by Tessa Radley
It had been a long time since she’d been his little girl. Tiffany gentled her tone. “When I’m ready—I’m not ready yet.” More than anything in the world she needed time.
“Darling, are you sure you know what you’re—”
“I’m expecting Rafiq’s baby, Mom.”
This time the silence was electric.
To break it, Tiffany said desperately, “I came to Dhahara to tell Rafiq about the baby. My little girl will need a mother and a father.” Surely her mother, of all people, would understand that better than anyone in the world? “In time she’ll need grandparents, too, so don’t worry. I know I have to tell Dad the good news.”
Just not now. Not while her own hurt at his countless betrayals would spill out.
“Oh, darling, you should’ve told me you were pregnant before you left.”
Tiffany couldn’t handle recriminations right now. “Mom, you had enough to cope with.”
“I feel terrible. I didn’t even guess—”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
There was a short pause as her mother absorbed that. Then she said, “I feel like I let you down.”
“Nonsense,” said Tiffany loyally.
“But—”
“Don’t worry about me,” Tiffany interrupted. “I’m fine, Mom. I needed to make this decision myself. No one else could make it for me. Not you. Not Dad. Only I can take responsibility for my actions. I went into this with my eyes wide open.”
That wasn’t strictly true. She’d gone in with some illusions. She hadn’t expected their marriage to be so physical. She was terrified of losing her emerging sense of identity to the heady passion that only Rafiq had ever awoken in her.
And now he was her husband…
The man who shared her bed. Her body. His body. Every night.
At least she wasn’t in love with him. Nor he with her. It was better that way. Falling for Rafiq would be insanely stupid. Tiffany was not about to let Rafiq break her heart—not even if she was pregnant with his baby.
But she couldn’t share any of that with her mother. Instead she said, “Rafiq took me into the desert yesterday. Oh, Mom, it was so beautiful…. One day I will show you, too.”
Then maybe her mother might understand.
Ten
Rafiq gazed down at his wife.
A heavy tide of satisfaction swept in the wake of the rush of desire. They’d made love…slept…then made love again as dawn streaked the horizon.
He should’ve been sated.
He wasn’t.
It would be a long time before he could claim to have had enough of his wife. But he would wait for tonight before taking her again. The day was hers. He would let anticipation build through the long, hot hours. Take her to a souk to watch her touch the soft silks. For an outing in the desert to see the excited glow in her eyes. He’d take her anywhere she chose to go. It was refreshing to see his world—Dhahara—through her eyes. The want could wait.
Until tonight.
“What would you like to do today?” He walked two fingers along her arm.
She peeped at him from beneath her eyelashes in a way that caused his heart to hammer in his chest. “It’s been a very busy week.”
“Indeed it has been,” he agreed huskily.
“Is it going to be as hot today as it was yesterday?”
“Hotter.”
She pursed her lips, her expression thoughtful. Her lashes fluttered down against her cheeks. “Perhaps we could stay here.”
“Perhaps we should.”
A wanton warmth pooled in the pit of his belly. Rafiq could think of nothing more perfect than remaining exactly where they were—here in this bedchamber, the lacy white wooden shutters flung open to the whisper of the desert wind.
Tiffany was fitting surprisingly well into his life. His aunt Lily had taken a shine to her—probably because she was missing Zara. His brothers liked her. He was sure his father had enjoyed meeting her, too, although they had spoken only briefly the night of their engagement and at the wedding.
As for him…
He thought Tiffany was everything he’d ever wanted. Reaching out one hand, he pushed the curtain of silken hair off her face, then leaned down and pressed a kiss against her cheek. It was an impulsive gesture, done without plan. Yet she immediately turned her head and her lips clung to his in a kiss so gentle, so full of sweetness, that his chest grew tight.
He groaned softly.
He had intended to break the news of Tiffany’s pregnancy to his family. To confess the real reason for their marriage. So that they knew that after the birth of the child the marriage could be dissolved. Yet somehow he’d kept putting it off. And now he couldn’t very well announce she was pregnant—and in the same breath request them to keep his plan to divorce her secret from Tiffany.
In fact, Rafiq was starting to think that if the child turned out to be his, he might as well stay married to Tiffany….
Last night had only served to confirm that the nights alone would make it worth the sacrifice.
“I hadn’t exactly meant to stay here—in bed—all day,” she murmured breathlessly.
He reared over her and the tangled sheets fell away. “Why not?”
Tiffany glanced at his naked chest. When her gaze returned to his, her eyes glittered bright gold. “What will people say if we remain barricaded up in the bedchamber?”
He shrugged. Who cared? “That we just got married? That I can’t keep my hands off my wife?”
He matched actions to the words and ran a hand along the delicate curves of her body. She shuddered and instantly his own desire rocketed.
“Rafiq!”
“What?” He bent forward to taste her again.
She fended him off with flat palms. “We shouldn’t…”
“Why not?”
Her palms softened against his shoulders, toying with the sleek muscles of his arms, moving over his shoulders, drawing him close.
“You know,” she breathed, “I can’t think of a single good reason anymore.”
“I am pleased.” Rafiq’s breath mingled with hers.
Then there were no more words, only touches so sensual, so arousing, that he forgot about everything except the woman in his arms.
The first week after their wedding passed in a whirl.
It was Thursday by the time they finally returned to Katar, the capital. That evening, Tiffany crossed the threshold of the dining salon in Rafiq’s home and came to an abrupt halt.
She had not yet called her mother back—or discussed the possibility of a visit with Rafiq. Her poor mother must be going nuts.
“What is it?”
Rafiq moved from where he’d been standing beside the highly polished table. As he came toward her, Tiffany took in the black trousers and loose white shirt he wore. No dark suit. Yet the casual clothes only served to heighten his raw masculinity, and the top button left undone to reveal the smooth skin of his throat underlined it.
Tiffany jerked her attention away from that taunting bit of naked skin and back to his face. “Nothing. I just remembered something I’ve been meaning to do.” She glanced around. “Where’s Lily tonight?”
“We’re married—there’s no longer any need for my aunt to stay with us.”
“Oh.”
His aunt’s presence had been comforting. Without her there was suddenly a whole new tension in the air.
Before she could bolt, Rafiq pulled the high-backed chair out for her.
“Thank you.” Conscious of him behind her, Tiffany sat down. He smelled of sandalwood and soap and an exotic spice she didn’t recognize. Focusing on the woven table mat in front of her, she gathered her thoughts as Rafiq settled into the seat opposite her. Finally she lifted her head.
Hamal, his chef, had entered and was lighting a dozen candles arranged in a heavy wrought-iron holder on the table. The golden glow of the flame washed over Rafiq’s skin, the warmth softening the harsh, handsome features. Tiffany’s stomach
tightened and desire, never far away, licked at her belly.
As soon as Hamal retreated, Rafiq stretched out and took her hand. “Would you like to meet me for lunch tomorrow? A date? To make up for the lack of them before our wedding?”
She flushed with pleasure. When Rafiq was in this mood, he was downright easy to like. “That would be nice.”
He relaxed slightly. “I’ve booked a table at the best Japanese restaurant in the city.”
“Japanese?” she asked, surprised.
He nodded and Tiffany couldn’t help noticing how the candlelight moved lovingly across his hair, bringing a bright sheen to the rich sable. As Hamal returned to place large, white plates on the place mats before them, Rafiq released her fingers. Unexpectedly, she found herself missing his touch.
“There’s a fairly large Japanese community living in Dhahara—part of the booming motor industry. You’ll enjoy the food.”
“I look forward to it.”
“There are some upcoming events I need to discuss with you.”
So, not a date. A meeting. A little of the pleasure at his invitation went out of her. “What kind of events?”
Tilting his head to one side he said, “On Saturday night there’s a banquet in aid of the children’s wing at the hospital.”
No harm could come from attending that. Her wariness had been misplaced. Yet images from last week’s newspaper floated through her mind. Pictures of Rafiq and an adoring, beautiful woman. Lily had said that had been at the opening of the hospital’s new wing. This time she would be at Rafiq’s side.
As his wife.
Something of her fierceness must’ve shown on her face, because Rafiq said, “I know. I know. I should’ve asked you before, but it slipped my mind.” The smoldering look he gave her made it clear exactly what had been on his mind. “I’m the guest of honor, so we can’t refuse.”
Tiffany pushed away the memory of the other woman and took ruthless advantage of his admission of forgetfulness. “I need to ask you something, too.”
“To take you shopping for clothes to wear?”
“No. More important.”
The sensual warmth evaporated as his gaze jerked back to her face, intense and penetrating. “What is it?”
She wriggled, and crumpled the white linen napkin she’d just unfolded into a ball. “I spoke to my mother a few days ago.”
“Your mother?” A crease appeared between his dark brows. “Did you tell her about the wedding?”
Tiffany nodded.
“And your father? Did you get in contact with him, too?”
This time she shook her head. “I’m not ready to talk with him yet.” Then she added in a rush of honesty, “I didn’t invite my mother to the wedding because I didn’t want her to worry about me.”
“You think marrying me would concern her?”
“It was easier to present her with a fait accompli.” Tiffany helped herself to what looked like meatballs and spooned a mix of eggplant, tomato and okra on the side.
“That way she could do nothing about it.”
“Exactly.”
“So what’s the problem?” he asked slowly.
“She’s worried she’s not going to see me as often as she’d like. I told her we’d go visit.” From the corner of her eye she saw that Rafiq had started to eat, too. “And she’s worried about why I married you. I told her I’m pregnant,” she added in a rush.
Tiffany took a flatbread from a basket to give herself something to do. The mundane act of breaking the bread and first dipping the bits into olive oil then dredging them in dukka, a fragrant mixture of roasted nuts, toasted sesame and coriander seed, steadied her.
“You’re not regretting our marriage already?” Rafiq’s expression was somber.
Tiffany swallowed. Was he regretting the marriage? Did he feel trapped? “What makes you think that?”
“Good to know there is no cause for concern,” he purred. “Though our lovemaking is so passionate that I would find that hard to believe…even though you keep me far away from your heart.”
“I’d have to be a fool to let you into my heart. You’re a prince of a wealthy desert kingdom. Eligible, rich, good-looking—”
“Thank you.” He set down the knife and held up a hand. “I’ve heard enough. It is quite clear my attributes don’t match up to your list.”
Her mind went blank. “What list?”
His mouth kinked, but his dark brown eyes were uncomfortably grave. “For your white knight. Your ordinary prince. You want someone ordinary. A house with a white picket fence. Two-point-four children.”
Oh, God. Had she told him all about that? “You re membered!”
He inclined his head. “Everything you’ve ever told me.”
Help. “That’s not a list. Not really.”
At least, it wasn’t the complete list. Above all else she wanted a man who loved her more than anything in the world. A man who would never stray and would be happy with her for all of his life. That man wasn’t the distant, restless, easily charmed Rafiq ibn Selim Al Dhahara.
“It’s just—”
“Just a way to make sure I know I don’t qualify, hmm?” He lifted a brow inviting her to agree. “A way to keep me at a distance?”
Despite her sudden loss of appetite, Tiffany tore off a piece of bread and took a bite, chewed and swallowed.
At her sudden preoccupation, he smiled. But his flat eyes held no amusement; they were cool and watchful.
“It’s not you…” Her voice trailed away.
“It’s you. I know.” He nodded. “But I find it interesting that you’re prepared to admit you do not let any man close.”
“I’m not admitting anything.” Frustration filled Tiffany. “Look, it’s nothing like that—you’re misunderstanding me.” But how to explain the fear that filled her? She didn’t dare relax around him—it would be too easy to be charmed. Like all the other women he’d joked found him charming.
There, she’d admitted it. To herself. He charmed her. But she’d cut her tongue out before she let him in on the secret. “Surely you can understand that better than anyone in the world?”
“I can?”
She nodded. “You keep women at a distance, too.”
He shook his head slowly. “Not to the same extent. I’ve had three very serious relationships. You were a virgin when we met.”
“So you do believe me?” Tiffany couldn’t believe her ears.
He shrugged. “You told me you’re a virgin…I should give you the benefit of the doubt. It’s not like you’ve made a habit of lying to me.”
She wanted his unconditional trust.
He wasn’t ready to give it.
Deflated, Tiffany backtracked to what they’d been discussing. “You might have had three serious relationships, but you didn’t marry any of those women. Even though I’m prepared to stake money on it that they would’ve been more suitable for the position of your princess than I could ever be.”
His hand closed over hers where it lay, clenched. “None of them matter now. You are my princess. And while you let me close in our marriage bed, there’s always a distance between us. And I know why.”
“My father has nothing to do with this!” she said quickly.
Didn’t Rafiq realize he did exactly the same thing? As passionate as he was in bed, he was remote out of it. She was starting to hate the expressionless mask he wore to close the world—and her—out.
“I think your father has everything to do with it. I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
“You’re not likely to meet my father—we’re not speaking.” Determined to put a damper on his enthusiasm, she didn’t notice his intense interest. “It’s only my mother I intend to visit. She sounded lonely on the phone. And she’s worried about our sudden marriage. When can we go?”
Two furrows creased his brow. “Should you be flying in your condition?”
“Pregnant women fly all the time.”
“Not my wife.�
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His possessive growl caused her to blink.
Softening his tone, he added, “Why don’t you invite your mother to come visit you here? My schedule is too full to travel right now—and later may be too close to the birth.”
Not a no, but not a yes, either.
A twinge of apprehension shot through her. Was he refusing to let her leave? Did he intend to keep her hostage in Dhahara till the baby was born…or longer?
The more she considered that, the more apprehensive she grew.
“If you can’t come, then I’ll just have to go alone.” She pushed her chair back. “Now I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
Alone, Rafiq retreated to the darkened courtyard at the heart of the house. During the day the back wall opened to a wide balcony that overlooked the desert on the edge of the city. But now the courtyard retained the warmth from the hot day in the paving around the pool.
Having shed his clothes, Rafiq sank into the silken water, and fought to clear his head. There was a sense of emptiness within him at Tiffany’s departure. The night of pleasure he’d anticipated had been lost. Most frustratingly he couldn’t identify how everything had gone so awry in such a short space of time. He’d forced himself not to follow her. She was pregnant. She needed rest. And he had no confidence in his ability to leave her alone.
This time he didn’t think making love to her would have eased the tension that had flared between them.
Reaching the far end of the pool, he hoisted himself out and sat on the pool’s edge.
Moonlight streaked the water’s surface with silver stripes.
Rafiq swung his feet in circles and the silver light broke up as the water rippled, changing the pattern. Like Tiffany. Every time he thought he’d worked her out, Tiffany revealed another facet.
She was far more complex than he would ever have guessed that first night when he’d written her off as a woman after as much money as she could get in the shortest space of time—even if she had to use her body to get it.
He’d been wrong about that.
So wrong…
Feet still in the water, Rafiq propped his elbows on the stone behind him that was still warm from the day’s heat and leaned back to stare into the arc of the desert night sky. With the moon so bright, only the most determined stars were visible. One star sparkled brighter than the rest in its group. His gaze homed in on it. It reminded him of his wife—the one who stood out, fascinating him.
