Hired to Wear the Sheikh's Ring

by Rachael Thomas

  Jafar opened the passenger door for her and stood looking down at her. Was it possible that he suddenly seemed taller than she remembered or was it because she was losing control rapidly? She could still back out. She looked at the house she’d moved into with Bethany and Kelly several months ago and knew she couldn’t, not if she wanted to help them keep a roof over their heads, and now that Bethany knew all about this deal she definitely couldn’t.

  She met the suspicion in his eyes and spoke again before he had a chance to say anything. ‘All the trimmings that come with such a whirlwind romance?’

  ‘One thing you will learn about me, Tiffany, is that if I do something, I do it properly.’ He paused and stepped a fraction closer so that she caught the exotic scent of his aftershave. It was wild and free, like the air itself—or the desert. As she tried to halt those thoughts he spoke again. ‘And making you my wife will be no exception.’

  No response to that statement came to mind and instead she got into the car, trying to ignore the sensation of overwhelming wealth and luxury that assaulted her senses as she did so as wildly as the man himself. Jafar got into the driver’s seat and soon they were heading towards London for their flight to Paris. She watched the countryside she’d grown up in rush past, her thoughts crammed with just how he was going to make their engagement and subsequent marriage appear real. She was thankful when music began to play gently against the hum of the car engine. She forced her mind to relax, to go with the absurd deal she’d struck with this man. A man who had the ability to make her wish for things she’d vowed never to want. He made her want to be desired and even loved.

  The full extent of the contract she would sign with the desert sheikh became apparent later that day, as she entered the suite of one of Paris’s most prestigious hotels to find the room full of designer dresses, shoes, handbags. Everything the kind of woman she was expected to be could want.

  ‘Now I am beginning to understand what you said to me earlier.’ She was determined to keep the complete shock and wonderment from her voice. There was no way she was going to allow him to know he was playing into the kind of Cinderella moment almost every girl dreamt of. ‘You certainly seem intent on kitting me out properly.’

  ‘As I have said, we need to be seen having a whirlwind affair while we are here in Paris and you need to look the part.’

  This was confirmation that she was not at all like the kind of woman he usually associated with. She didn’t have the experience of men like him to start with. What if he realised that and backed out of their deal? She couldn’t allow that to happen. She would have to ensure she played her part well, be what he wanted her to be.

  ‘I had all this arranged.’ He gestured around him at the rails of clothes. ‘To provide you with all you will need.’

  His deep voice was silky, his words gentle, but there was no mistaking the undertone of icy determination in them. Or the accusation that she was far from suitable and it hurt. For some strange reason it mattered to Tiffany what this man thought of her. She hid her confusion at that revelation behind sharp-edged words.

  ‘If I am so very unsuitable, then why are we even doing this?’ She couldn’t help but test him, push him to the limits.

  She saw his jaw clench as he looked at her from across the luxurious surroundings he was so obviously used to. ‘Our arrangement serves us both well. I am in need of a wife and you are in need of money, part of which you have already received.’

  ‘You make it sound so cold.’ He glared at her and she hid the smile of satisfaction that she had riled him, rattled his gilded cage a little.

  ‘Not getting sentimental on me, are you?’ He moved closer to her, his steps silenced by the thick carpet of the room. Now he was testing her.

  She could feel his presence invading her, feel him taking over the very air she breathed. ‘No way.’ She lifted her chin to look into those fierce eyes and tried to ignore the jolt of something unidentifiable, yet exceedingly powerful, that zapped through her as if he had actually touched her. ‘This is merely another contract as far as I am concerned.’

  ‘Good.’ The word was strong, forceful. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea when I begin to wine and dine you and act like a lover who wants nothing more than to seduce you.’

  She swallowed hard against the sizzle that held both fear and excitement as images raced into her mind of this man doing exactly that. ‘You are not my type, Mr Al-Shehri. There is no need to worry about that.’

  * * *

  The fire in her voice sent a thunderbolt of lust-filled desire streaking through him. Tiffany Chapelle was as good as issuing him a challenge. The challenge of seducing her and right at this moment it was all he could think of doing. He wanted her naked beneath him as she writhed in ecstasy, begging him for more.

  A knock on the hotel-suite door hammered through him as if he’d been slapped in the face. What the hell was he thinking, wanting this woman? All he needed to do was marry her, make her his wife in name only and then live with her for three months. Once his sister’s child was born, they could return to their lives and divorce in two years’ time. If he made love to her, either before or after they were married, it would turn their deal into something so much more. Not to mention harder to extricate himself from.

  ‘Come,’ he snapped as the control began to return to his body, even though his mind still reeled with images of Tiffany naked beneath him as he looked down at her. He never allowed women to get to him like this and he was damn sure Tiffany wouldn’t be any different. It must be the bizarre situation they were now in. A primal need to claim her as his wife in every way.

  He had no time to indulge in such thoughts now. He had a job to do and that was to supply Tiffany with all she would need to carry out her role as his bride-to-be. Whatever else he thought of the state of matrimony and no matter how close he’d come to it once, he had to ensure the woman he’d selected for the role of his bride looked the part, both here and in his kingdom of Shamsumara—the very reason all this was even happening.

  ‘This is Madame Rousseau.’ He introduced the world-renowned designer and was pleased to see a moment of surprise on Tiffany’s face. ‘She will provide you with all you will need for our week in Paris and, of course, your wedding dress.’

  Tiffany turned to the older woman and spoke to her in French. ‘I am honoured, madame.’

  Instantly the woman he’d chosen for a bride was winning over the designer and a dart of admiration filled him. It appeared there was much more to Tiffany Chapelle than he’d first thought. Again that need to know more, to find out more, to explore in unchartered waters surfaced.

  ‘You will be the most beautiful bride,’ Madame Rousseau praised, obviously pleased to be able to converse in her mother tongue. ‘And you will make a fine queen for His Highness.’

  Jafar’s body stilled. He had not yet explained to Tiffany that her role would entail much more than being his bride, that she would have to assume the role of his Queen for the duration of her stay in Shamsumara.

  ‘She will indeed make a fine queen.’ He smiled at her, aware of her scrutiny.

  ‘It’s a role I intend to take very seriously,’ she said with the biggest smile he’d yet seen on those very kissable lips. Confidence oozed from her, making him sure she could carry it off perfectly and letting him know she accepted the challenge.

  ‘So you have kept your romance secret for the last few months.’ Madame Rousseau continued in that wonderfully passionately way she was known for, obviously buying into the story he’d told her. ‘How very clever of you both.’

  Madame Rousseau instructed with the wave of a pointed finger for Tiffany to turn, and as she did so Tiffany’s gaze met his and the sparks of annoyance in her eyes were so powerful and incredibly sexy he had to curtail the need to send the designer away and kiss Tiffany until she begged to be his.

  He pushed that urge to one side as he sat waiting while Tiffany was fitted with the first dress, which he’d instructed t
o be simple but elegant for daytime in Paris, but his mind kept returning to the memory of her last Sunday morning in the short dress with a black leather jacket. Far from expensive, he was sure, but it had made her look a million dollars.

  ‘This one is perfect.’

  Madame Rousseau’s voice ruptured his thoughts and he looked up to see Tiffany in a black dress, loosely cut yet somehow incredibly sexy. To complete the look she had a black clutch bag and dark sunglasses. The whole look showed off her glorious hair colouring and pale complexion to perfection.

  ‘I agree,’ he said, not liking the hard gravelly tone to his voice, and if the expression on Tiffany’s face was anything to go by, neither did she. There was that challenge again.

  He kept that steely control as Tiffany paraded in many different outfits, some of which he rejected, but most of which he agreed with Madame Rousseau that they would be perfect for her role as his bride-to-be.

  ‘There is one more gown,’ Madame Rousseau said. ‘The evening dress for the charity event.’

  ‘Charity event?’ Tiffany questioned and looked at him, her lovely blue eyes wide, like a captured animal who didn’t know whether it should run or stay.

  ‘We have been invited to World Water charity dinner, attended by many famous names.’ He had a twinge of guilt as she suddenly looked completely out of her depth. Surely she’d mixed with the rich and famous before as part of her job? She’d certainly sold her business to him as that, which had been one of the main reasons for going through with his plans; he’d been sure she wouldn’t be fazed by such occasions.

  ‘Come, come,’ the designer said quickly, and Tiffany turned her back on him. He watched her as she walked back into the other room and listened to the delighted sounds from Madame Rousseau.

  Even so, he wasn’t prepared for the way Tiffany looked as she came into the room again, chin held regally high, her hair quickly pulled up roughly into a chignon. Her pale skin showed the beauty of the black lace, set with black gems, but it was the slit to the top of her thigh he couldn’t stop looking at. One pale, slender leg was showcased to perfection as she stood there, taking his appraisal as if she’d been born into the role of a princess to be his Queen. In that moment she was exactly what he wanted in a wife—a real wife. She was desirable and aloof, competent and confident.

  What was he doing entertaining such thoughts?

  He pushed them roughly aside. ‘I agree.’ He looked at Madame Rousseau, unsure if he could look into the blue depths of Tiffany’s eyes and be able to disguise the powerfully raw desire pounding through him.

  * * *

  Later that evening, after having her hair, nails and make-up professionally done, Tiffany stepped into one of the evening dresses Jafar had selected. Tonight they were to have a romantic dinner at one of the city’s top hotels, frequented by rich and famous people from around the world. The bright green fabric of the dress was soft and luxurious against her skin and she couldn’t help but admire it, even though she felt like a bought woman.

  That is exactly what you are. The words taunted her as they played over in her mind. She was Sheikh Jafar Al-Shehri’s bought bride.

  Jafar’s expression as she’d stood waiting for his approval this afternoon had been cold and detached, which only backed up her anxious thoughts. He had been merely approving the items of clothing, ensuring they fitted in with the plans he’d made for the announcement of their engagement.

  She looked down at her left hand, where the biggest diamond she’d ever seen glittered on her third finger. It was rose pink and so unusual that, despite the way he’d given it to her after Madame Rousseau had left, as if having it at all was an afterthought, she had been stunned by its beauty.

  ‘You look perfect.’ Jafar’s voice, the harsh tones of earlier still lingering, dragged her mind back to the present. ‘Perfectly beautiful.’

  She looked at him, wanting to return the compliment, if that was what it was. His dark suit fitted his tall, athletic body, accentuating his muscular contours that could only come from regular workouts, but as he came closer her words dried on her lips.

  ‘The colour shows your glorious hair off.’ He reached out and took the ends of her loose hair between his thumb and fingers and her breath caught audibly in her throat, her gaze meeting the vibrant colour of his. What was this power he had over her? Every nerve cell in her body was on high alert when he was near, waiting for his touch—wanting it.

  She should step back, away from his power, but she couldn’t. Something dangerous simmered around them but still she couldn’t move. Just what was it this man possessed that made her act so differently from normal? Usually she wouldn’t entertain anything that was even remotely like flirting. This wasn’t flirting. Instinctively she knew this was much deeper, much more primitive, and it excited and scared her at the same time.

  ‘Madame Rousseau’s choices are amazing,’ she enthused, desperate to talk of neutral things, needing to calm the erratic thump of her heart.

  ‘I told you,’ he practically purred, but she knew this jungle cat was far from docile, ‘that when I do something, I do it properly, which is why I always hire Madame Rousseau when I am in Paris.’

  ‘You do?’ The question was out before she could stop it. So too was the hurt that she was not the first woman to have been paraded before him like this, kitted out with everything to meet his demanding requirements.

  The urge to throw a tantrum, to stamp her foot and march out rushed through her, but the memory of Bethany’s face as she’d told her what she was about to do calmed the need to run, the need to be away from this man—as far as possible. It was the hope that had mixed with the shock in her sister’s eyes that had convinced her she was doing the right thing and recalling that now would help to keep her focused on what she had to be. A woman of quality that could grace the arm of a man such as Jafar Al-Shehri.

  He looked into her eyes and moved closer and for one heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Properly kiss her. Her lips parted and softened even though panic rushed through her. She did want to be kissed. It wasn’t part of their deal but right at that moment she didn’t care about the deal or the money. All she cared about was tasting this man on her lips, feeling his breath mix with hers and, most of all, responding in a way she’d never, ever, wanted to do with any man.

  * * *

  Jafar’s control had almost slipped. He hadn’t even left the hotel suite and all he wanted was to take Tiffany to his bed. Never had a woman had such a profound effect on him, not even his childhood sweetheart, Niesha. But then she had never been forbidden fruit and even if she had her centre would have been poisoned by her greedy ambition, which had showed itself in time to stop him making the biggest mistake of his life and marrying her.

  The familiar stab of rage that accompanied thoughts of Niesha was a welcome relief to the hot, searing passion of need coursing through him right now. ‘We should go,’ he said coldly, swallowing down the taste of betrayal that always reared its head at the thought of just how low Niesha had stooped when she’d married his cousin.

  ‘I think that is best.’ The supercilious tone of her voice didn’t hide her embarrassment at what had almost happened. There was no denying the blush on her pale skin, which the sexy dusting of freckles couldn’t hide.

  Had she wanted the kiss? Had she wanted more? He gritted his teeth against the questions, determined to remain in control. All he had to do was remind himself why Tiffany Chapelle was here with him, why she’d agreed to the deal. She was as motivated by money and position as Niesha was. Were all women the same?

  The question had hung over him as they dined in the finest restaurant Paris could offer, with views of the Eiffel Tower as it shimmered like gold in the night, then lit up with glimmering lights for the first five minutes of every hour. He’d thought, having seen it now three times during their meal, that his need, the insatiable desire to kiss Tiffany, would have eased—but it hadn’t.

  Time to talk busin
ess. Maybe that would remind him that she wasn’t here for his pleasure, but for the stability of his kingdom. ‘When we arrive in Shamsumara there will be a feast. One that is celebrated every year, but this time it will be bigger than normal in honour of your arrival.’

  ‘My arrival? Why?’ Had she really thought she could hide herself away from his people?

  ‘You are my bride, Tiffany, and my country has been in a state of upheaval since my brother’s death. Your arrival is causing much excitement.’

  Her eyes widened in surprise and he fought hard against the urge to smile. Better she thought he was cold and detached.

  ‘Even though I am not from your country?’ The doubt and hesitation in her voice were endearing.

  ‘Especially because of that, and also because you will be my Queen.’ He sensed her reservations.

  ‘And what is expected of your Queen?’ The question darted back at him.

  ‘There will be times when we must be seen together during the three months you are in Shamsumara and that is all I ask of you. To be at my side and show an interest in the kingdom and its people.’

  ‘How can I best do that?’

  Her question gave him hope of successfully acting out the marriage in public. ‘My aide informs me that you are seen as a new hope and it has been suggested you should build on that, create a project to occupy your time while in Shamsumara. One to call your own.’

  He thought of the discussion he’d had with his aide in the days after he and Tiffany had agreed on the deal. He was the only other person who knew that the marriage was a business deal, not just out of the necessity of drawing up the contract, but because he would be best able to serve both Jafar and Tiffany knowing the truth—especially when it came to getting a divorce in two years.

  ‘Like what?’ She frowned at him, her lips forming a pout that was so seductive, but with the air of innocence about her right now, he was sure she had no idea just what it did to him.