The Sheikh's Stolen Bride: The only way to make her happy was to make her his... (The Sheikhs' Brides Book 2)

by Clare Connelly

  Fate.

  It was a notion he had never really bought into.

  And yet …

  He thought of Charlotte and a sense of intense rightness filled him.

  No, if it had been rightness, it would have been Ashad Al’Eba contracted to marry her, and not Syed.

  Marry her? Is that what he wanted?

  Ash stared at the sky as realisation after realisation pounded through him.

  He wanted her. He wanted to own her, and for her to own him. He wanted her with an intensity he’d never experienced about anything. Was that fate at play? Was it fate that had led Syed to send Ashad to Falina?

  And could he steal his cousin’s bride? Was it stealing, if Syed no longer wanted her? Or could he solve everyone’s problems by seducing Charlotte into his bed – and convincing her to swap her betrothal to him?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Charlotte,

  I have meetings in the morning. Are you free for lunch?

  A.

  She read the email several times, and the racing of her pulse didn’t lessen. She flopped back against her pillows and stared at the ceiling. It was late. Perhaps she could pretend she hadn’t seen it?

  And what would that accomplish, her mind challenged angrily. It was simply delaying the inevitable. Lunch. With Ashad? Impossible.

  I’m not. Sorry.

  She cringed as she sent it, wishing she could recall the email the second it had whooshed out of her phone. But her emotions were rioting all over the place and she knew only one thing for certain: Ashad complicated things beyond bearing.

  Make yourself available. My embassy, 12 o’clock.

  She read his reply with a fever of indignation.

  I beg your pardon, but I am not at your beck and call. I told you, I’m not available.

  She sent the email and was just about to turn off her phone when his reply came through.

  I am well aware of your unavailability; there is no need to remind me.

  Dinner, then. Your place.

  That was a crazy idea. Dinner was far more dangerous than lunch, so too was her apartment. Though the idea of having him in her home, eating with him, laughing with him, called to her seductively, she knew it was opening the door to a world of problems she couldn’t face.

  No. Lunch is fine. I’ll come to the Kalastani embassy.

  She sent it and then she did turn her phone off, so that she didn’t see his reply until early the next morning.

  I’m looking forward to it. Sweet dreams.

  The final missive put her in a foul temper.

  Was he playing with her? Was he trying to confuse her? And if so, why? Surely he had as much, if not more, reason to feel regretful for what they’d shared the day before. Syed was his cousin! He owed him more than to be making out with Charlotte.

  So why bid her sweet dreams, as if he knew that her dreams would be filled with him?

  Her morning was quiet. She went through her emails and calendar, checking her schedule for the coming month, diarising commitments she couldn’t make and sending notes to her assistant for the speeches she had to make. Though Charlotte preferred to speak ‘off the cuff’, she covered a variety of events and issues and a well-prepared list of information made her feel prepared.

  She chose an exceptionally modest dress for the meeting. It was a pale gold and flowed to the floor. The sleeves were bell-shaped, emphasising her slender wrists, and the collar was buttoned right to her throat. It was floaty and ethereal, beautiful and feminine, but definitely not sexy.

  Her dark hair she pulled into a severe style, dragged back from her face and pinned into a tight bun at her nape. She kept her make up minimal. Nothing in her appearance suggested that she was dressing to impress.

  But, by the time her limousine arrived at the embassy, her cheeks had flushed pink and her lips were swollen and red from the manner in which she’d gnawed them during the drive. A breeze whispered past as she stepped from the limousine, loosening some of the hair around her cheekbones.

  Unbeknownst to her, Ashad watched her approach from the top floor of his embassy, his eyes seeing every detail.

  The enormous black doors were opened as she approached.

  “Your highness,” a man bowed low, then lifted and met her eyes with a twinkling smile. “His Highness is expecting you.”

  “I should think so, given that he summonsed me,” she murmured, falling into step beside the servant as he led her through the embassy. Instead of taking her to the office she’d first met Ashad in, he took her up yet another flight of stairs, the burgundy carpet beneath them exquisite. Charlotte wished she could make her own way to Ashad. She wanted to dawdle and explore, to study the artwork of Kalastan which was alike, yet different, to those of Falina.

  At the top of the stairs and set a little down the corridor there was a pair of doors. Wide and bevelled, painted gold with black trim and a marble handle.

  “This way, madam,” the servant said, knocking on the doors once before bowing and disappearing further down the corridor.

  Charlotte waited, her breath held, her hands wanting to fidget when her body knew she couldn’t give any indication of her anxiety. The doors were pulled inwards.

  Ash stood there, his frame large, his expression unreadable.

  And Charlotte knew she was lost.

  Every single cell in her body was screaming, begging her to throw herself into his arms, to lift her mouth to his and demand that he kiss her.

  “Hi,” she said instead, the single word a tight dismissal.

  “Charlotte,” he murmured, and her name on his lips was a beautiful thing. Sensual and deep. “Please, come in.”

  She nodded, following him into the room. But as soon as she’d moved a step in, she paused. “This is your apartment?”

  “Not my apartment,” he corrected, clicking the doors shut. “But The Royal Apartment, where we stay when we are in Falina.”

  She swallowed, resisting the urge to suggest they move back to his office. Though the more formal setting suited her better, she didn’t want to appear churlish. So she said nothing. Her eyes scanned the room – they were in a large foyer, and she could see a living room to one side and to the other, what appeared to be a dining room.

  “Would you like a tour?”

  She shook her head, even though she was filled with curiosity. “I think we should get down to business. I have something to get to after this.”

  He arched a brow. “You may need to cancel it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have something organised.”

  Charlotte spun around, her eyes clashing with his. “I’m here to go through the details of my wedding. That’s it. You have an hour.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw but he smiled – a tight smile that showed he wasn’t necessarily going to listen to her.

  “I have lunch prepared.”

  “Oh, yeah? You’ve been cooking?” She responded, inwardly cringing at the sarcasm in her voice.

  “Yes,” he responded in a tone that told her he was joking. “In between meeting with the ambassador to Egypt and arranging the prisoner exchange of two top-level data thieves, I’ve been whipping up a storm in the kitchen.”

  Chastened, she shot him a barbed look but he smiled and all was forgiven.

  Ashad put a hand in the small of her back; a small gesture, his touch was light, and yet heat radiated through her, filling her with a swarming awareness. In the area she’d picked as a lounge room there were large glass doors that led to a balcony. It was the same balcony Ashad had stood on the night before, speaking to Zahir and imagining a way to make Charlotte his own.

  “The day is nice,” he said softly. “Shall we?”

  She nodded, moving ahead of him through the doors and taking in the table that had been set with a crisp white cloth. There was an ice bucket of champagne in the centre, an arrangement of fruit, and two plates covered with silver tops, keeping their contents warm, she presumed. Ashad moved to one chair and
pulled it backwards.

  Charlotte took the seat, expelling a breath. Her nerves were screwed.

  His hands brushed her shoulders and her stomach clenched answeringly. What magic was at work with them?

  He lifted the bottle of champagne and poured two glasses.

  “Are we celebrating?” She asked, watching as bubbles filled the crystal, effervescing into the air.

  “You’re going to get married. Surely that’s worth a toast?”

  Her skin prickled hot and cold. Could he so easily forget what had happened between them? Or was he working overtime to make sure they both remembered the truth of their situation?

  “Thank you,” she said distractedly, as he placed the glass before her. “My mother has asked me to invite you to a party,” she said, before she forgot.

  Ash paused, his lips lifting in an appreciative smile. “Your mother’s parties are legendary,” he said after a moment. “I would be honoured to attend.”

  “You will be honoured,” Charlotte agreed. “At least, the guest of honour. She’s throwing the thing for you. To welcome you to Falina.”

  “I have been to Falina many times,” he laughed.

  “Ah, yes, but not in this capacity before,” Charlotte pointed out. “You are organising her only daughter’s marriage. And she wants you to have your pick of Falinese brides, apparently,” Charlotte added for good measure. The distance between what she wanted and reality was widening.

  “And this will be a sort of bride-smorgasbord, will it? A choose-your-own-wedding adventure?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Apparently.”

  “Ah. I fear her efforts will be wasted,” he said, leaning closer to Charlotte and lifting his glass. “To your marriage.”

  She lifted her drink and chinked it against his. Her heart was heavy. “Why? Are you promised to someone too?”

  “Not exactly.” His smile hinted at a secret, one that was filling her with envy.

  “Not exactly?”

  “I’ve recently learned that my parents were opposed to arranged marriages. Out of respect to their wishes, Adin refrained from promising me to anyone.”

  Her heart rate accelerated. So there was no one?

  “So there’s no one lined up for you?”

  “I wouldn’t say that either,” he responded cryptically.

  Charlotte frowned and opened her mouth, intending to questioning him further. But Ash spoke first. “Please tell your mother I would be delighted to attend her party.”

  “It’s more of a ball, actually. A masked ball.”

  “The perfect place for secret deeds.” He took the seat opposite and Charlotte frowned in confusion. Was he flirting with her? Or making her think he was? Why? What was going on?

  “I’m sorry about your parents,” she blurted out, and then wished she hadn’t when his eyes met hers and she felt for herself his sorrow. He covered it quickly, but it was there. A deep sense of loss. “I had forgotten until recently.”

  He dipped his head forward. “Thank you for your sympathy.”

  But Charlotte wasn’t going to leave it there. They’d come further than that. “How old were you?”

  He swallowed, his neck knotting visibly as he dealt with the emotions. “Seven.”

  “Seven!” She shook her head. “Do you remember them?”

  His smile was contemplative. “I do. I’m fortunate. Though in some ways perhaps it would have been easier if I had not the memories to grieve.”

  Charlotte lifted the lid off her plate, staring down at the smoked fish and salad. It looked delicious. “What were they like?”

  He sipped his drink, his eyes linked to hers. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer and she regretted the invasive question. “My father was Adin’s twin. Identical to look at yet very different personality wise.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Adin is calm and contemplative. He values his Kingdom above just about anything else.”

  “And your father?”

  “He was curious about the world. Passionate. He didn’t like rules and obeyed them only when it suited him to.” His smile was tight. “The day they were killed, they’d gone out without their guards, wanting to explore on their own. A romantic notion; one that put them intrinsically in danger.”

  Charlotte swallowed. “You blame them?”

  “Not at all,” Ash contradicted swiftly. “The same disinterest in following someone else’s instructions runs through me.”

  Yes, she could see that. See it, want it, need it, she thought with a growing urgency to her attraction.

  “I would rather die as they did, free and following my own path, rather than safely locked in this gilded cage.”

  The words set fire to her blood. Or perhaps they merely fanned the flames of a blaze that had been simmering for years. “There are so many rules for people like us, though.”

  “And have you ever broken them, Charlotte? Or are you as perfect as you appear?”

  The compliment swelled her heart but the truth of her being contradicted it. “I’m far from perfect,” she said after a moment.

  “In what ways?”

  “Ways I choose not to advertise.” She refocussed her attention on the meal in front of them. “This looks delicious.”

  He didn’t respond. His eyes bore into her; she could feel them on her face, her skin, her mouth. Truth scratched at her flesh, making her itchy and hot.

  “Such as?” He pressed his fork into the fish, not distracted from the conversation.

  “You first,” she said, dropping her eyes to the table.

  “Yesterday wasn’t a good enough example?” He murmured, the timbre of his voice low and husky.

  Memories of the kiss fired her belly. “You followed the rules there, as I remember.”

  “Eventually.” He shifted in his seat.

  “So if Adin and your dad were twins, why is Adin King?”

  “Father was never interested in the job. As children, the plan had been that they would share the duty. But by the time my father was ten, his disinterest was apparent. His role in the Kingdom was more ambassadorial.”

  “But technically you have as much claim to the throne as Zahir or Syed?”

  “Yes, technically,” Ash nodded. “But like our fathers before us, there was a clear candidate for the role, and it wasn’t me.”

  “Zahir?”

  Ash nodded. “He was born to rule.”

  “I think you have that quality in abundance.”

  His smile was an acknowledgment. “Perhaps. I have a great many duties within the Kingdom. It works.”

  “I’m surprised there’s no disenchantment between you.”

  “We are close,” he said softly. “Very much like brothers.”

  “Which will make me your sister, more or less, once I’m married.”

  Ash’s laugh was a soft whisper against her cheeks. “You have changed the subject very skilfully, azeezi.”

  “Apparently not,” she contradicted, lifting a piece of fish into her mouth. It was mouth wateringly delicious. The combination of spices with the natural smokiness of the fish practically made her moan.

  “You were about to tell me of your rule breaking?”

  She lifted a finger towards her lips, indicating her full mouth, and shrugging with mock apology.

  “I’ll wait.”

  She glared at him, finished chewing and reached, slowly, purposefully delaying, for her drink. She sipped it, her eyes locking to his. She saw laughter in them and it warmed her up.

  “So?” He prompted, relaxing his chin on his interlocked fingers.

  “Yesterday isn’t going to cover me, too?”

  His eyes flared and he leaned further across the table. “Nothing about what happened yesterday was your fault, Charlotte.”

  “How do you figure?” She arched a brow. “Wasn’t I there with you?”

  “I should have known better. That situation was my doing.”

  Her mouth suddenly felt filled with saw
dust. “Let’s not rehash it,” she said softly, the words weakened by the intensity of her emotions.

  “If you wish.”

  Charlotte pushed her fork into the fish and then put it down again. The problem was, she wanted to rehash it, badly. As in to live it over and over again, in real time. To be back in that moment, when anything had seemed possible.

  “Are you pretending you are not perfect? To make me feel better?”

  She shook her head, holding back a laugh. “Well, I’m pretty great now,” she grinned. “And seriously? You feel bad?”

  “No.” He agreed with an arrogant shrug.

  “What is this imperfection you are hesitating to share with me?”

  She bit down on her lip. Why was she hesitating? It was a part of her past. Admittedly, one her parents had gone to lengths to keep secret.

  “There was a scandal, when I was younger.”

  He paused, his heart pounding. He sat on tenterhooks, waiting for her to reveal something that might satisfy Syed’s requirements, and free her for Ashad.

  He nodded, silently encouraging her to continue.

  “I was only sixteen.” Charlotte shook her head. His eyes were drawn to her face. The style was severe, even with the loosened tendrils of hair. Yet it simply served to accentuate her bone structure, making him see how stunning she was. Her beauty was, indeed, rare.

  “And?” He murmured encouragingly, waiting, waiting, waiting.

  “I thought I knew everything.”

  “Like most sixteen year olds,” he prompted.

  Her smile was tight on her face. “I suppose. But I had far more to risk, you see. I was out of the media embargo. My photo was taken wherever I went. I suppose that’s how it started?”

  He arched a brow, thoughtfully.

  “I met a man.” She swallowed, turning her head, focussing on the glorious view of the gardens that surrounded the Kalastani embassy.

  Ash was very still, every fibre of his being concentrated on Charlotte and the story she was telling with an air of necessity.