The Defiant Princess (14 page)

A lump of emotion in Sabrina's throat threatened to choke her. To be so close to her birth country and hear the language again from someone who knew her parents overwhelmed her. The sense of loss she'd carried at the death of her parents was never more pronounced.

Khalid's touch on her back drew her back to him instinctively as though there was an invisible thread between them. She moved toward the strength and support he offered even though she knew the comfort of his presence was a luxury she shouldn't become accustomed to.

“I look forward to learning more about my parents from you,” she told King Hassan in Arabic. Although she'd studied Arabic by correspondence when she'd been gaining her teaching degree, it was a few years since she had conversed in her native tongue. She felt almost euphoric as the sounds formed into words and glided from her mouth.

“I will also look forward to it.”

Khalid urged her forward. He'd obviously registered her use of Arabic as he switched to the official language of Turastan. “Princess, I present Sufyaan Al Kamir, Ambassador from Turazbek.”

Sabrina took a step further along the carpet toward the man. The tall, thin man ignored the hand she extended. It was a pointed snub.

“There are many questions I would like answered before I accord you the greeting King Hassan expects us all to make.” Al Kamir spoke the words reasonably—however, there was a hint of menace in his expression.

She stifled a squeak of nervousness. The last thing she needed was a dispute about her identity the minute she arrived.

Khalid's powerful frame stiffened. His hand curved around Sabrina's waist. “You dare insult the Princess, Ambassador?”

A quick glance at Khalid's rigid profile and the unchecked threat burning from his eyes had Sabrina going into damage-control mode.

Keeping her own spine ramrod-straight, she turned a little to touch Khalid's arm in a staying gesture. Then she faced the Ambassador and met the defiance in his eyes. “I understand you're shocked to find I'm alive and have returned to claim the throne of Rhajia. I expect you to be full of wariness and disbelief. When I've had sufficient time to recover from my journey, I will meet with you and answer your questions.”

She broke eye contact with the man and cast her gaze over those gathered further down the presenting line. Projecting her voice she continued in perfectly fluent Arabic, “I thank you all for coming to greet me. You shall each be presented to me in the coming days, however it has been a long and tiring flight and I am anxious to proceed to the palace without delay.” And with that royal dismissal she swept down the red carpet ahead of Khalid and past all the other delegates.

Her attention was focused completely on planting one shaky leg in front of the other to get to the limousine waiting at the end of the carpet. It was only when the door closed and she sank into the luxurious leather seat of the vehicle, with Khalid seated opposite her, that reaction set in. Her entire body shook with the aftermath of adrenalin coursing through her veins.

“Well, that didn't go according to plan, did it?” she asked miserably as the car pulled away.

***

A seething mass of emotions swelled through Khalid and he said nothing as he tried to sort through them.

It hadn't gone according to plan. Nothing this Rhajian princess said or did was according to the script he would've written for her, but she'd handled Ambassador Al Kamir with skill and tact, deflecting the man's ill-mannered comment. Sabihah had circumvented a diplomatic disaster—just as Khalid was preparing to grab the man by the neck and shake him until his teeth rattled.

She was strong-willed. Defiant. Determined. More stunning than any woman he'd ever known. Right now, she was also shaking uncontrollably from her ordeal. He cursed inwardly as he observed her pallor. She looked fragile, her composure in danger of shattering.

He reached for a crystal decanter, poured some whiskey into a glass and pressed the glass into her trembling hands. “Drink this.”

Her nose wrinkled as she looked at the contents of the glass. “I don't drink spirits.” The words were barely audible; all the energy seemed to have been drained out of her.

Leaning forward he decided the best course of action was to provoke her out of her trembling.

He regarded her impatiently. “Damn it, Sabihah, must you always argue about everything? Just do as I say for once.”

Her body straightened. “Damn it, Khalid, must you always be so totally domineering and impossibly bossy?” she fired back, her eyes shooting sparks of anger at him. “Why is it that you constantly think you know what's best for me when you don't know me at all?”

Khalid smiled, took the glass from her hands and replaced it on the small bar. She didn't need liquid fortification. She'd gone from fragile to firebrand in the space of a couple of seconds, that independent spirit of hers resurfacing at his provocation—just as he'd intended.

She crossed her arms over her chest. The defensive gesture was at odds with her attacking words. “And before you lecture me about leaving without being introduced to all of them—”

“I wasn't about to deliver a lecture,” he said calmly.

“Of course you were.” She scoffed as her arms uncrossed and she pointed at him. “I didn't follow the guidelines you set down. I spoke way too much instead of keeping my mouth shut and saying little. You're disappointed. But—”

“I'm not disappointed with you.”

Her eyes narrowed. Her head tilted slightly on the elegant column of her neck. “You're not?”

“No.” He felt many things but definitely not disappointment.

Initially he'd felt protective of her. Overly protective. What surprised him was that he'd been more worried about how she'd cope personally than the political ramifications if she presented a less than favourable image.

When he introduced her to his father he'd still been angry at the way the king had manipulated her into this position. In quick succession, astonishment followed his anger when she spoke fairly fluently in Arabic. He found himself wondering just how many other surprises he had yet to discover about her. Then, in the midst of that, the Turazbekian Ambassador had delivered his slight and Khalid had been filled with white-hot indignation.

Such dramatic swings from one emotion to another were foreign to him and left him feeling quite off-kilter. But he'd been left with a sense of awe and respect for how Sabihah had defused the situation and taken control. She had dictated the terms of the next meeting most effectively, making it clear they'd have to await her audience and would not rush her into anything.

It was respect and admiration that he felt for her, not the disappointment she'd expected. Those judgments on her character coupled with the constant sexual desire that simmered between them made a powerful, intoxicating cocktail. They were enough to make a man lose his sense. He needed to find a distraction before she dominated his thoughts completely.

But she was already doing that. He'd struggled on more than several occasions to banish images of her lying naked beneath him as he drove into her in shuddering ecstasy. Those images had to stop. They were a danger that may take his attention from the situation at hand.

“You're angry,” Sabrina supplied breaking the silence. Her lips twisted in displeasure.

“Not with you.”

That had her frowning. “Then—?”

“I'm angry with that disrespectful fool, Al Kamir.”

“Oh.”

“By refusing to respect my father's announcement that you're the true Crown Princess of Rhajia, his behaviour was insulting. His words were inflammatory.”

“Is Turazbek an ally of Mustaf's?”

“Mustaf has no true personal allies within the Arab Council, however Al Kamir's daughter is married to Mustaf's nephew on his wife's side of the family. Turazbek also benefits from a trade agreement with Rhajia.”

After a pause she asked, “Was my behaviour offensive?”

Khalid found himself impressed again as he thought of the speech she'd delivered and the outward confidence with which she had delivered it. Judging by the expressions on the faces of those gathered, they'd been just as surprised as he had been but none of them could've been insulted.

“Your behaviour was regal,” he told her with sincere respect.

“Regal? That's a bit ambiguous. Is that good or is that another way of saying I behaved like a pompous ass?”

Khalid smiled. “It's a good thing. You have an inherent ability to take charge of a situation that's threatening to get out of control.”

“I didn't deliberately try to do that … I needed to escape.”

The uncertainty was back in her expression. Her need for reassurance was evident once again.

“I understand. You handled the situation well and did nothing to concern yourself over.”

She was silent while she took that in. Gradually, her posture became more relaxed. Her shaking stopped. “So, perhaps I do possess a little diplomacy after all?”

His lips quirked as he stretched an arm out along the back of the limousine seat. “Perhaps a little.”

She tilted her head slightly. “So you can relax a little now because I haven't detonated like a time bomb and caused an international incident.”

“What is it you Aussies say? So far so good,” he conceded with a smile. “But I don't think I'll ever be able to relax when you're around!”

She smiled back at him and delivered a playful punch to his bicep. His breath caught. It was the first time she'd given him a full smile and the sheer beauty of her face, with her features all lit up, was an image he wanted to carry with him forever. His heart constricted sharply in his chest. All thought stopped as he simply drank in her appearance.

Time stretched.

The mood changed.

Humour faded and something much more primal pulsed between them.

They were in the limousine, in private. It would be so easy to reach across for her. So easy to draw her to him and claim her mouth with his own. His blood pounded through his veins as he remembered the sweet fullness of her lips.

They were headed for the palace. Now wasn't the time. He needed to say something. Anything. Quickly. Before this need claimed both of them. But suddenly his practised charm deserted him.

“I didn't know you spoke Arabic.” His words broke the spell. He cringed inwardly as he blurted out the first thing he thought of as though he were an awkward teenager. “You were so young when you left Rhajia. I assumed you would've forgotten.”

She stared blankly at him for a moment, seeming to make the mental shift out of the spell they'd both been under. “I was eight when I left and initially I just practised when I was playing with my dolls and every night when I prayed.

“Did Helen speak the language with you?” He kept forcing the topic in an attempt to stifle the sizzle still thick in the atmosphere.

“Never. I don't think Helen wanted to do anything that would remind me of Rhajia.”

“It was wrong of her to deny you your roots,” he condemned a little distractedly.

She shrugged. “I used to always think and dream in Arabic, and I'd tune into the Arabic radio and television programs whenever Helen wasn't around.”

“You're still very fluent after all these years.” He was still looking at her lips. He needed to stop that.

“I studied the language by correspondence while I was at university doing my teaching degree. I also made friends with an Arabic group there.”

Finally he met her eyes again. “Perhaps deep down you were seeking a connection with your heritage?”

Her body jerked and straightened in her seat. A new type of tension replaced the sexual tension. Antagonism. Defensiveness.

“Spare me the psychoanalysis.” She bristled. “Don't try to convince me that I have some deep desire to remain in Rhajia as ruler. I know that would suit you but it doesn't suit me!”

“I—”

“For your information, I have a flair for languages. Helen ensured that I continued to study French, German and Italian after we left Rhajia. I've also studied Japanese since I've lived in Australia and I speak a little Spanish. At one point I was hoping to become a translator with the diplomatic corps. Helen dissuaded me.”

While she looked flustered, he regarded her calmly. She was so prickly. He couldn't have guessed that his search for a safe topic of conversation to dispel the tension between them would lead to more highly charged emotion from her. She was like a highly-strung filly. It would take a strong man to handle her. She would be a challenge.

He liked a challenge.

“Amazing that you wanted to join the diplomatic corps. You'll need a lot of diplomacy in your role in Rhajia.”

She sat a little straighter. “It has just occurred to me why Helen objected so fervently to me wanting to be an international translator. I'll bet she was afraid that someone would uncover my true identity.”

“Anyone who knew your mother would see the similarities in appearance,” he agreed. “Are you fluent in all those languages?”

“Most of them.”

“I have a lot to learn about you.”

“Don't bother.” The words were said a little huffily. “Hopefully this will be over pretty quickly, and when we divorce we need never see each other again.”

Was that a tiny hint of complaint in her voice? There was no mistaking the slight pout to her lips. She was no more immune to him than he was to her. Could it be that despite her protests, part of her wanted more?

“We'll hardly be strangers during marriage. We will learn much about each other.” Their marriage was a
fait accompli
thanks to his father's announcement, and her plan to divorce him soon afterwards was impossible. If they divorced, Mustaf would resume the throne of Rhajia and Khalid would lose the throne of Turastan—something that Khalid would never allow to happen.