Page 24 of Her Vow to Be His Desert Queen

He wasn’t, and he’d loved that, and that was why part of him had never wanted to leave England. Never wanted to leave her. The thought of returning to Al Da’ira to eventually take his crown, be a king, had seemed at times...unbearable.

She’s dangerous. Remember that.

She had been back then, because back then there had been some softness in him. But that softness had gone. He’d cut it out of himself, along with that longing to stay in England with her. There was no longing now, and she was no longer a threat.

He shrugged. ‘Then we will have an interesting two weeks, will we not?’

Something flashed in Sidonie’s gaze, another challenge, and he felt that terrible part of him shift once again in response.

But he forced it back in its cage. He would not let it out. Not again.

‘Come,’ he said calmly. ‘You need breakfast, and we land in an hour.’

She eyed him suspiciously but let herself be guided to a seat, and when breakfast was brought to them she ate with him. He’d already decided not to tell her about the custom of the Kings of Al Da’ira when it came to their brides, of carrying them into the new home they would share. The custom went back centuries, harking back to the days when the desert warriors went on raids to capture their wives, and, while Khalil was hell-bent on changing some of those customs, it wouldn’t hurt to observe a few to ease the pain of too much change, too quickly.

She might not be happy with him carrying her, but the lack of sleep was catching up with him, and he was tired. He didn’t want her to argue, not right now, and besides, a part of him wanted this very much. The part that had fantasised about a life that didn’t involve his being a king. Where he was just a man and Sidonie was the woman he loved. Where he held her in his arms, nestled against his chest, and he carried her into the home they would share.

He would never be that man again, but he could indulge himself a little in that fantasy now, couldn’t he? It didn’t mean losing control of his baser appetites or admitting to any weaknesses. It was...merely appeasing old ghosts.

Anticipation gathered inside him as the breakfast was cleared away and the plane began its descent. Sidonie was gazing out of the window at the countryside unrolling beneath them, the vast mountains and wide deserts of his homeland. A stark and harsh land, but incredibly beautiful.

Once he’d stabilised the country, he had plans for a big tourism push, to share Al Da’ira with the world. It was already a rich nation due to the oil, but his family’s greedy hands had kept it for themselves, and so he’d also planned to redistribute that wealth amongst the wider populace. Once his people had food and good housing, they could then turn their attention to new business ventures such as tourism.

Survival mode was not good for anyone, as he knew all too well.

The plane descended then came in for a perfect landing on the private airstrip reserved for the royal family, and already he could see the usual entourage waiting to welcome their King back to his country.

That too involved a specific custom.

As his staff prepared to open the plane door, Khalil got to his feet, then reached out a hand to Sidonie, sitting opposite. She took it automatically and he could feel her stiffen as his fingers closed around her smaller ones, gathering them into his palm. Her eyes had gone wide, her luscious mouth opening.

No wonder. He could feel the electricity where their skin touched, a cascade of sparks igniting every nerve ending. Desire shifted and tightened, his body hardening in response, and he pulled her closer, looking down into her darkening green eyes and seeing his own desire mirrored back at him.

Tonight. He would do something about it tonight.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked huskily. ‘I thought we were getting off the plane.’

‘We are.’ He let go of her hand, and before she had a chance to move away he picked her up and gathered her close against his chest. ‘But as I said, there are certain customs I must follow.’

She’d gone rigid in his arms, her eyes widening. ‘Khalil—’

‘And one of those customs involves carrying my intended bride into the home we will share. My country is my home, therefore I will be carrying you from the plane to the car that will take us back to the palace.’

She glared at him, her body stiff. ‘And asIsaid, I never agreed to be your intended bride.’

He tightened his grip, even though she hadn’t moved, because she was warm and soft against his chest and he wanted to keep her there. ‘Tell me you don’t like being in my arms, Sidonie.’ He stared down into her angry green eyes. ‘Tell me you don’t like being close to me. Make me believe it, and maybe I will let you walk to the car instead.’

Her mouth was a firm line, but then she looked away. ‘You can have your custom.’ A delicate pink flush stained her cheekbones. ‘I don’t want to offend your people.’

His satisfaction deepened. It wasn’t about giving offence to his people, no matter what she said. She liked being in his arms, that was the truth.

‘Of course not,’ he murmured, turning towards the door. ‘Though nothing you do could give offence.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

He glanced down at her.

She was staring out of the open doorway of the plane, to the bright sun, the stark mountains, and the crowd of people standing on the tarmac ready to welcome them. There was a crease between her brows, her body tense where it rested against his, trepidation clear on her face.

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