Desert Prince's Stolen Bride. Кейт Хьюит

you to correct my mistake, preferably before we’d said our vows.’

      ‘Vows?’ Olivia stared at him, dread seeping into her stomach like acid. ‘What do you mean—’

      ‘Unless,’ Zayed cut across her, ruthless now, any gentleness well and truly gone as his face, his body, his voice all hardened. ‘You meant this to happen?’

      ‘Meant it to happen?’ Olivia stared at him in outrage. ‘I meant for you to kidnap me? I planned it? Are you insane?’ She could hardly believe she was talking to a prince this way—she, meek Olivia Taylor—but the situation was so surreal, his suggestion so ludicrous and insulting, that for a moment she forgot who she was. Where she was. And even what had happened.

      Zayed had the grace to look slightly abashed for a millisecond, and then he simply looked impatient. ‘No, not then, of course. But after. Perhaps you saw an opportunity and took it. You wanted to better your situation. You said you were a governess?’

      Olivia shook her head. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ She felt furious and humiliated, and she really wished she were wearing some clothes. ‘And I certainly don’t see how I’ve bettered my situation.’

      Zayed’s mouth twisted in something like a sneer. ‘Don’t you?’

      ‘No, I really don’t. But since I’m not Halina, and you’re not kidnapping me for ransom or something like that, perhaps you could see fit to return me to the palace.’ She spoke with as much as dignity as she could muster, considering she was naked. And near tears, which thankfully she blinked back. She would not cry in front of this man, even if she’d already wept in his arms. Even if she’d already experienced more vulnerability and pleasure, more heights and depths, than she had with any other person, ever. Just the memory of how he’d felt inside her, how she’d felt in his arms, the completeness of it, made heat scorch through her, along with something more powerful and dangerous, a longing she could not bear to name. ‘I would like to go back home,’ she added stiffly.

      Zayed stared at her unblinkingly for several long, taut moments. ‘Clearly,’ he said finally, his voice clipped, ‘that is impossible at this juncture.’

      ‘Clearly?’ Olivia tried for a look of disdain. ‘I don’t see how that is at all clear.’ Holding the blanket to her, she scooted out of bed and grabbed the diaphanous robe she’d refused to wear earlier in the evening. Her more modest robe was on the other side of the bed, where Zayed had tossed it after undressing her only a short while ago—it felt like a lifetime. A terrible lifetime. She shrugged into the robe, tying the sash as tightly as she could. It wasn’t much coverage, but at least it was something. She folded her arms over her breasts and lifted her chin, giving Zayed as challenging a stare as she could. ‘So why exactly can’t you return me to Abkar?’

      Zayed’s gaze was penetrating, relentless. His mouth had thinned into a hard, unforgiving line, his eyes blazing steel. Anger and animosity rolled off him in thick, choking waves. How on earth had she ever thought he was gentle? ‘I don’t know what game you are playing,’ he said, each precise word feeling like a threat, ‘but I advise that you cease immediately. This is no laughing matter, Miss Taylor. Millions of lives are at stake.’

      Millions of lives? Surely that was an exaggeration, yet Olivia wasn’t about to debate the point. She could see well enough how grim Zayed looked.

      ‘I’m hardly laughing,’ she answered levelly. ‘You’re the one who took me from the palace, Prince Zayed. You’re the one who—’ Her breath rushed out. Seduced me. She couldn’t say the words. She’d been so stupidly willing, so eager, to be seduced. It beggared belief now, but only moments ago she’d been putty in his arms, wanting only to be moulded to whatever shape he chose. Still she met his gaze. ‘I didn’t ask for any of this.’

      ‘Not at first, perhaps.’ He took a step towards her, a different kind of fire in his eyes, one Olivia recognised, and it made her catch her breath. Even now, he could feel it. She could. The banked heat in his eyes flared to life and she felt its answer scorch through her. ‘But later, Olivia,’ he said, his voice low and menacing. ‘Later you weren’t asking. You were begging.’

      She hated him. Officially, she hated him. Even as she felt the pulse of desire go through her, an insistent throb, she hated him. Damn her treacherous body. She knew Zayed saw it too, from the way his lip curled and his eyes travelled down her body, raking her in one scathing glance. A short while ago he’d made her feel cherished and important, and now he was making her feel tawdry and cheap, more than she ever had before. Everything about this was awful.

      ‘I regret everything that happened between us this evening,’ she said stiffly. ‘More than you can possibly imagine.’

      ‘You cannot regret it more than I do,’ Zayed snapped. He swore again, turning away from her. ‘Dear heaven, do you know what this is going to cost? Everything.’ His voice choked and for a second he covered his face with his hands. ‘Everything.’

      Watching him, Olivia saw a man in torment and she didn’t fully understand it. She had a bizarre yet deep-seated urge to comfort him, to make it better. ‘Is it because you—you have been unfaithful to Halina? I don’t think she expects such fidelity until you’re wed. You haven’t even met. She’ll understand.’ She probably wouldn’t care. She hadn’t wanted to marry Zayed in the first place.

      ‘Unfaithful?’ He dropped his hands and let out a bark of humourless laughter. ‘I have not merely been unfaithful.’

      ‘You mean because you kidnapped me,’ she said slowly, as reality caught up with her. ‘And Sultan Hassan will know you meant to kidnap his daughter. He might call the engagement off.’ He would be angry, she supposed, but that angry? She liked her employer, found him to be generous and carelessly affectionate, but she knew he had a strong and unwavering core of honour and dignity. She had no idea how he’d react to what Zayed had done.

      ‘Might?’ Zayed turned around to face her, his expression one of weary scorn. ‘There is no might. He most certainly will. He will be furious that I dared to try to take his precious daughter. That I slipped through his defences.’

      ‘How did you? Why were the gates open when we left?’

      Zayed shrugged. ‘A cousin of a cousin is one of the guards. He has been my spy for years. He made sure the gates were open to me.’

      No, Sultan Hassan would not like that. He would be furious that someone had breached his security, and also threatened and maybe even a little scared by how seemingly easily it had been done. Unless...

      ‘They might not even know I’m gone,’ Olivia said slowly. She could hardly believe she was trying to help him, this man whom had taken so much from her, whom she had told herself she hated. Perhaps it was simply that ever-present urge she had to be helpful. Needed. Or perhaps it was the connection they shared, whether they wanted to or not. They’d been lovers. It was not something she would forget easily, or ever. ‘If no one saw your men come or go...’