The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride

But now his gaze was hot, possessive. His eyes sparked with the blaze of ownership, searing her to the core.

She backed a step and he paused, eyes narrowing.

`You must be tired. It’s been a long day for both of us.’ His deep voice hadn’t changed. Smooth as fine chocolate, dark as temptation, it swirled around her, inviting her to relax, terrifying her with its seductive power.

`Would you help me?’ He raised his hands to the vivid white cloth of his headdress and tugged one end free. His lips curved in a wry smile that banished the image of predatory, stalking male. Had it been an illusion?

Òf course.’ Better to be doing something, anything, than stand and wonder what she’d just got herself into.

She ignored the luxurious shushing of her heavy satin dress as she walked, the weight of a solid gold collar around her throat. Satins and silks, luxury and jewels they were all part of the fairytale display of a royal wedding. They didn’t change her. She was clever, capable, a career woman from another world. All she had to do was remember it.

Belle avoided his gaze as she reached up and took the soft linen in her hands. Deftly he unwound its length, and just as quickly she folded it, concentrating on the simple task, avoiding his eyes. But his breath was warm against her face and the heat of his body was an encompassing aura. The scent of him, musk and sunshine, teased her senses.

His regard was like a touch, physical, unmistakable. It brushed over her face, lingering on her mouth, sweeping down her throat to the magnificently barbaric necklace she wore, and further, to the tight bodice of her gown.

With her arms raised, her body leaning infinitesimally towards him, she felt exposed. But she wouldn’t react, she told herself, ignoring the swelling sensation of her breasts against the smooth satin.

Almost done. She snatched the last of the cloth from Rafiq’s hands and stepped back, folding it neatly with fingers that barely quivered.

`Thank you, Belle.’

She looked at him then, and her pulse stuttered in shock. Instead of pulling his hair back in a sleek ponytail, as usual, Rafiq had left it unbound. Now it cascaded to his shoulders, a gleaming dark invitation to touch.

Her hands clenched on the wad of linen as she sucked in a desperate breath.

It should have looked effeminate, that shining mass of hair, or at least out of place on a man with such a starkly handsome face. But it didn’t. Somehow it was the perfect foil for his solid jaw, his forceful nose and the deep slashes beside his mouth.

His mouth. Belle stared, ensnared by the sensuality of his lips.

Knowing she should look away but unable to do it.

Ànd now we are wed.’ His smile was pure satisfaction.

She shrugged. Òfficially.’

He shook his head and ebony hair spilled across his shoulders.

Òfficially. But also legally, morally. Completely. It’s done, Belle.

Don’t hide from the truth.’

Her eyes widened. `The truth is that we married for political reasons. For the security of Q’ aroum. To prevent an uprising that could cripple the country.’

`You sound like Dawud and my ministers.’ His brows drew together. “Act quickly to prevent bloodshed. Remind everyone that the royal house of Akhtar is strong. Marry to buy time while we smoke out the rebels who’d destroy our democracy.”’

Ànd that’s exactly what you’ve done.’

`Yes. But is that all?’ His voice was a seductive murmur that brushed across her skin as he stepped close.

She shivered.

`You’re mine, Belle.’ His fathomless gaze held hers in thrall. `You gave yourself to me today. Not only legally, on paper. But in the flesh.’

She heard her breath hiss between her teeth, the blood throb in her ears. He couldn’t have said what she thought he’d said.

`You belong to me.’ He lifted his hand and stroked his fingers along her cheekbone, down her neck, to splay possessively over the wide jeweled collar that sat like a brand on her skin. Her flesh tingled at the contact, forbidden desire skittering through her.

She heaved a deep, panicked breath. `No! I don’t-‘

`Just as I belong to you, Belle.’ He leaned close, his gaze mesmerizing. Ì‘m all yours. Do you not enjoy the idea? The power that gives you?’

Bewildered, she stared at this man who’d swept into her life with the force of a swirling desert wind, who’d taken control of her future, her very person. She should be outraged. She was outraged.

Surely it was anger that fizzed in her veins, heightening each sense, alerting her to every tiny movement of his big body.

Or was it anticipation?