The Sheik's Kidnapped Bride (12 page)

“I didn’t love her,” he said at last.

Dora stared at him expectantly, but he didn’t have any more to say. He wondered briefly how strange all this must seem to her. A new country, in-laws, a palace.

“You won’t have to stay here two weeks,” he promised. “I’ll speak to my father and have your things moved into my room.” As he studied her, he remembered how it had been between them. The feel of her soft skin and her body, so hesitant, yet yielding. Hot blood coursed through him, arousing him. He moved closer.

“It was good between us,” he murmured, leaning close and touching her mouth with his. “I want you.”

She drew back. “I wasn’t sure what to think. You haven’t wanted to, well, be together since that first time. I thought maybe you’d decided our marriage was a mistake.”

Doubts filled her brown eyes. Doubts and questions. In
New York
it had been easy to lie to her, but it was more difficult now. Was that because of their location, or did it have something to do with the fact that he knew her better? She was no longer an employee, but a person.

He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and drew her next to him. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“So you still love me,” she breathed in relief and closed her eyes.

“There will be none of that!”

A sharp voice cut through the quiet.
Khalil
jumped back and saw his grandmother standing next to him.
Fatima
took Dora’s arm and led her into the harem.
Khalil
took a step forward, as if he would go with them, but he had known since he was a young boy that this gold door marked a point of no return for him. He’d never once set foot inside the harem and that wasn’t going to change tonight.

Biting back a curse of frustration, he stalked down the hall and out onto the common balcony. He breathed in the familiar scent of the ocean and the fragrance that was unique to El
Bahar
.

“I wouldn’t be happy, either,” a familiar voice said.

Khalil
looked up and saw
Malik
, his oldest brother, standing by the balcony.

“You’ve been married, what, three days, and you’ve already lost your bride.”

“I know. I’ll speak to Father.”

“Save your breath,”
Malik
told him. “He’s not going against Grandmother. Not in this matter.”

Khalil
knew that
Malik
was right, but he didn’t have to like it.

Malik
moved close and rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Dark, wide eyes, similar to his own, stared into his face. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve made a good choice. Amber was not suited for the life of a princess.”

And then
Malik
was gone, leaving
Khalil
to wonder if his brother recalled more about his night with Amber than she had realized.

Dora studied the chart in front of her. It listed positions in the El
Baharian
government, but not the names of the officials currently in office. She went across the chart from left to right and supplied the name for each position.

Fatima
beamed. “You learn quickly. I had hoped my grandsons would marry intelligent women, but with princes, one never knows.”

“Thank you.”

Dora looked at
Khalil’s
grandmother. As always, the elderly woman was beautifully
coiffured
, with perfect hair and makeup. Today she wore a tailored blouse and skirt with pumps that showed off her slender ankles. While there were subtle, telltale signs of her age, for the most part she could pass for a woman in her early fifties.

They sat on one of the low sofas in the palace harem. Dora had been living behind the sheltered walls for eleven days. Just three more days until her wedding. Everything around her was new and strange, yet in some ways it was as if she’d always lived here. She had the oddest sensation of having been thrust back in time.

“Now I want to talk about history,”
Fatima
told her. “Do you remember—” She broke off as
Rihana
, the young servant, came in carrying a large tray with tea and tiny sandwiches.

“Is it four already?”
Fatima
asked, glancing at her elegant gold watch. “The afternoon has flown.”

Rihana
paused. “Would you like me to come back later, Your Highness?”

“No. Of course not.”
Fatima
sniffed. “Ah, there’s cinnamon sticks for the tea. My favorite.” Her beautiful face softened into a smile. “You do spoil me, child.”

Rihana
set the tray down and began to place the contents on the table in front of the sofa. Dora had already seen the ritual acted out every afternoon. She rose to her feet and crossed to the balcony on the far side of the room.

Unlike the regular living quarters and main offices of the palace, the harem didn’t face the sea. Instead the rooms had a view of the gardens. On her first evening,
Fatima
had taken her on a tour of the complex suite, which had been designed to please women, as well as hold them captive. There were dozens of sleeping chambers, some large, some small. The size of the room was a statement of the occupant’s status with the king. The communal baths were works of art, with mosaics depicting erotic couplings between mermaids and sailors. Water poured from gold faucets, and the jewels studding the back of the hand mirrors were large and genuine.

The common rooms had arched doorways, but few doors, giving the area an open feel.
Fatima
had taken her up the hidden staircase to the small, closed room where the chief eunuch had once watched over the women in his care and the king had viewed his beauties before deciding his choice for the night.

The harem had its own private gardens, lush with tropical plants and a small formal English garden. A few elderly parrots survived in the trees inside the lattice-covered grounds.
Fatima
had told her at one time dozens of parrots had been kept by the harem to cover the sounds of the women’s voices so that no man would be tempted to enter. She’d also whispered that the parrots had served to cover the women’s screams when they were beaten for a transgression.

Now, Dora stood in that same garden, a woman of the twenty-first century. So different from those long-ago women whose only purpose in life had been to bring pleasure to a king…and yet very much the same. While she was in El
Bahar
, most of her world revolved around the whim of the prince. The man she’d married impulsively and had not seen except at dinner for the past eleven days. The evening meal, taken in the company of the family, was her only contact with
Khalil
, and they had never once been left alone.

She shivered as she remembered his heated gaze the night before. How he’d looked at her with such desire that she’d lost her ability to eat or drink. She could only stare back at him, captured by his dark eyes, wondering how she could ever have doubted his desire.

Every look, every word, every touch told her he wanted her desperately. Whether or not he loved her remained in question, but for now, the wanting would have to be enough. Only three more days until they were married in a traditional ceremony. A ceremony with rituals and meanings as old as time.

She heard the soft click of the harem’s outer door closing and returned to the central chamber.
Fatima
had already poured tea for them both and divided the plate of sandwiches.

“You were never occupied by the British,” Dora said as she resumed her seat on the sofa. “So why English tea?”

Fatima
smiled as she handed her a delicate bone china cup. “It’s very civilized. We were never occupied by the Americans, yet we use electricity—which I believe your Thomas Edison first invented.”

“Point well taken,” Dora said, stirring in a drop of milk, then sipping the strong, hot brew.

Fatima
patted her neatly coiled chignon. “You have learned much of our history in these past few days.”

“The books you loaned me were very interesting. I want to learn as much as I can about my new country.”

Shrewd dark eyes regarded her thoughtfully. “I have traveled all over the world, Dora. Some of that time was spent in your native country. I know a bit about American culture. You are bright, well-spoken, organized and a natural leader,”
Fatima
said. “There are many business opportunities available to women. So why were you working as
Khalil’s
secretary?”

Dora set her cup on the table and smoothed her hands over her skirt. “Why wasn’t I an executive in some company?” she asked.

“Exactly.”

“I don’t have a four-year degree. I had a scholarship, but things didn’t work out, so I earned a two-year degree, instead.” She paused, not sure she wanted to go into the mucky details of her past.
Fatima
was warm and friendly, but she was a woman of class and breeding. Dora doubted she would understand how Dora could have gotten herself in such a mess.

“You never went back to complete your education?”

Dora pressed her lips together. She’d meant to. Once the pain and the humiliation had faded, she’d thought she might apply to one of the many colleges in the
Los Angeles
area. If enough time had passed, perhaps no one would care about the scandal.

“Time slipped away from me,” was all she said.

Fatima
continued to study her. Dora felt as if the older woman could read her thoughts. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when
Fatima
guessed the source of her problems.

“Men are odd creatures,”
Khalil’s
grandmother said at last. “The weak ones run away from their problems and blame the world. The strong ones accept responsibility, but they have other flaws. They resist admitting they need someone to be complete. They want what they can’t have. Sometimes they need to almost lose something to appreciate it.”

Dora smiled. “Is that why you have me living in the harem?”

“Perhaps. Does
Khalil
need to be tricked into seeing that he has married a jewel?”

She was charmed by the compliment and uncomfortable with the question in equal measures. “I hope not.”

Fatima
nibbled on a watercress sandwich. When she’d finished she wiped her fingers on a linen napkin. “I have enjoyed having you with me in the harem.”

Dora glanced around at the luxurious quarters. “It’s even more lovely than I’d imagined.” She grinned. “And my education is quite different from what I’d thought it would be.”

Fatima
made a dismissive gesture. “You were thinking we would discuss sexual arts. There is plenty of time for that. The first year or so of your marriage will be a time of great passion. It is all about quantity and emotional bonding. After the first child is born, we’ll talk of men and women, of lovemaking. Then you’ll be ready to learn the ancient secrets.”

Dora felt herself flushing at the other woman’s candor. Were there really secrets she could use to keep
Khalil
in her bed? She thought about their single night of lovemaking. It had been wild and amazing, and she couldn’t imagine anything better than when he’d held her in his arms. She’d spent many hours reliving their intimacy, remembering the touch of his fingers, his tongue as he’d—

“Why did you marry
Khalil
?”
Fatima
asked sharply, the question jerking Dora out of her reverie.

Dora stiffened and stared at her.
Fatima
’s expression was unreadable.

“He swept me off my feet,” she blurted without thinking. “I was deeply impressed by him, but I didn’t think he would ever notice me. I thought he assumed I was simply a very efficient robot. But that wasn’t true. When he told me he cared about me and wanted me, I couldn’t resist him.”

“I see.”
Fatima
’s eyes gave nothing away. “He is not an easy man. Of course, look at his brothers, or his father for that matter. They don’t understand the heart of a woman. You will have to be the slender reed, bending in the storm.” She sighed. “How I loathe to speak in clichés, but it’s true in this case. The men of the Khan family are great leaders, honorable and just, but they are also arrogant and unyielding. So stubborn I wanted to hit my husband with a frying pan more than once.”

Dora didn’t know how to respond to
Fatima
’s confession. She pictured the slender, well-dressed queen of El
Bahar
toting an oversize frying pan from room to room in search of her annoying husband.

“
Khalil
is a man worth having, but only if the woman is worthy and strong,”
Fatima
continued. “You must be those things, my dear. Even if you don’t yet feel them.”

Dora swallowed, but didn’t respond. Nor did she ask how this wise old woman had figured out the truth…that Dora didn’t feel the least bit worthy of
Khalil
or her new title. Nor did she know if she would be able to bend like a reed. While it wasn’t in her nature to fight for something, she wasn’t sure she could simply acquiesce, either.

Fatima
changed the subject, mentioning a charity fashion show that they would attend together at the end of the month. Dora listened, grateful that
Khalil’s
grandmother hadn’t asked anything difficult…like why
Khalil
had wanted to marry her. Dora knew it had happened; she had the wedding license and the ring to prove it. She saw the passion in his eyes, a fire so bright she could almost believe it. But none of that answered the real question of why he’d chosen her.

Dora stared at the henna staining her hands. The intricate pattern worked its way across her palm, then circled each finger, like dark lace.

Fatima
brushed the back of her hand. “Tradition has it that a bride does not do work in the household until the last of the henna has faded. It marks the end of the honeymoon. You can imagine how for centuries young brides avoided water, or anything else that might hasten the fading process.”
Fatima
smiled fondly. “That is not for you to worry about, however. You’re a princess in this great house, and we’re unlikely to set you to work in the kitchen.”

“I don’t know,” Dora teased. “I peel a pretty mean potato.”

Fatima
didn’t return her smile. “I would imagine you can do anything you set your mind to. Don’t forget that, child. Don’t give up too easily.” She rose to her feet. “Listen to me, prattling on like the old woman I am. Stand up, and let me look at you.”

Dora did as she requested. Like
Fatima
, she dressed traditionally for the ceremony. A simple silk chemise served as her only undergarment. Over that she wore a long-sleeved lace dress, fitted to the waist, then falling loose to the floor. Heavily embroidered robes went over the dress and covered her completely.
Rihana
had worked wonders with her hair, pulling it up and securing it with a diamond headdress. Except for the gold thread from the embroidery, she was dressed entirely in white.

Fatima
, whose slender body was draped in exquisite robes of blue and green, circled her. “Just lovely. This wedding robe is more than a hundred years old. I was married in it myself.”

Dora glanced over her shoulder so that she could see the expanse of fabric in the mirror. El
Baharian
tradition prescribed that each bride add something to the marriage robe, a small picture of something symbolic to her alone. In the royal family, the picture was chosen by the groom and sewn by a female relative in his household.
Fatima
had stayed up late several nights completing her contribution to the robe.

The older woman touched a small design of a tree with many branches, just over Dora’s right hip. “That is the symbol of my homeland of
Bahania
. There was much discussion about what symbol would be added for you.”
Fatima
laughed. “Jamal suggested a portrait of Elvis, while
Malik
favored the American flag.”