The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride

But, despite the luxurious trappings, being the Sheikh’s betrothed was anything but a fairytale.

She felt cold as ice. She’d barely slept, tossing and turning in her huge bed as she recalled last night’s argument with Rafiq. His insistence that their marriage was a necessity.

Nothing she’d said had swayed him from his purpose.

Her whole life had been turned upside down. She would be tied to a man she barely knew. Would become a citizen of a country she’d been in for just four weeks.

And, despite his assurances, she doubted she could continue her career, exploring and mapping ancient shipwrecks, when she was a royal princess.

A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat. She could just imagine it her in a dive suit with a couple of ladies-in-waiting up on the expedition vessel getting seasick while she worked. Their idea of treasure would be something golden and glittering and ornamental. Hers was a newly discovered style of amphora, or perhaps some tiny detail of ship construction and navigation gleaned from an ancient wreck.

And she’d be so far from home. Rafiq had been quick to promise her trips to Australia, visits from her family on his private jet. Yet there was a huge difference between living overseas to pursue a career and accepting that her new home would be thousands of kilometers from her family.

She’d almost hoped her mother would be so upset about the news that she’d have an excuse to renege on the deal.

Certainly her mum had been stunned. Curious and cautious, and more than a little taken aback. But after she’d heard Belle out she’d been understanding and supportive. That was typical of her level-headed mother, and what she should have expected, since she’d learnt stoic self-sufficiency and composure at her mum’s knee.

Instead of getting hysterical, Maggie Winters had said she knew Belle was sensible enough to do what was best in the circumstances.

Sensible! Belle winced. She’d been anything but that these past few days. Continually fantasizing about Rafiq. Letting this passing infatuation cloud her judgment. She squeezed her eyes shut and let the women’s flow of mingled Arabic and English wash over her.

Maybe this obsession was the result of too many years of hard work and common sense. She’d spent so long doing the right thing, not taking time for light-hearted flirtation or frivolity. Since the day her dad had walked out on them and she’d decided it was time to help her mum shoulder the family responsibilities.

How sensible was it to imagine this marriage could ever be more than a public show? Her cheeks washed with fiery heat as she remembered her dream only a few hours ago. Rafiq had pulled her close and declared that he wanted her for himself. Because he could never let her go.

How pathetic could she get? To secretly desire so much more. To want something personal. Something permanent.

But the marriage would be a fake. As soon as the political circumstances changed Rafiq would find a way to end it. He wouldn’t burden himself by keeping a wife he didn’t want.

Pain lanced her chest. Why did the idea hurt so much?

She wasn’t herself that was why. The counselor at the hospital had spoken about the unsettled emotions she could expect after her traumatic experiences. Her feelings for Rafiq must be a legacy of that. He’d saved her. He was larger than life in every respect, handsome enough to take any woman’s breath away, strongly protective and honorable. She’d built up a fantasy romance around him.

It was pure infatuation she felt for Rafiq. Infatuation and gratitude.

She clung to the idea like a lifeline.

All she could do was play her part in public and hope these emotions wore off soon. Before she did something stupid, like let him see how she felt.

Something penetrated her circling thoughts. Silence. The bright chatter stopped abruptly. She snapped her eyes open as. a sudden tension filled the room.

Slowly she turned towards the door. But already she knew what she’d see. A sizzle of awareness told her Rafiq was there. It was as if she had a built in radar that alerted her when he was near.

Sure enough, as the women curtsied she saw him stride into the room, eating up the space between them till the massive suite seemed unbelievably small and intimate. Her stupid heart fluttered out of rhythm. Her breathing shallowed.

Just because he was tall, dark and handsome, she told herself. And because he saved your life, she rationalized.

But would gratitude explain the melting sensation deep inside her?

As if something vital had liquefied, turned into a hot, sweet ache that swirled and pooled lower and lower. It took all her will power to stand her ground as he approached.

Belle snagged a breath and stared straight into his sea-green eyes.