The Sheikh's Stolen Bride(8)

Ash tilted his head, studying her. “Your devotion to your country is admirable.”

“But,” she prompted.

His laugh was silk on her overwrought nerve endings. “There is no ‘but’.”

“Oh.” She blinked, lowering her gaze to the table. “I was sure you were going to contradict me.”

“No. Your marriage to Syed exists to placate our peoples. Yours, and mine.”

Her eyes flew to his, and he wondered if it was just occurring to her that he had the same place in the royal line of succession as his cousin. That marrying him would have achieved the same ends. Why had Syed been suggested before Ashad? Only Adin could answer that, but Ash was inclined to think it boiled down to dumb luck.

“Shall we start with where we’ll live?”

Ash expressed a low breath that flared his nostrils and fanned the papers in front of him. “Where do you want to live, azeezi?” The term of endearment issued from his lips without consent.

If it had surprised her, she gave nothing away.

“I can’t imagine being anywhere other than Falina,” she said thoughtfully.

“My cousin plays a vital role in our politics. He is a main figure of government and aside from that has many significant business interests in Kalastan.”

“I wasn’t saying I won’t move,” she said with a hint of frustration. “Only that it’s a little odd to think of doing so.” She crossed her legs beneath the table. The breeze coming off the marina was lovely, but her face was pink and she lifted a page and fanned herself a few times before reaching for her water. The day was hot. Stifling, in fact, but Ashad was used to the heat. As, he would have said, was Charlotte. So why was she looking as though she were being boiled alive?

“Are you okay?” He murmured.

Her gaze flicked to him. “Fine.”

He dropped his attention to her outfit, a frown pulling at his lips. “Why don’t you take off your jacket?”

Her eyes were the size of saucers in her pretty face but she stood. Turning away from him and removing the scrap of fabric at the same time she stepped out of her shoes. He imagined her bright red toenails and his body clenched hard.

But it was a rock when she returned to her seat without the modesty of the jacket. His own temper was the one in danger of reaching boiling point now. The dress was beautiful. Perfectly acceptable attire, and indeed, most women got around in clothes that showed a lot more skin. But the skin it did show? The curves it hinted at? His pulse was bursting through him, demanding attention. His body wanted to move closer to her. It was as if an ancient force of testosterone and pheromones were swirling through the room, Ash and Charlotte’s bodies merely the hosts to a desire that was far bigger.

“Syed wants to remain in Kalastan?” She prompted, seemingly completely unaware of the surge of need Ashad was battling.

“Yes.” Why was he sitting opposite this woman discussing a wedding that was most unlikely to take place? Anger at the futility of his position was exploding inside of him.

“And there’s no flexibility in this?”

What if Ashad made Syed sound so unreasonable that Charlotte had no choice but to cancel the wedding? Or to express her doubts to her father.

“Syed must remain in Kalastan. As his bride, you would do likewise.”

She clenched her jaw, her eyes dropping to the table to hide whatever it was she was thinking.

“So my betrothed is an intractable, inconsiderate despot?”

Ash laughed at the description. “No. Syed is a good man.” He had intended to make her think ill of Syed but he couldn’t allow her to believe those things of the cousin he both admired and adored. “But his place in the royal family of Kalastan is more … prominent than yours is to the palace of Falina.”

“Because I’m a woman,” she snapped. “And my role has never been allowed to expand into policy and politics.”

“Would you have wanted that?” Ash asked, drawn to her mind, her body, her essence.

She nodded, but it was cautious, concerned, as though she was revealing a great secret. “I want to be of use to my people. Beyond volunteering for charities and appearing at photo opportunities.”

Admiration swelled inside him.

“I wasn’t allowed to attend university. My parents wanted me to remain in Falina, but my mother knew how important it was to me that I study. They flew various professors in to complete my tertiary education. I chose world leaders in international affairs, diplomats, lawyers. I speak five languages fluently, not including sign language and two ancient dialects of our tribal regions. I don’t want to be a piece of flotsam wife. I want to do something.” Her eyes showed the passion of her desire and for the first time, Ash found himself wondering at the sense of this marriage. Not because Syed didn’t want it, and not because Ashad was lusting after the bride-to-be.

“I want to get married because I hope – I hope with everything I am – that Syed will be the kind of man who realises my interests and encourages me to utilise them. Am I wrong? Am I wrong to believe that a man of our generation will have a different outlook to that of our parents?”

“No,” Ash said, his gut twisting. “Syed would find your intelligence persuasive. He would indeed wish you to be as involved in high-level discussions as your time allowed.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Can you see how important that is to me? I cannot put it in the contract. My father’s parliament would deride it. But it is something I would wish you to convey to your cousin.”

A band was tightening around Ash’s chest. Discussing the wedding was impossible. He stood abruptly and moved towards the glass doors, looking down at the magnificent marina.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Behind him, Charlotte was still. Watchful. Her heart hadn’t stopped racing since he’d arrived. She wanted, so badly, to give in to the demands of her body. But how could she? The marriage to Syed was imminent and this man was his cousin! It was bad enough that she wasn’t going to the marriage as a virgin, as she knew was expected. But worse would be if she actually made some kind of pass at Syed’s cousin!

“Where?” She asked, her voice thready.

“Down there.”

She frowned, moving to stand behind him. So close that his warmth enveloped her. His fragrance too. Her knees were weak. She couldn’t help it. She went to move past him, to take a look over the edge, and in doing so, purposefully brushed against him. Her body electrified. It was as though a live current was spreading from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, making her tremble.

“I can’t go down there. I’d be mobbed.”

“What if you were in disguise?” He said with a smile that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Like a wig and mask?” She joked, but excitement at the idea was eroding common sense.

“I was thinking more like casual clothes and a baseball cap.”

“Oh.” She nodded, toying with her earring. “I don’t think that would work.”

“So? What’s the worst that can happen? Someone recognises you and we leave.”

“I told you, I’d get mobbed.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You’d get mobbed, too.”

Ash grinned. “You don’t think I could protect you?”

Charlotte was warm with need. She bit down on her lip. “I’m not afraid my people would want to hurt me. Just that they’d overwhelm us, if they recognised me.”

He lifted a brow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Try to get past me.”

She froze, staring at his frame with new attention. He was so gorgeous. So big and strong and handsome and virile. “No,” she muttered, dragging her gaze to the view of the boats.

“I mean it. Try to move me.” Ash had come to understand how determined Charlotte was. “Unless you think you wouldn’t be able to,” he teased.

She turned her face to his, scanning him slowly. “I know I wouldn’t be able to.”

“Too afraid to try?” He taunted and she balled her hands by her side.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Why? I’m auditioning for the part of your bodyguard. So let me show you how qualified I am.”

The challenge in his dare wasn’t what it appeared. Charlotte read beyond it. He was daring her to touch him. To pit her strength against his. To be near him. He was inviting her to touch. It was madness. A madness that had gripped them both. Obviously she should have laughed and refused. He wouldn’t keep inviting this destructive idea. But that thought alone spurred her forward. She lifted her hands, pushing them at his chest. It was a hard chest. As firm to touch as she’d imagined it would be.

He didn’t budge. Her body was close to his now. The thickness of his arms, crossed over his front, kept her from touching him. She reached for them and pulled at them, trying to unhook them from his chest.

It was as if they were glued.

She made a sound of annoyance and walked behind him, reaching around him, wrapping him in a hug that finally gave her body what it had been craving – closeness – and tried to unhook them that way.

Charlotte was strong.

She had always been an active child, and that had grown into an athleticism she indulged as a woman. She played tennis, golf, ran, rock-climbed, hiked. But none of those skills made it any easier to deal with Ashad Al’Eba. She used her knees to press against the backs of his, trying to make him weaken. He didn’t.