The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride (12 page)

Bitterness laced her words. It was obvious her pain hadn’t healed.

Rafiq could only imagine how hurtful it must be to face such rejection. He wanted to go to her, pull her close and comfort her.

Yet her brittle composure seemed so fragile. He knew instinctively that she wouldn’t welcome such an advance.

`Was this recent?’

She shook her head. `No, it’s ancient history now. He left the day before my twelfth birthday.’

Yet the scars of that hurt lingered. How betrayed she must have felt. Especially at such an impressionable age.

He felt a surge of protectiveness so strong it staggered him. How could her father have treated her in that way? Abandoned his family, his responsibilities, the people who cared for him?

Rafiq watched her reach for a plate and help herself to an assortment of fruit and nuts. She looked unconcerned, her movements quick and smooth. But the tension hadn’t left her. She looked too composed. Almost rigid in her control.

Inevitably it set him wondering if her father’s disloyalty might account for her fierce independence. She was more staunchly self-sufficient than any woman he’d met. It was one of the things that drew him to her. Now he speculated on whether that trait had grown out of pain and grief. In many ways Belle was an enigma to him. But one he was determined to solve.

Ì lost my parents when I was eleven,’ he said, in an attempt to bridge the silent gulf between them. Her head swung abruptly round towards him and he saw the flash of compassion in her expression. `They were in a chopper, coming back from a visit to one of the outlying islands.’

He still remembered the perfect cloudless blue sky that afternoon as he’d waited for them to return.

Ìt should have been a routine flight, but something went wrong. A mechanical failure. There were no survivors.’

Òh, Rafiq! To lose them both like that.’ Her eyes were sympathetic. At least the haunted look in them had disappeared.

Ì had my grandfather. He brought me up. And I count myself lucky for that. He was a great man.’

‘I’m sure he was.’ Then she staggered him with her first compliment. `He did a fine job. I’m sure he’d be proud of you now.’

A tiny evocative smile curved her lips.

He inclined his head, surprised to discover how much her words warmed him. How important they were to him.

Ì‘m honored that you think so. And I’m convinced that your mother is a very special woman, to have produced a daughter like you.’

He watched, satisfied, as a blush of color warmed her cheeks. He hated seeing her look bereft, as she had a moment ago. Even when fighting off exhaustion and terror she’d never looked as lost as she had when talking of her father.

I’ll look forward to meeting her in person.’ He paused. Ìn the meantime, I’d very much like to speak with her before the wedding.’ To pay his respects and to set her mind at ease that he would do all within his power to look after her daughter.

Ì‘m sure she’d appreciate that.’ Belle’s expression was wary.

`Good. It’s time I spoke with her. Very soon now we’ll be family.’

Six days later Belle’s world changed for ever.

In front of thousands of Q’ aroumis she wed their sovereign prince.

Millions of people around the globe, her own family included, watched television footage of the royal pair receiving the congratulations of their people. And heard the resounding cheers as the massive crowd roared its approval.

None of it had seemed real to Belle. Until now.

Finally, as nearby a clock chimed midnight, she found herself alone with Rafiq for the first time all day.

Cinderella time. Time for the world to change back to normal.

But as she stared across the private salon into the compelling eyes of the man she’d just married, Belle knew her life would never be the same again. That was when she realized she was in trouble.

He regarded her steadily. Too steadily. His assessing gaze tore at her façade of composure, leaving her nervous. Her breathing was shallow, her palms damp.

All day she’d played her part, model bride first at a Q’aroumi then at a Western wedding ceremony. She’d stood at Rafiq’s side through the interminable photo session, and again at the official reception, where locals and foreign dignitaries had clustered around, congratulating, assessing, speculating.

And now they were alone. The sense of unreality that had buoyed her through the sumptuous proceedings splintered as Rafiq paced towards her.

This was no illusion. She had bound herself to him.

Scorching darts of apprehension jabbed her, hot and unsettling.

Her abdomen churned from the surge of adrenaline that spasmed through her muscles.

Fear?

Or anticipation?

As he closed the distance between them she focused on the clear green of his eyes. And what she read there snatched her breath away.

Even dressed in a traditional bridal gown, with its full length, concealing folds, she felt more vulnerable than when she’d knelt before him that first time, wearing only a Lycra swimsuit and manacles. Then he’d been her savior, determined yet gentle in his role as rescuer.

But now his gaze was hot, possessive. His eyes sparked with the blaze of ownership, searing her to the core.

She backed a step and he paused, eyes narrowing.

`You must be tired. It’s been a long day for both of us.’ His deep voice hadn’t changed. Smooth as fine chocolate, dark as temptation, it swirled around her, inviting her to relax, terrifying her with its seductive power.

`Would you help me?’ He raised his hands to the vivid white cloth of his headdress and tugged one end free. His lips curved in a wry smile that banished the image of predatory, stalking male. Had it been an illusion?

Òf course.’ Better to be doing something, anything, than stand and wonder what she’d just got herself into.

She ignored the luxurious shushing of her heavy satin dress as she walked, the weight of a solid gold collar around her throat. Satins and silks, luxury and jewels they were all part of the fairytale display of a royal wedding. They didn’t change her. She was clever, capable, a career woman from another world. All she had to do was remember it.

Belle avoided his gaze as she reached up and took the soft linen in her hands. Deftly he unwound its length, and just as quickly she folded it, concentrating on the simple task, avoiding his eyes. But his breath was warm against her face and the heat of his body was an encompassing aura. The scent of him, musk and sunshine, teased her senses.

His regard was like a touch, physical, unmistakable. It brushed over her face, lingering on her mouth, sweeping down her throat to the magnificently barbaric necklace she wore, and further, to the tight bodice of her gown.

With her arms raised, her body leaning infinitesimally towards him, she felt exposed. But she wouldn’t react, she told herself, ignoring the swelling sensation of her breasts against the smooth satin.

Almost done. She snatched the last of the cloth from Rafiq’s hands and stepped back, folding it neatly with fingers that barely quivered.

`Thank you, Belle.’

She looked at him then, and her pulse stuttered in shock. Instead of pulling his hair back in a sleek ponytail, as usual, Rafiq had left it unbound. Now it cascaded to his shoulders, a gleaming dark invitation to touch.

Her hands clenched on the wad of linen as she sucked in a desperate breath.

It should have looked effeminate, that shining mass of hair, or at least out of place on a man with such a starkly handsome face. But it didn’t. Somehow it was the perfect foil for his solid jaw, his forceful nose and the deep slashes beside his mouth.

His mouth. Belle stared, ensnared by the sensuality of his lips.

Knowing she should look away but unable to do it.

Ànd now we are wed.’ His smile was pure satisfaction.

She shrugged. Òfficially.’

He shook his head and ebony hair spilled across his shoulders.

Òfficially. But also legally, morally. Completely. It’s done, Belle.

Don’t hide from the truth.’

Her eyes widened. `The truth is that we married for political reasons. For the security of Q’ aroum. To prevent an uprising that could cripple the country.’

`You sound like Dawud and my ministers.’ His brows drew together. “Act quickly to prevent bloodshed. Remind everyone that the royal house of Akhtar is strong. Marry to buy time while we smoke out the rebels who’d destroy our democracy.”’

Ànd that’s exactly what you’ve done.’

`Yes. But is that all?’ His voice was a seductive murmur that brushed across her skin as he stepped close.

She shivered.

`You’re mine, Belle.’ His fathomless gaze held hers in thrall. `You gave yourself to me today. Not only legally, on paper. But in the flesh.’

She heard her breath hiss between her teeth, the blood throb in her ears. He couldn’t have said what she thought he’d said.

`You belong to me.’ He lifted his hand and stroked his fingers along her cheekbone, down her neck, to splay possessively over the wide jeweled collar that sat like a brand on her skin. Her flesh tingled at the contact, forbidden desire skittering through her.

She heaved a deep, panicked breath. `No! I don’t-‘

`Just as I belong to you, Belle.’ He leaned close, his gaze mesmerizing. Ì‘m all yours. Do you not enjoy the idea? The power that gives you?’

Bewildered, she stared at this man who’d swept into her life with the force of a swirling desert wind, who’d taken control of her future, her very person. She should be outraged. She was outraged.

Surely it was anger that fizzed in her veins, heightening each sense, alerting her to every tiny movement of his big body.

Or was it anticipation?

Belle shook her head. She’d married to help him protect his people.

That was the only reason. Wasn’t it? She’d found him wildly attractive from the first, but she knew he was off-limits and had fought this infatuation with all her strength. She couldn’t have persuaded herself into this position because she wanted him.

Could she?

Her brain was so befuddled by the realization that Rafiq apparently wanted her that she couldn’t think straight. How had it happened?

When? She’d been convinced she was the only one affected by this lightning blast of need. Her blood sizzled with the realization that she’d been wrong. The way Rafiq’s gaze devoured her made it clear he saw more than political necessity in this situation.

`You’re a strong woman, Belle. Too strong to hide from the truth.’

His hand, heavy and knowing, slid across her heated flesh, exploring the neckline of her gown, turning her blood molten.

With his other hand he reached down and enfolded her hand in his long fingers, lifting it to press against the hot skin of his jaw. She felt the fine haze of heat, the slight abrasion where his beard would grow if he let it.

She tensed, registering the dart of pure fire that arrowed straight to her womb, spreading delicious, wanton heat between her legs and up to her burgeoning nipples.

`Rafiq.’

He shook his head, so close she saw her reflection in his eyes.

`Don’t lie, Belle. It doesn’t befit you.’

He dragged her hand across his mouth, licking the centre of her palm. A shock of desire ripped through her, holding her spellbound. He did it again, the gesture slow and intimate. Half-closed lids now hooded the bright awareness of his eyes. In that instant Belle knew she wasn’t fighting him, but herself.

`Don’t be afraid.
habibti
.’ His words vibrated against her sensitive palm. `You can reach out right now and take whatever you want.’

He drew her hand away from his mouth and lifted his other hand from her body to stand, arms akimbo, watching her. Ìf you have the courage,’ he whispered.

It was a taunt. A dare she’d be a fool to accept. But, heaven help her, right now her senses were singing with awareness of this sexy, stubborn, outrageous man.

She tried to remember all the reasons it would be a mistake to get too close to him. Self preservation, that was one. There was danger in letting him discover her desperate need. Danger in revealing how much she wanted him. Because one day she’d have to walk away from him when this marriage was annulled. And when she did she couldn’t afford to leave with a shattered heart. She had to preserve her distance, her sanity. Her dignity.

One day soon she’d recover from this infatuation.

His eyes met hers, enticing, daring her to act on impulse.

Challenging her to acknowledge the smoking hot desire that shimmered between them.

One kiss. Just one to satisfy her curiosity. After all she’d been through surely she deserved that much? It was so tempting to throw caution and common sense to the winds.

Her nostrils flared as she caught his intoxicating scent. A ripple of awareness shivered through her.

She should play safe. She’d been strong for so long. Surely she could do it for a little longer?

There was a flutter of white as his linen headscarf slipped from her fingers and streamed to the floor.

And with it went the last of her self-possession.

She gave in to the inevitable.

Slowly, deliberately, her heart thudding, she lifted her hands up over his wide shoulders to cradle the back of his head. The sensuous silk of his hair was pure decadence in her hands. Gulping a quick breath, she leaned up and into him on tiptoe, bringing her body against the solid heat of his lean torso. Belle almost stopped then, savoring the delicate frisson of awareness where they touched.

She was nervous, absurdly so. But she wanted more, and now, finally, her need overrode the desperate voice of warning in her brain. She wanted this so badly. She’d lost the power to deny herself any longer.

His lips were smooth, surprisingly soft beneath hers. He tasted like desire. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on learning the shape of his mouth, caressing its edges. She pressed her mouth to his, tugging at his bottom lip till he opened for her and she delved in to stroke her tongue tentatively against his.

She shuddered with delight as he responded, gently teasing and retreating. Tantalizing her with an expertise that should have set off alarm bells. But the sensations were too heady for sensible thought.