by Leslie North
“Yes. Something happened last night. You agreed to marry me. But I don’t think you’re fully on board with that plan.”
Sonya sat up in the bed, holding the sheet over her nakedness. “Um…well, you’re right that I don’t think we should get married.”
He smiled ever so slightly. “So your agreement last night was just a way to get what you wanted, correct?”
She bit her lip and shrugged. “You have to admit that the question was asked under duress.”
He considered that, then nodded. “Fair enough. So I’m asking now. You’re going to marry me, Sonya.”
He’d thought about it this morning. Finding her curled up in his arms had given him a sense of peace, of rightness, that he’d never felt before. At that moment, everything came together. The reason he’d been so distrustful of her was because of the way she made him feel. He hadn’t believed that anything could feel so right, so perfect.
His team had done a thorough background check on her and nothing had come up wrong. Not even a speeding ticket. So he hadn’t trusted her. No one was that innocent.
Until last night. When he’d discovered that she hadn’t been with any other man, everything inside of him demanded that he claim this woman as his own. And it had solved the mystery of what she’d been hiding from him.
He knew this was right. He’d never been more sure of anything in his life. This was his woman. The woman he was meant to be with.
She was fighting against the truth but he wasn’t going to let that deter him. He’d seen how Najid and Ana loved and he would settle for nothing less. With Sonya, he could have that as well.
“So I’ll ask again when you are not under duress,” he replied as if that were the most obvious solution.
She smiled and shook her head, still clutching the sheet to her nakedness. “This has been a nice vacation, but I really need to get back home.” She almost choked on those words.
He hadn’t missed the crack in her voice, knew that she was feeling the same thing he was feeling. “You don’t have to be home until the middle of August,” he countered. “Stay here with me until then. If you still won’t agree to marry me then…” he shrugged, leaving the ending open.
“I can’t stay here, Jual.”
“Why not?”
She thought about her apartment, her friends and the things she’d planned to do over the summer. “Because I have a filthy apartment, friends I need to contact and…” well, that was about it, she thought.
“I’ll have a cleaning crew go into your apartment today. You can use a computer to contact your friends. What else?” He moved closer, stalking her even though she was still in bed and couldn’t very well jump up and run away.
“You have to work,” she countered, pressing back against the pillows. She almost laughed when he stripped off his shirt and joined her in the bed.
“Yes. I will have to work, but I can spend time with you. We can get to know each other better and I’ll prove to you that we should be married.”
Sonya’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t said, “I’ll prove that I love you” but it was just as nice.
Wasn’t it?
And why was she hoping that he might fall in love with her? She’d already told herself that she wasn’t going to fall in love with him.
“I still need to go home,” she told him, even as he put a hand on either side of her head while he pressed her back onto the mattress.
“You don’t. You have nothing to do there but miss me. So stay here and don’t miss me.” He wouldn’t allow her to answer, covering her mouth with his own and showing her what she would be missing.
So for the next two weeks, she stayed with Jual. The first two days, they remained at the fortress and he showed her around, explaining the history of the fortress while they hiked the rocky mountain paths and she strengthened her legs. He was called back to the palace and had to work some of the time, but the rest of their time together, he spent showing her around the city during the day and drowning her in pleasure during the nights.
Sonya should be exhausted, but being with Jual was stimulating and she worked the muscles in her legs, feeling better every day.
There were two down sides to her time in his company. The first was that she knew their time together would have to end. This kind of blissful happiness couldn’t last forever. And the other problem she was in love with the man. He laughed and talked with her, he was extremely knowledgeable about the history and stories of the area and she even got to know Ana, who was a delightful woman with the most adorable infant son. The two of them talked about everything and Sonya considered Ana to be her friend.
Unfortunately, Jual never said he loved her. And the question of marriage didn’t come up again. Never. Not even late at night when he held her in his arms like he truly had feelings for her. At night, in the darkness, she could pretend that he loved her. She could convince herself that he wanted her for the rest of their lives.
Chapter 7
Jual glared at Sonya across the breakfast table. He’d held off on saying anything for the past two weeks but he was not going to keep silent any longer. She wasn’t leaving him, he vowed.
So why was she sitting there, tearing up the muffin and not eating again? She’d gained weight over the past two weeks and she looked even sexier now than ever. He wanted her with a passion that was increasing instead of decreasing and he knew that she was coming out of her shell, losing her inhibitions. He knew that she was satisfied at night. Hell, he’d never been more satisfied in his life, just holding her in his arms.
So why the hell wasn’t she saying she’d marry him?!
“You’re not leaving, Sonya,” he announced, almost barking the order out and startling her.
She dropped the muffin and looked up at him, hiding her shaking fingers underneath the table. Taking a deep breath, she accepted that it was time to confront the issue. “I have to leave, Jual.”
He stood up and walked around the table, pulling her up into his arms. “You don’t have to.”
She heard the emphatic tone, but not the words she needed to hear. “I do. I have to get back to the real world. I have to get back to my life.”
He gripped her arms, not tightly but she knew she wouldn’t be able to break his hold. “This could be your life, Sonya. And you’re going to throw it all away because you’re scared. Don’t do it.”
She almost sobbed at the idea of leaving him but knew she had to be strong. “I don’t want to go, Jual. But I can’t stay.” She loved him so much but he’d never mentioned anything about his feelings. Nor would she trap him into saying something he didn’t feel. She wouldn’t do that to either of them. “Please, just let me go.”
His head lowered, his forehead resting against hers for a moment. “Tell me why you don’t want to stay. Tell me what I did wrong.”
The cry burst out of her despite her best efforts to suppress her sadness. Pressing into his arms, she savoured his warmth, breathed in his clean, male scent. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jual. I just…” she pressed her face against his chest. She knew that she would never love anyone the way she loved him. But that only made it more important to leave.
Lowering his head, he captured her lips, kissing her as if this would be their last. She held onto him, unaware of the tears drifting down her pale cheeks.
“What can I do to make you fall in love with me, Sonya,” he demanded, clenching his teeth. “I know that you have strong feelings for me.”
She shook her head. “I do love you,” she finally admitted, unable to hold back her emotions any longer. “I love you so much, which is why I have to leave.”
He shook his head. “That makes no sense! If you love me, then stay and marry me. Be my wife!” He was furious with her, wanting to pull her against him and make love to her here in the dining room, to put his stamp on her so that she would never leave him.
“I can’t! I can’t marry a man who doesn’t love me!” she whispered through the pain tear
ing her apart. With those words, she ripped away from him and hurried down the hallway. She would leave now. Today! She would get out of here and find a hotel until she could catch a flight home. And once she was home, she would slowly put the pieces of her life back together.
She stuffed clothes into her suitcase, but only the clothes she’d come with. Well, and the delicate underwear since Jual had thrown out all of her other items.
She’d just finished zipping up her suitcase when the door to his suite slammed open. Jual stormed into the room, slamming the door closed and looking like the furies. All three of them.
“What the hell are you talking about, Sonya?!” he roared.
She pulled back, afraid of this man. She’d never seen him so furious. She knew that he would never hit her, but his anger was still intimidating. “Don’t do this, Jual. Just let it go.”
“Not a chance!” he snapped, his hand slicing through the air. “You are leaving me because you’re in love with me and never said anything. And you’re leaving me because you think I’m not in love with you?”
“Yes. I can’t…”
“How in the world did you get the idea that I wasn’t in love with you? What gave you that impression?”
She opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it closed. Not sure there was anything else to say.
“What have I been trying to show you for the past several days?” he demanded, coming closer and grabbing her arms. “I’m so in love with you that I’ve lost my head! I’ve ignored my responsibilities because I just want to be with you. Hell, Sonya! What more do I have to do to prove it to you?”
That did it! Her mouth fell open with his words. He was in love with her? He’d been trying to show her?
“You have to say it, you stupid oaf!” she said and ripped her arms out of his grip and smacked him on the shoulder. “You can’t let me just assume anything!” After that, she threw herself into his arms and hugged him tightly, not wanting to ever let him go but she couldn’t stop the sobbing. The sounds got worse when he wrapped his arms around her, his cheek resting against the top of her head. “Why didn’t you say something? Why, Jual?”
“I thought you knew,” he told her, his voice softer this time. “I thought it was obvious.” He chuckled and she loved that sound. “I’d like to point out that you never mentioned that you love me.”
Sonya laughed, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. “Good point,” she replied back. Tilting her head up so that she could see his roughly handsome features, she smiled as she said, “I love you.”
“And you’ll marry me,” he commanded.
Her smile widened at his arrogant command. “If you’ll tell me that you love me again,” she replied.
He growled at her conditions even as he lowered his head to kiss her. “I love you,” he finally said a moment before she lost herself in his kiss. Again.
The Sheikh’s Untraditional Lover
By Leslie North
The Tadros Twins Mini-Series
Book One
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Chapter 1
Very American, Prince Zafar Tadros thought, the frown already tight on his face. He didn’t have much use for Americans—too loud, too pushy, too much in need of stealing the traditions of others or disparaging them.
He would have to be cautious with this one.
She was also blonde—a dark blonde, true, but still, the jokes about such light-colored hair leading to a lightness of mind tugged at him. And she had eyes like a demon—bright blue. Of course she had dressed without a single thought to tradition—a sleeveless shirt and Capri pants that left the lower half of her legs bare. Very Western. Her curling hair framed a round face, but she looked fit with curves that distracted. He wanted to sigh. They did not need another American, and yet she was here.
She also faced him with a brash smile and stuck out a hand. “Hi, I’m Belle Reynolds.”
Zafar gave her a nod. The one saving grace she possessed seemed to be the curiosity he could see in her eyes and a hint of vulnerability that seemed out of place with most Americans. He gave her a small nod. “Welcome to Scaran, Miss Reynolds. Will your father be joining us soon?”
Her smile faltered, but she propped it back up. “Oh, please, call me Belle. Everyone does. And you are…?” She let the words trail with a touch of hopeful expectation.
His own smile fell. But he could not blame her for not knowing. He had also chosen Western clothing today—a small concession to this meeting. Well-worn black jeans, a black T-shirt, and loafers. Normally, he preferred traditional attire—a white dishdasha worn over loose, white trousers and the white keffiyeh or head covering and dark-blue agal that identified him as a member of the Tadros family. He took her hand—unusual for a woman to offer a handshake. “Zafar Tadros.”
She had a firm grip, pumped his hand and grinned. “Ah, you’re one of the twins.” She leaned closer and he caught a whiff of her perfume—something oddly exotic and spiced. “I wasn’t sure which one. Will your brother be joining us for breakfast?”
Dropping her hand, he shook his head. “He is not in residence at the moment. I trust you are recovered from your journey?” He waved her to a table on the balcony.
This wasn’t the formal dining room—or even the family dining room, which often served as a place for Zafar to meet with his father or his brother. He’d asked that Reynolds be shown here—the room was nearer the kitchen and faced east, with a view to the north and south, warm but not yet hot. However, he had expected Mr. Reynolds, not just what had to be the architect’s daughter, to meet him for breakfast.
A table had been set up on the balcony—the day was still cool, and the balcony shaded. The view looked out over the old parts of the city—Zafar’s favorite view in the palace. The city was already stirring, but the old quarter—with its narrow streets and traditional, square houses—lacked the noise of cars and the congestion of the newer parts of the city that now stretched to the north.
Belle Reynolds took a seat and smiled. Zafar sat as well, and instantly servants hurried to fill coffee cups. Zafar preferred tea, but the coffee was another concession to Western tastes. He had, however, ordered a more traditional breakfast be set out. Flatbread, dates and honey, rice seasoned with spices and milk.
“Your father’s not joining us?” Zafar asked again.
Her smile stiffened slightly. “He’s promised to look in on the project later.”
There was something behind those words that put Zafar on alert. He couldn’t exactly say what was wrong, but a tingle spread over his skin. He picked up his coffee— it was served strong and spiced, and in a traditional glass. He also waved out to the south. In the distance, it was possible to see the large plot of land that was the focus of the family’s current problem.
“As you must know, my father wishes to bring something new and exciting to Scaran—a sports and business complex to embody all that our country has to offer.” It was a dull conversational gambit, but what else was he to say to this American? He did not wish to speak of politics—not for her country or his—the weather was an even duller topic, so why not talk of the project that had brought her father’s company to his father’s country.
Belle Reynolds’s smile relaxed. She poked at a piece of melon and said, “Yes, I’m aware. Something very modern.”
Zafar cleared his throat. “My country’s traditions are important to those who live here.”
She frowned. “Meaning…?”
He put down his coffee and pressed his fingertips together. “Five years ago a construction was begun in Scaran. It was…well, shall we say, aggressively modern. It also was not well built, and collapsed. Many said it was God’s will, but a few said it was only justice to see such a monstrosity taken down.”
Zafar smiled. “Yes—an impossible task.”
Crossing her arms, Belle Reynolds stared at him. “Why would you say that? Oh, I’ll grant you that there are some contradictory elements, but—”
“Miss Reynolds—”
“Belle, please.” The words came out from between almost clenched teeth.
Zafar waved a hand. He could concede her that much—the informality of Americans who seemed always to prefer first names. He gave a nod. “Belle, do you know the essence of a traditional building? It is to live within the world as it is. A building should have a courtyard—beauty should live within its walls. But this is also wise, for the courtyard allows a fountain to cool the air. The rooms all look to the courtyard and privacy is provided with intricate latticework. Everything is meant to be both functional and pleasing to the eye—meaning curves and always something interesting to look at. Ours is not a world of stark lines and air-conditioning meant to remake the world into a perfect temperature that can be had at the press of a button.”
She had been listening to his speech, her head tipped to one side and the pulse starting to pick up in her jaw. The sun caught her curls and struck gold from them. “You don’t think modern convenience can co-exist with traditional elements?”
He waved a hand at the room around them. It was—he had to admit—an utter disaster. This was the newer wing of the place, designed to his father’s instructions. It mixed Western with traditional elements in what Zafar knew was a clash, as if a wedding cake had collided with a stark high-rise. Glass and steel walls had plaster added to them as if that would bring any harmony—all it did was to emphasize just how poorly those two styles mixed. The heavy, carved-wood furniture seemed out of place on flat, concrete floors. Lattice screens that separated one room from another looked lonely in the vast space. The few Western touches—leather couches and the chrome table and chairs where they sat—seemed as if they’d been randomly thrown into the room.