The Royal House of Karedes: The Desert Throne. Annie West
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slightly hysterical bubble of laughter escaped her. She could just imagine her father’s face if he found out that she was married to the king!
“What is making you smile?” Kareef demanded.
“I was just imagining my father’s face if I told him we’d been married for the last thirteen years. Do you think he’d find that respectable enough?”
Kareef paused, then laughed with her in a deep baritone, his eyes bright. “And Hajjar would find a way to incorporate the royal Qusani coat of arms onto his flag, or at least his business card.”
For a moment, they grinned at each other.
Then Jasmine’s smile faded. “Except no one must ever know I’ve been your wife.”
His eyes darkened. “Because?”
“There must be no scandal against the new king’s name. Not after the grief of your uncle’s death—the shock of your cousin’s abdication.” She shook her head. “The people of Qusay have been through enough in the last few weeks to last a lifetime.” She took a deep breath, raising her eyes to his. “And you must think of your bride.”
He frowned. “My bride? What bride?”
“The bride you will soon take, in your duty as king.”
He stared at her, clenching his jaw.
“A royal princess,” she said. “With a perfect reputation.”
He looked away.
“A beautiful virgin to give you children,” she continued, plumbing every depth of her own misery. “To be your queen and give you heirs. You will marry her, give her plump-cheeked, blue-eyed babies, and the whole country will rejoice.”
He jerked his head back to look at her, and his blue eyes seemed to glitter in the moonlight.
“Yes, Jasmine. Is that what you want to hear? Yes. I must take a royal virgin to be my queen. She will give me heirs. It is required of me as king. The Al’Ramiz lineage goes back a thousand years. I must have children of my own bloodline. I will have them. Does that satisfy you?”
Her heart pounded painfully in her throat.
“Yes,” she choked out. “It’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
Exactly what she needed: the finally crushing blow to any glimmer of hope. The brief illusion of being young again, of going back to the time they were in love, was gone.
Kareef wasn’t hers anymore. Married or not, he had never truly been hers.
A night breeze cut through the courtyard, causing her hair to whip darkly across her face. She heard the plaintive call of owls in the shadowy darkness. The spice and warmth of the air whirled around Jasmine. The memory of his touch a moment ago still burned her cheek.
She heard servants calling his name, louder this time. Any moment now, the servants would find them.
With a deep breath, Kareef stepped toward her.
“But the day of my marriage is far away,” he said, tucking her hair gently behind her ear. “And we will take the time we have. Tomorrow, I will take you to the desert.”
She shivered at his touch. “And there you will divorce me?”
He smiled, and the dark hunger in his eyes made her tremble. “Good night, my jewel.” Lowering his head, he kissed her cheek. “Until tomorrow.”
“Yes,” she whispered, pulling away. As the servants found Kareef, exclaiming excitedly that his brother, Tahir, had been found, she hurried back to her tiny room in the servants’ wing. She ran until she was out of breath. But even as she collapsed on her small bed, she could still feel Kareef behind her, still feel his lips on hers.
She knew what awaited her tomorrow. She knew it by the dark hunger she’d seen in his eyes. He meant to take her in the desert. To take her in his bed.
No! She would not—would not—surrender!
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS high noon the next day when Kareef arrived at Qusay International Airport.
He’d spent the whole morning in meetings with advisers and undersecretaries, signing papers and discussing upcoming treaties. But he’d smiled all morning. He couldn’t stop anticipating the pleasure that was to come.
Tonight, he would finally have Jasmine in his bed.
Kissing her last night had been incredible. If his servants hadn’t come out into the garden to find him—something he could not fault them for, since he’d ordered them to tell him if they ever got his youngest brother, Tahir, on the phone—Kareef would have thrown Jasmine over his shoulder and taken her straight to the royal bedchamber.
But this way would be much better. They would have privacy in Qais. And if there was one thing he hungered for almost as much as Jasmine in his bed, it was the freedom of the desert.
Jasmine was right. Their paths lay elsewhere. He would allow her to follow the path she’d chosen for herself. He would give Jasmine her divorce.
But not yet.
For now, Kareef had only one desire. One need. To satisfy this all-consuming hunger of thirteen years.
For her.
Was she sleeping now in that little bed of hers in the palace? Was she naked? Was she dreaming? He closed his eyes, imagining her hair tousled, her soft body warm beneath the blankets. He growled. Every moment away from her seemed wasted.
But at least this particular royal appointment was one he’d looked forward to. As his chauffeur opened the door of the silver limousine, Kareef climbed out, the wind whirling his ceremonial white robes around his ankles as he glanced around him on the tarmac.
Behind him was the second limousine of his motorcade; to the left were four uniformed motorcyclists and his own Bentley, with flags bearing the royal insignia of Qusay whipping in the wind. Directly in front of him he saw his brother’s Gulfstream jet, newly arrived from Australia.
His spirits rose still higher.
A perfect day, he thought. Jasmine would soon be in his bed. Rafiq had just returned to Qusay, and even Tahir, who’d been in self-imposed exile for so many years, was on the way. Kareef’s heart suddenly felt as bright as the Qusani sun shimmering heat against his white robes.
Rafiq appeared at the door of his airplane. At thirty, there were faint lines at his brother’s narrowed eyes, a ruthless set of his jaw that hadn’t been there before. Years building a worldwide business empire had changed Rafiq every bit as much as Kareef’s years in the desert had changed him.
But as his brother came down the steps to the tarmac, looking every inch the sleek, sharp tycoon in his gray Armani suit, Kareef took one look at him and grinned. “Rafiq!”
“It is good to see you, big brother,” Rafiq replied, taking Kareef by the arm. Pulling him close, he slapped him on the back, then teased, “Or should I call you ‘sire’?”
With a snort, Kareef waved the joke aside. He ushered his brother into the cool interior of the waiting limousine and the chauffeur closed the door solidly behind them. The motorcade pulled away, motorcycle lights flashing as they left the airport. “It’s good you could come at such short notice.”
“You think I would miss your coronation?”
“You almost missed Xavian’s wedding. How long were you here? Three? Four hours at most.”
“It is true,” Rafiq conceded. “Although as it turns out, he wasn’t Xavian, our cousin after all. But there was no way I was not coming for your coronation. And if there is one thing I am sure of, Kareef, it’s that you are indeed my brother.” They exchanged a grin, their eyes the same shade of blue, each with the same chiselled jawline. “Speaking of brothers,