The Inherited Bride

“You don’t think I feel anything, Isabella?” Adham’s voice was soft, as tightly reined in as the rest of him.

He drew his finger over the line of her jaw, his dark eyes intent on hers, and then she felt the first crack in his façade. A slight tremor in his hand unveiled fear in his eyes.

“I feel. Things I have no business feeling. I want things that are not mine to covet.”

About the Author

MAISEY YATES was an avid Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance reader before she began to write them. She still can’t quite believe she’s lucky enough to get to create her very own sexy alpha heroes and feisty heroines. Seeing her name on one of those lovely covers is a dream come true.

Maisey lives with her handsome, wonderful, diaper-changing husband and three small children across the street from her extremely supportive parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of Southern Oregon, USA. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch and then heading into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic urban locales.

THE INHERITED

BRIDE

MAISEY YATES

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Mom, Dad, this one is for you. Thank you for always believing in me. If everyone had parents like you, the world would be a better place.

CHAPTER ONE

HE WASN’T Room Service. That was for sure. Princess Isabella Rossi looked up, way up, at the tall, forbidding man who was standing in the doorway of her hotel room. His muscular frame was displayed to perfection by the tailored black suit he was wearing. But the suit was where any semblance of civilization ended.

His expression was inscrutable, his dark eyes blank, his lips flattened into a firm line. His squared jaw was clenched tight, the tension mirrored in his stance. His golden skin was marred with scars in some places; his cheek, the exposed part of his wrists.

She swallowed hard. “Unless you have my dinner stashed on a cart somewhere, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to come in.”

He uncrossed his arms and held his hands out, as if to show that they were empty. “Sorry.”

“I was waiting for Room Service.”

He tapped the top of the door with his open palm. “They make peepholes in these doors for a reason. It’s always wise to check.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember that.” She made a move to close the door, but it didn’t budge. He was propping it open with his shoulder. She tried to close it again, this time putting more weight behind it. The door still didn’t move, and neither did he. His expression did not betray even a hint of strain.

“You’ve caused a lot of big problems for quite a few people. Including your security detail, who now find themselves without jobs.”

Her heart sank into her stomach. He knew who she was. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more upset by that. Relieved he wasn’t here to hurt her, but … but he was here to take her back. Either to Umarah or to Turan, and she didn’t want to go to either country. Not now. Not when she’d fallen so short of everything she’d wanted to accomplish.

One night of freedom. That was all she’d gotten. A glimpse of the world as she would never know it.

“Do you work for my father?”

“No.”

“You work for Hassan, then.” That should have been obvious. Judging by the faint accent that tinged his deep voice, she should have guessed that Arabic was his native language. She should have known that he was in league with her fiancé.

“You’re in breach of contract, amira. You should have known the Sheikh could not allow such a thing.”

“I didn’t imagine he would be thrilled about it, but …”

“You did a very foolish thing, Isabella. Your parents were concerned that you’d been kidnapped.”

The guilt she’d been holding at bay for the past twenty-four hours made her stomach feel tight. But with that tightening came a strange fluttering sensation that seemed to grow stronger when she looked into those dark, fathomless eyes. She looked down. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“And what did you think would happen when you disappeared? That everyone would go about their daily lives as if nothing had happened? You did not believe that your own parents would be frantic with worry?”

She shook her head mutely. In truth, she’d known her family would be upset, but she hadn’t considered that they’d worry about her. Be angry, yes. She’d imagined they would be angry. That they might be afraid the sheikh would want to renege on their bargain if there was a chance she’d been out in the big bad world long enough to become damaged goods, or something.

“I … no. I didn’t really think they would be worried.”

He shifted his focus to the hallway, to a young couple standing a few doors down, kissing passionately against the wall. “I am not going to continue this discussion in the hallway.”

She sneaked a glance at the passionate duo and her face began to burn with embarrassment. “Well, I can’t let you in!”

He looked past her and into the simple room. “Slumming it?”

“No. This is a perfectly nice hotel. Anywhere too upmarket and—”

“They would have known who you were. And they would have wondered.”

She nodded mutely.

“I will be coming in,” he continued. “With your permission or without it. One thing you’ll learn about me very quickly, Princess. I don’t take orders.”

“There are two months and ten days until the wedding,” she said, desperation clawing at her. “I need … I need this time.”

“You should have considered that before you ran away.”

“I didn’t run away. That makes me sound like a naughty child.”

“Then what would you call it?” He looked down the long corridor, back at the couple, whose activities had heated up in the past minute, and then back at her. “I’m waiting to be let in. I find I’ve been extremely patient.”

She could tell from the fierce glint in his eyes that he absolutely would push his way into the room if she didn’t allow him access. She could tell by all of the barely harnessed power of the body, the strength that was radiating from him, that he was only seconds away from doing it.

A sound that could only be described as ecstatic came from the couple in the hall, and Isabella jumped slightly, releasing her hold on the door.

“Wise decision.” He stepped past her and into the small hotel room.

He stood rigid, his posture straight, his expression neutral. He was handsome. Extremely handsome. She realized that now. She’d been so struck by the immensity of his power, the energy that seemed just to radiate from him, that she hadn’t had the time to really look at him. But she was looking now.

Now that his mouth was relaxed she noticed that his lips were full and well shaped, even with the small scar running through a corner of his mouth. He had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Nearly black, and so intensely focused that she felt as though he could see everything about her—as if he was looking into her. He was the sort of man who evoked a visceral reaction that was impossible to fight or ignore; one she didn’t fully understand, and one she definitely didn’t know what to do with.

“I wasn’t letting you in. I was startled, that’s all.” she said, hoping she sounded at least mildly imperious. She was a princess; she ought to be able to do imperious.

“I did tell you I was coming in regardless of whether you wanted me to or not.”

She cleared her throat and focused on a spot just past him. Everything seemed to slow down a bit as she looked at him. Even the air felt thicker, making breathing a labored thing. He was just so. He was a force rather than a person. “Yes, well, now you’re in.”

“Yes. I am. And we’re leaving.”

She took one step backward. “I’m not going with you.”

One black eyebrow shot up. “You think not?”

“Are you going to carry me out of here?”

He shrugged. “If I have to.”

The thought of being touched, held closely by this man, this stranger, was entirely off-putting.

She took another step backward, trying to put some space between them. “I don’t really think you would do that.”

“Make no mistake, Princess, I would. You have a binding agreement with the High Sheikh of Umarah, and I have been charged with bringing you to him. That means you’re coming with me one way or another. Even if I have to carry you kicking and screaming down the streets of Paris.”

She stiffened, trying to look composed, trying to hide the nerves that were making her hands shake. “I don’t think you would do that either.”

He leveled that intense focus onto her. “Keep issuing challenges and we’ll see just what I will and won’t do.”

He appraised her slowly, his gaze lingering on her curves. Something about the way he looked at her, the way his eyes glittered in the dim light, made her feel like she was exposed, like she was undressed.

Her heart rate sped up, something unfamiliar and hot racing through her bloodstream, making her pulse soar. Her heart was pounding so loud she was almost certain that he must hear it. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm herself, trying to slow her racing blood.

She looked away from him, trying to grab a shred of sanity that might be lying around somewhere in the corner of her mind. And her eyes locked onto the big bed that was in the corner of the room. It made her think of the lovers out in the hall. Blood roared into her face, and she could feel her heart beating in her temples, her cheeks so hot they burned.

Focus!

She had to get her thoughts together, had to figure out a way to get rid of this man and get back to the business of living her life before she had to sacrifice it all in the name of duty. The heavy diamond on her finger, delivered by courier six months ago, was a constant reminder of the fact that there was a timer ticking against her freedom. And this man was completely destroying her only hope of actually living for herself.

For two short months she wanted a life that was her own. It was a simple thing, and yet everyone seemed hell-bent on making sure it didn’t happen. When she’d actually asked her father if she could have some time his disdain for her request, his immediate refusal—as though it didn’t even bear considering—had been horrible. So she had set out to make it happen on her own. She couldn’t go with him. Not now. Not when she was so close.

There had to be a way to get him on her side … a way to turn the tide in her favor. But she didn’t know anything about men. Not really. The most exposure she’d had to> a man had come in the form of her older brother, Max. She had seen how her sister-in-law interacted with him, though—how she managed to appeal to Max’s softer side when no one else could.

Although, she had her doubts that this man had a softer side. But she had to do something.

Taking a breath, she stepped forward and put her hand lightly on his arm. His eyes clashed with hers and a bolt of sensation shot to her stomach. She pulled back quickly, the heat from his skin lingering on her fingertips.

“I’m not ready to go back yet. I have two months until the wedding, and I really want to take this time to … to myself.”

Adham al bin Sudar fought down the flash of anger that rose in him. The little vixen was trying to tempt him, to use seduction to get her way. The soft touch against his sleeve hadn’t been an innocent action, but a calculated maneuver. One designed to stir a man’s blood, make it pump hotter, faster. And when the woman doing the touching looked like Isabella Rossi, how could it not?

He thought, not for the first time, that his brother was an extremely lucky man to have her as his future bride. Although Adham would have been happy enough to take her as a temporary mistress, rather than a wife.

The woman was beautiful, with full, tempting curves and a face that was flawlessly lovely. Her beauty was not subjective, but universal. Her high, classic cheekbones, small upturned nose, and perfectly formed lips were designed to turn heads wherever she went. Even with a total absence of make-up her beauty was enough to rival that of any of the world’s great beauties.

She didn’t have the fashionable, streamlined look of a supermodel, but he had always preferred his women to look like women. And Isabella Rossi certainly had the shape of a woman. He allowed his eyes to linger on that shape for a while, to appreciate the full, rounded curve of her breasts. Breasts that would lead even the most disciplined of men into sin.

Immediate disgust filled him as he realized what he was doing, blocking out the flood of desire that was making his body harden and his heart race. She was his brother’s fiancée. Forbidden in every way. Even looking was not permitted.

Adham’s brother had asked him to bring her back for the wedding—had begged him to bring him his future bride so that his honor would not be compromised. That was what he was here to do—though he was beginning to doubt her suitability. A selfish, spoiled child with no sense of duty would not make an appropriate sheikha for his country. But Isabella Rossi came with the allegiance of an entire country—a trade and military alliance that would not come from any other bride. That made her essential, irreplaceable.

“Going off on your own was extremely foolish,” he bit out, calling on all his willpower to squash the desire that had risen up in him. “Anything could have happened to you.”

“I was safe,” she said. “I’ll continue to be safe. I’ll—”

“You will do nothing but come with me, amira. Do you honestly think I would leave you to yourself just because you put on a pretty smile and ask nicely?”

Her lush lips parted in shock. “I … I had hoped that—”

“That you would not be held to your word? If the people of Umarah were to find out that their sheikh’s bride has deserted him his honor would be compromised. He would be shamed in the eyes of his people. You might be deemed an unsuitable choice. And if that were to happen, what would become of the alliance? Jobs, money, security, all meant to benefit our people, gone.”

She bit down hard on her lower lip, her blue eyes glistening. Annoyance surged through him—a welcome replacement for the sudden physical attraction that had hit him the first moment he’d seen her. He didn’t have the patience to deal with emotional women. Emotion in general was useless to him. Although he had a feeling Isabella was employing it as a manipulation technique.

She would soon learn that he was the wrong man to try to soften with tears. Tears meant nothing to him.

“I wasn’t going to run out on the wedding. I just wanted some time.”

He noticed the way she turned the large solitaire diamond ring around on her slender finger as she spoke. She was still wearing the ring Hassan had sent her—a possible sign that she was telling the truth.

“Time’s up, I’m afraid.”

The devastation in her eyes would have affected most people. He felt nothing. Nothing but contempt. He’d seen far too much of the world to be swayed by the tears of a poor little rich girl, bemoaning her marriage to an extremely wealthy royal.

“I didn’t get to see the Eiffel Tower,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t get to see the Eiffel Tower. I took the train from Italy, and I just arrived here this evening. I wasn’t going to go out by myself at night. I didn’t see anything of Paris that I wanted to.”

“You’ve never seen the Eiffel Tower?”

She blushed, her sun-kissed cheeks turning a deep rose. “I’ve seen it. But seeing it from a moving motorcade and actually going to it, getting out and experiencing it, are two very different things.”

“This isn’t a holiday, and I’m not here to give you a guided tour. I’m taking you back to Umarah as soon as possible.”

“Please—just let me go to the Eiffel Tower.”

It was a simple request. One that could be easily accommodated. And, while he wasn’t moved by her drama, he wasn’t cruel. It would also make it much easier to remove her from the hotel if she came of her own free will. He wouldn’t hesitate to remove her by force, but it was not his preference.

“In the morning. I give you my word I will let you stop there on the way to the airport. But you have to come with me now, and not kicking and screaming.”

“And you’ll keep your word?”

“Another thing you will learn about me, Princess: I’m not a nice man, and I’m not particularly good company, but I do keep my word. Always. It is a matter of honor.”

“And honor is important to you?”

“It’s the one thing no one can take from you.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. He inclined his head in agreement. “And if I don’t go with you …?”

“You’re going with me. Kicking and screaming optional—as is sightseeing.”

“Then I suppose that means my choices are limited.” She chewxed her bottom lip.

“That’s understating it; your choice is singular. The method, however, is up to you.”

She blinked furiously, her shoulders sagging in defeat, her eyes averted as if she didn’t want him seeing the depth of her pain. Although he was certain that in truth she wanted nothing more than for him to witness just how distressed she was.

“My bags will have to be packed. I’ve just gotten all of my things put away.” She didn’t make a move toward the closet, she simply stood rooted to the spot, looking very sad and very young.

“I’m not doing it for you,” he said sardonically.

Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed a delicate rose. “I’m sorry. You work for Sheikh Hassan, and I assumed.”

“That I was a servant?”

She mumbled something he thought might have been a curse in Italian, and stalked over to the closet, sliding the lightweight white doors open.

“I don’t know how you meant to survive in the real world when you still expect someone else to deal with your clothes for you, Princess.”

Her shoulders stiffened, her back going rigid. “Don’t call me that anymore,” she said without turning.

“It’s what you are, Isabella. It’s who you are.”

A hollow laugh escaped her lips. “Who knows who I am? I don’t.”

He let the comment pass. It wasn’t his job to stand around and psychoanalyze his brother’s future wife. His duty was to return her unharmed, untouched, and he intended to do that as soon as possible.

He had other matters to attend to. He had geochemists actively searching for the best place to install a new rig, looking for more oil out in the middle of the Umarahn desert. He liked to be there on site when they were making final decisions about location. He didn’t micromanage his team, he hired the best. But during major events he liked to be on hand in case there was a problem.

Facilitating the growing Umarahn economy was only half of his job. Protecting his brother, and their people, was his utmost concern. He would give his life for his brother without hesitation. So when Hassan had informed him that his bride had gone missing Adham had offered to ensure she was found. He was now regretting that offer.

She whipped around to face him, a pile of clothing, still on hangers, draped over her arms. “You could help me.”

He shook his head slightly, watching as she began to awkwardly fold the clothing and place it in her bag. By the third or fourth article she seemed to develop some sort of method, even if it was unconventional.

“Who packed for you in the first place?”

She shrugged, the color in her cheeks deepening. “One of my brother’s servants. I was supposed to leave his home this morning. I just left a few hours earlier.”

“And went to an undisclosed location?”

She narrowed her eyes, her lips pursed in a haughty expression. “What did you say your name was?”

“According to the report I read on you, you’re a very smart woman. Perfect marks in school. I think you know perfectly well that I didn’t offer you my name.”

Her delicate brow creased. “I think that, considering you know everything about me from my marks in school and I shudder to think what else, I should at least know your name.”

“Adham.” He left out his surname, and in so doing his relationship to Hassan.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, folding a silk blouse and sticking it in the bottom of a pink suitcase. She paused mid-motion. “Actually, it isn’t, really. I don’t know why I said that. Habit. Good manners.” She sighed. “Because it’s what I was trained to do.” She said it despairingly, her luscious mouth pulled down at the corners.

“You resent it?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, firmly. “Yes, I do.” She took a breath. “It’s not nice to meet you, Adham. I wish you would go away.”

“We don’t always get what we wish for.”

“And some of us never do.”

“You’ll have the Eiffel Tower. That has to be enough.”

CHAPTER TWO

ADHAM’S penthouse apartment in Paris’s seventh district wasn’t at all what she’d expected from a man who worked for the High Sheikh. It was patently obvious that he had money of his own, and likely the status to go with it. He was probably a titled man—another sheikh or something. No wonder he’d looked at her as if she was crazy when she’d expected him to collect her things.

That had been mortifying. She hadn’t meant to be rude. It was just that she was used to being served. She’d always devoted the majority of her time to studying, reading, cultivating the kinds of skills her parents deemed necessary for a young woman of fine breeding. None of those skills had included folding her own clothes. Or, in fact, any sort of household labor.

She’d always considered herself an intelligent person; her tutors and her grades had always reinforced that belief. But the realization of what a huge deficit she had in her knowledge made her feel … it made her feel she didn’t know anything worth knowing. Who cared if you knew the maximum depth of the Thames if you didn’t know how to fold your own clothes?

The penthouse didn’t provide her with any more clues about the man who was essentially her captor. Unless he really was as sparse and uncompromising as the surrounding décor. Cold as brushed steel, hard as granite. Arid, like the desert of his homeland. That seemed possible.

She looked around the room, searching for any kind of personal markers. There were no family photographs. The art on the walls was modern, generic—like something you might find in a hotel room. There was no touch of personality, no indication as to who he might be, what he liked. That just reinforced her first theory.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, without turning his focus to her.

“Can I get something besides bread and water?”

“Is that what you think, Isabella? That you’re my captive?”

She swallowed hard, trying to move the knot that had formed in her throat. “Aren’t I?”

Wasn’t she everyone’s captive? A puppet created by her parents and trained to respond to whoever was pulling the strings.

“It depends on how you look at it. If you try to walk out the door I can’t let you. But if you don’t make another escape attempt we can exist together nicely.”

“I believe that makes me a prisoner.”

Her words made no difference to him. It was as though he took a hostage every day of the week. The only change in his facial expression was the compression of his mouth. The scar that ran through his top lip lightened slightly at the pull of his skin, the small flaw in his handsome face only reinforcing the warrior image her mind had created for him.