no plans to live as husband and wife. I will marry her and take her to bed, but once the wedding ceremonies are over she will live in the harem at the Sultan’s palace. She will have everything she needs and I’ll have my freedom. If all goes well we will never set eyes on each other again.”
Nadir surveyed the crowd. Men were on one side of the aisle, dressed in white, chanting and clapping as they provoked the women on the other side to dance faster. The women’s side was a riot of color liberally streaked with gold. The women silently taunted the men, their hips undulating to the edge of propriety. Their loose-fitting garments stretched and strained over voluptuous curves.
His presence was suddenly felt. He felt the ripple of awareness through the crowd. The music ended abruptly as everyone froze, staring at him. He felt like an unwelcome guest at his own wedding.
Nadir was used to seeing wariness in the eyes of everyone from statesmen to servants. International businesses accused him of being as devious as a jackal when he thwarted their attempts to steal Jazaar’s resources. Journalists declared that he enforced the Sultan’s law with the ruthless sting of a scorpion’s tail. He had even been compared to a viper when he’d protected Jazaar with unwavering aggression from bloodthirsty rebels. His countrymen might be afraid to look him in the eye, but they knew he would take care of them by any means necessary.
Nadir strode down the aisle with Rashid one step behind him. The guests slowly regained their festive spirits, singing loudly as they showered him with rose petals. They seemed indecently relieved that his three-day marriage ceremony had commenced. He frowned at the men’s wide smiles and the women’s high-pitched trills. It was as if they believed they had appeased The Beast’s hunger.
He kept his gaze straight ahead on the end of the courtyard. A dais sat in the center. A couple of divans flanked two golden throne-like chairs. His bride sat in one, waiting for him with her head tucked low and her hands in her lap.
Nadir slowed down when he saw that his bride wore an ethnic wedding dress in deep crimson. A heavy veil concealed her hair and framed her face before cascading down her shoulders and arms. Her fitted bodice was encrusted with gold beads, hinting at the small breasts and slender waist underneath. Her delicate hands, decorated with an ornate henna design, lay against the voluminous brocade skirt.
He frowned as he studied the woman. There was something different, something wrong about the bride. He halted in the middle of the aisle as the realization hit him like a clap of thunder.
“Nadir!” Rashid whispered harshly.
“I see.” His tone was low and fierce as the shock reverberated inside him.
The woman before him was no Jazaari bride, fit for a sheikh.
She was an outcast. A woman no man would marry.
The tribal leaders had tricked him. Nadir stood very still as his anger flared. He had agreed to marry a woman of the tribe’s choosing in a gesture of good faith. In return they had given him the American orphaned niece of one of their families.
It was an insult, he thought grimly as he ruthlessly reined in his emotions. It was also a message. The tribe thought that Nadir was too Western and modern to appreciate a traditional Jazaari bride.
“How dare they?” Rashid said in growl. “We’re leaving now. Once the Sultan hears about this we will formally shun this tribe and—”
“No.” Nadir’s decision was swift and certain. He didn’t like it, but all his instincts told him it was for the greater good. “I accepted their choice.”
“Nadir, you don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
The tribe expected him to refuse this woman as his bride. They wanted him to defy tradition and prove that he didn’t appreciate the Jazaari way of life.
He couldn’t do that. Not again.
And the elders knew it.
Nadir’s eyes narrowed into slits. He would accept this unworthy woman as his bride. And once the wedding was over he would destroy the elders in this tribe one by one.
“I must protest,” Rashid said. “A sheikh does not marry an outcast.”
“I agree, but I need a bride, and any woman from this tribe will do. One woman is just as much trouble as the next.”
“But …”
“Don’t worry, Rashid. I am changing my plans. I won’t let her live in the Sultan’s palace. I will send her into seclusion at the palace in the mountains.” He would hide this woman—and any evidence that he had been shamed by this tribe. No one would ever know how he had paid a huge dowry for such an inferior bride.
Nadir forced his feet to move, his white-hot anger turning to ice as he approached his bride. He noticed that the woman’s face was pale against her dark red lips and kohled eyes. A thick rope of rubies and diamonds edged along her hairline. She had a tangle of necklaces around her throat and a long column of gold bangles on both arms.
She was dressed like a Jazaari bride, but it was obvious that she wasn’t the real thing. Her downcast eyes and prim posture couldn’t hide her bold nature. There was a defiant tilt to her head and a brash energy about her.
The woman also had an earthy sexiness, he decided. A proper bride would be shy and modest. She looked like a mysterious and exotic maiden who should be dancing barefoot by a bonfire on a dark desert night.
His bride cautiously glanced from beneath her lashes and he captured her startled gaze. Nadir felt the impact as their eyes clashed and held.
Zoe Martin’s blood raced painfully through her veins as she stared into dark, hypnotic eyes. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t look away. The eyes darkened. She felt as if she was caught in a swirling storm.
Please don’t let this be the man I am marrying! She needed to trick and manipulate her husband throughout their honeymoon, but she could tell immediately this man was too dangerous for her plans.
Sheikh Nadir ibn Shihab wasn’t handsome. His features were too hard, too primitive. His face was all lines and angles, from his Bedouin nose to the forceful thrust of his jaw. His cheekbones slashed down his face and a cleft scored his chin. There was a hint of softness in his full lips, but the cynical curl at the edge of his mouth warned of his impatience. She had no doubt that everyone kept a distance from him or suffered the brunt of his venomous barbs.
The pearl-white of the Sheikh’s dishdasha contrasted with his golden-brown skin and it couldn’t conceal his long, tapered body. Every move he made drew her attention to his lean and compact muscles. Zoe decided that his elegant appearance was deceiving. She had no doubt that he had been brought up in a world of wealth and privilege, but this man belonged to the harsh and unforgiving desert. He had the desert’s stark beauty and its cruelty.
The Sheikh showed no expression, no emotion, but she felt a biting hot energy slamming against her. Zoe flinched, her skin stinging from his bold gaze. She wanted to rub her arms and wrap them protectively around her. She felt the inexplicable need to slough off his claim.
Claim? A flash of fear gripped Zoe as her chest tightened. Why did it feel like that? The Sheikh hadn’t touched her yet.
She had the sudden overwhelming
