The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

“Can’t you sleep?” His smile turned soft and sexy. “I’ll bet I can think of a way to make you relax.”

She looked at him. At his beloved face. Her legs were threatening to give way; she wanted to sit down before they did, but sitting near him would be the end of her resolve.

“I phoned my family, Caz. To tell them about us.

His eyes locked on hers. “And?”

“And—and…”

“And, they don’t approve.”

He saw the surprise on her face, but her family’s concern was nothing less than he’d expected. If he had a daughter—and he would, someday, a perfect, beautiful image of his wife—if he had a daughter and she announced she’d married a man they’d never met, a man who was king of a country in the middle of nowhere, he wouldn’t approve, either. Hell, he’d probably go crazy!

“No. They’d don’t.”

He sat up against the pillows, the silk blanket draping just below his navel. “Megan. Listen to me—”

“They—they raised a lot of valid issues.”

“Valid issues?” he said, his voice suddenly soft as smoke.

“Yes. They asked me to think about what it would be like for me to live here instead of in America. To live here with—with someone so different from me.”

“Who is ‘they?’” His tone was flat. “Did you discuss Suliyam and me with your entire family?”

“No. Actually—actually, I only talked to Sean,” she said, plucking her brother’s name out of the air. “But he gave me the same advice they’d all give me, I’m sure.”

“And that advice was?”

“That I go home. Think things over.”

Caz said nothing for a long minute. Then he threw off the blanket, reached for his trousers and pulled them on.

“Let’s cut to the bottom line. You’re going home, and you’re not coming back. Am I right?”

Tears stung her eyes but she knew she mustn’t let him see them.

“Megan? Am I right? Are you leaving me?”

No. Oh, no. How can I leave you, my love? How can I live without you…

“Yes,” she said. “I am.”

She hadn’t known what to expect after she told him. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been this. The stony face. The empty eyes. The terrible, awful stillness.

“I wish—I wish it could be different, but—”

“I don’t.”

She stiffened. “You don’t?”

“No.” He walked around the bed and she took an instinctive step back, but he went past her to the dressing room. “Actually it’s a relief.” His voice grew muffled; he came back into the bedroom tugging a black sweater over his head. “I let things get away from me when I suggested marriage. You’re right. It wouldn’t have worked. We have nothing in common, except in bed.”

His words stung. Was he saving face, or was he telling her the truth? It didn’t matter. This was the way things had to end. She’d known it, in her heart, from the minute he’d taken her to bed on their wedding night.

“I want you to know…” Her voice trembled and she began again. “I—I enjoyed our time together. It was—it was—”

“Yes,” he said coldly. “It was.”