Good heavens, she reminded herself as she slid inside the heavily fortified front door, she was Namani royalty herself. She had every right to come and go as she pleased. But her nerves had less to do with the grandiose residence, and more to do with the knowledge she was about to see Zayn.
“Marina,” Julia said, unexpectedly buoyed to be met by the servant she recognized from the bazaar in Naman. “How lovely to see you again.”
Marina was a study in polite professionalism, but she thought the Sheikha was a very special woman, and she didn’t hesitate to return the smile. “Likewise, Your Highness. Sheikh Al-melara has asked for you to join him in the garden.”
“The garden?” Julia confirmed thoughtfully.
Marina nodded, indicating the doors towards the back of the residence. Julia moved in that direction, trying, and failing, to still her hyper-speed heart-rate. Her body felt abuzz with apprehension, and pleasurable anticipation, too. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she’d come to realise that she couldn’t go on as she had been.
She pushed the door outwards, and stifled a grin at the sight of Zayn, dressed casually in a pair of denim jeans and a shirt, pacing back and forth along the formal rose garden. At his feet, there was a colourful rug. It took Julia a moment to realise that it was the carpet she’d ordered from the bazaar before meeting Maysan. A basket sat beside the carpet, and a bottle of champagne and two flutes. Slowly, Julia lifted her gaze to the man who had captured her heart utterly and completely.
“Julia,” his words were just a breath on the breeze. His face was pale, his eyes dark and intent.
It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t explain it, but suddenly her feet were running, down the stairs and across the paved ground. She fairly flew the last few metres, straight into his arms. He wrapped her against him, holding her aloft and tight to his chest.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks and he buried his head in her hair, breathing in the sweet fragrance and feeling certain that he would do whatever she wanted if only she would return to him.
“You came,” he said, minutes later, when he’d finally lowered her back to the ground. But he wasn’t letting her go. He kept his arms wrapped around her waist. It wasn’t a question of choice. His body had been drowning without her body. He craved contact with her. He needed it.
“Yes.” She nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from his. “I hardly fit in my apartment, with all those roses, anyway.”
“Did I go too far?” He asked seriously.
She laughed. “You aren’t someone who does things by half measures. That’s just you.”
He nodded. “Julia, I need to speak to you.” His uncertainty was so unusual that Julia felt a weird twisting in her gut.
“I gathered,” she reached behind her back and pulled his hands apart, taking one in hers and leading him to the carpet. “You got this. Do you like it?”
He nodded. “It’s a perfect match for my bedding.”
“I know.” She threw him a meaningful glance. “I saw it and thought of you.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Julia sat down, pulling him gently with her. “What did you want to talk about?”
He crossed his legs at his ankles. “I can’t divorce you.” He beetled his brow and shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. Damn it. I mean, I don’t want to. It’s your choice, of course.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and pretended to examine a fine thread of gold that ran through the rug. “Why?”
“Why do I want to stay married?”
“Yes.”
“I told you already. I love you. If this last month has taught me anything, it’s that nothing can compensate for your absence. You were right to be angry with me. I was selfish and inconsiderate not to realize that my decision to take over from Amal would impact you.”
“Yes, you were,” she agreed. “And you didn’t give me enough credit, Zayn. I don’t care if you’re running the show, or if he is. I’m a big girl. I can cope with a public life if it’s what you want. But the fact you didn’t bother to talk about it with me… it just scares me that you can make such enormous decisions without my input.”
He tugged at his hair in frustration. “My whole life I have been taught to think as a King. Though Amal was destined for the throne, my natural personality is far more…”
“Dictatorial?” She interjected teasingly.
“Confident, let us say,” he responded, flicking her thigh with his finger.
She looked up at him, and her heart turned over in her chest. It seemed to be screaming at her, “You love him! You love him! Just kiss him! Tell him you love him!”
“It is something I promise you I am trying to amend, at least where you’re concerned. I want to be your husband. It’s ironic that I didn’t understand what that means until you’d left me.”
She scrunched up her face. “I’ve never been much of a fan of irony.”
He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. He couldn’t help it. It was torture to be so close to her, yet so far.
“You know,” she said seriously, without moving out of his embrace, “if you’d spoken to me four years ago, we could have avoided all of this.”
“I have been berating myself for my arrogance there, too, Julia. Sweet Julia. You are too sweet for a man such as me. Even as I sit here now, hoping with all of my being, that you will come back to me, there is a part of me that hopes you will get up and leave, too.”
“Why?” she pulled away from him a little, so that she could stare into his honey-flecked eyes.
“I don’t deserve you. I am arrogant. I am over-bearing. I’ve been raised to think these qualities were all that mattered.” He ran a hand over her dark, silky pony tail. “Love has made me selfish, because all I can think about is wanting you back in my life. But I do love you, so much that I almost wish you a happy future with someone less, well, like me.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed. Perhaps an accountant from Swindon. Or a classical pianist. Someone gentle and patient, who doesn’t need to be taught how to consider someone else’s feelings. Someone who would never hurt you, even in error, because they wouldn’t fight with a flea.”
She nodded, pained emotion making her head heavy.
“That would certainly be easier,” she agreed slowly. “But impossible.”
“Because you are committed to me by law.” He nodded, as horrible comprehension dawned. “Our divorce can be formalised at any time, of course.”
Julia laughed croakily at his misunderstanding. “No, you idiot. Because I love you. You’ve blackmailed me, accused me of cheating on you, and let’s not even start with the fact you seduced me while I had amnesia…”
Zayn’s smile made her stomach flip over. “You seduced me, Sheikha, and not the other way around.”
“I think you’re right,” she agreed breathlessly. “Fine, letting me seduce you when you knew I had no concept of how our marriage had come about. And I loved you all the time. I would never, in a million years, for any compensation or out of any fear for dad, have married a man I didn’t love. Never.”
He closed his eyes as the surge of relief and gratitude made him strangely emotional. “You did love me?”
“I do love you, yes.” She corrected.
“I thought… that night, when I couldn’t sleep with you. I couldn’t take you to my bed, knowing that my love was one-sided, and that you were there only because you felt you’d been bought and paid for.”
She tilted a look of mock-crossness at her husband. “I thought I had been bought and paid for because you said as much at every opportunity you had.”
He stifled a groan. “How can you forgive me?”
“How can I not? This last month has been pretty agonizing. If you hadn’t arrived today, I would have been in Naman by the end of the week.”
He let out the breath he’d been holding and pulled her into his arms, so that he could kiss her properly now, as he’d been longin
g to do since she’d arrived.
“You are mine,” he said softly against her mouth, but Julia broke free of the kiss.
“No. I’m not anyone’s. I meant what I said. I’m not a possession. My heart is mostly yours, but you must always remember, Zayn, that I’m a person who is free to make decisions and choices. They won’t always match your wishes, but that’s life. And I want to share my life with you.”
Zayn held her face in his hands, staring down at the woman who did own him, body and soul, in every single sense of the word and grinned. “I suspect your wish will be my command, your highness, for the rest of my days.”
“And do you mind?” She asked, unable to resist lifting his shirt and running her hands over his muscular chest.
“Not one little bit, Sheikha.”
THE END
If you enjoyed reading BOUGHT BY THE SHEIKH, you will love THE SHEIKH’S VIRGIN HOSTAGE BY CLARE CONNELLY
CHAPTER ONE
“You, over there. You do not agree with me?”
Emma felt a trickle of danger run down her spine as she slowly raised her eyes to the all powerful leader of Amar’a, Sheikh Rafiq Al Sadini. His posture hadn’t changed. He sat, casually reclined, in the centre of the yacht’s luxurious saloon. Only a sixth sense alerted her to an inner tension. Like a spring, tightly coiled, and held in suspense. He was too still, too relaxed seeming.
“I asked you a question,” he repeated quietly, pinning her down with eyes as green and terrifying as a stormy ocean.
The full force of her hatred for this man made her body shake, but she fought to hide it.
Clearing her throat, she opened her mouth to speak. “I beg your pardon, sir. I’m not sure what you mean.”
His eyes narrowed. “You have two ears on the side of your head, do you not?”
Color stole into her lightly freckled cheeks. “Yes, sir.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Listening is not a crime. I take it you didn’t agree with what I said?”
Since when did the exalted Sheikh of Amar’a care what commoners thought? She bit down on her lower lip, casting about for something acceptable to say. In the four weeks she’d been working for the royal family of Amar’a, she’d never thought about what she’d actually say if she got the chance to confront him. In those four weeks, she had only seen him a handful of times, and this was the first time he’d spoken to her.
“Come here.”
She swallowed away the urge to decline. She might hate him, but she feared him more. Tentatively, she crossed the room, unaware of how her body radiated trepidation as she went.
Up close, he was more devastatingly attractive than she’d appreciated. Then again, Cassandra had impeccable taste in men, at least when it came to sex appeal. Her twin sister was blessed with all of the looks of the pair, and gorgeous men had always fallen at her feet. Emma straightened her back, knowing that she had to put aside her nerves if she were to have any hope of getting this bastard to own up to his responsibilities.
“Yes, sir?”
He shifted a little in his seat, unintentionally drawing her attention to the breadth of his shoulders. He was wearing a traditional white robe, but she knew beneath it was a honed, muscular body. He was a giant of a man, at least six and a half feet, with a rippling six pack and narrow hips. She knew this because he’d gone swimming the day before, and she hadn’t been able to avoid seeing how perfectly sculptured his body was in just a black bathing suit.
“Leave us.” He addressed the man sitting opposite; who Emma gathered was a high level advisor. She felt her stress rising as the man exited the luxurious chamber, then, the rest of the staff followed suit. She tried to catch the eye of her friend Becky but it was no use. Rats! She was trapped. Alone with the Sheikh.
“Please, sit.” Even his voice was sexy! Rich and deep, with the hint of an exotic accent.
In the normal course of events, Emma would have politely declined. But one did not simply decline an invitation to join Sheikh Rafiq Al Sadini, exalted ruler of one of the super oil-rich nations. She slowly eased herself into the armchair opposite, unconsciously toying with her pearl earring.
Her skin prickled under his steady observation. He made no attempt to hide his curiosity as he took in her red hair, pulled into the severe braid she always wore. Her face was passably pretty, with wide set blue eyes, pale skin and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. But from then on, it was downhill. Unlike reed thin Cassandra, Emma was curvy in a way she had always hated. As the Sheikh slowly dragged his eyes down her frame now, she forgot to be ashamed of her looks; and she forgot to be furious with this lying rat. Instead, she felt an inexplicable pool of awareness in the pit of her stomach. It caught her totally by surprise. She had taken this job purely to confront this man. The last thing she wanted was to feel desire for one of her sister’s ex-lovers. Especially this one, who’d so callously broken her heart.
“What is your name?” The sheikh had finished his inspection and now fixed his gaze squarely on her face.
She straightened her glasses, wishing, out of nowhere, that she had bothered to put her contact lenses in that morning. “Emma.”
“Emma What? Do you have a surname?”
She bit down on her lip. Would it tip him off? Curious, despite the certainty she was playing with fire, she nodded. But butterflies were waging war with her body. At least a million butterflies, surely, were zipping around her insides, making it difficult to focus. His lips were so full. It was the kind of detail you only noticed up close, but now, she couldn’t stop staring at them. Full and pink lips, set in a symmetrical face, with a darkly stubbled, very square jaw line, and even, white teeth. She shivered.
He spoke a word in a foreign language, and from the inflection and volume, she gathered it was a curse in his own tongue.
“Anderson!” She blurted out, her blush deepening. “Emma Anderson.”
“Well, Emma, what exactly did you take exception to earlier?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to confront him, didn’t she? So what the hell did it matter if they got off on the wrong foot? “I don’t think you’re right to cut your foreign aid contributions.”
His eyebrows rose. “Would you care to explain why?”
“Not particularly,” she said with a dry smile.
“I insist.” His words held a note of warning that even she didn’t ignore.
“As you wish,” she said with an imitation of a shrug. She marshaled her thoughts together as best she could, recalling the conversation that had caused her to frown in disagreement. “Amar’a is a country of peace and wealth. But my understanding is that the rest of the region is politically instable. The funding you offer is building schools that help equalize society. It’s creating legitimacy in political systems. You have an obligation to help make the world a better place.”
He laughed, and it was such a rich sound that she shivered again. Her eyes flew wide as saucers as she stared across at him.
“You don’t agree?”
“Of course I agree. Unfortunately, your socialist view point does not tally with the reality. I’m not talking about reducing foreign aid. I’m talking about taking a tighter grip on how money is dispersed.” He dragged a hand through his hair and she realized he was stressed. There were fine lines around his eyes, perhaps even some dark shading, too, though it was hard to tell beneath his spectacularly tanned skin.
“Why?”
“Because, we have intelligence that suggests half a billion American dollars that we’ve sent to foreign aid has been funneled into organizations associated with terrorism. And that’s a price too high to pay.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Does that wipe that disapproving little frown off your face?”
She stared at him, sure he must be able to hear her heartbeat, even over the sound of the sea, lapping against the sides of the boat. “Do you particularly care if it does or doesn’t, your highness?”
Rafiq didn’t want to
admit it to himself, but he’d been strangely annoyed by the waves of disapproval he had felt emanating from this woman. He’d noticed her several days ago, and every time he’d seen her since then, he’d felt a strange emotional intensity leveled at him. He was not used to being criticized, and certainly not by someone in his employ.
She could have been quite attractive if she’d tried. Her face was striking, and her hair the color of flames. But she seemed determined to downplay any beauty she could have displayed. Even the way she wore the uniform was strange. The fit was all wrong, too big, somehow, so that instead of looking like a woman, she just looked lumpy. And yet, there was a swan-like elegance to her neck. Her wrists were fine boned and slender. He suspected that beneath the navy suit, her body might be quite attractive, too.
Such speculation was beneath him and he suppressed it from his mind with the kind of mental discipline he was renowned for. “No.”
“No?” She stared at him, momentarily lost. What did he mean, no?
He seemed suddenly impatient. “No, I do not particularly care if you approve or disapprove.” He reached down to the coffee table between them and picked up a yellow legal note pad. “You may go.”
As dismissals went, it was pretty summary. Much as her sister’s had been.
The next time Rafiq saw Emma, she was polishing silverware and laughing with another member of staff. A young male with blonde hair and Hollywood heart throb good looks. Rafiq was simply walking past the galley and turned his head at just the right moment, to catch her as she let out the kind of laugh that spoke of true pleasure. For some reason, it made him restless, and he found himself hearing her laugh over and over again in his head, almost as if it were taunting him. That night at dinner, he found he was watching her, instead of paying attention to the conversation at hand. She was simply standing in the corner of the room, as a back up to the main servers of the meal. He was surrounded by officials and advisors, and yet he felt oddly overcome by a desire to clear the room with the exception of her.
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