The Sheikh's Bartered Bride

“A story?”

“Sometimes I like to tell stories in my head.”

“Our lovemaking was not enough to keep your mind occupied?” The fact his innocent fiancée had been able to dismiss their lovemaking from her thoughts when he had not, irritated him.

“I didn’t want to think about it.”

Offended, he demanded, “Why not?”

And only realized as she pulled back that he was leaning over her in a most intimidating fashion. He did not move back however. He wanted an explanation.

“You said we couldn’t make love until we’re married.”

“Yes. This is true.”

“Well, then what would be the point of letting myself get all worked up if you aren’t going to let anything happen?”

It was a good question. One he wished he could answer, but he had not been so successful in tamping down his own desires. He was rock hard and the only thing saving his pride were the blankets covering them both. Even so, had he not had his body tilted toward her, his erection would have tented the covers and given him away.

It shamed and frustrated him that his usual ice-cool restraint was letting him down. With all his training, she had more control over her desires than he did his. He did not like weakness, even that of a purely sexual nature.

“So you told a story in your head?” What sort of story would have been sufficient to take her mind off of the pleasure of their lovemaking?

“Yes.”

“And it was not about me.” He felt his irritation turn to irrational anger at the thought.

“That would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?” Her tone said her words should be obvious to even the simplest of minds.

He glared at her. “I thought you wanted me to stay with you tonight.”

Suddenly the pragmatic tilt to her mouth disappeared and searing vulnerability beamed at him from the startling blue of her eyes. “Yes. Are you going to leave because I was daydreaming?”

She had much to learn about him. “I made a commitment to stay. I will stay.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, still red and full from his kisses. “Do you always keep your promises?”

“Always.” He repeated the word in his mind, reminding himself he had given her his word to wait until their marriage to receive the gift of her purity.

CHAPTER FOUR

“IN OUR marriage, you will always know that when I promise a thing, it will be done.”

Catherine stared at him. Their marriage? This joke had gone far enough. “Stop teasing. We’re not really going to be married.”

Hakim’s black eyes snapped at her and the darkly dangerous side to his nature she had first suspected became all too real. “When you promise me something I expect the same from you. We will be married.”

“But why?” It had to be obvious to him that he didn’t have to marry her in order to make love to her. She was way too vulnerable to her desire for him and after what had happened on the couch, he had to know it.

He tapped the end of her nose with his forefinger. “Are you so uncertain of your own appeal you must ask this question?”

“But you’re a sheikh for goodness’ sake. Don’t you have to marry a princess or something?”

“We are not quite so medieval in the royal family of Jawhar. Catherine, it is my desire to marry you.”

A twenty-four-year-old children’s librarian who had never even been kissed by a man before that night? “I don’t think so.”

The gentle touch of his palm against her cheek mesmerized her. “I want you, Catherine. I thought that was obvious.”

Was it true? Felicity had told Catherine many times that she was no longer the girl too tall for her age or whose face was pockmarked with severe acne. But Catherine had never stopped feeling like that girl.

He tilted her head toward him. “Accept that it pleases me very much to make you my wife.”

But why did it please him? The only logical answer that she could think of was so beyond the realm of reality, she felt shock thrill through her even contemplating it. Yet, she could think of only one reason for a man like Hakim to marry a woman like her. She had no diplomatic pull, could not increase his cache with his people and while her father was wealthy, Hakim was wealthier.

Love.

He had to love her. It was the only thing that made any sense of their situation. He’d never said the words, but maybe that was a cultural thing. Or an alpha guy, totally in charge and too cool to admit to really tender emotions kind of thing. Whatever.

When she remained silent, stunned by the thoughts racing through her mind, he sighed and rolled onto his back. “The time has come for me to marry. It is my uncle’s wish I marry now.”

“And you picked me.”

“You are my chosen bride, yes.”

She thought of the years since her laser treatments during which her father had thrown men at her head, men interested only in what they would gain materially from the marriage. Men who had not stirred her emotions or her senses as Hakim did. Not only did he stir her emotions, he returned them.

A glorious smile broke over her face. “I want children.” Family who would love her and accept her love unconditionally.

“As do I.”

Then a sudden thought assailed her, one she could not dismiss. Not when he’d withheld the words of love so there was this little niggle of doubt way down, deep inside. “You have to be faithful. No mistresses. No other wives.”

He didn’t smile, didn’t make a joke of it as some men would have. In fact, his expression turned even more serious, his mouth set grimly. “Polygamy is not practiced in Jawhar and to take a mistress would be to compromise my own honor as a prince among my people.”