Desert Orchid: The Desert Princes: Book 1 (16 page)

However, her conscience reminded her that, by not telling him the truth and giving him a chance, she wasn’t being entirely fair to Khalid. Too bad. He'd just have to suck it up and get on with it. Life wasn't perfect. Life wasn't
fair
. Life was full of challenges to be overcome.

And what about love that little voice asked.

Charisse lifted her chin and stiffened her spine.

What use had she for love?

She might secretly dream of loving a man who adored and respected her and valued her for what she was as a human being, and as a woman, as well as a Queen. But dreams were for children. Daydreams had no part in the reality of her life. She would make the best of it and if God looked kindly upon her, she may be blessed with a child to love.

With a quick whistle to the dogs, Charisse gave the signal to Diablo and the stallion leapt ahead.

Khalid padded into his studio dressed in low slung jeans and a T-shirt.

Running shaky fingers through wet hair, he hunted for a hair tie.

He’d wolfed down the first food in twenty-four hours before collapsing on his bed and had slept for eight hours.

Now he studied his work in progress.

Christ, she look fabulous.

He’d managed to capture the look in her eyes that had wound him up so much when he’d first met Charisse.

Utter contempt.

Now that look in her fabulous eyes made him smile.

And in a few short hours she would be all his.

He couldn’t wait.

Picking up a slim brush, he dipped it in black paint. The title of this painting had come to him while he'd slept. While he'd dreamed of Charisse.

Now he grinned as he carefully wrote,
Desert Orchid
, in the bottom left hand corner.

She was like an orchid of the desert; a delicate beauty, fragile but strong as the storms of life rolled across the sand. Exquisite and brave. Yes, Charisse was most certainly his very own orchid of a desert ruled by him. And just like that, his body responded too powerfully, hungering for the hot, wet, heat and tight grip of his woman.

It had cost him, but he didn’t trust himself to go anywhere near her without thrusting himself into her hard and fast. She needed time to heal from their first night together.

As he tied back his hair, Khalid pondered on how much his life had changed in such a short time. And his eyes were drawn again and again to the portrait of Charisse. He knew it was probably the best work he'd ever done. His eyes stared into hers and it was as if she reached out and touched him too deeply. For a man who had done his best to ensure he had no emotional ties to anyone, it was uncomfortable feeling. She was hardworking and very brave. He admired her as a person, but more importantly he
liked
her. And, he admitted now, he
cared
for her. Charisse haunted his every waking moment and every sleepless night. Even now his hands itched to touch her, everywhere. The memory of how she sounded as his fingers had entered her tight body made his groin harden too fast, made his breath hiss in his throat. For the first time in his life, his need of a woman was a physical pain.

What the hell had she done to him?

How could one night drive a man crazy?

It scared him.

His emotions scared him.

Sarif’s offer of his ocean retreat for their honeymoon was just what he needed to explore his complex feelings for Charisse.

The distant yip of a dog brought him out onto his balcony.

Khalid narrowed his eyes to search the mountain pass leading to the palace.

A half-moon and twinkling nebula lit the sky bathing the path in an eerie silvery light.

Galloping hard over the crest of a hill, coming towards the palace were two wolfhounds streaking before horses and riders.

Her body bent low over Diablo, he recognised Charisse immediately.

Then she pulled back into a trot and the dogs circled back to her side.

Khalid had to admire her style and rhythm.

She was at one with the huge beast.

Then about a hundred yards from the palace gate, Diablo dropped into a walk.

Now he frowned.

What the hell was she doing riding out in the middle of the damned night?

As if his thoughts had called out to her, Charisse lifted her head to look in his direction and for a split second he was certain she saw him. He lifted his hand to wave just as the sound of a single gunshot echoed through the mountains.

Charisse slumped over her horse.

Stunned, it took the sound of another gunshot to jolt Khalid into action.

Oh, God,
no
.

As Diablo slowed to a walk along the dusty road leading to the palace, Charisse didn’t see the glint of a rifle in the moonlight.

Turning to Rufus’s bark of warning she didn’t see the flash of the bullet. All she felt was the impact of being hit by a truck then the sting of pain as metal sliced through flesh. She didn’t even have time to take a breath to cry out as she slumped over the neck of Diablo.

Then another gunshot and this time her horse dropped to the ground.

The last sound she heard was the cry of rage from Arabella and the howls of her dogs.

Shock and terror that Charisse was dead had Khalid's heart battering too hard against his ribs.

Grabbing his gun and roaring for Omar at the top of his voice, he was racing down the stairs. The spine chilling howl of the dogs had him sprint through the palace.

The sound of running feet, the cries of alarm, had him picking up the pace as he raced towards the gates.

What the hell had she been doing out of the palace in the middle of the damned night?

And why the fuck hadn’t he been told?

If Arabella Faulkner had known about this, had condoned it, without telling
him
, he’d have her head.

And where was Omar?

All these questions and more ran through Khalid's mind as he sprinted through the gates and his heart stopped before jolting in his chest to beat so fast he pressed his fist to the spot.

Blood.

Everywhere.

It was clear Diablo was dead.

The magnificent animal had been shot through the head.

And dear God, the woman who held his heart was lying on her back in the dirt.

Blood covered Arabella’s frantic hands as she bent over Charisse and pressed a thick wad of gauze into a wound that oozed a puddle of life giving fluid, the colour of claret, on the ground. The dogs were baying even as Arabella fired instructions to a protection officer who was inserting a line into Charisse’s vein connected to a bag of plasma while another gave her oxygen.

Soldiers, facing the mountains with guns at the ready, stood in a tight formation around the people working to save her life as Charisse was lifted onto a stretcher.

Khalid swallowed the acid of fear burning at the back of his throat.

She was too pale.

He was going to lose her.

Arabella’s eyes met his and she didn’t so much as flinch under his utter fury.

"It looks as if the bullet has nicked a rib. We need to get her out of here."

The thought of someone attempting to take the life of Charisse had a red haze of rage blurring Khalid’s vision.

Coward.

To attack a defenceless female was an act of unutterable cowardice.

And he swore an oath that whoever was responsible for this would pay, in blood.

Yet another protection officer was speaking in clipped tones into a satellite phone.

And Khalid realised the man was speaking to Sarif.

He’d never felt so helpless or so utterly useless in his entire life.

They fought to stabilise Charisse as the army medics arrived.

"Highness," the protection officer said to Khalid. "Prince Sarif must speak with you."

Khalid took the phone. "Sarif?"

As luck would have it his brother was already on his way to Onuur by helicopter and the decision was made to fly Charisse immediately to the Royal hospital in Dhuma.

The following two hours, first in the helicopter, and then the hospital, were something Khalid knew he’d never forget as long as he lived.

He never took his eyes from Charisse.

God, she looked so young, so vulnerable and too bloody pale lying on the stretcher.

In the helicopter a young army medic’s hand was trembling as he adjusted her oxygen mask and Khalid knew just how he felt. The medic turned to him and spoke to him through their headset,

"She is very lucky to be alive. Half an inch and the bullet would have hit a lung."

Arabella never let go of Charisse’s hand.

The bodyguard opened her mouth to speak to him, but Khalid was so fucking angry with her he didn’t want to hear it.

"Report to Sarif as soon as we land. I do not want to see your face again."

The woman went bone white and gave a single nod before Khalid turned his attention to Charisse.

And if she managed to get through this ordeal alive and whole, Charisse would find that her future husband had ways of disciplining his wayward fiancée.

Never again would she ride out into the night doing God knew what.

Never again.

But then a wave of grief crashed over him and brought him to his knees. Sorrow replaced anger and he buried his face in her silver hair and prayed to God like he'd never prayed before for her life to be spared.

Charisse was drifting in a lovely white space.

All she could hear was a faint bleep-bleep of a heart monitor and she wondered if she was asleep in Asim’s room, and then with a plunging heart she remembered that he was dead.

The smell of antiseptic tickled her nose and the sound of high-pitched voices invaded her consciousness.

Khalid.

Khalid’s voice was raised.

And he was angry, so very angry.

She tried to frown but it appeared she was floating in some kind of fog and her throat hurt. Her eyelids appeared to be glued together and she struggled to open them.

What was the matter with Khalid?

Why was he shouting?

"And why the
hell
did no one tell me of this? I’m only going to be her
fucking
husband."

Another voice, a man, older and a little frail answered as a woman told them to hush.

Then oblivion claimed her again.

Khalid simply stared at the two people who’d brought him into the world.

His mother's face was pale. She wore slim pants of ivory silk under a long sleeved, high necked tunic edged with black embroidery. She was a slim and striking woman, who diligently kept a weather eye out for any stray grey hair that threatened to mar the perfection of hair as black as jet.

With the face of a hawk and wearing the robes of his office his father sat, spine ramrod straight, while his mother stared at her husband in patent disbelief.

Sarif rested his hands on the back of a couch and shook his dark head in amazement.

His eyes met his father's. "You and my uncle Amir
bought
Charisse?" Sarif asked in a voice dripping with incredulity.

Khalid stood utterly still before thrusting both hands through his hair.

He seriously felt he’d stepped through the looking glass and was living in a parallel universe.

"What the
fuck
is this?"

His mother frowned at the expletive and turned to her husband. "Abdullah, my darling. Explain yourself."

King Abdullah of Dhuma never explained himself, or his actions, to anyone. But looking at his family he knew the time for secrets was over. His dark eyes stared unseeing into the distant past as he began his tale.

"Charisse is the twin sister of Mia Chanteluelle."

Queen Janaan’s gasp and the collective shocked silence in the room had Khalid blink.

Charisse was the twin of the girl he’d killed in the speed boat accident? An accident that had taken the life of his beloved sister and had almost killed himself?

His brother's hand pressed on his shoulder and squeezed hard.

Khalid placed his hand over his brother's and held on tight.

A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him as the King's sharp eyes bored into his.

"It was an accident!" his father roared and thumped the arm of his chair with his fist.

Khalid knew the point was debatable but he needed to hear the rest of this.