The Sheikh's Bought Wife

But if he had hoped for a little gratitude as she acknowledged his courtesy towards her, he was to be disappointed. Her expression was as fierce as ever as she looked up at him, her eyes silently telling him she’d rather be anywhere than here. And suddenly another powerful rush of adrenalin flooded through Zayed’s veins—more potent than anything he had felt in a long time, because he wasn’t used to getting the cold shoulder. He’d never had to fight for a woman, nor work to gain her affection. And he’d never really had to try in order to bed her. He felt another unwanted kick of lust as he met her stubborn expression. What he would give to be able to dismiss everyone in the room and to crush her lips beneath his in a mind-blowing kiss, before slipping his hand beneath the encrusted gown to encounter the cool flesh which lay there. That would have quickly wiped away her haughty expression!

‘Zayed.’

Jane’s voice broke into his erotic daydream and he realised she was now looking at him with the undeniable flicker of reproach in her eyes.

‘What is it?’ he demanded.

‘Hassan was asking you a question and you were miles away,’ she said.

What was he thinking? Was he really allowing forbidden fantasy to blind him to his duty? And why the hell was he fantasising about such an uptight woman as this? With an effort he turned to his aide. ‘Yes, Hassan. What is it?’

‘I was merely asking if you were ready to go through with the ceremony, Your Serene Highness.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Zayed impatiently. ‘Let’s just get it over with.’

For Jane, the ceremony passed in a blur. She was aware of making vows in both Kafalahian and in English, and of Zayed slipping a ring onto her finger—a heavy golden ring studded with emeralds which matched those in her crown. She had studied the words beforehand in preparation, determined that she wouldn’t stumble over any of them and grateful that her familiarity with Kafalahian would aid her fluency. She’d thought that learning the words by heart—as you did a list of verbs—would make them seem meaningless when she came to say them out loud. But it wasn’t that easy. She could feel a little catch in her voice as she promised to love her Sheikh for ever with all her heart and body and soul. Suddenly she felt a hypocrite to be taking such solemn vows in vain and she prayed his people would not be disappointed by the inevitable outcome.

But what choice did she have if she wanted to free her sister from her past mistakes and give her a brand-new start? Hadn’t Cleo promised faithfully that she would live within her means from now on—and even though Jane had felt doubtful if she’d be able to keep a promise when she’d broken so many in the past, she hadn’t let it show on her face. And there were other benefits which would come about as a result of this strange union—she needed to remember those, too. Kafalah would be a much stronger and richer country as a result of Zayed inheriting Dahabi Makaan. Sometimes you had to make sacrifices for the greater good, she reminded herself. And surely it wouldn’t kill her to play-act the part of the Sheikh’s bride for half a year.

But there had been that moment right at the beginning which had made her heart miss a beat. The moment when she’d been walking towards him and seen him looking at her as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes—a look which probably matched her own reaction because she hardly recognised the Jane which had been reflected back at her when she’d stared at her wedding dress in the mirror. A sensual and subtly provocative Jane who seemed completely at odds with the inexperienced woman underneath all the bridal finery. But when Zayed’s black gaze had roved disbelievingly from the tip of her emerald crown to the glimpse of the golden toe which peeped from beneath the weighted hem of her gown, she’d felt like a woman for the first time in her life. A woman who could appear almost lovely in the eyes of the beholder. A woman who could be desired.

But then she’d seen that look being replaced by another—an unfamiliar expression which had wiped away the habitual power and control and made his hawk-like features appear almost ravaged. Had that been pain or despair she’d seen in his night-dark eyes? Was the idea of being tied to her—even for so short a time—causing him such open distress? She chewed on her berry-stained lips. Well, that was just too bad. He was the one who had proposed this marriage of convenience which suited them both—and they were both going to have to make the best of it.

There was feasting after the ceremony, though not the three days of celebrations which some royal weddings in the region would have demanded. Zayed had opted to keep the event a decidedly low-key and local affair and Jane was grateful for that. Perhaps he realised it might be unwise to invite world leaders to witness a marriage which had the timer ticking on it from the outset. Which meant that although the claret and golden dining room was filled with guests and dignitaries, they were mainly royals from the desert region who would not gossip to the world media, nor try to take any forbidden ‘selfies’ when fireworks exploded over the palace lake. Karim of Maraban was there with his wife Rose, as well as the infamous prince who had once defied convention by marrying a humble stable girl.

Determined to emotionally distance herself from what was going on, Jane tried to view the whole affair through the eyes of an academic, reminding herself that she was taking part in a little bit of history. That one day she would merit a brief mention in textbooks—possibly even with a photo of her wedding day—before the inevitable footnote stating that the marriage had been dissolved a mere six months later.

But it was difficult to be distant when your body seemed to

have developed a stubborn will of its own. When she found herself wanting to push her aching breasts against Zayed’s powerful chest as he caught her in his arms for the traditional first dance between bride and groom. As it was, she could barely think straight and wasn’t it the most infuriating thing in the world that he immediately seemed to pick up on that?

‘You seem to be having trouble breathing, dear wife,’ he murmured as he moved her to the centre of the marble dance floor.

‘The dress is very tight.’

‘I’d noticed.’ He twirled her around, holding her back a little. ‘It looks very well on you.’

She forced a tight smile but she didn’t relax. ‘Thank you.’

‘Or maybe it is the excitement of having me this close to you which is making you pant like a little kitten?’

‘You’re annoying me, rather than exciting me. And I do wish you’d stop trying to get underneath my skin.’

‘Don’t you like people getting underneath your skin, Jane?’

‘No,’ she said honestly. ‘I don’t.’

‘Why not?’

She met the blaze of his ebony eyes and suppressed a shiver. ‘Does everything have to have a reason?’

‘In my experience, yes.’ There was a pause. ‘Has a man hurt you in the past?’

This was her chance to tell him yes—even though the very idea that someone had got that close to her was laughable. What difference would a lie make when they had already woven a complex web of deceit around themselves? But Jane had the disciplined mind of the academic and she knew it was pointless trying to fool someone unless you were qualified to do so—especially when you were dealing with someone as clever as Zayed. How could she possibly pretend to be a woman whose heart had been broken by a man, when she’d hardly even been kissed? There had been that ghastly encounter on the dance floor during her first term at uni, when a man had kept plunging his tongue into her mouth with the vigour of someone trying to unblock a toilet, and it had put her off for life. Zayed had already guessed she might be a virgin, but that didn’t even come close to her shameful lack of experience.

Trying to ignore the way his groin was brushing against her as he edged her closer, she glanced up at him, her cheeks burning. ‘I refuse to answer that on the grounds that I might incriminate myself. Tell me instead, do you always insist on interrogating women when you’re dancing with them?’

‘No. I don’t,’ he said simply. ‘But then I’ve never had a bride before and I’ve never danced with a woman who was so determined not to give anything of herself away.’