The Sheikh's Bought Wife Page 6

  The sharpness of the lust which rushed through him was all the more powerful because it was unexpected. He could feel it in the heat of his blood and the throb of his groin. And she was not looking at him...didn’t that also fire up this sudden and inconvenient hunger? He was used to women looking at him with flirtation and desire sparking from their eyes, not for their heavy eyelids to be demurely lowered, shielding him from their expression and keeping him at a distance. As she reached him, those eyelids opened fractionally and once again he was struck by the beauty of her amber eyes, which today gleamed like darkest gold.

  But beauty—like desire—was the most fleeting of life’s gifts and Zayed’s hunger was replaced by a twist of pain as she came to stand beside him. Because no matter how much you rationed painful memories, sometimes you couldn’t prevent them from bombarding the mind, no matter how hard you tried. Wasn’t it natural that he should remember his mother on a day like today? And wasn’t it also natural for him to reflect bitterly that if she had not allowed herself to be swayed by the pernicious blend of hormones they called love, she might still be alive...

  And he would not have to carry the burden of her death.

  Guilt shafted through him but he was glad of its rapier-like plunge to his heart—because it helped clarify his thoughts and put things in perspective. Who cared if this was a bogus marriage? Not him. If his people secretly longed for the fairytale version of a royal wedding, then they were destined to be disappointed. Before the year was out they would need to accept that this marriage would be over—and it would be many years before he repeated such an unwanted exercise. His eyes were clear; his mind made up.

  This was nothing but a means to an end.

  As Jane reached his side he held out his hand for hers and noted the tremble of her fingers. Was she nervous? Or was she, like him, wondering how they were going to endure a night together—when the whole deal was that sex was off the menu? Until five minutes ago, he had barely given their impending night of chastity more than a fleeting thought—but suddenly he could sense a danger which simply had not occurred to him before.

  What if his lust for her continued, or grew? What if this inconvenient desire demanded satisfaction?

  His mouth flattened. He could not allow it to. No matter how much—or how inexplicably—this former plain Jane tempted him, he could not have her.

  ‘Okay?’ he made himself ask as she reached him.

  But if he had hoped for a little gratitude as she acknowledged his courtesy towards her, he was to be disappointed. Her expression was as fierce as ever as she looked up at him, her eyes silently telling him she’d rather be anywhere than here. And suddenly another powerful rush of adrenalin flooded through Zayed’s veins—more potent than anything he had felt in a long time, because he wasn’t used to getting the cold shoulder. He’d never had to fight for a woman, nor work to gain her affection. And he’d never really had to try in order to bed her. He felt another unwanted kick of lust as he met her stubborn expression. What he would give to be able to dismiss everyone in the room and to crush her lips beneath his in a mind-blowing kiss, before slipping his hand beneath the encrusted gown to encounter the cool flesh which lay there. That would have quickly wiped away her haughty expression!

  ‘Zayed.’

  Jane’s voice broke into his erotic daydream and he realised she was now looking at him with the undeniable flicker of reproach in her eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded.

  ‘Hassan was asking you a question and you were miles away,’ she said.

  What was he thinking? Was he really allowing forbidden fantasy to blind him to his duty? And why the hell was he fantasising about such an uptight woman as this? With an effort he turned to his aide. ‘Yes, Hassan. What is it?’

  ‘I was merely asking if you were ready to go through with the ceremony, Your Serene Highness.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Zayed impatiently. ‘Let’s just get it over with.’

  For Jane, the ceremony passed in a blur. She was aware of making vows in both Kafalahian and in English, and of Zayed slipping a ring onto her finger—a heavy golden ring studded with emeralds which matched those in her crown. She had studied the words beforehand in preparation, determined that she wouldn’t stumble over any of them and grateful that her familiarity with Kafalahian would aid her fluency. She’d thought that learning the words by heart—as you did a list of verbs—would make them seem meaningless when she came to say them out loud. But it wasn’t that easy. She could feel a little catch in her voice as she promised to love her Sheikh for ever with all her heart and body and soul. Suddenly she felt a hypocrite to be taking such solemn vows in vain and she prayed his people would not be disappointed by the inevitable outcome.

  But what choice did she have if she wanted to free her sister from her past mistakes and give her a brand-new start? Hadn’t Cleo promised faithfully that she would live within her means from now on—and even though Jane had felt doubtful if she’d be able to keep a promise when she’d broken so many in the past, she hadn’t let it show on her face. And there were other benefits which would come about as a result of this strange union—she needed to remember those, too. Kafalah would be a much stronger and richer country as a result of Zayed inheriting Dahabi Makaan. Sometimes you had to make sacrifices for the greater good, she reminded herself. And surely it wouldn’t kill her to play-act the part of the Sheikh’s bride for half a year.

  But there had been that moment right at the beginning which had made her heart miss a beat. The moment when she’d been walking towards him and seen him looking at her as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes—a look which probably matched her own reaction because she hardly recognised the Jane which had been reflected back at her when she’d stared at her wedding dress in the mirror. A sensual and subtly provocative Jane who seemed completely at odds with the inexperienced woman underneath all the bridal finery. But when Zayed’s black gaze had roved disbelievingly from the tip of her emerald crown to the glimpse of the golden toe which peeped from beneath the weighted hem of her gown, she’d felt like a woman for the first time in her life. A woman who could appear almost lovely in the eyes of the beholder. A woman who could be desired.

  But then she’d seen that look being replaced by another—an unfamiliar expression which had wiped away the habitual power and control and made his hawk-like features appear almost ravaged. Had that been pain or despair she’d seen in his night-dark eyes? Was the idea of being tied to her—even for so short a time—causing him such open distress? She chewed on her berry-stained lips. Well, that was just too bad. He was the one who had proposed this marriage of convenience which suited them both—and they were both going to have to make the best of it.

  There was feasting after the ceremony, though not the three days of celebrations which some royal weddings in the region would have demanded. Zayed had opted to keep the event a decidedly low-key and local affair and Jane was grateful for that. Perhaps he realised it might be unwise to invite world leaders to witness a marriage which had the timer ticking on it from the outset. Which meant that although the claret and golden dining room was filled with guests and dignitaries, they were mainly royals from the desert region who would not gossip to the world media, nor try to take any forbidden ‘selfies’ when fireworks exploded over the palace lake. Karim of Maraban was there with his wife Rose, as well as the infamous prince who had once defied convention by marrying a humble stable girl.

  Determined to emotionally distance herself from what was going on, Jane tried to view the whole affair through the eyes of an academic, reminding herself that she was taking part in a little bit of history. That one day she would merit a brief mention in textbooks—possibly even with a photo of her wedding day—before the inevitable footnote stating that the marriage had been dissolved a mere six months later.

  But it was difficult to be distant when your body seemed to
have developed a stubborn will of its own. When she found herself wanting to push her aching breasts against Zayed’s powerful chest as he caught her in his arms for the traditional first dance between bride and groom. As it was, she could barely think straight and wasn’t it the most infuriating thing in the world that he immediately seemed to pick up on that?

  ‘You seem to be having trouble breathing, dear wife,’ he murmured as he moved her to the centre of the marble dance floor.

  ‘The dress is very tight.’

  ‘I’d noticed.’ He twirled her around, holding her back a little. ‘It looks very well on you.’

  She forced a tight smile but she didn’t relax. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Or maybe it is the excitement of having me this close to you which is making you pant like a little kitten?’

  ‘You’re annoying me, rather than exciting me. And I do wish you’d stop trying to get underneath my skin.’

  ‘Don’t you like people getting underneath your skin, Jane?’

  ‘No,’ she said honestly. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She met the blaze of his ebony eyes and suppressed a shiver. ‘Does everything have to have a reason?’

  ‘In my experience, yes.’ There was a pause. ‘Has a man hurt you in the past?’

  This was her chance to tell him yes—even though the very idea that someone had got that close to her was laughable. What difference would a lie make when they had already woven a complex web of deceit around themselves? But Jane had the disciplined mind of the academic and she knew it was pointless trying to fool someone unless you were qualified to do so—especially when you were dealing with someone as clever as Zayed. How could she possibly pretend to be a woman whose heart had been broken by a man, when she’d hardly even been kissed? There had been that ghastly encounter on the dance floor during her first term at uni, when a man had kept plunging his tongue into her mouth with the vigour of someone trying to unblock a toilet, and it had put her off for life. Zayed had already guessed she might be a virgin, but that didn’t even come close to her shameful lack of experience.

  Trying to ignore the way his groin was brushing against her as he edged her closer, she glanced up at him, her cheeks burning. ‘I refuse to answer that on the grounds that I might incriminate myself. Tell me instead, do you always insist on interrogating women when you’re dancing with them?’

  ‘No. I don’t,’ he said simply. ‘But then I’ve never had a bride before and I’ve never danced with a woman who was so determined not to give anything of herself away.’

  ‘And that’s the only reason you want to know,’ she said quietly. ‘Because you like a challenge.’

  ‘All men like a challenge, Jane.’ His black eyes gleamed. ‘Haven’t you learned that by now?’

  She didn’t answer—because how was she qualified to answer any questions about what men did or didn’t like? She was grateful when the dance ended so she could escape the temptation of his touch—though, bizarrely, she found herself missing the feel of his body pressed close to hers. But her emotions were already in turmoil and she realised it wasn’t going to get any better unless she took some sort of action. The trouble was that it was the wrong action. Her stomach was so churned up with the thought of the night ahead that she barely touched any of the wedding feast, but drank some of the sweet, herb-flavoured wine they called karazib instead, which immediately felt as if someone had injected fire into her veins. It was a warm and heady feeling, but she wasn’t sure it was a wise one.

  Was that the reason for her slight unsteadiness as she and Zayed made their way towards the eastern section of the palace, their process lit by a series of blazing torches—making her feel as if they were taking part in some medieval pageant? They climbed to the top of the eastern tower and, in spite of her nerves, Jane was blown away by the scene which greeted them. Scattered rose petals and dried lavender scented a path towards the four-poster bed, which was draped with embroidered hangings. The room was lit by tall candles and, outside the window, the full moon cast a silver path directly onto the bed.

  ‘The palace staff have prepared the room for the bride and groom,’ Zayed said softly.

  The wooden door banged shut behind them and Jane’s heart started hammering as she looked up at her new husband, unsure of what to do next. His shadow rose giant-sized on the wall behind him and he looked so dark and formidable as he stood in front of her that she honestly didn’t have a clue where they went from here. If she’d never even kissed a man, it followed that she’d never shared a room with one before and even though the room was vast the walls seemed to be closing in on her. She started to wonder what she had let herself in for when she’d confidently agreed to his proposal in that London club, which now felt like a world away. Zayed had told her that there was to be no consummation but perhaps neither of them had taken into account the one glaringly obvious stumbling block to that.

  She swallowed. ‘There’s only one bed.’

  ‘But of course.’ He pulled off his silken headdress and let it flutter down. ‘It’s a honeymoon suite.’

  ‘I thought...’

  ‘What did you think, Jane?’

  Nervously, she looked around the room, searching for some kind of loophole. She read plenty of stories where men and women ended up stuck in the same bedroom—but wasn’t there always a handy sofa or chaise-longue for one of them to spend the night on? Why, in here there wasn’t so much as an armchair—and that narrow bench-like seat beneath the window didn’t look wide enough to accommodate either of their frames.

  ‘We’re...not supposed to be having sex!’ she said carefully.

  ‘If you remember, I was the one who proposed celibacy within the marriage,’ came his cool reply. ‘You’re preaching to the converted.’

  ‘So what are we going to do?’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Sleeping. If we’re forced to share the same bed?’

  He shrugged. ‘We lie side by side. We each allow ourselves to think how good it would be to touch one another in the most intimate way and we both reject the possibility, for obvious reasons. I lie there in a brief state of acute frustration before falling asleep—while you remain awake for hours, fretting, because that’s what women tend to do.’

  ‘You would know about that, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ he allowed, with a slight incline of his raven head. ‘For I have slept with many women.’

  ‘And I suppose you’re proud of that fact?’

  ‘Of my ability as a lover, yes. Women enjoy my body—why wouldn’t I take satisfaction in the knowledge that I bring them intense pleasure?’

  Why not indeed? Yet his swaggering assurance made Jane want to lash out at him until she told herself that nothing would be accomplished by such impetuous behaviour. Why would she be remotely bothered about the behaviour of a man she despised? What did she care about the pleasure he brought to other women? They would simply have to do as he suggested and lie chastely, side by side. Thank heavens she had packed several baggy nightshirts and brought them with her from England.

  When Zayed disappeared into the bathroom, she lifted one arm above her neck and bent it at the elbow as she attempted to lower her hand far enough to undo the tiny pearl buttons at the back of her dress, but it was far from easy. With a great deal of wriggling she managed three before her shoulder started aching and she was almost weeping with frustration as Zayed returned, wearing nothing but a very small white towel wrapped low over his hips. And suddenly all thoughts of getting undressed drained from her mind as the silver moonlight illuminated his muscular body.

  ‘What...what do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded, her breath coming thick and fast.

  ‘Getting ready to go to bed.’

  She wanted to avert her gaze but it was impossible to look anywhere else other than at his mag
nificent body. At the broad, bare shoulders and powerful chest with the shadowed texture of dark hair, which contrasted against his gleaming olive skin. At the narrow hips and long, sturdy shafts of his muscular legs—and all the mysterious territory in between, which was covered by that insubstantial piece of white towelling. She swallowed. ‘I hope you’re not proposing to wear that in bed?’ she demanded.

  ‘What would you propose I wear?’ he questioned.

  Even to her own ears it was a preposterous suggestion but it was the only alternative she knew. ‘Pyjamas.’

  ‘Pyjamas.’ His mouth twisted into the mockery of a smile as he repeated the word, making it sound as if he’d never actually used it before. ‘A disgusting piece of apparel which I have never worn and never intend to. I’m planning on sleeping naked. I always do.’

  ‘But you...’

  ‘You?’ He lifted his eyebrows enquiringly.

  ‘Can’t,’ she said desperately.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know why not!’

  ‘Not unless you tell me, I don’t.’

  Angry with him for putting her through this, she supposed she could pretend—but how good was she at being blasé? She had no idea because it wasn’t something she’d ever needed in her repertoire before now. And wasn’t it a stretch too far to try to be someone she wasn’t, given the already bizarre circumstances in which she found herself?

  ‘I’m... I’m not used to men.’

  ‘Explain,’ he said, moving round to the back of her. ‘And while you’re explaining I’d better unfasten your dress so you don’t have to look at me while you’re telling me, trying desperately hard not to stare at my groin.’

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ she snapped, trying to wriggle away from the fingers which were now brushing against her skin as he undid the fourth button.

  ‘I’m a realist,’ he demurred. ‘And what else are you going to do if I don’t help you undress? Sleep in your wedding dress?’

  Jane bit her lip because he had a point. With its heavy embroidery and real gems, the full-skirted bridal gown weighed an absolute ton. It had felt as if she’d been carrying round bags of groceries all day and she was longing to be rid of it. ‘Oh, very well,’ she said crossly, feeling the delicious rush of cooling air on her skin as he freed another button.