‘I don’t have to be good, Ana, I just have to win. In the end Al Sabah has to win. The rest … The rest doesn’t matter.’
‘And you’ll do anything to win?’
‘Anything,’ Zafar said.
Ana believed him. There was no doubt. The way he said it—so dark and sure and certain—sent a shiver through her body, down into her bones. And yet it didn’t repel her. It didn’t make her want to run. Perversely, it almost made her want to get closer.
The shock of fear that ran through her body was electric. It sent ripples of warning, showers of sparks that sent a crackling heat along her veins. She felt like a child standing before a fire. Fascinated and awed by its warmth, knowing there was something that might make it all dangerous, but not having any real concept of the damage it could do.
Even having that moment of clarity, she didn’t draw back.
MAISEY YATES was an avid Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance reader before she began to write them. She still can’t quite believe she’s lucky enough to get to create her very own sexy alpha heroes and feisty heroines. Seeing her name on one of those lovely covers is a dream come true.
Maisey lives with her handsome, wonderful, diaper-changing husband and three small children across the street from her extremely supportive parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of Southern Oregon, USA. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch and then heading into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic urban locales.
Recent titles by the same author:
HIS RING IS NOT ENOUGH
THE COUPLE WHO FOOLED THE WORLD HEIR TO A DARK INHERITANCE (Secret Heirs of Powerful Men) HEIR TO A DESERT LEGACY (Secret Heirs of Powerful Men)
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Forged in the Desert Heat
Maisey Yates
To my daughter.
Never be afraid to stand up for yourself, or to stand for what’s right. You’re the hero of your story.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
SHEIKH ZAFAR NEJEM scanned the encampment, the sun burning what little of his skin was revealed. He was as covered as he could possibly be, both to avoid the harsh elements of the desert, and to avoid being recognized.
Though, for most, the odds of that would be low out here, hundreds of miles from any city. But this was his home. Where he’d been raised. The place where he’d made his name as the most fearsome man in Al Sabah.
And considering his competition for the position, there was weight to the title.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary here. Cooking fires were smoldering, and he could hear voices in the tents. He stopped for a moment. This was no family encampment, but that of a band of highway men. Thieves. Outlaws, not unlike himself. He knew these men, and they knew him. He had a tentative truce with them, but that didn’t mean he was ready to show himself.
It didn’t mean he trusted them. He trusted no one.
Especially not now.
Not now that there was certain to be unrest. Anger, backlash over his installation in the palace. On the throne.
Back to his rightful position.
The Gypsy Sheikh’s return had not been met with delight, at least not in the more “civilized” corners of the country. His uncle had done far too efficient a job in destroying his reputation for anyone to be pleased at his coronation.
If only he could dispel the rumors surrounding his exile. But he could not.
Because they were true.
But here, among the people who felt like his own—among the people who had suffered most at his uncle’s hand—there was happiness here at least. They knew that whatever his sins, he had been working to atone.
Zafar looked out toward the horizon, all flat and barren from this point to Bihar. There was one more place to stop and seek shelter, but it was another five hours’ ride, and he didn’t relish the idea of more time spent in the saddle today.
He dismounted his horse and patted the animal, dust rising from his black coat. “I think we’ll take our chances here,” he said, leading him to a makeshift corral, where other horses were hemmed in, and opened the gate.
He closed it, making sure it was secure before walking back toward the main tent.
One of the men was already coming out to greet him.
“Sheikh,” he said, inclining his head. “A surprise.”
“Is it? You had to know I was heading back to Bihar.” A growing suspicion. The desert was vast and it seemed strange to intersect with Jamal’s band of thugs at this particular moment.
“I may have heard something about it. But there is more than one road to the capital city.”
“So you had no desire for a meeting with me?”
The other man smiled, dark eyes glinting in the golden light. “I didn’t say that. We were hoping to run into you. Or, at least, someone of your means.”
“My means are still limited. I haven’t yet been back to Bihar.”
“And yet, you do find ways to acquire what you need.”
Zafar looked the man over. “As do you. Will you invite me in?”
“Not yet.”
Zafar knew something wasn’t right. His truce with Jamal and his men was tentative. It was probably why they wanted to see him. He was in a position to put a stop to what they did out here in the desert, and he knew the places they