by Andie Brock
‘No!’ He watched her face go into shock, her hands fly to her burning cheeks. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Either you leave of your own accord or I call security. Which is it to be?’ He cast around for his discarded jacket and, retrieving his mobile phone from an inside pocket, held it aloft like a time bomb.
‘But we are married. I am your wife.’ Still she refused to move away from him, her bare feet planting her firmly on the floor, her arms now folded across her chest, her head held high. ‘You can’t just throw me out.’
‘Just watch me.’ He jerked back his head. ‘The wedding will be annulled immediately.’ But even as he said the words he knew that legally it would be near impossible. The union had been consummated. Nadia had made sure of that, hadn’t she? The sickening realisation of just how much he had been manipulated, how much of a total sucker he had been, solidified the blood in his veins. She had totally played him.
‘But last night... Didn’t that mean anything to you?’
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to be playing him any more. No way was he going to be fooled by the hurt that she had managed to inject into those wide lilac eyes. Or the light tremble of the full bottom lip before it was nipped into stillness by a sharp tooth.
She could win an award, this one.
‘Ha!’ All his impotent rage and self-inflicted derision was poured into that one small word. He watched Nadia flinch. ‘It was just sex, Nadia,’ he forged on. ‘Just one night of sex. Don’t flatter yourself that it gives you any sort of hold over me. That you can add emotional blackmail to your list of deceptions.’
She turned away now, no doubt plotting her next move.
‘Our marriage is over. You are leaving.’ But suddenly he realised that just throwing her out was not enough. That alone on the streets of Gazbiyaa she would still be capable of creating all sorts of havoc. ‘You will be returned to Harith.’
‘Harith? No, not that!’ She swung back now, the defiant composure gone, a deathly pallor creeping over her panic-stricken face.
‘And just in case you should have any ideas of escaping, let me inform you that you will be accompanied by two of my most trusted guards who will know exactly the punishment awaiting them should my orders not be carried out successfully.’
No! Nadia felt the terror tightening her chest, clawing its way up to her throat. Was she to be evicted from the palace, transported back to Harith to meet her gruesome fate without being given any chance to explain? Was this really it?
She stared at the man in front of her. Her husband. He seethed with anger, shimmered with it. His trousers hung low around his hips, his taut abdominal muscles rippling beneath the broad expanse of his chest, the biceps of one arm flexing as he gripped the mobile phone in his hand. Even though he was barefoot, he seemed to have grown in stature, as if his towering rage had added to his height.
Creeping through the fog of Nadia’s panic came the black realisation that Zayed, this man she had married so optimistically, with such hope, was in fact no better than her father or her brother. He was treating her in just the way she had always been treated by the men in her life, like an object, to be used or discarded in any way they saw fit.
And it was this that gave her strength to stand up to him now. She clutched on to it like a raft of righteous indignation on the sea of terror to haul herself up. She refused to be cowed. And she certainly wasn’t going to beg.
Steadfastly ignoring the look of hatred in Zayed’s eyes, she concentrated on controlling every facial muscle to try to hide the misery of what he was doing to her. The very real terror of what was to become of her now.
‘Fine. If this is how you want it, Zayed, I will go back to Harith. I will face my father and the consequences that that will bring. If your pride is more important than your kingdom, then I hope you are satisfied.’
‘Don’t you dare try to tell me how I feel about my kingdom.’ Zayed was so angry he looked as if he might explode. ‘I have sacrificed everything to be here, to become sheikh of Gazbiyaa. I am totally committed to my country.’
‘Sacrifice?’ Nadia immediately pounced on his admission. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word!’
‘I can assure you that I do.’ His voice had dipped to a dangerous low. ‘But it will be no sacrifice to remove you from my life. Let me tell you that.’
His vicious comment hurt—just as he had meant it to do—but Nadia refused to show him her pain. ‘And does this commitment to your country include taking it to war? Having the blood of two nations on your hands? Because that is what will happen once my father hears that you and I are betrothed, that the marriage has been consummated, that I have been returned to Harith soiled by the hands of his greatest enemy.’
‘Maybe you should have thought about that before you positioned yourself in my bed, before you started this whole, treacherous charade.’ He shifted his position, crossing his arms over his bare chest. ‘You have only brought this on yourself, Nadia.’
‘Of course I thought about it.’ Nadia matched his stance. ‘But I didn’t have any alternative. When I heard that you were to become sheikh instead of your warmonger of a brother I knew I had to seize the opportunity. That this would be, in all probability, the only chance I would ever have to make a difference, for my voice to be heard. I had to do what I did. No matter what the danger, what the sacrifice.’
‘Very noble, I’m sure. And this voice that you are so keen to be heard, what exactly was it going to be saying? Reporting back to your father anything and everything that might be useful to help incite the war that Harith is so desperate to wage against Gazbiyaa?’
‘No!’
‘Gathering juicy bits of inside information, pillow talk that you could feed them to fuel their already insatiable desire for conflict?’
‘No. You have no idea what you are talking about. I’m not a spy for my country. My father has no idea that I am here. If he did, believe me, our two countries would already be at war.’
‘So what, then? Are you telling me that marrying me, the newly crowned sheikh of one of the wealthiest Arab states, was a prize worth the risk? That it was worth incurring the wrath of your own nation to become sheikha of Gazbiyaa for the life and privileges that would come with that title?’
A heated loathing flooded Nadia’s body, strangling her vocal cords, misting her eyes. How could she ever have thought she might have had any feelings for this man?
‘Do you honestly think you are so big a prize that I would risk not only my own life but the lives of my countrymen just to be with you?’ She gave him a look of complete and utter contempt, her fists balled by her sides, her nails digging into her palms. ‘Perhaps one day you should try to peer over the top of your mountain-size ego and see the world beyond it. You have no idea, do you, about the ways of our countries, how to rule a kingdom like Gazbiyaa, how to prevent a catastrophic war?’
‘And you do, I suppose?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do. At least, I am prepared to do anything and everything I can to try to find peace. That’s what I am doing here, Zayed. That’s why I broke into your bedroom, why I wanted to be made sheikha of Gazbiyaa. Because by being at the heart of this kingdom I thought I could influence the decisions being made about the future of mine.’
Nadia paused, her breath coming in short bursts, rasping in her throat, roughening her voice. ‘So you see I have no interest in you or your wealth or your extravagant lifestyle. In fact I have nothing but contempt for it. Because I can see the man it has made you—vain and egotistical, a man whose pride is more important to him than his people.’
‘That’s enough!’ Zayed raised his hand to silence her, his voice thundering around the room. ‘I will not allow you to speak to me like that.’
‘I shall speak to you how I like.’ Nadia hadn’t finished with him yet. ‘You can inflict no greater punishment on me than returning me to Harith. My crime will be punishable by death. You will have my blood on your hands, Zayed, but far worse than that, y
ou will also have the blood of our two nations.’
There was sharp silence. Zayed stared at Nadia, at this fireball of passion and fury and misguided morality, if indeed that was what it was. Her spirited defence had annoyed the hell out of him but it had felt genuine, as if it had come from the heart. That she really had done all this because of some crazy idea that she could prevent a war between their two countries.
And the fear on her face when he had told her she would be returning to Harith...there had been no mistaking that. The way the colour had drained alarmingly from her skin, the wide-eyed terror in her eyes, the slight sway when her knees had threatened to give way beneath her, making him want to stretch out to catch her before she had quickly steadied herself. Could she have put that on? And then faked the way she had tried to cover it up with all that defiant rhetoric? His instincts told him no, it had been genuine. But then, it was his instincts that had got him into this accursed mess. Had got him married to probably the most dangerously unsuitable woman on the planet.
He needed some time to think. To get his head round what he had done and come up with a solution, as fast as possible. But first he needed to get Nadia out of his sight.
Because despite everything, despite the bitterness and betrayal and downright fury with himself that he could ever have been such a fool, seeing her standing before him now still turned him on. At some time during her passionate tirade the belt of her gown had loosened, revealing a flash of naked thigh and the swell of rounded breasts—breasts that he knew fitted perfectly into his cupped palm, tasted so sweet against his lips, whose nipples puckered so readily with arousal. He would only have to take a step forward, slip the gown down over her shoulders and lower his head...
And then he would be in even more trouble. Hell! Just when had he become so weak? Cursing under his breath, he raised his phone and with one jab was through to security.
‘Yes....The bridal bedroom....Rani and Ahmed....Right away.’
He turned to look at a now silent Nadia, and there it was again, that fleeting flash of fear in her eyes before the shoulders went back and the fear was immediately masked with rebellious defiance. And she held his gaze, so determined, so strong-willed, refusing to even let herself blink. It was a long hard stare that scorched the air between them.
‘Your Royal Highness?’ The guards had arrived, entering the room on Zayed’s command, muscles flexed, ready for action. They halted, looking around them, bewildered for a moment as they took in the scene: the passion-rumpled bed, the new sheikha, flushed and dishevelled, now clutching her robe to her body. And the sheikh, bare-chested and rigid with tension, barely controlling his anger.
‘You will escort the sheikha to her quarters.’
‘Sire.’
‘And once there you will stand guard over her until you receive further instructions. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sire.’
Despite their unquestioning acceptance, there was an awkward moment when the guards looked at Nadia, unsure how to proceed. Nadia glared back at them defiantly.
‘Take. Her. Away.’ Zayed snarled the words and they immediately lurched into action, moving in muscled unison to lift Nadia off her feet and turn her towards the door.
‘Don’t worry, I’m going anyway.’ Defiant to the last, Nadia spat the words over her shoulder, her bare feet furiously paddling the air beneath her as she was borne away. ‘Believe me, nothing would persuade me to stay here now.’ As the guards negotiated the doorway she took the opportunity to shoot Zayed one final, venomous glare. ‘Because now I know the man you really are, Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal. For all your posturing, your clever words, you are no better than my father and brother. You are nothing more than a wolf in designer clothing.’
And with that final insult she was gone.
* * *
Nadia paced around the suite of rooms that had been hers since she’d arrived at the palace of Gazbiyaa. Since she had somehow, miraculously, found herself engaged to the sheikh and been so hopeful that her plan might actually work, that she really might be able to make a difference.
Now that plan lay in tatters, along with the rest of her life—what was left of it. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she had told Zayed what punishment would await her in Harith.
For she had brought the utmost shame on the kingdom of Harith—if running away from an arranged marriage wasn’t bad enough, she had then married the ruler of their greatest enemy, been deflowered and then rejected by him. It didn’t get any worse than that. If she had deliberately set out to disgrace their family she couldn’t have done a better job. And even though she knew her poor mother would plead with her husband and son to spare her daughter’s life, her words would fall on deaf ears. Because Harithian women were not afforded the privilege of an opinion. Any more than the sheep and camels that made up their dowries.
Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, she put her head in her hands, threading her fingers through the hair falling over her forehead, pressing the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. On the other side of the heavy panelled door stood the two guards, waiting to be told what to do with her. There was nothing she could do now except await her fate.
Her feverish mind had run through every possibility she could think of to make an escape: from bribing the guards with promises of riches she didn’t have or sexual favours she would never give them to leaping out of the sky-high window and hoping for the best. Maybe ending up splattered on the scorching white pavement below would be the kindest thing.
Hearing the guards moving outside the door and the key turn in the lock, Nadia took in a shuddering breath to rein in the terror. This was it, then. If nothing else, she was determined that she would go with her head held high.
* * *
She looked ridiculously small, flanked on either side by the guards that had her brought her to him. But what Nadia lacked in stature she certainly made up for in courage, her posture upright, her chin held high, those intense eyes trained on him with undisguised hatred.
Dismissing the guards, Zayed gestured to Nadia to sit beside him on one of the kelim cushions arranged around a low coffee table on this shady terrace. He had needed to be outside, to be able to breathe some air into lungs choked with the enormity of what he had done.
And the calm vista before him had helped. He had chosen a spot well away from the scene of last night’s celebrations, where the tented structures were being dismantled right now, fervently wishing that his marriage could be dismantled so easily.
He had stared at his kingdom, through the rainbow sprinklers of the manicured lawns, past the fountains and statues and the swaying palm trees to the broad sweep of the Sarawat Mountains on the horizon, a soft, jagged purple against the scorching sky. And between him and them had been the vast expanse of desert.
He had made his decision. He didn’t trust Nadia; he would never be able to trust her. He now knew he was married to a woman who was capable of such deception that she would stop at nothing to achieve her aim, whatever that aim was.
He had been over and over their earlier confrontation, tying his brain in knots trying to figure it out. His first thought, that she had invaded his life solely to stir up trouble, that she was hell-bent on bringing their two kingdoms to war, just didn’t add up, no matter which way he looked at it.
It was possible that she being used as a pawn. Forced by her family to infiltrate the palace of Gazbiyaa, with the threat of whatever barbaric punishments a country like Harith saw fit to administer if she didn’t do as she was told. But then, why would she have confessed to him who she was? And besides, even though it had turned out that he knew virtually nothing about the woman he had married, the one thing that could never be in question was her sheer courage. It surrounded her like a force field. Zayed refused to believe that Nadia would ever be anybody’s puppet.
That had only left one option. That she had been telling the truth. That she really had risked everything to come here without her family’s knowledge to t
ry to prevent the war between their two kingdoms. That would certainly explain the look of terror on her face at the thought of being returned. But even if that was the case, it was every bit as dangerous as the other scenarios. Because her deluded, misguided action had dramatically increased the likelihood of war.
And there was something else. Something he could hardly bring himself to admit. Try as he might to deny it, this woman had inexplicably gotten to him, sneaked under his armour plating of emotional indifference to somewhere deep inside him that had never been touched before. Somewhere raw and new. Somewhere he didn’t even want to think about. And that made her as dangerous to him as a tank full of hungry sharks.
He had to sort this out. Now.
* * *
Nadia folded herself elegantly onto a cushion as far away from Zayed as she could get. She didn’t know what she was doing here. If he was expecting some grovelling apology, then he was going to be sorely disappointed. If he wanted her to plead to be allowed to stay, well, he was out of luck there too. Because she wanted nothing more to do with this man. The tentative faith she had put in him had been cruelly slashed. Now that he had shown her his true colours she just wanted to get away from him, from Gazbiyaa. She would rather meet her fate than spend any more time in his company. Well, that was what her pride was telling her, at least.
She raised her eyes to look at him, determined not to show any weakness now. But it was a weakness of a different kind that lanced through her poor, mentally tortured body. Because seeing Zayed now, calmly pouring coffee from the brass pot on the table, made something shift inside her, something indefinable, primal. It had only been a few hours since they had spent the night together, since they had shared such incredible intimacy. Zayed’s hard, muscled, sweat-slicked body wrapped around her, hungry for her, seeming to not be able to get enough of her. Nadia could still feel the thrilling weight of him on top of her, hear the rasp of his heated breath, the groan of his release. And the burn of her own body where he had been was an actual, physical reminder of what they had done.
