Royal Weddings: The Sheikh's Princess Bride / The Doctor Takes a Princess / Crown Prince's Chosen Bride

‘But you stayed away. You never came back.’

Tariq shrugged. ‘It was better that way.’

What he left unsaid was that by the time she’d grown he’d lost interest, for he’d never returned. Instead she’d heard the rumours of his many lovers. Then he’d married Jasmin, whom everyone said was the love of his life. Of course he’d never have come back. Samira must have been a passing fancy. Given his distinction between sex and love, she could only guess he’d lost his heart to his first wife and knew no one could replace her.

He’d made no secret that first day in Paris that he hadn’t wanted to marry. Because he still loved Jasmin? Samira had assumed so. But now, in Tariq’s bed, the idea tore at something deep inside. Her chest squeezed as an ache filled her.

Had he married her out of pity?

Samira bit her lower lip and looked away, subsiding against his chest.

No. Not pity. The way Tariq touched her didn’t feel at all like pity.

He wanted her physically. What they shared was simple and mutually satisfying. Now she had a family, a place to belong, real purpose. The boys were bonding with her and hopefully would come to love her. Tariq respected her. Plus there were the benefits of sex.

Why then did dissatisfaction grate at her? Why the bitterness on her tongue, the edge of disquiet?

Samira breathed deep, inhaling the musky man aroma she’d come to adore, and forced herself to relax. Automatically Tariq curled his arm around her, drawing her close, his breathing slowing beneath her ear.

She had everything she wanted, she reminded herself. More, given the glow of wellbeing in her sated body and heavy limbs.

Yet Tariq had unsettled her. His revelation made her realise she didn’t know him as well as she’d thought. All these years she’d been certain of two people in her life: her brother, Asim, and his best friend, Tariq.

Now Tariq made her question what she thought she knew.

First had come the revelation he’d misled her, pretending to accept a paper marriage. Next the revelation she’d never known him as well as she’d thought. All those years ago he’d hidden how he felt from her.

Had she known him at all?

Surely the decent, caring man she’d known hadn’t been a mirage? She saw him in the man Tariq had become.

But there was another side to her husband. He wasn’t just a gentle giant. He was a virile, clever, powerful man who got exactly what he wanted.

What did he want from her?

She’d assumed he’d married her to acquire a mother for his children, a consort.

That and a sexual partner.

It couldn’t be anything else. Despite their sizzling passion, Tariq always left her to sleep alone. He respected her privacy. He gave her the distance she wanted. He didn’t demand an emotional bond.

Because she wasn’t the wife he’d chosen for himself. Samira sighed, realising her thoughts had come full circle, back to Jasmin.

Tariq might share himself now with Samira, but he’d never love her because Jasmin held his heart.

Samira had understood that from the first. Why, then, did the knowledge dim her incandescent glow of pleasure?

Why did she feel so...lost?

CHAPTER NINE (#u17b71c3f-2a6a-58fc-bc34-7d79103d8785)

‘ALLOW ME TO congratulate you on your lovely bride. You’ve chosen well, my friend.’

Tariq followed the direction of the old Emir’s gaze, though he knew what he’d see. Despite having been married for months now, his attention kept straying to the far side of the reception room, to his wife. As if he couldn’t get enough of her. Samira glowed, her skin peach-perfect, her delicious body ripe and even more voluptuous than when they’d married. Those luscious breasts seemed fuller, more pert than ever.

He forced his attention elsewhere but his eyes snagged on the alluring curve of her smile, her graceful gestures.

Pride swelled. Samira was a superb hostess.

She chatted easily with guests: diplomats, VIPs and... Tariq noted a familiar handsome face and blond hair, the project manager overseeing the rebuilding project in the mountains. Nicolas Roussel hung on her every word. Samira took such an interest in the project that every time Tariq turned around Roussel was at her side.

Just as well Tariq knew she wasn’t interested in any man but himself.

‘Thank you.’ He nodded, acknowledging the Emir’s compliment. ‘I count myself fortunate.’

For she didn’t just excel at social events. Samira was also a caring queen. Her personal gift of sewing machines and bolts of fabric, sent to women in the flood-ravaged mountain villages, had been just right. It had lifted their spirits, as well as given them a potential source of income. She’d even commissioned fine embroidery from them for use in her designs and had laid the groundwork for a successful local enterprise.

‘I admit I wondered about a queen who runs her own business.’ The old man shook his head, raising his hand when Tariq would have spoken. ‘But I stand corrected. It seems to me that your wife’s experience as an entrepreneur gives her a broader view of the world. My wife and I have enjoyed her company during our visit. And,’ he chuckled, ‘my daughter is smitten with the gown your wife designed for her. She’s a very talented woman.’

Tariq inclined his head. The Emir, ruler of a neighbouring state, was notoriously conservative and his good opinion hard-won. Samira had done well to impress him.

‘I believe so.’

‘It was sensible of you to lose no time providing a mother for those boys of yours. I hear she dotes on them. No doubt she’s getting broody about having some of her own too, eh? It shouldn’t be long.’ He winked.

Tariq stiffened. The old man didn’t say anything others weren’t thinking. Yet Tariq remembered Samira’s pale features as she’d told him she could never have children. Her pain had dragged at him like a plough scraping through rough soil.

‘We’re content as we are,’ he said through tight lips.

‘No need to poker up about it. I’ve seen the way you look at her. The pair of you can barely keep your eyes off each other. You’re obviously both besotted.’ He clapped an arm on Tariq’s shoulder. ‘You’re a red-blooded man with a beautiful wife. Make the most of it.’ He turned his head. ‘Ah, I see I’m wanted. If you’ll excuse me?’

Tariq had to work to keep his face bland as the older man moved away. The Emir had rattled him more than he’d thought possible.

Besotted? Hardly. He was incapable of such unguarded emotion. That was a strength he’d accrued from his strict, unsentimental upbringing. There’d been no room for love in his formative years, no soft, feminine influence. It was only later he’d learned such invulnerability was also a flaw.

When he’d discovered Jasmin, carefully chosen for their arranged, dynastic marriage, loved him.

It had been unexpected, unwanted. Terrible.

For, no matter how much he respected and admired her, Tariq hadn’t been able to return those feelings.

His mouth thinned. Samira had been adamant she didn’t want romantic love. Perhaps he should have come straight out and told her he was incapable of it. If he’d been able to fall in love it would surely have been with Jasmin. She’d been gentle, loyal and hard-working, deserving of love. And he’d seen how she’d suffered when her feelings weren’t returned.

He’d tried so hard and failed abysmally. She’d never won his heart, leaving him to conclude that, like his upright but emotionally isolated uncle, he didn’t have a heart to win.

He’d done his best to make it up to her in attentiveness. But it hadn’t been enough. He’d seen it in her eyes.

Tariq had failed her. The knowledge ate at him like a canker. Despite his wealth and power he hadn’t been able to save Jasmin’s life. Nor had he been able to give her the one thing she’d craved—love.