The Sheikh's Bartered Bride

His vehemence shocked her. He looked ready to spit nails. Good. She shouldn’t be the only one hurting here. Though, she doubted sincerely he was hurting. Angry more like. Apparently it offended his male ego in a very big way for her to deny the reality of their marriage.

“Legal documents don’t make a marriage. They’re just paper. They don’t prove anything.” Even in her anger, she doubted her own words. Being married meant something, but not the same thing to her and Hakim evidently.

“The consummation of our marriage is a fact.”

She went hot then cold as his words sank in. “Are you saying you only made love to me so that I would consider myself married to you?” she asked wildly, realizing that she was fast approaching the irrational state he’d accused her of earlier. If she wasn’t already there.

The question seemed to stun him because his head jerked back and then he stared at her with incredulity in every line of his face. “You dare ask me such a question?”

“Why not? You married me for reason I knew nothing about. As far as I’m concerned, all your motives are suspect.”

She watched in furious kind of fascination as he visibly took control of his anger until his was a blank mask.

He spun away from her, his hands at his sides the only indication that his emotions were not completely controlled. “Very well. I will sleep on the divan in here.”

Even in the agony of her devastation, practical considerations asserted themselves. He was way too tall for the smallish divan.

“You can have the bed. I’ll sleep out here.” She sincerely doubted she’d ge much rest anyway.

“Either we share the bed or you sleep in it alone.” He still hadn’t turned back to face her, but from the sound of his voice, she didn’t doubt he meant what he said.

“Fine.” If he wanted to suffer, let him suffer. She’d offered a better solution. It was his own fault he was too stubborn to take it, but why he had refused to take it niggled at her conscience. “I’ll sleep alone.”

A slight inclination of his head was the only indication he had heard her words.

She got up and went to the bathroom. She stopped at the doorway and compulsively looked back at Hakim. There was something incredibly lonely about his stance by the window. He looked as isolated as she felt.

But he’d chosen this path, her mind cried. She hadn’t. It had been chosen for her by men who thought she was unworthy of trust and honest consideration. Unworthy love.

CHAPTER NINE

Catherine woke to the smell of coffee.

Her eyelids fluttered, but did not open.

“Good morning. I have brought you breakfast.”

The sound of Hakim’s voice was a welcome intruder into her slumber until the pain she had escaped for a few short hours in unconsciousness rushed back in a wave so strong she actually moaned.

Masculine fingers tunneled through her hair to cup her scalp. “Are you all right, little kitten?”

The shock of the stupidity of the question brought her eyes wide open and her gaze to the source of her torment.

He was sitting beside her on the bed, wearing a thob, but clearly having just woken himself. His hair was mussed, his jaw darkened with morning stubble, his eyes faintly shadowed from what must have been a near sleepless night for him as well. She’d known the divan was too short for him.

How could a man look so very masculine and appealing in something that could be mistake for full-length robe or dress? Yet, he did. The typical Arabic lounging garment accentuated Hakim’s maleness rather than detracting from it. And she didn’t want him looking attractive.

She’d come to very difficult decisions in the long hours of the night. Being reminded of just what she was giving up did not help her resolve or lessen the ache in her heart.

Determined to ignore his blatant maleness, she struggled into a sitting position. She tucked the blankets around her, covering the sheer fabric of her nightgown. She didn’t want Hakim thinking she was extending any invitations.

His brows rose at the gesture, but he said nothing and laid the rattan breakfast tray across her lap.

There were to croissants on the plate and two demitasse cups of dark, fragrant coffee as well as a small bowl of figs.

She picked up one of the cups of coffee. “Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure.”

Seeing no reason to put off telling him of her decision, she dove straight in. “I want to go back to Seattle.”

He waited to answer until he had finished chewing a bite of his croissant. “We will, inevitably return as planned. My business is there, your job as well.”

She placed her cup carefully back on its small white saucer. “I mean today.”