“Several years!” She banged her palm against her forehead. “This just goes from bad to worse.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Do you love her?”
He seemed to be searching for the right words.
But Rebecca spoke on, her eyes flashing with pain. “Of course you love her. You dated for years. No wonder you were so unwilling to make our marriage a reality. Oh, Tariq, you should have told me this before we married. If I’d thought for one minute that you were in a serious relationship...”
He held his hand up to interrupt her flow of distraught babble.
“It was not a serious relationship. Both Monique and I were completely aware that we were simply bed-warming. While I think she is a perfectly acceptable woman, I never had any serious interests, and nor did she.”
“I don’t believe that.”
His eyes narrowed. “You have a habit of calling me a liar, Sheikha, and it is one I do not appreciate.”
“I am not saying you’re lying. Just that you’re surprisingly naive. There is no way she would have dated you for years and not developed more serious yearnings. Why would she want to work for your wife?” She wrung her hands in front of her, feeling even worse now that she knew the truth.
He shrugged. “I suppose because my mother requested it, and refusing a royal request is not generally a smart thing to do.” Then, with another lift of his shoulders, “She may also have been curious about the woman who supplanted her.”
“Oh, God, Tariq, this is a nightmare. I had no idea I was walking into any of this.” Stricken, she ran a hand through her hair, dislodging it from the long blonde plait she wore over one shoulder.
“Monique and I had a relationship of convenience. It ended as civilly as it began. And it ended before we married. I am a man of my word, and I promised you my fidelity on our wedding day.”
A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. “But you wanted me to go. If it weren’t for the baby, I’d be back in England and you’d be looking for your own wife. A wife of your choosing. Someone more suitable...”
“Not someone more suitable, Rebecca. Someone who chooses to be my bride, and queen. Someone who doesn’t have their arm twisted so far up their back that they can’t possibly say no.” His words were devoid of emotion, and yet she felt overcome by grief. A sob welled in her throat but she swallowed it back.
“Like Monique?”
His lips compressed but he kept his voice calm. “Monique is nothing to do with us, Rebecca. It was over before I met you. The reason I wanted you to leave Assan had nothing to do with her. It was all about you. I wanted you to be happy, Rebecca. Happy and living a life of your choosing.”
She wrapped her arms around herself again, looking up at his face. “And you?”
“And I would... spend the rest of my life regretting my behaviour towards you, but at least I would know that I had done the right thing by you in the end.”
“And what, pray tell, is the right thing by me?” Her eyes tried to read his face but he was expressionless.
“Setting you free. Against my own will, having the strength to let you go.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, her confusion was obvious.
“I suppose divorce after such a short time would be frowned upon.”
His laugh was harsh. “Frowned upon? Perhaps. I didn’t give much thought for what others might think, though.”
“Then why would letting me go be against your own will? I would have thought you’d be delighted to be free of me.” She had spoken the words that had been zinging around in her brain for over a week. Her adoptive parents hadn’t wanted her, and now her husband didn’t either. At least now he had the opportunity to spell it out to her.
He pulled her into his arms, and because she was at sixes and sevens, she didn’t resist. “The first time I saw you, I felt knocked sideways, Sheikha. I’d seen photographs, and I knew you were attractive, but I was not prepared for just how graceful and captivating you would be in the flesh.”
“Me?” She squawked, angling her face up to look at him.
“You.” He squeezed her more tightly around the waist.
“But you seemed so aloof....”
“I will deny this to anyone but you, but I was afraid. Afraid of how I could want a woman I’d never met before, how I could be so completely under your spell at first sight. It had never happened to me before, and I ran about a thousand miles from such a novel sensation. I thought I would be able to cope better if I thought ill of you. So I looked for reasons not to like you.”
“Like calling me a gold-digger? A prostitute?” She reminded him stoically, the words still smarting despite the admission he had just made.
“Don’t remind me.” He shook his head with self-derision. “When we were together, I felt like I would do anything you asked of me. The power you have over me terrified me. It still does, Rebecca. And in the back of my mind, I always wondered what provenance had delivered you to me. How had I come to have you for my wife? I knew how I felt about you from early on, but until I knew how you felt, I lived in a state of torture.” He exhaled slowly. “Then, on our abortive honeymoon weekend, my worst fears were realised. You could never love me. Not when you’d been brought here against your will. Your true will. I’d selfishly used you, used your body, taken advantage of your sweetness, and all because you were given no choice in the matter.” He dropped his arms and stepped back from her. “I had become everything I loathed in men.”
She found breathing difficult. “I... I ... are you saying this because of the baby? To keep me here?”
“Rebecca!” He intoned crossly. “I am bearing my soul to you and immediately you believe that I’m delivering you a fiction.”
She nodded. “It just doesn’t seem possible. Are you saying that you told me to leave because you truly wanted to do what was best for me?”
“Of course. What other reason could there be?”
“I don’t know. I just thought you were bored of me. Or bored of being married to an English woman you’d never wanted.”
“No, Rebecca. I don’t know what we will work out when our baby is born, but if you want to leave Assan, we will work out a way to make it work.”
“Leave Assan.” She nodded again, so confounded by his admission that she couldn’t find any words.
“Are you saying that’s what you’d like to do?” His words were empty of emotion.
“You big idiot!” She laughed. “No, that’s not what I want to do.” She reached up and touched a finger to his mouth, tracing it around his lips. He closed his eyes, his lashes brushing against his cheeks. “The way you felt when you first saw me... Tariq, I felt it, too. You’re right when you say marrying you was a way of running away. I needed to escape Winona and Greg, and suddenly, this betrothal gave me a way out. But it was more than that. I knew that my parents and grandfather had willed it, and in marrying you, I felt, ridiculously perhaps, brought closer to them.
“Then, I saw you, and my whole world fell apart. I had never known desire. I’d always thought I was immune to the attractions of the opposite sex. And Winona had made certain I had no tickets on myself, no ego to make me feel confident of my ability to attract a man.” Her tone was light, but the hurt ran deep, and Tariq laced his fingers through hers reassuringly.
“Winona is a woman devoid of any good.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. In any event, the second I saw you, any reason for marrying you evaporated. All I cared about was getting to know the man who I was tying myself to for life.”
He looked down at her thoughtfully. “You have no point of reference, Rebecca, but at least a great sex life is a good starting point. If you are attracted to me, do you think you will in time come to love me as I do you?” Then, with a shake of his head. “Perhaps not as I love you, as I don’t think such love can be learned, but love me in some fashion? I know I’m selfish to ask it, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to let you go again.” Tariq was unaccustomed to such self-depreca
tion but, having started down this path, he knew he had to travel it completely.
“I see.” She pretended to think about his question and then broke out into peals of delighted laughter. “I am trying to tell you that I do love you, Tariq. I’m no martyr. I couldn’t fake the things we’ve shared. I wasn’t expecting to feel this way, but I can’t imagine a life without you in it.”
“Can this be serious?” His voice was thick with disbelief.
“Absolutely serious, your highness,” she answered lightly, and she stood on tiptoe to place a kiss on his lips.
He groaned, deepening the kiss and wrapping his arms tightly around her, holding her pressed to him.
“My beautiful queen, I think we owe ourselves a real honeymoon now, don’t you?”
She smiled up at him. “I think you’re right.”
Days later, they returned to the dessert tent, and this time, there were no second thoughts, no doubts. Just the love and need and respect that would bind them for all eternity.
THE END
THE SULTAN’S
RELUCTANT PRINCESS
CHAPTER ONE
Everything about her was mesmerising.
Sheikh Tamir Al’ani leaned forward in the red velvet private box, not caring that he was obstructing his host’s view. He simply had to get a better view of the woman.
Her hair was fair like sunflowers, and it sat long and straight, all the way down her back. Her eyes were a vivid green, from what he could see, wide set and almond shaped. But it was her smile that drew his gaze. Her whole face seemed to beam with the power of a thousand stars as the performance continued. With every tone of the flute, her smile widened, her eyes popped, until she was almost laughing in her seat.
Under the Sheikh’s watch, she turned to her companion, a young man, with blonde hair wearing a black tuxedo. That caused Tamir to frown slightly. He didn’t like the way she whispered in the man’s ear; with such easy familiarity.
When the violin solo began, and she leaned forward eagerly in her seat, he knew.
He wanted her.
The performance continued, but Tamir no longer heard it. Every fibre of his being was focussed on this curiously fascinating creature in the seats far beneath him.
He leaned across to his aide, Eleni. “There is someone I intend to speak to. Have my entourage wait.”
She bowed obediently and stepped back into the shadows.
His eyes fell to the woman again. Her clothes were perfect for her. The dress she wore was emerald green in colour, fitted across the bodice, and then it appeared to be a full skirt to the knees. It was hard to tell from where he was sitting, but he intended to inspect it far more thoroughly as the night progressed.
He stood abruptly, the moment it finished, and strode confidently out of the private seating area, moving with the assurance of one born to unimaginable wealth and unparalleled power. He marched past those who would detain him; those who sought to share words with a man as powerful as he.
He had a goal, and he did not intend to fail.
He reached her as the audience began its standing ovation. He felt his security officers step closer. Crowds such as this always sent them into a panic. Tamir’s lips twisted into a smile that was pure arrogance. After all, he was hardly a shrinking violet. Four years in the Talidarian military had seen him gain a full appreciation for self-defence.
“Excuse me,” he interrupted, placing a hand on the young woman’s bare arm. Immediately, he felt himself tighten. Her skin was warm and supple beneath his touch, smooth and soft. Unbidden, he imagined what the rest of her would feel like, and he comforted himself that he would know, for sure, in a matter of hours. “My name is Tamir. May I speak with you a moment?”
She looked over her shoulder at her friend, a flicker of doubt crossing her face.
“Jack,” she whispered. “Did you pay for these tickets?” After all, he was always in on some scam or another, but he’d assured her these seats were above board.
The blonde man was clearly confused. “Of course. Why?”
“This guy wants to talk to us.” She thumbed towards the imposing wall of muscle that was Tamir. Now that she looked again, she realised that he wasn’t security. He was too powerful looking. Too confident.
Tamir put a hand in the small of the woman’s back, and propelled her out of the seats, leading her towards the side of the auditorium.
A room had been prepared for his use. Such was the perk of being royalty from one of the wealthiest countries on the planet.
“Wait outside,” he ordered the friend, closing the door in his face before the blonde could object.
The beautiful woman with the intense green eyes spun around, her startling gaze wide. “Wait a minute. Who are you? And what do you want with me?”
He uncuffed his wrists and placed the diamond links on the table. His eyes were black chips in his face as he regarded her. What did he want from her? That was a fascinating question. His lips hinted at a smile, as he decided it would be far better to show her rather than tell her.
“Did you enjoy the performance?”
Olivia blinked at him in confusion.
“Huh? Who are you? Look. If it’s about the tickets, Jack swears he bought them.” She frowned. “And I’m almost positive that he’s telling the truth. Though… I can’t be absolutely certain.” Her frown deepened, causing a pretty little crease between her eyes. Her face was the most expressive he’d ever seen. When she’d watched the performance, she’d seemed to sparkle and glow. Now, she was so stricken that he longed to pull her into his arms and offer comfort. “If there’s a problem, I can pay for them. How much are they?”
He made an effort to conceal his amusement.
Unsuccessfully.
Olivia’s eyes widened as she finally gave him her full attention. She had never met the man before, but there was something intensely familiar about him. She’d have remembered, though, if their paths had crossed before. Never in her life had she seen someone so formidable. He stood at least six and a half feet tall, and his body seemed to be packed with pure muscle. His skin was dark, tanned like mahogany, and his eyes were darker still, like black gems in his handsome face. His jaw seemed to be carved from granite, and his nose likewise. His hair was black like a raven, and brushed back from his face it fell to just above his shoulders.
“I asked if you enjoyed the performance?”
She didn’t know what was going on, but in a split second, she decided the best thing to do was to answer him directly. “Yes.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “It was beautiful.”
“You were beautiful,” he contradicted softly. “A world class performance and I could not take my eyes off you.”
She arched a perfectly shaped brow, hoping the nonchalant gesture hid how wildly her heart was fluttering. “Then that’s a waste of your money, mister.”
His laugh was thick with amusement. “The tickets were a gift. And I consider it was time very well spent.”
She crossed her arms across her chest, distinctly aware of the way her heart was hammering against her ribcage. “I should get back to my friend.”
His eyes were darkly speculative, as they dragged over her body, lingering for a moment on the swell of cleavage revealed by her dress.
“Why?”
Olivia had a habit of pointing the tip of her tongue out to the corner of her lips, when she was deep in thought. She did so now, and traced the line of her top lip, as her eyes remained stuck as though welded to this stranger’s magnificent face. His skin looked so soft; and yet there was an underlying hardness to him that communicated itself to her with his every breath.
“Why?” She queried, furrowing her brow.
“Why should you go? And not stay, with me, a man who finds you infinitely interesting.”
She pulled a face, but her blood was gushing through her veins. “I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name.”
“Call me Mir.” The way he said it, with the foreign husk to h
is voice, it sounded like Me-ar.
She frowned. “Mir?”
“Close enough.”
His accent was thick, difficult to place. Definitely not European. His voice was deep and sexy, like warm chocolate and spices.
“And you are?” He asked, keeping his physical distance but somehow pushing through all the barriers of resistance she was trying to keep in place.
Olivia stayed quiet. Her brain, a little foggy from the beautiful performance and the glass of champagne Jack had plied her with during the intermission. She was struggling to make sense of what was happening. Belatedly, she looked around the room they were in. It was large enough to house a large group of people comfortably. It boasted a burgundy carpet and the same architectural details as the rest of Royal Albert Hall. Her eyes were drawn to the ceiling rose above them, but only for a fraction of a second. Then, the sheer force of the man’s presence pulled her gaze lower.
“Who are you?” She asked on a quiet whisper, as the surreal situation she found herself in finally punctuated her clouded brain.
Tamir ached to pull her into his arms. If they were in his country, she would be bowing before him. Although, he realised with a speculative twist to his lips, this woman was not one likely to bow before anyone. Her spirit seemed to glow from her skin; the strength of determination and suspicion reminding him of himself. For the briefest of moments he contemplated withholding his identity, before sharply realising such deception and trickery was beneath him.
“I am Tamir Al’ani, Sultan of Talidar.”
Olivia didn’t visibly react, but a fierce flock of butterflies began to beat at the sides of her stomach. She had heard of him, of course. It explained why he had such a tangible air of authority, at least. Or did it? Olivia suspected that even in a menial position, this man would exude confidence and power. She closed her eyes briefly and then fixed him with a clear green stare. “Well, Your Highness, I’d better get back to my friend.”
His smile was slow to spread across his lips, and it was darkly, sinfully sexy. It changed his whole face, draping it in a sheath of dangerously seductive appeal. Olivia took a step back, unable to help the involuntary action. Oh, but it was betraying. In that tiny step, she conveyed her awareness of his position, and the fear and awe it invoked.
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