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Sheikh's Desert Duty
Maisey Yates
A CHATSFIELD SCANDAL!Journalist Sophie Parsons needs a scoop to stop the sale of her friend’s hotel chain. And she’s found it! But being abducted by a sheikh goes way beyond the call of duty…Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar has a wedding to arrange, a sister to protect and a country to rule. He’s not going to let one woman bring it all down with a headline! Kidnapping Sophie seemed like a good idea, but soon her delectable company puts everything he valuesat risk.Only one mistress can rule Zayn’s heart – will it be Sophie, or his duty?Welcome to The Chatsfield, New York!


A Chatsfield Scandal!
Journalist Sophie Parsons needs a scoop to stop the sale of her friend’s hotel chain. And she’s found it! But being abducted by a sheikh goes way beyond the call of duty...
Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar has a wedding to arrange, a sister to protect and a country to rule. He’s not going to let one woman bring it all down with a headline! Kidnapping Sophie seemed like a good idea, but soon her delectable company puts everything he values at risk.
Only one mistress can rule Zayn’s heart—will it be Sophie, or his duty?
Welcome to The Chatsfield, New York!
‘I’m working on something that concerns the Chatsfield family,’ Sophie said finally.
‘Clearly not something they would be very happy about.’
‘Well, probably not. But I can see you’re not one of their fans. It should please you to know that I’m not a big fan of the Chatsfields either. And I don’t think they necessarily deserve the somewhat pristine reputation they seem to have cultivated recently.’
‘So what is it you’re after?’ asked Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar. ‘A scandal.’
‘Of course. I should’ve known you were after a scandal. What good reporter isn’t?’
Unfortunately, she was very close to a scandal. One that would involve his family, his sister. One that would be unacceptable to have out in the open.
‘Well, exactly.’
‘And you know that I’m not James’s biggest fan?’
‘Well, clearly not. As he seems to have got involved with your sister.’
And just like that he realised that, whatever else she knew, she knew too much. With an entire newspaper to back her, she would be giving information to interested parties, who would do much more digging than he would like done.
‘Yes, indeed.’
And just like that he realised he had made his decision. He leaned forward and pressed the intercom button on the partition between the back seat and the front seat.
‘We are not going back to the hotel. We will be going straight to the airport.’




Sheikh’s
Desert Duty
Maisey Yates


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
USA TODAY bestselling author MAISEY YATES lives in rural Oregon, USA, with her three children and her husband, whose chiselled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. She feels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffeemaker is a true example of her pioneer spirit.
In 2009, at the age of twenty-three, Maisey sold her first book. Since then it’s been a whirlwind of sexy alpha males and happily-ever-afters, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Maisey divides her writing time between dark, passionate category romances, set just about everywhere on earth, and light, sexy contemporary romances set practically in her backyard. She believes that she clearly has the best job in the world.
To Pippa, Laura and Jackie. Thanks for talking me through this one. Sometimes you need the whole team.




Contents
Cover (#u6b4969a8-17fb-52e5-b26a-2c989e4c449e)
Back Cover Text (#u1d9f7a64-4b52-54a9-8ff2-6011f9cdf027)
Introduction (#u1eabc8ec-1e29-5016-a601-0a23c4936b3b)
The Chatsfield (#ub8e56f02-f98b-5ed0-9575-f480ae13f911)
Title Page (#u6df28c50-8b4e-596e-a437-b531be3ab646)
About the Author (#u514ca850-facc-534d-9d7f-e1df8b04a44e)
Dedication (#ucdc6732f-fe5d-5833-97a3-efc4653fffcd)
Harrington Family Tree (#ue2c6ea90-f923-5e45-b673-5f646a49bde5)
Chatsfield Family Tree (#u9c608bba-75e1-5e1c-a500-97f32dee6603)
CHAPTER ONE (#u269ba812-ea57-50f2-b421-c2b973de3bf1)
CHAPTER TWO (#ub9c20f3b-ce4d-5582-9435-5cb286d8bf0c)
CHAPTER THREE (#u39bf2ae2-d489-5cc8-a9dc-3bb4ef00df1e)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Welcome Ms Yates (#litres_trial_promo)
Welcome Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_8ffdbf30-e4c2-5c72-9a70-4140049bb67f)
SHEIKH ZAYN AL-AHMAR had many regrets in his life. The kind of regrets that reached into the darkness in the middle of the night, and tried to strangle him while he slept. The kind of regrets that followed him all through the day, and informed his every action; constant reminders of why he’d had to leave the old version of himself behind, and become something entirely different.
But however pressing his past regrets might be, right now he could think of only one. Right now, his most sincere regret was that he could not close his fist around James Chatsfield’s throat and end the worthless man’s life here and now, in an alley behind his family hotel.
Instead, he settled for something much less satisfying. He curled his hands around the lapels of James’s jacket and shoved the other man back against the brick wall. It was a violent action but, Zayn found, not quite violent enough for his current mood.
“I’m not quite sure what has your knickers in a twist, Al-Ahmar,” James said. His pretty-boy face, filled with that kind of insouciance he excelled at, only enraged Zayn further. The mocking gleam in his eyes only stoking the fires higher. Because Zayn was so well acquainted with both. Because Zayn might well have been looking into a mirror that showed a reflection of the past.
But most especially because what the man had done was unforgivable.
“I think you very well know, Chatsfield.” Zayn didn’t see the point in playing games. Not here in a darkened alley with no one around to witness his actions.
For sixteen years, his life had been consumed with the protection of his family. With the protection of his reputation, and that of his country. And now, this one man was threatening to undo it all. Right now, this man represented the single greatest threat to Surhaadi, its people and to everything Zayn had built his new life on.
“Please, tell me this isn’t about your sister.”
Violence surged through Zayn’s blood, and he took the opportunity to reacquaint the back of James’s head with the wall. “What else could this be about? You have dishonored her. And in so doing you have dishonored me, the royal family and my people.”
James didn’t even have the decency to look scared. Instead of trembling, he arched a brow, his lips curved into a mocking smile. “That is a very heavy burden to place on one woman’s body. I was not aware that the integrity of the nation rested upon your sister’s maidenhead.”
“You have no place to comment on integrity,” Zayn said, tightening his grasp on James. “You are a man in possession of none.”
“But at least I don’t treat women like they are my property.”
No, James Chatsfield would never treat a woman like she was his property. Because once he had slept with a woman, he had no further association with her. Worse than treating them like he owned them, he treated them as though they were disposable. Paper dolls that he could dress, and undress, at will, before crumpling them up and throwing them away.
And in Zayn’s sister’s case, leaving them forever altered. Leaving her with child. A fact Zayn preferred James Chatsfield never even know. He didn’t have a right to know. Because he had never had a right to touch Leila in the first place. And as far as Zayn was concerned, James would never touch her again.
“Perhaps not, Chatsfield, but the fact remains that you have badly handled what belongs to me. My family, anyone beneath my protection, belongs to me. You are fortunate we are not in my country, for there, I would not hesitate to remove the member that committed the offense.”
Chatsfield shifted, suddenly breaking Zayn’s hold, his agility and strength surprising. Indeed, contrary to Zayn’s initial appraisal, the man was not the lazy playboy he appeared to be. Oh, the fact remained that he was a playboy, but there was a sharpness to him that Zayn found surprising.
“You’re positively biblical, Al-Ahmar.” Chatsfield straightened his suit jacket, and his tie, brushing off an imagined bit of dust. “Sadly, I haven’t the time to engage in any eye-for-an-eye nonsense.”
Rage poured through Zayn, and he wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off Chatsfield’s face. But he would not risk drawing attention. Would not risk giving Chatsfield a reason to wonder if there was more to Zayn’s rage than him simply sleeping with Leila. “You will not speak of your dalliance with my sister to anyone in the press.”
James made a scoffing sound. “Why would I ever speak to the press about such a thing?”
“Because while Leila was simply one in a long line of your exploits, the fact remains she is a princess. The media would love to get their hands on that.”
“You insult me, Al-Ahmar. In this country I am royalty in my own right. I hardly need to trade on your name to create a scandal so I can get featured in the headlines. I have my own.”
“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will have your head. And I do not speak metaphorically.”
Something in Chatsfield’s expression hardened. “Oh, I have no doubt.” He straightened his jacket yet again and turned, walking back inside the hotel, leaving Zayn alone in the alleyway to curse into the emptiness around him.
The feeling of helplessness that was pouring through him was unwelcome, and all too familiar. It echoed a time he’d failed another sister. Another time the problems had been too big to fix. Regret piling on top of regret.
Rain was starting to fall, the only light coming from a lone streetlamp, casting everything in a yellow glow. Zayn’s mind was racing, his pulse in overdrive. If any of this got out, the press would have a field day. He had no idea what Leila intended to do about her pregnancy, and with the heightened interest surrounding the royal family, due to Zayn’s own upcoming marriage, she was in a much more precarious position than she might have been.
She was vulnerable enough without introducing the variable of public opinion and scrutiny. That would add pressure she didn’t need, judgment she didn’t deserve. No, he would not have that. He would not expose his family to such criticism and judgment. Not again. Not while he drew breath.
He heard a clattering sound in the corner of the alley, a trash can turning over on its side, a blur of motion catching his eye.
He was not alone. And he and Chatsfield had not been the only two involved in the conversation that had taken place only minutes before. They had a witness.
And that was unacceptable.
The feeling of helplessness drained, a shot of adrenaline moving through his veins. Action. He craved action. He craved a plan.
Zayn stalked toward the movement, his body on high alert, muscles tensing, ready to strike. When a man lived as he did, he had ample time to train his body. And Zayn had done just that. Had taken every opportunity to spend hours channeling physical frustration into strength training.
He didn’t fear whatever would be waiting for him in the shadow. He had no reason to. Because he had no doubt whatsoever that he was the most dangerous thing in this alley.
There was more clattering, followed by a squeak, and he acted, reaching into the darkness and coming up with a fistful of hair, resistance and a sharp squeal.
Not the sound of a hardened criminal.
He released his hold on the person he had seized, and straightened.
“Who are you?” he asked. “What do you want?”
“Ow,” his quarry made a plaintive noise.
“I doubt very much that you’re injured,” he said. “Come into the light.”
The intruder obliged, moving from the shadow and into the golden haze cast by the streetlight. He wasn’t entirely certain what he’d expected, but the slim blonde with long honey-colored hair, disheveled—likely from when he had grabbed it—wearing a sequined dress with a hemline that fell well above her knee, and mutinous expression on her face, was not at all what he’d imagined he might find.
“I am very much injured.” She sniffed.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you are so easily damaged, it is advisable that perhaps you shouldn’t spend time hiding in dark alleys. They are dangerous.”
“It would seem so.” She was frantically straightening her dress now, moving her hands over her slight curves, smoothing the wrinkles in the fabric.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, suspicion pressing down on him.
“I followed Chatsfield out into the alley.” She straightened, flipping long hair back over her shoulder, a pale, glimmering wave in the streetlight.
That made sense. She was very likely one of Chatsfield’s hopefuls, or one of his previous acquisitions. Probably trying to find out if she could finagle another night in his bed. Or perhaps just hoping she could trade on her connection with him for money or status.
Either way, she was dangerous. Either way, she would have motive to take her story to the press. The opportunity for revenge in the hands of a woman scorned by a playboy could prove dangerous for his sister.
“I see. And how much did you hear?”
Her eyes, which were already quite wide, widened further. “Nothing of interest. I was actually quite bored. I was actually taking a nap.”
“Try again.” He found he had little patience to continue standing out here as rain began to pour down on them. He found he had little patience for any of this. To face another failure where his family was concerned. To face another threat to them, after all they had been through.
It was in his power to spare them more pain, and he would do so. And he would not let one large-eyed blonde get in his way.
“I’m really into the free-food movement. And I like to make sure that there are no salvageable edibles in various trash cans surrounding posh hotels.” She started to move away from him. “You would be surprised how much gourmet food is simply tossed. I have found foie gras that was still quite fresh just cast out into the gutter. It’s egregious.”
“You said you followed Chatsfield out into the alley.”
She squinted. “I thought he might be looking for the foie gras.”
“It is getting quite cold out.” He reached out and grabbed hold of her arm, and she tugged back. But he held fast. “Why don’t we finish this conversation in my car?”
“Oh, you know—” she waved a hand “—I would, but I have a thing.”
“What thing?” he asked.
“A thing that is not getting into a car with a stranger.”
“I feel that after all you must have surely heard from your vantage point, we can hardly be considered strangers.”
He tugged her along through the alley with him, heading to where his limousine was idling. She walked along with him, but her hesitance was clear. For a moment he questioned himself. Asked himself what the hell he was doing.
But then he imagined Leila, in her distress, confessing her indiscretion, and worrying about the consequences. No, he would do whatever he had to do. No matter what that was.
There was no room, no time, for guilt.
“I really need to go,” she said. “My bicycle is double-parked. I think there’s a timer on the rack. I bet they’re going to cut my chain.”
“I will buy you a new bicycle.”
“That one has sentimental value.”
He paused, and looked down at her. “Why did you ride a bicycle in this weather? In that dress.”
“We don’t all hemorrhage gold.”
“No, indeed we do not. I imagine you have realized that James Chatsfield does.”
“What exactly are you implying?”
He propelled her forward to the passenger door of the limousine, and jerked it open. “I’m implying that you need to get into my car now.”
“I don’t think I will.”
“I’m sorry, I see you’ve confused my command with a request.” Not breaking his hold on her, he moved down into the limo, bringing her with him, her soft body flush against his.
And because it had been so very long since he had touched a woman, even given the circumstances, he could not help but take a moment to pause and enjoy the feel of her against him.
She wiggled, her bottom coming into contact with things he would rather not have her in contact with. “What are you doing?” she shrieked.
He did not answer. He only held fast to her, trying to figure out exactly where to take it from here.
Though he was immediately drawn back to the moment by the feel of her body against his.
It was in moments like this, moments when heat and curves overtook the gravity of the situation, that he wondered whether or not he’d truly managed to change. Or if he had simply spent years burying his weakness beneath the rock of good intention. Though, as he had so rarely found himself in this position since he had changed the focus of his life, he supposed it was neither here nor there. It did not matter how soft this woman was. It did not matter how good it felt to have her in his arms.
All that mattered was Leila. Her honor. Her safety, both physical and emotional.
No one could be allowed to compromise that.
He closed the limo door, and kept his hold on the woman, who seemed to have gone limp in his grasp. For one moment he wondered if she had fainted. And then she started talking again.
“Somehow I don’t think you’ve brought me in here because you’re concerned about me getting wet.” She turned to face him, concern lighting her eyes.
“It’s quite possible you’re correct.”
“Are you kidnapping me?”
“I feel that term implies both premeditation and a desire for ransom money. And as we’ve established that I hemorrhage gold, and you do not, I have no need of ransom money. Also, there was no premeditation involved, how could there have been? I had no idea you would be in the alleyway.”
“I don’t feel that either of those things is a necessary requirement to call something kidnapping.” She cocked her head to the side. “Are you detaining me against my will?”
“That all depends.” He shifted as the car started to move, releasing his hold on her. “Do you want to stay in the limo?”
“No.”
“Then yes, I am detaining you against your will.”
“Well, I think we’re going to have a problem.” She lifted her chin, her expression defiant, eyes glittering.
He looked around the darkened car, at the streetlights moving quickly by, bathing her face in quick flashes of light. “Excuse me, little sheikha, but I fail to see what problem you could possibly pose to me in this position.”
She drew back slightly. “I scream very loudly.”
“I am certain you do.” He reached up and thumped his knuckles on the back of the black partition between the back and front seats. “But everything in here is soundproof. And bulletproof.”
“What does it being bulletproof have to do with anything?”
“Just in case you were going to get some ideas about breaking a window. If a sniper’s bullet couldn’t manage it, you certainly can’t.” He leaned back in his seat. “I don’t want you breaking an elbow trying to force your way out.”
She sniffed loudly. “I don’t know why you would worry about my elbow. Not when you have seized my person.”
“I have not broken your person, have I?” She only glared at him, her expression mutinous. “No, I have not,” he said, answering his own question. “And I would prefer to keep it that way.”
“I assume this is supposed to make me feel calmer about the fact that you forced me into your car and are now taking me who knows where.”
“I know where.” A bit of an overstatement. He wasn’t entirely certain where he was going to take her, or what he was going to do with her. He didn’t know if she knew who he was, or what she had overheard. And he needed to find a way to ascertain that without giving away any more than he needed to.
He only knew he had to keep her. That this was his chance to seize control of this situation. To fix it.
“Oh, how interesting,” she said. “I might appreciate being let in on that information.”
“Sorry, that sort of information is a privilege.”
“What are you doing? Why are you bothering with me? I’m not anyone. No, scratch that, I am someone. I work for a very prestigious newspaper and if you don’t let me go...”
“You’re a reporter?”
“Yes,” she said, seeming to change tactic abruptly. “I am. An intrepid one. A real one. Kind of a big deal.”
“What were you doing in that alley?” He had to know now, because if she was telling the truth, that meant that she was far more dangerous to him than an ex-lover of Chatsfield’s would be. She was the very thing he feared most. The very thing that could do the most damage to his family.
To Leila.
Leila had made a mistake in sleeping with James. But ultimately, Leila was so innocent that her stake in it was much lower than Chatsfield’s. She had been taken advantage of, of that Zayn was certain. And this woman would drag her before the press, who would tear her apart like ravenous wolves. Because she was a woman, because the media, and the public, would see her fault as the greater fault.
Because she was a princess and being royalty she would be the bigger target.
No, he could not allow it. He had already put one innocent sister in harm’s way. He’d already failed her. In a way there was no coming back from. He would be damned if he’d do it again.
He would fix this. By any means necessary. A disgruntled lover might have taken a payoff, but not a reporter. No, this would require more extreme measures.
He would remove her from contact if need be. Even if he had to pick her up and carry her back to Surhaadi.
She hesitated, clearly trying to decide what she could say now that would help her out of her current situation. That was enough to inform him that whatever she said was very likely to be a lie.
“I was following James,” she said finally. “I’m working on something that concerns the Chatsfield family.”
“Clearly not something they would be very happy about.”
“Well, probably not. But I can see you’re not James’s biggest fan. It would please you to know that I’m not a big fan of the Chatsfield family as a whole. And I don’t think they necessarily deserve the somewhat pristine reputation in the public they seem to have cultivated recently.”
“So what is it you’re after?”
“A scandal.”
“Of course, I should’ve known you were after a scandal. What good reporter isn’t?” Unfortunately, she was very close to a scandal. One that would involve his family, his sister. One that was simply unacceptable to have out in the open.
“Well, exactly.”
“And you know that I’m not James’s biggest fan?”
“Well, clearly not. As he seems to have gotten himself involved with your sister.”
Instantly he realized that whatever else she knew, she knew too much. With an entire newspaper to back her, she would be parlaying this information to interested parties, who would likely do much more digging than he would like done.
“Yes, indeed.” And just like that, he made his decision. He leaned forward and pressed the intercom button on the partition between the backseat and the front seat. “We are not going back to the hotel. We will be going straight to the airport.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_7847171d-32e7-552c-beb7-41aa5e12b932)
IT TOOK QUITE a bit to rattle Sophie Parsons. She hadn’t gotten where she was in life by being a shrinking violet. But currently, she was feeling extremely rattled. And slightly like shrinking.
She figured it was understandable. As she had just been forced into a limo by a man who stood nearly a foot taller than she did, and who must outweigh her by more than one hundred pounds of lean muscle. And now they were going to the airport, apparently.
She eyed the speedily passing scenery and considered attempting doing a tuck and roll.
“The doors are locked.”
It seemed he was a mind reader in addition to being a kidnapper. Except he seemed to take offense to the term kidnapper. Did she really care? She took offense to being forced inside of a limo and taken to God knows where.
“Right, well, it’s not like I was going to go jumping out of a moving vehicle.” Except she had been thinking of doing just that. “Although you’ve given me no reason to believe that I wouldn’t be better off taking my chances with the asphalt than I am staying here with you.”
“You have nothing to fear from me. I do not intend to hurt you.”
She assessed him, his hard expression, his dark eyes glittering. She had yet to get a good look at his face; from the dim lighting outside, to the even dimmer lighting in here, it made it difficult to assess his features fully. But from what she could tell, he was an exceptionally handsome man. An odd thing to observe about one’s captor, but in her line of work observation was everything. He had high cheekbones, a square jaw and a strong chin. The planes and angles of his face cast into sharp relief each time they passed a brightly lit building, or row of streetlights.
“What do you intend for me, then?” It was important to know. Because if he was intending evil things for her she needed to know whether or not she should be trying to fashion a weapon out of the paper clips and Chapstick in the bottom of her purse.
“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“Inconveniently for you, I find I’m exceptionally worried about what exactly a stranger intends to do with me. Even if it is rather mundane. Even if you just intend to ask me about different styles of napkin folding, which I could give you a comprehensive lesson on because I am something of an expert.”
“I do not wish to learn to fold napkins.”
No, of course he didn’t. And she didn’t, for one moment, think he had. But it was a better thought than the others swirling in her head. Because as far as she knew, men only had a few things they wanted from women when they removed them from a place forcibly. None of them were any good. None of them were anything she wanted a part of.
She really was in over her head now. She’d wanted to help Isabelle out, and she still did. But she had not realized that digging up scandal on the Chatsfield family to get Spencer Chatsfield off her friend’s back would end with her being shoved into a car by an angry stranger. No, indeed, she had imagined she would do a little bit of reconnaissance, and catch James doing what James did. He had been, in her mind, the easiest target.
The Chatsfields were currently making it their mission to take over Harrington Hotels, Spencer Chatsfield doing his best to ruin Isabelle Harrington’s life, as if he hadn’t already done enough years ago. That was why Isabelle had asked her to do what she could to dig up the scandal on the family, to throw the press a headline bone they couldn’t ignore and keep the Chatsfields busy scrambling to cover their butts while Isabelle shored up the defenses for The Harrington.
No, she wasn’t exactly a lead reporter for the Herald. She was more lead coffee maker and vapid party summarizer for the society pages. But, given that, she had the authority to run a piece on the Chatsfields.
Though, as much as Sophie loved Isabelle, as much as she wanted to help out her friend, she wasn’t sure if this was what she signed on for. No, she was certain this wasn’t what she’d signed on for.
“So what is it you want?”
“It’s quite simple, really. I need to keep you busy for a while.”
“I like a scavenger hunt. If you wanted to set up some kind of elaborate game, I might be persuaded to participate. That could keep me busy for a bit.”
“That is not what I had in mind.”
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, goose bumps breaking out over her arms. “Organizing your sock drawer?”
“Getting warmer.”
“Okay, you need to start talking, because I’m starting to panic.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“I have an idea.” She had overheard enough of his conversation with James to start piecing some things together. And what she surmised was that he was royalty of some sort. Because he had accused James of sleeping with his sister. His sister, who happened to be a princess. So unless he was some kind of royal bastard, he had to be a prince, sheikh or otherwise titled person. A quick internet search when she’d gotten back to her computer would’ve clarified everything. Of course, now she was separated from her computer, for who knew how long, so finding out who he was wouldn’t be as simple as she imagined.
Though if she could get her phone...
“I am Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar, of Surhaadi. And I am taking you back to my country for the foreseeable future.”
Her stomach jumped up and hit the back of her throat.
“What do you mean I’m coming back to your country with you?”
“Just exactly what I said. You are returning to Surhaadi with me, until I can figure out a means of dealing with you.”
“Well, I don’t want to.”
He shifted in his seat, one arm draped over the back of it, his legs thrown out in front of him. He had the posture of a lazy cat, as though this were mundane. As though he kidnapped women from alleys in New York every day, and threatened to take them back to his desert kingdom. As though this were as commonplace as ordering sparkling water instead of still.
But she had a feeling it was only an illusion. That, much like a cat, the lazy posture was simply lulling her into a false sense of security, so that she would be all the more surprised when he pounced. She decided then and there that she would not be lulled.
“All of this has very little to do with want, as far as I’m concerned,” he said. “Do you truly think I want to bring you back to my country with me? If so, you are mistaken. This goes deeper than want. This is about what I must do.”
“Well, what is it you must do? Let me help you with that, and perhaps we can both be spared this whole taking me back to the desert thing.”
“I am afraid I do not have time to negotiate.”
“I’m asking honestly, what is it you need? What is it you want from me?” Anything was preferable to this. Well, okay, not anything. But a lot of things.
“I require your silence, habibti. And while under normal circumstances I would be willing to pay for your silence, I find that I must be even more diligent in this instance. I cannot take the chance you will simply take my money and then give away my secrets, anyway.”
“I have a lot of honor. And I also have a lot of bills. So, all things considered, a payoff might be your best bet.” At this point, she just wanted to forget she had ever even seen the man. No payoff required. She was starting to get seriously freaked out.
“As I said, under normal circumstances I might have gone that route. But there is too much at stake. Anyway, what sort of paltry story do you suppose you could bring out of the Chatsfield name? There is more to this story. More to what I know about James Chatsfield. Come back to the palace with me, and I will tell you everything.”
Oh, no, that was far too easy, and made absolutely no sense. The man was trying to get her away from people, away from New York, to keep something secret. He was hardly going to give her surrounding information.
“I don’t trust you.”
“All things considered, I doubt there is any chance of there being trust between us.”
“Well, perhaps we don’t need trust. Perhaps we just need you to not force me to go someplace against my will. Right now, I would take that over trust.”
The limo started to slow, pulling into a driveway that she didn’t recognize. This didn’t look like any of the airports she was familiar with, or at least not a terminal she was familiar with. Not that she had spent very much time traveling, but she had dropped friends off when they went on trips.
Still, she was not an authority on air travel. “Where are we?”
“A private section of the airport, reserved for visiting dignitaries. It allows us to sidestep a lot of bureaucracy.”
She was starting to put the pieces together, but between the general feeling of shock and the haze of disbelief covering this whole thing she wasn’t feeling as quick as she usually did.
“I need you out of the way for a while. Surhaadi is the best place, where I can keep you close. Where I can keep an eye on you. But never fear, you will come away from this rewarded.”
A chill spread over her. “I have a job, I have a life, I can’t just leave.”
Okay, so saying she had a life was pushing it a bit. She had a life of working sixty hours a week, and doing her very best to climb the ladder, such as that was in her industry. She had spent her entire life working her way up from, if not the gutter, certainly a disadvantaged position, to where she was now.
Isabelle Harrington had helped her secure her place at the Herald, and Sophie owed her. More than that, she refused to squander any opportunity she was given. The vast majority of the work she had done to elevate her status had been accomplished on her own. Due to nothing more than sheer bloody-mindedness, determination and a burning sense of injustice that sat in her stomach, making her feel hollow. Driving her on, looking for a way to fill it.
But her position at the Herald was one of the few things that had been provided for her by her creative friends. Isabelle had recommended her for the position, and Sophie took it very seriously. She didn’t take for granted what she had been given. The thought of just leaving the job, for an indefinite amount of time, was unthinkable.
“Where is it you work?”
“I work at the New York Herald, and I can’t just leave.”
“I will call your boss, and I will speak to him.”
“Uh...no. You won’t. That is not happening.” Knowing Colin, he would smell a story and be no help in bailing her out. Her boss had the morals of a vulture. He was opportunistic in the extreme. A man who had attached himself to a very wealthy wife, using those connections to land himself a position as head editor for the Herald, all while sleeping with younger socialites behind her back.
He was opportunistic, but not, in Sophie’s experience, particularly sneaky. Either way, she did not want to bring him into this.
“You have now told me where you work. I am more than happy to take the ID out of your bag, find your name and call your boss. I will tell him that one of his reporters has greatly offended the sheikh of Surhaadi. And I will tell him I want you fired.”
Fear streaked through her. She despised it. Despised this feeling of being so disadvantaged because she was, by birth, lesser.
But I shouldn’t be. I should be one of them. But because my father didn’t choose me...
“You don’t actually think that would work, do you?”
“I do not see why it wouldn’t.”
“Well, perhaps in any other industry, it would work. But this is the media, if you give any hint of a scandal, they’ll just want to know what the scandal is. No one is going to fire me for creating a little bit of dust between myself and a sheikh.”
“You see, that is where you’re wrong. Because I have the capability of offering them a much bigger story than you ever could with your half-heard findings in the alleyway. But I would make it contingent upon them letting you go. And rest assured they would.”
“I can’t believe this. Are you seriously going to get me fired from my job? Because of...just because I overheard that Chatsfield slept with your sister?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice grave. “I would do just that. Do not doubt it. There are two things in this life that are dear to me. My people, and my family. I will do whatever is necessary to protect them. Sometimes, when you are the ruler of the country, that means being willing to go to war. When you are the head of the family, that means being willing to wage war on a more personal scale.” His gaze met hers, and even in the darkness of the car, she could feel the righteous fury emanating from him, could feel the heat. “There is nothing I would not do to protect my family. And right now, I feel that my hand is being forced.”
“I’m not forcing anything.”
“Your very presence does. Your name?”
“Why should I tell you?” He gave her a hard look, one that told her he would get it one way or another. She would just tell him. At least then it would be her choice. “Sophie Parsons.”
“And who do you report to directly?”
“Colin Fairfax.”
“Phone number?”
She rattled it off, because at this point, if she had her boss on the other end of the phone, perhaps she could at least signal her distress. Sheikh whatever-his-name-was retrieved the phone from the interior pocket of his jacket, and dialed the number she had given. A moment later she heard the phone stop ringing on the other end, and heard her boss’s voice coming through the line, muffled but recognizable.
“Yes, I am calling about an employee of yours. Sophie Parsons.”
She could hear words, but not what they were.
“She has done nothing wrong. She is with me, in fact...Sheikh Zayn, of Surhaadi...Yes, that one. We got into a bit of a discussion, and we spoke about her coming to Surhaadi to run a piece on my upcoming marriage.”
The implications of what he was saying turned over in her mind, and for the first time, she realized that some of this could actually go her way. That she could get something out of this.
Except where Isabelle is concerned. You’re leaving Isabelle up a creek without a paddle.
Not that she was doing it on purpose. If she had her way, she would escape the limo and run screaming into the night. But she didn’t seem to have much choice. He would load her onto the plane kicking and screaming if he had to, of that she had no doubt. There was barely another living soul out here, at least no one who didn’t work for him. And he had her boss on the line, her job in his hands, and if she did not have access to the media, the help that she could be to Isabelle was limited, anyway.
No, she wasn’t deserting her friend for self-serving reasons. She wasn’t deserting her friend for any reason that was in her control.
“She is a very charming young woman,” Zayn continued. “I find myself captivated by her. I should like to read her perspective of the goings-on.”
Her boss responded, his voice sounding much more cheerful and genial than it ever did when he spoke to her. Probably because she was a gopher and not a sheikh.
“I am not certain how long I will have her in Surhaadi, but of course we do have internet connections, and she will be able to make contact.” Somehow, Sophie doubted he would allow her free contact.
“Yes, I daresay it will be a wonderful exclusive for your paper. She will be in touch soon.” Zayn hung up, putting the phone back inside his jacket pocket. “There, that was relatively painless, wasn’t it?”
“For you, perhaps. I find all this has been quite painful.”
“I have scarcely laid a finger on you.”
“Pain can come in a lot of forms. Often I find the physical is the least of my worries.” That much was true, she had enough emotional garbage to last a lifetime.
“Well, it is all settled, your boss is happy to have you come to Surhaadi with me. And if you refuse, I will not hesitate to call him back and let him know you blew the story, and that I will require your immediate termination if the paper is to get the exclusive that I have now promised.”
“So those are my options? Be carried onto the plane kicking and screaming and lose my job, or get on the plane and keep my job.”
“That about sums it up.”
“What about my scandal? I need to do this. If you think I was out here for my own gratification, you’re wrong. I’m doing this for someone else. For a friend, and it’s important.”
“Come with me, and you will have your scandal.” His dark eyes were fathomless, impossible to read. But she could also see that she had no choice but to go with him.
She swallowed hard, trying to combat the swarm of nerves crawling through her system like a hoard of ants. “Then I guess we are going to Surhaadi.”
* * *
Zayn’s private plane was far more luxurious than anything Sophie had been exposed to before. And in the years since she’d moved up from her nondescript existence in a quiet neighborhood, tucked away from people she and her mother might encounter who would know who her father was, she had seen a fair bit of luxury.
She had not, however, seen private plane levels of luxury.
She felt like it had to be some kind of mental disconnect happening within her brain right now. Because she was essentially being kidnapped, and yet she was admiring the butter-soft quality of the leather that covered the chairs that were stationed throughout the airplane cabin.
All things considered, she didn’t feel like this was the time to be admiring the qualities of leather. Though if she thought about anything much deeper she might go insane. Because all of this was just too much to digest at once. She needed time to get used to this whole being kidnapped by a sheikh thing.
“There are two bedrooms in the back of the plane, and you’re welcome to use whichever one you like,” he said, speaking as though he was playing host at an extremely civilized dinner party. “You are also welcome to stay up here should you prefer. Can I get you a drink?”
“Well, the offer of the bedroom is certainly appreciated. As is the offer of a drink. Which I accept.”
She had never been much for drinking. After Isabelle had accepted her into her group of friends, Sophie had often found herself dining in places that were way above her pay grade. Soup or salad, coupled with the water, had often been the only thing on her menu. Certainly, had her friend been aware of the fact that Sophie couldn’t afford the places they’d gone, Isabelle would have happily given Sophie the money to pay for her meal. But charity had never sat well with Sophie. And anyway, the burning hunger to one day be able to order the fish dish, rather than ordering from the appetizer section, was one of the things that kept her going.
She had often been afraid that if she took those kinds of incentives from herself she would lose some of her drive. And that, in her mind, was unacceptable.
Of course, a fish-based entrée was not the be-all and end-all to her ambition. She’d worked for what she had. Every single bit of prestige and education. She’d gained tentative acceptance, acceptance that would have simply been her due had she been one of her father’s legitimate children.
The university she had attended had been a given for her half siblings. Something they could simply have because of their parentage. While she had not been afforded the same.
Because she and her mother had been secret. Because she and her mother had been kept separate. So she had set out to prove that she didn’t need her father’s influence, or money. She had worked her way to university on her own, graduating in the top of her class with a degree in journalism.
Three years on, and now that she was doing very little else beyond making coffee for the Herald, some of that triumph had dwindled.
But she was determined to hold on to her ambition. Because it had gotten her this far. Because it was the only thing she had to get her the rest of the way.
Which was why she couldn’t curl into a ball and give up now. This was the only way she could figure out how to help Isabelle, anyway. The sheikh claimed to know more than he let on, and she had to find out what it was he knew. She was stuck with him for a while, then.
And her boss now expected a profile of the royal wedding in Surhaadi. Which meant she might as well take in the whole experience. A certain amount of observation, including the quality of the leather, would be required of her.
She was, after all, a journalist. And so, she was hardly working to her full capacity at the moment as to what she intended to be one day. What was it they said? Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.
Well, right now, she would be taking in details, acting the part of the journalist she wanted to be, rather than the journalist she was. True, all of this had a bit more of a society bent than she cared for. She was interested in, someday, taking on stories that might be a little more hard-hitting than a sheikh’s upcoming marriage. But this was several rungs up the ladder she was currently standing on, and she would be foolish if she didn’t just go ahead and embrace it.
Frankly, she was kidnapped either way.
“What do you prefer?” he asked.
“Oh, something red, I should think. Do you drink white for a kidnapping?”
“I would think most people would prefer something a little bit stiffer for their kidnapping.”
“So, you admit that you’re kidnapping me.”
He wandered over to an ornate covered bar that was set into the wall, bottles closed into shelves, secured into carved wooden holders. He opened the doors, and selected a bottle of wine. “I do not see the point in quibbling over semantics. It changes nothing either way.”
“Well, one allows me a little bit of justified anger.”
“I do not see what you have to be angry about. Unless you have a lover you are meant to meet tonight.”
The very idea was ridiculous. She didn’t do the whole man-woman thing. Who had the time? Or the inclination toward heartbreak. Maybe, when she got to where she was going, maybe, if she ever found a man she thought she might be able to trust. Maybe. Two very big maybes.
“My diary for the evening was free,” she said.
“Then I would imagine that, as a journalist, a drink on a private plane with royalty makes for a much better story than you sitting on your couch and watching sitcoms.”
He had a point. But she wasn’t going to tell him that.
“I’m sure, but in the end most of this will make for a very good story. So what exactly am I supposed to be covering? You mentioned there being more to the Chatsfield scandal, but since then you’ve been awfully quiet about it.”
She could hear the engines of the plane being fired up, and her stomach flipped. She wasn’t used to flying. She had done a little bit domestically, but certainly nothing international. She didn’t even know how to calculate the estimated length of the flight from New York to Surhaadi.
“James Chatsfield is an ass. You can quote me directly on that, if you would like.”
“Forgive me, Sheikh Zayn, but there is full documentation proving that about James Chatsfield already. It’s hardly breaking news.”
The plane started to move down the runway and she wobbled where she stood. “You may want to sit down.”
And with that, it was clear the subject was closed. She did not find that acceptable in the least.
“Don’t you want to sit down?” she asked.
“I have a drink to pour.”
She walked across the expanse of the plane, and took a seat in one of the chairs. They were, indeed, as soft as they looked. Just for her mental records. For when she was writing a piece on this experience. On what it had been like to be in the private plane of the sheikh of Surhaadi.
He poured her a very full glass of red, not even looking unsteady when the plane picked up momentum. Then he put a stopper back in the bottle, and put it back in the cabinet. Before walking nonchalantly across the cabin and handing her the glass. He took a seat across from her, his hands noticeably empty of a drink.
“I think you and I have a lot in common, really. We both want Chatsfield blood. I think you should help me get some.” She took a sip of the wine, and fought to keep her expression neutral. This was not cheap wine.
If she ever did buy herself wine for home, it usually came in mini-bottles or a box. Silk taste, polyester budget and all that.
“Later. Later you will have your scandal. For now we can talk wedding business.”
Irritation spiked through her, and she fought to keep from showing him, fought to keep from revealing her hand any more than she already had. “But you are getting married? That’s true, right?”
“Yes, I am.”
She noticed he didn’t sound overjoyed at the mention of the upcoming union. She would file that away, as well. She would also continue down this line of questioning, because he was being a bit more forthcoming on this topic than on the topic of the Chatsfields.
She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs, and holding the wine out over the cream-colored carpet as the plane started to ascend. She didn’t have very many nice dresses, and she would be darned if she was going to get a red wine stain on one of the few she did own. His carpet would pay the price before this sequined masterpiece did.
“When is the wedding?”
A strange-looking smile curved the corners of his lips. It was not a happy expression, neither did it hold very much humor. “Three weeks.”
That would likely put her right at the center of the action. In spite of herself, she did find that exciting. “I imagine a lot of the preparation is under way already.”
“While my staff is executing much of it, my fiancée is dictating the activity from her home country.”
“She isn’t from Surhaadi?”
“No. My fiancée is the princess of a small European country. The fourth-born child in the family, and the only girl. She is still living in the palace there.”
“Long-distance relationship, understandable. Though not ideal.”
He shrugged. “I find nothing terribly un-ideal about it. There is no reason for Christine to uproot her life prior to our union becoming official.”
“Some people might not consider it very inconvenient to uproot things for the person they love.”
“Who said anything about love?” His dark eyes connected with hers and sent a shock wave down to her stomach. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore it.
She supposed she of all people shouldn’t have inferred love into a conversation about marriage. She hardly thought her own father loved the woman he was married to. Now, she didn’t suppose that the man loved her mother, either, but he certainly didn’t love his wife. If he did, why would he conduct so many affairs? Why would he conduct affairs with anyone at all?
“I don’t suppose anyone did. Except for me.”
“It is not a secret that my union with Christine has more to do with politics than feelings.”
“Oh, but the world loves a love match.” She leaned back in her seat, lifting her wineglass to her lips. “I should very much doubt if the public is content to imagine that you are simply allies for politics and not for pleasure.”
A political union would not make for a very strong hook in her piece. A piece she would have to give some consideration to, regardless of her primary aim of interviewing Zayn. Because Colin was expecting a story about a royal wedding now, and she had to deliver.
That wasn’t a problem, though, she was used to multitasking. Unlike most of her peers she’d had to hold on to a part-time job while going to school. And again, unlike most of her classmates, there had been no job waiting for her when she graduated. So there had been internships, combined with late shifts waitressing at bars.
No, multitasking wasn’t a problem for her.
“Yes, I daresay the public will be disappointed on that score.”
“Unless you decide to show them something else.”
“To what end?” He looked at her, and she could see that he was clearly intrigued.
“To the end of positive public opinion. Which I should think for a world leader would be of the utmost importance.” She knew all about playing that game, because in her life presenting a positive front, presenting a polished front, had been imperative.
Most everyone she’d gone to university with were simply accepted, based on their names and connections, but she hadn’t had that. Sophie had been forced to earn respect. She hadn’t been able to afford the mistakes the rest of her friends had been allowed to make. Any slip-up in behavior for them could be perceived as a simple youthful rebellion. For her, it was a revealing window into just how unsophisticated she was. Just how unsuitable she was. It was proof that, as they all expected, she didn’t belong.
For those reasons she’d had to be above reproach, because she was starting at a place of disadvantage.
Yes, Sophie knew all about manipulating public opinion—or in her case, the opinion of university administration and her fellow students—to her advantage.
“It certainly is, but shouldn’t my efforts to improve relations between countries count for something?”
“Certainly, and I’m sure for some it will. But it will be lost on others. And while they might accept your union with a kind of blissful neutrality, or at least a bit of interest in what your bride will be wearing, they would be a lot more interested in romance.”
“Then I give you leave to infer romance to your heart’s content when you write your piece.”
Sophie took another sip of wine. “I promise to read between the lines judiciously.”
“By which you mean you promise to read things that aren’t there?”
“That is a particular specialty of those who report on high-society stories.”
For the first time since he’d pulled her unceremoniously from the alley, the corners of his lips turned upward into a smile. It was not a smile that expressed happiness, but rather one that seemed to be laughing at some kind of perverse amusement. He rubbed his hand across his chin, fingertips grazing his square jaw, and she found herself distracted by the sound of his skin rubbing against the dark stubble. It was a very masculine thing, and she had not been exposed to many masculine things in her life.
An all-female household, female roommates, until she finally got her tiny apartment and lived alone.
Men were something of a foreign animal to her, and as she looked across to the man sitting opposite her, she realized he was an extremely foreign animal indeed.
He was magnetic, his features strong, dark brows, a blade-straight nose, eyes the color of midnight, framed by sooty lashes, the sort of lips that would entice lesser women to compose poetry about them.
Had he any softness to him, he might’ve been called beautiful. But he did not, so she would not. Beautiful wasn’t the right word.
Powerful, that was the word. The kind of power that far exceeded most of the people she’d been exposed to. No matter how influential a society family in New York might be, a sheikh certainly outstripped them.
He was the sort of man with ultimate power, not a man ruled by the laws of this, or any, land, really. Beneath his well-tailored suit, she could sense he was a man who didn’t ascribe to civility in a typical sense. Well, her presence on this plane was proof enough of that.
He was dangerous, she realized with a sudden jolt. And for some reason, she found that more fascinating than repulsing. She couldn’t figure out why.
She would attribute that to the masculine inexperience thing. Because it was easier than having to examine it deeper. This way, she could stick it in the“men are mystery” drawer and close it tight.
She suddenly became very aware of the fact that her heart was beating faster than normal. She would ignore that, too.
“Yes, I am well aware that it is a skill of the press, to imply all kinds of things.” The smile stayed fixed on his face, but there was a darkness to it now. A terrifying emptiness that was reflected in his eyes.
“In this case, perhaps it will benefit you.”
The smile widened, and she felt an answering tightness in her chest, as though he had managed to forge a link between his facial expressions and her insides. As though he had not just kidnapped her body, but had seized control over other parts of her. It was disconcerting, to say the least.
“Perhaps it will benefit both of us in the end.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_909fcd24-87b2-5785-8cb3-85de1c1c74d8)
NOTHING COULD HAVE prepared her for the overwhelming heat of Surhaadi. The arid wind that had whipped across her face as she made her way down the staircase from the plane into the waiting limo had been dry and hot like an oven. Her pale skin starting to burn the moment she got beneath the sun’s rays.
In truth, it felt as though they were closer to the sun here than they had been in New York. It was beyond anything in her experience, and while it was uncomfortable, it was also fascinating.
Her level of fascination with her new surroundings far surpassed the unease she had been feeling on the plane ride over. She’d managed to sleep for a good portion of the flight, disengaging herself from conversation with Zayn after their little talk about love matches. For some reason, being close to him made her feel jittery.
Okay, so it was normal to feel jittery around the man who’d essentially forced her to come back to his country with him, but this was something else. Something that went beyond the expected unease that one might feel in the situation.
And she was still ignoring it. Ignoring it, and focusing on the view of the Surhaadi desert, and then, of the looming palace walls, and the massive structure that rose up from behind them.
Every window in the palace seemed to be lit with an orange flame, each line, every detail of stone carved into the walls, illuminated by a thin band of light. A blue dome rose from the center of the roof, an intricate pattern fashioned from the gleaming tile that covered it.
It was a modern-day fantasy. An updated take on classic stories that she’d read as a child.
But sadly reading about it could not have prepared her for the reality. For the sheer size of the place.
Yet again, going to friends’ holiday homes upstate was a poor comparison to the home of actual royalty.
“What do you think?” he asked as the limo drove through the parting gates and into a beautifully appointed courtyard, the ground covered in gleaming tile, and fountains stationed throughout.
“I suppose it will have to do,” she said, her tone dry as the desert sand.
“I daresay not many people get kidnapped into such luxury.”
“That all depends, I suppose, on whether or not you intend to throw me in the dungeon.”
“You shall have your own quarters.”
Her own quarters in a massive palace. Things continued to seem unreal. “Oh.”
“No matter what you might think, I am not an animal. I am simply a man. Doing what I must to ensure that my family remains safe.”
She wasn’t familiar with that kind of loyalty. And for a moment, the desire to be on the receiving end of it, from someone, anyone, him even, was so strong it made her ache.
What would it be like to have someone do whatever must be done, to protect you?
She and her mother had never been close, and they had only grown more distant throughout the years. Her mother had no ambition beyond being a rich man’s plaything. Worse, as the years had gone on, she hadn’t even been the rich man’s plaything, but his discarded toy. And she had never moved on from that. She’d never been able to connect with her only child, because her heart had been given over to a man who didn’t care about her at all.
Sophie would have loved her. But she’d never given Sophie the chance.
And Sophie hadn’t been able to watch her mother endure that existence after a certain point, either.
And as for her father, she may as well have not existed. Except for a card, with a check, on every birthday. A check she had summarily put into savings and hadn’t touched until her university years.
This kind of familial love, this kind of protectiveness, wasn’t something she had any experience with.
It was best to just focus on the palace.
“So, is this the original palace? Or is this something of a redo?”
“There have been extensive renovations in the past twenty years. Lots of modernizing. But the majority of it is original. A couple hundred years old. Of course, while homes that are that age are magnificent, they are rarely comfortable to live in. Hence the renovation.”
“Sure, I imagine that’s the case.”
She knew for a fact that living in a home that was fifty years old wasn’t overly comfortable, so anything spanning back centuries probably wasn’t any better. Though it looked immeasurably fancier.
The limousine came to a stop, and Zayn got out without waiting for a driver to come to his aid. He walked to her side of the car, and opened the door for her, standing there as though he was some kind of chivalrous paragon, rather than the marauder she knew he was.
She collected her purse, and got out, rising slowly, her body a little bit stiff from such a long plane ride followed by a ride in a car. The wind whipped through her hair, and she flicked some of the honey strands away from her face, the sun reflecting on it and casting a golden haze over her vision.
He stood tall, regarding her, his expression like granite.
“What?” she asked.
“Just thinking about how strange it is.”
“What?”
“How quickly things can change.”
She lifted her shoulder. “I feel like that should be something I’m pondering more than you.”
“I know you feel quite inconvenienced by all of this. But you must realize that it is a difficulty for me, as well.”
“No, I really don’t think I have to acknowledge that.”
“I wasn’t prepared to host a guest. And I have a wedding to plan.”
“Forgive me for feeling short on apologies at the moment. I find I’m not all that sympathetic to your fate.”
Yet again, she earned one of his odd smiles. “No, I imagine you wouldn’t be. Follow me, I will escort you to your room.”
He turned away from her, and started to walk toward the palace without waiting for her. She took a deep breath, and scampered after him, having to take two steps to his every one to try and keep up, last night’s high heels feeling like bricks nailed to the soles of her feet after so many hours in them.
She estimated that he was nearly a foot taller than her own five foot four, her head landing just below his shoulder. And he was broad, incredibly muscular with a trim waist and...
Again, just filing away details about him, for when she wrote her piece on the wedding. It had nothing to do with her own personal need to catalog details about him.
The double doors to the palace swung open, as if by magic, and the two were admitted into the cool antechamber.
Dimly, she realized that comparing the doors to magic was a bit silly. Had they been in a shopping mall, automatic doors would not have seemed at all out of place. It was this place, this strange mix of old and new, of fairy tale and blazing-hot reality, that had her creating fanciful metaphors in her head.
Inside, there were members of what she assumed to be palace staff milling around, but if the presence of their ruler was notable, they didn’t show any sign of it. They moved around like they were ghosts, intent on being invisible to anyone in the land of the living. And Zayn did not appear to notice them at all. So that, she assumed, was palace protocol.
The help going unnoticed, the antics of their ruler going unnoticed, too, apparently. Because nobody seemed to blink over the fact that their sheikh had just walked into the palace with an unknown woman trailing behind him. An unknown woman wearing a sequined party dress quite early in the day. Truly, no one seemed concerned at all.
“I made a phone call from the plane while you were sleeping, and had your room prepared for you.”
So, they were expecting her. Or at least whoever had made her bed was expecting her. Though she imagined they made it a practice not to question their orders too deeply.
“Well, I will happily allow you to lead me there.” She felt suddenly stale from travel. As though her body had been folded and packed away tightly in a suitcase for the duration of the journey.
She needed to get out of the dress and into something a little bit less constricting.
And that was when it occurred to her that she didn’t have any clothes. Nothing at all. She didn’t even have a toothbrush.
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even pause.
Zayn was pressing through the antechamber, barely looking at anything or anyone, or at the opulent surroundings. Though she imagined this was all commonplace to him.
But nothing about this was commonplace to her, from the ornate mosaics on the floor and walls, to the marble pillars placed throughout the room to the ceilings inlaid with precious stones.
The palace was like a jewelry box, more than a dwelling. Evidence of riches beyond her wildest dreams built into the framework.
She imagined if she took a chisel and mallet to one of the walls she would come away from them with enough gold dust to pay her rent for the next couple of months.
He led her down a narrow passageway that fed into another massive room with two curving staircases on either side. He paused for a moment, then turned to face her. “This way.”
He started up the staircase on the left side of the room, his footsteps almost silent on the stone. She did her best to keep up with him, her heels echoing loudly in the empty, cavernous room. She was not quite as stealthy as he was.
“This is the part of the palace that is often reserved for visiting dignitaries. And members of the press.”
“From my limited research on Surhaadi,” she said, speaking to his back, “I didn’t think you had a lot of visitors. Dignitaries, press or otherwise.”
“Not in recent years, no.”
“If by recent years you mean the past decade and a half.”
“For a family as old as mine, that is recent years. In the fabric of history, fifteen years is nothing.”
She cleared her throat. “Well, in the fabric of my lifetime, fifteen years is quite a bit.”
He paused, the expression on his face strange. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
He stopped walking and swore, the sound harsh. “Barely older than my sister.”
“Is that a problem?” She could tell from the look on his face that it was.
“It is very young.”
“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. I imagine in many ways I’m years older than your sister, and in fact many years older than you might assume someone my age would be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. People in your position have the luxury of clinging to their innocence a lot longer than people in mine.”
He laughed, the sound hollow, reverberating off the walls. “I have never been accused of being innocent.”
He turned away from her again, and continued walking down the corridor, and she took a deep breath, and went after him, doing her best to keep up. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“Do I hear a hint of the journalist in your tone?”
“You ought to. It’s the only reason I’m here.”
“That, and you were essentially forced into coming.”
“For the sake of my pride, let’s not speak of that.” Not that one really had any pride to speak of when one was tromping down the hall after a stranger in last night’s dress, trying not to twist an ankle on the uneven mosaic floor.
“Well, then, for your pride.”
“My pride thanks you,” she said, her tone dry.
“Somehow I doubt it.”
“I’m trying to make small talk,” she said.
“Perhaps it’s best if you don’t.”
It seemed that this area of the palace was deserted. Such a strange thing. Especially when she knew there had to be hundreds of members of staff and residents. Especially when the house she’d grown up in could easily fit inside one of the large antechambers.
The cavernous, empty feel was kind of unsettling.
They came to the end of the hallway and he stopped at a pair of double doors, inlaid with gold and jade. They were a stunning piece of art, rather than just a means of entry or exit.
“This is your room.”
He didn’t make a move to open the door, so she cautiously reached past him and pushed it open.
Calling it a mere room was a grave disservice. It was a suite of rooms, with a plush seating area in front, and great pillars dividing it into sections, separating it from a raised bedroom area at the back. The bed was large and plush, swaths of fabric hanging from the ceiling, sweeping outward before being caught by an ornate golden canopy that guided the lush silk to the floor.
To the right, through a domed entryway, she could see what looked like a bathing chamber. Not a mere bathroom, that was way too tame of a description for a room so grand, with what looked like a sunken bathtub that was larger than some backyard pools.
Zayn turned to face her. “I trust you will find everything you need here. And if not, do not hesitate to ask a member of staff, or myself, for something that might make you more comfortable.”
“A computer with internet?”
He shook his head. “Anything but that.”
“Satellite phone?”
“You can’t have that, either.”
She tapped her chin. “So when you said anything...”
“I meant a cold drink, or shoes in a different size or color.”
“Wait... Shoes?”
He looked down at her feet, at the platform high heels that were starting to make her feel achy all the way up her calves. “I thought that you might be in need of something else to wear.”
“Well, you’re not wrong. But did you seriously...buy clothes for me?”
“I had my sister’s personal shopper do it, but yes.”
“And how do you know what size I wear?”
“I took a guess. And anything that doesn’t fit can be returned.”
“You did not take a guess at what size my feet were.”
He shrugged. “All right, I looked at the bottom of your shoe when you were sleeping on the couch in the plane. I could see the number. But your dress size I did take a guess on.”
The thought of just what him guessing her dress size might entail sent a shiver through her. He would have had to look at her awfully closely. Taken visual measurements...
She closed off that line of thinking, and quickly. “Well, indeed.”
He inclined his head. “I will leave you now, you are formally invited to dinner tonight.”
“And at dinner we discuss the scandal?”
“All in good time.” Then he turned and walked from the room, leaving her standing there alone.
She took a breath. No offer of shoes, or pretty clothes, could be allowed to distract her from what she was doing here, she had to remember that. The wedding was window dressing, the beauty of the palace was window dressing, everything but the Chatsfield scandal was window dressing.
Isabelle had done so much for her. Without her, Sophie doubted she would’ve ever found her place at university. She doubted if she would have ever made friends at all. She certainly wouldn’t have her job at the Herald. More than that, Isabelle had been a true friend to her, regardless of where Sophie had come from. And that was something Sophie couldn’t put a price on.
She owed her this now. Isabelle had been through enough at the hands of Spencer Chatsfield, and the idea of her losing The Harrington was inconceivable.
She would not allow it. If she could play even a small part in preventing it from happening, she would.
And she would not be distracted.
Now, she just had to get cleaned up, and begin to feel human again. Then she could choose something to wear for dinner. She really hoped that there was something stunning in the closet. Because she had a feeling she would need it to feel confident. She had a feeling that interviewing Zayn would be a lot like going into battle.
And that meant she needed to get her armor on.
She went to the closet and examined the contents. Inside she saw a rainbow of fine fabrics, the lush textures denoting a quality that she could scarcely believe was at her fingertips. A quality that she was, frankly, almost afraid to put her fingertips on.
The kinds of clothes she passed in a store with barely a glance because she knew she couldn’t afford them, and she always had a feeling the store employees knew it, too.
She reached out and laid a hand on a dress that was a vibrant orange and an involuntary breath escaped her lips.

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