The Sheikh's Princess Bride

‘Yes.’ The word was a low hum that stirred the butterflies nesting in her belly. ‘A goodnight kiss.’

‘A—?’ She goggled. She couldn’t be hearing right. Samira shook her head, loose tresses sliding around her bare shoulders.

‘Kiss.’ He said it again, his face serious. His gaze dropped to her mouth and heat roared through her. Samira swallowed, her arms wrapping tighter across her torso. Her breasts felt too full and highly sensitised, the nipples blatantly puckering.

‘But...why?’

She halted, her face flaming as realisation hit. She’d never felt so gauche. She wasn’t some innocent. She understood what it meant when a half-naked man entered his wife’s bedroom at night and demanded a kiss. ‘That’s not what we agreed,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s not part of our deal.’

‘Your deal, Samira. Not mine.’

Her fingers gripped her upper arms like claws, digging into soft flesh. This couldn’t be happening. ‘But you heard me out. You understood.’

‘I heard you explain you wanted a marriage that was no marriage.’ He leaned infinitesimally closer and the air between them clogged. She couldn’t seem to draw enough oxygen into her lungs. ‘That doesn’t mean I agreed. What I agreed was to make you my wife. That’s exactly what I intend to do.’

Shock battered her as she read his intent. And a sense of betrayal so deep it sliced straight to her heart.

She’d trusted Tariq. That was why she’d approached him of all men. She knew his word was his bond and he’d implicitly accepted the conditions she’d put on their marriage. Yet now...

Bile rose in her throat. She could barely believe she’d been duped again by a man, and by this man.

He hadn’t told her his intentions before the wedding. He’d waited till it was too late for her to withdraw.

He’d tricked her.

‘Tariq!’ Her voice was a hoarse scratch. ‘As a man of honour—’

His finger on her lips silenced her. She gasped and tasted the salty, male tang of him. To her dismay she registered how good that tasted.

Samira became conscious of the way he caged her against the headboard. His other arm reached across her, his hand planted on the bed beside her hip, trapping her.

‘No man of honour would accept what you proposed, Samira. Not if he had any self-respect.’ He watched her closely, as if cataloguing her reaction. ‘You came to the wrong man if you wanted some emasculated father figure.’

‘Father figure?’ Her eyes rounded. ‘The last thing I want is to tie myself to a man like my father.’ He’d been emotionally unstable, lacking in judgement and self-control. It was his example, and Brent’s, that had driven her to seek marriage with someone dependable.

Tariq didn’t look dependable right now. He looked unpredictable and dangerous, like a keen-eyed hunter sighting his prey.

Fear trickled down her spine.

‘You’re too young to be a father figure to me, Tariq.’

He shrugged and her mouth dried a little more. She stood no chance against his strength if he decided...

‘You wouldn’t force me!’ The words shot out defiantly, yet she couldn’t quite disguise the question in them.

Tariq reared back, his eyes flashing as if she’d insulted his manhood. ‘Of course not. I’d never force a woman!’ He lifted his hand from the bed as if to break that sense of entrapment. But it was too late. Samira was transfixed.

‘Tell me what you want, then.’ She swallowed hard but jutted her chin defiantly. She wouldn’t give in without a fight.

‘Just a kiss.’ His eyes held hers. ‘When I went to kiss you at the banquet in front of our guests, you turned as pale as milk.’ He nodded as her mouth flattened. It was true. She hadn’t been able to hide her reaction.

Relief flooded her, weakening her limbs. A kiss, that was all, not...

Her brain seized at the alternative.

‘I refuse to have a wife who’s afraid of me. Who can’t bear to be close to me.’ Something dark flashed in his narrowed eyes and her heart pounded faster. ‘I need a wife who can take her place at my side without flinching.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured stiffly. ‘I don’t know what happened.’ Except she did. She’d seen Tariq the man, not the convenient spouse, and been terrified by her response. ‘But we don’t have to kiss.’

‘Can you think of a better way to prove you won’t cringe away next time I’m near you? The next time we’re together in public? And there are the boys to consider. I don’t want them thinking I intimidate you.’ His deep voice held a hollow note she hadn’t heard before.