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‘YOU DO REALISE,’ said Sara as she removed her filmy tulle veil and placed it next to the emerald and diamond tiara, which her sister-in-law had lent her, ‘that I’m not going to be a traditional desert wife.’
; ‘Shouldn’t you have mentioned this before we got married?’ murmured Suleiman. He was lying naked waiting for his bride to join him on her old childhood bed, and had decided that there was something gloriously decadent about that.
‘I did.’ She stepped out of her ivory lace gown and hung it over the back of the chair, revelling in the look in his eyes as he ran his gaze over her bridal lingerie. ‘Just as long as you know that I meant it.’
‘And I meant it when I said that I didn’t expect you to be. Just as I did when I said that I will not be a traditional desert husband. I will not try to possess you, Sara—not ever again. I will give you all the freedom you need.’
She gave a happy sigh as she smiled at him. Wasn’t it a strange thing that when somebody gave you freedom, it meant you no longer wanted it quite so much?
Suleiman had told her that of course she could carry on working for Gabe—just as long as they came to some compromise over her long hours. The crazy thing was that she no longer wanted to work there—or, at least, not as she’d done before. She had loved her job, but it was part of her past and part of her life as a single woman. She had a different life now and different opportunities. Which was why she had agreed to carry on working for the Steel organisation on a freelance basis. That way, she could travel with her husband and everyone was happy.
She gave a contented sigh. Their wedding had been the best wedding she’d ever been to—although Suleiman told her she was biased. Alice from the office had been invited—and her expression as she’d been shown around the Dhi’ban palace had been priceless. Gabe had been there too—and Sara thought that even her cynical boss had enjoyed all the ancient ritual and ceremony which accompanied the joining of her hand to Suleiman’s.
The best bit had been the Sultan’s surprise appearance, because it signified that he had forgiven Suleiman—and her—for so radically changing the course of desert history.
‘Murat seemed to get on well with Gabe, don’t you think?’ she questioned as she slid her diamond bracelet onto the dressing table, where it lay coiled like a glittery snake. ‘What do you suppose they were talking about?’
‘Right now I don’t care,’ Suleiman murmured. ‘About anything other than kissing you again. It seems like an eternity since I had you in my bed.’
‘It’s almost a week since you had me in your bed—palace protocol being what it is,’ she agreed. ‘But less than eight hours since you had me. In the stables, no less—on the eve of my wedding. And I wasn’t allowed to make a sound.’
‘That was part of the thrill,’ he drawled, watching as she kicked off her high-heeled shoes. ‘Not very much keeps you quiet, but it seems that at last I’ve found something which does. Which means that we are going to be indulging in lots of illicit sex in the future, my darling wife.’
She walked over to the bed to join him, still wearing her panties, her bra and her white lace suspender belt and stockings. It felt warm in his embrace, and safe. So very safe.
They were going to honeymoon in Samahan and she was going to learn all about the land of Suleiman’s birth. Afterwards, they would decide where they wanted to make their main base.
‘It can be anywhere,’ he had promised her. ‘Anywhere at all.’
She closed her eyes as he tightened his arms around her, because where they lived didn’t matter.
This was home.
* * * * *
The Sheikh’s Undoing
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
