this dark, sleek, dangerous panther of a man—would he listen to a word she had to say? Would he give her any sort of chance? She doubted it. Especially when she couldn’t tell him—or anyone—the whole truth. She didn’t dare. It was vital that she kept Harry’s existence a total secret. If anyone ever found out about him then the little boy’s future was at risk.
So how could she persuade him?
‘I need more time. A few days.’
You have to be joking, the look he turned on her said without words. It made her feel like some small, crawling insect just within crushing reach of his feet in their highly polished handmade shoes. A small, crawling female insect. And from the way he looked down his straight slash of a nose, the burn of contempt in the blackness of his eyes, she knew just which of those words he considered to be the greatest possible insult he could toss her way.
She made herself face him, her eyes locking with his, burning with the defiance she felt towards his arrogant decree.
‘And who precisely are you to order me around?’
‘I told you—I am Karim Al Khalifa, Crown Prince of Markhazad.’
He obviously thought that his cold statement would impress her but he couldn’t be more wrong. She’d spent so much time as she grew up with the royal family who were destined to be her family one day. It had been a sterile, regimented existence, with very few moments of freedom. Her father had been determined that she knew how to behave, how to follow court protocol. She had been trained for her role. When she married they would be more than equals, and soon she would be queen.
‘Crown Prince, hmm? So why are you here, running errands—’
He hadn’t liked that, not one bit. A flame of anger had flared in those polished jet eyes, turning them from ice to fire in the space of a heartbeat. And, contradictorily, that chilled her own blood till she felt it might freeze in her veins.
‘I am here representing my father,’ he snapped, cutting her off before she could complete the sentence. ‘Not running errands. And as my father’s representative I insist that you pack your bags and get ready to leave.’
‘You can insist all you like. I’ve no intention of going anywhere with you so I suggest you just turn around and walk out that door.’
‘And I have no intention of leaving—at least, not without you.’
How could that gorgeous, sensual mouth make a simple statement sound like the most terrible threat since time began? And the husky appeal of his accent only added to the horror of the contradiction.
‘I’ve come for you. And I’m leaving with you. And that is all there is to it.’
CHAPTER TWO
WAS SHE REALLY going to make this more difficult than he had ever thought? Karim found it hard to believe that this slip of a girl was going to make things so very problematic for him.
And the worst part of it was that he couldn’t even tell her the truth. He couldn’t reveal to her just what was behind his coming here, the problems and dangers that had meant he had to deal with this himself, rather than leave it to Adnan who, although a member of the security team, was not the right man for the job. Definitely not once Karim had found out that he was secretly in the pay of Ankhara.
His eyes narrowed as he looked into Clementina’s face assessingly, wondering just how much he could tell her. How much did she know about Sheikh Ankhara and his ambitions to put his own daughter on the throne of Rhastaan? Karim had no doubt that if Adnan had been the one to collect her, as had originally been planned, then there would have been some unfortunate ‘accident’ on the journey back. Anything to ensure that she didn’t make it to her wedding.
Clementina didn’t look like the type of delicate flower who would go into some sort of emotional meltdown if she realised the risks involved in getting her out of here and taking her back to Rhastaan, handing her over to her husband-to-be. On the contrary, she had been hissing and spitting defiance at him ever since he had arrived, like some beautiful, hostile, wild cat that had been driven into a corner and trapped there, her back against the wall. And just because she was sleek-boned and soft-haired, he would be all sorts of a fool if he let himself think of her as any sort of kitten rather than a fully grown cat. She was far more likely to lash out and scratch him viciously if he tried to touch her, rather than purring and preening under his caress.
Just for a moment the thought of her arching that elegant back to meet his hands, or rubbing the softness of her hair against his face made his breath knot in his throat, his blood heating as his body tightened in the sort of purely carnal hunger he hadn’t known for some time.
Hell, no! This was not the way he had expected to feel about this woman. It was the last thing he should feel about the betrothed bride of the young King of Rhastaan. It went against all the laws of honour and trust. It threatened the reasons why he was here right down to the very roots that had founded them. It was why he had had to move away from her earlier, when the purely instinctive move to offer her a drink of water had suddenly turned into some sort of brutal sensual endurance test. He hadn’t been able to stay there, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body, see the pulse of her blood beating blue under the fine skin at the base of her throat. When she moved, some delicate scent had slipped into the air and combined with the soft brush of a wandering strand of her dark silky hair across his face, which caught on the roughness of the day’s growth of dark stubble to create a burn of response that was almost more than he could endure.
Suddenly he wanted her so much that it hurt. He had never wanted a woman so much and yet she was the last woman he could ever, should ever feel that way about. She was not available; not for him.
She was forbidden to him.
So the best damn thing that he could do was get her out of here, on the jet where she would be safe and hidden again, on their way to Rhastaan, and deliver her to her bridegroom just as soon as he possibly could.
‘So—are you going to pack?’ he demanded, his voice rough with all that he was fighting to hold back.
He wouldn’t even meet her eyes though he could tell that was what she wanted. She sought to confront him face to face, challenging everything he said.
Was she really so irresponsible, so careless of the consequences of her actions, that she would defy him out of sheer perversity? That she would put everything so many people had worked towards in jeopardy on a selfish whim? She had been given a touch of, if not freedom, then at least the chance to run on an exceptionally loose rein for a while. But even the most magnificent thoroughbred was the better for a little restraint, a strong grip on the bridle, a light touch of spurs, to keep it under control. Clementina Savanevski, soon to be Queen Clementina of Rhastaan, could not be allowed to run wild any more. And if anyone could be relied on to bring her under control then he was the man to do it. That was one of the reasons why his father had sent him on this mission in the first place.
‘Well?’
‘I am packed,’ she surprised him—stunned him—by saying. He had been expecting further defiance, further rebellion. In fact, if he was honest he was actually a touch disappointed that she wasn’t digging in her neat little heels, bringing up that small chin once more and letting her glorious amber eyes clash with his in pure defiance. He’d expected it, and anticipated the thrill of battle that would come from bringing her back under control.
‘You
