The Desert King / An Affair with the Princess: The Desert King. Michelle Celmer

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      She’d weaved a whole tangled web of fantasies around those last words, which he’d tossed in without meaning a thing. She’d thought this mansion the most beautiful place she’d ever seen.

      It wasn’t really. Being born of the royal family of Zohayd, she’d seen and lived in some mind-boggling places. Nothing in the States had ever come close to their sheer opulence and artistic extravagance. But this modern, pragmatic mansion had sheltered Kamal and her dreams of a future with him there, and so had surpassed perfection in her eyes. No wonder he’d thought her sickeningly pathetic.

      The cavalcade stopped in the driveway. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, rolled her shoulders as if in preparation for a wrestling match and stepped out of the car.

      The two men who’d escorted her from her condo rushed ahead of her up the dozen stone steps leading to the columned patio. Two others followed, while two more materialized out of nowhere to open the main oak double door for her.

      The moment she stepped inside, she felt enveloped by a presence. His. Could it be she remembered it still?

      Seemed she did. She felt it in the austerity and grimness of the open spaces, the minimalist furnishings, the neutral color scheme and ingenious, indirect lighting. Strange. The decor had been exactly the same before, but then it had felt warm, welcoming.

      Those impressions must have been all in her lust-hazed mind. Now she was seeing the place for what it was—a sterile space infected by the black soul of its owner.

      They approached a ten-foot-high paneled double door. She didn’t know what kind of room lay beyond it. Probably some waiting room for her to stew in while their lord was fashionably late.

      She reached out to the handle and both men almost fell over her to open it for her.

      She sighed. She’d lived in the States the last ten years, had almost forgotten how it felt to be part of a royal family, guarded and served and smothered 24/7. Not that she thought this rising sense of oppression had anything to do with them. It had to be all about laying eyes again on the man she’d once worshipped and who’d almost destroyed her…She stopped just before she crossed the threshold.

      What the hell was she doing, coming here? Answering said man’s summons like one of his almost-subjects?

      She made up her mind within a heartbeat, spun around. “On second thought, tell your boss…or prince…or king…or whatever he is to you, that I won’t see him, since I do know what’s good for me. Thanks for the ride. It was nice. I’ll find my way back home.”

      They gaped at her as if she’d grown another head, remained standing there like a barricade when she started back toward the main door.

      “Okay, if you know what’s good for you, move out of my way.”

      At her growl they exchanged anxious glances then rushed away, disappearing outside the mansion in the space of two blinks.

      Whoa. What was that all about? She wasn’t that scary.

      Suddenly that sense of oppression seemed to expand, and the influence that she now realized had sent those men running sharpened. It impaled her between the shoulder blades, just before a deep, deep drawl did the same.

      “It seems you’ve forgotten how things work. You can go only when I tell you to.”

      Two

      Aliyah froze.

      That voice. The rough-velvet caress, the hypnotic spell that had once sent her spiraling into a realm of extremes.

      It was coming from behind her. From the room she’d decided not to enter. Tranquil, indolent. A laser drilling into her from back to front, passing dead-center through her heart.

      Somehow, her heart kept beating. More like rattling like a half-empty piggy bank in her chest. Her nerves kept discharging. Not that having a heartbeat and nervous transmission meant she could move. She couldn’t.

      The split second she could, she’d continue on her way out, show that overbearing lout how things worked. Surely not his way.

      The spike of outrage thawed the grip of paralysis, freeing her legs, fueling three long strides on her charted path out of his trap. On the fourth she faltered.

      What was she doing, walking away? She was here to see about one overripe head. She should go harvest it.

      She turned around, walked back. The hardwood floor beneath her feet felt like soggy sand, and her legs felt powered by someone else’s will.

      As long as it wasn’t his, she was fine with it.

      She crossed the threshold this time, scanned the dimly lit room. For the first dozen heartbeats, she saw nothing.

      Then he seemed to materialize out of nowhere, registering on her retinas, facing her in a high-backed black leather armchair at the far end of the room, framed by French windows that opened to the terrace leading down to the gardens. His body was relaxed, silhouetted in the golden light of a side lamp. His face was in darkness.

      Her heart jangled into a higher gear. He was so still, looked so…sinister crouching there like a supernatural creature, half here, half in another realm, his face, his intentions obscured…

      What a load of spectacular stupidity. There was nothing supernatural about Kamal. Except his supernatural ability to piss her off, playing all mysterious and lordly and…bored.

      She moved, one foot in front of the other, each one a triumph of steadiness, advancing into the field of light cast by another tall lamp, her eyes fixed where his eyes should be, trying to discern whether he was looking at her, or if, as in the past, he was pretending she didn’t exist.

      One thing she did know—he was baiting her.

      Expecting her to lose her cool? Or her nerve, as she had done so dependably in the past? Well, he was in for a surprise.

      Meet the new Aliyah Morgan, buster. Or as it had turned out, Aliyah Aal Shalaan.

      He was moving now, sitting forward as if her every step nearer was tugging at him, light creeping across his face like the sun at dawn.

      She almost squeezed her eyes shut, dreading the moment his eyes would be illuminated. Then they were, striking a flare that knocked the breath from her lungs as he’d once knocked sanity from her mind.

      It was his expression that jogged sanity back into place now.

      Stunned? How could he be, when he’d been ready for her? When he had no human components to stun?

      Now he was getting up, slowly, eyes narrowing to slits below the intimidating brows, a dark, towering force inundating her with emanations she felt would knock her off her feet if she didn’t watch it.

      Had he always been this way? Or had she forgotten?

      With СКАЧАТЬ