Shackled to the Sheikh Read online

  Her doubting eyes told him she knew he hadn’t come back to discuss the flying habits of babies. ‘She’s a good baby. Have you changed your mind? Would you like to hold her a while?’

  He looked away, wondering where his anger had gone. He’d been sure he was angry when he’d left his seat, but now he was wondering why.

  ‘Only I get the impression you haven’t had a lot to do with babies. Do you have no other brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Babies aren’t hard to look after,’ she said. ‘They just need to know they’re loved.’

  Well, that was the problem right there. How was he supposed to let a child know it was loved when he wasn’t entirely sure how that was supposed to work? What did he have to offer? ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I really just came back—to make sure you were comfortable.’

  Liar.

  She knew it, too, and yet still she attempted a smile. A nervous smile. She snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, before saying, ‘Rashid, now that you’re here, can I ask you something?’

  ‘What?’

  The ‘fasten seat belt’ sign lit up then and she put the baby back in her capsule, fastening the clasp over her belly and checking the seat belt. When she looked back up, her teeth were scraping over her bottom lip again. ‘It’s just about the money. I need to have it transferred as soon as possible.’

  He breathed out on a sigh as resentment seeped like black ink into his mind, banishing his confusion with something he was entirely more comfortable with. ‘The money.’ He nodded. Now there was something that made sense. There was something he could understand. ‘We haven’t been married ten minutes and you can’t wait to get your hands on your precious money.’

  ‘Excuse me? You’re the one who couldn’t wait to land the plane before we were married. I’ve upheld my end of the bargain.’

  ‘You expect the money now?’

  ‘Well, we’re married now, aren’t we? So I thought—’

  ‘You thought?’ He was happy beyond measure that she’d turned the conversation away from where he felt so challenged and vulnerable and to money, which was solid and real and which he knew. ‘You thought you could suddenly start dictating the terms?’ Because if she thought that, then maybe it was time to start changing them.

  ‘You’re the one who agreed to pay me if I agreed to marry you.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll get your money, Ms Burgess. But I have to say, I’m disappointed you put so low a value on your services. I would have paid a million dollars, maybe even two for the pleasure of having you in my marital bed.’

  Her face flushed bright red. ‘Our deal didn’t include me sleeping with you. I told you that wasn’t going to happen.’

  He was teasing her, of course. He had no intention of touching her again; he was still raw from losing himself too much—and too deeply—but her reaction pleased him inordinately and he was enjoying it. ‘But you also told me you wouldn’t marry me, and look at us now, happy newly-weds.’

  ‘You can’t make me sleep with you. That’s unconscionable.’

  He leaned down, one hand on the back of her seat, the other toying with a tendril of hair that had come loose from her bun.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit late to take the moral high ground? Who was it who picked me up in a bar? And after last night I know you’re no shy, retiring virgin. Far from it. Why pretend you don’t want a repeat of last night as much as I do?’

  She swallowed and he tracked the movement in the kick of her chin and in her throat and his fingers let go of her hair to trail a line down the same way.

  ‘I know what you think of me—that I’m cheap and easy.’

  ‘I think you’re expensive and easy, as it happens. But I’m willing to pay the price you ask.’

  ‘Go to hell!’

  ‘I have no doubt that’s exactly where I’ll end up. But don’t fret, my charming wife, your reputation—or what’s left of it—is safe with me. I have no intention of a repeat of last night’s performance.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  QAJARAN CITY ROSE from the golden sands of the desert as if it had sprung from it organically, the buildings fashioned from bricks made of mud, hay and the desert sand itself, so their walls sparkled in places when the light caught on the tiny crystals as they passed, but it was the people that most fascinated Tora.

  From the airport the streets were lined with people waving flags and clapping their hands—happy, smiling people. A woman in colourful robes held her young child aloft to better watch them pass, a crumpled old man leaning on walking sticks had tears running down his leathery cheeks but a smile so wide it was obvious they were tears of joy. And it struck her then that this was for Rashid—the man who might soon be their Emir, ruler of Qajaran—the man who was her new husband.

  The same man whom she’d spent an illicit night of sex with.

  The man who had barely an hour ago assured her there would be no repeat performance.

  She trembled, the muscles between her thighs clamping down on a sudden bloom of heat in spite of his assurances. It was crazy, she should be exhausted after a night of little sleep and the drag of international flight halfway around the world, even if it was in the sumptuous surroundings of a private jet, but, looking across at Rashid, never had she felt more alive, never had she felt more aware of her sexuality.

  Should she believe him when he said that it wouldn’t happen again? Or was it just that she didn’t want to?

  Oh, God, it would be so much easier if she could simply hate him. He’d railroaded her into this deal, after all. Not without her agreement, but he’d done his best to make her feel small and mercenary even with that.

  But...there was still that night between them—that unimaginable night of pleasure—how could she hate a man for that? And there were those moments since then when the blustering faltered and he looked lost and lonely and so achingly sad that she wanted to reach out to him. Because who couldn’t love a tiny child? What had gone wrong in his life that he felt that he couldn’t?

  She wished she could hate him. Then she wouldn’t be drawn to him. Then she wouldn’t feel this damnable pull.

  He’d told her there would be no repeat performance, but, when it came down to it, if he turned to her in the night she doubted whether she’d have the strength to say no to him. When she remembered back to the night they’d spent together and the masterful man he was then and all the ways he had pleasured her, it was hard to imagine why she’d even want to.

  She looked out of the window at the people lining the street, all so keen for a glimpse of this man who might rule them, feeling shallow and superficial and hating herself right now. There was history being made here today and, even in her unsubstantial way, she was part of it, yet all she could think about was sex.

  Well, that was Rashid’s fault, too. That night they’d spent in each other’s arms had a lot to answer for.

  ‘Did you arrange this welcome committee?’ she heard Rashid ask Kareem, and Tora looked at him, because his voice sounded as tight as his jaw looked, and as uncomfortable as it must feel. And for the first time, she saw Rashid looking like a man who was uncertain with his place in the world, and she was intrigued. He didn’t seem like a man who would doubt himself.

  ‘Good news has a way of getting out,’ Kareem answered, with a shrug of his white-robed shoulders. ‘Even in Qajaran, where the Internet is not as readily accessible as it is in the west. The people have waited a long time to see the Qajarese flag flying on a royal limousine. Your return is welcome.’

  ‘If I am to do this,’ Rashid said, ‘I am going to need help,’ and if Tora wasn’t mistaken there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead in this very much air-conditioned car.

  Kareem smiled even as he bowed his head, as if Rashid had said exactly what he’d wanted him to. ‘I am at your
disposal, of course.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rashid acknowledged. ‘And I have a friend who had to lead his country unexpectedly. I would like to seek his advice.’

  ‘You refer to Sheikh Zoltan, the King of Al-Jirad.’

  ‘Yes. You know him?’

  ‘But of course. Al-Jirad and Qajaran have been friends since ancient times. He would be most welcome here. It would further cement the bonds between our two countries.’

  Rashid seemed to relax then, taking a deep breath and lifting his hand in acknowledgment as they passed the cheering onlookers. He looked the other way and caught Tora watching him as his gaze drifted past hers. His eyes immediately snapped back. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, shaking her head, for the first time feeling a little sorry for this man, who appeared to have been thrust into a world not of his making. Nothing she could tell him or that he would want to hear at any rate.

  * * *

  The limousine slowed as it waited for a set of high metal gates, sculpted to look like twin peacocks, to be opened. ‘I have taken the liberty of installing you in the Old Palace,’ Kareem said as they started along a long palm-lined driveway. ‘Emir Malik built six new palaces during his reign, all of which are more modern, and you are more than welcome to make one of the others your base, but, for your comfort and the sake of tradition, I feel the Old Palace will be more suitable.’

  Tora swallowed as she caught glimpses of a building out of her window through the garden of palms and greenery, the curve of a domed roof here, a peep of a decorative window arch there, snippets that held the promise of fantasy.

  But of course, they would be heading for a palace. Where else would an Emir live?

  And then the palms parted and the car rolled slowly past a fountain that was the size of a small lake, featuring stallions made of gleaming marble and standing tall on their hind legs, their manes alive to an unfelt breeze as they pranced in the tumbling water that sparkled like jewels in the sun.

  But while the fountain was spectacular, it was a mere accessory to the palace. Tora took one look and knew she’d left her old world behind and stepped into the pages of a fairy tale. Surely it was the most beautiful building she’d ever seen, with decorative arches and rows of columns and a golden dome adorning the roof, and the whole effect was as romantic as it was impressive.

  The limousine rolled to a stop under a colonnaded entrance shaded from the weather and before a flight of stairs where a dozen uniformed men, wearing the colours of the flags she’d seen waved in the streets, stood waiting.

  ‘Welcome home, Excellency, Sheikha,’ Kareem said with a nod as one of the guards stepped forward to open the door.

  Sheikha? Tora swallowed as she unfastened Atiyah’s capsule and prepared to enter this strange new world. But of course, she supposed, she must be a sheikha if she was married to a sheikh.

  And then she caught a glance of Rashid’s grimly set jaw. She was married to this man. As good as shackled to the sheikh. A fairy tale? And suddenly Tora wasn’t so sure.

  * * *

  ‘If you please, Sheikha Victoria,’ Kareem said with a bow as he gestured her to enter, ‘this is your suite.’

  Tora was reeling. She’d thought the outside of the palace was breathtaking, but then she’d stepped inside into air scented with jasmine and musk and known she was in some kind of fantasy land. Walls were decorated in gilt and mosaic, chairs and tables inlaid with mother of pearl. It was a feast for the eyes, and everywhere she looked another work of art demanded her attention. It was all she could do not to gape.

  It was all she could do not to run. Still dressed in her serviceable, travel-weary uniform while everything around her was exotic and beautiful, she had never felt more out of place.

  And now Kareem was showing them a suite that would swallow up her entire house in Sydney and still leave enough room to live in, and that was without taking into account the terrace overlooking the pool and garden outside her windows where the now setting sun was bathing everything including a row of mountains far in the distance in a ruby glow. It was utterly magical, and that was only the outside.

  The bedroom itself was enormous, hosting a magnificent gilt four-poster bed, and there was a room prepared for Atiyah along with another room for Yousra, a local girl who’d been assigned to be her nursery maid, and the main bathroom had a bath that put some of the lap pools at home to shame.

  Her suite. All hers. Which meant that Rashid would be sleeping elsewhere, and for the first time since arriving Tora started to relax. If she wanted to avoid Rashid, she need never leave the safety of her room.

  She eyed the four-poster bed longingly. Weary from both the travel and the emotional roller coaster of the last however many hours since she’d walked into her cousin’s office, already she imagined herself lost in blissful sleep amongst the cushions and the pillows. Tomorrow would be soon enough to chase up the funds Rashid had promised and let Sally know they were coming. By then she might be able to sound convincing when she told Sally that her delay in returning home was caused by nothing more than a simple request to stay while Atiyah settled in. Not that anyone was likely to believe her if she did tell them the truth.

  But that could wait until tomorrow. Once Tora had bathed and fed Atiyah and seen her comfortable, bed was the first place she was headed.

  ‘And through this door,’ Kareem continued, opening a door of exquisitely carved timber, ‘is Your Excellency’s suite. The rooms are interconnecting, of course.’

  ‘But of course,’ said Rashid with a smirk in Tora’s direction.

  He was teasing her again, she realised. No more than taunting her. And yet all of a sudden Tora’s sprawling apartment didn’t seem anywhere near big enough.

  Atiyah cried out, growing restless, and Tora saw her chance.

  ‘If that is all?’ she asked, not interested in venturing into Rashid’s apartments. ‘I will take care of Atiyah. She’s had a long day.’

  ‘Cannot Yousra take care of the child for you?’ Kareem asked. ‘Would you not like to dine together with us?’

  While the girl’s eyes looked up at her hopefully, Rashid’s dark eyes gleamed, his lips turned up in one corner. He knew she was avoiding him and right now she didn’t care.

  ‘I will welcome Yousra’s assistance, of course,’ Tora said, smiling at the girl so as not to offend her, but also because she really would appreciate the help, especially when sleep tugged so hard at her, ‘but Atiyah has been through many changes recently, and until she’s settled in I’d like to keep some routine in her life. Besides, I’m sure you and Rashid have many matters to discuss that don’t require my input.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Kareem said with a bow, and Tora was surprised to see what looked like approval in his eyes. ‘I will have your meal sent up.’ He touched his fingers to Atiyah’s brow, uttered a blessing to the child and wished Tora goodnight.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ said Rashid.

  ‘Seven in the morning for breakfast?’ Tora suggested, refusing to acknowledge the implicit threat in his words. ‘That would be perfect. We have some details to discuss also. Goodnight.’

  And the flash of his eyes and the flare of his nostrils told her he did not like her dictating when they would meet or being so summarily dismissed. No doubt, he didn’t like being reminded about his end of the bargain either. Tough. He had promised, he could pay up. ‘Come,’ said Tora, turning to Yousra. ‘Let’s give Atiyah her bath now.’

  With a swish of Kareem’s robes, she heard him disappear with Rashid through the interconnecting door and Tora could breathe again.

  * * *

  Zoltan was coming. Rashid felt the tight bunching ache in his gut loosen a fraction, but it was fraction enough to be able to breathe more deeply than he had since arriving in Qajaran. He gazed out from his terrace over the gardens surrounding t
he expansive pool below. Around him the palace slept. Night had fallen fast and now the sky above was a velvet shroud of blue black.

  Zoltan would arrive in three days, to be joined by Aisha and the children, and Bahir and Kadar with their own families, the day before the coronation. The last time they had been together had been in Melbourne for Kadar’s wedding six months ago. It would be good for the desert brothers to be together again, although once there were just four of them, and now every time they got together there seemed to be more, wives and children swelling their numbers. He shook his head. Such an eventuality would have been unthinkable even a few years ago, one by one his brothers falling into marriage.

  He alone was left. He wasn’t counting his hastily contrived marriage to Tora. It wasn’t as if she were a real wife. She would be gone in a matter of weeks, even if their marriage needed to last a year on paper. In some ways, it was unfortunate that his desert brothers and their wives would meet her at all, for they were bound to make something of this temporary arrangement.

  He heard a sound and looked sideways towards where Tora’s suite of apartments lay, but the night settled into quiet again, the rustle of the palm fronds on the barely there breeze the only sound.

  He sighed. Well, let his brothers make of it what they would. He had much more important things to think about now, like a country full of people who had been offered morsels through years where the Emir had grown rich on its resource revenues. Things needed to change. Less money would be lavished on palaces and fripperies. More money would go to funding schools and hospitals, especially outside the city, where needs went unseen and often ignored when they were.

  His grip on the alabaster balustrade of the balcony tightened until his knuckles hurt.

  It was easy to see where the inequities and injustices lay, but there was so much to address. Could he fix the problems of the past thirty years of maladministration?

  Why was he even considering it?

  But then somebody had to do it—share the riches and drag this country into the twenty-first century—and he was next in line to the throne.