The Desert Bride of Al Zayed / Best Man's Conquest: The Desert Bride of Al Zayed / Best Man's Conquest. Michelle Celmer
eyes to emphasise the shape, and she was ready to go. Draping the hijab across her shoulders and leaving her hair uncovered, she made her way downstairs, through the labyrinth of palace corridors.
The long table in the stateroom was laid with cutlery that gleamed in the light of the heavy chandeliers overhead. Men from the large delegation that Latifa had alluded to were already arriving; some in dark suits with only the traditional headgear, while others wore traditional dress. A few women were scattered around. A quick glance revealed that Tariq was nowhere to be seen.
An aide appeared and directed Jayne to where two vacant seats remained down the length of the table. Jayne kept her head down, aware of the speculative glances she was attracting. She was grateful for the welcoming smile from the woman seated to the left of her and they started to chat.
The woman introduced herself as Farrah Jirah in fluent English. It turned out that she was a doctor who practised in the maternity unit of the local hospital. Jayne found her charming, and she stopped worrying about where Tariq was.
When Tariq finally strode in, flanked by Ali and Mahood, Jayne could tell from the taut way he held himself that the latest round of meetings had not gone well.
Tariq’s gaze flashed to the top of the table, took in the empty place at the head. His brow drew into a frown as he scanned the surrounding seats. The tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly when he saw her.
Jayne turned back to talk to her friendly neighbour. A moment later she sensed someone beside her.
“Are you okay?”
It was Tariq. He looked tired, the lines around his mouth more deeply scored than they had been this morning, and his eyes held concern.
“I’m fine. You look tired.”
A ghost of a smile flitted over his harsh features. “It’s been a hard day.”
“I won’t even ask how whatever meetings you had went.” Ali and Mahood were trouble. Vipers. She’d known that since the first time she’d met them. And Ali’s daughter, Leila, was pure poison. Tariq was welcome to her.
Tariq sighed and said softly, “Ali is a powerful force in Zayed.”
Jayne nodded. Ali controlled a lot of the northern territory, making him an important player.
“He can’t be ignored,” Tariq continued. “But he is disruptive. And this latest skirmish Ali and Mahood have gotten into over grazing rights with Sheikh Karim al Bashir is going to cause headaches.”
“Are they fighting?”
“It hasn’t turned violent yet. But Ali claims that Sheikh Karim is threatening war.” Impatience showed in Tariq’s eyes. “The sooner I intervene, the better.”
Jayne felt a flutter of pity for him, for the predicament that Ali and his brother had put Tariq in. “But what about your father? You can’t leave him now.”
“My father wouldn’t want this disagreement to flare out of control. We can’t afford to be at war with Bashir. He will understand.”
“Why can’t Ali and Mahood understand that you’re needed here?”
He looked at her. “No one understands that. Only you. To every one else my duty to Zayed must come before all else—even my father. And now you must excuse me, nuur il-en, I must claim my seat at the head of the table before Ali usurps it.”
Ali was sitting in the vacant chair at the top of the table, his head close to the man on his right, conspiring no doubt. Jayne shifted her attention to Tariq, watched him rise from beside her, his traditional robes swirling around him, the white ghutra over his head secured by the doubled black cord that made him look more formidable than ever. She pitied Ali and Mahood if they unleashed his full ire.
She picked at her food until she sensed someone seating themselves in the place Tariq had vacated, and turned her head. The welcoming smile she’d prepared shrivelled as she met the frigid gaze of Sheikh Ali.
The dinner dragged on and Tariq found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation swirling around him. His attention was riveted on his wife. He watched as she said something to Ali. But the response caused her to sag. What had Ali said to make her skin grow so pale?
As the meal progressed his attention kept straying back. Most of the time Jayne spent chatting to the woman on her left, Dr. Farrah Jirah was a nice enough woman and he’d hoped she might befriend Jayne. He relaxed as he saw Jayne smile. But then stiffened again when he noted that the few times she attempted to talk to Ali her attempts were rebuffed. Ali was flouting the social norms of Zayedi politeness at a meal table. As host, Tariq was within his rights to request Ali to leave. Tariq’s frown grew more and more thunderous, until his dinner partners started to regard him with increasing wariness.
Ali said something to Jayne. She glanced down, and Tariq saw the wash of colour high on her ivory cheeks. He started to rise. But Jayne beat him to it. Pushing back her chair, she was on her feet before he could move. By the time he reached the elaborate carved doors flanked by two palace guards, she was already gone.
He charged into the corridor, saw her disappearing into the study he’d had an aide show her to earlier in the day. With long raking strides he set off after her.
Jayne collapsed into the leather chair behind Tariq’s desk. Her first reaction was to hop onto the Internet, to see if Helen was still awake. She felt lonely and isolated and incredibly homesick. She wanted her family, she wanted to go home, to leave this inhospitable country that had never brought her anything but pain.
The soft sound of the door closing brought the first hint that she was no longer alone.
“What did Ali say to make you leave?” An implacable anger glowed in Tariq’s eyes.
“It doesn’t matter.” Ali had been his usual obnoxious self. He’d taunted her by saying that had his daughter married Tariq, she would have done her duty, borne him fine sons and done him proud as a hostess. She’d been stupid to let Ali get to her. Jayne shook her head, suddenly overwhelmingly aware of the heat of Tariq’s body behind her, the soft hiss of his breath beside her ear as he leaned forward. Instantly, nerves started to churn in her belly. She lifted her hand from the mouse and spun the leather office chair around. Only to find herself face-to-face with Tariq. This close his eyes had the appearance of molten gold. Ensnaring her. Trapping her in the rich heat.
“It matters. You are my wife.”
She held his knee-weakening gaze. “Not for long.”
“For at least a month. And for that month I expect my countrymen to treat you with the respect that you deserve.”
“The respect I deserve because I am your woman? Or the respect that I deserve in my own right?”
“Is there a difference?” He lifted his hand to touch her cheek. “I touch this skin. It belongs to my wife and it belongs to Jayne, too. They are one and the same.”
“Jayne Jones is not your possession.”
He didn’t answer. His finger trailed down, across her lips, sensitising the soft skin.
“I should go,” she whispered against his finger.
“I don’t think so.”
She stared at him, her breathing quickening, tingles of apprehension mingled with excitement shivered down her spine. Trouble.
“You’re aware of me. Your body recognizes me.”
“That doesn’t mean you own me.”
“My body responds to you, too. Even though I resist it. You own me every bit as much as I own you.” Taking her hands, he pulled her out of the chair, against the hard, muscled length of his body. Instantly, she felt the hardness of his arousal against her stomach.
“I am leaving.”
“Too late.” His head swooped down, his mouth slanting