The Sheikh's Disobedient Bride

Her left eyebrow rose. “I think you’ve got the wrong woman, Tair.”

“It’s your duty, wife.”

Tally walked toward him and once she’d reached him, she lifted her face to his and she took her skirts in both hands and pulled them even higher.

In the back of her mind she knew this was silly and she was behaving foolishly. She knew the issue was ridiculous and her behavior childish but Tair’s arrogant high-handed manner made her see red. Everything he asked of her, everything he demanded went against her sense of self, grating her self-respect. She’d pushed herself to become her own person, to forge her own identity separate from anyone else and yet what he asked of her—demanded—seemed to negate that person.

“Tair, you might have married me, but you didn’t buy me. You don’t own me and can’t control me. I don’t have to wear your clothes the way you want me to. I can wear clothes the way I want just as I can keep my own name, my own personality, my own identity.”

“You’re not going to win, wife.”

“But I’m sure going to fight, husband.”

Tair leaned forward, closing the distance between them but instead of reaching for her with his hands he lowered his head little by little until his mouth was just inches from her.

He didn’t move again, just stood there, his lips nearly touching hers, and she felt her muscles tighten, her stomach squeezing, air bottling in her lungs.

She could smell the subtle spicy fragrance he wore, and feel the warmth of his skin and she remembered far too well how his mouth felt on hers, how her lower back prickled and her heart raced and the intense pleasure pain.

“You should have married a Berber girl,” she whispered, trying to ignore the hot and cold ripples beneath her skin and the fierce coil of desire in her belly. She didn’t have to have him. She didn’t need to be touched by him. She didn’t want anything he had to offer.

She didn’t.

Then his head dropped and he closed the distance, and covered her lips with his.

White-hot lightning whipped through her. Her eyes fluttered closed and she sucked in air as her pulse quickened then slowed.

God, he was horrible. The kiss was so light, so gentle, so persuasive that she found herself leaning toward him, wanting more. He knew already how she liked to be kissed.

Take me, she thought. Take me here.

Tair lifted his head, dark eyes knowing, aware. “Come with me,” he said, and kissing her once more he tugged her skirts down until all the fabric fell in long elegant folds covering her legs. “Tonight we shall finish this fight, but now, wife, isn’t the time.”

But that night after all the guests had gone and Tair had swept Tally in his arms and carried her to his bed, she didn’t want to fight. She just wanted him—heart, mind, body and soul.

Their lovemaking was far from tender. Tair took her, possessed her, with a carnal intensity and Tally responded with the same fierce hunger. He made her furious and yet he also made her burn and hurt, wanting him, needing him, needing to be loved by him.

His fingers locked with hers and he held her arms over her head as his body surged into her, his hips relentlessly driving and yet she wanted it, wanted him, and wrapping her legs around his waist she welcomed his body, welcomed the wild passion of him.

She fell asleep in his arms, damp, exhausted, and only partly satisfied. Her dreams were vivid and intense, dreams of women singing and drums beating and the heavy sweet smell of attar, the uniquely Arabic perfume she’d first smelled in Atiq and now here. And then in her dreams shrouded men with swords and whips stormed her room, taking Tair, dragging Tair far from her.

Tally woke with a start, heart racing, hands flying out to brace a fall.

But she wasn’t falling. She was still in bed.

She reached out to touch the bed and instead her palm brushed warm skin and solid muscle. And heart still pounding she remembered. She was still here, at Bur Juman with Tair.

With Tair.

Putting her head back down, she left her hand on his chest and looked at him in the dark for a long moment, emotions fierce, intense, everything breaking loose. Everything stronger than she ever thought she’d know, feel. She loved him. The horrible man. Her horrible man. And she loved him more than she thought she could ever love anyone.

Tally’s lashes slowly drifted down, and she exhaled softly, painfully. She was still here with Tair.

Thank God.

CHAPTER TWELVE

IT WASthe morning after the wedding and Tair was of course nowhere to be found while Leena was in Tally’s bedroom with her putting away all the new clothes Tair had ordered for his new bride.