The Desert King's Secret Heir. Annie West

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СКАЧАТЬ Idris followed Hamid’s eager gaze. Was it the tall brunette in black? The svelte blonde in beads and diamonds? Surely not the woman with the braying laugh and the oversized rings flashing like beacons beneath the chandelier?

      The crowd shifted and he caught a sliver of silk in softest green, skin as pale as milk and hair that shone like the sky at dawn, rose and gold together.

      His pulse thudded once, hard enough to stall his breath. Low in his belly an unfamiliar sensation eddied. A sensation that made his nape prickle.

      Then his view was blocked by a couple of men in dinner jackets.

      ‘Which one is she?’ His voice echoed strangely, no doubt due to the acoustics of the filled-to-capacity ballroom.

      For a second he’d experienced something he hadn’t felt in years. A tug of attraction so strong he’d convinced himself it hadn’t been real, that imagination had turned a brief interlude into something almost...significant. No doubt because of the dark, relentlessly tough days that had followed. She’d been the one lover he’d had to put aside before his passion was spent. That explained the illusion she was different from the rest.

      But the woman he’d known had had a cloud of vibrant curls, not that sleek, conformist chignon.

      ‘I can’t see her now. I’ll go and fetch her. Unless—’ Hamid’s smile turned conspiratorial ‘—you’d like a break from the formalities.’

      Tradition decreed that the ruler received his guests on the raised royal dais, complete with a gilded, velvet-cushioned throne for formal audiences. Idris was about to say he’d wait here when something made him pause. How long since he’d allowed himself the luxury of doing something he wanted, not because it was his duty?

      Idris’s eyes flicked to Ghizlan, easily holding her own with a minor royal and some politicians. As if sensing his regard she looked up, smiled slightly then turned back to her companions.

      No doubt about it, she’d make a suitable queen—capable and helpful. Not clinging or needy. Not demanding his attention as too many ex-lovers had done.

      Idris turned to Hamid. ‘Lead on, Cousin. I’m agog to meet this woman who’s captured your heart.’

      They wove through the crowd till Hamid halted beside the woman in green. The woman with creamy skin and strawberry-blonde hair and a supple, delicate figure. Idris’s attention caught on the lustre of her dress, clinging to her hips and pert bottom.

      He stilled, struck by a sensation of déjà vu so strong it eclipsed all else. She said something to his cousin in a soft, lilting voice.

      A voice Idris knew.

      He frowned, watching Hamid bend his head towards her, seeing her turn a little more so she was in profile.

      The conversations around them became white noise, a buzz like swarming insects.

      His vision telescoped.

      Her lush lips.

      Her neat nose.

      Her slender, delicate throat.

      Two facts hammered into his brain. He knew her, remembered her better than any of the multitude of women who’d once paraded in and out of his life.

      And that strange feeling surging up from his gullet and choking his throat with bile was more than surprise or disbelief at the coincidence of meeting her again.

      It was fury at the idea she belonged to Hamid.

      * * *

      ‘Here he is at last. Arden, I’d like to present you to my cousin Idris, Sheikh of Zahrat.’

      Arden widened her smile, determined not to be overawed by meeting her very first and no doubt last sheikh. Coming to this formal reception, surrounded by VIPs who oozed money and privilege, had already tested her nerves.

      She turned, tilting her head to look up, and felt the world drop away.

      His face was severely sculpted as if scored by desert winds. Yet there was beauty in those high cheekbones and his firm yet sensual mouth. His nose and jaw were honed and strong. The harsh angle of those beetling black brows intimidated. So did the wide flare of his nostrils, as if the Sheikh scented something unexpected.

      Shock dragged at her, loosening her knees till her legs felt like rubber.

      His eyes...

      Dark as a midnight storm, those eyes fixed on her instinctive movement as she clutched at Hamid for support. Slowly they lifted again to clash with hers, disdain clear in that haughty stare.

      A shuddering wave of disquiet rolled through her as she blinked up, telling herself it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

      Despite the frantic messages her body was sending her, she couldn’t know this man.

      Yet her brain wouldn’t listen to reason. It told her it was him. The man who’d changed her life.

      Heat seared from scalp to toe. Then just as quickly it vanished, leaving her so cold she wouldn’t be surprised to hear the crackle of ice forming along her bones, weighing her down.

      Her grip on Hamid’s arm grew desperate as tiny spots formed and blurred before her eyes. She felt as if she’d slipped out of the real world and into an alternate reality. One where dreams did come true, but so distorted as to be almost unrecognisable.

      It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Yet her gaze dropped to his collarbone. Did he have a scar there?

      Of course he didn’t. This man was tougher, far more daunting than Shakil. She’d bet he didn’t do easy, charming smiles. Instead he wore royal authority like a cloak.

      Yet she could almost hear herself asking, Excuse me, Your Highness, would you mind undoing that exquisitely tailored suit and tie so I can check if you have a scar from a riding accident?

      ‘Arden, are you okay?’ Hamid’s voice was concerned, his hand warm as it closed over hers.

      His touch jerked her back to reality. She slipped her hand from his arm and locked her wobbly knees.

      Tonight had revealed, to her astonishment, that Hamid now thought of himself as more than a friend. She couldn’t let him labour under that illusion, no matter how grateful she was to him.

      ‘I’m...’ She cleared her throat, hesitating. What could she say? I’m reeling with shock? ‘I’ll be all right.’

      Yet her gaze clung to that of the man towering before her as if he was some sort of miracle.

      It was that realisation that snapped her back to reality. He wasn’t Shakil. If he had been Shakil, he’d be no miracle, just another of life’s tough lessons. A man who’d used her and tossed her aside.

      ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.’ Her voice sounded wispy but she persevered. ‘I hope you’re enjoying your stay in London.’

      Belatedly she wondered if she was supposed to curtsey. Had she offended him? His flesh looked drawn too tight and she glimpsed the rigid СКАЧАТЬ