Inherited For The Royal Bed. Annie West
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look but who tried to touch, the Emir kept his hands to himself.
Lina dropped her gaze, as she’d been taught. But without the magnetic draw of those dark, glittering eyes to distract her, she became far too aware of the rest of him.
A long, lean body that tapered from straight shoulders down via an intriguing display of bronzed skin and taut muscle to narrow hips that thankfully were still covered in pale trousers. Nor could she help but notice the muscled strength of his thighs. A rider’s thighs. The only thing marring the perfection of his toned form was a pale scar extending down one arm.
Lina didn’t know whether to blame the shock of finally being alone with the man who was to be her master, or her first sight of a half-naked man. Or perhaps his stunning attractiveness. But she felt light-headed. Her breathing came too fast and her thoughts scrambled.
She’d arrived at the palace expecting to be at the beck and call of a much older man, renowned for his short temper and unforgiving nature. Instead she found herself bequeathed to a man in his mid-twenties whose looks would make any woman sigh. He was fit and handsome. But more, there was an inner strength about him and a quality she couldn’t name, yet read in his proud face with its heavy-lidded eyes, strong nose and square, solid jaw.
Whatever it was, it made sensation fizz and burst through her veins. Was she ill? Coming down with a fever? She’d never felt like this before.
‘Lina?’
She darted a look at his face. Clearly he’d spoken and she hadn’t responded. A chill clamped the back of her neck and skittered all the way down her spine. Was his temper as volatile as the old Emir’s? Her aunt had told hair-raising tales of what awaited if she didn’t do exactly as commanded by her royal master, no matter how difficult or...unfamiliar.
‘Sir?’
‘I said you are not needed here. You can return to your home.’
Lina blinked, her eyes widening in dismay. She’d been horrified by the whispered gossip about what the previous Emir would expect her to do for him. Had wondered if some of the suggestions were even physically possible. But to be dismissed from the palace! That held its own terrors.
She swallowed, pain slicing as if her throat closed around a sharpened blade.
‘Please, sir. I can’t.’
Belatedly she lowered her gaze, knowing it was her place to obey, not argue. Her uncle and aunt had warned time after time that she must learn humility and silence. They’d made it their business to try turning her into a mute, obedient damsel. They would be horrified if they could hear her.
‘You can if I tell you.’ The Emir’s tone was brusque, allowing no room for argument.
Lina felt herself stiffen as the enormity of her situation hit her. The freedom he offered, no, commanded she take, was an illusion.
She was utterly alone, with nowhere in the world to call home and no one who cared for her. She had no rights, no call on his compassion. She was nothing to him, or to anyone else.
Everything she’d been taught told her to nod, to back away and make herself scarce, for it wouldn’t do to disobey the man who held her fate, even after he’d washed his hands of her.
He shifted and she sensed his impatience for her to be gone.
Yet Lina knew once she left this room she’d never be allowed to enter again. Once out of the palace she’d be on the street, literally, with no resources, no friends and not even a scrap of respectable clothing.
She shuddered, imagining what would become of her.
Clasping her hands before her, willing them not to shake, she took a fortifying breath, which reminded her of the hated clothes she wore as her breasts swelled against the low-cut top.
‘Sir.’ She swallowed and lifted her chin. The Emir had already begun to turn away. He’d dismissed her and that meant she must go.
Except Lina couldn’t.
‘Well?’ Ebony brows angled down above that imperious nose and his dark-shadowed jaw was set at an angle that warned his hold on patience was precarious.
She tilted her face higher, meeting his narrowed gaze. ‘I have no home to go to, sir. Not any more. Or any family.’ She bit her lip, refusing to let it tremble. ‘Could I be allowed to remain in the palace? I’m a hard worker. I can make myself useful at any task. In the kitchens, the laundries, the...’ She paused, racking her brain, wondering what the multitude of royal servants did all day. ‘I can sew and embroider too.’ Not well enough, as her aunt was fond of reminding her. But then she didn’t do anything well enough for her aunt.
‘You must have a home. Where did you come from?’ No softening in the austere masculine beauty of that sculpted face. But at least he’d paused to listen. Her heart throbbed a hopeful beat.
‘From the home of my father’s brother, sir. But that door is no longer open to me.’ It took everything Lina had to stand erect, meeting his gaze headlong, when harsh memories bombarded her. Of becoming little more than a slave in her own home.
The Emir sighed and lifted his hand to rake his fingers through his short hair. Intriguingly, the movement made muscles swell and tug in his arm, shoulder and chest. Lina had never before realised that such a simple movement could be so spellbinding.
But then she’d never seen a man like the Emir, naked or clothed.
He sighed and turned away. Abruptly her straying thoughts focused sharply. He was walking away, leaving her to her fate. Fear and despair vied with indignation. Lina was sick of fate, in the form of the men who had ruled her destiny, ignoring her.
Yet instead of continuing to the bathroom, he merely flung open a wardrobe and withdrew a shirt.
‘Here.’ The white garment flew through the air towards her. ‘Put that on and sit down.’
Lina’s fingers tightened convulsively on soft white cotton. So finely woven it was translucent. Only the finest material for the leader of the nation.
‘Go on.’ He nodded at the garment in her hands, then turned towards the bed. For a second she thought he was going to sit there, till he abruptly changed direction and headed for an armchair, sinking onto it with a sigh.
Hurriedly, Lina lifted the cotton over her head, pulling it down till it covered her almost to the knees. She had to roll up the sleeves to free her hands.
No doubt she looked like a child playing dress-up.
She puzzled over why the Emir thought the extra layer necessary. It was true, she was more comfortable with the bare skin of her waist and breasts covered, but from what she’d observed of men, they enjoyed such displays.
Unless the Emir wasn’t interested in women?
The startling thought kept her rooted to the spot. Surely not! Such a waste that would be. Besides, there’d been that shimmer of heat when he’d looked at her before. It had been unmistakable.
She darted a curious glance at the man who would decide her future. He wasn’t looking at her. In fact, he’d shut his eyes, which gave her time to take in more of his appearance, to see beyond that grave masculine beauty to the weariness bracketing his eyes and mouth. The slight droop of his head. The slump of that long frame in the cushioned chair.
The man was exhausted.
* * *
Sayid opened his eyes to see the girl dart into his bathroom. What the devil was she up to?
He was about to follow when she emerged, carrying a bowl of water. She sank to the floor before him in a show of fluid grace that made him wonder if she really was a dancer, as that scanty costume suggested.
Savagely he ignored the scorching trail of desire searing through his belly. He reminded himself he’d learned to master his impulsive, carnal nature.
Yet, to his chagrin the addition