Hot-Blooded Husbands: the Sheikh's Chosen Wife

So why do it? Why put them both back into a situation they had played so many times before it was wretched? Or was that it? she then thought on a sudden chill that shot down her backbone. Had he needed to play out the scene this one last time before he could finally accept that their marriage was over?

Sick. She felt sick. On trembling legs she headed quickly for the shower cubicle and switched the jet on so water sluiced over her body. Duty. It was all down to duty. His duty to produce an heir, her duty to let him. With any other man the love would be enough; those other methods of conception would be made bearable by the strength of that love. But she’d fallen in love with a prince not a man. And the prince had fallen in love with a barren woman.

Barren. How ugly that word was. How cold and bitter and horribly cheap. For there was nothing barren about the way she was feeling, nor did those feelings come cheap. They cost her a part of herself each time she experienced them. Like now, as they ate away at her insides until it was all she could do to slide down into a pathetic huddle in the corner of the shower cubicle and wait for it all to recede.

Where was she? What was she doing in there? She had been shut inside the bathroom for half an hour, and with a glance at his watch, Hassan continued to pace the floor on the vow that if she didn’t come out in two minutes he was going in there after her.

None of this—none of it—was going the way he had planned it. How had he managed to trick himself into diluting just how deep their emotions ran, how painful the whole thing was going to be? He hit his brow with the palm of his hand, then uttered a few choice curses at his arrogant belief that all he’d needed to do was hook her up and haul her back in for the rest to fall into place around them.

All he’d wanted to do was make sure she was safe, back here where she belonged, no matter what the problems. So instead he’d scared the life out of her, almost lost her to the depths of the ocean, fought like the devil over issues that were so old they did not need raking over! He’d even lied to score points, had watched her run in a flood of tears, watched her fly through the air down a set of stairs he now wished had never been put there. Shocked, winded and dazed by the whole crazy situation, he had then committed his worst sin and had ravished her. Now she had locked herself away behind a bathroom door because she could not deal with him daring to make an offer they both knew was not, and never had been, a real option!

What was left? Did he unsheath his ceremonial scabbard and offer to finish them both off like two tragic lovers?

Oh, may Allah forgive him, he prayed as his blood ran cold and he leapt towards the bathroom door. She wouldn’t. She was made of stronger stuff, he told himself as he lifted a clenched fist to bang on the door just as it came open.

She was wearing only a towel and her hair was wet, slicked to her beautiful head like a ruby satin veil. Momentarily shocked by the unexpected face-to-face confrontation, they both just stared at each other. Then he bit out, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

He had no answer to offer that did not sound insane, so he took another way out and reached for her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her—hard. By the time he let her up for air again she was breathless.

‘Hassan—’

‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘We have talked enough for one night.’

Turning away, he went over to the bed to retrieve the pearl-white silk robe he had laid out ready for her. During her absence the room had been returned to its natural neatness, at his instruction, and a table had been laid for dinner in the centre, with the food waiting for them on a heated trolley standing beside it.

He saw her eyes taking all of this in as he walked back to where she was standing. She also noticed that the lights had been turned down and candles had been lit on the table. She was no fool; she knew he had set the scene with a second seduction in mind and he didn’t bother to deny it.

‘Here,’ he said, and opened the robe up between his hands, inviting her to slip into it.

There was a pause where she kept her eyes hidden beneath the sweep of her dusky lashes. She was trying to decide how to deal with this and he waited in silence, more than willing to let the decision be hers after having spent the previous few minutes listing every other wrong move he had made until now.

‘Just for tonight,’ she said, and lifted those lashes to show him the firmness of that decision. ‘Tomorrow you take me back to San Estéban.’

His mouth flexed as the urge to say, Never, throbbed on the end of his tongue. ‘Tomorrow we—talk about it,’ he offered as his only compromise, though he knew it was no compromise at all and wondered if she knew it too.

He suspected she did, suspected she knew he had not gone to all of this trouble just to snatch a single night with her. But those wonderful lashes fluttered down again. Her soft mouth, still pulsing from his kiss, closed over words she decided not to say, and with only a nod of her head she lost the towel, stepped forward and turned to allow him to help feed her arms into the kimono-type sleeves of the robe.

It was a concession he knew he did not deserve. A concession he wanted to repay with a kiss of another kind, where bodies met and senses took over. Instead, he turned her to face him, smoothed his fingers down the robe’s silken border from slender shoulders to narrow waist, then reached for the belt and tied it for her.

His gentle ministrations brought a reluctant smile to her lips. ‘The calm before the storm,’ she likened dryly.

‘Better this than what I really want to do,’ he very ruefully replied.

‘You mean this?’ she asked, and lifted her eyes to his to let him see what was running through her head, then reached up and kissed him, before drawing away again with a very mocking smile.

As she turned to walk towards the food trolley she managed to trail her fingers over that part of him that was already so hard it was almost an embarrassment. The little vixen. He released a soft laugh. She might appear subdued on the surface, but underneath she still possessed enough spirit to play the tease.

They ate poached salmon on a bed of spinach, and beef stroganoff laden with cream. Hassan kept her glass filled with the crisp dry white wine she liked, while he drank sparkling water. As the wine helped mellow her mood some more, Leona managed to completely convince herself that all she wanted was this one wonderful night and she was prepared to live on it for ever. By the time the meal was finished and he suggested a walk on the deck, she was happy to go with him.

Outside the air was warm and as silken as the darkness that surrounded them. Both in bare feet, dressed only in their robes, they strolled along the deck and could have been the only two people on board it was so quiet and deserted.

‘Rafiq is entertaining Ethan—up there,’ Hassan explained when she asked where everyone else was. Following his gaze, Leona could see lights were burning in the windows of the deck above.

‘Should we be joining them?’

‘I don’t think they would appreciate the interruption,’ he drawled. ‘They have a poker game planned with several members of the crew, and our presence would dampen their—enthusiasm.’

Which was really him saying he didn’t want to share her with anyone. ‘You have an answer for everything, don’t you?’ she murmured.

‘I try.’ He smiled.

It was a slaying smile that sent the heat of anticipation burning between the cradle of her hip-bones, forcing her to look away so he wouldn’t see just how susceptible she was even to his smile. Going to lean against the yacht’s rail, she looked down to watch the white horses chase along the dark blue hull of the boat. They were moving at speed, slicing through the water on slick silent power that made her wonder how far they were away from San Estéban by now.

She didn’t ask, though, because it was the kind of question that could start a war. ‘This is one very impressive toy, even for an oil-rich sheikh,’ she remarked.

‘One hundred and ninety feet in length,’ he announced, and came to lean beside her with his back against the rail. ‘Twenty-nine feet across the beam.’ His arm slid around her waist and twisted her to stand in front of him so she could follow his hand as he pointed. ‘The top deck belongs mainly to the control room, where my very efficient captain keeps a smoothly running ship,’ he said. ‘The next down belongs to the sun deck and main reception salons designed to suitably luxurious standards for entertaining purposes. We stand upon what is known as the shade deck, it being cast mostly in the shade of the deck above,’ he continued, so smoothly that she laughed because she knew he was really mocking the whole sumptuous thing. ‘One half is reserved for our own personal use, with our private staterooms, my private offices etcetera,’ he explained, ‘while the other half is split equally between outer sun deck, outer shade deck, plus some less formal living space.’

‘Gosh, you’re so lucky to be this rich.’ She sighed.

‘And I haven’t yet finished this glorious tour,’ he replied. ‘For below our feet lies the cabin deck, complete with six private suites easily fit for the occupation of kings. Then there is the engine room and crew’s quarters below that. We can also offer a plunge pool, gymnasium and an assortment of nautical toys to make our weary lot a happier one.’

‘Does it have a name, this sheikh’s floating palace?’ she enquired laughingly.

‘Mmm. Sexy Lady,’ he growled, and lowered his head so he could bury his teeth in the side of her neck where it met her shoulder.

‘You’re joking!’ she accused, turning round in his arms to stare at him.

‘Okay.’ He shrugged. ‘I am joking.’

‘Then what is she called?’ she demanded, as her heart skipped a beat then stopped altogether because he looked so wonderful standing here with his lean dark features relaxed and smiling naturally for the first time. She loved him quite desperately—how could she not? He was her—

The laughter suddenly died on her lips, his expression telling her something she didn’t want to believe. ‘No,’ she breathed in denial. He couldn’t have done—he wouldn’t…

‘Why not?’ he challenged softly.

‘Not in this case!’ she snapped at him, not knowing quite what it was that was upsetting her. But upset she was; her eyes felt too hot, her chest too tight, and she had a horrible feeling she was about to weep all over his big hard beautiful chest!

‘It is traditional to name a boat after your most cherished loved-one,’ he pointed out. ‘And why am I defending myself when I could not have paid you a better compliment than this?’

‘Because…’ she began shakily.

‘You don’t like it,’ he finished for her.

‘No!’ she confirmed, then almost instantly changed her mind and said. ‘Yes, I like it! But you shouldn’t have! Y-you—’

His mouth crushed the rest of her protest into absolute oblivion, which was where it belonged anyway, because she didn’t know what she was saying, only that a warm sweet wave of love was crashing over her and it was so dangerously seductive that—