The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

She sounded shocked. Perhaps he should have told her he was going to inform his people that he had married her. Maybe then she wouldn’t be staring at him with such a strange expression on her face.

What was she thinking? Moments ago, she’d seemed so happy. Now…

Now, she looked as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

His belly knotted. Was she afraid she might be trapped in a place like this, with a man like him?

“Caz? They really think—’’

“Yes.” He told himself to smile. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

A problem? She wanted to fling herself into his arms. Did this mean he didn’t want to treat their marriage as a temporary arrangement? Had he fallen in love with her as she had with him? Did he want her to stay with him, live with him, bear his children and grow old with him?

“No,” she said, “of course not. In fact—in fact…”

“In fact what?” he said, trying not to sound as if his life hinged on her answer.

Megan wanted to weep. His tone was polite. That was all. Polite, as if what they were discussing had no real meaning, as if this really were about nothing more important than what he’d told his men.

Caz had married her because he had to, and she couldn’t be fool enough to think that the one night she’d spent in his arms had made him fall in love with her.

“In fact,” she said, “you handled it very well.”

It? It? Their marriage, she meant, and its dissolution. Caz looked at his wife as the Hummer lurched forward. She turned her face to the window.

Apparently the view was more important than him or their marriage.

The warmth of the last minutes, of all the minutes that had slipped by since he’d made her his wife, drained from his heart. He was from one world. She was from another. What they’d shared in the mountains was a fantasy.

What he owed her now was reassurance.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said quietly.

“I’m not—”

“You are. And it’s not necessary. We have an agreement. I intend to honor its terms. Why would I do otherwise?”

Why, indeed? Megan’s eyes blurred with tears.

“Megan?” Caz touched her shoulder. “I promise you, I’ll honor it.”

She nodded. He would do what he’d said. He was a good man. An honorable man.

It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t fallen in love with her.

A week went by, filled with meetings with an endless stream of elders, advisors and chieftains. Of cautious give and take. Of protocol, even when there were times Caz wanted to slam his hand on the table and say, Can’t you see that we need to do these things if we’re to survive as a nation?

But he knew better. He hadn’t done anything remotely like that. Instead, he’d listened to questions, provided answers, turned to the woman seated beside him time and time again and always, always, she was ready with a response, a circled paragraph, a list of figures to help him prove his point.

Thanks to Megan, the meetings he’d dreaded had gone well. They’d concluded weeks earlier than he’d expected, and he’d gained the approval he wanted for his proposals.

Even his people were impressed. They’d gone from raising their eyebrows at her presence to looking at her when she spoke. Today, one of his advisors had actually asked her a direct question.

He wondered if she had any idea what an enormous step forward that was, not only for her but also for women in his country. Late this afternoon, the most traditional of the elders had sidled up to him and murmured that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something to be said for educating females.

“Not too much,” the old man had added hastily. “Only as much as is necessary for them to be as helpful as your wife, my lord Qasim. She is a gem among women.”

Caz, strolling the beach, kicked a small white stone out of his way.