by Annie West
‘So what did you envisage, Leila?’ His voice dropped half an octave, slowing on her name. He rolled it around his mouth, almost as if savouring it.
Fine hairs rose on her arms and nape. No man had ever said her name like that. A challenge and an invitation at the same time.
Heat flushed her throat as she realised she’d stepped into perilous waters. He didn’t threaten like Gamil, but she sensed danger in his sultry invitation. Not the danger of physical punishment but of something more insidious.
Her lack of experience with men told against her now.
She blinked. Gamil was no doubt hidden beyond the doorway, sifting each word, ready to mete out punishment for errors.
The laugh had been a mistake. She’d read it in Joss’s surprise. Yet she couldn’t regret it. He deserved to be shocked from his insufferable self-satisfaction, even if her stepfather made her pay later.
‘I thought you were interested in my inheritance, not me personally.’ She kept her tone even, holding his gaze, refusing to reveal how much hinged on his response.
After a moment he nodded brusquely. ‘I’m not after an heir and I have no interest in playing happy families.’
At least he didn’t expect intimacy. Relief swelled.
She’d wondered whether, when it came down to it, she would be able to sell herself into an intimate relationship in order to escape. Had wondered too about the logistics of disappearing as soon as they were married to avoid giving herself physically to a man she didn’t want. Now it seemed she wouldn’t have to.
This was pure business. He’d gain the oil reserves, while Gamil gained income and status through his new son-in-law.
She was supposed to be thrilled by Joss Carmody’s offer of matrimony. Though come to think of it there’d been no offer. It had been a deal done between power-hungry men.
She squashed instinctive outrage as a luxury she couldn’t afford.
‘I don’t want a wife who will cling or make demands.’
‘Of course not.’ She couldn’t imagine him accepting emotional ties. Nor did she want any.
‘So tell me, Leila—’ he leaned closer, his voice a deep thread of sound that shivered across her flesh ‘—why do you want to marry me?’
Her brain froze as she watched those firmly sculpted lips shaping her name, feeling again that tremulous shock of disturbance deep inside.
Then she breathed deeply, her mind clicking into gear, considering and discarding possibilities.
Tell him what he expects to hear and seal the deal.
‘For what you can give me.’ His almost-imperceptible nod confirmed she was on the right track, feeding him the response he expected. ‘To see the world and live the life of a billionaire’s wife. Bakhara is my homeland but it’s rather...confining.’ Wry laughter threatened at the understatement and she bit her cheek, using pain to counter weakness. It was a trick Gamil, if only he’d known it, had inadvertently taught her over the years, with his regime of punishments for imagined infringements. ‘Married to you my life will change for ever.’
Dark eyes surveyed her so closely she saw the exact moment he made up his mind. His lips pursed and his eyes gleamed approvingly.
Joss Carmody knew what he wanted. A wife who wouldn’t clutter his life. A woman who’d marry him for his wealth and prestige. A woman who would shop and amuse herself while he got on with what interested him: making even more billions of dollars. Money drove him. Nothing else.
What would he do if he realised he meant just one thing to her?
Escape.
* * *
‘He’s late!’ Gamil paced the courtyard, his heavy tread careless of the exquisite mosaics Leila’s ancestors had installed and the carefully nurtured grass by the long mirror pool, a lush green bed in a land of scarce rainfall and high temperatures.
‘What did you say to him?’ He spun round, spittle spraying Leila’s cheek. ‘It must have been you. Everything else was settled. There’s no reason for him to cry off unless you put doubt in his mind.’
His angry countenance filled her vision but she stood steadfast, knowing better than to retreat before his fury.
‘You heard all that passed between us,’ she said levelly. Too much in fact. Her temerity in laughing at Joss Carmody’s self-conceit had earned her weeks of punishment on bread and water. Fortunately her rations had been increased this week so she wouldn’t be too weak to say her vows.
‘That I did.’ Ire mottled Gamil’s complexion. He leaned forward, his stale breath hot on her face. ‘I heard you play word games! Obviously that was enough to make him have second thoughts. And now...’ Gamil gritted his teeth and turned away.
‘How will I hold my head up if you’re jilted by such a man? Think what it will do for my reputation, my prospects at court! I have plans...’
He stalked to the other end of the courtyard, muttering. His hands clenched and unclenched as if ready to throttle someone.
Her stepfather rarely resorted to physical violence, preferring more subtle methods. But she had no illusions she was safe if he felt himself goaded too far.
Leila pressed clammy hands together. If only Joss Carmody would thrust open the ornamental doors and stride into the courtyard.
Never had an unwanted bridegroom been so eagerly awaited.
Fear churned her stomach. Was Gamil right? Had the Australian cried off? What, then, of her plans for independence and the career she’d always wanted?
No! She couldn’t think like that. There was still time, though he was ninety minutes late and the whispering guests had already been ushered into the salon for refreshments.
Heat filled the courtyard. Leila stiffened her weary spine against the frightening compulsion to admit defeat.
How many more years could she take? This last bout of solitary confinement had almost broken her.
Gamil had broken her mother, destroying her vibrant optimism and love of life. Leila had watched her change from an outgoing, charming beauty, interested in everyone and everything. In a few short years she’d transformed from a society hostess par excellence and an asset to her first husband’s brilliant diplomatic career to a faded, downtrodden wraith, jumping at shadows. She’d lost the will to live long before illness had claimed her.
Leila tipped her head up, feeling the sun on her face. Who knew how long before she’d feel it again?
Despite the gossamer-fine silks, the lavish henna decorations on her hands and feet, the weight of traditional gold jewellery at her throat and ears, Leila was no pampered princess but a prisoner held against her will.
If Joss didn’t show, standing here in the open air might be the closest she’d come to freedom till she came of age at twenty-five in another sixteen months.
‘What are you doing outside in the heat?’ The dark voice sidled through her thoughts and shock punched deep in her solar plexus.
He was here!
Her eyes snapped open. At the sight of his imposing frame, his don’t-mess-with-me jaw and piercing eyes, Leila found herself smiling with relief. Her first genuine smile in years. It stretched stiff facial muscles till they hurt, the sensation strange in her world of guarded emotion.
* * *
Joss halted, struck anew by her curious combination of fragility and composure. That hint of steel in her delicate form. She looked thinner, her neat jaw more pronounced and her wrist narrow as she raised a hand and the weight of gold bangles jingled.
Her eyes opened, the pupils wide in clear grey depths. Then as he watched velvety shades of green appeared, turning her gaze bewitching.
She smiled. Not that tiny knowing smile of last month, but a broad grin that made something roll over in the pit of his stomach.
Ensnared, he drank in the sight of her, the warmth in her frank appraisal, the pleasure that drew him closer.
Heavy scent filled his nostrils, a dusky rose that clogged his senses. It wasn’t right on her. But then this woman, decked in the traditional wedding finery of her land, seemed so different from the one whose verbal sparring had intrigued him weeks ago.
‘I was waiting for you.’ There was no rancour in her voice but her eyes held his as if awaiting his explanation.
A hot spurt of sensation warmed his skin. Guilt?
Gamil hadn’t dared voice reproach when Joss arrived, knowing as countless others had before him that Joss lived by his own rules, at his own convenience. He didn’t give a damn if his priorities didn’t match anyone else’s.
Business came first with him—always. The urgent calls he’d taken this morning had required immediate action whereas a wedding could be delayed.
Yet seeing her expression, Joss had the rare, uncomfortable feeling he’d disappointed. It evoked memories of childhood when nothing he did had lived up to expectations. His tough-as-nails father had wanted a clone of himself: utterly ruthless. His mother...just thinking of his mother made him break into a cold sweat. He shoved aside the dark memories.
‘You waited out here? Couldn’t you have waited in the cool? You look—’ he bent closer, cataloguing her pallor and the damp sheen on her forehead and upper lip ‘—unwell.’
Her smile slid away and her gaze dropped. Instantly the heat in his belly eased.
‘My stepfather made arrangements for the ceremony to take place here.’ She gestured across to a fanciful silk canopy. Joss dragged his gaze from her. There were pots of heavy-scented roses, ornate gilded furniture, garlands of flowers, rich hand-woven rugs and gauzy hangings of spangled fabric.
‘Clearly he’s not familiar with the idea that less is more,’ Joss murmured.
A choked laugh drew his attention, but Leila was already turning away in answer to a brusque command from her stepfather. Beneath the flowing silk of her robe, she was rigid. She paced slowly, as if reluctant.
Joss watched the interchange between them. One so decisive and bossy, the other unnaturally still. His hackles rose.
He stalked across the courtyard to join his affianced bride. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, his pleasure at today’s business coup faded. He felt out of sorts.
* * *
The wedding was almost over. The ceremony had been short, the gifts lavish and the feast massive, though Leila hadn’t been able to indulge much. After short rations for so long, she felt queasy even smelling rich food and the room had spun if she’d moved too quickly.
She’d had to work to repress excitement. Soon she’d be out of her stepfather’s house for good.
She’d be the wife of a man who wouldn’t impose himself on her. He’d take her away from here, his only interest in the oilfields she’d inherited. They’d negotiate a suitable arrangement—separate residences and then eventually a discreet divorce. He’d keep the land and she’d be free to—
‘Leila.’ His deep voice curled around her and she turned to find him watching, his dark gaze intent. He held out a heavy goblet.
Obediently she sipped, repressing a cough at the heady traditional brew. A concoction designed, it was said, to heighten physical awareness and increase sexual potency.
Joss lifted the cup, drinking deeply, and the crowd roared its approval. When he looked at her again his gaze as it trawled her was different. Heat fired under her skin. It felt as if he caressed her: across her cheek, down her throat then lingering on her lips.
Something flared in his eyes. Speculation.
Sharply she sat back, fingers splayed on the chair’s gilt arms as she braced herself against welling anxiety.
‘You make a beautiful bride, Leila.’ The words were trite but the warmth in his eyes was real.
‘Thank you. You’re a very attractive groom.’ She’d never seen a man fill a suit with such panache or with that underlying hint of predatory power.
Joss’s mouth stretched in a smile. A moment later a rumble of laughter filled the space between them. ‘Such praise! Thank you, wife.’
She didn’t know if it was the unexpected sound of his amusement or the velvet caress of his gaze but Leila felt an abrupt tumble of emotions.
Suddenly this marriage didn’t seem so simple. She’d spent so long fretting about escape, focused on getting through the marriage ceremony. Now it hit her that perhaps he had other ideas on what happened after the wedding.
Leila shivered.
For the first time she realised Joss Carmody might be dangerous in ways she’d never considered.
CHAPTER TWO
‘THERE’S BEEN A CHANGE of plan,’ Joss said as the limousine surged forward. ‘We’re going straight to the airport. I need to be in London.’
He turned to his bride, surprised to find her attention fixed on the back of their driver’s head. She didn’t acknowledge the wedding guests clustered to see them off. She didn’t even lift an arm to wave to her stepfather, standing at the ornate gates to the road.
With her gold-encrusted headscarf pulled forward, obscuring her profile, Joss only caught a glimpse of her straight, elegant nose.
‘Leila?’ He leaned forward. ‘Did you hear me?’
Her hands were clasped in her lap, the knuckles white.
What now? He didn’t have time for feminine games. He’d already given up a whole afternoon playing the attentive bridegroom.
‘Leila, look at me.’
The command did the trick and she turned instantly. Her eyes were a smoky grey, wide and unfocused. Her lips were flattened and her skin pale.
Impatience flared. What was the problem? Something he’d have to deal with no doubt when all he wanted was to get back to business.
He should have known marriage would complicate his plans! It had gone against every instinct to acquire a wife, though the business benefits had outweighed the negatives.
Yet with the impatience came an unfamiliar pinprick of concern. ‘What is it, Leila? Are you unwell?’
‘No.’ The single word was husky, as if issued from a dry mouth. ‘I’m never sick.’ Her lips moved in a shadow of a smile.
Joss remained silent. Something was definitely amiss. He told himself that so long as it didn’t affect him it didn’t matter. He wasn’t his wife’s keeper. But curiosity stirred. More, he acknowledged a faint but real desire to ease what he guessed was pain behind those beautiful blank features.
‘Would you like to stop the car?’ After the interminable wedding, he couldn’t believe he was offering to delay further. ‘We could go back inside and—’
‘No!’ Her voice was strident, her face no longer blank but animated at last.
‘No,’ she repeated, her voice softer. ‘That’s not necessary. Let’s just...go.’
Was it his imagination or was that a plea in her voice?
‘As you wish.’ He leaned forward and opened the limousine’s bar fridge. Ignoring the foil-topped bottle of Cristal and gold-rimmed champagne flutes some romantically inclined staffer had placed there, Joss reached for bottled water. Unscrewing the cap, he passed it to her.
She took it but didn’t make a move to drink. Was she waiting for a cut-crystal tumbler as well? He wouldn’t be surprised, given the pampered life she’d led.
‘Drink,’ he ordered. ‘Unless you’d prefer me to call a doctor?’
Instantly she raised the bottle and sipped. She paused and drank again, colour returning to her cheeks.
Now he thought about it, he couldn’t remember her drinking at the reception, except when he’d raised the goblet to her lips. Nor had she done more than peck at her food.
‘You need food.’ He reached for the gourmet snacks beside the bar.
‘No, please.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry. The water is fine.’
Joss
’s eyes narrowed on the sharp angle of her jaw revealed as she tipped her head back. Her slim throat worked as she took a long pull from the water bottle.
‘I’m feeling much better now.’ This time she almost convinced him. Her voice was steadier, her gaze direct. ‘What were you saying about a change of plans?’
‘We’re not staying in Bakhara,’ he responded, watching her narrowly. ‘Something has come up. I need to be in London tonight.’
He could go alone. But he’d just acquired a hostess with impeccable breeding, social standing and poise who’d be a valuable asset in his new business dealings. He intended to make use of her.
Besides, he saw no point in sabotaging the polite fiction they were a couple. Leaving his bride on her wedding night would be inconvenient front-page news. If she was to be of use to him, it would be at his side.
‘London? That’s marvellous!’
Leila’s incandescent smile hit him hard. It wasn’t the polite, contained curve of the lips she’d treated him to before but a wide brilliant grin. It was like the one she’d turned on him when he’d arrived a few hours earlier.
Its impact set his pulse tumbling.
She wasn’t beautiful. She was stunning.
How had he not realised? He’d thought of her as coolly elegant. Now her sheer dazzling exuberance rocked him.
With colour flushing her cheeks and throat, her lips parted in pleasure and her eyes dancing, she beguiled in a way no blatantly sexy supermodel ever could.
An unfamiliar sensation stirred in his chest and Joss was stunned to realise it was his lungs struggling to pump oxygen. Perhaps whatever ailed Leila was catching. His reaction to her was unprecedented.
‘I’m glad you’re so excited about a trip to London.’ His voice was gruff.
Joss had never been overcome by attraction to a woman. It was the way he was made. An emotional wasteland, one mistress had accused in tears after he’d crushed her fanciful hopes of happily ever after.
He desired women. He enjoyed the pleasure they provided. But they never caused a ripple in his life.
