Hired to Wear the Sheikh's Ring

by Rachael Thomas

  Was it a good omen or a bad one?

  Her step faltered but she couldn’t take her gaze from the handsome man in front of her, now so very close yet so utterly unreachable. His stubble-covered jaw flexed and she knew he was biting down hard in that way she’d already seen him do many times. Was he having the same misgivings as she was? The same doubt?

  He smiled and relief surged through her as it reached his eyes, softening the hard lines of his face—and her heart. It thumped wildly and a host of butterflies took flight inside her, making her light-headed.

  She let go of her father’s arm and began to walk towards him again and as she reached the steps up to the dais, he moved towards her, took her hand and drew her up. Behind her there were a few gasps and she wondered if he should have done that, if he should have touched her before they were legally married.

  It was then that she noticed he held a single flower. Large and white like an exotic orchid. Just as she was wondering why, he held it out to her with a smile. Once again, he was so good at acting the role of enamoured bridegroom that she could almost believe the smile was real. She took the orchid in her free hand, glad that her small but exquisite bouquet wasn’t large, and lifted it up, wanting to smell the scent of the flower.

  ‘You must put it in your bouquet,’ he said softly, as if he only wanted her to hear.

  She did as he asked and slipped it among her flowers, many of which she’d never seen before, and then looked back up at him, trying to chase away the nerves that were rampaging through her right now. Behind her were Lilly, Bethany and Kelly and in the assembled guests, she now knew, was her mother. What would she have to say about this arrangement? Not that it mattered now; Tiffany had gone too far, committed herself completely. She was doing this for her sister and right now nothing else mattered. She’d been paid a large sum of money for these three months and that would ensure that, not only were Bethany and Kelly free of all the threat of financial ruin, but she could set herself up again.

  Lilly’s advice rushed back at her as Jafar smiled at her, making her heart leap wildly. Was it the thought that she wanted more than the kiss they’d shared at the Eiffel Tower restaurant? That other than Jafar refusing her, reminding her she’d stated the marriage was in name only, there was no reason she couldn’t be his true wife? That she could enjoy this time with him without the worry of future commitment or false promises?

  The idea of being his sent a ripple of awareness all over her and she blushed at the thought.

  ‘Now we can be married.’ Jafar’s words wiped out all those thoughts and she looked at the two ornately carved gold chairs, placed like a medieval banquet in the centre of the dais overlooking the assembled guests. The chanting of a man, dressed in white robes with a gold sash adorning them, was the official words that would join them in marriage and once the rings were exchanged the deal would be sealed in the most unbreakable way.

  She would be Jafar’s wife.

  He led her to the chairs and she took her place as best she could in the voluminous folds of white diamond-encrusted silk. She tried hard to remember all she’d been told about what was now happening and watched as drinks were passed out to the guests in preparation for the toasting of the bride and groom.

  Then Jafar took her hand. ‘Now the rings.’

  Tiffany looked down at her right hand, onto which Niesha had told her to put her engagement ring in readiness. Once Jafar took the ring and placed it on her left hand and she had done the same to the gold ring he wore on his right hand, they would be married. A hired bride but a legal wife.

  His fingers were warm as he slid the pink diamond from her finger and she looked up, instantly realising it was a mistake. That spark arced between them again and, together with memories of the kiss at the Eiffel Tower, heated her body. Try as she might she couldn’t look away, not even when his eyes became the darkest of greens. He took her left hand without breaking eye contact and she felt the ring being slid onto her third finger.

  She was so enrapt by his heady gaze that she forgot what should happen next. He prompted her, his voice deep and husky. ‘Now you must do the same.’

  She blushed beneath the intensity in his eyes and focused her attention on doing what was expected. She took his right hand and eased the gold ring from his finger. Foolishly she looked up at him. The spark of desire in his eyes made her breath catch and for a moment all she could do was look at him. Then she felt him remove his right hand and replace it with the other.

  She blinked back her confusion, caused by the swell of heady desire and passion tossing her around like a small ship on a stormy sea. There was the promise of quieter waters, of gentleness if she was brave enough to take it. Lilly’s advice floated through her mind once more and she swallowed down the cocktail of emotions and concentrated on completing the ritual that would bind them together in marriage.

  The man in the white robes chanted more loudly and applause came from the guests. ‘We are now married. You are my Queen.’

  * * *

  Jafar had called on all his control and stayed firm against the powerful surge of desire that had raged inside him as Tiffany had slid his ring from his right hand and onto his left, making her legally his wife—his Queen.

  Right now, as he looked at her, oblivious to anyone around them, he wanted to kiss her, to taste her lips against his. He wanted to feel the same heated passion as he had in Paris and he wished now he’d insisted on inserting many more Western influences into their ceremony, because then he’d have had an excuse to kiss her. Instead he would have to wait until they were alone in their suite, and after the kiss in the Eiffel Tower he wasn’t sure he could risk kissing her. Not when she’d made it clear, despite the attraction between them, that she didn’t want a physical relationship. As much as he wanted to kiss her again he couldn’t, not when she threatened his control so completely it was unnerving and exciting at the same time.

  Her lips parted as she looked up at him, inviting him with eyes as blue as the depths of the ocean, currents of passion swirling in them. Would she welcome his kiss again? The darkening of her eyes told him one thing but the tenseness of her body told him the opposite. Was that because she was fighting the desire or because she wished she weren’t here doing this, that there had been some other way to help out her sister?

  ‘We are now married.’ He kept his voice firm, shutting down the desire that pulsed inside him, demanding satisfaction. ‘The celebrations will continue for a few hours, then most guests will leave and we will be escorted to the Royal Suite and, as the tradition of Shamsumara dictates when a ruler marries, we will be shut in and guards will be placed at the main doors to the suite.’

  ‘We were alone for a week in Paris. We coped then,’ she said, her lashes lowering and a hint of a blush creeping over her cheeks, making her freckles, or sun kisses as he now thought of them, stand out. ‘I am sure we can manage in the vastness of our suite here in the palace.’

  Right at this moment he didn’t think he could manage to ignore the desire even if he banished her to another country. He wanted her, desired her. His body craved hers in a way that heated his blood, pushing his legendry control to new limits, testing his honour. She looked up at him, so cool, so aloof that he would give anything to find the passionate woman he’d kissed as they’d viewed Paris from the Eiffel Tower and this time he wanted more than a kiss—much more.

  ‘You do not find it strange?’

  ‘That we will effectively be locked in? No. I accept that your country will do many things differently and, after all, nobody needs to know what happens—or doesn’t happen between us.’

  The noise level of the celebrations increased, giving him the opportunity to talk more without being overheard. ‘Being shut away in our suite, with a guard at the door, is part of a long-standing tradition to secure the future heir for the kingdom. The flower I gave you is a symbol of fertility and, as part of the service, was blessed before you entered the hall. It is these traditions that mean we
will have to remain married for two years, as the marriage will be assumed to have been consummated.’

  ‘What about your word as leader of the kingdom? Wouldn’t that be good enough?’

  ‘Nobody will believe otherwise, Tiffany. Not when you are a beautiful woman and especially not with my reputation.’ There was amusement in his voice and she followed his lead, allowing herself to relax.

  ‘Ah, yes, the playboy prince,’ she teased. Jafar was pleased to see the light-hearted girl he’d talked with in the English garden on a Sunday morning was beginning to emerge.

  ‘Precisely and on top of that we have acted the part of lovers since the engagement was announced. Two years is what we agreed, but you only need to stay in Shamsumara for three months, or until my sister’s baby is born.’

  ‘No pressure, then.’ She laughed and something softened inside him. He liked her sense of humour, liked how she handled all that was being thrown at her. Just as she had done in Paris, when she’d been instructed in the many traditions that she would have to adhere to while living as his wife, the Queen of Shamsumara.

  * * *

  Behind them there was movement as the door closed and the key turned in the lock. She was alone with her husband and the attraction and desire Tiffany had for him threatened everything she’d promised herself since she’d agreed to be his hired bride. The bridal suite was in almost subdued darkness, lit by many lanterns, their flickering flames creating a romantic ambiance, which was reflected in the Eastern music subtly filling the warm night air. The scent of incense completed the mood perfectly.

  This was her wedding night. The night she’d always thought she’d give her virginity to the man she’d spend the rest of her life with. Instead she was with a man she would only spend three months with, yet that made no difference to the heady desire she had for him and she found herself wishing this could truly be her wedding night—the night she gave herself to the desert sheikh. A night of complete fantasy.

  ‘Do you require help with your dress?’ Jafar spoke, shattering her thoughts until they resembled the hundreds of sparkling stars in the night sky beyond the ornate arched windows.

  ‘That would be a good idea if one of the ladies is available. Or Lilly?’ The thought of being able to speak with her friend fired a jolt of excitement through her. Lilly would know just what advice to give. It might not be what she herself wanted to hear, but she would tell her straight exactly what she thought she should do.

  He raised his brows in amused disbelief, taking away that hardened expression he’d worn for most of the wedding celebrations. ‘We are totally alone, Tiffany, and you will have to make do with me.’

  ‘Oh.’ Shock jolted her from her thoughts. As she moved across the marble floor the silk of her dress rustled and she knew there was no way she was ever coming out of it without some help.

  Her heart pounded hard. Could she trust herself to allow him close, to touch her?

  ‘You have my word that nothing will happen.’ His voice lowered, becoming silky smooth. ‘Unless you want it to.’

  Unless you want it to.

  Did he know that was her deepest and most secret wish? That she wanted something to happen—wanted him?

  ‘I just want to take this dress off.’ She reached up to unpin the veil.

  ‘No, wait.’ He crossed the room, bringing him unbearably close. ‘I have wanted to do this since you stepped up onto the dais with me.’

  She held her breath as he raised his hands and unpinned the veil from her hair. His gaze locked with hers as he let it float to the floor. Had she imagined the crackle of the spark that jumped between them?

  ‘And this too.’ He pulled the few pins from her hair and it tumbled around her shoulders, the music swaying her mind into a turmoil of passion-infused thoughts.

  She should back away from the temptation he was putting before her. She wanted to be kissed again as she had been in Paris. Only this time she knew she wouldn’t want it to stop. She wanted to forget everything for tonight—every bit of their deal. Was he just entertaining himself and tormenting her or did he want her as much as she wanted him?

  He held her hair, focusing on it, and she backed away a little, forcing him to let go. She should ask him to unbutton the back of her dress, then she could slip away, go and hide in one of the other rooms of the suite. Get as far away from the temptation of this man as she could.

  She turned her back on him. ‘Can you unbutton the dress, please?’ With a flutter of anticipation she lifted her hair in readiness. Seconds ticked by and the tension in the air ratcheted up to unbearable levels until eventually she heard Jafar move closer again. His touch was gentle as he began to unbutton the first of the many small buttons down her back.

  Tiffany’s breathing deepened as she waited, head lowered, holding her hair against her neck. As more of the buttons were opened her nerves rose and her heart thumped, nearly skittering out of control when his fingers brushed her bare back.

  Jafar paused.

  She waited. The anticipation of the moment was almost too much, then he continued his task until the bodice of the dress loosened slightly around her and she became acutely aware of the fact that she was braless.

  ‘I can manage now.’ Her voice had become a husky whisper and she didn’t dare move in case his fingers touched her skin again. She didn’t think she could tolerate this much more. It was sheer torture.

  ‘There are more yet.’ His cracked whisper only added to the sensation of being close to him, feeling his touch on her skin or the pressure as the bodice of the dress moved when he unbuttoned yet another small white button.

  Lilly’s advice was all she could think about now. Would he reject her, push her away as he had done in Paris, if she told him she wanted to be kissed again or would he kiss her—and more?

  ‘Do you feel it too?’ The whispered question was out before she could stop it.

  Again he paused in his task, this time holding the bodice of the dress taut at her lower back. ‘The desire?’

  ‘Yes.’ That one word was so husky, so full of emotion she hardly recognised it as coming from her lips.

  ‘More than you can imagine.’

  ‘Would it be so wrong to give in to it?’ Her nerves almost failed her as she asked the question in a whisper. ‘When tonight is like a fantasy?’

  Silence came back at her and she was glad she couldn’t see him, see the expression on his face. What kind of fool was she? He’d been acting the part of lover all along in order to portray their marriage as real. He wasn’t really interested in her.

  ‘Is it what you really want?’ The deep sensual tone of his voice sent a ripple of awareness cascading over her.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She pulled away from him and walked towards the window, desperate not to look into his face, to see the shock in his handsome features. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not used to being in situations like this.’

  ‘Are you referring to wedding nights or seducing a man?’ Was that a hint of amusement in his tone?

  She turned to face him, a shy smile on her lips. ‘Both.’

  ‘That pleases me.’ He moved towards her again, coming to stand next to her at the window, looking out at the night sky as if it held the answer to her question.

  She looked up at him just as he turned to her. There was no mistaking the desire that darkened his eyes, even for a woman as inexperienced as she was. ‘It does?’

  ‘Tiffany, you must know I want nothing more than to make love to you—tonight. Our wedding night. I want this night to be real in every sense of the word.’

  Her heart thumped so hard she had to lean against the cool marble of the arched window. He wanted her—really wanted her.

  ‘You need to know—’ she began, aware that she had to tell him now she was a virgin. She wasn’t, after all, his true bride and if he was expecting experience he would be very disappointed.

  ‘There is nothing I need to know.’ He cut across her nervous words as he moved clos
er, pulling her to him. ‘Other than you want me to make love to you, to make you truly my wife, my Queen.’

  ‘I want that.’ Those words were a husky whisper, but he didn’t wait to hear more as his lips claimed hers in a kiss that was gentle yet demanding in equal measures. The desire she’d tried so hard to ignore leapt to life, sending heat spiralling through her.

  She wound her arms around his neck, pulling herself against the gold silk fabric of his wedding outfit, and as his hand slipped inside the open back of her dress to caress her skin she gasped in pleasure. He kissed down her neck as the passion increased and she knew she had to try again to tell him she had no idea what to expect or what to do to please him.

  ‘Jafar,’ she gasped, which had the effect of increasing his desire, his assault on her senses. ‘Jafar, I need to tell you...’

  His lips trailed kisses back to her face, back to her lips and he whispered against them. ‘Then tell me, because very soon I will be incapable of processing anything. You are driving me wild.’

  ‘I’m—’ she began but his kiss smothered the word. She pushed her hands against his chest and forced him to look at her. ‘I’m a virgin, Jafar.’

  * * *

  Jafar’s senses reeled. His bride, his wife, the woman he wanted to claim in a passionate frenzy was a virgin? Had he heard correctly? It should have doused the desire, calmed the passion, but it only intensified it.

  She was giving herself, her most precious gift, to him and on their wedding night—their fake wedding night. It should change everything. He couldn’t knowingly take her virginity, then divorce her in two years’ time. This isn’t a conventional marriage, he reminded himself, his sense of honour slipping away into the mists of desire. This is a business deal. A contract they had both willingly entered into and, more than that, she was as attracted to him as he was to her.