The sheikh's chosen wife(10)

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.