Crowned For His Desert Twins by Clare Connelly
THEROOMSWARMED with exactly the sort of people Khalil had come to think of as ‘the usual suspects’ at such events. The ballroom of the elegant Manhattan hotel buzzed with America’s elite, women in ball gowns and men in suits, chattering non-stop so the noise was like the buzz of cicadas droning on incessantly.
‘Your Highness?’ A waiter approached nervously, holding a stainless-steel tray and a single glass of Scotch.
Khalil’s lips twisted cynically. Even here, across the other side of the world, his reputation preceded him. The Ruthless Prince, he thought with a sneer. Had he always been regarded as such? Or was it just after Fatima, when it had become easier to see people as they truly were, and therefore harder to hide his contempt? He lifted the glass with a dismissive nod, and the waiter scuttled away gratefully.
It was strong and spiced with citrus, just as he liked it. He took a sip, his eyes travelling the room, quirking a brow in greeting as he recognised a familiar face in conversation near the entrance, before his gaze continued to roam, his features unknowingly bearing an expression of bored impatience. This had never been his scene. He much preferred the important parts of ruling—policy, education, funding, policing. The frothy parties and socialising were a pointless waste of time, time he simply didn’t have. Drawing himself to his full six and a half feet, he looked towards a set of wide doors, preparing to escape this pointless event, having at least made an appearance to appease international diplomatic relations.
And then, he saw her.
His gaze arrested, his body straightened unconsciously, something like adrenaline filled his mouth as he stared at the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Tall and slender with blonde hair that was pinned into a bun low on her nape, she wore a deep blue gown that demanded attention—not for the dress so much as for what it did to her figure. Curved breasts and hips, a slim waist and long legs were encased in a sheath of fabric that, while elegant enough to meet the dress code, lacked the puffy confection of the ball gowns the other women wore. Her smile was quick and transformed her face, showing dimples in either cheek, so her eyes looked as though they were filled with glitter.
Throwing back the rest of his Scotch, already poised to move closer, Khalil moved his attention to encompass her date almost as an afterthought. Whoever it was, it didn’t matter. Such considerations were irrelevant to Sheikh Khalil el Abdul, ruler to one of the most prosperous countries in the Middle East. No woman he’d ever wanted had resisted him; it didn’t occur to him she might be the first.
The blonde smiled again and Khalil’s eyes narrowed, looking to the recipient of this beautiful gift. The man’s back was turned to him, so all Khalil could tell was that he was fair and stood about a foot shorter than Khalil, almost the same height as the woman. He wore a tuxedo with tails, his shoes polished. But it was when the man angled his face in profile that a blade cut through Khalil’s chest.
The recognition was instantaneous. He never forgot a face, but this one in particular he had good cause to recollect—and despise. Ethan Graves, his one-time friend, a man he’d thought well enough of to introduce to his cousin—more like a sister, really—a man who’d then gone on to destroy Astrid’s life. A familiar rush of guilt churned through him. He couldn’t look at Ethan without seeing Astrid—the way their relationship had affected her. If only he hadn’t set them up! If only he’d seen what was happening before it was too late...
Khalil squeezed the Scotch glass so hard it almost broke. He put it down before he cracked it, and eyed the pair with renewed interest.
His heart was beating hard, determination moving through his veins like steel. There was no one on earth he hated more than he did Ethan Graves. The man was the lowest of the low. He’d be doing this woman a favour by seducing her away from Ethan. Ethan wasn’t good enough for the air he breathed, let alone for this woman to be giving him her attention.
Yes, she would benefit from this plan too but, mainly, Khalil wanted to make Ethan suffer. He wanted to hurt him; he’d been hoping for a chance to avenge his cousin, and fate had delivered that opportunity right into his lap. Adrenaline burst through him, determination wiping anything else from his mind.
He hated Ethan Graves, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make the other man pay, including seducing his very beautiful lover...
