The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten that you work for me.”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten that my job here is done.”

“It’s done when I say it is.”

“It’s done when the meetings end. Well, they ended.”

“There’s also the little matter of our marriage.”

She looked up. His eyes were so narrow she could hardly see them and a muscle beat rapidly in his jaw. Dark and dangerous, indeed. How about dark, dangerous and insufferable? How kind of him to remind her of some of the things she hadn’t liked about him when they met.

“There is no marriage, remember? Not a real one.”

“Would you say that if we’d been married in Los Angeles?”

“We weren’t married in Los Angeles, we were married in Suliyam, and you made it perfectly clear that—”

“Are you suggesting marriages here are not legal?”

“I’m simply reminding you of what you told me. This marriage isn’t binding.”

Caz folded his arms and glowered. She was right. That was what he’d told her. What was wrong with him? Why was he so damned angry?

And why did the statement about their marriage sound so different, coming from her?

Because he was the king, that was why. If anyone ended this union, it would be him.

He told her that, and when she barked a laugh, he felt the heat rise to his face.

“Just listen to yourself, Qasim. You are unbelievab—”

“I am your husband,” he roared. “And in Suliyam, a wife may not leave her husband without permission.”

“Is that what this is all about? You want me to grovel? Well, I won’t. You told me I would be free to leave, that our vows had no meaning, that—”

Caz caught her by the shoulders and lifted her to her toes. “I said the marriage would have no meaning, that I would annul it, that you would have to do nothing once you were back in the States…but you’re still in my country. Until I choose to set you free, you belong to me.”

Damn it, he thought in disgust, was he really calling up one of the barbaric traditions he’d sought to destroy? From the way his wife was looking at him, he sure as hell was, but what was he supposed to do? Let a woman play him for a fool? Let a woman take the upper hand?

Let this woman, only this woman, steal his heart and walk out of his life?

Didn’t she feel anything for him? She did. She had to. He remembered that long night she’d spent in his arms. How she’d sighed, moved, whispered his name, and suddenly nothing mattered but wiping away the deceit they’d woven and facing the truth.

“Megan,” he said hoarsely, and when she looked into his eyes, he gathered her against him and kissed her.

She fought him. Struggled to tear her mouth from his. He didn’t have the words to tell her what she meant to him, but he could show her. He could kiss her until she knew his hunger, until she responded as she had on their wedding night.

And then, when he’d almost lost hope, her mouth softened. Clung to his. She made a little sound that was as much despair as it was surrender. It almost broke his heart when he tasted the salt of her tears on her lips.

“Kalila. Don’t cry.”

She shook her head. “Caz. I beg you. Let me go.”

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Yes, you do. Whatever was between us died when we came back here. That time in the mountains was an illusion.”

“It was real,” he said fiercely. She wouldn’t look at him and he hunched down, cupped her face, forced her to meet his eyes. “I love you.”