Charlotte felt her cheeks get hot. His “most beautiful”? Well, that was a lie. She wasn’t beautiful and she certainly wasn’t his.
But soon you will be.
Charlotte ignored the shiver that went down her spine at the thought.
It wasn’t excitement. It just wasn’t.
She didn’t see the Sheikh over the next couple of days, which was a good thing. And she might have spent those days pacing around in her suite, reflecting over and over on the wisdom of her decision, had not Amirah turned up at her door the next day, informing her that she was now to be Charlotte’s assistant and had been asked to help her with the list of tasks His Majesty had assigned to her. Then she’d brandished said list and Charlotte, craving distraction, had grabbed it with some relief.
The Sheikh had asked her to familiarise herself with the history, customs, people and language of Ashkaraz, which made sense since she was going to be queen. And since she’d always found learning interesting she’d thrown herself into study with abandon, especially as it involved spending a lot of time in the beautiful library she’d been taken to when she’d first got to the palace.
There were also culture and protocol lessons—which she found very interesting too—not to mention a lot of scrubbing and oiling of her body—which she found less interesting—including plucking and face masks and hair wraps. The beautification process for an Ashkarazi bride, apparently.
In between all of this the Sheikh sent updates on her father’s condition and then, on the third day, a note to say that the professor had been taken to the border and would be released within hours. She was to send him an email, confirming her decision to stay in Ashkaraz, as well as an announcement that she would be marrying His Majesty, Tariq ibn Ishak Al Naziri.
Typing it felt unreal, as if it was happening to someone else, and a burst of homesickness made her wish for a phone call and the sound of her father’s voice to steady her. But when she asked Amirah if a phone call was possible she was advised that it was forbidden.
At first she was merely annoyed, but as the day went on, with yet more beauty treatments that included being poked and prodded and then a fitting session for a wedding gown that involved being swathed in yards of white silk, Charlotte’s annoyance soon turned to anger.
Everything was new and strange, and it was going to take her a while to get used to her new position in life. All she wanted was the sound of a familiar voice. Some reassurance that she was doing the right thing. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
She’d already asked Amirah to beg the Sheikh for special dispensation for a call, especially since she had no idea when or even if she’d see her father again, but apparently ‘forbidden’ really meant forbidden.
There would be no phone calls for her.
Charlotte tried very hard to force her anger away, but for some reason she couldn’t ignore it. Nor was it helped by her homesickness. And by the time the afternoon rolled around her emotions had begun to bubble away inside her like a saucepan full of water boiling on a stove.
She’d been preparing for a visit to the historic and apparently very beautiful palace baths, but as her anger had risen she’d decided to find the Sheikh first and tell him exactly what she thought of his phone call ban.
Over the past few days a steady stream of clothing had arrived in the suite—not only traditional robes, but expensive designer dresses, tailored trousers and shirts, blouses, as well several pairs of jeans and T-shirts. There was also underwear, silk and lace, in various pretty colours, which she’d tried to ignore because she felt strange about it. It was even stranger to wear the clothing and find that it was all the right size and fitted her perfectly.
In amongst the items she’d unearthed a very lovely bikini that had jewels sewn all over it. She had no idea if the jewels were real—if so, then the bikini wasn’t very practical for swimming in, although it wasn’t practical even if they weren’t real—but still, it was the only bathing suit she had, and if she wanted to go to the baths, then that was what she’d have to wear.
Amirah had laughed and told her not to be so silly. Bathing naked was the done thing, and no one would bother her once it was known that the sheikha-to-be was bathing there. But there was no way she was bathing naked in public, so she pulled on the bikini, then a gauzy silver robe over the top of it, and, belting the robe around her waist, she went in search of the Sheikh.
However, he was nowhere to be found, and people seemed reluctant to tell her where he was. After half an hour’s fruitless search, even more furious than she’d been initially, Charlotte decided to visit the baths anyway and look for him later. Certainly that would give her some time to cool off, and that was a good thing when it came to asking for a favour.
Except as she approached the arched entrance to the baths she saw two black-robed guards standing on either side of the door. She knew who they were now: the sheikh’s personal guards. Which, of course, meant that he was inside.
Her temper was not improved by the news, since she’d been hoping to calm down in some peace and quiet. And a part of her was very tempted to simply turn around and go back to her rooms. But running away wouldn’t get her a phone call, so she steeled herself, opening her mouth to demand entrance.
Yet before she’d even managed to get a word out, the guards stood aside for her, their faces impassive.
Charlotte shut her mouth with a snap, lifted her chin, and swept on past them, entering an echoing, humid space with high arches and columns set around a huge tiled pool. The walls had the same beautiful tiles as the rest of the palace, though these were in gorgeous shades of blue, and steam wreathed the huge columns that lined the edges of the pool. Light drifted down from the ceiling through hidden windows, illuminating the baths with a diffuse light.
A man was swimming in the pool, his stroke clean and powerful, his large muscular body moving through the water with all the deadly grace of a shark.
It was him. The Sheikh.
An unexpected shiver rippled through her, and the anger sitting in the pit of her stomach twisted strangely. There was something about him she couldn’t take her eyes off, and instead of calling to interrupt him she found herself standing at the edge of the pool and watching him swim instead.
But he must have noticed her anyway, because his stroke slowed and gradually he came to a stop, standing up in the water and raising a hand to push his wet black hair back from his face.
And Charlotte realised she’d made a grievous error.
She very carefully hadn’t thought of that night beside the fountain, losing herself instead in the tasks he’d set her over the past couple of days. Hadn’t thought about the feelings he’d evoked, the anger and the strange sense of excitement as he’d brushed that strawberry over her lips, the fierce rush of adrenaline as he’d stared at her, challenge burning in his golden eyes.
And if he had accidentally found his way into her thoughts she’d distanced herself from him, turning him into the tall, dark and intimidating Sheikh instead, swathed in his robes of state. Safely removed from her by his position.
Yet it wasn’t the robed Sheikh who stood in front of her now, but a man.
A magnificent, completely beautiful man.
Water streamed down his powerful body, outlining every perfect muscle from his wide shoulders to his broad chest, to the chiselled lines of his abs. His bronzed skin was marked here and there by scars, but nothing could detract from the fact that he was a work of art. There was not an ounce of fat on him and he was muscled like a Greek god, radiating the same sense of arrogant power.
And yet although he might look very much a man in the pool right now, every soaking wet inch of him was a king.
The distance she’d put between herself and her feelings felt abruptly tenuous, fraying as the diffuse light ran over his magnificent body. Her skin prickled with an undeniable heat. Her hands itched, as if she w
anted to touch him, to see if he felt as hard and as smooth and as hot as he looked, forcing her to fold her arms and tuck her hands firmly into her armpits to stop herself from reaching for him.
‘Good morning, Miss Devereaux.’
His deep, dark voice echoed in the tiled space and his golden stare caught hers, a knowing look in it.
‘Have you come to join me for a swim?’
The prickling heat crept up her neck, warmed her cheeks, and she was very conscious that the humid air of the pool was making the gauzy fabric of her robes stick to her skin, and that all she had on beneath it was the silly, impractical little jewelled bikini.
‘No,’ she said stoutly, folding her arms tighter across her chest, determined not to let him get to her. ‘I’m here to discuss the fact that you won’t allow me a phone call with my father before he leaves.’
‘Really?’
His gaze dropped down her body in a way that made her face feel even hotter.
‘And yet you seem to be wearing the bikini I had sent to you.’
Damn him for noticing.
Charlotte shifted uncomfortably, felt the tiles warm and slick beneath her feet. ‘Yes, well...you’re already in here and I prefer to swim by myself. Now, about that phone—’
‘Do not let me stop you,’ he murmured. ‘I would hate for you not to enjoy the water because of me.’
Another tiny shiver swept over her at the silky note in his voice and she couldn’t seem to drag her gaze from the way the light fell on his wet skin.
Heavens, what was wrong with her? This man was a stranger to her, she’d barely even spoken to him, and yet all she could think about was what he would feel like beneath her fingers.
You’re attracted to him. A good thing, considering he’s going to be your husband.
She felt breathless at the thought, which irritated her, because she didn’t want to feel anything at all about the man who’d essentially kidnapped her and was now holding her prisoner in his country.
‘I don’t want to swim right now,’ she said primly. ‘I want to talk about this phone call.’
Something gleamed in his eyes. ‘Come into the pool, ya amar, and we will discuss it.’
Oh, she recognised that look. She’d seen it before, that night beside the fountain, when he’d told her she was to marry him. Fierce challenge. A dare.
And, much to her annoyance, she could feel a part of herself wanting to answer that challenge, to surprise him, make him see that she wasn’t just his prisoner but a force to be reckoned with.
A stupid thing to want when she didn’t care what he thought of her.
She didn’t want to swim. She didn’t want to get anywhere near him. And she wasn’t his ‘most beautiful’, so he could stop calling her that too.
All she wanted was to talk to her father on the phone—that was it.
‘I have already told you I don’t want to swim,’ she said, knowing she sounded sulky and yet unable to help it. ‘Why do you keep insisting?’
‘Because I have been neglecting you for the past couple of days.’ The water rippled around his narrow hips as he moved closer. ‘And I would like to catch up with what you have been doing.’
‘I’ve been doing everything you asked me to do.’ It seemed to take immense effort to keep her gaze on his face, not to look down and follow the muscled lines of his body. ‘That’s all.’
‘Amirah tells me you have been diligent in your reading and an apt pupil in your language and protocol lessons.’
Charlotte shrugged, trying to ignore the way the light was moving over his chest as he breathed, his skin glistening. ‘I like to study.’
He moved closer still and she couldn’t help herself. Her attention dropping down over him again and... Was he wearing swimming trunks?
She blinked and looked away, her face suddenly flaming.
No, he was not.
He’s naked. He’s standing in the water, naked.
Her pulse sounded loud in her ears—so loud it was a wonder he didn’t hear it himself—and her mouth was bone-dry. Amirah had told her the custom was to swim naked, but Charlotte had never expected that to apply to the Sheikh himself. That she’d find him swimming naked and completely unashamed of the fact.
Not that he had anything to be ashamed about, from the looks of things.
Don’t look at him, idiot.
That was a very good plan. Because the more she looked at him, the more breathless and unsteady she felt, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. She preferred to be in control of both herself and her feelings, not at their mercy.
Perhaps she’d simply pretend he was standing in front of her fully dressed and not...not...
‘Is there something wrong?’
His voice was laced through with a fine thread of amusement that scratched at her thin veneer of calm, threatening to crack it.
‘No, of course not.’ She steeled herself to meet his gaze again, determined not to let him see how he affected her. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘You are blushing very hard, Miss Devereaux.’
Oh, yes, he was very definitely amused, damn him.
‘Why is that?’
Curse her pale skin. And curse him into the bargain.
Well, there was no point pretending now. Might as well give him the truth. ‘Because you’re naked, that’s why. And, no, I’m very much not swimming with you. Not like that.’
‘Why not?’ One dark brow arched. ‘Are you afraid?’
The question echoed off the tiled walls, and the deep vibration of his voice set something vibrating inside her too.
Was he making fun of her? Or was this about something more?
Oh, but she knew the answer to that. He was challenging her, pure and simple, and the part of her that wanted very much to answer that challenge was getting stronger. Because wouldn’t it be satisfying to set his arrogance back on its heels?
Using your fear, though. That’s a clichéd move.
Yes, it was—which meant that the only real response was to stay cool and calm, turn around and walk out.
Yet she didn’t. She stayed where she was, rooted to the spot, angry and getting angrier. At herself for her conflicting emotions and at him for making her feel this way. Because it was definitely his fault. She’d never had any trouble controlling her anger before—never had anyone get under her skin the way he was doing right now.
And the real problem was that the longer she stood there, the more she revealed—and he knew it. In fact, he was looking at her now as if he could see her every thought, knew her every feeling, knew that she was afraid and that he was the cause. And he liked it.
‘I will not touch you,’ he said softly. ‘If that is what you are afraid of.’
Oh, yes, he could see her fear. Bloody man.
Her jaw felt tight, aching. ‘I am not afraid.’
‘Get in, then. And we will discuss your phone call.’
She didn’t want to. But she couldn’t stand there doing nothing any longer.
Before she could think better of it Charlotte moved to the edge of the pool.
Then dived straight in.
CHAPTER SIX
TARIQ HAD NOT expected that. He’d been baiting her, admittedly, and it was probably unfair of him, but she’d turned up during his private swimming time, her silver-blue eyes glowing with anger, wearing a gauzy piece of nothing he could see straight through and the tiny jewelled bikini he’d provided for her on a whim, and... Well, he was a man. And she was very much a woman.
If he thought about it, he’d no doubt find it a little disturbing, how affected he was by her.
But he’d decided not to think about it.
Her vulnerability was the issue, not her anger, and with her standing there arguing with him, the transparent robe clinging to her small curvaceous figure
and all that silvery hair curling in the humidity of the baths, it hadn’t seemed a bad thing to indulge his urge to push her, bait her just a little. Stoke her anger to see how hot it flared and whether she would burn along with it.
And indeed she had—beautifully, as it turned out.
Her response to him was all he could have hoped for, and he very much liked how uncomfortable his nakedness had made her. Because it was obvious why she was uncomfortable, and it wasn’t due to her not liking his body. He knew when a woman wanted him, and his pretty little fiancée very much did, whether she was aware of it or not.
Still, he’d expected to have to drag out some more ultimatums before she finally got in the pool with him. And even then he’d thought she might slip in quietly, perhaps a little hesitantly.
He hadn’t thought she’d dive right in, barely making a splash.
She came to the surface, water coursing down her body, the gauzy robe now completely transparent and sticking like a second skin to her lush curves. With her hair lying silky and wet over her shoulders, and water drops caught on her lashes, she looked like a mermaid.
His body tightened, hardening as she lifted her arms to push her hair back. Her breasts rose with the movement, and the jewels on her bikini top glittered only slightly less brightly than her sapphire eyes as she met his gaze.
She was all challenge now, no longer calm and prim, the way she had been on the edge of the pool, and he felt something in him wanting to push her even harder, to see exactly what she was made of.
Because he had a feeling it was of stronger stuff than he’d initially anticipated. She’d been shocked at the ultimatum he’d presented her with the night he’d given her dinner, but then she’d got angry, giving him a glimpse of steel, and he’d very much liked that.
‘So,’ she said, holding out her hands. ‘As you can see, I am now in the water. Can we have a conversation about my phone call now?’
Perhaps she didn’t know the effect she presented in this moment—all pale, gleaming skin, her every curve highlighted by the gems on her swimsuit. Because if she had she might have requested more from him than a mere phone call. But plainly she didn’t, and that was just as well since he might have given it to her.
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