Sheikh's Convenient Marriage

He hoped his exquisite bride wasn’t entertaining any fantasies about love—and maybe he needed to spell that out for her. To start as he meant to go on. With the truth. To tell her that he was incapable of love. That he had ice for a heart and a dark hole for a soul. That he broke women’s hearts without meaning to.

His mouth hardened.

Would he break hers, too?

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_05f4ea65-3745-52a9-b1d8-abd55c237dd3)

THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY was conducted in both Qurhahian and English, and Gabe reflected more than once that the royal connection might have intimidated many men. But he was not easily intimidated and essentially it was the same as any other wedding he’d ever been to. He and Leila obediently repeated words which had been written by someone else. He slid a gleaming ring onto her finger and they signed a register, although his new wife’s signature was embellished with a royal crest stamped into a deep blob of scarlet wax.

She put the pen down and rose gracefully from the seat, but as he took her hand in his he could feel her trembling and he found his fingers tightening around hers to give her an encouraging squeeze.

‘You are now man and wife,’ said the official, his robed figure outlined against the indigo and golden hues of the Qurhahian flag.

Sara and Suleiman smilingly offered their congratulations as soft sounds of Qurhahian Takht music began to play. Servants appeared as if by clockwork, bearing trays of the national drink—a bittersweet combination of pomegranate juice mixed with zest of lime. After this they were all led into a formal dining room, where a wedding breakfast awaited them, served on a table festooned with crimson roses and golden goblets studded with rubies.

Leila found herself feeling disorientated as she sat down opposite Suleiman and began to pick at the familiar Qurhahian food which was presented to her. The enormity of all that had happened to her should have been enough to occupy her thoughts during the meal. But all she could think about was the powerful presence of her new husband and to wonder what kind of future lay ahead.

Who was Gabe Steel? she wondered as she stabbed at a sliver of mango with her fork. She listened to him talking to Sara about the world of advertising and then slipping effortlessly into a conversation about oil prices with Suleiman. He was playing his part perfectly, she thought. Nobody would ever have guessed that this was a man who had effectively been shotgunned into marriage.

He must have sensed her watching him, for he suddenly reached out his hand and laid it on top of hers, and Leila couldn’t prevent an involuntary shiver of pleasure in response. It had been weeks since he’d touched her, and she revelled in the feeling of his warm flesh against hers—but the gesture felt more dutiful than meaningful. She couldn’t stop noticing the way Suleiman and Sara were with each other. The way they hung off the other’s every word and finished each other’s sentences. She felt a tug of wistfulness in her heart. Their marriage was so obviously a love-match and it seemed to mock the emptiness of the relationship she shared with Gabe.

She turned to find his cool grey gaze on hers.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ he said.

She wondered what he would say if she told him the truth. That she felt blindsided with bewilderment about the future and fearful of being married to a man who gave nothing away.

But Leila was a princess who had been taught never to show her feelings in public. She could play her part as well as he was playing his. She could make her reply just as non-committal as the cool question he’d asked.

‘It’s been a very interesting day,’ she conceded.

Unexpectedly, he gave a low laugh—as if her unemotional response had pleased him. He bent his lips to her ear. ‘I think we might leave soon, don’t you?’

‘I think that might be acceptable,’ she said, swallowing in an effort to shift the sudden dryness in her throat.

‘I think so too,’ he agreed. ‘So let’s say goodbye to our guests and go.’

The unmistakeable intent which edged his words made Leila’s heart race with excitement. But hot on that flare of anticipation came apprehension, because the sex they’d shared that afternoon in Qurhah now seemed like a distant dream.

What would it be like to make love with him again after everything that had happened? What if this time it was a disappointment—what then? Because she suspected that a man as experienced as Gabe would not tolerate a wife who didn’t excite him. Wasn’t that why men in the desert kept harems—to ensure that their sexual appetites were always gratified? Wasn’t it said in Qurhah that no one woman could ever satisfy a man?

Her heart was pounding erratically as he led her outside to his waiting car. Leila slid inside and the quicksilver gleam of his eyes was brighter than her new platinum wedding ring as he joined her on the back seat. Suddenly, she imagined what her life might have been like if Gabe had refused to marry her, as he could so easily have done. She imagined her brother’s fury and her country’s sense of shame and she felt a stab of gratitude towards the Englishman with the hard body and the dark golden hair.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘For what?’

‘Oh, you know.’ She kept her voice light. ‘For saving me from a life of certain ruin—that sort of thing.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘I did it because I had to. No other reason. Don’t start thinking of me as some benign saviour with nothing but noble intentions in his heart. Because that man does not exist. I’m a cold-hearted bastard, Leila—or so your sex have been telling me all my adult life. And since that is unlikely to change, it’s better that I put you straight right from the start. The truth might hurt, but sometimes it’s a kinder pain than telling lies. Do you understand?’

‘Sure,’ said Leila, her voice studiedly cool as her fingers dug into the wedding bouquet which she would have liked to squash against his cold and impassive face. Couldn’t the truth have waited for another day? Couldn’t he have allowed her one day of fantasy before the harshness of reality hit them? But men only did that kind of mushy stuff in films. Never in real life.

‘But understand something else,’ he added softly. ‘That my lack of emotion does not affect my desire for you. I have thought of nothing else but you and although I badly want to kiss you, you’ll have to wait a little while longer. Because while I’m fairly confident the press haven’t got hold of this story, I can’t guarantee that the paparazzi aren’t lying in wait outside my apartment. And we don’t want them picturing you getting out of the car looking completely ravaged, do we, my beautiful blue-eyed princess?’

‘We certainly don’t,’ said Leila, still reeling from his cold character assessment—followed by those contrasting heated words of desire.

But there were no paparazzi outside the apartment—just the porter who’d been sitting behind the desk the first time she’d been here and who now smiled as they walked into the foyer.

‘Congratulations, Mr Steel,’ the man said, with the tone of someone who realised that normal deference could be relaxed on such a day. ‘Aren’t you going to carry the lady over the threshold?’

Gabe gave a ghost of a smile as he stared down into Leila’s eyes. ‘My wife doesn’t like heights,’ he said. ‘Do you, darling?’

‘Oh, I absolutely loathe them,’ she said without a flicker of reaction.

But irrationally, she felt a stab of disappointment as they rode upstairs in the elevator. Despite what he’d said in the car, it wouldn’t have hurt him to play the part of adoring groom in front of the porter, would it? They said that men fantasised about sex—well, didn’t he realise that women did the same thing about weddings, no matter how foolish that might be?

‘Why are you frowning?’ he questioned as the door of his apartment swung silently shut behind them.

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

Tilting her chin with his finger, he put her eyes on a collision course with his. ‘Try me.’

She tried all right. She tried to ignore the sizzle of her skin as he touched her, but it was impossible. Even that featherlight brush of his finger on her chin was distracting. Everything about him was distracting. Yet his grey eyes were curious—as if he was genuinely interested in her reasons. And wasn’t that as good a start as any to this bizarre marriage?

So start by telling him what it is you want. He has just advocated the use of truth, so tell him. Tell him the truth. She held his gaze. ‘If you must know, I quite liked the idea of being carried over the threshold.’

Dark eyebrows arched. ‘I thought you might find it hypocritical under the circumstances.’

‘Maybe it is.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s just that I’ve never been carried anywhere before—well, presumably I was, as a baby. But not as an adult and never by a man. And this might be the only stab at it I get.’

‘Oh, I see,’ he said. He took the bouquet from her hand and placed it on a nearby table. ‘Would carrying you to bed compensate for my shocking omission as a bridegroom?’

She met the glitter of his eyes and excitement began to whisper over her skin. He was flirting with her, she realised. And maybe she ought to flirt right back. ‘I don’t know,’ she said doubtfully. ‘We could try it out and see.’

He gave a flicker of a smile as he bent and slid one arm under her knees, picking her up with an ease which didn’t surprise her. Leila might have been tall for a woman but Gabe made her feel tiny. He made her feel all soft and yearning. He made her feel things she had no right to feel. Her arms fastened themselves around his neck as he carried her along a long, curving corridor into his bedroom.

She’d only been in here once before to unpack her clothes and find a home for her shoes. But then, as now—she had been slightly overwhelmed by the essential masculinity of the room. A vast bed was the centrepiece—and everything else seemed to be concealed. Wardrobes and drawers were tucked away out of sight, and she could see why. Any kind of clutter would have detracted from the floor-to-ceiling windows which commanded such a spectacular view over the river.

She tried to imagine bringing a baby into this stark environment and felt curiously exposed as he set her down on her gleaming wedding shoes.

‘Won’t we...be seen?’ she questioned, her gaze darting over his shoulder as he began to unfasten her dress.

‘The windows are made specially so that people can’t see in from the outside,’ he murmured. ‘Like car windows. So there’s no need to worry.’

But Leila had plenty to worry about. The first time they’d done this, there had been no time to think. This time around and she’d done nothing but think. How many women had stood where she had stood? Women who were far more experienced than she was. Who would have known where to touch him and how to please him.

His fingers had loosened some of the fastenings, and the dress slid down to her waist, leaving her torso bare. She felt exposed. And vulnerable. He bent his head to kiss her shoulder, but she couldn’t help stiffening as he traced the tip of his tongue along the arrowing bone.