Bought by The Sheikh

by Clare Connelly

  A sense of non-reality flooded her limbs as she heard herself say, “Yes. If it's the only way to save dad, of course I will.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  "Married?" Colin turned his watering blue eyes on his only daughter. She was the spitting image of his wife, Benita, and he felt a clutch of jealous love rip through him at the idea of her leaving him. They had been two peas in a pod for as long as he could remember, and though he knew it was selfish, he'd come to depend on her. He dredged a smile up from somewhere, though it felt heavy on his lined face. "This is sudden."

  Julia's eyes flew to Zayn. Not by a single flicker of his expression did he show any discomfort. "Not so sudden, Colin. We met years ago, after all."

  Colin frowned. "Has this been going on since then?"

  Zayn's eyes locked with Julia's. "It was inevitable, from that first meeting."

  Julia's pulse trembled as she felt the full force of this man's desire aimed at her. It had been a long time since she'd felt like a child. Growing up with just Colin, Julia had had to mature young. She'd helped run the house before she was a teenager. But in that moment, she wanted to throw herself on the ground and weep, and beg him to help her sort out the tangled mess.

  But she couldn't, of course. One look at his pale expression and she knew she had to convince her father that she was sublimely happy. To remove any doubt or worry from his mind.

  "You know me, Daddy. Would I ever, ever agree to marry someone if I didn't love them whole-heartedly?"

  Colin's smile with rich with bemusement. "I know your views on marriage, little one. For you to have agreed, well, I suppose I should say congratulations," he pondered belatedly, pushing to stand and extending a hand to the man who would be his son in law. Zayn was intimidating without intending to be; apart from the fact he had the build of an army sentinel, there was a watchful intensity to him that would unnerve anyone.

  His daughter, he wrapped in a hug. She was such a tiny thing, just like her mother had been. "When is the wedding?"

  "Friday," Zayn cut in quickly, his eyes warning Julia to allow him to organise the details. "I know it's fast, but I have to return to Naman and I do not want to return without my bride."

  Colin tried not to visibly react, but he felt as though the younger man had just cleaved him over the head with a cricket bat. "You intend to live in Naman?"

  Julia turned a beseeching expression to Zayn, but he didn't waiver. His plan had been to hurt her, to make her pay for her betrayal, and the more she begged him to relent, the more steadfast he became. "Yes. You must see it is not possible for me to live anywhere else."

  "Of course, of course." Colin turned away from them so Julia wouldn't see the way his eyes had moistened. And while his back was turned, Julia lifted her hands and pushed Zayn hard on the chest. She was furious with this big hulk of a man. So angry that she wanted to punch him and kick him.

  Her aggression only made him smile. Her energy impressed him, but he intended to find a better outlet for it. A much better outlet.

  "You'll come visit, though, dad, and I'll come back often." Julia promised.

  "Not too often," Zayn said warningly, "And not without me."

  Julia glared at him. "We can sort out the details later. But you'll always be welcome in my home."

  "Thank you, darling. You too, Zayn. I must say, you've rather surprised me. But come on, let's have a champagne and celebrate."

  Julia looked down at her outfit ruefully. "I'm supposed to be meeting Andrew and Georgina at Glastonbury," she said with a small tilt of her lips. She was so focussed on her father that she didn't notice the way her fiancé stiffened beside her.

  "I presume they have something such as a mobile phone?" Zayn whispered in her ear, while Colin was busy popping a cork.

  Julia rolled her eyes. "Of course."

  "Then text them. You will not be seeing them until the wedding."

  She narrowed her eyes. "I will text them and ask them to come here and celebrate our news. Whatever you may think, you do not control me, Zayn."

  Zayn shrugged. Though he hated her friend Andrew with a vengeance, Zayn had won. Julia was his, and would be for the rest of her life. If the other man wanted to come to Howard Manor, Zayn was very happy to gloat.

  "As you wish."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When she had been dating Zayn, he had described Naman to her in great detail. And his passion-filled descriptions had filled her dreams. But nothing had prepared her for the strangely alluring desert country. As his private jet touched down on the runway, she was immediately touched by the glistening white sands that stretched as far as the eye could see, in to the hazy horizon. She'd been to Greece the summer before, and she knew the haze was a sign of intense heat.

  But still, the sheer sultry humidity was oppressive when she first stepped out of the jet. "You will adapt," he said firmly, taking her elbow and guiding her down the steps. There was no waiting media, as might have been expected with royalty. Naman was a country that was famously protective of its royal family, and respect and courtesy were extended to them by the people at large.

  Julia angled her face to him, her expression guarded. "Did I complain?" As soon as she had agreed to marry him, she had decided she could never let him see how much he could hurt her. If he was bent on some sadistic mission of power play, she would simply not be a part of it. For all she knew, like a cat with a ball of string, if she refused to play his games, he might even bore of her and allow her to leave.

  "I felt you pause." He sounded amused, yet Julia was anything but.

  "Bully for you," she muttered, casually stepping ahead of him to remove his touch from her arm. She hated him with every fibre of her being, but even the lightest contact made her body feel like it was about to implode with sensual need.

  He let her go. He had been patient for a long time. For years. And the whole week leading up to their wedding, desire had coursed through his body like lava, keeping him awake at night and making him yearn to plunge into her and complete their union. But he had waited. Waited until they were married, and then waited until they were home. Though he knew he had bought her, pure and simple, there was a small part of him that had not believed she would actually go through with it. That had believed her capable of bolting until the last minute. He had not wanted to breathe, lest she disappear.

  Now they were back in Naman, her ability to disappear was significantly reduced. In fact, her movements would be closely monitored by his security. She was his princess. As he had always known she would be.

  Julia fanned her flushed face as she waited for her bridegroom to join her. She watched him, her eyes speculative as she took in his frustratingly immaculate appearance. He was speaking to a formally attired man at the bottom of the stairs. And though he was dressed in a grey business suit, with a crisp white shirt and a silver neck tie, he didn't look to feel the heat at all. It had to have been at least forty degrees celsius, she thought with a grimace; and it was so humid she felt her forehead bead with sweat despite the fact she was standing still and in the shade of the waiting limousine.

  Zayn moved in her direction, his stride long and effortless, and Julia had to look away. She hated the way her treacherous body responded to him, even now, after what he had done. As he drew level with her, he looked down at her face, with an emotion that almost seemed compassionate. "Come, Julia." He said finally, stepping back to allow her entry into the spacious vehicle. "I have waited long enough."

  Her heart began to race in her chest. She slid into the car beside him, reminding herself fiercely that she did not intend to react. "How far is the palace?" She asked, keeping her face resolutely tilted in the direction of the window as the car sped out of the airport.

  "We are not going to the palace."

  She didn't show her surprise. "Where are we going?"

  "My home."

  Despite herself, she turned then to face him, curiosity winning out over stubborn pride. "I thought you lived at the palace."


  "I have a residence in a wing of the palace, and I occasionally use it. But I also have a home in the city, and I prefer to spend my time there."

  "You never mentioned it."

  "I only bought it two years ago."

  She turned away from him again. It was a painful reminder of how much time had passed since they'd known one another. And yet now, they were married. "Why there, instead of the palace?"

  "It is more private," he said simply.

  She kept her face averted, but his meaning was obvious. He had made his intentions clear from the day he'd proposed. If she had wanted to avoid this, she could have. She could have told him to shove his offer of purchase by marriage, and told her dad he would simply need to move in with her until he got back on his feet. But she hadn't.

  And though she loved her father with all her soul, her racing heart forced her to acknowledge something else. Something very, very troubling. She might hate her husband, and loathe his high-handed techniques, but her whole body was energized with a deep desire for him. It was a reaction that he, and only he, had been able to inspire in Julia. She had actually started to wonder if she was some kind of sexless creature. She'd had offers, through her university years, but not a single man had elicited so much as a flutter in her stone-cold heart. Even Andrew, bless him, who had left her in little doubt that he would like their close friendship to develop into something more.

  No, it was Zayn alone her body craved. She had wanted him four years ago. She would have slept with him the first night she'd met him. She'd always been a little wild and impulsive like that. It had been Zayn who'd suggested that they wait. At the time, she had thought it was an incredibly romantic gesture, especially from someone like him. Now, she was older, and wiser, and far more cynical, and she saw more clearly. It was the kind of suggestion only a man filling his bed with other women would want to make. And Zayn had been parading woman after woman through his life, before, during and after their brief relationship. So why the hell would her body still shudder with longing for him?

  Every movement he made set off an equal reaction in her body; like ripples on the surface of a pond, she could not remain impervious for much longer. Theirs would be a real marriage, he had said. And she was actually excited just thinking about it. One kiss from Zayn had the ability to turn her into a puddle of desire. She could hardly fathom what it would be like to make love to him.

  There was no fear of what was to come. Only impatient, soul-deep need.

  Julia had always been honest. It was a quality that Zayn had told her again and again he adored. And she was honest with herself now. Four years ago, she had fallen, hard, in love with him, and her body had not forgotten. His marriage offer had actually appealed to her, on some level. She thought less of herself for it, but so it was.

  His tactics she would never forgive. He had risked her father's health and pride simply to force her into this marriage. Why he would want her was beyond her comprehension. He could have had her four years ago; he hadn't wanted her then. No matter what he said, he had chosen to go back to his bachelor ways mere months after promising her the world. So he'd changed his mind, somewhere along the way.

  But why the elaborate plan? It didn't make any sense. He was drop-dead gorgeous and charming as sin. He was her only love. Why had he not just come back and apologised? Begged her to give him another chance? Would she have said yes?

  Julia frowned, staring thoughtfully from her window. There were no blackberry thickets here. The buildings were in the Turkish style, all close together and rendered in earthy tones. They looked to reach about three or four stories high, perhaps, and most of them had little window boxes with geraniums flowing out of them. Far in the distance, there were clothing lines strung from window to window, and colorful garments flapped in the very faint summer breeze. She sighed restlessly. Her emotions were a mess, and she simply couldn’t unravel them.

  Anger was there, of course. Resentment, sadness, frustration. But also, a bud of excitement at the adventure ahead of her. As a girl, her father had always chided her for her irrepressible optimism. "Juju, you could make a snail smile," he'd teased her one sunny morning, when she had been expostulating that global hunger could be solved if the wealthier people simply gave most of what they had to the poor.

  "It is not much further," Zayn interrupted her thoughts, mistaking her sigh for one of boredom. "I appreciate you'd probably rather be wearing a skimpy outfit and heading to a top nightclub."

  Julia arched a brow at the man who was now her husband. Actually, she loved what she was wearing. The simple linen pants were surprisingly fashionable, and the slim fitting shirt flattered her shape well. Zayn had presented her with a whole wardrobe of clothes as a wedding present. Reading between the lines, he had wanted to ensure she arrived in Naman with a selection of outfits suitable for a princess of a Middle Eastern country - even a people as enlightened as the Namani expected unstinting modesty from their royalty. She was by no means spoiled, he'd been wrong about that. But she loved fashion, and always had. And so she had allowed the wardrobe to be packed for her. She'd supplemented it with a few of her favorite items, of course, including the denim shorts he'd found so outrageous a little over a week earlier. She did have a morsel of pride left and she intended to save it.

  "That's not my scene, anymore," she said quietly, meeting his eyes without fear.

  "And yet you were on your way to a music festival a week ago," he pointed out, with his usual ability of honing in on pertinent facts.

  "So what? A music festival to blow off steam does not a socialite about town make."

  His smile showed how little convinced he was by her argument.

  "Besides," she went on the defensive, snapping tartly, "You're the one more likely to be found in a nightclub."

  "True," he agreed, baring his even, white teeth in a smile. God, he really was unfairly handsome, she thought distractedly, momentarily caught off guard by the way his cheekbones appeared even more defined when he smiled.

  Julia huffed and angled her face so that she was staring out of her own window once more. The car was moving out of the city, going by the way the tightly compacted buildings had given way to impressive looking homes set in the middle of large properties. Finally, they slowed, and turned off the road, and passed through a heavily secured entrance.

  "Home sweet home," she murmured, eyeing the ten feet tall stone walls, with razor wire on top.

  "You become used to the security," Zayn said. His frustrating ability to immediately understand her thoughts and wishes was aggravating her immensely. Mainly because she no longer had any idea what made him tick.

  "I doubt it," she said with a frown.

  Zayn did too. He shifted in his seat, refusing to allow uncertainty to creep into his mind. He had once loved this woman, or thought he had. She'd been like a wildflower. More vibrant and effervescent than any person he'd ever met. Like the rarest and most stunning of orchards, she was unusually, completely unique and stunning. And he'd captured her, and brought her to live in a hot house.

  If he hadn't felt such rage towards her, for her deception, he would never have been able to do it. In marrying her, he knew he had probably killed off the magical quality that had made him ache with love and desire from the first instant they'd met. But he'd done it anyway. Like a child who captures a beautiful butterfly and pins its wings to a foam board, for the pleasure of looking at it always, he had captured her. That same child would learn the hard way that in capturing the butterfly, everything that was breathtaking about it was lost. But it would not be like that with Julia.

  He almost groaned out loud in annoyance at his thoughts. After all, his plan was not a spontaneous one. He had resolved to make her his again from the minute he'd opened that email. Well, now she was. He was not going to regret the circumstances he'd been forced to create to ensure her cooperation. Eventually, she would adapt to live in Naman, and life as his wife. She would still be happy. Wouldn’t she?

  “Is th
is your home?” She was craning forward in the car, looking out of her window, at the mansion he’d moved to. It was a little overwhelming, he supposed, even for someone like Julia, who had grown up in an aristocratic manor.

  “Your home, too,” he reminded her sternly, trying to see it through her eyes. It was a Frank Lloyd Wright designed property, and it was a study in grandness and efficiency. The architect had used the physical environment to make a home that loomed up out of the ground and over the city. The size was essential. Though he had the palace, he often entertained here, as many of his guests found it less intimidating.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, taking in the strangely shaped windows, the rocks that gave way to darkly tinted glass and huge copper panels. “It’s strangely beautiful,” she repeated again, wondering how it was so.

  “Come, let me give you a tour.” He stepped out of the car as soon as the door was opened and held his hand out for Julia to take. He was surprised, and frankly relieved, when she placed her own small hand in it, and allowed him to help her from the car. He had expected a period of resentment and resistance. The sooner she realised her situation was permanent, the better.

  Zayn had waited for this moment for years. He was not going to allow a moment of weakness and pity for his wife to take away the sweet, sweet joy of claiming his prize. He intended to drive the memory of any other man from her mind. She was his, and had been always.

  Julia tried to ignore the shards of lust that were crashing through her body, but now, in his home country, and holding his hand, she felt besieged by physical longings. Her bones were liquid, her legs suddenly clunky to maneuver. She tried to appear calm as she slid her ray-bans on to the top of her head with care, so that she didn’t mess the sleek bun one of her newly acquired assistants had spent so much time styling earlier that day.