The Sheikh's Bought Wife Read online

  ‘You’ll wake the neighbours.’

  In the darkness she could see him shrug. ‘Then don’t make me,’ he said.

  She expelled an angry sigh. ‘You’d better come in.’

  He had to dip his head to enter the low-ceilinged cottage and once inside he managed to make everything look as if it were made from cardboard. It was disconcerting to see him in jeans and a leather jacket instead of his usual flowing robes. Somehow it made him resemble some hunk from the poster of an action film and it made him look gloriously and dangerously accessible. She wondered what he thought of her get-up—the thick sweater she’d pulled on over her pyjamas and the woolly bed socks which were covering her feet.

  But it didn’t matter what he thought of her appearance. She wasn’t trying to impress him, or seduce him. She wasn’t even going to ask him to sit down because she wasn’t planning on him staying that long.

  ‘So. Why don’t you say whatever it is you want to say and then go?’

  Zayed nodded as he sucked in a deep breath. He could feel the blood pounding through his veins and the way his mouth had become as dry as desert dust as he stared into her face. Apology wasn’t something which came easily to him for he was a man who found it difficult to accept he’d been in the wrong, but he knew what he needed to say. ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved in Qaiyama.’

  She shrugged. ‘It was...regrettable—but there’s nothing we can do about it now. However, thank you for your apology and for the effort you made in coming to give it to me.’

  It wasn’t what he was expecting but he accepted she was going to make him work a little harder than that. ‘But that isn’t the only reason I’m here, Jane.’

  ‘Let me guess.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘You want to resurrect your ego by demonstrating just how wonderful a lover you can be?’

  ‘While the thought of doing that makes my blood sing,’ he said softly, ‘what I really want is your forgiveness.’

  She shook her head. ‘And I don’t feel inclined to give it to you,’ she said and suddenly she stopped caring about saving face. About pretending not to be hurt. She was hurt. That was a fact—and facts were what she dealt with. ‘At least, not now. Not yet. Give me a year. Maybe five. Come back when the pain isn’t quite so raw and we might even be able to laugh about it.’

  ‘Jane—’

  ‘No,’ she said fiercely. ‘Whatever it is you want to say, I’m asking you to consider the effect it might have on me first. Please, Zayed. Don’t try to seduce me because you want to.’ Her voice broke a little. ‘Because you can.’

  His jaw clenched as she spoke to him, his eyes closing briefly—as if it was rare for someone to heap such censure upon him, and of course it was. But she wasn’t here to protect Zayed’s feelings...she was too busy trying to safeguard her own.

  ‘I miss you—and that’s the truth,’ he said, looking straight into her eyes—his gaze direct and dark and unflinching. ‘I like having you around, Jane. Much more than I’d realised. I’d never really valued companionship before—I’d always thought it overrated and intrusive—but suddenly I do. I like the way you make me feel and I’m not just talking about sexually. You challenge me intellectually. I’ve never had that from a woman before. You make me smile and I’ve never had that before either. You infuriate me with your stubbornness, yet I admire the way you fight your corner. And my people adore you—that is in no doubt. You have the makings of a first-class desert queen, Jane, and I...’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘Well, I would like to make the position permanent.’

  ‘You’d like to make the position permanent,’ she repeated in a low voice.

  ‘Why not?’ He smiled then. That roguish, sexy smile which told her he considered himself on firmer ground now—that he was heading towards the victory of the finishing line as he had done so many times before.

  ‘We have proved our compatibility in many ways,’ he continued. ‘And I think you’re honest enough to admit that you won’t ever find another man who compares to me.’

  ‘So you no longer think I was planning to hook up with David Travers as soon as the ink on our divorce papers was dry?’

  He shrugged. ‘I may have been a little hasty in my judgment.’

  ‘Is that a yes, Zayed?’ she persisted. ‘Or a no?’

  ‘What is it that you ask of me, Jane?’ he demanded. ‘When I have given you all that a woman can reasonably expect. I didn’t do trust, or confidences or foreplay until I met you and now I realise just how important they are.’

  ‘Just not necessarily in that order, right?’

  ‘Oh, Jane,’ he said, frustrated now. ‘Do you always have to come up with a clever answer?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I? Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that I’ve had to survive by using my brain? I didn’t have beauty or charm or an inheritance to fall back on!’ Her voice was fierce. ‘You can’t say you admire my mind one minute, then turn round and criticise it when it doesn’t suit you to hear what I have to say.’ She bent to snap on an extra light, trying like crazy to distract herself and take some of the tension out of the air, but, although an added apricot glow flooded through the room, the tension remained just as high. Think logically, she told herself. Think clearly. Don’t hide behind politeness or subterfuge. Tell him the facts so that he can be in no doubt.

  ‘You don’t realise, do you, Zayed,’ she said, ‘that you think you’re offering me everything while in reality you’re offering nothing.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Didn’t you hear a word of what I just said?’

  ‘I heard you loud and clear. But while companionship and sexual attraction and intellectual stimulation tick many of the boxes necessary for a satisfactory marriage, you’ve missed out the most important one of all—especially if you want to make it a happy marriage.’

  He froze, his body tensing—as if anticipating her next words. As if daring her to say them. ‘And you’re about to tell me what that is, are you?’ he challenged softly.

  ‘You know I am, because it’s a fact. And it’s called love.’ The words exploded from her lips in a way she hadn’t anticipated. ‘The feeling which defies all logic or reason. Which strikes when you least expect it—and, in my case, when you least want it.’ The lump in her throat was making speech difficult but what was even harder was knowing she was opening herself up to him and leaving herself with nowhere to hide. But she had to do it. Something told her she had no choice. ‘I didn’t want to feel this way but it got me all the same. And I love you, Zayed,’ she whispered. ‘Despite your arrogance and your outrageousness, I’ve fallen in love with you.’

  Her words died on her lips because his body language had suddenly changed. The analytical part of her had suspected her declaration was going to fall on false ears. But the emotional part—the part which had unwillingly been sucked in and enchanted by the man he truly was beneath the macho exterior—didn’t that hold out some flickering hope that he might return her love, even if only a little?

  He had moved away to stand by the dying embers of the fire she’d lit earlier. As if in those glowing coals he might find the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask. But when he looked up there was no peace or acceptance in his ravaged features. There was anger, yes—and disappointment, too.

  ‘I have offered you everything that I have to offer,’ he said. ‘And as much of myself as it is possible to give. I have not fed you lies, nor fantasies, Jane. I have made you only the promises I am capable of keeping and if that isn’t enough—’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘It isn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She shrugged. ‘Don’t you know that nature abhors a vacuum? And there would be a huge vacuum in our marriage if such a big thing was missing. If our feelings are so fundamentally unequal, it could never work. I would love you far too much, while you would love me not at all. You must know
that, Zayed, just as I do. So...’ She could feel another lump forming in her throat and she was terrified that she was going to break down and do something stupid. Something unforgivable, like clinging to his leg and begging him to stay. ‘I don’t really think there’s any more to be said, do you? It’s been good to clear the air, but you’ll probably want to get going now. It’s a long drive back.’

  There was a loaded pause before he nodded and just before he turned away he looked at her—his eyes full of darkness and regret.

  ‘Goodbye, Jane,’ he said, a note in his voice she’d never heard before. Something she didn’t recognise. Something which tore at her heart with painful claws.

  And that was it. There was no kiss or hug. They might as well have been two strangers. She might as well have been someone at whose door he had just stopped to ask for directions. As suddenly as he’d turned up, he was gone and Jane almost thought she might have imagined it if moments later she hadn’t heard the powerful sound of an engine, or seen the sweeping arc of headlights as two cars passed the cottage.

  She was trembling for ages after he’d gone, even though she tried to tell herself she should have been relieved. Because she had been true to herself, hadn’t she? And to him. Briefly, she found herself wishing he had been one of those men who said things they didn’t mean. Who could have told her he loved her and managed to do a pretty good impression of loving her. But deep down she knew that would never have been enough. Her own love would have swamped them—trapped him and left him wanting to escape.

  Walking into the kitchen, she turned on the tap to pour herself a glass of water, wondering why he couldn’t do love when it was obvious he cared about her. Why he couldn’t go the extra distance and give her what every woman secretly wanted. And then it hit her, like an almighty blow to the head, and she wondered how she could have been so stupid.

  She thought about his mother who had loved his father and had married him, instead of settling for a marriage of convenience. Because of that love she had died and Zayed’s father had died in trying to avenge her death. Zayed had been haunted by nightmares of guilt and remorse, yet after he’d talked about it those nightmares had stopped. But the consequences hadn’t. They just kept on rippling down through the ages. Unless you acknowledged them. If you told yourself that you had enough love for both of them, instead of selfishly demanding your own share.

  For it was blindingly simple.

  He didn’t do love because he associated it with loss.

  Fumbling for her phone, Jane punched out Zayed’s number but there was nothing but an empty tone in response and she wondered why he’d changed it. Not caring about the time difference, she phoned Hassan in the Kafalahian palace and she could tell from the drowsiness in his voice that he’d been asleep.

  ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, Hassan,’ she babbled. ‘But I need Zayed’s new number and I need it now.’

  ‘I can’t do that, Your Royal Highness. He gave me specific—’

  ‘Hassan, please. It’s...important.’

  There was a pause. ‘I may just lose my job over this,’ said the aide, with a sigh. ‘Have you got a pen?’

  But when she dialled the number Zayed didn’t answer. Tears slid down her cheeks as she tried again. And again. She knew the signal was notoriously bad in this part of Wales but something told her there was a darker explanation why he wasn’t picking up. He didn’t want to talk to her. She’d got what she wanted. She’d told him she loved him and he had gone—and she was just going to have to deal with it. Yet something made her punch out the number one last time and she heard it ringing...

  Outside her door!

  Running across the room, she wrenched it open to find the Sheikh standing there and he took one look at her tear-stained face before pushing her inside, kicking the door shut with his foot before starting to kiss her. He kissed her as she could never remember him having kissed her before. It was a kiss which could have told the whole story of their relationship, full of sorrow and regret and undeniable passion. And as she kissed him back she told herself to be grateful for what she had. Because if this was as good as it got, then who was she to complain?

  When at last she felt dizzy from sheer lack of oxygen, she tore her lips away from his. ‘Zayed. Listen. I get it. I totally get why you only want an arranged marriage and I’m good with that. Because I want you too much to bear thinking what life without you would be like. I can understand your reasoning perfectly. You don’t trust love and why should you? But it doesn’t matter,’ she said, panting a little. ‘It’s just a word.’

  ‘No, Jane,’ he corrected, with an emphatic shake of his head. ‘It isn’t just a word, it’s a feeling.’ He pulled her closer and stared down at her so that their eyes were locked on a collision course. ‘It’s what has been firing my blood yet filling me with despair in my inability to accept it. I, who am scared of nothing, was scared of the way you made me feel. Make me feel. It came out of somewhere—I don’t know where.’ He swallowed, his next words leaving his mouth with some difficulty. ‘Now at last I understand why my mother defied her country and walked away from an arranged marriage once she met my father. Because if she felt a fraction of what I feel for you—she would have been powerless to do anything else. None of us ever know what the consequences of love will be but that doesn’t mean we should ever turn our backs on it.’

  ‘Zayed,’ she said breathlessly but he silenced her with a brief shake of his head before starting to speak again.

  ‘All I know is that I don’t want to live without you, Jane. For me, that simply isn’t an option. That I want to take you back to Kafalah and spend the rest of my life with you. That I want you to have my babies, if destiny wills it. And most important of all, for you to know that I love you and that I will never stop loving you.’ His thumbs brushed away the few remaining tears which still lingered on her cheeks. ‘Now and for ever.’

  And Jane, whose whole life had been governed by her agility and ability with words, for once was completely speechless. She just closed her eyes and briefly gave thanks for this chance at a happiness she’d never believed possible and she vowed to love him with all her heart for as long as she lived. And then she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and began to kiss him.

  EPILOGUE

  ZAYED PEERED INTO the crib. The lusty cries of the baby were growing quieter as sleep claimed him and the Sheikh smiled. A curled little fist lay above his son’s wavy black hair making him look as if he were about to do battle. Four months old, with a sturdy body more befitting a child almost twice his age—Zayed wondered if his first-born would become a thinker or a warrior. He smiled over at Jane. Or both.

  ‘Tired?’ he questioned.

  She shook her head, golden-brown hair falling over the shoulders of her sky-blue tunic. ‘I had a nap this afternoon. I’m wide awake and raring to go.’

  He walked over to lace his fingers in hers and together they went out onto the veranda, which was fragrant with the scent of blooms from the nearby rose garden. It was a clear desert night and the stars looked very big and very close.

  He glanced down into his wife’s face. Motherhood suited her very well, he thought—for there was a new serenity and a calmness about her which shone from her like the brightest planet in the heavens. Every day, he loved her a little more. She had shown stoicism during her long labour and had wept quiet tears of joy when they’d put the wriggling child to her breast. As had he. She’d told him she planned to take a year off while Malek was still a baby and then planned to resume her work on the definitive study of Kafalah.

  Zayed had never known that joy could be so fierce or that love could grow as rampantly as the most vigorous plants in the palace gardens. He had not realised that one woman would be enough for him. More than enough. But then there had been much he had not known before he met Jane.

  Who would have guessed that his
kingship was made easier with her at his side? Or that her growing confidence and quiet intellect had made her a global sensation? Unlike many women she had not let it go to her head. She had refused all offers for interviews unless it was to draw attention to a worthy cause or to continue in her plans to pioneer the causes of women in the desert region.

  She was smiling at him now, lifting on tiptoe so that she could touch her mouth to his, and he traced his tongue along her bottom lip, which trembled in response.

  ‘I love you, my sweet flower of the desert,’ he said.

  ‘And I love you too, Zayed Al Zawba.’

  He could smell her perfume—more intoxicating than the musky scent of the roses outside. ‘When you said you were raring to go,’ he murmured, tightening his hands around a waist already slender, despite her having given birth so recently, ‘did you have anything particular in mind?’

  ‘I did.’ Her voice was a whisper; a soft command. ‘Come with me, my masterful Sheikh, and I’ll show you exactly what I had in mind.’

  Pulling away from him, she flashed him a glance of pure coquetry which made him wonder how the hell she always managed to be so damned provocative. Maybe it was time to show her who was boss. She liked that. And so did he. With a small growl, he picked up his laughing wife and carried her into the bedroom.

  * * * * *

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