The sheikh's chosen wife (7 page)

'Which does not add up to
infertility,' he countered forcefully.

'After all of these years
of nothing, you can still bring yourself to say that?'

She was staring up at him
as if he was deliberately trying to hurt her. And, because he had no answer to
that final charge, he had to ask himself if that had been his subconscious
intention. The last year had been hell to live through and the year preceding
only marginally better. Married life had become a place in which they'd walked
with the darkness of disappointment shadowing their past and future. In the
end, Leona had not been able to take it any more so she'd left him. If she
wanted to know what failure really felt like then she should have trodden in
his shoes as he'd battled with his own failure to relieve this woman he loved
of the heavy burden she was forced to carry.

'We will try other
methods of conception,' he stated grimly.

If it was possible her
face went even whiter. 'My eggs harvested like grains of wheat and your son
conceived in a test tube? Your people would never forgive me for putting you
through such an indignity, and those who keep the Al-Qadim family in power will
view the whole process with deep suspicion."

Her voice had begun to
wobble. His own throat closed on the need to swallow, because she was right,
though he did not want her to be. For she was talking about the old ones those
tribal leaders of the desert who really maintained the balance of power in
Rahman. They lived by the old ways and regarded anything remotely modern as
necessary evil to be embraced only if all other sources had been exhausted.
Hassan had taken a big risk when he'd married a western woman. The old ones had
surprised him by deciding to see his decision to do so as a sign of strength.
But that had been the only concession they had offered him with regard to his
choice of wife. For why go to such extremes to father a son he could conceive
as easily by taking a second wife?

Which was why this
subject had always been so sensitive, and why Leona suddenly shook her head and
said, 'Oh, why did you have to bring me back here?" Then she turned and
walked quickly away from him, making unerringly for the bathroom he had so
recently used for the same purpose—to be alone with her pain.

CHAPTER FOUR

Two hours, Leona noticed,
as she removed her slender gold watch from her wrist with badly trembling
fingers and laid it on the marble surface along with the diamonds from her ears
and throat. Two hours together and already they were tearing each other to
pieces.

On a sigh she swivelled
round to sink down onto the toilet seat and stare dully at her surroundings.
White. Everything was white. White-tiled walls and floor, white ceramics—even
the sheet she had discarded lay in a soft white heap on the floor. The room
needed a bit of colour to add some—

She stopped herself right
there, closing her eyes on the knowledge that she had slipped into professional
mode and knowing she had done it to escape from what she should really be
thinking about.

This situation, this mad,
foolish, heart-flaying situation, which was also so bitter-sweet and special.
She didn't know whether to laugh at Hassan's outrageous method of bringing them
together, or sob at the unnecessary agony he was causing the both of them.

In the end she did both,
released a laugh that turned into a sob and buried the sound in her hands. Each
look, each touch, was an act of love that bound them together. Each word, each
thought, was an act of pain that tore them apart at the seams.

Then she remembered his
face when he had made the ultimate sacrifice. Chin up, face carved, mouth so
flat it was hardly a mouth any more. When the man had had to turn himself into
a prince before he could utter the words, 'We will try other methods of
conception,' she had known they had nothing left to fight for.

What was she supposed to
have done? Made the reciprocal sacrifice to their love and offered to remain
his first wife while he took a second? She just could not do it, could not live
with the agony of knowing that when he wasn't in her bed he would be lying in
another. The very idea was enough to set her insides curling up in pained
dismay while her covered eyes caught nightmare visions of him trying to be
fair, trying to pretend it wasn't really happening, that he wasn't over the
moon when the new wife conceived his first child. How long after that before
his love began to shift from her to this other woman with whom he could
relax—enjoy her without feeling pain every time he looked at her?

'No,' she whispered.
'Stop it.' She began to shiver. It just wasn't even an option, so she must stop
thinking about it! He knew that—he knew it'. It was why he had taunted her with
the suggestion earlier. He had been angry and had gone for the jugular and had
enjoyed watching her die in front of him! It had always been like this:
exploding flashes of anger and frustration, followed by wild leaps into sensual
forgetfulness, followed by the low-of-low moments when neither could even look
at the other because the empty truth was always still waiting there for them to
re-emerge.

Empty.

On a groan she stood up,
and groaned again as tiny muscles all over her body protested at being forced
into movement. The fall, the lovemaking, or just the sheer stress of it all?
she wondered, then wearily supposed it was a combination of all three.

So why do it? Why put
them both back into a situation they had played so many times before it was
wretched? Or was that it? she then thought on a sudden chill that shot down her
backbone. Had he needed to play out the scene this one last time before he
could finally accept that their marriage was over?

Sick. She felt sick. On
trembling legs she headed quickly for the shower cubicle and switched the jet
on so water sluiced over her body. Duty. It was all down to duty. His duty to
produce an heir, her duty to let him. With any other man the love would be enough;
those other methods of conception would be made bearable by the strength of
that love. But she'd fallen in love with a prince not a man. And the prince had
fallen in love with a barren woman.

Barren. How ugly that
word was. How cold and bitter and horribly cheap. For there was nothing barren
about the way she was feeling, nor did those feelings come cheap. They cost her
a part of herself each time she experienced them. Like now, as they ate away at
her insides until it was all she could do to slide down into a pathetic huddle
in the corner of the shower cubicle and wait for it all to recede.

Where was she? What was
she doing in there? She had been shut inside the bathroom for half an hour, and
with a glance at his watch, Hassan continued to pace the floor on the vow that
if she didn't come out in two minutes he was going in there after her.

None of this—none of
it—was going the way he had planned it. How had he managed to trick himself
into diluting just how deep their emotions ran, how painful the whole thing was
going to be? He hit his brow with the palm of his hand, then uttered a few
choice curses at his arrogant belief that all he'd needed to do was hook her up
and haul her back in for the rest to fall into place around them.

All he'd wanted to do was
make sure she was safe, back here where she belonged, no matter what the
problems. So instead he'd scared the life out of her, almost lost her to the
depths of the ocean, fought like the devil over issues that were so old they
did not need raking over! He'd even lied to score points, had watched her run
in a flood of tears, watched her fly through the air down a set of stairs he
now wished had never been put there. Shocked, winded and dazed by the whole
crazy situation, he had then committed his worst sin and had ravished her. Now
she had locked herself away behind a bathroom door because she could not deal with
him daring to make an offer they both knew was not, and never had been, a real
option!

What was left? Did he
unsheath his ceremonial scabbard and offer to finish them both off like two
tragic lovers?

Oh, may Allah forgive
him, he prayed as his blood ran cold and he leapt towards the bathroom door.
She wouldn't. She was made of stronger stuff, he told himself as he lifted a
clenched fist to bang on the door just as it came open.

She was wearing only a
towel and her hair was wet, slicked to her beautiful head like a ruby satin
veil. Momentarily shocked by the unexpected face-to-face confrontation, they
both just stared at each other. Then he bit out, 'Are you all right?'

'Of course,' she replied.
'Why shouldn't I be?'

He had no answer to offer
that did not sound insane, so he took another way out and reached for her,
pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard. By the time he let her up for breath
he was breathless.

No he interrupted. ‘We
have talked enough for one night’

Turning away he went over
to the bed to retrieve the pearl white silk robe he had laid out ready for her
during her absence the room had been returned to it natural place at his instruction
and a table had been laid for dinner in the centre with the food waiting for
them on  heated trolley  standing beside it.

He saw her eyes taking
all of this  he walked back to where he was standing She also noticed that the
lights had been turned down and candles had been lit on the table. She was no
fool; she knew he had set the scene with a second seduction in mind and he
didn't bother to deny it.

'Here,' he said, and
opened the robe up between his hands, inviting her to slip into it.

There was a pause where
she kept her eyes hidden beneath the sweep of her dusky lashes. She was trying
to decide how to deal with this and he waited in silence, more than willing to
let the decision be hers after having spent the previous few minutes listing
every other wrong move he had made until now.

'Just for tonight,' she
said, and lifted those lashes to show him the firmness of that decision.
'Tomorrow you take me back to San Esteban.'

His mouth flexed as the
urge to say. Never, throbbed on the end of his tongue. 'Tomorrow we—talk about
it,' he offered as his only compromise, though he knew it was no compromise at
all and wondered if she knew it too.

He suspected she did,
suspected she knew he had not gone to all of this trouble just to snatch a
single night with her. But those wonderful lashes fluttered down again. Her
soft mouth, still pulsing from his kiss, closed over words she decided not to
say, and with only a nod of her head she lost the towel, stepped forward and
turned to allow him to help feed her arms into the kimono-type sleeves of the
robe.

It was a concession he
knew he did not deserve. A concession he wanted to repay with a kiss of
another kind, where bodies met and senses took over. Instead, he turned her to
face him, smoothed his fingers down the robe's silken border from slender
shoulders to narrow waist, then reached for the belt and tied it for her.

His gentle ministrations
brought a reluctant smile to her lips. 'The calm before the storm,' she likened
dryly.

'Better this than what I
really want to do,' he very ruefully replied.

'You mean this?' she
asked, and lifted her eyes to his to let him see what was running through her
head, then reached up and kissed him, before drawing away again with a very
mocking smile.

As she turned to walk
towards the food trolley she managed to trail her fingers over that part of
him that was already so hard it was almost an embarrassment. The little vixen.
He released a soft laugh. She might appear subdued on the surface, but
underneath she still possessed enough spirit to play the tease.

They ate poached salmon
on a bed of spinach, and beef stroganoff laden with cream. Hassan kept her
glass filled with the crisp dry white wine she liked, while he drank sparkling
water. As the wine helped mellow her mood some more. Leona managed to
completely convince herself that all she wanted was this one wonderful night
and she was prepared to live on it for ever. By the time the meal was finished
and he suggested a walk on the deck, she was happy to go with him.

Outside the air was warm
and as silken as the darkness that surrounded them. Both in bare feet, dressed
only in their robes, they strolled along the deck and could have been the only
two people on board it was so quiet and deserted.

'Raflq is entertaining
Ethan—up there,' Hassan explained when she asked where everyone else was.
Following his gaze, Leona could see lights were burning in the windows of the
deck above.

'Should we be joining
them?"

'I don't think they would
appreciate the interruption,' he drawled. 'They have a poker game planned with
several members of the crew, and our presence would dampen their—enthusiasm.'

Which was really him
saying he didn't want to share her with anyone. 'You have an answer for
everything, don't you?' she murmured.

'I try.' He smiled.

It was a slaying smile
that sent the heat of anticipation burning between the cradle of her hip-bones,
forcing her to look away so he wouldn't see just how susceptible she was even
to his smile. Going to lean against the yacht's rail, she looked down to watch
the white horses chase along the dark blue hull of the boat. They were moving
at speed, slicing through the water on slick silent power that made her wonder
how far they were away from San Est6ban by now.