The Sheikh’s Disobedient Bride(53)
She clenched her jaw, anger building. Who was he to laugh at her?
Tair suddenly looked up, into her eyes. “What’s wrong? You’re fit to be tied.”
She was. She was having a fit if nothing else. A fit of madness for ever agreeing to go to bed with someone who had to be the most arrogant man on earth.
“You look beautiful,” he added kindly. “Absolutely radiant. Have you been visiting our baths?”
She glared at him. “Yes.”
“Milk baths?”
Her glare deepened. “Yes.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, and then reaching out, he took her hands in his, first one and then the other. She jumped at the touch, hot sparks shooting madly from her palm through her wrist and up her arm.
Tair turned her hands over and looking at her palms, one black eyebrow lifted.
“What?” Tally demanded, immediately defensive. She didn’t know why he did that to her, didn’t know why she cared what he thought. His opinion didn’t matter. What he thought was of no consequence.
“Nothing,” he answered but she heard the mocking note in his voice, his tone indicating that he knew something she didn’t—and whatever that something was, she wouldn’t like it.
“I think the women did a lovely job,” she said, still sharp, still defensive.
“Yes, they did.”
“It’s an art form.”
“Yes, it is.”
“So why the smirk?”
His upper lip curled. “I’m not smirking.”
“You are.”
He shook his head, lips twitching.
Tally tugged on her hands but he wouldn’t release her. “Tell me.”
His broad shoulders shrugged and a small muscle pulled in his jaw, his lips battling the smile that wanted to be there. “It’s just that the design on your hands says something.”
Tally’s heart dropped into her stomach and she knew, she knew, what he was going to say next and he was right—she wouldn’t like it one bit.
He took her wrists in his hands, and lifted one hand up, and then the other, as if reading them. “You,laeela, belong to me.” He lifted both her hands and turned her palms toward her. “See, it says so here.”
She curled her fingers into fists. “It doesn’t.” But she knew it did. Knew now that was why the women giggled as they dyed her hands, and why Tair had smiled that smirking smile of his.
Tally swallowed around the lump of anger. “Show me where it says that.”
With the tip of his finger he traced one of the intricate designs. “This,” he said, “is the Arabic symbol for love—”
Tally flung her head back even as she tried to break free of Tair’s clasp. “Love?”
He shrugged, not releasing her. “I’m just reading what it says.”
Tally balled her hands so he couldn’t read anymore. “I’ll make sure I get this stain scrubbed off immediately.”
“It’ll take a couple weeks…even scrubbing hard.”
“Weeks,” she repeated stonily.
“Usually months.”
“Months.”
“It’s to last for the duration of our honeymoon.”
Honeymoon! “There’s no honeymoon.”
“Not until we’re married, no. But we will have a honeymoon. It’s custom—”
“I don’t care if it’s the damn law. But we’re not having one as we’re not getting married.”
“We are. Sorry. The papers have all been drawn.”
“Undraw them.”
“Can’t. It’s as good as done. Give up, you won’t win this one.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“YOU’REnot serious,” Tally whispered.
Tair’s dark eyes narrowed “Afraid so.” He paused. “Where did you think I went?” he asked mildly, leaning back, letting her go free.
Tally wasted no time dragging her chair backward, defiantly moving away. “I haven’t a clue and as I’m sure it has nothing to do with me, I don’t want to know.”
“Actually it had everything to do with you. I went to get the Mullah from town.” Tair smiled—always a dangerous sign. “The judge. He’s the one that will marry us.”
“And what do I get for marrying you?” she mocked.
He extended his hands. “My name. My home.”
“Which I don’t want.”
“My protection.”
“Which I don’t want, either.”
“But which you need.” He contemplated her rebellious expression for a long pensive moment. “You seemed eager to marry me four nights ago. Why the change?”