Royal Weddings: The Sheikh's Princess Bride / The Doctor Takes a Princess / Crown Prince's Chosen Bride. Annie West
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shared bond of caring for your children. A purpose in life.’
She petered to a stop, feeling she’d revealed too much. ‘I want to be a reasonable wife, Tariq.’
A reasonable wife.
The words echoed with a dull clang in the void where Tariq’s heart supposedly lodged.
He couldn’t believe he was hearing this.
Samira—gorgeous, seductive Samira—was offering herself in marriage and telling him in the same breath she didn’t want to consummate the arrangement?
How did women come to have such twisted, unfathomable minds?
He’d never heard anything so preposterous.
Marriage to Samira but no sex.
Presumably no touching at all.
No kissing either.
His gaze lingered on the plump bow of her ripe lower lip and a groan rose in his throat, to be savagely repressed. The whole idea was a recipe for madness. He should squash it now before she got her hopes up.
But it was too late. Those stunning eyes shone brighter and she watched him expectantly.
As if at any moment he’d thank her for denying himself the one thing he really wanted. The one thing he’d wanted since he’d seen her again. If he were truthful, that he’d wanted for far too long. Samira. Samira up against the wall of last night’s venue, with her long skirt rucked up around her waist as he pleasured her. Samira in his bed, sharing his shower, or breathless beneath him on the long couch just behind her. He’d pictured her on it since he’d walked into the room and saw her caressing it. She was so tactile, a true sensualist.
Samira any way he could get her.
Breathe. Deeper. Slowly.
How could any woman be so naive? Especially a woman with such natural sensuality? It was there in her walk, her love of texture, the way her eyes lingered with that hint of longing that belied the words emerging from her lips.
How could she think of denying them such pleasure?
Yet she thought she was being reasonable, generous, even.
In his years of marriage to Jasmin he’d never considered straying. His word was his bond and he was traditional enough to believe marriage was about loyalty.
‘That’s noble of you, Samira.’ He paused, scarcely believing the words emerging from his mouth. ‘I’ll give you my answer tomorrow.’
* * *
Twenty-six hours later Tariq halted in the doorway to the twins’ playroom in the luxury hotel suite. A crisis in Al Sarath had disrupted his schedule and he’d missed his meeting with Samira. She couldn’t possibly have waited this long for him.
He’d told himself it was just as well. Yesterday he’d found himself arranging to meet her again, driven by the need to prevent her propositioning someone else.
The thought of her with another man, offering to marry him, even with that crazy ‘no sex’ stipulation, gouged a chasm through his belly.
He wasn’t her keeper.
He didn’t want a wife. The thought of replacing Jasmin with Samira made him break out in a sweat. He might lust after her but how could he sign up to another marriage?
Yet for twenty-six hours he’d imagined little else. Her saner argument for marriage—to provide a loving, stable environment for his boys—made sense. Too much sense.
Tariq had put off for too long the need to find a mother for the twins. A warm, gentle woman who’d nurture them. A caring woman who’d love them as Jasmin would have.
A shiver scudded down his spine and the old blackness fringed his vision.
His boys deserved a mother. Already he realised he had to provide more than he could now with his taxing schedule. His wasn’t a job he could set aside when family commitments demanded. His country, his people, relied on him.
Now, standing in the shadow of the half-open door, he confronted the most compelling reason yet for action—their happiness. He’d thought Samira had left hours before, but no, she was there, to the delight of his boys.
At the centre of the room his sons sat astride plush cushions filched from the lounge, enthusiastically jogging up and down to the rhythm of Samira’s lilting voice. She had a clear contralto voice that tugged at long-forgotten memories of early childhood.
She sang a made-up song about Adil and Risay riding, one on a camel and one on a horse. Each time the boys heard their names they giggled and jogged faster, urging on their imaginary mounts, till at last the song ended.
With a sigh Samira sank back on the carpet, as if exhausted. Instantly the toddlers scrambled off their cushions and across to her. Adil snuggled up at her side and her arm automatically wrapped around him. Risay, more energetic, climbed onto her legs, ready for another ride. Instead of scolding, she laughed before scooping him close.
The three of them lay there. His boys and Samira.
She wore a dress the colour of amethyst that complemented the warm tone of her skin. The flaring skirt with its silky sheen looked indulgently feminine and expensive but there was a dark smear near the waist and a matching mark on her cheek. She’d kicked off her shoes. Her bare feet and legs looked tantalisingly sexy.
Something somersaulted in Tariq’s chest as he took in the three of them, his precious sons and the woman who cared less for her expensive clothes than she did for them.
In the far corner of the room Sofia, the nanny, folded clothes, her back turned. The fact that the boys’ fierce protector, who’d been with them since the day they’d lost their mother, was relaxed enough not to watch the newcomer like a hawk, told him everything he needed to know. Samira and the boys had clearly bonded.
All that remained was to decide how he felt about that.
For somehow in the last twenty-six hours, her proposal had turned from outrageous to possible.
* * *
Samira sighed and cuddled them close, breathing in the smell of baby powder and little boys.
Even if Tariq refused her, these couple of hours had been wonderful. The boys were a delight.
Her heart felt lighter, not just because she’d spent time with two such adorable toddlers but because she’d contributed, helping out while Sofia had packed, keeping the boys constructively amused.
Celeste would tell her she contributed with her fashion designs and charity donations. But there was something innately satisfying about the simple act of caring for this little family.
She breathed deep, knowing it was time to move. The boys were ready for bed and the longer she stayed the harder it would be to leave. What had begun as a simple invitation to wait for Tariq and meet his boys in the meantime had turned into something far more complex, at least for her eager heart.
She opened her eyes to find Tariq standing over her. He didn’t smile and his look was intent, as if he saw right inside her, to longings and regrets she kept strictly private. She felt caught out, at a disadvantage sprawled on the floor, her unguarded emotions too close to the surface.
Abruptly her heart leapt in her breast. Her pulse fluttered as he bent, his hands briefly brushing her as he scooped up Adil, now fast asleep, then left the room with the nanny following.
The gleam in Tariq’s clear green gaze unravelled something within her. Something she didn’t want to feel. It made her feel too vulnerable. She was still grappling with that, her breath coming too fast, when he returned, lifting a sleepy Risay and taking him to the bedroom.
Quickly she sat up, twisting up her hair into some semblance of order, frantically scanning the floor for her shoes.
‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting