Sheikh's Defiant Wife

And now look what had happened. Her feelings for him hadn’t died, that was for sure. She still cared for him—more than she wanted to care for him and more than it was safe to care. Yet deep down she knew that this trip was supposed to be about getting the whole passion thing out of their system. For both of them. Something which had begun so messily needed to have a clean ending so that they could both move on; she knew that, too.

So what had happened?

Suleiman had pulled out all the stops—that was what had happened. He was a man she had always adored, and now he had an added wow factor, because his vast self-made wealth gave him an undeniable glamour. And glamour mixed with desire made for a very powerful cocktail indeed.

He had whisked her onto his own, private jet—and she’d got the distinct feeling that he had enjoyed showing it off—and flown her to a city she’d never got around to visiting before. That was the first mistake. Was it a good idea to go to the city of romance if you were trying to convince yourself that you weren’t still in love with a man?

He had booked them into the presidential suite at the Georges V, where the staff all seemed to know him by name. Sara had been brought up in a palace, so she knew pretty much everything there was to know about luxury, but she fell in love with the iconic Parisian hotel.

Next he took her shopping. Not just, as he said, because she had brought only a very inappropriate wardrobe with her—but because he wanted to buy her things. She told him that she would prefer to buy things for herself. He told her that simply wasn’t acceptable. There was a short stand-off, followed by a making-up session which had involved a bowl of whipped cream and a lot of imagination. And because she felt weak from all their love-making and dizzy just with the sense of being there—she went ahead and let him buy her the stuff anyway.

The crisp January weather was cold so he splashed out on an ankle-length sheepskin coat and some thigh-high leather boots.

‘But you disapproved when I was wearing a very similar pair back in England,’ she had objected.

‘Yes, but these are for my eyes only,’ he’d purred, pillowing his head against his folded arms as he’d leaned back against the sofa to watch her slide them on when they had arrived back at the hotel with their purchases. ‘And they will look very good when worn with nothing but a pair of panties.’

Ah, yes. Panties. That seemed to be another area of his expertise. He indulged her taste for lingerie with tiny, wispy bras designed to highlight her nipples. He bought her an outrageous pair of crotchless panties and later on that day proved just what a time-effective purchase they could be. Silky camiknickers and matching suspender belts were added to the costly pile he accumulated in the city’s most exclusive store, with Suleiman displaying an uncanny knack of knowing just what would suit her.

Sara sat up in bed and brushed away the last few crumbs of croissant. ‘How many?’ she questioned, getting out of bed and feeling acutely aware that he was watching her.

He frowned. ‘How many what?’

‘Women.’ She walked across the room towards the windows, wondering why she had gone ahead and asked him a question she had vowed not to ask.

‘Sara,’ he said softly. ‘It’s knowing women as I do which allows me to give you so much pleasure.’

‘Yes,’ she said, staring fixedly out of the giant windows which commanded a stunning view of the city, where the Eiffel Tower dominated a landscape made light by the shimmering waters of the Seine. ‘I imagine it is.’

She listened to the sudden sound of silence which had descended on the room. One of those silences between two people which she’d realised could say so much. Or rather, so little. Silences when she had to fight to bite back the words which were bursting to come out. Words which had been building up inside her for days—years—and which she knew he wouldn’t want to hear.

Instead, she stared out at the cityscape in front of her as if it was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen, which wasn’t easy when her vision was starting to get all blurred.

‘Sara?’

She shook her head, praying that he wouldn’t pursue it. Leave me alone. Let me get over it in my own time.

‘Sara, look at me.’

It took a moment or two before she had composed herself enough to turn around and curve him a bright smile. ‘What?’

His eyes were narrowed and speculative. ‘Are those tears I see?’

‘No, of course it isn’t,’ she said, dabbing furiously at her eyes with a bunched fist. ‘And if it is, then it’s only my damned hormones. You must know all about those.’

‘Come here.’

‘I don’t want to. I’m enjoying the view.’

His gaze slid over her naked body. ‘I’m enjoying the view too, but I want you to come back to bed and tell me what’s wrong.’

She considered refusing—but what else was she going to do in this vast arena of the bedroom, with Suleiman watching her like that? She felt vulnerable—and not just because she was naked. She felt vulnerable with each hour of every day, knowing she was losing her heart to him.

He held out his arms and she felt as if she’d lost some kind of battle as she went to him, loving the way the flat of his hand smoothed down the spill of her hair as she climbed into bed beside him. She loved the feel of his naked body entwined with hers. She snuggled up to him, hoping that her closeness would distract him enough to stop asking questions she had no desire to answer. But no. He tilted up her chin, so that there was nowhere to look except into the ebony gleam of his eyes.

‘Want to talk about it, princess?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really.’

‘Shall I guess?’

‘Please don’t, Suleiman. It’s not important.’

‘I think it is. You’re falling in love with me.’

Sara flinched. Maybe she wasn’t as good at hiding her feelings as she’d thought. But then, neither was Suleiman as clever as he thought. He’d got the sentiment right—but the tense was wrong. She wasn’t ‘falling’ in love with him—she’d always been in love with him. Fancy him not knowing that. She gave him a cool smile. ‘That’s an occupational hazard for you, I expect?’

‘Yes,’ he said seriously. ‘I’m afraid it is.’

She shook her head, laughing in spite of everything. ‘You really are the most arrogant man I’ve ever known.’

‘I have never denied my arrogance.’

‘Admitting that doesn’t make it all right!’

She was trying to wriggle out of his arms, but he was having none of it. He captured both her wrists in his hands, stilling her so that their eyes were on a collision course.

‘I can’t help who I am, Sara. And I have enough experience—’

‘And then some.’

‘To recognise when a woman starts to lose her heart to me. Sweetheart, will you please stop wriggling—and glaring—and listen to what I have to say?’

‘I don’t want to listen.’

‘I think you need to.’

She stilled in his arms, aware of the loud thunder of her heart. His hard thigh was levered between her own and a sadness suddenly swept over her—because wasn’t she going to miss being in bed with him like this? Cuddled up in his arms and feeling as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. ‘I don’t want to turn this into a long goodbye,’ she whispered.

‘And neither do I.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. ‘I thought I did.’

‘What do you mean, you thought you did?’

Suleiman stared at her, as if unsure how much to tell her. But this was Sara—and hadn’t his relationship with her always been special and unique? The usual rules didn’t apply to this blonde-haired beauty he’d known since she was a mixed-up little kid. ‘Usually when a woman reaches this stage, I begin to grow wary. Bored.’

‘This stage?’ she spluttered indignantly. ‘You mean, as if this is some kind of infectious disease you’re incubating!’

He laughed. ‘I know that sounds like more arrogance but I’m trying to tell you the truth,’ he said. ‘Or would you rather me dress it up with lavish compliments and make like you’re the only woman I’ve ever been intimate with?’

‘No,’ she said, unable to keep the slight sulk from her voice.

‘At this stage of an affair,’ he said, though his mocking smile didn’t lessen the impact of his words, ‘I usually recognise that it must come to an end, no matter how much desire I’m feeling. Because an inequality of affection can prove volatile—and I have never wished to play games of emotional cruelty.’

‘Good of you,’ she said sarcastically. Her heart was beating painfully against her ribcage as she waited to hear what was coming next. But she kept her face as impassive as possible because she wasn’t going to give him the chance to reject her. Not a second time. And if that made it seem as if all she cared about was her pride—so what? What else was she going to be left with in the long, lonely hours when he’d gone?

She forced a smile, hoping that she seemed all grown up and reasonable. Because she was not going to be the woman with the red eyes, clinging to his legs as he walked out of the door. ‘Look, Suleiman—you’ve been very honest with me, so let me return the compliment. I’ve always had a crush on you—ever since I was a young girl. We both know that. That’s one of the reasons that kiss when I was eighteen turned into so much more.’

‘That kiss changed my life,’ he said simply.

Sara felt the clamp of pain around her heart. Don’t tell me things like that, because I’ll read into them more than you want me to. ‘This time in Paris has been...great. You know it has. You’re the most amazing lover. I’m sure I’m not the first woman to have told you that.’ She sucked in a deep breath, because she was sure she wouldn’t be the last, either. ‘But we both know this isn’t going anywhere—and we mustn’t make it into more than it is, because that will spoil it. We both know that when something is put out of reach, it makes that something seem much more tantalising. That’s why—’

He silenced her by placing his finger over her lips and his black eyes burned into hers. ‘I think I love you.’

Sara froze. Wasn’t it funny how you could dream of a man saying those words to you? And then he did and it was nothing like how you thought it would be. For a start, he had qualified them. He thought he loved her? That was the kind of thing someone said when they took an umbrella out on a sunny day. I thought it might rain. She didn’t believe him. She didn’t dare believe him.

‘Don’t say that,’ she hissed.

He looked startled. ‘Even if it’s true?’

‘Especially if it’s true,’ she said, and burst into tears.

Perplexed, Suleiman stared at her and tightened his arms around her waist as he felt her tears dripping down his neck. ‘What have I done wrong?’

‘Nothing!’

‘Then why are you crying?’

She shook her head, her words coming out between gulps of swallowed air. Words he could hardly make out but which included ‘always’, quickly contradicted by ‘never’ and then, when she’d managed to snatch enough breath back, finishing rather inexplicably with ‘hopeless’.

Eventually, she raised a tear-stained face to his. ‘Don’t you understand, you stupid man?’ she whispered. ‘I think I love you too.’

‘Then why are you crying like that?’

‘Because it can never work!’ she said fiercely. ‘How could it?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because our lives are totally incompatible, that’s why.’ She rubbed her hand over her wet cheek. ‘You live in Samahan and I live in London. You are an oil baron and I’m a flaky artist.’

‘You think those things are insurmountable?’ he demanded. ‘You don’t imagine these are the kind of logistical problems which other couples might have overcome?’

Sara shook her head as all her old fears came crowding back. She thought of her own mother. Love certainly hadn’t brought her happiness, had it? Because love was just a feeling. A feeling which had no guarantee of lasting. She and Suleiman had both experienced something when they were fixed at a time and in a place which was light years away from their normal lives. How could something like that possibly survive if it was transplanted into the separate worlds which they both inhabited?

‘Listen to me, Suleiman,’ she said. ‘We don’t really know one another.’

‘That’s completely untrue. I have known you since you were seven years old. I certainly know you better than I know any other woman.’

‘Not as adults. Not properly. We have no idea if we’re compatible.’

His hand tightened around her waist; his thumb traced a provocative little circle. ‘I think we’re ve-ry compatible.’

‘That’s not the kind of compatibility I was talking about.’

‘No?’

‘No. I’m not talking about snatched moments of forbidden passion beneath the shade of a rock in the desert. Or sex-filled weekends at one of the best hotels in the world. I’m talking about normal life, Suleiman. Everyday life. The kind of life we all have to lead—whether we’re a princess or an oil magnate, or the man who drives the grocery truck.’ She pulled away from him so she could look at him properly. ‘Tell me what your dream scenario would be. Where you’d like us to go from here—if you had the choice.’

‘Well, that bit’s easy.’ He tugged at the end of a long strand of hair which was tickling his chest. ‘You no longer have a job, do you?’

‘Not officially, no. I left Gabe a letter on Christmas Eve, saying I’d had to go away suddenly and I wasn’t sure when I was coming back. It’s not the kind of thing his employees usually do and I’m not sure if he’d ever employ me again. There’s a long list of people desperate to fill my shoes. He’s the best in the business who could get anyone to work for him. I doubt whether he’d give another chance to someone who could let him down without any warning.’

But if she was hoping to see some sort of remorse on Suleiman’s face, she was in for a disappointment. The slow smile which curved his lips made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up, because she suspected she wasn’t going to like what she heard next.

‘Perfect,’ he said.

‘I fail to see what’s perfect about leaving my boss in the lurch and not having any kind of secure future to go back to.’

‘But that’s the point, Sara. You do have a secure future—just a different kind of future from the one you envisaged.’ He smiled at her as if he had just discovered that all his shares had risen by ten per cent while they’d been in bed. ‘You don’t have to go back to working for a large organisation. All that—what do they say?—clocking in and clocking out. Buying your lunch in a paper bag and eating it at your desk.’

‘Gabe happens to run a very large staff canteen,’ she said coldly. ‘And insists on all his staff taking a proper lunch break. And I think it’s you who are missing the point. I want to go back to work. It’s what I do. What else do you suggest I do?’

He tugged on another strand of blonde hair and began to wind it around his finger. ‘Simple. You come back to Samahan, with me.’

She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Samahan?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘The expression on your face looks as if I have suggested that you make your home in Hades. But I think you will find yourself greatly surprised. Samahan has improved greatly since the cross-border wars. The discovery of oil has brought with it much wealth and we are ploughing some of that wealth back into the land.’

He let go of the twisted strand of hair and it dangled in front of her bare breast, in a perfect blonde ringlet.

‘My home will not disappoint you, Sara—for it is as vast as any palace and just as beautiful. A world-class architect from Uruguay designed it for me, and I flew in a rose expert from the west coast of America to design my gardens. I stable my horses there—two of them won medals in the last Olympics. I have a great team around me.’

Sara recognised what he was doing. This was the modern equivalent of a male gorilla beating his chest. He was showing her how much he had achieved against the odds—he, the poor boy whose own mother had sold him. He was trying to reassure her that he would treat her like a princess, but that was just what she didn’t want. She had hated her life as a princess, which was why she had left it far behind.

‘And what would I do all day in this beautiful house of yours?’

‘You would make love to me.’

‘Obviously that’s extremely tempting.’ Her smile didn’t slip. ‘But how about when you’re not around? When you’re jetting off to the States or swanning off somewhere being an oil baron?’

‘You can amuse yourself, for there is much that you will enjoy. Swim in the pool. Explore my extensive library.’

‘Just like one long holiday, you mean?’ she questioned brightly.

‘Not necessarily. You will find a role for yourself there, Sara. I know you will. I think you will find that the desert lands are changing. How long is it since you visited the region?’

‘Years,’ she said distractedly. ‘And I think you’d better stop right there. It’s very sweet of you and I’m sure your home is perfectly lovely, but I don’t want to go to Samahan. I want to go back to London because there are still loose ends to tie up. I owe Gabe an explanation about what happened and I want to finish up the project I was working on.’ Her eyes met his. She realised that she wanted him and loved him enough to want to try to make it work. So why not reverse his question to her? ‘But you could come back with me, if you like.’

‘With you?’ His black eyes were hooded.

‘Why not? We can see if we can exist compatibly there—and if we can, then I’ll think about giving Samahan a try. Does that sound reasonable?’

She saw the sudden hardening of his lips and realised that ‘reasonable’ was not on the top of Suleiman’s agenda. He wasn’t used to having his wishes thwarted, particularly not by a woman. He had expected her to fall in with his plans—without stopping to think that she might have plans of her own.

But was he seriously suggesting she might be happy being ensconced in what sounded like the luxury prison of his desert home? Hadn’t that been what she’d spent her whole life rebelling against?

‘What do you think?’ she questioned tentatively.

He slipped his hand between her legs. ‘I think we have wasted enough time talking about geographical escape.’

‘Suleiman—’

He bent his head to her neck and kissed it.

‘You want me to stop?’

‘That’s the last thing I want.’

She thought she heard soft triumph in his laugh as he sheathed himself in a condom and then lay back against the mattress with a look of satisfaction on his face. Like a conquering hero, she thought as he lifted her up like a trophy, hating the part of her which enjoyed that.

His moan echoed hers as he slid her down slowly onto his erection. With each angled thrust of her hips she took him deeper and deeper and she wondered what he was thinking. She knew he was watching her as her blonde hair swung wild and free—and suddenly she found herself performing for him.

Was she trying to prove that she was a match for all those women who had preceded her—by playing with her breasts and biting her lips, her eyes closed as if she was indulging in some wild and secret fantasy?

Whatever it was, it seemed to work because he went crazy for her. Crazier than she’d ever known him. He splayed his dark hands possessively over her hips as he made the penetration deeper still. And each time she was close to orgasm, he stopped. Stopped so that once she actually screamed out loud with pent-up frustration, because he made her build it up all over again.

He did it to her over and over again. Until she begged him to release her and then at last he slid her onto the floor and drove into her, as if it were the very first time all over again. She felt her body shatter with the most powerful orgasm she’d ever known but once it began to recede, she felt a sudden sense of unease.

An unease which grew stronger with every second. Because that had been all about power, hadn’t it? Suleiman was a man who was used to getting his own way and by refusing to conform to his wishes she had taken control of the situation. She had taken control and he would use whatever it took to get it back.

Sex.

Power.

Palaces.

Even words of love which sounded wonderful, until you wondered if he actually knew what they meant. Were they just another lever to get her to see things his way? she wondered.

He’d never even seen her in her usual environment. He didn’t know that very important side of her personality.

‘I want to go back to London,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Do you want to come with me or not?’

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