The sheikh's chosen wife (12 page)

When he removed it again
he stretched the hand out towards her. 'Join me,' he invited.

Leona shook her head and
instead found her arms crossing tightly beneath the thrust of her breasts.
'Tell me first,' she insisted.

'Don't be difficult,' he
censured. 'I want you here, within touching distance when I explain.'

But she didn't want to be
within touching distance when he said what she knew he had to say. 'You are
about to go home, aren't you?'

'Yes,' he confirmed.

It was all right
challenging someone to tell you the truth when you did not mind the answer, but
when you did mind it— 'So this is it,' she stated, finding a short laugh from
somewhere that was not really a laugh at all. 'Holiday over...'

Out there the sun
glistened on the blue water, casting a shimmering haze over the nearing land.
It was hot but she was cold. It was bright but she was standing in darkness.
The end, she thought. The finish.

'So, how are you going to
play it?' she asked him. 'Do you drop me off on the quay in the clothes I
arrived in and wave a poignant farewell as you sail away. Or have I earned my
passage back to San Esteban?'

'What are you talking
about?' Hassan frowned. 'You are my wife, yet you speak about yourself as a
mistress.'

Which was basically how
she had been behaving over the last two weeks, Leona admitted to herself. 'Inshallah,'
she

The small sarcasm brought
him back to his feet. As he strode towards her she felt her body quicken, felt
her breasts grow tight and despised herself for being so weak of the flesh that
she could be aroused by a man who was about to carry out his promise to free
her. But six feet two inches of pedigree male to her five feet seven was such
a lot to ignore when she added physical power into the equation, then included
mental power and sexual power. It really was no wonder she was such a weakling
where he was concerned.

And it didn't stop there,
because he came to brace his hands on the rail either side of her, then pushed
his dark face close up to hers. Now she could feel the heat of him, feel his
scented breath on her face. She even responded to the ever-present sexual glow
in his eyes though it had no right to be there—in either of them.

'A mistress knows when to
keep her beautiful mouth shut and just listen. A wife does her husband the
honour of hearing him out before she makes wildly inaccurate claims,' he said.

'You've just told me that
our time here is over,' she reminded him with a small tense shrug of one
slender shoulder. 'What else is there left for you to say?'

'What I said,' he
corrected, 'was that our time here alone.

The difference made her
frown. Hassan used the moment to shift his stance, grasp both of her hands and
pry them away from the death grip they had on her arms. Her ringers left marks
where they had been clinging. He frowned at the marks and sighed at her
pathetically defiant face. Then, dropping one of her hands, he turned and
pulled her over to the table, urged her down into the chair he had just vacated
and, still without letting go of her other hand, pulled out a second chair upon
which he sat down himself.

He drew the chair so
close to her own that he had to spread his thighs wide enough to enclose hers.
It was a very effective way to trap his audience, especially when he leaned forward
and said, 'Now, listen, because this is important and I will not have you
diverting me by tossing up insignificant.

It was automatic that she
should open her mouth to question that remark. It was predictable, she
supposed, that Hassan should stop her by placing his free hand across her
parted lips. 'Shh,' he commanded, 'for I refuse to be distracted yet again
because the anguish shows in your eyes each time we reach this moment, and your
words are only weapons you use to try and hide that from me.'

'Omniscient' was the word
that came to mind to describe him, she thought, as her eyes told him she would
be quiet. His hand slid away from her face, leaving its warm imprint on her
skin. He smiled a brief smile at her acquiescence, then went so very serious
that she found herself holding onto her breath.

'You know,' he began,
'that above all things my father has always been your strongest ally, and it is
for him that I am about to speak...'

The moment he mentioned
Sheikh Khalifa her expressive eyes clouded with concern.

'As his health fails, the
more he worries about the future of Rahman,' he explained. 'He frets about
everything. You me, what I will do if the pressures currently being brought to
bear upon me force me to make a decision which could change the rule of
Rahman."

'You mean you have
actually considered giving up your right to succession?' Leona gasped out in
surprise.

'It is an option,' he
confessed. 'And one which became more appealing after I uncovered the plot
involving you, which was aimed to make me do as other people wish,' he added
cynically. 'But for my father's sake I assured him that I am not about to walk
away from my duty. So he decided to fret about my happiness if I am forced to
sacrifice you for the sake of harmony, which places me in a frustrating no-win
situation where his peace of mind is concerned.'

‘I am sorry.' she
murmured.

'I don't want your
sympathy, I want your help,' he stated with a shortness that told her how much
he disliked having to ask. 'He loves you, Leona, you know that. He has missed
you badly since you left Rahman.'

'I didn't completely
desert him, Hassan.' She felt pushed into defending herself. 'I've spoken to
him every day via the internet.' Even here on the yacht she had been using Faysal's
computer each morning to access her e-mail. 'I even read the same books he is
reading so that we can discuss them together. I—'

'I know,' Hassan cut in
with a wry smile. 'What you say to him he relays to me, so I am fully aware
that I am a bully and a tyrant, a man without principle and most definitely my
father's son.'

'I said those things to
tease a laugh out of him,' she defended.

'I know this too,' he
assured her. 'But he likes to make me smile with him.' Reaching up, he stroked
a finger along the flush of discomfort that had mounted her cheeks. 'And let me
face it,' he added, removing the finger, 'your communication with him was far
sweeter than your communication with me.'

He was referring to the
letters he'd received from her lawyer. 'It was over between us. You should
have left it like that."

'It is not over between
us, and I cannot leave it like that.'

'Your father__'

'Needs you,' he grimly
inserted. ‘I need you to help me ease his most pressing concerns. So I am
asking you for a full and open reconciliation of our marriage—for my father's
sake if not for yours and mine.'

Leona wasn't a fool. She
knew what he was not saying here. 'For how long?"

He offered a shrug. 'How
long is a piece of string?' he posed whimsically. Then, because he could see
that the answer was not enough, he dropped the whimsy, sat right back in his
seat and told her curtly, 'The doctors give him two months—three at most. In
that period we have been warned to expect a rapid deterioration as the end
draws near. So I ask you to do this one thing for him and help to make his
passage out of this world a gentle one...'

Oh, dear heaven, she
thought, putting a hand up to her eyes as the full weight of what he was asking
settled over her. How could she refuse? She didn't even want to refuse. She
loved that old man as much as she loved her own father. But there were other
issues here which had not been aired yet, and it was those that kept her
agreement locked inside.

'The other wife they want
for you,' she prompted, 'am I to appear to accept her imminent arrival also?'

His expression darkened.
'Do me the honour of allowing me some sensitivity,' he came back. 'I have no
wish to sacrifice your face for my own face. And I find it offensive that you
could suspect that I would do.'

Which was very fine and
noble of him but— 'She is still there, hovering in the shadows, Hassan,' Leona
said heavily. She could even put a name to the woman, though he probably
didn't know that she could. 'And taking me back to Rahman does not solve your
problems with the other family leaders unless you take that other wife.'

"The old ones and I
have come to an agreement,' he informed her. 'In respect for my father, they
will let the matter ride while he is still alive.'

'Then what?'

'I will deal with them when
I have to, but for the next few months anyway, my father's peace of mind must
come first.'

And so, he was therefore
saying, should it for her. 'Will you do this?'

The outright challenge. 'Did
you really think that I would not?' She sighed, standing up and pushing her
chair away so that she could step around him.

'You're angry.' His eyes
narrowed on her sparkling eyes and set expression.

Anger didn't nearly cover
what she was really feeling. 'In principle I agree to play the doting wife
again,' she said. 'But in fact I am now going to go away and sulk as you like
to call it. Because no matter how well you wrap it all up in words of concern,
Hassan, you are as guilty for using me in much the same way my foiled abductors
intended to use me and that makes you no better than them, does it?'

With that she turned and
walked away, and Hassan allowed her to, because he knew she was speaking the
truth so had nothing he could offer in his own defence.

Within seconds Rafiq
appeared with a question written into the hard lines of his face.

'Don't ask,' he advised
heavily. 'And she does not even know the half of it yet."

'Which half does she not
know,' Raflq asked anyway.

'What comes next,' Hassan
replied, watching his half-brother's eyes slide over his left shoulder. He spun
to see what he was looking at, then began cursing when he saw how close they
were to reaching their reserved berth in Port Said. 'How long?' he demanded.

'You have approximately
one hour before the first guests begin to arrive.'

A small hour to talk, to
soothe, to plead yet again for more charity from a woman who had given enough
as it was. 'You had better prepare yourself to take my place, Raflq,' he gritted.
'Because, at this precise moment, I am seriously considering jumping ship with
my wife and forgetting I possess a single drop of Al-Qadim blood.'

'Our father may not
appreciate such a decision,' Rafiq commented dryly.

"That reminder,'
Hassan turned to snap, 'was not necessary.'

'I was merely covering
for myself,' his half brother defended. 'For I have no wish to walk in your
shoes, my lord Sheikh.'

About to go after Leona,
Hassan paused. 'What do you wish for?' he questioned curiously.

'Ah.' Rafiq sighed. 'At
this precise moment I wish for midnight, when I should be with my woman in a
hotel room in Port Said. For tonight she flies in to dance for visiting royalty
by special request. But later she will dance only for me and I will worship at
her feet. Then I will worship other parts of her until dawn, after which I
will reluctantly return here, to your exalted service, my lord sheikh,' he
concluded with a mocking bow.

Despite the weight of his
mood, Hassan could not resist a smile. 'You should change your plans and bring
her to dinner,' he suggested. 'The sheer sensation she would cause would be a
diversion I would truly appreciate.'

'But would Leona?' Raflq
pondered.

Instantly all humour died
from Hassan's face. 'Leona,' he predicted, 'is in no frame of mind to
appreciate anything.'

And on that grim
reminder, he went off to find his woman, while half wishing that he was the one
treading in Rafiq's shoes.

He found her without
difficulty, shut behind the bathroom door and hiding in the steam being
produced by the shower. The fact that she had not bothered to lock the door
spoke volumes as to her mood. Hassan could visualise the angry way she would
have walked in here, throwing the door shut behind her then taking the rest of
her anger out on the heap of clothes he could see tossed onto the floor.

So what did he do now? Go
back to the bedroom and wait for her to reappear, or did he throw caution to
the wind, strip off and just brave her fiery den?

It was not really a
question since he was already taking off his clothes. For this was no time to
be feeble. Leona had agreed in principle, so now she was about to learn the consequences
of that. With a firming of his mouth he opened the shower-cubicle door, stepped
inside and closed it again.

She was standing just out
of reach of the shower jets with her head tipped back as she massaged shampoo
into her hair. Streams of foaming bubbles were sliding over wet gold skin,
collecting around the tips of her tilted breasts and snaking through the
delightful valley in between to pool in the perfect oval of her navel, before
spilling out to continue their way towards the chestnut cluster marking the
apex with her slender thighs.