Royal Weddings

* * *

Tariq watched from the doorway as his bride bent over the twin beds where his boys slept. A nightlight glowed at floor level and she looked like something from a fairy story, all shimmer and fragile, gossamer-fine fabrics.

But Samira wasn’t an ethereal fairy. She was a warm, flesh-and-blood woman. He’d felt her pulse stir as he held her hand at the banquet, watched the rosy heat brighten her cheeks and plump up her lips as she drank their wedding toast.

His groin had tightened unbearably as he’d looked down into those wide, anxious eyes and he’d felt the double-edged sword of lust and caution at his throat. He wanted her so badly his skin grated with it.

It felt like he’d wanted Samira most of his life.

Now there was nothing, not even the guilt he carried over Jasmin, to stop him having her.

Yet seeing her bent over his sleeping sons, rearranging blankets and moving stuffed toys, he felt more than desire. Gratitude that she genuinely cared for them. How many other brides would have spent their wedding night checking on their stepchildren?

Yet wasn’t that why she’d proposed marriage? For his children?

Tariq’s jaw tightened. His pride shrieked outrage that she saw him as no more than a tool to get what she wanted.

He’d read her expression when she’d told him she couldn’t have a baby. He’d seen her pain and it was part of the reason he’d consented to this marriage, despite his reservations. That and the curious certainty he couldn’t simply turn his back on Samira as originally intended. She had something he needed.

It had given insight into her motivation for brazenly offering herself in marriage. And he’d been determined she’d make that offer to no other man but him!

Tariq spun away on his heel and stalked down the corridor. But Samira didn’t offer herself, did she? She expected him to accept her with conditions. As if he wasn’t a man with a man’s needs and hungers. As if he didn’t have a right to touch the woman who’d pledged herself to him, body and soul.

She’d thought she could dictate terms to him, the Sheikh of Al Sarath!

Perhaps she was more innocent than the world thought. He could have told her no marriage was as simple as it appeared on paper, not when it was lived by real people. Not even an arranged marriage executed for reasons of pragmatism and convenience.

A clammy hand wrapped around his chest, squeezing tight as shadows of the past rose.

When two people lived together as husband and wife the boundaries blurred. And in this marriage, despite Samira’s fond imaginings, the boundaries were about to be ripped asunder.

* * *

Samira leaned back against the pillows, a paperback in her hand. A gentle breeze stirred the long, sheer curtains and soft lamplight made even the enormous, lavishly appointed room seem cosy. Yet she was too wired to relax.

Her mind buzzed with impressions. The noise and colour of the crowd at the wedding. The strange sense that, despite the throng, she and Tariq were isolated from the rest, each action, each word, weighted and momentous. The spicy smell of Tariq’s skin as he’d held her hand and kissed it. The way his eyes had held hers as they’d shared that jewelled goblet.

That must be it, the reason her body was tight and achy. It was the potion they’d drunk. The alternative, that this was a reaction to Tariq, just wasn’t acceptable.

Or perhaps it was the suspicion, fuelled by the gleam in Tariq’s eyes today, that there might be complications in their marriage-on-paper-only arrangement. That look reminded her Tariq was a virile, red-blooded man used to taking what he wanted.

Samira rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms, telling herself she was being fanciful. Tariq had accepted her terms.

She turned to switch off the lamp and caught movement on the other side of the room.

‘Tariq!’ Her voice was a thready whisper.

He’d changed out of his wedding finery. Gone was the white robe and head scarf. Gone was the jewelled, ceremonial dagger. Gone was half his clothing!

This was Tariq as she’d never seen him. Her eyes rounded and her jaw sank open. The young man she’d once known had been long and lean but his body had changed in a decade, filling out the promise of those wide shoulders.

Her vision was filled with acres of bare, golden skin. She drank in the solidly muscled pectorals dusted with dark hair, the flex and bunch of more muscles at his taut abdomen as he prowled out of the shadows towards her. He walked proud, shoulders back, stride confident, reminding her that this man ruled all he surveyed.

Samira’s throat dried as she took in the splendour of him. He was like a statue of a Greek god come to life—all warm flesh instead of cold marble. A long silver, slashing arc across his ribs and another smaller scar near his shoulder were the only things marring that perfection.

Yet they emphasised his earthy masculinity. She knew he’d got the larger wound in his teens, practising the ancient art of swordsmanship. She’d heard him tell Asim that his uncle, who was his guardian, had given him no sympathy because he’d been foolish enough not to wear protective clothing, and worse, to let someone get the better of him. Tariq had grown up in a man’s world where toughness was prized and no quarter was given for sentiment or weakness. Now he looked every inch the marauding male.

Not like a man committed to a platonic relationship.

A shiver ran through her, tightening her muscles and rippling across her skin. Her breath hissed between her teeth.

Her eyes dropped to the pale, loose trousers he wore, riding dangerously low.

Awareness slammed into her and she struggled back against the headboard, realising too late she was staring.

‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice was half-strangled in her throat.

‘I came to wish my bride goodnight.’ His mouth tipped up in a smile that was at once easy and far too disturbing, as it set her already racing pulse skittering out of control. ‘It’s customary between married couples.’

‘But I... But we’re not...’

‘Not married? I think you’ll find we are, Samira.’

His smile widened, grew sharp as his gaze dropped to her lips, then lower to her full breasts straining against the oyster satin nightgown. Instantly her nipples hardened, thrusting against the soft fabric. She crossed her arms, hiding them from view.

‘I didn’t expect to see you again tonight,’ she said, mustering her control. Uneasily she watched him near the bed. He was so tall he loomed over it but she refused to shrink back. She had nothing to fear from Tariq. She’d known him, trusted him, as long as she could recall. Just because her traitorous body yearned for him, she was imagining he felt the same.

‘You wanted a husband and family,’ he said smoothly, as if he were right at home in her bedroom. She wished she had his sangfroid. She felt as out of her depth as a frightened virgin. ‘Your life has changed, Samira. You need to accept that. You won’t just see me at formal functions but at all hours, including the middle of the night if the boys are sick or need us. Even with the help of nannies you’ll be on tap, not just when they’re already bathed, fed and dressed.’

‘Of course. I know that.’ She nodded, breathing more easily. The reminder of the boys grounded her, easing her nerves at Tariq’s presence. She leaned forward, relieved to be on solid ground. ‘I went along to see them. They were sleeping soundly.’

‘But you kissed them goodnight anyway.’

‘How did you know?’ Did he object? Did he think she was trying to take Jasmin’s place? She was conscious that she’d stepped into the slippers of a dead woman.

‘I saw you.’

Her head swung higher.

‘You did? I didn’t see you.’

He shrugged. ‘I thought I’d give you time alone with them.’

Samira’s lips curved in a smile. This was the Tariq she remembered: kind and thoughtful. Caring.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘But you should have come in. I wouldn’t want to keep you away from them.’

‘I’m here now.’ Suddenly he was sitting on the side of the bed, turned to face her, his hand planted beside her silk-clad hip, hemming her in. Shock ricocheted through her.

Furtively she moistened her bottom lip with her tongue. Whenever Tariq got this close her mouth parched.

‘Is there anything you want?’ Samira fought nervous tension and smiled at him. There were hundreds of reasons for him to stop by for a midnight chat. Arrangements to farewell the VIP guests tomorrow, her family included. Or perhaps some detail about the boys’ routine.

‘Yes.’ The word was a low hum that stirred the butterflies nesting in her belly. ‘A goodnight kiss.’

‘A—?’ She goggled. She couldn’t be hearing right. Samira shook her head, loose tresses sliding around her bare shoulders.

‘Kiss.’ He said it again, his face serious. His gaze dropped to her mouth and heat roared through her. Samira swallowed, her arms wrapping tighter across her torso. Her breasts felt too full and highly sensitised, the nipples blatantly puckering.

‘But...why?’

She halted, her face flaming as realisation hit. She’d never felt so gauche. She wasn’t some innocent. She understood what it meant when a half-naked man entered his wife’s bedroom at night and demanded a kiss. ‘That’s not what we agreed,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s not part of our deal.’

‘Your deal, Samira. Not mine.’

Her fingers gripped her upper arms like claws, digging into soft flesh. This couldn’t be happening. ‘But you heard me out. You understood.’

‘I heard you explain you wanted a marriage that was no marriage.’ He leaned infinitesimally closer and the air between them clogged. She couldn’t seem to draw enough oxygen into her lungs. ‘That doesn’t mean I agreed. What I agreed was to make you my wife. That’s exactly what I intend to do.’

Shock battered her as she read his intent. And a sense of betrayal so deep it sliced straight to her heart.

She’d trusted Tariq. That was why she’d approached him of all men. She knew his word was his bond and he’d implicitly accepted the conditions she’d put on their marriage. Yet now...

Bile rose in her throat. She could barely believe she’d been duped again by a man, and by this man.

He hadn’t told her his intentions before the wedding. He’d waited till it was too late for her to withdraw.

He’d tricked her.

‘Tariq!’ Her voice was a hoarse scratch. ‘As a man of honour—’

His finger on her lips silenced her. She gasped and tasted the salty, male tang of him. To her dismay she registered how good that tasted.

Samira became conscious of the way he caged her against the headboard. His other arm reached across her, his hand planted on the bed beside her hip, trapping her.

‘No man of honour would accept what you proposed, Samira. Not if he had any self-respect.’ He watched her closely, as if cataloguing her reaction. ‘You came to the wrong man if you wanted some emasculated father figure.’

‘Father figure?’ Her eyes rounded. ‘The last thing I want is to tie myself to a man like my father.’ He’d been emotionally unstable, lacking in judgement and self-control. It was his example, and Brent’s, that had driven her to seek marriage with someone dependable.

Tariq didn’t look dependable right now. He looked unpredictable and dangerous, like a keen-eyed hunter sighting his prey.

Fear trickled down her spine.

‘You’re too young to be a father figure to me, Tariq.’

He shrugged and her mouth dried a little more. She stood no chance against his strength if he decided...

‘You wouldn’t force me!’ The words shot out defiantly, yet she couldn’t quite disguise the question in them.

Tariq reared back, his eyes flashing as if she’d insulted his manhood. ‘Of course not. I’d never force a woman!’ He lifted his hand from the bed as if to break that sense of entrapment. But it was too late. Samira was transfixed.

‘Tell me what you want, then.’ She swallowed hard but jutted her chin defiantly. She wouldn’t give in without a fight.

‘Just a kiss.’ His eyes held hers. ‘When I went to kiss you at the banquet in front of our guests, you turned as pale as milk.’ He nodded as her mouth flattened. It was true. She hadn’t been able to hide her reaction.

Relief flooded her, weakening her limbs. A kiss, that was all, not...

Her brain seized at the alternative.

‘I refuse to have a wife who’s afraid of me. Who can’t bear to be close to me.’ Something dark flashed in his narrowed eyes and her heart pounded faster. ‘I need a wife who can take her place at my side without flinching.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured stiffly. ‘I don’t know what happened.’ Except she did. She’d seen Tariq the man, not the convenient spouse, and been terrified by her response. ‘But we don’t have to kiss.’

‘Can you think of a better way to prove you won’t cringe away next time I’m near you? The next time we’re together in public? And there are the boys to consider. I don’t want them thinking I intimidate you.’ His deep voice held a hollow note she hadn’t heard before.

Suddenly Samira saw herself as she must seem to him. Needy. Damaged. All the things she’d promised herself she’d never be again. Shame filled her.

She’d promised Tariq she’d be his partner, not an albatross around his neck. Despite his attempt to change the rules of their marriage, pride dictated she give him this much.

‘That’s all?’ Her voice sounded scratchy and breathless. She couldn’t dismiss his statement that he hadn’t agreed to her marriage terms. But this wasn’t the time or place to deal with that. She’d do it when they were fully clothed.

‘That’s all.’

‘And then you’ll leave?’

He nodded.

If she kissed him!

Her heart raced out of control at the thought.

Before Samira could have second thoughts she unwrapped her arms and braced her hands on the bed either side of her. A quick breath dragged in the disturbingly appealing scent of Tariq’s warm skin, but she refused to think about it, or the way his eyes darkened as she closed the gap between them.

But there was no mistaking the imposing, masculine bulk of him, the bare-chested arrogance of him, or the skirling twist deep inside as she drew close. It made her lose her nerve.

At the last moment she turned her head, pressing her lips not to his mouth but to the firm, taut skin of his cheek. It was smooth, as if he’d just shaved, and it was surprisingly enticing. For an instant she hovered there, her mouth to his flesh, knowing an unheralded desire to explore, to lift her palms to his shoulders and angle her mouth over his.

With a gasp she pulled back, sliding her hands beneath her legs as if to stop them reaching for him again. Her sudden neediness scared her.

Eyes brilliant as gems held hers as blood pounded in her ears. He didn’t say anything, though it was obvious she hadn’t delivered a real kiss. It was a coward’s kiss.

But it was the best Samira could do. Being close to Tariq made her pulse crazy and tied her in knots. Anxiety still feathered her backbone. Did he really intend to demand more?

Abruptly Tariq stood. Samira blinked, her gaze sliding over his amazing bronzed body.

Surely it wasn’t regret she felt because he was leaving?

Recognising that she didn’t want him to leave stole her voice.

‘That’s a start,’ he murmured finally.

‘A start?’

Tariq nodded. ‘One day soon we’ll be husband and wife in every sense of the word.’

Samira shook her head. He had it all wrong.

‘Not because I demand it but because it’s what we both want.’ He leaned close, his eyes tourmaline shards that dared her to deny it. ‘I promise you, Samira, you’ll be with me every step of the way.’ It was a threat but it sounded like a promise. A promise that sounded appallingly enticing.

She wanted to object, argue, say something to puncture his arrogant certainty. But instead her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth.

His gaze scorched and Samira felt the sizzle in every inch of her body. His slow smile hitched his mouth up at one side, creating a sexy groove down one cheek that made her insides clutch. He looked so utterly confident, as if he’d never had a doubt in his life.

‘The next time you kiss me it won’t be because I ask, Samira, but because you want me.’

CHAPTER FIVE

SHE WAS AT his side as they said farewell to their guests. Her dress, the colour of sun-ripened peaches, made her glow and brought out the brightness of her warm, sherry eyes. He’d guess that no one else noticed the smudges under her eyes. If they did they’d assume it was because he’d kept her from sleep with a night of unbridled passion. Even her blush looked like that of a new bride.

Tariq’s belly clenched. Just thinking about Samira strung him tight as a bow. It was unnatural for a man and wife to live as celibate strangers, even for a night.

But Samira hadn’t been ready. She’d been as uptight as a virgin, her nervousness palpable despite her bravado.

He wasn’t a man to force any woman. That flash of fear in her eyes had stopped him in his tracks.

Yet he intended to have her as his wife in every sense. He only hoped he survived to enjoy her surrender. His hunger for her was stronger, richer, more compelling than it had been all those years ago. He ached with it.

Because she was the woman he’d desired and never had?

Because she’d been the object of his first real passion?

Stretching out his hand, he placed his palm on her back as she wished a visiting princess a safe trip. Samira stiffened but didn’t move away. After a few moments, when his hand didn’t shift, he felt her tension gradually ease.

Tariq suppressed a smile as he listened to a guest enthuse about yesterday’s wedding celebration. It was like breaking in a filly, getting Samira used to his touch, persuading her to trust him. It would take patience but the prize would be worth it.

He glanced down, taking in her vibrant loveliness. Not just her exquisite features, but the warmth of her personality. Her hand fluttered as she emphasised a point and the delicate henna markings caught his eye. Markings that proclaimed her his.

Tariq stiffened as need cannoned into him.

He’d married Samira for all the sensible reasons she’d put forward, including his need to do the best for his boys. He’d responded to the desperation he’d read in Samira, the bone-deep instinct that told him she needed this, needed him, more than she was prepared to admit.

But there was one reason above all why he’d accepted her proposal.

He’d never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Samira.

The truth buffeted him, dragging the air from his lungs. It was a truth he’d tried so hard to ignore.

At seventeen she’d been heartbreakingly lovely. Enough to send him rushing back to his homeland lest he do something unforgivable, like seduce his best friend’s innocent sister. He’d felt guilty for years, knowing how dishonourable the carnal thoughts were that plagued him. He’d even, at one point, contemplated offering marriage, till he’d heard she had her sights set on a career in fashion. Tariq had needed a wife by his side, not living in the USA or Europe.

Yet, even in the years they’d been apart, just the sight of her photo in the press had the capacity to distract him. He’d never been able to forget her.

So when she’d come to him for help, offering herself in marriage...

He might be Sheikh, commander, ruler and protector of his people. But he was a man too.

‘I wish you well, Tariq,’ the visiting prince before him said. ‘May your sons be many and strong, your daughters as beautiful as your lovely bride and your years long.’

Tariq clasped his outstretched hand, responding in kind.

It struck him how hard this must be for Samira, with everyone wishing them the blessing of children when she couldn’t have any. Regret lanced him and he felt a sliver of hurt for her sake.

Yet she didn’t flinch as one after another departing guest offered the same wishes. She was the ideal hostess, regal yet warm, charming and lovely, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Tariq slid his hand in a comforting circle just above her waist. Would she realise he silently offered his support? He could do no more, not in public and not, he guessed, with a woman who guarded her emotions so closely.

* * *

Tariq’s gentle caress at her back was strangely soothing. After last night she’d been on tenterhooks, anticipating the next time he’d reach for her, maybe demand another kiss. But this—she shifted her weight rather than press back against his warm hand—this felt like comfort.

At last the guests were gone and they were alone. Still his hand remained, his long fingers splaying heat across her upper back. She should move away.

‘How are you holding up, Samira?’

She looked up and was surprised to read concern in Tariq’s eyes.

‘Okay, thanks.’ Her brows twitched together. ‘Why, don’t I look it?’ She’d done her best to disguise her sleepless night.

He shrugged and she felt the shift of his arm across her back. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be touched.

‘You look gorgeous.’ The gleam in his eyes did strange things to her insides. ‘But with everyone harping on the prospect of children I wondered.’

Samira stiffened and stepped away, drawing in on herself. Instantly she missed his touch. She was torn between gratitude that he’d thought of her pain and fear she’d given herself away when she’d prided herself on being strong.

‘It’s nothing.’ His steady scrutiny made her edgy. ‘At least, I’m used to it.’ She forced a smile to hide her discomfort. So many good wishes for something that could never be had reawakened that dull ache of pain at her core. She refused to give in to it. ‘After the first hundred times, it’s water off a duck’s back.’

‘It’s over now,’ he murmured, as if they didn’t both know that for a lie. The speculation would start in a few months when people began looking for signs of pregnancy.

Samira’s empty womb contracted hard but she ignored it. She couldn’t have her own babies but she was now the mother of two sons. That would keep her too busy to worry about anything else. That and dealing with her new husband.

‘As you say.’ She nodded. ‘It’s all over.’ His kind lie reassured her that she hadn’t quite made the huge mistake she’d feared. Relief welled.

Last night Tariq had shattered her optimism with his declaration that he intended them to be lovers. She’d felt devastated and betrayed, haunted by the fear she’d once again chosen a man she couldn’t trust. But now, reading the protectiveness in his body language and the concern in his eyes, she saw the man she’d once known and adored. The decent, caring man she’d thought she’d married.

‘Finally we’re alone,’ he murmured. Samira stiffened, anxiety punching hard and low as he reached for her. His fingers wove through hers, big and strong, effective as any manacle as he turned towards the private royal entrance to the audience chamber. ‘Come.’

‘Where are we going?’ Her breath hitched, distrust rising anew. It struck her that she no longer knew what to expect from the man she’d married.

He paused and looked down. She felt as if she was drowning in those clear, green depths. Had they always been so mesmerising?

‘It’s our honeymoon. We’ve got a week with not one official function. There are better places to spend it than the audience chamber.’ His mouth tilted in a slow smile that sent fear scuddling through her.

It had to be fear. It couldn’t be excitement.

‘You told me last night you’d wait.’ Her voice sounded stretched and she tried to conjure calm as panic rose.

Tariq’s brows bunched. ‘You think I’m about to ravish you?’ He looked at their hands locked together, his so much larger and more powerful than hers. ‘Is that really what you believe?’