The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

“Megan,” Qasim said softly, his eyes locked to the other man’s face, “don’t do or say anything.”

“But—”

&nbs

p; “Damn it, woman, listen to me! Say nothing. Do nothing. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but—”

Ahmet curved his arm around her. His hand lay at her waist. He chuckled, his stinking breath hot against her face, his fingers kneading her flesh. Qasim said something, his tone harsh and commanding. Ahmet replied to it, and Qasim spoke again. Ahmet laughed. His fingers were still moving. Up. Up. Up…

Megan growled, spun toward him and plowed her fist into his gut.

The room exploded with action.

Wild cries. The clatter of overturned chairs. Shouts and yells, and hands clawing for her dress, her hair…

Qasim swept her into his arms.

“Qasim,” Megan sobbed, “oh, Qasim…”

“Be quiet,” he snarled, “or I’ll have what’s left of your body fed to the jackals!”

Then he tossed her over his shoulder, shouldered his way through the mob and strode out the door.

Hours went by.

Perhaps only minutes.

Megan only knew she was hoarse from saying she was sorry. Still, as Qasim paced by her again, she said it once more.

“I’m sorry, Qasim. I didn’t mean—”

“Be quiet!”

She nodded and sank down on the edge of a chair. Whatever she’d started in the meeting room wasn’t good. She could hear voices raised in anger outside the door to her room—a door Qasim had bolted. The women who served her sat huddled in a corner, their faces white. Hakim had scratched at the window a little while ago and Qasim had opened the shutters and let him in along with the helicopter pilot and the two guards who’d flown here with them.

Nobody said anything, but she could read rage in their eyes. She’d behaved stupidly and now they were all in danger.

“Qasim.” She swallowed with difficulty. Her throat was so dry it felt parched. “He was going to—to touch my breast. I knew he was. And—

“He was not going to touch your breast,” Qasim snarled, swinging toward her. ‘‘It was an amusement for him. A test of wills between him and me. If you’d obeyed my orders—”

“That’s easy for you to say. His slimy hands weren’t on you!”

“If you’d obeyed my orders and hadn’t drawn attention to yourself—’’

“He’s been staring at me for two days!”

Qasim felt a muscle knot in his jaw. Megan was right. He’d seen the son of a bitch watching her, but he’d told himself it was just an attempt to provoke him. Why would Ahmet, the most traditional of the tribal leaders, be interested in a foreigner?

He’d been the last to swear allegiance to Qasim after his father’s death. Ever since, they’d played a game of wills.

How stupid he’d been, to think this was just another round.

“Why didn’t you stop him when he put his arm around me?”

“What did you think I was doing?” Qasim said grimly. “You heard me talking to him. Didn’t it occur to you I was telling him to take his hands off you?”