Forbidden: The Sheikh's Virgin (9 page)

‘And others?’

Again that shrug, less pronounced this time. ‘Others said that we should wait, that we had already waited this long and that we need not rush at the first sheep through the pen.’

The old Qusani proverb brought a smile to Rafiq’s lips. It was a long time since he’d heard it, but the saying was uncannily pertinent. Why get excited chasing the fastest beast when it could be leaner and less tasty, when the slower animal might have more meat, more fat, and be more succulent and tender?

Rafiq’s business sense kicked in, his pulse quickening at the thrill of the chase. He’d been given this opportunity, this chance to find something truly unique, and, while running his business and overseeing the big picture had consumed his time in the last few years, there was something to be said for the nitty-gritty of finding the actual items that would sell.

His gut had made him rich when he had first started out, many years ago, before he’d had buyers scouring the Arab world for the best. His gut had told him what items would work in the Australian market. His gut was telling him now that this was a rare find.

He owed his mother thanks. If she had not thought to show him the bolt of fabric he could have been too late, the deal already done.

‘Are you able to tell me what this representative offered?’

Suleman gave an average figure per bolt—hopelessly inadequate, Rafiq recognised right away, even if Suleman had, as he expected he would have, inflated that figure with a decent margin to ensure any counter-offer would be better. But even if inflated, the quality of the fabrics at stake, let alone the rights to exclusivity, demanded at least that much again. Clearly the people of Marrash were being taken advantage of.

‘It is not nearly enough,’ he announced. ‘You should be demanding at least double that.’

Beside him Sera gasped, as if she’d mentally calculated the worth of the room at the mention of the first offer, only to find Rafiq willing to offer double that price. But it was Suleman who looked the most taken aback, his face pale with shock. ‘Are you making an offer, Your Highness?’

‘Would it be accepted, Suleman?’

He bowed, his features quickly schooled, though his eyes shone with an excitement that refused to be masked. ‘I would have to refer your offer to the council.’

‘Of elders?’ If so, with Suleman’s clear excitement, the dollar signs practically spinning in his eyes, he would be home and hosed.

‘Not in this case, Your Highness. It would be the women’s council. It may sound unconventional, but this project has been the domain of the women all along. In deference to your position, they asked me to be their representative today.’

‘Unconventional indeed,’ he said. Not to mention disappointing. But hopefully the council of women might be influenced by the most senior of the village elders, just the same.

‘It stems back to how the project began,’ the elder continued, sounding apologetic. ‘One of the women in the village, an aging widow, inherited some money from a family member in Shafar. She could simply have moved back to the city, but she had been in the village a long time and wanted to stay. She did not need the money for herself, so she elected to do something that would benefit the village as a whole, creating an ongoing income stream for all the women.’

Rafiq’s eyebrows lifted in appreciation. ‘A remarkable thing to do,’ he said, and Suleman nodded sagely.

‘Indeed. Already the women had been experimenting with off-cuts from the emerald mines, using the chips in all kinds of
endeavours—the necklace from Abizah, for example…’ he gestured towards the choker at Sera’s neck ‘…and the lamp. They devised a method of using the emerald chips, of fracturing off tiny shards that would work like beads upon the fabrics. The inheritance supported the purchase of sewing machines and fabrics—the satins and silks that are the base of the finished product like those you see around you.’

‘And because it is the women’s endeavour, they are the ones who get to select the buyer—is that right?’

Suleman nodded, somewhat apologetically. ‘They will listen to the advice of the council of elders, but ultimately, yes, it is their decision.’

‘Could I meet with them, do you think? I would like to commend them on their endeavours.’

‘They would most certainly be honoured, Your Highness. They are all working in the workshop nearby. Although…’ Suleman coughed into his hand, his face serious, as if deliberating over his words carefully.

‘Is there a problem?’

Suleman wavered, the creases at his brow deepening as he took a thoughtful breath. ‘It is indeed the decision of the Marrashi women to make—and they will, of course, be honoured to meet you and show you their workroom—but I must warn you, the women do not feel confident in negotiating with a man.
Any man
. I am sorry, but it would be best if you left the negotiations to your companion.’ He nodded towards Sera.

It was as his mother had said. She had advised him he would need a woman to negotiate any deal with the villagers.

He looked over to where Sera stood meekly at his shoulder, her dark eyes wide with concern, as if terrified by the prospect of speaking to the women’s council on his behalf. But he saw beyond that too, stirring once again at the near perfection of her features, the perfection he would find if only she would smile again.

Need curled around him like a viper and tugged tight. At her throat the necklace of emerald chips winked and glinted in the light like a living thing, perhaps given life by the beating pulse at her throat that continued to fascinate him.

And he was suddenly consumed with the need to touch her, to slide his body along hers, to attain completion inside her slender form.

Release.

That was what he needed. That was what he wanted.

Release, and that secret smile she used to give him that gave an even warmer glow than the sun.

He breathed deep, knowing that one would come this night, perhaps, and, if he were lucky, both.

He turned back to Suleman, if only to remind himself that he was still here, and so as not to take Sera right now where she stood.

‘Sera is here,’ he managed to growl through a throat thick with need, ‘for just that purpose.’

The older man nodded. ‘I am glad you understand. I should also warn you the women’s council likes to deliberate over its decisions, and it is highly unlikely that you will have a decision today, despite your generous offer.’

‘I am not in Qusay for long,’ Rafiq stressed, trying to impress upon Suleman some kind of urgency. ‘I must return to Australia after the coronation, and it would make sense to have any deal nutted out before then.’

The older man nodded. ‘I understand. However, the council of women has waited this long. It will most likely not choose to be rushed.’

The slow lamb
, Rafiq thought. They would want a rich and plump beast, with meat enough for all to share. He doubted the other party would match his offer, but there was a possibility they would want to go back to find out. And then what? How
long would the council of women keep waiting in order to get the fatted lamb?

Damn
. If he was permitted to be the one to negotiate, he had no doubt he’d be able to turn them around—even if it was an entire roomful of women he was facing. He had a wealth of experience at negotiating mammoth business decisions behind him. It was the stuff he dealt with every day.

But Sera? She had no experience with such matters. No background in negotiating that he knew of.

Most important of all, she had no stake in the outcome. Apart from putting his offer to them, why should she argue for anything more—especially now she’d heard the women would probably want to take their time? Why should she rock the boat? It was no skin off her nose if he missed out on the deal.

Besides, how did he know she wouldn’t deliberately sabotage him as payback for being forced to come out here with him?

But there was nothing he could do. So instead he growled out his understanding, already feeling the buzz of discovery waning with the possibility that the deal he’d felt so close to making might yet slip away.

Most likely would, now that it was in Sera’s hands.

‘H
OW
did you do it?’ They’d not been long settled, or as settled as one could be, in the car that now rattled and lurched its way away from Marrash and down the mountainside, the sun slipping to the west on one side, its slanted rays colouring the cliffs an even more vibrant red. In the front seat one driver was offering the other his unappreciated advice from the passenger seat as to which set of ruts to follow, while Rafiq stared disbelievingly down at the paper in his lap—the paper Sera had provided him with after her meeting, and the paper that guaranteed him exclusive rights to the Marrash Collection, as the women’s council had decided to call it.

Of course the lawyers would have to convert the hastily written scrawl into something resembling a legal document, with all the ‘i’s dotted and ‘t’s crossed, and there would be signatures and counter-signatures required before it was all done and dusted, but the guts of it was done, the basic contract terms agreed.

But he still didn’t understand how. Three hours or so ago they’d entered the sweetly perfumed building that housed the women’s workshop to the whir and hum of a dozen sewing machines and the sound of the chatter and laughter of a score of women. Through it all had come the melodic tones of a lullaby, as a young woman soothed a baby in a corner of the
room set up as a crèche. All had fallen silent at the arrival of the visitors, even the baby stopping its fussing as the room descended into an unexpected hush.

It hadn’t lasted. The women, initially shy but more than delighted to accept their prince’s compliments on their endeavours, had proudly showed him and Sera around their workshop, and then into the adjoining room, where another small group of women polished the tiny flakes of precious stone and transformed them into the shimmering beauties that would adorn fabrics or other souvenirs.

After the tour the women had apologised and begged Rafiq and Suleman to leave them with Sera while they deliberated. Suleman had done his best to distract the prince with a further walk through the village, relaying its long and ancient history and introducing citizens of interest along the way, but Rafiq had found it impossible to focus. Even knowing that there was little chance of any kind of agreement today, just knowing Sera was negotiating in his place was akin to having an iron chain knotted tight around his gut. What was the point of leaving someone else negotiating in his place? Especially when that woman was Sera.

It did not bode well.

‘How long will they take?’ Rafiq had asked, when they’d been an hour already, when already the wait had seemed interminable, but Suleman had merely smiled and shrugged his shoulders sympathetically.

‘We are talking about a council of women,’ he had replied, and Rafiq had taken his point even while the knotted chain around his gut had drawn tighter.

What was happening in there?

Until finally the women had emerged, smiling, from their meeting, and to his surprise Sera had presented him with the paper and the done deal. In relief, nothing more than relief, he’d
picked her up and spun her in his arms and kissed her, to the cheers and whoops of everyone around.

But there had been no time to talk to her then, no time to check the details or to question how it had come about, for suddenly it had seemed the entire village had come out to celebrate the good news. And if he had thought the coffee pot had been constantly refreshed before, this afternoon it hadn’t just been bottomless, it had been damn near eternal. Even if he’d wanted to get back to Shafar tonight, to make Kareef’s state banquet, it would have been nigh on impossible to leave the celebrations in time.

Which gave him the perfect excuse.
Now there was no choice but to stop at the coastal encampment a second night.

Amazing that fate had played into his hands so conveniently. Now his task would be so much easier. Sera could not be surprised when he made his move. Now they had something to celebrate.
Together.

But still he didn’t understand how this twist of fate had come about.

‘How did you make it happen?’ he asked again of the woman sitting alongside him in the back seat. Sera looked composed and serene, as always, but if he wasn’t mistaken another layer of that cloak of sadness was gone, he was sure, and the corners of her mouth were turned up just the slightest fraction, as if she were just the tiniest bit pleased with herself as she contemplated his question.

She gave a tiny shrug. ‘I liked meeting them. Strong women, determined to make a difference in their lives, working hard to achieve it.’

They had to be, Rafiq decided, for them to be doing what they were doing. But that still didn’t answer the question that was uppermost in his mind. ‘But Suleman said the women’s council would most likely take its time. How did you manage to get their agreement to go to contract today?’

And Sera almost smiled, the merest shadow of a smile, and it was more than just the sloping rays of the sun’s setting light playing upon her perfect features.

‘You made it easier, to start with, for the women were almost beside themselves with your offer,’ she told him. ‘The previous offer had seemed a dream come true for all of them, a validation of everything they had hoped for, but your offer to double it was like a gift from the gods. They would be doubly blessed, and Abizah’s pleas to wait seemed to have been vindicated.

‘Yet still,’ she continued softly, ‘some thought that perhaps they should seek a counter-offer from the other party, to see if they could increase the offer even more.’

He nodded.
The fatted lamb
. Hadn’t Suleman warned him of just such a likelihood? ‘But they decided not to go that route. What happened to change their minds?’

‘It was a close decision. The first vote was tied, and for a while all seemed to be at a stalemate. I guess they might have been waiting for me to offer more money, I don’t know, but I felt that was not my place as you had given me no such authority to do so. So instead we left behind the thoughts of contracts and we just talked, as women do, about the recent developments in the royal family: of Xavian’s—
Zahir’s
—unexpected abdication, and about Prince Kareef and the upcoming coronation.’

Rafiq battled to find an answer to his questions in what she was saying. If there was one to be found, it eluded him. But he did find satisfaction, and a grudging degree of respect, in the fact she hadn’t tried to increase his offer. It would have been easy enough for her to do so. After all, it wasn’t her money she’d be spending, and she knew how much he wanted the deal wrapped up. ‘And then what happened?’

And this time she did smile. Her hands crossed in her lap, and her eyes slanted ever so slightly towards him, as if sharing
a secret joke. She was wearing an enigmatic smile that would have made the Mona Lisa proud. ‘I was thinking about that bolt of fabric sent to the palace and of what that meant to the people of Marrash.’

He scrambled to make sense of the connection. ‘And?’

Her smile broadened. ‘Because it’s one thing—a wonderful thing!—to be able to sell your goods to businesses that can afford them, wherever they are based in the world, but it seemed to me that there was a lingering disappointment in that room. Nothing would have been more important for the women of Marrash, nothing more satisfying while the eyes of the world were upon Qusay, than their fabrics being showcased during the coronation ceremony itself.’

‘But it’s too late to change that!’ Rafiq growled, raking one hand through his hair in frustration, turning his face to the window in disappointment mingled with disgust. The ceremony was just a few short days away. If Sera had offered the Marrashi fabrics a place in the coronation the contract would be unstuck before it could even be drawn up by the lawyers and he would be back where he started. Worse. He would have a disappointed and no doubt uncooperative business partner into the deal. ‘You can’t expect them to change the arrangements for the coronation at this short notice.’

‘I don’t!’ she came back, her reaction so vehement after all her meekness of before that he was suddenly reminded in one instant of how she once had been, years ago. Vibrant, and filled with life and laughter. And he swung his head back, the offence she’d taken at his words so plain on her features that he felt it like a slap to his own face.

She sat up, impossibly stiff and rigid against her seat, the smile he’d waited for and celebrated when it had finally arrived now vanquished. ‘It just seemed, from what was said while the women talked, that the women would really value their work
being recognised and admired in their own country. They knew the collection would be sold to the highest bidder, and that made good economic sense to them, but they also needed to have their work showcased and celebrated by their own. The coronation seemed to them the perfect time that this might happen, while the eyes of the world were upon them. But, as you say, it is too late for that to happen now.’

‘So what did you suggest?’

She bit down on her lip, and looked out of her window for a second before swinging her head back. ‘I merely suggested that if—
if
—they accepted your offer, that one day, when you married, with the eyes of the world upon a royal wedding, you might wish your bride to wear a gown fashioned from the most glorious fabrics that the Marrashi women could provide.’

He blinked, slow and hard. ‘You promised
what
? A royal marriage? A wedding gown? But I have no plans for marriage—
ever!
Which means no bride for the women of Marrash to dress. What kind of position do you think that puts me in? What the hell were you thinking?’

She snapped her head around, her dark eyes flaring like coals. ‘I was thinking you wanted the deal closed today!’

‘But to promise them a wedding.
My
wedding!’

‘I could hardly promise them Prince Kareef’s! He will no doubt have to marry soon, to provide the kingdom with an heir, but I could hardly commit him to the same arrangement when the deal is purely to benefit you!’

She dragged in a breath as she cast her eyes downwards, and when she resumed her voice was softer, more controlled, reminding him of how she had sounded, so meek and docile, when they had started this journey. He hated how it sounded.

‘I did not say that a marriage would definitely take place, or when, but I thought you, at least, would understand my reason
ing. It is important to the women that their fabrics and their expertise be recognised in their own land. And what else did you give me to negotiate with?’

‘I never gave you a wedding!’ But even as he said the words he realised how churlish he sounded. He growled in irritation and turned his head away, knowing the cliff at his side had more cracks and faults than her logic. She’d got the women’s agreement. She’d got the contract in the space of one not entirely short meeting.

And yet marriage…?

Sera had built into the negotiations an expectation from the women of the village that he would marry. The women would expect it now. The women would be waiting for any hint…

And his mind reeled back to the cheers and whoops that had met his impulsive reaction when Sera had emerged with the news.

He had kissed her.

Sera.

And the women had cheered and laughed and cried their blessings. Their laughter had made him remember he wasn’t in Australia, that it wasn’t the usual thing to pick up any unmarried woman, even if a widow, and kiss her in public.

But still he’d thought they were merely celebrating the contract.

But they wouldn’t be delighted, would they? They’d normally be shocked at such bold behaviour.

Unless…

And suddenly the chains that had worked their way so tightly around his gut this day started tightening their grip around his neck. The women of Marrash expected that Sera would be his bride. Hadn’t Abizah already assumed that she was?

He turned to her. ‘The women think I’m going to marry you. It is
our
wedding they are contemplating. It is you they see wearing the bridal gown of Marrash.’

She was shaking her head, her eyes swirling with panic.
Because she’d been caught out? ‘No, I’m sure they don’t think that.’

‘I kissed you.’

Still her head shook from side to side. Her cheeks flushed, as if the very idea was anathema to her too, and that only made him more annoyed.
She should be so lucky!

‘You didn’t mean anything by it. You didn’t know. You weren’t to know. It meant nothing.’

And even he, who wanted it to mean nothing, who needed it to have meant nothing, had to question her words.
Had
it meant nothing? Then why had it felt as if he had poured everything into that kiss? His frustrations at waiting, at not being permitted to negotiate himself. His relief when Sera had emerged victorious from the meeting. All of it he had poured into one impulsive kiss as he had spun her around, the feel and taste of her lush lips giving him a thirst for more, a thirst he intended to slake tonight.

So maybe that kiss
had
meant something—a physical need, an itch that had never been scratched. But it still didn’t mean…

He leaned across the seat and put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close, murmuring in her ear so that those in the front seat could not hear, so close that in other circumstances his words might almost be interpreted as a lover’s caress. He touched the fingers of his other hand to her cheek, drinking in the softness with the pads of his fingers until she shuddered under his touch.

‘I won’t marry you, Sera. It doesn’t matter what the women of Marrash think. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. I won’t marry you.
Ever.
Because there is no way I could marry you after what you did.’

There was a pause. A slowing of the earth’s rotation while he heard her hitched intake of air, while he waited for her eyelids to open after they’d been jammed so firmly shut,
before finally she acknowledged his words with a slow nod, her smile once again reappearing in a way that rubbed raw against him.