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

Returning to the hotel, Liv discovered their suite had been transformed. Fresh flower arrangements covered the living room tables while the dining room table had been turned into an elaborate dinner buffet with another huge white-and-purple floral arrangement at the centerpiece.

Soft music played from hidden speakers and a uniformed waiter finished prepping the beverage table, while another moved around the room, fluffing pillows, dimming table lamps and lighting floating candles.

Liv stood in the hall, awed and more than a little bit intimidated by the transformation. In the shimmering candlelight, the faded tapestries on the wall, the dark wood furniture and the rich exotic fabrics covering the couch and chairs seemed almost otherworldly, and Liv realized all over again how far from home she was. How far from anything she knew or understood.

The butler appeared and bowed. “Your attendants are here,” he said to Olivia. “They are waiting to help you dress.”

Liv shot Khalid a perplexed glance. “My attendants?”

“Miss Bakr thought you might feel more confident tonight if you had help preparing for the party. She sent her favorite stylists. One to do your hair, and the other to … to …” His voice faded and for a moment he looked nearly as perplexed as Liv. “I actually don’t know what she’s for, but Miss Bakr insisted you have her.”

Not entirely reassured, Liv slowly entered her bedroom, not sure what she’d find. Two Egyptian women waited for her. They’d been deep in conversation when Liv arrived but they broke off abruptly to greet her.

“We don’t have much time,” the hairdresser said briskly, steering Liv straight into the bathroom, where she’d already laid out hair appliances on the marble counter. The curling iron, flat iron and hot rollers were all plugged in, heating, while the blow dryer lay close by, along with a half-dozen bottles of lotion, pomade and hair spray.

“Simple,” the other woman said, taking one of Liv’s hands in her own to examine her nails. “Tonight it is all about you. Simple. Beautiful. Elegant.”

“A goddess,” the hairdresser added. “Tonight, you shall be a goddess.”

The hairdresser urged Liv to sit down on the chair they’d pulled into the bathroom and while she turned her attention to Liv’s clean but tousled blond hair, the other one started in on a pampering manicure.

While they worked she snacked on fruit and cheese and crackers Khalid had sent to her. A glass of champagne also arrived but she didn’t dare touch it. She hadn’t eaten much in days and feared the alcohol would go straight to her head. However, the assorted cheeses, sweet apricots, grapes and savory flatbreads were delicious and Liv ate virtually everything on her plate.

By the time her hair and nails were finished, Liv felt unusually relaxed and ridiculously spoiled. To have not one, but two, women fuss over her while she snacked on cheese and crackers struck her as incredibly decadent, but she wasn’t in a position to argue. Tonight was important. Khalid had made that very clear and she was going to do everything in her power to make a good impression on the visiting officials.

“And your clothes have now arrived,” the manicurist said. “We’ll just get you into your dress, make sure everything fits exactly so and then leave you to your party.”

Her party.

The suggestion was laughable but Liv didn’t laugh. She shivered, suffering from a sudden fit of nerves.

She was scared. Nothing could go wrong tonight. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—go back to Ozr.

Fortunately her attention was drawn to getting dressed. She was to wear a beautiful ivory-pleated gown, the ivory shimmering with threads of gold. A gold collar encircled her throat, the collar the width of her hand and heavy with gold and jewels. The dress was long, touching the tips of her champagne-colored high heels.

The hairstylist had curled her hair in loose waves, and then pinned strategic pieces up so that her hair looked like a golden waterfall with loose tendrils around her face. The manicurist wasn’t to be outdone. She swiftly applied a deft application of makeup, including sooty eyeliner, a swirl of black mascara and a soft golden blush on Liv’s cheeks, and a touch of golden gloss on her lips.

“You look perfect,” the manicurist said, stepping back to examine her handiwork. “So fresh and young and charming, just the way a princess should.”

Liv smiled gratefully even as she heard the door open and close. From the sound of voices she knew that the guests had arrived and her smile disappeared as her stomach flipped … a maddening somersault that had her clutching the sink.

“It’s going to be fine,” the hairstylist said, patting Liv on the back even as Liv leaned over the sink, trying to catch her breath and calm her queasy stomach. “Everything is fine, and you are going to make His Highness very proud. Now go. Enjoy your party.”

Her party. A party where she had to pretend she was engaged to Prince Khalid Fehr, Sheikh of the Great Sarq Desert. How could she do it? She was just a girl from Pierceville, a girl who’d never had more than twelve dates in her entire life.

Her stomach rose up again in protest. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t go out there, not if the Jabal secretary of security was here….

But then she thought of her mother, and Jake, and the sheikh himself. They were all counting on her, depending on her to be strong.

And she could be strong. She would be.

Khalid watched Olivia enter the room, the long, loose pleated ivory and gold gown emphasizing her slender frame and delicate beauty. With her head up, her shimmery blond hair slid along her bare shoulders, the curls long and loose like the pleats in her dress.

She’d been pretty in her passport photo and troubling in prison, but entering the room she was simply stunning and Khalid watched her, by turns surprised, proud, hungry, possessive.

The gold arm rings on her slim biceps hid the bruises on her upper arms. Her fair hair, curled and twisted back from her face, revealed her elegant features, her pale, flawless complexion and her astonishing goddesslike composure.

He knew she didn’t want to be here tonight, knew she’d been terrified to face the secretary of security from Jabal, but one wouldn’t know it looking at her. Her expression was serene, her blue gaze focused, intelligent, poised.

Beautiful, he thought, she was beautiful and so small and fragile and not of this world.

And she was his.

His.

Khalid’s body grew hot, tight, his chest constricting with emotions he didn’t know he could feel.

He wanted her, and he’d protect her. Forever.

“She doesn’t wear a head-covering or robe,” the Jabal official said under his breath, turning an accusing eye to Khalid.

“She doesn’t have to,” Khalid answered evenly. “She’s here with me.”

“But you parade her like a—”

“Careful,” Khalid interrupted. “She is my future bride, and I have vowed to protect her with my life. I will not allow anyone to insult her.”

The secretary of security clamped his jaw together, his nostrils flaring, and for a moment he couldn’t speak and then he choked, “If she really is your betrothed, when is this wedding going to take place? Because it is unlawful for an unmarried man and woman to be together like this, unchaperoned—”

“But she is chaperoned. Her attendants are in her room now.” The corner of Khalid’s mouth lifted sardonically. “Perhaps you’d like to meet her attendants personally, Mr. Al-Awar?”

One of the Egyptian dignitaries interjected. “That is not necessary, Your Highness, your word is good enough for us, and may I extend our warmest congratulations on your coming nuptials?”