The Sheikh's Bought Wife Page 4

  His throat constricted and for the first time Jane thought she saw emotion on his face—a dark and bitter look which made his features appear almost savage, until he appeared to recover himself and the arrogant mask slipped back into place.

  ‘As he gripped my fingers,’ he continued, ‘he looked into my eyes and told me he had been watching my sheikhdom from a distance and that he approved of the way I ruled my people. I told him that I was not seeking his approval, that he was not in a position to offer it, since he had rejected his only daughter when she chose to marry my father—and that had broken her heart.’

  ‘What did he say?’ questioned Jane breathlessly, for the dying king had been a formidable presence in the desert world.

  ‘He laughed,’ said Zayed. ‘And told me I was strong but reckless.’

  ‘And was he right?’

  ‘Of course he was. My strength is legendary.’ His ebony gaze mocked her. ‘And I like being reckless.’

  And something whispered down Jane’s spine when he said that. Something she’d never actually experienced before but which was instantly recognisable, because she’d studied enough of the erotic and very explicit literature of his country to recognise desire when she felt it. Inappropriate desire which would never be reciprocated. Desire for the desert king. It whispered over her skin with silken fingers. It spread through her veins like warm honey. Beneath the thickness of her sweater, she could feel her breasts begin to prickle.

  Her lips suddenly felt dry and hot and she licked them. ‘I still don’t see where any of this is going. You healed your rift with the King and he bequeathed you a valuable piece of land. I should imagine that must give you cause for much rejoicing, instead of being here when you’d clearly much rather be somewhere else.’

  He nodded as if to acknowledge the accuracy of her words before his expression suddenly grew serious.

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ he said softly. ‘Because, unfortunately, the bequest comes with a condition—which is that I must be married in order to inherit. And although the very idea is abhorrent to me, I want that piece of land for my people,’ he said, his voice growing deep with fervour. ‘So much so, that I’m prepared to marry in order to get it.’

  ‘Then why not ask one of your many girlfriends?’ she questioned archly. ‘Why not ask the mistress it is rumoured you keep in a luxury apartment in Manhattan?’

  ‘Because she is in love with me,’ he said simply. ‘As most women I date inevitably are. And I cannot marry a woman who is in love with me because love makes women unreasonable. It makes them start longing for things they can never have.’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Because I don’t want love and I don’t wish to be tied to one woman—at least not until I have reached the age when my hair has grown silver and it is time for me to produce an heir. The union I propose with you will be nothing other than a means to an end. A brief union which I intend to be dissolved after six months.’

  She looked at him curiously. ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Non-consummation, of course.’ He shrugged his powerful shoulders. ‘I will not be having sex with my new bride.’

  Jane nodded, her heart pounding painfully against her ribcage, her mind working over the facts as she pieced together the intention behind his bizarre request. ‘So you decided to pick a woman to whom you were not in the least bit attracted?’

  ‘Exactly.’ He leaned back in his chair, his black eyes lasering into her.

  ‘And I am that woman.’

  ‘You most certainly are. I cannot think of a more ideal candidate.’

  ‘I see.’ Jane could hardly get the words out she was breathing so heavily. She wanted to shout at him. To ask what right he had to insult her like that. To do something utterly uncharacteristic like picking up her plate and tipping the rainbow rice all over his arrogant head, before storming out of the club with a veiled suggestion about what he might like to do with his offer. Until she reminded herself that she was in no position to do any such thing. Why risk losing the job she loved just because her pride had been hurt?

  Because Zayed needed her, she realised.

  And maybe she needed him.

  Why rail against him for merely stating the truth? She knew her limitations and she’d never been the kind of woman who men hit on. She didn’t dress to attract. She didn’t pore over fashion magazines or experiment with make-up. She’d always relied on her mind and never bothered about her appearance—she’d left that to her mother and Cleo.

  Cleo.

  Jane’s heart contracted painfully. Cleo, who owed so much money that men with threatening voices had started making sinister phone calls to her. Had she forgotten about that? Forgotten the fear which had fizzed through her veins when she’d spoken to her sister earlier that day and heard her on the brink of fearful tears? She had agreed to this unexpected dinner with Zayed partly because she’d been planning to ask him for a loan, or maybe a pay-rise—but perhaps his outrageous proposition had put her in a much more advantageous position than that. A powerful bargaining position. He wanted her hand in marriage—so why not ask him for something in return?

  ‘You think I could bear to be married to a man like you for six months?’ she questioned, trying to keep her voice steady.

  ‘I think you could bear it very well. For a start you would get to visit Kafalah,’ he said, his seductive tone mimicking that of a hypnotist who was dangling a swinging object before his goggle-eyed subject. ‘Why, you’d even get to stay in the famous royal palace.’

  His insolent words took Jane’s breath away. So he was manipulative, as well as arrogant! Did he really think she’d be content to endure months of his unbearable company in order to see first-hand some of the antiquities she’d spent most of her adult life studying?

  No. Sheikh Zayed Al Zawba was going to have to pay a much higher price than unlimited access to the treasures of Kafalah. She stared down at the pristine white linen napkin which lay neatly over her tweed skirt, aware of needing to choose her words carefully, because once said they could not be taken back. It would be wonderfully satisfying to refuse him outright. To look down her nose at him and tell him that his suggestion was inappropriate and insulting and she could think of no worse fate than being stuck with him for half a year. But she couldn’t afford to turn his offer down. Not if the price were right. It would mean having to tolerate the company of a man who made her hackles rise, even while he managed to make her body ache in places it had never ached before. His presence was infuriating, intoxicating and yet ultimately dangerous to her sense of worth. She suspected that peace of mind would not come easily if she became his bride, yet—if she was being realistic—how much time would she actually have to spend with him, even if they were married?

  She knew Kafalahian custom meant the monarch was all-powerful and that these royal marriages were not modern marriages. It wasn’t as if they’d be sharing chores or doing the weekly shop together. Zayed would doubtless be having diplomatic meetings in the palace or charging round the countryside on one of his famous black stallions. They wouldn’t be expected to spend much time together—only to give the appearance of being married—leaving her free to explore the glorious palace and all its gems.

  ‘If I were to agree,’ she said, lifting her gaze from the napkin to find those black eyes trained unwaveringly on her, disconcertingly making her think of a bird of prey... She swallowed. ‘I would expect some kind of recompense.’

  ‘Recompense?’ he echoed, a frown creasing his brow. ‘You mean money?’

  She heard the faint distaste in his voice, as if he’d just been reminded that everybody had their price, and a flush of guilt flooded to her cheeks until she forced herself to remember that he wasn’t her friend. She didn’t owe him anything and she certainly didn’t need his approval. He was quite prepared to exploit her love for
his country to get her to consent to marry him—so why not exploit his grossly inflated bank account in order to save her sister’s skin? Only rich people, she thought grimly, could be so dismissive of other people’s worries about money.

  ‘Of course I mean money,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think I should be rewarded for having to enter into such a union as this?’

  He glowered. ‘You would obviously be given a settlement after the marriage has been annulled. Surely your greed could be tempered until then?’

  ‘Not really. I need it now,’ she said, more urgently than she’d intended.

  ‘Oh?’ He looked at her and his voice grew cold. ‘And why is that?’

  She opened her mouth to tell him, before thinking better of it. Zayed was reckless, yes, but he was also clever—and completely unscrupulous. They said that knowledge was power—something he already had more than his fair share of. Why reveal more about herself and her family than she needed to, when she had no idea how he might use that power?

  ‘Oh, just personal reasons,’ she said lightly. ‘Which I won’t burden you with. I’m sure it would bore you, Your Highness.’

  A look of irritation crossed his face and Jane suspected he was one of those men who only wanted something when he was told he couldn’t have it. So start showing some strength. Put him on the back foot.

  ‘So,’ she said. ‘Do we have a deal, or have you changed your mind?’

  ‘How much?’ he demanded.

  Quickly doing sums in her head, Jane gave him the amount which Cleo had mentioned and added a reasonable sum for interest—but his face gave barely a flicker of reaction as he nodded his head in agreement.

  ‘Satisfied now?’ he questioned archly.

  ‘Not quite. There’s just one other condition which needs clarification before I agree to become your wife.’

  ‘More conditions?’ he snapped. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Jane Smith. Hurry up and tell me, because my patience is wearing thin.’

  This bit was much more difficult but Jane was determined to go through with it because—although she intended making a sacrifice for her sister—she would not be made a fool of.

  ‘You say you wish the marriage to be dissolved within six months on the grounds of non-consummation.’

  ‘I don’t imagine that’s going to be a problem for either of us, do you?’ he questioned pleasantly.

  She found herself thinking that even when he was trying to be agreeable, he still managed to be insulting. ‘Not for me,’ she admitted, hoping she was managing to convey the fact that he repulsed her, rather than the more disturbing revelation that she was still a virgin. ‘But rather more so for you, I imagine—since you don’t strike me as the kind of man who would choose to embrace a self-imposed period of celibacy.’

  ‘You are a very perceptive woman,’ he said silkily. ‘For it is true that I cannot live without sex. But you strike me as intelligent enough to understand my appetites—even if you do not share them—and to discreetly look the other way.’

  The near smirk which accompanied this remark gave Jane all the confirmation she needed and, although inwardly she was fuming, she hid her feelings beneath an air of composure.

  ‘I will only agree to this if you vow not to sleep with other women.’

  ‘Not to sleep with other women,’ he repeated, as if she had just asked him to scale the north face of the Eiger without any climbing equipment.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You’re jealous?’ he questioned in surprise.

  ‘Not at all. But I refuse to be made a fool of and there will be no deal unless you agree to cut all contact with your American mistress or, indeed, any other mistress, until after we are divorced. I don’t want people laughing at me behind my back.’

  Frustration vied with admiration in his jet-dark eyes as he shook his head slightly. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Smith.’

  ‘Did you expect me to simply agree to everything you suggested?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did.’

  His candour momentarily disarmed her, enough to make her ask an unnecessary question—even though afterwards she would wish she hadn’t bothered.

  ‘And what would you have done if I’d had a boyfriend?’ she asked. ‘If I’d been unable to marry you at such short notice?’

  His slow smile was more revealing than any words could have been, but that didn’t stop him from saying them. ‘I would have talked you into it anyway,’ he boasted softly. ‘Though I was fairly certain you didn’t have a boyfriend.’

  Don’t ask it.

  She asked it.

  ‘Oh? Why’s that?’

  He looked at her assessingly—the way she’d seen farmers look in country markets when they were sizing up how much to offer for a cow. And even though it was a cold and calculating look, that didn’t seem to deter her body from reacting to it. There was a brief tingle in her breasts as his gaze skated over them and a heavy pulse started beating at her groin. For a moment she felt helpless. Weak and vulnerable—and yet it was a gorgeous feeling. As if she were drowning in his gleaming black eyes yet wanting to go even deeper. She wondered if he realised the effect he was having on her—as if she were some tightly closed flower bud slowly unfurling its petals beneath the warmth of his scrutiny. As if the world would suddenly feel like a very different place if he pulled her into his arms and crushed her hard against his muscular chest. And didn’t she suddenly wish she could wave a magic wand just to have one brief and tiny taste of it? To test-drive her body to see whether there were any traces of the sensuality which other women of her age took for granted.

  But she clamped down on her wistful feelings, reminding herself that while Cleo’s dreams had always been outsized, she’d kept her own modest and achievable. She knew her limitations, and Zayed must never become aware of the way he made her feel—that much was vital. She wasn’t quite sure why—she just knew it was dangerous. Keeping her expression prim, she met his mocking gaze as she prepared to hear his answer, which instinct told her she wasn’t going to like.

  ‘Why am I so sure you don’t have a boyfriend?’ he drawled. ‘Because you have an uptightness about you which is unusual. Both in your manner and in the way you dress. You don’t strike me as a woman who is particularly satisfied.’

  His black eyes gleamed with mischief and something else. Something which whispered over her skin with another warm lick of danger.

  ‘In fact,’ he continued softly, ‘it wouldn’t surprise me one bit to discover you were a virgin.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SHE SHOULD HAVE been excited.

  Down below, where the tiny shadowed version of their plane was making its own parallel journey, lay the stark magnificence of the Kafalahian desert with its endless ripples of golden sand punctuated by the occasional crop of palm trees. Soon they would reach the ancient city of Tirabah, which housed the Sheikh’s famous palace and which Jane had wanted to see ever since she’d first gone to college. Going to Kafalah had been a dream she’d never thought she’d realise so, yes, she should have been very excited. But she wasn’t.

  She was scared.

  Scared of what lay ahead. Of blindly having agreed to marry someone who was everything she despised in a man. Of being in such close proximity to Zayed Al Zawba and at the mercy of the unexpected feelings which flooded over her whenever he looked at her.

  She told herself she’d had no choice. Because hadn’t accepting the Sheikh’s proposal meant she’d been able to give her sister the money she needed, having first extracted the promise that she would start living within her means? She had batted off Cleo’s questions about how she’d obtained the money but her twin’s face had been unforgettable when Jane had whispered the news she’d requested be kept quiet for the time being.

  ‘You’re marrying the Sheikh of Kafalah?’
Cleo’s voice had been incredulous. ‘You?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You mean the hot Sheikh who’s always in the papers?’

  ‘Some people think he’s hot.’

  ‘Presumably you do, too—if you’re about to become his wife.’

  But when Jane hadn’t answered, Cleo’s emerald eyes had widened—eyes so unlike Jane’s and not only in colour, shaded as they were with layers of smoky grey shadow, their spiky lashes lengthened and darkened by several coats of mascara.

  ‘You’re doing it for me, aren’t you? That’s where you got the money from—by marrying a known philanderer who can’t keep it in his trousers?’ Cleo had bit her lip. ‘Jane, I can’t let you.’

  ‘But you can’t stop me and I won’t even let you try. Because what else can I do?’ Jane had sounded fierce but then she had forced a crooked kind of smile. ‘Honestly. It isn’t such a hardship.’

  Had she really said that? Said that and meant it? In which case, why hadn’t she been able to get a decent night’s sleep since Zayed had flown back to his country ahead of her, in order to prepare for their wedding? Why had she started waking up when the world was still dark, her nightdress damp with perspiration and an insistent aching between her legs?

  ‘We are just coming in to land, Miss Smith.’

  Startled from her reverie, Jane looked up to see the stewardess smiling at her and she wondered how Zayed’s staff were going to react when they discovered he had chosen such a mouse as his bride.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied in Kafalahian, unable to deny the pleasure she got from witnessing people’s surprise at her fluency in a language which few Westerners spoke.