Carol Marinelli - Christmas Bride For The Sheikh

He liked her being there.

Flo made him laugh and that in itself was unusual for there had been little laughter of late.

As a rule, Hazin offered no breakfast with bed that might encourage an overnight guest to stay longer, but he came out and dried himself with a towel and found he had not changed his mind—he wanted her here.

‘Do you want breakfast?’

‘That would be lovely,’ Flo said, and sat up as he picked up the bedside phone and ordered breakfast for two.

She did not know how to tell Hazin that she knew who he was and wished that she had got it out of the way last night.

Now she stood watching him dry off. There was a bruise on his chest that her mouth had made and another on his neck. He was muscled and toned and his length was rising from his thigh. He watched her watching it.

‘Did I miss a bit?’ he said, holding the towel out to her. She wanted to take it, to dry his glistening skin and then wet him again with her mouth. Their want and desire was so matched, and her body so willing, but she had to clear things up first.

‘Hazin,’ Flo said, declining the towel, and she swallowed nervously as he resumed his leisurely drying off. ‘Last night, I came—’

‘I know.’

‘I mean I came to Dion’s in the hope...’ Her words were coming out wrong, Flo knew that, but she just didn’t know how best to tell him. So she simply did. ‘I knew that you’d be here.’

The towel stopped in mid-stroke of his thigh.

‘Meaning?’ he said, and then gave a derisive laugh. ‘You know who I am.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Did you get your photo of me?’

‘Hazin!’

‘Or are you off to sell your story now?’

‘Please listen—’

‘No, you listen.’ He pulled on his clothes with some difficulty for the angry words had fired him, and as he attempted to tuck himself in, words hissed out through his teeth. ‘Do what you want. I don’t care...’

‘I’m a friend of Maggie’s.’

‘Who?’

‘The woman you met on the yacht...’

‘You mean the one who bribed me?’

‘No.’ Flo knelt up on the bed, shaking her head, and then she pulled the sheet up to cover her for everything had vanished in a heartbeat—the intimacy, the carefree nakedness, the laughter, all that they had so recently found swept away by her careless words.

‘Hazin...’ She took a breath, and though her mouth was open she did not know what to say.

Clearly Maggie had stayed away last night for a reason. Perhaps she had changed her mind about telling Ilyas that she was carrying his child?

And now certainly wasn’t the time or place to tell Hazin!

‘Get out,’ he said, and his voice whipped the tense air.

‘Hazin, what happened last night had nothing to do with Maggie. I didn’t come to the bar intending to sleep with you.’

He was too used to this, Hazin thought as he marched through to the lounge and retrieved her underwear and dress that they had so happily disposed of last night. He walked back to the bedroom and tossed them to her on the bed.

‘Get out!’ he said again.

But then he changed his mind, for he could not wait however long it would take her to dress for Flo to be gone. ‘Actually, I’m going to go,’ he told her. ‘I want you out of here by the time I get back. If you’re not, I’ll ask Security to have you removed.’

She knew how effective his security was.

He grabbed his wallet and phone and pocketed his keys.

‘Stay for breakfast at least,’ he sneered. ‘You certainly earned it.’

* * *

Hazin kicked at the kerb as he walked down the street.

It was grey, raining and cold.

His phone kept ringing and he was in no mood to talk to anyone. It couldn’t be Flo because they hadn’t exchanged numbers yet pulled it out to check.

It was Ilyas.

Ilyas was persistent and Hazin was in just the mood for a row.

‘What the hell happened to you last night?’ Hazin shouted by way of greeting when he took the call.

‘We need to speak.’

‘Well, had you turned up as arranged we would have.’

‘Hazin, this is important.’

* * *

They met at a café and drank strong coffee.

Hazin could feel his brother’s eyes sweep over his neck and the bite mark Flo had left. ‘I don’t need another lecture.’

‘I’m not here to lecture you,’ Ilyas said.

‘And I don’t need to be reminded that the yachts and jets will be pulled. I can afford to pay for my own.’

Hazin was not idle.

After Petra’s death he had returned to England with the intention to further his education and attend university, as had always been his aim. He hadn’t been able to focus, though, so had started to dabble in property.

Whatever Hazin dabbled in did well.

He did not need Royal privilege to survive; in fact, without it Hazin thrived. Yes, he had been given an amazing start but he had a good eye and even if he had been born to a beggar he still would have done well.

His parents knew it and loathed that fact.

‘Hazin,’ Ilyas said, ‘I have already told you that I am not here to lecture you. I have something important to tell you—yesterday I spoke with our father in front of the Palace elders and I told him that things are changing—’

‘They will never change.’ Hazin dismissed the notion. ‘Not while he is King.’

‘I have told him that there are to be no decisions made without my approval and that there is to be a transition of power to me.’

Now Hazin looked up. ‘He would never agree to that.’

‘I gave him no choice but to agree. I made it clear that if he refused then I am prepared to take it to the people,’ Ilyas said. ‘Would I have your support?’

‘You don’t need it.’

‘I want it, though.’

Hazin looked at his brother.

A stranger.

He wanted to believe change could happen, yet could not really see it taking place. Yet there was a stir of relief within Hazin that his brother would be stepping up, an intrinsic trust that Ilyas would get things right, yet he did not know where that feeling came from for they had been raised apart. ‘You have my support.’

‘I want you beside me.’

‘Oh, no.’ Hazin shook his head. He would support his brother in his ventures but he would not be returning home.

‘Hazin, there has been a lot of damage done by him. If things are to be put right it’s going to take a lot of work to win back people’s trust. You returning to Zayrinia would speak volumes.’

‘You expect me to upend my life on the premise that things may change?’

‘They shall change. And there is something else I am here to tell you,’ Ilyas said. ‘I am going to marry in two weeks’ time.’

‘So much for change.’ Hazin shrugged and took a drink of his coffee. Ilyas had always refused to marry, insisting the harem more than sufficed. ‘You simply gave in to him.’

It had infuriated their father that Ilyas had refused to marry. He had long wanted to select a bride for his son and for there to be a Royal wedding.

At the age of eighteen Hazin had received his exam results. He had worked incredibly hard and the results had been outstanding.

His father hadn’t even commented.

Instead of attending university in England, as had been Hazin’s dream, finally he’d found something he could do that might please his father the King.

There was going to be a Royal wedding—Hazin’s.

Petra had been chosen as his bride and they had first met at the wedding itself.

Both had been eighteen and Hazin could well remember looking out from the balcony at the cheering crowds and wondering what the hell he had done, while trying to hide it from his bride.

Ilyas dragged him from his introspection. ‘You remember Maggie?’