PROLOGUE
His hands were what she noticed first.
And not simply because he may well have held her life in them.
No. They were, quite simply, the most beautiful hands she’d ever seen. Tanned with long fingers, short nails, they somehow seemed to convey confidence and power despite the fact they were not adorned with jewellery or especially well cared for.
Steph had failed to mention his hands.
Nor had she mentioned the fact that her brother, Sheikh Radiz Zamin, supreme ruler of Fasiya, was absolutely, mind-bendingly, paradigm-inducingly gorgeous.
Miranda pressed her back against the cold clay wall of her jail cell.
This was not the time to go ga-ga over Steph’s older brother.
It didn’t matter that he was almost Minotauran in size and scale – from the broad shoulders that were set square, to the sheer imposing height of the man.
Surely he stood almost seven feet tall. Even dressed as he was, in stately white and gold robes, she imagined his physique to be firm and hard, muscled and strong.
His skin was golden brown like toffee, and his hair was the colour of night.
His cheekbones were high and pronounced, like two slashes in his symmetrical face.
His eyes were rimmed in curling black lashes, and they were a shade of green, flecked with copper and gold.
His expression was unmistakable, for he was fiercely furious.
That was what she needed to focus on.
That, and the situation she now found herself in. Not his perfect skin tone, or even white teeth. Nor his stubbled, square jawline and exotic fragrance
He spoke in his own language, quiet and low. She frowned in confusion. Steph had taught her a few phrases in her native tongue, though it had all evaporated at the precise moment of her arrest.
He hadn’t been addressing her, anyway. A scuttle in the darkened corner of the cell reminded her that she was not alone. The guard with the thick black brows who had looked at her as though she were a hideous mutant was still watching her.
As the servant slipped through the doorway, like a lizard contorting his frame, he paused to give her one last withering glare of complete disdain.
The gate was closed, and the sound of a key in the lock rang through the silence.
Miranda was alone with him.
Locked in a cell.
And her throat seemed to have a lump the size of a lemon lodged in its middle.
She could only watch as he strode purposefully towards her. Somehow, even in the din of the cell, he managed to look utterly regal and pristine.
He stopped just in front of her, his face set in the same angry lines. Up close, he smelled of sandalwood and spices – an intensely masculine fragrance that was making her already overwrought senses work overtime.
“Tell me your name.” His words were accented in a way that Steph’s weren’t.
Then again, Steph had lived in London for several years.
Miranda had never seen eyes like his before.
Green eyes might be uncommon, but they still existed.
His weren’t simply green. They were moss and flame and emerald and starlight.
She stared into them now, her own expression unknowingly inquiring; sensually inviting as she appraised him with obvious interest.
He exhaled a sigh of barely concealed frustration. “Your name?” He repeated quietly.
Miranda lifted a hand to her blonde plait and toyed with the ends nervously. “M-M-Miranda Hunter.”
He compressed his lips. “British?”
She nodded. The lemon was back. Speech was not possible.
And though it was the last thing she should have cared about, she felt embarrassed that she was meeting him like this.
While she was dressed in the same crumpled clothes she’d been in for the three days since royal guards had arrested her in the palatial lounge area of Steph’s city apartment.
He wasn’t looking at her black dress, though. His eyes were drawn, by her involuntary movement, to her hair, so pale it was like the sands of the desert on a sun-drenched morning.
He dragged his gaze back to her face; as white as a sheet from fear. Good. She should be afraid. The crime she’d committed was a serious matter. And no one took it more seriously than he. “You do realise you have been arrested on charges of breaking into a royal residence?”
She nodded jerkily. She hadn’t broken in, though. She’d had the access codes.
“And that you were discovered with over two million pounds worth of jewellery and bonds on you?”
She nodded again. But she had taken only what Steph had asked her to retrieve. That wasn’t theft; it was stupidity.
He shook his head. “And that these charges carry extremely heavy penalties?”
She nodded miserably. She knew all this. Steph had made it perfectly clear to her before she’d got on the plane. But Miranda, silly, optimistic Miranda; na?ve, sympathetic Miranda, had promised she would do whatever she could to help her best friend.
“Have you nothing to say in your own defence?”
Miranda bit down on her full lower lip. What could she say? She’d given Steph her word. Miranda had promised she’d protect Steph’s secret, and she wasn’t about to break that promise just because she now found herself in trouble.
“I’m sorry?” She whispered throatily, her blue eyes wide and bright in her small, pixie like face.
He laughed! A sound of surprised mirth. “You are … sorry?”
She nodded.
“Do you mean to suggest you didn’t know what you were doing?” He stared down his patrician nose at her, his face thoughtful.
“Of course I knew what I was doing,” she muttered.
“So you are sorry you got caught,” he interpolated correctly.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she pressed her perfectly even, white teeth harder into her pillowy lower lip. The Sheikh’s eyes were drawn to the involuntary action. “Yes.”
He dragged his eyes away from her distracting pout. “And had you not been caught?”
She moved her fingers more quickly through her hair, so much so that it unravelled from the bottom of its plait and began to unfurl in loose, pale waves around her shoulders.
He strode to the small table in the centre of the room to put some distance between them. He was in grave danger of embarrassing his position by letting a simple thing like physical attraction distract him from his task.
A grey folder was on the worn, timber top.
He flicked it open with disdain and stared at a piece of paper.
“You were supposed to be on an aeroplane two days ago. If my guards had not been alerted to your presence in the royal apartment, you would be back in England by now, selling priceless Fasiyan jewels to fund your lifestyle.”
She gulped. He was right. She had organised a buy before flying to Fasiya, because Steph had insisted she couldn’t personally handle the transaction.
She’d told Miranda it would be too heartbreaking, to finger family treasures before disposing of them.
Much neater for Miranda to complete the transaction and provide Steph with the final sum of money.
Oh, God. Steph. She must have been beside herself with worry. The last thing Miranda had wanted to do was to add to Steph’s worries. But not arriving at the appointed time, or making any kind of contact, would have been an incredible stress to her friend.
“You have nothing to say to explain this?”
She shook her head. Would that she could! Whether it was the lack of sleep, or the lack of food, Miranda was finding it impossible to think clearly. “Can I… Would I be able to… have a glass of water?”
His gold-flecked eyes narrowed. “Do I look like a servant?”
She shook her head. “I just… I haven’t had anything to drink all day.”
She had thought he was furious before, but he seemed now to be radiating a spectacular white-hot rage. “Is this true?”
Before she could answer, he spun away from her and moved to the gate. He spoke quietly and firmly, and immediately a small army of prison staff appeared. She didn’t understand his words, but it was clear that he was very angry.
One of the guards broke from the pack and appeared less than a minute later, brandishing a tray.
“Diet, atta.” The Sheikh said firmly, stepping aside so that the short-in-stature guard could walk deferentially past and place the tray on the table.
Miranda tried not to look too desperate, but the sight of water and food broke through her resolves.
She moved quickly to the table and lifted the cup, her eyes silently thanking The Shiekh as she drained it entirely of its contents.
She lifted the jug, filled the cup again and once more drank it all.
She placed the cup on the table firmly. Fortified, she was better able to meet his eyes.
“Are you hungry?”
She was. She hadn’t eaten since… she couldn’t remember. They’d brought a sort of spiced gruel the night before, but it had made her feel ill, and so she’d ignored it. She nodded.
“Eat.”
Uncertainly, she reached forward and picked up one of the pastries. “Thank you.” Why was he being kind to her? His reputation preceded him. She knew from Steph, but also general opinion, that he was a tough and intimidating man.
“The jewels you stole were of particular value to me.”
She nodded, her eyes dropping.
“The apartment is heavily secured. The fact that you were able to breech it so well, without tripping any alarms, is…interesting. I would have said this kind of daring intrusion was impossible, but the facts would contradict such certainty.”
He nodded toward a small stool, indicating for her to sit. She didn’t, though she was tired and faint. Her refusal to be at ease earned a grudging flicker of respect in Radiz’s eyes.
Steph had given her all the information she needed to gain entry. She frowned. “Obviously I did something wrong. I mean, I must have tripped something.”
His smile was sardonic. “Are you looking for tips? So that you can avoid the same mistake in the future?”
She startled. “No. I only meant that security arrived just minutes after I got inside.”