The Defiant Princess (13 page)

If all of this were real, Khalid would constantly be by her side. The thought of being married to the Turastani Crown Prince was a heady one. Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for the passion of his kisses or the way her body yearned for more. The experienced playboy promised to be the consummate lover—it was too bad he wasn't hers to make love to.

Somewhere there was a woman he wanted to marry and that's what Sabrina must remember. Sabrina's marriage to Khalid would only go ahead for the good of Rhajia and Turastan. There was no other motivation. No more personal reasons involved.

She pushed aside the niggling voice that harked back to her teenage fantasies. Yes, she realised she'd been jealous of Inaya, but she was an adult now and she could see Khalid for what he was—a faithless playboy who had kissed her passionately while he was promised to another woman. His main interest in Sabrina was political. Any desire he had for her was just as meaningless to him as the other affairs he'd had. Most likely she was just another female to be conquered by him.

Yet he had attempted to see things from her point of view. He'd apologised and seemed to have more substance than she'd initially thought. Perhaps it was part of a plan to win her over. Whatever. She couldn't let her responses to him override common sense. She needed him politically just as much as he needed her.

While her heart beat faster whenever he was around and her eyes were constantly drawn to the sensuous fullness of those lips that had transported her all the way to heaven, she must remember their marriage was only a business contract.

Remember Inaya, she told herself.

Sabrina would need to ignore her body's responses to Khalid. It would be very difficult but she couldn't give in to her desires for the playboy prince. Still, there was no need to be at loggerheads with him. This could be a win-win situation for both of them, and she needed it to be a win for Rhajia. That was her mission. That and survival.

As she entered the main cabin, Khalid stood up. His athletic frame was emphasised by the clever tailoring of his brilliantly cut suit. Her mouth dried and she gripped the back of a chair to ground herself and stop from melting in a pool of desire at his feet as a result of the hot blast of masculine sexuality he exuded.

Was that a brief flare of appreciation in his eyes as he surveyed her appearance?

Everywhere his eyes touched, she felt her skin prick and heat with awareness.

No, no, no,
she admonished herself.

“You look very chic,” he told her impersonally. “Are you mentally prepared?”

“I feel sick to the stomach with nerves,” she answered. Nerves were part of the reason she felt so unsettled in the stomach, but other unfamiliar sensations wracked her body that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with his presence. Everything to do with his sheer masculine appeal and charisma.

“That's understandable. I'll make the introductions and this will be over very quickly.”

The seatbelt sign pinged and Khalid gestured for her to sit next to him. Peering out of the window she saw endless desert stretching below them. Immediately she recalled the helicopter flight from years before. All the confusion she'd felt as a child assailed her once again. Unwillingly, she let out an emotionally pained gasp and instantly Khalid's hands were enclosing hers.

“Sabihah?”

She shook her head and sniffed as tears welled in her eyes. Her vision blurred. She couldn't speak because emotion choked back her words. Then, her whole body started to shake uncontrollably as she fought to hold back sobs.

Strong fingers lifted her chin, turning her so that she saw Khalid's features through the blur of her tears.

He cursed softly. “This must be very hard for you.”

As he produced a handkerchief and stemmed the steady flow of tears, Sabrina shook harder. “The last time I saw my mother … I remember flying away from the Bedouin camp … she was waving, but I think she was crying … then there was endless desert … just like this. It feels as though it was yesterday.”

He didn't say anything more but unfastened her seatbelt, drew her across the seat and onto his lap. It was her undoing. The comfort he offered when she was so emotionally torn crumbled her last resolve to stay strong and put on a brave face. She gave in and wept silently against his chest while the jet began its descent. But through her tears and misery she was still acutely aware of his chest beneath her cheek and the tangy scent of his cologne, the strong, steady beat of his heart and the rhythm of his hands running over her hair.

“I'm sorry,” she apologised, pulling away from him and wiping her eyes with determination. She couldn't stay in his arms and draw comfort from his strength when in reality she wanted so much more intimacy with him. He wasn't hers. He never would be. He belonged to Inaya.

Just a taste of his strength and comfort and she wanted so much more.

She shuffled back over to her seat and clicked the seatbelt back into place for landing. Embarrassment clawed at her as she saw the evidence of her tears in the damp spots on his shirt. Her breakdown was the last thing he'd want, and she must look a dreadful sight now.

Pull yourself together
, she told herself.

A bump of the wheels and the screaming of the engines going into reverse thrust signalled their landing.

“This will be hard for you, but I will ease your way as much as possible,” he promised.

It was the sincerity in his gaze—some unspoken communication, a deep connection she couldn't fully comprehend or put a name to—that had her heart contracting sharply. What she wanted was for him to reach out for her again. To be so close to him and yet not have him touch her was a form of agonising torture when she yearned desperately to draw physical comfort from him.

The plane came to a stop. The seatbelt sign was extinguished and Khalid stood. Eye contact was broken. The man who held her just moments before seemed determined to put some physical distance between them. She needed to get to the bathroom, wash her face and re-do her make-up and hair. He needed to change his shirt.

“Take as much time as you need to freshen up and compose yourself, Sabihah. When you're ready we'll do this together.”

Chapter Seven

“I can't do this!”

Panic coursed through Sabrina's veins as the jet door at the front of the cabin slid upward. Her legs were leaden. They refused to move the remaining five or so metres to the doorway. Her heartbeat drummed against her ribs and it became a struggle to breathe. The instant she swayed, Khalid's hands were on her shoulders to steady her.

“You
can
do it, Sabihah,” his chocolate-rich voice commanded quietly near her ear.

If anything, her heart rate simply accelerated at his closeness. The pounding in her chest reverberated right up to her temples as the heat from his hands ignited her senses. His touch distracted her from thoughts of the waiting delegation and made her hyperaware of him.

“Don't be daunted,” he encouraged. “Today, they're just a group you need to greet in passing. Think about a different situation, somewhere you want to be.”

Naked in your arms.

Sabrina sucked in an audible breath and stiffened in shocked reaction to the thought that had sprung automatically to her mind.

Oh my God, did I actually say that?

She swung around quickly. Her eyes flew to his face in search of a reaction from him.

“Sabihah?” His hands dropped to his sides.

Thankfully there was nothing unusual in his regard, so she couldn't have just confessed her innermost desire aloud.

The breath she held escaped in a grateful rush.

“I don't know how to act. I don't know what they'll expect,” she said by way of explanation. It was true. “They'll see me as a fraud. God knows I feel like one.”

“You have no reason to feel that way. You are the rightful ruler of Rhajia.”

“What if I'm lined up by an undetected sniper as a target in the scope of a high-powered firearm?”

Khalid's eyes probed deep into hers, removing all the self-protective barriers she possessed. She could almost believe he saw right into her very soul.

“Security is tight. As to the reception committee, be yourself. Without even trying you carry yourself with regal bearing. Do as I've told you. Let each of them take your hand and bow. Apart from my father, these men are not royalty. They are high-ranking palace officials or diplomats from countries that are members of the Arab Council. Say little.”

Say little.

Damn him, he was worried she'd make a diplomatic
faux pas
.

One day you will rule our country well.
Her father's words replayed in her ears. They weighed heavily upon her. She'd gone from believing she'd never set foot in the country of her birth again to returning to claim the throne—for a short time anyway.

Damn them all. She wasn't an imposter. She
was
the Princess of Rhajia and she had every right to be here, even if she wasn't here by choice. There was no way she'd shame the memory of her parents and show her nervousness. Steeling herself to come through whatever she might face, she was determined to meet the intense scrutiny that awaited her. She would leave a favourable impression.

Sabrina recalled images she'd seen in the media of a young woman who'd married into the British royal family. The elegant, stylish duchess always presented herself with dignity and regal bearing. Born a commoner, the young woman's nerves must've been stretched taut at her first public appearance yet she'd maintained her calm. Somehow Sabrina needed to emulate the duchess.

“You'll be fine,” Khalid told her firmly.

She looked into his tawny-golden eyes. Did he really think she could carry this off, or was he inwardly panicking that she'd make an error or unwittingly cause diplomatic offence?

“I'll be fine,” she replied and meant it.

There was no evidence of doubt in his expression. Of course there wasn't. He was Prince Khalid. The arrogant belief that everything would proceed according to his sheer willpower was bred into his bones.

He gave her a confident nod and his sensuous lips curved upward fractionally in the hint of a supportive smile. Her heart stammered and her gaze was riveted to his face. She drank in every chiselled feature, imprinting it on her brain.

The Turastani Crown Prince was utterly divine—everything about him inspired confidence.

Her lips parted and she watched his eyes follow the movement. In the next second she saw his head lower, felt the warmth of his breath mingle with hers and the exquisitely soft flesh of his lips brush against hers in the briefest kiss. But even as she instinctively leaned toward him to deepen the kiss, he straightened away from her.

“Time to go, Princess,” he told her. It gave her some satisfaction to note the huskiness of his voice and the way his eyes smouldered with unquenched passion.

At least that was how Sabrina initially interpreted his expression. She began to think she'd imagined it for, in the next instant, his mouth set in a resolute line.

Surely he felt the desire pulsing between them? She resented that he could cut himself off from it and be so unwavering now in his task of parading her in front of the officials. The man had to be a machine to be able to switch his responses on and off so quickly. Or, she needed to remind herself, he was practised at having willing women at his beck-and-call. The kisses they shared at the airport meant nothing to him.

This was a role they played. Even if the attraction was real it must be denied. She could never indulge in the remnants of a teenage fantasy with a man whose heart belonged to another.

And she'd let him distract her. Prior to the kiss she was focused, determined to present regally. Now she couldn't keep her mind on the task. Functioning purely on automatic she made her way to the exit and descended the stairs and onto the red carpet. She was barely aware of the dry heat of this desert country's climate, or of the heavy security presence. Her awareness centred on Khalid at her side rather than on those waiting for introductions.

Khalid's right hand was in almost constant contact with the small of her back. His touch did not help with her concentration. As body language went it was a protective gesture as well as a possessive claim. Despite her resolve to squash her need for him, she wished his protection were personal and not political.

“My father, King Hassan of Turastan,” Khalid introduced in English.

Was it her imagination or was there a slight bite to his words? She glanced at Khalid. The tautness of his features, the hard light in his eyes told her Khalid was angry with his father. Was he still fuming on her behalf over this impromptu presentation of her to council officials? A small thrill ran through her at the thought of having the Turastani prince being angry on her behalf.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Sabihah, daughter of the late King Akram and Queen Karen of Rhajia,” Khalid continued with formality and Sabrina gave her attention to the king.

King Hassan extended both arms and broke with protocol as he drew her away from Khalid and into an almost paternal hug. “Princess Sabihah.”

Conflict warred within her and she stiffened. For years she'd been resentful, thinking that this man had forgotten about her, when in fact Khalid said that he had looked for her initially. He had been considering her safety when he'd abandoned his attempts. He was also the man her parents had trusted implicitly. The closest friend and ally of the Rhajian royal couple, he was the man who'd be able to speak to her about her parents, and perhaps answer some of the questions she was dying to ask about them. She needed to get over feeling that he'd betrayed her and her father's trust.

The emotion in King Hassan's eyes astonished her. He didn't attempt to disguise his tears as he looked at her and told her quietly in their native tongue, “It's as though I'm looking at your mother. You're very like her.”