Maya Blake - The Sultan Demands His Heir

For the third time in a disgracefully short period her face heated up again. ‘I’m sorry, did you say something?’ she addressed Fawzi, unwilling to catch another mocking glance from Sultan Al-Ameen.

The private secretary looked a little perturbed at being addressed directly in the presence of his master. He stood straighter. ‘His Highness said you are free to go. I am to escort you to your chauffeur.’

Knowing it would be impolite to leave without acknowledging him, Esme reluctantly redirected her gaze to the Sultan. ‘I... I’m...’

One sardonic brow elevated, the look he sent her haughty enough to freeze water. ‘You pick a curious time to become tongue-tied, considering your desire to leave has been granted. The next time we meet will be in the courtroom when you testify on behalf of your father. Let us hope you’re not as inarticulate under cross-examination. I would hate to see all the effort you made to come to the aid of your father wasted. Goodbye, Miss Scott.’

The dismissal was as final as the drive back to the hotel was quick. Even after she was safely back in her hotel room, Esme still couldn’t force her heartbeat to slow. She’d been summoned, judged and found severely wanting.

And yet the righteous anger she’d felt in Zaid Al-Ameen’s presence was no longer present. Instead, awareness from his touch clung to her skin, her mind supplying an alarmingly detailed play-by-play of the moment he’d stopped her from falling. With each meticulous recounting her body grew hot and tight, her breathing altering into shameful little pants that drew a grimace of disgust at herself. To distract her out-of-control hormones, Esme turned on the TV and channel-surfed, only to come face to face with herself in a replay of her interview. Forcing herself to watch, she experienced a twinge of remorse as her words echoed harsh and condemning in the room.

The stone of unease in her belly hadn’t abated hours later when she was in bed, attempting to toss and turn herself into sleep. Sleep came reluctantly, along with jagged, disturbing dreams featuring a breathtakingly hypnotic figure with brandy-coloured eyes.

The intensity of the dream was so sharp, so vivid she jerked awake.

Only to find it was no dream. There was someone in her room.

Esme’s breath strangled in her lungs as she battled paralysing fear and scrambled upright. The dark, robed figure outlined ominously against her lighter curtains tensed for a watchful second then launched after her the moment she scurried off the bed. Her feet tangled in the sheets, ripping a cry from her throat. She sensed rather than saw the figure rounding the bed towards her as she pushed at the sheets and crawled away on her hands and knees. A few steps from the bathroom she attempted to stand.

A strong, unyielding arm banded her waist, plastering her from shoulder to thigh against a hard, masculine body. He lifted her off the floor with shocking ease, her feet kicking uselessly as he evaded her efforts to free herself. Acute terror finally freeing her vocal cords, Esme screamed.

The large hand that clamped over her mouth immediately muffled the sound.

Terrified by the ease with which the intruder had caught and restrained her, Esme fought harder. She wrapped her fingers around the thick wrist and was attempting to pry him off when she felt his warm breath against her cheek.

‘Calm yourself, Miss Scott. It is I, Zaid Al-Ameen. If you wish to remain safe, you need to come with me. Right now.’

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