The Sheikh's Wife. Jane Porter
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reached for her water glass, lifted it to her mouth. The rim of the chilled glass clicked against her teeth, icy water sloshing against her lips.
He leaned forward. “I want you for a weekend.”
“That’s your proposal?”
“I’m giving you an opportunity to take control of your life.”
“I spend a weekend with you, and you’d grant me a divorce?”
“If my terms were met.”
He made it sound so easy. Bryn stared at the water drops darkening the white cloth, her mind strangely blank. No words, no sound, no light filtering through her brain. “And those terms…?”
“I want a long weekend with you. Four days. Three nights. City of my choosing.”
She touched one of the damp drops on the tablecloth with her finger. “You want me to be your wife.”
“I want you to be my lover.”
Her head lifted, gaze meeting his. He smiled without a hint of warmth in the eyes. “I want to possess you, enjoy you at my leisure, and make you mine—completely mine—again.”
Something inside her stirred, hunger, awareness. He knew how she responded to him. He knew he could seduce her at the drop of the hat. “You don’t think I have the strength to walk away from you a second time.”
He shrugged. “Did I say that?”
“You don’t have to. I know you.”
“If you please me, I shall process the divorce papers in Zwar. If you cannot fulfill the required duties to my satisfaction, you shall return to Zwar with me and take lessons from the palace concubines.”
“Either way, you win.”
He ignored that. “You’d only sacrifice four days of your life, and surely, Stan’s love is worth at least that?”
Stan’s love was worth more, but Kahlil’s price…
Four days in his bed. Four days making love. A vision of tangled limbs, warm bodies, damp skin flashed before her and she felt blood race to her cheeks. “It’s a humiliating proposition.”
“But it gives you possibilities. Hopes for the future.”
Hopes for the future. Ben’s future.
Bryn draw a deep breath, and actually considered his offer. Just for a moment. Alone, naked, weak. He’d reduce her to hunger and fire all over again and she would need him too much, want him too much. Like before.
It was too risky. For herself, and for Ben. She felt raw, exposed, Kahlil’s proposal peeling off needed protective layers that shielded her heart from the past, and the danger Kahlil still posed.
Something wonderful and awful happened when they were together. She felt more alive, more physical, more aware, but that acute awareness came at a terrible price. Kahlil made her feel emotions and desires that she couldn’t control. It hurt then, it hurt now, and this feeling couldn’t be natural or normal. Emotions shouldn’t run so deep.
“I can’t,” she gasped, dying inside. “There’s just no way.”
His mouth curved, a crooked smile. “You don’t have to give me your answer yet. You might want to think it over a little longer. Take an hour. Take two. After all, it is your future.”
Dinner finished, Kahlil tossed a handful of bills on the table—several hundred dollars, Bryn noted woodenly, chump change to Kahlil and a small fortune to herself. Money like that would pay for new shoes for Ben. A rib roast for Sunday supper. Maybe even a night on the Gulf Coast.
Resentful tears pricked the back of her eyes as Kahlil steered her to his waiting limousine. He had no idea what it was like to struggle and worry about every purchase, every trip to the grocery store, every new month because it meant starting the vicious cycle over again—rent, gas, electric bill, car payment, and on and on until Bryn wanted to scream. It hadn’t helped that Stan was always offering to ease her load, make payments for her, pick up expenses. She’d been sorely tempted but had never accepted his offers, never accepted his frequent marriage proposals, either—not until last Christmas.
She’d finally worn down resisting, reluctantly accepting that bald, bespectacled Stanley would be the right thing. Not for her. But for Ben.
Numbly Bryn slid into the back of the limousine and buckled her seat belt across her lap.
Kahlil directed the driver back to her house.
Bryn’s fog of misery lifted, recognizing the peril of letting Kahlil close to her home. Ben’s toys and bedroom had been packed for the move but there could be knickknacks around the house, photos or artwork she’d overlooked. “Why don’t we go for a drive?”
“A drive?”
She ignored Kahlil’s incredulity. “Or a walk. It’s a beautiful night. Not too humid for the first time in weeks.”
Kahlil viewed her through narrowed lashes, his expression speculative. “Who are we hiding from?”
The fact that he could read her so easily reinforced her fear, as well as her determination to be rid of him as soon as possible. Already she felt as though she was drowning, the water rising, destruction imminent. She had the agonizing suspicion that she might not be able to pull this off. Kahlil was so clever, too clever, and also too angry.
No sooner had she swallowed the sour taste of panic than she pictured Ben as he’d run out of the house earlier, eager to go with Mrs. Taylor. His small white sneakers had slapped the sidewalk, his miniature jeans rolled up at the ankle. She always bought his clothes big, trying to make them last two seasons, maybe even three.
He’d stopped at Mrs. Taylor’s truck, turned around to wave and he blew her an enormous kiss. “I love you, Mommy!”
His zest brought tears to her eyes and laughing, she’d blown him a kiss back. She’d felt a spike of worry then, the kind of worry she felt every time she kissed him good-night, what if something happened? What if there was an accident? What if she lost him? What if…
The what-ifs could drive her crazy.
Fierce love rose up within her, love, determination and conviction. She wouldn’t fail Ben. She’d fight tooth and nail to protect him. He was the one perfect and true thing she’d ever known.
Bryn looked at Kahlil, gaze level, mouth smiling faintly. “Is there something criminal in wanting to walk?”
“You never liked to walk before.”
“Of course not. I was eighteen. I preferred motorbikes and race cars and anything else that jolted my heart.” Like you, she thought cynically. You jolted my heart a thousand times a day.
Kahlil gave the driver directions to a popular downtown park, the night quiet, the streets nearly deserted. The limousine pulled over to the curb and Kahlil and Bryn got out, to stoically circle the square.
The evening, balmy for late September, smelled sweeter than usual, the peculiar ripe fragrance of turning leaves as summer slipped away, fading into fall.
He didn’t speak. She didn’t try, chewing her lower lip, struggling to come up with an alternative to Kahlil’s proposal, one that might meet his need for vengeance without endangering Ben. But no solutions came to mind, immediately dismissing lawsuits and threats, as well as fleeing with Ben. This time Kahlil wouldn’t let her go. He’d find her, and he’d really want blood then.
They passed the fountain and large bronze statue twice with Bryn still overwhelmed with worry.
Kahlil thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. “There’s no way out,” he said mildly, casting a curious side glance her way. “You’re not going to escape without settling the score.”
A flurry of nerves made her prickle from head to toe. How