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.’
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,
