Innocent's Desert Wedding Contract

by Heidi Rice

  After what felt like several millennia, the words she hadn’t understood had all been said. Turning, he lifted the veil and she saw the slash of colour highlight his cheekbones before his eyes flared with a fierce longing that detonated in her sex.

  He swore—his expression full of frustration—then captured her face in callused palms and bent to cover her lips with his.

  Applause and cheering, gunfire and the pop of firecrackers surrounded them, but as he feasted on her mouth, delving deep, the possessive kiss destroyed the last of her sanity. She clung to his waist in a desperate attempt to anchor herself and the only sound she could hear was them both, surrendering to the storm of need.

  She wanted this, she wanted him, and God help her that was one thing she couldn’t fake.

  ‘Thank you so much for winking when you did. It helped me get the rest of the way down the aisle,’ Orla said to the staggeringly beautiful and insanely smart woman she had just been introduced to.

  Queen Catherine of Narabia was a British scholar originally, but as she stood next to her husband Sheikh Zane, who had their youngest child on his hip while the other two chased each other in the garden behind them, it was hard not to see how well she had adjusted to life as the wife of a desert king.

  Catherine laughed. ‘You looked absolutely exquisite but also terrified and I knew exactly how you felt, so it was my duty as a woman to do something.’

  Orla found herself smiling back, despite the nerves running riot in her stomach. Karim’s arm remained around her waist, as it had been ever since their kiss had caused such a stir an hour ago. The heavy weight felt possessive and strangely protective, as he had introduced her to all the guests, but she was brutally aware of the tension rippling through his body, every time she moved. And the thought that this might well be the last time she would ever be this close to him.

  ‘How did you two meet?’ Catherine’s husband, Sheikh Zane, asked casually. But Orla could sense the intelligence behind his questioning gaze.

  Was it obvious, she wondered, how fraudulent this marriage really was?

  Ever since the ceremony itself had finished, Karim had made a point of shepherding her around the reception with him, which she had to believe was as torturous for him as it was for her.

  He looked drawn, she had discovered, once she’d managed to calm down enough after the ceremony to gather her senses. Not just drawn, but tense and on edge.

  ‘His manservant tells me he does not sleep well at night. That he wakes from nightmares and paces his chamber.’

  Orla’s heart pulsed in her throat as she recalled what Ameera had told her about Karim’s sleepless nights that morning. But the wave of sympathy only made the heat that continued to ripple at her core—every time she got a lungful of his scent—more torturous.

  She tried to remember the story they’d worked out to give Zane a coherent answer, when Karim’s hand moved to her hip and her emotions cartwheeled into her throat again.

  ‘I bought her family’s stud in Kildare. We met while I was considering the sale,’ Karim supplied.

  ‘You know about horses, Orla?’ Catherine asked, thankfully changing the subject.

  Orla nodded, suspecting that Catherine had detected the unease between her and Karim, from the kindness in her eyes, and was trying to alleviate it. Why did that only make it worse?

  ‘Yes, I… I managed the stud for a number of years,’ Orla replied. ‘Racing and horses are my passion,’ she added.

  They were putting up a good show. No one need know what was really going on… But still his response to her note tormented her.

  Had she done something wrong, by reaching out to him? Was that the real reason why he had decided not to share a bed chamber with her tonight?

  ‘Our daughter Kaliah would love to meet you. She’s passionate about horses too,’ Catherine added with a gentle smile, as she pointed out the stunning pre-teen girl across the courtyard who was dressed in an elegant trouser suit speckled with mud while she raced around with her younger brother.

  ‘And far too much of a daredevil.’ Her father shuddered theatrically, but Orla could sense the Sheikh’s fierce pride in his oldest child.

  ‘Not unlike her cousin Jazmin,’ the tall man dressed in magnificent tribal wear who Orla had noticed with his pregnant wife earlier announced as he joined them. He looked slightly harassed, probably because he had one of his toddler daughters perched on his hip—who Orla suspected was the aforementioned Jazmin because she was bouncing up and down shouting, ‘Giddy-up, Daddy.’ An identical little girl gripped his hand and hid behind his legs.

  This had to be the fearsome Chief of the Kholadi tribe, Prince Kasim, known to his friends as Raif, if Orla remembered correctly. Although he looked a lot less fearsome with his daughters in tow.

  ‘Hey, Raif.’ Zane slapped him on the back. ‘I see you got left holding the babies again,’ he added with a smile, before the little boy on his own hip started to chatter to the bouncing Jazmin.

  The children were cousins, Orla realised, as she recalled that the etiquette advisor—while going over the guest list with her—had told her the Kholadi Chief Prince Kasim and the Sheikh of Narabia were half-brothers. The man had also mentioned that Queen Catherine and Princess Kasia, Raif’s wife, were best friends.

  It wasn’t hard to tell, as the brothers shared a knowing look while their toddler children jabbered to each other.

  These people were family, the unit they made so obviously strong and bonded. The boulder of emotion that had been dogging Orla all day—especially since receiving Karim’s note—swelled in her throat. She blinked, trying to control the pain in her eyes.

  Don’t you dare cry.

  But then Karim’s hand shifted on her hip again, and the boulder that had been expanding all day settled in the centre of her chest as she glanced up at him. He was staring at her, his gaze so intense, the boulder felt as if it were about to crush her ribs. She looked away, knowing how foolish it was to regret the fact she and Karim would never make a family like the Khan brothers and their wives and children.

  Why should that derail her emotions now, when this relationship had always been a business arrangement? This lavish ceremony didn’t change that, no matter how significant it had felt as she had walked down the aisle towards him. And he had branded her with that incendiary kiss.

  ‘Has anyone seen Kasia?’ Raif’s question interrupted Orla’s troubled thoughts. His gaze roamed around the garden, his anxiety obvious as he searched for his wife. ‘She was only supposed to be going to the restroom, but I think I may have to insist we retire. She looked tired and I don’t want her on her feet too long.’

  Karim clicked his fingers, signalling a servant boy over. ‘I’ll have her found immediately,’ he said to Raif. He gave the servant instructions. As the boy raced off to do his new King’s bidding, Karim added, ‘Would you like me to arrange for a nurse to take your children to your rooms and put them to bed while we locate Princess Kasia?’

  Raif smiled a warm but weary smile that softened his rugged features and made his eyes glow.

  The boulder ripped a hole in Orla’s chest.

  No man had ever looked at her like that… Except Kasim. But that had always been a lie.

  ‘It’s okay, I’ve got them,’ Raif replied. ‘We always put the girls to bed ourselves. Can’t even imagine what chaos that is going to cause when the next two arrive,’ he added with a sigh. ‘But I guess we’re going to find out pretty soon.’

  Two? So his wife was having another set of twins. No wonder the Kholadi chief looked so anxious, and his wife had been so enormous.

  ‘Perhaps you should stop impregnating her with more than one baby at a time, then, bro,’ Zane said, the affectionately smug tone getting a rueful eyebrow quirk from his half-brother.

  ‘Don’t worry, bro. I am not going to let Kasia talk me into impregnating her aga
in ever after this,’ he said bluntly, before bidding them all goodbye and leaving with his daughters to locate his wife.

  A few moments later, a man Orla recognised as one of Karim’s many personal assistants arrived and whispered something in his ear.

  Karim cleared his throat and nodded, then turned back to her and the Narabian royal couple. ‘Apparently the feasting is about to begin, and my…’ His gaze locked on her face, the glance so fierce and penetrating she felt the answering tug in her sex. ‘And my wife needs to retire.’

  ‘We should leave you to say your farewells,’ Catherine remarked, her gaze alight with humour and something compelling that looked like understanding as she touched Orla’s trembling hand. ‘I’m so glad to have met you, Orla. I hope you can come to visit us in Narabia very soon.’

  ‘That would be grand,’ Orla said, blinking back tears again as the royal couple left with their children.

  She wouldn’t be going to Narabia or anywhere else.

  She had been told by the etiquette consultant she would be asked to leave the festivities early to prepare her for the bridal bed… But Karim had already made it clear he would not be joining her tonight, or any night.

  There were so many things she wanted to ask him, she realised. So many things which had been too private to bring up with an audience.

  A courtier announced the feasting and the guests began to head towards the palace’s banqueting hall—finally giving them a moment alone.

  ‘Why don’t you want to join me tonight, Karim?’ she whispered, before she lost her nerve. ‘Did I…? Did I do something wrong?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ he said, but something shadowed his eyes before his face became an impenetrable mask. ‘I have arranged for you to return to Kildare in the next few days and the marriage to be annulled in a few months’ time.’

  ‘But I thought we’d agreed we wanted to finish what we started?’ she blurted out, before she could stop herself. Maybe she had no power to control this relationship at the moment, but if he felt nothing at all for her, why had he brought her with him to Zafar, why had he kissed her with such passion and purpose an hour ago and why had he kept her anchored to his hip ever since?

  His eyes flashed with a fire that seemed to sear her right down to her soul, and his hand gripped her waist for a second, almost as if he were struggling with the same yearning she seemed incapable of controlling, but then he dropped his hand, and his voice when he spoke was rough with command. ‘It would only confuse things between us even more, Orla, and you know it. And it could make an annulment more complicated.’

  Before she could question him further, demand a real explanation, the personal assistant reappeared with two of the women who had helped prepare her for the ceremony. ‘Goodbye, Orla,’ he said.

  As she was led away, the brutal yearning tore at her insides along with the painful feeling of inadequacy. She forced herself not to look back.

  She went through the motions as the women took her to a luxury suite of rooms at the back of the palace that overlooked a secluded courtyard. She was presented with a tray of lavish dishes, some of which she tried to eat, so as not to offend them, but the last thing she felt like right now was food. The women then insisted on bathing her in essentials oils.

  Where was Ameera? She wanted her friend here, but at the same time she decided it was probably good she wasn’t. Keeping up appearances was the only thing that mattered now. And holding back the tears that had been building all day.

  After the women had insisted on brushing out her hair and dressing her in a ridiculously suggestive diaphanous robe, Orla finally managed to persuade them to leave.

  All of this was for show too, she realised, to convince the palace staff this was a real marriage. When it wasn’t and it never had been. But as she found the suite’s only bedroom and climbed into the huge mahogany bed, she allowed the tears to finally fall.

  She didn’t even know why she was so upset. Was it the disappointment of a passion unfulfilled, was it the perfunctory note he’d sent her, was it simply emotional exhaustion from the confusion of the last few days and the stress of the ceremony itself, or was it the fact she had somehow ended up investing something in a relationship that wasn’t real?

  The tears finally stopped as the sky lit up with flares of colourful fire and the distant crackle and pop as the guests finished celebrating the wedding of Zafar’s new King and Queen.

  When the sky returned to black, she finally sank into a restless and troubled sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  KARIM DRAGGED OFF the heavy keffiyeh he’d been wearing all day and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. He dumped the headgear onto the lounging sofa in his suite’s bathing chamber, then sat down to yank off his boots, aware of the lingering scent of summer flowers.

  Damn it, even her scent is haunting me now.

  He threw one boot, then the other across the room, in a vain attempt to use up some of the energy that had been pounding through his veins for four hours now, ever since he had turned to see Orla in the traditional Zafari wedding gown, her curves clearly visible through the gossamer material, her wild hair tamed by sparkling jewelled pins, and her eyes—brimming with awareness and need and understanding—crucifying him.

  He tore off his tunic—the vicious arousal still pulsing through him.

  By rights he should be exhausted. He’d barely slept since arriving in Zafar, the nightmares he’d thought he’d conquered so many years ago returning to disturb his sleep each night. But as well as the nightmares there had been dreams of her—his so-called wife—not just her live-wire response, her lush curves, the taste of innocence and arousal that had tricked him in the limo so many days ago, but also her smile and those emerald eyes, the same honest green of her homeland.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her tonight, shouldn’t have given in to the urge to mark her as his in front of their guests, because she wasn’t his. But something had happened when he’d lifted her veil and she’d stared back at him with a desperate yearning that matched his own—that damn compassion shining in her eyes, which had tormented him and made him weak. And suddenly his lips had been on hers, and her instinctive shudder of surrender had reverberated through his body as he devoured her.

  He’d been hard, or semi hard, ever since. Even after she’d left the ceremony—through about thirty courses of rich food, which he hadn’t been able to swallow, and almost as many toasts, which he hadn’t been able to drink because he knew if he started he would never be able to stop.

  He kicked off his trousers and stood naked in the large tiled room, aware of the bathing pool that had been prepared for him—and the blood coursing through his rampant erection.

  What he needed was a cold shower, and to forget her. She would be gone in a few days. He’d already made the arrangements, knew he couldn’t see her again or he would break.

  He headed into the tiled shower area. Thank God one of his father’s many luxury expenditures had included adding state-of-the-art plumbing to the traditional network of pools in the King’s bathing suite. He switched the dial down to frigid and stepped in. The needle-sharp spray pummelled his tired muscles and refreshed his sweaty skin.

  He wrapped a sheet of linen around his midriff and headed out onto the balcony that overlooked his private gardens. The scent of water tinkling below in the fountains, and the mix of rose and jasmine and white musk from the garden’s exotic foliage, permeated the night, but still all he could smell was Orla.

  Was he actually going mad? From sexual frustration and the battle to keep the endless thoughts, the desperate need to give her more, to take more, under control until he had finally sent her away? And this painful longing—the terrifying vulnerability that haunted his dreams?

  He entered the bed chamber, ripped off the towel, then slammed the door shut to close out the scents of the night garden.

  But then he
stopped dead, as a figure rose on the bed.

  ‘Karim?’ The soft, seductive Irish accent—lilting and confused—was thick with sleep.

  His eyes adjusted to the moonlight streaming through the open windows, the light breeze from the desert stirring the still air in the stuffy room. And his flesh stiffened so fast, the vicious pulse of need pushed him towards madness.

  She was like a vision kneeling on the bed, her naked body draped in a gossamer veil that caressed her slender curves, framing the flare of her hips, the turgid jut of her nipples, the curls between her legs where he could remember her slick and swollen, and the mass of red hair falling over her shoulders like fire.

  His erection turned to iron.

  Why is she here? Who brought her to my rooms when I told them not to?

  The puzzling questions drifted in and then out of his brain, but he couldn’t grab hold of them, didn’t care any more about the answers, the wave of need and desire and longing so swift and unforgiving it propelled him across the room towards her.

  She was his. And he wanted her. And he didn’t care any more about the consequences. He’d done his best, but he would go mad now if he didn’t have her.

  He touched her hair as he climbed onto the bed, felt the soft silky strands curl around his questing fingers, then tugged her closer. He cradled her face, tilted her head so he could drown in those fathomless eyes—now dazed with need. He pressed the painful erection into the soft swell of her belly and brought her mouth to his.

  ‘Orla,’ he whispered across her lips. ‘I need you so damn much. Tell me you need me too.’