The Sultan's Bed Read Free

men drooling night and day. Mariah’s dirty-blond hair and short, curvy figure were no match for Jane’s slender, long legs and bright green eyes. No doubt Zayad had met Jane this morning—without the sweat, the acerbic lawyerspeak and the head-on collision—and wanted to ask her out.
    What a total idiot.
    â€œJane’s working right now, but she’ll be back later.”
    â€œThank you.” He grinned. “Goodbye, Miss Kennedy.”
    He inclined his head, then walked past her down the steps before disappearing into a shiny black SUV. Her hand on the doorknob, Mariah stared after him thinking about how great he looked, both from the front and from the back.
    Mariah released a weighty breath. More than anything in the world she’d love to delve into a nice summer romance. She had been pretty lonely lately. No dates, even with the under-five-seven crowd. A summer fling with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome could be fun. But fantasies needed to remain just that. Men like that one cheated and lied and jumped ship when the going got rough.
    For a moment Mariah just stood there mulling over her thoughts, her beliefs and theories. It wasn’t a pretty picture. If truth be told, she hated how bitter she’d become. Sure, it had made her a better lawyer, but what had it done to her as a woman?
    She couldn’t help but remember a time, long ago and oh-so far away, when she’d lived in an eternal springtime. Love had bitten her and sent her reeling. Like some Disney cartoon. But a man had stripped her raw of that feeling and taken her trust and hope along with it.
    Her faux leather briefcase felt like a bag of rocks as she headed into the house to her beloved Little Debbie snack cakes and later a long, hot bath.
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    The sultan had taken a risk in coming to America with only a handful of security. But he refused to be under guard. He had brought just three men, and all were under strict orders to protect only when commanded.
    With a quick glance in the rearview mirror at the beautiful and highly spirited woman who lived next door, Zayad pulled away from the curb and headed down the street. Behind him another car also moved from the curb. Zayad had an almost irresistible urge to floor the black Escalade and give his men somethingto chase, but as always, he would resist impulses and desires that did not serve his country’s purposes.
    His cell phone rang. He took his time in answering.
    â€œYes, Harin?”
    â€œWhere are you going, sir?”
    â€œTo the beach.” His body was tight. He needed exercise, something to calm his nerves. His sword lay in the backseat, ready for work.
    â€œIf I may suggest Dove Cove, sir. It is deserted at this time. You will not be disturbed.”
    â€œVery good, but I will go alone.”
    â€œSir—”
    â€œTake the next exit and return home. I will let you know when I have need of you again.” Zayad snapped the phone shut. He was only going to the beach. Surely he could protect himself if the need arose. He was, after all, a master swordsman. A man who had studied under the great warrior, Ohanda. All knew that at the age of twelve the young sultan had been able to hear a predator—animal or otherwise—ten feet away and easily take him down.
    But as an adult Zayad also understood that in certain situations it was wise to have protection. His people must have him back safe and sound. As must his son, who was young yet, just thirteen, and not ready to take his father’s place as ruler if something were to happen.
    The thought of his son sent Zayad’s mind racing toward another child. A female. One who could be his father’s daughter. A young girl who might never have known she was of royal blood. A girl who might never have known she had two brothers who would give much to know her.
    Zayad glanced to the seat beside him and flipped open a file folder. A photograph stared up at him. A beautiful young woman with the