Desert Prince's Stolen Bride. Кейт Хьюит
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stare felt like looking at the sun. ‘I wish to know why you have taken me here,’ she said in English. Surprise flared across the man’s face like a ripple in water and then was gone.
‘Your English is very good.’
That was because she was half-English. Although as the daughter of a diplomat she’d been raised around the world, her father had been English and that was the language she’d always spoken. ‘I prefer English to Arabic.’
‘Do you?’ His own English was flawless, his tone impossible to decipher. A frown marred his brow for a moment and then smoothed out. ‘Why have you not changed?’ he asked, with a nod at the nightgown discarded on the bed.
‘Why would I want to wear that?’ she flung at him. His mouth quirked, impossibly, into a smile. He was actually amused.
‘Because it is comfortable? And beautiful. You are, as a point of fact, very beautiful.’ He moved past her to a low table flanked by two chairs and the tray with the platter of food on top of it. ‘Come, have something to eat and drink.’ He gestured to the low folding chair across from him. ‘Sit down, be comfortable.’
Olivia could only gape. She was beautiful? No one had ever said that to her before. No one had ever even noticed her before. Why him? Why now? What did he want?
He sat down himself, seeming utterly relaxed...and utterly appealing. A tingle went through Olivia just from looking at him. Dark, close-cropped hair, those beautiful eyes the colour of peat, a straight nose and a mobile mouth, the lines and angles of his face both harsh and arresting. As for his body...it was lean and long, every inch of it pure, powerful muscle. Even sprawled in a chair he radiated strength and energy, power and grace. He was like a jungle cat, ready to spring, eyeing her with a sleepy, knowing, hooded gaze. He could devour her if he wanted. The knowledge flashed through her, certain and strangely thrilling.
She felt a tremor of fear, but with it a pulse of something else. Something almost like desire. He had such a languid look in his eyes. No one had ever looked at her like that. She’d spent her life in the shadows, half pretending to be invisible, ignored by her busy, widowed father, and then keeping to the sidelines of school life.
Since becoming the governess to the Amari Princesses four years ago, she’d been even more in the background, which she hadn’t minded. That was where she was used to being, making sure she was quietly useful, keeping out of the way of people who were busier or more important than she was. Blending into the background felt both safe and comfortable, and it was only in this heightened, surreal moment she realised how dull it had always been. How dull her whole life had been, as if she had been waiting all along for something to happen. And now it had.
You’ve been kidnapped, she reminded herself with both fierceness and panic. This is not some romantic adventure. This man has abducted you. You need to escape.
‘I want you to release me.’
The man arched an eyebrow. ‘Where? Into the desert?’
‘Back to the palace.’
His expression shuttered although he remained relaxed. ‘You know that is impossible.’
‘How would I know that?’
He made a gesture towards the entrance of the tent, one Olivia couldn’t decipher. What, exactly, was he referring to? ‘Too much has happened. Now, come.’ He reached for the jug and poured them both goblets of what looked like water, but when he added something from another jug the liquid turned milky-white. Olivia eyed it askance.
‘What is that?’
‘Arak, mixed with water. It changes colour when diluted. Surely you have had it before?’
‘No.’ The only alcohol she had had was the occasional sip of champagne at Christmas or New Year when she was a teenager.
‘Come, taste it. It is quite refreshing.’ He smiled at her, flashing very white, very straight teeth. Olivia stayed where she stood. She could not sit down and have a drink with this man. He’d kidnapped her. ‘Well?’ He held the glass out for her, waiting.
‘For understandable reasons I am reluctant to take any food or drink from you.’
‘Is that so?’ Irritation flashed across his face. ‘I think the time for such petulant gestures has surely passed?’
Petulant gestures? Olivia bristled even as she recognised a grain of truth in the words. She was hungry and thirsty, and she didn’t really think he’d drugged the food. There was no point spiting herself as well as him.
Her chin tilted at a haughty angle that belied the trepidation she felt, she walked over and sat down opposite him. She took the glass he held out, her fingers brushing his and sending another tingle like lightning through her. Her arm jerked in response, everything in her flaring white-hot. The man noticed; Olivia saw it in the brief gleam in his eyes and she felt a rush of embarrassment. She was so innocent, so gauche. She could not even hide it. And the fact that she should be attracted to him, her captor...
It was both weak and wrong.
‘Taste.’ His voice was a low, lazy drawl.
Olivia raised the glass to her lips, conscious of the man’s gaze resting on her, so languorous and speculative, and she took a cautious sip. ‘It tastes like liquorice.’
‘It is the anise. Do you like it?’
She took another sip, feeling the fire blaze down her throat and into her belly, warming her right through. ‘I...I don’t know.’
He laughed softly, the sound winding seductive tendrils around her. She took another sip, craving the courage it provided even as the practical part of her told her drinking more was most unwise. The last thing she wanted to do was let her defences down in front of this stranger, magnetically appealing as he was. He was also dangerous—that Olivia knew for certain, felt all the way to her bones—and getting drunk was definitely not a good idea right now.
‘So you have never had arak,’ he mused. ‘I am pleased to introduce you to a new experience.’
‘Are you?’ With a slightly unsteady hand Olivia returned the half-drunk glass to the table. She’d only had a few sips and yet already she was feeling the effects of the alcohol, her mind pleasantly blurring at the edges, her body relaxing. That was undoubtedly a bad thing, especially with the way the man was looking at her, with a mix of speculation and, yes, desire. Just as she, impossibly, unwisely, desired him.
A thrill ran through her like an electric shock at the realisation. She was naïve, yes, and completely innocent, but even she could see the heat in his eyes, although she could hardly credit it. That such a man, a powerful, sensual, attractive man, would want her...
But she shouldn’t want to be wanted, not by a stranger who was most certainly a threat. Confusion chased desire, leaving her emotions in a ferment. ‘Where are we?’ she asked, looking away from that heat-filled gaze.
‘In the desert.’
‘I know that, but where? Are we still in Abkar?’
There was a pause while he cocked his head, his gaze sweeping over her thoroughly, leaving heat and awareness in its wake. He wasn’t touching her and yet everything prickled; it was as if parts of her body were stirring to life for the first time. Her breasts, her thighs, her lips. She felt weirdly, achingly conscious of them all, that persistent tingle going right through her, impossible to stop or ignore, obliterating common sense, rational thought.
Disconcerted, Olivia reached for her glass. She’d have just one more sip of the anise-flavoured arak, that was all. She needed a distraction from this unwelcome and overwhelming reaction.
‘No, we are not in Abkar,’ he said, his gaze still resting on her, considering, assessing. ‘We are in Kalidar.’
The country of Halina’s fiancé, Prince Zayed al bin Nur. Was her abduction related to Halina’s impending marriage? Was the