Hidden In the Sheikh's Harem (9 page)

Knowing there was in insult buried in that look, she pushed at his chest, relieved when he let her pass. ‘I won't do it,' she muttered, ‘I refuse to marry you.'

‘You have to.' His gaze turned implacable. ‘Have you forgotten that my honour and your reputation are at stake?'

‘No, but I don't care about my reputation!' she cried. Her vision of a future in which she directed her own life was falling away from her before her very eyes. If she couldn't do anything about it, she was going to be married, and she couldn't think of anything worse. Well, her father dying in a prison cell was worse, and perhaps never experiencing the prince's hot kisses again... But, no, how could that be worse?

‘Well, I care about my honour,' he said coldly. ‘Especially at a time when I need the support of our people. And let's not forget your father's small threat of war.'

‘But—'

‘Enough. I find I am exhausted from all the
excitement
of the past week, not to mention tonight. We will be married, Farah. Perhaps it is fate.'

A sense of inevitability stole over her at his words. She had always known there would be a price to pay for her father's actions; she just hadn't expected that price to be her marriage.

Shaking her head, she swallowed past a lump in her throat that extended all the way to her stomach. ‘I've never liked fate,' she said dully.

The prince gave her a faintly mocking smile. ‘While I have never believed in it. But it won't be all bad.' His tone softened. ‘I will be gentle with you,
habiba
.'

Heat bloomed across her cheeks as she realised how exactly he was going to be gentle with her. ‘I don't want you to be gentle with me,' she blazed. ‘I don't want you to be anything with me.'

He smiled as if he knew better than she did. ‘We'll see.'

CHAPTER TEN

T
HREE
 
DAYS
 
LATER
 
Zach found himself a married man. Something he should have felt worse about, given that he wasn't in love with his bride, but didn't.

The wedding had been small, nothing like his brother's extravaganza, but everyone had said it was romantic, the way the prince had fallen in love with the daughter of his father's archenemy thus uniting what had once been the two biggest tribes in the country. Zach hadn't thought of it that way at the time it was going down, but the advantages were obvious on a political level. On a personal level his mother seemed to take great delight in the ‘love match' so he had remained silent about the real reason behind their union.

A union he'd had the power to prevent when Nadir had informed him that he'd come up with a plan to extricate him from it. Zach knew it would have been what Farah wanted. Hell, it was what
he
wanted. So why hadn't he done it? Especially with his brother about to become the next king; it would have meant total freedom for him, which he had now firmly denied himself.

Nothing made sense, not the churning feeling in his gut, nor the way Farah made him feel so hungry for her. As if she was the last woman in the world for him.

Well, she is
, his conscience reminded him,
and you will be the first man to touch her.

Something he found himself increasingly impatient to do. Probably he should be a little worried about his eagerness to bed a woman who so obviously didn't like him, but he wasn't. They might not have started this marriage in a conventional way but he had no doubt that she would please him. As he would please her once she stopped being so prickly about everything.

She was an intriguing personality, his new wife— headstrong and handy with a sword, as well as brave and fiercely loyal, with a keen intelligence all tied up in one delectably feminine package he was straining to unwrap.

Nadir's comment about his deliberately choosing the wrong women in the past came back to him. Was it possible? He never would have said so before but he also knew that Amy had never stirred the level of feeling in him that Farah did.

Scanning the milling crowd he easily located Farah across the room talking with his mother. She looked striking in a long-sleeved cream gown that skimmed her slender frame and ended at the floor. A whiff of something far more insidious than desire curled through him as he watched her. It gave him pause and, as if sensing the swirl of emotion coursing through him, his lovely bride glanced at him from beneath her long lashes.

Her eyes flared briefly as he took her in and Zach could almost feel the shudder that went through her. As much as she might not like to admit it, she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. His blood heated, driving everything else out of his head except bedding her.

‘Drink, little brother?'

Cursing under his breath, Zach arched a brow at his brother. He knew Nadir felt sorry for him. He knew he wasn't in love with Farah and since finding love himself he'd turned into some sort of agony uncle. But he didn't want a drink. He didn't want anything to dull his senses for his wedding night to come. ‘No, I'm good.'

Was it too early to leave? He glanced at his watch. They'd been at the reception for an hour; surely that was long enough.

‘Imogen was wondering where you intend to go for your honeymoon.'

Honeymoon?
Interesting question and one he hadn't even considered. He'd spent the last three days in back to back meetings trying not to think about sex before marriage. Now he realised that a honeymoon would be the perfect excuse to take Farah away from the worries of Bakaan and the reason behind their marriage. A chance to start fresh.

But where to go? Paris? New York? The Seychelles? No, wrong time of year for— Suddenly Damian's birthday invitation swung into his mind.
Ibiza?
Could he take her to Ibiza?

‘I wouldn't recommend it.'

Not realising he'd spoken out loud until Nadir replied, Zach frowned. ‘Why not?'

‘It's a bit...wild. But why would you— Ah...' His brother smiled. ‘Offshore racing.'

Zach shrugged. ‘I am still the team owner,' he pointed out. ‘But it's Damian's birthday. I should be there.'

Nadir's brows rose. ‘You're going to spend your honeymoon at a mate's birthday party?'

‘Of course not,' Zach grated; he wasn't that selfish. ‘The party is one night and we'll have the whole week. What's wrong with that?'

Nadir held up his hands at Zach's aggrieved expression. ‘You're the expert on women, not me.'

‘Glad you finally admit it,' Zach growled. Ibiza was the perfect idea: fun, carefree and totally different from Bakaan. What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

‘The wedding was beautiful and you look especially lovely in your wonderful dress.'

‘Thank you.' Farah automatically murmured the rote response she had given most of the well-wishers at the wedding even though the gentle woman who had just joined her was now her mother-in-law. The fact was her brain was operating in some sort of a fog. She kept reminding herself that she was doing this for her father but that didn't always feel like the truth and that worried her just as much as being married did.

‘I hope you don't mind about the orchid.'

‘The orchid?'

‘A wedding gift from my private nursery. I had it delivered to your apartment in the palace. It's very rare but also very hardy. It represents love and fertility.'

Farah forced a smile at her words. Earlier Zach had asked her not to reveal the reason behind their marriage to his mother. She didn't know why, other than to stroke his massive ego, but she had agreed to go along with it. Now she felt like a phony as his mother beamed up at her. ‘My son always said he would marry for love, and I am so glad he has, because he deserves it.'

Love?
Farah never would have imagined that her new husband would be motivated by such a deep emotion and it made her wonder if he had been in love with the woman he had almost married. And if he had been in love then, was he still? She clutched her stomach, feeling a little ill at the thought. Or was that just the bubbly drink she'd consumed? Imogen had warned her to go easy on it but it was so sweet and refreshing she kept forgetting. She took another sip and realised that her mother-in-law was waiting for her to say something.

Wondering if ‘thank you' was even mildly appropriate, she was almost glad when Zach approached them.

‘I hope my mother is not making your ears bleed,
habiba
?' He smiled down at her like any indulgent new husband who was indeed in love with his wife.

‘Not at all,' she said a little breathlessly, trying to remember how much she disliked his handsome face.

She noticed the loving look he bestowed on his mother and suddenly wondered if his wish to keep his mother in the dark about their union had less to do with his ego and more to do with real caring. She'd lived on a diet of her father's prejudices against this man and his family for so long it was difficult to differentiate fact from fiction where he was concerned. His comment that perhaps her father wasn't the only one living in the past returned but she shook it off. She absolutely did not live in the past.

Grumpily, she watched his mother return his smile as if the sun shone out of him and Farah felt a pang that her own mother wasn't present. Probably if she had been, then Farah wouldn't have been here because her father would not have been bitter enough to kidnap the prince.

She glanced across the room to where her father was talking with a group of men, seeming to have forgotten the events that had led them to this night. He was the only person from her village present because Farah hadn't wanted to invite anyone else. It wasn't as if this was a real celebration and now she wished she had at least invited her good friend, Lila. She could do with the moral support, if not some advice about her wedding night to come.

The thought of sleeping with the prince caused a riot of mixed emotions to take flight in her stomach and she sipped her drink to subdue them. Should she be looking forward quite so much to joining with a man she didn't like? And would it be as good as kissing him was, or would it be a let down, as she'd heard other women tell of it? Somehow she knew that it wouldn't be and she shivered.

‘Cold,
habiba
?' Zach leant closer to her and she shook her head. She wasn't cold, she was hot. Too hot.

As if he was completely attuned to her innermost thoughts, his hand splayed possessively across her hip. ‘I'm afraid we have to leave you, Mother. We have a honeymoon to get to.'

‘Oh, how romantic. Make me lots of babies.'

Honeymoon?
Babies?
Farah's stomach fluttered again. All this talk of love and seeing Imogen and Sheikh Nadir's obvious adoration for each other was making her think strange, unwanted thoughts about things she'd once steadfastly declared she did not want, things that would make her just as beholden to a man as any other Bakaani woman. Things that had her earlier panic about marriage return tenfold.

Before she could tell him she had no desire to go on a honeymoon like a real married couple, his nose grazed the top of her head. ‘You smell delicious,' he murmured huskily. ‘What scent did you bathe in?'

Farah didn't want to remember her bath. Four women had come to prepare her for his pleasure and it had been like negotiations in a war room as they'd massaged and plucked and waxed her body into submission. Farah had determinedly refused to allow them to touch the hair between her legs and they'd clucked and tsked like old hens trying to establish the pecking order. The prince would not approve, they'd said. Good, she'd replied, much to their consternation. Now she wondered if he would approve and she hated the feeling of weakness that underscored that thought, hated the desire that she wanted to please him at all. She didn't. She didn't care what he thought of her.

She lifted her chin. ‘Poison.'

‘Then I will die a happy man tonight.'

His husky chuckle made her nerves tighten and Farah raised her half-empty glass to her lips. ‘One can only hope.'

But he wasn't listening, instead he was frowning at her glass. ‘Perhaps you should think about switching to water.'

‘But I like this very much.' She tilted the glass to her lips in what she knew was a childishly defiant gesture and drained it. ‘What is it called again?' She felt slightly dizzy from the rush of alcohol as it hit her stomach, but it was worth it to see him scowl.

‘Champagne.' His frown deepened. ‘Have you even had it before?'

‘Loads of times. We distil it in the hut behind my father's.'

His eyes narrowed and Farah widened hers innocently. Then he completely surprised her by shaking his head and laughing softly. ‘Okay, I deserved that.'

And there he went again, throwing her off just when she thought she had him all worked out.

‘Come, Farah, we should go.'

Oh, yes, the honeymoon
.

Suddenly nerves attacked her. She'd been deliberately not thinking about the end of the evening and what would come next. ‘I think it would be rude to leave so soon,' she said, aiming for cool and knowing she'd missed by a mile when his lips twisted in sympathy.
Sympathy!

‘Actually, it's quite late.'

Heat raced through her, making her feel even dizzier than she already was.

‘Where are we going?'

‘So suspicious, wife.' He smiled. ‘We are going to Ibiza.'

‘Ib... Where?'

‘It's a small, ruggedly beautiful island off the coast of Spain. You'll love it.'

She raised an eyebrow. She had always wanted to travel to faraway places but had never imagined she'd ever get the chance. ‘Because you say I will?'

She hadn't realised she'd raised her chin until he gripped it and tugged it down, his thumb resting on the curve of her lower lip. Her nerves were so raw even that small contact made her insides fizz.

‘I know you want another argument but I'm not going to give you one,' he said. ‘It's time to make love, Farah, not war. Wouldn't you prefer that?' His voice was a rough caress against her ear and before she could tell him that, actually, she was quite happy with war, he placed his hand firmly against the small of her back. Her breath caught and a delicious tingle of anticipation followed his fingers as they slid upwards to grip the nape of her neck. It was a blatantly possessive hold and spoke of domination and ownership. Farah, who had never imagined wanting to experience either of those things, felt every one of her bones turn to water.

Half an hour later they were ensconced on the royal plane and she was trying not to ogle the sleek luxury of the streamlined jet. ‘Where are all the seats?' she asked, taking in the well-spaced leather chairs and small tables.

‘This is a private plane. You'll need to take a seat when we take off. After that you can walk around the cabin. There's a bedroom in the back and two bathrooms. Are you okay?'

‘I'm not sure.' Her hand went to her head. ‘I think I have a headache.'

‘Already?' His smile was faintly mocking. ‘I've heard it takes wives a little longer to start producing that ex—'

‘Oh...' Farah moaned and must have turned as green as she felt because Zach forced her head down between her knees. ‘Oh, that's worse.'

‘It's the champagne.'

She waited for the nausea to pass and then sat up slowly. ‘How can something that tastes so lovely make me feel so ill?'

‘You're meant to drink it in small doses.'

‘Small doses, like small steps,' she hiccupped.

‘Exactly.' She heard the smile in his voice but kept her eyes closed.