‘The final service of the evening is almost over, but they have agreed to cater to our special occasion and I have arranged for a table with the best view.’ The command in his voice was clear and the implications that he could just arrange whatever he pleased wasn’t lost on her.
‘I didn’t expect this,’ she said and fixed her attention on the view because she couldn’t look at him, not when she could still feel the heat of his lips on hers.
As they were seated at the table with an unrivalled view of the Palais de Chaillot, Tiffany could feel herself falling under the spell of romance. She fought it, but it was all too much to resist, the soft music playing in the background, the view, but most of all the man himself.
‘I need to know who you would like to attend the wedding.’ Jafar dropped the question between them, shattering the illusion of romance she’d allowed to build up inside her. ‘What about your sister and your niece to be your bridesmaids?’
Was this an afterthought because of what the reporters had asked as they’d arrived? Did he see their attendance as a way of validating the marriage, making it appear more real? ‘Do we really need to involve them? It’s not as if the marriage is for real.’
‘I thought you would welcome a friendly face.’
‘Or give the whole thing the appearance of being more real.’ She couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice, but at least that stab of pain was more preferable than the soft, romantic notions it had just replaced. ‘Do whatever you want. I doubt Bethany will come anyway.’
After the way her sister had pleaded with her not to go through with the marriage, that they would find another way to sort out the financial mess they were in, she doubted Bethany would have anything to do with the actual marriage ceremony—especially if it meant travelling to another country. There was no way she could afford a plane ticket anywhere right now.
‘What about your best friend?’ His question surprised her and she tried to think if she’d spoken to him of Lilly.
‘How do you know about Lilly?’
‘I don’t.’ There was a hint of amusement in his voice and it confused her. She was trying to be irritated with him and all these questions were just pushing her back to the notion that he cared, that there was an undercurrent of something romantic between them. ‘I just know every woman has one.’
‘I haven’t told Lilly yet.’ She knew full well that Lilly knew after the texts she’d received this last week. Bethany must have told her and she owed her friend a call to explain just what it was she was doing and why. All she needed was the confidence to actually tell her with conviction.
‘I’d like your parents to be there too. I want to make sure you feel comfortable on your wedding day, Tiffany—and happy.’ His voice had softened, as if he really did care, and she recalled the shock on her mother’s and father’s faces as she’d told them she was in love and getting married. She hadn’t been able to tell either of them the truth.
‘You are making a good show of it.’ She threw the hot words back at him, needing to cover up the flutter of attraction that was threatening once more to erupt and overflow.
He took her hand across the table. She should pull back, shouldn’t look into his eyes, but she couldn’t do anything she thought she should do. She was once again well and truly under his spell.
‘Nothing about tonight has been for show.’ There was fierceness to his words, as if he too was fighting the growing attraction between them. The fact that he wanted her, found her attractive, only heightened hers for him. She wanted to be desired by him—and so much more.
‘But we agreed nothing would happen between us.’ Her voice was a whisper and there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Had she walked into a trap of her own making? Right now she didn’t care. She wanted to be caught by this man.
‘We can also agree to enjoy this moment for what it is.’ His thumb and finger were caressing her hand, making thought impossible.
Her breath hitched noticeably. ‘What is this moment, Jafar?’
‘The moment when a man and woman who are attracted to one another forget all else and live just for the moment.’ His poetic words sealed her fate and she was eternally grateful they were in a restaurant where nothing other than holding hands across the table could happen.
He let her hand go and stood up, towering over her and the table, dominating every bit of space, every bit of air she breathed. ‘Let us make the most of the impressive view.’
‘But what of other diners?’
‘They have all gone.’ That self-assured satisfaction was back in his voice. ‘As have the staff.’
‘We are alone?’
‘Alone enough to enjoy the romantic view, yes. I have paid well for this and want to share this moment in Paris with you.’
He held out his hand for her and she took it, placed her napkin on the table and stood up, but as he didn’t move it brought her very close to him. Close enough to kiss him if she had the courage.
She lowered her chin, averted her eyes from that powerful gaze, but with his free hand he lifted her chin back up, forced her to look into his eyes. His sparked with gold as they bored into her soul, dragging her from her corner of self-doubt.
‘I want to kiss you, Tiffany.’
Now she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. He’d successfully snared her, catching her in his trap, and all she wanted was release. The kind of release that would only come from feeling his lips on hers, not for show because cameras were flashing, but for real.
‘I want that too. I want you to kiss me,’ she whispered, her heart thumping so hard it sounded in her head like a drum.
He moved his fingers from her chin and stroked the side of his thumb over her cheek and her eyelashes fluttered and closed at the sensation of fire and heat that bubbled up from deep within her. She shouldn’t be doing this at all, but everything felt so right, so real, how could she not?
‘You are so beautiful.’ His hoarse whisper only stoked that fire higher and she opened her eyes. He moved closer, his hand sliding round to the back of her head, holding her right where he wanted her.
Her breath was deep and hard and she knew her breasts were rising and falling rapidly as desire began to consume her. She parted her lips as he moved closer still, his eyes locked on hers. Should she close hers, block out the image of his swirling with hot passion?
His lips touched hers and she closed her eyes, pulling herself against him, snagging in a breath as her body made contact with his. He pulled her hard against him with his free arm. She could feel the muscled contours of his chest, the strength in his arm and, more potently, the hardness of his arousal as her body responded, moulding her to him in a way that set loose the fire of desire she’d been hoping to control.
He murmured something against her lips and she sank deeper into the desire that was now flooding through her. The kiss hardened, became more demanding, but instead of pulling back, instead of ending it as she knew she should do, she returned the kiss with a fever she’d never thought possible. His hand gripped her harder at the back of her neck, angling her head so that he could force her lips apart and plunder her mouth with his tongue. She gasped her pleasure into his mouth, which only made him demand more from her.
Then as suddenly as it all started he stopped, let her go and she staggered backwards, gasping for breath as she clutched at the back of the chair. His desire-heavy gaze travelled down her body as if he were physically removing the black lace dress from her and, although it was so wrong, right now it was precisely what she wanted him to do.
‘Perhaps we should return to our suite.’ The firmness of his voice shocked her. Didn’t he feel the same wild passion thumping through him? ‘To sleep alone, as the tradition of my country dictates.’
‘I think in light of our deal that is the best thing to do.’ Inside she was crying out for him, wanting his kiss and more. Thankfully her head was once more ruling the situation, crushing down the passion he’d evoked with that kiss, the like of w
hich she’d never before experienced. She’d only ever kissed her previous boyfriend and that had always been a chaste affair, but what she’d just shared with Jafar had been dangerous yet wildly exciting.
‘As you wish.’ He turned from her and she knew the moment was gone, that they were back on track, back to being two people entering a business deal. The lovers that had surfaced briefly were well and truly suppressed.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE SEARING INTENSITY of the kiss last night in Paris soon became overshadowed by the reality of being in the desert kingdom of Shamsumara, where Jafar was obviously respected by his people. Tiffany had a twinge of guilt for deceiving them, but determinedly she pushed it aside. The fake marriage had never been her idea and, yes, she would be benefitting, but it was all about Jafar getting what he wanted, preventing his cousin from claiming the kingdom as his own. Would she meet this cousin now she was here?
The palace was beautifully striking and the early evening sun was casting a gold glow over all the intricately decorated archways they were walking through. She followed her husband-to-be, his long purposeful strides hard to keep up with as she tried to look around her too.
This would be her home for the next three months. Jafar paused outside a set of ornate doors. The thought hit her that tomorrow he would be her husband and for the next three months they would be expected to live together as man and wife. She thought again of the kiss in Paris. Could she be with him for that time and not want to be kissed again?
‘This will be our suite, but for this evening I will be at the opposite end of the palace as tradition dictates.’ The velvety tones of his voice were still evident despite the authority in his words and relief rushed through her; she was thankful that she wouldn’t have to spend time alone with him tonight when all she could think about was last night. Her body still ached for him, her lips desperate to feel his claiming hers once more.
Last night had been a reckless mistake and she couldn’t allow it to happen again.
‘Of course, I wouldn’t have expected anything less.’ She walked into the room, stunned at the height of the ceilings. Through an archway that was almost key-shaped she could see a bed draped in gold silks and much bigger than any she’d ever seen. Gold lace hung from a frame above the bed and rested behind the array of pillows and cushions. It was opulent, luxurious and totally beyond anything she could have imagined.
It also signified exactly what their marriage was to be about as far as his kingdom was concerned. Tiffany was shocked at the regret that fluttered after that thought. She wanted to be in that bed, with Jafar. She wanted to explore what it was her body was begging for whenever he was close.
‘The bridal bed,’ Jafar said, coming to stand directly behind her, and she blushed at her wayward thoughts. He lowered his voice to a whisper, making her breath catch, her body heat. ‘We will be expected to share it tomorrow night. Or at least make it appear as if we are, but for this evening you can enjoy it alone.’
‘It’s quite beautiful and the perfect place for a desert king and his bride to be ensconced for a week—if it were all for real.’ She had to set some boundaries for herself as much as him, because if she didn’t she was sure she would want to be kissed like last night again and she had to remember this wasn’t a real marriage. This was a deal. He’d paid her and paid her well. Whatever else was between them, it meant nothing.
‘Don’t be fooled that this isn’t for real, Tiffany. This time tomorrow you will be my wife.’
She turned to face him and instantly wished she hadn’t. His eyes darkened, becoming like the depths of the forest where the sun didn’t reach even at the height of the day. ‘The ceremony will be real, as will the three months I am to remain here, but nothing else. Our marriage is a deal, nothing more.’
How was she going to spend a whole week in his company, in a setting as blissfully romantic as this, and not want him to kiss her—or more? Last night she’d tasted the kind of paradise she’d thought only existed in dreams, the kind of passion and desire she’d never thought herself capable of. She should never have given into the need her body had suddenly craved. A need only this man could meet. She was losing control fast and needed to find it again if she stood any chance of making it through the next week, let alone the next three months.
‘We understand one another well, I think,’ he said as several women slipped in through the open door behind them. ‘Now that your maids have arrived to be your chaperones, I will leave you in their capable hands and you can be assured that you will not have to be alone with me at all until after tomorrow’s celebrations.’
Tiffany watched him go, aware of the speculation of the young women watching her. Would they speak English? How was she going to manage without Jafar to guide her? The urge to call him back almost made her rush from the room; instead she pulled off the black headscarf she’d been instructed to wear for their arrival. She was in the company of only women now and could relax—a little at least.
‘Your hair is so beautiful.’ One of the maids stepped forward with a friendly smile, making Tiffany suddenly shy and so pleased too that she could at least talk to someone in English. ‘My name is Aaleyah and we are here to serve you. A bath is drawn and your clothes for the feast this evening are ready.’
Relief filled Tiffany as she instantly sensed she might have an ally in Aaleyah. ‘I’d like to ensure I do things right,’ she said, hoping to instil authority into her voice instead of the nerves fluttering through her. ‘I hope that you will help me.’
‘Of course,’ Aaleyah said, her English very good. ‘That is what we are here for.’
* * *
Jafar had been anxious for Tiffany as he’d walked away from the Royal Suite. He was glad now he’d put in motion the idea of her sister, friend and parents attending the wedding tomorrow before he’d even mentioned it to her. It would be a fitting surprise for her and at least she would have familiar faces around her. It was no different from what he would have done if they had been embarking on a real marriage.
The idea of a real marriage with Tiffany, of truly making her his wife, sent a rush of throbbing lust through him. If this were a real marriage, then tomorrow night they would be together in the bridal bed, exploring the passion that sparked between them. Passion he knew she felt too, despite her words of bravado.
Now he waited for her arrival at the feast. Her first public appearance. When she finally arrived, nerves were clearly etched onto her beautiful face but as she entered the banqueting hall, her entourage of women following closely, he let a breath of relief escape him. She looked absolutely stunning and completely regal.
Beneath the black silk abaya, which she wore open, he could see her silver dress, fitting her sensually curvy body yet conforming to the traditions expected of his bride-to-be on the feast before their wedding. Her lovely deep brown hair was piled up on her head, which was covered in fine black chiffon. He imagined removing the chiffon and unpinning her hair, letting it tumble down her back.
He’d seriously have to get better control of his libido before tomorrow evening. He had no intention of making the marriage a true marriage by consummating it and his aide’s words of caution came back to him like a spirit on the desert wind.
‘You will have no choice, sire, but to remain married to your English bride for two years. Your ability to rule will be brought into question if the marriage is not seen to be real—just as it will if you are not seen to be spending the first week of marriage alone with your bride.’
The only thing in jeopardy if he gave into the building desire for the woman he’d hired as his bride was his honour—and honour was everything to him.
He focused his mind elsewhere. There was nothing he wanted less than any questions over his claim as the rightful ruler of Shamsumara. If it hadn’t been for his cousin’s underhand attempts at taking over the kingdom after his brother’s death, he would never have had to find a bride and do the one thing he really didn’t want to do.
Tiffany took her place at his side as he sat on the raised platform at the top of the banqueting hall. She settled onto the large red and gold cushions, not at all fazed by how unfamiliar such an arrangement must be to her, and it struck him that she too was as calculated in accepting his offer as Niesha, the woman he’d always believed would one day be his wife, had been.
‘How was your evening?’ He was well aware that she would have been bathed in scented water and then pampered before being helped into her dress and tomorrow it would be even more of a ritual. Tomorrow she would be being prepared for him—his pleasure. He shoved the thought aside, angry at his lack of control yet again as his body heated at the thought of holding her again, kissing. Was it so wrong to desire the woman you were about to marry, even if only for convenience?
‘A little daunting. I am beginning to wonder why I’m here, if I can do it,’ she confessed and he didn’t miss the fact that she wouldn’t look him in the eye. Was it because she was trying to be sensitive to his kingdom’s culture or because she trusted herself as little as he did? Part of him hoped it was the latter.
‘It’s too late for that now.’ His fierce tone was born out of the need to be totally in control, something which, if he was honest, he’d barely been around this woman. Especially last night. Memories of the kiss, of her lips against his for a second time, obliterated the tenuous grip on his control. It was a kiss that had felt very real, not at all like the staged one as they’d arrived at the charity event.
‘I have no intention of backing out. I need the money. Remember?’
As if he needed reminding of the terms of their deal—his marriage. Irritated by her aloofness, even though it was probably for the best, he turned his attention to the newly arrived guests.
His cousin Simdan’s perfectly timed arrival, just after Tiffany, only highlighted how much of a threat this man was to Shamsumara. He was as threatening to the success of what he and Tiffany were doing as his wife, Niesha, and their young son were. She was the woman he himself should have married if her need to do better than the spare heir of Shamsumara, as he was then, hadn’t forced her to break their long-standing engagement and marry Simdan. He had grown up knowing he was to marry Niesha, but Simdan was more than welcome to such a scheming woman. Whatever his cousin thought, Jafar was adamant that Simdan wasn’t going to take his kingdom with the same ease he’d taken his promised bride—or at all.
Hired to Wear the Sheikh's Ring Page 6