The Desert Bride of Al Zayed / Best Man's Conquest: The Desert Bride of Al Zayed / Best Man's Conquest. Michelle Celmer
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so in love with the gorgeous student she’d met at the Tate Gallery. Too soon they’d been married. A mad, later regretted, impulse. “Our marriage was a mistake.”
Before his world and the reality of who he was—the Emir of Zayed’s only son—had come crashing in on them. Memories of the bittersweet days when he’d loved her—and she’d loved him—with youthful joyfulness haunted her. Then the long shadow of his father, the Emir of Zayed, had raised its head. Tariq had been summoned back to his father’s control and overnight everything had changed.
He had changed.
Jayne’s fingernails bit into her palms. She’d changed, back then, too. She’d gone from sensitive to wan and needy. And that had been before the discovery that—
“We were happy,” he interrupted her thoughts. “For a while.”
“Until I found out who you were, and everything changed.” She took a long, hard look at him. He was still the most earth-shatteringly gorgeous male she’d ever met. His golden eyes glowed with intelligence. His high, slanting cheekbones, the arrogant blade of his nose above the chiselled lips, still had the power to make her heart race. But, clad in the thobe, the fearsomely muscled body hidden beneath the white folds, he looked foreign, dangerous and very, very powerful.
“Who I was should never have changed what we had.”
“Oh, come on, Tariq. You can’t honestly believe that? The pressure of being the successor to the Emir of Zayed, the hostility of your father—”
“Leave my father out of this!” His face darkened. “He never did anything to harm you. It was your behaviour, your treachery, that destroyed what we had.”
Jayne shut her eyes blocking out the familiar invective. The Emir had hated her from the start, done everything he could to break up what they shared. And, in the end he’d succeeded. She’d been driven away, her spirit beaten, her heart broken.
Tariq had hated her.
“What does the past matter? You say it was my treachery that drove us apart. But in the end it was your lack of trust that killed what we had, Tariq. So what’s the point of—”
“My lack of trust?” Fury turned the body beside her to steel. “You—”
“There’s no point to all this, Tariq.” She turned her head and stared at the water bubbling from the fountainhead. “It’s over. I want a divorce…and once I leave I never want to see you or your father again.”
“You may just get your wish.” He drew a deep breath. “My father is dying.”
Jayne heard his words from a distance; they didn’t sound quite real. Six years ago she’d wished that the old Emir could…simply disappear out of her life…out of Tariq’s life. Then, his death would have solved all her problems. Yet now she didn’t care.
She felt numb. She told herself it was because she’d moved on. She had a life. And that life did not include Tariq. Not even if his father was dying.
“What does that have to do with me?” She kept her voice expressionless. “I don’t care about your father. I don’t care if he’s dying.” She swallowed her pain and flicked him a look. A flash of raw emotion glittered in his eyes. It was quickly suppressed. Her throat closed, feeling hot and tight. “I have no desire to see your father. Not ever again. When you told me to leave five and a half years ago, I told you that.”
“You said you never wanted to see me, either.” His mouth kinked into a mocking line. “Yet here you sit, in front of me. So, nuur il-en, never is a long time. Death has a finality that comes to us all. My father feels it is time for me to settle—he wants that reassurance before he dies.”
He paused. The silence swelled darkly around them, coloured by the undercurrents between them.
“So?”
“Who better for me to settle with than my lawfully wedded wife?”
Jayne gave an uncontrollable laugh. It was hard and grating. Alien. As alien as the notion that the Emir would ever accept her as the consort for his son. “That’s the last thing your father wants. He’d prefer to see me in hell.” She gave him a twisted smile. “What about Leila? Why not settle down with her? Your father would approve that match like a shot.”
“Unfortunately, Leila is now married. I do not approve of bigamy.”
Unexpectedly, Jayne’s heart lifted at the information. Then she quashed her exultation. It had nothing to do with her, who he married. “So divorce me and find another bride.”
“There is no time. My father needs to be assured that I am married, happily reconciled with you. Now. And you are going to help me achieve that. As soon as he is dead you can leave. With this divorce you want so badly.”
There was something savagely ironic at the idea that Tariq wanted her aid to deceive his father into thinking he was settled. But she had no intention of staying. She shook her head. “I want you to sign the consent to our divorce, then I want to leave.”
“You never used to be this hard of heart—”
“Me? Hard-hearted?”
“You used to be gentle, loving.” Tariq continued.
“Until you and your father got hold of me.”
Tariq’s gaze turned dark with bitterness. “Don’t blame—”
“Oh, what is the use?” She wasn’t going to get through to him. She gave a dismissive shrug. “I don’t care anymore what you think of me. I’ve grown up. I don’t need your approval anymore.”
Tariq’s lips thinned into a hard line. “But you do want a divorce. And I’m not signing anything unless you stay. So unless you convince my father all is well between us before he dies, I will not consent to a divorce. Ever.”
“I’ll sue for divorce from New Zealand.”
“And I’ll oppose you. Even though our marriage was recorded at the New Zealand High Commission in London at the time, we were married according to the laws of Zayed and I am a citizen of that country. You need my consent. I have a lot of money to fight you with. And you know that I will succeed. Otherwise you would have applied for divorce in New Zealand. Not come all the way here to persuade me to give you this divorce.”
He had her there. “Tariq, what you’re asking is impossible.”
Tariq glanced at his wife and suppressed the tenderness that threatened to spill out. She looked bewildered, off balance for the first time since her arrival. Not even when she’d been faced by those young thugs had she looked as shattered. She’d remained calm, unflustered, sitting beside him with her long lashes lowered against the porcelain skin he’d always relished, while he’d simmered with rage that any one dared touch his woman.
He’d wanted to arrest the youth, have him expelled from Zayed for touching Jayne. He’d fought the red, red rage for calm.
And in that instant he’d known that he was going to make this divorce as difficult as he could. But none of the seething emotion was revealed when he said, “I am not asking the impossible. It is my wish, dearest beloved—”
“Don’t call me that. I am no longer your dearest beloved.”
“That is true. You are no longer my dearest beloved.” He knew she’d recognised his point by the way her body tensed against his. But he was not yet ready to open the wounds of the past. “Stay until my father dies. That is the last thing I ask of you, my wife—” he paused, waiting for her to respond to the subtle mockery, but her lashes again swept her cheeks “—before I grant you the divorce you seek so urgently.”
He watched as she examined her nails. They were short, bare of polish. “How long?”
At her question his head came up. He narrowed his gaze, searching her averted face for