The Sultan's Choice

He closed his eyes but it was no good. All he could see was Samia, holding that torn dress in her hands, and the way she’d walked with such regal hauteur back into the castle last night. It hadn’t stopped him following her into the shower, though, and making love to her. The anger had still been simmering inside him, even though he’d known there was no rational reason for it. If anything, Samia had done him a favour in questioning his motives. Reminding him of what this was: a marriage of convenience.

He felt clammy now, recalling that initial feeling of exposure. What on earth had he been thinking of, organising the tent in the first place? Had his brain been so warped by a little dune driving and the hottest sex he’d ever had? Evidently.

The ironic thing about that blasted tent was that for years he’d had it in the back of his head to create some scene of seduction in the desert for his mistresses. More than one had asked him wistfully when he was going to take her to a secret desert oasis. And he never had, because at the last moment they’d always been the wrong p

erson to share the desert with. And now the first woman he had brought to a secret desert oasis had all but thrown it back in his face.

He heard a rustle of movement behind him and turned slowly to face his wife, not liking the way he had to steel himself against the inevitable effect of seeing her.

Samia woke and was disorientated to see Sadiq standing looking out over the desert, fully dressed in traditional robes. For a silent moment she regarded his impressive back, and hated the ache at the back of her throat that signalled unshed tears. She was still angry when she thought of that tent, and the fact that Sadiq had seduced hundreds of women there. And, not only that, she hadn’t been able to keep up her icy disdain when they’d returned to the castle. He’d arrogantly interrupted her shower and within seconds she’d been putty in his hands, slave to his masterful touch.

As if he could feel the weight of her gaze now, Sadiq turned around. Trying to look as composed and unmoved by him as she could, she came up on one arm, pushing her tangled hair over her shoulder. Self-conscious, and hating herself for it because she desperately craved to appear insouciant, she pulled the sheet up over her breasts.

He noted the movement with a small mocking smile, and Samia longed desperately to see him unsure of himself—just once.

He was cool. ‘Something’s come up in B’harani that needs my attention, I’m afraid we’ll have to cut our time here a little short.’

Surprise, surprise, Samia thought, and said equally coolly, ‘You should have woken me.’

Sadiq crossed his arms and rested back against the wall. ‘I was enjoying the view too much.’

Recalling that she’d woken with the sheet barely covering her lower half, Samia gave up any pretence of nonchalance and jumped out of the bed, wrapping the sheet around her to go to the bathroom. She heard a dark chuckle, and had to restrain herself from flinging something at Sadiq’s head when he stopped at the door to inform her that he’d be waiting downstairs.

The journey back to B’harani was made largely in silence, for which Samia was grateful. She felt absurdly overemotional. Raw. When they reached the castle she jumped out of the Jeep and only stopped when she heard her name. Tense all over, she turned to see Sadiq, with a bevy of aides and advisers descending on him from all sides.

He looked stern, and already more remote. ‘I’ll be working late tonight so don’t wait up.’

‘Don’t worry, Sadiq,’ she said as loftily as she could. ‘I don’t expect you to entertain me. The honeymoon is over.’

She turned away, but he called her name again. Softly. This time when she turned he was much closer and her heart sputtered. She looked up to see a feral glitter in his eyes and the answering effect on her body was instantaneous. ‘I asked for you to be moved to my rooms Samia, so make sure you have everything you need.’

Immediately she felt threatened. She’d forgotten, and the thought of coping with Sadiq every night was suddenly too much—especially feeling as raw as she did right now. She opened her mouth. ‘Actually, I’m not sure that I—’

Sadiq put a finger to her lips and said with a steel tone, ‘It’s non-negotiable, Samia.’

And then he turned and was swallowed up by the crowd of people.

Sadiq was burningly aware of Samia’s huge eyes boring into his back as he walked down the long corridor away from her, and he had to battle the urge to turn around, pick her up and take her straight to bed. He had to control himself—quash this urge to want to punish Samia for something. For making him feel? For making him fearful of the passion she inspired in him because it was making him act in ways he’d never done before, becoming irrational and impulsive? Just like his father?

Sadiq immediately dismissed the notion as ridiculous. But as the rogue thought was sinking in and taking up residence Sadiq’s steps quickened perceptibly, and the retinue of staff almost had to run to keep up with him.

A week later Samia was fired up and full of enthusiasm. She was determined to block out the fact that the distance between her and Sadiq since they’d returned from Nazirat seemed to be growing into a wedge. She assured herself that he was busy, catching up on work he’d had to sideline for the marriage. And what had she expected anyway? Romantic dinners à deux every night? Hadn’t she told him in no uncertain terms in Nazirat that he didn’t have to do that?

In the bedroom, however, there was no distance. She blushed now as she walked along the long corridor to Sadiq’s offices to think of how passionate he’d been last night. She’d been half asleep when he’d come to bed, but had soon been wide awake when she’d felt his firm, hard body curling around hers. It scared her how a warm glow seemed to infuse every cell whenever he was near or touched her. And the way everything semed to dim when he wasn’t.

She tried to tell herself that she didn’t miss the way he’d pulled her close after making love those first few days in Nazirat. She tried to tell herself that it didn’t hurt to know that it had all just been an act for the honeymoon. Now, when they made love, Sadiq rolled away, and Samia hated the longing she felt to snuggle close, feel his arms around her. She cursed him for ever giving her that experience, so that she could miss it. Some mornings, though, she woke with the sensation that he’d held her during the night. But invariably Sadiq would already be gone, and that was always a stark reminder that they had moved very definitely into the ‘convenient’ part of their marriage.

Determined to stop this dangerous line of thinking, stop obsessing over Sadiq like some groupie, Samia had got up today determined to discuss with Sadiq some ideas she had that she wanted to develop and work on. When she got to the anteroom of his office, and his secretary looked up and smiled, Samia had to quash the sudden yearning to be able to just walk blithely into his office simply because he would always want to welcome her, to see her.

Oh, Lord. She almost stumbled when the implication of what she was thinking sank in. She couldn’t deal with it now. She smiled back at the efficient secretary, pristine in a long white tunic and colourful veil.

‘Do go in, Queen Samia. He’s got a few minutes between meetings.’

Samia knocked lightly and heard Sadiq’s deep voice respond. Immediately silly little butterflies started in her belly and she cursed. Opening the door, she went in and was surprised not to see Sadiq behind a mountain of paperwork. He was standing at the window, looking very brooding.

He turned around and black brows drew together in a frown. No hint of pleasure to see her. Samia cursed herself again, and hated that she felt her old sense of insecurity come back. ‘I … I’m sorry to disturb you. I wanted to discuss a couple of things with you.’

Sadiq flicked a glance at his watch and Samia felt it like a slap. He was dressed in a suit today, and it reminded Samia of when she’d first seen him in London, which felt like aeons ago. He was so remote that she almost wondered if he was the same man who had made tears of pleasure soak her cheeks last night. Who had used his thumbs to wipe them away while they were still intimately joined. As if loath to let him leave her body she had jealously gripped his hips with her thighs, as if to stop him ever leaving.