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“And yet how many years ago did England vote in a woman prime minister?”
His eyes narrowed speculatively. “England isn’t your country. Rajhabi is.”
“Says you,” she said bitterly. “If home is where the heart then I am British through and through.”
“Your heart is mine,habibi.I will see to that.”
The warmth flooding through her wasn’t entirely from the sun. She glanced away from him, doing her best to regain some semblance of clarity. Except the inner glow left her so messed up she had no comeback, no…nothing. When she finally looked back at him she asked, “Is this how all your sheikh friends operate to get a woman?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Fayez, Jamal and Hamid already have more women than they know what to do with.” He sobered. “In all honesty, though, I think if the right woman came along, all three of them would be lost. I only hope Hamid finds that right woman sooner rather than later.”
She recalled the flamboyant and rather inebriated Hamid at her and Mahindar’s reception. The man had reminded her more of a Johnny Dep pirate than any sheikh she’d met. There had been something compelling about him, something wild and wanton that many women would find irresistible.
Not that she’d felt a spark with him—with any of Mahindar’s good looking friends—but she imagined plenty of women went weak at the knees at seeing them.
Meanwhile her senses had been overloaded by her husband. She’d been intoxicated by his power, overwhelmed by his good looks, his height and strength, and his dark gaze that showcased his brilliant mind.
She’d never been so aware of a man before in her life. She’d told herself it was because he was her husband now, and of course her senses were alert around him. That he was the man she was expected to spend the rest of her life with, whether she wanted to or not, was irrelevant.
Her body’s awareness sent her into a tailspin. She didn’t want to want him. She wanted her old life back along with her friends, but most of all she wanted the career she’d studied hard for and had yet to begin.
“Let’s get back,” he said in a gentler tone. “Lunch is waiting for us.”
Chapter Fifteen
She’d been expected some salad with some cold meats, instead she followed Mahindar inside to a dining table that was groaning with seafood, roast meat, salads and baked vegetables. Then he pointed to the beef wellington, a pastry wrapped meat that was famous in England.
“I thought you might have gotten a little homesick for it by now.”
She clapped her hands. “That is my favorite British food. How did you know?”
He arched a brow. “There is little I don’t know about you.”
They washed up in the bathroom while she digested his words. He didn’t know everything about her. He hadn’t known she was virgin. She was kind of glad to give him that one surprise.
Back in the dining room he pulled out a chair for her. She sat and had already piled her plate high when he sat opposite her.
“Hungry?” he asked with a grin.
She nodded. “I do like to eat.”
She was bursting at the seams by the time she finally pushed her plate away and said, “I can’t eat another bite.”
He chuckled. “Well let’s put what we want away for dinner. The rest I’ll send back to the village. I’m sure they’ll make a celebration out of it.”
“Oh? Why aren’t we celebrating with them?”
His eyes gleamed. “I thought you might like some alone time with your husband.”
That was the last thing she wanted. She needed space away from where sex didn’t hover enticingly between them and churn her emotions into a battlefield between hate and desire. “We have the rest of our lives for that.”
His white teeth dazzled behind the dark scruff on his face, sending her stomach pitching with a whole different kind of need. He stroked his jaw and murmured, “In that case I’m sure I could organize something.”
The jeep that had taken them from the airport arrived not even an hour later, its driver and three other men dutifully retrieving all the remaining food, except for the beef wellington, and placing it into the back of the jeep.
One young man with blond hair, green eyes and a ready smile threw Arabelle admiring glances. The driver eventually cuffed him on the side of the head, but the blond surfer-dude lookalike didn’t look one bit chastised.
Arabelle ignored him. She had more than enough gorgeous masculinity and testosterone in her husband. “Should we invite Aisha? She must get lonely by herself all the time.”
