The Sheikh's Arranged Marriage: The only thing worse than falling in love with the man she'd married was knowing he would never feel the same... by Clare Connelly
Authors: Clare Connelly
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death, she’d been foisted on people who hadn’t loved her. The experience was not a new one. Winona and Greg had borne her presence with a clear dislike. And now her husband had the same fate ahead of him. It was all too familiar.
But familiarity with the sensation did not inure her to the pain it caused. Her husband didn’t want her. He was simply making the best of her wi llingness to jump into his bed. And she was just fool enough to do it anyway.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Hey,” He pressed another kiss against the base of her neck, and her pulse leaped as he did so. “You’re a million miles away.”
She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. “Such an American expression,” she observed distractedly. “Sometimes I could forget you are even from Assan. You speak with an American accent. You seem so Westernised.”
Another conversation change. He was growing used to the way Rebecca would jerk subjects when she didn’t like the direction he was guiding them. Again, he allowed the diversion. “In many ways, I am. I spent a considerable amount of my life abroad. However, I never forgot I was born to be King of Assan. It is in my blood.”
She nodded. She could see how his purpose was inherent to his personality. “Were you able to have a mostly normal life, then?”
He shook his head. “No. I always had a small band of security. Plain clothed, but ever present. My destiny made me famous even before I’d arrived on campus.”
She grimaced sympathetically. Tariq brought a hand up and ran a finger along the straight scar that ran from the centre of his eyebrow to the top of his forehead. She watched the unconscious gesture. The scar was so feint it was barely recognisable, but she had noticed it immediately. It was the single impediment to an otherwise perfect face. Only it didn’t detract from his appeal. On the contrary. It enhanced it ten fold.
“What happened?” She nodded towards the scar.
He shook his head. “It was a lifetime ago.”
“Now who’s being evasive,” she teased, and tried to twist out of his legs.
He shook his head. “You aren’t going anywhere, Sheikha.”
Her heart pounded against her chest, so hard it must have been audible to him, too. “Keeping me prisoner?” She asked with an arch of her perfectly shaped brow.
“I told you it was tempting...” He ran his hands down her back, linking them behind her.
She felt her brain immediately refute his words. Tempting? To a man like him? Hardly.
She swallowed hard and looked beyond him with effort. The pool was in the middle of a courtyard, with palace walls lining every side. “You said this was a private pool,” she queried, noting the hundreds of stained glass windows that overlooked them.
“It is. Completely. These rooms are all part of the private royal residence.”
“Really?” She drew her brows together. “I didn’t realise it was so expansive.”
He shrugged. “Most of the rooms are reserved for when the royal family is in residence. We are presently only a royal couple.” He gave her a pointed look as his meaning swamped down through the layers of her brain.
“Children.” She stumbled. “Yes. Of course.” She had known children were a part of the reason they had married. Why his parents had sought her as a bride at that time. At thirty four, she supposed the time for Tariq to produce an heir was now. The thought of growing fat with his baby made her ache with a need she hadn’t known she’d possessed.
Misreading her response, he spoke quickly to reassure her. “Not immediately. There is no rush.”
His words had the opposite effect. Instead of feeling calmed, a sense of despair ate through her. He was hardly champing at the bit to breed her commoner genes into the royal pool, was he?
“There is staff though. Up there?” She nodded towards the building overlooking the pool.
He nodded. “I’m so used to being surrounded by staff and security that I consider that to be private. ” He regarded her
But familiarity with the sensation did not inure her to the pain it caused. Her husband didn’t want her. He was simply making the best of her wi llingness to jump into his bed. And she was just fool enough to do it anyway.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Hey,” He pressed another kiss against the base of her neck, and her pulse leaped as he did so. “You’re a million miles away.”
She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. “Such an American expression,” she observed distractedly. “Sometimes I could forget you are even from Assan. You speak with an American accent. You seem so Westernised.”
Another conversation change. He was growing used to the way Rebecca would jerk subjects when she didn’t like the direction he was guiding them. Again, he allowed the diversion. “In many ways, I am. I spent a considerable amount of my life abroad. However, I never forgot I was born to be King of Assan. It is in my blood.”
She nodded. She could see how his purpose was inherent to his personality. “Were you able to have a mostly normal life, then?”
He shook his head. “No. I always had a small band of security. Plain clothed, but ever present. My destiny made me famous even before I’d arrived on campus.”
She grimaced sympathetically. Tariq brought a hand up and ran a finger along the straight scar that ran from the centre of his eyebrow to the top of his forehead. She watched the unconscious gesture. The scar was so feint it was barely recognisable, but she had noticed it immediately. It was the single impediment to an otherwise perfect face. Only it didn’t detract from his appeal. On the contrary. It enhanced it ten fold.
“What happened?” She nodded towards the scar.
He shook his head. “It was a lifetime ago.”
“Now who’s being evasive,” she teased, and tried to twist out of his legs.
He shook his head. “You aren’t going anywhere, Sheikha.”
Her heart pounded against her chest, so hard it must have been audible to him, too. “Keeping me prisoner?” She asked with an arch of her perfectly shaped brow.
“I told you it was tempting...” He ran his hands down her back, linking them behind her.
She felt her brain immediately refute his words. Tempting? To a man like him? Hardly.
She swallowed hard and looked beyond him with effort. The pool was in the middle of a courtyard, with palace walls lining every side. “You said this was a private pool,” she queried, noting the hundreds of stained glass windows that overlooked them.
“It is. Completely. These rooms are all part of the private royal residence.”
“Really?” She drew her brows together. “I didn’t realise it was so expansive.”
He shrugged. “Most of the rooms are reserved for when the royal family is in residence. We are presently only a royal couple.” He gave her a pointed look as his meaning swamped down through the layers of her brain.
“Children.” She stumbled. “Yes. Of course.” She had known children were a part of the reason they had married. Why his parents had sought her as a bride at that time. At thirty four, she supposed the time for Tariq to produce an heir was now. The thought of growing fat with his baby made her ache with a need she hadn’t known she’d possessed.
Misreading her response, he spoke quickly to reassure her. “Not immediately. There is no rush.”
His words had the opposite effect. Instead of feeling calmed, a sense of despair ate through her. He was hardly champing at the bit to breed her commoner genes into the royal pool, was he?
“There is staff though. Up there?” She nodded towards the building overlooking the pool.
He nodded. “I’m so used to being surrounded by staff and security that I consider that to be private. ” He regarded her
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