The Sheikh's Disobedient Bride

How could she still hate him and yet feel so good when he touched her? How could her mind reject him and yet her body came up with a totally different assessment?

“You are bad,” she whispered, voice thick, deep, tinged with a longing she couldn’t reconcile herself to.

“You must like bad.” He touched her face, fingers lightly stroking one cheek as his lips brushed the other.

“No.”

“Mmmm.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as silver streaks of sensation raced up and down her spine. “I’m good,” she insisted.

She felt rather than heard him laugh softly, felt the rise and fall of his chest, the muffled humor. “So you keep saying.”

She was just about to protest when his hands moved, and he cupped her jaw between his palms, holding her face up to him.

The air caught in Tally’s throat and she stared up at him wide-eyed. This was as fantastic as it was awful and like a deer caught in headlights, she waited, waited, spellbound for disaster to hit.

And it did.

His head dropped, his lips covered hers and in that instant his mouth touched hers, she exhaled, resistance disappearing as she gave in to his warmth and scent and skin.

His kiss was again right, absolutely right, and maybe she couldn’t marry him, and maybe she wouldn’t live with him, but God, he knew how to kiss her. His kiss was amazing. She’d hoped it was just the first kiss that she responded to, hoped that having kissed him once, she would have become immune to him. But no, no immunity here. If anything it was even better.

Tally felt his arm slide around her waist and pull her against him and it was so right. Exciting and yet comforting.

It made her think, imagine, that somehow in his arms she was home. That somehow right now, like this, she’d found the only place she needed to be.

And like that, cold reality intruded, and Tally pulled abruptly away.

She stared at him accusingly, seeing him through hazy eyes.“No.”

“No what?”

“No to everything.” And yet inexplicably tears burned the back of her eyes. “No, you can’t have me. No, I won’t stay. No, I won’t marry you. No.”

He looked at her a long level moment than shrugged. “So it’s a blue robe you want for the ceremony.”

“Tair.”

But he wasn’t listening. He was lifting her off his lap and now he was standing. “I shall see what we can do.”

“Tair!”

But he was walking, heading out the door. He didn’t stop, turn, didn’t respond. No, he just kept walking, leaving her alone with the memory of a kiss that burned and burned and burned some more. And it wasn’t just her lips burning. It was her heart.

CHAPTER NINE

THEwomen want you to join them for coffee this morning.Tair’s voice echoed in her head as she made her way from her suite of rooms to the rooftop on the far tower of the walled city, that tower officially designated as the women’s space.

Tally hesitantly entered through the high arched doorway, the stone columns supporting the fancifully carved arch. She heard a chorus of voices down a corridor and followed the sound of the voices into a large chamber lined with low benches and vibrant silk pillows and cushions.

Everyone stopped talking and turned to look at Tally when she appeared. Tally hadn’t been sure if she’d truly be welcome but as she shyly entered the room the circle of women beamed at Tally.“Ahlen-wa-sehlan,” one after another cried.Welcome, welcome!

They bustled about, finding space for Tally among them on the cushions on the floor. Flustered at the attention, Tally sank onto one of the cushions and made a show of arranging her robes, and pulling back the veil on her head so that her long hair spilled down one shoulder.

Beautiful, one woman said, while another reached forward to touch Tally’s hair.

“Salaam,” Tally greeted, nodding at one and all, trying to ignore the flurry of nerves. There was no reason to be so fearful, she told herself. They wouldn’t bite.

But they won’t approve, either, she thought darkly, knowing that for a man like Sheikh el-Tayer, a man with such great power, a suitable marriage was one with a woman from his own people, a woman from his tribe.

The women were all still beaming at her, waiting, and Tally’s smile wobbled a little. What if she never did leave? What if she couldn’t escape?

Her forehead furrowed as she scanned the eager, open, curious faces of the women gathered. Her gaze lighted on one of the youngest women, visibly pregnant.

What if this place truly became home? Nodding, smiling, she accepted a small cup of Turkish coffee. Could she ever be happy here? Could these women become friends?