Michelle Reid - Hot-Blooded Husbands

He drew the chair so close to her own that he had to spread his thighs wide enough to enclose hers. It was a very effective way to trap his audience, especially when he leaned forward and said, ‘Now, listen, because this is important and I will not have you diverting me by tossing up insignificant comments.’

It was automatic that she should open her mouth to question that remark. It was predictable, she supposed, that Hassan should stop her by placing his free hand across her parted lips. ‘Shh,’ he commanded, ‘for I refuse to be distracted yet again because the anguish shows in your eyes each time we reach this moment, and your words are only weapons you use to try and hide that from me.’

‘Omniscient’ was the word that came to mind to describe him, she thought, as her eyes told him she would be quiet. His hand slid away from her face, leaving its warm imprint on her skin. He smiled a brief smile at her acquiescence, then went so very serious that she found herself holding onto her breath.

‘You know,’ he began, ‘that above all things my father has always been your strongest ally, and it is for him that I am about to speak…’

The moment he mentioned Sheikh Khalifa her expressive eyes clouded with concern.

‘As his health fails, the more he worries about the future of Rahman,’ he explained. ‘He frets about everything. You, me, what I will do if the pressures currently being brought to bear upon me force me to make a decision which could change the rule of Rahman.’

‘You mean you have actually considered giving up your right to succession?’ Leona gasped out in surprise.

‘It is an option,’ he confessed. ‘And one which became more appealing after I uncovered the plot involving you, which was aimed to make me do as other people wish,’ he added cynically. ‘But for my father’s sake I assured him that I am not about to walk away from my duty. So he decided to fret about my happiness if I am forced to sacrifice you for the sake of harmony, which places me in a frustrating nowin situation where his peace of mind is concerned.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.

‘I don’t want your sympathy, I want your help,’ he stated with a shortness that told her how much he disliked having to ask. ‘He loves you, Leona, you know that. He has missed you badly since you left Rahman.’

‘I didn’t completely desert him, Hassan.’ She felt pushed into defending herself. ‘I’ve spoken to him every day via the internet.’ Even here on the yacht she had been using Faysal’s computer each morning to access her e-mail. ‘I even read the same books he is reading so that we can discuss them together. I—’

‘I know,’ Hassan cut in with a wry smile. ‘What you say to him he relays to me, so I am fully aware that I am a bully and a tyrant, a man without principle and most definitely my father’s son.’

‘I said those things to tease a laugh out of him,’ she defended.

‘I know this too,’ he assured her. ‘But he likes to make me smile with him.’ Reaching up, he stroked a finger along the flush of discomfort that had mounted her cheeks. ‘And let me face it,’ he added, removing the finger, ‘your communication with him was far sweeter than your communication with me.’

He was referring to the letters he’d received from her lawyer. ‘It was over between us. You should have left it like that.’

‘It is not over between us, and I cannot leave it like that.’

‘Your father—’

‘Needs you,’ he grimly inserted. ‘I need you to help me ease his most pressing concerns. So I am asking you for a full and open reconciliation of our marriage—for my father’s sake if not for yours and mine.’

Leona wasn’t a fool. She knew what he was not saying here. ‘For how long?’

He offered a shrug. ‘How long is a piece of string?’ he posed whimsically. Then, because he could see that the answer was not enough, he dropped the whimsy, sat right back in his seat and told her curtly, ‘The doctors give him two months—three at most. In that period we have been warned to expect a rapid deterioration as the end draws near. So I ask you to do this one thing for him and help to make his passage out of this world a gentle one…’

Oh, dear heaven, she thought, putting a hand up to her eyes as the full weight of what he was asking settled over her. How could she refuse? She didn’t even want to refuse. She loved that old man as much as she loved her own father. But there were other issues here which had not been aired yet, and it was those that kept her agreement locked inside.

‘The other wife they want for you,’ she prompted, ‘am I to appear to accept her imminent arrival also?’

His expression darkened. ‘Do me the honour of allowing me some sensitivity,’ he came back. ‘I have no wish to sacrifice your face for my own face. And I find it offensive that you could suspect that I would do.’

Which was very fine and noble of him but—‘She is still there, hovering in the shadows, Hassan,’ Leona said heavily. She could even put a name to the woman, though he probably didn’t know that she could. ‘And taking me back to Rahman does not solve your problems with the other family leaders unless you take that other wife.’

‘The old ones and I have come to an agreement,’ he informed her. ‘In respect for my father, they will let the matter ride while he is still alive.’

‘Then what?’

‘I will deal with them when I have to, but for the next few months anyway, my father’s peace of mind must come first.’

And so, he was therefore saying, should it for her. ‘Will you do this?’

The outright challenge. ‘Did you really think that I would not?’ She sighed, standing up and pushing her chair away so that she could step around him.

‘You’re angry.’ His eyes narrowed on her sparkling eyes and set expression.

Anger didn’t nearly cover what she was really feeling. ‘In principle I agree to play the doting wife again,’ she said. ‘But in fact I am now going to go away and sulk as you like to call it. Because no matter how well you wrap it all up in words of concern, Hassan, you are as guilty for using me in much the same way my foiled abductors intended to use me, and that makes you no better than them, does it?’

With that she turned and walked away, and Hassan allowed her to, because he knew she was speaking the truth so had nothing he could offer in his own defence.

Within seconds Rafiq appeared with a question written into the hard lines of his face.

‘Don’t ask,’ he advised heavily. ‘And she does not even know the half of it yet.’

‘Which half does she not know,’ Rafiq asked anyway.

‘What comes next,’ Hassan replied, watching his half-brother’s eyes slide over his left shoulder. He spun to see what he was looking at, then began cursing when he saw how close they were to reaching their reserved berth in Port Said. ‘How long?’ he demanded.

‘You have approximately one hour before the first guests begin to arrive.’

A small hour to talk, to soothe, to plead yet again for more charity from a woman who had given enough as it was. ‘You had better prepare yourself to take my place, Rafiq,’ he gritted. ‘Because, at this precise moment, I am seriously considering jumping ship with my wife and forgetting I possess a single drop of Al-Qadim blood.’

‘Our father may not appreciate such a decision,’ Rafiq commented dryly.

‘That reminder,’ Hassan turned to snap, ‘was not necessary.’

‘I was merely covering for myself,’ his half brother defended. ‘For I have no wish to walk in your shoes, my lord Sheikh.’

About to go after Leona, Hassan paused. ‘What do you wish for?’ he questioned curiously.