The Sheikh's Wife. Jane Porter
Had he always been so arrogant? So damned condescending? Maybe once she’d found his machismo attractive but now it filled her with terror. Terror not just for herself, but Ben, and Ben’s future.
If Kahlil knew he had a son, he’d insist that Ben be raised in Zwar, his small oil-rich kingdom in the Middle East. Zwar was beautiful but far removed from the freedom she and Ben knew in Texas.
Abruptly Kahlil leaned forward, grasped her chin, drawing her toward him. She nearly flinched, inwardly shrinking from his touch, but steeled herself outwardly, not wanting him to know how strongly he affected her.
Yet when he stroked her lips with the pad of his thumb, her whole body shuddered, a response she couldn’t possibly hide from Kahlil.
“You’ve become quite skittish,” he drawled, clearly intrigued. “Doesn’t Stan ever touch you?”
“My relationship with Stan is none of your business.”
“A bold answer for a woman in a precarious position.”
Her lips twisted, her smile forced. She ignored the truth in this, realizing she was indeed caught, but pride overwhelmed her common sense. She couldn’t back down. “I have changed, Kahlil. I’m not the girl you married.”
“Good. Then we both have adjustments to make. I’m not the man you married, either.” He smiled without humor, his gaze never wavering from her face. “And you have changed. You’ve grown more beautiful.”
“Don’t flatter me.”
“I’m not flattering you. I’ve met a lot of women in my life, but I’ve never met another woman like you. No one with your sweetness, softness—”
“Stop.”
“Your pale, flawless skin. Your eyes, the dark blue of precious sapphires. Your mouth softer than a rose.”
Her spine tingled, her skin prickling. Don’t listen to this. Don’t let him get under your skin. You’ve survived him once. You can do it again. “You only want me because you can’t have me.”
His fingers opened, freeing her, and his smile remained the same. But his eyes looked harder, the glints brighter. “I can have you. I just haven’t been aggressive.”
No, he’d never been aggressive with her before tonight, but she suddenly knew he could be extremely ruthless, correctly reading the menace in his hard features, and danger in the crooked curve of his mouth.
His smile faded. “Does Stan know you’re a flighty little wife?”
Oh, low blow. “He knows I left you.”
“Did you tell him you left without leaving a note? Or giving me a kiss goodbye? He knows you just took your purse, your passport and walked?”
“He knows I took my purse and ran.” Her gaze locked with his. If he wanted to make it tough, she could play tough. That’s all she’d been doing since leaving Zwar anyway. Cutting coupons to buy breakfast cereal. Shopping for clothes from a secondhand store. Working double shifts at the insurance agency. She’d shouldered parenthood on her own, and succeeded.
“Did Stan ever ask why you left me?”
“He knew I was unhappy, and that was enough for him.”
Kahlil lifted his wine goblet, swirled the glass, ruby-red wine shimmering in the candlelight. “What an understanding man. Will he be so understanding when you toss him away, tired of that marriage, too?”
His sarcasm was as sharp as razor blades and cut deep. If she thought she could get away with it, she’d run. But she wouldn’t get away from Kahlil, not like that, not this time. “I never tossed you away.”
“No? It felt that way. It looked that way, too. The palace was wild with gossip. The scandal affected the entire kingdom. I didn’t just lose face. My people lost face.”
“What scandal?”
“Rumor has it you were…unfaithful.”
CHAPTER TWO
“NEVER.” Color suffused her cheeks, embarrassment and surprise. How could he think such a thing? How could he think the worst?
The realization that he did, hurt far more than she’d expected.
Early on she’d hoped he’d come looking for her. She’d also hoped he’d discover Amin’s treachery. Instead Kahlil accepted her betrayal, accepted her failure, accepted that she’d been unfaithful. Apparently it hadn’t crossed his mind to even think otherwise.
Then he’d failed her, too. Twice.
Tears burned in her throat, unshed tears she’d never let fall.
Leaving him had nearly destroyed her. It had been the hardest thing she ever had to do. She’d nearly shattered all over again when back in Texas, she discovered she was pregnant.
It was a baby Kahlil wanted. It was a baby he’d never know. The guilt had nearly eaten her alive. Thank God for poverty. It forced her out of bed every morning, forced her to work until she dropped into bed at night, dead with fatigue.
Kahlil might mock Stan and his insurance agency, but working as a secretary at the agency probably saved her life. “Why don’t you just divorce me and get this over with?” she said hoarsely.
“Can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Lifting her gaze, she looked at Kahlil, noting the firm set of his mouth, the intelligence in his warm golden gaze and saw her son there, the same eyes, the same nose, the same mouth. Why hadn’t she ever seen it before? Ben was Kahlil in miniature.
And like that, she saw the awful truth. She and Kahlil weren’t completely strangers. They did have something in common, one precious little person. Ben.
“Too easy,” he answered curtly. “Divorce might be the easiest thing, but I’ve never taken the easy way out.”
She knew what he was talking about, knew the reference to their marriage. He’d warned her ahead of time that their marriage would create an uproar, predicted his family’s reaction, including his father’s harsh disapproval. Kahlil had said there would be hell to pay and she’d shrugged it off, kissing Kahlil’s lovely mouth, his cheekbone, his jaw. She’d been confident she could win his family over, so certain that Kahlil’s love and approval would be enough.
And she was wrong. Very wrong.
Knots balled along her shoulder blades, her back rigid, her neck stiff. Her gaze settled on his hard profile. Once she’d love to kiss the strong angles and planes of his face. She remembered how she lavished extra kisses on the small scar near the bridge of his nose.
She could feel the heartbreak again, thick and sharp. She had loved him. Once. She’d wanted nothing but to be with him. She loved him to distraction, needed the assurance he felt the same. Instead he withdrew, his warmth disappearing behind an impersonal mask. Duty, country, business. Their worlds no longer connected, their lives ceased to touch.
“How badly do you want a divorce?”
His question sent small shock waves rippling through her middle. He was toying with her the same cruel way a cat played with a mouse just before the mouse became a feline supper.
Her spine stiff, her shoulders squared, she lifted her chin, wanting to defy him. She wouldn’t dignify his games with an answer. Let him speak first. Let him be the one to grope for explanations.
But her righteous anger collapsed on itself, even as she confronted the enormity of her problem. This wasn’t a small matter. Ben’s whole future was at stake. Rather than provoking Kahlil, she needed to work with him, humor him. The baby-sitter, Mrs. Taylor, would be dropping Ben off at eleven, less than three hours from now. She needed to be home by then, and she had to be rid of Kahlil by then. “Badly,” she choked.
“Badly