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She nodded. She had learned that arguing with Hakim, while fun, was often fruitless. Tears pricked her eyes, and her voice was husky. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” He kissed her, thinking, as he often did, how lucky he was to have found her. Without Phoebe, he was still King of a country. But with her, he was a man who held her heart, and that knowledge was more valuable than all the power and money in the world. Phoebe, his treasure, his ever-lasting love, had truly crowned him, with the gift of herself. With all his heart, for all his life, he would know that he had found his true Queen.
THE END.
Following is an excerpt from THE SHEIKH’S VIRGIN HOSTAGE by Clare Connelly, available to purchase here.
CHAPTER ONE
“You, over there. You do not agree with me?”
Emma felt a trickle of danger run down her spine as she slowly raised her eyes to the all powerful leader of Amar’a, Sheikh Rafiq Al Sadini. His posture hadn’t changed. He sat, casually reclined, in the centre of the yacht’s luxurious saloon. Only a sixth sense alerted her to an inner tension. Like a spring, tightly coiled, and held in suspense. He was too still, too relaxed seeming.
“I asked you a question,” he repeated quietly, pinning her down with eyes as green and terrifying as a stormy ocean.
The full force of her hatred for this man made her body shake, but she fought to hide it.
Clearing her throat, she opened her mouth to speak. “I beg your pardon, sir. I’m not sure what you mean.”
His eyes narrowed. “You have two ears on the side of your head, do you not?”
Color stole into her lightly freckled cheeks. “Yes, sir.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Listening is not a crime. I take it you didn’t agree with what I said?”
Since when did the exalted Sheikh of Amar’a care what commoners thought? She bit down on her lower lip, casting about for something acceptable to say. In the four weeks she’d been working for the royal family of Amar’a, she’d never thought about what she’d actually say if she got the chance to confront him. In those four weeks, she had only seen him a handful of times, and this was the first time he’d spoken to her.
“Come here.”
She swallowed away the urge to decline. She might hate him, but she feared him more. Tentatively, she crossed the room, unaware of how her body radiated trepidation as she went.
Up close, he was more devastatingly attractive than she’d appreciated. Then again, Cassandra had impeccable taste in men, at least when it came to sex appeal. Her twin sister was blessed with all of the looks of the pair, and gorgeous men had always fallen at her feet. Emma straightened her back, knowing that she had to put aside her nerves if she were to have any hope of getting this bastard to own up to his responsibilities.
“Yes, sir?”
He shifted a little in his seat, unintentionally drawing her attention to the breadth of his shoulders. He was wearing a traditional white robe, but she
knew beneath it was a honed, muscular body. He was a giant of a man, at least six and a half feet, with a rippling six pack and narrow hips. She knew this because he’d gone swimming the day before, and she hadn’t been able to avoid seeing how perfectly sculptured his body was in just a black bathing suit.
“Leave us.” He addressed the man sitting opposite; who Emma gathered was a high level advisor. She felt her stress rising as the man exited the luxurious chamber, then, the rest of the staff followed suit. She tried to catch the eye of her friend Becky but it was no use. Rats! She was trapped. Alone with the Sheikh.
“Please, sit.” Even his voice was sexy! Rich and deep, with the hint of an exotic accent.
In the normal course of events, Emma would have politely declined. But one did not simply decline an invitation to join Sheikh Rafiq Al Sadini, exalted ruler of one of the super oil-rich nations. She slowly eased herself into the armchair opposite, unconsciously toying with her pearl earring.
Her skin prickled under his steady observation. He made no attempt to hide his curiosity as he took in her red hair, pulled into the severe braid she always wore. Her face was passably pretty, with wide set blue eyes, pale skin and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. But from then on, it was downhill. Unlike reed thin Cassandra, Emma was curvy in a way she had always hated. As the Sheikh slowly dragged his eyes down her frame now, she forgot to be ashamed of her looks; and she forgot to be furious with this lying rat. Instead, she felt an inexplicable pool of awareness in the pit of her stomach. It caught her totally by surprise. She had taken this job purely to confront this man. The last thing she wanted was to feel desire for one of her sister’s ex-lovers. Especially this one, who’d so callously broken her heart.
“What is your name?” The sheikh had finished his inspection and now fixed his gaze squarely on her face.
She straightened her glasses, wishing, out of nowhere, that she had bothered to put her contact lenses in that morning. “Emma.”
“Emma What? Do you have a surname?”
She bit down on her lip. Would it tip him off? Curious, despite the certainty she was playing with fire, she nodded. But butterflies were waging war with her body. At least a million butterflies, surely, were zipping around her insides, making it difficult to focus. His lips were so full. It was the kind of detail you only noticed up close, but now, she couldn’t stop staring at them. Full and pink lips, set in a symmetrical face, with a darkly stubbled, very square jaw line, and even, white teeth. She shivered.
He spoke a word in a foreign language, and from the inflection and volume, she gathered it was a curse in his own tongue.
“Anderson!” She blurted out, her blush deepening. “Emma Anderson.”
