Sophie Weston - The Sheikh's Bride

“I don’t know what you mean.” Leonora spoke with difficulty.

He was so close she could feel his little puffed breath of frustration. She thought, why doesn’t he touch me? But still he did not.

Instead, he murmured, “That’s the first lie you’ve ever told me,” and she felt a sort of agony at his words.

She held her breath. But Amer rolled aside and sat up. He gave the boatman a few orders. He did not sound annoyed. He did not sound as if he cared much at all.

Leonora smoothed her hair with a shaking hand. She had never been so intensely aware of sensation before, nor of her own sensuality. Never realized so totally that she was a physical creature. Never wanted….

Dear Reader,

Let your imagination take flight as Sophie Weston brings you a truly delicious touch of Eastern promise.

Amer el-Barbary is an Arab prince, a true lord of the desert—every woman’s fantasy man. He’s rich and masterful, living life on the edge of danger. And he’s about to capture Leonora Groom’s heart—and your own—in this most romantic of stories, The Sheikh’s Bride.

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PROLOGUE PROLOGUE ‘WHAT are we waiting for?’ asked the co-pilot. The pilot looked down from his cockpit at the Cairo tarmac. In the early morning, the dust was tinged with diamond light and the roofs of the distant airport building gleamed. A couple of men in dark suits were doing an efficient sweep of the apron on which their plane had come to a halt. ‘Security,’ he said briefly. The co-pilot was new to flying the Sheikh of Dalmun’s private fleet. ‘Do they always go through this?’ The other man shrugged. ‘He’s an influential guy.’ ‘Is he a target, then?’ ‘He’s megarich and he’s heir apparent to Dalmun,’ said the pilot cynically. ‘Of course he’s a target.’ His companion grinned. His girl-friend regularly brought home royalty watching magazines. ‘Chick magnet, huh? Lucky devil.’ The security men had finished their surveillance. One of them raised a hand and a white stretch limousine came slowly round the plane. The pilot, his cap under his arm, stood up and went to shake hands with the departing passenger. An early-morning breeze whipped the Sheikh’s white robes as he strode towards the limousine. In spite of the entourage that followed, he looked a lonely figure. The pilot came back into the cockpit. ‘We’re on stand-by,’ he said briefly. Other cars arrived. The security team swung into them then the limousine drew away, flanked by its guardians. The pilots sat back, waiting for an escort to the plane’s final parking place. ‘What’s he doing here?’ asked the co-pilot idly. ‘Business or pleasure?’ ‘Both, I guess. He hasn’t been out of Dalmun for months,’ said the older man unguardedly. ‘Why?’ The pilot didn’t answer. ‘I heard there was a bust up. His old man wanted him to marry again?’ ‘Maybe.’ A second monosyllabic answer. ‘So what do you think? Has he been let out to find himself a bride?’ The pilot was betrayed into indiscretion. ‘Amer el-Barbary? A bride? When hell freezes over.’

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

‘WHAT are we waiting for?’ asked the co-pilot.

The pilot looked down from his cockpit at the Cairo tarmac. In the early morning, the dust was tinged with diamond light and the roofs of the distant airport building gleamed. A couple of men in dark suits were doing an efficient sweep of the apron on which their plane had come to a halt.

‘Security,’ he said briefly.

The co-pilot was new to flying the Sheikh of Dalmun’s private fleet. ‘Do they always go through this?’

The other man shrugged. ‘He’s an influential guy.’

‘Is he a target, then?’

‘He’s megarich and he’s heir apparent to Dalmun,’ said the pilot cynically. ‘Of course he’s a target.’

His companion grinned. His girl-friend regularly brought home royalty watching magazines.

‘Chick magnet, huh? Lucky devil.’

The security men had finished their surveillance. One of them raised a hand and a white stretch limousine came slowly round the plane. The pilot, his cap under his arm, stood up and went to shake hands with the departing passenger.

An early-morning breeze whipped the Sheikh’s white robes as he strode towards the limousine. In spite of the entourage that followed, he looked a lonely figure.

The pilot came back into the cockpit.

‘We’re on stand-by,’ he said briefly.

Other cars arrived. The security team swung into them then the limousine drew away, flanked by its guardians.

The pilots sat back, waiting for an escort to the plane’s final parking place.

‘What’s he doing here?’ asked the co-pilot idly. ‘Business or pleasure?’

‘Both, I guess. He hasn’t been out of Dalmun for months,’ said the older man unguardedly.

‘Why?’

The pilot didn’t answer.

‘I heard there was a bust up. His old man wanted him to marry again?’

‘Maybe.’ A second monosyllabic answer.

‘So what do you think? Has he been let out to find himself a bride?’

The pilot was betrayed into indiscretion. ‘Amer el-Barbary? A bride? When hell freezes over.’

LEONORA pushed a grubby hand through her hair and breathed hard. The lobby of the Nile Hilton was full to bursting. She had lost three of the museum party she was supposed to be escorting; she had not managed to spend time with her mother who was consequently furious; and now this week’s problem client had come up with another of her challenging questions.

‘What?’ she said distractedly.

‘Just coming in now.’ Mrs Silverstein nodded at the swing doors. ‘Who is he?’

A stretched white limousine, its windows discreetly darkened, had pulled up in the forecourt, flanked by two dark Mercedes. Men in dark grey suits emerged and took up strategic stances while a froth of porters converged on the party. The doors of the limousine remained resolutely closed. Leo knew the signs.

‘Probably royal.’ She was not very interested. Her father’s recently acquired travel agency did not have royal clients yet. ‘Nothing to do with me, thank God. Have you seen the Harris family?’

‘Royal,’ said Mrs Silverstein, oblivious.

Leo grinned. She liked Mrs Silverstein.

‘A lord of the desert,’ the older woman said.

‘Quite possibly.’

Leo decided not to spoil it by telling her the man was probably also Harvard educated, multilingual and rode through the desert in an air-conditioned four-wheel drive instead of on a camel. Mrs Silverstein was a romantic. Leo, as she was all too aware, was not.

‘I wonder who he is…’

Leo knew that note in her voice. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ she said firmly.