The Sultan's Choice. Эбби Грин

      Samia gulped, her anger dissipating. She knew he was telling the truth. A man like him would not have to resort to such measures. Restless, Samia stood up. ‘Look, thank you for the dinner … I—’

      She stopped when Sadiq stood too, and she had to curb the ridiculous urge to look for an exit, as if she were alone with a wild animal. Samia put out her hands wide in an unconsciously pleading gesture.

      ‘What happened just now should prove how unsuitable I am. That was my first time being caught by the paparazzi. You need someone who is used to that kind of thing—who knows how to handle it.’

      Distaste curdled in Sadiq’s belly. That was exactly what he didn’t want. He was more sure than ever that he wanted her—and for reasons that went beyond the practical and mundane.

      He came closer to Samia and an unmistakable glint of triumph shone in his eyes and she felt sick. She could talk till she was blue in the face but the game was up. He’d called her bluff. She’d shown her telltale confusion. He’d manipulated her beautifully. Bitter recrimination burnt her. He was so close now that all she could see were those mesmerising eyes, and all she could smell was that uniquely male scent.

      ‘Your reaction tells me you’re conflicted about this decision, Samia. So let me take the conflict out of it for you. Agree to become my wife because there simply is no other alternative. You are of royal blood, from an ancient lineage. You were born for this role, and nothing you do or say can change that. To fight this is to fight fate, me and your brother.’

      From his jacket pocket he pulled out a small velvet box, and all the while his eyes never left hers. He opened it, and Samia couldn’t help but look down between them. The ring was surprisingly simple. It was obviously an antique—a square-cut stone in a gold setting, strikingly unusual and beautiful.

      ‘It’s a yellow sapphire. It was my paternal grandmother’s—a gift from my grandfather on one of their wedding anniversaries.’

      Sadiq didn’t tell her that this distinctive ring had been in his mind’s eye ever since he’d met her, and that it was a lucky coincidence it had been in the family’s jewel vault in London. He’d sent back the diamond ring he’d planned on using, feeling absurdly exposed in acknowledging that he hadn’t been happy with a stock ring, which should have been perfectly adequate for what was essentially a stock wedding.

      Samia looked up, and Sadiq took her hand in his. He looked so deep into her eyes that she felt as if she might drown and diappear for ever. She knew on some rational level that he was probably not even aware of his power. Unconsciously her fingers tightened around his as if to anchor herself, and something undefinable lit in Sadiq’s eyes, hypnotising her even more.

      ‘Princess Samia Binte Rashad al Abbas, will you please do me the very great honour of becoming my wife and Queen of Al-Omar?’