The Ice Maiden's Sheikh

“He’s called the Shahin, Jalia. No one’s sure whether the word is an ancient word for king or really does mean falcon, as the myth says, but the holder of that title is traditionally one of the most respected voices on the Tribal Council. Not that Ghasib ever consulted the council, but the Sultan will.”

Although Jalia hadn’t believed for a minute that the fierce-eyed sheikh was attracted to her, the mere thought of what complications would ensue if he or any Bagestani should declare himself had terrified her. She had gone home as soon as politeness allowed.

Of course she couldn’t refuse to return to Bagestan for the wedding, but this time she had come with insurance—Michael’s engagement ring on her finger. Now when she was asked whether she intended to make the Return, Jalia could dutifully murmur that she had her future husband to consider. No one could argue with that.

“Why do you say this is a wild-goose chase?”

The Cup Companion’s voice broke in on her thoughts. Jalia jolted back into the here and now and gazed at him for a moment.

“You think Noor ran of her own accord, do you?” she said at last.

“She was seen driving the car herself.”

“And if that’s so, it means she’s changed her mind about the wedding?”

“Do you doubt it?”

Jalia shrugged. That wasn’t her point. “That being the case, do you honestly imagine that, even assuming we find her, we’re just going to bring her meekly back to marry Bari?”

“Women do not always know their own minds,” Latif said with comfortable masculine arrogance.

It was the kind of thing that made her want to hit him. Jalia sat with her fists clenching in her lap.

“Is that so?”

“Your powers of persuasion may have undermined her. But she will return to her senses when she realizes what she has done. Then she will be glad to know that there is a way back.”

“Or perhaps she’s come to her senses!” Jalia countered sharply. “That’s why she ran. It’s a pity it took her so long, that’s all.”

“But of course—she did not come to her senses until she agreed with you!”

The sarcasm burned like acid.

“She was rushing into marriage with a complete stranger, which would entail a total transformation of her life, and on the basis of what? Nothing more than sex! Would you encourage someone to do what Noor was doing?”

He turned and gave her a look of such black emotion she almost quailed. “Why not?” he demanded grimly.

If Noor had simply bolted, it was going to cause hideous embarrassment all around, but surely anything was better than to marry in haste? Noor had been totally swept away by Bari’s looks and wealth and sex appeal, but that was no foundation for a marriage, still less for uprooting from everything she knew and transplanting to Bagestan.

“For a start, because she’s not in love with him! She’s blinded by—”

“If she does not love him yet, it will not be long coming. Bari will see to that, once they are married.”

Jalia’s mouth fell open, angry irritation skittering along her spine. “Oh, a man can make a woman love him, just like that?”

“What kind of man cannot make his own wife love him?”

Her eyes popped with reaction to the arrogance; her mouth opened.

“And how exactly does a man go about it?”

At the look in his eyes now she gasped as if she’d been punched in the stomach.

“Who is your fiancé, that you do not understand a man’s power over a woman?” asked the Cup Companion.

Four

Jalia sat up with a jerk. A chasm seemed to be opening up before her, and without having any idea what it represented, she knew it was dangerous.

“What are you talking about?” she said mockingly.

The car stopped at a traffic light on the outskirts of Medinat al Bostan. Below them, in the magnificent tapestry that was the city, sunlight gleamed from the golden dome and minarets of the great Shah Jawad mosque and glittered on the sea. It was a heart-stopping sight, she couldn’t deny that. Talk about your dreaming spires!

Latif turned and gazed at her for an unnerving few seconds.

“You know what I am talking about,” he accused through his teeth.

She didn’t, if he meant from personal experience. No man had ever reduced her to adoration on sheer sexual expertise alone, and what he said was just so much masculine arrogance!

“So sex is a crucible in which to melt your wife’s independence?”

“Her independence? No. Her dissatisfaction.”

“And how many wives are you keeping happy?” she asked sweetly.

“You know that I am not married.”

“But when you are, your wife will love you? Oooh, I almost envy her!” she twittered, while a kind of nervous fear zinged up and down her back and she knew that the last woman in the world she’d envy would be Latif Abd al Razzaq’s wife. “I don’t think!”

His eyes burned her.

“So what is the secret of eternal wedded bliss?” Jalia pressed, against the small, wise voice that was advising her to back off.

His jaw tightened at her tone, and he turned with such a look she suddenly found herself breathing through her mouth.

“Do you wish me to show you such secrets in the open road?” he asked, and she was half convinced that if she said yes he would stop the car where it was and reach for her….

“Not me!” she denied hastily, and a smile, or some other emotion, twisted the corner of his mouth. “But if you look around—well, it can’t be well-known, or there’d be more happy marriages, wouldn’t there? I can’t help feeling you could make your fortune marketing this secret.”

She was getting under his skin, she could see that, and she pressed her lips together to keep from grinning her triumph at him.

He looked at her again, a narrow, dangerous look, and Jalia’s eyes seemed to stretch as she watched him. “In the West, perhaps. But I think even a How To book would not help your fiancé.”

“I—what—?” Jalia babbled furiously.

Latif moved his hand from the wheel to where her hand lay on the armrest between them, and with one long, square forefinger fiercely stroked the three opals of her ring.

Jalia snatched her hand away in violent overreaction.