Hired to Wear the Sheikh's Ring Page 2

  She looked at his broad shoulders, encased in the dark charcoal-grey suit he wore, and wondered why such a self-assured, bordering on arrogant man couldn’t face her and say the words.

  She touched a nearby pink rose, the softness of its petals strangely calming. ‘Yes, I think you are right. After all, if you don’t like the person you marry, the odds of the marriage lasting are pretty slim.’

  Her parents were testament to that. As were the arguments followed by stony silence she’d grown up thinking were normal. It was only when they’d split up and she’d been old enough to stay over at friends’ that she’d realised it was far from normal. Those volatile early years of her life had made her resolute in her determination that she would have a happy, love-filled marriage.

  He turned to face her. ‘We agree on that, at least.’

  ‘We do?’ He confused her, one minute talking as if referring to marriage and friendship in general, then as if the discussion were directly related to them. As if they were a couple about to be married.

  ‘Indeed, yes.’ He moved towards her and the scent of his aftershave, exotic and wild, hit her as it had done on the dance floor. At least this time she wasn’t pressed against his body, feeling every move he made, igniting sensations—hot, burning sensations—she’d never felt before. ‘And therefore I would like to engage your services.’

  ‘You’re getting married.’ She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. This man was a playboy desert sheikh who made no secret of the many women he’d loved and left. She’d found that out very easily when she’d looked him up on the Internet, just as she always did with every best man she was paired with. At least then she was able to find out the type of man he was, but Sheikh Jafar Al-Shehri had surpassed every other best man she’d worked alongside. Ruler of a desert kingdom, a reformed playboy prince after unexpectedly inheriting the title, he was the ultimate incarnation of everything she wanted to avoid in a man.

  He was also everything she’d been searching for in a man, yet had never expected to find. Ever since her only steady boyfriend had dumped her because she’d wanted to wait until they were married to share intimacies, she’d been very cautious about getting involved again. The idea that the desert sheikh could be the man to have a wild, passionate one-night stand with in order to shake off her past, as her friend Lilly had put it, was a step too far.

  ‘I am.’ His deep and commanding voice crashed through her wild train of thoughts, bringing her sharply back to the present. How could she be having such thoughts about this man?

  She forced herself to look into those sexy eyes, to appear in control even though her heart began to thump harder in her chest. Was it his sudden closeness or her thoughts? ‘And you want me to organise your wedding and be bridesmaid to your bride?’

  He looked at her, assessing her; an air of calculation lingered around them. ‘No, I want to hire you—as my bride.’

  She blinked and looked up at him, unable to say anything, then to her utter embarrassment she laughed.

  * * *

  Jafar inhaled deeply and waited while the prim and proper Miss Chapelle’s laughter subsided. How dared she laugh at him? Nobody but his closest friends would dare to do such a thing. Didn’t she know who he was?

  ‘I think you have had too much champagne, Mr Al-Shehri.’ Her voice still rang with laughter and a smile twitched at the edges of his mouth as she teased him, showing him a light-hearted side to her he found intriguing, but he forced it down.

  ‘I am in full and total control,’ he said as he prepared to play his ultimate ace. ‘I have need of a bride and you, I believe, have need of a large sum of money to cover debts.’

  Silence sliced between them as she looked at him suspiciously, all trace of laughter suddenly gone. The dark rims of blue around her eyes reminding him of the ocean that formed one border to his kingdom, but the paler centres had become hostile, like the heat of the desert. ‘I see I am not the only one to have been doing some research.’

  The tartness of her voice warned him he was pushing her too far but, as ever, the challenge of getting exactly what he wanted pushed him on. ‘I never enter into anything, not even being a best man to my childhood friend, without doing my research, Miss Chapelle.’

  ‘So, do enlighten me, what has your research turned up?’ She folded her right arm across her, beneath her breasts, placing the elbow of the other arm in her hand. Then, in a sexily tormenting gesture, she placed her thumb under her chin and her finger on her lips, sending a bolt of hot desire surging through him.

  Her eyes blazed like the purest of gems, and her full lips snagged his attention as a bright red fingernail pushed into their plumpness. The late-afternoon sunlight danced in her hair, turning it to fiery bronze, highlighting the freckles sprinkled over her face. All he could think about was pulling her hard against his body, pressing her curves into him and kissing her. There was nothing gentle about the heat in his body, the need to touch her, kiss her, possess her. Without a doubt, he knew that if he gave in to the demands of his body now, it would be fierce, savage and wild. It would be total possession and if he weren’t putting such an outlandish deal to her, he might already be taking her to his suite here in the hotel.

  ‘I think you are bluffing, Mr Al-Shehri.’ Her words dragged him from the erotic images of just what he’d like to do to her, sharply focusing his attention once more.

  ‘You are in debt and you also need more, much more, thanks to your brother-in-law, who has left your sister in a very precarious financial situation.’ He’d discovered that useful bit of information at almost the eleventh hour.

  She gasped, her eyes becoming wide with shock. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I made it my business to know, Miss Chapelle.’ He moved towards her, unintentionally breathing in her delicate scent, serving only to stir his body’s needs once more. ‘Everybody has a price and I now know yours.’

  ‘So you want to pay me to be your bride?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Chapelle, I do.’ He’d just heard Damian say those words to his bride, but they’d been said with love, with hope for the future. Now he was saying them to this woman who stirred his senses in a way no other woman had; even Niesha, the woman he should have married if his life hadn’t careered off course, hadn’t ever roused in him such intense passion.

  ‘And what makes you think I would agree to such a bizarre request?’ Both her arms were folded protectively in front of her now, one hand pulling firmly on the other arm, serving only to press her breasts together in a way the pale blue dress couldn’t disguise. Lust throbbed through him but he pushed it aside. This was not one of his casual affairs; this was a woman who held the future of his kingdom in her hands. The answer she gave him decided the fate of his people—and his.

  If she declined, then his cousin, Simdan, would have every right to challenge his ability to rule. He didn’t have the time to find a wife in the conventional way of his country. Besides, with his sister expecting her first child, which he intended to name as his heir, he didn’t require a wife, merely a bride.

  ‘As I intend our marriage to take place in two weeks’ time you will be financially rewarded and therefore able to settle all your debts, and those of your sister. I will also ensure you have a substantial amount of money once our agreement is complete.’

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I have absolutely no intention of getting married for any sum of money and certainly not in two weeks.’

  Jafar hadn’t expected her to say yes instantly. Indeed, he would have worried that she saw him as some kind of knight in shining armour, the answer to a woman’s dreams of happy ever afters, if she had. But in light of her current financial situation, he hadn’t expected an outright no.

  ‘So what has happened to the bridesmaid who ensures a bride’s dream comes true to make her so against marriage?’ He taunted her and satisfaction filled him as he saw her visible blanch at his question. It seemed she too had issues with the state of matrimony.


  ‘What makes you sure something has happened?’ She flung the question straight back at him.

  ‘A woman who prefers to always be the bridesmaid and not the bride is definitely hiding from something.’ He resisted the urge to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear as it slipped from the confines of her bridal hairdo, but had to clench his fist tightly in order to do that.

  ‘This is my job, Mr Al-Shehri.’ She glared at him and once again the need to kiss away the angry tension in those lips lurched forwards. ‘Only a man like you could seriously contemplate buying a bride.’

  Irritation spiked at the desire. She dared to challenge him? ‘And what kind of man is that, Miss Chapelle?’

  * * *

  Tiffany could hardly contain her anger. How dared he offer to buy her? What kind of country did he rule over if he thought he could simply buy a bride when the need arose? Even worse than that, she had actually contemplated accepting because right now she’d do anything to free her sister, Bethany, of that abusive, gambling man she’d married seven years ago, and sort out the financial mess he’d created then walked away and left her in.

  ‘The kind of man who can buy just about anything he wants, even, it seems, a bride.’ She hurled the accusation at him and turned quickly, intent on walking away from him, from the lure of the answer to Bethany’s financial problems and the almost irresistible draw of the man himself.

  ‘Can you really afford to walk away from such an offer?’ His words were hard and full of determination. Her steps faltered and she stood with her back to him, breathing deeply, still shocked by the way being close to him had made her feel as well as the outrageous proposition he’d put to her. ‘Can you really deny your sister?’

  She whirled round. ‘I have no idea how you have managed to find out so much about me and my family, Mr Al-Shehri, but I will not be bought.’

  He moved towards her, his long strides closing the gap between them. ‘I have no intention of buying you, Miss Chapelle. I merely wish to hire you to accompany me to Shamsumara and become my bride. Beyond that we can remain exactly as we are. Strangers.’

  ‘Your audacity almost makes me speechless,’ she hurled at him. ‘You even expect me to go to your country.’

  ‘I doubt there is much that can make you speechless.’ The tormenting laughter in his voice was clear, and as he smiled and raised his brows at her she wanted to stamp her foot and scream in frustration, but before she could do anything he continued the onslaught. ‘Just as I know you will do anything you can for your sister—and her little girl.’

  Now he’d hit her Achilles heel. Four-year-old Kelly didn’t deserve to be caught up in the mess her parents had created. The acrimonious divorce had turned her from a bright happy child to an anxious little girl who barely spoke and Tiffany would do absolutely anything to rectify that, especially as she knew what it felt like to be that little girl.

  ‘This has nothing to do with my niece.’ She could barely control her anger now. How dared he bring an innocent child into this absurd deal?

  ‘Think about it, Tiffany.’ The sound of her name on his lips shocked her, not least because of the dart of pleasure it sent coursing through her. ‘Meet me here after breakfast tomorrow, when I am sure you will have come to realise this deal is the answer to all your problems.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  TIFFANY HAD TOSSED and turned all night, the usual buzz of having created another perfect day for a bride obliterated by Sheikh Jafar Al-Shehri’s outrageous suggestion. It wasn’t any kind of normal contract. He didn’t want a bridesmaid. He wanted a bride. He wanted to buy her and that had unsettled her almost as much as the reaction of her body whenever he was close. Not to mention the steamy images, which had raced into her mind, of being kissed by him. A kiss she instinctively knew would be earth-shattering and dangerous.

  As dawn had crept into the room she’d given up on sleep and left her hotel room and gone for a walk. It always helped to clear her mind and by the time she returned she knew she would accept the deal—but on her terms.

  She changed into a short black summer dress and slipped on her black leather jacket, the only other outfit she had with her other than jeans and jumper, not having expected to have to be negotiating any kind of deal this morning. She made her way to the terrace with purpose in her step, intent on putting to him her terms for acceptance of his deal. The morning air was fragrant with roses but there was no sign of the man himself. She looked at her watch. She was late and she guessed he was the kind of man who didn’t tolerate tardy timekeeping. A flutter of panic threatened. This was the chance she needed, and probably the only one she’d get, to make things right for Bethany and Kelly, and she’d thrown it away.

  She turned to check she hadn’t missed him. Not that anyone could miss noticing a man like that. With a flash of relief she saw Sheikh Jafar Al-Shehri striding across the terrace, the morning sunlight behind him as he came towards her. Just as she expected, he was dressed immaculately in a suit that had definitely been made for him if the way it hugged his long legs, hips and shoulders was anything to go by. Handsome didn’t even go halfway to describing him. Sexy was the word that came to mind, but she slammed it back, refusing to accept she was in any way attracted to him.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said brightly, as if meeting with a man to thrash out the finer details of a marriage contract were something she did every day.

  ‘Would you like to walk or have coffee?’ His fiercely alert gaze travelled down her, taking in the dress, which was probably too short to meet with a man who ruled a desert kingdom, finally resting on her white high-heeled sandals.

  Again she’d earnt his disapproval. ‘I’m not really dressed for walking. Coffee would be better.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said as he gestured with an outstretched hand that she should precede him to the tables outside set for breakfast.

  A thrill of something she’d never known before skipped up her spine as she became acutely aware of his eyes on her. The intensity of his scrutiny burned through her leather jacket and the fine fabric of the dress, making her shiver as if she were cold. In contrast the kind of heat from sipping fine brandy flooded through her.

  As they neared the terrace of the restaurant a member of staff appeared instantly, eager to please the sheikh, and she realised for the first time just what his life must be like. He was much wealthier than any of the couples she had been hired by in the past, although plenty of them had given her a window into the world of wealth and luxury. This man, however, far surpassed that.

  ‘A quiet table for two.’ He spoke firmly, demanding precisely what he wanted without so much as a please or thank you.

  ‘This way, Sheikh Al-Shehri.’ The waiter led them to a secluded table at the edge of the terrace, where a mass of climbing roses clung to a trellis forming the perfect private area. The view from the table across the rolling English landscape was unrivalled, but, with her nerves like that of a young colt, she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it.

  Tiffany allowed herself to be seated, as if waiting for such a thing were normal, and then tried to focus her attention on the view instead of the formidably brooding presence of the man she was about to strike the most bizarre deal with. A deal that, given the imminent repossession of Bethany’s home, was now the only option she had.

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point, Mr Al-Shehri.’ She paused for a moment to gather herself as he fixed his attention on her, wanting to word this right, but before she could say any more he filled that pause.

  ‘Decisive. That is good. I like a woman who knows what she wants.’ She looked at him, into those green eyes, and wondered if he was mocking her, but there wasn’t even the smallest hint of a smile. In fact there was very little trace of any emotion. Only severe control.

  She began again before her nerve failed her. ‘Providing my terms are met, I will accept your deal. I will be your hired bride.’

  Those last two words almost choked her. After the mess and complications of her pare
nts’ divorce, she’d longed to find true love and happiness. Her ex-boyfriend hadn’t understood her need to wait to take their relationship to the next level and now she accepted her reluctance to do so was because she hadn’t loved him. Not in the deep and intense way she’d always dreamt it would be when she met the man she would spend the rest of her life with.

  ‘Terms?’ He sat back, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his thumb and finger moving over his chin, the subtle sound of the hint of dark stubble snagging her attention.

  ‘Yes, my terms,’ she fired back at him, defiantly lifting her chin, determined to stand up for herself. ‘You didn’t think I would just accept whatever conditions you put forward, did you?’

  ‘Very well.’ He folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with the searing heat of his gaze and an explosion of fire erupted within her. ‘What are your terms?’

  This time there was a hint of amusement in his voice, the slightest movement upwards of his lips. She almost laughed out loud when she realised he’d probably never had anyone set out their terms to him for anything. He must be used to getting precisely what he wanted all the time. Well, she wasn’t about to make this easy for him. Yes, she needed the money, and needed it now, but she had to keep some dignity, had to demand at least something for herself. After all, marrying anyone was a big deal, let alone a stranger.

  ‘Before we discuss that, I want to know why you need a bride in such a hurry and why me?’ She looked at him, using the fire to boost her confidence, to show him she was a woman who could hold her own. ‘Why not a woman from your country? In fact, I think you are hiding something, Mr Al-Shehri.’

  ‘Jafar,’ he said calmly. Completely unruffled by her questions. ‘I’d much prefer to be on first-name terms with the woman I am negotiating a marriage contract with. It’s so much more personal, don’t you agree?’

  Her fierce response to that question was halted by the arrival of coffee and for a moment she allowed herself to believe this wasn’t happening, that none of this was real as the strong aroma of coffee fired her senses.