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The drone glided lower and she stared at it, numb now to the realization therewasno escape. Not from Mahindar. He was proud to the marrow of his bones. He’d never forgive her for betraying him and his people.
Her whole body stiffened. She’d never been a quitter and wasn’t about to start now. She wasnotgiving up. “Fuck you, Mahindar,” she snarled, flicking the bird at the drone and its cameras.
She ducked back inside the car, then leaned forward and twisted the key.Click. Click. Click.“What the hell?” she gritted.
“Going somewhere, my treacherous little wife?”
She jerked in her seat, then slowly cricked her neck to watch her dark-suited husband approach. But of course he’d be the one to find her. He was one of the few sheikhs’ who refused to be chauffeured around and instead drove his own car. He apparently had quite the collection of them.
She gulped at his shiny, polished shoes. They were strangely hypnotizing as he strode across the swirling sand like his ancestors of old. But it mattered little that he wore western clothes with his raven black hair styled and modern. He still honored the traditions of old.
Her palms grew clammy and her heartbeat raced until she thought it might explode in her chest. This was it, then. Her prison sentence had started.
Mahindar might as well be the devil with his tight, set jaw and designer-stubble, his stony dark eyes and hard, unreadable expression. That the same man had women falling over his feet for attention was both perplexing and all too obvious. He was as handsome as he was ruthless.
But she refused to cower and show any fear. She knew how to deal with men like that…men like her egotistical father. Because though he, too, was a tyrant, he’d broken with tradition when he’d married the blonde English woman who was Arabelle’s mother, and kept her as his only bride. That he’d married her against his advisors wishes left Arabelle in no doubt she’d inherited her father’s stubborn streak.
But though her mother was English, it didn’t make Arabelle any less of a sheikha. She had the blood of great ancestors running through her veins, too.
Her husband pulled open the driver’s door, then held out his hand. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed her headdress and tiara with one hand, and took his firm grasp with the other. She refused to look at him, especially not when the shooting tingles at his touch threatened to give away her secret fascination toward him.
She quelled the reaction to instead focus on the fact he hadn’t used that same hand to punish her. Though women’s rights were growing in the Arab nations, disobedient women had few rights. That she’d defied her powerful sheikh husband was a whole law unto itself.
“Come,” he said in his smooth, English voice with its cultured accent that made him as mysterious as the punishment he’d likely devised.
“I don’t suppose I have a choice,” she said in her most unshakeable, regally cool voice.
“A pity you didn’t think of that earlier.”
She had so much more to say, but she’d choke on her words before speaking them aloud. She was certain her punishment would be awful enough without adding to it unnecessarily.
But whatever dignity she had immediately dissolved as she stumbled, her heels sinking deep into the sand as she followed his long stride away from the sedan. His mouth thinning as he turned to her, he bent and lifted her into his arms.
She went boneless and limp—there was no longer any point in fighting—one of her arms dangling so that her priceless veil scraped along the sand. She stifled sudden hysteria. His tailored suit and shoes alone cost more than most people made in six months.
She closed her eyes, focusing on her heartbeat that thudded in her ears, her dry throat and the nauseous twist in her stomach. Anything but the powerful strength of his arms, his intoxicating amber scent and his graceful, effortless walk.
But her eyelids fluttered open soon enough, focusing on his full lips that were presently pulled tight, his high cheekbones and jet-black eyes. Even his hooked nose, which should have detracted from his good looks, somehow enhanced them. Add in six foot three of lean, corded power along with a brilliant mind, which allowed him to fluently speak six languages, and he was her worst nightmare come to life.
He was too clever, too cunning. And after her feeble attempt at escape he’d make certain she’d never have the opportunity again. That she was attracted to him even as she loathed him meant she was also fighting against herself.
Despite the heat, the sand, the grueling effort if must have taken to carry her across the soft sand, he barely drew a sweat. He could have just as easily stepped out of a bathroom from having a cool shower when he deposited her on her feet. Right next to his BMX X6, the luxury crossover SUV that was both practical and luxuriously stylish.
Meanwhile she was hot, bedraggled and exhausted. Not to mention secretly fearful of whatever punishment Mahindar had devised for her. But she refused to apologize, refused to beg for mercy. She was royalty, too.
She refused to submit to him.
He opened the front passenger door, then gestured for her to get in. Her whole body tensing, she tossed in her veil and tiara, then draped the train of her gown over a shoulder and climbed into the soft, leather interior. What else could she do? It wasn’t as though she had any other options. Not anymore.
The door clunked shut behind her and she stared ahead at the endless stretch of road with misty eyes. She’d never asked for this life, she’d been born into it. While most young girls dreamed of being a real-life princess, she’d spent most of her life dreaming of a freedom that was forever just out of reach.
Her time in the UK had tantalized her with what she could have, even knowing it was an impossible dream she craved with every cell in her body.
Mahindar slid into his driver’s seat and clipped on his seatbelt. His presence sucked away every scrap of oxygen, his masculine, amber scent filling her senses and his brilliant eyes stripping away her defenses. “Seatbelt,” he said smoothly.
She turned away from him, but like an obedient little wife, she did as he commanded. She was nothing more than a marionette whose strings had been jerked to make her conform once again.
The line of SUV’s reappeared like some dreaded mirage in the distance, Mahindar’s bodyguards showing remarkable timing. Mahindar gave a satisfied smirk, then steering the car around in a smooth 360, he returned the same way Arabelle had fled.
