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He turned to face her. ‘We agree on that, at least.’
‘We do?’ He confused her, one minute talking as if referring to marriage and friendship in general, then as if the discussion were directly related to them. As if they were a couple about to be married.
‘Indeed, yes.’ He moved towards her and the scent of his aftershave, exotic and wild, hit her as it had done on the dance floor. At least this time she wasn’t pressed against his body, feeling every move he made, igniting sensations—hot, burning sensations—she’d never felt before. ‘And therefore I would like to engage your services.’
‘You’re getting married.’ She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. This man was a playboy desert sheikh who made no secret of the many women he’d loved and left. She’d found that out very easily when she’d looked him up on the Internet, just as she always did with every best man she was paired with. At least then she was able to find out the type of man he was, but Sheikh Jafar Al-Shehri had surpassed every other best man she’d worked alongside. Ruler of a desert kingdom, a reformed playboy prince after unexpectedly inheriting the title, he was the ultimate incarnation of everything she wanted to avoid in a man.
He was also everything she’d been searching for in a man, yet had never expected to find. Ever since her only steady boyfriend had dumped her because she’d wanted to wait until they were married to share intimacies, she’d been very cautious about getting involved again. The idea that the desert sheikh could be the man to have a wild, passionate one-night stand with in order to shake off her past, as her friend Lilly had put it, was a step too far.
‘I am.’ His deep and commanding voice crashed through her wild train of thoughts, bringing her sharply back to the present. How could she be having such thoughts about this man?
She forced herself to look into those sexy eyes, to appear in control even though her heart began to thump harder in her chest. Was it his sudden closeness or her thoughts? ‘And you want me to organise your wedding and be bridesmaid to your bride?’
He looked at her, assessing her; an air of calculation lingered around them. ‘No, I want to hire you—as my bride.’
She blinked and looked up at him, unable to say anything, then to her utter embarrassment she laughed.
* * *
Jafar inhaled deeply and waited while the prim and proper Miss Chapelle’s laughter subsided. How dared she laugh at him? Nobody but his closest friends would dare to do such a thing. Didn’t she know who he was?
‘I think you have had too much champagne, Mr Al-Shehri.’ Her voice still rang with laughter and a smile twitched at the edges of his mouth as she teased him, showing him a light-hearted side to her he found intriguing, but he forced it down.
‘I am in full and total control,’ he said as he prepared to play his ultimate ace. ‘I have need of a bride and you, I believe, have need of a large sum of money to cover debts.’
Silence sliced between them as she looked at him suspiciously, all trace of laughter suddenly gone. The dark rims of blue around her eyes reminding him of the ocean that formed one border to his kingdom, but the paler centres had become hostile, like the heat of the desert. ‘I see I am not the only one to have been doing some research.’
The tartness of her voice warned him he was pushing her too far but, as ever, the challenge of getting exactly what he wanted pushed him on. ‘I never enter into anything, not even being a best man to my childhood friend, without doing my research, Miss Chapelle.’
‘So, do enlighten me, what has your research turned up?’ She folded her right arm across her, beneath her breasts, placing the elbow of the other arm in her hand. Then, in a sexily tormenting gesture, she placed her thumb under her chin and her finger on her lips, sending a bolt of hot desire surging through him.
Her eyes blazed like the purest of gems, and her full lips snagged his attention as a bright red fingernail pushed into their plumpness. The late-afternoon sunlight danced in her hair, turning it to fiery bronze, highlighting the freckles sprinkled over her face. All he could think about was pulling her hard against his body, pressing her curves into him and kissing her. There was nothing gentle about the heat in his body, the need to touch her, kiss her, possess her. Without a doubt, he knew that if he gave in to the demands of his body now, it would be fierce, savage and wild. It would be total possession and if he weren’t putting such an outlandish deal to her, he might already be taking her to his suite here in the hotel.
‘I think you are bluffing, Mr Al-Shehri.’ Her words dragged him from the erotic images of just what he’d like to do to her, sharply focusing his attention once more.
‘You are in debt and you also need more, much more, thanks to your brother-in-law, who has left your sister in a very precarious financial situation.’ He’d discovered that useful bit of information at almost the eleventh hour.
She gasped, her eyes becoming wide with shock. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I made it my business to know, Miss Chapelle.’ He moved towards her, unintentionally breathing in her delicate scent, serving only to stir his body’s needs once more. ‘Everybody has a price and I now know yours.’
‘So you want to pay me to be your bride?’
‘Yes, Miss Chapelle, I do.’ He’d just heard Damian say those words to his bride, but they’d been said with love, with hope for the future. Now he was saying them to this woman who stirred his senses in a way no other woman had; even Niesha, the woman he should have married if his life hadn’t careered off course, hadn’t ever roused in him such intense passion.
‘And what makes you think I would agree to such a bizarre request?’ Both her arms were folded protectively in front of her now, one hand pulling firmly on the other arm, serving only to press her breasts together in a way the pale blue dress couldn’t disguise. Lust throbbed through him but he pushed it aside. This was not one of his casual affairs; this was a woman who held the future of his kingdom in her hands. The answer she gave him decided the fate of his people—and his.
If she declined, then his cousin, Simdan, would have every right to challenge his ability to rule. He didn’t have the time to find a wife in the conventional way of his country. Besides, with his sister expecting her first child, which he intended to name as his heir, he didn’t require a wife, merely a bride.
‘As I intend our marriage to take place in two weeks’ time you will be financially rewarded and therefore able to settle all your debts, and those of your sister. I will also ensure you have a substantial amount of money once our agreement is complete.’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I have absolutely no intention of getting married for any sum of money and certainly not in two weeks.’
Jafar hadn’t expected her to say yes instantly. Indeed, he would have worried that she saw him as some kind of knight in shining armour, the answer to a woman’s dreams of happy ever afters, if she had. But in light of her current financial situation, he hadn’t expected an outright no.
‘So what has happened to the bridesmaid who ensures a bride’s dream comes true to make her so against marriage?’ He taunted her and satisfaction filled him as he saw her visible blanch at his question. It seemed she too had issues with the state of matrimony.
‘What makes you sure something has happened?’ She flung the question straight back at him.
‘A woman who prefers to always be the bridesmaid and not the bride is definitely hiding from something.’ He resisted the urge to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear as it slipped from the confines of her bridal hairdo, but had to clench his fist tightly in order to do that.
‘This is my job, Mr Al-Shehri.’ She glared at him and once again the need to kiss away the angry tension in those lips lurched forwards. ‘Only a man like you could seriously contemplate buying a bride.’
Irritation spiked at the desire. She dared to challenge him? ‘And what kind of man is that, Miss Chapelle?’
* * *
Tiffany could hardly contain her anger. How dared he offer to buy her? What kind of country did he rule over if he thought he could simply buy a bride when the need arose? Even worse than that, she had actually contemplated accepting because right now she’d do anything to free her sister, Bethany, of that abusive, gambling man she’d married seven years ago, and sort out the financial mess he’d created then walked away and left her in.
‘The kind of man who can buy just about anything he wants, even, it seems, a bride.’ She hurled the accusation at him and turned quickly, intent on walking away from him, from the lure of the answer to Bethany’s financial problems and the almost irresistible draw of the man himself.
‘Can you really afford to walk away from such an offer?’ His words were hard and full of determination. Her steps faltered and she stood with her back to him, breathing deeply, still shocked by the way being close to him had made her feel as well as the outrageous proposition he’d put to her. ‘Can you really deny your sister?’
She whirled round. ‘I have no idea how you have managed to find out so much about me and my family, Mr Al-Shehri, but I will not be bought.’
He moved towards her, his long strides closing the gap between them. ‘I have no intention of buying you, Miss Chapelle. I merely wish to hire you to accompany me to Shamsumara and become my bride. Beyond that we can remain exactly as we are. Strangers.’
‘Your audacity almost makes me speechless,’ she hurled at him. ‘You even expect me to go to your country.’
‘I doubt there is much that can make you speechless.’ The tormenting laughter in his voice was clear, and as he smiled and raised his brows at her she wanted to stamp her foot and scream in frustration, but before she could do anything he continued the onslaught. ‘Just as I know you will do anything you can for your sister—and her little girl.’
Now he’d hit her Achilles heel. Four-year-old Kelly didn’t deserve to be caught up in the mess her parents had created. The acrimonious divorce had turned her from a bright happy child to an anxious little girl who barely spoke and Tiffany would do absolutely anything to rectify that, especially as she knew what it felt like to be that little girl.
‘This has nothing to do with my niece.’ She could barely control her anger now. How dared he bring an innocent child into this absurd deal?
‘Think about it, Tiffany.’ The sound of her name on his lips shocked her, not least because of the dart of pleasure it sent coursing through her. ‘Meet me here after breakfast tomorrow, when I am sure you will have come to realise this deal is the answer to all your problems.’
CHAPTER TWO (#u15498ba2-8f16-541e-a830-ae1a07521fe7)
TIFFANY HAD TOSSED and turned all night, the usual buzz of having created another perfect day for a bride obliterated by Sheikh Jafar Al-Shehri’s outrageous suggestion. It wasn’t any kind of normal contract. He didn’t want a bridesmaid. He wanted a bride. He wanted to buy her and that had unsettled her almost as much as the reaction of her body whenever he was close. Not to mention the steamy images, which had raced into her mind, of being kissed by him. A kiss she instinctively knew would be earth-shattering and dangerous.
As dawn had crept into the room she’d given up on sleep and left her hotel room and gone for a walk. It always helped to clear her mind and by the time she returned she knew she would accept the deal—but on her terms.
She changed into a short black summer dress and slipped on her black leather jacket, the only other outfit she had with her other than jeans and jumper, not having expected to have to be negotiating any kind of deal this morning. She made her way to the terrace with purpose in her step, intent on putting to him her terms for acceptance of his deal. The morning air was fragrant with roses but there was no sign of the man himself. She looked at her watch. She was late and she guessed he was the kind of man who didn’t tolerate tardy timekeeping. A flutter of panic threatened. This was the chance she needed, and probably the only one she’d get, to make things right for Bethany and Kelly, and she’d thrown it away.
She turned to check she hadn’t missed him. Not that anyone could miss noticing a man like that. With a flash of relief she saw Sheikh Jafar Al-Shehri striding across the terrace, the morning sunlight behind him as he came towards her. Just as she expected, he was dressed immaculately in a suit that had definitely been made for him if the way it hugged his long legs, hips and shoulders was anything to go by. Handsome didn’t even go halfway to describing him. Sexy was the word that came to mind, but she slammed it back, refusing to accept she was in any way attracted to him.
‘Good morning,’ she said brightly, as if meeting with a man to thrash out the finer details of a marriage contract were something she did every day.
‘Would you like to walk or have coffee?’ His fiercely alert gaze travelled down her, taking in the dress, which was probably too short to meet with a man who ruled a desert kingdom, finally resting on her white high-heeled sandals.
Again she’d earnt his disapproval. ‘I’m not really dressed for walking. Coffee would be better.’
‘Indeed,’ he said as he gestured with an outstretched hand that she should precede him to the tables outside set for breakfast.
A thrill of something she’d never known before skipped up her spine as she became acutely aware of his eyes on her. The intensity of his scrutiny burned through her leather jacket and the fine fabric of the dress, making her shiver as if she were cold. In contrast the kind of heat from sipping fine brandy flooded through her.
As they neared the terrace of the restaurant a member of staff appeared instantly, eager to please the sheikh, and she realised for the first time just what his life must be like. He was much wealthier than any of the couples she had been hired by in the past, although plenty of them had given her a window into the world of wealth and luxury. This man, however, far surpassed that.
‘A quiet table for two.’ He spoke firmly, demanding precisely what he wanted without so much as a please or thank you.
‘This way, Sheikh Al-Shehri.’ The waiter led them to a secluded table at the edge of the terrace, where a mass of climbing roses clung to a trellis forming the perfect private area. The view from the table across the rolling English landscape was unrivalled, but, with her nerves like that of a young colt, she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it.
Tiffany allowed herself to be seated, as if waiting for such a thing were normal, and then tried to focus her attention on the view instead of the formidably brooding presence of the man she was about to strike the most bizarre deal with. A deal that, given the imminent repossession of Bethany’s home, was now the only option she had.
‘I’ll come straight to the point, Mr Al-Shehri.’ She paused for a moment to gather herself as he fixed his attention on her, wanting to word this right, but before she could say any more he filled that pause.
‘Decisive. That is good. I like a woman who knows what she wants.’ She looked at him, into those green eyes, and wondered if he was mocking her, but there wasn’t even the smallest hint of a smile. In fact there was very little trace of any emotion. Only severe control.
She began again before her nerve failed her. ‘Providing my terms are met, I will accept your deal. I will be your hired bride.’
Those last two words almost choked her. After the mess and complications of her parents’ divorce, she’d longed to find true love and happiness. Her ex-boyfriend hadn’t understood her need to wait to take their relationship to the next level and now she accepted her reluctance to do so was because she hadn’t loved him. Not in the deep and intense way she’d always dreamt it would be when she met the man she would spend the rest of her life with.
‘Terms?’ He sat back, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his thumb and finger moving over his chin, the subtle sound of the hint of dark stubble snagging her attention.
‘Yes, my terms,’ she fired back at him, defiantly lifting her chin, determined to stand up for herself. ‘You didn’t think I would just accept whatever conditions you put forward, did you?’
‘Very well.’ He folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with the searing heat of his gaze and an explosion of fire erupted within her. ‘What are your terms?’
This time there was a hint of amusement in his voice, the slightest movement upwards of his lips. She almost laughed out loud when she realised he’d probably never had anyone set out their terms to him for anything. He must be used to getting precisely what he wanted all the time. Well, she wasn’t about to make this easy for him. Yes, she needed the money, and needed it now, but she had to keep some dignity, had to demand at least something for herself. After all, marrying anyone was a big deal, let alone a stranger.
‘Before we discuss that, I want to know why you need a bride in such a hurry and why me?’ She looked at him, using the fire to boost her confidence, to show him she was a woman who could hold her own. ‘Why not a woman from your country? In fact, I think you are hiding something, Mr Al-Shehri.’
‘Jafar,’ he said calmly. Completely unruffled by her questions. ‘I’d much prefer to be on first-name terms with the woman I am negotiating a marriage contract with. It’s so much more personal, don’t you agree?’
Her fierce response to that question was halted by the arrival of coffee and for a moment she allowed herself to believe this wasn’t happening, that none of this was real as the strong aroma of coffee fired her senses.
‘Well?’ he demanded as they were once more left alone. ‘Do you agree, Tiffany?’
The emphasis he put into her name, his exotic accent caressing every syllable, made her pulse leap and she had to force herself to look into his eyes, to meet the power of this man head-on without flinching, without showing any fear or doubt. ‘Absolutely, Jafar.’
His name seemed strangely familiar to her tongue as she sat straight and tall in the chair in a bid to appear as in control as he was. She almost achieved that until he smiled. It happened so suddenly she quite literally forgot to breathe as she became the focus of his attention. Heat sizzled over her at an alarming rate.
* * *
Jafar watched as a charming blush bloomed on Tiffany’s cheeks, knocking the confident businesswoman sideways and allowing him to glimpse the woman he believed she never wanted him to find. The passionate, yet shy woman who lived beneath her toughened exterior. That was precisely why he wouldn’t be giving in to the urge to kiss her that he’d had since the moment they had been introduced. She was wrong for him on so many levels, but right in only one. She needed him as much as he needed her, not that he’d ever allow her to know just how much.
‘What exactly do you want to know, Tiffany?’ She looked at him, then away, that shyness coming to the fore once more. It intrigued him. Maybe the time they would have to be together as man and wife was going to be far more interesting than he’d anticipated.
‘Why a man such as yourself has to marry a complete stranger within two weeks?’ Her blunt question fired directly at him and he admired her honesty, even if it meant he would have to share part of himself, part of his past with her. Something he never did with women.
He looked away across the fields of green grass as he thought of his brother, Malek, and the accident that had claimed him and his wife. That tragic day had made Jafar the ruler of Shamsumara. He’d always had the good of the country at heart, but never once in recent years, when he’d been sharing the burden of bringing the kingdom back to a good place to live after the tough years his father had ruled with hardness and cruelty, had he imagined himself the ruler. Jafar had never considered the possibility that one day that responsibility would lie solely with him.
‘I became the ruler of the kingdom of Shamsumara after a sudden family death. One which has left the country in a vulnerable position, open to the challenge of leadership from a man who rules his own kingdom with the same fear and dominance my father had ruled with. It is not the way I rule and I will not allow my people to live through that again.’
He looked at her face, saw the confusion in her eyes and knew this must be sounding so far-fetched to her. A dart of doubt shot through him. Was he doing the right thing, involving this woman in the affairs of his country? She might be in need of the sort of funds he could easily provide, but would she be able to fulfil the duties that would be required of her as his Queen? Even if it was only for a short time?
‘It seems to me that you need far more than a bride,’ she said as she sipped her coffee. He looked at his, but knew he wouldn’t taste it, that the memory of his brother and the threat posed by his cousin, the one man he truly hated, would obliterate all sense of taste. ‘You need a wife, a proper wife, a woman to give you heirs. That woman would be your Queen, wouldn’t she?’
He couldn’t help the shock that slammed into him. Maybe he’d misjudged this alluring woman. She was far more astute than he’d given her credit for. ‘Yes, my bride will be my Queen and in normal terms an heir is exactly what I would need, but, on this occasion, no. My sister married last year and is expecting her first child. The usual order of things in our country is that her child will become my heir until such a time as I have my own child, which of course I don’t plan to do. So producing an heir myself isn’t necessary.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I’m confused. If you don’t need an heir why not marry a woman from your own country?’
‘Because I have no wish to be married in the true sense of the word.’ How the hell did he put the last two years into a few concise sentences that would make sense to her? ‘As an unmarried ruler, I am open to challenge. That challenge would come from my cousin Simdan, who rules harshly over a small country which borders Shamsumara. He wants my kingdom for the power it would bring him—and the wealth. Shamsumara is rich in oil.’
‘And if you were married?’ The question lingered in the air like the threat of thunder.
‘My cousin has recently become a father and as a married ruler with an heir he can challenge my rule. If I married, his immediate ability to challenge me would become less and once my sister’s child is born and declared my heir, his claim on my throne is no longer valid.’
She put down her coffee cup with a clatter, spilling the dark liquid into the saucer. ‘When is the baby due?’
‘At the end of October.’ It was this very fact and the possibility that things could even now go wrong in his sister’s pregnancy that necessitated Jafar’s marriage. He was well aware that Simdan was already making moves to launch a claim for Shamsumara. If the unthinkable happened and his sister lost her baby, he would at least be the married ruler tradition demanded.
‘So where exactly do I come into all this?’ The panic in her voice was clear and he quickly realised where his explanation had taken her thoughts.
‘I only require you to be my bride. I have no intention of making a real marriage or having my own children, not when my nephew or niece will soon be born.’ He saw those expressive eyes widen and knew exactly what she was thinking. Three months was a long time and anything could happen. It was his aide’s main concern too.
‘If that is the case, why do you need to marry at all?’ Was that a hint of relief he detected in her voice? She pushed her coffee cup away as if the conversation was coming to an end, as if she’d already decided she would not take him up on the deal. He couldn’t allow that. He had much to lose and so did she. Something he would remind her of. ‘Can’t you name the baby now as your heir?’
‘In order to continue to rule in my brother’s place I must be married the day after the feast of Shams, which is two weeks from now, or my cousin has every right to claim the kingdom.’ Just as she had done yesterday, she laughed. He bit down hard against the irritation. How dared she when her own life was in such a mess? ‘I must then remain for two years.’
‘Two years?’
‘You would only be required to remain in Shamsumara as my wife and Queen for three months or until my sister’s baby is born. We will have to remain legally married for two years, but after that a divorce will be easy to procure. And, of course, you will have a very substantial settlement.’
‘And because of my job and my financial situation you thought I would be desperate enough to be your hired bride?’ The amusement in her voice held no malice but it didn’t soften his mood. He was not used to having to cajole women around to his way of thinking.
‘I would rate imminent repossession of your sister’s home desperate, but, of course, if you don’t...’ He left the sentence unfinished, his withdrawal of the deal, which he knew full well she needed, hang in the morning air between them. It felt like the biggest gamble he’d ever made. She looked at him in silence, something other than strained tension zapping between them. Raw desire.
‘I find it alarming that you know so much about me, Mr Al-Shehri.’ The curtness of her tone when she finally spoke left him in no doubt he’d touched a raw nerve.
‘I thought we were on more informal terms now, Tiffany.’ He added her name, enjoying the flash of anger in the depths of her eyes. He leant forward in his chair and lowered his voice. ‘We are, after all, almost engaged.’
‘Not so fast. Not until you have agreed to my terms—all of them.’ He admired the fire of defiance burning within her, revelled in the challenge she was unwittingly creating. He thrived on challenge, hated meek-willed individuals who would agree to anything he said just because of who he was.
At last he’d met a woman who was more than a match for him. The next three months of living as man and wife would prove very interesting indeed. ‘I think it’s about time you told me just what they are.’
She sat back as she looked at him, the haughty lift of her chin showing her spirit, reminding him of an unbroken horse. She had as much spirit as a stallion and, just as he did with his horses, he looked forward to harnessing that spirit, to turning her into one of his graceful falcons that would fly at his bequest and return willingly to his arm.
