Bound to the Sheikh: An ancient debt. A deathbed promise. A marriage of duty and obligation. Desire too strong to control.

by Clare Connelly

  “I will wait.”

  Now it was Laurie’s turn to suppress a smile. “You must be kidding.”

  “We are to marry, zivzel. Are you so ashamed that you will not get ready in my presence?”

  At the realisation that he was serious, her heart started to thump harder against her chest. “I … hadn’t thought about that.” May. She invoked the thought of his lover’s name with quiet confidence. While there was another woman in the picture, surely he would not expect Laurena to jump into their wedding as though it were real.

  “Relax.” His mood changed as if something inside of him had flickered off. “I have no interest in watching you ready yourself. I simply meant that you should hurry, so that we can arrive together.”

  If it was possible, she felt even worse. As though the very idea of inviting her to his bed hadn’t entered his mind, and he was laughing at her for fearing it. “Of course,” she mumbled, spinning away from him before he could identify the mortification in her eyes.

  The suite of rooms she’d been assigned was enormous. It adjoined his, but on both sides the doors could be locked, allowing her almost complete privacy. Afida didn’t even follow her inside, so non-existent was his desire to catch her in some kind of strip tease.

  Laurie dressed with haste. She had been so preoccupied since the conversation she’d overheard the day earlier that she hadn’t given the reception dinner a moment’s thought. But it was here that all of the dignitaries and powerful families of Aktaria would come to show their respects to the woman the Sheikh had decided to marry.

  At twenty eight, he was considered young to take a wife. Then again, Laurie thought with a sad smile, this was a marriage in name only. He would continue whatever sexual exploits he wanted on the side, and she would … she swallowed past the lump of worry. She would find something to do to occupy her time.

  The gown had already been laid out by her staff; if she’d bothered to come inside earlier, she’d have noticed it. Diligent though they were, she would need to speak to one of them to ensure she received a reminder for her duties. To have forgotten such an important event was unconscionable. It should never have happened.

  She showered and changed quickly, then pulled on the ballet slippers that were comfortable yet flat. She frowned at her reflection. Heels would have given her an extra kick of height. But were there any at her disposal? The few items she’d hastily grabbed on her way out of her apartment were not sufficient for the heat and formality of the palace. With the exception of her robe, she’d been selecting clothes from the wardrobe that had arrived on the second day of her visit.

  Not a visit, she mentally corrected. For this was to be her new home. The thought terrified her. She pushed it away. After all, sooner rather than later, her father’s finances would be improved and the Sheikh would undoubtedly release her with as much relief as she would feel.

  Laurie sighed softly, and settled herself at the vanity mirror. Her work as an escort, however sleazy Afida had managed to make it sound, had been purely business. She’d loved the different conversations she was able to partake in. The need to translate some meetings completely, meant she had been required to stay alert and involved at all times. She was as little a date to those men as their own mothers might have been. However, there had still been an expectation on her to make an effort with her appearance, and part of her employment contract had included a hair and makeup grooming course. She went through the motions now of transforming her wild tumble of hair into a chic style, loosely braided around the crown and then tucked into a perfect ballerina style bun. Her make up she kept basic – her skin was naturally clear and pale, and her lips always glistened pink. But some mascara on her lashes and pencil to her brow, a little bronzer across her cheeks and she was done. She stood to regard the final image in the mirror, and her eyes clashed with his instantly.

  She spun around, her pulse firing in all directions. “I didn’t see you. Have you been watching me?”

  He shrugged. “You have attendants who can do all this for you,” he waved a finger to her face. “They were about to intrude.”

  “So you thought you’d do it first?” She implored with a note of saccharine sweetness.

  He dipped his head forward in concession.

  Laurie was nervous beyond bearing. She turned back to the mirror and scanned her reflection. The dress was stunning – anyone could have been made to look regal in the confines of its couture stitching and design. Her hair and make up were both excellent for having been rushed together. She looked like herself, and yet not herself at all.

  “We should go.”

  “Yes,” he drawled, turning on his heel before she could say anything else. He offered not a word of praise nor reassurance. But then again, what did she expect from an arrogant brute such as him?

  He walked fast; she had to clip quickly to keep up. A little way from her room, she reached out a hand and curled it around his arm. “Afida,” she muttered, her eyes beseechingly meeting his. “Why are we running?”

  “I thought you liked to run?”

  “Mmm,” she agreed throatily. “Not dressed in something like this. Please slow down.”

  He compressed his lips but slowed his steps to meet hers. She was, after all, at least a foot shorter than he. “Are there many people there?”

  “Yes.”

  She swallowed. “And what will be expected of me?”

  “You will stand by my side, as my bride to be, and smile sweetly, as though marrying me is the realisation of all of your hopes and dreams.”

  “That’s it?” She asked caustically. “Is that to be my role forever more?”

  “For as long as is necessary,” he taunted unkindly.

  Her stomach rolled. “You mean until you’ve helped my dad get out of a hole?”

  “Yes.” He stopped walking completely and looked down at her. “You know it is the purpose of this charade.”

  Her throat worked overtime, as his words – though she knew them to be true – unsettled her completely. “Yes.”

  “So play your part, zivzel, and allow me to play mine.”

  “And what is your part?”

  The dress was modest enough – a pale cream and gold, to complement his suit, it was cut in a sweetheart neckline and fitted to the waist, before falling in a flowing skirt to her ankles. It was a classic prom dress in fact, hardly designed to tempt and allure. And yet his eyes dropped to the swell of her cleavage and the way her chest was moving rapidly as a reflection of her raging temper.

  She looked beautiful when she was angry.

  The realisation tugged his lips downward. She was beautiful. She boasted lovely eyes, a nice smile, high cheek bones. How had he missed that the first time they’d met?

  She was attractive. That did not give him leave to be attracted to her. But when she was attempting to suppress her temper, she was quite distractingly stunning.

  “Let us discuss it,” he murmured thickly, moving quickly to tuck them into a small alcove of the wide corridor they were part way down. It provided a welcome degree of privacy.

  The fact they were completely alone set her heart skittering even faster. “Discuss what?” She prompted, her voice thready and weak. Her eyes were drawn to his broad chest, and then lower, to his capable, large hands.

  “I am a man known for my interest in women.” At her sharp intake of breath, he smiled seductively. “Only a very particular woman, and an overpowering desire, would induce me into marriage to one woman.”

  “Or some patriarchal idea of blood money,” she added with a lift of her brows. Though she was shivering inside, she knew she had to appear to have a hold on her emotions. Displaying weakness to this man would lead to an unbearable shift in power.

  “Hardly,” he responded with an ironic smirk.

  “You feel your father owes mine. The only way to make good on that is this marriage.”

  “Yes. The facts are clear to you and me, but only you and me. No one else knows the details of
this union.”

  And Elon, she thought with a swell of betrayal, as again their overheard conversation battered her gentle heart.

  “As far as the rest of our guests will know, you and I fell quickly and completely in love. We are as unable to remain apart as a bee from pollen.”

  “Surely that’s overkill.”

  “Believe me, zivzel, such all-consuming passion is the only explanation for such a rapid proposal.”

  “Right.” She swallowed anxiously. “I thought you didn’t care how people gossiped about you?”

  “I do not.” His voice was hard. “I care that your father believes in our marriage, and that my people respect you as their Emira.”

  “Oh.” She squeezed her eyes shut as panic swelled her breast. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “Do not concern yourself with these details. In time, you will find your feet.”

  “Afida,” she groaned, piercing him with the agony of her soul. “I’m …” scared. The word whispered between them despite it being unsaid. It ricocheted off his chest, bouncing back to her. She bit down on her lower lip, and his golden eyes dipped to study the gesture she seemed to indulge in often.

  “You need only think of me as another of your men.”

  “My men?” She frowned.

  “Yes, these men you served as an escort. You undoubtedly knew how to flirt and simper and make them believe they were the only man in your world. You acted a part for them, as you will for me. And for your father’s sake, you will do it convincingly.”

  “I told you, you’re wrong about the kind of work I used to do.”

  “No,” he shook his head purposefully from side to side. “Now that I see you tonight, dressed like this, and looking as you do, I know I am right.” He lifted a hand and padded a thumb across her lower lip. “Dressed like this, you are every man’s fantasy. Of course you were an excellent escort.” He dropped his hand insolently lower, to the exposed flesh on the side of her neck. And though his words might have sounded like a strange sort of compliment, she did not feel flattered. “Men must have fallen to your feet.”

  Her heart was hammering in a way that made her wonder if she was about to have a coronary. “I told you …”

  “Yes. You told me,” his words dripped with sarcastic anger. “You told me that you acted as a translator alone. And yet you were one of the agency’s busiest escorts. It leads me to wonder how many foreign businessmen you get through that sleepy little backwater you called home.”

  He was right. Calmington was a tiny little town. But it wasn’t far from Newcastle and most of her evenings had taken place there. “You seem to know everything about me,” she murmured with crashing disappointment. She was to marry a man who despised her, and it was all based on misunderstandings.

  Still, she told herself, his hatred was better than if he liked her. If he turned the full wattage of his personality on her and made her laugh. That, combined with his overpowering good looks and charisma, would have been an impossible temptation to resist.

  “Yes. And it is better that you remember this.”

  “Fine.” She was tired. Not from a lack of sleep or rest, but from worry and stress. She thought of the medical bills she still had outstanding and felt the familiar surge of worry. Soon, she would be able to clear the ledger completely. Soon she would be able to free herself of that concern, at least.

  “And remember this too.” His eyes glinted with determination. “I do not like you, Laurena Angove. You are everything I despise in a woman. Beautiful, yes, but self-serving and mercenary. You have sat idly by while your father fell lower and lower into a chasm of despair. Marrying you is the only way I have at my disposal to help David, and so I do it readily. But never, no matter how I might act in the presence of others, allow yourself to believe my attitude towards you has changed. To the day I die, I will think of you as the worst example of humanity. A daughter who has betrayed her father is not worth the air she breathes.”

  He might as well have punched her. Laurie felt the ready sting of tears and she wished on everything she was that she could think of something to say that might refute his horrible words.

  But deep down, she couldn’t. She was, after all, only human. And the truth of the matter was, she hadn’t been enough. She’d seen her father’s downward spiral, but she’d been too caught up in her own worries and grief, to be able to salve his wounds too.

  She nodded slowly, her eyes haunted when they locked with his. Her voice though was cool, her temper restrained. “I understand. Shall we go?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  She was as gifted an actress as he’d believed she would be. His tirade had not shaken her in the slightest. She stood beside him, innately regal and commanding, a smile pinned on her face despite the fact they had been receiving guests for the better part of an hour. Royal attendants were weighed down by the gifts that had been brought for his bride. Curiosity over the woman who had induced the dedicated bachelor Sheikh Afida Masou-Al to the altar of marriage was at fever pitch, and so an enormous amount of delegates had made the long trek to the desert palace.

  As for her talent with languages, she had not exaggerated. From the name of guests alone, and the hint of their accents, she was easily able to segue into their native tongue, flattering and pleasing with her cleverness.

  Beside her, Afida was watchful and still. The end of the line was nowhere near, and that was owing to his wife also. She had slowed things down with her genuine interest in the procession. As she finished a polite conversation with the ambassador from Sweden, he held a hand up to signal a halt in formalities. “We break for a moment,” he commanded. He put a hand beneath her elbow, and she had to employ all of her will power not to flinch away. Heat speared through her, as it had done when they’d brushed fingers in her apartment a week earlier.

  “Why?” She whispered from behind a forced smile, as she looked up at him.

  “There is no rush. This dinner will go into the early hours of the morning. Pace yourself.”

  “Oh.” She nodded.

  “Come. It is tradition that we dance.”

  “It is?” Stricken eyes launched to his and he laughed with soft derision.

  “Remember what I said? Just pretend I am another of your men.”

  As if! Afida was nothing like anyone she’d ever known, and surely he knew as much. She blinked her eyelashes up at him, her look one of pure innocence. “I am.”

  If she had been aiming to taunt him, it had worked. He pressed his hands to her side, but his features bore a dark mask.

  “Aren’t we meant to be dancing?” She pushed home the advantage, her expression pure sweetness.

  His eyes dropped to her face, and the hands that were on her hips began to move slowly, sending darts of awareness through her whole body. The enormous crowd had filtered to the edges of the grand stateroom, leaving just Afida and Laurie in the centre. Everyone was watching them; conversation was a subdued hum.

  “We are,” he nodded, and pulled her closer still. His body was firm and taut. He smelled of citrus and spice. She inhaled deeply before she realised what she was doing.

  “Is my father here?”

  “Yes.”

  Laurie forced a smile to her face. The knowledge that David would be watching on gave her a unique motivation to play the part with realism. She beamed up at him, her eyes enormous and her face unknowingly spectacular as she did an excellent impersonation of true happiness.

  Afida resented it. Though he’d told her to play a part, the ease with which she did so made him want to shake that ability a little. “How many have there been, anyway?”

  “How many what?” Their heads were close, his so dark it shined almost blueish black, was bent low to hers. And Laurie’s plait-wreathed head was tilted up to his, so that their eyes and mouths were no more than an inch or so apart. At this distance, he could see the smattering of freckles that tickled across her nose.

  “How many men, like me, have given you money in ex
change for yourself.”

  Her footing stumbled a little, but his vice like grip around her waist kept her in place. “How many times do I have to tell you that it isn’t like that?”

  “You can say it until your breath expires and I will still not believe it. Smile, zivzel.”

  She pasted a small smile on her face but it was no longer so convincing. Good. Though he wanted to sell this marriage as real, he didn’t like the way she had been so effortlessly able to adopt her role.

  “If you want to know how many clients I had, then twenty eight.”

  Now it was Afida’s turn to stumble. Oh, not physically, but mentally, his head shifted as he swallowed this unpalatable fact. “Twenty eight times.”

  “Oh, no,” warming to her theme now, Laurie shook her head. After all, if he was determined to misunderstand her then she might as well give him some really great ammunition. “Twenty eight clients, but at least a hundred times.” She shrugged her beautiful, slender shoulders; they glowed like pearl dust in the candle light of the room. “After all, I worked for the agency for over a year, and had several … appointments … per week. I got lots of repeat business.”

  “And you had no problems with this? Selling your body to these men?”

  She blinked enormous ocean green eyes at him. “I was selling my time,” she reminded him, but she knew he didn’t believe her, and she no longer cared.

  “Fine. You had no problem taking their money in exchange for your … time?”

  “Not for a moment.”

  Their eyes clashed with silent fury. It would have been impossible to estimate who was more richly angered. “Good,” he said finally, moving her infinitesimally closer to his body. “I am pleased to know that, when I decide the time is right, you will have no problems adding me to your list.”

  He had the upper hand again, and Laurie’s feet almost stopped moving. “That’s not … part of our deal.”

  “Our deal?” His lips were a snarl. “Our deal was that you would marry me. In exchange for this, I will eventually give your father more than ten million pounds. You do not think this buys me what your twenty eight businessmen received?”