Page 8 of Desert King's Forbidden Temptation

‘Your burden is heavy. Tell me, what is it? I promise, it will change nothing, Mother. Nothing of importance.’

What a fool he’d been then! So arrogant, so self-assured. He hadn’t understood that he was standing on a shifting piece of earth, that his place in Savisia was subject to any force that might exert itself, at any point. He’d crouched beside his mother as she relayed the truth of his birth to an unknown mother, in a foreign country. There’d been an accident when he was just a baby; he’d been badly hurt, his family—two parents and a brother—had died, leaving him alone in the world.

The Sheikh and his Sheikha had found him on a routine tour of the hospital. His father had not been the ruling Sheikh, but only the younger brother. There was no plan for him to inherit the throne and what they did in their private life was exactly that—private. Years of infertility had meant his mother had suffered miscarriage after miscarriage. She was broken-hearted, facing a childless life, and yet here was a baby, all alone in the world, who needed her, desperately.

‘I loved you from the moment I saw you, darling, and I knew, somehow, that the woman who’d given birth to you would have been grateful, would have wanted me to take you, because I would always love you.’

Tariq’s father had fought it. It went against his customs, his beliefs, and while within their country, adoption was legal and practiced in circumstances such as this—when it was merciful to take a child into your home and raise them, when there was no blood relative left who could take custody—it was not commonplace enough to believe that it was a path open to them, members of the royal family. Even second brothers had constant scrutiny to deal with.

But Tariq’s mother had refused to leave him.

She’d insisted. And fought. And cried. And on the tenth day of their tour, the Sheikh had relented. They would care for him for one month, he’d suggested. Just a month, while he got back to good health and an alternative was found.

Of course, one month turned into three, and then a year, as the little boy from Spain smiled and laughed and hugged them when he cried, so they both fell completely in love and realised he was their son in every way that mattered. Their intent had been to move to a small village and live a quiet life, just the three of them, but fate had other ideas...

He was so like them, with his dark skin and black eyes, dimpled cheeks and intelligent, inquisitive nature. It was impossible not to feel that in all the way that matters, Tariq truly was theirs.

They could never have known that by bringing him home and passing him off as their son, they would one day foist an outsider onto the throne, that they were asking the country to accept someone originally of a wholly different nationality as their ruler. The bloodline, an ancient pride of all Savisians, had ended with his parents.

Tariq was an imposter.

But there was salvation: an idea that had come to him in the middle of the night, when he recalled something he’d learned in grade school. His country and Ras Sarat had, hundreds of years earlier, been one and the same. Lands and borders had shifted over time, alliances had ended, but the bloodline remained intact. The Crown Princess Elana was royal, and in her body flowed the ancient royal lines that mattered so much to his people. By marrying her, he could redeem himself and ward off any possible claim another party might make to the throne.

For though he was not, as it turned out, born to rule, he had been bred for it, and little else. He knew he was an excellent sheikh, and that was all that mattered.

His marriage to Elana must go ahead at any cost: even if that meant hand-holding Eloise around the kingdom for the next seven days to ensure his generous and common-sense proposal was accepted.

‘I have no second thoughts,’ Tariq reiterated with the will of iron for which he was renowned. ‘The wedding makes sense. It has to happen.’

‘Yes. And it doesn’t hurt that your intended bride is utterly stunning, I suppose.’

Tariq considered that, trying to conjure a mental image of the Crown Princess. Only there was another pair of eyes that flooded his brain, wide-set and the creamiest, almond butter–brown with flecks of gold and thick dark lashes. A heart-shaped face with a dainty ski jump nose and a swanlike neck that was perfectly in proportion to her fine-boned, dainty body. Unlike his swarthy complexion, her skin was obviously creamy pale, though slightly tanned courtesy of her life in sun-drenched Ras Sarat. Her fingers had been so fascinating, her nails short and sensible but somehow...beautiful.

Eloise.

Even just her name had an effect on him, so he ground his teeth together, forcing his legendary focus onto the matter at hand.

He hadn’t been with a woman since his father fell ill. His body was craving what he could not have—and it was abundantly clear that the very best friend of his future wife was not a suitable partner. Any and all fantasies from this point on were strictly forbidden.

Even if her Cupid’s bow lips had drawn his attention as she’d gulped back water, and made him imagine them cupped with just as much enthusiasm around another, worthier vessel...

He bit back a curse and gripped the railing more tightly.

‘Beautiful or not, she is royal, and she is available. Having met her once or twice, I know she’s sensible and conversant in the ways of royal life.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s the beginning and end of my wish list.’

Jamil considered his friend a moment and then nodded. ‘Then you should do everything you can to win over Miss Ashworth.’

Tariq didn’t think about the fun he could have if he truly wanted to win her over. After all, he’d sworn he couldn’t have her, so there was no purpose wondering just exactly what she’d sound like when he kissed her.

There was only a little over an hour between being shown to the most sumptuous suite of rooms she could possibly imagine, and a servant appearing at her door, asking her to come to meet with Tariq. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but at the servant’s arrival, her heart had leaped into her throat. She thought of the brief text message exchange she’d shared with Elana, and her friend’s gratitude.

This is perfect, Lissie. You’re such a good judge of character and a week gives you long enough to really come to understand him. I owe you so much for this.

Of course, that wasn’t accurate. Elana had saved Eloise, and they both knew it. In high school, she’d been utterly miserable, and Elana had sensed that, had made her smile again, had helped her through the darkness of grief and displacement. They were true best friends in every way, always looking out for each other.

I could never let you marry a man I didn’t approve of. I’m glad to have the opportunity to appraise him.

She added a ‘fingers crossed’ emoji, then slipped her phone into the deep pocket of her dress, falling into step behind the staffer. This was about Elana, and what was right for her, nothing else. Certainly not the buzzing in her belly at the thought of seeing the Sheikh again.

---