Hidden In the Sheikh's Harem Read online

  Her eyes flared briefly as he took her in and Zach could almost feel the shudder that went through her. As much as she might not like to admit it, she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. His blood heated, driving everything else out of his head except bedding her.

  ‘Drink, little brother?’

  Cursing under his breath, Zach arched a brow at his brother. He knew Nadir felt sorry for him. He knew he wasn’t in love with Farah and since finding love himself he’d turned into some sort of agony uncle. But he didn’t want a drink. He didn’t want anything to dull his senses for his wedding night to come. ‘No, I’m good.’

  Was it too early to leave? He glanced at his watch. They’d been at the reception for an hour; surely that was long enough.

  ‘Imogen was wondering where you intend to go for your honeymoon.’

  Honeymoon? Interesting question and one he hadn’t even considered. He’d spent the last three days in back to back meetings trying not to think about sex before marriage. Now he realised that a honeymoon would be the perfect excuse to take Farah away from the worries of Bakaan and the reason behind their marriage. A chance to start fresh.

  But where to go? Paris? New York? The Seychelles? No, wrong time of year for— Suddenly Damian’s birthday invitation swung into his mind. Ibiza? Could he take her to Ibiza?

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend it.’

  Not realising he’d spoken out loud until Nadir replied, Zach frowned. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s a bit...wild. But why would you— Ah...’ His brother smiled. ‘Offshore racing.’

  Zach shrugged. ‘I am still the team owner,’ he pointed out. ‘But it’s Damian’s birthday. I should be there.’

  Nadir’s brows rose. ‘You’re going to spend your honeymoon at a mate’s birthday party?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Zach grated; he wasn’t that selfish. ‘The party is one night and we’ll have the whole week. What’s wrong with that?’

  Nadir held up his hands at Zach’s aggrieved expression. ‘You’re the expert on women, not me.’

  ‘Glad you finally admit it,’ Zach growled. Ibiza was the perfect idea: fun, carefree and totally different from Bakaan. What could possibly go wrong?

  * * *

  ‘The wedding was beautiful and you look especially lovely in your wonderful dress.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Farah automatically murmured the rote response she had given most of the well-wishers at the wedding even though the gentle woman who had just joined her was now her mother-in-law. The fact was her brain was operating in some sort of a fog. She kept reminding herself that she was doing this for her father but that didn’t always feel like the truth and that worried her just as much as being married did.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind about the orchid.’

  ‘The orchid?’

  ‘A wedding gift from my private nursery. I had it delivered to your apartment in the palace. It’s very rare but also very hardy. It represents love and fertility.’

  Farah forced a smile at her words. Earlier Zach had asked her not to reveal the reason behind their marriage to his mother. She didn’t know why, other than to stroke his massive ego, but she had agreed to go along with it. Now she felt like a phony as his mother beamed up at her. ‘My son always said he would marry for love, and I am so glad he has, because he deserves it.’

  Love? Farah never would have imagined that her new husband would be motivated by such a deep emotion and it made her wonder if he had been in love with the woman he had almost married. And if he had been in love then, was he still? She clutched her stomach, feeling a little ill at the thought. Or was that just the bubbly drink she’d consumed? Imogen had warned her to go easy on it but it was so sweet and refreshing she kept forgetting. She took another sip and realised that her mother-in-law was waiting for her to say something.

  Wondering if ‘thank you’ was even mildly appropriate, she was almost glad when Zach approached them.

  ‘I hope my mother is not making your ears bleed, habiba?’ He smiled down at her like any indulgent new husband who was indeed in love with his wife.

  ‘Not at all,’ she said a little breathlessly, trying to remember how much she disliked his handsome face.

  She noticed the loving look he bestowed on his mother and suddenly wondered if his wish to keep his mother in the dark about their union had less to do with his ego and more to do with real caring. She’d lived on a diet of her father’s prejudices against this man and his family for so long it was difficult to differentiate fact from fiction where he was concerned. His comment that perhaps her father wasn’t the only one living in the past returned but she shook it off. She absolutely did not live in the past.

  Grumpily, she watched his mother return his smile as if the sun shone out of him and Farah felt a pang that her own mother wasn’t present. Probably if she had been, then Farah wouldn’t have been here because her father would not have been bitter enough to kidnap the prince.

  She glanced across the room to where her father was talking with a group of men, seeming to have forgotten the events that had led them to this night. He was the only person from her village present because Farah hadn’t wanted to invite anyone else. It wasn’t as if this was a real celebration and now she wished she had at least invited her good friend, Lila. She could do with the moral support, if not some advice about her wedding night to come.

  The thought of sleeping with the prince caused a riot of mixed emotions to take flight in her stomach and she sipped her drink to subdue them. Should she be looking forward quite so much to joining with a man she didn’t like? And would it be as good as kissing him was, or would it be a let down, as she’d heard other women tell of it? Somehow she knew that it wouldn’t be and she shivered.

  ‘Cold, habiba?’ Zach leant closer to her and she shook her head. She wasn’t cold, she was hot. Too hot.

  As if he was completely attuned to her innermost thoughts, his hand splayed possessively across her hip. ‘I’m afraid we have to leave you, Mother. We have a honeymoon to get to.’

  ‘Oh, how romantic. Make me lots of babies.’

  Honeymoon? Babies? Farah’s stomach fluttered again. All this talk of love and seeing Imogen and Sheikh Nadir’s obvious adoration for each other was making her think strange, unwanted thoughts about things she’d once steadfastly declared she did not want, things that would make her just as beholden to a man as any other Bakaani woman. Things that had her earlier panic about marriage return tenfold.

  Before she could tell him she had no desire to go on a honeymoon like a real married couple, his nose grazed the top of her head. ‘You smell delicious,’ he murmured huskily. ‘What scent did you bathe in?’

  Farah didn’t want to remember her bath. Four women had come to prepare her for his pleasure and it had been like negotiations in a war room as they’d massaged and plucked and waxed her body into submission. Farah had determinedly refused to allow them to touch the hair between her legs and they’d clucked and tsked like old hens trying to establish the pecking order. The prince would not approve, they’d said. Good, she’d replied, much to their consternation. Now she wondered if he would approve and she hated the feeling of weakness that underscored that thought, hated the desire that she wanted to please him at all. She didn’t. She didn’t care what he thought of her.

  She lifted her chin. ‘Poison.’

  ‘Then I will die a happy man tonight.’

  His husky chuckle made her nerves tighten and Farah raised her half-empty glass to her lips. ‘One can only hope.’

  But he wasn’t listening, instead he was frowning at her glass. ‘Perhaps you should think about switching to water.’

  ‘But I like this very much.’ She tilted the glass to her lips in what she knew was a childishly defiant gesture and drained it. ‘What is it called again?’ She felt slightly dizzy from the rush o
f alcohol as it hit her stomach, but it was worth it to see him scowl.

  ‘Champagne.’ His frown deepened. ‘Have you even had it before?’

  ‘Loads of times. We distil it in the hut behind my father’s.’

  His eyes narrowed and Farah widened hers innocently. Then he completely surprised her by shaking his head and laughing softly. ‘Okay, I deserved that.’

  And there he went again, throwing her off just when she thought she had him all worked out.

  ‘Come, Farah, we should go.’

  Oh, yes, the honeymoon.

  Suddenly nerves attacked her. She’d been deliberately not thinking about the end of the evening and what would come next. ‘I think it would be rude to leave so soon,’ she said, aiming for cool and knowing she’d missed by a mile when his lips twisted in sympathy. Sympathy!

  ‘Actually, it’s quite late.’

  Heat raced through her, making her feel even dizzier than she already was.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘So suspicious, wife.’ He smiled. ‘We are going to Ibiza.’

  ‘Ib... Where?’

  ‘It’s a small, ruggedly beautiful island off the coast of Spain. You’ll love it.’

  She raised an eyebrow. She had always wanted to travel to faraway places but had never imagined she’d ever get the chance. ‘Because you say I will?’

  She hadn’t realised she’d raised her chin until he gripped it and tugged it down, his thumb resting on the curve of her lower lip. Her nerves were so raw even that small contact made her insides fizz.

  ‘I know you want another argument but I’m not going to give you one,’ he said. ‘It’s time to make love, Farah, not war. Wouldn’t you prefer that?’ His voice was a rough caress against her ear and before she could tell him that, actually, she was quite happy with war, he placed his hand firmly against the small of her back. Her breath caught and a delicious tingle of anticipation followed his fingers as they slid upwards to grip the nape of her neck. It was a blatantly possessive hold and spoke of domination and ownership. Farah, who had never imagined wanting to experience either of those things, felt every one of her bones turn to water.

  Half an hour later they were ensconced on the royal plane and she was trying not to ogle the sleek luxury of the streamlined jet. ‘Where are all the seats?’ she asked, taking in the well-spaced leather chairs and small tables.

  ‘This is a private plane. You’ll need to take a seat when we take off. After that you can walk around the cabin. There’s a bedroom in the back and two bathrooms. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Her hand went to her head. ‘I think I have a headache.’

  ‘Already?’ His smile was faintly mocking. ‘I’ve heard it takes wives a little longer to start producing that ex—’

  ‘Oh...’ Farah moaned and must have turned as green as she felt because Zach forced her head down between her knees. ‘Oh, that’s worse.’

  ‘It’s the champagne.’

  She waited for the nausea to pass and then sat up slowly. ‘How can something that tastes so lovely make me feel so ill?’

  ‘You’re meant to drink it in small doses.’

  ‘Small doses, like small steps,’ she hiccupped.

  ‘Exactly.’ She heard the smile in his voice but kept her eyes closed.

  ‘I think I’m okay now.’

  ‘Just lie back.’

  The plane chose that moment to accelerate down the runway and Farah’s stomach revolted as they were lifted into the air. ‘Oh, no I— Oh!’

  Before she registered what was happening, she was in Zach’s arms and then she was bent over a toilet bowl and emptying the contents of her stomach—which was thankfully very little, since she’d been too nervous to eat during the reception.

  ‘I think I hate champagne,’ she mumbled, so wretched she couldn’t even muster any embarrassment.

  His soft laugh was vaguely reassuring. ‘I thought you loved it.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘Unfortunately, you’re likely to feel even worse tomorrow.’

  ‘Please feel free to shoot me if I do.’

  ‘I don’t want to shoot you, habiba,’ he said so softly she almost didn’t catch it.

  She took the glass of water he offered and drank deeply. When she was finished, she was only vaguely aware of him lifting her and carrying her to a cool, flat surface. She buried her head against something warm and firm. A pillow?

  She felt her hair being released from the confines of her twist and moaned softly when he threaded his fingers through it.

  ‘I love your hair.’

  She frowned but didn’t open her eyes. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. And your eyebrows.’ He swept a finger over each one. ‘Like the wings of a raven in full flight. And your nose—’

  ‘My nose is too prominent.’

  He ran his finger down the fine blade. ‘It suits your face. And your mouth...’

  Farah yawned and snuggled further into the pillow that smelled just like the prince. For some reason she felt completely relaxed and safe, as if she didn’t have anything in the world to worry about. It was such a novel experience she let it wash over her. ‘What about my mouth?’ she asked, her mind drifting toward sleep.

  ‘Your mouth.’ He paused. ‘Let’s just say your mouth keeps me up nights.’

  ‘Mmm, that’s nice.’

  He chuckled. ‘I’m glad you think so.’

  He stoked her hair and Farah floated into another realm, trying to cling on to whatever it was the prince was saying, but quite unable to do so.

  * * *

  When she finally regained consciousness she was instantly flooded with alarm. She should be helping to get water down by the well; she should be fixing breakfast. Then the softness of the bed she was in permeated her hazy state and she opened her eyes and saw floaty white curtains across the room being ruffled by a gentle breeze. Used to gaging her surroundings by scent, she breathed in deeply. The air was humid rather than dry and held a tinge of brine to it. A balminess.

  Her mind started recollecting all the moments that had led to this one but there was a gaping hole between her throwing up on Zach’s luxuriously appointed plane to lying in a bed that was as big as her whole room growing up.

  And where was he? Because she could already tell that he had not slept beside her last night. Rising up on her elbows, she gingerly shifted her head from side to side to test the headache. Fortunately it didn’t hurt but her mouth felt like she’d stuffed cotton into it and she was thirsty. Which was probably why she’d woken up thinking about water.

  Pushing the linen sheet aside, she frowned when she realised she was only wearing her underwear. Did that mean Zach had undressed her last night or did he have an army of servants in this place, as well?

  Flicking the bathroom light on against the gray haze of early morning, she was surprised to see that she looked pretty normal, except for the smudge of kohl around her eyes and her mussed hair. Wiping away the make-up, and brushing her teeth with the new toothbrush that stood in a small gold jar on the marble sink, she set about trying to tidy her hair. Deciding it was impossible, she was about to leave the room when she caught sight of herself in a full-length mirror. The underwear she’d been given for the wedding was pure white and as delicate as a finely spun spider’s web. The bra was demi-cup, the panties cut high on her hips and completely sheer, somehow making the dark curls they hid look tempting and erotic. Shaking off the unnerving spark of arousal that thought caused, she truly hoped a servant had undressed her and not Zach.

  Really? A little voice taunted.

  No... She grimaced at the battle inside her head, grabbed a white robe she spied hanging from the back of the door and belted it tightly around her waist. She didn’t hope that. Much to her chag
rin, part of her hoped that Zach had undressed her and that he’d liked what he’d seen.

  But where was he?

  Asleep on the deep divan in the adjoining room, as it turned out. His large frame was sprawled on his back, his bare feet hanging over the edge. At some point he must have changed because he was no longer wearing his wedding robes but low-riding sweatpants and nothing else... And, oh, but he was built.

  Farah stilled, taking him in. She wanted to go to him and run her hands all over his gloriously golden-brown skin, petting the dark pelt of hair on his chest right where it arrowed down the centre of his lean torso like a tempting trail. Of course, she didn’t. She couldn’t think straight enough to unglue herself from the doorway for a start.

  ‘You’re awake.’

  Farah’s eyes flew to his. So was he.

  Obviously.

  She swallowed, feeling vulnerable at having been caught staring at him. ‘Yes.’

  He stifled a yawn. ‘It’s early.’ His eyes held hers, gleaming in the faint light.

  ‘I’m sorry did I...did I wake you?’

  ‘Not really. This sofa isn’t the most comfortable to sleep on.’

  ‘Oh, you should have...’ She gestured vaguely to the bedroom behind her. He was her husband. He would be sleeping with her from now on. Yesterday the thought had been horrifying but right now she couldn’t muster that same sense of dread.

  ‘Did you undress me?’ Her face flamed as soon as the words left her mouth. What was wrong with her? ‘I mean—’

  ‘Yes, I undressed you.’

  ‘Oh.’ She gripped the lapels of her robe together and glanced around, only vaguely aware of the beautifully appointed room cast in morning shadows. ‘I thought maybe you had servants.’

  ‘No.’ He swung his feet to the floor and stood up. Farah’s eyes returned to his large frame and her heart took off. ‘No servants here.’