The Sheik's Angry Bride (2 page)

It took bare moments before all were seated, none wanting to make their ruler wait for his dinner.  After a curt nod, the servants filed in with the first course, placing the cold cucumber and avocado soup in front of each person.

Layla swallowed and turned her head quickly away, not wanting to smell the cucumbers.  Why anyone would ruin an avocado by pairing it with a cold cucumber soup was beyond her comprehension.  But she carefully picked up her spoon and tasted the soup, willing herself not to gag.  It was close, but she finally swallowed the spoonful and even went back for more.

She heard the chuckle beside her on her third spoonful.

“I apologize, Your Highness,” she said, laying her spoon down and turning to face her soon-to-be husband.  “I missed whatever was funny.”

Garon wanted to laugh again, but he refrained.  “You know, if you don’t like the soup, you don’t have to eat it.”

Layla blinked, surprised that he’d noticed.  “The soup is extremely well prepared, Your Highness.”   But she didn’t lift her spoon again, using their conversation as the reason to not sample more of the vile concoction. 

He shook his head.  “A very cautious and subtle answer.  I’m impressed,” he replied back.  His eyes mirrored his admiration.  “You obviously hate the soup and yet you came up with a perfectly acceptable response that wasn’t a lie.  Very diplomatically stated.”

Layla’s stomach clenched with the realization that this man, her future husband, was so perceptive.  And outspoken! 

She searched her brain quickly, trying to come up with some way to cover her obvious flub.  “Nonsense, Your Highness.  I’m merely enjoying the meal and the company.”  She looked out over the rest of the group.  All of them were pretending to converse with each other, but she could feel their curiosity.  Each and every one of them was straining to hear what the two of them were talking about.  Thankfully, Garon was aware of their interest and was carefully keeping their conversation low so that it was just between the two of them. 

She was grateful, but that didn’t help her in the long term.  She would still have to marry this man – still have to go through the rest of her life under his dictates.  Her whole life would be catering to his likes and dislikes…and eating disgusting, revolting cucumber soup. 

He noticed the set look in her eyes and the way her jaw was clenched tightly closed.  Not to mention her stiff shoulders and the flash in her eyes – all signs that told him that she was in a fighting mood, but trying hard to remain polite.  “You say you like Lurasa,” he opened with that conversation.  “What do you like the best?  What have you seen so far?”

Layla’s stomach clenched with this new question.  Fortunately, her mother had prepared her extremely well.  There had been an entire folder of information Layla had memorized, including the history, culture and politics.  “Well…” and she listed off some of the famous sites that she’d seen in the file that had included pictures and comments from others who had visited before.  When she was finished, her shoulders sagged with relief that her memory hadn’t yet failed her. 

Garon wasn’t sure what was wrong with what she’d said, but he knew that there was a great deal more to the issue.  She was hiding something. 

It had been a simple question, he thought.  The weather and tourist attractions were always a safe subject and he’d employed those topics numerous times in the past to help a person relax so they might open up a bit more.  So what was wrong with the way she’d described so many of the attractions?  He couldn’t quite put his finger on the problem, but he knew there was one. 

“And when did you see the moon gardens?” he asked, watching her lovely features, knowing he’d just trapped her.  The moon gardens were a huge attraction, especially on the weekends. Tourists and locals alike walked through a lush garden filled with white flowers, some of which only came out at night, and all the white reflected the moon’s light, making the area look as if it was perhaps invaded by exotic night creatures.  It was enchanting and he’d walked through the gardens on several occasions when he was younger.  Not lately though.  Now that the war was over, visitors were flocking to the interesting sites, including the moon gardens.  It was almost impossible and unfair to close down the garden to tourists just so that he could have a bit of relaxation. 

He also had a hard time seeing this elegant, reserved woman sweating it up the steep mountain, nor could he imagine her traipsing through the dirt pathways in her very delicate shoes.  It wasn’t an easy trek up and some of the pathways clung onto the edge of a cliff and could be a bit intimidating for the faint of heart. 

Layla glanced nervously at the man.  “I saw them just the other day,” she told him honestly, not mentioning that it had been via a picture.   She hadn’t actually visited the site.  But she was game for battle.  Instead of arguing with him, she turned it around.  “What is your favorite site?” she asked.

“Oh, I think that moon gardens has to rank on up there as one of the top sites.”  He watched her eyes as they narrowed ever so slightly.  “Did you do the banana trip down?” he asked, not laughing in any way.

“I don’t think so,” she told him.  “There’s no banana trip.  In fact,” she sat up straighter and turned more fully to face him, “I’ve never heard of any sort of banana trip.  Please tell me more.”

Garon had to give it to her.  She wasn’t backing down or admitting anything.  “Which way did you walk up?”  One could walk down the mountain, which was still a difficult hike.  Or for the truly adventurous, a person could zip line down from the top, all the way to the bottom in the darkness.  It was terrifying if one didn’t watch carefully for the signals on when to slow down with the heavy leather gloves provided, but it was still an interesting way to challenge one’s self.

Layla was stumped with that question but she rallied.  “I only know of the one way to go up and down which is via the pathway.”

“Impressive stairs, wouldn’t you say?”

She had absolutely no clue what he meant.  She’d read that the climb was just a rough pathway and nowhere did the information she read had there been mention of any stairs.  “Stairs tend to be washed away by the elements.”

He sipped his wine, lifting a dark eyebrow.  “Why don’t you just admit that you’ve never been to see the gardens?” he asked, daring her to be brave enough. 

Layla shifted in her chair angrily.  This man had just kept giving her more and more rope to hang herself so she wasn’t giving in.  “One doesn’t have to actually experience something to appreciate it.  You only asked me which of the attractions I liked.”

He thought back to the beginning of the conversation and she was right.  “Touché, my beauty.”

“And in that same light, do you really think that the woman you are about to marry to would be allowed to do something as inelegant as traipsing up a mountain and walking through gardens at night?” she asked, taking her glass of wine and looking out at the other guests. 

Garon looked at her closely and something about the way she carefully set her glass down on the table told him loudly that she resented that restriction. 

“So you would have wanted to experience the gardens and not just read about them, is that it?”

She shook her head.  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped and then realized what she’d just said.  Looking up at him, she opened her mouth to apologize.

Garon stopped her with a wave of his hand.  “Don’t you dare apologize, Layla,” he told her in a soft voice that only she could hear.  “I want you to be free to say anything you want to me.”

Her eyes widened with that announcement, but looking at him, she didn’t believe him.  “Yes, well, thank you for that,” she said with as much graciousness as she could muster.  “I still should apologize for my tone.  It was inexcusable.”

Garon considered the lovely woman who had latent fire underneath that cool exterior.  He wanted to release that fire, wanted to experience her passion – in all forms.  He wasn’t exactly sure how to do that though. 

“What sorts of things would you want to experience that you’ve been denied so far?” he asked.

Layla placed her hands carefully on her lap while the wait staff cleared out the soup and placed a salad in front of her.  “I’m sure that whatever opportunities that you have in mind for the future will be quite stimulating,” she replied with as much diplomacy as she could muster under the circumstances.  She then picked up her fork and stabbed an innocent piece of lettuce.

“But if you were in charge, what would the Queen of Lurasa do?”

“I’m not in charge,” she replied, unaware of how her fairy blue eyes burned with unspoken words.  “So perhaps you could tell me how you picture my role.”

Garon shook his head, fascinated by the delicate way she was flicking each of the carefully laid out lettuce leaves and vegetables.  Oh, she was more than angry, he thought with fascination.  “I didn’t ask you what you thought I might want.  I asked you to tell me what you wanted, how you pictured your role or would want it if you were in charge.”

She turned and glared at him.  “I am not in charge, Your Highness.  Perhaps if I were…”

“Let’s just pretend, shall we?”

She sighed and almost dropped her fork.  But she regained her patience at the last moment before she let loose on him.  “Let us not live in a fantasy world, Your Highness.  It would be so much more kind if we stuck to reality and left the authors and painters to live in a fantasy world.”

“So you’re not even going to venture into the realm of possibilities?”

She put her fork carefully beside her plate, once again laying her hands on her lap.  It was a trick she’d learned early on to control a potential outburst that dared to bubble up from the depths of her temper.  The act of folding her hands onto her lap gave her mind something to focus on besides whatever it was that was irritating her. 

Never had she been this challenged though.  It was almost as if her future husband was trying to get her to lose her temper, but why would he do that? 

For the next forty minutes and throughout the numerous courses that were served by the ever-efficient palace staff, he challenged her docility more than any other person ever had, more than she’d thought was possible!  Every calm, tedious topic she could think of, he would find a way to press her buttons.  Was he mocking her?  Even topics as non-provocative as the weather were tempting her to toss her ice water over his head. 

When she realized what she’d just done, that she’d been arguing with her future husband, with the Sheik of Lurasa, she gasped, her eyes widened and she looked up at his eyes.

But she didn’t see condemnation there! 

Was that…admiration?

Layla was confused and she ducked her head down, trying to quiet her racing nerves.  His expression startled her and she didn’t understand her reaction to him.  All she knew was that she’d acted outside of her prescribed role and he hadn’t smacked her back into place.  There was silence in the room, indicating that the others had also heard the two of them arguing and weren’t sure what to think.

Layla shivered with fear.  She couldn’t believe she’d so carelessly disregarded the lessons of decorum and palace protocol that had been drilled into her from early childhood. She’d been raised to this role.  She knew the parameters around which women were allowed to act and speak.  How could she so completely have ignored those rules? 

“I apologize, Your Highness,” she whispered fervently, her head still bowed.  She could feel her parents’ censorious eyes upon her but couldn’t look up.

“You’re apologizing for what?” he demanded.  “For having an opinion?  I consider that a very attractive aspect of your personality.  Please don’t stop,” he said very softly but with just as much intensity as her apology had been delivered.  He took her hand.  “We will have dessert and coffee in a more relaxed atmosphere,” he declared.  “I’d like to hear more about your opinions on the issues you brought up.”  With that, he gently tugged her hand and lifted her out of the chair, feeling her reluctance to follow him.  He understood, but there was no way he was letting her back down.  She was fascinating and passionate and he had seen the fire inside of her. 

Two hours ago, he hadn’t thought he’d wanted an opinionated wife, hadn’t even contemplated the personality of his wife.  All he’d wanted was a woman at the appropriate child bearing age who knew how to act and react in a diplomatic manner.  Her appearance had been important, he had to produce a child with the woman, but they had been secondary to her manners.  But after the last hour, he knew that he wouldn’t have Layla any other way.  He wanted all of that passion and excitement.  As she’d argued with him, he’d discovered that she was intelligent and insightful, had brought up some interesting ideas that hadn’t previously been considered and he was impressed.  Suddenly, it was imperative that he hear more, to discuss other topics.  The idea of an insipid wife who didn’t bother with anything more than fashions or makeup and shoes, was not what he wanted now. 

He wanted Layla.

Layla paced back and forth in the enormous office, her anger simmering the longer she waited. 

He’d demanded this meeting, she thought with resentment.  Why had he arrogantly commanded her presence and then not even bothered to show up?  He’d “requested” her presence thirty minutes ago according to the summons she’d received through a servant.  Since this meeting had not been on the official schedule, she’d frantically had to shift the day’s priorities.  This meant she was no longer meeting with the wedding coordinator then the designers.  The appointments she’d had with potential candidates for positions on the staff would have to be rearranged despite the fact that several of those interviewees were already on route to the palace.  Instead, she had raced to shower and change her clothes, hurrying to the man’s office, almost breathless so that she could arrive on time, only to be told that he was called away for “a moment” and would be with her soon. 

She’d been slightly miffed by that announcement when she’d arrived.  But now she’d had, glancing at her watch again, thirty-five minutes to work up a righteous anger.  How rude!  How obnoxious!  The man was completely insensitive to other’s schedules! 

She refused to admit that a large portion of her anger was simple nervousness at seeing the man again.  Last night, he’d caused her to step outside of the role she’d been assigned to play and she didn’t like that he had that kind of power over her.  She hated that she’d deviated from the script.  She’d given herself a long lecture after the dinner and she’d been back on track this morning, but here she was, once more becoming angry instead of finding that serene place inside of her that could protect her from…well, all that was going to happen.  This marriage…she shook her head, trying to think instead of react. 

She looked at his office, eyeing the big, leather chair that appeared to be extra comfortable.  Defiantly, she walked around the desk, letting her hand smooth along the leather, unconcerned that she should be on the other side of the man’s desk, waiting patiently for his glorious presence to arrive. 

The obviously well-used chair wasn’t new, but it had aged beautifully over the years.  His body had polished the leather to a sheen and, as she dared to sit down in the enormous chair, she wondered what it would be like to have this kind of power.  It would be nice to have people grovel at her feet instead of her trying to anticipate and avoid any sort of insult to the rest of the world.

Her hands smoothed against the leather, contemplating all of the things she would demand.  She pulled a pad of paper closer, looking at the notes there.  Since they were some stupid calculations, formulas that she had no idea what they meant, she flipped the paper over to a clean sheet.  Grabbing his pen, she leaned back in the chair, propping her elegant shoes up on the edge of his desk, just as she’d seen her father do on numerous occasions while some poor soul trembled in front of his desk, taking orders and trying desperately to anticipate her father’s requirements. 

She tapped the pen against her chin, contemplating what orders she would give to Garon if their roles were reversed.  First, she’d stop this wedding.  Yep, that would definitely be at the top of her list.  She looked out the window, then smiled, eagerly writing down the next item she would decree.  All men would be forced into charm school.  As a sub item under that one, she wrote “show women equal respect” and “no arranged marriages”. 

She had added several more items to her list and was really getting into the task, forgetting that she was here in this office to meet with her future husband.  “You look too happy to be doing anything good,” a deep voice said too close to her shoulder.

Gone was all of her poise and diplomatic reserve.  Layla sprung out of the chair with a gasp of horror, astonished that she’d been caught doing anything so irreverent as to be sitting in the man’s chair. 

“I’m so sorry!” she breathed, trying to back up. 

Once again, Garon felt captivated by this woman.  He had enjoyed a spirited conversation with her the previous evening but as soon as she remembered others were around, she’d retreated behind her shell of civility.  Dessert and coffee in the anteroom were a tedious and boring hour during which he tried to pull her back out of that unexciting, reserved shell that she hid behind, but he’d been unsuccessful. 

Instead of letting her move away this time, he trapped her.  His body easily shifting so that she was caught between him and his desk.  Her sexy, round bottom had been sitting in his chair.  He couldn’t let her disrespect go unpunished, he told himself with a secret smile. 

“What were you doing sitting at my desk?” he asked. 

Layla tried to move to his right, but his extremely large body stopped that escape route.  When she tried to slip away from him to the left, he blocked that getaway just as effectively.  Trapped, she bowed her head, hoping he would just let this slip go. 

“I’m sorry.  It was inappropriate of me to invade your desk area,” she whispered even as she resentfully thought that it was just a stupid chair, not to mention, he’d left her cooling her heels for almost an hour. 

“You were making a list?” he asked and she gasped when he bent over, causing her to bend backwards in order to avoid her breasts touching his muscular chest.  She was so focused on avoiding any contact with him that she almost forgot what she’d written on that pad of paper.  “That’s nothing!” she said and tried to grab it out of his hands. 

But Garon only lifted the notepad higher, out of her reach but he “helped” her by wrapping his strong arm around her waist, bringing her right where he wanted her to be, against his chest. 

“What does this list mean?” he asked, amusement lacing his words as his eyes read the title.  “If I were in charge…” he read out loud. 

Looking down into her almost glowing blue eyes, a black eyebrow went up in question.  “So the little fairy has a bit of a sting to her?  Want to rule the world, little one?” he asked.

“No,” she replied honestly.  She just wanted to be able to rule herself, she thought, still trying to get out of his arms.  The steel band around her waist was more unsettling than she wanted to admit.  “Let me go,” she whispered, wishing she sounded more stern and less breathless.  And she wished that her body hadn’t started trembling at the first sound of his voice because it was just getting worse, the longer she stood in his arms. 

Garon looked down at her, noticed the points of her breasts that were pressed against his chest.  “I don’t think I’m going to do that,” he told her with a husky voice. 

“We shouldn’t be touching like this.”

“Why not?  You’re going to be my wife very soon.”

“Yes but…”

“And I like touching you.  You’re very soft.  Very responsive,” he murmured.

She didn’t like him thinking along those lines.  “I’m not at all,” she argued. 

“So why is your heart racing,” he asked, his thumb tracing the delicate bones under her neck.  “And why do you tremble in my arms?”

Her chin went up a notch and she wasn’t sure if she was trying to stop him from touching her or defy him.  “I’m afraid of you,” she told him.

He thought about that for a moment.  “You shouldn’t be,” he countered.  “But tell me why I make you nervous.”

She glared up at him, pretending she wasn’t shivering like a rag doll.  “I’m not nervous.  I’m afraid of you.  There’s a significant difference.”

He chuckled, enjoying the way she was still trying to get out of his embrace.  “Explain the difference to me,” he commanded. 

Layla felt his hard muscles of his thighs against her, very aware of how inappropriate their embrace really was.  “This isn’t right,” she said and tried to push his hands away from her.

In order to stop him, she tried to step around him once more but he countered that move more effectively than she could have anticipated by simply slipping his leg between hers as soon as she moved. 

Layla was so overwhelmed by this new sensation that she wasn’t sure what to do.  She simply stood there, his hard, muscular thigh pressing up against her feminine heat, her body throbbing embarrassingly in places she didn’t want to admit were affected by him. 

Garon saw her blush and couldn’t have stopped his own body’s reaction to her even if he’d wanted to – which he didn’t.  He was thrilled that his future wife was so responsive and pushed it even more by bending lower, his lips brushing ever so softly against the shell of her ear.  “You feel wonderful in my arms, little one.  I can’t wait until our wedding night when we can experience more together.”

Layla was breathing hard, unaware of her fingers gripping the man’s rock hard biceps as she closed her eyes, trying to pretend that nothing was going on.  “I think…” she stopped talking when his leg shifted ever so slightly. 

“If you are able to think, then I’m not doing something right,” he growled, the sound sending vibrations low in her belly. 

“Your…”

“Don’t you dare call me anything but Garon when I’m holding you like this,” and he bit her ear lobe then soothed the nipped flesh. 

“I can’t…”

“You can,” he argued right back before she could spout some nonsense his body didn’t want to hear.  “Let yourself go,” he coaxed.  “Feel what we can do to each other.  It will make being married so much better.”

Those words should have stopped her cold but he moved his hand downward, covering her bottom and she shivered in reaction. 

If it weren’t for the phone ringing at that point, Layla wasn’t sure what might have happened.  As it was, she didn’t even hear the jarring sound.  All she noticed was that Garon wasn’t touching her in the same way and he sighed with obvious annoyance at the interruption, blowing the wisps of hair off of her forehead.  “The trials of being needed,” he grumbled, still holding her close while he reached behind her and lifted the phone, snapping at whoever had dared to interrupt. 

Fortunately, whoever was on the line had some information that was important to Garon and his hold around her waist loosened just enough so that she was able to step away from him.  She skittered around the desk, urgently needing to find space that was out of his arm’s reach.  He watched her, giving her a look that told her he knew exactly what she was doing.  She shivered with both awareness and fear because the look in his eyes told her that he wasn’t going to let her get away with her evasion. 

Layla wasn’t going to wait around to find out what he might do though.  As soon as his eyes dropped, looking for something on his desk, she hurried towards the door.  She had her hand on the knob, a breath away from escape when she heard his voice stop her. “Layla, don’t you dare go through that door,” he warned.

Layla turned around, her hand still holding the knob and freedom, as she looked back at him.  Thankfully, he had a very large office so, in her mind, she had a running head start.  “I have things I have to do,” she told him, then spun around and pulled the door wide open, rushing through it before he could bark at her to stop. 

She hurried down the long hallway until she found a place where she was alone.  Leaning against the wall, she let her head fall back against the ornate tiles, closing her eyes as she tried desperately to pull herself back together.  They had been together twice now and both times, she’d found herself feeling out of control.  Last night during the argument and today in his arms, and neither instance was good. 

Layla hated this!  She refused to be attracted to Garon!  He’d bought her!  Money had been exchanged!  Political favors traded!  And no one had consulted her in any way!  Neither her mother nor her father had come to her and asked if she would like to be married to the Sheik of Lurasa!  The first she’d heard about her sale was when her father announced that the papers had been signed over dinner one night. 

Layla knew that she was simply a commodity to both her father and Garon so she was not going to make his life any easier by giving in to his sexual demands.  No, she would be cool and sophisticated.  She would do her job as his wife just as he would do his as ruler of his people.  And they would both move in their separate spheres.  When the time came to produce an heir, she would submit to him, but there was absolutely no need to fall into his arms every time he curled his little finger! 

And surely there was a way to procreate without all that messy…sex…stuff!  The sheik had a very competent physician on staff in the palace.  Couldn’t they just do the deed in some sort of petri dish?  She didn’t like messes and she definitely didn’t like the way she felt when the Sheik of Lurasa came close to her.  She didn’t want to even think about how out of control she felt when he touched her or kissed her!  Goodness, just remembering caused her breathing to start to become erratic again. 

No, it was better if their children were produced in a more sterile environment.  Garon could do all of those…crazy, uninhibited things…to his mistress!

And if the thought of Garon touching another woman made her stomach feel as if it was going to throw up, well, she could just ignore that nausea as she ignored all the other little things about her life that she didn’t like or agree with.

Feeling better, although not really sure how she was going to follow through on all of her goals, she straightened up, took a deep breath and started walking down the hallway once again.  Where she was going, she had no idea since she was still too flustered to remember the agenda for the day.