The Desert Prince's Proposal

‘That is fate’s way of sealing our future meeting,’ he murmured.

Sam’s deep voice washed over her in a sensuous wave, low, warm, intimate, and Bria all but melted against him.

His lips grazing hers had sent her lingering doubts of a proper goodbye up in flames, and she opened her eyes, determined to imprint this man, this moment, in her mind.

However, the instant her eyes opened her resolution to make their farewell short and sweet vanished, and she covered his mouth with hers, pouring her incredible, uncharacteristic desire for him into the swift, heartfelt kiss.

Nicola Marsh has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster, she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose content could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and sons in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves in her dream job. Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.

Nicola also writes for Modern Heat

Recent titles by the same author:

EXECUTIVE MOTHER-TO-BE

PRINCESS AUSTRALIA

FOUND: HIS FAMILY

WIFE AND MOTHER WANTED

“LOVE HER, LOVE HER!! Nicola Marsh

is heading the forefront of the Romance revolution.

Feel-good romance has never looked so good.”

—CataRomance.com

Dear Reader

Have you ever dreamed of being swept away to an exotic location? To a far distant land with sweeping desert sands, a lush oasis, an opulent palace? And, of course, such a magical place would have a prince ruling it—a striking, sexy, powerful prince, used to getting his own way.

If this fantasy sounds intriguing to you, imagine the fun I had creating Adhara and its ruler, Prince Samman al Wali.

As we all know, every strong alpha male needs a heroine to match him in every way, and Bria Green more than fits the bill.

She’s independent, confident, and focussed on making it to the top of her career. That is until she meets the mysterious Sam, unaware that her trip to Adhara will change her life in ways she never thought possible…

I had a wonderful time writing this story. From the hip vibe of Melbourne to cosmopolitan Dubai, from a private desert oasis to a French-inspired palace, I let my imagination run wild.

I hope you get swept away to Adhara too!

Best wishes

Nicola

THE DESERT PRINCE’S PROPOSAL

BY

NICOLA MARSH

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my very special Nan, who takes great pride in every book I write (and who introduced me to the wonderful world of Mills & Boon all those years ago!).

CHAPTER ONE

‘I AM NOT getting into that thing!’

Bria Green glared at the chauffeur, who stared at her with amused detachment like he’d seen it all before, and pointed at the gleaming-black limo parked at the kerb.

‘I didn’t ask to be picked up. Who sent you?’

The chauffeur, simply known as ‘Len’, from his name tag, removed his cap and rubbed at a shiny dome almost as highly polished as his car.

‘Look, miss. I’m just doing my job. Your name and flight details were on my list, so here I am. I don’t know who makes the bookings, I just follow instructions.’

Bria’s anger deflated a tad. It wasn’t this guy’s fault that Daddy dearest was up to his old tricks again.

‘Miss?’

Len held open the door to the limo, and she wavered slightly before a strong waft of spanking-new leather and wood polish hit her like a frigid gust on an icy Melbourne day.

She hated the smell: rich, pungent, nauseating. The smell she’d grown to hate as a child when she’d been dropped off at the school gates every morning, and had faced the merciless teasing of the other kids for turning up to school in a chauffeured limo.

Shaking her head, she backed away from the open door like an abseiler having second thoughts about jumping off a cliff.

‘No. I can’t. I’m sorry.’

Len frowned, staring at her with genuine confusion in his crinkly brown eyes.

‘But, miss, I’m instructed to take you to the Mansion hotel. It’s my employer’s orders.’

Taking a deep breath, she clutched her suitcase handle, gripped by an irrational fear that if she released it for one second it would be whisked away and stuffed into the limo’s boot, leaving her no choice but to enter the opulent confines of the car.

‘Excuse me, is there a problem here? Do you need some help?’

Great, just what she needed, some stranger with an upper-class accent poking his nose into her business.

With her temper rising by the minute, she forced a tight smile and looked up at the man, determined to fob him off, ditch Len and find the nearest taxi to take her to the hotel.

However, the first part of her plan faltered when her wary gaze met curious dark-brown eyes, eyes she would’ve flicked past if they weren’t part of a striking ensemble of high cheekbones, strong jaw, straight Roman nose, Mediterranean tan and black-as-coal hair which framed his face, highlighting the perfection.

Striking? Who was she kidding? The guy was gorgeous, imposing, and staring at her with obvious concern.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, waving him away with one hand while maintaining a death grip on her suitcase.

She travelled extensively to promote Motive, her architectural business. She knew the dangers of landing in a strange city and being accosted by wackos, no matter how incredible they looked.

‘You sure?’

His deep voice rippled over her, the posh accent reminiscent of the time she’d spent in London. The time she’d rather forget.

‘Positive.’

She nodded emphatically and turned away, only to be confronted by the burgundy leather seats of the limo, and a bar tucked discreetly into the far door.

Suddenly, the choice between getting into the limo and possibly being abducted didn’t seem so far apart after all.

‘I’m sorry for intruding, but it appears you don’t want to get into the limousine with this man.’

Len puffed up like a jellyfish.

‘Hey! I resent what you’re implying, sir. I’m only doing my job, and right now that’s taking Miss Green to her hotel.’

The stranger ignored Len and focussed that unnerving, steady gaze on her.

‘Would you prefer to take a taxi?’

‘Yes, please.’

She nodded, grateful that someone had picked up on her distress and wasn’t making a big deal about it.

All she wanted to do was grab a cab to the hotel, take a long, hot bath and prepare for her presentation. She didn’t need any more dramas.

‘Miss Green, are you sure?’

Len didn’t give up easily, and she managed a weary smile to reassure him.

‘I’m sure. And don’t worry about your employer. If you have any problems, get them to contact me direct.’

Shrugging, Len doffed his cap in her direction before closing the door and heading to the driver’s side of the car, obviously washing his hands of the crazy lady who’d rather ride in a beat-up taxi than a stretch limo.

‘Thank you,’ she said, turning to the stranger, but already looking past him, her eager gaze fixed on the last taxi standing at the rank.

‘My pleasure. Would you care to share my taxi?’

‘Your taxi?’

She knew it. Mr Nice Guy had an ulterior motive. He’d helped her get rid of Len only to coerce her into goodness knew what during what could prove an interminable taxi ride to anywhere.

An amused gleam lit his dark eyes, as if he could read her suspicious mind.

‘I took the liberty of snaring the last taxi for myself. The driver said a major football match has just finished in the city, so there won’t be another taxi along for a while.’

‘That’s okay. I’ll take the shuttle bus.’

Though that would put her plans of having a bath and time to prepare her talk way behind, considering she was staying at Werribee, miles out of town.

He hesitated for a moment before shrugging.

‘Suit yourself. I’m staying at the Mansion hotel, and you probably would’ve been out of my way.’

‘You’re staying at the Mansion? Are you there for the architects’ conference too?’

‘No, I’m not attending the conference. I’m into property development, and have other business to attend to while I’m there.’

Bria toyed with the leather handle on her case as she weighed up her options: take a ride with a handsome stranger to her hotel in the relative comfort of a taxi, or spend an interminable few hours while the shuttle stopped at countless hotels.

She may be stubborn, as her father repeatedly told her, but she wasn’t stupid, and the decision was a no-brainer.

Sticking out her hand, she said, ‘Sorry for being a bit abrupt. I’m Bria Green, and if your offer for a ride still stands I’d like to take you up on it. Strange coincidence, but I’m staying at the Mansion too.’

He raised a dark eyebrow as he clasped her hand in his.

‘Sam Wali. And of course you can share the taxi with me.’

‘Great.’

She smiled, a strange flutter of uncertainty causing her to leave her hand in his longer than necessary. His hand was warm, his grip firm without crushing, and though she didn’t sense anything untoward from him a slight shiver skittered down her spine at the intensity of his dark stare.

‘Do you believe in fate, Miss Green?’

Bria dropped her hand quickly, hoping she hadn’t given him the wrong idea, and wondering how she got herself into these situations. For a strong, opinionated career-woman, she had a habit of making the odd impulsive decision which had far-reaching repercussions.

Clearing her throat, she said, ‘I believe we make our own fate, Mr Wali.’

He smiled, and all her misgivings disappeared in an instant, the genuine warmth lighting his face and capturing her with its animation.

‘Please call me Sam. After all, we’re going to be sharing a taxi together.’

‘Bria,’ she said, hating the flicker of awareness his simple words elicited—the flicker that told her, no matter how strongly she’d sworn off men after Ellis ‘the lowlife’ Finley, this handsome stranger had the power to intrigue her. ‘And thanks, once again.’

He barely acknowledged her gratitude.

‘You are ready to depart?’

She nodded, biting back a grin at his formal speech patterns. Combined with a strong upper-class English accent, a designer suit which appeared hand-made to fit his imposing physique, and the solid platinum-and-gold watch on his left wrist, Sam exuded wealth and power—everything in a guy that usually made her wary, yet she found herself nodding anyway.

‘Come. We will go.’

Before she could move, he’d whisked her suitcase away and was heading to the waiting taxi, his long strides eating up the footpath.

Hoping she was doing the right thing, and too tired to care one way or the other, she followed him, taking the time to admire the flattering fit of his charcoal-grey pinstripe suit and the impressive way he held himself—with casual grace underlined by strength.

She might have been tired but she wasn’t dead, and when he reached the taxi and swivelled to face her, appearing surprised she hadn’t kept up, she quickly raised her gaze from where it had been hovering around his body and forced a smile, hoping he couldn’t see the surge of uncharacteristic heat in her cheeks.

Bria glanced at her watch, roughly estimating that they were ten minutes away from the hotel, and she was rather grateful.

Since the initial small talk with Sam they’d lapsed into silence, and while it wasn’t uncomfortable it was a tad disconcerting to be confined this closely with a guy like him.

A guy like what? Intelligent, articulate and suave?

She may be going through a dating drought by choice, but she wasn’t completely oblivious to a sexy guy, and she could think of worse ways to while away the time between the airport and her destination.

‘How long are you staying at the hotel?’

‘Just a few days. The conference ends on Sunday after my presentation, but I’m staying on for an extra day. I heard they have a fabulous day spa there, so I thought a little R and R would be a good idea. And you?’

Not that she particularly cared. Sam was one of those guys that flitted in and out of places, focussed on business and little else. She could tell. If he were any other type of guy he would’ve been talking non-stop to impress her—usually about himself—or pushing her for a date. Instead, he’d done her the courtesy of staying silent for most of the trip.

‘I’m staying tonight and tomorrow.’

Surprised and somewhat concerned by the tiny flicker of disappointment at his words, she said, ‘That’s what I call a flying visit.’

He shrugged, drawing her attention to his broad shoulders beneath a crisp pale-blue tailored shirt.

‘Part of the business, I’m afraid. I’m used to it.’

She nodded, understanding completely. Her schedule often included regular flights to all parts of the globe, and she’d fine-tuned a jet-lag cure to cope with it.

In fact, Sam looked damn good for a guy who’d spent over a day on a plane, so he’d obviously discovered his own magical cure for biological-clock warfare, too.

‘Do you have any plans tonight?’

She shook her head, envisaging that long soak in the tub she’d been hankering for since the airport.

‘In that case, I’d be honoured if you would have dinner with me.’

An instant refusal sprang to her lips. She never dined or flirted, or did much of anything other than focus on work these days, and having dinner with Sam, no matter how nice he’d been, was out of the question.

However, the longer he stared at her with those compelling dark eyes, the more her resolve wavered.

There was nothing sleazy in his invitation, merely a polite request from someone who had already done her a favour by letting her share his taxi.

Why shouldn’t she have dinner with him?

She had to eat, hadn’t she?

Besides, she sensed a kindred spirit in Sam—someone who was so business-oriented that it was rare to take time out to speak to another human, let alone eat with them.

‘I hear that Joseph’s restaurant has a world-renowned chef who spent many years in London. Sampling the cuisine would be a must. And I would love to hear more about your presentation. I’m intrigued. It might give me some ideas to improve my own business.’

‘In that case, how can I refuse?’

She smiled, surprised at how quickly she’d capitulated, more so by the quick glint of pleasure in Sam’s eyes.

He didn’t appear smug or sneaky, or any of the things she’d come to look for when guys asked her out. Instead, he seemed genuinely pleased she’d accepted his invitation, and suddenly she looked forward to tonight.

If there was one thing she was comfortable discussing it was her business, and why shouldn’t she help Sam out? She owed him for the taxi ride.

Dinner would be like the countless other business meals she’d shared with strangers who’d ended up being her clients.

No pressure. No expectations. Just the way she liked it.

Pleased with the way she’d rationalised her acceptance of Sam’s invitation, she sat back and watched as they pulled up outside the beautiful hotel.

‘I’ll make the reservations. Does eight suit?’

‘Fine,’ she said, returning his smile, a small part of her recognising she’d never looked forward to dinner with clients as much as she was looking forward to dinner with this enigmatic stranger.

CHAPTER TWO

BRIA entered the restaurant a few minutes early, confident she’d be the first one there. However, the moment she stepped into the elaborate room with velvet banquettes, brushed-silver table lamps and polished mahogany, she saw Sam rise to his feet from a far table and weave his way through the room, his dark eyed gaze fixed solely on her.

She swallowed, unprepared for the rush of excitement, the little thrill of anticipation that this incredible-looking guy was dining with her. Women’s heads turned as he strode between the tables, not that she could blame them.

He’d changed out of his business suit into black trousers and an open-necked white shirt which accentuated his deep tan. Though his mannerisms and accent screamed British, she guessed he had a Mediterranean background, what with his dark good looks and unusual surname.

‘I’m so glad you joined me,’ he said as he reached her side, his appreciative stare sending warmth spiralling through her body. She stiffened, not used to the uncharacteristic physical reaction to a guy, especially one she wouldn’t see after tonight.

‘Thanks for asking me.’

His eyebrow flicked upward at her short, clipped response, and she inwardly sighed, knowing this was a bad idea.

So she felt slightly indebted to the guy for sharing his taxi with her—that didn’t mean she’d had to agree to his dinner invitation. She could’ve said a polite ‘thank you’ like the super-cautious woman she usually was and left it at that.

Instead, she’d dithered over her wardrobe choice for five minutes too long—exactly four minutes longer than she usually took—and had that weird, quivering sensation in her belly that dinner with an attractive man for the first time in ages might bring her more than she bargained for.

‘You seem a little tense. Are you tired?’

She shook her head, impressed by his perceptiveness, surprised by his consideration. Most guys wouldn’t have noticed she was tired.

‘Actually, I’m starving. The tiredness is par for the course with my business at the moment.’

He inclined his head, a strangely formal gesture that added to his appeal rather than diminishing it.

‘I understand. Please, let us eat so you can retire early.’

Stifling a smile at his formal way of speaking, she fell into step beside him, acutely aware of his hand resting in the small of her back, gently guiding her through the maze of tables.

Heat seeped through the silk of her dress and her skin prickled, utterly aware of his barely-there touch and reacting accordingly.

Thankfully, they reached their table in record time, and Bria slid into the seat he held out for her, wondering if this was all a smooth, elaborate act or if Sam was this polite all the time.

Not that it mattered. She’d never fallen for a slick charmer before—her ex Ellis had been reserved and a tad bumbling, which is why she’d let him into her life—and she had no intention of loosening up now, even if he did have the most amazing, soulful dark eyes.

She had to admit his eyes fascinated her: the darkest of chocolate brown, mysterious, mesmerising.

Eyes that held secrets.

Eyes possessing wisdom beyond their years.

Eyes hinting at a whole host of possibilities she couldn’t begin to fathom.

‘Is there something wrong?’

She jolted upright and hoped she hadn’t been drooling.

‘I’m sorry for staring. That was rude of me.’

And stupid—very, very stupid.

He smiled, and the slight upward turning of his lips softened his face, creating a tiny road-map of lines around those fascinating eyes.

‘On the contrary, I’ll take it as a compliment. To have a beautiful woman stare at a man is the highest form of flattery.’

‘Or insanity.’

The words popped out before she could stop them, but thankfully he laughed.

‘You are a very frank woman. I find that intriguing.’

‘It becomes irritating after a while. Or so I’ve been told.’

She picked up a menu and ducked behind it, feeling awkward and gauche and out of her depth with a guy of Sam’s class. Rather ironic, considering she’d attended the best of Swiss boarding schools and had mingled with politicians, moguls and the upper echelons of society her entire life.

Yet there was something about him, more than his fancy clothes, posh accent and formal speech patterns, some sort of inbred class that stood him head and shoulders above everyone else.

And that alone should have her running as far from the magnetic property-developer as she could get. Class and power were often inexorably linked, often used to control and manipulate and impress.

She should know.

‘Please do not be embarrassed. I value honesty, especially as we have so little time together. Let us share a meal, enjoy each other’s company and talk some more.’

The elaborate print of the menu faded before her eyes as the implication of his smooth words sunk in. The eating part she could do, the enjoyment part was up for debate. As for talking some more, what was so interesting about small talk with a virtual stranger?

Thankfully, the appearance of a waiter put paid to any further chit chat and she placed her order quickly, hoping the black-lip abalone steak tasted as good as it sounded. She usually adored good food, but had a sneaking suspicion that tonight everything would taste like chaff under Sam’s disconcerting gaze.

Once the waiter disappeared Sam leaned back in his chair, the simple action drawing his shirt across his chest, and she struggled not to stare at the sheer breadth of it. It was probably as tanned as the rest of him, if the tantalising V of flesh where the collar lay open at his throat was any indication.

‘I’m interested in hearing about your business. Can you tell me more about it?’

Bria smiled, inwardly chalking up another brownie point to Sam. Guys weren’t usually interested in hearing about her, especially her business. Some neanderthal had once told her he found women talking about business emasculating; needless to say she hadn’t lasted to the main course on that date.

Clasping her hands in her lap to stop from fiddling with the cutlery, she said, ‘I started up my architectural firm a while back. Motive is my pride and joy. Before that I attended the University of Sydney, completed my degree in architecture, was lucky enough to serve a year under one of Australia’s top designers, then branched out on my own.’

She omitted the part about endless arguments with her dad or the countless hours she’d spent trying to convince him she hadn’t needed the backing of Kurt Green, Australia’s answer to Bill Gates.

Though, there was a difference. Bill worked for his money whereas her arrogant, lazy father had never lifted a finger a day in his life, other than to point it at her and accuse her of being a failure once he’d realised she wouldn’t submit to his control.

‘That’s very impressive. You must have quite a reputation to be invited as guest speaker at a conference?’

If he only knew.

Sure she had a reputation, as a ballsy, driven workaholic who could turn a dump into a palace. She’d designed some of the biggest, most eye-catching projects in Australia, and had been catapulted to the top of the architectural heap so fast her head still spun.

However, being at the top came at a price, and the long, lonely hours between midnight and six a.m. weren’t so great no matter how many times she lay in bed reliving her business success in her head.

She shrugged, not surprised to find her fingers tugging at the edges of the tablecloth. She always fiddled when she was nervous or uncomfortable, and in the face of Sam’s obvious admiration she was definitely uncomfortable.

‘I’ve been lucky. I’ve designed some fairly well-known projects, and Motive is growing all the time. Not boasting, or anything, but it’s bordering on becoming quite famous in this country because of it.’

‘We make our own luck,’ he said, staring at her intently as the waiter returned, filled their glasses with pricey champagne and left as unobtrusively as he’d arrived.

Though she couldn’t fathom the curiosity in his eyes, she agreed one hundred percent about the luck thing.

She might have been born into the richest family in Australia, but she’d shunned that life when old enough to escape her father’s clutches, had made her own way in the world, built her own company, and was still her own woman.

Picking up her flute, she raised it in his direction. ‘To luck.’

‘To luck,’ he said, clinking glasses with her ever so softly, his warm, melted-treacle gaze in stark contrast to the icy bite of champagne bubbles sliding down her suddenly constricted throat.

With an extremely handsome guy staring at her with ill-concealed fascination, she felt extremely lucky indeed.

Bria kicked off her stilettos as soon as she entered her room and, padding across to the king-sized bed, flopped back onto the plump pillows.

She was exhausted.

Not a totally foreign feeling, considering she felt this way most nights after the gruelling hours she kept and the way she pushed herself at work, but tonight was different.

Her weariness had nothing to do with work—it had been the furthest thing from her mind for most of the evening—and had everything to do with the suave man who’d held her captivated for most of it.

Sam was something else.

From the top of his thick, black hair to the soles of his polished designer shoes, he’d held her enthralled. He’d said all the right things, done all the right things, and she’d found herself hanging on his every word towards the end of dinner.

Not that he’d said terribly much. Instead he’d steered the conversation away from himself and had focussed it solely on her. She would’ve normally found such secrecy troubling, and intense scrutiny unnerving, yet when he’d stared at her with that melt-me gaze she’d quite happily blabbed away until she’d stuffed food into her mouth to shut up.

When Sam had talked he’d had a distinct way of speaking, a polite, almost formal intonation that leant weight to his words, and she’d wished several times during the course of the evening that they could spend more time together. It had been a long while since any guy had captured her attention so thoroughly, and she wanted to know more.

Groaning, she closed her eyes and flung her arm across them.

Well, she’d got her wish.

Before they’d parted at the lifts in the foyer Sam had said what a lovely time he’d had, and he would really like to spend tomorrow with her before conducting his business and flying out of the country.

She should’ve said no.

She should’ve mumbled some excuse about preparing her speech for Sunday.

She should’ve turned frigid like she had when any guy had come near her since Ellis.

Instead, she’d smiled and blushed and nodded and made a complete fool of herself.

What was she thinking?

‘You weren’t,’ she mumbled, wondering if she could plead a headache tomorrow morning, knowing that would be the wimp’s way out.

Since when had she ever done wimpy?

Determined to ignore the niggle of misgiving that she’d just made an impulsive decision with her heart rather than her head, she logged on to her emails, eager to bury herself in business and forget her fascination with Sam and their impending date.

Scanning through the usual requests for quotes, her gaze focussed on one bearing the heading ‘Welcome to Adhara’. Her best friend Eloise had been whisked away to live in the tiny desert country since her marriage to royalty, and had been begging her to visit ever since.

However, this email wasn’t another of Lou’s badgering missives. Instead, it had come from Ned Wilson, her biggest client in Australia—the media mogul who had a thing for Middle Eastern architecture, and who’d been hounding her every step to turn his Sydney-harbour mansion into a replica of something out of Arabian Nights.

Her finger slipped off the laptop’s mouse as she read the email. Ned wanted his mansion to be authentic, had discovered the only mosaics he’d consider having in his home, and had booked her a trip to Adhara.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she reread the email. It wasn’t a request, it was an order, and considering Ned Wilson could make or break careers—and had done so quite publicly in the past—it looked like she had little choice.

She hated any guy thinking he could control her, yet, with the promise of Ned’s renovated mansion sending her reputation through the glass ceiling, she’d swallow her pride for once and do what he wanted. Architecture was predominantly male-oriented and she battled for recognition with every job.

Taking a few calming breaths before she fired off a response, Bria checked out the information Ned had attached to the email. Though she hated his high-handedness in organising this trip without asking, she couldn’t help but be fascinated by the sweeping desert sands, the white-washed buildings and the quaint market places.

She’d always been fascinated by exotic places and their architecture, and it looked like she was about to get an up-close-and-personal view of Adhara whether she wanted it or not.

Sighing, she fired off a second email, to Lou this time, informing her of the upcoming visit. Her friend would be ecstatic, though considering the business nature of the trip she seriously doubted they’d have much time for doing what they loved best: lounging around, sharing gossip and packets of chocolate Tim-Tams.

All in all, this trip wouldn’t be too bad. Ned could’ve sent her to the outer reaches of the Sahara on a whim, rather than a country where she knew someone, and once she completed his house her reputation as an architect would soar.

Nothing like positive publicity to build a career, she thought, and, feeling more upbeat than she had a few minutes ago, Bria logged off and padded into the bathroom, her mind filled with images of endless stretches of desert—quickly replaced by a man with mesmerising dark eyes.