The Sheik's Angry Bride (3 page)

And then it occurred to her that Garon had interrupted that agenda because he’d wanted to talk to her.  Goodness, they’d certainly gotten off track, she thought. 

Shaking her head as if she could easily ignore the past hour, she walked towards the rooms she’d been assigned to during the pre-wedding festivities.  What she needed was a good, long run to get rid of all of this tension created by the wedding arrangements. 

Not that she’d actually had to do anything, she thought as she pulled on a pair of stretchy shorts and a sports bra.  She added a looser outer shirt and her running shoes before heading out to the gym. 

Garon finally got off of the phone and his first thought was to get that woman back into his office.  And back into his arms.  They’d started something and he was determined to finish it!  Damn her, she’d slipped out of here with fear in those fairy eyes and he didn’t like that.  He didn’t want her to fear this chemistry they had together.  It was mutual and she damn well had to know that. 

He looked down at his papers, cursing all of his responsibilities and more determined than ever to get things cleared up enough so that he could take that woman on a proper honeymoon.  He was going to explore his little fairy’s body more thoroughly than even she could imagine.  By the end of their time together, she wouldn’t be running away from him ever again. 

His eyes caught on the notepad she’d discarded and a faint smile formed on his hard mouth as he read the words.  “If I were in charge…”  So his fairy woman wants control, eh?  He chuckled as he read through the list.  Cancel the wedding?  That wasn’t going to happen.  His eyebrow shot up at the next one.  Charm school?  She didn’t think he was charming? 

He could be charming.  He thought of all the charming ways he could touch her, watch her catch on fire like she had a few moments ago in his arms.  Yes, he could be extremely charming when he put his mind to it. 

He frowned with the third item.  She didn’t think he respected her?  He looked up, contemplating that comment.  He respected her.  He probably hadn’t shown her but the very fact that he had listened to her arguments last night proved that he respected her.

Garon’s mind sifted through their conversation and his body reacted again.  He almost groaned at how badly he wanted to hunt down his beautiful fairy woman and make love to her.  He loved the way she got all bristly when he was around but the moment he touched her, she melted in his arms.  She was all woman, soft and passionate, making those sexy sounds that made his body ache. 

Damn!  His body was rock hard again for her and he had a meeting!  He needed to speed this wedding along.  He wasn’t going to make it at this rate. 

He walked into his meeting but his focus was still on his fairy woman.  And all of the interesting ways he could touch her so that she could repeat some of those sounds she’d made in his office a while ago. 

Layla pressed the speed button again on the treadmill.  And again.  Pushing herself harder and harder in an effort to find that running nirvana which had always helped her get through the stressful times of her life.  The pounding of her feet, the rhythm of the run, music in her ears and nothing on her mind had always worked in the past.  But it wasn’t coming.  Not this time.  That man had ruined her run!

“Layla!” the voice broke through the music blasting in her ears and she almost tripped on the treadmill before she caught herself and balanced on the side rails. 

“What’s wrong, Mother?” she asked, fighting for patience.  Her mother was a perfect example of why arranged marriages should be banned.  Her parents barely endured each other and her mother sniped at him over the petty things, just to poke her father’s temper.  Layla had two older brothers, both of whom had married well and both worked in the political world.  In her mother’s eyes, her only failing was Layla.  Despite her best efforts, her mother hadn’t been able to train out the irritating independent streak that ran through her daughter’s blood. 

“You need to get ready!” and she tapped her wrist where her gold watch rested. 

Layla rubbed her face with the towel.  “It is only ten o’clock in the morning,” she replied, wondering what sorts of torture were waiting for her at her mother’s direction. 

“You have lunch with His Highness in two hours, Layla!”

Layla’s entire body stiffened with surprise.  “That wasn’t on the schedule!”

“His Highness put it on the schedule a half hour ago.  If you had been paying attention to your messages, you would know this already.  Now get down off of that contraption and get into the shower!  There is very little time now to make you presentable!”

Layla almost groaned out loud.  Two hours!  She had two hours before she was due to arrive at the impromptu lunch! 

“Mother, I don’t think I need a new manicure and pedicure, just to have lunch with the man.”

“Don’t you dare speak so disrespectfully about your future husband, Layla,” she admonished as she nudged her daughter towards the suite of rooms they’d been assigned for the wedding celebrations.  But she pulled her hand back with disgust when she touched her daughter’s sweaty back.  “I don’t know why you have to exercise,” she sniffed.  “It is such a waste of time, not to mention dirty.”

Layla didn’t mention the cardiovascular, mental and physical benefits of exercise.  She’d heard this comment from her mother on several occasions.  It was one area of Layla’s life that she had control over so she exercised when she could, even waking up early in order to get an hour in the gym if she had a busy schedule. 

Not that she would be allowed to work.  Oh no!  The horror of a woman actually wanting a job, a career and personal satisfaction was a complete anathema to her family – and most likely to Sheik Garon, Wanna-Be-King-of-Everything.  Yes, that argument had been offered when Layla was younger.  Her mother had drilled early on that a woman’s “career” was to make her husband happy, his career was her priority.  A woman entertained, looked beautiful, made her husband’s home run smoothly and produced children.  And she did all of this in a politically beneficial marriage.  Politically beneficial for Layla’s family…or more specifically, her father.

Of course, Layla’s mother was reveling in this wedding as well.  Layla’s marriage to such a powerful sheik would raise her mother’s standing in her circle of superficial acquaintances that masquerade around town as friends. Her mother was reveling in her newfound power as the future mother-in-law to a sheik. 

Could Layla blame her mother for finding joy anywhere she could?  She probably shouldn’t, but Layla didn’t want to follow in her footsteps.  She wanted a life for herself, accomplishments that she was able to state clearly as her own and not simply those of her husband. 

She sighed and followed behind her mother.  She showered, dressed in a green sheath dress, slipped her feet into the matching green shoes then sat down so that the manicurist could redo her nails while the stylist worked on her hair.  It took an hour and a half of primping and prepping before she was deemed “presentable”. 

And just like earlier this morning, she stood in the dining room for twenty minutes, not daring to sit down because she’d been trained that one did not sit until the ruler sat.  She also had been warned not to ruin the lines of her dress by sitting down.  She was supposed to “wow” her future husband with her figure, so carefully outlined with the sheath dress.  So here she stood, pretending to be calm and collected when inside, she was alternately shivering with fear because of her morning incident in his office and raging with anger that he was making her wait yet again with no news about the time he might arrive. 

The man had no manners!

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” a servant came into the room, bowing.  “His Highness has expressed regret that he has had to cancel your lunch meeting.”

Layla stood there silently after the man delivered the message.  She didn’t move, she didn’t smile, she barely even acknowledged the message in any way.  She counted to ten before she moved even a muscle other than blinking.  She counted yet again before she allowed herself to speak.  “Thank you very much for that information.  Please convey to His Highness my highest regards and regret that we were not able to share lunch at this time but I am at his service for any other appointments he would like to set up.”

With that, she spun around on her heel and walked out of the dining room.  She hadn’t had breakfast and, three minutes ago, she was furious because her stomach was growling with hunger.  But she wasn’t hungry any longer.  She was too angry to be hungry.  With stiff shoulders, she walked back to her suite and carefully slipped out of the green dress. 

Pulling on yet another exercise outfit, she mercilessly tied her shoes and headed right back to the gym.  She probably looked ridiculous with her hair so perfectly coiffed and sprayed, but she didn’t care.  She knew that she wouldn’t even need to pull her hair into a band to keep it off of her neck because there was so much hairspray in her hair right now, it wouldn’t dare move! 

Layla sat in her chair under the shade awning, her back stiffly erect and her eyes as open as she could make them in the sunshine.  Everyone else was wearing sunglasses to shade their eyes but this competition was to showcase her and Garon for the press and for his people.  They wanted to see her and so sunglasses were not allowed. 

Of course, Garon was wearing them, she thought with resentment. 

She kept her hands politely in her lap, clapping graciously as each of the contestants stepped up to the various competitions.  There were sword fighting, horse races and even camel races!  Later this afternoon, shooting and archery were on the schedule.  Even the midday meal would be an event that would include long tables filled with various delicacies.  She and Garon would be sampling several of them for lunch.

She knew her role and she smiled, turned her head, applauded and laughed, ignoring the way her cheeks hurt.  Her eyes felt as if they were on fire and she was wearing a special undergarment that would absorb any sweat that dared to come off of her body in the hundred and ten degree heat. 

“You don’t like the competitions?” Garon commented as he leaned closer to her. 

Layla turned her head and smiled at him, clapping as one more competitor bowed out of the sword fighting competition. 

“They are all very exciting,” she replied as she tried to ignore the trickle of sweat that slid down the back of her neck. 

“You look bored out of your mind.”  He watched her and caught the way her eyes opened ever so slightly. 

“Not at all,” she replied and she honestly wasn’t bored.  She found sword fighting very exciting.  It was always amazing that two men could come out of such events with cuts and wounds and still smile as if they’d just had a great time. 

“You’re lying.”

She shook her head.  “Not at all,” she countered.  “It is just a little warm,” she told him.  The undergarment might keep her outer clothes sweat free, but the stupid contraption was hot!  And tight! 

“Let’s go get some food,” he told her, taking her hand and leading her out of the shaded area reserved for the two of them and the other high ranking officials within his cabinet.  “And something cold to drink.  I hate these times when I have to sit here in a suit in this kind of weather.”

Layla couldn’t stop the snort of shock at his comment.  When he looked back down at her, she laughed.  “You don’t look like you’re uncomfortable, Your Highness.”

He shook his head.  “You look like you’d like to take a sword to whoever thought up the idea of these competitions to celebrate our wedding.”

Again, she couldn’t stop the laughter.  “Perhaps you are more perceptive than I gave you credit for,” she replied back.

He handed her a glass filled with ice and water.  “Ah, you think I don’t see through your polite façade, my lady.  But I can assure you, I see a great deal.”

Her breath caught in her throat with his words and she wanted to dump the ice water down the inside of her dress as the blush stole up her neck. 

His hand brushed against her back and she stiffened, shocked by his touch yet again.  She almost choked on the water this time when she tried to drink it so instead, she simply set it down and moved on. “Shall we sample some of the foods?” she suggested, taking a step away from him and those hands that seemed to be touching her whenever possible.

But he followed her, his longer legs easily able to keep pace with her.  They tried chicken and beef kabobs, cheese hand pies that were freshly baked and melted in her mouth.  She was exclaiming about each of the dishes, truly amazed at the wonderful tastes of each flavorful dish when Garon tapped her shoulder.  When she turned around, he was standing close, too close as always, but the real problem was that he was holding a piece of baklava for her. 

Her eyes dropped from his to the fingers where he was holding the treat, her breath halted in her throat as she watched him, not sure what she should do or say. 

All the chaos of the festivities, the reporters, various vendors and even her parents, faded away as she looked at his strong fingers and the morsel dripping with honey.  Layla was both fascinated and horrified, her mind unable to function as she stared at his fingers.  Every cell in her body reacted, her muscles clenched and her legs trembled.  Garon moved closer.  “Try it, Layla,” he commanded. 

Her eyes glanced up into his, her breath hitched and she felt as if she could to melt into a puddle at his feet, which had absolutely nothing to do with the heat from the sun and everything to do with the heat coming from his body. 

“I can take…”

His fingers moved closer and she couldn’t help but take the taste from his fingers.  As the honey and his taste hit her tongue, she moaned softly.  Her lips curled around his fingers and she suddenly didn’t want him to take them away.  She wanted more, she wanted to suck his finger into his mouth and taste more of him. 

“Excellent,” he said, his voice deeper.  Huskier. 

She forgot to breathe for a long moment.  When she heard his voice, her eyes popped open and she looked up at him, her world and all concepts about what was right and good and appropriate were banished with the touch of his finger when he smoothed his thumb along her lower lip.  “A bit of honey dropped,” he told her as the excuse for that caress. 

She didn’t believe him but she couldn’t argue with him either.  She could barely speak or move. 

“Would you like more?” he asked softly, his eyes caressing exactly where his finger had just touched, making her body tremble even more. 

A movement to the right of her caught her attention and she looked around, suddenly realizing that the crowd had stopped to watch the two of them interact. 

Her cheeks turned a bright pink and she looked down, horrified at such a lack of decorum on her part.  Garon seemed to take pity on her and put his arm around her, bringing her closer so that her face was buried against his chest. 

“It is excellent,” he told the woman who was beaming, standing beside them as she held more of the decadent delicacy out to them.  She nodded all the while, bowing.  The elderly woman’s delight in offering her ruler something made her whole family pat each other on the back.  Her husband bowed as well and offered a whole plate, already wrapped, as a gift.  Garon winked at the man and accepted the offering while Layla wanted to punch his arm for being so obvious about his lascivious intent.  It was as if the two men were silently agreeing that the honeyed mixture would aid in their wedding night and she wanted to just fall into a hole somewhere. 

As they walked on, she was grateful that they were moving to another part of the festival, the area where she didn’t have to eat anything any longer.  She wasn’t sure she could swallow another bite after that last scene so when someone showed her a toy, she eagerly took it and learned how to make the adorable puppet dance.  It was the perfect excuse to put several feet of space between herself and Garon, giving her time to recover from his touch.  Her lips were still tingling from his fingers and her stomach was weak.  Not to mention her mind that was craving things that were completely wrong wrong wrong!  And she couldn’t seem to stop those treasonous thoughts from entering her mind so she pulled away from him, putting as much space between them as he and the crowds, not to mention the security team, would allow. 

She and Garon moved from vendor to vendor, looking at the various items for sale and complimenting each person.  She was given gifts by each person and she thanked them, sincerely touched by their desire to be a part of this celebration.  And if she felt slightly guilty for accepting what were essentially wedding gifts, she pushed that aside, knowing that all of them were well meant.  It was irrelevant that she had absolutely no desire to be married to the man.  Apparently, she was hiding that sentiment completely from the crowds. 

“Why don’t you go over to the dais again and relax now?” he suggested, touching her arm slightly.

She looked towards where he was pointing and saw her mother looking stiff and disapproving.  “Where are you going?” she asked, hiding her cringe of distaste at joining her mother’s sour presence once again.  It wasn’t that she wanted to be with him.  But she definitely didn’t want to be near her mother who would smile as she lectured Layla on anything she felt her daughter needed to improve upon. How that woman could lecture while barely moving her lips was a talent, Layla thought. 

“I’m going to participate in the next competition.”

She looked startled by that announcement.  “What’s coming next?”  She looked around and realized that there was a shooting match starting up. 

“There’s rifles and archery next.  I won’t compete, but the crowd wants me to at least showcase my skills.”

Her eyes lit up with that news.  “Hmm…” she speculated.  And then she made a snap decision.  She didn’t care if it was right or wrong.  “I’ll join in the shooting as well.”

He laughed softly.  “Why would you do that?”

She looked up at him, angry that he doubted her skills.  “Why wouldn’t I?  You’re going to.  Why not me as well?”

Garon thought it was adorable that she wanted to participate.  “If you really want to shoot a rifle or a bow and arrow, I can show you how.”

Layla kept her expression clear of any sort of laughter.  “Oh, would you?  Could you really take the time?”  She tried to ensure that there wasn’t any sarcasm in her tone, but Garon was starting to get to know this woman a little better. 

“You’re angry about yesterday, aren’t you?” he asked as he led her over to the rifle range which had been carefully set up for maximum safety but also so that as many people as possible could watch their ruler showcase his skills.

He picked up one of the smaller rifles, testing the sights and examining all of the moving parts for safety. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied even while she accepted the rifle. 

He ignored that comment but suspected there was some meaning he wasn’t grasping.  “Turn to the right and pull back your right arm,” he commented, his eyes conveying that he knew she was just being diplomatic.  “I’m sorry that I was pulled away from our lunch.”

She knew in that instant that she’d made a mistake about joining in the shooting exhibition.  Instead of just handing her the rifle, Garon was going to show her how to use it.  But that also meant he was almost embracing her.  His chest pressed against her back while his hands moved her into the correct shooting position.  “You have every right to be upset,” he told her, pretending to show her the different parts of the rifle.  “Did you get my message?”

“The one delivered by a minion of the palace?  Of course.  He very nicely conveyed your regrets.  And I returned the favor.”

He chuckled, the sound extremely close to her ear.  “I got your message.”  He shifted her hand closer on the stock of the rifle.  “I heard your meaning loud and clear, my beauty.”

She let him pretend to explain things to her, even while she tried hard to concentrate.  She had to concentrate on both the rifle as well as resisting the man’s impact on her focus.  She didn’t want to look like a fool, but she would if he didn’t step away from her. 

“Okay, you’re ready to shoot.  Just pretend that’s my face instead of a target and you’ll do fine.”

Layla couldn’t help but laugh and was relieved when he stepped away.  She repositioned her arms and body so that she was more comfortable, then leaned her head down, took aim and fired. 

“Bulls eye!” he commented, sounding surprised.  Then his eyes narrowed on her confident stance.  “Was that beginner’s luck or have you done this before?”

Layla’s eyes changed slightly at his condescending manor.  But then she remembered that the press and everyone close was watching so she pasted a bright smile on her face before turning back to the target.  Once again, she lined up her sights and fired six more rounds.  All of them hitting so close together that the black area of the bull’s eye was gone.  The crowds cheered wildly and the press went crazy trying to capture Garon’s expression which was initially stunned, but then took on a look that revealed how impressed he was with his future bride. 

When she turned, she slipped the safety into place and handed him the rifle with a polite smile and what appeared to the press as a respectful curtsy.  But in reality, Garon knew that she was mocking him. 

He laughed, delighted with her more than he’d thought possible.  He knew that most men might not like their women to know how to shoot a rifle, but with her sparkling jewelry, her luxurious black hair pilled on her head with little ringlets on the sides and back that danced whenever she moved, she looked like the complete opposite of a woman who could shoot so well.  She was beautiful, sexy and smart.  And she could shoot like a pro! 

Garon took the rifle and laughed.  A moment later, he accepted more bullets from a range guard.  After loading the gun, he turned to Layla with a wink.  A moment later, he quickly turned and fired the rifle with quick succession.  She had no idea what he was doing but someone ran down the range to retrieve the target, handing it to Garon.  Garon in turn, bowed as he handed the target to Layla who forced herself to smile and show the crowd.  It wasn’t just a smiley face.  It was a winking smiley face!  Which was why he’d winked at her right before firing! 

“A wee bit smug, Your Highness,” she quipped.