EVERYONE HAD A PRICE. Jafar Al-Shehri knew that better than most. He also knew exactly what that price was as far as bridesmaid Tiffany Chapelle was concerned.
It was a price he was more than prepared to pay in order to get what he wanted. He would do anything to prevent the increasingly hostile claim from his cousin Simdan on the kingdom he’d inherited after his brother’s unexpected death. Ruling Shamsumara had never been his ambition, but duty to his people and kingdom, as well as to his brother, was something he would take very seriously. After hearing about Ms Chapelle’s unconventional business as a hired bridesmaid, he knew she was exactly what he needed to stave off Simdan’s latest attempt to overthrow him.
Jafar’s gaze locked with that of the tall slender woman dressed in a bridesmaid gown of pale blue. She raised her brows in question, then continued with her duties at his friend and business partner Damian Cole’s wedding. Her glossy dark brown hair was piled high on her head and dainty white flowers within the style matched the ‘English country garden’ setting of the wedding. She had a dusting of freckles on her face, which only added to her beauty, to the allure she unwittingly created. The thought of kissing her full lips had remained irritatingly close to the forefront of his mind since they had been introduced as best man and bridesmaid yesterday afternoon at rehearsals.
Ever since she’d smiled up at him, the stunning bridesmaid had unsettled him. He tried to convince himself it was because of the business deal he intended to put to Ms Chapelle and not the sparkling sizzle that had rocketed through him as she’d shook his hand.
When his friend had first announced he was marrying his childhood sweetheart, Jafar hadn’t been at all surprised. What had shocked him was that the chief bridesmaid was not a close friend or relative of his bride, but a woman hired to do the job. Tiffany Chapelle made her living from hiring herself to brides as not just a wedding planner, but the chief bridesmaid. Damian had laughed when he’d quizzed him about hiring a stranger, saying every bride should hire their chief bridesmaid, especially if she had overzealous friends like his wife-to-be. Since then, Jafar had done his research on Tiffany thoroughly. Very thoroughly.
She was a woman who appeared to live romance vicariously through other brides’ weddings and surprisingly had been hired by many rich and famous names. The fact that she was prepared to hire herself as a bridesmaid made her the perfect candidate for what he had in mind. Added to that, she didn’t have any obvious signs of a man in her life but, most importantly for him, she was in considerable debt and had recently given up her rented apartment and moved in with her sister. He hadn’t yet discovered what the debt was from but was confident he could strike a deal with her. To him, the debt was nothing and he intended to offer her far more to take on a role that would require her total commitment for the next three months.
The orchestra began to play and Jafar had attended enough Western weddings to know that the bride and groom would now dance alone and that he, as the best man, would be expected to lead the chief bridesmaid to the dance floor to join the happy couple a short time later. His best-man role was a duty he intended to perform with the same exacting standards he did everything, especially as it would give him the opportunity to begin subtle negotiations with the delightful woman fate had delivered into his path as the answer to his problems.
He focused his attention on the bride then his friend. He clenched his teeth together as he watched the commanding man he knew his friend to be, a lethal businessman who took no prisoners, looking adoringly into the eyes of the woman he’d married. He should be happy for Damian but witnessing such devotion, such love, served only to remind him of all he’d lost when he’d discovered Niesha’s true colours. They had been promised to one another since they were children and he’d always had a fondness for her that had turned into what he’d then assumed was love. He’d been more than ready to enter into the marriage and make it work. Niesha, however, had set her sights on someone far superior to the spare heir of Shamsumara, as he was then.
The trail of his thoughts led back to his brother and the overwhelming sense of loss for a man who’d been both brother and father to him, shielding him from the wrath of their father’s power-hungry ways, which had almost brought the kingdom to its knees. Malek had worked hard to regain the trust of the people and now that duty fell to him. He would not and could not fail his brother.
‘I think this is where you come in.’ The sultry and somewhat chastising voice of the bridesmaid jilted him from the gathering storm of thoughts as she came to stand next to him.
‘I was merely allowing the happy couple time to enjoy the spotlight.’ He looked down into blue eyes. They were as pale as her dress but rimmed with deep blue and full of an intensity that did more than hint at her passionate side. That sizzle he’d experienced at yesterday’s introduction strengthened, becoming more like a bolt of lightning across the desert sky of his homeland.
Was it excitement at finally being able to put in motion his plan to save the people of his kingdom, Shamsumara, from his cousin’s hostile claim on the country that bordered his own? Or was it the thought of being able to hold this particular woman in his arms as they danced?
‘And there I was thinking you were avoiding me.’ There was a teasing note to her voice, one that suggested a playful nature. A woman who was able to enjoy life.
‘I hardly think allowing you time to complete the duties you have been hired for is avoiding you. That is your role, is it not? Hired bridesmaid?’ His response was swift and the ferocity behind his words surprised him as much as the sizzle of tension around them, but the deal he intended to put to her was far too important to allow himself to be distracted by a pretty face and a sexy figure—or the challenge that lingered in the depths of those sexy eyes.
‘You don’t approve of me, do you, Mr Al-Shehri?’ Her full lips pressed together in annoyance as she stood, one hand on her hip, glaring up at him, her eyes sparking like the icicles he’d always been
