The Inherited Bride by Maisey Yates

assuming a diplomatic role.
    And now action was needed—with or without Hassan’s blessing. He could not stay with Isabella any longer. Not with his control so dangerously cracked. Even now it hadnot returned to him. Even now he longed to take her, fill her, possess her, make her his woman.
    The last few days had been hell. She had paraded her sexy little body for him at the department store, had teased him with the thought of her in that brief lingerie.
    It had been far too long since he’d had sex. He needed to get rid of his charge and contact one of his ex-mistresses as quickly as possible, so that he could soothe his raging libido.
    He opened the office door and saw that Isabella remained where he had left her, knees drawn up to her chest, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders in a shiny curtain. She straightened when he came out of the office, her expression wary, her cheeks flushed.
    “We’re leaving,” he said tightly.
    “What? Where?”
    “We’re going to Umarah. To the palace. To Hassan.”
    “But … why?”
    “Why?” he said roughly. “I shall tell you why,
amira.
Because back on the street I was thirty seconds away from stripping you of your jeans and taking your carefully guarded virginity against a wall.” The words were torn from him, his voice raw.
“You
may be able to betray your word to the High Sheikh in such a way, but I will not.”
    “I.” Her pretty mouth dropped open, her blue eyes wide.
    Good. She was shocked—as he had intended. He had been intentionally crude in order to show her who she was dealing with, show her the disparity between them.
    “I don’t want to leave,” she said quietly, those wide eyes filling with tears.
    “I do not care what you want,” he said coldly, the roaring of his blood making the words harsh. “We are leaving.
Now.”

CHAPTER SIX
    A DHAM’S private plane touched down in the Umarahn capital of Maljadeed just before dark. Even with the sun disappearing behind the flat, rock-hewn mountains on the outskirts of the city, it was the hottest weather Isabella could ever remember experiencing.
    The limo that was waiting for them at the airport was air-conditioned, providing immediate relief from the thick, stifling air. The road system was clearly new and expensive—a sign of a thriving infrastructure. It wound through the city, which was still alive with movement despite the late hour. The marketplace was bustling with people selling their wares. The smell of street food and spices mingled together. Crumbling buildings were backed by high-rises, supermarkets next to craft stalls, mixing the old world and the new in a way Isabella had never seen before.
    It was a strange place, void of anything familiar. And it was to be her home.
    It was a frightening thought—and much more real than it ever had been before. She’d known that she was going to marry Hassan, known that Umarah was destined to be her home, since she was ten years old. But facing it now … seeing how different the city was, how different the road systems were, how strange and foreignthe marketplace and the clothing on the people milling around … it was difficult to imagine her life here—what it would be like not only to change homes, to be married, but to change cultures, languages.
    She swallowed, longing to draw strength from Adham, to lean against him and have him shield her. But she couldn’t. He had made it plain that contact between them was impossible, and he was right. She knew he was. She was engaged to Hassan and she had always planned to honor that—had never even contemplated betraying him.
    It was because Adham was a known entity in a land of unknowns. That was all. Nothing more. There couldn’t be more.
    The palace came into view, set in the middle of everything and shrouded partially by a high stone wall. The dim light made the palace glow purple, the domed roof a pale yellow. She imagined that during the fiery heat of the day it was an intense sight.
    Her