‘Murat seemed to get on well with Gabe, don’t you think?’ she questioned as she slid her diamond bracelet onto the dressing table, where it lay coiled like a glittery snake. ‘What do you suppose they were talking about?’
‘Right now I don’t care,’ Suleiman murmured. ‘About anything other than kissing you again. It seems like an eternity since I had you in my bed.’
‘It’s almost a week since you had me in your bed—palace protocol being what it is,’ she agreed. ‘But less than eight hours since you had me. In the stables, no less—on the eve of my wedding. And I wasn’t allowed to make a sound.’
‘That was part of the thrill,’ he drawled, watching as she kicked off her high-heeled shoes. ‘Not very much keeps you quiet, but it seems that at last I’ve found something which does. Which means that we are going to be indulging in lots of illicit sex in the future, my darling wife.’
She walked over to the bed to join him, still wearing her panties, her bra and her white lace suspender belt and stockings. It felt warm in his embrace, and safe. So very safe.
They were going to honeymoon in Samahan and she was going to learn all about the land of Suleiman’s birth. Afterwards, they would decide where they wanted to make their main base.
‘It can be anywhere,’ he had promised her. ‘Anywhere at all.’
She closed her eyes as he tightened his arms around her, because where they lived didn’t matter.
This was home.
* * * * *
The Sheikh’s Undoing
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
THE SOUND OF the telephone woke her, but Isobel didn’t need to see the name flashing on the screen to know who was ringing. Who else would call her at this time of night but the man who thought he had the right to do pretty much whatever he wanted? And frequently did.
Tariq, the so-called ‘Playboy Prince’. Or Prince Tariq Kadar al Hakam, Sheikh of Khayarzah—to give him his full and rather impressive title. And the boss if not exactly from hell then certainly from some equally dark and complicated place.
She glanced at the clock. Four in the morning was early even by his standards. Yawning, she picked up the phone, wondering what the hell he had been up to this time.
Had some new story about him emerged, as it so often did, sparked by gossip about his latest audacious take-over bid? Or had he simply got himself tied up with a new blonde—they were always blonde—and wanted Isobel to juggle his early morning meetings for him? Would he walk into the office later on with yesterday’s growth darkening his strong jaw and a smug smile curving the edges of his sensual lips? And the scent of someone’s perfume still lingering on his skin...
It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened, that was for sure. With a frown, Isobel recalled some of his more famous sexual conquests, before reminding herself that she was employed as his personal assistant—not his moral guardian.
Friends sometimes asked whether she ever tired of having a boss who demanded so much of her. Or whether she was tempted to tell him exactly what she thought of his outrageously chauvinistic behaviour—and the answer was yes. Sometimes. But the generous amount of money he paid her soon put a stop to her disapproval. Because money like that provided security—the kind of security which you could never get from another person. Isobel knew that better than anyone. Hadn’t her mother taught her that the most important lesson a woman could learn was to be completely independent of men? Men could just walk away whenever they wanted...and because they could, they frequently did.
She answered the call. ‘Hello?’
‘I-Isobel?’
Her senses were instantly alerted when she heard the deep voice of her employer—because there was something very different about it. Either he was in some kind of post-coital daze or something was wrong. Because he sounded...weird.
She’d never heard Tariq hesitate before. Never heard him as anything other than the confident and charismatic Prince—the darling of London’s casinos and international gossip columns. The man most women couldn’t resist, even when—as seemed inevitable—he was destined to break their heart into tiny little pieces.
‘Tariq?’ Isobel’s voice took on a sudden note of urgency. ‘Is something wrong?’