Jane Porter - The Desert Sheikh's Innocent Queen - King of the Desert, Captive Bride

He didn’t answer and his silence terrified her. “Sheikh Fehr,” she pleaded. “Don’t tell me we have no other options. I can’t believe there aren’t any other options.”

“There is another option,” he said flatly. “And you’re right. It’s not a done deal yet. You can choose to return to Ozr—”

“To Ozr?” she interrupted, stunned. It’d been hell, sheer hell, locked up there. No sunlight, no bathroom facilities, no running water to speak of. “People die there all the time!”

“It isn’t a good place,” he agreed.

She bolted up from her chair, nearly upending her plate. “So why would you think I’d want to go back there?”

“Because as of now, those are your only two options. Marriage to me or a return to Jabal.”

She sank back down, her legs suddenly impossibly weak. Her gaze clung to his, trying to see, trying to understand if he was absolutely serious. “But you don’t want to marry me. There can’t be any possible benefit for you!”

His upper lip curled. “None that come to mind.”

“So why?”

His features hardened, his dark eyes almost glittering with silent anger. “What would you have me do? Let you rot in prison for the rest of your life? Tell your brother to be glad you’re in prison because you’re at least not dead?”

She dropped her gaze, her cheeks flaming. Jake would have been desperate, too. He’d always been so protective of her, the quintessential big brother. “You don’t have to do this. You didn’t ask for any of this—”

“Did you smuggle the drugs?” he demanded harshly, abruptly.

Her head jerked up. “No.”

His shoulders twisted. “Then I have to do it. If you are innocent, how do I stand by and do nothing? How do I explain to your brother that your life has no value? That his love for you means nothing here? How do I live with myself knowing that all your lives have been laid to waste over someone else’s mistake?”

“You’re one of those men with a hero complex,” she said, feeling desperation hit. “I’ve read about people like you. Heroes are ordinary people who do extraordinary things—”

“I’m not a hero,” he interrupted roughly. “But I did go to Jabal and you are here now, and we’ve got to get through this.”

“But marry …” Her voice faded and she stared at him with disbelief. “It seems so extreme, so … impossible.”

His dark head, with his crisp, short black hair inclined. “It’s not what you’d choose, or what I’d choose, but it was the only way. Is the only way.”

“For now,” she said.

He said nothing, just stared at her.

She raised her chin, silently defiant. For now, she repeated, making a vow to herself that she’d never be forced into marriage, nor marry a man she didn’t love.

There was another way out of this. There had to be.

Turning her head away, Liv looked out the window again. The sun was beginning to drop in the sky and long gold rays of light haloed the Great Pyramid.

“Finish your tea,” Khalid said, his voice flat, authoritative. “Then we’ll go shop. We’re entertaining tonight and you’ll need proper clothes to impress our distinguished guests.”

She reluctantly tore her gaze from the window and glanced back at Khalid. “Who are we entertaining?”

“Friends from Jabal and Egypt who come to celebrate our engagement tonight.”

Liv’s blood froze, her insides turning to ice. “Jabal officials will be here tonight?”

“You don’t need to be afraid,” he answered. “They will see you, but they won’t speak to you, not without permission from me, and I won’t give them permission.”

She nodded once.

“But you will have to look happier than that tonight. Tonight’s a party, so finish your tea, and then we’ll go shopping.”

She stared at him in horror. A party tonight to celebrate their engagement? Jabal officials coming here, to their hotel? “I have to pretend we’re engaged?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you properly clothed, and I realize you can’t shop in your prison-issued robe. Dr. Hassan was kind enough to pick up something from an Egyptian designer we both know. She brought it with her, and it’s hanging in the hall closet now. I don’t know how well it’ll fit, but there’s a dress, coat, some undergarments and even a pair of shoes.”

“The point isn’t the clothes—”

“But it is,” he interrupted. “We’re having a small party here tonight and you have to be properly attired, so finish your tea and then get dressed as I’ve arranged to have a stylist meet us in an hour and traffic is going to be ugly.”

HAVING finished her tea, Liv studied herself in her bedroom mirror. The wheat-colored linen dress and matching coat hung on her slim frame, but the fabric was gorgeous, as was the warm color that reminded her of the pyramid outside.

She’d lost a lot of weight in the past month, her body more angular than attractive. She frowned and combed the brush through her hair, leaving the unruly white-gold strands tumbling loose past her shoulders.

Downstairs in front of the hotel, one of Sheikh Fehr’s black Mercedes sedans waited for them. Soon they were driving across Cairo to the First Residence Complex, which is where the luxury shopping mall was also located.

Khalid told her that the First Residence Complex, which included the First Residence Shopping Mall and the Four Seasons Hotel, was the most coveted real estate in Cairo and the place all the stars and sheikhs and heads of state hit when they visit the city.

“But you don’t stay there?” she asked, catching glimpses of handsome palm trees lining the broad cornice as the last glints of dying sunlight warmed the creamy paint on the building facades.

“I usually do when I’m here, but on the plane you mentioned your love of history and geography and I thought the Mena House would appeal to you.”

“You chose it for me?”

“Yes.”

Liv felt that painful tightness in her chest again, and, flustered, she dipped her head, surprised, flattered, but also confused. “Thank you.”

The car slowed before an elegant domed building. “We’re here,” Khalid said, as his driver came around to open the back door. “And I believe your personal shopper is here waiting for us, too.”

Indeed, a smart-looking woman in a dark suit stepped toward the car as the driver opened the door. She’d obviously been waiting for them and she bowed deeply to Sheikh Fehr, and gave a smaller bow to Olivia. “I’m Val Bakr,” she said, her long dark hair braided and pinned up. “I’m a personal shopper and I’m here to make wardrobing you as quick and efficient as possible.”

She led Liv through the shopping center to a selection of designer shops where she’d already selected dozens of outfits for Liv to try on. Khalid accompanied her in each shop, but he sat off to one side and silently observed the fittings.

By the end of the hour Liv had tried on a staggering array of dresses, skirts, slacks, jackets, blouses, gowns, shoes and coats. Raffia totes were added to the pile of clothes, along with small clutches, swimsuits, belts, hats, scarves, and even robes and nightgowns.

The clothes were stunning. Cotton and silk white trousers, off-white patent pumps, a jade-green crocodile belt, a cotton cardigan with real pearl buttons. The rainbow-hued Louis Vuitton bag got its color from pretty leather buttons adhered with a tiny gold ball. The green Valentino heels had a rhinestone bow. The sea-foam green silk chiffon dress had sweet ruffles at the neck and then a high-waisted belt covered in semiprecious stones.

Khalid didn’t even hand a credit card. He just nodded at the pile and asked for everything to be sent to him at the Mena Hotel and then he took Olivia’s arm and walked her back to his car.