She pulled her hand back, her face smoothing into the mask of calm he’d learned she wore when something disturbed her. Good. He liked the idea that he disturbed her. For she sure as hell disturbed him!

      ‘The phone will be returned undamaged.’ He paused. ‘As long as you obey orders.’

      Ebony eyebrows arched but she said nothing. She was learning.

      ‘After you’ve assured yourself no one has been harmed, we’ll talk.’ With that he turned and left. He had business to attend to. He’d deal with his recalcitrant bride later.

      * * *

      ‘Truly, I’m fine.’ Mina squeezed Ghizlan’s hand. ‘But I’m glad you’re here. It’s been pretty grim.’

      Ghizlan nodded, the banked embers of fury glowing brighter. Mina was just seventeen. Losing her father was bad enough without being held prisoner in her own home.

      ‘You’re sure they didn’t hurt you? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?’

      ‘Of course. But they didn’t hurt me. Just took my phone and laptop and told me I couldn’t leave the palace.’ Her mouth set in a distressed line. ‘But I need to access the net, Ghizlan. It’s vital.’

      ‘Vital?’ It was such a relief seeing her sister okay. First the Captain of the Palace Guard then her own protection staff. Now Mina. It seemed Huseyn al Rasheed was as good as his word. No one had been harmed. The takeover had been accomplished with the ease and precision of a consummate professional.

      A professional coup leader, she reminded herself. And a thug. Look at the way he’d groped her.

      ‘Are you listening, Ghizlan?’

      ‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘But I’m still getting used to your new look.’

      Mina stroked the dark hair feathering her bare neck. ‘When Father died I realised that at last I could do what I wanted. Not pretend to be someone I’m not.’ Her expression grew earnest. ‘I’m not like you, Ghizlan. I can’t be the consummate diplomat, following duty and public expectation. I tried to please Father but never succeeded. As for studying economics...’ She shuddered.

      Ghizlan covered Mina’s hand with hers, emotion welling. ‘You’re fine as you are, Mina. You’re bright and enthusiastic and talented.’ It seemed like betrayal to think it but with their father’s death Mina was free to follow her inclinations and build the life she wanted. Their father couldn’t straitjacket her into a life designed to fulfil some political objective as he had Ghizlan.

      ‘Actually, I rebelled a while ago. Before Father died, though he didn’t know.’ Mina’s eyes glowed. ‘You know I don’t want to go to that stuffy school to study economics.’

      ‘I know.’ It had been part of their father’s plan to show Jeiruti women could achieve in nontraditional fields. Which was why Ghizlan had a degree in chemical engineering, though at least she’d been interested in science in the first place. ‘So what have you done?’

      ‘I applied to art school. A fabulous art school in France. You know that’s always been my dream. I secretly sent off an application and offers should be out now but I can’t check my email.’ Her voice rose in