by Sophia Lynn
“I think you need to keep explaining,” she said. “Next is why.”
Kashif sighed.
“Why is answered by the conservatives in Allatf. I've been trying to make changes that will improve things for everyone. There are a lot of people who think I am too immature to handle it. They unfortunately remember some of my escapades in my youth—”
“You mean like when you filled a yacht full of supermodels and took them on the Red Sea?” Honey blurted out, and far from being offended, Kashif grinned.
“So you have kept up with me.”
“Pretty hard not to when you're half Allatfi and the man in charge runs off with a yacht of supermodels,” Honey said, refusing to be cowed.
“All right, fair. So they remember some of my exploits, and the general buzz is that they would feel much more secure if I was traditionally married with a proper wife at my side and a baby on the way.”
Honey tilted her head to one side, looking at Kashif carefully. He was full of bluster and pride, every inch the playboy the papers made him out to be... but that had stopped a few years ago, hadn't it? Being half Allatfi meant she did keep up with the news from her father's homeland, where she had stayed as a young child. The papers were clear on the fact that the bad-boy sheikh had been replaced with the go-getting young politician who worked tirelessly for the benefit of his people. The pieces were all there, but they didn't make the picture that she had been expecting to see.
“Which brings us to point three,” she said slowly. “Why me?”
“Your father gave up his title to marry your mother,” he said softly. “Those lands are gone, that money is gone, and he knew he was allowing it all to revert back to the crown when he chose to marry an American woman.”
Honey lifted her chin proudly, because though her memories of her father were distant, she treasured them fiercely.
“He loved her, and she loved him. She wasn't some disappointed gold-digger like the papers said.”
“No, she wasn't,” Kashif said. Honey blinked at his easy agreement.
“What I'm saying is that you are as traditional a wife as Allatf could want. You know what it's like; blood is everything there, and yours is the right kind, perfect for a sheikha, perfect as a wife for a man they are not altogether certain of.”
“Surely there are others,” she protested. “Surely there are other women who took one look at you and—”
She cut herself off with a blush, and Kashif grinned as widely as a wolf, eyes lighting up. For a moment, she flashed back to the boy who had made her year at boarding school such pure awful, but her adult brain stepped in. There was no malice in Kashif at all; there was nothing but delight.
“One look at me and what?” he asked, and she shook her head, her cheeks burning.
“Never mind,” Honey muttered. “Just answer the question. Women must be lining up to be your sheikha and the mother of your baby. You're handsome, you're rich, what more could they want?”
“Then why aren't you jumping at the chance?” Kashif retorted, but he continued, more seriously. “The truth is I don't have the best reputation. I've been out with women who the nobility of Allatf would find suitable, and the trouble is they do not find me suitable in the least. I have been… rude and ungracious, let's say, and they remember, and they talk.”
“Wow, and you thought that you'd find the poorest member of Allatfi nobility you could and see if money would work where charm wouldn't?”
“I thought I would come ask you because you believe in what I'm doing,” he said seriously, and Honey went still.
“You know what I've been trying to do, don't you?” Kashif asked. “You know about how I'm trying to even the playing field in Allatf, improve everything for everyone. It's tough, it's thankless, it will likely be the work of a lifetime, but it is, I believe with all my heart, worth doing.”
“But... your wife and the mother of your child...”
“It's not as dire as you make it out to be,” Kashif said softly. “I'm not expecting you to do anything but what comes naturally.”
“What comes naturally?”
Kashif gave her a cocky glance.
“Well, you know, as I said, perhaps we should satisfy our needs the old-fashioned way.”
At Honey's dire look, he shook his head.
“Honey, I promise you, I'm not a monster. Nothing that you don't want, but they are going to assume that we are trying for a child, a son. If that happens, well, there are custody arrangements that can be made. You're reasonable, so am I, and I don't need to tell you that being the mother of the future sheikh isn't a bad deal.”
Honey shook her head. It was too much, so much, and all on the heels of her mother's death. She wanted to run away. She wanted to fall into what Kashif was offering, both for the good that he wanted to do and because of something deeper inside her. Without knowing why she was doing so, she looked up at Kashif entreatingly.
Kashif came to kneel on the ground in front of her, his hands lightly on the arms of her chair. This close, Honey realized that there were tiny gold specks in his dark eyes, giving him an almost feline appearance. She thought she could feel the heat of his body straight through his clothes, and her heart beat faster.
“You know what I'm trying to do, and if you are anything like that girl I met in school, you know that it's worth doing. What I'm asking you for is help. You'll be paid for your trouble, two million USD for every year we stay married, and you will live, not to put too fine a point on it, like a queen. If you have a child, any child, during this time, we'll figure it out. And you'll be helping people.”
Suddenly it felt as if all the air had gone out of the room, and Honey knew she couldn't say no. He was right. He was helping the people of her father's homeland. He needed her help. The money mattered, as did the sudden light at the end of the tunnel he offered. She wanted to get out, get away from who she had been, and he was offering her just that.
“And you wouldn't hurt me.”
She had no idea where the words had come from, but Kashif's gaze turned fierce and protective. She had never imagined that he could look like that, that anyone could look like that over her.
“Never,” he said. “Never in all my life.”
“Yes,” she said, and then he was leaning forward, his mouth finding hers as if it was fate, as if it was meant to be. The kiss took her breath away, like a cannon fired over calm water. One moment there was silence, and the next the ground shook and the air boomed.
She had been kissed before, of course she had, but nothing in the world had prepared her for this; for the sensuality of Kashif Riaz's lips moving over hers, of the sweet slide of the tip of his tongue between her lips, of how her body felt as if it was on fire with need and want that she had never thought possible.
It was so good that it took her straight out of the world to a place where the only thing that mattered was his mouth on hers, where her body was blooming with a sensual promise that she had never even guessed at before now.
Honey moaned softly as Kashif urged her mouth open, his teeth just the barest hint of a sensual promise against her lower lip. It was too gentle to be called a bite when she felt how sharp his tooth was against such delicate skin, but it lit her up in a way that was almost too intense to be believed for a simple kiss.
It wasn't until Kashif reached up to cradle the side of her face, the pad of his thumb sweeping sensuously over the curve of her cheek, that Honey realized what was happening.
“Whoa,” Honey said, and Kashif pulled back at once.
“Are you all right?” he asked in concern. “Too much, too fast?”
“Yes… no. I don't know,” she said, shaking her head. “Look. We're... we're getting married. Let's not rush this more than we have to, all right?”
Saying the words made it more real, but then Kashif lit up in a grin that was at once victorious and joyful.
Almost looks like he actually wants to marry me, Honey thought, and to her surprise, Kashif took he
r hand in his and brought it to his lips. It was a quick kiss, but there was something heartfelt about it, something so tremendously honest and sincere.
“As you wish,” he said, and somehow, he made it sound as if he meant it.
Chapter Two
Kashif
Two days later, Kashif unbuckled his seatbelt as the royal jet reached cruising altitude, and glanced across the table at his new bride-to-be. Honey was twisted around in the seat, staring out the window at the world far below them, and Kashif hid a smile.
“You can take off your seatbelt if you like,” he said, and she turned towards him with a slightly startled motion, her pale brown eyes wide before she smiled.
“Oh, right. Thanks,” she said, freeing herself from the seatbelt and going right back to looking out the window. There was something amusing about it to Kashif. He was used to being the most important thing going on in any given room. Right now, however, he was being sidelined for a fading view of the United States' east coast.
Kashif was a man who liked being the center of attention. He enjoyed it, was good at being in the limelight. He shuddered at what his life might have been like if he was the sheikh and didn't like it to some extent. However, right now, as he and Honey made their way back across the ocean to their home, he found he didn't mind. Right now, with her attention focused on the world outside the plane's window, he could study her instead.
Who would have known that the lost noblewoman of Allatf would turn out to be such a beauty?
His memories from their single shared school year together consisted mainly of a small girl dressed in a uniform that was slightly too large for her, her knees perpetually skinned, her pale ashy hair untidy, and her face eternally screwed up in a scowl.
Those memories blew away in the light of the gorgeous young woman she had grown into. Honey was small and slender, but there was a womanly curve to her body that made her impossible to ignore. Her hair had darkened over the years, and she had it pulled into a loose braid that hung halfway down her back. Kashif had to rein in his first instinct to simply pull the elastic out and smooth the dark strands into waves perfect for touching or perhaps even a little pulling.
They're going to fall in love with her, Kashif thought idly. They're going to adore her as the new sheikha, and they are going to give her all the attention and praise will I finally get some things done behind the scenes.
He suddenly realized that he was excited to see Honey in the clothes of their shared homeland; the long gorgeously embroidered trousers and split tunics, the heavy bracelets and anklets that would jingle when she walked. She would be absolutely beautiful in more modern garments as well, dresses and suits that were tailored to her diminutive figure, capturing her grace and her shy loveliness. The clothes she owned were, even to his inexpert eye, cheap and poorly fitting. She was like a jewel whose beauty was hidden by her poor setting. Once he got her into clothes befitting her station, once the dedicated palace staff had dressed her appropriately, oh how she would shine.
Kashif laughed suddenly to himself.
When was the last time I got excited about the idea of putting a woman into clothes?
Honey shot Kashif a quizzical look as she turned to sit down in her seat. It wasn't like they were in a conventional airplane. There was a table between them where they could eat or work or read as they chose, but Kashif was painfully aware that they were still very close to each other – so close he could simply reach over and touch her cheek, brush her hair back from her face.
“What's so funny?” she prompted, and Kashif shook his head. He might have had a reputation for saying blunt things to women about how he felt about them, but that was not what was called for here, with the woman who would soon be his wife and a ticket towards forwarding change in his country.
“Nothing much,” he said. “It's only strange to look at you and think about how I used to know you so long ago.”
“You really didn't,” Honey said with a frown. “You were three years older than me, and your favorite thing in the world was to tease me and make my life a living hell.”
Her bald flat words took Kashif aback. He had to stare at her for a few moments before he could recover his voice.
“Surely not,” he said. “A living hell? That's a bit much, isn't it?”
“Is it?” she asked pointedly, and he frowned.
“I teased you. I made fun of you, I was hard on you in a way that was inappropriate.”
“You made fun of the fact that my uniforms didn't fit,” Honey said evenly. “They didn't fit because my mom had to get them second-hand.”
Kashif stared, because at the boarding school where they both had gone, second-hand uniforms were virtually unheard of. All of the students came from noble houses throughout the world, with parents who routinely contributed enough money to get wings or whole buildings named after them on campus.
Honey lifted her chin proudly at Kashif's surprise.
“It was awful,” she said. “It was the worst year of my life besides the ones where I lost my parents.”
“I had no idea,” Kashif said, and she nodded.
“I've had a lot of time to think about it,” she said. “I never thought that you were evil, or wicked, but I did know that you were careless. You couldn't see why you were hurting me or what it might really feel like.”
“I didn't,” Kashif said, an unfamiliar lump of guilt in his throat. “I thought it was just... the kind of teasing all kids do.”
“And I suppose people teased you the same way?”
Kashif could only be silent at that, because they both knew the answer, and Honey nodded.
“Figures.”
She started to turn away, but Kashif reached across the table again, taking her hand in his.
“Honey, I'm sorry.”
She gave him a guarded look that stung more than it should have. He told himself that it was because she was going to be his wife, and it was only smart to start off their marriage, sham though it was, on the right foot. There was something else whispering in him that suggested it very much wasn't.
“You already said it. I accepted. Look, Kashif, I don't want to make it a big thing. I just wanted to point out that we probably have very different impressions of our time in school together.”
Kashif was already shaking his head.
“No. I want you to take back your acceptance of my apology. I didn't realize what I was apologizing for, not really. I didn't realize that I had hurt you so badly or that I had been so cruel. Thank you for telling me.”
“It sounds like a strange thing to thank someone for,” Honey said, and there was a caution in her voice that made him ache. Had so few people genuinely apologized to her? Had so few people really changed for her?
“If people don't tell me how I hurt them, how can I do better?” he asked quietly. “If I hurt you, if I troubled you, I want to do better. You telling me this is important. It allows me to do better, both by you and by my country. What kind of man can change his county if he cannot even change himself? If he cannot make amends for what he truly did, rather than what he only thinks he did?”
“That makes sense,” Honey said hesitantly, and Kashif nodded.
“I hope so. I hope you believe me. Do not worry about forgiving me. I only wanted to tell you that I am truly sorry, and I want you to know that I want to make things up to you, to show you that I am better than I was.”
Abruptly, Kashif realized that he still held her hand in his. For a moment, all he could do was marvel at how small it was, how dainty and how warm. He noted with amusement that she kept her nails short and practical, the faint scarring on one hand telling him that she had worked in her life, that it hadn't been easy. She wouldn't forget that, and neither should he.
Then he realized that perhaps she didn't care to hold hands with a man who had made her life so difficult once upon a time, and he started to let go.
Then to his surprise, she wrapped her fingers around his, her touch tentative, a
lmost shy. It would have taken barely any force at all to pull away, but Kashif stilled instead, freezing as if she were some kind of wild animal that he didn't want to startle.
“I think there's a tiny girl inside me who is always going to be hurt that she didn't go to boarding school and make a million friends,” Honey said. “She's lonely and scared, and she was so stressed about going to class she would throw up almost every morning.
Kashif flinched, but Honey didn't let him go.
“Honey—”
“The important thing, the most important thing, I think, is that I'm not that girl anymore,” she said, looking directly at him. “And now that I've talked to you? I don't think you're that boy any longer, either.”
Kashif let out a long breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding. It was small, nothing more than the most minor of concessions, but for some reason, it meant the world to him.
“Thank you,” he said. “I will try to be worthy of your faith in me.”
Unexpectedly, she smiled, and something about it was simply stunning. He realized he really wasn't used to seeing her smile all that much, not when she was a child, not when he had proposed. Now, though, it was as if he was standing in front of a stained glass window on a cloudy day. The glass itself was beautiful, but when the sun came streaming through, there was color so vivid it was alive, and he knew exactly how the window was meant to be seen.
“Don't get comfortable too fast,” she said. “You don't have all of my faith yet. Just some of it.”
As he had back at her house, he lifted her hand to his lips, and he watched in fascination as it made her eyelashes flutter momentarily and a hint of red rise up in her cheeks.
“I will take what I can get,” he said, and wonder of wonders, Honey laughed.
Chapter Three
Honey
About two weeks in, some two dozen yards of silk and more royal announcements than she would believe later, Honey realized she was making a mistake.