The Sheikh was so capable. So wise. So willing to listen.
So handsome.
A titter of laughter circled the room and all eyes focused on Samira.
To her amazement she felt heat wash her cheeks, just as if she were a real bride besotted with her husband.
She wasn’t besotted. But she was a bride. Ever since the night she’d found the courage to face her fear and her desire for Tariq and gone to him, she’d been swept up in a world of sensual pleasure and breathless anticipation. Life had never felt so...real, so vibrant and exciting.
Her gaze shifted outside to where Tariq, wearing jeans, boots and a hard hat, clambered with a group of men over rubble beside the scaffolding for a new building.
Predictably her mouth dried as she took in his towering form. Broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, long-legged, he was so masculine just the sight of him did funny things to her.
And the memory of the things he did with her in the privacy of their rooms... Her blush intensified, to the delight of the women around her.
She smiled and shrugged, accepting their gentle ribbing with good grace. Why shouldn’t she? She had it all. The children she’d craved, the husband who respected but didn’t try to dominate her. And sex that could melt her bones, nights of glorious pleasure that left her feeling better than she ever had in her life.
What more could she want?
* * *
Tariq turned, following the gestures of the village elder and project manager as they discussed how the new site for the village was so much safer than the old one. They’d been over this before and his attention strayed to Samira sitting surrounded by women in the newly constructed community centre. Even from this distance he saw the stiff formality of the group had disappeared, replaced by what looked and sounded like a party.
A grin tugged his mouth as he heard laughter and saw an old woman pick up Adil and croon to him. It would do his sons no harm to get out of the palace and be with his people. Their people. Learning to mix with strangers would stand them in good stead for the future.
But it was his bride who drew his eyes.
From the moment she’d emerged in her finery this morning he’d wanted to bundle her back into her bedroom and strip away the gossamer silk that made her shimmer like some enticing gift waiting to be unwrapped. Or maybe it was the knowing glint in those warm, sherry eyes, reminding him of how they’d spent the better part of the night, naked and desperate for each other.
Even now, with the whole population of the village between them, he felt his blood rush south, his groin tighten as need stirred.
He found himself striding towards the village centre, the men following.
There was a stir among the women as they made ready to serve refreshments to the men. He was given the place of honour, the headsman to his right, Samira to his left. He breathed in her sweetness and looked down, registering the slow-fading henna on her hands that marked her as his. Once more Tariq felt a surge of triumphant possessiveness.
As ever, it sideswiped him. Such intensity, such need, was unprecedented.
Black guilt hovered as it had after they’d had sex the first time. With it came a frisson of warning, as if someone stroked an icicle down his spine. A sense that with Samira he’d strayed into unknown, dangerous territory.
Tariq wrenched his mind free before the thought could take hold.
He had exactly what he wanted. Life was good. So good that for the first time since boyhood he toyed with the idea of cutting short his official duties to escape and enjoy himself.
Tariq exhaled slowly and forced himself to focus. He had responsibilities, duties. He was totally in control of the situation no matter how wayward his thoughts. He would keep everything in perspective, including his desire for his wife.
* * *
Tariq snared her wrist as they entered the royal apartments. ‘Let Sofia put the boys down for their nap.’
‘But it’s no trouble. I like doing it.’ Samira’s confidence with them grew each day, and they had accepted her into their lives.
She’d done the right thing, proposing this marriage. The niggle of doubt that she’d tied herself to a man who’d tricked her, pretending to accept her terms, then breaking down her resistance to sex—well, it was only a niggle. After all, she enjoyed this marriage with benefits as much as he.
She’d been naive believing they could live together celibately. But in everything else, he’d been honest with her. Of course he had. This was Tariq. The man she’d known all her life.
‘Leave them.’ His voice was a low burr that burrowed to the core of her. ‘You can do it tomorrow.’