Sheikh's Marriage of Convenience

by Ella Brooke

  She trailed off and stilled instantly, terrified to let her mind go any further. If there was a wedding. No, when there was a wedding, there were so many things that came with it. Chief among them was consummation. Her heart quickened in her chest, a lively tattoo that left her quivering.

  Rami leaned closer and kissed her pulse point, his tongue trailing deeply over the hollow of her throat, teasing her. Tempting her. Then he pulled his head back long enough to speak to her. “I promise you, Red. You’re going to remember tonight---your wedding night---for the rest of your life.”

  Chapter Eight

  Olivia barely had time to object before she was whisked away to a completely different wing of the palace. Part of her, even with the insane deal she’d struck, expected Rami to send her back to the dungeon. She was still a trespasser after all, and she was due to pay for her stupid crime of breaking into a head of state’s room. However, it seemed that it was the last thing that Rami had on his mind. Once he’d promised her the night of her life in a low, sultry voice, he’d been pushing for her to get on with it. Arriving in an overwhelmingly imposing antechamber, she was greeted by an older woman with salt and pepper hair swept up into long braids. The elderly lady stooped over, her shoulders curved into a stoop. Her brown eyes were kind, twinkling with decency and care. Her air was that of someone maternal, and Olivia hadn’t felt this much relief since she’d been arrested, nor had she felt this close to an older woman since her grandmother had died years ago.

  She supposed it was all some version of Stockholm syndrome, where she was desperate for any way to connect with a kindly face and anyone who even remotely reminded her of family.

  The older woman smiled broadly at her and bowed her head low. “My sheikha, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Gaila, and I shall be your chief servant. If you need anything, you merely need to ask for it from me. I’m pleased to be at your service.”

  “I…I don’t know what to expect anymore.” She looked back over her shoulder at the guards standing behind her. “I’m not completely here of my own free will.”

  Gaila shook her head. “I see that fate has brought you to Rami, and he could use a woman who’s such a strong influence and such a good soul.”

  “You don’t know me,” she said, her voice growing thick with emotion.

  “I know many things. In my youth, before I came to run Sheikh Ramul’s harem, I was a fortune teller in the streets of the city. I know so many things by looking into someone’s eyes, and I know that you’re exactly who Rami has been searching for. Now, come. We have so many preparations to get to before you can be wed.”

  “I understand.” She wasn’t even sure if she was resigned or excited, doing everything to be dutiful and comply with her promise or because she wanted this too. Her life had been empty for long before she’d lost her job, and now Rami was offering her an adventure she couldn’t imagine. The way he’d made her feel in the VIP lounge…would it really be so wrong to feel that again? “We all do what we have to do.”

  The old woman’s grin grew wider, more genuine, and she opened the door wide for her. The salon they entered was no less opulent or grand than any other part of the palace. The ceiling had to be twenty or thirty feet above her, the walls were of shining white marble, and elegant golden sconces hung from every corner. Before her were dozens of silk pillows in every shade, from bright violet to the deepest crimson, and almost a dozen women, mostly older, who stood there with heads bowed low, waiting for Gaila’s orders.

  “It looks like I have an army,” she muttered, feeling like she’d truly fallen down the rabbit hole now. This had to be some bizarre alternate universe where she had a platoon of servants waiting to make her up for her wedding of all things. There was no way that in the real world, she was worthy of anything even close to this. Hell, she was the girl doing the fancy model’s hems and sticking herself. Never the one waited on.

  Always a bridesmaid and never a bride, but I’m a bride now, aren’t I?

  The women sat her down at a dressing table and started brushing her hair out. A team seemed to be dedicated to braiding and prepping that, while a second was feverishly picking out her clothes. The third rummaged through drawers to pick out golden necklaces and baubles, each one probably worth more than her parents’ car. No, scratch that. Her parents owned a minivan that was fifteen years old, and she didn’t ride anything other than the subway in NYC. All the jewelry was worth far more than a rapidly aging Dodge. But it was Gaila she watched as the old woman set the various pigments out before her and dipped her brushes into the brown ink.

  “Is that henna?”

  “Mehendi, but yes,” she said. “You have so much preparation to get done before eleven. Now let us go to work.” With those words, Olivia worked to calm her heart and let Gaila and her team continue with their ministrations.

  ***

  Rami paced before the mullah, his steps quickening as the minutes passed. Rationally, he knew there was no way Olivia could leave the palace. Furthermore, he knew that Gaila did amazing work and had always worked hard to create distinct looks for his mother and younger sister. The old woman worked magic, but she didn’t have a wand in her pocket, and her feats of makeup artistry took hours on end to complete. That was why even though it was already thirty minutes past eleven, he still waited for his bride as anxiously as he’d waited for dates during winter dances at Cambridge.

  “Would you like to explain to me what’s been going through your head all evening, my sheikh, or should I just berate you outright?” Waheed asked dryly.

  Rami looked back toward the imam; the old cleric had enough sense to say nothing. He continued leafing through the Quran and his notes for the upcoming (if Gaila ever finished) ceremony. Instead, the young sheikh eyed his advisor. “You said that I’m too lonely, that I need a queen again.”

  “No, I said that Etana and your child’s loss plays on your mind and that you are always so upset this time of year. I had no idea that you were going to fully commit to the madness that tends to swallow you whole. I did not expect you to pick up the first infidel American you came across.”

  “It’s not like that.” He gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. Rami had slipped into his finest robes for the event, since everything would be done in the traditional style. It was probably the ceremonial robes and mehendi that were taking so long anyway. “You weren’t with me at Aladdin’s Den. There was something that passed between us, something deeper than you know.”

  “Oh, I’m sure there was attraction. I’ve recalled the security feed just in case I needed to assess her danger levels. Imagine my surprise, my liege.”

  “There’s an awful lot of sarcasm creeping into your voice.” Rami’s tone was sanctioning his advisor. “You need to remember who’s in charge here. Besides, we could hardly have that girl chained to the dungeon. She’s far from a rebel or a hardened criminal, and you know that.”

  “True, but I’m the one Sheikh Ramul trusted to watch after you. To protect you. Part of that, as hard as it is, requires that I protect you from yourself. I want you to realize that some of this might all be because of feelings from this time of year. You don’t have to get married.”

  “But it would show strength to my enemies and, frankly, it would help fill a hole in my heart.” He straightened the lapel of his robes and his head covering once more. “I miss Etana every day, but for the first time in five years, I truly feel alive, and I know that Olivia was a huge part of that.”

  “Most men have dates.”

  “Most men don’t have advisors with an ‘off with their head’ policy first.”

  “I was not that drastic.” Waheed smoothed out his beard. “Still, you hardly know the girl, and this is far from conventional.”

  “It’s better than putting her under house arrest, and you don’t understand. There’s something about her. Of course, she’s not Etana. She could never be that, but I need to see where this spark goes. You know that.”

  Wa
heed shook his head. “I can only advise you, and this is unconventional by far, but you are right. I’ve not seen that spark in your eyes in five long years. So if you’re happy---even if this plan is beyond insane---then I am happy for you.”

  “Thank you, old friend. In fact…”

  The words died in his throat. Any attempt at speech was futile when Olivia marched into the throne room with Gaila leading the way. He’d rarely seen a woman more lovely, like a temptress of myth come to life. The ghaagra hugged her body in a close-fitted bodice and then fanned out into a myriad of pleats, each one adorned with golden thread and precious diamonds sewn into the fabric. The traditional dress had its pleated skirts layered one on top of the other, and the deep crimson made Olivia’s flame-red hair seem more fiery than ever. The neckline dipped low, highlighting both her fine collarbone as well as the buttery cream of her skin. He had to force himself not to lick his lips at the sight of her, the swell of her breasts perking up the bodice of her ghaagra, set off by the thick ropes of gold looped around her neck. The thin filigree of the henna snaked up her hands, a myriad of twisting and entangled vines that were some of Gaila’s finest work. There was no dupatta or traditional head covering, only a small tiara highlighted with emeralds and diamonds. He eyed Gaila, who beamed proudly at her work.

  The old woman said nothing, and he had to wonder if the lack of the standard veil was an effort to continue to show off the luxurious red locks of his bride-to-be.

  The imam waited for his cue to start. It took a moment for Rami to give it. First, he had to remember how to speak as well as get himself----all of him---under control. Then, he offered his bride-to-be a small smile. “You look lovely, Red. I’ve never found the name more fitting than right now.”

  Her wide green eyes looked back to Gaila and then down at the floor. He’d overwhelmed her with far too much in just four days, and he could hardly blame her for the reticence of her posture and how little she looked directly at him. But they had a lifetime to work on all of it. He could build that trust up with her, if only she’d let him.

  “Can we start?”

  He nodded and then asked the imam to proceed in Yomarani. The ceremony was delivered in both English and Arabic, with the imam pausing after he spoke traditional lines from the Quran to rephrase it so that Olivia could follow along. Then they got to the exchanging of the vows and while he found himself surprisingly boisterous and enthused to give his answers, Rami noted how hesitantly Olivia offered hers.

  Her duty.

  The words felt bitter in his mind. He wanted her to see this as more than a bargain, but that would come in time.

  Finally, the imam blessed their union, and he swept his bride into his arms in a lover’s carry and brought her back to his wing of the palace. Tonight? Well, tonight would be all about consummation.

  ***

  Olivia was beyond impressed. She’d never expected Rami to have the strength to carry her for what felt like forever through the twists and turns of yet another wing of the palace. Despite everything, she was grateful he had. She’d never be able to walk in the heavy robes and long fabrics gathered around her. It was when he set her down at the foot of his bed that her heart started its frenetic pitter-pat.

  This is it. What could he want now? Wait, I know what he wants. Can I give it?

  He offered her a slow, steadying smile as he slipped off his turban-like head covering and his robes. Underneath, he was still wearing his boxers but nothing else. The sight of the Old World meeting the New, the mix of ancient ceremonial robes and boxers was too much for her. It was the last surreal straw that finally broke the camel’s back. A riot of giggles erupted from her belly, and Olivia doubled over, the laughter bubbling through her.

  “What’s wrong?” Rami glared back at her and stood taller, even putting his hands on his hips.

  Oh, he must have interpreted her laughter as being less than impressed with him. God, the man didn’t know himself at all. Hercules himself would be jealous of Rami’s physique. The broad shoulders, tapered waist, and mouth-watering abs were only emphasized under the soft lights of the lamps around them. Yet, all the confusion in the world swirled through her mind.

  I can’t really do this, can I?

  She’d been forced to marry, but she’d have gotten to know Rami of her own free will. He was gorgeous, witty, and charming. He was keeping her here indefinitely or until Celeste could spring her, and yet staring at him in the moon and lamplight made wetness pool between her legs and warmth flare through her belly.

  She wanted him, but she almost loathed herself for letting her emotions and her passions run wild. There were so many other things at stake here, and she had to remember that even if it was as his bride, even if he was treating her with royal decorum, she was still a prisoner here and Rami was her captor.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, still staring back at her, that honey-hued gaze seeming to judge every inch of her soul.

  “Nothing.” She sobered. “I guess I never expected sheikhs to wear boxers.”

  He grinned mischievously back at her. “I usually wear nothing at all under my robes.” He ran one hand down his muscular torso. “You should be so lucky.”

  “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  “To be my wife. I thought the ceremony and the imam would have tipped you off.”

  “But I don’t understand why. I broke into your suite. I could have just been locked away like Waheed wanted.”

  “I don’t always follow the will of my advisor.” He strode forward, his steps as confident as a proud jungle cat, and then he stroked the side of her cheek. “I would never allow you to stay in the dungeon.”

  “Yet you want me in your bed. I…”

  “Nothing has to happen that you don’t want to.”

  She quirked her lips back at him. Olivia wanted to run a hand through her red curls, but she was afraid she’d dislodge hundreds of thousands of dollars of precious stones and the tiara if she did so. Instead, she tapped her fingernails against her thigh in a feeble attempt to quell her anxiety.

  “I’m married.”

  He nodded and leaned closer. The scent of him was enough to make her tremble, and his hot breath on her forehead left her reeling. He was right there, solid before her, and by extension, hers for the taking. All she had to do was let go.

  “Well, that was one stipulation that kept Waheed and the security council from being too upset. I won’t do anything to you that you don’t want tonight. I respect you far too much for that. I’ve never had to do anything to coerce a woman in my life, and I’m not about to start now. I’ve had cousins in other lands abduct their brides and do things I’d never approve of. This is unconventional, but you have all the power here. If you want to merely go back to your quarters, well, I’ll be disappointed, but I won’t force you to stay. I know it’s not fair to you.”

  She snorted. “So now I have the world’s hottest man here, telling me that I can just give him up and go back to my bed and sleep.”

  His eyes opened wider as Rami perked up. “So you think I’m ‘hot?’”

  “You know you’re gorgeous, probably one of the most eligible bachelors on the planet.”

  “Correction,” he said, gesturing to the ring he wore. He’d slipped a matching one on her finger earlier that night. Olivia would have wondered where he got it, but she figured a sheikh and a billionaire could get anything he wanted on demand. It made sense. Maybe he even had a royal jeweler on call. “I was the most eligible bachelor until last night. Now, I’m happily tied down to…how do you Americans say it? My ‘ball and chain.’”

  “Oh har-har. I’m the one who’s captive.”

  “But,” he said, kissing her lips and then nibbling delicately at her right earlobe. She took in a deep breath as the heat rose from her core and up her limbs. “You can say no at any time. If you want me to call for Gaila, just say the words.”

  “I’d never want that.”

  She was shocked by the franknes
s of her reply. While she knew that she felt herself burning for him, Olivia still hadn’t known till that moment which way her heart would reply. If she’d play it safe as she had for her entire life or if she’d take a chance and embrace the crazy rabbit hole she’d crashed into.

  “Say it again,” Rami commanded, his voice every inch the royal bass it needed to be. “Tell me what you want.”

  “You, Rami…my sheikh. I only want you,” she replied.

  He grinned at her, a look that could set almost every panty in the western hemisphere on fire. As it was, it left her core smoldering and her body shaking. “I need you to lie down on the bed. I’ll help you take off your garments. I’d hate to ruin your wedding dress.”

  She stood and held up her arms, taking in deep breaths, reveling in his masculine musk as he lifted her robe and pleated skirts over her head. He set the delicate work of red silk over a settee. He grinned down at her.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “You seem to be a bit of a hypocrite. You’re not wearing a bra or all the undergarments either.”

  She blushed, feeling a heat flushing over her cheeks that probably matched the color of her hair. “I…underwear worked with the robes, but I couldn’t wear my bra with the way the bodice was made.”

  His lips were on her breast then even as his tongue flitted over her nipple. She mewled and pressed her body tightly against him, already anticipating the final reward of his member deep inside her.

  “God, Rami…”

  “Oh, I’m far better than that.” He stepped back and she moaned her disapproval.

  “No, I need you.”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “And you shall have me, but I have so many plans for you, my sweet.” Hurrying to the closet, Rami came back in short order with a collection of brightly colored scarves in his arms. “I have a bit of a game to play as we get to know each other, Red.”