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Hired To Wear The Sheikh's Ring
Rachael Thomas
‘I want to hire you—as my bride.’Until she makes him want more…Tiffany is the perfect candidate to be Jafar Al-Shehri’s temporary wife. In return for meeting him at the altar, he’ll clear her sister’s debt. This convenient arrangement to secure his crown soon leads to unbridled passion, but Jafar’s throne is still at stake. Is their craving for each other enough to make Tiffany more than just the Sheikh’s hired bride…?


“I want to hire you—as my bride.”
Until she makes him want more...
Tiffany is the perfect candidate to be Jafar Al-Shehri’s temporary wife. In return for meeting him at the altar, he’ll clear her sister’s debt. Yet this convenient arrangement to secure his crown soon leads to unbridled passion! But Jafar’s throne is still at stake—is their craving for each other enough to make Tiffany more than just the sheikh’s hired bride...?
RACHAEL THOMAS has always loved reading romance, and is thrilled to be a Mills & Boon author. She lives and works on a farm in Wales—a far cry from the glamour of a Modern Romance story, but that makes slipping into her characters’ worlds all the more appealing. When she’s not writing, or working on the farm, she enjoys photography and visiting historical castles and grand houses. Visit her at rachaelthomas.co.uk (http://www.rachaelthomas.co.uk).
Also by Rachael Thomas (#u15498ba2-8f16-541e-a830-ae1a07521fe7)
From One Night to Wife
New Year at the Boss’s Bidding
The Sheikh’s Last Mistress
To Blackmail a Di Sione
Married for the Italian’s Heir
A Child Claimed by Gold
Di Marcello’s Secret Son
Convenient Christmas Brides miniseries
Valdez’s Bartered Bride
Martinez’s Pregnant Wife
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Hired to Wear the Sheikh’s Ring
Rachael Thomas


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07207-6
HIRED TO WEAR THE SHEIKH’S RING
© 2018 Rachael Thomas
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Joanna Brown, who sowed the seeds of an idea which grew into Hired to Wear the Sheikh’s Ring.
Thanks!
xx
Contents
Cover (#ub3594e72-5721-5afa-895e-462061e0b3e1)
Back Cover Text (#u7fbd28bb-1893-5039-a7e4-d2ad6ef6f35e)
About the Author (#udb8b4cf7-e6a8-5d95-bfeb-73d905fe93ea)
Booklist (#uc65681d4-ea7d-50ab-877b-05833ba0c1aa)
Title Page (#u3b91d1a8-dad8-5da2-9341-05f93e6909ef)
Copyright (#u421deb80-ff7b-5f42-86c5-273baa2dcb5c)
Dedication (#u14f7217a-c12c-5bc1-9ba6-e4a47a90d9aa)
CHAPTER ONE (#ufb56d7fa-5fb8-5bee-bd5f-2d416928250a)
CHAPTER TWO (#u106beeda-b8b7-5882-acc5-e2c54bee3eba)
CHAPTER THREE (#ufc62dd75-7d79-5d7c-b341-8d5befca715f)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u15498ba2-8f16-541e-a830-ae1a07521fe7)
EVERYONE HAD A PRICE. Jafar Al-Shehri knew that better than most. He also knew exactly what that price was as far as bridesmaid Tiffany Chapelle was concerned.
It was a price he was more than prepared to pay in order to get what he wanted. He would do anything to prevent the increasingly hostile claim from his cousin Simdan on the kingdom he’d inherited after his brother’s unexpected death. Ruling Shamsumara had never been his ambition, but duty to his people and kingdom, as well as to his brother, was something he would take very seriously. After hearing about Ms Chapelle’s unconventional business as a hired bridesmaid, he knew she was exactly what he needed to stave off Simdan’s latest attempt to overthrow him.
Jafar’s gaze locked with that of the tall slender woman dressed in a bridesmaid gown of pale blue. She raised her brows in question, then continued with her duties at his friend and business partner Damian Cole’s wedding. Her glossy dark brown hair was piled high on her head and dainty white flowers within the style matched the ‘English country garden’ setting of the wedding. She had a dusting of freckles on her face, which only added to her beauty, to the allure she unwittingly created. The thought of kissing her full lips had remained irritatingly close to the forefront of his mind since they had been introduced as best man and bridesmaid yesterday afternoon at rehearsals.
Ever since she’d smiled up at him, the stunning bridesmaid had unsettled him. He tried to convince himself it was because of the business deal he intended to put to Ms Chapelle and not the sparkling sizzle that had rocketed through him as she’d shook his hand.
When his friend had first announced he was marrying his childhood sweetheart, Jafar hadn’t been at all surprised. What had shocked him was that the chief bridesmaid was not a close friend or relative of his bride, but a woman hired to do the job. Tiffany Chapelle made her living from hiring herself to brides as not just a wedding planner, but the chief bridesmaid. Damian had laughed when he’d quizzed him about hiring a stranger, saying every bride should hire their chief bridesmaid, especially if she had overzealous friends like his wife-to-be. Since then, Jafar had done his research on Tiffany thoroughly. Very thoroughly.
She was a woman who appeared to live romance vicariously through other brides’ weddings and surprisingly had been hired by many rich and famous names. The fact that she was prepared to hire herself as a bridesmaid made her the perfect candidate for what he had in mind. Added to that, she didn’t have any obvious signs of a man in her life but, most importantly for him, she was in considerable debt and had recently given up her rented apartment and moved in with her sister. He hadn’t yet discovered what the debt was from but was confident he could strike a deal with her. To him, the debt was nothing and he intended to offer her far more to take on a role that would require her total commitment for the next three months.
The orchestra began to play and Jafar had attended enough Western weddings to know that the bride and groom would now dance alone and that he, as the best man, would be expected to lead the chief bridesmaid to the dance floor to join the happy couple a short time later. His best-man role was a duty he intended to perform with the same exacting standards he did everything, especially as it would give him the opportunity to begin subtle negotiations with the delightful woman fate had delivered into his path as the answer to his problems.
He focused his attention on the bride then his friend. He clenched his teeth together as he watched the commanding man he knew his friend to be, a lethal businessman who took no prisoners, looking adoringly into the eyes of the woman he’d married. He should be happy for Damian but witnessing such devotion, such love, served only to remind him of all he’d lost when he’d discovered Niesha’s true colours. They had been promised to one another since they were children and he’d always had a fondness for her that had turned into what he’d then assumed was love. He’d been more than ready to enter into the marriage and make it work. Niesha, however, had set her sights on someone far superior to the spare heir of Shamsumara, as he was then.
The trail of his thoughts led back to his brother and the overwhelming sense of loss for a man who’d been both brother and father to him, shielding him from the wrath of their father’s power-hungry ways, which had almost brought the kingdom to its knees. Malek had worked hard to regain the trust of the people and now that duty fell to him. He would not and could not fail his brother.
‘I think this is where you come in.’ The sultry and somewhat chastising voice of the bridesmaid jilted him from the gathering storm of thoughts as she came to stand next to him.
‘I was merely allowing the happy couple time to enjoy the spotlight.’ He looked down into blue eyes. They were as pale as her dress but rimmed with deep blue and full of an intensity that did more than hint at her passionate side. That sizzle he’d experienced at yesterday’s introduction strengthened, becoming more like a bolt of lightning across the desert sky of his homeland.
Was it excitement at finally being able to put in motion his plan to save the people of his kingdom, Shamsumara, from his cousin’s hostile claim on the country that bordered his own? Or was it the thought of being able to hold this particular woman in his arms as they danced?
‘And there I was thinking you were avoiding me.’ There was a teasing note to her voice, one that suggested a playful nature. A woman who was able to enjoy life.
‘I hardly think allowing you time to complete the duties you have been hired for is avoiding you. That is your role, is it not? Hired bridesmaid?’ His response was swift and the ferocity behind his words surprised him as much as the sizzle of tension around them, but the deal he intended to put to her was far too important to allow himself to be distracted by a pretty face and a sexy figure—or the challenge that lingered in the depths of those sexy eyes.
‘You don’t approve of me, do you, Mr Al-Shehri?’ Her full lips pressed together in annoyance as she stood, one hand on her hip, glaring up at him, her eyes sparking like the icicles he’d always been fascinated with during those long cold winters at boarding school in England. ‘Or is it the fact that I charge women to be not only their wedding planner but their bridesmaid too? It may be unconventional but Bridesmaid Services isn’t the only business offering such services.’
‘Having had the somewhat dubious pleasure of meeting the bride’s best friend this afternoon, I can see how there is a need for hiring a bridesmaid who will do all that is required without any dramatics.’ He’d soon discovered just what Damian had meant when he’d met the woman in question.
‘So it must be me you don’t approve of.’ She teased him again with a smile and that underlying provocation in her voice, daring him to agree.
Challenge fired in her eyes but, instead of engaging her further in a battle of words, he gently but firmly took her hand from her hip, stifling a smile as her eyes widened in surprise. Before she could protest he led her onto the dance floor, fully aware she had no choice but to do his bidding unless she was prepared to risk drawing unwanted attention to them.
The gathered wedding guests applauded as he pulled her gently towards him, taking her in his arms until he could feel her slender body pressed against his. His body responded instantly to hers, to her scent, light and floral like the classic English garden flowers of the hotel. The movement of her waist beneath his hand as she began to move slowly in time to the music only intensified the surge of lust that hurtled through him.
What the hell was happening? It was as if this dark-haired beauty was sapping his strength, diminishing the control he was renowned for. She was making him want things he’d long ago learnt were not possible. He desired her, of that there was no doubt, but it was much more intense than his usual need of a woman. She was unlocking the man within him who long ago had put aside the need for the companionship of a woman. He knew precisely how destructive needs such as that could be. He shut down the train of thought, banished it from his mind, allowing heated lust to fill his mind and body in its place.
‘Are you going to tell me?’ The haughty rising of her brows and the challenge in her voice helped to snap him from the edge of somewhere he hadn’t been for a long time. Somewhere he had no wish to venture ever again—memories of his past, of the life he could have led with the young girl he’d grown up with, the woman who should have become his bride. He pushed them savagely away. Now was not the time to complicate the future with the past and what he’d hoped for.
‘It is not that I disapprove of you,’ he said softly, holding her gaze as other couples now joined them on the dance floor. ‘Quite the reverse.’
‘You approve?’ There was genuine shock in those lovely eyes now and despite the memories she’d almost cracked open he laughed softly.
‘I do, yes.’ He smiled at her increasing shock. ‘You are the first woman I have met who doesn’t attach sentimental nonsense to a wedding.’
She tilted her head to one side and looked up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly with suspicion. ‘This is my job, Mr Al-Shehri. I am merely doing what I have been hired to do, which is to make it the best day of the bride’s life.’
‘So your sense of duty is strong?’ He engaged willingly in the conversation, pleased that he could discover all the finer details about this woman from her, not second-hand through someone else. Private investigators could only glean so much, but they could never inform him of what made a person tick and it was important he got all the answers he needed before he put his deal to her. A deal that would secure his kingdom, Shamsumara, and maybe even set to rest the ghosts of his past once and for all.
‘I’m dancing with you, aren’t I?’ Laughter sparked in her eyes and even though he wanted to keep their discussion on track and on a businesslike footing, he couldn’t help but laugh too.
‘I had no idea it would be such an arduous task for you.’ He propelled them to the edge of the dance floor and towards the exit from the grand marquee, decked out in white and pale pink. The flower arrangements were all of the same white and pink flowers; only the bridesmaids in pale blue deviated from the colour scheme. ‘Shall we enjoy the late-afternoon sunshine?’
‘Are you taking me away from my duties, Mr Al-Shehri?’ She was testing him, of that there was no doubt.
Jafar glanced at Damian and his bride, dancing as if they were one being. ‘I think your duties are over for now. The bride and groom look blissfully unaware of anything except each other.’
* * *
Tiffany didn’t miss the undertone of steely irritation in the best man’s accented voice. All day she’d felt his gaze on her. She’d been acutely aware of him since their first meeting yesterday, in a way that unsettled her, tugging at dreams of love and happiness she’d long since given up on. As she’d sizzled beneath his scrutiny she had tried hard to ignore the disapproving set of his mouth, which had only increased each time they’d had to spend any amount of time together.
She’d also tried to ignore the fact that he was extremely handsome, tall and, with his dark skin, had an exotic appeal she knew had captured the attention of many female guests at the wedding—married and single alike. If circumstances were different, if she weren’t here to work, then maybe he would be just the distraction from life she needed right now. Shocked at the direction her thoughts had wandered, she forced herself back to the present, wishing her best friend, Lilly, hadn’t planted the idea of a casual fling, a one-night stand, as the best way to rid herself of the bad memories of her ex-boyfriend. She just wasn’t that kind of girl. That was why she’d been dumped.
‘Now I do detect a note of cynicism,’ she said as she looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the glare of the late-afternoon summer sun with her hand as they stopped at the edge of the rose terrace. It was obvious this man was as against the idea of marriage as she now was but it was men like him who had shattered her illusion of true love.
‘Do you believe in love and happiness, Miss Chapelle?’ His gaze pierced hers and the vivid green of his eyes was in total contrast to his inky black hair and not at all what she’d expected when she’d been told the best man was a desert sheikh, ruler of a kingdom far away.
Tiffany reeled at the direct question, at his scathing tone. It proved her thoughts of moments ago—he most certainly didn’t. She also was well aware of his reputation with women after listening to the bride chatter with the other three bridesmaids, all of whom were friends and one very obviously smitten with the dark desert stranger.
‘As a matter of fact, I don’t.’ She pushed back her long-held dreams of finding the kind of love her parents had never managed to, standing taller in the face of this man’s challenge. ‘Not that I would ever let any bride I work with know that.’
He looked into her eyes, the connection so intense she could hardly breathe, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking away, of fluttering her eyelashes and enticing him to make her his next conquest. She almost gasped at the thought. What on earth made her think a man like him would want anything to do with her, a woman who, at the age of twenty-five, was yet to experience the touch of a man’s caress and the pleasure of that ultimate intimacy between a man and woman? She’d been adamant she wanted to wait until her wedding night, until she’d found that fairy-tale happy ending.
‘I like you, Miss Chapelle.’ He turned from her, leaving her visibly weak after being under the spotlight of his gaze, but his next words sent her back into the spiral of confusion he’d had her in since he’d taken her hand and led her to the dance floor. ‘I think it’s important to like the person you are married to.’
She looked at his broad shoulders, encased in the dark charcoal-grey suit he wore, and wondered why such a self-assured, bordering on arrogant man couldn’t face her and say the words.
She touched a nearby pink rose, the softness of its petals strangely calming. ‘Yes, I think you are right. After all, if you don’t like the person you marry, the odds of the marriage lasting are pretty slim.’
Her parents were testament to that. As were the arguments followed by stony silence she’d grown up thinking were normal. It was only when they’d split up and she’d been old enough to stay over at friends’ that she’d realised it was far from normal. Those volatile early years of her life had made her resolute in her determination that she would have a happy, love-filled marriage.
He turned to face her. ‘We agree on that, at least.’
‘We do?’ He confused her, one minute talking as if referring to marriage and friendship in general, then as if the discussion were directly related to them. As if they were a couple about to be married.
‘Indeed, yes.’ He moved towards her and the scent of his aftershave, exotic and wild, hit her as it had done on the dance floor. At least this time she wasn’t pressed against his body, feeling every move he made, igniting sensations—hot, burning sensations—she’d never felt before. ‘And therefore I would like to engage your services.’
‘You’re getting married.’ She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. This man was a playboy desert sheikh who made no secret of the many women he’d loved and left. She’d found that out very easily when she’d looked him up on the Internet, just as she always did with every best man she was paired with. At least then she was able to find out the type of man he was, but Sheikh Jafar Al-Shehri had surpassed every other best man she’d worked alongside. Ruler of a desert kingdom, a reformed playboy prince after unexpectedly inheriting the title, he was the ultimate incarnation of everything she wanted to avoid in a man.
He was also everything she’d been searching for in a man, yet had never expected to find. Ever since her only steady boyfriend had dumped her because she’d wanted to wait until they were married to share intimacies, she’d been very cautious about getting involved again. The idea that the desert sheikh could be the man to have a wild, passionate one-night stand with in order to shake off her past, as her friend Lilly had put it, was a step too far.
‘I am.’ His deep and commanding voice crashed through her wild train of thoughts, bringing her sharply back to the present. How could she be having such thoughts about this man?
She forced herself to look into those sexy eyes, to appear in control even though her heart began to thump harder in her chest. Was it his sudden closeness or her thoughts? ‘And you want me to organise your wedding and be bridesmaid to your bride?’
He looked at her, assessing her; an air of calculation lingered around them. ‘No, I want to hire you—as my bride.’
She blinked and looked up at him, unable to say anything, then to her utter embarrassment she laughed.
* * *
Jafar inhaled deeply and waited while the prim and proper Miss Chapelle’s laughter subsided. How dared she laugh at him? Nobody but his closest friends would dare to do such a thing. Didn’t she know who he was?
‘I think you have had too much champagne, Mr Al-Shehri.’ Her voice still rang with laughter and a smile twitched at the edges of his mouth as she teased him, showing him a light-hearted side to her he found intriguing, but he forced it down.
‘I am in full and total control,’ he said as he prepared to play his ultimate ace. ‘I have need of a bride and you, I believe, have need of a large sum of money to cover debts.’
Silence sliced between them as she looked at him suspiciously, all trace of laughter suddenly gone. The dark rims of blue around her eyes reminding him of the ocean that formed one border to his kingdom, but the paler centres had become hostile, like the heat of the desert. ‘I see I am not the only one to have been doing some research.’
The tartness of her voice warned him he was pushing her too far but, as ever, the challenge of getting exactly what he wanted pushed him on. ‘I never enter into anything, not even being a best man to my childhood friend, without doing my research, Miss Chapelle.’
‘So, do enlighten me, what has your research turned up?’ She folded her right arm across her, beneath her breasts, placing the elbow of the other arm in her hand. Then, in a sexily tormenting gesture, she placed her thumb under her chin and her finger on her lips, sending a bolt of hot desire surging through him.
Her eyes blazed like the purest of gems, and her full lips snagged his attention as a bright red fingernail pushed into their plumpness. The late-afternoon sunlight danced in her hair, turning it to fiery bronze, highlighting the freckles sprinkled over her face. All he could think about was pulling her hard against his body, pressing her curves into him and kissing her. There was nothing gentle about the heat in his body, the need to touch her, kiss her, possess her. Without a doubt, he knew that if he gave in to the demands of his body now, it would be fierce, savage and wild. It would be total possession and if he weren’t putting such an outlandish deal to her, he might already be taking her to his suite here in the hotel.
‘I think you are bluffing, Mr Al-Shehri.’ Her words dragged him from the erotic images of just what he’d like to do to her, sharply focusing his attention once more.
‘You are in debt and you also need more, much more, thanks to your brother-in-law, who has left your sister in a very precarious financial situation.’ He’d discovered that useful bit of information at almost the eleventh hour.
She gasped, her eyes becoming wide with shock. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I made it my business to know, Miss Chapelle.’ He moved towards her, unintentionally breathing in her delicate scent, serving only to stir his body’s needs once more. ‘Everybody has a price and I now know yours.’
‘So you want to pay me to be your bride?’
‘Yes, Miss Chapelle, I do.’ He’d just heard Damian say those words to his bride, but they’d been said with love, with hope for the future. Now he was saying them to this woman who stirred his senses in a way no other woman had; even Niesha, the woman he should have married if his life hadn’t careered off course, hadn’t ever roused in him such intense passion.
‘And what makes you think I would agree to such a bizarre request?’ Both her arms were folded protectively in front of her now, one hand pulling firmly on the other arm, serving only to press her breasts together in a way the pale blue dress couldn’t disguise. Lust throbbed through him but he pushed it aside. This was not one of his casual affairs; this was a woman who held the future of his kingdom in her hands. The answer she gave him decided the fate of his people—and his.
If she declined, then his cousin, Simdan, would have every right to challenge his ability to rule. He didn’t have the time to find a wife in the conventional way of his country. Besides, with his sister expecting her first child, which he intended to name as his heir, he didn’t require a wife, merely a bride.
‘As I intend our marriage to take place in two weeks’ time you will be financially rewarded and therefore able to settle all your debts, and those of your sister. I will also ensure you have a substantial amount of money once our agreement is complete.’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I have absolutely no intention of getting married for any sum of money and certainly not in two weeks.’
Jafar hadn’t expected her to say yes instantly. Indeed, he would have worried that she saw him as some kind of knight in shining armour, the answer to a woman’s dreams of happy ever afters, if she had. But in light of her current financial situation, he hadn’t expected an outright no.
‘So what has happened to the bridesmaid who ensures a bride’s dream comes true to make her so against marriage?’ He taunted her and satisfaction filled him as he saw her visible blanch at his question. It seemed she too had issues with the state of matrimony.
‘What makes you sure something has happened?’ She flung the question straight back at him.
‘A woman who prefers to always be the bridesmaid and not the bride is definitely hiding from something.’ He resisted the urge to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear as it slipped from the confines of her bridal hairdo, but had to clench his fist tightly in order to do that.
‘This is my job, Mr Al-Shehri.’ She glared at him and once again the need to kiss away the angry tension in those lips lurched forwards. ‘Only a man like you could seriously contemplate buying a bride.’
Irritation spiked at the desire. She dared to challenge him? ‘And what kind of man is that, Miss Chapelle?’
* * *
Tiffany could hardly contain her anger. How dared he offer to buy her? What kind of country did he rule over if he thought he could simply buy a bride when the need arose? Even worse than that, she had actually contemplated accepting because right now she’d do anything to free her sister, Bethany, of that abusive, gambling man she’d married seven years ago, and sort out the financial mess he’d created then walked away and left her in.
‘The kind of man who can buy just about anything he wants, even, it seems, a bride.’ She hurled the accusation at him and turned quickly, intent on walking away from him, from the lure of the answer to Bethany’s financial problems and the almost irresistible draw of the man himself.
‘Can you really afford to walk away from such an offer?’ His words were hard and full of determination. Her steps faltered and she stood with her back to him, breathing deeply, still shocked by the way being close to him had made her feel as well as the outrageous proposition he’d put to her. ‘Can you really deny your sister?’
She whirled round. ‘I have no idea how you have managed to find out so much about me and my family, Mr Al-Shehri, but I will not be bought.’
He moved towards her, his long strides closing the gap between them. ‘I have no intention of buying you, Miss Chapelle. I merely wish to hire you to accompany me to Shamsumara and become my bride. Beyond that we can remain exactly as we are. Strangers.’
‘Your audacity almost makes me speechless,’ she hurled at him. ‘You even expect me to go to your country.’
‘I doubt there is much that can make you speechless.’ The tormenting laughter in his voice was clear, and as he smiled and raised his brows at her she wanted to stamp her foot and scream in frustration, but before she could do anything he continued the onslaught. ‘Just as I know you will do anything you can for your sister—and her little girl.’
Now he’d hit her Achilles heel. Four-year-old Kelly didn’t deserve to be caught up in the mess her parents had created. The acrimonious divorce had turned her from a bright happy child to an anxious little girl who barely spoke and Tiffany would do absolutely anything to rectify that, especially as she knew what it felt like to be that little girl.
‘This has nothing to do with my niece.’ She could barely control her anger now. How dared he bring an innocent child into this absurd deal?
‘Think about it, Tiffany.’ The sound of her name on his lips shocked her, not least because of the dart of pleasure it sent coursing through her. ‘Meet me here after breakfast tomorrow, when I am sure you will have come to realise this deal is the answer to all your problems.’
CHAPTER TWO (#u15498ba2-8f16-541e-a830-ae1a07521fe7)
TIFFANY HAD TOSSED and turned all night, the usual buzz of having created another perfect day for a bride obliterated by Sheikh Jafar Al-Shehri’s outrageous suggestion. It wasn’t any kind of normal contract. He didn’t want a bridesmaid. He wanted a bride. He wanted to buy her and that had unsettled her almost as much as the reaction of her body whenever he was close. Not to mention the steamy images, which had raced into her mind, of being kissed by him. A kiss she instinctively knew would be earth-shattering and dangerous.
As dawn had crept into the room she’d given up on sleep and left her hotel room and gone for a walk. It always helped to clear her mind and by the time she returned she knew she would accept the deal—but on her terms.
She changed into a short black summer dress and slipped on her black leather jacket, the only other outfit she had with her other than jeans and jumper, not having expected to have to be negotiating any kind of deal this morning. She made her way to the terrace with purpose in her step, intent on putting to him her terms for acceptance of his deal. The morning air was fragrant with roses but there was no sign of the man himself. She looked at her watch. She was late and she guessed he was the kind of man who didn’t tolerate tardy timekeeping. A flutter of panic threatened. This was the chance she needed, and probably the only one she’d get, to make things right for Bethany and Kelly, and she’d thrown it away.
She turned to check she hadn’t missed him. Not that anyone could miss noticing a man like that. With a flash of relief she saw Sheikh Jafar Al-Shehri striding across the terrace, the morning sunlight behind him as he came towards her. Just as she expected, he was dressed immaculately in a suit that had definitely been made for him if the way it hugged his long legs, hips and shoulders was anything to go by. Handsome didn’t even go halfway to describing him. Sexy was the word that came to mind, but she slammed it back, refusing to accept she was in any way attracted to him.
‘Good morning,’ she said brightly, as if meeting with a man to thrash out the finer details of a marriage contract were something she did every day.
‘Would you like to walk or have coffee?’ His fiercely alert gaze travelled down her, taking in the dress, which was probably too short to meet with a man who ruled a desert kingdom, finally resting on her white high-heeled sandals.
Again she’d earnt his disapproval. ‘I’m not really dressed for walking. Coffee would be better.’
‘Indeed,’ he said as he gestured with an outstretched hand that she should precede him to the tables outside set for breakfast.
A thrill of something she’d never known before skipped up her spine as she became acutely aware of his eyes on her. The intensity of his scrutiny burned through her leather jacket and the fine fabric of the dress, making her shiver as if she were cold. In contrast the kind of heat from sipping fine brandy flooded through her.
As they neared the terrace of the restaurant a member of staff appeared instantly, eager to please the sheikh, and she realised for the first time just what his life must be like. He was much wealthier than any of the couples she had been hired by in the past, although plenty of them had given her a window into the world of wealth and luxury. This man, however, far surpassed that.
‘A quiet table for two.’ He spoke firmly, demanding precisely what he wanted without so much as a please or thank you.
‘This way, Sheikh Al-Shehri.’ The waiter led them to a secluded table at the edge of the terrace, where a mass of climbing roses clung to a trellis forming the perfect private area. The view from the table across the rolling English landscape was unrivalled, but, with her nerves like that of a young colt, she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it.
Tiffany allowed herself to be seated, as if waiting for such a thing were normal, and then tried to focus her attention on the view instead of the formidably brooding presence of the man she was about to strike the most bizarre deal with. A deal that, given the imminent repossession of Bethany’s home, was now the only option she had.
‘I’ll come straight to the point, Mr Al-Shehri.’ She paused for a moment to gather herself as he fixed his attention on her, wanting to word this right, but before she could say any more he filled that pause.
‘Decisive. That is good. I like a woman who knows what she wants.’ She looked at him, into those green eyes, and wondered if he was mocking her, but there wasn’t even the smallest hint of a smile. In fact there was very little trace of any emotion. Only severe control.
She began again before her nerve failed her. ‘Providing my terms are met, I will accept your deal. I will be your hired bride.’
Those last two words almost choked her. After the mess and complications of her parents’ divorce, she’d longed to find true love and happiness. Her ex-boyfriend hadn’t understood her need to wait to take their relationship to the next level and now she accepted her reluctance to do so was because she hadn’t loved him. Not in the deep and intense way she’d always dreamt it would be when she met the man she would spend the rest of her life with.
‘Terms?’ He sat back, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his thumb and finger moving over his chin, the subtle sound of the hint of dark stubble snagging her attention.
‘Yes, my terms,’ she fired back at him, defiantly lifting her chin, determined to stand up for herself. ‘You didn’t think I would just accept whatever conditions you put forward, did you?’
‘Very well.’ He folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with the searing heat of his gaze and an explosion of fire erupted within her. ‘What are your terms?’
This time there was a hint of amusement in his voice, the slightest movement upwards of his lips. She almost laughed out loud when she realised he’d probably never had anyone set out their terms to him for anything. He must be used to getting precisely what he wanted all the time. Well, she wasn’t about to make this easy for him. Yes, she needed the money, and needed it now, but she had to keep some dignity, had to demand at least something for herself. After all, marrying anyone was a big deal, let alone a stranger.
‘Before we discuss that, I want to know why you need a bride in such a hurry and why me?’ She looked at him, using the fire to boost her confidence, to show him she was a woman who could hold her own. ‘Why not a woman from your country? In fact, I think you are hiding something, Mr Al-Shehri.’
‘Jafar,’ he said calmly. Completely unruffled by her questions. ‘I’d much prefer to be on first-name terms with the woman I am negotiating a marriage contract with. It’s so much more personal, don’t you agree?’
Her fierce response to that question was halted by the arrival of coffee and for a moment she allowed herself to believe this wasn’t happening, that none of this was real as the strong aroma of coffee fired her senses.
‘Well?’ he demanded as they were once more left alone. ‘Do you agree, Tiffany?’
The emphasis he put into her name, his exotic accent caressing every syllable, made her pulse leap and she had to force herself to look into his eyes, to meet the power of this man head-on without flinching, without showing any fear or doubt. ‘Absolutely, Jafar.’
His name seemed strangely familiar to her tongue as she sat straight and tall in the chair in a bid to appear as in control as he was. She almost achieved that until he smiled. It happened so suddenly she quite literally forgot to breathe as she became the focus of his attention. Heat sizzled over her at an alarming rate.
* * *
Jafar watched as a charming blush bloomed on Tiffany’s cheeks, knocking the confident businesswoman sideways and allowing him to glimpse the woman he believed she never wanted him to find. The passionate, yet shy woman who lived beneath her toughened exterior. That was precisely why he wouldn’t be giving in to the urge to kiss her that he’d had since the moment they had been introduced. She was wrong for him on so many levels, but right in only one. She needed him as much as he needed her, not that he’d ever allow her to know just how much.
‘What exactly do you want to know, Tiffany?’ She looked at him, then away, that shyness coming to the fore once more. It intrigued him. Maybe the time they would have to be together as man and wife was going to be far more interesting than he’d anticipated.
‘Why a man such as yourself has to marry a complete stranger within two weeks?’ Her blunt question fired directly at him and he admired her honesty, even if it meant he would have to share part of himself, part of his past with her. Something he never did with women.
He looked away across the fields of green grass as he thought of his brother, Malek, and the accident that had claimed him and his wife. That tragic day had made Jafar the ruler of Shamsumara. He’d always had the good of the country at heart, but never once in recent years, when he’d been sharing the burden of bringing the kingdom back to a good place to live after the tough years his father had ruled with hardness and cruelty, had he imagined himself the ruler. Jafar had never considered the possibility that one day that responsibility would lie solely with him.
‘I became the ruler of the kingdom of Shamsumara after a sudden family death. One which has left the country in a vulnerable position, open to the challenge of leadership from a man who rules his own kingdom with the same fear and dominance my father had ruled with. It is not the way I rule and I will not allow my people to live through that again.’
He looked at her face, saw the confusion in her eyes and knew this must be sounding so far-fetched to her. A dart of doubt shot through him. Was he doing the right thing, involving this woman in the affairs of his country? She might be in need of the sort of funds he could easily provide, but would she be able to fulfil the duties that would be required of her as his Queen? Even if it was only for a short time?
‘It seems to me that you need far more than a bride,’ she said as she sipped her coffee. He looked at his, but knew he wouldn’t taste it, that the memory of his brother and the threat posed by his cousin, the one man he truly hated, would obliterate all sense of taste. ‘You need a wife, a proper wife, a woman to give you heirs. That woman would be your Queen, wouldn’t she?’
He couldn’t help the shock that slammed into him. Maybe he’d misjudged this alluring woman. She was far more astute than he’d given her credit for. ‘Yes, my bride will be my Queen and in normal terms an heir is exactly what I would need, but, on this occasion, no. My sister married last year and is expecting her first child. The usual order of things in our country is that her child will become my heir until such a time as I have my own child, which of course I don’t plan to do. So producing an heir myself isn’t necessary.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I’m confused. If you don’t need an heir why not marry a woman from your own country?’
‘Because I have no wish to be married in the true sense of the word.’ How the hell did he put the last two years into a few concise sentences that would make sense to her? ‘As an unmarried ruler, I am open to challenge. That challenge would come from my cousin Simdan, who rules harshly over a small country which borders Shamsumara. He wants my kingdom for the power it would bring him—and the wealth. Shamsumara is rich in oil.’
‘And if you were married?’ The question lingered in the air like the threat of thunder.
‘My cousin has recently become a father and as a married ruler with an heir he can challenge my rule. If I married, his immediate ability to challenge me would become less and once my sister’s child is born and declared my heir, his claim on my throne is no longer valid.’
She put down her coffee cup with a clatter, spilling the dark liquid into the saucer. ‘When is the baby due?’
‘At the end of October.’ It was this very fact and the possibility that things could even now go wrong in his sister’s pregnancy that necessitated Jafar’s marriage. He was well aware that Simdan was already making moves to launch a claim for Shamsumara. If the unthinkable happened and his sister lost her baby, he would at least be the married ruler tradition demanded.
‘So where exactly do I come into all this?’ The panic in her voice was clear and he quickly realised where his explanation had taken her thoughts.
‘I only require you to be my bride. I have no intention of making a real marriage or having my own children, not when my nephew or niece will soon be born.’ He saw those expressive eyes widen and knew exactly what she was thinking. Three months was a long time and anything could happen. It was his aide’s main concern too.
‘If that is the case, why do you need to marry at all?’ Was that a hint of relief he detected in her voice? She pushed her coffee cup away as if the conversation was coming to an end, as if she’d already decided she would not take him up on the deal. He couldn’t allow that. He had much to lose and so did she. Something he would remind her of. ‘Can’t you name the baby now as your heir?’
‘In order to continue to rule in my brother’s place I must be married the day after the feast of Shams, which is two weeks from now, or my cousin has every right to claim the kingdom.’ Just as she had done yesterday, she laughed. He bit down hard against the irritation. How dared she when her own life was in such a mess? ‘I must then remain for two years.’
‘Two years?’
‘You would only be required to remain in Shamsumara as my wife and Queen for three months or until my sister’s baby is born. We will have to remain legally married for two years, but after that a divorce will be easy to procure. And, of course, you will have a very substantial settlement.’
‘And because of my job and my financial situation you thought I would be desperate enough to be your hired bride?’ The amusement in her voice held no malice but it didn’t soften his mood. He was not used to having to cajole women around to his way of thinking.
‘I would rate imminent repossession of your sister’s home desperate, but, of course, if you don’t...’ He left the sentence unfinished, his withdrawal of the deal, which he knew full well she needed, hang in the morning air between them. It felt like the biggest gamble he’d ever made. She looked at him in silence, something other than strained tension zapping between them. Raw desire.
‘I find it alarming that you know so much about me, Mr Al-Shehri.’ The curtness of her tone when she finally spoke left him in no doubt he’d touched a raw nerve.
‘I thought we were on more informal terms now, Tiffany.’ He added her name, enjoying the flash of anger in the depths of her eyes. He leant forward in his chair and lowered his voice. ‘We are, after all, almost engaged.’
‘Not so fast. Not until you have agreed to my terms—all of them.’ He admired the fire of defiance burning within her, revelled in the challenge she was unwittingly creating. He thrived on challenge, hated meek-willed individuals who would agree to anything he said just because of who he was.
At last he’d met a woman who was more than a match for him. The next three months of living as man and wife would prove very interesting indeed. ‘I think it’s about time you told me just what they are.’
She sat back as she looked at him, the haughty lift of her chin showing her spirit, reminding him of an unbroken horse. She had as much spirit as a stallion and, just as he did with his horses, he looked forward to harnessing that spirit, to turning her into one of his graceful falcons that would fly at his bequest and return willingly to his arm.
The thought shocked him. Did he want a woman to return to him, to want to be with him? It was something he’d never sought before so why now? Because she would be his wife, his hired bride?
‘First of all I want a payment up front. Today.’ She looked at him, as if waiting for his objection, but he merely sat and studied her. ‘I want a quarter of a million pounds in my account before the end of the day and a second payment the day we marry.’
Was that all? He’d planned on offering her much more than that. ‘Consider that done. Anything else?’
* * *
Tiffany looked at Jafar, at the handsome and very regal figure he cut sitting opposite her. Had he really agreed to that amount of money without so much as a flicker of a reaction? Was he that used to buying everything he needed he didn’t care what it cost?
She still couldn’t believe that by her simply agreeing to stand beside this man and become his wife, all Bethany’s problems would be over. It was almost too good to be true. The saying of looking a gift horse in the mouth drifted through her mind as she looked at the firm line of his full lips. Was it really going to be this easy to help her sister and secure a future for her niece, Kelly?
‘I will need to continue my business.’ His frown slashed her confidence and her words stalled.
‘You have other bridesmaid contracts such as yesterday’s?’
She hadn’t taken any bookings for the next six weeks because Kelly was about to finish nursery school for summer holidays. It was her chance to give Bethany a break and really be there for Kelly as she prepared to start big girl school in September. It was also a reminder that being an aunt could well be the closest she’d ever come to being a mother herself, with her dreams of finding true love and a happy marriage sabotaged by this man’s deal. She would put aside her dream for her sister and niece because she could never be happy knowing she’d walked away from the only chance to sort things out for them.
‘The next wedding is booked for early September and I will need to visit the bride between now and then.’
‘You will remain in Shamsumara for the full three months specified unless I accompany you.’ The harshness of his tone shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. She was helping him out as much as he was helping her. Maybe it was time to remind him of that.
‘In that case you will have to do exactly that.’
‘No, that is out of the question.’
She pushed her chair back and stood up, slowly and full of poise and dignity. ‘In that case, Mr Al-Shehri, we will not be able to strike a deal.’ She was calling his bluff and he damn well knew it, but she didn’t care. This was her stand. If he’d managed to find out all about Bethany’s financial situation, then he knew just how desperate she was, but there was no way she would ever act it in front of him.
‘I don’t think for one minute you intend to walk away from this deal.’ The vibrancy of his eyes pierced into her, dragging her secrets from the depths she’d hidden them. ‘And while I do applaud your honour to your business commitments I insist you stay in Shamsumara for three months. My cousin must see our marriage as real if it is to achieve its objective.’
‘And what does that mean?’ Irrational anger bubbled away within her like a hot spring. ‘I can’t continue my business? That I can’t return to England and make arrangements for my client?’
‘It means that you can continue with your business but I would prefer you to remain in Shamsumara. How many other weddings do you have to attend to?’ There was a brittle harshness in his tone, which only served to anger her further.
‘There are others in later months, but our three-month deal will be over by then and no concern of yours.’ His brows rose at her tone and that sexy hint of a smile made her tummy somersault and to hide her embarrassment she sat back down, wondering if Bethany could stand in for her and visit her client.
‘As it is just the one client, then I am happy to support that.’ There was a mischievous glint in his eyes and she wondered if he was toying with her, but now was not the time to test it out. She needed that incredible sum of money he was prepared to pay if she was going to secure Bethany’s and Kelly’s future, keep a roof over their heads. She’d even be able to set herself up once this bizarre marriage was over and three months wasn’t that long.
‘In that case, Mr Al-Shehri, we have a deal.’ She stood up and put her hand out to shake on the deal. He stood and looked down at her, then finally took her hand in his, but not in the way she’d expected. He held her fingertips and lifted her hand to his lips, his gaze locked on hers all the time, and then kissed the backs of her fingers.
The spark of fire that kiss evoked rushed up her arm, making her heart flutter as if she were a teenager. Shyness crept over her and she lowered her lashes, blocking out the intensity of his eyes.
‘I will send my car for you next Friday.’ If she didn’t know any better she’d say that the moment had affected him too, his voice was more of a hoarse whisper, but surely not. A playboy sheikh who had the pick of all the glamorous women he wanted would never be affected by a woman like her. Did he have any idea just how inexperienced she was with such things? ‘Is that sufficient time for you to put things in order?’
Put things in order. Could that ever really be achieved? At least the payment he’d agreed on would take away the threat of repossession for her sister.
‘Yes, perfectly sufficient,’ she said, keeping her voice brisk and businesslike, trying not to think of the implications of accepting his proposal. After all, it wasn’t a real proposal and certainly wouldn’t be a real marriage.
‘Good, then it is settled. You will accompany me to Paris, where we shall make it obvious to anyone who sees us that we are not only a couple in love, but engaged to be married.’ His bold confidence almost knocked hers, but she held her ground, kept her composure.
‘If arranged marriages are acceptable in your country, why do we need to do that?’
‘Because this is not a conventional arrangement and I do not wish to give anyone, least of all my cousin, the chance to challenge it. We will act out our engagement in Paris for one week. In private I will instruct you on all you need to know and provide you with everything necessary for your role. After that we will travel to Shamsumara and arrive in time for the feast of Shams—and our wedding ceremony.’
‘So soon?’ The hesitation in her voice brought his scrutiny to her once more.
‘I trust you are not getting cold feet?’
‘Absolutely not. This is a deal that will enable us both to get what we want and for my sister and her daughter I will go to Paris with you, then to your country to become your wife.’
CHAPTER THREE (#u15498ba2-8f16-541e-a830-ae1a07521fe7)
FIVE DAYS LATER Tiffany was waiting for the car Jafar had told her would collect her. She had put her life in order, at least as much as she possibly could, given the bizarre deal she’d agreed to. She pushed the implications of marriage to a man like Jafar Al-Shehri to the back of her mind as a sleek black and very luxurious-looking car pulled up outside her sister’s house. At least Bethany wasn’t here to try one last time to talk her out of it, having left early to go with Kelly on her nursery school trip.
Tiffany took hold of the handle of her suitcase and looked around the living room one last time. Kelly’s toys, as usual, were scattered around everywhere and the book Bethany was reading was face down on the coffee table. Shock crashed over Tiffany like angry waves. She wouldn’t be here to see the book finished or the toys played with. She would be in a country she barely knew anything about, married to a man she knew even less about.
Was she doing the right thing?
‘Stop it,’ she berated herself. It wasn’t as if she’d be away for ever. Just three months. She had to do this, for Bethany and Kelly, and there wasn’t really any other option left to them. With a determinedly inhaled breath, she turned and walked out of the house to the waiting car, its darkened windows making it impossible to see inside.
The driver’s door opened and Jafar got out. The burst of determination that had filled her just moments ago vanished as his eyes met hers. He looked sexy and incredibly powerful. The black suit, over which he wore an expensive camel-coloured coat to ward off the unusual chill in the summer air, only elevated his aura of command.
A skitter of apprehension raced down her spine, excitement hot in pursuit. How could just one look from this man have such a profound effect on her? ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’
The words were out before she could stop them or give herself the chance to act as calmly and in control as he so effortlessly did. He remained tall and straight as he stood next to the car.
‘We have much to do once we arrive in Paris before we begin the act of a whirlwind romance.’ There was a new depth to his voice. Was it more command or more determination?
She moved closer to the car and as he came to take her case from her she could see the determination in his eyes too. The fierce spark of power that only a man in complete control of his destiny could have.
He’s also in control of your destiny and will be for the next two years.
‘Such as?’ she demanded fiercely as that thought lingered in her mind like the ash after a fire.
It was the first time she’d thought beyond the three months he had stipulated she spend in his country. She’d been so wrapped up in being able to help Bethany she hadn’t thought of what would happen for the remainder of their so-called marriage and it was now one of the things she intended to sort out in Paris.
Jafar opened the passenger door for her and stood looking down at her. Was it possible that he suddenly seemed taller than she remembered or was it because she was losing control rapidly? She could still back out. She looked at the house she’d moved into with Bethany and Kelly several months ago and knew she couldn’t, not if she wanted to help them keep a roof over their heads, and now that Bethany knew all about this deal she definitely couldn’t.
She met the suspicion in his eyes and spoke again before he had a chance to say anything. ‘All the trimmings that come with such a whirlwind romance?’
‘One thing you will learn about me, Tiffany, is that if I do something, I do it properly.’ He paused and stepped a fraction closer so that she caught the exotic scent of his aftershave. It was wild and free, like the air itself—or the desert. As she tried to halt those thoughts he spoke again. ‘And making you my wife will be no exception.’
No response to that statement came to mind and instead she got into the car, trying to ignore the sensation of overwhelming wealth and luxury that assaulted her senses as she did so as wildly as the man himself. Jafar got into the driver’s seat and soon they were heading towards London for their flight to Paris. She watched the countryside she’d grown up in rush past, her thoughts crammed with just how he was going to make their engagement and subsequent marriage appear real. She was thankful when music began to play gently against the hum of the car engine. She forced her mind to relax, to go with the absurd deal she’d struck with this man. A man who had the ability to make her wish for things she’d vowed never to want. He made her want to be desired and even loved.
The full extent of the contract she would sign with the desert sheikh became apparent later that day, as she entered the suite of one of Paris’s most prestigious hotels to find the room full of designer dresses, shoes, handbags. Everything the kind of woman she was expected to be could want.
‘Now I am beginning to understand what you said to me earlier.’ She was determined to keep the complete shock and wonderment from her voice. There was no way she was going to allow him to know he was playing into the kind of Cinderella moment almost every girl dreamt of. ‘You certainly seem intent on kitting me out properly.’
‘As I have said, we need to be seen having a whirlwind affair while we are here in Paris and you need to look the part.’
This was confirmation that she was not at all like the kind of woman he usually associated with. She didn’t have the experience of men like him to start with. What if he realised that and backed out of their deal? She couldn’t allow that to happen. She would have to ensure she played her part well, be what he wanted her to be.
‘I had all this arranged.’ He gestured around him at the rails of clothes. ‘To provide you with all you will need.’
His deep voice was silky, his words gentle, but there was no mistaking the undertone of icy determination in them. Or the accusation that she was far from suitable and it hurt. For some strange reason it mattered to Tiffany what this man thought of her. She hid her confusion at that revelation behind sharp-edged words.
‘If I am so very unsuitable, then why are we even doing this?’ She couldn’t help but test him, push him to the limits.
She saw his jaw clench as he looked at her from across the luxurious surroundings he was so obviously used to. ‘Our arrangement serves us both well. I am in need of a wife and you are in need of money, part of which you have already received.’
‘You make it sound so cold.’ He glared at her and she hid the smile of satisfaction that she had riled him, rattled his gilded cage a little.
‘Not getting sentimental on me, are you?’ He moved closer to her, his steps silenced by the thick carpet of the room. Now he was testing her.
She could feel his presence invading her, feel him taking over the very air she breathed. ‘No way.’ She lifted her chin to look into those fierce eyes and tried to ignore the jolt of something unidentifiable, yet exceedingly powerful, that zapped through her as if he had actually touched her. ‘This is merely another contract as far as I am concerned.’
‘Good.’ The word was strong, forceful. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea when I begin to wine and dine you and act like a lover who wants nothing more than to seduce you.’
She swallowed hard against the sizzle that held both fear and excitement as images raced into her mind of this man doing exactly that. ‘You are not my type, Mr Al-Shehri. There is no need to worry about that.’
* * *
The fire in her voice sent a thunderbolt of lust-filled desire streaking through him. Tiffany Chapelle was as good as issuing him a challenge. The challenge of seducing her and right at this moment it was all he could think of doing. He wanted her naked beneath him as she writhed in ecstasy, begging him for more.
A knock on the hotel-suite door hammered through him as if he’d been slapped in the face. What the hell was he thinking, wanting this woman? All he needed to do was marry her, make her his wife in name only and then live with her for three months. Once his sister’s child was born, they could return to their lives and divorce in two years’ time. If he made love to her, either before or after they were married, it would turn their deal into something so much more. Not to mention harder to extricate himself from.
‘Come,’ he snapped as the control began to return to his body, even though his mind still reeled with images of Tiffany naked beneath him as he looked down at her. He never allowed women to get to him like this and he was damn sure Tiffany wouldn’t be any different. It must be the bizarre situation they were now in. A primal need to claim her as his wife in every way.
He had no time to indulge in such thoughts now. He had a job to do and that was to supply Tiffany with all she would need to carry out her role as his bride-to-be. Whatever else he thought of the state of matrimony and no matter how close he’d come to it once, he had to ensure the woman he’d selected for the role of his bride looked the part, both here and in his kingdom of Shamsumara—the very reason all this was even happening.
‘This is Madame Rousseau.’ He introduced the world-renowned designer and was pleased to see a moment of surprise on Tiffany’s face. ‘She will provide you with all you will need for our week in Paris and, of course, your wedding dress.’
Tiffany turned to the older woman and spoke to her in French. ‘I am honoured, madame.’
Instantly the woman he’d chosen for a bride was winning over the designer and a dart of admiration filled him. It appeared there was much more to Tiffany Chapelle than he’d first thought. Again that need to know more, to find out more, to explore in unchartered waters surfaced.
‘You will be the most beautiful bride,’ Madame Rousseau praised, obviously pleased to be able to converse in her mother tongue. ‘And you will make a fine queen for His Highness.’
Jafar’s body stilled. He had not yet explained to Tiffany that her role would entail much more than being his bride, that she would have to assume the role of his Queen for the duration of her stay in Shamsumara.
‘She will indeed make a fine queen.’ He smiled at her, aware of her scrutiny.
‘It’s a role I intend to take very seriously,’ she said with the biggest smile he’d yet seen on those very kissable lips. Confidence oozed from her, making him sure she could carry it off perfectly and letting him know she accepted the challenge.
‘So you have kept your romance secret for the last few months.’ Madame Rousseau continued in that wonderfully passionately way she was known for, obviously buying into the story he’d told her. ‘How very clever of you both.’
Madame Rousseau instructed with the wave of a pointed finger for Tiffany to turn, and as she did so Tiffany’s gaze met his and the sparks of annoyance in her eyes were so powerful and incredibly sexy he had to curtail the need to send the designer away and kiss Tiffany until she begged to be his.
He pushed that urge to one side as he sat waiting while Tiffany was fitted with the first dress, which he’d instructed to be simple but elegant for daytime in Paris, but his mind kept returning to the memory of her last Sunday morning in the short dress with a black leather jacket. Far from expensive, he was sure, but it had made her look a million dollars.
‘This one is perfect.’
Madame Rousseau’s voice ruptured his thoughts and he looked up to see Tiffany in a black dress, loosely cut yet somehow incredibly sexy. To complete the look she had a black clutch bag and dark sunglasses. The whole look showed off her glorious hair colouring and pale complexion to perfection.
‘I agree,’ he said, not liking the hard gravelly tone to his voice, and if the expression on Tiffany’s face was anything to go by, neither did she. There was that challenge again.
He kept that steely control as Tiffany paraded in many different outfits, some of which he rejected, but most of which he agreed with Madame Rousseau that they would be perfect for her role as his bride-to-be.
‘There is one more gown,’ Madame Rousseau said. ‘The evening dress for the charity event.’
‘Charity event?’ Tiffany questioned and looked at him, her lovely blue eyes wide, like a captured animal who didn’t know whether it should run or stay.
‘We have been invited to World Water charity dinner, attended by many famous names.’ He had a twinge of guilt as she suddenly looked completely out of her depth. Surely she’d mixed with the rich and famous before as part of her job? She’d certainly sold her business to him as that, which had been one of the main reasons for going through with his plans; he’d been sure she wouldn’t be fazed by such occasions.
‘Come, come,’ the designer said quickly, and Tiffany turned her back on him. He watched her as she walked back into the other room and listened to the delighted sounds from Madame Rousseau.
Even so, he wasn’t prepared for the way Tiffany looked as she came into the room again, chin held regally high, her hair quickly pulled up roughly into a chignon. Her pale skin showed the beauty of the black lace, set with black gems, but it was the slit to the top of her thigh he couldn’t stop looking at. One pale, slender leg was showcased to perfection as she stood there, taking his appraisal as if she’d been born into the role of a princess to be his Queen. In that moment she was exactly what he wanted in a wife—a real wife. She was desirable and aloof, competent and confident.

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