The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

by Sandra Marton

  And wasn’t that silly?

  Her mother would be thrilled for her. Aren’t you ever going to meet a man and fall in love, Megan? Mary was always saying. She’d been saying it more often lately, at least once at each O’Connell wedding.

  Megan smiled, picked up the phone…

  “Miss O’Connell?”

  It was Hakim. So much for ET calling home, Megan thought, and tossed the phone aside.

  “Yes, Hakim. What is it?”

  “Will you please come with me?”

  He was supposed to address her as “my lady.” She’d heard Caz tell him that. It was what everyone called her, even though she’d told her husband she’d be happy if they just called her Megan.

  “My lady’ is traditional,” he’d replied, and softened the starchy answer with a quick grin. “Trust me, sweetheart. If I told my people to address you by your first name, they’d die of shock.”

  So she was “my lady” to her husband’s people, even to Hakim…except when Caz wasn’t there. She hadn’t made an issue of it. Her husband’s aide had unresolved issues with all that had happened. He also made her uncomfortable as hell, but she hadn’t told Caz that, either.

  Hakim would come around.

  “Come with you where?” she asked politely. “Has my husband sent for me?”

  “Your husband is busy, Miss O’Connell. That is why I’ve come for you.”

  Megan nodded. Caz had some sort of meeting this afternoon. “Will you need me with you?” she’d asked, and he’d said no, not today.

  “Tired of having me around already,” she teased, and he’d caught her in his arms and gathered her close.

  “Never,” he’d told her, his eyes so serious, his tone so defiant, that she’d slipped her arms around him and kissed him.

  Well, something must have changed, she thought as she followed Hakim down the wide hall that led to the formal meeting rooms of the palace. Perhaps she should have brought her briefcase. Her notes.

  “Hakim. Wait a minute. Who’s my husband meeting with? I’d like to go back to our rooms and get my papers.”

  Hakim made an abrupt right. They’d entered a narrow corridor, one she’d never seen before.

  “Hakim? I said—”

  The aide made another sharp right. A latticework door loomed ahead.

  “You will not need your papers for this, Miss O’Connell.”

  His voice had dropped to a whisper that made the hair rise on the back of her neck.

  “What is this?” she said sharply. “Where is my husband?”

  “He is there, beyond that door.”

  Hakim pressed his back to the wall and motioned her past him. Megan stared at the cold eyes, the slash of a mouth. She didn’t want to move…

  Motion through the lattice caught her eye.

  She saw her husband, standing in the center of a small room. A woman was with him.

  Her heart filled with dread. Don’t look, a voice inside her whispered. Megan, don’t look…

  Her feet moved forward, seemingly of their own volition. She put her eye to the lattice, stared at the woman…and immediately recognized her. This was who she’d seen with Caz weeks ago, the stunning brunette who’d kissed him.

  His cousin, Caz had said. She’d kissed him to thank him for not forcing her to marry a man she didn’t love.

  She wasn’t kissing him now. Instead she was wrapped in his arms, her eyes closed, her face pressed to his chest. Caz…Caz’s eyes were closed, too. His chin rested on the top of the woman’s head.

  A pulse began beating in Megan’s temple. She swung around, brushed past Hakim and hurried down the hall.

  “Miss O’Connell! Wait.”

  “I’m not going to spy on my husband.”

  Hakim caught up to her where the corridor made its turn. “You are my lord’s wife. There are things you must know.”

  Megan spun toward him. “I do know! Do you think you can make me jealous? My husband told me of this woman. She is his cousin.”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “She was to marry a man she didn’t love.”

  Hakim inclined his head. “That is correct, too.”

  “She loves another man. My husband arranged for her to be with that man.”

  “He did.”

  “And—and what we just saw…” Megan drew a shuddering breath. ‘‘What we saw was—it was just her, thanking my husband again.”

  “You are right, Miss O’Connell. It is all as you say.”

  “Then what is this all about? Why did you bring me here? Why did you want me to see this?”

  “You are not one of us.”

  “Well, that’s an amazing revelation!”

  “You know nothing of our traditions.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake—”

  She started to turn away. Hakim caught her arm. It was, she knew, as close to a capital offense as one could come in Suliyam. She was not just a woman, she was the king’s wife.

  Her heart beat faster. She was alone in a place that looked as if no one even knew it existed, and the man with her had hated her from the minute he’d set eyes on her.

  “Take your hands off me,” she said sharply, “or my husband will hear of this.”

  “You have bewitched him, “Hakim said, his words thick with disdain.

  “Did you hear me? Let go!”

  “He thinks he loves you.”

  “He does love me. And I love him. Now, take your hand away.”

  “Love.” Hakim spat out the word. “What does it mean?”

  “Everything, but you wouldn’t understand that.”

  “Love is a western fantasy. What we have believe in here is—”

  “Tradition? As in, marrying off the sheikh’s cousin to a man she doesn’t love? The only thing that can come of such a tradition is the pain of a broken heart.”

  Hakim stepped toward her. Megan almost shrank back against the wall. She’d never seen such hatred in anyone’s face.

  “The woman is called Alayna. She was betrothed.”

  “Yes, to a man she didn’t love. It’s fascinating, but it has nothing to do with me.”

  “At first, when she came to my lord Qasim to beg his mercy, he denied her. He understood the meaning of tradition.”

  “But he’s changed. Is that why you hate me, Hakim? Because you think I’m responsible for that?”

  “When she came to him again, you had arrived in the palace.” Hakim’s mouth twisted. “Again, she pleaded for my lord’s understanding. And that time, he said he would find a way to help her.”

  “Does it trouble you to know that your king has a heart?”

  “Does it trouble you to know you are interfering in our way of life?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You married Lord Qasim.”

  “I did. And I’m going to marry him again. Are you so blind that you can’t understand the world is changing? Just because I’m a foreigner—”

  “Our king is already betrothed!”

  Megan stared at Hakim. “What?”

  “To Alayna. They were pledged to each other at birth.”

  What had she said to Caz, just this morning? There are things we don’t know about each other…And he’d smiled and said they had their whole lives to learn those things…

  “A betrothal isn’t a marriage,” Megan said. Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat. “Obviously my husband changed his mind. He married me, not Alayna.”

  “He married you, and said he would divorce you. But he didn’t. You ensnared him.”

  “I’m not listening to another moment of this non—”

  “Alayna’s people will not tolerate such an insult. They will not permit her to be disgraced.”

  “Don’t you get it? Alayna didn’t want to go through with this marriage. She won’t be disgraced, she’ll be thrilled! Her family will understand, once she explains it to them.”

  Hakim’s face grew dark. “You are a fool, Miss O’Connell! Alayna will n
ot be able to hold up her head. Her family will have to do something about what Lord Qasim has done, or she will never find another husband.”

  “Even if that’s true, I’m not responsible for it. You said yourself, my husband has already promised to help Alayna.”

  “Only after he met you. After you bewitched him, and then married him and refused to divorce him.”

  “Listen to me, old man. My husband doesn’t want a divorce. He wants—”

  “You. Yes. And to get you, he will bring dishonor to a foolish girl, to an important family, to an entire people.”

  “No. No, I don’t believe you.” Megan gave an unsteady laugh. “You make it sound as if I’m going to—to bring down the throne!”

  “You well may,” Hakim said grimly. “At the very least, you will make it impossible for Lord Qasim to implement the changes he’s worked so hard to achieve.”

  “You’re wrong,” Megan said desperately. “I’ve been in all those meetings. My husband’s ideas have been well-received.”

  “Your husband has had a difficult enough time convincing his people to follow his new ways. Now he stands to lose the respect of an entire faction. He’s flaunted the centuries-old traditions that govern who he is to marry, who is to sit beside him as queen, who will provide him with heirs to the throne.”

  “Lies, all of it! Qasim’s father married a foreigner, too.”

  “Only after his first wife died.” Hakim leaned toward her so that she felt his hot breath on her face. “You have put the sheikh in great danger.”

  “Danger?” Megan felt her knees turn watery. “How—how can he be in danger?”

  “We are a people of ancient traditions. The only way to assuage the stain of dishonor is with blood.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe that. Qasim has changed things here.”

  “Traditions are not changed as easily as plans for roads and hospitals.”

  “I’ll speak with him. I’ll ask him if—’’

  ‘‘What will you ask him? Or rather, what will he tell you? Do you think he’ll let you know what he risks for you?” Hakim’s eyes bored into hers. “You say you love the sheikh. Perhaps you do. Then I must ask…Do you love him enough to give him up, or will you wait until he loses his throne, his kingdom, his people…his life?”

  Hours later, an eternity later, Megan lay beside Caz in their bed.

  The night was silent and dark, heavy with moisture from a storm that was rolling in over the sea.

  She knew what she had to do, and that she should have done it by now, but she’d wanted one more night, one more memory to warm her through the years that stretched ahead.

  Caz had made love to her.

  She had made love to him.

  For the last time, her heart kept saying, for the last time.

  Each kiss, each caress had been filled with the pain of what she knew would come next. And it was time to do it. Now, before she lost her courage.

  But first—first, one last kiss…

  Megan brushed her lips over her those of her sleeping husband. His mouth softened, clung to hers, and she almost let herself sink into the kiss.

  But she didn’t.

  She slid from under his arm, rolled to the edge of the bed and reached for the robe she’d deliberately left within reach earlier in the evening. Once she had it on, sash firmly tied, she rose to her feet.

  “Caz?”

  Caz sighed and rolled on his belly.

  “Caz, wake up. I want to talk to you.”

  “Mmm.” He turned over and looked at her. A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “What are you doing, kalila? Come back here,” he said, holding out his hand. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “We have to talk.”

  “Can’t you sleep?” His smile turned soft and sexy. “I’ll bet I can think of a way to make you relax.”

  She looked at him. At his beloved face. Her legs were threatening to give way; she wanted to sit down before they did, but sitting near him would be the end of her resolve.

  “I phoned my family, Caz. To tell them about us.

  His eyes locked on hers. “And?”

  “And—and…”

  “And, they don’t approve.”

  He saw the surprise on her face, but her family’s concern was nothing less than he’d expected. If he had a daughter—and he would, someday, a perfect, beautiful image of his wife—if he had a daughter and she announced she’d married a man they’d never met, a man who was king of a country in the middle of nowhere, he wouldn’t approve, either. Hell, he’d probably go crazy!

  “No. They’d don’t.”

  He sat up against the pillows, the silk blanket draping just below his navel. “Megan. Listen to me—”

  “They—they raised a lot of valid issues.”

  “Valid issues?” he said, his voice suddenly soft as smoke.

  “Yes. They asked me to think about what it would be like for me to live here instead of in America. To live here with—with someone so different from me.”

  “Who is ‘they?’” His tone was flat. “Did you discuss Suliyam and me with your entire family?”

  “No. Actually—actually, I only talked to Sean,” she said, plucking her brother’s name out of the air. “But he gave me the same advice they’d all give me, I’m sure.”

  “And that advice was?”

  “That I go home. Think things over.”

  Caz said nothing for a long minute. Then he threw off the blanket, reached for his trousers and pulled them on.

  “Let’s cut to the bottom line. You’re going home, and you’re not coming back. Am I right?”

  Tears stung her eyes but she knew she mustn’t let him see them.

  “Megan? Am I right? Are you leaving me?”

  No. Oh, no. How can I leave you, my love? How can I live without you…

  “Yes,” she said. “I am.”

  She hadn’t known what to expect after she told him. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been this. The stony face. The empty eyes. The terrible, awful stillness.

  “I wish—I wish it could be different, but—”

  “I don’t.”

  She stiffened. “You don’t?”

  “No.” He walked around the bed and she took an instinctive step back, but he went past her to the dressing room. “Actually it’s a relief.” His voice grew muffled; he came back into the bedroom tugging a black sweater over his head. “I let things get away from me when I suggested marriage. You’re right. It wouldn’t have worked. We have nothing in common, except in bed.”

  His words stung. Was he saving face, or was he telling her the truth? It didn’t matter. This was the way things had to end. She’d known it, in her heart, from the minute he’d taken her to bed on their wedding night.

  “I want you to know…” Her voice trembled and she began again. “I—I enjoyed our time together. It was—it was—”

  “Yes,” he said coldly. “It was.”

  Caz reached for the phone and pressed a button.

  “Hakim? Have my plane readied. Yes, now. Miss O’Connell will be flying to the States. Have someone come for her.” He hung up and turned back to Megan. “I really think it’s best that you leave right away, Megan. I’m sure your brother would prefer to have you back among civilized people as soon as possible.”

  He started to the door. Megan took a step. “Caz? Caz, please. Don’t—don’t walk away from me. I want to—I want to—’’

  “What do you want?” He swung toward her, and now, at last, she could see the rage in his face. “A final roll between the sheets? Another reminder of what it’s like to lie in the arms of a barbarian?’’

  “That’s cruel! I never—”

  “Perhaps my assurance that I won’t try to claim our marriage is valid.” He came toward her, his eyes the color of slate after a winter storm, and she stumbled back against the wall. “Believe me, I won’t. Did I mention that our marriage could be dissolved, just like that?” He sn
apped his fingers an inch from her face. “It’s one of the perks of being a man in my country. If a husband doesn’t want his wife, all he has to do it tell her so.” Caz’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “I don’t want you for my wife anymore, Megan O’Connell. I divorce you.”

  “You mean, all along, any time, you could have—”

  “Anytime at all,” he said smugly.

  Why should that shock her? And yet, it did. The easily spoken words, the realization that she’d been little more than a toy, filled her with rage.

  “Bastard,” she hissed, and slammed her hand against his face.

  He caught her wrist, twisted it hard enough so she gasped.

  “Go back where you belong, Megan O’Connell. Where life is safe and sanitized, where nothing can touch you.” He yanked her forward, crushed her mouth beneath his. She tasted him, tasted salt, tasted blood…

  And then he was gone and she was alone, and the lifetime she’d lived in a few short weeks was little more than a dream.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BRIANA O’CONNELL leaned into her sister’s refrigerator, surveyed the shelves and muttered an unladylike word under her breath.

  “Honestly, Meg, there’s nothing to eat in this thing!”

  Megan, sitting on the living room sofa, hunched farther over the employment section of the Sunday Times and circled an ad with her pen.

  “Unless you think cottage cheese is edible. Or yogurt.”

  Megan turned the page, circled another ad, then crossed it out.

  “And what, pray tell, is this green thing? Yuck!”

  Only one column of advertisements left and only one decent prospect so far. Just her luck, to be job-hunting when the economy was heading south.

  “Megan,” Bree said, slamming the fridge door closed, “I love you with all my heart, sweetie, but your taste in food leaves something to be desired. Do you hear me?”

  “The entire city of Los Angeles hears you,” Megan grumbled. “Order a pizza.”

  “Good idea.” Bree yanked the takeout pizza menu from under the magnet that held it to the fridge and strolled into the living room. “How’s this sound? An extra large with garlic, olives, onions, bacon, anchovies, sausage…”