the undertone of icy determination in them. Or the accusation that she was far from suitable and it hurt. For some strange reason it mattered to Tiffany what this man thought of her. She hid her confusion at that revelation behind sharp-edged words.
‘If I am so very unsuitable, then why are we even doing this?’ She couldn’t help but test him, push him to the limits.
She saw his jaw clench as he looked at her from across the luxurious surroundings he was so obviously used to. ‘Our arrangement serves us both well. I am in need of a wife and you are in need of money, part of which you have already received.’
‘You make it sound so cold.’ He glared at her and she hid the smile of satisfaction that she had riled him, rattled his gilded cage a little.
‘Not getting sentimental on me, are you?’ He moved closer to her, his steps silenced by the thick carpet of the room. Now he was testing her.
She could feel his presence invading her, feel him taking over the very air she breathed. ‘No way.’ She lifted her chin to look into those fierce eyes and tried to ignore the jolt of something unidentifiable, yet exceedingly powerful, that zapped through her as if he had actually touched her. ‘This is merely another contract as far as I am concerned.’
‘Good.’ The word was strong, forceful. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea when I begin to wine and dine you and act like a lover who wants nothing more than to seduce you.’
She swallowed hard against the sizzle that held both fear and excitement as images raced into her mind of this man doing exactly that. ‘You are not my type, Mr Al-Shehri. There is no need to worry about that.’
* * *
The fire in her voice sent a thunderbolt of lust-filled desire streaking through him. Tiffany Chapelle was as good as issuing him a challenge. The challenge of seducing her and right at this moment it was all he could think of doing. He wanted her naked beneath him as she writhed in ecstasy, begging him for more.
A knock on the hotel-suite door hammered through him as if he’d been slapped in the face. What the hell was he thinking, wanting this woman? All he needed to do was marry her, make her his wife in name only and then live with her for three months. Once his sister’s child was born, they could return to their lives and divorce in two years’ time. If he made love to her, either before or after they were married, it would turn their deal into something so much more. Not to mention harder to extricate himself from.
‘Come,’ he snapped as the control began to return to his body, even though his mind still reeled with images of Tiffany naked beneath him as he looked down at her. He never allowed women to get to him like this and he was damn sure Tiffany wouldn’t be any different. It must be the bizarre situation they were now in. A primal need to claim her as his wife in every way.
He had no time to indulge in such thoughts now. He had a job to do and that was to supply Tiffany with all she would need to carry out her role as his bride-to-be. Whatever else he thought of the state of matrimony and no matter how close he’d come to it once, he had to ensure the woman he’d selected for the role of his bride looked the part, both here and in his kingdom of Shamsumara—the very reason all this was even happening.
‘This is Madame Rousseau.’ He introduced the world-renowned designer and was pleased to see a moment of surprise on Tiffany’s face. ‘She will provide you with all you will need for our week in Paris and, of course, your wedding dress.’
Tiffany turned to the older woman and spoke to her in French. ‘I am honoured, madame.’
Instantly the woman he’d chosen for a bride was winning over the designer and a dart of admiration filled him. It appeared there was much more to Tiffany Chapelle than he’d first thought. Again that need to know more, to find out more, to explore in unchartered waters surfaced.
‘You will be the most beautiful bride,’ Madame Rousseau praised, obviously pleased to be able to converse in her mother tongue. ‘And you will make a fine queen for His Highness.’
Jafar’s body stilled. He had not yet explained to Tiffany that her role would entail much more than being his bride, that she would have to assume the role of his Queen for the duration of her stay in Shamsumara.
‘She will indeed make a fine queen.’ He smiled at her, aware of her scrutiny.
‘It’s a role I intend to take very seriously,’ she said with the biggest smile he’d yet seen on those very kissable lips. Confidence oozed from her, making him sure she could carry it off perfectly and letting him know she accepted the challenge.
‘So you have kept your romance secret for the last few months.’ Madame Rousseau continued in that wonderfully passionately way she was known for, obviously buying into the story he’d told her. ‘How very clever of you both.’
Madame Rousseau instructed with the wave of a pointed finger for Tiffany to turn, and as she did so Tiffany’s gaze met his and the sparks of annoyance in her eyes were so powerful and incredibly sexy he had to curtail the need to send the designer away and kiss Tiffany until she begged to be his.
He pushed that urge to one side as he sat waiting while Tiffany was fitted with the first dress, which he’d instructed to be simple but elegant for daytime in Paris, but his mind kept returning to the memory of her last Sunday morning in the short dress with a black leather jacket. Far from expensive, he was sure, but it had made her look a million dollars.
‘This one is perfect.’
Madame Rousseau’s voice ruptured his thoughts and he looked up to see Tiffany in a black dress, loosely cut yet somehow incredibly sexy. To complete the look she had a black clutch bag and dark sunglasses. The whole look showed off her glorious hair colouring and pale complexion to perfection.
‘I agree,’ he said, not liking the hard gravelly tone to his voice, and if the expression on Tiffany’s face was anything to go by, neither did she. There was that challenge again.
He kept that steely control as Tiffany paraded in many different outfits, some of which he rejected, but most of which he agreed with Madame Rousseau that they would be perfect for her role as his bride-to-be.
‘There is one more gown,’ Madame Rousseau said. ‘The evening dress for the charity event.’
‘Charity event?’ Tiffany questioned and looked at him, her lovely blue eyes wide, like a captured animal who didn’t know whether it should run or stay.
‘We have been invited to World Water charity dinner, attended by many famous names.’ He had a twinge of guilt as she suddenly looked completely out of her depth. Surely she’d mixed with the rich and famous before as part of her job? She’d certainly sold her business to him as that, which had been one of the main reasons for going through with his plans; he’d been sure she wouldn’t be fazed by such occasions.
‘Come, come,’ the designer said quickly, and Tiffany turned her back on him. He watched her as she walked back into the other room and listened to the delighted sounds from Madame Rousseau.
Even so, he wasn’t prepared for the way Tiffany looked as she came into the room again, chin held regally high, her hair quickly pulled up roughly into a chignon. Her pale skin showed the beauty of the black lace, set with black gems, but it was the slit to the top of her thigh he couldn’t stop looking at. One pale, slender leg was showcased to perfection as she stood there, taking his appraisal as if she’d been born into the
