Chosen by the Sheikh (8 page)

W
HEN
he had told Beatrice that his father would agree to the marriage Tariq had never doubted his ability to make good his promise.

But he'd been wrong. His father's attitude was totally inflexible. When reasoned argument and persuasion had failed he had resorted to moral black mail, asking the King if he was willing to sentence his son to a life without the woman he loved at his side.

‘He will love again.'

‘For some men there is only one love, one soul mate.'

His father had responded to this pressured retort with scornful laughter. There were no cir cum stances, he had told Tariq, that would make him agree to this marriage between Beatrice Devlin and Khalid.

He'd then said some things about Beatrice that had made Tariq forget the respect his parent was due and resulted in an exchange of harsh words, after which Tariq had stormed out of his father's apartments.

He headed directly for the hospital. His intention was to explain the situation to Khalid and promise his brother he would do everything in his power to change their father's mind, but that it might take some time.

The consultant caught up with him just as he was about to enter Khalid's room. When the medic was finished, he condensed the report.

‘So there will be no long-term consequences for Khalid?'

‘None,' the doctor agreed cheer fully.

Tariq expressed his gratitude and entered his brother's room. Khalid was sitting in a chair, a phone pressed to his ear as he looked out at the bustling city street far below.

Tariq closed the door quietly and prepared to wait until his brother had finished speaking.

‘And I love you, Emma, you know I do, and soon we will—Hey! What—?' He cried out as the phone was snatched un ceremoniously from his grasp. ‘Tariq! I didn't hear you…'

‘But I heard
you
, little brother,' Tariq said as he dropped it in the jug of iced water at the bedside. ‘Who,' he asked, in a voice like cold steel, ‘is Emma?'

Khalid's eyes fell from his brother's hot, accusing glare. ‘I didn't know you were there…'

‘Who is she?'

‘Oh, all right, then,' he muttered, glaring defiantly at his brother. ‘I'm sick of all this pretending anyway. Emma is the girl I love.'

Inside Tariq rage flared hot, but outside he was as cold as ice. ‘Yesterday you loved Beatrice.'

‘When you meet Emma you'll love her too, Tariq.'

Tariq's jaw clenched. ‘I do not transfer my affections quite so easily as you appear to,' Tariq observed sardonically. ‘And are you planning on marrying her too? Or are you planning on starting up a harem?'

Khalid flushed at the sarcasm. ‘If you must know,' he yelled in a driven voice, ‘we're already married. We had a civil ceremony. And Emma is having my baby. And if you and Father don't like it, too bad!'

The colour seeped from Tariq's face. ‘Is what you say true?'

‘Yes, but—'

‘You disgust me!'

Khalid looked shaken by the venom in his brother's voice. ‘I didn't want to lie, but Beatrice is—'

Sucking in a breath through flared nostrils, Tariq held up his hand. ‘I saw her face when she heard about your accident… She
sat by your bed—' He stopped, shook his head, and regarded his brother with contempt. ‘If you were not already in a hospital bed I would put you there.'

With a last contemptuous glare at his brother, Tariq walked out of the room.

 

As she opened the door to allow Tariq to enter, Beatrice was very conscious of her packed cases in the next room.

‘I have just been to see Khalid.'

Beatrice looked at his face and her heart sank.

‘Something has happened?'

Tariq nodded. ‘Yes, it has.'

Beatrice sank into a chair, pale-faced and feeling sick. Emma was even now on her way here, and she had told her Khalid was fine.

‘Not that kind of something.'

Her head came up. ‘You mean he's all right?'

Tariq's jaw tightened. ‘He is well.' That would only be a temporary situation.

Beatrice expelled a long shaky sigh of relief. ‘Then what…?'

‘There is no easy way to tell you this.' His dark eyes moved over her face before he swung away suddenly, saying something angry in his own tongue.

Beatrice stared at his rigid back, a perplexed frown pleating her brow as he began to pace the room. ‘I wish you'd tell me what's wrong, because I promise you I'm imagining all sorts of terrible things.'

‘There is another woman.'

Beatrice stared at him. ‘Another woman?'

His lip curled in contempt. ‘She is called Emily.'

Suddenly comprehension and relief dawned. ‘Emma,' Beatrice corrected.

His brows shot up. ‘You
know
about her?'

‘She's my best friend.'

Tariq swore under his breath. He dropped down and, squat
ting on his heels so that their faces were level, caught one of Beatrice's hands. ‘If he told you he had finished with her I'm afraid he was lying, Beatrice,' he told her gently.

‘He didn't tell me that. I know he loves Emma.'

Tariq's brow creased as his dark eyes scanned her face. ‘You know he…and yet you are with him?'

His tone made her flush defensively. ‘It's not like that,' she protested, wondering why Khalid had only told his brother part of the story.

He shook his head and raised a clenched fist to his forehead as he struggled to control his temper. ‘Are you so besotted that you are willing to share him? Have you no pride? No self-respect?' he raged. ‘Did you also know that he has
married
this woman?'

Beatrice's eyes widened. ‘Married?' she yelped. ‘They got married?'

‘And she is carrying his child.'

Shock wiped the colour from Beatrice's face. ‘A baby!' Beatrice ex claimed, her face registering her amazement at the news.

‘You think this is the end of the world,' he said. Beatrice didn't resist as he took her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. ‘But it is not,' he promised her. He hooked his thumb under her chin and forced her face up to his. ‘You could have any man you wanted.'

The kindness in his voice was her undoing. Tears began to seep from her eyes, streaming un checked down her face. ‘I don't want any man,' she quivered. ‘Only one man.'

Anger, molten hot, surged through him as he looked down into her shimmering eyes. His fingers tightened around her upper arms. ‘That is not true. You wanted me,' he gritted.

Oh, my God, he knows.
With an inarticulate cry of horror she began to pull away, but Tariq jerked her back, causing their bodies to violently collide, knocking the air from her lungs.

The anger rolled off him in waves she could literally feel as he snarled, ‘It may not be the pure and elevated emotion
you apparently feel for my brother, but you wanted me…you
want
me.'

Standing thigh to thigh, both breathing heavily, they locked eyes.

‘I…' As her throat clogged with an emotional thickness Beatrice shook her head.

‘Deny it!'

Beatrice lifted her chin, anger lending an extra sparkle to her luminous eyes as she responded to his cruel challenge. ‘I can't,' she shouted. ‘Are you happy now?'

He didn't look happy. He still looked ferociously angry, the strong angles of his patrician features taut as his burning gaze roamed across the soft contours of her upturned features.

Beatrice felt her anger drain. Her breath quickened and her heart skipped several beats; the stretching silence vibrated with raw sexual awareness.

‘I could make you forget him.'

A
FEBRILE
shudder slipped down her spine.
You could make me forget my name
, she thought, looking into his sinfully gorgeous face and feeling weak with lust, empty with sheer hopeless longing.

‘I know you could.'

The predatory gleam that lit his eyes zapped a thrill of excitement through her body.

‘Mabelle…' He lifted his hand to touch her cheek, but Beatrice caught it between her hands and kissed his palm. She heard his sharp intake of breath as she closed her eyes and moved her mouth across the lightly callused surface.

Still holding his hand away from her face, Beatrice lifted her gaze to his. The hunger blazing in his eyes took her breath away. Beatrice struggled to retain control, but it wasn't easy when her entire body throbbed with need. She had to tell him the truth before this went any further.

‘Khalid… He's…'

‘He is a lying cheat and you still love him… This I already know—but you won't be thinking about him while you are in my bed,' he promised her grimly.

It didn't seem possible to Beatrice that he still thought she was in love with Khalid. She felt as though her feelings were emblazoned in neon across her forehead.

While she didn't want him to guess her feelings, she couldn't allow Tariq to carry on thinking about his brother this way.

‘No, Tariq, I—'

He laid a finger to her lips. ‘I want to make love to you.'

He leaned closer into her and her vision blurred as Beatrice breathed in the warm male smell of him. It no longer seemed so essential to offer explanations. It just seemed imperative to immerse herself in him.

‘I want that too, Tariq.'

He captured her gaze with his eyes, and his own burned as though lit from within, the mesmerising silver lights dancing like flames. ‘I will heal you—make you forget.'

You will break my heart,
she thought, not actually caring at this point. ‘I don't want to forget anything about this, or you.'

This would be a memory she would keep for ever. She knew it would be special, and that Tariq was the man she had been waiting for—even though she hadn't known she was waiting.

His mouth was hot on her, his lips firm as he lowered her to the low sofa, pausing only to sweep the pile of cushions onto the floor first.

His mouth stayed on hers as he unfastened the buttons on her shirt. Beatrice clung and kissed him back, opening her mouth to deepen the sensual penetration of his probing tongue. As he spread the fabric of her shirt she felt the cool air on her hot skin and shivered. The shiver became a feverish tremor when she felt his hands caress the same ultra-sensitive nerve-endings.

Filled with a driving desperation, Beatrice tugged at the waist band of his pants, sliding her hands under the fabric of his shirt to touch his skin.

Her body arched, and she moaned as his lips moved up the white column of her throat. ‘I want to feel you against me, your skin on mine,' she whispered in his ear.

Tariq lifted himself off her and fought his way first out of his shirt and then his trousers. Lastly he kicked aside his boxers.

Her fractured gasp as he turned back to her was audible above the thunder of his own heart beat.

The fact that she was lying there, one hand flung above her head, her breasts visibly rising, staring at him through half-closed eyes, only in creased his painful level of arousal.

His hands shook as he began to remove her clothes. Her body
was smooth as silk and soft, and revealing her lush curves filled him with a gloating pleasure. It took all his strength not to sink into her right then.

He was so beautiful, in a raw, primitive and totally perfect way, that it hurt…it physically hurt. Beatrice felt a moment's anxiety. It seemed impossible that a man this perfect, a man who could literally have any woman he wanted, could find anything to admire in her body.

Her soft firm breasts spilled from their confinement as he unclipped the front fastener of her bra. ‘You are so beautiful!'

His reverent murmur sent a surge of relief through Beatrice. It was followed closely by delirious delight as he took her breasts in his hands and applied his tongue to first one pink quivering peak and then the other, until she was all need and instinct and no inhibitions.

‘Does this feel good? Is this what you want?' he slurred as he lowered himself onto her pale body, one hand braced beside her head and one thigh insinuated snugly between hers, creating just enough pressure and friction to draw a low, keening cry from her throat.

She caught his lower lip between her teeth and tugged softly. Her hands slid cross the hard, glistening, golden contours of his shoulders before she speared her fingertips down his quivering thigh muscles. All the time his eyes held hers captive, and the heat in his bold molten stare made her dizzy.

‘Everything you do feels good. That too,' she added huskily, as he slid a hand between her thighs, nudging them gently but firmly apart.

Her eyes closed and a wave of intense heat spread across her skin as he sought her warmth and moisture, touching and stroking her secret inner recesses until she thought she'd die from the sheer pleasure of it. ‘I don't think I can talk any more.'

‘Talking is not necessary.'

And very soon, much to Tariq's immense relief, neither was restraint. Within a short time Beatrice was writhing under his caresses, begging him for release. He had never known a
woman so exquisitely sensitive—just as he had never known this mingling of tenderness and lust with any woman.

The need to claim her, to make her his was like a roar in his over heated blood. It was primal and raw and he could fight it no longer.

She didn't want him to.

A few seconds later he realised she had never been with a man before.

‘Relax,' he coaxed, every sinew straining against the iron self-discipline he exerted as he held himself immobile above her, resisting the primitive hunger surging through his body, driving him to sheath himself deep in her tight, slick heat.

‘I am,' she moaned. ‘Oh…you feel so good. I'm…'

‘I don't want to hurt you… Just let me…' As he slid deeper, and she closed around him and with him, he groaned.

Her face pressed into his shoulder, Beatrice said his name over and over, her hands tightening across the sweat-slick skin of his back as he kissed her eyelids.

It was only when he felt the first spasms of her orgasm, when she cried out hoarsely in amazement, that he allowed himself the final thrust deep into her and allowed himself a shuddering release.

Long after the last little orgasmic after shocks had passed they stayed connected, limbs entwined, warm breaths mingling. In a strange way Beatrice found this sleepy after math almost more intimate than the actual sex act they had just shared.

It was only when she felt him stir inside her that she was roused from her sleepy content. Her eyes flickered open, a question in them as she looked up at him.

‘I'm not hurting you? You're not sore…?' The streaks of colour across his high cheek bones deepened as he waited for her reply.

‘No,' she whispered.

He kissed her. ‘This time it will be slow and good for you.'

It was slow, languid, and so exquisitely tender that she wept
as Tariq drove her to the brink twice before he responded to her increasingly des per ate pleas and carried her over the edge.

‘Thank you,' she whispered as she curled up in his arms.

He had given her something precious, something that she would treasure for the rest of her life. She drifted off to sleep, and when she woke the first thing she saw was Tariq's face.

‘How is it that your love affair with my brother did not involve actual sex?'

The deceptively mild question effectively wiped the dreamy smile from her face and stilled any unwise declarations of undying love that hovered on her unruly tongue.

A muscle quivered in his lean cheek, but it was his smoothly muscled golden back he presented to her as he queried, in a tone wiped clean of its normal vibrance, ‘Well?'

‘I was never Khalid's lover or his girl friend.'

She watched as his eyes closed and he ground the heel of one hand to his head. He swallowed, seeming not to notice the extended silence, before he added in a voice she barely recognized, ‘How is this possible…?'

‘My friend Emma—she and Khalid…'

Emma. Of course Emma. He sucked in a deep breath. ‘You were never Khalid's lover…?' It was still hard for him to take in.

The memory of interminable hours of tortured guilt rose up, and a strangled laugh was dragged from Tariq's throat.

Did irony get any darker than this?

‘You made me mad when you tried to bribe me…' She lost her thread as her eyes became fixated on the visible tremor in his long brown fingers as he fastened, or failed to, the buttons on his shirt.

Their eyes meshed briefly, and his dropped first.
Because he can't bear to look at me
, Beatrice thought and wanted to die.

What did you expect, Bea? she asked herself. You've not stopped lying to the man since you laid eyes on him—you've only just stopped lying to yourself! Sure, you came out here because you're a selfless friend… The fact you would have re
written history if it had meant seeing this man, sharing the air he was breathing again, had nothing to do with it!

‘So when Emma and Khalid said you'd never agree to them marrying, I saw a way of having my revenge and solving their problem.'

‘This was your idea?'

This time it was Beatrice who couldn't hold his gaze. He hated her, she thought dully.

‘I suggested,' she admitted gruffly, ‘that he bring me here, and I would be so awful that after me Emma would seem like the perfect wife… Well, actually she is—perfect, that is. Not at all like me.'

A laugh that it almost hurt to hear was wrenched from deep inside him. ‘No one is like you, Beatrice.'

Briefly his dark tortured eyes flickered across her face before he rose to his feet.

His back told her nothing as he fought his way into his remaining clothes, none of his normal co-ordination evident in his abrupt, clumsy actions. ‘Say something, Tariq,' she pleaded, utterly disconcerted by his behaviour.

‘You wanted to make me look foolish. And I obliged.'

She nodded, still confidently expecting an explosion. But none came, and it was disconcerting to put it mildly. His silence made her feel she had to defend her actions.

‘You were pretty vile to me, and I didn't know any of
this
would happen!' she told him earnestly. ‘I didn't plan this.'

‘You did not plan to be seduced,' he said heavily. ‘That I can believe.'

‘You didn't seduce me,' she protested. ‘You made love to me…beautifully,' she added huskily as her eyes dropped from his.

But he had seen her eyes, and her heart was in them, and Tariq longed with every fibre of his being to gather her to him and tell her what was in his heart. He fought the impulse.

He had already done this thing in the wrong order…now he
wanted to make things right. He wanted to come to her free to offer her what she deserved.

‘Tariq…?'

‘I must… I need…'

For a moment their eyes locked. He added nothing, but her fertile imagination had no problem filling the gap… He needed to put as much space between her and himself as humanly possible!

She would have infinitely preferred it if he had shouted and yelled, but he just continued to stare at her for what seemed like aching hours, then got up and left without another word.