The Desert Sheikh’s Captive Wife

CHAPTER TEN

‘GOOD heavens…you and your grandfather might have been identical twins!’ Tilda studied the photo of the long-departed Sharaf in his ceremonial robes with fascination, because she could see from where Rashad had inherited his classic bone structure.

Rashad splayed a possessive hand to her stomach to angle her back into connection with his lithe, powerful body. ‘My father says his father’s genes skipped a generation and turned up in me. Although I would like to believe that the likeness is only skin-deep, I definitely didn’t inherit my father’s mild temperament.’

‘Have you abducted any women?’ Tilda teased a little unevenly, physical contact with his lean, masculine frame stirring her into immediate awareness. Her nipples were pinching into tingling tension beneath the light cotton dress she wore.

‘No. But if you hadn’t agreed to give our marriage another chance I would have abducted you.’

Her eyes rounded in disbelief. ‘Are you serious?’

Above her head, Rashad was trying not to smile. Nothing would have persuaded him to let her go. He bent his handsome dark head and his even white teeth gently grazed the tiny pulse point just below one soft feminine ear lobe. She shivered helplessly, warmth pooling in the pit of her tummy.

‘Are you?’ she repeated less evenly.

‘I told you I wouldn’t let you go in London.’

Cooler air brushed her breasts as he undid her wrap and stripped it gently down over her arms. She stood naked and captivated in the circle of his arms. He explored the sensitive peaks of her pouting breasts with a carnal skill that left her vibrating with quivering response against him. ‘We only got up an hour ago,’ she whispered.

‘It’s hard work being my favourite concubine,’ Rashad intoned thickly.

‘Is it?’ she contrived to ask jerkily as long fingers smoothed down over her stomach to flirt with the silvery fair curls at the apex of her thighs.

‘And when you signed up for the long haul of being a wife, the working conditions got much tougher. I hope you know how to stand up for your rights because I intend to take full advantage of having you within reach twenty-four hours a day.’

A breathless giggle was her sole response to that assurance. The unpleasantness of that episode with Scott had shaken her up, but she had sent the cheque. Surely, since he’d got what he wanted, any photos he had would be returned to her at her mother’s address? Anyway, she might only have spent a week at the Palace of the Lions with Rashad, but she was happy. They’d never had the luxury of so much time together, and the more they were with each other, the less they wanted to be apart. She could see their reflections twinned in the mirror on the antique wardrobe. Her pale blond hair was bright as a banner against the darkness of his, her breasts wantonly bare beneath his bronzed hands. She thought she looked shameless. Shameless and fulfilled. With a certain indolent look in his gorgeous dark eyes, a particular note in his deep drawl, he could make her literally weak with longing. Her heart was pounding and her legs were trembling. She was leaning back against him to stay upright, wildly, dizzily conscious of his every caress.

With an earthy groan of satisfaction, Rashad explored the lush damp heat at the heart of her body. Spinning her round, he curved his hands to the soft swell of her hips and hoisted her up onto the table behind her. Her lashes lifted, passion-glazed eyes flying wide with disconcertion on his lean, dark, intent face.

‘You’ll like it,’ Rashad growled in persuasion.

Before she could react, he parted her soft mouth and probed its moist interior with an erotic thrust of his tongue in a move that was as provocative as it was effective. He opened her thighs and touched her in ways that left her alternately whimpering and breathless, barely able to contain the throbbing ache of hunger that possessed her. Only when he had pitched her to a tormented edge of need did he tilt her back and plunge into her. Raw excitement sent a wave of blinding pleasure splintering through Tilda, and then another and another, until she was sobbing with mindless delight.

It was quite some time afterwards before she found voice and reason again. She was lying in bed where Rashad had carried her. At the high point of ecstasy she thought she might have screamed. Her face burned and she kept her eyes closed because she wasn’t quite ready to look him in the eye yet. Five years earlier it had been the very intensity of what he could make her feel that had put her so much on her guard with him. Letting go of those defences gave her a wonderful sense of freedom.

A long taunting forefinger skimmed lazily down her spine. ‘You liked it a lot,’ Rashad husked, flipping her over and kissing her until she finally opened her eyes. ‘I liked it even more. You are as passionate as I, and I don’t have to restrain myself with you.’

Tilda focused on his lean, strong face and brushed weak fingers along the sensual line of his beautiful masculine mouth. He was wild in bed and she was discovering that she really loved that lack of inhibition.

His winged dark brows pleated in dismay and he drew back from her in a sudden movement. ‘I forgot to use a condom.’

‘Oh…well.’ Tilda gave a vague accepting twitch of a slim shoulder and immediately began picturing a miniature Rashad with serious dark eyes, or a tiny bustling version of Durra chattering at every step. Although conceiving so early in their marriage was not what she would have planned, she was conscious of a warm feeling of anticipation.

Rashad studied her tautly. ‘I might have gotten you pregnant,’ he extended as though she might not have worked out that risk for herself.

‘Well, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?’

‘You wouldn’t mind?’

‘No, if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. I like children.’

His lean, darkly handsome face relaxed. He pulled her into his arms. ‘You’re amazing, but I shouldn’t think we have anything to worry about,’ he told her. ‘We’ve been here for a week. Would you like to go to Cannes for a while? I own a house there.’

With a drowsy smile, Tilda rested her head on his shoulder. ‘If you like.’

‘Do you like?’

‘Hmm…’ she whispered, her eyes drifting shut, because she had decided that she would like anywhere as long as he was there with her.

Four weeks later, their honeymoon, which had been extended twice, was almost over. They had enjoyed a lengthy sun-soaked stay at Rashad’s gloriously secluded estate in the South of France. He’d had been called away on business the day before. He was due back today, and Tilda was packing her jewellery in preparation for their departure later on. She was mentally taking note of the fact that once again her breasts felt a little tender. Her period was also ten days late. She had no intention of saying anything to Rashad until she had seen a doctor, but she suspected that she might have fallen pregnant. In fact, she was quite excited at the idea that she might already be carrying their first child and just a little worried that Rashad would be rather less enthusiastic.

As Rashad was expected to father the next generation of royals, having a family would naturally have featured on their future agenda. But it was very early in their marriage for her to have conceived. Although she knew that Rashad would act as if it were the best news he had ever heard, even if he didn’t really feel that way, she was afraid that he would secretly regard a pregnant wife as a much less attractive option.

Heaving a sigh, she studied herself in the mirror, striving to imagine how she would look with a bigger bosom, no waist and a large tummy. Being of a practical disposition, Tilda scolded herself for agonising over what could not be changed. He wasn’t in love with her and she knew it would be silly to try and pretend that that didn’t make a difference. Her looks and how active she could be in and out of bed had to be crucial factors in the continuing success of their relationship. There would be no more flying here, there and everywhere, whenever the fancy took them, and water-skiing or horse riding might be too taxing, as well. They both enjoyed such activities, but now she would have to take her exercise in moderation. Would he get bored with her then?

In an abstracted mood she studied the glittering brilliance of a diamond bracelet. Rashad’s most recent gift, it was as stylish as her engagement ring. She had also acquired a necklace and earrings. He had given her some gorgeous pieces. He was wonderfully generous. It was as though nothing pleased him more than pleasing her. Reminding herself of that truth, she walked out to the shaded terrace and sat down on a comfortable seat.

Beautiful mature gardens ran down to the beach. The estate also had an extensive stable. Tilda had never learned to ride, but Rashad and his family were horse-mad. He had coaxed Tilda out of her nerves and up onto the back of a doe-eyed mare. Able to relax on a horse that had only one speed-plodding-she had gone riding on the beach with him every morning. Well, she had plodded and watched him galloping very glamorously through the surf. He was a keen amateur polo player and he looked amazingly sexy on a horse.

Most evenings they had eaten out, dining everywhere from the grand restaurants in Cannes to the terraces below the palm trees. His reserve was fading fast. He was talking to her a lot more, teasing her more easily, as well. Their relationship had changed since that ghastly business over the file had come out into the open. More and more she was seeing the guy who had stolen her heart five years earlier.

Occasional arguments disturbed the peace and were usually settled in bed. Rashad was very energetic, very passionate and very stubborn. He had a will of iron and a naturally forceful personality. He was always going to be bossy. He was always going to think he knew best about most things. What was infuriating was how often he was right. She was totally, absolutely in love with him, she acknowledged dizzily.

‘Tilda?’ Rashad strode out onto the terrace, looking spectacularly handsome in a lightweight beige suit. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

‘I didn’t know you were back. I was enjoying the view.’ Tilda registered that his lean bronzed features were unusually grave.

‘Would you come inside? We have to talk,’ Rashad told her.

Tilda got up slowly and smoothed down her skirt with uncertain hands. She had a tight, nervous feeling in her tummy. ESP was telling her that something was wrong, seriously wrong. She entered the room that Rashad used as an office. He lounged back against the edge of the desk, brilliant dark eyes resting reflectively on her.

‘You know, for some reason, I feel like a misbehaving kid called into the headmaster’s office,’ Tilda confided tightly.

‘Take a seat,’ Rashad murmured gently.

Tilda sat down, but her back stayed poker-straight, because she knew she was not imagining the tense atmosphere.

‘I’m going to ask you something and I would like you to be honest. What is your opinion of me as a husband?’

Tilda blinked and then opened her eyes very wide. ‘S-seriously?’ she stammered.

‘Seriously.’

‘Why are you asking me?’

‘Indulge me just this once.’

‘Well…you’re marvellous company, even tempered…and patient. Great in bed.’ Her face burned as Rashad elevated a questioning aristocratic brow that suggested she was barking up the wrong tree with her comments. ‘Generous, thoughtful, fair.’

‘I sound like a saint and I am not. You must be more candid and mention my faults.’

‘I didn’t say you had any faults,’ Tilda disclaimed instantly, feeling that she was being steadily backed into a corner for some reason that she had not yet contrived to comprehend. ‘Apart from being too clever for your own good sometimes.’

Rashad lifted a sheet of paper from the desktop and held it up for her to see. Tilda blenched, for it was the same photocopied picture of a woman dancing in a cage that Scott had sent her before. ‘Where did you get that from?’

‘Your mother forwarded it with your post. There was nothing on the envelope that indicated that it might be confidential, and it was opened by one of my staff, who thought it was a party invitation.’

Tilda extended her hand for the page and read the words below. ‘Next instalment due,’ it said, alongside Scott’s phone number and address.

‘It’s been dealt with,’ Rashad informed her quietly.

But shock and apprehension had made Tilda feel light-headed and sick, and she startled him as much as she startled herself at that moment by bursting into floods of tears.

Astonished and dismayed, Rashad lifted her out of the seat with a groaned apology. He smoothed her hair back from her damp brow. ‘I think this may qualify as a too-clever-for-my-own-good moment,’ he breathed rawly. ‘I didn’t intend to upset you. That was the very last result I wanted.’

‘What did you expect when you showed me that horrible picture?’ Tilda gasped chokily as he passed her a tissue and she mopped up. ‘I was hoping I’d never have to see it again!’

Rashad banded his arms round her. ‘You wouldn’t have had to see it, if you had come to me with the first demand.’

Tilda stiffened and finally dared to look up at him. ‘How do you know about that?’

‘I saw Scott last night. That’s where I was yesterday. Naturally, the instant I saw that picture, I knew that it could only have been sent to you as a form of threat. I confronted Morrison. There are no photos in existence of you dancing that night at the club.’

‘Are you certain of that?’

‘Yes,’ Rashad confirmed. ‘If he had had a genuine photo of you, he would have copied that, instead of using a stranger’s on a photocopy.’

Tilda flushed. ‘I suppose I should have thought of that.’

‘It was an amateur effort to extort money. He wasn’t clever enough to use a computer to fake a photo of you. It has been a very distasteful experience for you nonetheless. What was the first letter like?’

‘The same picture was used,’ she admitted tautly.

‘You received it when we visited your mother. That was Morrison you spoke to on the phone regarding the bill that required payment, wasn’t it?’

She nodded uncomfortably.

Dark deep-set eyes very direct in gaze, Rashad spread lean, shapely hands in a very expressive movement. ‘It shames me that you would not come to me for help and support with this matter.’

‘And rake up that cage business again? I’d sooner have died!’ Tilda told him with a feeling shudder. ‘I suppose that you already know that I paid Scott five thousand pounds?’

‘Yes, and there’s no hope of retrieving it, either. He’s spent it.’ Rashad grimaced with distaste. ‘He’s a nasty specimen, but he would never have dared to trouble you, had you come to me with his attempt to blackmail you. He’s scared of me.’

‘There’s no real photos of me dancing in that cage…you’re sure?’ Tilda prompted, because she was still concerned and could not quite accept as yet that the threat had been removed.

‘Certain.’

‘I feel such an idiot now for having paid up.’ She sighed. ‘But I was just so horrified at the idea of some horrible sleazy-looking photo appearing in the newspapers and embarrassing you.’

‘Even if there had been a photo we would have lived it down. I am more wise and tolerant than I was when you first knew me,’ Rashad said wryly. ‘I’m not that easily embarrassed.’

Tilda was amazed at his attitude. ‘Do you mean that?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Good. Then it’s about time that I told you that it was your friends who put me in that cage to dance. They paid the manager to get me into it because it was your birthday!’

Rashad was very much disconcerted by this revelation. Tilda quite enjoyed that turning of the tables. She told him that she had found out that Scott had been taking money from her mother for several years, and that Morrison had most likely been behind the appearance of the paparazzi at the airport that day. He looked grim but was convinced that her former stepfather would cause no further annoyance.

‘In my eyes, a husband’s most basic role is to protect his wife from harm,’ Rashad shared tautly. ‘Yet you could not trust me enough to tell me that Morrison was blackmailing you.’

‘It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. I felt so guilty about the cage episode.’

‘You have no need to feel guilty. But perhaps you did not have enough faith in me because I have been too slow to tell you what you mean to me.’ His lean strong face was taut. ‘Five years ago, you were everything I had ever wanted in a woman. In an instant I fell deeply in love with you. That’s all it took.’

Tilda stared up at him in unconcealed surprise.

‘You were my dream, my prize after many disappointments. I had been alone a long time. But I knew you did not feel the same way as I did-’

‘Rashad,’ she broke in emotively.

‘I believed that if you had felt as much for me as I did for you, that you would have slept with me.’

Tilda was shaken by that candid admission. ‘That’s just not true. I really loved you, but I thought there was no future in it. I mean, you were going to be a king some day and I didn’t want to be hurt. I thought if I kept our relationship light that it wouldn’t hurt so much when you went back to Bakhar.’

‘I had no idea. Wasn’t it obvious that I was serious about you?’

‘No. I was also terrified you would get me pregnant,’ she admitted in a rush. ‘I had a thing about that then-Mum always seemed to fall pregnant so easily.’

Rashad cupped her face with unsteady hands. ‘If only we had talked about the things that really matter, but I didn’t know how to. I just expected you to know what was in my heart.’

‘But I did really love you an awful lot,’ Tilda told him unsteadily. ‘When you dumped me, it felt like my world had ended.’

His lustrous dark eyes were suspiciously bright and he bowed his handsome head over hers with a husky groan. ‘I adored you. I would have given up everything for you, even the throne, and I think my father knew it, which gave him more reason to fear your power over me.’

Tilda was so close to him she could barely breathe and it still wasn’t close enough. He had adored her, too? He crushed her to him and she rejoiced in his emotion.

‘In five years without you, I was never once happy again. I am ashamed to admit it, but even if you had been a gold-digger I think you would still be my wife because I love you so much.’

‘How long have you been in love with me?’

‘For five years I called it hatred. I never got over you,’ Rashad confessed in a driven undertone.

‘Don’t you realise how much I still love you?’

Rashad studied her with doubt in his candid gaze.

‘But how could you?’

‘You say sorry very nicely. You’re great with blackmailers, too. You’re very handsome. You make me happy. I suppose that’s the most important thing of all. When I’m with you, I’m just so happy!’

‘You love me?’ His spellbinding smile was beginning to curve his lips.

Tilda stretched up and kissed him, and that was all the encouragement he needed to kiss her back-breathless.

‘Oh, and I think I might be pregnant,’ she shared in an afterthought, deciding that she would never keep anything from him again. ‘And I’m pleased.’

Rashad laughed out loud and surveyed her with near reverence. ‘I must be the luckiest man alive.’

Feeling very much like the luckiest woman, Tilda let her eyes drift dreamily shut as he carried her off to bed. She suspected that the end of their honeymoon would be postponed for yet another few days…

Almost three years later, Tilda watched Rashad hunker down to open welcoming arms to his son and daughter.

Sharaf was almost two, a solid little boy who was tall for his age with black hair and blue eyes. Pyjama-clad, the child hurled himself at his father with a shout of delight and immediately started chattering. Rashad tucked his son under one arm and murmured gentle encouragement to the baby crawling laboriously towards him. Bethany was nine months old. Blond and brown-eyed, she had her father’s charismatic smile and her mother’s temper. As the Persian rug beneath her rumpled and impeded her progress she burst into tears and threw herself flat to sob. Rashad scooped her up and soothed her with an ease that revealed how comfortable he was handling his children. The little girl clung like a limpet and patted his face, beaming at him with love and approval.

It was the weekend and Tilda and Rashad often spent weekends at the Palace of the Lions, where privacy was usually assured. Sharaf had proved such a delight to his parents that they had decided to have another baby as soon as possible after his birth. He was a delightful child, forward for his age and very active. Tilda had had two straightforward pregnancies and was planning on waiting awhile before contemplating a third.

Her mother had recently married Evan Jerrold and was living in much more comfortable circumstances. It had taken a year and professional help for Beth to overcome her agoraphobia. It had been a tough challenge for her, but she was now a regular visitor to Bakhar. Tilda had been delighted by Beth’s remarriage, for she had always liked Evan and she no longer worried about her parent in the same way that she once had. Her brother, Aubrey, had qualified as a doctor and Katie was at university. Her younger siblings, Megan and James, were doing well at school. It was a source of great satisfaction to Tilda that she was still able to see a lot of her family. She often visited London with Rashad.

The king was a regular visitor to their home in the Great Palace for he was very fond of children. Tilda had become very relaxed around the unassuming older man. She led a very busy but fulfilling life. She had supervised the renovation of the Palace of the Lions. She also realised how lucky she was to always have ready assistance with the children and she made the most of it. She had taken up painting again, although she had privately reached the conclusion that, although she enjoyed the pursuit she was possibly a more talented accountant than she would ever be an artist. Even so, Rashad, who could hardly draw a recognisable stick figure, was hugely impressed by her every artistic endeavour and embarrassingly quick to show her work off to visitors.

Tilda lifted Bethany from her husband’s arms. Their baby daughter was yawning. ‘She’s sleepy.’

Rashad leant down and claimed his wife’s luscious mouth with a brief but hungry insistence that made her dizzily aware of his potent masculinity. She went pink and thought about how much she had missed, for he had been in New York for a week. Sometimes Tilda and the children travelled with him, but it wasn’t always practical. Together they put Sharaf and Bethany to bed. They enjoyed such quiet family moments. Rashad told his son a bedtime story while Tilda gave their daughter a drink and tucked her into her cot.

‘At last,’ Rashad groaned, tugging her into his arms in the privacy of their bedroom. ‘I couldn’t wait to get back to you tonight.’

‘Hmm…’A blissful smile on her lips, Tilda leant into the heat of his big, powerful body. ‘Did I ever tell you how happy you make me?’

‘I can live with being told again.’ Stroking her hair back from a delicate cheekbone with tender fingers, Rashad studied her with possessive intensity. ‘But I couldn’t live without you…I love you more every day…’