The Sheikh's Wife

CHAPTER THREE

THE phone was ringing inside the house. Bryn could hear it from the walkway and climbed the porch steps quickly, struggling to get the house key into the lock, but her hands shook so badly she couldn’t connect.

“Need help?” Kahlil drawled, a taunt in his voice.

“No.”

The phone continued to ring, the persistence of the caller creating fresh worry. What if it was Mrs. Taylor? What if something happened to Ben? Anxiously she jammed the key into the dead bolt and gave it a fierce turn. The lock gave way and she stepped inside even as the phone stopped ringing.

Kahlil must have heard the frustration in her sigh because as he brushed past her, he touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “If it’s important, love, he’ll call back.”

Kahlil left her to wander the house, moving from the narrow dark hall into her tiny kitchen. It infuriated her that he walked right in without invitation. She followed him into the kitchen where he sucked up air and space, reducing the cramped area to nothing more than a shoe-box.

Spine rigid, Bryn watched his critical gaze examine the chipped painted cupboards and worn beige linoleum. She could tell he’d missed nothing, not even the limp dish towels hanging from the chrome bar.

“If you needed cash, you should have told me,” he said at last, turning to face her, arms crossed over his chest. His folded arms accented the width of his shoulders, the tug of fabric outlined his strong biceps. Kahlil had always been built big, all hard, carved muscle, imposing even by American standards.

She drew a short, sharp breath, her head hurting, her heart hurting again. She wouldn’t let him do this, wouldn’t let his wealth change her feelings. This house had been home to every good memory of her life with Ben. All those wonderful firsts…his first smile, first tooth, first step, first word. Baby powder and lullabies. Mashed peas and sweet gummy kisses. A cocoon she’d spun around them, safe, fragile, wonderful. Their world had sustained her. Until now.

“I don’t need your money.” She choked. “I like my home. It’s cozy.”

“Cozy’s quaint. This is decrepit.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting tears of shame. Of course he’d sneer at her secondhand furniture. In Sheikh al-Assad’s world, everything was the best. The best cars. The best furniture. The best jewelry. But she couldn’t afford luxuries. She could barely pay her rent every month. But Ben was healthy and happy and she wouldn’t trade his security for all the luxuries in the world. “I never asked you in. If you’re not comfortable, see yourself out. You know where the door is.”

“And what? Deprive myself of you? Oh, no, I’m staying.” He leaned against one laminated counter, relaxed, smiling. “However, for a Southerner, your hospitality is shocking. The proper thing would be to offer your guest some refreshment.”

She had an hour left to get rid of him, an hour before Mrs. Taylor returned with Ben. “It’s late, Kahlil.”

“Yes, and a cup of coffee would be lovely. Thank you.”

Her head began to ache, a low throbbing pain that dulled her senses. What point was there in arguing with him? He was deaf when he wanted to be, blind when he found it convenient. Which is what had drove them apart in Tiva. Kahlil immersed in palace affairs. Bryn lost and alone. She’d tried talking to him then, but he hadn’t heard her, just as he wasn’t listening now.

Wearily she put the kettle on the stove, still making coffee the way Kahlil had taught her, French-press style, stronger, darker, richer than American brewed coffee. Some habits, she noted dryly, were hard to break.

“As cozy as you find your house, I think we could do better for you.” Kahlil’s voice, emotionless, echoed in the close quarters. “You need something more appropriate for your position. I’ll hire you a housekeeper. A driver. Bodyguards.”

She didn’t even turn around. “I don’t need bodyguards, or a driver. And I may be poor but I’m an excellent housekeeper. You won’t find a bit of dust anywhere.”

“Just wanted to make things easier for you.”

“A divorce would make things easier. A housekeeper would merely be a nuisance.”

“Don’t think about the money—”

“I’m not,” she interrupted curtly, gripping the quilted potholder between her hands. She was thinking of Ben, worrying about him, seeing the danger she’d unwittingly thrust him in. “You can’t do this. You can’t take over my life.”

“I have valid concerns about your safety.”

Just then the telephone rang again. Bryn tensed, shoulders knotting. Her skin prickled with dread. She didn’t want to answer the phone, but couldn’t ignore it, either.

Kahlil read her indecision. “Let it ring,” he commanded, authoritative as ever. “It doesn’t concern us.”

Even from where he stood, she could feel him, catch a whiff of his cologne. Musky, rich, reminiscent of the East with cardamom, citrus, spice. It made her picture him naked in the silk sheets of his opulent bed, bronze skin covering sinewy muscle. He was built like a god. He made love like a god. She’d worshiped him.

Then he fell from the pedestal and nothing had ever been the same between them again, leaving her vulnerable to Amin’s dangerous games.

The phone rang again. Four times. Five.

She moved to answer it but Kahlil stopped her, his hands coming down to rest on her shoulders. “Leave the phone. Listen to what I’m saying.”

“I can’t—”

“You can. You must. You’ve kept me waiting three years. I think you owe me five minutes of your undivided attention.”

But she was listening to the phone, silently counting the rings. Five, six, seven. “Please, Kahlil.”

“No.”

She closed her eyes, her body trembling, her heart barely beating. Eight, nine. And then it stopped. The phone went dead.

Brilliant red-hot pain consumed her even as she had a terrifying vision of the future, a future far from her home in Texas, a future of blistering sands and dark veils covering her from head to toe.

“You do not own me, Sheikh al-Assad, and you will not put me in another prison!” she raged, her fury not just at him, but against his family, his customs, his inability to see her as anything but an extension of him.

“The palace was never a prison!”

“It felt like one. You left me there alone, trapped in the harem.”

“You knew in advance the wives eat, sleep, socialize in their own quarters. You were raised in the Middle East. You knew our customs.”

“But I married you. I expected to be with you.”

“And you were, at night. I had you brought to me most evenings, if I wasn’t away on business, or obligated to entertain.” He drew a deep breath, his composure also shaken. He pressed knuckles to his temple, his jaw rock-hard. “Regardless of your feelings about the palace, we can’t afford to take chances with your safety. The problem with being a princess worth millions—billions of dollars—is that people will come at you from every direction.”

“No one even knows I’m your wife!”

“They will.”

The assurance in his voice sent shivers down her spine. They will because he’d make sure people knew she belonged to him, he’d make sure no one like Stan could ever grow fond of her, make sure she remained alone in the ivory tower. “You’ll make me a prisoner in my own home.”

“The price we pay for being rich.”

Tears filled her eyes, and she averted her head.

“Your parents were killed by extremists,” he continued more softly. “You, of all people, should know that the world is dangerous.”

“And I’ve chosen to live without fear.” Once she left Zwar she turned her back on exotic locales and wild adventure. No more nomadic travels. No more yearning for far-off places. Her parents’ instability had destroyed their family. She wouldn’t do that to Ben.

“I will not become someone else just to give you peace of mind,” she added hoarsely, unwilling to remember the bomb blast at the marketplace or the horror of her parents’ death. She’d been sent to Aunt Rose in Dallas, and Rose had been wonderful. Thank God for her aunt’s warmth and support.

She felt rather than heard Kahlil move behind her. He walked quietly, stealthily, like a big cat. Beautiful and oh, so lethal.

“And I will not let a hair on your head be harmed,” he murmured, reaching out and drawing her toward him.

She tensed and he kissed the back of her neck.

His lips against her skin, and it was the most amazing pleasure she could imagine.

A shudder raced through her, nipples hardening, heat filling her belly. Just a kiss and she wanted him. Just a touch and she started to melt.

Her nerves screamed. Hot tears stung her closed eyes. She wanted to feel his hand on her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.

Slowly he plucked the tortoiseshell pins from her coiled hair, combing the long tangled strands smooth. “Not a hair,” he repeated, lifting the light gold strands, fingers caressing the silky length. “Despite everything, I still want you, I still want to love your body.”

“No.” It was a desperate denial, her lips twisting as shudders of feeling traveled the length of her spine. She felt warm where she’d been cold. Soft where she ought to be hard. Resist him. Resist him!

“Yes. And I forgive you,” he added, kissing her nape again, creating fresh pleasure, more intense sensation. His hands slid to her shoulders. He held her securely. “I forgive you and want only to have you home again.”

His words cut her, deep stabbing wounds, reminding her of the secret she’d worked so hard to keep from him. She’d spent the last three years denying she’d ever been part of him, ignoring that her child, their child…

But his home would never be her home, not after what Amin had done. Not after what she had done.

Kahlil’s lips moved across her nape and Bryn closed her eyes, head falling forward, caught up in the rawness of her emotions. Need flamed inside her, need to be held, touched, loved. Stan cared for her but it had never felt like this. Never had the power, or the passion.

The old kettle began to boil, the little cap whistling softly. “We have to move on,” she choked, the air aching inside her lungs, her heart as fragile as a delicate glass ornament. Remembering the damage Amin had done, Kahlil would never forgive her betrayal, never understood why she turned to his cousin. “I need to put the past behind. I need to go forward.”

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