The Inherited Bride

by Maisey Yates

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ISABELLA flicked her eyes up and focused on Adham’s cool expression, reflected in the dressing room mirror. “You don’t like it?”

  He shrugged, his expression one of cool disinterest. “Buy what you like.”

  She fixed her gaze back on her reflection. Yes. She was going to buy what she liked. It didn’t matter what he thought, or what her mother’s personal shopper would say. The only thing that mattered was how she felt about the outfit. The crisp white button-up top hugged her breasts and nipped in at the waist, accentuating her hourglass shape, while the brown satin shorts showed off more of her golden legs than she was accustomed to. But she thought she looked nice. She was reasonably certain she looked nice.

  She looked back at Adham. “Is it unflattering?”

  His coal-dark eyes raked over her, and it made her want to tug on the wide cuff of the shorts so that she could get some more coverage. “It’s very flattering.”

  Isabella was suddenly conscious of the fact that they were alone in the dressing area. Her skin felt sensitized. She could feel the air touching her, closing in on her. She could feel Adham’s heat across the small space.

  “Th-thank you.” Her heart was beating harder now, her palms damp. She needed … she needed distance. She didn’t want to be closed in with Adham anymore, didn’t want to share the air with him. Air that suddenly seemed thicker, harder to breathe. “So … so you like it, then?” She despised the hopeful tone in her voice.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed; his eyes flickering over her curves. “I like it.”

  She noticed that he tightened his hands into fists again, then released them, flexing his long, masculine fingers.

  He was the most infuriating man. He’d all but crushed her before they’d gone into Printemps, making her feel like a silly child, and now, only half an hour later, he was making her more conscious of the fact that she was a woman than she’d ever been before.

  “I’m finished,” she said tightly, disappearing into the dressing room and putting on her own clothes as quickly as possible, before exiting with her carefully chosen outfits.

  She added the packages to the shoes she’d purchased already, which included a pair of very sexy, strappy high-heeled sandals and tall butter-soft brown leather boots. Definitely not things her mother’s personal shopper would have chosen.

  They meandered through the massive department store, and Isabella did her best to simply block out everything but the moment she was living in. She loved being surrounded by the crowd of people, by the low hum of conversation. She was with people rather than above them—a part of things rather than held back, kept separate from everyone.

  Although Adham seemed content to hold himself separate on purpose. From her, from everyone. Though he wore designer jeans and a T-shirt with ease, he seemed out of place in their urban surroundings. He stood out—his height, his breadth, his handsome features, his scars all drawing attention to him. But it was more than just his looks. He seemed too exotic, too wild for something as prosaic as a department store.

  He was so completely unaffected. By the sights, by the crowds, by her. And he was making her feel edgy and restless and … nervous. He was definitely affecting her, no matter how much she was trying to pretend otherwise.

  With a spark of defiance she checked the map of the large store that she was carrying with her and headed to the lingerie floor. That was another part of her wardrobe that needed dragging into the contemporary era. She had lovely underwear, it was true. The highest quality. But the styles gave no concession to a woman’s sexuality—which had always been fine with her, since she hadn’t given much thought to hers. But this was about self-discovery, and she was not changing dictators without discovering what her personal preference in undergarments was. If she wanted ultra-sexy panties she was going to get them.

  And Adham was coming with her. Like it or not. He was doing a decent job of making her uncomfortable. She might as well return the favor.

  Of course her boldness nearly deserted her when they reached the lingerie floor. She looked at Adham out of the corner of her eye and noticed him clenching his fist again. He did that a lot. She was convinced it meant that he was uncomfortable. Good. He deserved some discomfort. His presence was one big giant discomfort in her behind, so a little turnabout seemed like fair play to her.

  “I’d like to look around here for a while,” she said, trying to keep her expression as neutral as possible.

  Adham’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenched tight along with his fist. “If you wish.”

  “You could wait in one of the cafés.” But she knew he wouldn’t.

  “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  She took a deep breath and tried to look casual—tried to look as if having a man with her while she looked at intimate items of clothing was both normal and no big deal at all. “All right.”

  She moved to one of the display tables and began to pick out the smallest, filmiest panties she could find, and thongs—something her mother never would have allowed her even to look at. She would think they were the sort of undergarments only suited to women of questionable moral character. A surge of power coursed through Isabella as she selected one thong in each pattern and color available, every one briefer, more revealing than the last.

  It didn’t matter if her mother would have disapproved of them. It was her decision to make. The very fact that there were people in her life who controlled what she wore beneath her clothing was sad beyond belief. But that would change. Even when she went to Umarah she would not allow that to be dictated to her. Not anymore.

  Of course she would want to wear them only in her own chambers. She couldn’t possibly imagine wearing them for her future husband. She didn’t even know the man.

  That thought made her want to throw all the revealing items down and run out of the store. But she wouldn’t do that. This was about her. About what she wanted. Not what anyone else wanted or didn’t want.

  She finally sneaked a glance at Adham, who had fallen quite a bit behind her. She noticed his dark eyes were burning with intensity, his hands locked so tightly that the scars were bright white against a backdrop of golden skin.

  She was getting to him. Pleasure uncurled in her belly, winding through her. Pride that she might hold enough appeal for him that she was capable of making him uneasy.

  With a sudden surge of confidence she sauntered to the negligees. The selection was phenomenal—silks, sheers, pale pinks and electric blues. And every style was sexier than anything she’d ever seen, let alone been permitted to own. She didn’t see why she should be confined to floor-length nightgowns. She was twenty-one, for heaven’s sake, and she still had nightwear in the same style she’d worn at the all-girls boarding school she’d attended seven years ago.

  She picked up a gauzy peach babydoll-style nightie that would barely cover the tops of her thighs. The Grecian pleating over the cups wouldn’t be sufficient to cover her breasts—not when the fabric was nearly see-through. The glass beads sewn beneath the bustline looked sinful, somehow. Decadent. She loved it.

  A wicked impulse seized her and she turned to face Adham, holding the negligee up so he could get a good look at it. “How about this? Do you think it would be flattering?”

  Adham’s face remained as coolly impassive as ever, a slight tightening of his jaw the only indication that he’d heard her. He began to walk toward her, the heat in his eyes causing an answering fire to ignite low in her belly.

  He was so close, too close, his masculine scent teasing her, making her heart pound heavily. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt as if it was coated in sandpaper.

  He extended his hand and ran his fingers along the edge of the nightie’s neckline, his callused fingers abrading the delicate fabric, the sound sending a faint shiver through her. His eyes were locked with hers, the dark intensity in them robbing her of the ability to breathe.

  He slid his fingers down over the negligee, his thumb caressi
ng the part that would have been covering her breasts had she been wearing it.

  It was far too easy to imagine those rough fingers moving over her body, imagine how his fingers would feel against her soft, tender skin. Evidence of his strength, his hard work, his character.

  Her breasts suddenly felt heavy, her nipples stinging as they tightened into hard points. She was absolutely, completely disturbed by what he was making her feel. But she was also captive to it, spellbound by the power he had over her body. He could make her feel more than any fantasy or real-life person ever had without even touching her.

  Her breath was caught in her throat, every nerve, every cell in her body waiting to see what he would do next.

  “I don’t know that it’s your color,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “You should try for something more daring.”

  For a moment—one heady, wonderful moment—she thought he was going to lean in and capture her lips again. He was so close. It would have been the easiest thing to close the distance between them, for her to touch her lips to his.

  “A brighter shade, I think,” he said, his voice rough. “Sheikh Hassan prefers women who wear vivid colors.”

  He stepped away from her then, his eyes flat, all the heat gone. She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d dumped a bucket of ice water over her. He’d had her spellbound, unconscious of where she was, who she was. It was a shock to find out that she was still standing in Printemps, beneath the bright lights, with other shoppers milling around them as though they weren’t there.

  And she was still wearing Hassan’s ring.

  “I like this one,” she said, trying to inject authority into her voice. Difficult when she could hardly catch her breath.

  She held the negligee tightly to her chest and clutched the panties in a bundled-up knot of fabric as she headed to the register to pay for her lingerie. He had been trying to put her off, but she wasn’t going to let him.

  She imagined he’d also been trying to show her that he was in control, that she was out of her depth. And that he had succeeded in, she hated to admit.

  She’d felt confident enough in her knowledge of men and sex to tease him, torment him a bit as he’d been doing to her. She’d gleaned enough knowledge from her time away at school, from late-night chatting sessions with her friends, and then, more recently, from her sister-in-law Alison. But with one searing look, with the effect he’d had on her body, Adham had proved to her that she knew nothing. Nothing real, anyway.

  Romance novels and jokes with friends were one thing, but actual sexual attraction, need, desire was quite another. She’d never really realized just how different the two were until she’d watched him stroke his fingers over the silken material of the nightgown. As she’d imagined him touching her in the same manner.

  The thought made her hot all over.

  She handed the clerk her credit card—no point being discreet now that she’d been found—and waited while her sexy new nothings were packaged into two neat little boxes with satin ribbon handles. She added those to her other shopping bags, a small feeling of accomplishment swelling in her chest.

  Maybe Adham thought shopping was stupid, but she felt as if she’d claimed some small portion of her life for herself, and there was nothing stupid about that.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked, his voice rougher than normal, his accent thicker.

  “I am getting hungry. But we could just eat here …”

  “I have my limits on shopping,” he said, his lip curled slightly. “Normally I hand women my credit card and send them on their way.”

  He started to walk toward the exit doors and she followed him quickly. “What? Women you date?”

  He turned and looked at her for a brief moment, his dark eyebrows drawn together. “I don’t know that I would call it that.”

  Of course not. Men like him probably had affairs. He’d probably had lots of rich lovers who reveled in having such a tough, macho man for a bedmate. Except he really didn’t seem like the sort of man who would be content to be a woman’s plaything. And, as he’d said, he was the one handing out credit cards.

  She looked at him, her heart stuttering as she took in that broad, muscled back, his tapered waist and slim hips. Oh, no, Adham wouldn’t be any woman’s plaything. He was too much a man for that. He would want the upper hand in every way. He would be dominant in every situation.

  Not for the first time she thought he seemed nothing like the staff at the Turani palace. He didn’t defer to her. Ever. He acted like a man who was used to being in control, used to having his orders unchallenged, used to having his way. But then, he’d been in the military—likely as a leader—so it could be true.

  “What would you call it, then?” she asked, curiosity demanding more than speculation.

  “I don’t know that I’m ever in one place long enough to date. I have arrangements.”

  That hot emotion stirred her stomach again, and this time she recognized it. Jealousy. Not really directed at the women, but because it was such a casual thing to him. He had arrangements. No one dictated to him whether or not he could have them, who he could have them with, how he conducted them.

  Isabella was reasonably certain that even if she’d been given carte blanche to have relationships with men they wouldn’t have been casual arrangements, but having the freedom would have been nice. Learning her own moral code, her own limits—that would have been nice too.

  It would be nice to know her parents had that kind of trust in her.

  Of course relationships hadn’t been feasible, because an arranged marriage had always been a foregone conclusion. She’d been ten when it had been decided that Hassan al bin Sudar would be the man. There would never have been any point to her dating anyone. Even so, she was jealous of Adham’s freedom, of the casual way he spoke of it.

  “I’ve never had a relationship,” she said, closing her eyes as they exited the store, as the cool air hit her face, the slight breeze ruffling her hair.

  “You’re engaged. Most people would count that as a relationship,” he said, his voice tight.

  “Well, most people who are engaged have met their fiancé, or at the very least selected him.”

  “It’s different for royalty, Isabella. You know that.”

  “Of course I do.”

  Adham halted mid-stride and turned, taking her bags from her hands, his fingers brushing hers, sending a shock of heat straight to her toes. Then he turned and started walking again, as though the world hadn’t just tilted a little. Although she supposed the world had remained upright as ever to him.

  “What about you?” she asked, suddenly wanting to know more about her scarred guardian. “Do you ever plan to marry?”

  “No.”

  “Just … no?”

  “My life isn’t suited to marriage and family. It is full. And I have no desire for a wife.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t the High Sheikh, or you would be required to marry me.”

  He paused slightly, his shoulders tensing. It was a small reaction—one she would have missed if she weren’t so tuned into him. “If it were required of me, I would do it.”

  “That’s it? If it were required of you, you would change all of your expectations to fulfill your duty?”

  “I would.”

  He said it with such certainty that she didn’t doubt him. But it was easy for him. He didn’t have dreams of love and romance. Even knowing she’d had an arranged marriage, part of her had always harbored fantasies of love. It was normal for women—for most people, really. Everyone wanted to be loved.

  Except Adham, apparently. He only needed lovers. A thought that was much more intriguing than it should be. Because her thoughts had no place wandering down that road—not with Adham. Not with any man other than her chosen fiancé.

  Even knowing that, when they rounded a corner and she closed her eyes against the harsh shaft of afternoon light that shone between the tightly packed buildings, it was
an imprint of Adham’s face that she saw.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ADHAM was taking her to the cinema, and she was unaccountably nervous. It felt like … like a date—even though the very idea was completely ridiculous. He’d all but ignored her for the past few days—conducting business in his office, checking on his oil field, making contact with other security officers, and leaving her to fend for herself.

  But that morning she’d brought up the subject of the movie theater, and he’d agreed.

  She’d been trying to decide on an outfit for nearly forty minutes. Which was ridiculous, because it shouldn’t matter what she wore so long as she was happy with it. But she kept picturing Adham’s face, his reaction to her, wondering if any of that smoldering heat would flare in his eyes when he saw her, and what article of clothing might help her accomplish that.

  It was not a productive line of thinking. But she was wandering down the rabbit trail anyway.

  She rifled through her new things and finally decided to put on the sexy crimson wrap sweater she’d purchased on their shopping excursion. The soft, clingy material hugged her curves and had a neckline that dipped low, showing just the right amount of cleavage. She decided to pair it with dark-wash jeans and some strappy heels that would no doubt make her feet ache after a few hours. But they would be worth it.

  The underwear was almost as big a decision for her—which was more ridiculous than being so indecisive over the outerwear. But it mattered. Adham had seen them, had watched her purchase them. She didn’t think a man had ever seen her underwear before, even when she wasn’t wearing it. Knowing he would know what they looked like … the thought that he might try and guess which ones she was wearing … well, that made her feel wicked. And edgy. And just a tiny bit guilty.

  She selected an ivory-colored bra, made from web-fine netting. Intricate flowers added provocative detail, framing her dusky nipples, which were clearly visible through the sheer fabric. The panties were no better—framing rather than concealing.