Chosen by the Sheikh (9 page)

I
T WAS
the early hours when her flight touched down in London. The ten-hour stop-over had stretched into twelve in Paris, and it was an effort for Beatrice just to put one foot in front of the other. She felt numb with exhaustion. It wasn't the sort of exhaustion that a good night's sleep was going to put right either.

She was so lost in her own dark thoughts that she didn't at first register the person at her elbow. When he invited her for a second time to leave the Customs line and accompany him to his office she was bewildered, but not initially alarmed.

‘I think you've got the wrong person. I'm Beatrice Devlin.' She held out her passport to prove the point.

The man barely glanced at it. ‘Yes, Miss Devlin, it is you we want.'

‘But why?' she protested, aware of the speculative stares of her fellow passengers following her progress.

‘Routine. Nothing to worry about.'

Easy for him to say, she thought as she walked past him into what she thought was an office. It turned out to be some sort of plush-looking lounge.

‘If you could wait here?'

Before she could ask anything else he was gone.

Beatrice sat down heavily on one of the leather sofas and looked around the bland but pleasant surroundings.

Why do I feel guilty? she asked herself as she struggled to keep her imagination on a leash. She was really annoyed with
herself for being so passive and meekly following, no questions asked. When the man came back she would not be so sub missive.

There would be a perfectly simple explanation for this. She was, after all, innocent of everything but falling in love with the wrong man. And as far as she knew there was no law against that yet…or half the female population would be locked up.

She got up and walked over to the mirrored panel that lined one wall, grimacing at the sight of her dishevelled appearance. She passed a hand across her pale face and had begun to raise it to smooth her tousled hair when she found herself wondering if this was one of those two-way mirrors she'd seen in films.

She knew the idea was fantastical, but it stuck, and the thought of unseen eyes watching her sent a shudder down her spine.

She laughed and thought,
Pull yourself together—you're losing it.

‘Now, that
is
paranoid, Bea,' she said out loud.

She was about to retake her seat when the door opened. She turned, determined to find out what this was all about. ‘Hello, Beatrice.'

The blood drained from Beatrice's face as the world tilted a little—actually, a lot—on its axis. ‘You're here…? How…? Why…?'

Tariq, dressed in black jeans and shirt, stood framed in the doorway, looking tall, rampantly male and devastatingly handsome.

‘I flew—though rather more directly than you.' His dark stare seemed to pierce her soul. ‘As to the why…' His slow smile had an explosive quality that made her heart beat faster.

He covered the space between them in a couple of strides, and before her dazed brain had even coped with the information that he was standing here, now, with her, he took her face between his big hands and covered her mouth with his.

Beatrice's soft cry was lost in his mouth, and she grabbed the front of his shirt and clung to him as he kissed her deeply, as though he would drain the life from her. She kissed him
back, responding to the need she sensed in him more than his hunger.

When eventually they broke apart he pressed his nose to hers and took a deep breath. ‘Does that answer your question?'

A dazed expression on her face, she lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at his dark, lean features. It seemed doubtful he had flown all this way to kiss her.

‘Not really. But it was nice.'

‘I think I can do better than
nice
,' he growled, making her stomach flip.

As he moved towards her again she turned her head, even though every cell in her body longed for his lips.

‘You shouldn't have come,' she whispered.

He pushed his fingers into her hair and, lifting it from her neck, pressed his lips to the sensitive skin beside her ear, sending a deep shudder of pleasure through her body. ‘I had to come. Did you think I would let you go?' he wondered, sounding incredulous.

‘You should go. I think they're going to arrest me, and they could be here any moment,' she warned him with a nervous glance towards the door. ‘If they find you it could cause a lot of embarrassment.'

‘Nobody is going to arrest you,' he said, sounding so tender it brought a lump to her aching throat.

‘Well, maybe not, but they…' Her eyes closed as he nuzzled her neck and stroked the angle of her jaw with one finger.

‘How do you think I knew you were here, Beatrice?'

Her eyes suddenly blinked wide, and with an accusing cry of, ‘It was you!' she spun around. ‘
You
had them bring me here!' she cried.

‘It was a total abuse of power,' he admitted, looking unrepentant. Actually, he looked quite pleased with himself.

‘I was terrified! I thought… Everyone was staring at me as though I was a criminal…' Her face scrunched into a pained grimace at the recollection.

‘I'm sorry if you were frightened, but I couldn't risk you slipping through my fingers again. Have you any idea what it
felt like to find you had run away?' His chin dropped to his chest, but not before she had seen the raw pain in his face.

‘I didn't run. I caught a flight.' She struggled to control the deep sob that welled up inside her and failed. She had known he was never going to love her, but to leave thinking that he hated her, that he couldn't stand the sight of her, had been incredibly painful.

But now it seemed he didn't hate her. If only her brain wasn't so whacked with exhaustion she might have been able to make sense of this, but as it was she couldn't seem to string two coherent thoughts together.

His mouth twisted. Her painful dry sob felt like a knife in his chest. ‘Please don't cry—the last thing I want to do is make you cry.'

Beatrice pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. ‘Well, what do you want? I'm assuming you didn't come all this way just to kiss me?'

His smouldering gaze moved restlessly across her face, pausing on the generous curve of her lips. ‘Actually, I was hoping for more than a kiss.'

‘You want more than a kiss?' she echoed, angry because he was going to hurt her again, and she was going to let him, because where Tariq was concerned she had no sense of self-preservation.

Where Tariq was concerned she had no sense full-stop!

‘I just can't keep up with you!' she raged, giving vent to her frustration. ‘First you don't want me to marry Khalid. In fact you'll do anything to stop me. Then suddenly you're moving heaven and earth to try and get us married off. A few hours ago,' she yelled, ‘you couldn't get out of my bed fast enough. Now you jump on a plane and follow me halfway around the world to kiss me—sorry,
more
than kiss me. I don't know if I'm meant to be flattered, but I know I'm confused!'

Tariq listened to her impassioned speech and watched the emotions flicker across her tear-stained face, his own expression unreadable. For several seconds after she stopped he didn't move, just stood there, his dark eyes boring into her. Then
without a word he reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he opened, smoothed the crease and held out to her.

Beatrice took it warily and glanced down. She found herself looking down at the snapshot taken on the beach in France.

‘I have not been acting totally rationally since the moment I looked at that photo.'

Her eyes flew to his face.
Don't let yourself think that
, she cautioned her hopeful heart.
If he ever had any feelings for you he'll never forgive you for tricking him.

‘It's true. Do you know it never occurred to me for one moment to question which woman my brother had fallen in love with? I found no problem believing that my brother would fall in love with you, because I could easily imagine it happening to me.'

The raw emotional intensity in his throbbing voice froze her to the spot.

‘I was bewitched by you before we even met, and when we did…'

‘You hated me.'

He shook his head. ‘I wanted to. For a time I convinced myself that everything I did was to protect Khalid. But the fact was my motives were far less selfless and noble. I was forced to recognise my actions for what they were and I was ashamed. I tried to put things right as a penance—I suppose to assuage my guilt. Thanks to me, Khalid almost lost his life and you the man you loved…or so I thought,' he added heavily.

He extended his hands to her, and after the slightest of hesitations Beatrice took them. She felt the warmth and strength of his fingers as they curled around her own.

‘I was jealous.'

Beatrice swallowed, emotion congealed in her throat. The admission from this proud man was something she had never imagined she would hear.

‘If I couldn't have you I didn't want anyone else, especially my brother, to have you,' he admitted, with a frown of self-condemnation. ‘And to make the situation worse you didn't
oblige by being the mercenary, cold-hearted little opportunist I had convinced myself you were. You lost no time showing me how wrong I'd been by rushing around winning hearts, saving children… Yes,' he said seeing her expression, ‘Sayed told me about that little adventure.'

‘He was your spy?'

‘He was my critic once he fell under your spell,' he retorted grimly. ‘But even I had to stop pretending that you were not the marvelous, warm and loving woman you are when I saw your reaction to Khalid's accident.'

Her heart lurched. ‘I'm marvellous?'

‘You, my little love, are totally in credible.'

‘What did you just call me?' she whispered.

‘You can't be surprised.' His own father knew he was in love with her, so it seemed impossible that she hadn't had an inkling—because according to his parent he had been incredibly obvious.

‘Nobody has ever called me little before.'

One dark brow lifted. ‘And has anyone ever called you
my love
before?'

‘They haven't, and I've never wanted to be anybody's love before,' she admitted almost shyly.

He gave a fierce smile. ‘And now?'

Beatrice looked at him with a clear gaze. ‘I want to be your love, your lover…'

The hot triumph that flared in his eyes was mingled with relief. ‘And my wife?'

Beatrice stared, the blood draining from her face. ‘You're proposing to me?'

He looked amazed that she could even ask. ‘Obviously.'

‘Not to me. You've only known me for a few weeks, and for most of that time you were either hating me or trying to marry me to your brother!'

‘We have fitted a lot into a few weeks,' he said drily. ‘I once believed that a person could choose when they fell in love, and with whom they fell in love. I know now I was an arrogant idiot.'

‘You really want to marry me?' Of course it was out of the question—his father would never countenance such an unsuitable match—but the fact he wanted to was what mattered to Beatrice.

She'd be his lover, his mistress—she'd be whatever he wanted so long as it kept her near him. Right now the details weren't important. The only thing that mattered was the utterly amazing fact that Tariq loved her.

‘I've never had a real family. I've never been the most important person in someone's life—' She stopped as her voice became suspended by emotional tears.

Tariq's heart twisted in his chest as he thought of the lonely little girl who had never had a family. The lonely little girl who had grown up and learnt to hide her vulnerability behind a smile and a strong persona. ‘You are now, and you have a family.'

Beatrice gave a sad little smile. ‘I have you and that's all that matters to me. The marriage thing—well, it's not terribly realistic, is it, Tariq?' He'd probably be relieved that she had realised this. ‘If your father wouldn't agree to a marriage between me and Khalid, he's never going to agree to us.'

‘I already have my father's permission.'

She blinked like a bemused owl. This was the last response in the world she had anticipated. ‘You have?' she ex claimed. ‘That's… Oh, no,' she said, starting to shake her head.

‘You don't believe me?' Tariq didn't know whether to be angry or amused. ‘Where do you think I went when I left you?'

‘But you were angry…disgusted with me for tricking you.'

‘It is never easy on a man's pride to see he has been made to look a fool, but there were other more important things on my mind at the time. I had made love to you with the intention of wiping out the memory of your other lovers, only to discover there had been
no
other lovers.

‘You were an innocent. I was still reeling from the knowledge that I was your first lover, that you had given me something precious. I wanted to make things right. When I went to see
my father I was not in the mood for an argument, but I was expecting one,' he admitted. ‘His response came as something of a surprise to me.'

Beatrice shook her head. ‘He agreed?' she said wonderingly.

‘He insisted. He appears to have given the matter some thought already, and he plans to take some of the weight of responsibility from my shoulders so that I can spend some time producing the grand sons he expects us to provide.'

‘Babies…' Beatrice, who had not thought that far ahead, lifted her dazed face to Tariq.

Smiling, he watched the rosy flush spread across her face. ‘Do you like the idea?'

A smile spread like the sun, illuminating her face. ‘I love the idea,' she admitted. ‘But I still don't under stand. I was actually quite rude to him.'