In The Sheikh's Marriage Bed

Sarah Morgan is a rising star in Harlequin Presents® and we hope that you’ll continue to enjoy her stories.…

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SARAH MORGAN trained as a nurse and has since worked in a variety of health-related jobs. Married to a gorgeous businessman who still makes her knees knock, she spends most of her time trying to keep up with their two little boys, but manages to sneak off occasionally to indulge her passion for writing romance. Sarah loves outdoor life and is an enthusiastic skier and walker. Whatever she is doing, her head is always full of new characters and she is addicted to happy endings.

Proud, passionate, primal— Dare she surrender to the sheikh?

Find rapture in the sands in Harlequin Presents®

Look out for more stories of passion under the dry desert sun, coming soon!

Next month:

Favorite author Penny Jordan revisits the kingdom of Zuran for the final installment of her Arabian Nights saga:

Possessed by the Sheikh

#2457

Coming in June:

The Sheikh’s Virgin

by Jane Porter

#2473

In the Sheikh’s Marriage Bed

Sarah Morgan

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

PROLOGUE

‘YOUR orders have been carried out, Your Highness—the debt to your people has been repaid in full.’

Staring out of the window of his office, Zak dragged his gaze away from his favourite Arab stallion who was causing havoc in the yard below.

Cold anger shimmered in his night-black eyes as he surveyed the man who had been his most trusted aide for almost two decades. ‘Not quite in full. The debt owed to me still stands. Was everything delivered to the Englishman?’

The man swallowed and bowed his head. ‘As instructed, Your Highness—’

Zak detected something in the other man’s tone and instantly his gaze sharpened. ‘He is attending the meeting, Sharif?’

Sharif paled slightly. ‘I have been informed that he is sending his sister in his place,’ he offered hesitantly, stepping backwards as he saw the flash of raw anger in the prince’s eyes.

So the Englishman had once again avoided his responsibilities, Zak mused grimly, flexing his broad shoulders in an attempt to release the mounting tension in his powerful frame. Sometimes he wished that Kazban were not such a progressive state. At times like this he would dearly love to return to his primitive, tribal roots and dispense the punishment that Peter Kingston so richly deserved.

Sharif cleared his throat. ‘Given the nature of the meeting, it is a somewhat surprising decision on his part. One wonders what sort of man sends a woman to fight his battles?’

‘A coward.’ Zak’s hard mouth tightened. By refusing to travel to Kazban, the Englishman had cleverly avoided being held accountable for his actions. ‘But then we already knew that Peter Kingston is a coward. So it hardly comes as that much of a surprise that he is prepared to sacrifice his own flesh and blood in an attempt to save his own skin. He is sending her into the lions’ den. I hope she is wearing armour.’

His chief adviser cleared his throat delicately. ‘He is doubtless hoping that you will show her leniency,’ he ventured and Zak gave a bitter laugh.

Had Peter Kingston known anything of his past then he wouldn’t have made such a serious error of judgment. His feelings towards the female sex were anything but gentle and forgiving. Life had taught him in the most brutal way possible that all women were manipulative and self-seeking and since learning that lesson he now treated them with the cynical contempt they deserved.

His dark eyes hardened. ‘The man is little more than a thief, although I admit a clever one. He has stolen the savings of innocent, hard working citizens. In his country that may be considered acceptable behaviour, but in Kazban fortunately we are not so foolish. In this instance I feel no inclination towards leniency.’

Sharif clasped his hands in front of him. ‘It is true that his actions would have caused untold hardship for many had it not been for your generous intervention, Your Highness. In my opinion your people should know that it is you who has—’

‘That is not important.’ Zak interrupted him, a frown touching his black brows as he paced the full length of his office, his tread muffled by the beautifully woven rug that covered the floor of the room. ‘What is important is that we send a clear message to others who might be tempted to follow the same dishonest course as Kingston. Clearly he anticipated reprisals and this is the reason that he has chosen not to attend the meeting himself. He is not only dishonest but he takes no responsibility for his own actions.’ His tone was contemptuous. ‘I intend to make an example of him.’

Sharif took a deep breath. ‘Sending his sister in his place is a clever move on his part. It is no secret that you enjoy the company of women, Your Highness,’ he offered tactfully and Zak’s eyes narrowed.

‘In my bed, Sharif,’ he said softly, his arrogant dark head lifting slightly as he surveyed his trusted adviser. ‘Outside my bed, women have no place in my life.’

He would never, ever trust a woman again.

Sharif shifted slightly, his sharp gaze suddenly sympathetic. ‘And yet your father is becoming more and more insistent that you marry, Your Highness.’

Zak gritted his teeth. ‘I am well aware of my father’s wishes,’ he said coldly and Sharif sighed.

‘You will doubtless say that I am exceeding my responsibilities,’ he ventured hesitantly, ‘but as one who has known and loved you from a boy, it saddens me to see you alone when you should be settled with a family.’

‘As you rightly say, you exceed your responsibilities.’ Zak’s tone remained icy but his dark gaze softened slightly as they rested on the older man. His adviser was one of the few people whom he would trust with his life. ‘Do not waste your emotions, Sharif. It is my choice to be alone but I’m well aware that my single status is becoming a thorn in my father’s side.’

And he was going to have to address the issue.

But not by marrying the woman that his father had in mind.

When the time came—and he was grimly aware that the time was upon him—he would select his own bride and his choice would be made totally without sentiment.

His hard mouth tightened. ‘Returning to the subject of Miss Kingston—’

Sharif shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m sure the Englishman believes that you would never hurt a woman.’

Zak gave a slow smile, but there was no trace of amusement in his handsome features and when he spoke, his voice was dangerously soft. ‘There is more than one type of pain, Sharif.’ There was the pain of love. And there was the white-hot agony of betrayal. ‘We both know that any woman connected to Peter Kingston is hardly likely to be coated in virtue. If he chooses to send a woman into battle, hoping that I won’t have the stomach for a fight, then he’s going to be disappointed.’

He turned his head and his gaze rested on the ceremonial sword that lay across his desk. Reaching out a hand, he lifted it, his long fingers closing over the ornate handle, the weight of the weapon both comforting and familiar in the palm of his hand.

His eyes traced the length of the deadly blade and a violent rush of emotions threatened to disturb his usually iron self-control.

Betrayal.

With a swift, athletic movement of his wrist he moved and the deadly blade sliced through the air with lethal accuracy.

Sharif took a hasty step backwards.

Like everyone else in the state of Kazban, he knew the extent of the prince’s skill with that particular weapon. His Highness was an expert swordsman.

The woman had better be strong, Sharif thought, feeling an inexplicable sympathy for her as he watched the prince carefully replace the weapon on the desk, his handsome face hard and unforgiving. If Peter Kingston had wanted to cross someone, then he had made a very poor choice with Crown Prince Sheikh Zakour al-Farisi.

A very poor choice indeed.

CHAPTER ONE

‘HIS HIGHNESS will see you now, Miss Kingston. You will remain standing at all times and speak only when you are spoken to.’ Stern-faced and unsmiling, the man in robes bowed his head slightly, his eyes suddenly wary. ‘I should warn you that His Highness is a busy man. There are many demands on him and he bears much responsibility. For your own sake I advise you not to waste his time.’

Emily swallowed hard, suddenly questioning the impulse that had made her volunteer to take her brother’s place.

She’d wanted to help.

To do something for him, for a change, instead of always being in the role of little sister.

Peter had done so much for her—

And she’d thought that a few days in Kazban would be exciting. An adventure in her otherwise boring, overprotected existence. But she was beginning to doubt her abilities to carry out the task in hand.

She was beginning to wonder whether her presence might make things worse for him.

Whichever way you looked at it, Crown Prince Zakour al-Farisi was not going to like what she had to say.

Her brother owed him money. That was why the prince had ordered this meeting.

And the way things stood at the moment, Peter wasn’t in a position to pay.

‘If I go, Em, I’ll be thrown into jail.’

At the time she’d thought that her brother was exaggerating. Surely the state of Kazban couldn’t be that brutal in its laws? Coming on behalf of her brother to beg for more time had seemed a perfectly reasonable and straightforward action when she’d been in England.

But now she was here, she wasn’t so sure—

And the severe expression on the face of the prince’s adviser wasn’t doing anything for her confidence.

Forcing herself to stay calm, she rose to her feet, trying to forget the little she’d heard about the next ruler of the state of Kazban. So what if the man had a brilliant mind, amused himself with scores of women and was reputed to have a block of ice where his heart was supposed to be? None of it was of any relevance to her. She really didn’t care that half the women in the world were supposedly in love with the man.

All she had to do was deliver her brother’s message and then leave.

But what if she said the wrong thing?

It was all very well dreaming about adventure but the truth was that she taught five year olds to read and write and play nicely in the playground. She had no idea how to talk to a man who negotiated billion dollar deals before breakfast. Her brother must have been mad to allow her to come.

Or desperate.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that Peter was in some sort of trouble. When she’d tried to question him about the debt, he’d assured her that he just had a slight cash-flow problem that would soon be sorted out and that there was nothing for her to worry about.

But hadn’t he always protected her?

Remembering just how tense her brother had seemed the last time they’d met, she suddenly wished she’d questioned him more.

Her heart thudding painfully in her chest, she followed the man down what seemed like miles of marble corridor, trying not to feel intimidated by the glittering, exotic interior of the Golden Palace of Kazban. At any other time her inquisitive teacher’s mind would have been buzzing with questions relating to the history of this ancient building but the sight of armed guards in almost every doorway squashed her natural curiosity.

Telling herself that the guards were there because this was the home of the royal family, she averted her eyes from the guns and swords. They were just part of the uniform. And she had no reason to feel uneasy. No reason at all.

She was simply the messenger.

So why did part of her suddenly want to turn and run?

Run back through the dusty streets of Kazban, back through the mysterious, sun-baked desert that she’d been driven through on the way from the airport, back home to the tiny English village where she lived.

Back to loneliness—

She pushed the thought away quickly. She had a job to do. For the first time in her life, her brother needed her and she wasn’t going to let him down. Not after everything he’d done for her since their parents had died.

Emily struggled to keep pace with the man who had collected her from the entrance to the palace. ‘Could you slow down a bit, please? I only brought one pair of shoes with me and they’re not suitable for sprinting on marble floors,’ she muttered, wondering where they were going. ‘I don’t want to see the prince with a broken ankle.’

In fact she’d just decided that she didn’t actually want to see the prince at all—

The man glanced at her with something that looked like pity in his eyes and Emily felt sicker and sicker.

All her instincts were telling her that this had been a bad, bad decision.

Why was everyone so afraid of Zak al-Farisi?

Was he really as heartless and ruthless as his reputation suggested?

Reminding herself firmly that there was good in everyone, she fought a battle with the panic that was threatening to swamp her.

The man stopped outside a door flanked by yet more guards and then entered, indicating that she should follow.

The panic suddenly won the battle.

‘You know, I’m not sure about this. It’s really my brother who should be here. If the prince is that busy then maybe I should just go home—’ she said hopefully and then broke off, hustled by the man into yet another enormous room.

She stopped dead and her mouth fell open as she gazed around her in stunned amazement.

The room was beautiful. And exotic.

Light shone in from the numerous curved windows, illuminating an exquisite tapestry that hung on the far wall of the room.

‘Oh—!’ Intrigued, Emily peered closer, her eyes taking in every tiny detail. It depicted a horse race and for a moment she stood still, enchanted by the wildness of the horses and the life that pulsed from the tapestry. It was so skilfully woven that Emily could almost hear the thud of hooves and the snort of animals caught up in the excitement of the race.

Her awed gaze slid from the tapestry to the low sofas that nestled in one corner of the room, upholstered in gold silk and piled with layers of cushions in rich colours.

In the other corner of the room was an enormous desk, elaborately carved and providing a home for a state-of-the-art computer.

The contrast between the exotic and the functional made Emily blink. Whoever occupied this room obviously used it as an office.

She glanced round her and suddenly wished that she’d worn something different. The blue linen dress she’d chosen was cool and practical but it certainly wasn’t the latest designer fashion. But then her teacher’s income didn’t exactly fund an elaborate wardrobe and because she worked with small children most of her clothes were chosen for practicality rather than style.

‘Excuse me.’ She tried one more time to communicate with the man. ‘Can you tell me when I’m going to meet the prince? You know, if he’s really that busy perhaps I should just go—’

Maybe there was still time to get out of this. She could phone Peter and tell him that she’d changed her mind.

Instead of answering the man dropped to his knees on the beautifully woven rug, leaving her to stare at him in astonishment.

‘You wish to leave, Miss Kingston?’ A dry voice came from directly behind her. ‘Is our hospitality really so lacking that the moment you arrive in our country, you suddenly wish to leave it? Or is something else fuelling this desire for flight? The knowledge that your sins are about to catch up with you, perhaps?’

‘Sins?’ She whirled round to face the speaker and felt her eyes lock with those of a stranger.

Her mouth dried and her heart started to bump heavily against her chest.

She was held prisoner by the force of that hard gaze, the lethal glitter in his dark eyes holding her captive. Intense sexual awareness ripped through her and she ceased to breathe. She felt light-headed and shaky, her whole body reacting with such shockingly powerful excitement that she couldn’t move or think. It was only when he finally strolled forward that she was able to free herself from his grip.

He must have been standing there when she’d entered, but she’d been so overwhelmed by her surroundings that she’d failed to notice him.

How? she wondered helplessly. How had she failed to notice him? He dominated the room with his powerful presence, strolling across the room with a cool authority that couldn’t be ignored.

If ever a man was designed to tempt a woman to stray from the straight and narrow, it was this one. He was dressed in a superbly tailored suit, his appearance conventional enough at first glance. But despite the outward display of Western sophistication, she would never have placed him in the traditional confines of a business institution. Had she been asked to choose a setting for him, she would have placed him on the ocean as a pirate.

Or in the desert.

His looks and his presence matched the wildness of the landscape that she’d passed on her way to Kazban.

Everything about him was blatantly, savagely masculine from the gleaming jet-black hair smoothed back from his tanned brow to the perfect symmetry of his staggeringly handsome face. His nose was strong and aristocratic and his shoulders broad and powerful.

He was shockingly, breathtakingly handsome and Emily felt her limbs weaken.

Dizzy from lack of air and shaken by her own uncharacteristic response, she sucked in several breaths and tried to pull herself together while the man who had brought her to the room scrambled to his feet and shot her a black look.

‘You should bow in the presence of the prince,’ he hissed and she looked at him in confusion.

‘The prince? Well, I will, of course, but—’ She broke off as understanding dawned and hot colour flooded her cheeks. ‘Oh, my goodness—’

She swallowed and bowed quickly, trying to rectify her mistake, painfully aware of that glittering dark gaze following her every move.

She should have guessed, of course. He was much younger than she’d expected and dressed in Western style, but power throbbed from every line of his impressive physique and everything about him shrieked of royalty. His carriage, his manner and the slightly cynical gleam in his midnight black eyes.

‘I—I’m sorry—’ She stammered her apology awkwardly and bowed her head again to be on the safe side. ‘But you are partly to blame. You don’t dress like a prince and you didn’t introduce yourself.’

There was a muffled sound of alarm and disbelief from the man who had led her to the room but the prince’s cool gaze didn’t flicker.

‘And how am I supposed to dress, Miss Kingston?’ he enquired smoothly and Emily shivered as his deep, masculine voice slid over her bones like melted chocolate. He had the blazing self-confidence of someone who’d been on the receiving end of female adoration for his entire life.

‘Well like—like—an Arabian prince,’ she finished lamely. ‘You know—robes and things…’ Her voice tailed off and she closed her eyes briefly and cringed slightly. She sounded so stupid.

The prince obviously thought so too if his sardonic expression was anything to go by. ‘Do you think this is some sort of pantomime,’ he observed silkily, one dark eyebrow lifting in mockery, ‘and that we should all be in costume?’

Without waiting for her reply he turned to the man who had been listening to the exchange with undisguised horror and snapped out a few words of a strange language.

The man made a hasty retreat, throwing pitying looks at Emily on the way out.

‘I—I’m sorry for the confusion, Your Highness,’ she mumbled, her cheeks burning with mortification.

How could she have made such a stupid mistake?

‘There was no confusion on my part, Miss Kingston.’

He strode over to the window and stared down into the courtyard, momentarily distracted by something that was happening below him.

Emily just stared.

He was spectacular. Her eyes fixed on those thick dark lashes, slid down the hard planes of his handsome face to rest on his darkened jaw, before sliding down still further to the bulk of his shoulders.

Why were only half the women in the world in love with him? she wondered dizzily. What was the matter with the other half? Were they blind?

Or were they wise?

Suddenly aware that she was staring danger in the face for the first time in her boring, sheltered life, she took an involuntary step backwards, trying to shake off the shockingly hot thoughts that crowded her brain.

Appalled and confused by her own feelings, she hoped fervently that the man couldn’t read minds.

‘You must be wondering why I’m here—’

The prince turned suddenly, the expression in his eyes so chilly that she literally shivered.

‘I have not invited you to speak.’

Emily’s blue eyes widened in consternation and hot colour flooded her cheeks. Then she gave a little frown, dragging her eyes away from that cold gaze and telling herself that whoever he was, it didn’t give him the right to be rude.

Her eyes fixed on his broad shoulders and she wondered helplessly why on earth he bothered with guards. He looked as though he could take on an entire army single-handed if the whim so took him. His suit was beautifully cut but there was no disguising the width of his shoulders or the muscles of his long, powerful thighs.

He was the very embodiment of masculine perfection and she felt her mouth dry as his arrogant gaze slid over her in a leisurely appraisal.

‘Come closer,’ he ordered harshly and she found herself obeying without question, almost hypnotized by the force of his presence.

At five feet ten she was used to staring most men directly in the eye and she just hated the fact that she was so tall, but standing face to face with this man she had to tip her head back to look at him. For the first time in her life she felt delicate and feminine and she found herself struggling to breathe, swamped by his overpowering masculinity.

‘So.’ He stood with his legs spread apart and his head thrown back, each sweep of that arrogant gaze draining her fragile confidence. ‘For your sake, Miss Kingston, I hope that you are here to repay your brother’s debt.’

There was something in his tone that made Emily wish fervently that she’d stayed in England.

‘I’m not exactly repaying it today,’ she began and his mouth tightened ominously.

‘And yet that was the purpose of this meeting. Your brother was to repay the money owed.’

She gazed into those hard black eyes, searching for a hint of softness or compromise. Finding none, she licked her lips, suddenly finding it hard to speak. ‘Well, it isn’t quite as simple as that.’

‘It is precisely as simple as that.’