Jane Porter - Midnight at the Oasis - His Majesty's Mistake

“Having fun now, are you?”

A hot light flickered in his silver eyes. “No. Not at all. So help me understand what it is you want from me. Do you want pity? Sympathy? Poor Emmeline, poor little princess, she’s been so mistreated—”

“Go to hell,” she gritted, walking past him into the living room. He was so appallingly chauvinistic. So arrogant and self-righteous that she couldn’t even believe this was the same man she’d kissed last night. And last night had been lovely. For a moment last night she’d felt something beautiful and good but all the goodness was gone, leaving her shaken and disillusioned.

“Where are you going?” Sheikh Al-Koury demanded, his sharp voice followed her into the living room.

“To finish packing. Your Bedouin tribesmen sound delightful compared to you.”

WHEN Makin Al-Koury decided to act, he acted swiftly. And this time he’d acted so swiftly Emmeline’s head still spun.

She couldn’t quite believe she was seated on his jet as it taxied down the runway preparing for takeoff only thirty minutes after she’d told him his Bedouin tribesmen sounded delightful.

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say. But then, Emmeline had struggled with containing her emotions ever since she was a child. One day she would learn control. One day she’d bite her tongue.

But until then, she’d suffer the consequences as she was suffering now.

Because she wasn’t just flying to Brabant. She was being accompanied home by Sheikh Makin Al-Koury who had decided that she couldn’t be trusted to make it home to see her parents. No, he’d decided to escort her all the way to the d’Arcy palace and leave her in her parents’ care.

What a prince.

The jet was picking up speed, racing down the narrow black runway they’d landed on just twenty-four hours before.

It was déjà vu. Everything was as it had been—they were buckled into the very same seats they’d sat in on the way to Raha. She felt the same emotions, too. Anxiety. Dread. Fear of the unknown.

Emmeline felt Makin look at her as she choked on a gasp when the jet lifted off the ground in a dramatically steep ascent.

“Nervous flyer?” he asked.

“No.” She forced herself to take a deep breath. She wasn’t a nervous flyer, but she certainly hadn’t expected to spend the rest of the day in Makin’s company. It had been a tough morning and now it would be a very long day. “Just a little queasy from takeoff.”

He hesitated, before asking gruffly, “Do you need anything?”

Her head snapped up in shock, lips parting slightly at his audacity. Did she need anything? Was he serious?

He was hauling her—by force—across the Middle East to Europe, to return her—against her will—to the royal palace in Brabant, and he wondered if she needed anything?

This. This was exactly what she didn’t get. This is exactly what she didn’t understand about him.

If he was so angry with her—and he was—then why did he care about how she felt? Why ask her about her comfort, or pretend to care about her well-being?

“Aren’t your first guests arriving this afternoon?” she answered, suppressing her confusion, realizing she’d never understand him.

“Yes.”

“You won’t be there.”

“I am fully aware of that.”

“I thought this conference was so important to you.”

“It is.”

“Then shouldn’t you be home, welcoming everyone, instead of flying twenty-nine hundred miles to haul me before my parents?”

“I thought it prudent to get you out of Raha before my guests arrived.”

She saw his expression and understood. “You thought I’d be disruptive.”

She saw that she’d hit the nail squarely on the head.

He didn’t trust her. He thought she was a loose cannon, causing trouble wherever she went.

A weight settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe. He was no different than her parents. He looked at her and saw what he wanted to see instead of who she really was.

Chest tight, Emmeline glanced away, out the window at the sea of gold sand below. Let Makin think what he wants , she told herself. It doesn’t matter … he doesn’t matter …

And yet in a small part of her heart, she could admit that maybe he did.

It had happened when he’d kissed her.

In Makin’s arms she’d felt not just safe, but … desirable. Beautiful. And she never felt beautiful as a woman. She never felt like a real woman … and she hadn’t, not until Makin kissed her, bringing someone to life inside of her.

The kiss had been the most amazing thing she’d ever felt. And she’d wanted more.

“I’m not dangerous,” she said hoarsely, unable to hold the words in, or hide the hurt.

“You didn’t say dangerous, you said disruptive.”

“I wouldn’t have embarrassed you.”

“I couldn’t have taken the chance.”

“What about your guests? You’re not even going to be there now to greet them as they arrive.”

“My friend Sultan Nuri of Baraka has promised to do the honors.”

Emmeline knew Malek Nuri, had seen him and his wife, the European princess Nicolette Ducasse, at a number of social events over the years. They were a gorgeous couple and so very happy together. “Does he know why you’re not there? Does he know that you feel compelled personally to hand me over to the executioner?”

“You are so dramatic.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“As well as emotional.”

Blood surged to her cheeks. “And you are so critical.”

He studied her from beneath lowered lashes. “I hit a nerve, didn’t I?”

“I’ve been criticized for being emotional my entire life.”

Makin had been angry when they’d boarded the plane but now, seated across the aisle from Emmeline, he found it impossible to remain upset with her. He didn’t know if it was because she bore such a strong resemblance to Hannah, or if it was because Emmeline was an enigma, but he was intrigued by her and wanted to know more about her. “Who criticizes you?”

“My parents, particularly my mother.”

“What’s her complaint?”

“She has many.” Emmeline wrinkled her nose. “But the chief one seems to be my excessive emotion.”

“Excessive … how?”

She ticked her mother’s complaints off on her fingers. “I’m sensitive. I talk fast. I get nervous. I cry at the drop of a hat.”

His lips twitched. “Do you cry at the drop of a hat?”

“Depends on the hat.”

He grinned, amused, liking this Emmeline. She was unpretentious. Funny. Direct. “Have you and your mother always had a strained relationship?”

“Since birth.”

“Why?”

“I wish I knew.”

She suddenly sounded very serious and his brow furrowed. She’d changed into jeans and a white peasant blouse before the flight, and right now with her hair loose and no makeup, she looked young and fresh. Appealing. Like the kind of girl you’d want to take home to meet your parents, and he suddenly wondered what his parents would have thought of Emmeline d’Arcy. They’d known of her, of course, but due to his father’s health, they’d never met her.

“I was emotional as a boy,” he said abruptly. “Sensitive. I’ll never forget my mother pulling me aside when I was around eight or nine and telling me I was a big boy now and too old to cry.”

“Do you remember why you cried?”

“My father had fallen out of his wheelchair. I was scared.”

“But that would be frightening.”

“I would see worse things.”

“Sounds like you had to grow up at quite a young age.”

He shrugged. “My mother needed me. It was important I be strong for her, and my father.”