The Sheik's Angry Bride (7 page)

“That’s it!  This wedding is off!” she cried, her whole body shaking with both his touch and what she’d just dared to say.  But she didn’t care!  She was finished.  “I won’t marry a man who doesn’t respect me and you obviously don’t respect me at all!  I can’t believe what…” she closed her mouth, unable to say anything about what had just happened. 

Instead, she shook her head.  “It’s over!  I don’t care about the political repercussions!  I’m not marrying you and there’s nothing you can say to make me!” 

With that, she ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Garon watched her for a stunned moment before her words sunk into his lust-filled mind.  “Like hell!” he snapped.  She wasn’t the only one that was trying to deal with sexual frustration.  If she hadn’t just threatened to call off the wedding, he might have been able to deal with her more rationally.  But the idea of that woman getting out of this palace without him was simply not going to happen.  That threat alone doomed her fate as it fired up his temper. 

His long legs followed her, eating up the distance.  He was out of control now, wanting to finish this and show her that she damn well was his woman and there wasn’t anything either of them could do about it.  This had nothing to do with politics or agreements.  This had everything to do with claiming the woman that had gotten under his skin in just a few days. 

She wanted to throw out threats?  He’d damn well eliminate that possibility!  When he caught up with her, he didn’t even stop and explain his intentions.  He simply spun her around by the arm and, while she stood there gaping at him, he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her in the opposite direction.  When he reached his private suite, his guards already had the door open for him.  He kicked it shut a split second before she realized what he’d done and started screaming. 

He didn’t care.  He was through with patience and taking things slowly.  He was going to show this woman that they were meant for each other if it was the last thing he did. 

Just inside the door, he dropped Layla back down onto her feet.  She tried to run, but he already had a hold on her arm and he pulled her into his arms.  When she turned her head away, he simply captured her neck.  And when her knees gave out on her, he caught her into his arms again. 

One moment, Layla was livid that this man would dare to touch her in such a manner.  But the next moment his lips and his teeth sank into her neck, she lost it.  Her arms wrapped around his neck and her body pressed against his.  When his hands tangled in her hair, turning her head back so that he could kiss her, she was more than ready for his kiss.  She still might not know how to kiss him well, but what she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in passion.  Layla’s mind had stopped working.  Her body was completely in charge.  A small part of her knew that what they were doing was wrong, that she shouldn’t want this.  But that part of her was ignored as the larger portion of herself was intent on conquering this man. 

Her hands were wrapped around his neck but he took them down and she whimpered, needing that contact.  But he wouldn’t let her, trapping her hands behind her back.  “Please, Garon!” she gasped.  She didn’t understand.  She needed to touch him, to feel his hair and the skin of his neck under her fingertips.  Since he wouldn’t let her touch him with her hands, she lifted her leg up and almost screamed when his body fit against hers more perfectly.  Her hips cradled that hard, mysterious part of him more perfectly and she pressed against that part, instinctively needing him against her softness.  She pressed and shifted, hearing him growl but not understanding why he made that sound.  Her world was all about sensation, of satisfying this aching, desperate need inside of her that she didn’t understand. 

A moment after her hands were trapped behind her, his other hand came to her silk blouse and ripped.  The torn shreds of her blouse hung down on either side of her while his hand moved up to cup her breast.  Layla screamed at this new onslaught and pressed her breast into his hand.  She felt crazy now.  Out of control.  When his thumb rubbed against her lace covered nipple, she screamed again.  “Please Garon!” she begged, whimpering again. 

Garon responded by lifting her up into his arms, his hands cradling her bottom.  While he carried her through his suite to his bedroom, his mouth latched onto her nipple, biting and sucking, torturing the peaked flesh with his mouth.  Layla hung onto his neck and arched into his mouth, needing more, demanding more even though she wasn’t completely sure what ‘more’ might be.  Garon took the strap of her bra between his teeth and pulled it down even while he laid her down on his bed.  When the plump flesh was revealed to him, he took her nipple into his mouth, reveling in the mouth to skin contact now. 

He was hard and aching for her again, but this time he wasn’t pulling back.  She’d gone too far with that latest threat and he was going to ensure that she didn’t have any possible way of backing out of this wedding.  If he’d been thinking clearly, he might have realized what he was about to do was wrong.  That it would be right and good in two days but he was out of his mind with need for this woman.  He wanted her with a craving beyond anything he’d ever experienced before and he wasn’t going to pull back. 

He wanted her.  She writhed underneath him and he deftly released the closure on her slacks.  Standing up, he ripped them off of her legs and then discarded his own shirt, ignoring buttons in favor of expediency.  His eyes never left her body and he was so turned on as he looked down at the woman with desire-glazed eyes, one breast out of her lacey bra and a see through bit of nothing covering the apex of her thighs.  This was his woman, he thought as he stripped out of his clothes.  This was his wife!

He saw her open her mouth and thought she might be about to protest.  He wasn’t going to let her.  He moved back down, holding himself over her as his mouth captured hers, his teeth and tongue making love to her in ways that ensured that she was just as lost as he was in this process. 

With a swift, almost angry move, he ripped the lace of her underwear away.  There was still a bit of shyness when he did that but he wasn’t going to allow anything less than the absolute, uncontrolled passion that had gotten them to this point.  They were meant to be together.  By some freak of fate, he’d negotiated to have the perfect woman for him as his wife and, from this moment onward, there would be nothing hidden between them.  His hands were gentle but firm as he pushed her knees apart, his hand slipping down to caress her thighs before returning to her heat.  When he slipped one finger inside of her, he could barely breathe as he realized how wet she was, how ready for him. 

He was able to pull back only slightly, remembering that this woman was a virgin and he had to be careful. 

Layla didn’t want careful!  She didn’t want to take this slowly!  His fingers were magical and when she felt that invasion in her core, she lifted her hips up, her mouth opening with shock at how amazing it felt!  She wanted more but wasn’t sure how to ask for it.  Her hands lifted, trying to reach for him and he took her hand, placing it on his chest.  As her fingers eagerly explored, so did his and she shifted her head back and forth, her body arching into his hands.  When his thumb touched that extra sensitive bud, she couldn’t hold back her reaction.  She splintered apart even while her legs wrapped around his waist, needing his body, his strength. 

She’d barely come down from that when she felt a probing, something thicker and more powerful.  She opened her eyes, her breathing frantic as Garon pressed himself into her heat. 

“What…?” she asked, her hands moving from his chest to his arms, her fingers gripping his bulging biceps while he continued to slip in and out of her, going deeper each time. 

“You feel so perfect, Layla,” he growled, bending down lower to nibble on her neck.  “Open for me, love,” he coaxed.  Garon didn’t wait for her compliance.  He pushed her legs wider and pressed himself in deeper, watching her face to make sure he didn’t hurt her in any way.  When she only arched her back again, taking him deeper, he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that she was still right here with him. 

He felt her resistance and almost cursed at the need to break through it.  Sweat was forming on his forehead but he couldn’t pull back.  Not now.  And probably not since the moment she’d uttered those words in the seamstress’ room. 

He gathered her close, kissing her lips and pressed past the presence of her virginity, taking her gasp of pain into his mouth, trying in the only way he knew how to soothe her body. 

When she started kissing him back, the feverish pitch that had been there before his invasion, came raging back between them.  He couldn’t get enough of this woman, wanting all of her and he wouldn’t let her hold back either.  When she closed her eyes, he stopped moving.

“Open your eyes, Layla,” he commanded, his big body shaking as he held onto his control with every ounce of self-discipline he’d ever had.  When she didn’t immediately obey him, he shouted to her.  “Open your eyes!”

She gasped when he started to pull out of her body and she grabbed his hips, her legs clamping around him but she opened her eyes, staring up at him with a confused, worried and lust filled gaze.  She wanted to speak, to beg him to continue but she wasn’t sure how to speak right at the moment.  Every thought, every part of her body was concentrating on this man and the part of him that was intimately connected to her. 

So when he moved again, she moaned out his name.  Lifting her hips, needing something, her body tightening for that incredible release she’d just experienced and not sure how to get it again. 

“I don’t…” she started to say but he pressed into her.  Faster and faster, he moved in and out of her, spiraling her need to higher and higher depths.  “Garon, I can’t…” she started to say but then his hand slid down her stomach, his thumb touched that part of her that seemed swollen and needy and when he pressed into her again, she splintered apart, her mind going black as her body convulsed around his. 

Garon wanted to watch her climax but her body was so tight, so hot and perfect that he couldn’t hold back his own orgasm.  The only thing he could do was hold onto her, helping her to make it better. 

Layla felt his weight collapse on top of her and she would have sworn that this was the most incredible moment of her life.  Every cell in her body was tingling, feeling more alive than she’d ever felt before. 

“Layla,” he said with that voice that sent shivers throughout her whole body.  He lifted himself off of her and she instantly missed his weight but he pulled her against him so she was curled up next to his heat. 

“Why?” she whispered when she could form words once again. 

Garon knew what she was asking.  “Because I won’t let you go,” was all he said as he pulled her closer and started the whole process over again.  

“I can’t leave,” she gasped when she stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her. 

Garon came out of his dressing room, pulling the knot of his tie into place.  “That was exactly my intention,” he teased, thinking she looked absolutely perfect just as she was.   He didn’t know of another woman who could look as perfect in a towel as his future wife. 

Layla didn’t seem to think her attire was appropriate though, nor was his comment very amusing.  “My clothes!”  She lifted her previously elegant silk blouse up, the tatters twirling in the air as she held it with her fingertips.

Garon glanced at the torn silk, then down at the remnants of her lace underwear.  “I don’t think that’s the only item of your clothing that was damaged during that bout.”  He lifted the shredded lace up into the air and chuckled before stuffing them into his pocket. 

She watched him for perhaps three seconds, not sure why he’d just done that.  But when he didn’t offer a solution to her problem, she huffed with a prickly temper.  “You have to get me some new clothes,” she told him, looking up at him with imploring eyes. 

Garon put his hands on her waist, not letting her pull away this time.  He was irritated that she was even doing that but suspected that it was only habit now.  A habit he was going to break her of as soon as they said their vows, even if he had to keep her in bed for the entire two weeks they were on their honeymoon so she could get used to his touch and being close to him. 

“I’ll personally get you some clothes,” he told her, kissing her forehead, struck by how much smaller she felt when she wasn’t wearing her heels.  She was a tiny, little thing! 

Layla was horrified by that suggestion and grabbed his arm just as he tried to turn away from her.  “You can’t!  There’s no way you can be seen going into my bedroom!”

He chuckled.  “Layla, you do realize that people are expecting us to be intimate, right?”

She glared up at him.  “Only after the wedding!” she snapped, irritated that he was taking this so lightly. 

“Would you like to borrow one of my shirts?” he offered. 

Layla blushed, thinking that was not really an option.  She could just see him watching her walk around in one of his giant shirts – and nothing else.  “No.  You might like that too much,” she replied and shifted nervously on her bare feet.  She was still clutching the knot of the towel over her breasts, desperate to keep what little cover she had when in this man’s presence. 

He had to agree with her.  His eyes looked down at the towel she was still clutching, his fingers tugging gently just to tease her.  “I certainly like this little ensemble you have going here just as much.”  Of course, if the towel were to come off, he wouldn’t be upset by that in any way. 

She rolled her eyes and smacked his hand away from her towel.  “Could you please take this seriously?  What am I going to do?”

Garon actually had no idea.  There were so many people in the palace for the wedding, he wasn’t even sure which rooms were occupied and which were filled.  “Why don’t you just call your mother…?”

She gasped in dismay at that idea, her free hand slicing through the air.  “Not an option.  My mother disapproves of me enough as it is.  I wasn’t born male, so therefore, I was immediately a failure.”  She looked up at him, worry coming into her eyes.  “Please tell me you won’t feel that way about…”

He stopped her quickly. “All children born of our union will be deeply loved.”

She sighed with relief.  It had been one of the things she’d meant to talk to him about before this moment but things…like him touching her or kissing her…kept getting in the way. 

He took one of her shoulders in each of his hands, trying to reassure her.  He’d gotten her into this mess by tearing her clothes, he should make sure he got her back to her suite with a minimum of embarrassment.  “I’ll have someone get me a blouse and I’ll make sure it is delivered to you.”

“Who?” she asked, not sure there was anyone in the palace she could trust not to gossip about this afternoon.  It was too mortifying, knowing that some people had probably seen her being toted down the hallway.  She could already imagine the stories that were flying through the kitchens and the housekeeping areas about their ruler’s afternoon behavior. 

“I’ll have my guards do it.  Will that work?  They’re the epitome of discretion.”

She looked up at him, wondering what they’d had to be discrete about in the past.  “Will they need to…” she stopped, not wanting to know the answer. 

Garon waited for her to finish but she just shook her head. “Never mind.” 

Garon opened the door and said something softly to the guard standing outside.  The guard immediately nodded his head, then quickly said something into his radio. 

“It will be here in a few minutes,” he told her after closing the door.

“You don’t need to stay here with me,” she told him, looking at him warily as he started to come back across the expanse of floor between them. 

“You’re standing in my bedroom wrapped only in a towel and you think I’m going to walk away?” He laughed as he shook his head.  “I don’t think I’m strong enough to do that.  Not after the hours we just spent in that bed.”

She grimaced.  “It wasn’t hours.”  She looked down at her watch and noticed the time.  “Oh my goodness!” she gasped, her hand coming up to almost smack her forehead.  “It was hours!  How could you have done this?”

Layla hurried over to the doorway where her slacks and shoes were laying.  Thankfully, she hadn’t worn stockings or they would have been shredded as well.  But since she’d worn slacks instead of a skirt, she’d left the stockings off today, not wanting to wear the horrible torture devices.  She’d decided a long time ago, much to her mother’s chagrin, that she would only wear skirts or dresses when she had public appearances.  But since she obeyed all of her mother’s very strict fashion rules during those public appearances, Layla was left to wear what she liked during the indoor or non-public times. 

Garon’s cell phone rang at that moment so she was saved from whatever he had planned as he spoke in French to whoever was on the phone.  She hated to admit it, but she really loved listening to him speak in different languages.  It added a different sort of essence to his authority. 

In a very short period of time, there was a knock on the door and Garon walked to it and, a few moments later, came back to her.  She stepped back automatically even while she was reaching for the blouse but he pulled it back, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her. 

“I’ll see you later tonight for dinner,” he told her and finally handed her the blouse.  “And don’t think I didn’t notice that you could have gotten all of your other clothes on while we waited for the blouse to arrive,” he commented as he walked back towards the door.  “You just wanted to torture me and that’s okay.  Because I intend to reciprocate the favor on our wedding night.”  And with that he walked out of the suite.

Layla stood there, the silk dangling from her fingers for several moments while the impact of his words hit her.  It suddenly occurred to her that she wasn’t as opposed to his form of ‘torture’ as she might have been this morning.

Then she shook her head, trying to dispel the silly magic spell he’d woven around her.  She still didn’t like him. She refused to fall in love with him.  And this whole wedding and marriage thing was all just a convenience for him.  She was just an appropriate female.

With her head back on straight, she quickly dressed and walked out of the suite, wishing there was a back way out.  But she held her head up high and walked back towards the fitting room.  She was just about to enter the sewing room when she remembered that several hours had passed and she turned around, not completely sure what was next on the agenda.