The Sheik's Angry Bride

The War, Love, & Harmony Series: Book 4

The Sheik’s Angry Bride

By Elizabeth Lennox

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Layla smoothed the long, black gloves up over her arms and elbows, ignoring the pains in her stomach.  She would not give in to the nausea.  This is what she had been trained for.  This moment, this role…all her life she’d been told that this was her purpose.  All of the details of the contract had been negotiated, each aspect of the agreement had been debated and finalized, every line of the contract had ultimately been signed by the appropriate people.  Not by her, of course!  No, she hadn’t been called into any office to sign the agreement.  But that didn’t matter.  This moment represented everything for which she’d been instructed and coached since birth. 

She took a deep breath and focused all of her attention on ensuring that there were no wrinkles in her dress or her gloves, that the diamond bracelet on her wrist didn’t show the clasp, and refused to contemplate what was about to happen.  Her gloved hand reached up and smoothed her hair, then stopped.  There was so much hairspray on her right now, the friction of touching it in any way might light her head on fire. 

Layla might have smiled at the idea if she weren’t so terrified inside.  That didn’t stop the image from forming though.  She could just picture her fiancée’s face when he walked into this meeting room only to discover a standing ball of flames instead of his fiancée.  Of course, Layla would stand perfectly upright, a smile of greeting on her overly made up features as she bowed and tried not to let the flames from her hair touch any of the medals on her intended’s immaculate and exalted chest.  But that was what she’d been trained all of her life for – to look acceptable at every moment of the day and produce heirs.  No other reason – just to adorn her husband’s arm and act as a walking womb. 

A burst of hysterical laughter threatened, but she took a deep breath and tried hard to remain composed despite her overly active imagination.  It wouldn’t do for her to be caught laughing when she met her future husband for the first time.  Layla cringed inwardly because even her inner dialogue now sounded like her mother, admonishing her for being silly.  Regardless, she pulled her shoulders back and took a deep breath, trying to snap out of the terror she was feeling.  No, it definitely wouldn’t do to appear to be smiling.  And laughing?  Out of the question, she told herself mentally.  A pleasant expression was all that was needed during this meeting.  Anything more might offend, anything less might insult. 

Over and over, this had been drilled into her, to the point where she now could breathe in, breathe out, and then look up with the perfectly serene expression on her face that she’d been forced to practice while growing up. 

She was also painfully aware that smiling too brightly might cause her makeup to crack.  Goodness, wouldn’t that be silly?  She could see the headlines tomorrow morning… “A chunk of the princess’ face fell to the floor after she laughed!”

No, she mentally shook herself.  That wouldn’t do, either.  Serenity, she chanted to herself.  She’d practiced this look in the mirror so often, it should come naturally to her by now.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Lift the chin.  Hands calm.  Spine straight.  And don’t throw up on the man!  For goodness sake, don’t throw up! 

The doors at the other end of the hallway opened up and she pulled her shoulders back.  Showtime, she thought, and suppressed the resentment that was welling up inside of her. 

She waited patiently, her light blue eyes glancing across each man’s face as he stepped through the doors, wondering who would be her future husband.  She was relieved to be wearing the high necked, black satin sheath dress, so that her pounding heart wouldn’t be noticed.  This was the night her hopes and dreams were to die.  This was the night when all of her silly girl fantasies would be obliterated. 

This was the night when she met her new owner.

Garon stepped through the double doors just as his guards separated to the right and left.  His eyes moved through the crowd of people standing inside the room, taking them all in.  But his gaze skidded to a screeching halt as he caught sight of the trembling beauty standing in the middle of the room.  There was no way he could miss the fact that this was his bride-to-be.  The other guests, including her mother and father, were all standing near the walls. This stunning beauty stood in the center, watching him with her lovely fairy eyes and soft, full lips; her slender figure was clad all in black from her neck right down to her long fingers and her dainty toes. 

Two things occurred to him at that moment.  The first was that his exquisite fiancée had come to their first meeting dressed for a funeral – which amused him.  He had no doubt that the message was intended. 

But the other thought was regarding her beauty, which was quite startling.  He’d seen formal pictures of her, of course.  The negotiations for this marriage had taken place over the past several months, so he knew well what Layla Alfarsi looked like.  But he was startled by the impact of her, which was not something he had anticipated.  He wanted to be attracted to his wife – that was a given.  What he hadn’t foreseen were his physical reactions to her.  They hit him like a punch in the gut.

Another feeling – a primal and voracious anticipation that surged up inside of him as he approached his future bride – was also unanticipated.  And he wasn’t sure it was welcome either. 

The entire reason for this meeting was to get to know his bride before the wedding.  Not to toss her over his shoulder so he could carry her away to a private place and have his way with her. 

Reigning in his near blinding need to possess this woman, he stopped directly in front of her.  Looking down at her, he was surprised at how small she seemed.  According to the dossier he’d been given on Layla Alfarsi, she was supposed to be five feet, five inches tall.  But this woman, even in heels, barely came to his shoulder.  Her slight form, her willowy figure, probably made her appear smaller, he thought. 

“Good evening, Layla,” he started off.  He reached down and took her hand, irritated with the long gloves.  He wanted to rip them off of her, to feel her soft skin and explore those pink lips.  But she might get offended by that, he supposed.

All in due time, he reminded himself.  Very soon, this woman would be his.  And he could explore all of that trembling courage at his leisure. 

“Good evening, Your Highness,” she replied, dipping into a curtsy and bowing her head. 

Layla couldn’t believe how hard it was to rise from that simple gesture but her legs were trembling and her heart pounding so hard, she was actually worried that she might fall onto the floor at this man’s feet.  He must have sensed her trepidation because his hand tightened on her fingers, helping her to rise out of the curtsy.  When she was once more standing in front of him, she knew that the polite thing to do was to thank him silently but she simply couldn’t look up at him.  Not this man! 

He was too…everything!  Shock waves rocketed throughout her body as the heat from his hand seemed to be melting the silk of her black gloves where he continued to touch her.  She’d tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn’t release her fingers. 

Layla felt trapped by this man.  He was barely touching her, but there was something about him, a sense deep inside of her that told her she should run as fast and as hard as she could away from him. 

But her training kicked in once more and she straightened her shoulders.  Waiting. 

And waiting.  In fact, everyone in the room seemed to be silent, waiting. 

“We will stand here all night, little one, until you look at me,” he told her in a voice that only she could hear. 

Layla’s heart, already pounding fast, went into triple time with his words.  Look at him?  She wanted to run away!  She wanted to hide behind the enormous plant in the corner.  She wanted to whip her hand out from his grasp and step backwards so there was more space between the two of them.  She absolutely did not want to look up at him.

But this was her duty.  He’d commanded, she must obey.  Gritting her teeth, she forced her eyes higher.  And higher!  Goodness, he was tall! 

When her blue eyes finally met his, that horrible trembling increased even more.  His black gaze looked down at her and that need to flee, to hide, intensified.  But something else also rose up.  Something that saved her from making a fool of herself and bringing dishonor upon her family.

Anger! 

Oh, the wonderful, heat-encouraging, bubbling anger was her saving grace.  Gritting her teeth, she stared right back at this man, daring him to…to do whatever it was he might do!  She had no idea of his intentions, nor was she going to ask.  She simply waited for him, challenging him with her blue eyes as they fought a battle of wills.

Garon’s stomach muscles clenched and his body reacted to that angry gaze.  Until a few months ago, he’d never really contemplated his wife and the traits he might want in that woman.  Nor had there been any discussion during the negotiations about Layla’s preferences, her temperament.  He was simply assured that she had been raised to know her duty, her responsibilities.  Testing had been done to ensure her fertility and that was the end of that conversation.  All the negotiations from that point on were monetary and political.  The exchange of this woman from her family to his would be a boon to both sides of the negotiating table. 

Every feral and predatory cell in his body reacted to her challenge, to those striking, blue eyes glaring up at him.  He wanted to both subdue her rebellion while at the same time, set her passion free.  The unexpected pleasure he found in just looking at her shot through him and he had to stop himself from ordering everyone out of the room but this one woman. 

“You are more beautiful than I expected,” he finally said, breaking the charged silence between them.  He didn’t give a damn about the others in the room.  In fact, he wondered why his staff had arranged for this first meeting to take place in front of so many people.  It should have been private. 

So instead of saying all the things he wanted to say, or touch her to see if her skin was as soft as it looked, he restrained himself.  He wanted to make this woman more comfortable so he pulled back and dug deep for all of those gentlemanly lessons his mother had tried very hard to instill within him. 

“You will be a beautiful asset to my country,” he said, bowing over her hand. 

Garon almost laughed when his fairy-eyed beauty almost rolled her eyes at his comment. 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she replied with a polite, if slightly bored, tone of voice. 

He smothered his amusement as he realized that his lovely, soon-to-be bride wasn’t so shallow that a compliment could sway her.  “Come.  We will dine and you will tell me about yourself,” he stated, tucking her hand onto his arm and leading her towards yet another set of double doors. 

Layla didn’t argue with him.  Nor did she counter his command with the comment that he might want to tell her about himself as well.  Instead, she fell back on her training, using all of her energy to force polite conversation through her stiff lips.  “You have a beautiful country,” she said, starting in with all of her well-rehearsed platitudes.  Her mother had given her a list, a script almost, of things for Layla to discuss during this initial meeting.  The beauty of his country was the first and foremost, even though she’d flown into the country early this morning and had been chauffeured in a limousine with dark windows right to the palace.  The most she could state with any personal knowledge was that the sunrise was striking at dawn. 

She grumbled resentfully at that reminder as she walked beside the man, wondering if he knew what time she’d been woken this morning.  The sun hadn’t even been coming up over the horizon when her maid had knocked on her door.  Her mother followed closely behind to supervise Layla’s final preparations before boarding the plane that would take them here.  He had probably been lolling in bed with his latest mistress while she’d been poked and prodded, her nails re-manicured, her toes re-pedicured, her eyebrows plucked, her skin scrubbed, her dark hair brushed and numerous chemicals applied so that it would ‘glow’.  That only brought to mind her earlier thought about her hair catching on fire and she actually pulled back when they walked through the doors as she noticed all the candles that were decorating the tables.  She almost laughed, but she compressed her lips and fought to regain control of her amusement. 

“Something has amused you,” he observed and she was surprised that he was so astute.  She glanced up at him, then darted her gaze away, unable to maintain eye contact with that intense, black look. 

“Tell me,” he commanded as he allowed a servant to pull out her chair.  His hand tightened its hold on her fingers when she was about to sit, silently telling her that he wanted an answer before she sat down. 

“I was simply delighted with the ambiance, Your Highness,” she lied and raised her eyes up to his once more, daring him to call out her lie.  She had no idea that her lips were tilted up or that her crystal blue eyes were looking at him with the most outrageous defiance. 

He looked down at her and couldn’t suppress the chuckle.  “You’re a beautiful liar,” he told her but bowed as she delicately lowered herself onto the chair. 

Layla blushed, not used to being called out so arrogantly and openly.  In her world and from her experience, one simply didn’t express one’s thoughts.  What was he thinking?!

“You are very charming, Your Highness,” she replied and lowered her lashes so that he couldn’t see what she was thinking about that whopper.  But when he simply chuckled once again, the pink stain to her cheeks turned an even brighter color.  Instead of looking at him again, which she wasn’t sure she could do anyway, she turned to face the others who were all filing in according to rank.