Lynn Raye Harris - Sheikh's Forbidden Queen

After all, it would never have occurred to Ella three years ago that Zarif would sink to the level of literally paying her to share his bed. As soon as she thought that, Ella frowned, reminding herself that she had agreed to his terms for the sake of the parents she loved. Her choice, then, and even if she couldn’t quite manage to be grateful that he had given her that choice, she knew it would be unjust to blame Zarif for how she felt now that she had accepted the role of mistress within marriage from him. Unhappily, the ‘sex and nothing but sex’ label made her feel worthless and degraded.

There could be no denying that Zarif had changed and much more than she could ever have expected. The man she remembered had been so upright and so straight in every way and it was ironic that only now when she no longer loved him was she learning that he had a much darker, more complex side to his character and that could only make her fear for her future.

* * *

Ella stared wide-eyed at the opulence of the private jet with its cream leather sofas and luxurious fittings, not to mention the four uniformed cabin staff bowing and scraping respectfully in their presence. She finally sat down, nerves bubbling in her tummy at the knowledge that once the craft was airborne she was leaving home and everything familiar behind. Who knew when she might return?

Already it felt as if the day, which had begun with such drama, was turning into the longest day in existence. They were flying to Vashir and tomorrow would undergo a second wedding ceremony in the presence of Zarif’s ailing uncle Halim and the local VIPs. Just then it felt as if she were facing another endurance test in how to please everyone other than herself.

Zarif studied his bride with barely repressed hunger burning in his veiled gaze. Her delicate profile was as taut as her slender body and his attention lingered on the flutter of her lashes, the slim, elegant hand resting on her lap and, more potently, on the thrust of the luscious breasts he had stroked. The hem of her royal-blue dress exposed long shapely legs and he breathed in slow and deep, disturbed by the force of desire gripping him and unaccustomed to such a challenge to his self-control.

No other woman did this to him. He didn’t know what it was about Ella but he had barely to look at her to get hard and he shifted in his seat because the tight heaviness at his groin was uncomfortable. Temptation lurked in the existence of the sleeping compartment at the back of the main cabin but it was cramped and time would be short. He didn’t want a quick snack, he wanted a feast, a consummation worthy of the time he had waited for her. His, at last, he savoured, in name if not yet in action.

Ella leafed through a glossy fashion magazine with blank eyes, her tension rising in the silence rather than abating. ‘I was surprised your brothers weren’t on the guest list today,’ she said abruptly.

‘They will be attending our wedding tomorrow,’ Zarif proffered. ‘I imagine you will be glad of Betsy and Belle’s company.’

‘I hardly know them, but I suppose so,’ Ella conceded in such a limp voice that Zarif wanted to shake her.

Anyone could be forgiven for thinking that marrying him and becoming a queen was a cruel and unusual punishment, Zarif reflected in exasperation. Of course, it was only for a year, he recalled absently, wondering why he hadn’t demanded two years or even three until he remembered that sooner rather than later he had to marry for real and reproduce and he marvelled that he could even have momentarily forgotten that salient fact.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that your mother had had a heart attack and your father a breakdown?’ Zarif demanded without warning. ‘Your father’s friend, Jonathan, spoke to me at the reception and clearly assumed that I already knew.’

Ella compressed her lips. ‘I didn’t think that plucking a thousand violin strings would cut any ice with you.’

‘Telling me would not have been plucking strings,’ Zarif censured. ‘It would have been giving me relevant facts and it would have changed my outlook.’

Ella shot him a dark look. ‘I doubt that very much. I didn’t sense any compassion in the room.’

Zarif gritted his teeth, exasperated that she could think him that cruel. Her parents were good, decent people, who had been kind and welcoming to him for several years without any hope of reward or profit. ‘You have a seven-hour flight during which I expect you to get over your sulk and accept your new status,’ he delivered grimly once the jet was in the air.

‘I do not sulk!’ Ella exclaimed furiously, her blonde head swivelling to deal a fiery glance at his lean, dark, beautiful face.

‘Oh, I can assure you that you do,’ Zarif drawled, smooth as glass. ‘But I am impervious to such moods.’

Ella undid her seat-belt fastening and shot upright as though jet-propelled. ‘I will say it once more only...I am not in a mood!’ She launched the declaration furiously down at him. ‘You’re as insensitive as a rock. Have you no concept of how difficult it is for me to leave my home to live in a foreign country with a different culture and a man who doesn’t even have the saving grace of loving me? Have you any idea how I felt today lying and putting on a fake happy-bride act for all my family and friends?’

Zarif stayed where he was and contemplated her with an immense sense of satisfaction for the Ella he knew best was back on display. Her volatile emotions and innate spirit never failed to entertain him while other women displaying similar tendencies had swiftly been dismissed from his life, he acknowledged dimly. But in a rage, Ella was magnificent, sapphire-blue eyes splintering defiance, lovely face angrily flushed, lush bee-stung lips prominent and offering pure pink invitation.

‘Are you just going to sit there saying nothing?’ Ella positively snarled, nonplussed by his stillness and lack of reaction.

‘When you get all steamed up,’ Zarif murmured huskily, ‘you look incredibly hot and sexy.’

Ella did what any sane woman would have done, because it was clear that he had not paid heed to a single word she had said. She lifted her glass of water and emptied it over his arrogant dark head. ‘Then it’s time you cooled off...’

Totally taken aback by that liquid assault, Zarif sprang upright, tawny eyes ablaze with anger and no small amount of disbelief as he flicked dripping black hair off his wide, intelligent brow. ‘You are behaving like a madwoman!’

‘No, a madwoman would have used a knife, not water,’ Ella told him succinctly. ‘Now I will say it again. I was not sulking. I’m simply nervous about the challenge of embracing a new lifestyle.’

‘And so you should be because I am no pushover when I lose my temper!’ Zarif grated as he snatched her off her feet without the smallest warning and stalked stormily down the cabin to thrust open the door at the foot.

‘Put me down!’ Ella yelled at him.

Zarif dropped her from a height down onto a bed without a great deal of bounce and she fell back against the pillows, bright honey-coloured hair rioting round her flushed features. She surveyed him in shock as he began to wrench off his jacket and haul at his tie. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.

‘You soaked my clothing,’ he reminded her grittily as he ripped open the buttons on the white silk shirt plastered to his muscular chest. ‘And if we’re about to have a row, we will stage it in here where it is more private.’

Ella sat up, more than a little embarrassed at the water she had thrown over him. ‘I shouldn’t have drenched you...but when you go all stony-faced and unemotional, I hate it!’

‘I am unemotional by nature,’ Zarif shot back at her as he stripped off the shirt. ‘I’m afraid you’ll just have to learn to deal with that. Assaulting me isn’t an option I’m prepared to tolerate.’