Reclaimed by the Powerful Sheikh

  “The past will never be forgotten.”

  And his request won’t be denied...

  Ten years ago, Mason McAulty was swept into an overwhelming affair with Prince Danyl Al Arain—which ended tragically. Now Danyl has arrived at her struggling Australian farm with a million-dollar demand to attend his royal gala. She cannot refuse—or deny their still-burning fire. As memories pull Mason back into the arms of the sheikh, will their secret pain be overcome by their intense desire?

  Enter the prince’s desert kingdom with this reunion romance!

  “No. I don’t think you’re happy, because I know what you look like when you’re happy, Mason.”

  “And what about you, Danyl? What is it that you want?”

  “I want to be free of this!” he shouted, no longer able to hold back all of the emotions she provoked in him. “This hold you have over me. You think it’s easy for me? You being here? Look at you!”

  “What, dressed up like some wannabe princess? Is the rugged Aussie girl showing through a little too much?” The bitterness in her voice threw gasoline on the flames of his anger.

  “No, damn it—beautiful! You’re beautiful!” For about a second, everything was quiet, as if she was as shocked as he that he’d finally said it. “Every time I look at you it hurts, because I know how you taste, I know how you feel under my skin, I know how your eyes darken when you climax and I know the sound of my name on your lips when you do is like nothing else in this world.”

  Pippa Roscoe lives in Norfolk near her family and makes daily promises to herself that this is the day she’ll leave the computer to take a long walk in the countryside. She can’t remember a time when she wasn’t dreaming about handsome heroes and innocent heroines. Totally her mother’s fault, of course—she gave Pippa her first romance to read at the age of seven! She is inconceivably happy that she gets to share those daydreams with you all. Follow her on Twitter, @pipparoscoe.

  Books by Pippa Roscoe

  Harlequin Presents

  Conquering His Virgin Queen

  The Winners’ Circle

  A Ring to Take His Revenge

  Claimed for the Greek’s Child

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010002

  Pippa Roscoe

  Reclaimed by the Powerful Sheikh

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM THE GREEK'S PREGNANT CINDERELLA BY MICHELLE SMART

  PROLOGUE

  MASON MCAULTY COULDN’T tell if she was breathing.

  It was highly likely, an automatic physical directive obeyed by her body through necessity, but often during a race she didn’t have the time to remind herself to do it. But then, often during a race she didn’t have unwanted thoughts intruding on her mind. Usually her mind was like a cool stream running quick and clear. Not this time. Mason should be focused on the horse beneath her, not the man from her past—the man in her present—the man she wanted to run from. Danyl.

  She stopped short the shiver of ache that vibrated within her chest from thoughts of what might have been before it could take hold. Before it could synchronise with the rhythm of the pounding of horses’ hooves and overwhelm her. She shoved the thought away and focused on the invisible line halfway round the racetrack, beyond a corner that was coming up. Very quickly.

  The burn in her thighs, holding her just above Veranchetti’s spine, felt good. Felt right. Sound in her ears was nothing but an unending roar. Her knees, absorbing the undulations of the horse beneath her. Hooves thundering in place of a heartbeat. For her. For Veranchetti. They were perfectly in time with each other.

  This.

  This was what sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. It wasn’t like flying, it wasn’t effortless, it wasn’t easy. It took fierce determination, muscle, control, understanding and intuition to harness the power of such a horse, to be able to direct that power, to be able to meet that power and do incredible things together.

  Mason could have been riding for hours, years even, but it had only been seconds. Perhaps only as long as a minute. But it was the last eighteen months that condensed into this moment. Nothing else mattered, but everything mattered. She had to win this race. For her father. For herself. For everything that she’d been through and everything that she would go through.

  With ruthless focus, Mason blocked out the thoughts, blocked out the sight of the horse in front of her, the one beside her and the many behind her. She blinkered her vision, just like Veranchetti, as they came to the last corner on the flat race.

  Anticipation rose within her like lightening glass, twisting and twining inside her, solidifying into a tangible thing. This was the moment that Veranchetti came into his own. As if he too blocked everything out until the very last second.

  This was the moment when she allowed herself a small smile. The moment Veranchetti threw himself into the race, as if everything before had just been to get them to this point. She felt it in him, the moment he found that inconceivable burst of strength, the moment that he surged ahead, the moment he surprised everyone but her.

  The moment when there was only a breath between victory and failure. Between past and present, present and future.

  Just one moment...one breath.

  CHAPTER ONE

  December, present day

  DANYL NEJEM AL ARAIN needed to breathe. Needed to focus on what one of his best friends and co-owners of the Winners’ Circle Syndicate was saying. But he couldn’t. His mind was being torn in a million different directions, all pointing to the royal palace’s gala in a week’s time. The gala that would be the final undoing of his sanity.

  ‘Antonio, I—’

  ‘Have to go, yeah, I got it. Things to do, countries to run... Listen, don’t worry. John and Veranchetti are on their way.’

  ‘On their way to where?’ Danyl asked, the suspicion sneaking through his usually quick mind deeply unsettling.

  ‘To Ter’harn.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘As per your mother’s request. As they were already set to come to you for the New Year’s Day meet, she asked that they arrive a few weeks early so that they could be part of the celebrations.’

  ‘This gala is getting completely out of hand.’

  ‘Not as much as my soon-to-be mother-in-law’s wedding plans. Fifty doves. The woman wants to release fifty doves as we leave the church. Never has Las Vegas looked so appealing!’

  ‘Las Vegas?’ Danyl struggled to keep track of the words pouring from Antonio’s mouth.

  ‘Are you even listening to me?’ Impatience bit into the earpiece of the phone.

  ‘Las Vegas. If you really want to move the wedding there, count me in,’ Danyl said, forcing an energy he didn’t feel into the promise.

  ‘Appreciated. Look, the point of the call... I need to know who your plus one will be for the wedding. So, who do you have up next to audition for the role as your future and perfect Queen? I have to admit, from what
Dimitri said about Birgetta—’

  ‘I’ll let you know, when I know,’ Danyl bit back.

  ‘It’s just that, given the recent press attention from McAulty’s win, we’re having to get extra security in place.’

  ‘Got it. Look, I’ll get back to you on the plus one. And I’ll see you and Emma in a week for the gala.’

  Danyl hung up on whatever response Antonio would have given, knowing that his friend would forgive him.

  Things to do, countries to run...

  He slipped his phone into his pocket, rather than hurling it across the room as he wanted. What on earth was his mother thinking, bringing their racing syndicate’s trainer John and their prize thoroughbred Veranchetti to the gala? Not only that, but also to go behind his back and speak directly to Dimitri and Antonio? She was clearly up to something and he had to put a stop to it. Now. The more she added to the line-up of entertainment, the more risk there was that something would go wrong, that it wouldn’t be perfect. And the gala had to be perfect.

  He backed the chair away from the solid wooden desk piled high with paperwork and yellow legal notepads full of his tightly scrawled handwriting, so different from the sleek glass design and state-of-the-art technology of his office in central Aram, capital of Ter’harn. He missed the smooth efficiency and calm simplicity of his professional setting, gently cursing his mother for the melodrama that had brought him reluctantly back to the royal palace.

  Entering the hallway sent a couple of house staff scattering and drew his personal bodyguard along in his wake. His parents would be in the dining room at this hour, Danyl was sure of it. Marching along the hallways with brusque determination, he failed to take in the centuries of elaborate decoration lining the walls, the fine tiled details on the flooring, soft earthy tones contrasting with bright whites, blues and greens, yet his shoulders still felt the burden of the palace. If he twitched them in reflex, he didn’t realise it.

  Ter’harn was an oil-rich country, perfectly placed for both the desert climate and the almost Mediterranean temperature of the mountainous coastline that gave way to the Arabian Sea. It was a heady mix of cultures and influences, everything from the remains of the Ottoman Empire to modern Africa and Arabic nations, brought together within Ter’harn’s borders. Of the country’s three palaces, this was by far the grandest. It had withstood five centuries, three invasions and one attempted coup. Every corner, hallway, room and garden proudly displayed the fingerprints of those who had come before. Whilst other countries had shifted allegiances, royals and rulers, Ter’harn was one of the few kingdoms that had stayed immovable. His family one of the last to remain unseated. It was all resting on his shoulders. And to ensure that their legacy continued, he needed to find a queen to provide an heir. A thought that twisted and turned in Danyl’s stomach.

  Travelling at such a speed didn’t give the house staff enough time to announce his presence at the dining-room doorway, a mistake he realised only too late.

  His father and mother were by the window in what could only be described as a clinch. His father’s hands clutching his mother’s...

  Danyl spun on his heel, facing the wall as if he had been caught out rather than his parents. He wasn’t a prude. But they were his parents!

  He cleared his throat, heard a somewhat flustered response and a shifting of movement, counted to ten, and then an extra five for good measure, before turning back to find them facing him, neither a hair out of place nor a shred of embarrassment visible.

  ‘Did you really need to bring Veranchetti halfway round the world for a party? Don’t you think it a little ostentatious to parade a horse from my syndicate in front of all your guests?’

  ‘Darling, we’re fine, thank you for asking. It is good to see you too,’ his mother mocked. She often complained that he only had one speed: ruthless efficiency. ‘We’re royal, Danyl. People are going to think that anything we do is ostentatious. We might as well have a little fun and play up to it, no? You used to love playing up to it,’ she said, unable to hide the hint of censure that often came with such a declaration. A silent reminder that he used to have fun. Once. ‘Besides, I simply spoke to the boys—’

  ‘They are not boys, Mother.’

  ‘I have known them since you were all at university together. You were boys then, and you’ll always be boys to me.’

  ‘You went behind my back.’

  ‘Oh, Danyl, don’t be so dramatic.’ Her exasperation was undermined by an overly emphatic and somewhat disappointed sigh. ‘Veranchetti was already due to come to Ter’harn and you know that. I simply asked if they would be able to move up the date of their arrival for the New Year’s Day race to coincide with the gala, which is—in part—a celebration of your achievements.’

  ‘I would hardly call it my achievement, Mother,’ Danyl replied.

  ‘Ah, yes. The delightful Mason McAulty. She has yet to respond to our invitation.’

  ‘You invited Mason?’ If his mother noticed the ice-cool tone his voice had contained, she didn’t show it.

  ‘Yes, what a wonderful feat, winning all the three races in the Hanley Cup. Quite extraordinary. For a woman.’

  Elizabeth Al Arain’s words settled into a buzzing sound between Danyl’s ears. Just Mason McAulty’s name was enough to short-circuit his perfectly ordered mind. Images of thick, dark brown hair curling over a sun-kissed shoulder haunted his mind, the echo of a laugh from ten years before, the slight smell of leather and hay...odd scents of feminine silk-soft skin. His mind reared back in self-defence and Danyl sought anger, fury, anything to cover over the moment of mental weakness her name had brought.

  Mason McAulty.

  He didn’t want her here. Not in Ter’harn, not in the palace. He hadn’t even wanted her to ride in the Hanley Cup for their syndicate the Winners’ Circle, but Dimitri Kyriakou and Antonio Arcuri had been quite taken with the idea. Two against one. Although, in all likelihood, if Danyl had refused they would have accepted his decision without question. But the moment she had approached them in the exclusive private members’ club in London...frankly he’d been shocked. Shocked enough to utter a few barbed comments Mason had refused to rise to. He’d tried to send her away, but the stubborn woman had refused. And most of all, that had been what had impressed the Winners’ Circle. That and the sheer audacity of what she’d suggested. Who could have imagined that she would deliver on her promise?

  ‘Well, I want her here,’ his mother pressed on. ‘You know how much I love horse racing. Where do you think you got the bug from?’

  ‘My investment in horses is not a “bug”.’

  ‘Danyl Nejem Al Arain, do not take that tone with me. What Mason McAulty has achieved is nothing short of miraculous. Coming first in each of the three legs of the Hanley Cup with horses from one syndicate—your syndicate—hasn’t been achieved in over thirty years. You know that, I know that, and I want to celebrate the success of such an incredible female jockey. I always thought that had I not been an actress—’

  ‘You would have liked to be a jockey, yes, I know. But you were too tall, Mother.’

  Her response was a delicate sniff. ‘It didn’t stop me from being an excellent rider though. I want to meet this young woman, Danyl, and I want you to do whatever it takes to make it happen. Go to Australia in person, if you have to. Either way, consider it an early Christmas present.’

  ‘What are you really getting out of this, Mother?’ he asked, feeling his own eyes narrow in suspicion. But of what, he couldn’t quite place, or he didn’t want to.

  ‘Oh, darling, it will be the best party we’ve had here for years. With relationships on the borders doing so well, thanks to all your hard work, your father and I are thinking of stepping back further to allow you the room to take the throne.’

  Danyl cast a look to his father, silently watching the conversation as if intuiting undercurrents that Danyl was missing.
>
  ‘But tradition dictates that you wait until I am married,’ he said, fury giving way to frustration as a series of efficiently arranged dates with poised princesses and highly capable CEOs filtered through the last few months of his memory. Anything to prevent the full impact of his mother’s words from raining down upon him. That he was finally going to ascend to the throne. That he would finally inherit the weight of responsibility for hundreds of centuries of culture and nearly three million people.

  ‘Well, as you are failing so spectacularly to produce such a fiancée,’ she said, gently mocking him, ‘we can’t wait for ever, can we? We’re not getting any younger, and it’s about time that I had my husband to myself for a change. Either way, that’s what I want. Mason at the party. And I want you to do whatever it takes to make that happen.’

  * * *

  The morning heat was already fierce and Mason was conscious of time running out. She needed to get a move on if she was to get to the outer fencing of their Australian farmland. She hitched up the saddle strap one hole tighter, threading it back through the buckle as Fool’s Fate shifted on his hooves. She gave the horse’s flank a reassuring pat and turned to find her father standing behind the saddlebags in the stable’s courtyard.

  He looked as if he had aged ten years, rather than the eighteen months she’d been away. The grey at his temples now firmly white. The hollows beneath his eyes a darker shade of blue. She toned down the flare of frustration, the painful ache of sadness, knowing Fool’s Fate would pick up on her feelings if she vented them. Her father picked up one of the bags and held it out to her. She took it from him, turned back to the horse, strapping it to the saddle, and took the moment she needed.

  Beyond the stables, the rolling emerald-coloured fields stretched out towards the mountains in the distance. Mountains that had always brought her a sense of peace, yet now seemed to loom as some kind of dark prophecy. Taking a deep breath, she felt the warm air fill her lungs, heavy and hot.