Cinderella and the Sheikh (Hot Contemporary Romance)

by Teresa Morgan

  Her heart thudded into overdrive. It was all she could do to keep her hand from shaking as she reached for the silver toast caddy. Imaran didn't pick up his newspaper. Instead, she felt his critical gaze on her every move.

  She decided to be civil. "How are you today?"

  "Concerned." His dry tone made her shiver. "For my cousin. I cannot quite figure out his plan."

  Every fiber in her body warned that he was baiting her, but reluctant curiosity compelled her to probe further. "His plan?"

  "He has married a woman who is completely inappropriate for him and I cannot understand what he means by it." Imaran leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving her. "I have a theory."

  She could barely squeeze the words from her tight throat. "He loves me."

  "How do you put it in your culture? That story does not fly with me. You do not know him very well. He is not a man who is led around by his heart."

  "You're the one who doesn't know him." Her words sounded like a petulant child's. "You're jealous of him."

  He didn’t speak. Instead, one corner of his lip turned up in a parody of Rasyn's smile. He rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. "My cousin and I have always competed. He just wins more often. Perhaps more often than he should. But he is like a brother to me. I would do anything for him. Even this."

  Imaran reached into the pocket of the jacket draped over the back of his chair, and drew out a sleek leather folder. With practiced ease, he flipped it open and raised a platinum pen.

  "How much?"

  She blinked, not understanding, before she realized what it was. A checkbook. Her breath went raspy, as if all air had been vacuumed from the room.

  "For what?" Her words sounded strangled.

  "The child." Imaran didn't look up. "Rasyn's heir. It explains everything."

  He thought Rasyn had married her because he thought she was going to have his baby. From the sound of it, he thought that she'd seduced Rasyn to trap him into fatherhood.

  "I admire you." His tone was flat. "You saw an opportunity to advance yourself and took it. Very admirable. At least Rasyn's heir will not have the blood of some cowardly, unintelligent female in its veins."

  She swallowed past the solid wad of emotion in her throat. "There's no baby."

  He looked up. The intensity of his gaze dared her to look away. The hard set of his jaw turned her stomach. Was this the environment Rasyn grew up in?

  He raised a slashing black eyebrow. His tone told her he believed she was lying. "If you take the money and go, you will not have to put up with this pretence of a marriage. It will save you a lot of effort and you can start a life of luxury in the country of your choice right away. I will arrange for a bodyguard to ensure your safety, and to encourage you to stay in good health while you carry the child. No drugs or alcohol. As soon as the heir is born, he or she will be delivered to us, here. Everyone benefits."

  "'Everyone benefits'." She was stunned by the callous words. Did Imaran hate her for her lowly birth or her hair color?

  "I am sure you don’t care to be saddled with a child. And if it is a son, he will inherit a country, but he will not be in the line of succession if you remain married."

  Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears for the man who resembled her Rasyn so much, but was nothing like him on the inside. Over the years, King Anwar's preference for Rasyn had hurt Imaran more than anyone would ever know.

  "Or perhaps you are not yet pregnant. This will save you all the effort."

  "How did you get so cruel?" she asked.

  He snorted as he pulled away from the table. "Rasyn has had many women. Don’t imagine that he loves you."

  ***

  Rasyn entered the breakfast room to see his bride waiting for him. The buttery yellow tunic she wore set off the fire of her auburn hair and the sea-green of her eyes. Its conservative cut hid her full breasts and the curve of her hips from the prying eyes of other men, and, unfortunately, his as well.

  She didn't look up when he entered, but stared at her toast as if she could read the secrets of the world in it.

  He couldn't resist the opportunity. And, since she was his wife now, he could indulge himself. It was practically his duty.

  Keeping his steps soft, he strode up and captured her face between his hands before she realized he was there. She gasped, startled, and he took the chance to cover her open mouth with his own. Libby stiffened in shock. Then, as he explored her mouth, savoring the sweet taste of the fresh orange juice she'd been drinking, he felt her relax, soften, melt against him.

  She trusted him, he realized. He'd worked and fought for it, and now, she trusted him completely.

  Too bad he was betraying her in every possible way.

  He broke the kiss with a little nibble on her bottom lip. Not only because of the tension in his stomach caused by his guilt, but because if it continued, there was a real danger that he would pull her down to the floor and take her there.

  He brushed his lips over her knuckles. "Good morning."

  "Sabah il-khair, Rasyn." Her pronunciation was flawless, but she looked at the floor when she said it. "How is the king?"

  For once, there was good news. His uncle had improved overnight. As he told her this, she seemed distracted. "Is something wrong, Love?"

  She drew in a quick breath and lifted her chin. Looking him straight in the eye, she said, "Nothing. That's good news about your uncle. It's just... what do you think will happen now?"

  He ignored the obvious lie. She was no good at deception. Which was a good thing. Moving to his chair, he poured himself a cup of coffee from the silver pot, and wondered why she'd dismissed the servants. She usually seemed to enjoy talking to them when no one else was around. "Why should something happen?"

  "King Anwar has made you his heir."

  His uncle had made the official announcement the day before. The coffee suddenly tasted bitter on his tongue. He smiled at her anyway and avoided lying. "Thanks to you."

  She frowned. "But Parliament made a law against it."

  "Abbas is a constitutional monarchy. When the ruler and the Parliament disagree, Parliament wins."

  "Your cousin will like that."

  He nearly flinched at the comment. It hardly mattered if she didn’t like Imaran. Perhaps they'd find a way to get along in future. Winning his life's goal would probably put Imaran more at ease with himself. Perhaps the right wife would soften his hard edges when he found her.

  "He's the best man for the job."

  "You don’t want to be king." Her words came out in a rush.

  He reached for a newspaper as casually as he could. "Do not be absurd."

  "Why don't you want to be king?"

  He couldn’t deny it. She would see though the lie. Yet he couldn't reveal all to her. He willed himself to breathe. "You would not understand."

  "It's because of Imaran."

  He looked at her through half-lidded eyes. "If I believe he is the better choice, what is it to anyone?"

  "There's something off about him. Something desperate."

  "He feels his heart's desire slipping from his grasp. Once the kingdom is securely under him, he will relax into his role. He is far more qualified than myself."

  "You've said that before." She sipped her coffee. "He might be qualified, but you're a natural leader. You're smart, charismatic, and persuasive. But none of that matters—you want Imaran on the throne."

  Her eyes went wide in sudden realization. "Oh my God. This isn't about him—it's about what happened while you two were in university. His heart attack. You feel guilty about it."

  His mind raced through a dozen denials. In the end, he decided on a strange tactic—the truth.

  "I failed my cousin," he said. "I will not fail my country."

  She reached for his hand, and squeezed his rough fingers in her own. "It's okay, you know. You don’t have to rule if you don't want to. Just tell your uncle. He'll listen."

  "He will not," he sa
id plainly.

  "But—"

  He raised a hand in interruption. "He did not."

  "Oh." The blood drained from her face as she realized the implications. "I'm sorry."

  Uncle Anwar hadn't listened. Only one person had, and she was sitting across from him. He felt an odd warm tightness under his ribs at that thought, but couldn't take the time to analyze the feeling. This was dangerous ground, his instinct told him. Best to move the topic along. "It does not matter, Libby. The future of Abbas and our happiness are both assured. Is that not enough for you?"

  "Of course, but this just doesn’t seem like you. Ordering people around makes you happy and you're turning down the chance of a lifetime."

  "I will never regret being with you," he assured her.

  She gave him a tentative smile. "Well, I don’t want to bear the brunt of your need to control things for the rest of your life. You're going to have to start some kind of business and hire some employees that you pay really well to put up with you."

  Truthfully, he had been thinking along the same lines. Perhaps when this was over, he might safely involve himself in some business without raising Imaran's jealousy. He could see himself as the head of a company, or perhaps...

  "I have been considering this. What do you think about some kind of resort on an island off the coast?"

  She considered it. "I think you'd enjoy ruling your own little kingdom."

  He looked at the woman who he'd intended to use and throw away. A month ago, he'd left Abbas with the purpose of finding someone who he could tolerate for a year or two. Libby—beautiful, practical Libby— had become more than that. He couldn't imagine his life without her. Now, or ever.

  Inspiration struck him. "Libby, what do you think about going on a honeymoon? Perhaps Bermuda."

  She moved her toast around on her plate. "We're not married in Bermuda."

  He leaned over and caught her little hand in his grip. The feel of her delicate bones sent a need to protect her surging through him. All he wanted to do was assure her that everything was going to be all right from now on. That they'd make a flawless life together. "Then what do you say about eloping to Bermuda? Just you and I. And a few friends to witness the ceremony. Your mother, if you wish it."

  She started to gnaw on her lip, which he knew was a sure sign of her stress. What could be wrong?

  "Let's just get through Prince Hani's ball for us in Damali first." She cocked her head and smiled at him.

  He dropped her hand. That was her second attempt to hide her feelings from him today.

  "It's a ball for you," he said, crisply. "Not for us."

  Chapter Thirteen

  As they sat on the couch together, Rasyn watched his wife chew off her lipstick, rub her hands together, and generally look like she wanted to be anyplace but the elegant apartments that she'd been assigned in Damali Palace.

  Prince Hani and Princess Sanurah would arrive at any moment for a quiet dinner with the two of them and Imaran. Of course, a quiet dinner for royalty involved designer suits, hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of jewels and a few dozen servants.

  Despite her odd behavior that morning, Libby had clung to him in the limo on the way to Damali. She seemed to see his touch as a kind of reassurance. Touching her had never been a problem. He was happy to provide any reassurance that involved the feel of her soft skin against his, but something had been off with her all day. Something was missing between them.

  He slid his arm around her and drew her to him, placing her head in the crook of his neck. She immediately relaxed against him. The waves of her hair caressed his jaw, softer than the creamy silk dress she wore. His fingers met the bare skin of her shoulder. Her scent heated the air and filled his senses. His body reacted to her closeness.

  "You will be fine." Later, when they had more time to talk privately, he would suggest some comportment lessons to help with her confidence level.

  "I really screwed up the last formal occasion I attended with these people."

  He laughed. "They do not seem to think so."

  "Total disaster." She looked up at him, her green eyes glassy with tension. "What if Princess Sanurah isn't so forgiving?"

  A quick knock on the door sent Libby scrambling from his lap. He rose from the couch at a more leisurely pace, smoothing the wrinkles out of his tuxedo as he did so.

  He noticed one long auburn hair on his lapel and nearly brushed it off—but decided not to. She is mine, he thought. Let the whole world know.

  Prince Hani, who normally entered every room like he owned it, stepped in tentatively, his eyes on the princess who had his arm. Rasyn couldn’t hear his low murmurs to her, but the Prince's body language told him everything. He stepped with small, patient strides, his whole body angled toward her.

  Princess Sanurah, beautiful in her pink satin gown, wore a matching silk scarf wrapped loosely around her hair. As the couple approached, Rasyn glimpsed what the elegant wrap hid—a puffy rash on either side of her neck.

  Other than that, Princess Sanurah seemed as poised and elegant as ever.

  Libby crossed the last few steps to the princess and made a deep curtsey. She looked at the ground beneath Her Highness' feet. "Please forgive me, Princess Sanurah. I never meant to hurt you."

  The Princess' reaction was immediate. She took Libby's shoulders in her gloved hands and raised her up. Ignoring the potential damage to her sculpted hairstyle, the Princess threw her arms around Libby.

  "You saved my life. You brought me back to my Hani. You're like a sister to me."

  Prince Hani, standing behind his wife, with his hands behind his back, cleared his throat. "Ahem."

  "I mean 'granddaughter,'" the Princess corrected, despite the fact that she was a few years younger than Libby. "You're like a granddaughter to me."

  A smile of relief spread across Libby's face. Rasyn recognized what had been missing between him and his wife. That smile. She hadn't smiled at him all day. Something inside him turned grim at the realization.

  Another knock on the door announced the arrival of his cousin. Imaran had come in his own car, saying he wanted the privacy to do some work, but Rasyn had detected a bitter tension in his tone.

  Candlelight glittered from the medals shining on Imaran's chest, irritating Rasyn. They were alone. What was the point of wearing his honors all the time?

  Rasyn realized that he could hardly wait for tomorrow's ball to be over. His close relationship with his cousin could resume. And his new life with Libby could start.

  How many children did she want, he wondered, watching Libby chat with Princess Sanurah.

  They had a lifetime to get to know each other, and he eagerly anticipated starting the process. First they had to get through tomorrow. After that, things would be perfect.

  Yet another knock on the door interrupted them.

  "Ah." Prince Hani motioned for the guard who had arrived with them to open it. "There's someone else who wants to greet you."

  Rasyn frowned at the tall, lean young man who entered. He frowned even more when his wife welcomed him by name, her eyes shining. "Jarah!"

  Prince Hani clasped the man on the shoulder. "You didn't think I'd forget to reward the other person who helped save my wife? Jarah is my new secretary."

  Other person? It was a moment before it hit him. The waiter—the one Libby had tripped.

  "But the orphanage?" Alarm crossed Libby's face.

  "Is now under the patronage of the Princess of Damali," Princess Sanurah said.

  Libby turned that bright smile on her new friend. "That's so amazing of you."

  Jealousy stabbed through Rasyn's chest. The orphanage was in Abbas. There shouldn’t have been any need for the patronage of a foreign ruler. Imaran should have taken it on as a pet project.

  "My Sanurah's life is worth all of this and more." Prince Hani's proud eyes shone on his wife.

  "I'm sure His Highness feels the same about you." Princess Sanurah glanced at Rasyn sidelong.

 
; "I must speak to you, Prince Hani," Rasyn said. "There has been some mistake. My wife and I have been assigned separate quarters."

  Upon their arrival at Damali Palace, he'd been surprised to discover that they'd been given different apartments.

  "No mistake. Until your marriage to my Libby is legal in this country, you will behave like her fiancé, not her husband," Prince Hani said. "There will be guards on that door at all times. They have instructions. I'd like to see some great-grandchildren, so you won't make my guards carry out their instructions."

  Rasyn flinched at the ruler's sharp tone and unveiled threat. He decided there was no harm in letting Prince Hani have his way. It was only for a few days, after all. The next time they visited Damali, no one would be able to doubt their union. "Yes, sir."

  Libby beamed at Prince Hani. "You don’t have to do all this for me. I'm just a waitress."

  Jarah lifted his chin, speaking with conviction. "You will be the queen of Abbas."

  Some connections fell into place in Rasyn's mind. "The one who put up the posters of Libby in the souk—it was you."

  Jarah gave a quick nod. "With Umm Tariq's help."

  Confusion knit Libby's eyebrows. "Why would you do that?"

  "Who the hell is Umm Tariq?" Imaran asked.

  "You're one of us." Jarah ignored Imaran's question as if he weren't even in the room. "A queen who understands the real people. Parliament needs to know that they do not reflect our wishes. They can make all the laws they want, but the sheikh chose you. And we choose you for our queen."

  "Parliament is the ruling body of Abbas." Imaran narrowed his eyes at Prince Hani's assistant. "And the people will be made to respect that."

  A chill went up Rasyn's spine at his cousin's words. What was Imaran talking about? Parliament represented the people.

  Time to defuse the situation. Rasyn took his wife's hand and brought it to his lips, all the while hoping that Prince Hani's 'instructions' to the guards permitted this. "She will always be my queen. Even if Parliament never recognizes her."

  "Heh," His Highness said. "We'll see about that."

  Prince Hani's cryptic response froze Rasyn to the spot. Apprehension twitched through his muscles. "What does that mean?"