Hot-Blooded Husbands Bundle

by Michelle Reid

  As a statement of triumph, it didn’t have much satisfaction running through it. Leona wanted to question him about it, but they were nearing the yacht, so she decided to wait until later because she could now clearly see the sea of faces watching their approach—some anxious, some curious, some wearing expressions that set her shivering all over again. Not everyone was relieved that Hassan had plucked her out of the ocean, she realised ruefully.

  Rafiq and a crewman were waiting on the platform to help them back on board the yacht. ‘I’ll walk,’ she insisted when Hassan went to lift her into his arms. ‘I think I have looked foolish enough for one day.’

  So they walked side by side through the boat, wrapped in towels over their wet clothing. Neither spoke, neither touched, and no one accosted them on their journey to their stateroom. The door shut them in. Hassan broke away from her side and strode into the bathroom. Leona followed, found the jets in the shower already running. She dropped the towels, Hassan silently helped her out of the buoyancy aid that had not been buoyant enough and tossed it in disgust to the tiled floor. Next came her tee shirt, her shorts, the blue one-piece swimsuit she was wearing beneath.

  It was another of those calms before the storm, Leona recognised as she watched him drag his shirt off over his head and step out of the rest of his clothes. His face was composed, his manner almost aloof, and there wasn’t a single cell in her body that wasn’t charged, ready to accept what had to come.

  Tall and dark, lean and sleek. ‘In,’ he commanded, holding open the shower-cubicle door so that she could step inside. He followed, closed the door. And as the white-tiled space engulfed them in steam he was reaching for her and engulfing her in another way.

  Think of asking questions about how much he had conceded to win his support from the other sheikhs? Why think about anything when this was warm and soft and slow and so intense that the yacht could sink and they would not have noticed. This was love, a renewal of love; touching, tasting, living, breathing, feeling love. From the shower they took it with them to the bed, from there they took it with them into a slumber which filtered the rest of the day away.

  Questions? Who needed questions when they had this depth of communication? No more empty silences between the loving. No more fights with each other or with themselves about the wiseness of being together like this. When she received him inside her she did so with her eyes wide open and brimming with love and his name sounding softly on her lips.

  Beyond the room, in another part of the yacht, Raschid looked at Rafiq. ‘Do you think he has realised yet that today’s victory has only put Leona at greater risk from her enemies?’ he questioned.

  ‘Sheikh Abdul would be a fool to show his hand now, when he must know that Hassan has chosen to pretend he had no concept of his plot to take her.’

  ‘I was not thinking of Abdul, but his ambitious wife,’ Raschid murmured grimly. ‘The woman wants to see her daughter in Leona’s place. One only had to glimpse her expression when Hassan brought them back to the yacht to know that she has not yet had the sense to give up the fight…’

  CHAPTER NINE

  LEONA was thinking much the same thing when she found herself faced by Zafina later that evening.

  Before the confrontation the evening had been surprisingly pleasant. Leona made light of her spill into the sea, and the others made light of the meeting that had taken place as if the battle, now decided, had given everyone the excuse to relax their guard.

  It was only when the women left the men at the table after dinner that things took a nasty turn for the worse. Evie had gone to check on her children and Leona used the moment to pop back to the stateroom to freshen up. The last person she expected to see as she stepped out of the bathroom was Zafina Al-Yasin, standing there waiting for her.

  Dressed in a traditional jewel-blue dara’a and matching thobe heavily embroidered with silver studs, Zafina was here to cause trouble. It did not take more than a glance into her black opal eyes to see that.

  ‘You surprise me with your jollity this evening.’ The older woman began her attack. ‘On a day when your husband won all and you lost everything I believed you stood so proudly for, I would have expected to find you more subdued. It was only as I watched you laugh with our men that it occurred to me that maybe, with your unfortunate accident and Sheikh Hassan’s natural concern for you, he has not made you fully aware of what it was he has agreed to today?’

  Not at all sure where she was going to be led with this, Leona demanded cautiously, ‘Are you implying that my husband has lied to me?’

  ‘I would not presume to suggest such a thing,’ Zafina denied with a slight bow of respect meant in honour of Hassan, not Leona herself. ‘But he may have been a little…economical with some of the details in an effort to save you from further distress.’

  ‘Something you are not prepared to be,’ Leona assumed.

  ‘I believe in telling the truth, no matter the pain it may course.’

  Ah, Leona thought, the truth. Now there was an interesting concept.

  ‘In the interest of fair play, I do feel that you should be fully informed so that you may make your judgements on your future with the full facts at hand.’

  ‘Why don’t you just get to the point of this conversation, Zafina?’ Leona said impatiently.

  ‘The point is…this…’ Zafina replied, producing from inside the sleeve of her dara’a a piece of paper, which she then spread out on the bed.

  Leona did not want to, but she made herself walk towards it, made herself look down. The paper bore the Al-Qadim seal of office. It bore the name of Sheikh Khalifa.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, oddly unwilling to read the closely lined and detailed Arabian script that came beneath.

  ‘A contract drawn up by Sheikh Khalifa himself, giving his blessing to the marriage between his son Sheikh Hassan and my daughter Nadira. This is my husband’s copy. Sheikh Khalifa and Sheikh Hassan have copies of their own.’

  ‘It isn’t signed,’ Leona pointed out.

  ‘It will be,’ Zafina stated certainly, ‘as was agreed this morning at the meeting of the family heads. Sheikh Khalifa is dying. His loving son will deny him nothing. When we reach Rahman the signing will take place and the announcement will be made at Sheikh Khalifa’s celebration banquet.’

  He will deny him nothing…Of everything Zafina had said, those words were the only ones that held the poison. Still, Leona strove to reject them.

  ‘You lie,’ she said. ‘No matter what this piece of paper says, and no matter what you imply. I know Hassan. I know my father-in-law, Sheikh Khalifa. Neither would even think of deceiving me this way.’

  ‘You think not?’ She sounded so sure, so confident. ‘In the eyes of his country, Sheikh Hassan must prove his loyalty to them is stronger than his desire to pander to your western principles.’

  More certain on having said it, Leona turned ice-cold eyes on the other woman. ‘I will tell Hassan about this conversation. You do realise that?’ she warned.

  Zafina bowed her head in calm acquiescence. ‘Face him,’ she invited. ‘Tell him what you know. He may continue to keep the truth from you for his father’s sake. He may decide to confess all then fall on your mercy, hoping that you will still go to Rahman as his loyal first wife to help save his face. But mark my words, Sheikha,’ she warned, ‘my daughter will be Sheikh Hassan’s wife before this month is out, and she will bear him the son that will make his life complete.’

  Stepping forward, she retrieved her precious contract. ‘I have no wish to see you humiliated,’ she concluded as she turned towards the door. ‘Indeed I give you this chance to save your face. Return to England. Divorce Hassan,’ she advised. ‘For, whether you do or not, he will marry my daughter, at which point I think we both know that your usefulness will be at an end.’

  Leona let her go without giving her the satisfaction of a response, but as the door closed behind Zafina she began to shake. No, she told herself sternly, you will not let that woman
’s poison eat away at you. She’s lying. Hassan would not be so deceitful or so manipulative. He loves you, for goodness’ sake! Haven’t you both just spent a whole afternoon re-avowing that love?

  I will deny him nothing… Hassan’s own words, exactly as spoken only days ago. Her stomach turned, sending her reeling for the bathroom. Yet she stopped herself, took a couple of deep controlling breaths and forced herself to think, to trust in her own instincts, to believe in Hassan!

  He would not do it. Hands clenched into tense fists at her sides, she repeated that. He would not do it! The woman is evil. She is ambitious. She cannot accept failure.

  She used your own inadequacies against you. How dare you so much as consider anything she said as worthy of all of this anguish?

  You promised to believe in him. How dare you let that promise falter because some awful woman wants you out of his life and her daughter in it?

  A contract. What was the contract but a piece of paper with words written upon it? Anyone could draw up a contract; it was getting those involved to sign it that was the real test!

  She would tell Hassan, let him deny it once and for all, then she could put all of this behind her and—

  No she wouldn’t. She changed her mind. She would not give that woman the satisfaction of causing more trouble between the families, which was what was sure to happen if Hassan did find out what Zafina had said.

  Trust was the word. Trust she would give to him.

  The door opened. She spun around to find Hassan standing there. Tall and dark, smooth and sleek, and so heart-achingly, heart-breakingly, precious to her.

  ‘What is wrong?’ He frowned. ‘You look as pale as the carpet.’

  ‘N-nothing,’ she said. Then, because it was such an obvious lie, she admitted, ‘H-headache, upset stomach…’ Two tight fists unclenched, one hand going to cover her stomach the other her clammy forehead. ‘Too much food tonight. T-too much water from my dip in the sea, maybe. I…’

  He was striding towards her. Her man. Her beautiful, grim-faced man. He touched her cheek. ‘You feel like ice.’ He picked up her chafed wrist between gentle finger and thumb. ‘Your pulse is racing like mad! You need the medic.’ He spun towards the telephone. ‘Get undressed. You are going to bed…’

  ‘Oh…no, Hassan!’ she cried out in protest. ‘I will be okay in a couple of minutes! Please…’ she pleaded as he picked up the telephone. ‘Look!’ she declared, as he glared at her from beneath frowning black brows. ‘I’m feeling better already. I—took something a few minutes ago.’ With a mammoth gathering together of self-control, she even managed to walk over to him without stumbling and took the receiver from his hand.

  ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘I will not spoil everyone’s enjoyment tonight. I’ve caused enough fuss today as it is.’ And she would not give Zafina a moment’s smug satisfaction. ‘Walk me back along the deck.’ Firmly she took his hand. ‘All I need is some fresh air.’

  He wasn’t sure. But Leona ignored his expression and pulled him towards the door. Actually the walk did her more good than she had expected it to do. Just being with him, feeling his presence, was enough to help reaffirm her belief that he would never, ever, do anything so cruel as to lie about a second wife.

  He’s done it before, a small voice inside her head reminded her.

  Oh, shut up! she told it. I don’t want to listen. And she pasted a bright smile on her face, ready to show it to their waiting guests—and Zafina Al-Yasin—as she and Hassan stepped back into the salon.

  Zafina wasn’t there, which in a way was a relief and in another was a disappointment, because she so wanted to outface the evil witch. She had to make do with shining like a brilliant star for those left to witness it, and she wondered once or twice if she was going to burn out. And she was never more relieved when it became time to retire without causing suspicion that this was all just a dreadful front.

  Raschid and Imran had collared Hassan. So she was free to droop the moment she hit the bedroom. Within ten minutes she was curled up in bed. Within another ten she was up again and giving in to what had been threatening to happen since Zafina’s visit. Fortunately Hassan was not there to witness it. By the time he came to bed she had found escape in sleep at last, and he made no move to waken her, so morning arrived all too soon, and with it returned the nauseous sensation.

  She got through the day by the skin of her teeth, and was pleasant to Zafina, who was not sure how to take that. She spent most of her morning with Evie and her children, taking comfort from the sheer normality of their simple needs and amusements. It was while she was playing with Hashim that the little boy inadvertently brushed against her breasts and she winced at their unexpectedly painful response.

  Evie noticed the wince. ‘You okay?’ she enquired.

  Her shrug was rueful. ‘Actually, I feel a bit grotty,’ she confessed. ‘I ache in strange places after my fight with the fishing net yesterday, and I think the water I swallowed had bugs.’

  ‘The same bugs that got you the day before that?’ Evie quizzed.

  ‘Okay,’ she conceded. ‘So I’m still stressed out.’

  ‘Or something,’ Evie murmured.

  Leona’s chin came up, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she demanded.

  It was Evie’s turn to offer a rueful shrug, then Raschid walked into the room and the conversation had to be shelved when he reminded them that lunch was being served.

  After lunch came siesta time. Or, for those like Hassan and Raschid, time to hit the phones and deal with matters of state. Leona had never been so glad of the excuse to shut herself away in her room because she was really beginning to feel ill by then. Her head ached, her bones ached, her stomach was objecting to the small amount of food she had eaten for lunch.

  Maybe it was a bug, she mused frowningly as she drew the curtains across the windows in an effort to diffuse the light that was hurting her eyes. Stripping off her top clothes, she then crawled into the bed.

  Maybe she should have steered well clear of Evie’s children just in case she had picked up something catching, she then added, and made herself a promise to mention it to Evie later just before she slipped into a heavy sleep.

  She came awake only as a scarlet sunset seeped into the room. The last sunset before they reached Jeddah, she recalled with relief. And found the reminder gave her a fresh burst of energy that she took with her into the bathroom where she indulged in a long leisurely shower then took her time getting ready for dinner. She chose to wear a calf-length tunic made of spearmint-blue silk with a matching pair of slender-cut trousers.

  Hassan arrived in the room with a frown and his mind clearly preoccupied.

  ‘Hello stranger,’ she said.

  He smiled. It was an amazing smile, full of warmth, full of love—full of lazy suggestions as he began to run his eyes over her in that dark possessive way that said, Mine, most definitely mine. It was the Arab-male way. What the man did not bother to say with words he could make up for with expressive glances.

  ‘No,’ Leona said to this particular look. ‘I am all dressed up and ready to play hostess, so keep your lecherous hands to yourself.’

  ‘Of course, you do know that I could easily change your mind?’ he posed confidently.

  Jokes. Light jokes. Warm smiles and tender communication. Would this man she knew and loved so well look at her like this yet still hold such terrible secrets from her?

  No, of course he would not, so stop thinking about it! ‘Save it until later,’ she advised, making a play of sliding the silk scarf over her hair.

  His eyes darkened measurably. It was strange how she only now noticed how much he liked seeing her dressed Arabian style. Was it in his blood that he liked to see his woman modestly covered? Was it more than that? Did he actually prefer—?

  No. She stopped herself again. Stop allowing that woman’s poison to get to you.

  ‘Wait for me,’ he requested when she took a step towards the door. ‘I need only five minutes to change,
for I showered ten minutes ago, after allowing that over-energetic Samir talk me into a game of softball on the sun deck.’

  ‘Who won?’ she asked, changing direction to go and sit on the arm of one of the chairs to wait as requested.

  ‘I did—by cheating,’ he confessed.

  ‘Did he know you cheated?’

  ‘Of course,’ Hassan replied. ‘But he believes he is in my debt so he allowed me to get away with it.’

  ‘You mean you played on his guilty conscience over my accident,’ she accused.

  He turned another slashing grin on her. It had the same force as an electric charge aimed directly at her chest. Heat flashed across her flesh in a blanket wave of sensual static. Followed by another wave of the same as she watched him strip off western shirt and shorts to reveal sleek brown flesh just made for fingers to stroke. By the time he had replaced the clothes with a white tunic he had earned himself a similar possessive glance to the one he had given her.

  See, she told herself, you can’t resist him in Arab dress. It has nothing to do with what runs in the blood. She even decided to tease him about it. ‘If there is one thing I have learned to understand since knowing you, it is why men prefer women in dresses.’

  ‘This is not a dress,’ he objected.

  Getting up, she went to stand in front of him and placed her palms flat against the wall of his chest to feel warm skin, tight and smooth, and irresistible to seeking hands that wanted to stroke a sensual pathway over muscled contours to his lean waist.

  ‘I know what it is, my darling,’ she murmured seductively. ‘It is a sinful temptation, and therefore no wonder that you don’t encourage physical contact between the sexes.’

  His answering laugh was low and deep, very much the sound of a man who was aware of his own power to attract. ‘Remind Samir of that, if you will,’ he countered dryly. ‘He is very lucky I have not beaten him to a pulp by now for the liberties he takes with my wife.’

  But Samir, Leona discovered as soon as they entered the main salon, was more interested in extolling the liberties Hassan had taken with him. ‘He cheats. He has no honour. He went to Eton, for goodness’ sake, where they turn desert savages into gentlemen!’