fired directly at him and he admired her honesty, even if it meant he would have to share part of himself, part of his past with her. Something he never did with women.
He looked away across the fields of green grass as he thought of his brother, Malek, and the accident that had claimed him and his wife. That tragic day had made Jafar the ruler of Shamsumara. He’d always had the good of the country at heart, but never once in recent years, when he’d been sharing the burden of bringing the kingdom back to a good place to live after the tough years his father had ruled with hardness and cruelty, had he imagined himself the ruler. Jafar had never considered the possibility that one day that responsibility would lie solely with him.
‘I became the ruler of the kingdom of Shamsumara after a sudden family death. One which has left the country in a vulnerable position, open to the challenge of leadership from a man who rules his own kingdom with the same fear and dominance my father had ruled with. It is not the way I rule and I will not allow my people to live through that again.’
He looked at her face, saw the confusion in her eyes and knew this must be sounding so far-fetched to her. A dart of doubt shot through him. Was he doing the right thing, involving this woman in the affairs of his country? She might be in need of the sort of funds he could easily provide, but would she be able to fulfil the duties that would be required of her as his Queen? Even if it was only for a short time?
‘It seems to me that you need far more than a bride,’ she said as she sipped her coffee. He looked at his, but knew he wouldn’t taste it, that the memory of his brother and the threat posed by his cousin, the one man he truly hated, would obliterate all sense of taste. ‘You need a wife, a proper wife, a woman to give you heirs. That woman would be your Queen, wouldn’t she?’
He couldn’t help the shock that slammed into him. Maybe he’d misjudged this alluring woman. She was far more astute than he’d given her credit for. ‘Yes, my bride will be my Queen and in normal terms an heir is exactly what I would need, but, on this occasion, no. My sister married last year and is expecting her first child. The usual order of things in our country is that her child will become my heir until such a time as I have my own child, which of course I don’t plan to do. So producing an heir myself isn’t necessary.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I’m confused. If you don’t need an heir why not marry a woman from your own country?’
‘Because I have no wish to be married in the true sense of the word.’ How the hell did he put the last two years into a few concise sentences that would make sense to her? ‘As an unmarried ruler, I am open to challenge. That challenge would come from my cousin Simdan, who rules harshly over a small country which borders Shamsumara. He wants my kingdom for the power it would bring him—and the wealth. Shamsumara is rich in oil.’
‘And if you were married?’ The question lingered in the air like the threat of thunder.
‘My cousin has recently become a father and as a married ruler with an heir he can challenge my rule. If I married, his immediate ability to challenge me would become less and once my sister’s child is born and declared my heir, his claim on my throne is no longer valid.’
She put down her coffee cup with a clatter, spilling the dark liquid into the saucer. ‘When is the baby due?’
‘At the end of October.’ It was this very fact and the possibility that things could even now go wrong in his sister’s pregnancy that necessitated Jafar’s marriage. He was well aware that Simdan was already making moves to launch a claim for Shamsumara. If the unthinkable happened and his sister lost her baby, he would at least be the married ruler tradition demanded.
‘So where exactly do I come into all this?’ The panic in her voice was clear and he quickly realised where his explanation had taken her thoughts.
‘I only require you to be my bride. I have no intention of making a real marriage or having my own children, not when my nephew or niece will soon be born.’ He saw those expressive eyes widen and knew exactly what she was thinking. Three months was a long time and anything could happen. It was his aide’s main concern too.
‘If that is the case, why do you need to marry at all?’ Was that a hint of relief he detected in her voice? She pushed her coffee cup away as if the conversation was coming to an end, as if she’d already decided she would not take him up on the deal. He couldn’t allow that. He had much to lose and so did she. Something he would remind her of. ‘Can’t you name the baby now as your heir?’
‘In order to continue to rule in my brother’s place I must be married the day after the feast of Shams, which is two weeks from now, or my cousin has every right to claim the kingdom.’ Just as she had done yesterday, she laughed. He bit down hard against the irritation. How dared she when her own life was in such a mess? ‘I must then remain for two years.’
‘Two years?’
‘You would only be required to remain in Shamsumara as my wife and Queen for three months or until my sister’s baby is born. We will have to remain legally married for two years, but after that a divorce will be easy to procure. And, of course, you will have a very substantial settlement.’
‘And because of my job and my financial situation you thought I would be desperate enough to be your hired bride?’ The amusement in her voice held no malice but it didn’t soften his mood. He was not used to having to cajole women around to his way of thinking.
‘I would rate imminent repossession of your sister’s home desperate, but, of course, if you don’t...’ He left the sentence unfinished, his withdrawal of the deal, which he knew full well she needed, hang in the morning air between them. It felt like the biggest gamble he’d ever made. She looked at him in silence, something other than strained tension zapping between them. Raw desire.
‘I find it alarming that you know so much about me, Mr Al-Shehri.’ The curtness of her tone when she finally spoke left him in no doubt he’d touched a raw nerve.
‘I thought we were on more informal terms now, Tiffany.’ He added her name, enjoying the flash of anger in the depths of her eyes. He leant forward in his chair and lowered his voice. ‘We are, after all, almost engaged.’
‘Not so fast. Not until you have agreed to my terms—all of them.’ He admired the fire of defiance burning within her, revelled in the challenge she was unwittingly creating. He thrived on challenge, hated meek-willed individuals who would agree to anything he said just because of who he was.
At last he’d met a woman who was more than a match for him. The next three months of living as man and wife would prove very interesting indeed. ‘I think it’s about time you told me just what they are.’
She sat back as she looked at him, the haughty lift of her chin showing her spirit, reminding him of an unbroken horse. She had as much spirit as a stallion and, just as he did with his horses, he looked forward to harnessing that spirit, to turning her into one of his graceful falcons that would fly at his bequest and return willingly to his arm.
The thought shocked him. Did he want a woman to return to him, to want to be with him? It was something he’d never sought before so why now? Because she would be his wife, his hired bride?
‘First of all I want a payment up front. Today.’ She looked at him, as if waiting for his objection, but he merely sat and studied her. ‘I want a quarter of a million pounds in my account before the end of the day and a second payment the day we marry.’
Was that all? He’d planned on offering her much more than that. ‘Consider that done. Anything else?’
* * *
Tiffany looked at Jafar, at the handsome and very regal figure he cut sitting opposite her. Had he really agreed to that amount of money without so much as a flicker of a reaction? Was he that used to buying everything he needed he didn’t care what it cost?
She still couldn’t believe that by her simply agreeing to stand beside this man and become his wife, all Bethany’s problems would be over. It was almost too good to be true. The saying