The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride

Unbidden, her mind circled back to his words, his satisfaction as he’d spoken of planting his seed, of the all important heir to his kingdom.

She shouldn’t be surprised, she told herself sternly. She’d gone into this marriage with her eyes open. There’d been no pretence that it was anything other than a convenience until the security forces could locate the would-be coup leaders. And Rafiq had made it plain that he saw no need to abstain from the perks of marriage, even though his heart wasn’t engaged. They were married, he’d said, so of course they would sleep together. And, went his irrefutable logic, if they slept together it was natural that pregnancy would be the outcome.

She couldn’t blame him, much as she wanted to. He’d married her for the sake of his country. He was an honorable man. He’d even risked his own life to save hers, and had courted the scorn of his people by paying that stupefying ransom. He hadn’t lied or made promises he wouldn’t keep.

And what could she expect, after all? He was the Royal Prince in a largely traditional state, reared from birth to believe in his own superior authority. Of course he’d see nothing wrong in bedding his own wife. Or finding pleasure when it was so freely available.

The fault lay with her. For being swept up against her better judgment into a situation she should have avoided. For walking right into this mess.

She’d talked herself into it. She’d pretended it was for the sake of Q’aroum, and the people she’d come to like so much in her weeks here. For the sake of Rafiq, fearlessly facing terrorist threats in his attempt to retain peace in his country. For the sake of her debt to him. She owed him her life. If he hadn’t arrived on the island when he had she knew both she and Duncan would have died, either of dehydration or of injuries in the cyclone.

But the truth was simpler. She’d married him for love. Despite the logic that told her it would be a recipe for disaster, she’d given herself to the man she adored. The strong, honorable, protective, determined man who’d completely stolen her common sense. She’d foolishly hoped that, once married, he’d come to reciprocate that love.

She’d wanted a fairytale ending.

Just now, in the throes of passion, she’d almost admitted out loud her feelings for him. She cringed at how close she’d come to total embarrassment. In her stupid, lovesick way, she’d even imagined he returned her feelings, that what they’d shared was possible only because it was love they felt, not lust.

And because of her stupidity she hadn’t considered the possibility of a child born of this union    . A child whose parents were linked only by legalities, not love.

Rafiq waited till he was sure Belle slept, then rolled her onto her side and drew a light cover over her. She must be exhausted, so deeply did she sleep. He reached out a hand and stroked the fine honey gold strands of hair back from her face. There was a red mark on her neck, and another near her collarbone. He’d been too rough. He hadn’t considered how easily her soft skin might bruise.

His gaze moved from the mark up to her mouth. Her lips were swollen, heavy from the pressure of his. He’d need to be careful in future, more restrained. When he’d finally taken her he’d simply lost control, absorbed in the wondrous exhilaration of making love to her.

His body stirred with the knowledge that she was his now, irrevocably. There would be many more times like this. A lifetime in which to try and sate his desire for her.

He clenched his hand against the need to reach out and touch her, caress her awake and make love to her again. His gaze roved her features. Her cool, classical beauty might tempt a man into believing she was distant and controlled. But her mouth gave her away, he decided smugly, remembering the feel of her lips against his as she gasped her fulfillment. She had a mouth that told its own story of her hot-blooded, passionate nature.

And she was all his. This delicate, vibrant, adorable woman who had the determination and sheer guts of ten men. Who took natural disasters and kidnap in her stride. Who was unfazed by the vast pomp of a Q’aroumi royal wedding with its throng of onlookers.

She’d treated his people just as she should, with a restrained but real welcome that had already endeared her to many, as had her halting but effective greetings in their own language.

She’d even faced down Dawud with his own dagger!

Rafiq felt his chest swell with pride as he looked down at her. She would make Q’aroum a perfect queen.

She would make him the perfect wife.

He slid out of bed and padded across the carpet, searching for discarded clothes. She needed rest, and if he stayed here any longer it was all too possible he’d throw his good intentions to the winds and wake her for more sex.