The Sultan's Choice

But with each successive fitting today Sadiq’s tension had risen and risen, to the point that he’d had to leave or turn into a slavering fool in front of the impeccably cool Simone, whom he suspected had already noticed the change in his usually unflappable demeanour.

The wedding dress and underwear fittings had not come soon enough, and he’d all but run out of the salon. And now he stood here, hand clenched around his glass, wondering why he felt so threatened at facing the unexpected reality that he desired his wife-to-be. Surely this had to be a good thing? His wedding night would be no hardship.

Even at that thought his body hardened, and Sadiq cursed. He was reduced to being turned on—as if someone was controlling a remote mechanism from a distance! He took a deep gulp of the drink and winced slightly, chastising himself. He had nothing to fear. He was being ridiculous. It was as simple as this: he was embarking on an arranged marriage and his head was mere

ly telling his body that he desired his wife. Biology, pure and simple, to ensure that he sired heirs.

Nevertheless, when Sadiq sat down and tried to concentrate on important correspondence trepidation skated over his nerve-endings.

A little later Sadiq sat back in his chair and twirled a wine glass in his hands, the ruby liquid catching the light. Samia was mesmerised by the play of muscles in Sadiq’s forearm and had to force herself to remember what he’d just asked.

‘My father remarried when I turned two. Alesha was a distant cousin of his, from the northern territory of Burquat.’

Sadiq’s eyes narrowed on Samia and she looked down to her empty dessert plate.

‘That’s it?’

Samia shrugged minutely, uncomfortably aware of how the material of her top skated over her suddenly sensitive skin. ‘She wasn’t … very maternal. I think she viewed my brother and I as a threat.’ She looked up at Sadiq again and tried a wry smile. ‘You see, my father truly loved our mother, even though it had been an arranged marriage. And when she died …’ Samia’s smile faltered when she thought of the deep wells of sadness her father’s eyes had been. ‘He was devastated.’

Sadiq frowned. ‘You said she died in childbirth with you?’ Samia nodded and swallowed, pushing down the emotion she always thought she had no right to feel—that yawning sense of loss. ‘She developed pre-eclampsia and by the time they realised why she’d gone into labour early it was too late. She slipped into a coma and died a few days later.’

Wanting to divert the attention from herself, Samia asked, ‘You never had any brothers or sisters?’

He looked up, and the sudden tension in the air and in Sadiq’s face warned Samia that she had strayed into sensitive territory—which made her curious.

He shook his head. ‘No. Just me.’ He smiled, but it was tight, and drained the last of his wine.

She’d obviously touched a nerve and was instantly intrigued. She watched the strong column of his throat work, and then flushed when she realised that he had put the glass down and was looking at her intently. Her scalp itched where a few strands of hair were pulled too tight. She’d put it up again, but instead of feeling more comfortable, it actually made her feel self-conscious.

Before she knew what was happening Sadiq had reached across the table and taken her hand in his. She couldn’t pull away, and just watched dumbly as he turned it over in his palm. It looked tiny and very white cradled in his. And then he intertwined his fingers with hers, and Samia felt a pulse throb between her legs. She pressed them tight together and desperately wished for him to release her.

As if he knew exactly what effect he was having on her Sadiq smiled. ‘I believe this will work, Samia. A marriage between us. You underestimate your appeal, you know.’

Her eyes met his and she bit her lip. She thought of the cool way he’d looked at her in countless different outfits all day, as if she were a brood mare. He was making her feel all hot and bothered, and sudden anger at his easy charm made her snap, ‘You mean I should be grateful that you don’t find me so repulsive that you won’t need to be blindfolded to take me to bed on our wedding night?’

He smiled again, and it sent Samia’s blood pounding through her body.

‘On the contrary, Princess Samia. I think we’ll be lucky if we make it to our wedding night without sleeping together. After all, we’re both adults, both experienced, and I think we’ve established that neither one of us is bound by such romantic ideals as waiting till the night of our wedding. Introducing a blindfold into the proceedings certainly might add a little … something … But it won’t be for me. I want to see every reaction that crosses your expressive face when we sleep together for the first time.’

A million things exploded in Samia’s head at once, even as she registered that Sadiq’s thumb was now stroking lazily across her hectic pulse point. But superseding everything was the thought of all that potent masculinity focused solely on her. It was overwhelming.

Not thinking clearly at all, beyond escaping the sudden threat he posed, Samia pulled her hand free of Sadiq and said priggishly, ‘Well, I quite like the idea of adhering to tradition.’

Sadiq sat back again, and Samia wondered how someone could appear to be so relaxed and yet threatening at the same time. A dark shadow of stubble made the line of his jaw seem even harder, more defined, and the deepset blue eyes over the slightly hawklike nose should have given him a cruel aspect, but instead it all added up to one of the most beautiful faces she’d ever seen on a man. And that was including her brother, who seemed to turn any woman he encountered into a simpering bimbo.

His lower lip alone was indecent in its sensual provocation. When he spoke his voice was throaty. ‘I think you’re a tease, Samia. You say one thing and then you look at me as if you want to climb over this table and devour me whole. Is this what you do? Present men with an innocent, slightly gauche exterior and then reveal yourself bit by bit until they’re begging for mercy?’

Her face truly flaming now, Samia looked at Sadiq. He had no idea. She was reacting to him because he was the first man who had broken through the thin veneer of control she’d believed impermeable for so long. He was the reason she was unravelling at the seams and revealing anything of her inner self.

She shook her head. ‘I’m not teasing. Trust me.’

His face was suddenly all harsh lines and angles. ‘So that little performance out there in front of the mirror was real? Are you going to tell me who was the one who made you so averse to looking at your own reflection?’

Ice entered Samia’s veins. He was digging too deep, too fast. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She felt as if her skin was being pulled back so all of her insecurities were laid bare. ‘I wouldn’t know how to tease my way out of a paper bag, and I never could act.’

She stood up with as much grace as she could muster and watched the way his eyes dropped to the level of her breasts before returning slowly to her face. You’re the tease! She wanted to shout at him.

‘It’s been a long day, so if you don’t mind I’ll retire for the night.’ Brilliant. Now she sounded like a Victorian heroine.