Sarah Holland - Desert Destiny

Cover Page

Epigraph

Dear Reader Dear Reader, Welcome to Desert Destiny! I wrote it when I was twenty-eight and working as a theater actress. By day I was hurtling across a desert with a sexy Arab sheikh, and by night I was a Victorian heroine pursued across the stage by a Spanish nobleman! I’m now thirty-six but I’ve been writing for Harlequin since I was eighteen and that’s exactly half my life. It’s a wonderful real-life Harlequin Destiny for me that the twenty-fifth birthday of Presents® should fall this year. So I hope you’ll understand how much it means to me when I say, “Happy birthday, Presents,” and here’s to another twenty-five years of drama, passion and romance! Love, Sarah Holland

Title Page Desert Destiny Sarah Holland www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Desert Destiny! I wrote it when I was twenty-eight and working as a theater actress. By day I was hurtling across a desert with a sexy Arab sheikh, and by night I was a Victorian heroine pursued across the stage by a Spanish nobleman! I’m now thirty-six but I’ve been writing for Harlequin since I was eighteen and that’s exactly half my life. It’s a wonderful real-life Harlequin Destiny for me that the twenty-fifth birthday of Presents® should fall this year. So I hope you’ll understand how much it means to me when I say, “Happy birthday, Presents,” and here’s to another twenty-five years of drama, passion and romance!

Love,

Sarah Holland

Desert Destiny

Sarah Holland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

THE sheikh towered over her, a whip in one savage hand. She knelt at his feet, sweat on her parted lips. The hot desert sun beat down on them, and as the music rent the air she inched away from him on her knees, the whip cracking mercilessly on the sand near her sprawling thighs.

The harem silks she wore were peacock-blue. Sun-kissed hair tumbled in gold curls around her ravishing face, her belly left bare and her full breasts pouting in a golden cleavage. She was covered in gold…anklets and belly-chains and bracelets of bells, and a necklace flashing at her throat.

The shiekh’s whip tore the silk on her thigh and she gasped, staring up at him. He laughed and reached for her, his strong hand catching her wrist as he dragged her to her feet and inflicted a punishing kiss on her mouth.

Suddenly, the sound of hoof-beats rent the air.

‘What the…?’

She was turning. They were all turning, and as they stared in shock across the golden ocean of desert they saw the sands clouding up around a pack of horses riding fast towards them.

Led by a man in white robes, the horsemen thundered nearer, and as Bethsheba stared she saw the gleam of gold on the leader’s head-dress and knew he was a sheikh.

‘Leave this to me!’ Chris shouted from behind the cameras.

But Bethsheba barely heard. Her heart was thudding louder than the horses’ hoofs and her eyes were riveted on the sheikh: the real sheikh, the man who rode towards her with narrowed hawk-like eyes and a mouth that could strike passion into the heart of any woman.

He was upon them now. The white stallion danced beneath him as he brought it to a halt, sand flying up as though to clothe him in the aura of a desert god.

‘I am Sheikh Suliman El Khazir of the Auda Khazir!’ His voice rang out in dark authority. ‘And this land is mine! Who gave you permission to be here?’ His English was perfect, only the slightest trace of Arabic turning his voice throaty.

‘Sir——’ Chris—ever the diplomat—stepped forward with a deep salaam ‘—my name is Chris Burton. I am in charge here. Please accept my apologies for trespassing. I had no idea I needed permission. I assumed——’

‘I see clearly what you assumed, English.’ The sheikh’s hard mouth flickered into a cruel smile. ‘But you were mistaken. This is the land of the Auda Khazir, and I am their master.’

Yes, Bethsheba thought, breathless: that dark face held the stamp of power. Deeply tanned and hard-boned, he sat astride that Arab stallion with aristocratic ease. His eyes were narrowed, hawk-like and black, and they flicked now, suddenly, in Bethsheba’s direction, the look in their dark depths making her body quiver with awareness.

‘Then may I again extend our apologies?’ Chris Burton said with a charming smile. ‘And perhaps ask your permission to continue filming here?’

The shiekh slid his dark gaze insolently over Bethsheba’s body without even glancing at Chris. ‘What exactly,’ he asked, studying Bethsheba’s full breasts and bare belly, ‘are you filming?’

‘A pop video,’ Chris told him as Bethsheba’s heartbeat thudded faster. ‘We work in the music industry.’

He looked at Chris coolly. ‘The girl is a singer?’

‘Yes.’ Chris nodded. ‘A very famous singer. Her name is Bethsheba and she——’

‘Sheba…?’ The shiekh said under his breath, staring at her.

‘Bethsheba,’ Chris repeated, struggling to win over the desert leader, ‘a very big star in the West. She’d sold millions of records and-—’

‘I care nothing for records,’ said the sheikh, and nudged his white steed into motion, walking him over to Bethsheba, a look of dark intent in his eyes.

Involuntarily, Bethsheba backed in alarm.

‘Don’t back away from him!’ Chris muttered to her.

Pulses leaping, she stood still and looked up into the face of Sheikh Suliman El Khazir. The dark eyes watched her, black and heavy lidded and intent.

‘So,’ he said under his breath, ‘you are truly the Sheba?’

‘You—you have heard of me?’ she asked huskily.

‘Oh, I have heard of you, bint!’ he said softly, so softly that for a moment she wondered if he had said it at all. His mouth was curved suddenly in a smile, and she felt a shiver run through her body as though a premonition had touched her soul when he’d spoken.

Then, the sheikh turned, strong dark hands touching the leather reins as he wheeled the Arab stallion in a perfect circle and moved back with regal arrogance towards the cameras, towards the crew, towards Chris Burton.

‘Very well,’ he said, head lifted, ‘you may continue to film on the land of Auda Khazir.’

A sigh of relief hushed through the gathered crew.

Thank you very——’ Chris began gratefully.

‘But there is a price, English!’ interrupted the sheikh with a slow, soft drawl, and he leant forward, one strong arm resting on the pommel of his saddle.

Chris blinked blond lashes rapidly. ‘Of course!’ The diplomatic mask was nailed in place as he smiled. ‘Name it!’

The dark hawk-like eyes flicked suddenly to Bethsheba. ‘I will hear your songbird sing.’

There was a little silence, and under his strong, arrogant gaze she felt, to her humiliation, her nipples become prominently erect beneath the blue silk harem bodice she wore. The dark eyes flicked to her face, met her gaze, and made her heart skip a beat.

‘Sing?’ Chris looked baffled for a moment, staring. ‘You want to hear her sing? Well, sure…of course…I mean——’