Hired To Wear The Sheikh's Ring

‘Would you like to walk or have coffee?’ His fiercely alert gaze travelled down her, taking in the dress, which was probably too short to meet with a man who ruled a desert kingdom, finally resting on her white high-heeled sandals.

Again she’d earnt his disapproval. ‘I’m not really dressed for walking. Coffee would be better.’

‘Indeed,’ he said as he gestured with an outstretched hand that she should precede him to the tables outside set for breakfast.

A thrill of something she’d never known before skipped up her spine as she became acutely aware of his eyes on her. The intensity of his scrutiny burned through her leather jacket and the fine fabric of the dress, making her shiver as if she were cold. In contrast the kind of heat from sipping fine brandy flooded through her.

As they neared the terrace of the restaurant a member of staff appeared instantly, eager to please the sheikh, and she realised for the first time just what his life must be like. He was much wealthier than any of the couples she had been hired by in the past, although plenty of them had given her a window into the world of wealth and luxury. This man, however, far surpassed that.

‘A quiet table for two.’ He spoke firmly, demanding precisely what he wanted without so much as a please or thank you.

‘This way, Sheikh Al-Shehri.’ The waiter led them to a secluded table at the edge of the terrace, where a mass of climbing roses clung to a trellis forming the perfect private area. The view from the table across the rolling English landscape was unrivalled, but, with her nerves like that of a young colt, she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it.

Tiffany allowed herself to be seated, as if waiting for such a thing were normal, and then tried to focus her attention on the view instead of the formidably brooding presence of the man she was about to strike the most bizarre deal with. A deal that, given the imminent repossession of Bethany’s home, was now the only option she had.

‘I’ll come straight to the point, Mr Al-Shehri.’ She paused for a moment to gather herself as he fixed his attention on her, wanting to word this right, but before she could say any more he filled that pause.

‘Decisive. That is good. I like a woman who knows what she wants.’ She looked at him, into those green eyes, and wondered if he was mocking her, but there wasn’t even the smallest hint of a smile. In fact there was very little trace of any emotion. Only severe control.

She began again before her nerve failed her. ‘Providing my terms are met, I will accept your deal. I will be your hired bride.’

Those last two words almost choked her. After the mess and complications of her parents’ divorce, she’d longed to find true love and happiness. Her ex-boyfriend hadn’t understood her need to wait to take their relationship to the next level and now she accepted her reluctance to do so was because she hadn’t loved him. Not in the deep and intense way she’d always dreamt it would be when she met the man she would spend the rest of her life with.

‘Terms?’ He sat back, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his thumb and finger moving over his chin, the subtle sound of the hint of dark stubble snagging her attention.

‘Yes, my terms,’ she fired back at him, defiantly lifting her chin, determined to stand up for herself. ‘You didn’t think I would just accept whatever conditions you put forward, did you?’

‘Very well.’ He folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with the searing heat of his gaze and an explosion of fire erupted within her. ‘What are your terms?’

This time there was a hint of amusement in his voice, the slightest movement upwards of his lips. She almost laughed out loud when she realised he’d probably never had anyone set out their terms to him for anything. He must be used to getting precisely what he wanted all the time. Well, she wasn’t about to make this easy for him. Yes, she needed the money, and needed it now, but she had to keep some dignity, had to demand at least something for herself. After all, marrying anyone was a big deal, let alone a stranger.

‘Before we discuss that, I want to know why you need a bride in such a hurry and why me?’ She looked at him, using the fire to boost her confidence, to show him she was a woman who could hold her own. ‘Why not a woman from your country? In fact, I think you are hiding something, Mr Al-Shehri.’

‘Jafar,’ he said calmly. Completely unruffled by her questions. ‘I’d much prefer to be on first-name terms with the woman I am negotiating a marriage contract with. It’s so much more personal, don’t you agree?’

Her fierce response to that question was halted by the arrival of coffee and for a moment she allowed herself to believe this wasn’t happening, that none of this was real as the strong aroma of coffee fired her senses.

‘Well?’ he demanded as they were once more left alone. ‘Do you agree, Tiffany?’

The emphasis he put into her name, his exotic accent caressing every syllable, made her pulse leap and she had to force herself to look into his eyes, to meet the power of this man head-on without flinching, without showing any fear or doubt. ‘Absolutely, Jafar.’

His name seemed strangely familiar to her tongue as she sat straight and tall in the chair in a bid to appear as in control as he was. She almost achieved that until he smiled. It happened so suddenly she quite literally forgot to breathe as she became the focus of his attention. Heat sizzled over her at an alarming rate.

* * *

Jafar watched as a charming blush bloomed on Tiffany’s cheeks, knocking the confident businesswoman sideways and allowing him to glimpse the woman he believed she never wanted him to find. The passionate, yet shy woman who lived beneath her toughened exterior. That was precisely why he wouldn’t be giving in to the urge to kiss her that he’d had since the moment they had been introduced. She was wrong for him on so many levels, but right in only one. She needed him as much as he needed her, not that he’d ever allow her to know just how much.

‘What exactly do you want to know, Tiffany?’ She looked at him, then away, that shyness coming to the fore once more. It intrigued him. Maybe the time they would have to be together as man and wife was going to be far more interesting than he’d anticipated.

‘Why a man such as yourself has to marry a complete stranger within two weeks?’ Her blunt question fired directly at him and he admired her honesty, even if it meant he would have to share part of himself, part of his past with her. Something he never did with women.

He looked away across the fields of green grass as he thought of his brother, Malek, and the accident that had claimed him and his wife. That tragic day had made Jafar the ruler of Shamsumara. He’d always had the good of the country at heart, but never once in recent years, when he’d been sharing the burden of bringing the kingdom back to a good place to live after the tough years his father had ruled with hardness and cruelty, had he imagined himself the ruler. Jafar had never considered the possibility that one day that responsibility would lie solely with him.

‘I became the ruler of the kingdom of Shamsumara after a sudden family death. One which has left the country in a vulnerable position, open to the challenge of leadership from a man who rules his own kingdom with the same fear and dominance my father had ruled with. It is not the way I rule and I will not allow my people to live through that again.’

He looked at her face, saw the confusion in her eyes and knew this must be sounding so far-fetched to her. A dart of doubt shot through him. Was he doing the right thing, involving this woman in the affairs of his country? She might be in need of the sort of funds he could easily provide, but would she be able to fulfil the duties that would be required of her as his Queen? Even if it was only for a short time?

‘It seems to me that you need far more than a bride,’ she said as she sipped her coffee. He looked at his, but knew he wouldn’t taste it, that the memory of his brother and the threat posed by his cousin, the one man he truly hated, would obliterate all sense of taste. ‘You need a wife, a proper wife, a woman to give you heirs. That woman would be your Queen, wouldn’t she?’

He couldn’t help the shock that slammed into him. Maybe he’d misjudged this alluring woman. She was far more astute than he’d given her credit for. ‘Yes, my bride will be my Queen and in normal terms an heir is exactly what I would need, but, on this occasion, no. My sister married last year and is expecting her first child. The usual order of things in our country is that her child will become my heir until such a time as I have my own child, which of course I don’t plan to do. So producing an heir myself isn’t necessary.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I’m confused. If you don’t need an heir why not marry a woman from your own country?’

‘Because I have no wish to be married in the true sense of the word.’ How the hell did he put the last two years into a few concise sentences that would make sense to her? ‘As an unmarried ruler, I am open to challenge. That challenge would come from my cousin Simdan, who rules harshly over a small country which borders Shamsumara. He wants my kingdom for the power it would bring him—and the wealth. Shamsumara is rich in oil.’

‘And if you were married?’ The question lingered in the air like the threat of thunder.

‘My cousin has recently become a father and as a married ruler with an heir he can challenge my rule. If I married, his immediate ability to challenge me would become less and once my sister’s child is born and declared my heir, his claim on my throne is no longer valid.’

She put down her coffee cup with a clatter, spilling the dark liquid into the saucer. ‘When is the baby due?’

‘At the end of October.’ It was this very fact and the possibility that things could even now go wrong in his sister’s pregnancy that necessitated Jafar’s marriage. He was well aware that Simdan was already making moves to launch a claim for Shamsumara. If the unthinkable happened and his sister lost her baby, he would at least be the married ruler tradition demanded.

‘So where exactly do I come into all this?’ The panic in her voice was clear and he quickly realised where his explanation had taken her thoughts.

‘I only require you to be my bride. I have no intention of making a real marriage or having my own children, not when my nephew or niece will soon be born.’ He saw those expressive eyes widen and knew exactly what she was thinking. Three months was a long time and anything could happen. It was his aide’s main concern too.

‘If that is the case, why do you need to marry at all?’ Was that a hint of relief he detected in her voice? She pushed her coffee cup away as if the conversation was coming to an end, as if she’d already decided she would not take him up on the deal. He couldn’t allow that. He had much to lose and so did she. Something he would remind her of. ‘Can’t you name the baby now as your heir?’

‘In order to continue to rule in my brother’s place I must be married the day after the feast of Shams, which is two weeks from now, or my cousin has every right to claim the kingdom.’ Just as she had done yesterday, she laughed. He bit down hard against the irritation. How dared she when her own life was in such a mess? ‘I must then remain for two years.’

‘Two years?’

‘You would only be required to remain in Shamsumara as my wife and Queen for three months or until my sister’s baby is born. We will have to remain legally married for two years, but after that a divorce will be easy to procure. And, of course, you will have a very substantial settlement.’

‘And because of my job and my financial situation you thought I would be desperate enough to be your hired bride?’ The amusement in her voice held no malice but it didn’t soften his mood. He was not used to having to cajole women around to his way of thinking.

‘I would rate imminent repossession of your sister’s home desperate, but, of course, if you don’t...’ He left the sentence unfinished, his withdrawal of the deal, which he knew full well she needed, hang in the morning air between them. It felt like the biggest gamble he’d ever made. She looked at him in silence, something other than strained tension zapping between them. Raw desire.

‘I find it alarming that you know so much about me, Mr Al-Shehri.’ The curtness of her tone when she finally spoke left him in no doubt he’d touched a raw nerve.

‘I thought we were on more informal terms now, Tiffany.’ He added her name, enjoying the flash of anger in the depths of her eyes. He leant forward in his chair and lowered his voice. ‘We are, after all, almost engaged.’

‘Not so fast. Not until you have agreed to my terms—all of them.’ He admired the fire of defiance burning within her, revelled in the challenge she was unwittingly creating. He thrived on challenge, hated meek-willed individuals who would agree to anything he said just because of who he was.

At last he’d met a woman who was more than a match for him. The next three months of living as man and wife would prove very interesting indeed. ‘I think it’s about time you told me just what they are.’

She sat back as she looked at him, the haughty lift of her chin showing her spirit, reminding him of an unbroken horse. She had as much spirit as a stallion and, just as he did with his horses, he looked forward to harnessing that spirit, to turning her into one of his graceful falcons that would fly at his bequest and return willingly to his arm.