The Sheikh's Princess Bride

by Annie West

  ‘Yes?’ The word was harsh as gravel. He cleared his throat and tried for a softer tone. ‘You wanted something?’

  There was a flash in Samira’s eyes that might have been anger but it was gone before he could be sure.

  ‘Won’t you stay for a while? I rarely see you.’

  He saw her daily. Yet he knew what she meant. He’d been careful not to be alone with her.

  ‘My schedule’s very busy.’ Nevertheless he moved back into the room and saw some of the tension ease from her slim shoulders.

  ‘Surely you have some time for me?’

  Some time! All his time was devoted to the complex issue of Samira and how she fitted in his life. How best to look after her and their child.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ Tariq noticed the tiny smudges under her eyes. He frowned. He was used to her blooming with good health. Even now she looked radiant, but those shadows told a different story.

  He crossed the room and took her arm, registering the softness of her inner arm and the swish of shimmery material against her naked skin as he led her to an armchair.

  ‘Tell me about it.’ He waited till she took a seat before retreating to lean against her work table. But her subtle cinnamon scent wafted across his senses. It was more intoxicating than any manufactured perfume.

  ‘You’ve been avoiding me,’ she said at last.

  Tariq shrugged. ‘My diary is full with the multilateral negotiations and the rebuilding project on top of all the usual commitments.’

  Samira angled her head as if to view him better. He folded his arms.

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Her voice dropped to a low, sultry note. ‘You don’t come to my bed any more.’

  Now she had surprised him. He hadn’t expected a direct confrontation.

  Why? Because she’s so shy and docile? An inner voice sneered at his foolishness. Of course Samira would take the bull by the horns. For all her subtlety and grace in dealing with the public and fractious VIPs, she was no pushover. She could be surprisingly forthright. The fact she’d had the nerve to propose marriage to him proved that.

  And yet... Tariq sensed it took a lot for her to confront him. Her hands twisted in her lap while her neck and shoulders screamed tension.

  ‘You want sex?’ His mind raced, calculating how long it would take to get her out of that slinky bit of nothing and flat on her back beneath him.

  It took far too much effort to crush the urge to act.

  Tariq knew his duty. His uncle had drummed a sense of responsibility into him by the time he could walk, preparing for the day he’d be ruler.

  Samira had a history of miscarriage. His duty was to keep her and their child safe. If that meant staying out of her bed for a few months, he’d do it. He’d do everything to protect her. Just as he had the country’s top specialist on call and had cut back the hours of evening functions so Samira could rest.

  He’d take no chances.

  A shadow flickered in his soul and a chill crept up his backbone, lifting the hairs on his nape one by one. He drew a slow breath, not quite managing to dispel the fear he’d fail Samira as he’d failed Jasmin.

  ‘Yes.’ Samira shook her head, her brow furrowing. ‘No. Not just sex.’

  Tariq waited. Her shoulders lifted and dropped and he swallowed hard as those lush breasts jiggled temptingly.

  ‘I want...’ She shook her head and again he caught the perfume of her skin.

  Everything about his wife—from her voice, the perfume of her skin, the taste of her on his tongue, to the lush perfection of her body—made him want more. Made him want in ways too numerous to calculate.

  Tariq’s hands clenched on the edge of the worktop. ‘You want...?’

  ‘I don’t think I can put it into words.’

  Despite his certainty that it would be better for them both if he found an excuse to leave, he didn’t shift. How could he look after her if he didn’t understand her?

  ‘Try me.’

  * * *

  Samira looked up at him watching her, the intensity of his gaze wrapping around her, making warmth curl within. Yet he gave nothing away.

  She’d come this far. All she had to do was be honest. Share yourself, Jacqui had said.

  Unfortunately Samira had little experience of that. She’d learned to keep herself to herself in the ways that really mattered. But if it was worth having it was worth fighting for. Tariq, and the precious sense of wellbeing he’d given her before, were worth having.

  ‘You know Asim and I weren’t close to our parents?’

  Tariq’s eyebrows slanted in surprise at the change of subject. ‘I knew.’

  ‘You’ve heard their marriage wasn’t easy?’ Asim wouldn’t have discussed it and Tariq wouldn’t have asked, but he’d have to have been deaf not to hear the whispers.

  ‘I don’t listen to rumour. I prefer to deal in facts.’

  Samira compressed her lips. Was he being deliberately unhelpful or just chivalrous?

  ‘They lived in a world of their own. When all was well I never saw them because they were wrapped up in each other. But more often it was a war zone. Screaming rows and doors slamming, glass smashing and angry tirades.’ She brushed her hands over the shivering skin of her arms. ‘They were jealous and suspected other lovers. The best times were when they were away and we were alone with the staff.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That must have been hard.’

  Samira hesitated, groping for words. ‘I’m not telling you this to get sympathy, but so you understand what it was like.’

  ‘I understand.’

  But did he?

  ‘The thing is...’ She looked down to see she’d bunched the rich satin into a taut knot. Instantly she opened her hands and smoothed out the crushed fabric. ‘The thing is, they didn’t just play out their dramas between them. They used us.’

  Samira kept her eyes down, not wanting to read Tariq’s expression as acid memories made her flesh crawl.

  ‘Each used to interrogate me, trying to use me as a spy against the other. I found out years later that a diplomat was dismissed because I told my father how he smiled and laughed when he was with my mother. I thought it nice someone laughed in the palace but my father was convinced they were having an affair. Possibly because he was having one with my nanny at the time.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have had to go through that.’ The rumble of Tariq’s voice drew her head up. His expression was sombre.

  ‘It could have been worse.’ She paused. ‘It took me a long time to learn to be cautious but I learned my lesson when I was thirteen.’ Samira stopped and focused on trying to slow her too-fast pulse.

  ‘My mother invited me to tea with a friend and I was so excited to be included I didn’t realise what was happening till too late. Her “friend” turned out to be a journalist, pumping me for information about my father. She took innocent anecdotes and twisted them into the worst kind of slimy innuendo about my father. The more I tried to set the story straight, the worse it got, with my mother putting words in my mouth and it all going down on record.’

  Samira sank back in her seat, hating that it had been her mother of all people who’d made her feel unclean.

  ‘My father managed to quash the story but my parents separated. Publicly the story was they were busy with regal responsibilities in different places.’

  She met Tariq’s grim stare and shrugged. ‘I blamed myself but I finally learned to keep myself to myself.’

  It was a lesson she’d stuck to until she’d met Jackson Brent and, in the throes of romantic excitement, thrown caution to the wind. His betrayal had cured her of romance and almost stolen her ability to trust.

  Yet she trusted Tariq.

  He’d moved away from the table to stand before her. The expression in his eyes
made her heart somersault with hope.

  Jacqui had been right. She just needed to open up to her husband. Explain and clear up whatever was holding him back. Then they could regain the easy, satisfying relationship she’d so enjoyed. Relief filled her. The unpalatable task of talking about the past would be worth it.

  ‘You can’t blame yourself for their marriage failing.’

  ‘Eventually I worked that out. Plus I realised I didn’t want a marriage like theirs.’

  Her gaze lingered on the impressive breadth of Tariq’s shoulders and chest and she congratulated herself on having made a far better marriage. She hadn’t trusted so-called love. She’d married a man she respected, a man of integrity.

  Yet being so close to him sent her wayward hormones into a chaos of yearning excitement.

  ‘I told you this so you’d understand how much our marriage means to me.’ She smiled up at him. ‘After my parents’ destructive marriage and my failed relationship, it took a lot even to consider marriage. I don’t trust easily. But you’ve made this...’ Samira waved her hand wide, suddenly on an emotional brink at the thought of all Tariq had done for her.

  He’d given her so much. Not only had he shared his boys, he’d created a place for her in his world, accepting her and caring for her. She felt safe, content, part of the sort of family she’d never thought she’d have, yet with the freedom to pursue her dreams.

  And then there was the child she carried.

  She put her hands on the arms of her chair, ready to lever herself up.

  ‘Don’t! There’s no need to get up.’ Tariq dragged a straight-backed chair from the table and sat down, facing her, his long legs folded back beneath the seat. ‘So, you’re happy here. That’s excellent.’

  Samira blinked. ‘More than that. What we’ve shared—it’s more than I’d believed possible.’ Despite her confident proposal, she’d wondered how well two virtual strangers could live and work together.

  ‘You’ve been wonderful, Tariq. Thoughtful and generous, and reassuring when I need it.’ It was as if he sensed and responded to her fears for the baby.

  ‘It’s my pleasure to look after you.’ His words were crisply formal, as if she hadn’t got through to him at all.

  ‘I’m not talking about being looked after.’ Her brow pleated as she sought the right words. ‘What you’ve given me is precious and I want you to know I appreciate it.’ She smiled, rubbing at her baby bulge as she felt the fluttery movements of their child.

  * * *

  Tariq followed her gesture and stiffened. Samira was thrilled he’d given her a child. No surprises there. That was why she’d married him, to become a mother.

  He exhaled slowly. No man liked to feel used but Samira came perilously close to making him feel that now.

  He hadn’t been consulted about this child. If he had, he’d have admitted the twins were enough for him. After losing Jasmin in labour, another child was the last thing on his mind.

  His blood chilled thinking about that time.

  What did Samira want from him? Why tell him now about her miserable childhood? He felt frustrated and appalled by it but could do nothing to alter the past.

  Despite his considerable experience, women could still be a mystery.

  He watched Samira closely, noting her over-bright eyes and flushed cheeks. She was emotional, he’d almost say overwrought, except there was no question that she was happy.

  ‘Thank you,’ he murmured. ‘I’m pleased you’re content.’ Samira had been fulsome in her thanks and, despite the demons that rode him, he understood how precious this baby was to her. ‘I want you to be happy.’

  She nodded, her eyes glowing, and Tariq stood abruptly. He needed to leave before he did something unforgivable, like maul the woman he’d pledged not to touch.

  He’d done his research. He knew sex with Samira wasn’t likely to endanger her or the baby. But how likely had it been that Jasmin, after a completely normal, healthy pregnancy, should die? He couldn’t take the risk. Not again. Not Samira.

  ‘I need to leave, but I’ll see you later with the boys.’

  ‘Wait!’ Samira stood too, her hand smoothing the nightgown over her bump. ‘You’re going? But you haven’t answered me.’

  ‘There was no question.’ Heat seared him with each passing second. He had to get out of here before his resolve cracked.

  She drew herself up. Yet even when she looked downright regal all he could think of was how good she’d feel in his arms, melting against him. How good she’d taste.

  ‘I want to sleep with you.’ Her words were pure, husky temptation to a man on the edge of control. ‘But I want more too. More of us. The way we were before I told you about the baby.’ Her eyes held a dewy sheen of happiness he’d thought reserved for their child. But now Samira was looking at him in a way that did strange things to his internal organs. He couldn’t identify the sensation and that disturbed him.

  ‘Being with you...’ Her shoulders lifted as she spread her arms palm upwards. ‘I can’t tell you how much our marriage means. It’s changed me. I never expected I’d feel anything like this.’

  Tariq stiffened.

  She hadn’t expected to feel anything like this?

  Like what?

  He remembered Jasmin’s soft, hopeful gaze whenever he’d entered a room, whenever they were together. They’d contracted to marry but somewhere during their dynastic marriage she’d fallen in love.

  And he’d been unable to return that love. He’d felt her disappointment in every searching, loving look.

  Tariq swallowed hard, tasting the rusty metal tang of horror as he registered the softening in Samira’s expression.

  ‘I want to be a wife to you in every way, Tariq.’ Her smile could light up a city. But it could devastate too. His chest cracked wide as he saw what was in her eyes.

  Love.

  Love for him.

  A love he was congenitally incapable of returning.

  His breath caught, snared by his galloping heartbeat. Sweat broke out across his forehead and there was a drumming in his ears as past and present merged. Pressure built in his chest as if from welling emotions. Except he didn’t do emotion, not of that sort.

  This couldn’t be happening again. A wife who looked to him for love. A wife carrying his child. A wife who yearned for something that wasn’t in him to give. A wife he feared he couldn’t keep safe from hurt.

  The day Jasmin had died the doctor had looked at him with sympathy, believing he dealt with a heartbroken husband. Tariq had felt like a sham, utterly unworthy.

  Tariq had assured himself theirs was a decent marriage, a practical one, that he’d been a thoughtful and loyal husband even as he’d regretted Jasmin’s unfortunate tendre. But it was only when she’d died that the enormity of what he’d done had smashed into him, blasting away cosy excuses. Jasmin had lost her life because of him and his need for heirs.

  Now the past reinvented itself. He saw it in Samira’s hopeful expression. In her outstretched hand.

  Tariq’s heart slammed against his ribs, his skin breaking into a clammy sweat as the walls pushed in on him, the weight of them crushing the air from his lungs.

  He stepped back and watched her arm fall. His gut went into freefall as he saw surprise morph into hurt. But he couldn’t lie. Not even for her. ‘I’m sorry, Samira, but you’re asking too much.’

  Tariq spun on his heel and strode from the room.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  YOU’RE ASKING TOO MUCH.

  The words had hung in the air between them too long. It had been weeks since Tariq had burst out with them and still they bit deep, hurting just as keenly as the day he’d said them.

  Samira looked down the long table lit by antique candelabras. Beyond the twenty guests invited to this intim
ate royal dinner sat Tariq, resplendent in white robes and a head scarf edged with gold.

  He faced her down the table but his attention was on his guests. He conversed with the American ambassador and some leading entrepreneurs while at the same time making a couple of visiting provincial leaders feel welcome.

  Tariq handled his responsibilities easily. He was an expert negotiator. According to his staff he was a born administrator. His people loved him because he was a man of action who ruled fairly and provided well for them.

  The twins adored him. He made time for them in ways her father never had. And, if Tariq was a fraction too strict on discipline, she and Sofia moderated his demands.

  Few men could handle so many responsibilities. Yet Tariq did. Nothing was too much effort.

  Except being with his wife.

  That was asking too much.

  Bile filled Samira’s mouth and she choked it back, her knife and fork clattering to her plate. The delicious meal turned to ashes in her mouth.

  Tariq made time for everyone but her.

  As if sensing her regard, he looked up.

  Even from this distance his laser-bright stare captured her, pinning her to the seat. Samira’s heartbeat fluttered, her breath quickening. Despite the heavy weight of pregnancy she felt that telltale softening at her core in preparation for his touch.

  A touch that would never come.

  Samira bit her lower lip before it could tremble.

  She despised her weakness for a man who patently didn’t want her.

  Oh, he’d been happy enough to take her when they were first married. He’d insisted on it, as if a platonic marriage was an affront to his manhood.

  But once her waistline had thickened, and she’d become more apple than hourglass, Tariq had lost interest. Her appeal had clearly been skin-deep.

  She’d known her looks would fade with age but hadn’t expected to lose her allure so soon, or realised how devastating that would be.

  Samira choked down aching self-pity and forced her gaze to the blur of faces around the table.

  Tariq had made it abundantly clear she was in the same category as the multitude of women who’d kept him company before and after his first marriage. They’d been gorgeous and expendable. Once he’d had his fill, they’d been history.