Sheikh's Defiant Wife. Maisey Yates

saved my life.’

      She stared at him in bewilderment. ‘How?’

      ‘It was simple. Murat was protected and pampered—but lonely and bored. He wanted a playmate—and a boy hungry enough to steal from the royal table was deemed a charitable cause to rescue. My mother was offered a large sum of money—’

      ‘She took it?’

      ‘She had no choice other than to take it!’ he snapped. ‘I was to be washed and dressed in fine clothes. To be removed from my own country and taken back to the royal palace of Qurhah, where I was to be educated alongside the young Sultan. In most things, we two boys would be as equals.’

      There was silence while she digested this. She could see how completely Suleiman’s life would have been transformed. Why sometimes he unconsciously acted with the arrogance known to all royals, though his was tempered by a certain edge. But his mother had sold him. And there was something he had omitted to mention. ‘Your...mother? What happened to her?’

      This time the twist of pain on his face was so raw that she could hardly bear to observe it.

      ‘She was given the best food and the best medicines,’ he said. ‘And a new dwelling place was built for her and my two younger brothers. I was taken away to the palace, intending to return to Samahan to see my family in the summer. But her illness had taken an irreversible toll and my mother died that springtime. I never...I never saw her again.’

      ‘Oh, Suleiman,’ she said, her heart going out to him. His mother’s sacrifice had been phenomenal and yet she had died without seeing her eldest son. How terrible for them both. She wanted to go to him and take him in her arms, but the unseen presence of the servants and the expression on his face warned her not to try. Only words could convey her empathy and her sorrow and she picked the simplest and most heartfelt of all. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘So very sorry.’

      ‘It happened a long time ago,’ he said harshly. ‘It’s all in the past. And that’s where it should stay. Like I said, the past is irrelevant. Now perhaps you will understand why I prefer not to talk of it?’

      She looked at him. All these years she’d known him—or, rather, had thought she’d known him. But she had only seen the bits he had allowed her to see. He had kept this vital part of himself locked away, until now—when it had poured from his lips and made him seem strangely vulnerable. It made her understand a little more about why he was the kind of man he was. Why he kept his feelings bottled away and sometimes seemed so stubborn and inflexible. It explained why he had always been so unquestioningly loyal to the Sultan who had saved his life. He was so driven by duty—because duty was all he knew.

      Suddenly she realised why he had rejected her on the night of her brother’s coronation. Again, because it was his duty. Because she had been betrothed to the Sultan.

      Yet the price of duty had been to never see his mother again. No wonder he had always seemed so proud and so alone. Because essentially he was.

      And suddenly Sara knew that she could not seduce him as some cynical game-plan of her own. She could not use Suleiman Abd al-Aziz to help her escape from this particular prison. She could not place him in any position of danger, because if the Sultan were ever to discover that his bride-to-be had slept with the man he most trusted in all the world—then all hell would be let loose.

      No. She lifted her hand to brush a strand of hair away from her cheek and she saw his eyes narrow as the bells on her silver bangles tinkled. She was going to have to be strong and take responsibility for herself.

      She could not use sex as an instrument of barter, not when she cared about Suleiman so much. If she wanted to get out of here, then she was going to have to use more traditional means. But she was resourceful, wasn’t she? There was nothing stopping her.

      She needed to make her bid for freedom without implicating Suleiman. Even if he was blamed for her departure, he should not be party to it. Somehow she needed to escape without him knowing—and escape she would. She would return to the military airfield and demand to be put on a plane back to England—promising them a sure-fire international outcry if they failed to comply with her wishes. They kept wanting to remind her that she was a princess—well, maybe it was time she started behaving like one!

      She rose to her feet but Suleiman was shadowing her every move and was by her side in an instant.

      ‘I must turn in for the night,’ she said, giving a huge yawn and wondering if it looked as staged as it felt. ‘The effects of the desert heat are very wearying and I’m no longer used to it.’

      He inclined his head. ‘Very well. Then I accompany you to your tent.’

      ‘There’s no need for you to do that.’

      ‘There is every need, Sara—for we both know that snakes and scorpions can lurk within the shadows.’

      She wanted to tell him that she knew the terrain as well as he did. That she had been taught to understand and respect its mysteries and its dangers, because he had taught them to her. But perhaps now was not a good time to remind him that at heart she was a child of the desert—for mightn’t that alert him to all the possibilities which still lay beneath her fingertips?

      The beauty of the night seemed to mock her. The sky was a vast dark dome, pinpricked by the brightest stars a person was ever likely to see. The moon brightened the indigo depths like a giant silver dish which had been superimposed there—the shadows on its face disturbingly clear. For a moment she wished that she had supernatural powers—that she could leap into the air and fly to the moon, like the most famous of all the Dhi’banese fables she had heard as a child.

      But her sandaled feet were firmly on the ground as she walked through the soft sand, her eyes taking in her surroundings. She looked at the layout of the camp as she walked. She saw where the horses were tethered and where the bodyguards had been stationed. Obviously they were close enough to keep her from harm, but far enough away for propriety to be observed.

      They reached the tasselled entrance of her tent and she wanted to reach up and touch Suleiman’s face, aware that the sands of time were running out for them. If she could have just one wish, it would be to run her fingers through the thick ebony of his hair and then to kiss him. But nothing more. She’d changed her mind about that. She suspected that to have sex with him would rob her of all the strength she possessed, and leave her yearning for him for the rest of her life. Perhaps it was best all round that making love was an option which was no longer open to her. But oh, to be able to kiss him...

      Would it be so very wrong to bid him goodnight, as she had done to male friends in England countless times before?

      On impulse, she rose on tiptoe and brushed her lips over first one of his cheeks, and then the other. It could not have been misinterpreted by anyone. Even the Sultan—if he had been standing there—would have recognised it as a very unthreatening form of western greeting, or farewell. He might not have liked it, but he would have understood it.

      Except that this time, that quick brush of her lips was threatening her very sanity. She could feel the hammering of her heart and the hot flush of colour to her face. She could feel the whisper of her breath on his cheeks as she kissed each one in turn. And she could hear, too, the startled intake of breath he took in response. It should have been innocent and yet it felt light years from innocence. How could that be? How could one innocuous touch feel so powerful that it seemed to have rocked her to the core of her being?

      Their eyes met and clashed in the indigo light as silent messages of desire and need passed between them. Her skin screamed out for him to touch it. The thrum of sexual tension was now so loud that it almost deafened her.

      Slowly, his gaze travelled from her face, all the way down her lavishly embroidered gown, until it lingered at last on the swell of her bodice. The sensation of him looking so openly at her breasts was so exciting. It was making her nipples prickle with hunger and frustration. She sucked in an unsteady breath which made her chest rise and fall, and she heard him utter a soft groan.

      For a moment he seemed