The Sheikh's Bought Wife Page 5

  The stewardess smiled and inclined her head before replying in the same language. ‘You are most welcome. The Sheikh’s assistant has just radioed ahead to say that His Royal Highness has arrived at the airport to greet you and the pilot estimates we will be landing in ten minutes, if you would like to freshen up.’

  Jane nodded and, once the stewardess had gone, made her way to one of the two luxury bathrooms which were situated at the back of the aircraft, running her wrists under the cold tap and splashing her face with water. But her cheeks still felt hot and sticky when she emerged into the bright sunlight of the Kafalahian day to see a long black car waiting on the tarmac and beside it the unmistakable form of Zayed Al Zawba.

  His robes were of purest white, which reflected the brilliant light, and for once his head was covered as he dominated the stark outline of the desert landscape behind him. Her own linen trousers and the matching top, which she’d chosen for practicality and coolness, were now slightly crumpled after the long flight and Jane knew she wasn’t imagining the contemptuous curve of his lips as she walked towards him. She told herself it didn’t matter what he thought of her appearance. Actually, maybe it was better this way. Better he looked at her with nothing more than disdain because surely that would stop her stupid body from reacting whenever he was near.

  But her heart was doing that mad racing thing again and her breasts were pushing insistently against her top as his piercing black gaze raked over her. She could feel unfamiliar heat arrowing towards her groin as she struggled to sound completely calm, but her words still came out as a breathless little stutter.

  ‘Hello, Your R-royal Highness,’ she said.

  For a moment Zayed didn’t trust himself to answer. He wanted to demand why she had dared to arrive at his desert home looking like something the goat had dragged down from the mountain. Thank the stars she would soon be dressed by the palace servants as Kafalahian tradition dictated, and hopefully they might be able to fashion some kind of miracle to convince his people that she was a suitable bride. But they were going to have their work cut out, he conceded. Did she deliberately dress in such a lacklustre style—even when flying to the country of her royal groom just before their wedding? He suspected that she had no interest in clothes, but now was not the time to take her to task on it, for wasn’t it in both their interests for her introduction to palace life to happen as smoothly as possible?

  So he gave a curt nod as he opened the car door for her and slid on the seat next to her, noting automatically that she edged a little further away from him, pressing her knees primly together. If it hadn’t been so insulting, it might have been amusing. Did she really think she was in danger of him making a pass at her? Did she really imagine he’d want to run his fingertips over crumpled linen when he was used to women clothing themselves in satins and silks? Or that he was turned on by the way she’d scraped all her hair back into that tight and unforgiving bun? ‘You’re going to have to stop addressing me so formally,’ he said, as the car pulled away. ‘And get used to calling me Zayed.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose I am.’

  ‘So say it. Say my name to me.’

  He could see her lips tighten as if she objected to being issued with such an order.

  ‘Zayed,’ she said.

  He felt his pulse quicken, because wasn’t such veiled insurrection almost exciting? ‘Now say it again,’ he instructed. ‘Say it softly, in a way which could convince a visiting member of state that you are soon to be my adoring wife.’

  He saw her hands tighten into fists. ‘Zayed,’ she repeated, digging out the word as if it were an unwanted weed.

  ‘Slightly better,’ he conceded. ‘But it’s going to require a lot of work.’

  She was staring out of the tinted windows, as if she was drinking in the sight of the passing desert landscape, but her face was pensive as she turned back to look at him.

  ‘It’s still proving a difficult concept to get my head around—that I’m actually going to be your wife,’ she admitted.

  ‘I imagine the payment you’re getting will help you get used to it.’ There was a pause. ‘What did you do with the money I gave you?’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that really relevant?’

  ‘I thought husbands were supposed to know everything about their wives—every thought which flits through their heads. Isn’t that the modern way of marriage?’

  ‘But you are to be my husband in name only and for a limited tenure. None of this is real, is it?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t imagine that you are used to dealing with such large sums. If you like, I can get one of my financial advisors to speak to you about investment. You might want to think about getting yourself some property.’

  ‘Are you aware just how patronising that sounds?’ she hissed, sounding as if she was struggling to control her breathing. ‘I won’t be making any investments. The money is for my sister.’

  ‘Why?’

  She shrugged and suddenly he stopped noticing her ugly top because his attention was drawn to the slight quiver of the breasts beneath. ‘She was in debt,’ she said baldly.

  ‘Lucky sister to have someone who’s prepared to endure six months with a difficult man, in order to come to her rescue,’ he said softly.

  ‘That’s what families do,’ she said. ‘They stick together.’

  Not his, he thought bitterly. His had been destroyed before he’d had a chance to get to know them properly.

  Forcing himself to push his distracting thoughts away, he realised that it shouldn’t have surprised him to realise she was helping out her sister. The idea that she’d been dazzled by the lure of instant wealth had never really fitted with what little he knew of her.

  Sitting next to her like this, he found it easy to disregard her crumpled clothes and notice instead how clear her skin was and how brightly her eyes shone. A sign of clean living? he wondered. Probably. He thought she seemed overlooked—like a book which had been pushed to the back of a shelf and nobody had ever bothered to study properly. Perhaps she was comfortable with that. Perhaps that was why she dressed in such a drab way, in order to fade into the background and remain unnoticed. Yet her dedicated work ethic certainly made her stand out and her sometimes stern and forthright attitude was something he’d never encountered before—certainly not from any other woman who wasn’t middle-aged, or a governess. The embassy staff had informed him how late she worked most nights—preferring to be deep in a pile of ancient manuscripts rather than going out on the town. What a mystery she was!

  He thought about the taunt he’d made to her in London—the taunt she had deliberately refused to rise to, although a series of conflicting emotions had crossed over her features before she’d cut them off with that prim look he was already becoming familiar with. Could she really be a virgin? he wondered idly, his mouth drying as he felt lust harden his groin beneath the silk of his robes, because the lure of the unknown was potent to a man whose sexual appetite was sometimes jaded. He had enjoyed many women throughout a sensual career more comprehensive than most men his age, but he’d never had a virgin before. He had never experienced the sound of a woman’s cry as he broke through her hymen, nor eased himself inside the fabled tightness. Even the women brought to him in his late teens to instruct him in the art of love had been chosen for their experience and expertise.

  His mouth twisted as he remembered how his peers at university had openly envied the life he’d lived as a pampered royal, growing up in a lavish palace in a country he would one day rule. They knew he’d been given untold wealth and limitless freedom for most of his life, but they had not known the reason why. Why so many supposed gifts had been heaped onto his young head—as if women and gold and the finest stallions in the land could compensate for what had been ripped away from him, or for the guilt which had become his lifelong companion as a result.

 
He felt pain grip at his heart but he pushed it away with a ruthlessness born of many years’ practice.

  ‘You know what to expect?’ he questioned suddenly. ‘From the wedding ceremony itself and what happens afterwards?’

  She nodded. ‘It is my job to know and I have studied the protocol. I know that I’m to be dressed in the traditional Kafalahian gown worn only by royal brides—and that in my hair I will wear the ancient emerald crown of the Al Zawba dynasty.’

  ‘That is exactly so. And you will also know that we shall be spending our wedding night together in a suite which has been specially prepared for the newlyweds, in the eastern tower of the palace. And that our waking moments are intended to witness the rising of the sun, symbolising the dawn of our new life together?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jane kept her voice low. She reached down to pick up her handbag from the floor of the car as a distraction exercise—momentarily too daunted to dare look him in the face, scared of what he might read in her eyes. Because he’d just highlighted the bit which was terrifying her. The part of the whole farcical wedding process which was making her stomach do peculiar flips. Obviously, they wouldn’t be carrying out the ancient Kafalahian tradition which involved a bloodied sheet being dangled from a window to prove the bride’s virginal status. Things had moved on since then, thank heavens. But they would have to spend the night together—and that was something she was dreading more with each second that passed.

  She lifted her gaze to find Zayed’s black gaze trained on her in that bird of prey thing he did so effortlessly and she tried not to shiver. Was he aware that just being close to him in a car was making her body react in a way which seemed beyond her control? That her pulse was racing and there was a warmth between her thighs which was highly distracting? And, if that was the case, how difficult was it going to be if she was closeted in a room with him on their fake wedding night?

  So confront it. He hadn’t held back from telling her the brutal truth, had he?

  ‘But I don’t suppose anyone will really care if we have separate rooms, will they?’

  His eyes gleamed. ‘On the contrary,’ he said silkily. ‘Tradition remains an important bedrock of Kafalahian life and I intend to honour that. This marriage is going to follow every rule in the damned book. Because even though I am only doing it in order to inherit, I might as well reap any other benefits it produces as a result. And it will please my people to think that their king has found himself a permanent woman at long last.’

  ‘Even if it isn’t true?’

  ‘Even if it isn’t true,’ he echoed.

  She twisted the strap of her handbag around her fingers, aware of how cheap the fake leather looked in contrast to the luxury which surrounded her. ‘And won’t your people be disappointed—saddened, even—when you throw the towel in on the marriage after six short months and say it isn’t working?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not at all. I will simply issue a statement saying I found it impossible to be married to a Westerner—that our cultures were too different—and I shall not marry again unless it is to a Kafalahian woman. That will be enough to pacify and to satisfy them. It will also keep a generation of women amused and eager to see who I shall eventually pick as my permanent bride.’

  Even though she told herself she was stupid to care, Jane couldn’t deny being hurt by his words. What callous disregard he had for her! He seemed to regard her like an object without any real feelings, who could be moved around at will.

  Peering out of the window again, she saw a building looming in the distance and suddenly her troubles were forgotten as she leaned forward to get a better look at the famous palace of Kafalah. Her heart began to pound with excitement. She was familiar with the iconic building since it featured on just about every feature you ever read about Kafalah or saw on TV, as well as in the thousands of paintings and photos she’d seen during her years of working at the embassy. But nothing could have prepared her for that first dazzling sight as it rose up like a citadel from out of the desert landscape.

  Covered in rose-gold leaf, its azure domes and turrets soaring into the cloudless sky, it glittered on the horizon like a costly treasure. A group of guards stood sentry outside massive gates scrolled with embellishments in silver and gold—and she knew that the inlaid diamonds which winked in the sunlight were real. A wide straight path, lined with tall palm trees, was flanked on either side by an ornate fountain—one symbolising day and the other night. Jane knew that within the sweeping grounds was a secret garden with a ‘moon’ mirror, positioned so that it could exactly frame the moon at its fullest and a place rumoured to be one of the most romantic on earth. She could see a flash of colour as the gates opened to allow their car through and she realised that late roses were blooming in a cultivated riot of crimson and apricot blooms. Ignoring the cool of the air-conditioning, Jane hit the electric window button and a waft of their deep and heady scent entered the car. It was everything she had ever thought and dreamed it could be and a deep breath of admiration rushed from her lips as they came to a halt in front of the huge arched doors, inlaid with opals which gleamed like rainbows.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t believe I’m actually here.’

  ‘You like my home I think, Jane Smith?’

  She’d almost forgotten he was there and Jane turned to find Zayed looking at her, his expression intense and somehow approving, and she wished he wouldn’t do that. Why make his voice go all soft and caressing, so that each word was brushed over her skin like velvet? And why make his eyes gleam as if she’d just said something wonderful, instead of stating the very obvious—which was that the place where he lived was the stuff of fairy tales to most normal folk.

  ‘I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that the rose-gold palace is a place of beauty,’ she said stiffly, but her attempt to try to put the atmosphere on a more normal footing seemed to have horribly backfired. Because instead of his coming back at her with a flippant response and displaying enough of his usual arrogance to remind her of just why she couldn’t stand him—his black eyes were gleaming with something which looked like curiosity.

  ‘What made you such a fierce woman?’ he questioned quietly.

  ‘I’m only fierce with certain people.’

  ‘Like me?’

  ‘Like you,’ she conceded.

  ‘And why is that?’

  And all the answers she could have given suddenly failed to compute. His proximity was so distracting that she forgot all about the way she’d had to toughen up and grow an extra skin, in order to make everyone else’s life easier. Suddenly, her reasons for being fierce in these circumstances became the ones she was trying not to think about. Like how sensual his lips looked and what it would be like to be kissed by them. And how his muscular body was making her picture all the erotic texts she’d been studying last week. Suddenly she felt fragile. As if one breath of his would be strong enough to make her topple over...straight into his arms.

  Glaring at him, she clutched the strap of her handbag even tighter. ‘You don’t want to know why,’ she said. ‘My personality is completely irrelevant.’

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ he demurred silkily. ‘And what is more, I intend to find out. How else are we going to pass the time?’

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t dare. All she could do was turn her head to stare fixedly out of the window because it was easier than looking into the flashing black temptation of the Sheikh’s eyes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AT FIRST ZAYED thought he must be seeing things.

  As the harp-like music of the chang heralded the bride’s entrance he could do nothing but stare in disbelief. For a moment he thought that someone must have put an imposter in her place—for surely this could not be Jane walking towards him with her glittering crown of emeralds, clutching a bouquet of fragrant roses which had been gathered from the palace garden
s soon after dawn?

  Her jewel-encrusted wedding dress was modest in design for it covered every inch of her body, yet since ancient times the traditional royal bridal gown had been intended to showcase the female form in all its glory and to tempt the King who would be leading her to his bedchamber later that evening. He swallowed. And it did. By the bright moon in the heavens, it did.

  Clinging like melted butter to the curve of her breasts, it emphasised a surprisingly tiny waist before falling in heavy swathes from the bell-like shape of her hips. He felt the instinctive hardening of his body in response. The heated rush of blood to his groin. Who would ever have guessed that Jane Smith possessed such a dynamite body beneath the drab and shapeless outfits she normally favoured?

  His eyes narrowed against the dazzling light of the throne room because her physical transformation didn’t stop with her clothes. Sweet moon in the heavens, no, it did not. Zayed felt as if he’d been trying to read a book with the curtains closed—only to pull aside those drapes to find the words revealed with startling clarity. He realised he’d only ever seen her with her hair caught up in a tight bun and not wearing any make-up. But today...

  Today...

  Her amber eyes had been darkened with kohl pencil so they looked moody and sensual and about three times their normal size. Her lips were stained a deep berry-red and as he stared at them he wondered why he’d never noticed those sensual cushions before. Was not such a mouth designed to have a man cover it with kisses—before putting it to work over an erect and aching shaft to lick him to fulfilment? And as for her hair... He shook his head slightly, because running his fingers through the hair of a fertile woman was surely one of the most abundant pleasures known to man and up until that moment he had been unaware of Jane Smith’s crowning glory. Instead of being constrained by an ugly bun, it tumbled down in a honeyed fall, caught back from her cheeks by two emerald clips, which helped secure the golden veil floating behind her like a diaphanous ray of sunshine.