BOUND TO THE SHEIKH
Clare Connelly
All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.
The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.
First published 2016
(c) Clare Connelly
Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com/dariyad
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Clare Connelly grew up in a small country town in Australia. Surrounded by rainforests, and rickety old timber houses, magic was thick in the air, and stories and storytelling were a huge part of her childhood.
From early on in life, Clare realised her favourite books were romance stories, and read voraciously. Anything from Jane Austen to Georgette Heyer, to Mills & Boon and (more recently) 50 Shades, Clare is a romance devotee. She first turned her hand to penning a novel at fifteen (if memory serves, it was something about a glamorous fashion model who fell foul of a high-end designer. Sparks flew, clothes flew faster, and love was born.)
Clare has a small family and a bungalow near the sea. When she isn't chasing after energetic little toddlers, or wiping fingerprints off furniture, she's writing, thinking about writing, or wishing she were writing.
Clare loves connecting with her readers. Head to www.clareconnelly.co.uk to sign up to her newsletter, or join her official facebook page.
PROLOGUE
“You know I would not marry her if I were not bound to by duty.”
His voice was deep, his accent pronounced. On the balcony that stretched around the palace, linking his suite of rooms to hers, Laurie was still. Beyond the rushing of blood in her ears, she listened to nothing but her betrothed’s words.
“What duty? What duty on earth can compel a man such as you into a marriage such as this?”
Though she had only met the powerful Sheikh Afida Masou-Al’s advisor once, she easily picked the voice of his closest confidant. Her ear for languages translated into an ear for precision with voices. Elon Katabi was his name and he was frequently by the ruler’s side, despite the fact he had his own powerful role in the running of Salim, a neighbouring country.
“That is precisely the point. It is not an earthly duty.”
Silence. Laurie frowned into the evening air, trying to follow the meaning of his statement.
“It is both a promise and a pledge; a solemn undertaking I offered my father on the eve of his death. He went to his grave content with the knowledge that I would level his debt.”
“What debt?” Elon pushed with incredulity.
“Her father saved his life. Were it not for David Angove’s bravery, my father would have surely died a painful and horrific death.”
“Yes, but to marry his daughter …” The words pulsated with a thread of disapproval and Laurie wrapped her arms around her waist, the coldness of his disparagement obvious.
“It is the only way. Angove’s fortune has crumbled. He will have nothing without this marriage.”
“Then give him money. You are too much a man to marry now. Your kingdom does not require it of you. It is too great a sacrifice.”
“Yes,” Afida nodded with impatience. “It is a sacrifice. I do not wish to tether myself to any woman, particularly not this one.” The silence stretched for so long that Laurie scraped her nails into her palms, waiting for the release of blood. “But Angove is proud. A trait he shared with my father. He will not take money. I have offered it. Only his belief that Laurena and I are in love has allowed him to accept this union.”
“And then what?”
“As my father in law, he will accept my assistance. Then it will be the case of a love-lost man squandering money for his bride, rather than what it truly is.”
“But still,” Elon was not keen to let it drop. “This woman …”
“Yes.” Afida’s agreement was a grunt. “She is the last woman I would choose for myself. In no way is she an equal for me. The idea of making love to her …” He silenced himself, as if realising that – sham marriage or not – he was betraying the honour due to his fiancé. “I hardly think we will find ourselves compatible.”
“You have May,” Elon pointed out.
“Yes, I have May.”
Laurie frowned at the unfamiliar name. But her curiosity was quickly answered when Elon continued, “She has been your mistress for how long? Two years? More?”
“Yes.”
“And she is happy with your engagement to another woman?”
A gruff laugh reached Laurie’s ears. “Happy is not how I would describe her at present. But she is content to … continue to ease my suffering.”
Laurie smothered her moan. The indignity and pain she felt was a physical wretch.
“So why is Laurena marrying you then? Is it out of love for her father?”
“Money.” She could practically hear the Sheikh’s shrugged shoulders. “She is motivated by little else, I believe.”
Laurie pressed her back against the cold marble of the palace walls and squeezed her eyes closed. He didn’t care why she was marrying him, and yet he already knew. Her father’s life had revolved around his business. The crumbling of the market had wrought havoc upon his investments and now a once proud entrepreneur had been reduced to a stressed, distracted, worried shell of his former self. What would Laurie not give up for the love of a man who had raised her and spoiled her? What would she not do to assuage his worries and bring a smile back to his face?
The spectre of marriage to a man like Afida was terrifying, but for her father, she would do it.
“So what if she is marrying me for money? Or power? She will have both. And I will have a means to repaying the man who saved my father’s life. In this, the marriage will be a success.”
“But Fida,” Elon splayed his hands wide in a gesture of appeasement, “I know you. She will not make you happy.”
“She does not need to make me happy. I have May, I have my title. My fiancé is nothing to me. A means to an end that I must learn to tolerate.”
“You are sure she will go through with it?”
“Yes. Though I have not seen her since we touched down in the capital, she knows what is at stake if she walks away from this.”
“Her father’s life.”
Afida’s words were touched with wry amusement. “That is a little dramatic, but yes. I believe so.”
“It is too much, Fida. Your father, may his soul be blessed, would have not countenanced such an arrangement.”
“We shall never know.”
Laurie stared unseeing at the spectacular desert. The tall border of palms that surrounded the palace swayed a little in the evening breeze, and overhead the stars began to twinkle against the leaden sky. But her eyes were blinded by shame and desperation.
Her father’s situation was dire – for him alo
ne she had agreed to this union. David believed her to be wildly in love with the Sheikh; that was for the best. And for her part? Laurie just had to look on the bright side. Her father would never again lose sleep over money worries. And one day Laurie would shake this sense of bitterness and humiliation.
One day, she would feel like herself again.
CHAPTER ONE
One week earlier.
Laurie flicked her green eyes to her watch. Each step she took tracked her closer to her goal. If she kept this pace going, she’d have a good chance to beat her personal best. Her hand dropped away and she stared straight ahead, unwilling to be distracted by anyone or anything.
The sky was shimmering as dusk closed around it. It was Laurie’s favourite time of day, and not just because she’d finished her day job and was finally free to run. No, it was here in the envelope of time that married day to night when Laurie felt closest to her mother. It was a sense that embraced her, like an actual force, when she stepped into the crisp evening air. Her eyes drifted heavenward, to the first signs of twinkling stars, and her heart tripped over a beat.
Her mother’s words came to her as clearly as if she was breathing them down from the heavens. Soon I’ll be one of those lights in the sky that we call stars yet know to be powered by something much stronger. Soul dust. Soon I’ll be sparkling, forever out of reach of your touch, but always in your life.
A car sped past, fast and loud, drawing Laurie’s gaze. She watched it turn the corner and then looked both ways before crossing the road. Other than the big black saloon car, the streets of Calmington were deserted. Most people were too sensible to be outdoors with the temperature dropping rapidly.
But Laurie was not most people. She pushed a hand through her glossy chestnut hair. Despite the plait she’d weaved it into, it had almost completely fallen loose. She’d have time to do it when she got home. A frown briefly marred her features as she again flicked a gaze to her watch. She would not have much time if she didn’t kick her pace up a notch. With effortless strength, she began to stride faster. Her body was burning, her lungs were aching with complaint, but her determination was unwavering.
Laurie had always found running to be an easy activity. As a child she had been capable of keeping pace with grown men. Then, she’d run like a wild pixie, a character in a never-ending game of make believe scampering across the estate she’d been lucky enough to call home. She’d run through the woods and then lifted herself easily up the branches of the trees, as though vertical distance presented no greater difficulty than horizontal. Now, she ran for pleasure and she ran for fitness, but also, she ran because it felt like something she was simply designed to do. When she ran, she was a child again. Free spirited and wild, without the shackles of responsibility and worry.
Worry.
Her teeth bit down on her lip. She’d had more than her fair share of that in recent times. From the moment she’d been told that her mother had an inoperable tumour, to the last minute of the soul-destroying funeral, to seeing her father fall apart at the seams, Laurie had known worry and burdensome stress.
And now?
She thought ahead to the dinner she’d planned. It was her father’s birthday, but she doubted he’d remember. Though she’d reserved a table at the only restaurant in town, she couldn’t have said with any certainty that he’d actually show up. And so she’d asked him to come to her home, to help fix a leaking tap. Only the feeling that he should be aiding his daughter seemed to penetrate the thick fog of grief that had saturated David Angove.
She turned the corner and pounded harder, into the long street in which she lived. Halfway along, on the other side of the road, the black car that had just passed her was pulled to a stop. She noticed it initially because the brake lights were on, and their cherry redness shone brightly in the soft dusk light. But, as she ran past it, she saw that it was unlike the usual cars that drove down her less-than-salubrious area. It was shining and dark, and she couldn’t have said which manufacturer had created it, for it bore no badge, and no number plate. The windows were darkly tinted, and the engine made no sound. She moved beyond it self-consciously, kicking her legs hard, until she reached her door. She tapped it out of habit and then reached for her watch, pressing the ‘pause’ button quickly.
“Damn it,” she winced, frustrated to realise she’d missed her time by half a second. “I’ll get you tomorrow.” She rested her hands on her knees and leaned forward, waiting to catch her breath. The footpath was a dark grey, as was the norm in the area. Though in nicer parts of town it was paved herringbone style out of reclaimed red bricks.
In and out, in and out, she waited for her breath to return to its normal pace.
At first, she thought she was imaging the pair of glossy black shoes that moved directly beneath her face. Then, she lifted her head quizzically, wondering if they were her father’s – if perhaps he had remembered after all, and had actually gone to the trouble of wearing something other than his sneakers and jeans.
Only it wasn’t her father.
No. The man whose eyes she met were nothing like the comfortingly lined gaze of David Angove.
A shiver travelled the length of Laurie’s spine as she stared, powerless to be subtle, into the face of a man who seemed both cold and hot at the same time. His nose was patrician, and his face too symmetrical to be considered handsome. And yet it held an almost stifling fascination. There was strength in the face, and character. On one cheek, he had a scar that ran from the corner of his eye towards his ear.
He was tall. Though at barely five and a half feet tall, she found herself generally dwarfed. But this man was taller than most, and broader too. Dressed in a suit, he still seemed to exude a power that was dangerous and thrilling.
Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the suit thoughtfully. Through her second job, she met many men who were wealthy beyond imagining. She’d come to understand certain things about their appearance that delineated them from the madding crowd. Such as the quality of their cufflinks. Actually, the fact that they wore cufflinks at all! But this man’s were black diamonds, and each one looked about the size of her thumbnail. His shirt was crisp and white and the grey suit seemed designed for him. Undoubtedly it had been.
Men like him usually had tailors at their beck and call, amongst the coterie of assistants designed to make life easier for them.
“Laurena Angove?” His voice was thick and magical; it reminded her of desert warmth and exotic spices.
“Laurie,” she corrected automatically. “No one’s called me Laurena. Ever.”
He was frowning. His lips were pulling down at the corners, and his eyes hinted at disapproval. Of what? Nervously, she lifted a hand to her flyaway hair and tucked it behind her ears.
“You are not what I expected,” his disapproval was, if at all possible, deepening.
Despite the coolness of the evening, Laurie was drenched in sweat. A ten mile run would do that a person, she thought defensively, pulling her shirt a little in the front to unstick it. The second she saw his gaze drop to her modest curves she dropped her hands instantly, and straightened. It was as if that subtle, betraying gesture had reminded her that she had no reason to stand on the footpath in the enthral of a stranger.
Belatedly, she recalled that he knew her name. He was no stranger. Or, rather, she wasn’t a stranger to him. “Should I know who you are?”
His smile was perfunctory, and it didn’t alter his expression in the slightest. “No.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she took another step towards her doorway. He followed, and she was left with no choice but to shoot him a look of consternation.
That was a mistake. Those eyes were mocking her, and his expression was dark. She blinked up at him and felt her temperature spiking.
“Are you going to tell me how you know my name?”
“May I come in?”
The way he asked it was fascinating. She had never heard a question issued with such blanket authority. He might h
ave asked for permission, but somehow Laurie just knew he didn’t intend to take no for an answer. She prevaricated on the doorstep, her key still firmly around her neck. “I’m not in the habit of inviting strange, enormous men into my flat.”
His expression showed impatience, as he flicked his head down the street then back to her. “I came to speak to you about your father.”
“My father?” She lifted the key chain over her head but made no move to insert it into the lock. “How do you know my father?”
The man reached out to relieve her of the keys. The shock she felt at the brief skin contact was anxiety, she assured herself. Nothing more.
“Please tell me,” she murmured, afraid of the news this man might have, rather than the man himself. “Is he okay?”
The man regarded her sardonically and then pushed the door inwards. The hallway was dim but clean, yet he was looking at it as though it were a drug den.
“Please!” She stomped her foot and reached for his arm. “My dad?”
“Is as fine as he has been for years. Which is to say, barely surviving.” The man looked up the stairway, his distaste increasing by the minute. “Which one is yours?”
Laurie pushed ahead of him, up one flight of steps, and then waited impatiently for him to reach her. He handed the keys to her and Laurie opened the door.
The man didn’t wait for an invitation, but rather stepped inside as though he owned the place.
“Would you care to tell me who you are and what business my father is of yours?” She was too hot and sweaty to cross her arms, but she braced her hands on her hips instead.
“I have known your father all my life,” he said coldly, and there was a manner about him that made Laurie feel as if she were the outsider in this scenario.
She compressed her lips, waiting for him to continue with mounting frustration. “And?”
Bound to the Sheikh: An ancient debt. A deathbed promise. A marriage of duty and obligation. Desire too strong to control. Page 1
