When he looked into her eyes he could see the glimmer of another tear on her cheek, and he wiped it away with the tip of a gentle fingertip.
Laura bit her lip. ‘Oh, Xavier,’ she gulped. ‘I love you so much.’
He looked down into her emerald eyes, so clear and bright, shining with an emotion she no longer had to hide, and his heart turned over with love. ‘I know that, too,’ he said softly.
EPILOGUE
DESERT WEDDING FOR SHEIKH’S ILLEGITIMATE SON!
THE press had gone wild—it was the biggest international story in years. Xavier’s Parisian apartment was staked out by representatives from the media, so that in the end he and Laura had to employ a firm of heavies to keep them away.
They had tried to keep the wedding and its location a secret, but inevitably—with an event of this magnitude—it was bound to leak out. Kharastan was set to have its first big royal wedding in decades. Its people had taken the Sheikh’s son to their hearts, and they adored his beautiful bride-to-be, with her sunset-coloured hair and eyes the colour of the forests.
‘Did that surprise you?’ Laura asked Xavier curiously one morning. ‘That they should so quickly accept you, in view of the strange circumstances of your birth?
Xavier shook his head. ‘During the month I spent there after you had gone they got to know me a little, and as time goes by they shall know me better still.’ He smiled. ‘But their approval has been my father’s reward for his loyalty to his late wife, and for the just and fair way he has ruled the land.’
They were lying in bed, in the huge apartment whose windows reflected the shimmering light of the Seine, and every so often Laura would hold up her hand to admire the whacking great square-cut emerald engagement ring which glittered on her finger—and which Xavier said mirrored perfectly the colour of her eyes.
In a month’s time—when the plans were ready to be finalised—the two of them would fly out to Kharastan for their wedding, and a honeymoon in the countryside afterwards.
She turned to him and stroked the bare flesh of his shoulder thoughtfully. ‘Is this all happening too quickly, do you think?’
‘No. Do you?’
She shook her head and smiled. ‘I want to be your wife, Xavier. More than anything else in the world.’
He smiled, touched his fingertips to her lips. ‘Well, then—I want that, too. I want to make you legally mine—to bind you to me for the rest of our days.’
Laura shivered as she heard his masterful intent and snuggled up to him, thinking that life couldn’t get much more perfect than this.
She had gone to Paris with the intention of finding her own apartment and her own job—but work had quickly come her way, courtesy of Xavier, and surely only a stubborn fool would have turned it away?
She had tried looking for an apartment on her own, too—and, interestingly, the area she’d liked best was the Marais, where Xavier had grown up which was now one of the smartest areas in the city! But then she’d realised that she didn’t want to spend nights apart, and neither did he. She wanted to be there in the mornings, and there in the evenings, and at all the other times in between. The two of them together seemed almost preordained—as if anything else but Xavier and Laura as a couple was unimaginable. And when Xavier had asked her to marry him one sunlit morning as they walked out to buy baguettes for breakfast, she had burst into tears of joy.
It was soon—she knew that and he knew that—but there was a reason for that, unspoken but understood. His father was still alive, and Xavier wanted to show the Sheikh that there was going to be continuity in his illegitimate son’s life. That he was marrying someone the Sheikh had met, and of whom he approved.
At least the question of inheriting the kingdom was not an issue—Giovanni was older than Xavier.
‘Thank heavens for that,’ Laura had murmured with genuine gratitude when she’d found out. ‘I wonder if he’s going to reply to the invitation to our wedding? I really hope he does come—I’d like to meet him.’
At the mention of Giovanni, his half-brother, Xavier felt his heart leap with a joy tempered by trepidation. But Laura had taught him not to fear his feelings any more—to let them in and just go with the flow.
She had taught him that, and so much else. But the most important thing she had taught him was how to love.
The Sheikh’s Unwilling Wife
By Sharon Kendrick
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
YOU didn’t have to be drowning for your life to flash before you. Nor to be sleeping to feel you had stumbled into a nightmare.
And this was her worst.
Alexa blinked her eyes rapidly, like someone emerging from the water—their vision blurred so that they couldn’t see clearly—and found herself thinking that maybe it wasn’t him. For a split second a fragment of optimism floated before her as she narrowed her eyes to watch the man who sauntered with such careless grace down the cobblestoned street. But hope died as he grew closer and she saw a group of women stop talking mid-sentence and turn their heads to follow his path.
He walked like the leader he undoubtedly was—a man born to money, as well as having made more than enough of his own. Tall and striking, he had crisp dark curls, hard black eyes and a proud and haughty look on a face which in repose looked faintly cruel.
His olive skin was dark—even for a Southern Italian—and a shamelessly exotic air had only added to his mystique in his native city of Naples. Glamorous mother; father unknown.
He was wearing a perfectly cut pale grey suit over a lean, hard body, and as he walked the women watching him almost melted on the spot. It would almost have been comic if it hadn’t made Alexa’s heart ache with a pain which should have disappeared a long time ago and yet deep, deep down was a feeling far more acute than pain.
Fear.
She licked her lips. Giovanni.
Giovanni—her husband.
Jealous, possessive, unrealistic, idealistic. Giovanni…
Silently she said the name she had tried to forget but never would—for how could she, when she was still tied to him by law, unresolved feelings and by something deeper still? Something so precious that if…if…
Alexa swallowed. Had he seen her? Her heart skipped a beat as that stupid hope flared into life once more. Did he know she was here?
But even before she met the ebony glitter of his eyes, training themselves on the shop window like a hunter’s gun, or watched him beginning to cross the road towards the building, she knew that it was a dumb question to ask.
Of course he knew she was here. Why else would the black-hearted millionaire be wandering down a quiet English road instead of swanning around his hot and noisy Naples in that sleek little sports car he used to drive, with all the men shouting Gio! and the girls smiling and swaying their hips as he passed?
What else did he know? Had he…found out?
Oh, please. The world began to blur again, and she clutched the flimsy piece of silk she was holding. Please don’t let him know.
Skin icing and heart beginning to pound, Alexa could feel the palms of her hands growing damp, and she put down the silk T-shirt she had been folding with shaking fingers. No wealthy customer would part with cash for an over-price
d item if it was covered in splodges of her sweat. She licked her dry lips, telling herself it was insanity to try to second-guess the situation. Just see what he has to say and play it cool—surely you can do that, considering what’s at stake?
The shop door pinged, and she looked straight at him as he walked in, fixing a smile to her lips which she hoped was just the right mixture of formal politeness and mild curiosity. The kind of smile that any estranged wife would give to a husband who had given the dictionary a new definition for ‘unreasonable behaviour’.
‘H-hello, Giovanni,’ she said, but she heard her voice tremble, and he heard it too, for she saw the black eyes briefly narrow as he tried to interpret its origin. ‘This is a—’
‘What?’ he questioned, deadly as a snake.
‘Surprise.’ She swallowed, feeling her throat constrict on the word.
‘Ah! Such understatement, cara mia!’ he murmured ‘Did you really expect to go through the rest of your life without ever seeing me again?’
‘I hadn’t really given it much thought.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ he said softly, and his eyes flicked her a mocking look. Not think about him? The moon would fail to rise in the heavens before that should happen! ‘All women who have known me are obsessed with me—and in many ways you have known me better than most, for you are the only woman I ever married.’
But Giovanni knew that it had been more than just the legal tie of their marriage which made her knowledge of so unique—a marriage which had been far stronger and less easy to shrug off than he had anticipated. It was because Alexa had seen him with his guard down—she had witnessed Giovanni veering towards the vulnerable—and she had taught him a lesson that he should have known all along: women were never to be trusted.
Alexa’s fixed smile became a grotesque kind of grimace. ‘Did you…did you want to speak to me?’
Jet-black brows were raised in arrogant query. ‘The alternative being that I want you to sell me some women’s clothes—perhaps shopping here for one of my mistresses? What do you think?’
If only he knew! If only he had an inkling about the crazed thoughts which were swirling around in her mind like an out-of-control whirlwind. Because you know that what you have done to this man is wrong?
She willed the voice of her conscience to cease—dampening down its clamour with a reminder of the harsh and bitter words he had spoken to her. Everything she had done, she had done for a reason. ‘I can’t talk now. I’m working.’
‘So I see.’ He glanced around the shop’s interior, affecting interest—but in reality it was to allow the beating of his heart to steady. He was taken aback by its thunderous pounding—for he had underestimated her impact on his senses. Or maybe he had simply forgotten.
Hungrily, he let his eyes feast on her. Her bright hair was caught back in one of those severe French plaits you rarely saw these days, and she was wearing a black pencil skirt and white blouse—presumably some kind of uniform for working. Yet it didn’t look anything like a uniform when she was wearing it. With the slim skirt skimming the gentle curve of her hips and the silky shirt caressing the swell of her breasts, she looked like a favourite male fantasy—buttoned-up, yet red-hot and hungry underneath. Giovanni swallowed. Later.
‘Still a shop assistant?’ he questioned sardonically. ‘Isn’t this where you came in—unless you own the place, of course?’
‘No, I don’t own it.’
So there had been no sudden change in her fortunes. No lover to lavish his wealth on her, having been reeled in with that unique blend of supposedly innocent sensuality. Those pale green eyes which could range from serene to feisty and a hundred expressions in between. She had the kind of body you wanted to cover in diamonds—and then slowly remove them, one by one.
Had it surprised him that she had not approached him for a hefty divorce settlement? He supposed it had—but maybe her lawyers had advised her that a mere three-month marriage would not yield much in the way of alimony.
‘Hardly what you’d call rapid promotion, is it?’ he mused. ‘Shop assistant in some small backwater of a place you grew up in.’
How effortlessly fluent was his English—and how brutally accurate was his contempt for her situation! Alexa gave him a non-committal smile. ‘Well, we can’t all be captains of industry,’ she said quietly. ‘Listen, Giovanni—no one was ever going to be in any doubt that you were the achiever in our relationship, but I really don’t have time to stand around and chat.’ Especially about something as painful and as potentially explosive as their past.
He glanced around the empty shop. ‘But you don’t have any customers!’ he observed caustically. ‘If this were my place then I’d give it a dramatic overhaul.’
‘Well, fortunately for me, it isn’t. So what is it that you want, Giovanni?’ She blinked up at him, wondering if he could hear the slight crack of pain in her voice—because sometimes emotions just crept up on you, whether you liked it or not.
What if he had come to tell her that he wanted his freedom? That he had met someone new and fallen in love—only this time it was the real thing, not some youthful cocktail of lust and unrealistic expectations. ‘You can tell me quickly.’
Giovanni heard the note of hope in her voice and gave a slow smile. ‘You think I’ve travelled from Italy to tell you quickly?’ he echoed silkily.
He had her senses spinning and she wanted it to stop. She wanted the rapid hammering of her heart and the feeling of faintness to pass, along with the regret and all the other things he had stirred up inside her within the space of a few minutes.
Alexa drew a deep breath. ‘You should have warned me you were coming,’ she said, in a low voice. And how would she have reacted if he had? Run away until she was certain the coast was clear, taking Paolo with her? But you couldn’t keep running away all your life. Suddenly, an intimation of terror began to whisper its way over her skin. ‘You should have warned me,’ she repeated, more urgently now.
Giovanni looked at her trembling lips. Not for a moment had he thought she might have grown immune to him—but Alexa’s reaction was very interesting.
She was edgier than he might have expected in the circumstances. And why was that? he wondered. Because she’d realised what she had thrown away? Or because she wanted him to take her into his arms and kiss her—to press his hard heat against the pliant softness of her body and drive his throbbing hardness deep inside her until she begged for release?
Giovanni’s sensual lips curved into a cruel smile as he felt the rush of heat to his groin and the powerful beat of anticipation—yet he experienced slight dismay, too and the faint prickle of anger, because the feelings she provoked in him defied all logic.
Memories of betrayal and deceit washed over him when he looked at the pale oval of her face, and yet there was lust, too—a fierce sexual hunger which he had never completely satisfied. Surely that must account for the sudden strange lurching of his heart?
The agenda which had brought him here today was simple: the invitation burning a hole in his pocket and a desire that his wife accede to his wishes. And yet there had been curiosity, too. A sense of something never quite completed, nor put to rest—a question that everyone whose marriage had failed must ask: what if?
Giovanni’s mouth hardened. But that was pure unnecessary sentiment—and he was not a man given to sentiment. Putting that aside, he knew what he really wanted, and it was more than her agreement to accompany him on such an important occasion. Ah, si. He intended to have her one last time. He would feast on her body and take his fill from it—and then…He swallowed. Then that last lingering legacy from their ill-fated marriage would be satisfied and he could move on.
Inside the luxurious interior of the store, the lights shone down and transformed her hair into pure spun gold. Yet the light played tricks just as the heart did, for her hair was not really gold, but a strange colour somewhere between red and gold—the colour they called strawberry-blonde. Such a rare shade to adorn a he
ad, and especially so in his native Southern Italy.
Her eyes were the fresh colour of pistachio and her skin looked like creamy vanilla. The first time he’d met her he had told her she looked like an ice cream sundae, and only just stopped himself from adding that he wanted to lick her all over. Much later he had teased her that he wanted to dip his spoon in her—and her corresponding blush had sealed her fate. His face darkened.
She was his.
Alexa.
Alexa O’Sullivan. A name as unusual as her hair, as her soft curving body, pale with silken skin. She looked as innocent now as she had done on the day they had met. But innocents did not lie, nor did they cheat.
He was prepared for the anger, but unprepared for the regret. That he had ever married her in the first place? Or that he had let her pale green eyes and berry-coloured lips lull him into believing a fantasy?
‘What time do you finish?’ he said softly.
For a moment Alexa hesitated, recognising that he wasn’t going to go away until he’d got what he came for, no matter how much she wanted him to. The most sensible thing would be to arrange to meet him for lunch the next day—which would give her time to compose herself, prepare herself for any verbal battle. But that would mean him hanging around—maybe even staying in one of the local hotels—and then what? Giovanni asking questions—smarming his way into the confidence of adoring women staff, or—worse—local people beginning to look closely at his stunningly dark Mediterranean looks and putting two and two together.
‘I finish at six,’ she said quickly.
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