The Sheikh's Secret Bride (5 page)

Heat flared in his eyes. “I like this very much.”

Janna had the sinking feeling he was talking about more than the stupid cake. Trouble was she liked it very much too. More than liked it, truthfully.

“But there is no chocolate,” he said, his voice low and rough with want.

She leaned slightly toward him her heavy eyelids drooping a bit lower. “Perhaps they can drizzle a chocolate glaze over it. That would be awesome.”

“Yes.” He licked his lips and she imagined all the wicked ways she’d like him to use that tongue on her, remembering their kiss from the night before—the taste of him, the heat of him. “That would be most awesome.”

“Sheikh?” the shop owner approached, severing their sensual haze. “Have you made a decision?”

Nassir blinked at Janna several times and she grew fascinated with watching the desire slowly cool in his eyes. She finally sat back when he looked away, wanting desperately to fan her steaming cheeks but not wanting him to know how much he’d affected her. Nassir spoke to the shop owner in rapid Arabic before turning back towards Janna.

“
Na’am
.” Nassir nodded and the shop keeper bustled away. “He says a glaze is absolutely possible.”

“Good.” Janna took a large drink of water from the glasses the owner had brought, and kept her gaze safely on her paperwork. “We’ll get a variety of sheet cakes for the guests, and the spice cake for the head table and the orange for the main cake.” Janna consulted her planner once more and then looked up. “What about the cake topper?”

“What about it?”

“Do you have one ordered?”

“I don’t even know what it is.”

“Oh.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s an American custom to place figurines representing the bride and groom on the top tier of the couple’s cake.”

“Whatever makes you happy,” he said, giving a dismissive wave. So much for kind, polite Nassir. “That is fine.”

“No, I need to know what your bride looks like so I can match the figurines to the two of you. Describe her.”

“My bride?” He seemed a bit taken aback by her question. “I would say she is your height. Blonde hair and blue eyes.”

Janna scrunched her nose. “I thought your bride was from Al-Sarid?”

“I never said that.”

“Then I guess I just assumed. So, she is…”

“She is American.”

“But the woman I saw yesterday was…” Janna stopped herself before saying “traditional dress”. Her cardinal rule was equality for all. If Nassir’s American bride had fully accepted the customs of his land, then more power to her. “Sorry. So, blonde hair and blue eyes. Body type?”

“Not overly curvy, but not pencil thin either. She’s just… right.”

Janna smiled, liking the way he described his bride. She begun to think the man didn’t care for her at all. Now, from the smouldering smile on his lips, it seemed she was wrong. In fact, that little grin was so hot, she couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous for this woman who, based on the description, could’ve been her twin.

The next afternoon, Janna waited for Nassir to show up for the wedding dance class. Seemed she was always waiting on him these days and the excuse was always the same: business.

He’d wanted his first dance with his American bride be a traditional slow waltz. Not what she’d expected from him, but then she’d learned fast to expect the unexpected from Nassir.

He had even set up these lesson for them at a local dance studio, owned by two former professional dance champions from Europe. Janna had agreed to attend in his wife’s stead since Nassir had told her something important had arisen at the last minute. She was hardly an expert dancer by any means, but she’d been through these lesson before with other couples, so at least she had the basics down.

“Has he arrived yet?” one of the instructors asked.

“No.” She glanced at her watch one more time “I’m so sorry. He must have gotten tied up. I’m sure he’ll be here momentarily.”

“Of course.” The instructor walked over to a large desk and took a seat behind it.

Five minutes later, Nassir strode in, looking dapper as ever in his business attire. If any of the top designers ever needed a new model, he’d fit the bill quite nicely. He removed his sunglasses and walked over to her, his teeth even and white against this tanned skin. “Janna, forgive me for being late again.”

“Nothing bad, I hope?” She took the hand he extended and stood.

“Just business,” he replied, tight lipped. “As usual.”

The instructor approached them. “Ah, Sheik Nassir, an honor to finally meet you.”

“Shall we begin?” Nassir placed his hand on Janna’s lower back and she shivered from the contact. He raised a brow at her, but thankfully didn’t comment as they walked out to the middle of the dance floor.

“I promise to take good mental notes so I can teach your bride all the steps she’ll need to know.”

He smiled and her pulse skipped. Sexy, suave Nassir was back in full swing. “I’ve no doubt you’ll be marvellous.”

The instructor went over the parts of the basic step for each of them and had them try the step apart, then in dance hold. With all his natural grace and agility, he didn’t step on Janna’s toes once and seemed to pick up the moves quite quickly.

“Very good,” the instructor said and pulled a remote control from his pocket. “Let’s try that with music, shall we?”

The slow, sweet strains of a waltz soon filled the air, and the instructor gave them both a few pointers on where to place their hands and their arms. Janna attempted to stay as far away from Nassir as possible, but the dance didn’t allow for much wiggle room.

Nassir proved to be an excellent student, and within half an hour, he was twirling her expertly around the small dance floor. He’d tightened his arms around her as their speed increased, pulling her closer into the heat of him, and Janna had a difficult time keeping her mind on the task at hand. His muscular body was so strong, and the spicy musk of his cologne had her senses overloaded.

“All right.” The instructor clapped and shut off the music. “That’s all the time we have for today.”

“Thank you,” Nassir said and led her off the floor. “That was enjoyable. I have not danced since I was a boy.”

“Really?” she asked as she picked up her bag and her planner and followed him out the door. “You were good.”

“As were you.”

Her car pulled up behind Nassir’s at the curb and they each went their separate ways, but all the way back to the palace, Janna couldn’t stop thinking about Nassir and the way she’d felt dancing with him, the way he’d seemed to only have eyes for her.

Since she’d been a little girl, Janna had always dreamed of having a man look at her that way, feel about her as Nassir seemed to feel about his wife-to-be. One thing was for sure. Whoever his mysterious bride was, she was one lucky woman.

                                                                                    *****

Nassir watched Janna’s sedan drive away through the rear window of his vehicle. It had been hard enough not kissing her until they were both breathless with need inside that dance studio—what with the way she’d moved with him, the way she’d felt in his arms, the fragrance of her hair, her skin, her perfume. If he went after her now, they’d would both end up in his bed until they’d sated their passions, several times.

No. Going after her now would be a mistake, no matter how badly he might want to. He would have to wait.

Adilan called him on his back to the office. “How did the dancing go?”

Nassir grunted in response.

“That bad, eh?”

“No.” Nassir exhaled, low and slow. “That good.”

“Oh.” Adilan chuckled. “Well at least you only have five more days until the wedding. Surely you can resist temptation that long.”

“I am not sure I want to anymore.” He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the cool leather seat. “Perhaps I should tell her the truth. Maybe she’ll take pity on me and admit she’s feeling the same attraction?”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. If she leaves and Hazim gets wind of what’s happened, everything you’ve worked for will be gone. In fact, he could get the board to reconvene early and remove you immediately for trying to trick them.”

“I know. I need to think more on this.” Nassir hung up and closed his eyes, but soon his phone rang again, drawing him back into the business of running Adjalane Oil. The new quarterly projections were due in tomorrow and he hoped they were as good as he predicted. Maybe if the company turned a huge profit, the board would not look so harshly upon him if Janna refused his hand in marriage.

It was a long shot, but he hoped to get Nimr on his side. The old man carried a lot of influence with the other board members, and had been vocal against Hazim gaining control of the company. If those projections didn’t pan out, then he’d tell Janna the truth at dinner tomorrow night and let the chips fall where they may.

Early the next morning Janna stood in the palace gardens, going over the placement of the tables and other ornamentation. She’d stopped at a hotel the day before to view their elaborate ice sculptures in the lobby and gotten the name of their resident artist. The man was supposed to meet her here to discuss several possible pieces for the reception.

Everything else with the arrangements seemed to be falling into place as well, and part of her couldn’t help envying Nassir’s still unknown bride. The woman was going to have the wedding of Janna’s dreams, but Janna didn’t even know if she would appreciate all the effort put forth on her behalf. She didn’t know if she’d appreciate being married to a man like Nassir either.

Janna certainly would.

And therein lay the crux of her problem. Somewhere in the midst of all this crazy mess, she’d gone and fallen head over heels for the groom. Now, on top of all the other things she had to worry about, she had to pretend she didn’t love him for the next four days or until the day she died. Whichever came first.

Given that the florists and the dressmakers had just left, again without a bride to measure as Nassir had said she would be absent until the day before the wedding, so she’d stood in once more, death might be a welcome respite after all this craziness.

She’d never taken on such a personal task as choosing the bride’s wedding gown before, had never dreamed anyone would even ask such a thing. Wedding gowns were an extension of the bride herself, each one unique. But, of course, Nassir had insisted. So, she’d chosen a gorgeous kaftan of white silk and sheer scarves, interwoven with strands of silver thread. Silver pearls adorned the bodice and the cuffs around the sleeves and hem.

Her maid Hafa had explained it was a custom for the bride to have her hands decorated with henna the morning of the wedding, and sometimes her feet. She’d shown Janna some photos from her own wedding and Janna had been enthralled with the delicate patterns.

Hafa had even introduced Janna to her cousin, who also worked in the palace. The cousin had placed a very small henna tattoo upon the inside of Janna’s palm. and as she looked at it this morning, she could almost see both of her hands covered in such artwork …

“Miss Janna?” a maid called, jarring her from her thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Sheikh Nassir asked me to bring you this.”

Curious, Janna looked at the silver-dome covering the serving tray. “What is it?”

“He said it was your favorite.”

Janna lifted the dome, revealing a cup of hot cocoa and two s’mores beneath. She laughed and took the tray from the maid. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” The maid bowed and left and Janna sat the tray on a small table beside her. So Nassir had remembered her love of chocolate. And s’mores.

Janna picked one up and took a bite, closing her eyes at the flooded of memories the treat conjured. Lazy summer nights, campfires, the smell of pine and the buzz of mosquitoes. She smiled and looked up in time to see the man from the restaurant the other day approaching, his expression both determined and dark. Her smile disappeared.

“Miss Davis? I am sorry to interrupt your work, but I am Hazim Adjalane.”

Adjalane?
Janna wondered if he was involved with Nassir’s oil business. She smiled politely. “Yes, I remember you from the restaurant. If you’re looking for the Sheikh, I believe he’s in his office.”

“Actually, I was hoping to speak with you a moment, if you have time.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Sure.”

“May I?” he asked, indicating the chairs at the table.

“Of course.” They both took a seat. “What is it?”

“I received my e-mail invitation to the wedding and printed it out as instructed, but there appears to be an error.”

“An error?” She’d had nothing to do with the invitations. It was the one thing Nassir had insisted on handling himself and with her hands full, she’d gladly let him. “What kind of an error?”

He pulled a sheet of white paper from the pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to her. “Have a look.”

The top of the e-mail was in Arabic, with the English translation below:

الشيخ ناصر من آل ساريد و ملكة جمال الجنة ديفيس أطلب بكل احترام حضوركم في احتفال زفافهما . المقرر عقدها

             
Sheikh Nassir Adjalane of Al-Sarid and Miss Janna Davis respectfully request your attendance at their wedding celebration. To be held…

She frowned, blinked, read it again. Then again. Then a third time just to be sure. Damn right, there’d been a mistake.

Janna pushed to her feet, her hands trembling slightly. “I’ll bring this to the Sheik’s attention right away. I’m sure he’ll get this straightened out.”

“So you are not marrying Nassir?”

“Of course not. I’m his wedding planner, not his bride.” She headed for the patio doors. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go talk to Nassir…I mean the Sheik right now.”

“As you wish.” Hazim inclined his head to her with the glimmer of a small smile.

“Where is Sheikh Nassir?” Janna asked the first housekeeper she ran across.

“He’s at the Adjalane Oil corporate offices. There is a meeting…”

“Thank you.” Janna took off down the hall to grab her bag. It had to be a mistake. Nassir would never deceive her like that, would he? Memories of all his mystery bride’s missed appointments and all his cryptic excuses rang through her mind.

Once outside, she gave the driver her destination then slid into the backseat.

Plan this wedding with the same care and consideration as if it were your own…

Nassir’s words from their first day together in Al-Sarid came back with sickening clarity. Pulse pounding and stomach knotted, the drive to Adjalane Oil seemed to take forever yet fly by in seconds. By the time the driver opened the door and she climbed out onto the sidewalk, her head spun with the implications. “Do you know where Sheik Nassir is meeting?”

Hamal bowed slightly and escorted her through the front doors and over to a set of elevators. “Top floor.”

She stared at his retreating form as she waited for the elevator to arrive then stepped aboard and pushed the button for the upper most floor. If Nassir had gone behind her back and thought to trick her into marrying him, then he was in for a very big surprise. And an even bigger disappointment.