The Sheikh's Love Nest: A Johari Crown Book

By Alexandra Sellers

The last man in the world Viola wants to beg for help is Prince Adal Harir ibn Muntazer al Hasib. He's the man she trashed in the gutter press seven years ago when their passionate affair ended, and she knows he's never forgotten.
But now Adal, powerful Cup Companion to the Sultan of Bagestan, is the one man who can save her brother's life.

Adal's willing to help—for a price. And Viola has to do whatever it takes. But will living in the sheikh's love nest really set Ben free, or is Adal using the opportunity to take revenge?

He wants Viola in his bed again, too. If Viola doesn't resist, will their loving only add heartbreak to the public humiliation he has in store for her?

Praise for Sons of the Desert: The Johari Crown miniseries

THE SHEIKH'S LOVE NEST

"I've loved every book Alexandra Sellers has ever written—and this one is no exception. Reunited lovers, a dark and delicious sheikh, and enough passion to light the world—this is a master at the top of her game! I devoured it!"
—USA Today Bestselling author Caitlin Crews

HER ROYAL PROTECTOR

"The sheikh lives and what a sheikh! Meet Arif at your heart's peril—a powerful, stunning man with an even more breathtaking quality; compassionate honor. And Aly is his perfect foil, touching him with her bright mind, elfin beauty and her humility. In Alexandra Sellers' new book she is, as always, giving us raw passion, a captivating story and pounding excitement. Incredibly entertaining."
—Stella Cameron, NY Times Bestselling author

• Language: English
• Publisher: YouDon'tOwnMeBooks
• Release date: Jul 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781783017669

Alexandra Sellers

Alexandra Sellers is the author of the award-winning Sons of the Desert series. She is the recipient of the Romantic Times' Career Achievement Award for Series (2009) and for Series Romantic Fantasy (2000). Her novels have been translated into more than 15 languages. She divides her time between London, Crete and Vancouver.

Book preview

Sellers

One

Prince Adal Harir ibn Muntazer al Hasib sat at his desk, shaking his head over a document of breathtaking stupidity. He did not immediately look up as his English secretary, on little cat feet, entered his office and crossed the expanse of silk carpet to his desk.

Excellency… the young man began awkwardly.

His English secretary was normally imperturbable. In the act of turning a page, the Prince paused and raised his head.

What disturbs you, Edgar?

I think I should bring to your attention… Excellency, forgive me if this is… he cleared his throat with a cough. Benedict Percy’s sister is in my office, hoping to see you.

The air around him went still. Prince Adal straightened and let the document collapse with a small slap. Leaning back into the high black chair, he fixed his eyes on his normally efficient secretary.

Benedict Percy’s sister, the Prince repeated. His elbows on the arms of his chair, he tented his forearms over his chest. His right hand a fist, his left hand enclosing the right. His grandfather’s heavy jade and gold seal ring gleamed dully in the shadowed sunlight.

So she had come.

You remember, Excellency— the Englishman in Dar-e Shir prison.

It was a place no one could name without a shudder, but the Prince only lifted his eyebrows.

In your office, Edgar? he asked softly. How is this?

Her name is Viola Percy, said the secretary.

Viola Percy. There had been a time when he might almost have killed a man for daring to touch her name with his mouth. And then a time when he might have killed a man for daring to remind him of the name.

Edgar stiffened in alarm, his eyes fixed on his employer’s face. She… I… his voice faded. He swallowed and tried again. The… the guardhouse rang me, Excellency. And I thought—

For a moment the Prince watched him choke on his words. Are you suborned so easily by a woman’s beauty, Edgar? he said at last.

Not at all, Excellency, Edgar stammered again. That is— she is certainly very… but… The secretary heaved a breath and from somewhere seemed to find the strength to stand his ground. Ms. Percy has asked me to tell you that she is desperate, that her family have tried every avenue without success, and that she asks you to see her for only a few minutes. She said, ‘Tell him I beg for his generosity.’ You— you actually have twelve minutes before your car arrives, Excellency.

Adal al Hasib’s hand moved to the desk and clasped the paper he had been reading. With one practiced flick he picked it up and tossed it across the desk towards the young Englishman.

Deal with this, he said.

Get rid of them, Excellency? Edgar asked, neatly fielding the document.

How well you read me, Edgar. Sometimes.

And what shall I tell Ms. Percy, Excellency? Edgar murmured, tacitly refusing to draw the parallel.

His generosity. So she had come to beg at last. In the early years, how many times he had imagined just that situation. But the twists of fate that had so altered their lives hadn’t brought her to his door in the days when it might have meant something to him.

Do the Kaljuks demand a ransom now? I have heard nothing of it.

Edgar shook his head. Excellency, with respect, I don’t think that it is money she wants. She means another kind of generosity.

The prince smiled in wry amusement at this display of male idealism.

You will find, Edgar, that whatever else women want, they always want money. Or something that only money can buy. This one will be no exception, whatever lies those purple eyes have told you.

Edgar looked into the Prince’s face and understood how very close he had come to losing his job. He licked his lips.

Shall I… send her away, then, Excellency?

His grandfather’s ring flashed dull fire as the Prince pushed away from the desk and stood up.

You are fool, Edgar, but no worse a fool than I was, once, he said. Bring her to me.

Two

Ms. Percy, Excellency."

The door closed behind her with a thump like a forest warning. Viola was painfully alert, her heart beating hard, every pore alive.

Come in, said the voice she had never forgotten.

He was twenty feet away, on the other side of a massive black desk. Behind him a wall of window revealed a courtyard dense with trees and flowering plants, a fountain that dazzled with sunlight and shadow.

Sit down. His tone gave nothing away. His hand moved to indicate the chair in front of his desk. Her eyes were still adjusting to the sunlight and she couldn’t read his face. But the shape of him was imprinted in her memory. Viola crossed the room and sat.

Thank you, she said. She had left too long a pause.

The ordinary greeting that any other two people might have exchanged after such an absence simply did not happen. There seemed no room for It’s been so long! How have you been?

So you come to me at last, Adal said, sinking into the black leather chair. After seven years.

Adal. As male and mesmerizing as ever. Larger than life. Seven years had honed the handsome young face into chiseled strength, but the core vitality was undimmed. The generous mouth seemed more ruthlessly set than she remembered, the eyes were shadowed. Two lines now cut his cheeks from nose to mouth, and she saw early crow’s feet. But these only served to make him seem more dangerously intelligent, a man of experience. A good friend. Not a good enemy.

But she knew that.

Right on both counts. She breathed a mirthless laugh, glad to have an excuse to let the pent-up air out of her lungs. You were right about most things, as it turned out.

It was as if the seven years had been packed into a day. As if they had last met yesterday and could continue a conversation that had been interrupted. A dangerous feeling: the conversation hanging in the air now was one they had never begun, and she was afraid of what might power out of the depths if they embarked on it now. This wasn’t the time for accusation. She had to put Ben first.

One eyebrow lifted. I was wrong about you, don’t you remember?

Oh, yes, you were wrong about me, she agreed with ironic emphasis.

The black eyes were fierce, the brows drawn down. Examining her, digging into her soul to find the truth of what she was. His eyes had always looked deep, always wanted to know everything about her. Seven years ago it had charmed her. But seven years ago she’d believed his motive was love.

Seven years, he said again.

They seem to have treated you very well.

Nothing moved in his face. And how have they treated you?

All the changes you predicted, Viola said, to get it over with. "A case of je monte, Madame, vous descendez, isn’t it? You’re rich and influential, just the way you promised; the Sultan’s right-hand man. And I work for my living, isn’t that sweet? Daddy lost everything, even his freedom. I’m sure you heard."

I never predicted that your father would go to prison.

Close enough, she countered.

You work for a living?

Surprise, surprise!

You surely knew I recovered my family’s wealth long ago? You never thought to come to me?

Not the time to shout that she’d have gone to hell rather than seek him out, and still would, were it not for Ben getting himself into this horrible mess.

Let’s not go there, Viola suggested flatly. Let’s deal with why I’m here now.

He focused his eagle gaze on her again. Viola shifted nervously under his attention, and with a sudden burst of gallows humor— since this day certainly marked the death of something, if not precisely of herself— Viola asked,

Do you run a hawk?

What?

A falcon? You hunt with birds of prey?

His gaze unconsciously flicked towards a cabinet against a far wall, and she turned and saw a collection of antique falconry equipment— hoods and gauntlets, anklets and jesses from centuries and decades past. Had they belonged to his forebears— part of the family fortune returned to him when the Sultan had been restored to the throne in the movement called the Silk Revolution? When she turned back, he was looking a question at her.

They say people come to look like their pets, she explained.

The eyebrows snapped down, the black eyes narrowed.

And is this what you came to say to me?

She flinched before she could control it. Sorry. Once you’d have laughed.

In her memories, they seemed to have been always laughing— when they were not fighting. Even making love they laughed. Sometimes. Mostly what she remembered was the ferocity of his passion and an ocean of pleasure swamping body and soul.

An antique seal ring gleamed gold in a ray of sunshine as he looked at his watch.

You have ten minutes to present your case. What is it you want, Viola? What is it that I am to do for you?

Three

This had to work. She had to walk away from personal history and make this happen. Her mouth went dry. Viola swallowed, licked her lips. Please let me not cry. Bending her head, she opened her bag, unfolding the tattered front page of the tabloid newspaper as she took it out. Giving herself time.

TROJAN’S SON IN KALJUK ‘SPY’ ARREST, screamed the headline.

Hotspur Percy, the son of disgraced financier Alex Percy, was in notorious Dar-e Shir prison in Kaljukistan last night after allegedly crossing into the disputed mountain territory known as…

You know all about it, I’m sure— Ben getting abducted by the Kaljuks, she said, but laid the paper on the desk and slid it over to him anyway. Dal didn’t reach for the cutting, didn’t glance at it.

The tabloids have nicknamed him Hotspur. My father has always been Trojan, she said, although Dal had good reason to remember her father’s tabloid moniker. They’re holding him in that hellhole they call a prison. She swallowed to hold back tears. "Everybody says it’s like nothing on earth. We can’t get any information. He could be starving, for all we know. Or sick, or injured…" The other possibilities were too ugly to name. If she said the words aloud she would heave.

Abducted? You say Benedict was abducted?

The cold enquiry stopped her tears dead. She wanted to hit him.

You surely don’t pretend not to know about this? They’re saying he’s a Bagestani spy! You’re the Sultan’s Foreign Affairs advisor— you must know Benedict isn’t your spy.

She was losing it. Viola bit her lip and shut herself up.

The Prince’s eyebrows shot up. "When did I suggest I was not familiar with this case? I query your use of a word. The Kaljuks say they have arrested a foreigner who crossed the border illegally. They accuse him of being our spy. That far I am familiar with the case. You must forgive me if I failed to notice that the fool in question was your brother."

That was ridiculous. Of course he knew. It was Ben who had introduced them. Of course he had made the connection.

But she couldn’t start on that. Not here, not now. Ben was all that mattered.

Why do you call him a fool?

As I understand it, Benedict Percy crossed the border out of Johar province. If he did not realize that he risked being picked up by the Kaljuks, he is an ignorant fool. If he did realize it, he is a dangerous fool.

"He wasn’t in Kaljukistan. Tears pushed hot against her eyelids again. He was on the Bagestan side. It was an abduction, not an arrest."

The Prince shrugged. It is his word against that of the Kaljuk officers who arrested him. We have few patrols up there and there are no independent witnesses. Which is precisely why foreigners should not take such risks.

"He was trekking! Anyway, it’s neither Kaljukistan nor Bagestan, really, is it? He was in Joharistan."

Is that his defense? Then my advice is that you should start looking for a guard to bribe so that you can provide Ben with some basic comforts during his time in Dar-e Shir Prison. It undoubtedly will last until he is middle-aged.

He might as well have stabbed her. The tears she had been keeping at bay spilled out and burned down her cheeks. "Please, please, can’t you help us? Can’t you stop them? There must be something you can do."

His voice grew colder, if that were possible. Your brother is a British citizen. This is the proper concern of the British government.

"They’re moving like snails," she choked.

We understand the family have mounted a media campaign. That may soon—

Viola snorted hopelessly, shaking her head. You forget whose son he is. The media are reacting as if Ben was caught in something underhand and it’s only to be expected from Trojan Percy’s son. I’ve done my nut in front of the cameras, trying to raise public sentiment, but the media just won’t get behind it. They think we’re only getting what we deserve.

She had known from the start that he would not help, and yet now she couldn’t stop trying to change his mind. How much of a fool did that make her?

Then you are left with your government. The small push of his chin that she remembered. It had signaled anything from anger to resignation. Diplomacy takes time. It may be best —

No! she cried desperately, and now there was a new emotion pressing up, one that she didn’t want to own. The feeling that he must have some feeling for her, that there must be some ember left of the fires that had once consumed them. That because he had once loved her he would want to save her brother. "They don’t want to confront the Kaljuks, not with oil on the agenda. You’re our only hope. Dal!"

Her voice on the name rang with intimacy, and something flashed deep in his dark eyes. Silence encircled them.

Sorry, but what am I supposed to call you? Viola murmured, appalled by her lack of control but refusing to admit that to him. You don’t really want me to call you ‘Your Excellency’?

Adal ignored that. I have been careful to stay out of this case, he began softly. If I were to interfere, it would only convince the Kaljuks that your brother is in fact our spy. And if they really believed that, they might well execute him.

"Execute him? A choke of horror rasped in her throat. But the Foreign Office assured us there wasn’t any risk of that." Lashes, someone had suggested, before being shut up by a superior. That had been her deep, secret fear ever since. She’d thought it was the worst case scenario.

"Oh, God, there must be a way. Please, she begged, though once she had promised herself she would never beg Adal al Hasib for anything again. Please!"

Four

Viola." He said it at last. Viola. The name that had once been all the sound his ears would ever need. The music the desert wind had played for him alone. The name that had not crossed his lips in seven years. Sit down.

She seemed embarrassed to find herself leaning over the desk towards him. She sat back, but the urgency was still there in every line of her body. "Adal, there has to be a way," she said again.

He felt the cool of metal on