Claimed by the Sheikh (2 page)

She cleaned her face of make-up, carrying on as if he wasn't even there, and when she looked at him again she appeared younger than her twenty-three years, but very much a woman. A beautiful woman who almost distracted him from his purpose. And he couldn't allow that.

‘You must have heard of my father's failing health.' He unfolded his arms and clenched his hands at his sides, the anger when mentioning his father as fierce as ever. Regret tore through him like a sandstorm.

‘I've made it my business not to keep up with happenings in Barazbin.' Her words were short and sharp, increasing his anger. ‘There's no need. I'm never going back there.'

He had not expected this—a challenging woman, one who ignited his anger and stirred his blood in equal measures. She was no longer the amenable bride he'd turned his back on. She was a woman who possessed every charm necessary to weave a spell on a man. But she was his wife nonetheless. A wife he had every intention of returning to Barazbin with.

‘If you don't mind, Kazim, I'd like to change.' She shot him a haughty look, her delicate brows rising in challenge.

‘I have no objection to you putting on some clothes, no.' If she covered herself he might be able to think more clearly. It might stop the wild heat that raced in his blood—something which was becoming harder to ignore by the second.

Her hands rested on her hips and, just as he had been moments before, he was mesmerised by her long legs, showcased spectacularly by the corset-style costume. Her narrow waist, highlighted by those ridiculous pink feathers.

‘What I meant was that you should leave.' Irritation rang in her voice as she glared across the small room at him.

And give her a chance to run out on him, just as she'd done the morning after their wedding? He hadn't even decided what would happen next, how they'd go about living their lives separately. She'd just left and he couldn't risk her doing that again. His father had made that plain.

‘When I leave, it will be with you or not at all and, as I have no wish to be seen on the streets of Paris with a stripper, I suggest you get dressed.' He stepped into the room, drawn to her, until her sharp words halted him, making him stand firm once more.

‘I am not a stripper.' Shock resonated in her voice and she stepped back from him, as if burnt by his words.

‘From what I recall, you are very, how shall I say, rehearsed at taking your clothes off.' He remembered again their wedding night, the teasing way she'd removed the silk that had covered her body, tossing it carelessly around the suite. ‘Isn't that what you did on our wedding night?'

Her lips pursed and she took in a deep breath. The shock and anger of finding out she worked in such a place still roared in his blood. Her claim that nobody knew her real identity was certainly true. It had taken several months to track her down.

‘I am a
waitress
.' She emphasised the last word vehemently.

‘That may be so, but I saw what was going on out there when I came in.'

‘What you saw, Kazim, was dancing.' Her hands pressed heavily against her hips, anger rolling off her in furious waves.

He frowned and stifled a smile of triumph as he saw a flush of irritation cross her face. He didn't say anything more, just raised his brows in question.

‘Have it your way.' She shrugged her shoulders and turned her back to him. ‘But if you want me to change so that I look less like a stripper, at least make yourself useful and undo me.'

At first he could only look at her bare shoulders, her dusky skin so tantalising that he wanted to trail his fingertips across her back. He looked at the seemingly endless hooks which fastened the corset tightly around her body and scrunched his fingers hard into the palms of his hands. What was she trying to do to him?

‘It will be much quicker if you do it for me and, as you've locked the door, nobody else is going to come in and help me any time soon.' She stood resolutely with her back to him, impatience in every word she said.

He sighed, beginning to open the fastenings, his fingers brushing against the warmth of her skin. He gritted his teeth hard against the onslaught of desire that flooded him, angry she could have such an effect on him.

Kazim thought back to their wedding night. Amber had surprised him that night when he'd told her to return to her family. She hadn't dissolved into female hysteria and had shown strength she'd kept hidden from him during their short engagement—strength he now saw again.

‘What's wrong with your father?' Her soft voice rushed him back from the past and he baulked against painful memories as the last of the fastenings on the corset opened, revealing the enticing smoothness of her back. She distracted him from everything at that moment—his reason for being here and the trauma of his childhood.

He couldn't take his eyes from her as she clutched the costume against her and hurried behind a screen. Seconds later, the garish outfit was slung over the top of the screen and his mind raced into overdrive, colliding with images from their one night together. It was almost as if she was deliberately distracting him—again.

What had she been saying? Quickly he gathered his thoughts. ‘He is frail and weak.'
On the outside, at least.
He kept the words calm, devoid of emotion, because he didn't want to allow himself to think. Not even for a moment. He closed his eyes, forcing down the memories he would have to carry for the rest of his life.

‘I'm so sorry.' Her soft words rescued him from thinking as she came out from behind the screen, dressed in jeans, long boots and a chunky knitted jumper. She didn't look anything like the woman he'd married. Nobody would ever know who she was—a princess on the run. No wonder she had managed to blend in with those around her in this unsavoury part of Paris so successfully.

‘That is why you must come back to Barazbin. I am the sole heir.' He resisted the urge to tell her that their marriage must provide heirs for the country. That was a given fact.

She shook her head. ‘No, Kazim, that's never going to happen.'

He sighed impatiently. ‘I am concerned for our people. There is trouble within our lands and our nomadic tribes are paying a high price. Your absence has brought my ability to rule into doubt. You
will
come back with me.' He watched as she pulled on her coat and picked up her bag. It was as if she wasn't listening. ‘Amber. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

* * *

Irritation surged through Amber, instantly replacing the softer emotion she'd felt for Kazim as he'd told her about his father. ‘Oh, I understand, Kazim.' She reached behind the formidable figure of her husband and unlocked the door, wondering why she hadn't thought to do that earlier and throw him out. But one look at his face, as their eyes collided, told her why.

There was something between them, something undeniable. Irritation verged on anger at his demands and she pulled hard at the door. ‘You think you can send me away and order me back at your whim.'

With lightning speed Kazim turned, pressed his hand against the door, his height towering over her. She looked at the long tanned fingers of his hand and shook her head. ‘Let me out, Kazim, or I will call security.'

‘Security? In a place like this?' An icy edge had crept into his voice and she looked up into eyes so cold, so devoid of emotion, she had to stifle a gasp. ‘I would be interested to see how they handle it, a man and his wife wanting to talk.'

‘I don't feel like your wife, Kazim. It has been ten months since we married and this is the first time I have seen you.' Did he really think he could play that card on her?

All the hurt and anger she'd kept inside her since that night bubbled up, giving her the confidence to face the man who had broken her heart and shattered her foolish dreams.

‘We married out of duty, Amber, never forget that.' His calm voice was full of authority, his expression harsh and forbidding. ‘And now my duty is to return to Barazbin—with you.'

She laughed, a nervous laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. For a moment, confusion raced across his handsome face and her laughter died. She didn't know that much about the man she'd married, but she did know he commanded authority and didn't expect anyone to challenge his decisions. As the son of the Sheikh of Barazbin, Kazim didn't lack any of the power his father possessed. He was powerful, both in business and position, and right now she was left in no doubt of just how much.

‘I haven't got time to discuss this now,' she said, looking boldly up at him. ‘I need to go home before the manager realises I'm still here and...' Her words faltered for a moment and, like a hawk, Kazim pounced on it.

‘And what, Amber?' He leant his shoulder casually against the door, folded his arms and looked down at her, making her feel as if she were a petulant child that had just been scolded.

Amber thought of all the times the manager had tried to force her to dance, insisting her talents were wasted as a waitress. He'd taken every opportunity he could to try and push her into dancing and if she lingered here any longer he would think she had changed her mind. Kazim's brooding presence wouldn't be any kind of defence because she had no intention of admitting to anyone he was her husband.

‘He will think I want more work,' she said, forcing firmness into her voice. ‘So, if you will allow me past, I need to go.'

For a moment Kazim's gaze held hers, questioning and searching. Her stomach filled with small butterflies and she was compelled, as if under an ancient spell, to hold his gaze, to look into the inky depths.

If only she hadn't tried so hard on her wedding night. She'd only done it because she didn't want Kazim to think she was totally inexperienced.

Snap out of it
, she reprimanded herself as she glimpsed once again the handsome prince she'd worshipped from afar for too many years.
This is the man who rejected you, the man who ruined your whole life.

‘I will come with you.' He pushed his body away from the door and unfolded his arms to stand looking down at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Not a real smile—it didn't reach his eyes. It was the smile of a man in control. Complete control.

‘There's no need.' She grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, about to step into the corridor, when another dancer barged through the door from the club, the heavy beat of the music becoming louder again for a moment. The dancer rushed towards the dressing room, instantly stopping when she spotted Kazim.

‘I will escort you home,' he whispered softly near Amber's ear and then stepped close behind her like a territorial lion. She saw the shock on the other woman's face—shock that quickly changed to a gushing smile when Kazim turned on his charm, directing his next words at the dancer. ‘We shall leave you in peace.'

Amber fumed inside. How dare he insinuate he was going home with her? They'd never leave her alone now. She could hear their questions already. Spurred on by anger, she marched the opposite way along the corridor, out through the back door of the club and into the narrow streets of Paris.

It was cool for summer and a keen wind rushed along the streets. She pulled her collar up and began the short walk to her flat, hoping with every step that Kazim wouldn't follow. His footsteps behind her told her that hope was useless. She accepted the fact he'd found her and would now know where she lived, but she could not and would not go back to Barazbin. She was needed here.

‘My car is around the corner; there is no need to walk.' He pulled her to a stop as his hand took hold of her arm, the contact sending a rush of heat through her.

‘So is my flat,' she fired back at him, a sense of satisfaction settling over her as he glanced briefly up and down the street.

‘You live here, in this street?' The streetlights cast a golden glow over his skin and his eyes seemed darker than she'd ever seen them. The disdain in his voice was so obvious she wanted to laugh at him, the irrational urge bubbling up like a fountain.

‘Is there something wrong with this street?' She wished she was brave enough to ask him why he truly wanted her to return to Barazbin, but she wasn't. It would mean hearing again his blatant dismissal of her as a woman.

‘The only thing wrong with this street is that it isn't in Barazbin.' His words shot at her so fast she almost unbalanced as she stepped back. His hand gripped tighter still onto her arm, drawing curious stares from a couple passing by.

‘You sent me away, Kazim.' She pulled her arm free. ‘I assumed if I heard from you again it would be for a divorce.'

The sound of someone approaching made him turn and look, but when he returned his attention to her his face was full of fury. ‘We can't talk here. We are drawing too much attention.'

‘There isn't anything to talk about. I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm needed here and, right now, I'm late so, if you'll excuse me...'

Without waiting for his response, Amber walked away, her heels tapping out her frustration and echoing down the street. She glanced at her watch and her anxiety levels rose even further. She really was late and she'd promised her flatmate she'd be finishing early this evening.

She turned the corner and glanced back to find Kazim catching up with her. ‘Oh, no, please,' she sighed out the words. A persistent desert prince was not something she wanted to deal with tonight, but she might as well get it over and done with. All she needed to do was convince him that a divorce was the best option—for both of them.

Amber pulled the key from her bag and stopped by the old wooden door, the green paint somewhat weathered. Next to her, Kazim swore—a growly sound of native words she hadn't heard for a long time. It reminded her of her family and briefly she missed them, until she remembered how they'd treated her. How they'd turned their backs on her, sending her away to distant relations in England after Kazim had rejected her, insisting it was to avoid a scandal.