“But I have a … request.”
“Yes?”
“I would like to go back to the dunes of Alija.”
“And so we shall.”
She nodded at him curtly, and though Afida wanted to push her into promising him so much more than a vague acceptance to stay with him for a short time, he didn’t. He let her sit silently and ponder what he had said, and the revelation of her father’s new relationship and impending parenthood.
But the very next day, as soon as it was possible to arrange it, he piloted them to the beautiful wilderness that had first stolen Laurie’s heart. Only this time, when he set the helicopter down, there was a large tent already erected. Inside was a makeshift living area, complete with a low-sitting bed, carpets, a small fridge powered by a solar generator and even a bathroom. “This is a little more luxurious than I remember,” Laurie couldn’t help teasing as she eyed the ornate furnishings.
Afida nodded, his eyes sparkling in his handsome face. “I thought we might be here a while.”
“Really? Why?”
“It occurred to me that I should keep you here until you realise you love me, too.”
Laurie was careful not to react. The dunes were magical at any time, and the day they spent wandering in the heat of the sunshine was perfect. But as night fell and the temperature dropped dramatically, Laurie became truly at peace. The stars winked overhead, and one in particular shone like a diamond. She watched it twinkle, curled up beside Afida, his confident arms surrounding her completely, and she smiled. “I love you.”
It was a simple statement, but she felt him still. His breathing was shallow.
“You are saying this because you wish to return to the palace?” He quipped, only half-joking. Laurie spun in the circle of his arms and punched his arm.
“No. I want to stay here forever.” She smiled up at him. “I love you. I’m not as slow on the uptake as you. I realised a long time ago.”
He stared at her with an expression of pleasure and frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I never, in my wildest dreams, thought you might love me back.”
“Then you do not understand your incredible appeal,” he murmured. “Is this true?”
She nodded. “I have been in agony, loving you as I do, and certain that you would never return my feelings. Now? I don’t know how I feel. Euphoric. Blessed. Lucky, certainly.” She moved to kneel in front of him, so that her lips were level with his. “I haven’t felt at home for a long time. Since my mother got sick, and everything stated to unravel, I have felt adrift.”
“And now?”
“You are my anchor.” Her smile was filled with sincerity. “I will be wherever you are. I do not care that you are Sheikh, only that you are mine and I am yours.”
“Then I am truly the wealthiest man in the world.” He kissed her hungrily, his hands trailing her body. “For you are the greatest gift I have ever received.”
EPILOGUE
“Well? What do you think?” Fatima eyed the stunning royal princess dubiously, but Laurie’s smile was instantly reassuring.
“It’s perfect, Fatima. You have done us proud.”
Beside her, the formal figure of Sheikh Afida Masou-Al was imposing to all but Laurie. She knew that beneath the imposing size of the man was a heart of gold and a kindness that was truly beautiful. Laurie’s eyes drifted past her husband, to the sign above the newly opened hospital ward. The Marjorie Angove Oncology wing was modern and offered free medical services to the city. Owing to a deal that Afida had seen brokered between the hospital and a nearby hotel, family members of patients would be able to stay close by for only a small cost. It was perfect.
“We couldn’t have done this without your support,” Fatima gushed, her face happier than Laurie had ever seen it.
“I was thrilled to be able to be a part of it,” Laurie murmured modestly, for she had single-handedly steered the project over the preceding three years.
“There she is!” David’s voice cut through the crowd. He had two chubby hands in his, one belonging to his own daughter and the other to his grandson. “There’s mummy.”
Laurie took a moment to truly observe her father. He was younger looking now than he had been for many years. He was happy. And May had done that. If Laurie had been sceptical in the beginning, she had been proven completely wrong. The love between May and David made it impossible to view either of them as anything other than one half of a devoted pair.
“Your mother would have been proud, Laurie,” David said, his voice husky. He handed Elon Jar to Afida and then scooped Charlotte off the ground and held her naturally on his hip.
May appeared as if from nowhere, still as chic and stunning as the night Laurie had first met her. “It is excellent.” She smiled serenely at Laurie and then Afida.
If the situation was strange for any of them, it certainly didn’t show. There was an easy sociability between them, and it was made possible by the complete devotion of Afida to Laurie and May to David. There was no unrequited love, nor hurt feelings. Everything was just as it ought to be, and that left very little room for doubts or jealousy.
Laurie was called away to speak to a visiting surgeon, and she went to play her part. As benefactor of the hospital, she had become far more au fait with hospital procedures than she had ever thought she would be. But the work was becoming one of the most meaningful things she’d ever done.
True, nothing beat her role as Afida’s wife and the mother to Elon Jr, but there was a deep sense of fulfilment from knowing the difference she was making to so many people with serious health issues. The combination of her two roles made her supremely content.
The opening lasted well into the night, and when finally Laurie had spoken to every guest and donor in attendance, Afida found her. His arms wrapped around her waist, and his eyes were bursting with emotion as he stared down at her.
“You must hate me,” she said apologetically. “I’ve kept you here far later than I intended.”
“On the contrary. I love you more every day I know you, and tonight? I have never been so proud.”
Her chest swelled. She had no words. In the three years since their second adventure at the dunes of Alija, she had come to realise something crucial.
A divine hand had been at work in bringing them together.
Fate? Angels? Destiny?
You may meet someone, one day, who you decide you love, and want to spend your life with. Make sure he is good enough for you before you take that step. For most people, and I cannot tell you how greatly I hope you are one of them, life is a lengthy journey, filled with many twists and turns. With the right person by your side, such as I have had with your father, it is an adventure that will never, even over a thousand years, feel long enough. Most importantly, it is a ride, and you know my philosophy on those – they must be fun!
Something far beyond rational thought had married them, two souls designed to wander the earth in search of the other. Their love was a force as unstoppable as the desert winds. And together, they would achieve anything. And yes, they’d have fun too. For life was an adventure, and it was one Laurie and Afida intended to share side by side.
THE END
Thank you for reading BOUND TO THE SHEIKH. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing this story. Don’t forget to leave a review on Amazon and subscribe to my newsletter at www.clareconnelly.co.uk for news on latest releases.
Following is an excerpt from another of my favourite books, BARTERED TO THE SHEIKH – another story of passionate desert romance with romance that will set your soul on fire. To keep up to date on the latest Clare Connelly releases, please follow Clare’s facebook page or subscribe to the newsletter at www.clareconnelly.co.uk
Happy reading, always! CC.x
BARTERED 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 a
nyone 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 2015
(c) Clare Connelly
Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com/nizas
Contact Clare:
http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk
Blog: http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/
Email: [email protected]
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CHAPTER ONE
Her fiancé’s eyes watched her as she entered the stateroom, but he didn’t move.
Sally tried to remember the hasty training she’d been given. The instructions were clear. Walk quietly and sedately to the empty throne and take her seat. After all, in two short weeks, she would be taking her place as the Crown Princess of Tari’ell, and it was her duty to act as though she was ready.
Even though her knees were knocking together and the valley between her small breasts was filled with perspiration, she needed to outwardly appear calm. Even though she’d had only a month to adjust to the idea that she would be going through with the betrothal contract. Even though she wasn’t ready to be a princess and might never be.
Don’t overthink it, she reminded herself. Sit in the chair. It was the first step. After that, she would speak to her husband-to-be for the first time in her life. An important threshold to cross, she knew she would feel better once they’d passed that awkward introduction.
Her pale pink lips trembled as she sucked in a deep breath.
Sally had two problems. First, there was no other throne. In fact, there was no other chair. Only the single throne, gold and heavily embellished with rubies and diamond, was placed in the centre of the stage.
And in it sat the exalted Crown Prince Sheikh Khalid ash-Hareth.
The second problem that faced Sally was that the Sheikh wasn’t moving. His pale brown eyes were resting curiously on her face, but he was yet to speak. A frown puckered her brow as she allowed herself a cursory inspection of the man she was to tether herself to for life.
Despite the ornateness of his dress, he was far less intimidating than she’d been led to expect. Her governess Abigail had described him in great detail. From his legendary toughness to his physical strength, his excellent education and the type of rugged good looks that had made him a much adored ruler. Abigail had also belaboured the fact that Khalid ash-Hareth was renowned for his devotion to his country and people. A devotion that would never waver, and never be sacrificed to a wife’s needs.
Abigail had been against the union from the moment it was suggested. How could someone as gentle and delicate as Saaliyah Ibarra marry a man like him? True, Sally had been born to this ancient land, and carried the life-blood of its founders in her petite frame, but she had been raised in England. She had been given a first rate education and all the advantages of parents with money and a governess who loved her like her own child.
To leave the life she had been offered to return to Tari’ell and marry a man she’d never met – it was the kind of foolhardy move that beggared belief. Abigail simply couldn’t understand what could have possessed Sally.
But Sally had her reasons.
Reasons that went beyond duty and honour, and beyond money and title.
He stood, bringing her attention back to the stage with a start. He was shorter than she’d imagined too. And though his robes were white flecked with gold thread, she could see from the set of his face and his hands that he was slender.
Relief flooded her system.
He looked nice. Kind. Gentle.
“Emira,” An imperious voice came from somewhere in the back of the enormous room. She scanned the stage, searching for its origin.
A man emerged, dressed in black robes. She recognised them as the sort of uniform royal advisors generally wore, with the gold thread wrapping around the wrists as a point of detail.
Her breath snagged in her throat. This man was far more like what Abigail had encouraged her to expect. Though she was diminutive in stature, and was therefore used to people dwarfing her, this man was taller than most. Definitely well over six feet tall. And broad. Broad shouldered, broad chested, with caramel coloured skin, and glinting black eyes. His hair was as dark as a raven, and it was long enough to be pulled into a messy bun on top of his head.
There was a feral, animalistic strength emanating from him, and she wondered distractedly if he formed part of the Sheikh’s security detail. It would make sense to have a man such as this as the proverbial muscle. He looked as though he could squash someone with his hands alone.
Even his throat was strong – a thick column of muscle, covered with a hint of stubble. He moved towards her without taking his eyes from her face.
They were beautiful eyes. Beyond their unusual midnight colour, they were shaped like almonds, and rimmed with thick, curling lashes. His brows were thick and dark, giving his face an emphasis it didn’t need.
Some people had nice eyes. Nice teeth. A generally pleasing appearance. But not this man. His face was a patchwork of strength. Every feature was remarkable. An aquiline nose, a square jaw, a chin with a dent in the middle, dark stubble that was more like a very short beard, and a wide, curved mouth. He didn’t smile, but she could imagine that when he did it would be a thing of great beauty.
“You are Saaliyah Ibarra.” The way he said it, Sally couldn’t be sure if it was a question or a statement.
His voice was deep and raw, as if the sands of the desert kingdom had worn it down to a husky timbre.
At twenty-one years of age, despite having been raised in the middle of London, she had no real experience with men. She’d been ferried to her all-girls school by chauffeur, and returned home directly afterwards. Her tertiary education had been led by Abigail, who’d hired an assortment of visiting lecturers to instruct her in all of the matters that interested her most.
Through her brother Afida she had met a few boys, but none like this.
Her throat was dry and her tongue felt big and heavy in her mouth. He was staring at her with barely concealed impatience. She remembered, belatedly, that there was a long running enmity between the people of the Medouzan province and those from Tari’ell. An enmity that she had managed to avoid only because she’d been raised by a Briton, and lived in London.
But she had no doubts. This half man, half Hercules felt that enmity for her. He looked at her as though she was about to take the throne by force, rather than by marriage.
She had been prepared for objections. After all, her predecessor had lost her life because she’d had the audacity to agree to a union such as this.
Sally pushed aside the brief thought of Tasha. Her beautiful cousin was gone. Thinking of her in that moment would not help anyone.
“You do know English?”
Sally forced her gaze back to the enormous man in the black robe. He must be close to the Emir, to be speaking on his behalf. She blinked her clear hazel eyes as if to bring herself back into the moment, and forced a small smile to her face. “Yes.”
He exhaled slowly, and the warm breath fanned her temples. A wave of goose bumps danced over her skin. “Yes what?”
Yes what? “I don’t know your name,” she murmured. “How can I address you by anything?”
He looked at her as though she were brainless. “I did not mean to urge you to address me differently. I meant ‘yes’ to which of my questions.”
Unused to being insulted for her intelligence, she flushed to the roots of her hair. “To both then,” she tried, and failed, to flatten the waspish annoyance from her tone.
“You are late.”
She l
ifted her wrist to check the time and then realised her watch was no longer a part of her. The gold Rolex she’d been given for her sixteenth birthday had been put away; it was not part of her costume now. For it belonged to the girl she had been before, and was not a part of who she had agreed to become.
Now, she was Emira, betrothed to one of the most powerful men in the world.
Her eyes skidded past this warrior-creature and to the Sheikh. He was watching with barely concealed fascination, and it occurred to Sally that she was being tested. Perhaps he wished to see how she coped under pressure.
After all, her role as Crown Princess would be nothing if not full of challenges. She calmed her racing pulse with a deep breath and then fixed the Minotaur with a coldly assessing stare of her own.
“As these proceedings cannot begin without me, I’d say it’s impossible for me to be late.”
A tiny flicker moved at the corner of his lips. Definitely not a smile, but a reflection of emotion. “These proceedings were supposed to begin thirty minutes ago.”
Her eyes narrowed. He must be well regarded by Khalid to feel free to speak so impertinently to her. “Then perhaps we shouldn’t delay any longer,” she remarked, angling her body away from him in a silent gesture of dismissal.
As if such a man could be dismissed! She could feel him right behind her, as though his proximity was actually a touch. Her skin felt warm all over.
She walked slowly towards the front of the room, willingly ignoring the unwelcome fog of awareness that was throbbing through her.
In contrast to her brother, Sally was naturally petite. Short, slender and dainty. At Abigail’s suggestion, her parents had brought a former prima ballerina from Moscow to teach her the beautiful style of dance. Even as a child, she had excelled, and that grace of movement translated into every step she took.
Bound to the Sheikh: An ancient debt. A deathbed promise. A marriage of duty and obligation. Desire too strong to control. Page 15
