The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride

Now she saw that determination, that drive to possess, right here before her eyes. She had no trouble picturing him at the helm of a swift sailing tall ship, plundering the sea lanes of whatever took his fancy.

Perhaps his barbaric inheritance was latent, close to the surface even in this modern day monarch, who ruled a progressive nation funded by offshore oil revenues.

Belle swallowed hard, mesmerized by the glitter in Rafiq’s eyes, suddenly aware of the musky, enticing scent of his bronzed skin so close to hers.

`So, they grew rich on their plunder?’ she said at last, her voice a mere whisper. She should have guessed. But she’d been so wrapped up in the ancient past she hadn’t taken the time to learn the islands’ more recent history. She’d known there’d been pirates in Q’aroum, but not that they’d been led by the royal family!

He nodded. Ànd, as you can see, they enjoyed their wealth. The peacock is something of a family symbol.’ He reached out and took her elbow in his hand, turning her to walk with him around the colonnade.

Belle concentrated on matching his steps, on keeping her breathing under control, not snatching desperate breaths in an effort to fill her suddenly empty lungs. Heat radiated out from his touch, searing her through the fabric of her shirt. Just like in last night’s dreams, where their shared heat had been combustible.

`The bird is beautiful,’ she said, desperate for conversation to cover her weakness. `But it seems an unusual emblem.’ Or, more precisely, an unusual emblem for a family that produced men like Rafiq. There was nothing gaudy or soft about him. He was all desert heat and masculine strength. And sheer sensual power.

He paused and gestured for her to precede him, to take a seat at a table set in the shade of the colonnade. She subsided gratefully onto a chair and looked away, out over the courtyard.

It’s one of two motifs you’ll find throughout the palace,’ he said, settling in a second chair. `There’s the falcon, prized for its speed and power, its prowess as a hunter. In less civilized times it was seen to represent all that was best in the men of my family. And then the peacock, symbol of the rich beauty of their wives. This part of the palace was designed as the harem hence the mosaic, as a compliment to the Sheikh’s women.’

Belle’s eyes widened. A strange thrill skittered down her back at the knowledge she’d actually spent the night in a sheikh’s harem. In his harem.

Damn, she had it bad.

Two maids arrived, carrying pastries, a fruit platter and coffee.

Rafiq nodded for them to put the food on the table, but his attention remained focused on Belle.

She was a problem, and not only because of the political complications her presence created. She was at the centre of a conundrum that threatened the very future of his country. A conundrum to which he must find a solution. And yet it wasn’t her significance in this constitutional minefield that had kept him awake and pondering long into the night. It was the woman herself capable, feisty, desirable.

`Please, help yourself,’ he said, gesturing to the laden table between them.

She’d trembled when he’d taken her arm just now, swayed as if unsteady on her feet, and her apparent weakness disturbed him.

Especially since he’d experienced her personal brand of stoic endurance on that deserted island.

Perhaps he should send for a doctor.

He scrutinized her flushed face, noting the way her gaze slid away to the table, as if unwilling to meet his eyes. Her breasts rose with her rapid, shallow breathing, snagging his attention, distracting him.

Perhaps it wasn’t a doctor she needed.

He remembered the way she’d looked at him last night, as if she’d seen only him and nothing at all of her luxurious surroundings. The way she’d jumped at his touch, her pulse quickening.

Something satisfaction stirred inside him.

Perhaps she wasn’t ill at all.

He poured coffee, strong and aromatic, for them both, then offered her milk, consciously tamping down on his urgent curiosity.

Òf course, it wasn’t just gold and gems that my ancestors took as their right,’ he said as he leaned back in his chair, surveying her.

Ìt wasn’t?’ She darted a look at him, then concentrated on the array of food before her.

`No,’ he said slowly. `They appropriated money, of course, and weapons and ships. But the al Akhtars have always had a taste for the best in all things.’

Rafiq watched her choose a pastry. The sun lit her shoulder length honey blonde hair with pure gold. Her eyes were as bright as any sapphire in the royal jewels. And those lips…