Sexy Sheikh Bundle (Harlequin Presents)

by Sharon Kendrick

  He loved her.

  She loved him.

  He wanted to marry her.

  She wanted to get away.

  Or did she?

  Her reason for leaving was to keep herself safe, to protect herself from Khaled’s influence. But what would she be saving when she’d already lost her heart? What more was there to risk when her body wanted nothing more than to be pressed close next to his?

  Would it be so wrong to stay and marry him? To have him as her partner, in bed and out of it for her entire life? Was that not preferable to turning her back on their love and living without him, alone somewhere and full of regrets for what might have been?

  It was still so difficult to think, but maybe this was how it was supposed to be—a decision that should be made not with the head, but with the heart. What could she lose by doing what her heart knew instinctively was right?

  In the corner of the room the wedding dress that had brought her to Jebbai still hung on the mannequin, its brilliant beaded and jewelled bodice gleaming even through the clear protective dust jacket. The sight of it brought a smile to her face, even in the midst of her inner turmoil.

  If she’d achieved anything in Jebbai, it was this gown. It was beautiful, the most beautiful she’d ever seen and most certainly the most beautiful she’d ever made. The design was exquisite and, thanks to the skill and dedication of her assistants, the workmanship second to none.

  And it could still be hers…

  Sensation shimmied down her spine at the possibility and she bit down hard on her bottom lip as carefully she peeled back the protective layer, revealing the full splendour of the dress.

  It had been made to her measurements, certainly, but with not one fitting. And the real test of any garment was not how it looked hanging up, but how it looked on the person it had been designed for. How well had they transformed a bare set of measurements and metres of fabric into a gown for a real woman? There was still the possibility she might leave Jebbai and never know.

  There was only one way to find out.

  The dress slipped sensually over her skin, cool and satin smooth after she’d stripped off the cotton shirt and chinos she’d worn for the return journey. There was weight in the gown, much more than was apparent at first glance, but the weight felt balanced in the long skirt that flared out from her hips. She did up as many of the pearl fastenings at her back as she could, thinking it would be so much easier with someone to help her but at the same time thankful there was no one to witness her folly.

  There was a full-length mirror in her walk-in wardrobe. And heeled shoes. She hitched up the heavy train and headed for her bedroom, feeling heady with both exhilaration and recklessness.

  She saw it propped up against her telephone as soon as she walked through the door into the office. She’d completely missed the envelope when she’d first arrived, too preoccupied talking to Khaled, her back to the desk. But from the door the angle was perfect and she could not miss it.

  Who was writing to her here? Unless it was Gianfranco, although it was more usual for him just to send a fax. Curious, she picked up the envelope on the way through to her dressing room. The outside gave nothing away, the typewritten address bland and uninformative. Likewise the absence of a return address.

  She shrugged and flipped the envelope down onto her bed as she passed. The letter could wait. First to the shoes. She searched her wardrobe, where her gear had been returned since her aborted attempt to leave yesterday, and hauled out the highest pair of heels she’d brought. They were brightly coloured sandals, hardly a good match, but they’d give her the extra height she needed to get the best impression of the fall of the dress.

  She slipped them on, smoothing down the material, impatient now for her first glance in the mirror. She twisted her hair into a knot on the top of her head, took a deep breath and stepped in front of the mirror.

  Oh, wow!

  It looked—sensational.

  The dress fitted her like a second skin, moulding itself perfectly to every dip, every curve, while its exquisite lines spoke elegance. She looked instantly taller, more regal. But if it looked fantastic, it felt even better. Even in this hurried try-on state, without make-up or her hair done properly, the dress felt superb.

  More than that, it felt right.

  Her teeth found her lip again. It did feel right. Just as making love with Khaled in the desert tent had felt so perfect, as if they were destined to be forever.

  Maybe this wedding was preordained too. Maybe it was written in the stars and all she’d had to do was to say yes. Had Khaled felt that all along? Was that why he’d concocted his plan to lure her to his desert kingdom and win her heart?

  A bubble of laughter welled up inside her and in her excitement she couldn’t hold it back. Neither that nor the mistiness that suddenly filled her eyes. Her hands flew to her mouth as the sheer craziness of what was happening hit home.

  Yesterday she hadn’t thought it possible. There’d been no way she would have contemplated marriage, despite the attraction growing between them. But yesterday she’d known nothing of his love for her and she’d had even less idea of her own love for him.

  She turned this way and that in the mirror, allowing herself one final appraisal. She’d never thought herself a fairy-tale princess, but she sure felt like it in this dress. The only things missing were her veil, a bouquet of fresh flowers—and a handsome prince.

  Although she had one of those just waiting for her call.

  All she had to do was pick up the phone.

  Then he would be here. And she wouldn’t even have to tell him—one look at her in the wedding dress and he would have his answer.

  She picked up the phone next to her bed and dialled.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TEN minutes, Saleem had told her, Khaled would be along then. Meanwhile he’d seemed more interested in whether or not Azizah had shown up yet.

  Deflated and suddenly filled with nervous tension, she paced the room, wanting something to stop her thinking. Now she’d made up her mind, the last thing she wanted was more time to think.

  Her eyes fell upon the letter where she’d discarded it on the bed and gratefully she scooped it up. It would serve as a distraction, at least for a minute or two. She tore it open and unfolded the pages as she walked back into the study to wait for Khaled, recognising the handwriting instantly.

  Paolo’s handwriting.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be delighted or sad. It was the first letter she’d received from him in all the time she’d been here. Why would he be writing now, unless he was wanting to make amends? She began to read.

  Dearest Sapphy,

  I realise you may not want to hear from me right now but I could not leave things the unsatisfactory way they were left when last we spoke. For one thing I know I owe you an apology and an explanation and for another, while it may seem melodramatic to you, I continue to fear for your welfare while you are in Jebbai.

  Her lips tightened and she rubbed her forehead. If Paolo was going to wheel out another bitter diatribe as to why she should not stay in Jebbai it was going to fall on deaf ears. Paolo obviously had a problem with Khaled knowing of his secret marriage. Khaled must have threatened to reveal the secret long ago—nothing else would explain why Paolo hated him so much and wished her to have nothing to do with him. But she knew the truth now and he would just have to accept that he had made a mistake by not telling her. Their whole relationship had been based on a lie.

  I realise I owe you a huge apology. I am forever sorry that I was not the one to tell you of my marriage when I had the chance. I am so afraid the promise that I made back then to keep my marriage to Helene a secret has destroyed any chance of friendship between us in the future. But then, how could I have told you? I was too scared of losing you although I wish I’d found a way, as I fear you must now hate me.

  But whatever you think of me, you have to know the truth, now more than ever.

  The circumstances of
our marriage were unconventional to say the least. More relevant to you, though, my marriage was to a woman promised by her family and against her will to another and for that he swore that one day he would have his revenge against me, promising that he would one day steal any woman I intended to marry. And that is why, more than anything, I fear for your safety.

  That man was Khaled.

  Khaled? Revenge? Her gut clenched and cold tremors assailed her as the impact of Paolo’s words hit home. With not a thought to the prospect of creasing the dress, she let herself collapse into an armchair.

  So Paolo had married the woman intended for Khaled—no wonder he had a vested interest in revealing Paolo’s secret.

  But as to his suggestion that Khaled had chosen her because of her links with Paolo…It was crazy. They had never been officially betrothed—unless he had believed the speculation the magazines and gossip columns had spouted…that a link between successful international lawyer, Paolo Mancini, and up and-coming fashion designer, Sapphy Clemenger, was inevitable.

  Was that what she was doing here? Had Khaled lured her here with the promise of a commission in order to ‘steal’ her from Paolo? It all seemed too incredible. It couldn’t be true.

  But then, didn’t it make more sense than his assertion that he’d fallen in love with her from a photograph and set out to woo her?

  She read on, feeling each new revelation like a body blow. Paulo had married Helene to save her from an arranged marriage to Khaled. The arrangement was to be in force only until Khaled found another wife. Then their marriage could be annulled and they would be free to continue with their lives and the relationships they chose. Neither of them expected that twelve years on Khaled would still be waiting, watching, casting the long shadow of his revenge over them.

  What kind of bitterness made someone act that way?

  No wonder Paolo had been frightened of commitment. No wonder he had pulled away from talk of marriage and the future. He had no choice. Words blurred on the page as tears pricked her eyes at the sacrifice he’d made for a friend, the sacrifice that had cheated him for twelve years of any chance of love.

  She blinked the moisture away, clearing her vision enough to allow her to read the final paragraphs.

  Sapphy, bella, perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps the fact that Khaled told you of my marriage is evidence that he’s over the past and ready to put it behind him. Maybe it means nothing to him any more. I sincerely hope so.

  I know things didn’t work out between us and I hope you can start to understand some of the reasons why it was so difficult for me to be honest with you, but I do care for you, Sapphy, I care for you immensely. So please, I beg of you, be careful in your dealings with Khaled. Don’t take anything at face value as he has a score to settle with me and I am afraid he will stop at nothing to do it.

  Her insides were gutted, totally empty, her heart a black empty chasm pulling wider apart with every breath. Her legs lashed out as she kicked off her heels, reading the paragraphs again, tucking her legs underneath her on the chair, curling tighter and tighter into a ball.

  Over the past? Not a chance. Khaled hadn’t used his information in the spirit of forgiveness, he hadn’t shared it with her over a drink and a laugh for old times’ sake. He’d used it as a weapon against Paolo, its barbs designed to dig deep and twist and bury his nemesis completely.

  As for stopping at nothing—hadn’t he told her he loved her? What was that if not just one more attempt to prevent her leaving and ensure the success of his plan?

  She let the pages fall to her lap and hugged herself, her breath jerky, her sobs strangely silent, unable to make a sound because there was absolutely nothing left inside.

  Nothing—except anger. Into the shell where her heart once resided white-hot anger rushed in on a tidal wave—foaming and crashing, filling the space and gaps, its heat fed with the oxygen from every breath she took.

  Khaled had played her for a fool all along. But no longer. Her hands formed into fists and she sprang from the chair, energised by the sudden rush of emotion, letting the pages scatter on the floor.

  She had to get this dress off. It was a dress for a bride to wear when she wedded the man of her dreams. She’d been kidding herself that she could ever be that bride. She’d been kidding herself that there would ever be a real wedding. Her dream had turned into a nightmare.

  Her hands had tackled only the first of the pearl buttons when behind her someone tapped on the door. She swivelled in time to see the door swing open and suddenly he was there.

  ‘I came as soon…’

  With one look at her his words died on his tongue. She was wearing the dress. His blood pumped harder, louder in his veins, spiralling warmth and pride through him. Soon, she would be his.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he said, his tone almost worshipping. ‘Just stunning. The most beautiful bride ever.’

  She sniffed, raising her chin and rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand, and it was then that he noticed her eyes, large and luminescent as if he’d startled her with his sudden appearance, yet smudged around the edges, almost as if she’d been crying.

  She dropped her arm to the side and brought herself up taller and suddenly her eyes looked less doe-like and more glacial, and set amongst features that seemed to harden even as he watched.

  ‘Do you think so?’ she said, her lips tilting into a harsh curve. She looked down at the dress. ‘I was thinking of it more as a going-away outfit.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She turned her eyes back up at him. Back to where their frosty spears could inflict the most damage. ‘When were you going to tell me?’

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘Were you going to spring it on me before I’d walked down the aisle, or wait until we were hitched? Or even better, maybe you were saving it for a honeymoon treat?’

  ‘Do you mind telling me what you’re talking about?’

  ‘It must have been challenging—always finding ways of keeping me here. But you sure came up with the trump card to beat all today. You love me. Yeah, right. What were you going to try if that didn’t work?’

  Breath rushed out of his lungs on a growl and he closed the space between them, latching on to her shoulders. ‘What’s happened?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ she said, wincing, looking pointedly down on his hands. ‘You were planning on physically restraining me. Nice touch. No doubt there’s a dungeon somewhere down below where I can be kept for as long as it takes.’

  He cursed as he flung his hands from her shoulders, pacing to the desk, where he took two steadying breaths before being able to face her again. ‘Something’s happened,’ he said. ‘Are you going to share it with me or are you going to make me stand here and play twenty questions?’

  She waved her hand in the direction of the letter, its pages still abandoned in the corner, where they’d fluttered down onto the floor. ‘Paolo wrote to me,’ she said. ‘And it made for interesting reading, the story of your vendetta against him.’

  Her eyes glittered blue ice, her chin was set and defiant and inside he felt sick. This was not the way she should have found out.

  He crossed the room, snatching up the pages and scanning their contents.

  ‘This whole trip, my whole reason for being here, was simply so you could satisfy your desire for revenge.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ he snapped, though he knew it was, at the start.

  ‘Oh? What was it like then? Surely you’re not going to tell me you stumbled upon me by accident, completely unaware of my connection with Paolo?

  ‘Oh,’ she said, throwing her head back, ‘I’m so stupid, I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to work it all out. You planned this whole fiasco from the start. How convenient that I’m a designer. How easy that proved to be to get me here—all you had to do was pay enough to Gianfranco and he just about pushed me onto you. And once here, you had no intention of letting me go.’

  He dragged in a short, sharp breat
h. ‘No! Though it’s true I have a score to settle with Paolo.’

  ‘And taking me away from him was part of that vendetta.’

  ‘Why should he have you? He doesn’t deserve you. Yes, in the beginning, all I wanted was revenge. But that was before I met you. Then I knew he wasn’t good enough for you. That you deserved better.’

  ‘And you were supposed to be better? I believed you, you know. I stood up for you against Paolo when he pleaded with me not to come to Jebbai. I actually felt sorry for your “fiancée”, too ill to be able to take part in her own wedding preparations, and yet you were using me the whole time. Using me to get back at him.’

  ‘Maybe it was like that at the start,’ he admitted. ‘But not all the time. I wanted revenge, that’s true, but once I met you I knew you were not just some possession of Paolo’s that I had to have. I wanted you for myself then, for the woman you are. I had to have you, body and soul.’

  She crossed her arms, the expression on her face mirroring her body language and screaming her disbelief. ‘Tell me about Helene,’ she said. ‘What was so special about her that you couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else having her?’

  His jaw clenched, teeth grating together. The questions were bound to come, he expected it now, but still that made it no easier to deal with. ‘She was young and pretty, a student at university, very clever. Our parents supported the marriage, it would have cemented relations between a huge oil conglomerate and a producing nation. It would have been a good match.’

  ‘Did you love her?’

  It was a difficult question and so long ago. He was sure he’d thought he’d loved her once, but now, knowing Sapphire and the way she made him feel—maybe he had just liked the idea of being in love. He shrugged. ‘I was barely twenty years old.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

  ‘Then, no,’ he said on a sigh. ‘I didn’t love her. But I wanted her. It could have been a good marriage, beneficial to both our families and interests. But it was not to be.’