When he lifted her hand to his lips to kiss it in a gesture of reverence, she felt her skin prickle with distaste. Something about him made her feel very ill at ease.
Although Tariq didn’t exactly make her feel relaxed- for entirely different reasons- she found herself seeking solace in his presence. It was her first diplomatic outing, but as the evening progressed, she realised that she had a natural instinct for small talk and flattery. Perhaps it was her job. Working with special needs children required a constant diplomacy and even temperament. Parents tended to be even more sensitive and protective when their disabled children were involved. To get the best results for her students, she frequently had to broach difficult conversations in the hope of getting everyone working together.
As time wore on, she felt a real glow of pride in how well she was coping with the intimidating situation. The one blight in an otherwise pleasant evening was Faisal. How he made her shudder! At least Rebecca had been placed between Tariq and Eric, and though she felt Faisal watching her much of the night, she was able to keep her eyes averted and try to keep up with Tariq and Eric’s boisterous run down memory lane instead.
The more she learned of this man she had married, the more she wanted to know. He had been raised predominantly in Europe and America, which explained why he was so westernised in so many ways. Why she didn’t feel that they were so culturally disparate.
“I had better get to bed,” Eric said on a languorous stretch once the strong Arabic coffee had been cleared.
“I will walk you to your room.” Tariq said, rising from his chair. It was a sign to the other diners that the evening was concluded, and they likewise stood and began to filter from the room.
Each guest farewelled Rebecca with a small bow. All, except Tariq, who shot her a look that, to Rebecca at least, smouldered.
She waited until everyone had left the room, and pressed the palm of her hand into her chest. Maybe if she pushed really hard, her heart would stop feeling so twisted out of shape. Maybe not.
She stood and slowly walked across the formal dining room, enjoying the swish of her dress with each step she took. That was it. It was over. When would she see her husband next? Another week? Two? Was this really the life she’d chosen to lead?
She thought of the children she was spending her days with and at least that brought her happiness.
There was a creak at the door and Rebecca turned around slowly, her heart starting to race as she prepared to see her husband. Surely he had come back, after all. Maybe he wasn’t as unaffected by her as he seemed. Only it wasn’t Tariq. Faisal Kassis was back, and for once, there was not a security guard in sight.
Chapter Three
“Your highness,” he drawled slowly, and his eyes, small and black like raisins, shone with hatred.
“Faisal.” Rebecca was amazed at how calmly her voice came out. Adrenalin was coursing through her body, but miraculously, outwardly she appeared unconcerned.
“Did you enjoy your evening?”
So far, so good. Or at least, not terrible. She was pretty sure cornering her on her own was highly inappropriate, but still, she kept her expression neutral.
“I did. And you?”
“It was a pleasure watching you work,” he said, taking slow, deliberate steps in her direction.
Rebecca had dealt with bullies all her life. Winona and Greg could have written the manual on how to terrify someone into obedience. She let out a slow breath. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, trying to regain control of the situation by walking towards the door.
He cut her off. “And? If I won’t?”
He wasn’t touching her, but he was so close that he could have easily grabbed her. She stared at him with a haughty expression. “I don’t think you have any choice in the matter.” She clipped.
He made a grunt of disapproval and she smelt cigar smoke and alcohol on his breath. “Who are you? Just a nobody from England. Now you’re acting as though you’re better than everybody else.”
A hint of a frown scarred her forehead. She had done no such thing, but clearly Faisal was going to see only what he wanted to see.
“You know,” he changed tact, taking one of her hands in his. “Many years ago, when Assan was still tribal, the wife of the Sheikh was a commodity to be traded to the Sheikh’s friends and families.”
His words rolled through her head and she felt nausea in her stomach. She tried to pull her hand but he dug his fingers into her palm. “It is a shame the tradition is no longer practiced. Although...”
“What the hell is going on here?” Tariq demanded from the doorway. Though he was rigidly still, only a fool would miss the rage that emanated from every line of his body.
At the sight of him, so tall and imposing, Rebecca felt a sob welling in her chest. She clamped down her lips, forcing herself to stay in control.
“You will remove your hands from my wife this moment.” Tariq’s words were like steel. The authority he commanded was impossible to doubt.
With a look full of antagonism towards Rebecca, Faisal did as Tariq had said and stepped backwards, catching his hip on one of the ornately carved dining chairs.
“If I was my grandfather, I would have you put to death,” Tariq drawled. He moved to stand in front of Rebecca, placing a strong shield between her and Faisal.
Faisal couldn’t look into his cousin’s eyes. Rebecca was almost certain he had just been intimidating her for sport. It seemed highly unlikely he would have carried out his implied threat. But the thought of what he had suggested still made her blood run cold. She swayed a little, and her body lightly brushed against Tariq’s. The strength of him bled towards her, giving her strength to endure the next few moments.
“Faisal Kassis,” He spoke slowly, crisply, “I hereby strip you of your title. You are no longer welcome at any palace of Assan. You forfeit your right to all the privileges that came with your previous rank.”
“What!” The smaller man gaped, spittle foaming at the corner of his mouth. “You can’t do that.”
“I just did. And you’re damned lucky that’s all I did. Get out of my sight, now. Leave the palace. You are no longer welcome here.” Implacable, strong, royal. Sexy.
Faisal seemed to think about pleading his cause but one look at Tariq’s face quelled that idea. He left without a backwards glance.
As soon as his cousin had pulled the door shut, Tariq spun around to face Rebecca. Her pale face was frozen, her teeth were pressed into her lower lip, and her eyes were clouded with angst.
His irrational annoyance with her evaporated in a cloud of smoke. “You’re shaking,” he frowned, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a tight hug. Moulded to his body, he felt a surprising surge of protective instinct.
He was a modern man. He knew women could defend themselves. He’d heard Rebecca doing a good job of keeping her cool in what must have been a terrifying situation. So why did she inspire such a He-Man instinct in him? The unusual lack of control over his own emotions angered him further.
“I... thank you.” She whispered against the wall of his chest. He drifted his gaze down to her face. Her eyes were shut. Long, fair lashes breathed against her cheek. Out of nowhere, he wanted to rain kisses on the papery eyelids.
He frowned. “Faisal’s behaviour was unforgivable. But you must take care, Rebecca, not to encourage men like him.”
She stilled in his arms. “Encourage him?” She breathed quietly. “Do you truly think I encouraged him in any way?”
He shrugged. “Legally, I could have him imprisoned for a decade for what he just did. It seems unlikely he’d take the risk of approaching you if he didn’t believe he had a chance of success.”
She pulled out of his arms and stepped back. “You’re unbelievable!” She fumed. “If he thought that, then that’s his problem. I did not encourage him.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he tried to reign in his fury. In truth, he didn’t for a second believe she’d led Faisal
on. But the sight of another man pawing his wife had been unexpectedly confronting. It had nothing to do with the archaic concept of ownership, and everything to do with the woman who had married him a week before. He didn’t want other men to look at her. He had never been jealous nor possessive, but he recognised those emotions now.
“I feel sorry for you, Tariq.” She said, her voice back to that steady, imperious tone she was so good at.
“Why is that, Rebecca?”
“You married a woman you can’t stand.” She held a finger in the air to enumerate a list. “First, I’m a plain Jane, too ordinary looking for you. Second, I’m a gold digger. Third, a prostitute. And now, fourth, apparently I’m the kind of woman who encourages random men to hit on her. How can you bear to be my husband?”
He closed his eyes against the harsh truth of her words. He had been manifestly unfair to her since the first moment of their marriage. So what if she had wed him for money? Was there any woman alive who wouldn’t have been slightly wowed by the extent of his wealth?
When he opened his eyes a moment later, Rebecca was almost at the door, and he realised she intended to leave. He burst across the room and snapped it shut.
“You do not walk out on me,” he stated firmly.
She glared up at him, raising her chin defiantly. “You do not tell me what to do.”
“Rebecca,” he growled, and balled his fists by his side to resist the temptation to pull her into his embrace. “You are, without a doubt, the most frustrating woman I have ever known.”
“Good night, Your Highness,” She said bravely, and slipped out of the heavy entranceway in a rustle of skirts and sequins. He watched her go, a frown on his face.
Hours later, Tariq was still unable to find the blissful oblivion of sleep. He had been unjust. Again. Why did his wife spur him to the edge of civility every time he saw her?
He pushed his bedcovers back brusquely and slipped on a pair of cotton boxer shorts. The dessert nights were often cool, but Tariq had always slept naked. He liked the feeling of the crisp sheets against his skin, and a breeze across his face as he slept.
He strode through the ancient corridor that joined these two bedrooms and paused outside her door. It was silent within. Gently, he pushed Rebecca’s concealed doorway so that it opened silently.
Lying in the centre of her bed, bathed in pale cream moonlight, was the Queen of Assan. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he crept closer. Burying the doubts over what he was doing, he tiptoed right to the edge of the bed. In sleep, she was even more beautiful. Her face, so at ease, her hair, a skein across the navy blue pillows.
She sighed and rolled over, exposing a perfect breast beneath her silk night gown. He felt his arousal stir and stepped back hastily. He was no peeping Tom. He turned to leave, but a book on her bedside table caught his attention. It was an Arabic language book. It was dog-eared and the pages had been marked.
For some reason, it made him feel a sweet affection for her that came completely out of nowhere.
Tariq led the procession of business men through the palace corridor, his dark head bent as he concentrated on the objectives of this meeting. It was vitally important to secure the trade route from north to south of Assan. A small band of criminals had taken to mugging road trains, and now many companies had closed down the supply routes. An overt military response was not possible. Although Assan had long been at peace, people had very long memories when it came to governmental force. He did not want to inspire the kind of fear that some of his older kinsman had endured on a daily basis.
Tucker Smith, the American CEO of the largest transport company in the region, was putting forward some of his own proposals, such as installing a guard on every truck, and making mandatory check points at two hourly intervals.
Tariq lifted his head to ask for more details of the plan, but a wisp of yellow caught the periphery of his vision. He scanned the large, barren courtyard to his left and found what had grabbed his attention.
Rebecca.
Wearing a yellow outfit almost the colour of her hair, with a pale white blouse underneath.
But she wasn’t alone. A servant woman was standing before her, pushing at the Queen’s hands. Rebecca’s face was pink. He had never seen her visibly unsettled before. He stood stock still and watched, his mouth just a line in his face as he gritted his teeth.
Rebecca was saying something, and shaking her head, pointing towards a gnarled tree behind them.
Tariq followed her gesture and saw a sad little band of urchin children, their faces dirty, their expressions worried. The oldest child was leaping from foot to foot, obviously itching to interrupt.
The group of men had stopped walking when Tariq did, and he turned to them now. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I require a short recess.” He gestured to a servant to take his meeting for morning tea.
“What is going on here?” He demanded forcefully, as he stalked across the courtyard. The servant woman froze and turned to face the Emir. She was shaking with fear. As she should. How dared she berate and bully the Queen?
He looked questioningly at Rebecca, but her eyes were downcast.
He repeated his question in Arabic, addressing the servant this time.
She held up a children’s book and said in his native language, “The Queen has given the children books from the Royal Library, sir. I am trying to make her understand that we cannot accept them.”
He looked at Rebecca. “Have you given these children books from the palace library?”
“I’ve loaned them books, yes. The children know to take care of them.” She snapped moodily.
He bit back the smile that was on his lips. So, his ice princess had a temper after all. “Why?”
“Why? Why what?” She frowned.
“Why did you give them the books?”
“Loan them the books.” She corrected, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. The action drew his attention to her brow and he saw that she was covered in a fine film of perspiration.
“You shouldn’t be out here in the middle of the day. Your skin is like paper, you will burn to a crisp.”
“We usually sit beneath the tree,” She pointed out crossly, jerking her thumb towards the old Bay tree that provided some scattered shade.
“Usually?” He asked, clearly surprised. “How often do you come out here?”
She dropped her eyes and he realised she’d revealed more than she had intended to.
“Answer the question, Rebecca.”
She bit down on her lip, and when she spoke it was barely a whisper. “Every day.”
“Every day!” His voice was rich with amusement. “Whatever for?”
She straightened her spine, not enjoying the sensation of being his personal source of amusement. “I am teaching them English and they are teaching me Arabic. And Soccer.” She said defiantly.
“Her Royal Highness, Queen of Assan, spending her days kicking a ball around in the dust with this motley band of kids?” He laughed now, and it transformed him so completely that Rebecca felt golden warmth oozing through her body.
“I’m glad you find me funny,” she said stonily, trying to hold onto her indignation.
“Believe me, Rebecca, right now, funny is the very last word I would use to describe you.”
“I don’t know if I want to hear the others.” She said dubiously, remembering how he had insulted her the previous two times they’d met.
He turned to the servant and in Arabic, said, “Madam, the Queen may do as she wishes. Do not worry about the penalties for theft. I will ask the Queen to inscribe the books with her seal from now on, so that the authorities know the books were gifts rather than theft. Will this put you at ease?”
The woman visibly relaxed. “The Queen is very kind. The children are quite in love with her.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “The Queen and I must speak privately now. Please make her apologies to the children.”
He put his fingers lightly ar
ound his wife’s elbow and propelled her in the direction of the palace.
“Don’t tell me I’m in for another lecture,” she said with a heavy sigh as he steered her down the corridor and pushed open a door to a beautiful office.
“Sit.” He said authoritatively.
She didn’t. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You are the most stubborn, wilful woman in the world.” He groaned, dipping his head. “Do you have to do the opposite of everything I say just for the sake of it?”
She tilted her chin. “I would simply prefer to stand.”
“I don’t believe you. You are hot, sweaty, and pink from the sun. Sit and drink a cool tea before you faint.”
She rolled her eyes at the ugly image he painted. No wonder he wasn’t attracted to her. He was used to spending time with the most glamorous women imaginable. Not skinny, pink, sweaty school teachers. Nonetheless, she did feel overheated, only it had nothing to do with the sun. She huffed as she sat in the brown leather chair he had indicated.
“Better.” He nodded, and poured her a tea. “Here. Drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Egyptian flower tea. It is relaxing. You’ll like it.”
She sipped at it and relished the sweet, spicy flavour as it went down her throat.
“Why was she so upset?”
“It is a crime to steal in Assan. Penalties include fines which eclipse what many people would earn in two years of work. Stealing from a palace is punishable with a prison sentence.”
Rebecca blanched. “I didn’t know,” she whispered. “But they weren’t stealing. If anything, I’m the one who stole.”
“Quite so,” he nodded in agreement. Rebecca suspected he was enjoying her significant discomfort. “It does present an intriguing notion,” he said as he came to kneel in front of her.
She eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t like it when you’re berating me. I think I like it even less when you’re looking at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you, Sheikha?”
“Like you have hatched a scheme and I am at the centre of it.” She murmured quietly, and her blue eyes scanned his face.
Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees... Page 89
