Hired to Wear the Sheikh's Ring

by Rachael Thomas

  Agonising pain slashed at her heart. He wasn’t prepared to fight for her or even his child. Sadness percolated through her as she accepted he’d never love her. ‘I won’t change my mind, Jafar. I am leaving.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE NEXT MORNING Tiffany woke early with a sense of foreboding, after a restless night that had seen her tossing and turning. Aaleyah had slept in one of the suite’s other rooms for a second night and Tiffany couldn’t decide if she was being guarded or protected. Or even worse, if it was the child she now carried that was being watched over.

  With her mind still restless she sat up in the large bed she’d slept alone in. Last night, after the incident with Simdan, she’d told Jafar she was leaving and he hadn’t even tried to persuade her to stay. He’d ordered Aaleyah to remain a second night in her company because he hadn’t cared enough for her to do so himself.

  These thoughts had whirred in her mind all night and as she’d finally given up on sleep she had come to her decision. She had to leave Jafar, leave Shamsumara and end this sham of a marriage. Not for his sake, or hers, but for the life they’d created. A baby he had admitted to never wanting.

  All she could think about now was returning to England and starting a new life, where she could prepare for motherhood alone. It was ironic that she now faced this prospect when she’d come here to help Bethany do the same. Now she too was destined to be a single mother.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling more dishevelled than ever, but there was no way she was going to allow Jafar to see her like this. She would leave the palace full of pride with her head held high. With that thought in mind she showered and dressed in one of her own summer dresses, shunning the vast array of colourful silks Jafar had filled her closet with.

  Aaleyah entered the room and stopped, the smile of greeting she always had missing from her face. ‘A car is ready to transfer you to the plane.’

  ‘Thank you, Aaleyah. There is one further thing I need you to do.’ She looked at the maid, forcing hardness into her heart, trying to block out the pain of everything from saying goodbye to her beautiful dog, to walking out on the man she loved.

  He will never love you.

  Words that had filled her mind during the long wakeful hours of last night sounded once more. ‘I need you to take care of Leah. As much as I would like to take her, I can’t.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Aaleyah patted her leg and Leah trotted over to her. Neither of them seemed worried that she was leaving and it just convinced her all the more she was doing the right thing. Pregnant or not, she couldn’t stay here any longer. Not when the man she loved would never love her in return.

  She wanted to ask where Jafar was, wanted to know if he was going to see her before she went. He might not want her as his wife any longer, might not want to acknowledge her child as his heir, but he was still the father of her child created during a night of passion. Surely that counted for something? Pride stopped her from saying anything. His message was more than clear.

  He didn’t want her in his life and she wouldn’t beg.

  ‘Good, then I’m ready to leave.’ Tiffany picked up the one small bag of her possessions and walked out of the suite that held such bittersweet memories for her. She bit down hard against the sadness and the tears that threatened. Crying seemed to be her default setting at the moment, but she wouldn’t give in to that need. Not now. Not until she was high above the desert and well on her way back to England.

  Without a backward glance she left the luxurious Royal Suite and with head held high made her way to the waiting car.

  A large black SUV waited in the shade of the palace entrance, the finality of its presence taking her breath away. Jafar really did want her gone. What had she expected? That he would be here waiting to stop her, begging her not to leave, declaring undying love for her? That was the stuff of fairy tales with happy endings. That was the fantasy she knew would never happen. Jafar’s absence as she walked out of his life was reality. This was the end of their deal, the end of their marriage and the start of her new life.

  She’d arrived in Shamsumara a virgin and had fallen in love with the man she’d been hired to marry. She had lost her virginity to him in a night of such intense pleasure it still made heat curl deep within her to think about it and she now carried that man’s child. Her life would never be the same again, but she was determined that if that child was a son she would show him so much love and affection he would never hurt a woman as Jafar had hurt her.

  Her bag was taken from her by one of the palace servants, jolting her thoughts back to the painful moment of walking away. She stood proud and tall, the wind whipping the long skirt of her dress around, and waited as the back door of the SUV was opened for her. She climbed in, feeling more alone than she’d ever felt, despite the driver, dressed in white robes and a headdress, who sat patiently and wordlessly waiting. The door shut with a soft clunk, the engine started and the vehicle moved away from the palace. She wouldn’t look back, didn’t want to know if somewhere Jafar was watching her leave.

  She didn’t want to look at the desert either. Instead she rested her head back against the soft leather seats of the SUV and closed her eyes. Soon this would all be over and she allowed the motion of the vehicle to soothe her, allowed it to lull her briefly to sleep.

  She woke with a start when the SUV stopped and looked out through the darkened windows. All she could see was desert, but the driver got out and she assumed Jafar had had his plane made ready at a different airfield. Maybe he didn’t want her seen leaving, didn’t want to make his wife’s departure public knowledge yet, which would surely happen at the bustle of the one they’d landed at almost five weeks ago. So much had happened since then. Had it really only been six weeks since she’d agreed to Jafar’s deal?

  Her door opened and the driver, swathed in white robes and a white headdress, which he wore wrapped around his face, stood back. He averted his gaze as she stepped out into the rising heat of the morning, clutching in vain at her dress to keep her legs covered. She looked around her in alarm. This wasn’t an airfield. This was the middle of the desert and all she could see were several tents. There was no sign of a plane anywhere.

  ‘Where am I?’ The man merely turned and walked towards the tents, the keys of the SUV jangling noticeably in his hand. Either he didn’t understand English or refused to speak to her.

  Should she follow? What if this was another attempt by Simdan? She looked at the SUV behind her but of course that was useless. Even if the driver had left the keys in it she would have no idea in which direction to drive off. She was completely at the mercy of the driver—and whoever else was here, in the middle of nowhere, waiting in the tent.

  She looked across at the largest of the tents, to see the driver standing next to the opening, framed by ornately carved wood. Through the opening she could see vibrant colours and soft lighting, which contrasted completely with the plain sand-coloured exterior of the fabric that rippled gently in the wind. He didn’t meet her gaze, exactly what she’d come to expect from the men who served Jafar, but should she follow him, go into the tent? As the question raced through her mind at top speed he gestured her to him, then into the tent. He obviously didn’t speak any English.

  Tentatively she walked towards the tent, her sandals allowing the cool sand beneath the heated surface to seep in with each step she took. Her stomach knotted in fear, but the driver now stood motionless by the intricately carved wood, which gave the plain tent a majestic look. This wasn’t just an ordinary tent. She was sure of that. Fear curled inside her again. Was Simdan behind this? Was Jafar right now searching for her in his palace?

  She pushed the fear-driven thoughts aside and paused as she drew level with the driver but, just as before, he gestured her inside, his eyes still downcast, his headdress making it impossible to see if she recognised him as one of Jafar’s servants. With nerves racing over her, she stepped onto the carpet that covered the desert sand and into the te
nt. The heady scent of incense filled the air, soft seductive music weaved around her. It was the ultimate desert fantasy, the kind of place she’d imagined being with Jafar, before events had destroyed all those romantic ideas.

  A noise behind her made her swing round to see the driver with his back to her, closing the tent. ‘I need to get to the airport,’ she blurted out as panic sluiced over her once more, but he continued his task in slow methodical movements as if he hadn’t heard her, let alone understood.

  ‘I have to go,’ she tried again, not able to keep the panic from her voice any more.

  This time he turned to face her and for the first time looked directly at her. There was no mistaking those eyes. ‘Jafar.’

  * * *

  ‘You didn’t think I was going to let you walk away so easily, did you?’

  Why was it every time he needed to draw on his strength of control, Tiffany always looked so utterly vulnerable or incredibly desirable? Right now her eyes were full of doubt and vulnerability as she looked at him. They became larger as he moved towards her, but her body, today dressed in a long black dress splashed with large cream flowers, was the most desirable he’d ever seen it, reminding him of how she’d looked that Sunday morning after Damian’s wedding.

  Then she’d filled him with hot desire and he recalled how he’d thought that if he weren’t setting out a marriage contract with her he would have taken her to his suite and made love to her. Would he have wanted the same if he’d known then she had been a virgin? Would he have put such a deal to her, knowing his ability to resist the temptation she created would be hard to achieve?

  ‘Yes.’ That one word snapped with alarming confidence from her.

  ‘Then you are very much mistaken.’ He threw the hard words into the charged atmosphere inside the tent, ratcheting up the tension to unbearable levels.

  ‘But why here?’ She spread her hands wide and looked around the desert tent he often used as his escape. This was his royal hideaway and could be assembled wherever he wanted it to be. Today it was in the middle of the desert, far away from the palace and the capital city of Shamsumara and, more importantly, far away from the airfield where his plane was on standby—awaiting his further instructions. Instructions he hoped would be to stand down, but with the fierce expression of determination on his wife’s beautiful face he seriously doubted that would be the case.

  ‘Because we can be alone.’ He moved closer to her, smiling as she proudly held her ground, looking as poised as any queen could. He recalled the first time he’d thought she possessed the regal qualities fit for a queen of Shamsumara and now he was in no doubt. He also knew that he wanted her as his Queen, wanted her to be the mother of the heir to his kingdom. All he could do now was hope that it wasn’t too late, that she didn’t despise him for all that had happened. If he’d been the loving husband he should have been he would not only have protected her from his cousin’s evil attempts to take what wasn’t his, he would have protected her on their wedding night.

  But then you would have no reason to make her stay.

  The words chanted in his mind as he stood watching her, trying to predict her next move.

  You would lose the woman you love.

  ‘But I don’t want to be alone with you,’ she protested defiantly. ‘I want to go home—to England.’

  ‘And so you shall—if that is what you truly want. All I ask is to spend one last night with you.’ The request was audacious, but then he was a bold and courageous man. He was also a man who would do anything to get what he wanted and right now that was Tiffany.

  She gasped and this time took a step back, shaking her head slowly. ‘No, Jafar.’

  ‘Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen,’ he assured her, recalling how he’d said those words to her about their wedding night, the night she had asked for more, asked him to make love to her, asked him to fulfil her fantasy. That night had been about passion, but tonight, if she allowed him to show her, would be different. Tonight would be about love—his love for her.

  ‘We both know what happened the last time you said that.’ The barb hit home, but he rebuffed it.

  ‘You told me you were a virgin. You also told me you wanted to be mine.’ His voice became hoarse with the memory of that night as guilt rushed at him again, almost unbalancing him. ‘That you wanted the fantasy of a night with a desert sheikh.’

  She looked down, her long lashes sweeping onto her pale skin; the freckles he’d always found so endearing were more pronounced from her recent time in the sun.

  ‘None of this is about us any more, Jafar. It’s about our child.’ She looked from lowered lashes at him.

  ‘I am well aware of that.’ He moved away from her and picked up a headscarf, holding it out to her. ‘Put this on. I have something I wish to show you.’

  She frowned at him, but did as he asked, hiding her glorious long brown hair beneath the cream silk. ‘I will show you why I come to the desert, why I have this escape route ready at all times. This way.’

  He walked back out into the heat of the morning, sensing with every muscle in his body that she was following. He ducked his head and went into one of the other tents erected close to his quarters. His falcon sat patiently on its wooden perch, having been transported here ahead of them.

  ‘My goodness,’ Tiffany said from behind him as he put on the suede glove and untethered the falcon and placed her on his arm. She stretched her wings and then settled as he looked at Tiffany.

  ‘Her name is Shae.’ He ran his hand over the bird’s back to calm her. ‘She is excited to fly. I usually fly her much earlier in the day, but today, I wanted you here. I wanted you to see her fly.’

  ‘What has she got to do with us? I don’t understand.’ She shook her head in confusion and, despite the curtness of her question, he was pleased to see she was intrigued.

  ‘Come.’ He left the tent, walking out into the openness of the desert. Then he turned to Tiffany, who was struggling to keep her dress around her legs even more than she had done at the palace. He caught a glimpse of a long slender thigh, pale and soft, and although it unleased a stab of lust he pushed it aside. ‘She will now fly.’

  He removed the bird’s hood and she stood poised, her wings out. Then with a flurry of movement she took off, sweeping around them in the sky. He didn’t take his focus off the bird. If he looked at Tiffany’s body, the fabric of her dress plastered close against it by the wind, he would lose all control. This was about showing Tiffany she had her freedom, that he would set her free to fly like his falcon if that was what she wanted. He’d do it because he loved her, even though it would kill him.

  ‘That is wonderful,’ Tiffany said as she stood a little way behind him. ‘To see her fly free like that.’

  He smiled. That was exactly the reaction he’d hoped for. After watching the bird a while longer, he held out his arm and she returned, rewarded with the food he’d held, the protection he offered. ‘And now she returns to me of her own free will.’

  He looked at Tiffany. ‘Tomorrow, I will do as you ask and set you free but I hope that, after tonight, you too will want to be with me and accept all I can give you.’

  He wasn’t yet ready to tell her that he wanted to give her his love, that he’d realised he wasn’t immune to the emotion, that he’d fallen in love with her and, if he was honest with himself, it was while she was attending Damian’s bride he’d done that. He’d just been too proud, too controlled and too shielded behind his defensive wall to realise it.

  All he could think about was her rejection, her need to leave him, leave Shamsumara. If she loved him, then surely she wouldn’t want to do that. It was her determination to leave that silenced his words, prevented him from admitting his love.

  * * *

  Tiffany couldn’t find anything to say to Jafar’s declaration. Did he really think one more night of passion would be enough to make her change her mind, to make her stay and complete the deal she’d agreed to? One more nig
ht in this man’s arms, tasting his kisses, enjoying his caress was all she wanted, but she couldn’t. To do that would render her incapable of doing what had to be done—walking away.

  ‘Tomorrow I will still feel the same,’ she said, annoyed he thought he only had to bring her out here, play out her ultimate desert fantasy, in order to get her to stay a little longer. He could never give her what she wanted. He could never give her his love. He’d already admitted that to her and had coldly told her he never wished to be a father.

  ‘Then I have much to do to ensure you change your mind.’ He put the hood back on the falcon and returned to the tent.

  The dark coolness of the tent was a relief from the heat of the desert and the warm winds as Tiffany followed him back inside, watching as he settled the bird on her perch once more. His voice was soft and gentle as he spoke to Shae in his own language, each move he made full of tenderness, which took Tiffany’s mind hurtling back to those blissful nights after their wedding. Nights that for him had been full of passion, but for her, full of love.

  ‘Then I must change your mind.’ He walked towards her, the bird now settled, and Tiffany stood her ground despite the intent in his eyes. For several long seconds he held her gaze, challenging her, then he turned and walked out of the tent as if she hadn’t spoken, as if he didn’t want to listen to what she wanted. She followed him out into the hot sun and back to the luxury of the first tent, where the ambiance was far more like the fantasy she’d wanted so much but now needed to resist.

  ‘I’m not going to stay, Jafar, no matter what you do or say.’ She stood in the middle of the exotic tent, the aroma of incense mingling with the soft music and the array of colour as gold, red, purple and orange collided around her. A setting far too intoxicating when the man she loved stood in the middle of it. The desert king without a heart.

  But he has my heart.

  ‘You agreed to stay here, as my wife, for three months.’ Jafar’s eyes sparked with annoyance but she wouldn’t allow him to talk her down. She’d made her decision. She had to leave—for her child’s sake.