Barbara McMahon - Desert Fantasies - Duty and the Beast / Cinderella and the Sheikh / Marrying the Scarred Sheikh

‘Do I?’ He touched the pad of his thumb to her parted lips, and she trembled and saw his answering smile when she did. ‘For, given that I am a barbarian, I could take you now and save myself the trouble of carrying you all the way to my suite.’

His predatory smile widened. He stepped in closer, let go his grip on her arm and used both his hands to scoop behind her neck and into her scalp, under the weight of her thick black hair. ‘Would you like that, Princess?’

She swallowed, having to put up her hands against his hard chest to stop herself from falling into him. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’ But she wouldn’t bet on it.

‘And maybe it would be better this way,’ he countered, lifting her chin, angling his head. ‘For some say familiarity breeds contempt. Maybe we should consummate this marriage now, right now, lest in time you decide you hate me.’

His face drew closer and she remembered all the reasons why it shouldn’t, remembered how she felt, remembered the promise that she’d made to herself. ‘I already hate you.’

His nostrils flared, his eyes flared, then immediately descended into utter blackness. She knew she was playing with fire. ‘In which case, sweet princess, what is the point of waiting? Let’s finish this now.’

‘No!’ She pushed against his chest with every bit of strength she could muster, twisting away from him, almost stumbling in her hurry to get away. ‘Get out! I do not want this! I do not want you!’

‘You are fooling yourself, Princess,’ he said, his chest heaving as his eyes burned like coals. ‘Once again your body betrays you. Why shouldn’t we finish what we started?’

‘I’ll tell you why,’ she said. ‘Because if you do not leave now, if you do not go, then it will be on your own head. And you need never seek my respect or love or even the tiniest shred of civility, because I will hate you as much as it is physically possible to hate anyone if you take what is not freely given!’

There were sparks spitting fire in her eyes, there was a bright slash of colour across her cheeks, and right now he burned for her—burned for this woman who was now his wife and yet not completely. He burned bright and hot, his blood heated and heavy in his groin, and it took every bit of the restraint civilisation had wrought over the aeons upon the male mind that he did not throw her bodily to the floor and take her now.

‘Then I warn you, Princess. Do not take too long to decide to give what you must, because when it all comes down to it, for the sake of Al-Jirad, I will gladly risk your hatred!’

He left her then and his blood turned to steam, his fury a living thing, tangling in his gut, fuelling his feet into long, purposeful strides. He should never have given her time to prepare. He should have accompanied her to his suite, got their necessary coupling over and done with before returning to his studies. Instead he had got lost in the endless pages and had given her too much time, it seemed. Time to think and plan and plot how she could evade her duty.

But it would not last.

In three days he would be crowned King of Al-Jirad, and like it or not, the princess must by then be his wife in all senses of the word. He had studied the pact in detail long enough to know that, searching for any way out, for any concessions.

He headed back to the library, back to his endless books and study. There was no point wasting time thinking about a spoilt princess and her pathetic, ‘I will not sleep with anyone I do not know’ now.

She would know him soon enough.

Her resistance would not last.

He could not afford to let it.

He’d already churned his way through twenty laps when he noticed Bahir at the end of the pool, and he cursed his decision not to return to his studies.

‘You’re up early,’ his friend said, sitting himself down on the edge of the pool as Zoltan finished the lap and checked his watch. ‘Barely six a.m. Honeymoon already over?’

Zoltan glared at him as he made a rapid change of plans. The ten extra laps could wait. He put his hands on the side of the pool and powered himself out, intending to grab his towel and just keep right on walking. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone this morning, let alone one of these clowns. They knew far too much about him as it was.

‘Uh oh,’ Bahir said behind him. ‘Maybe the honeymoon hasn’t even begun.’

‘I didn’t say anything,’ Zoltan protested as he bent down to scoop up his towel.

‘Brother, you didn’t need to. It’s written all over your body language. What happened? How could the princess manage to turn down the legendary Zoltan charm? Although admittedly all that brooding intensity must be tiresome to endure.’

He glared at his so-called friend. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

Bahir grinned. ‘So long as it’s not because she plays for the other team.’ He whistled. ‘That would be one cruel waste.’

The urge to laugh battled with the urge to growl. He didn’t want anyone speculating about his wife’s sexuality. Besides, if Bahir only knew which team she’d openly speculated they all played for he wouldn’t think it nearly as funny himself. He sighed. Clearly Bahir would not stop until he knew. ‘She says it’s because she doesn’t know me.’

‘What?’

He shrugged. ‘She says she won’t sleep with any man she doesn’t know. Apparently—’ he ground out the words between his teeth ‘—that includes her husband.’

‘But she has to. I thought you said so.’

‘I did. According to the terms of the pact she has no choice.’

‘Did you tell her that?’

He thought back to their argument and how bitter and twisted it had become at the end. ‘Under the circumstances, I really don’t think it would have helped if I had.’

‘But she has to eventually, right? She has to give you heirs and she knows that?’

‘True.’

‘So don’t tell anyone in the meantime,’ Bahir said, shrugging. ‘I won’t tell if you won’t, kind of thing.’

He shook his head. ‘That won’t work. I have to swear on the book of Al-Jirad that we are married in every sense of the word. ‘

‘So lie.’

He shook his head. ‘That is hardly an honourable way to start my reign.’ He’d spent hours last night trying to work a way around the requirement—had lingered some time over that very option—until finally concluding that lying would not work even if he could bring himself to act so dishonourably. Besides, she would know the truth and she could hold that over him the entire time. It would not work if she could bring down the kingdom at any moment she chose.

His friend nodded. ‘True. Still, I can see her point of view.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, it has all been kind of sudden.’

‘It’s been sudden for everyone. And it’s not as if she has a choice.’

‘So maybe that’s what this is all about. She wants to feel like it is her choice.’

Zoltan looked up. ‘What are you talking about? Why should that matter?’

‘She’s a woman.’ He shrugged. ‘They think differently. Especially Jemeyan princesses.’

Zoltan looked at him. ‘So what did happen between you and her sister?’

It was Bahir’s turn to look uncomfortable. ‘It’s history. It doesn’t matter. What you have to worry about is how your princess feels right now. She’s a princess in a desert kingdom who has probably been hanging out all these years for her prince to turn up. She wants to be romanced. Instead she gets lumbered with you and told she has to make babies.’ He shrugged. ‘Frankly, who could blame her? Nothing personal, but who wouldn’t be a tad disappointed?’

‘Thank you so much for that erudite summation of the situation.’