The Sheikh's Princess Bride

Tariq suppressed a smile as he listened to a guest enthuse about yesterday’s wedding celebration. It was like breaking in a filly, getting Samira used to his touch, persuading her to trust him. It would take patience but the prize would be worth it.

He glanced down, taking in her vibrant loveliness. Not just her exquisite features, but the warmth of her personality. Her hand fluttered as she emphasised a point and the delicate henna markings caught his eye. Markings that proclaimed her his.

Tariq stiffened as need cannoned into him.

He’d married Samira for all the sensible reasons she’d put forward, including his need to do the best for his boys. He’d responded to the desperation he’d read in Samira, the bone-deep instinct that told him she needed this, needed him, more than she was prepared to admit.

But there was one reason above all why he’d accepted her proposal.

He’d never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Samira.

The truth buffeted him, dragging the air from his lungs. It was a truth he’d tried so hard to ignore.

At seventeen she’d been heartbreakingly lovely. Enough to send him rushing back to his homeland lest he do something unforgivable, like seduce his best friend’s innocent sister. He’d felt guilty for years, knowing how dishonourable the carnal thoughts were that plagued him. He’d even, at one point, contemplated offering marriage, till he’d heard she had her sights set on a career in fashion. Tariq had needed a wife by his side, not living in the USA or Europe.

Yet, even in the years they’d been apart, just the sight of her photo in the press had the capacity to distract him. He’d never been able to forget her.

So when she’d come to him for help, offering herself in marriage...

He might be Sheikh, commander, ruler and protector of his people. But he was a man too.

‘I wish you well, Tariq,’ the visiting prince before him said. ‘May your sons be many and strong, your daughters as beautiful as your lovely bride and your years long.’

Tariq clasped his outstretched hand, responding in kind.

It struck him how hard this must be for Samira, with everyone wishing them the blessing of children when she couldn’t have any. Regret lanced him and he felt a sliver of hurt for her sake.

Yet she didn’t flinch as one after another departing guest offered the same wishes. She was the ideal hostess, regal yet warm, charming and lovely, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Tariq slid his hand in a comforting circle just above her waist. Would she realise he silently offered his support? He could do no more, not in public and not, he guessed, with a woman who guarded her emotions so closely.

* * *

Tariq’s gentle caress at her back was strangely soothing. After last night she’d been on tenterhooks, anticipating the next time he’d reach for her, maybe demand another kiss. But this—she shifted her weight rather than press back against his warm hand—this felt like comfort.

At last the guests were gone and they were alone. Still his hand remained, his long fingers splaying heat across her upper back. She should move away.

‘How are you holding up, Samira?’

She looked up and was surprised to read concern in Tariq’s eyes.

‘Okay, thanks.’ Her brows twitched together. ‘Why, don’t I look it?’ She’d done her best to disguise her sleepless night.

He shrugged and she felt the shift of his arm across her back. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be touched.

‘You look gorgeous.’ The gleam in his eyes did strange things to her insides. ‘But with everyone harping on the prospect of children I wondered.’

Samira stiffened and stepped away, drawing in on herself. Instantly she missed his touch. She was torn between gratitude that he’d thought of her pain and fear she’d given herself away when she’d prided herself on being strong.

‘It’s nothing.’ His steady scrutiny made her edgy. ‘At least, I’m used to it.’ She forced a smile to hide her discomfort. So many good wishes for something that could never be had reawakened that dull ache of pain at her core. She refused to give in to it. ‘After the first hundred times, it’s water off a duck’s back.’

‘It’s over now,’ he murmured, as if they didn’t both know that for a lie. The speculation would start in a few months when people began looking for signs of pregnancy.

Samira’s empty womb contracted hard but she ignored it. She couldn’t have her own babies but she was now the mother of two sons. That would keep her too busy to worry about anything else. That and dealing with her new husband.