The Sheikh's Destiny (14 page)

Delightful peach invaded her honeyed cheeks. “I didn’t know what to think, so I thought the worst. Y-you must know what yesterday was.”

“It was the one-month anniversary of the attack. But this morning, this
hour,
is the one-month anniversary of my proposal.”

Her eyes rounded on still-fragile hope. “Y-you mean...?”

“I mean I was coming at the exact time I proposed last month, this time to ask...to
beg
that you consider marriage. Not because I want you and because my honor dictates it. But because my life would mean nothing anymore without you.”

Suddenly, his arms were full of hurtling, clinging love and eagerness made flesh and blood. And he wrapped himself around her, containing her, vowing to never let her go again.

Those minutes when he’d thought he’d lost her had hurt far more than the injury that had left him scarred, had been more desperate than any time he’d thought he’d die.

Deluging him in kisses, Laylah buried her fingers in the hair he was growing back for her, her voice a throb of silk and night and hunger. “My life would mean nothing without you, too. It never did. I love you with everything I am, Rashid...”

Reeling with disbelief that this perfect being continued to love him, he carried her where he could seal the magic of those moments with that of their passion and turn the once-impossible fantasy into reality.

* * *

What felt like a lifetime later, but what was actually only a couple of hours, still overcome with Rashid’s last possession and the echoes of the aborted scare, Laylah stretched luxuriously against his hot, hard body.

His beloved face was flushed a marvelous copper tone. His whisper, when it came, spread its dark compulsion inside her. “Do I take it all that was a yes?”

She snuggled into his body more securely. “You mean you didn’t hear any of the hundreds of yeses I said? I must have raised Chicago’s noise pollution levels to an all-time high.”

“Just give me one now that your blood has cooled.”

She rubbed her thigh against his. “You mean you don’t know yet that you and cool blood are mutually exclusive?”

His arms gathered her into his body with such tender reverence, trembling with the same emotion that blazed in his eyes. “Laylah...give it to me. One yes. Total and final.”

And she gave it to him. Her irrevocable pledge. “Yes, Rashid. As total as my whole being and final to my life’s end.”

His groan was one of relief and elation as he took her lips, sealing their lifelong pact.

As she surrendered her all to him yet again, it felt different this time. She’d always been his, but this time, in her very essence, she became his wife.

* * *

Before Mira returned from work, Rashid took Laylah back to his place. It was evening when he took a break from branding her with his most tender lovemaking ever, carried her to the shower, then to the kitchen, where they now delighted in cooking together.

He was handing her the pesto he’d prepared to add to the pasta she had made when she said, “Do you have a preference for how exactly we should get married? Me, I’d like a tiny ceremony.”

His hand froze midway with the pesto. Then he placed it on the island, pulled her to him. “We can’t start thinking of the ceremony yet. Accepting me is only half the battle won.”

She squinted up at him, perplexed. “What do you mean
half?
”

“Now I need to go win the other half. Your family.”

“What do
they
have to do with anything between us? The most involvement they’ll have is to get stuffed in their fineries and come to our wedding. Those I’ll
let
attend.
If
they behave.” His hands cupped her face. For the first time ever, she removed them. “You’re not talking me out of this, Rashid. My family stays out of our lives, and that’s final.”

His eyes grew watchful, as if he was gauging how to handle her sudden volatility. “If it were up to me, I would have vowed myself to you in absolute seclusion. But you are a princess...”

“Oh, no. You’re
not
princessing me again!”

He coaxed her into his arms again, caressing resistance out of her a nerve at a time. “I know you want it not to matter, but it does. Tradition is important, even when it’s infuriating. But this won’t only be about us. It will be about our children.” The concept of children, his and hers, liquefied something inside her. “I want there to be peace and acceptance surrounding our union from the start, for you, for them. What makes things a bit more complicated is that I’m not a prince...”

“You’re worth a thousand of every prince who ever lived!”

Pride and pleasure glittered in his eyes, softened his lips. “Your approval and allegiance mean
everything.
To me. But I need to get theirs, too. Your family includes some very powerful individuals, and I’m not on their right side to start with. I don’t want them to bother you with their disapproval or attempts to come between us. I need to...defuse their danger.”

“And how are you supposed to do that?”

“As per tradition, your family tribunal will make demands of me and put me through trials, as outrageous as they can make them. They’ll agree to give me your hand in marriage only once I pass all their tests and meet all their requirements.”

“Shades of Antarah ibn Shaddad when Ablah’s father asked for a thousand red camels to stymie him! I’m all for defusing their danger, but I draw the line at hurtling back in time to the eleventh century to do it.”

“That’s what tradition is—age-old practices.”

“I have nothing against those when they’re about innocuous stuff like food or design or celebrations. But I’m damned if I bow to traditions that delete centuries of progress and make me some prize to be won for the right price. I might as well throw away my master’s degrees in business management and information technology. How would I be different from any tent-bound maiden bartered to whomever haggled with her elders for her, before carrying her away as one of his possessions, a bit above his goat, but certainly beneath his horse and sword?”

“In my case, it would be private jets and multinational corporations.” She rewarded his teasing with a rib nudge. His eyes softened as he gathered her more securely against his hard body. “We’ll just play along to save headaches.”

“You really intend to submit to such a...
ridiculous
practice?”

“I will,
ya habibati.
Like I will worship you with my body and serve and protect you with my wealth and strength, I will submit to anything to honor you before your family and the world. I want there to be no doubt to what lengths I would go to, to have the privilege of your choice, the power of your love.”

And what could she say to
that?

Resistance almost gone, she tried one last thing. “But according to this moronic tradition, if ten percent of
awleya’a el amr—
the elders—refuse you, you won’t be able to marry me.”

Something inexorable came into his eyes. “I will have zero percent refusals. Failure is not an option.”

Nine

F
or years, Rashid had considered returning to Zohayd an impossibility. Now he wasn’t just back in the country, he was in a limo heading to Zohayd’s royal palace, a place he’d sworn never to tread again.

But then he was sitting right next to another impossibility. Laylah. Who loved him. Who wanted him. Who believed in him.

Having her by his side made returning to Zohayd...bearable.

This was the land where he’d spent too many years watching Laylah from afar, unable to return her glances or reciprocate her interest. Where he’d found and lost those he’d thought of as brothers given to him by fate in exchange for taking everyone else away from him. Where he’d suffered the betrayal that had left him mutilated.

Then, claiming the kingship of Azmahar had become his life’s goal, and he’d known he’d be forced to return to Zohayd one day. But even when he’d started his plan, he hadn’t imagined this would be how he’d return. With Laylah as his world, not his pawn.

The supple hand entwined with his tugged him out of the darkness of his memories and worries to the sunniness of her smile and reality. “So who’s waiting for us at the palace?”

“I informed King Atef. I assume he’ll tell everyone else.”

Her grin widened. “Word of advice. Don’t use the word
king
around Uncle Atef. He hurled the title at Amjad and seems to want to forget the decades when he was one.”

“He’s been King Atef to me since I can remember. It’ll be very difficult to think of him as plain Sheikh Atef now. And of Amjad as king.”

“I know what you mean. Amjad is such a virtuoso in infuriating everyone and pulverizing rules and protocols, I thought he’d bring Zohayd down in a week when he became king. But though he’s taken being outrageous to a new realm, he’s now head-to-head with Aliyah’s Kamal for the position of best king in the region’s history.” She snuggled deeper into him, her smile catching the fire of adoration that he now felt he needed to sustain his vital functions. “Of course, the region hasn’t seen
you
as king yet.”

His heart trembled at how he’d come to depend on her esteem and belief. At how he felt he didn’t deserve them. “You always talk as if becoming a king is a sure thing for me.”

“I can’t see how it isn’t. You’re the absolute best man for the role, ever. Apart from my opinion, you’re a pureblooded Azmaharian, a decorated war hero and your success in business has surpassed even Haidar’s and Jalal’s.
And
you’re an Aal Munsoori.”

“Azmaharians hate that name now.”

Her expression became adorably serious. “They hate only one branch of the family, but still think of the Aal Munsooris at large as their rightful monarchs.” Her smile dawned again as her eyes devoured him. “And if anyone ever looked the part, it’s you.” Her hands strayed all over his shoulders and chest...and lower. “They must have coined the adjective
regal
for you.”

He caught her hands, his gaze shooting to the partition between the limo’s compartments. Even though he knew Ahmad couldn’t see or hear them, he didn’t want to start something he might not be able to stop. And he’d made a decision that, while in their region, he wouldn’t do anything to compromise her image.

It was still almost beyond his ability to deprive them both of the needed pleasure. He was almost panting when he said, “You’re clearly not in the least biased.”

She lay back against him, her hands captured in his, her eyes gobbling him up. “I am the essence of impartiality. If Azmaharians know what’s best for them, they’ll choose you.”

“If they do, how do you feel about becoming their queen?”

Her blink was surprise itself.

Would
she
ever stop surprising him? “You didn’t think of it?”

She sat up, her smooth forehead furrowing. “Uh...thinking wasn’t among my priorities this past month. But then I not only didn’t connect the dots between you becoming king and me becoming queen, I never contemplated being one, when it was all my mother thought of making me, too.”

His heart contracted at what
he
hadn’t contemplated. “It would be an unwelcome burden? A life you wouldn’t want for yourself or our children?”

The eyes that always shone with appreciation and humor grew somber. “It
would
be a huge responsibility and a radical change. It would take as drastic an adjustment.” Before he could blurt out that he would never disrupt her peace, that he would forget his kingship ambitions, her eyes glowed with conviction. “But I’ll share your choices and your life’s developments no matter what they are. If it’s your destiny to become king, then it’s my destiny to become your queen.”

And he forgot his abstinence resolution. His arms convulsed around her, his lips mashing to her forehead, to her cheeks, her lips, his heart overflowing.
“Habibati...”

A rap on the limo’s window jerked him out of his surrender to poignancy. It had Laylah starting out of his embrace, too.

They both turned to find Amjad Aal Shalaan, Laylah’s oldest cousin and the infernal king of Zohayd, smirking down at them through the window.

Rashid hadn’t realized they’d been nearing the palace let alone that they were already there.

Shielding her from Amjad’s eyes, giving her time to rearrange anything he’d mussed, he opened the door and glared up at the man whose alliance he was supposed to court.

Even before Amjad’s transformation into a manipulative, borderline insane son of a bitch after his first wife had nearly poisoned him to death, he’d always rubbed Rashid the wrong way. There’d always been something about Amjad that reminded him too much of himself.

Against all expectations, Amjad had married again. Maram Aal Waaked, the daughter of the ruling prince of a neighboring emirate, Ossaylan. Amjad had tried to use Maram to force her father to return the Pride of Zohayd jewels, which, according to Zohaydan law and legend, conferred the right to rule the kingdom. It had turned out Maram’s hapless father had been blackmailed by the ex-queen of Zohayd, Sondoss, Laylah’s aunt, into helping her steal the jewels. Reportedly, Amjad had fallen flat on his face in love with Maram. Now after he’d been dubbed the Mad Prince, he’d become the Crazy King—crazy in love with his new wife.

That
Rashid had to see to believe.

All he saw now was Amjad’s provocation as he met those startlingly emerald eyes on the same level. Not that he needed more than Amjad’s rude interruption of his tender moment with Laylah to guarantee his hackles wouldn’t subside for the foreseeable future.

“King Amjad,” he gritted between clenched teeth in lieu of a punch in the nose.

“Sheikh Rashid.” Devilry danced in Amjad’s eyes as he inclined his head. “Rumor has it you’re here on a bid to cure my cousin’s chronic spinsterhood.”

Before he could respond to that insolence, Laylah squeezed his arm, no doubt to stop him from putting his fist through her cousin’s and king’s smirking face. He’d been insane if he thought he could ally himself with this incorrigible creature.