The sheikh's chosen wife (14 page)

I love you, he wanted to
tell her. But loving did not mean much to a woman who felt that she was trapped
between a rock and a hard place.

A silence suddenly
reigned. It woke him up from his own thoughts to notice that Leona was staring
down at the plate in front of her and Samir had frozen in dismay. What had he
missed? What had been said? Muscles began tightening all over him. Rafiq was
looking at him for guidance. His skin began to crawl with the horrible knowledge
that he had just missed something supremely important, and he could not think
of a single thing to say!

His half-brother took the
initiative by coming to his feet. 'Leona, you will understand if I beg to leave
you now,' he petitioned as smooth as silk, while Hassan, who knew him better
than anyone, could see him almost pulsing with rage.

Leona's head came up as,
with a flickering blink of her lashes, she made the mammoth effort to puD
herself together. 'Oh, yes, of course, Rafiq,' she replied, having absolutely
no idea, Hassan was sure, why Rafiq was excusing himself halfway through
dinner, and at this precise moment she didn't care. It was a diversion. She
needed the diversion. It should have been himself who provided it.

'I need a word before you
leave,' he said to Rafiq, and got to his feet. 'Samir, do the honours and
replenish my wife's glass with wine.'

The poor young man almost
leapt at the wine bottle, relieved to have something to do. As Rafiq walked
past Hassan, with a face like fury, Hassan saw Leona reach out and gently
touch Samir's hand, as if to assure him that everything was all right.

'What did I miss in
there?' he rapped out at Rafiq as soon as they were out of earshot.

'If I did not like Samir
I would strangle him,' Rafiq responded harshly. 'Leona asked him how his
mother was. He went into a long and humorous story about her sitting in wait
for his sister to give birth. Leona dealt with that. She even laughed in all
the right places. But then the fool had to suggest it was time that she
produced your son and heir.'

'He cannot have known
what he was saying,' Hassan said.

'It was not the question
which threw Leona, it was the resounding silence that followed it and the bleak
expression upon your face! Where were you man?' Rafiq wanted to know. It was so
rare that he used that tone with Hassan, that the censure in it carried twice
the weight.

'My mind had drifted for
a few seconds,' he answered tensely.

'And the expression?'

'Part of the drift,' he
admitted heavily.

'You were supposed to be
on the alert at all times for attacks of this kind.' Rafiq was not impressed.
'It was risk enough to bring onto this boat the man who wishes her ill, without
you allowing your mind to drift.'

'Stop spitting words at
my neck and go to your dancer,' Hassan snapped back impatiently. 'You know as
well as I do that neither Abdul or Jibril would dare to try anything when they
are here for the specific purpose of talking me round!'

It's okay, Leona was
telling herself. I can deal with it. I've always known that deep inside he
cared more than he ever let me see. So, he had been caught by surprise and
showed the truth to everyone was caught by surprise and showed it myself.

'Samir,' she murmured
gently. 'If you pour me any more wine I will be sozzled and fall over when I
have to stand up.'

'Hassan wants your glass
kept full.' He grimly kept on pouring.

'Hassan was attempting to
fill an empty gap in the conversation, not put me under the table,' she dryly
pointed out.

Samir sat back with a
sigh, I want to die a thousands deaths,' he heavily confessed.

Hassan arrived back at
the table. Leona felt his glance sear a pointed message at her down the table's
length. She refused to catch his eye, and smiled and smiled until her jaw
ached.

After that, the rest of
the dinner passed off without further incident. But by the time the ladies left
the men alone and removed to the adjoining salon Leona was in no mood for a knife-stabbing
session. So she was actually relieved that Medina and Zafina chose to stab at
her indirectly by discussing Zafina's daughter, Nadira, whose beauty, it
seemed, had multiplied during the last year. And as for her grace and quiet
gentle ways—she was going to make some lucky man the perfect wife one day.

At least they didn't
prose on about how wonderful she was with children, Leona thought dryly, as the
conversation was halted when Hassan brought the men through within minutes of
the ladies leaving them.

The evening dragged on.
She thought about the other days and nights still to come and wondered if she was
going to get through them all in one piece. Eventually the other two women
decided they were ready to retire. A maid was called and within minutes of them
leaving Leona was happy to follow suit. As she stepped outside, Hassan joined
her. It was the first time he had managed to get her alone since the incident
at the dinner table.

'I am at your feet,' he
murmured contritely. 'I was miles away and had no idea what had taken place
until Rafiq explained it to me."

She didn't believe him,
but it was nice of him to try the cover-up, she supposed. 'Samir wins hands
down on apologies,' she came back. 'He wants to die a thousands deaths.'

With that she walked
away, shaking inside and not really sure why she was. She got ready for bed and
crawled between the cool cotton sheets, sighed, punched the pillow, then
attempted to fall asleep. She must have managed it, because the next thing she
knew a warm body was curling itself in behind her.

'I don't recall our new
deal involving having to share a bed," she said coldly.

'I don't recall offering
to sleep elsewhere,' Hassan coolly returned. 'So go back to sleep.' The arm he
folded around her aimed to trap. 'And, since I am as exhausted as you are, you
did not need the silk pyjamas to keep my lecherous hands.

'I really hate you
sometimes.' She wanted the last word.

'Whereas I will love you
with my dying breath and when they lay us in our final resting place in our
crypt of gold it will be like this, with the scent of your beautiful hair
against my face and my hand covering your lying little heart. There,' he
concluded, 'is that flowery enough to beat Samir's one thousand deaths?'

Despite not wanting to,
she giggled. It was her biggest mistake. The exhausted man became an
invigorated man. His lecherous desires took precedence.

Did she try to stop him?
No, she did not. Did she even want to? No, again. Did he know all of that
before he started removing the pyjamas? Of course he did. And there was
something needle-piercingly poignant in this man losing touch with everything
but this kind of loving as he came inside her, cupped her face with his hands
and held her gaze with his own, as he drove them towards that other resting
place.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Morning came too soon, to
Leona's regret. Although here, shut inside this room and wrapped in the
relative sanctuary of Hassan's arms, she could let herself pretend for a little
while longer that everything was perfect.

He
was perfect, she observed
tenderly as she studied the lean smooth lines of his dark golden face. He slept
quietly— he always had done—lips parted slightly, black lashes lying still
against the silken line of his cheekbones. Her heart began to squeeze and her
stomach muscles joined in. This deep-rooted attraction he had always inspired
in her had never diminished no matter what else had come in between.

She released a sigh that
feathered his face and made his nose twitch. And it was such a nose, she
thought with a smile, irresistibly reaching up to run a fingertip down its long
silken length.

'Life can have its
perfect moments,' a sleepy voice drawled.

Since she had been
thinking much the same herself, Leona moved that bit closer so she could brush
a kiss on his mouth.

Eyelashes drifted upward,
revealing ebony irises packed with love. 'Does the kiss mean you have forgiven
me for dropping all of this on you?'

'Shh,' she whispered, 'or
you will spoil it.'

'Kiss me again, then,' he
insisted. So she did. Why not? she asked herself. This was her man. Rightly or
wrongly he was most definitely hers here and now.

It was a shame the ring
of the telephone beside the bed had to intrude, or one thing would have led to
another before they should have needed to face reality again. As it was, Hassan
released a sigh and reached out to hook up the receiver. A few seconds later he
was replacing it again and reaching out to touch her kiss-warmed mouth with a
look of regret.

'Duty calls,' he
murmured.

Ah, duty, Leona thought,
and flopped heavily onto her back. Perfect moment over, pretence all gone.
Stripped clean to his smooth dark golden skin, it was the prince who rose up
from the bed and without saying another word disappeared into the bathroom.

He came out again ten
minutes later, wrapped in fluffy white cotton and looking as handsome as sin.
Wishing his pull wasn't as strong on her senses, she got up with a definite
reluctance to face the day mirrored on her face, puDed on her wrap and went to
take her turn in the bathroom.

But Hassan stopped her as
she walked past him, his hand gently cupping her chin. He smelt of soap and
minted toothpaste as he bent to kiss her cheek. 'Fifteen minutes, on the sun
deck,' he instructed as he straightened again. 'For breakfast with an added
surprise.'

The 'added surprise' made
Leona frown. 'You promised me you had no more surprises waiting to jump out at
me,' she protested.

'But this one does not
count,' he said with a distinctly worrying gleam in his eye. 'So hurry up, wear
something deliciously stylish that will wow everyone, and prepare yourself to
fall on my neck.'

'Fall on his neck,' Leona
muttered to herself as she showered. She had developed a distinct aversion to
surprises since arriving on this wretched boat so she was more likely to
strangle him.

In a pale blue sundress
made of a cool cotton, and with her red hair floating loose about her shoulders—because
she felt like wearing it as a banner, which made a statement about...something,
though she wasn't absolutely sure what—Leona walked out onto the sun deck to
find Rafiq there but no Hassan.

He looked up, smiled,
then stood to pull out a chair for her. He was back in what she called his
off-duty clothes, loose-fitting black chinos and a white V-neck tee shirt that
did things to his muscled shape no one saw when he was covered in Arab robes.

'Was your mother an
Amazon, by any chance?' she enquired caustically, because his father was a
fine boned little man and Rafiq had to have got his size from someone.

The waspishness in her
tone earned her a sharp glance. 'Did you climb out of bed on the wrong side, by
any chance?' he threw back.

'I hate surprises,' she
announced as she sat down.

'Ah,' Rafiq murmured. 'So
you have decided to take it out on me because I am unlikely to retaliate."

He was right, and she
knew it, which didn't help this terrible, restless tension she was suffering
from. 'Where is Hassan?' She strove for a nicer tone and managed to half
succeed. 'He said he would be here.'

'The pilot who will guide
us through the Suez Canal has arrived,' Rafiq explained. 'It is an expected
courtesy for Hassan to greet him personally.'

Glancing outwards, Leona
saw Port Said sprawling out in front of them like a vast industrial estate. It
was not the prettiest of views to have with your breakfast, even though they
seemed to have got the best of the berths, moored way off to one side in a
separate harbour that looked as if it was reserved for the luxury private
crafts.

'And the rest of our
guests?' she enquired next, aware that she probably should have asked about
them first.

'Either still asleep or
breakfasting in their suites.'

Mentioning sleep had a
knock-on effect on him, and in the next moment Rafiq was stifling a yawn. It
was only then that Leona recalled his slick retreat from the fray the evening
before.

'Up all night?' The spike
was back in her voice.

He didn't reply, but the
rueful way his mouth tilted suddenly made her think of Spanish dancers. ‘I
hope she was good.' She took a tart stab in the dark.

'Delightful.' He smiled.
It was yet another blow to her fragile ego that her one solid ally had deserted
her last night for another woman. 'Here,' he said gently, and began to pour her
out a cup of tea. 'Maybe this will help soothe your acid little tongue.'

Something needed to,
Leona silently admitted as she picked up the cup. She had never felt so uptight
and anxious, and it all was down to Hassan and surprises she did not want and
people she did not want to be with and a marriage she did not—

The slightly sweet scent
of Earl Grey suddenly turned her stomach. She must have gone pale because Rafiq
began frowning. 'What is the matter?' he demanded.

'I think the milk must be
off,' she explained, hastily putting the cup back on its saucer then pushing
it away.

The sickly sensation left
her almost as suddenly as it had hit. Problem solved in her mind, she wasn't
convinced when Rafiq picked up the jug to sniff at the milk and announced, ‘It
seems fine to me.'

But he rose anyway and
went to replace the milk with fresh from the cartons kept in the refrigerator
situated just inside the salon. Then Hassan appeared and the incident was
forgotten because, after dropping a kiss on her forehead, he went to pull out
the chair next to Rafiq, who was just returning to the table with the fresh
jug of milk. For a moment Leona was held captivated by how much alike the two
men were. Even their clothes were similar, only Hassan wore beige chinos and a
black tee shirt.

Men of beauty no matter
what clothes they were wore, she mused a trifle breathlessly, knowing that she
would be hard put to it to find two more perfect specimens. So why do I love
them both so differently? she asked herself as she watched them sit down. Life
would certainly have been a whole lot simpler if she'd fallen in love with
Rafiq instead of Hassan. No strict calls to duty, no sheikhdom to rule, no onus
to produce the next son and heir to his vast power and untold fortune.

But she loved Rafiq as a
brother, not as a lover—just as he loved her as a sister. Plus, he had his
mysterious dancer, she added wryly, as she poured herself another cup of tea in
a clean cup, then reached for a slice of toast.

'You look pale. What's
wrong?' Glancing up, she found Hassan's eyes were narrowed on her profile.

'She hates surprises.'
Rafiq offered a reply.

'Ah. So I am out of
favour,' Hassan drawled. 'Like the milk and the butter...' he added with the
sharp eyes that should have been gold, like a falcon's, not a bottomless black
that made her feel as if she could sink right into them and never have to come
back out again.

'The milk was off, it
turned my stomach, so I decided not to risk it or the butter,' she said,
explaining the reason why she was sipping clear tea and nibbling on a piece of
dry toast.

Keeping dairy produce
fresh was an occupational hazard in hot climates, so Hassan didn't bother to
question her answer—though Leona did a moment later when a pot of fresh coffee
arrived for Hassan and the aroma sent her stomach dipping all over again.

Hassan saw the way she
pushed her plate away and sat back in the chair with the paleness more
pronounced, and had to ask himself if her pallor was more to do with anxiety
than a problem with the milk. Maybe he should not be teasing her like this.
Maybe no surprise, no matter how pleasant was going to merit putting her
through yet more stress. He glanced at his watch. Ten more minutes. Was it
worth him hanging on that long?

'You look stunning,' he
murmured.

She turned her head, her
wonderful hair floating out around her sun-kissed shoulders and the perfect
heart-shape of her face. Her eyes were like emeralds, to match the one she wore
on her finger, glowing with a passion she could never quite subdue no matter
how low she was feeling. Kiss me, her small, soft, slightly sulky mouth seemed
to say.

'I am de trop.' Rafiq
broke through the moment and rose to his feet. 'I will go and awaken Samir and
drag him to the gym for an hour before I allow him breakfast.'

Neither bothered to
answer even if they heard him, which Rafiq seriously doubted as he went to
leave. Then a sound beyond the canvas awning caught his attention, diverting
him towards the rail. A car was coming down the concrete quay towards them, its
long black sleekly expensive lines giving him a good idea as to who was inside
it.

This time he made sure he
commanded attention by lightly touching Hassan's shoulder. 'Your surprise is
arriving,' he told him, then left as Hassan stirred himself and Leona blinked
herself back from wherever she had gone to.

Getting up, Hassan went
to capture one of her hands and urged her out of her chair. 'Come,' he said,
and keeping hold of her hand walked them down the stairs, across the foyer, out
onto the shade deck and to the rail beside the gangway, just in time to watch a
beautiful creature with pale blonde hair step out of the car and onto the
quayside.

Beside him he felt
Leona's breath catch on a gasp, felt the pulse in her wrist begin to race. 'Evie,'
she whispered. 'And Raschid,' she added as Sheikh Raschid Al-Kadah uncoiled his
long lean body out of the car.

'They're sailing with
us?' Now her eyes were shining with true pleasure, Hassan noted with deep
satisfaction. Now she was looking at him as if he was the most wonderful guy in
the world, instead of the most painful to be around.

'Will their presence make
your miserable lot easier to bear?'

Her reply was swift and
uninhibited. She fell upon him with a kiss he would have given half of his
wealth for. Though it did not need wealth, only the appearance of her closest
friend and conspirator against these—arrogant Arabian men, as she and Evie
liked to call Raschid and himself.

'After six years, I would
have expected the unrestrained passion to have cooled a little,' a deep smooth,
virtually accent-free voice mocked lazily.

'Says the man with his
son clutched in one arm and his daughter cradled in the other,' mocked a
lighter, drier voice.

Son and daughter. Hassan
stiffened in shock, for he had not expected the Al-Kadahs to bring along their
children on this cruise. Leona, on the other hand, was pulling away from him,
turning away from him—hiding away from him? Had his pleasant surprise turned
into yet another disaster? He turned to see what she was seeing and felt his
chest tighten so fiercely it felt as if it was snapping in two. For there stood
Raschid, as proud as any man could be, with his small son balanced on his arm
while the beautiful Evie was in the process of gently relieving him of his small
pink three-month-old daughter.

They began walking up the
gangway towards them, and it was his worst nightmare unfolding before his very
eyes, because there were tears in Leona's as she went to meet them. Real
tears—bright tears when she looked down at the baby then up at Evangeline
Al-Kadah before, with aching description, she simply took the other woman in
her arms and held her.