Crowned at the Desert King's Command Read online

  The cobbles in the mews outside her father’s house were shiny and slippery, and it was cold. And as the hand clutching the handle of the umbrella went numb Charlotte found herself wishing she was somewhere hot. Where the sun was merciless and the sand was burning. Where neither were as hot as the passion of the man she’d left there.

  Her heart squeezed and she had to grit her teeth against a wave of pain. Why was she thinking of Tariq again? Leaving had been the right thing to do. The only thing. Thinking of him hurt. Besides, she’d find herself someone else. He wasn’t the only fish in the sea.

  Except you will never love anyone as you loved him.

  The thought was so bleak that she had to stop, because her vision was swimming with tears and it hurt to breathe. Then, as she collected herself and prepared to go on, she noticed someone standing in the mews ahead of her.

  And everything in her went quiet and still.

  It was a very tall man and he was holding a black umbrella. He was dressed in what looked like a shockingly expensive dark suit, with sunglasses over his eyes despite the rain. But even the suit and the glasses couldn’t disguise the sense of authority and arrogance he radiated.

  Except Charlotte didn’t need that to know who it was.

  She would have known him anywhere.

  Tariq.

  Her poor, shattered heart seized in her chest and she blinked—because surely he wasn’t here. This had to be a mirage. Yet despite the blinking he didn’t disappear, and, yes, it seemed that he really was here, in London. Standing in the road near her father’s house.

  Then he was coming towards her, moving with the same fluid grace she remembered, and just like that rage filled her, making her shake.

  How dared he come here? After she’d made the horrifically painful decision to leave him. After her heart had torn itself to pieces as she’d walked away. After she’d wept all the way back to London and for days afterwards, missing him so acutely it had felt like being stabbed.

  After all that he’d come here. Why? What did he want from her? Was it to hurt her again? Taunt her with what she could never have?

  Charlotte didn’t wait for him to reach her. She stormed up to him instead, meeting him in the middle of the lane. Then she reached up and tore the glasses from his face so she could see him, holding the familiar intensity of his golden stare with her own.

  He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Only stared at her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, her voice breaking, even though she tried not to let it. ‘How dare you? How dare you come here to—?’

  It was only then that he moved, throwing away his umbrella as if he didn’t care about the rain that was falling around them and stepping under hers. Then he reached for her, taking her face between his hands, and the warmth of his skin was like a bolt of lightning, rooting her to the spot.

  He bent and kissed her, his mouth hot and desperate, and the taste of him was so achingly familiar that tears rushed into her eyes, the deep hunger inside her stirring, waking.

  Oh, God, how could he do this to her?

  She stiffened, ready to push him away, but he’d already lifted his head, the look in his eyes blazing.

  ‘Oh, ya amar,’ he said fiercely. ‘I have been such a fool. I have done such stupid things. Said things I should not have. And all I can say is that I am sorry.’ His thumbs moved caressingly over her cheekbones. ‘I should have let you go to your father. I should have trusted you to return. And most important of all I should have given you a reason to come back to me.’

  She was trembling and unable to stop. Unable to pull away from him either. All she could do was stand there and look up into the blazing gold of his eyes.

  ‘What reason?’ she asked, trying to hold herself together.

  The lines of his beautiful face took on a familiar intensity. ‘You asked me to give you love. So I am here to offer it.’

  Her umbrella didn’t protect him from the rain and his black hair was getting wet, his suit damp, water was trickling down the side of his face. But he didn’t seem to notice. His attention was on her as if he was suffocating and she was the lifeline he needed.

  Except it was she who couldn’t breathe.

  ‘Be clear, Tariq.’ She barely sounded like herself. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I am saying that I love you, Charlotte Devereaux,’ Tariq said in his dark, deep voice. ‘I love you, my wife. I have spent the past three weeks telling myself that sending you away would stop these feelings inside me. That once you were gone I could stay detached. Be the kind of king my father wanted me to be. But I could not do it. I could not escape what I feel for you. And I found out that...you are what makes me the king I need to be.’

  His gaze searched her face, unhidden desperation in it.

  ‘You make me compassionate and merciful. You make me humble. You make me strong. You make me a better man, a better king. And I want to give you back everything that you have given me.’

  She felt cold, and then hot, as if she was dying and then coming back to life. ‘Tariq...’

  His name was the only thing she could say.

  Luckily she didn’t need to speak, because he went on, ‘I want you, ya amar. I want to give you all the love you need. And I would leave Ashkaraz if I could, be with you here in London if you wanted me to. But I cannot leave my country. So all I can do is beg you to return with me.’

  Her heart felt both heavy and light at the same time, at the ferocity in his eyes, at his desperation and his anguish.

  She looked up at him, drinking in every line of his beloved face. ‘Then I will,’ she said simply. Because this was what she’d been wanting her entire life.

  And something blazed in his beautiful eyes—heat like the sun, burning there. ‘You would do that? After everything that I did to you? Kept you prisoner...made you marry me? Gave you ultimatum after ultimatum—?’

  Charlotte reached out and put a shaking finger on his mouth, silencing him. ‘After you gave me pleasure and friendship. Showed me how brave I could be and how strong. After you helped me figure out my own worth.’ She pressed harder, feeling the heat of his skin beneath her fingertip. ‘Yes, you fool. Of course I would do that.’

  ‘I am not a good man, ya amar. And there is much I do not understand. I will make mistakes and I will need you to help me. I am also very possessive of what is mine, and that might be...annoying for you. Are you sure you want to commit yourself to that?’

  She blinked back sudden tears, her throat aching with an intense joy. ‘I’ve had some experience of dealing with difficult men, believe me. I think I can handle it.’

  His expression turned even fiercer. ‘Then you have my word that I will do everything in my power to make you happy for the rest of our lives.’

  There was rain on her cheeks, though some of the moisture might have been tears, because the iron band that had been around her heart since she’d left him burst open and her chest filled, her lungs filled. Her heart filled.

  And then her umbrella was on the ground too, and she was in his arms. His mouth was on hers, tasting of rain and heat and the volcanic passion that was part of him.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said roughly when she finally pulled away.

  ‘Tell you what? About my dad?’ God, how she loved to tease him. ‘About the job interview I have tomorrow?’

  ‘No.’ That dark intensity was back in his face. ‘Do not play with me, ya amar.’

  Charlotte relented. ‘You mean tell you that I love you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said fiercely. ‘That.’

  ‘Well, I do. I love you. And I—’

  He kissed her yet again, hard, cutting off the words, stealing all her breath and then giving it back to her, so that when he raised his head again, she felt light-headed and dizzy.

  ‘I have a hotel nearby,’ he murmured. ‘Come with me, wi
fe. I need you.’

  ‘Wait.’ She pressed her hands to his hard chest, warm despite the fact that they were both soaking wet. ‘You need to tell me what changed your mind.’

  And, wonderfully, a fleeting magical smile crossed his face. ‘A friend.’

  She stared at him in surprise. ‘I thought you didn’t have any?’

  ‘Turns out I have one at least. Faisal. He told me that the reason that my father brought me up the way he did was because he never got over my mother’s death. That he cut himself off and did the same to me.’ Tariq pushed her damp hair back from her face. ‘Faisal also told me that my father was wrong. That it isn’t detachment that makes a great king. It’s love.’ He searched her face. ‘I think I am starting to see what he meant. But perhaps you can show me the rest?’

  Her heart was bursting, everything she felt for him flooding out. She reached up on tiptoes and kissed him yet again, because all the kisses in the world wouldn’t be enough.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I can.’

  And she did.

  And even though getting lost in the desert might have been the stupidest thing she’d ever done, it had also been the best.

  Because in getting lost she’d found her home.

  She’d found her for ever.

  She’d found herself.

  In the strong and passionate heart of a king.

  EPILOGUE

  THE KNOCK CAME on the door of Tariq’s office, and he’d barely had a moment to acknowledge it before it opened and his wife came in.

  She was dressed in a deep pink robe today, and it brought a delightful blush to her pale cheeks as well as highlighting her silvery hair.

  He smiled, his heartbeat quickening, her presence already brightening his day. ‘What is it, ya amar?’ He pushed back his chair and raised one brow. ‘It had better be good. I have a very important report to read.’

  ‘Oh, it is, don’t worry.’

  She gave him a secretive smile in return, then moved over to his desk and, ignoring the fact that it was the middle of the day and there were other people around, came around it and sat on his lap as if she belonged there.

  Which she did.

  ‘This is highly irregular,’ he murmured as she settled back against his shoulder and lifted her mouth for his kiss. ‘Perhaps we should lock the door?’

  Because he was hard and getting harder and—

  His thoughts broke off and he went quite still. She was looking at him with a very particular kind of focus.

  ‘Charlotte? What is it?’

  Her smile this time was breathtaking. ‘What’s “Daddy” in Arabic again? I feel our child will want to call you something.’

  Everything in him became bright, burning. ‘Charlotte...’ he said again.

  She touched his cheek, and everything he’d ever wanted was right there in her blue eyes.

  ‘Are you going to faint, dear heart?’ she asked.

  But he didn’t faint. He laughed instead, and kissed her, filling himself up with her heat, and her brightness, and all the love she’d brought into his life so far.

  And all the love she had yet to bring.

  * * *

  Unable to put Crowned at the Desert King’s Command down? Find your next page-turner with these other stories by Jackie Ashenden!

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from Craving His Forbidden Innocent by Louise Fuller.

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  Craving His Forbidden Innocent

  by Louise Fuller

  CHAPTER ONE

  SHIFTING THE PHONE against his ear, Bautista Caine silently dismissed his PA with a sharp upward flick of his head and turned his attention back to his sister’s voice.

  Not that Alicia was saying anything new in her message. It was more or less a repeat of what she’d said at the weekend—that she was so grateful, and he was the best brother, and she loved him—but it was still good to hear.

  His mouth twisted. It had been a difficult, upsetting conversation, but was there any other kind when the subject was Mimi Miller?

  He felt his shoulders tense against the fabric of his suit jacket.

  Mimi, with her long blonde hair, even longer legs and those silky, soft lips that had melted against his in a kiss he had never forgotten... A kiss that had stifled all common sense and conscience and shaken him to his soul—

  He gritted his teeth as his body stiffened like a pointer scenting game.

  She was like the proverbial bad penny and probably always would be, given that nothing he’d said to his sister seemed to change her opinion of Mimi. Only a day ago she had told him quite earnestly that Mimi lacked confidence.

  Yeah, right, and he was the Easter Bunny.

  Nearly two years had passed since he’d dispatched his sister to New York—ostensibly on the basis that it was a chance for her to learn first-hand about the day-to-day running of the Caine charitable foundation. He’d assumed that the geographical distance and the fact that she would be meeting new and—to his mind anyway—far more appropriate people, would finally bring an end to her incomprehensible and unfortunate friendship with Mimi.

  He’d been wrong.

  Gazing out of the window at the massed daffodils in the garden of his family’s London residence, he narrowed his dark eyes as he mulled over his sister’s upcoming marriage to Philip Hennessy.

  The news had been neither surprising nor unwelcome, but Alicia’s blithe announcement that she wanted Mimi to be her maid of honour had been both. He wasn’t sure what had shocked him more: the fact that the two of them were still friends after so many months of separation, or the fact that his sister had chosen to keep their continuing friendship secret from him.

  No, that wasn’t fair.

  He was sure that if he’d asked about Mimi Alicia would have told him anything he wanted to know. But of course he hadn’t asked. He hadn’t wanted to hear Mimi’s name—much less have to face the memory of the last time he’d seen her, or his own part in what had been the narrowest of narrow escapes. It had been easier to assume that out of sight meant out of mind.

  Only, despite his concerted efforts to make her so, Mimi Miller was never far from his mind. How could she be? Every time he saw his father he was reminded of the damage caused by her crooked relatives—and, worse, those few hours when he’d let his basest needs overrule his duty to safeguard his family.

  He breathed out slowly against the knot in his shoulders.

  As usual, when he let himself think about his sister’s twenty-first birthday party, he felt the same see-sawing mix of anger and regret. And, as usual, he told himself that it had been a one-off, a momentary lapse of good sense, that he had been caught off-guard by her looking like that, looking at him like that. For up until that moment in time he’d seen Mimi simply as a child.

  Afterwards he had tried to tell himself that it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t chosen to be related by blood and marriage to a pair of crooks, and he hadn’t blamed her for what her stepfather and uncle had done.

  His lip curled. No, the blame for that lay squarely with him—for introducing Charlie Butler and Raymond Cavendish to his father, for not seeing beneath their urbane charm.

  Yet he couldn’t completely absolve Mimi of
responsibility for her actions.

  Even on the night there had been a couple of moments when he’d felt uneasy—something he’d put down to her being Alicia’s friend...a friend of the family. Later, though—too late, in fact—it had become humiliatingly clear that she had played a part in her family’s deception.

  She had almost played him—so very nearly played him.

  And incredibly, despite everything else that had happened, it was that betrayal—her betrayal—and his stupidity that still hurt the most now.

  He felt the knot in his shoulders tighten.

  At first he’d wanted it to be a coincidence, but her rapid, unexplained exit from the party had confirmed her guilt in his mind, and as events unfolded he’d stopped looking to exonerate her.

  Later, for his father’s sake and for the reputation of his family, he’d tried to deter Alicia from continuing their friendship—only, of course, his soft-hearted sister had ignored his advice.

  He felt a surge of irritation. Not with Alicia. He knew she didn’t live in the real world. But he did. And it was bad enough having led the wolves to his door once. Now it turned out that he’d failed again by not insisting she cut all ties with Mimi.

  The tension in his shoulders was inching down his spine.

  He knew exactly how it would play out if the media ever found out that his sister was BFF with the stepdaughter and niece of the men who had looted the Caine employees’ pension funds. It wasn’t going to be hard for them to find it out if Alicia made Mimi her maid of honour—and that was why he’d just had to tell his sister that it couldn’t happen.

  His jaw tensed.

  Hearing her so upset had hurt. But the alternative—having Mimi centre-stage at the wedding and in the photos—was just not an option. So he’d used his father’s ill-health and the potential damage to the family name to get her to change her mind, and it had worked, but he’d had to come up with something to soften the blow.

  He’d done that too, only it was not ideal—far from it. For it would mean letting Mimi Miller back into his life. But he was going to see it through for his sister’s sake.