The Sheikh's Wedding Contract

by Andie Brock

  ‘Interesting.’ Sitting very upright now, Zayed fixed her with a piercing stare. ‘I had rather assumed it was going to be you telling me what you are doing here.’

  Nadia shifted on the leather seat beneath her, all hope that she might have been allowed to just disappear and not face the embarrassing inquest into last night’s behaviour now fading fast. She let her eyes quickly scan the man at the far end of the table. Darkly, dangerously handsome, he still exuded the same confident authority as before, only now a calm determination replaced yesterday’s more heated manner. And a crisp white shirt concealed the broad expanse of muscled chest. ‘I can’t see that it matters now.’

  ‘It may not matter to you, but I am not accustomed to finding strange young women hiding in my bed. Perhaps you will at least indulge my curiosity.’

  It didn’t look as if she had much choice. Zayed’s voice might be softly coaxing, but the steely sarcasm beneath was all too clear.

  ‘Okay, fine.’ Taking a deep breath, Nadia straightened her shoulders and tipped her chin. She could tell him part of her story, at least. Hopefully that would be enough to satisfy his irritating curiosity and she could get away from here. ‘I came here to escape an arranged marriage.’

  ‘An arranged marriage?’

  ‘Yes.’ She took another breath. She really didn’t want to go into this. ‘My father has arranged a marriage for me, but I don’t want to marry him so I decided to run away.’ She shrugged her shoulders in a ‘that’s all there is to it’ sort of way.

  At least this part of her story was true. Her father had arranged a marriage for her. After she had stubbornly refused the string of suitors that had been paraded before her over the past few years, he had finally lost all patience and announced the choice had been made for her; she was to be the second wife of the sheikh of a neighbouring kingdom, a man nearly thirty years her senior, and she was indeed fortunate this sheikh was prepared to take her on, considering her advanced age, all twenty-eight years of it, and her reputation for speaking her mind.

  It was at this point that desperation had turned to a wild recklessness and Nadia had known that she had to seize the chance to do something with her life before it was too late. And to do that she had to use the only weapon she had in her armoury: her virgin body. A plan had formed in her head. If she had to marry, then she was going to make it count. She would use her marriage to heal the divide between Harith and Gazbiyaa and try to prevent war.

  ‘Forgive me if I am being stupid here—’ Zayed’s eagle-eyed stare showed him to be anything but ‘—but if this is true, I fail to understand why escaping an arranged marriage necessitates creeping into my bed and offering yourself up to me.’

  Nadia fiddled with the pearl button on her cuff. He was obviously quite determined to pursue this. ‘Because if you had...if we had...then we would have had to marry and then I couldn’t be forced into marrying anyone else.’

  ‘Whoa!’ His derisory laugh cut right through her. ‘Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself here?’ He leaned back, relaxed now, as if beginning to enjoy himself. ‘At the risk of appearing ungallant, why would you assume that one night of passion with you would be enough to convince me that I should marry you on the spot? You obviously rate your attributes very highly.’

  Nadia lowered her eyes. ‘Because I would have given you my honour. And surely that is the most precious gift of all?’

  Zayed frowned at her. Well, that had told him. Suddenly he felt as if he were the one in the wrong here. By not taking her up on her offer he had scuppered her plans and besmirched her character at the same time. How had that happened? He looked down the length of the table to where Nadia sat, her mirror image reflected in the polished wooden surface, like a playing-card queen. Sitting very upright, her head held high, the thick weight of black curls pushed back over her shoulders, she looked both imperious and vulnerable. And still remarkably sexy, despite the conservative outfit that so primly covered the tempting body he knew was underneath. He cleared his throat.

  ‘So let me get this straight. You flee from an arranged marriage to the bed of a total stranger with the idea of getting him to marry you instead. How, exactly, does that work?’

  ‘My future husband would have been a total stranger. At least this way I would have been the one making the decision. I would have been exerting my own free will, had some say in who I would marry.’

  ‘Even if your choice of future husband didn’t.’

  He saw Nadia’s faint flinch as his barb hit its target but she recovered herself almost immediately, that chin tipped high, her full lips tightly closed as if she didn’t intend to dignify his remark with an answer.

  ‘And this man? The one you don’t want to marry. Who is he? What’s so bad about him?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Presumably your family don’t think so?’

  ‘They see it as an advantageous match. That’s all they care about. Plus they just want to see me married off so I don’t cause them any more trouble.’

  ‘You, a troublemaker? Who would have thought it?’

  The serious flash in Nadia’s lilac eyes withered his lighthearted comment. This was obviously no laughing matter. ‘I simply have opinions, a mind of my own. As a woman that is not considered acceptable. Something you wouldn’t understand.’

  But Zayed did understand. His own mother, Latifa Al Afzal, had waited until the very last moment to have her say. But what she had revealed and the way she had chosen to reveal it had rocked the very foundations of the kingdom of Gazbiyaa. And irrevocably altered the path of Zayed’s life.

  Secretly securing an interview on one of the state-controlled Gazbiyaan television channels, Sheikha Latifa Al Afzal had started by telling the stunned audience that she was suffering from terminal cancer. In a weak but steady voice she had explained that she was quite ready to meet her fate, but first she had an important announcement for the people of her kingdom.

  In keeping with the tradition of the laws of the land, her husband’s reign as sheikh was shortly coming to an end. But he was to be succeeded not by his elder son, Azeed Al Afzal, but by the couple’s younger son, Zayed. For Azeed was not, in fact, her biological son, but the child of a woman with whom her husband had had a brief relationship. This woman had died giving birth to him and, even though Latifa had raised Azeed as her own, loved Azeed as her own, there was one vital fact that could not be kept secret any longer. His birth mother had come from Harith. Azeed was half Harithian.

  The fallout from this disclosure had been truly terrible. Zayed’s father had exploded with fury that his wife had exposed the secret of Azeed’s parentage, especially in such a public way, but the news of her illness and his genuine despair that she was dying had diverted his rage to his sons, to his kingdom, to the world in general.

  The kingdom of Gazbiyaa had been thrown into turmoil, shocked to the core that Prince Azeed, whom they had seen as their future ruler, shared his blood with their greatest enemy. Zayed’s father appeared to be dangerously close to losing control, and rioting in the streets was only prevented because his term of office was about to expire.

  Azeed, meanwhile, had simply disappeared, storming out without a word to anyone. The shock of the news had presumably been so utterly devastating that he couldn’t bear to stay in the palace a moment longer. Which meant that all eyes had turned to the second son. Zayed, the playboy prince.

  Three years younger than his brother, Zayed had led an untroubled and privileged life, educated first at Eton College in England, then at Columbia University, New York. In truth he had barely given a thought to his own country, far too absorbed with the buzz of expanding his business empire and distraction of his friends and the many beautiful women who crossed his path. Gazbiyaa had seemed a long way away, his brother’s inheritance his brother’s responsibility.

  But his mother’s extraordinary declaration had changed everything.

  Immediately leaving New York and the life he had made for himself th
ere, Zayed had arrived at his mother’s bedside just in time to take her frail hand and listen to her halting explanation. With heartbreaking humility she had apologised for deceiving him, explaining that she had wanted him to grow up without the burden of the future blighting his early life. That even though she had always known that she would have to reveal that he, Zayed, must be crowned the next sheikh of Gazbiyaa, both because of his birthright but more important for the stability of the kingdom, she hoped he had enjoyed the freedom she had gifted him until now.

  With her voice fading to little more than a whisper, Zayed had leaned in closer as his mother had begged him to talk to Azeed, to explain to him why she had had to do what she had done. For not only was Azeed temperamentally unsuited to the role of sheikh, but if he continued to threaten war against Harith he would inadvertently be inciting a conflict against a country whose blood ran in his veins.

  As the last threads of life had slipped through his mother’s fingers, Zayed had promised to make her peace with Azeed, and she had allowed herself to slip into the oblivion of death, her voice finally heard.

  Now Zayed stared at the spirited young woman before him. So very much alive, so vibrant; he could sense her determination, the strength of her will. He could see the way she was fighting to take control of her own destiny right now, to avoid the shadowy half-life his own mother had accepted. There was no way she was going to leave it until her deathbed to make her mark on this world.

  And he admired Nadia for it. It showed guts, all right, and that, combined with her undoubted beauty, was a fascinating combination. A crazy idea was suddenly beginning to take hold. He forced himself to put the brakes on it.

  ‘So should I be flattered that this free will of yours has brought you to my door?’ He tipped back his head. ‘Or should I say my bed?’

  Nadia wrinkled her small nose distastefully, as if by reminding her of her actions he was degrading himself. He had no idea how she did that.

  ‘You were certainly a better proposition.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. In what way?’

  ‘I have only seen one photograph of my intended, but it showed him to be old and fat and bald.’

  ‘Right.’ Laughing now, Zayed leaned back and crossed one long leg over the other at the knee, gripping his ankle. ‘Careful, Nadia. You don’t want me to be getting big-headed.’

  ‘I suspect I am too late for that.’

  Another swipe. Like a cat’s paw, haughty and elegant, but ultimately futile. Even though Zayed knew he could close her down in a second he still had to remind himself who was playing with whom here. He was surprised to find he was enjoying himself. Something about being around Nadia lifted his spirits, and there hadn’t been much to do that lately.

  He had already been subjected to another of his father’s rants this morning. Apparently the palace was alive with gossip that the new sheikh had been discovered wrestling on the bed with an unknown beauty last night. With his playboy image preceding him, this was all the fodder they needed to confirm their suspicions that Sheikh Zayed was nothing more than a serial philanderer. That, unlike his brother Azeed, he would never be a strong ruler. That the kingdom of Gazbiyaa was going to descend into some kind of mire of debauched hedonism if this Westernised sheikh had his way.

  Zayed hadn’t bothered to try to explain his innocence. Or point out that his father was hardly blame-free when it came to his relationships with women, bearing in mind the situation they were now in. He hadn’t even suggested that maybe the servants should learn to be more discreet. There was no point. He had already learned that in Gazbiyaa a problem had to be circumnavigated in order to be successfully addressed. And that was why this crazy idea refused to go away.

  ‘Well, much as I would like to believe that it was my dashing good looks that drew you to me, I can’t help wondering if the fact that I am the sheikh of an extremely wealthy kingdom may have had some bearing on your decision.’

  ‘I have no interest in your wealth.’ There it was again, that aloof disregard. But he believed her. He had come across a few gold-diggers in his time; in fact he prided himself that he could spot them a mile off. And even though he’d had to ask, he had already known that, for Nadia, this wasn’t about money. ‘Now, if you have quite finished with the insulting remarks, may I be allowed to leave?’

  She started to stand, scraping back her chair, but at his end of the table Zayed rose faster than her and his movement halted hers.

  ‘No, wait. Sit down.’ He leaned forward, his arms locked on the table in front of him. Suddenly he realised he didn’t want her to go. Not yet. Not at all. ‘We haven’t finished our conversation yet.’

  ‘I believe we have.’ Nadia gave him a barely audible sniff, but did sit back down in her seat.

  ‘I may have a proposition to put to you.’

  ‘What sort of proposition?’ She crossed one leg over the other and, lacing her fingers, rested her chin lightly on them as she coolly surveyed him. Zayed was struck again by her astonishing poise.

  ‘Well, as I understand it, you came here with the intention of persuading me to marry you. It might surprise you to know that I am considering the idea.’

  He paused, scanning her face for the expected surprise, astonishment even. But it wasn’t there. Just the calm, composed regard. She arched perfectly shaped eyebrows to indicate that he should continue.

  ‘As I am the sheikh of Gazbiyaa you will understand that it is expected that I should take a wife.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And in my case, probably the sooner the better.’ He gave a small frown, acutely aware that Nadia was analysing every word, watching every movement of his facial muscles. ‘There are certain misconceptions about me, rumours about my past. I need to dispel them. I believe a swift marriage would do that.’

  ‘I see.’ Her clipped replies were beginning to get on his nerves. It was starting to feel as if he was in the dock and she was waiting for his testimony. Well, she wasn’t getting one. His past was his business and he certainly didn’t have to justify it to her. He hardened his voice.

  ‘Securing stability for the kingdom is of paramount importance right now. These are difficult times. I have to show the people that they can put their faith in me, that I am totally committed to the role of sheikh and can be trusted to rule this country skilfully and fairly. I will do anything within my power to achieve this.’

  ‘And that includes getting married?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘To me?’

  ‘Yes. Theoretically.’ He could hardly believe he was saying this.

  ‘So you are saying that as your wife I would be helping you to bring peace and stability to Gazbiyaa?’

  ‘Well, indirectly, yes, I suppose I am.’

  Finally the icy reserve had cracked and the glow of excitement that shone through the widening fissure seemed to light her from within, highlighting her body, gently flushing her pale cheeks and dancing in her eyes. God, she was beautiful.

  Though the fact that it was only the idea of being able to do something to help the kingdom that had produced this alchemic change rather than any pretence that he himself might be quite a catch wasn’t lost on him. In fact he was annoyed to feel a physical kick to his pride. He wasn’t used to such indifference from members of the opposite sex.

  ‘And I would be treated as your equal? Have my opinions listened to?’

  ‘I don’t imagine for one moment that I would be able to stop you.’ Wasn’t that the truth? He dimly registered that she was cross-examining him again when it should have been the other way round. But her enthusiasm was infectious, seductive. Downright sexy. Something, a gut reaction perhaps, told him that this could work.

  And he was used to trusting his gut instinct. It rarely let him down in business, helping him to secure the lucrative deals that his competitors wouldn’t touch and, equally important, steering him away from the disasters that looked so tempting on paper.

  Could this be describe
d as a business deal? If so it was certainly an unusual one. But if he was being honest, it wasn’t so much his gut that was making this decision as another, lower part of his anatomy. He shifted in his seat.

  ‘The way I see it, a marriage between the two us could prove to be mutually beneficial. I would be saving you from an unsavoury union and, in return, you would be helping me to restore the confidence of the people of Gazbiyaa. Showing them that they can put their trust in me, that I am an honourable man. Call it a contract between us, if you like.’

  ‘A contract?’

  ‘Yes. A wedding contract.’

  He watched as Nadia assimilated this information, the elegant sweep of her neck as she turned slightly to one side to think, her concentration showing in the way she nipped one side of her full bottom lip with small white teeth.

  The room was quiet apart from the low tick of a clock somewhere in the shadows and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

  Finally she turned back to face him, her direct gaze meeting his full on.

  ‘In that case I accept your proposal.’ Her wide eyes held his with their unblinking clarity. ‘I will agree to marry you.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘WE ARE FINISHED, miss.’ Finally satisfied, the leader of the fluttering team of female attendants stood back so that they could all admire their handiwork.

  There was an expectant pause as they waited for her to turn and look at her reflection in the enormous, gilt-framed mirror behind her, but Nadia hesitated, needing a second to hold back the nerves that were clawing at her throat. She knew that once she actually saw herself, bedecked and bejewelled in preparation for the ceremony, there would be no hiding from the fact that this was actually going to happen. She was about to marry Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal.

  It had all been arranged with such dizzying speed. No sooner had she agreed to Zayed’s wedding contract than she had found herself being led down a series of echoing corridors to break the joyous news to his father. Except of course it wasn’t joyous news; it was a purely practical arrangement. The very use of the word contract had made that perfectly clear and she hated it. But she was hardly in a position to be demanding hearts and flowers, no matter how much, privately, she might have loved them. After all, she was the one with the guilty secret, the one who was so deviously deceiving him. After the wedding she was going to have to confess to him who she really was—none other than Princess Nadia of Harith. And the very thought of that made the heavy knot of anxiety in her stomach start to unfurl and twist around inside her like a venomous snake.