The Sheikh's Arranged Marriage: The only thing worse than falling in love with the man she'd married was knowing he would never feel the same... (6 page)

He reached the end of the pool and kicked his legs against the beautifully mosaiced wall, so that he spun beneath the water. With effortless grace, he returned to the opposite end.
Study forgotten, she leaned back in her chair and stared, as again and again he carved through the water. How much time passed, she couldn’t say.

He paused at one end of the pool, in the shade thrown from the building beyond, and swiped his towel across his face.

His eyes found hers. Pierced them with their swift focus. “Are you waiting for a written invitation?” He mused, just loud enough that his voice carried to her on the breeze.

She stood and leaned against the ornately carved railing. “I beg your pardon?”

“Instead of sitting there and staring, why don’t you come and join me?” He grinned rakishly up at her. Rebecca felt mortification uncurl in her stomach. He had known she was watching him. She looked behind her, to the cocoon of her bedroom, where three of her attendants were sitting, sorting through even more dresses that had arrived as wedding presents.

She held a finger to her lips to urge him to speak quietly and his laugh drifted over to her. “Don’t be shy. We are husband and wife, after all, and I am only suggesting you join me for an afternoon swim on a very hot day.”

Put like that, she did seem childish for hesitating. “What if I don’t feel like swimming?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Then come down here and watch me. Let me try to change your mind.”

She bit down on her lower lip and then, with a small shake of her head, disappeared back inside.

She told herself she was only going down there because it was hot. Not because he had demanded it. Not because she desired him so much she felt like she was going to
explode. Not giving herself a chance to back out, she quickly changed into a black all in one swimsuit, and pulled a transparent kaftan on over the top.

“Are you certain this is appropriate?” She asked Monique uncertainly.

“Of course. Besides, no one will see you. Go down this staircase and you’ll open out straight into the pool. No servant will interrupt while the Emir is swimming.” She added.

Rebecca nodded. “Thank you, Monique.”

She walked down the narrow staircase, and with every step, felt her nerves tangling and multiplying. The staircase looked almost as though it had been carved out of stone. Each step was a little uneven, and the walls loomed inwards with slight bulges and variations as she went. As Monique had promised, the last step opened out onto a paved courtyard that skirted around the pool.

She frowned. The pool was now emp
ty. The water still. Perhaps he had tired of waiting for her.

Just as she was about to call his name into the warm afternoon, t
wo hands snaked around her waist and pulled her back into the shadows, hard against a wet, firm body. Ah. There he was.

“You came.” He whispered against her neck, and the double entendre gave her a small thrill of anticipation.

“You’re making me wet,” she replied in kind, earning a grin of acknowledgement from him.

He pulled at the fabric of her robe and lifted it easily over her hips, and then her head, so that she was dressed in the simple black bathing costume.

“You look... perfect.” He complimented as his eyes travelled the length of her body. “Almost a shame to have to do this.”

“Do what?” She asked. He scooped her into his arms and carried her as though she weighed no more than a sparrow towards the edge of the pool. Guessing his intention, she wriggled against his torso, but he easily overpowered her. “No!
Tariq, don’t do it!” She shrieked, and pummelled a fist against his naked chest.

“Ah, don’t be a
baby,” he chided gently, and without a second’s hesitation, leaped into the pool with her still in his arms.

The water splashed all around her as she sank almost to the bottom, but two firm arms kept her close and made her feel safe. She kicked strongly and floated back to the surface. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that,” she promised, splashing water straight into his face.

He laughed. “Is that a promise?”

She laughed back, pushing hair out of her eyes. “Yep.”

“Good. I look forward to it.”

Her breath was shallow, but she didn’t know if it was because of the sudden submersion into the water, or the man still holding her tight.

“How did your meeting go?” She changed the subject clumsily and slid out of his arms at the same time, putting some much needed space between them.

Remembering his promise to go softly, softly with Rebecca, he allowed her to regain some
distance. The force of their chemistry terrified even him. He couldn’t imagine what she, with her complete lack of experience, must be making of the overpowering spark that flew between them.

“
We made some headway. It will take time to stamp out the problem completely.”

“What is the problem?” She asked, and he could see from her expression that she wasn’t simply humouring him.

“Crime. We have had several transports mugged at gunpoint over the past twelve months. Several trucking companies have now changed their routes, and won’t go further north or south than what they deem to be a safe point. Meaning that our most regional areas are no longer well served for even basic essentials. It’s making life untenable for tens of thousands.” He sighed heavily. “The roads are good. But the risk is too high.”

She nodded sympathetically. “And you think you have a solution?”

“A few ideas. Checkpoints. Drivers carrying armed guards.”

She frowned. “But you don’t like that idea.” She didn’t know how she knew it, but she just did.

He shook his head. “Not exactly. Yet it makes sense.”

“Hmm.” She nodded slowly. “But we’ve seen that experiment fail
in other countries. Arming more and more people doesn’t defuse violence.”

“Exactly.” His smile was so rich it made her body tingle with warmth.
“Gun ownership in Assan is illegal. Only police and members of the military carry lethal weapons, and even then, it is strictly regulated and licences must be held. Having private security contractors suddenly infiltrate our highways makes me... anxious.”

“Understandably so. There must be better options.”

He nodded. “I have been looking at getting an air service operational. The problem is that it is expensive, and it might drive the cost of goods up too quickly.”

“You can’t subsidise it?”

“I could.” He narrowed his gaze. “Does this really interest you?”

She nodded emphatically. “Yes. I married you. I became Queen of Assan. I want to know everything about the country.”

He felt pride swell in his chest. “Why don’t you accompany me to the meeting tomorrow?”

“It wouldn’t be strange to have me there?”

“Of course not. As you say, you are Queen of Assan.”

She looked him in the eyes and smiled brightly. “Thank you, then. I’d be delighted.”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested in the politics of the country,” he admitted, treading water right in front of her. His thigh brushed against hers and she instinctively pressed harder against the wall.

“Now, why would you think that?” She wondered aloud.

“You’re a teacher.” He shrugged.

“Yes. But teachers can be interested in a great many things beyond the classroom,” she pointed out
in chagrin.

“I didn’t mean to cause offence.” His eyes narrowed. “You can be quite prickly sometimes.”

“Prickly?” She laughed, but his observation cut her to the quick. Another byproduct of the way Winona and Greg had habitually berated her, growing up. She knew she was too sensitive.

“Like you are expecting criticism.
Waiting for it.”

“I wonder why I would expect criticism from you,
Tariq.” Her tone was filled with irony.

He had kept a distance for too long. He pulled through the water with one firm breast stroke and put his hands on either side of the pool coping, effectively
trapping her between his arms. He wrapped his legs around her waist and pulled her close, so that his penis was tantalisingly close to her core. He watched her face flicker with sexual heat and felt his own need stir. “I was wrong to speak to you as I did on our wedding night,” he said slowly, and he pressed his lips against her forehead. “I don’t apologise often, Rebecca, but I am truly sorry for the words I spoke.”

The words he had spoken. Not the sentiment behind them, she noted with the small part of her brain that was still capable of logical thought.
Nonetheless, she recognised what an uncharacteristic gesture it was for this man, and she nodded slowly.

“Thank you for the apology.”

He tightened his legs, pulling her even closer. “
It was wrong of me to judge your motives. I was carrying on like a spoilt child.”

She bit down on her lip, and a question that had been dancing on the frayed edge of her consciousness since that night bubbled into words. “Were you terribly disappointed that your parents chose me?”

He looked away from her, shielding his expression. “You were not what I expected,” he finally admitted gruffly. Seeing the way her face fell, he pressed a finger underneath her chin and lifted her face, so that she could see the truth in his eyes. “That is not the same as being disappointed.”

Bitter hurt, fierce and strong, wrapped around her heart, protectively coating it in
reality. He was a natural born diplomatic, but there was no sugar coating the truth. He’d expected someone different. Undoubtedly someone better.

Since her parent
s’ death, she’d been foisted on people who hadn’t loved her. The experience was not a new one. Winona and Greg had borne her presence with a clear dislike. And now her husband had the same fate ahead of him. It was all too familiar.

But familiarity with the sensation did not inure her to the pain it caused. Her husband didn’t want her. He was simply making the best of her wi
llingness to jump into his bed. And she was just fool enough to do it anyway.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Hey,” He pressed another kiss against the base of her neck, and her pulse leaped as he did so. “You’re a million miles away.”

She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. “Such an American expression,” she observed distractedly. “Sometimes I could forget you are even from Assan. You speak with an American accent. You seem so Westernised.”

Another conversation change. He was growing used to the way Rebecca would jerk subjects when she didn’t like the direction he was guiding them. Again, he allowed the diversion. “In many ways, I am. I spent a considerable amount of my life abroad. However, I never forgot I was born to be King of Assan. It is in my blood.”

She nodded. She could see how his purpose was inherent to his
personality. “Were you able to have a mostly normal life, then?”

He shook his head. “No. I always had a small band of security. Plain clothed, but ever present. My destiny made me famous
even before I’d arrived on campus.”

She grimaced sympathetically.
Tariq brought a hand up and ran a finger along the straight scar that ran from the centre of his eyebrow to the top of his forehead. She watched the unconscious gesture. The scar was so feint it was barely recognisable, but she had noticed it immediately. It was the single impediment to an otherwise perfect face. Only it didn’t detract from his appeal. On the contrary. It enhanced it ten fold.

“What happened?” She nodded towards the scar.

He shook his head. “It was a lifetime ago.”

“Now who’s being evasive,” she teased, and tried to twist out of his legs.

He shook his head. “You aren’t going anywhere, Sheikha.”

Her heart pounded against her chest, so hard it must have been audible to him, too.
“Keeping me prisoner?” She asked with an arch of her perfectly shaped brow.

“I told you it was tempting...” He ran his hands down her back, linking them behind her.

She felt her brain immediately refute his words. Tempting? To a man like him? Hardly.

She swallowed hard and looked beyond him with effort. The pool was in the middle of a courtyard, with palace walls lining every side. “You said this was a private pool,” she queried, noting the hundreds of stained glass windows that overlooked them.

“It is. Completely. These rooms are all part of the private royal residence.”

“Really?” She drew her brows together. “I didn’t
realise it was so expansive.”

He shrugged. “Most of the rooms are reserved for when the royal family is in residence. We are presently only a royal couple.” He gave her a pointed look as his meaning swamped down through the layers of her brain.

“Children.” She stumbled. “Yes. Of course.” She had known children were a part of the reason they had married. Why his parents had sought her as a bride at that time. At thirty four, she supposed the time for Tariq to produce an heir was now. The thought of growing fat with his baby made her ache with a need she hadn’t known she’d possessed.