The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride

Belle knew she was staring. Knew she should say something, anything. But her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She wiped clammy hands down her cotton trousers and realized she’d been completely, devastatingly wrong.

Her imagination hadn’t exaggerated. Rafiq was everything she’d thought him. And more.

‘Belle. Please, come in.’ He walked towards her, closing in on her personal space, till she felt cocooned by his aura, surrounded by his energy. Yet he stopped several paces from her, his sea-green gaze impenetrable. His austere face compelling.

He was as tall as she remembered, as broad across the shoulders.

His hair was tied back, slick as if wet from a recent shower, and he wore a long robe of fine cotton, grey shot through with misty green. It reminded her of foggy seas and hidden secrets. In contrast, the vertical slash down from the robe’s neckline revealed a few inches of hard, tanned, uncompromising male.

She drew a faltering breath and forced herself to meet his gaze.

She thrust away the seductive memory of him, water sluicing off his smooth, bare flesh, as he emerged from the sea. `Your Highness-‘

`No! Rafiq, please.’ He reached out and took her hand in his, his warmth enveloping her as he tugged her further into the room, closer to him.

`Rafiq,’ she said, then stopped, breathless, as he smiled at her.

Emerald lights shimmered in his eyes, and the curve of his lips transformed his face from somber to breathtaking.

Her heart thumped hard against her ribs and her mouth tilted up in automatic response. The feel of his large hand encompassing hers triggered memories of his hard, muscled body pressed intimately against her, protecting her all through that long night. Heat flared in her cheeks.

Ìt’s good to see you looking so well.’ His words were a low caress that mesmerized her and brought her skin to tingling life.

Over her shoulder, Dawud’s voice pierced the charged atmosphere.

`Ms. Winters has just been released from hospital. She must be weary.’

Òf course. I won’t keep her late.’ Rafiq’s dark eyebrows drew together in a straight line as he looked past her, clearly annoyed at the interruption. `You may leave us now.’ His tone was brusque.

`Goodnight, Ms. Winters,’ Dawud said from the doorway.

`Goodnight, Dawud.’ Belle turned, trying and failing to ignore the fact that Rafiq still held her hand in his. `Thank you for all you did for us. For me and Duncan.’

Dawud bowed. `There is no need for thanks, Ms. Winters.’ And then he was gone, silently closing the doors.

`Come.’ Rafiq drew her with him and led her across the room. Heat throbbed up her arm from his touch and spread right through her.

She inhaled his scent warm, spicy and male. Something quivered into life deep within her. A response, a thrill that was purely instinctive.

`Here.’ He gestured to a low sofa, covered with plump embroidered cushions. `Please make yourself comfortable.’

When she sat he sank down onto another sofa opposite her. But even with that distance between them Belle recognized the tug of awareness, the shimmer of desire pulsing through her body, heating her skin. It was unnerving, this vibrant, palpable connection between them. She’d never felt anything like it.

Perhaps the hospital staff had been right and she needed more rest.

Surely this potent reaction wasn’t normal?

`How are you feeling?’ he asked.

Às good as new,’ she said immediately. `They were wonderful in the hospital. Really terrific.’ And now she was babbling. Great.

`The medical staff expected you to stay longer.’ His gaze was intent.

`You talked to them?’

He nodded. `We were all very concerned for you and your colleague, Mr. MacDonald.’

Of course. It would have been embarrassing for the Q’ aroumi government if she or Duncan had died. There’d been no personal interest in Rafiq’s enquiries. Why should there be? She was just a troublesome foreigner. Yet, beyond all logic, it still rankled that he hadn’t visited her in the hospital. She’d lain there for days thinking of him, dreaming of him, waiting for him to stride into her room.

And as her disappointment had grown, so had her awareness of her own folly. Did she really expect a royal visit to her bedside? That was laughable. Especially in a country where the Prince wasn’t a figurehead but an active head of state, busy with the affairs of government.

She pulled herself together.

Ì have to thank you,’ she said, plastering a bright smile on her face and looking straight into his eyes. She shivered at the illusion of heat she saw there, and at the tell tale tightness in her chest. But she ignored both and plunged on. `Without your intervention Duncan and I would have died. We owe you our lives.’