of the finest gold brocade thrown over a rotting pit of wolves and snakes. What his father called honour and tradition he would term bigotry and prejudice, and the more closely he examined this place, the more deep-rooted he saw that it was. Something he knew he was going to have to address.
The conversation he had just had with his father had done nothing to lighten the load. It seemed that news had come through that Azeed, who had fled Gazbiyaa in a furious rage on learning he would never be crowned sheikh, was heading for the kingdom of Harith. And far from being a cause for relief that his exiled brother was safe and well, this had simply heightened the threat of war between the two kingdoms.
The conflict between Gazbiyaa and Harith went back centuries, originating over disputed land territory. The animosity and bitterness on both sides was now so ingrained that its roots were all but forgotten. The shifting sands of time had done nothing to smooth over the differences between the two nations; in fact with each generation it seemed the wall of resentment grew ever higher.
Which made this debacle surrounding Azeed all the more dangerous. Zayed knew that his first momentous job as the newly crowned sheikh had to be to negotiate a peace initiative before the absurd threat of war that was rumbling between the two countries was allowed to take hold. Only then could he begin to tackle the other inherent problems.
Taking a deep slug of the burning whisky, he slammed the glass back down on the sideboard and rolled back his shoulders to ease the tension. If my friends could see me now. Zayed let out a low snort of derision. He imagined meeting up with Stefan, Rocco and Christian in some swanky bar somewhere and regaling them with the story of what had happened this evening. The Columbia Four, he and his three trusty comrades were so named because they had met at Columbia University, shared their larger than life experiences whenever they got together, each one more than living up to the youthful motto they had adopted: memento vivere, remember to live. This year was certainly proving to be a momentous year for all of them, all three of his friends having married in quick succession, the last wedding, Stefan’s, having taken place just a month ago.
Now, as the last remaining bachelor, it was up to Zayed to provide the outrageous entertainment. And he could make a good story of tonight. The lilac-eyed beauty huddled in his bed, him leaping on top of her, pinning her down, nothing but a skimpy towel around his waist to protect his modesty. He could imagine them roaring with laughter, slapping him on the back, ordering another round of drinks from one of the elegant hostesses to toast his hilarious escapade.
Except that Zayed didn’t feel like laughing, and he certainly didn’t feel like celebrating. Something about the look in Nadia’s dazzling eyes as she had been escorted from the room by a servant niggled at him, haunted him. He still had no idea what she was doing here. What would make a young woman like that do something so debasing, so extreme, so downright dangerous? Reaching thoughtfully for his glass, Zayed raised it to his lips. Despite her provocative behaviour, the more Zayed thought about her, the more sure he was that she was not at all what she appeared to be. The haughty tilt of her chin, the imperious way she had spoken to him, the delicate, pale-skinned hands that looked as if they had never seen a day’s toil in their life, all added up to a very different creature from the one who had virtually prostituted herself in his bed.
Tomorrow he would find out. And with a jolt of surprise he realised he was already looking forward to it. Infuriating she might be, but this Nadia was also a very beautiful, intriguing, not to mention sexy young woman. Something the very male part of him was refusing to ignore.
NADIA AWOKE THE next morning against the sumptuous pillows of her gilded four-poster bed. But with a flash of realisation she remembered where she was, not in the straitjacketed safety of her bedroom in the palace of Harith, but somewhere deep within the walls of the sworn enemy of her kingdom, the palace of Gazbiyaa.
But not for much longer. Presumably she would shortly be escorted to the gates and told to disappear. She didn’t know where to, or even how, but she had to accept that her mission here had failed. Her attempt to seduce Sheikh Zayed, to persuade him to take her virginity and then marry her out of honour, had failed miserably. Far from building the framework to try to find peace between their two nations, all she had done was antagonise the man she was trying to seduce and humiliate herself into the bargain.
And as for her family... Was there any possibility that she could return home and keep from them what she had done? Come up with some plausible story for her absence?
For that was her only hope now, all she could cling to. Because one thing was for sure: if her father and brother ever found out that she had even visited the kingdom of Gazbiyaa, let alone prostituted herself in the sheikh’s bed, she would be dead to them now. And that was in the literal use of the word.
Some clothes had been mysteriously laid out for her: a demure outfit of a knee-length skirt and a cream silk blouse. Hardly what she would have chosen, but certainly a darned sight better than yesterday’s costume, whose gems still winked at her from the corner of the room where she had hurled it last night. She was just getting dressed when there was a tap on the door and a servant entered.
‘I come with a message from His Royal Highness.’ The servant’s eyes were respectfully cast down. ‘His Highness wishes to speak with you. I am to accompany you to his quarters.’
Nadia hesitated. To be honest she had assumed that she would be the last person he would want to see. By the look of disgust on his face last night it had appeared that if he never saw her again it would be too soon, and only the fear of her being raped or murdered on the night streets of Gazbiyaa had prevented him from having her evicted from the palace there and then. But then, the feeling was mutual. Having to face the handsome sheikh in the cold light of day after the way she had behaved was more than she could bear. No, this was a new day and there was no reason why she should have to take orders from him.
‘Please inform His Royal Highness that I have made other plans.’ As if to demonstrate those plans, as much to herself as to the elderly servant, she straightened her skirt and arranged the collar of her blouse. ‘I’m afraid a meeting this morning will not be possible.’
The servant shifted uncomfortably. ‘His Royal Highness is expecting me to accompany you now.’
Nadia felt herself bristle with indignation. While she had no desire to get this servant into trouble, at little more than five feet tall and old enough to be her grandmother, she hardly looked as if she was going to be able to force Nadia to go against her will. But just as this thought was taking hold two burly guards appeared from nowhere, flanking the servant, the rippling muscles of their folded arms providing all the proof she needed that, actually, she probably would do as she was told.
* * *
Zayed was sitting at the far end of a vast conference table when Nadia was borne forward in her bodyguard sandwich. She scowled as she found herself sinking into a chair opposite him.
‘Good morning.’ He dismissed the guards with a curt wave of his hand. ‘I trust you slept well?’
Nadia’s scowl deepened. As if he would care how well she slept. She had no intention of swapping false pleasantries with him. ‘Perhaps you would like to tell me what I am doing here.’ She tossed back her head.
‘Interesting.’ Sitting very upright now, Zayed fixed her with a piercing stare. ‘I had rather assumed it was going to be you telling me what you are doing here.’
Nadia shifted on the leather seat beneath her, all hope that she might have been allowed to just disappear and not face the embarrassing inquest into last night’s behaviour now fading fast. She let her eyes quickly scan the man at the far end of the table. Darkly, dangerously handsome, he still exuded the same confident authority as before, only now a calm determination replaced yesterday’s more heated manner. And a crisp white shirt concealed the broad expanse of muscled chest. ‘I can’t see that it matters now.’
‘It may not matter to you, but I am not accustomed to finding strange young women hiding in my bed. Perhaps you will