The Sultan's Heir by Alexandra Sellers

Author:Alexandra Sellers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Silhouette
Published: 2001-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

Rosalind and Najib sat close together on the sofa, his arm around her, her hands clasping his other hand. She leaned into his powerful shoulder and felt how tempting it would be to rest there forever.

His hand had firm possession of her shoulder, the other closed on her hand with reassuring strength. Her heart was melting, and she thought that, however necessary this closeness was for Samir’s safety, it was dangerous to her own ultimate happiness.

She was falling for Najib, and the fact that it could probably all be put down to circumstance—just a product of her own fatigue at having raised her son by herself for four long years and the fact that Najib was particularly strong and masculine, and above all there—wasn’t likely to save her. Logic never had much sway over emotion, and Rosalind didn’t think she was going to be the one to break new ground in that regard.

Her stomach was melting because of his nearness, she was longing to kiss him, to have him turn to her and take her fully in his strong arms, and what could logic do against that?

“Would you look at him, Rosalind?” a voice cried.

Rosalind obediently lifted her chin and turned her eyes to meet Najib’s tender gaze. He was only half-smiling, as if the sight of her was almost too much for him to take. His dark eyes narrowed with hungry possessiveness as they swept over her upturned face, and Rosalind gulped as her heart leapt in response. He doesn’t mean it, she reminded her heart wildly, and her mouth trembled and she had to blink against tears.

Cameras clicked and whirred, and the questions kept coming. They had all the “facts” on the press release Gazi al Hamzeh had given out, but, as Gazi had explained before it began, they were looking for sound bites and quotes.

“How do you feel, Rosalind?”

“Stunned. Wonderful,” she said, obediently reciting from the memorized list of handy quotes Gazi had supplied her with in case her own imagination failed. Najib had introduced Gazi as the man who ran the press relations of the Barakat Emirates, and she could believe he was an expert at his job.

He was sitting in a chair on one side, supervising the proceedings. If she stumbled or forgot a “fact,” he was there, quietly picking her up and smoothing it over. Rosalind felt like a sheep faced by wolves, with two very large guard dogs keeping them at bay.

She had agreed to this because she had to. It had finally dawned on her that if the rumour once got out that Sam was Prince Kamil’s son, it would never completely die. There would be no satisfactory way of proving that he was not. There would always be people who wanted to believe that Prince Nazim’s grandson had survived the catastrophe, and whether those people wanted to kill him or to put him on the throne of Bagestan, his life would be derailed.

“I intend to spend the rest of my life making it up to her,” Najib said, in answer to another question.

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