Desert Sheikhs Collection: Part 2. Susan Mallery

      She stopped him with a hand on his lips. “An hour. That’s not too much to ask. And I’ll help you.”

      “How?”

      “I’m sure I can do something to lighten the load for you. Filing? Summarizing reports? I’m smart, you know.”

      He chuckled at her earnest words and his shoulders subtly relaxed. “I know you are smart, Mina. I’ve always known that. All right. You may assist me and you must also sit for me.”

      “You’re going to paint me?” She sat up on his lap, excited. “Will it be a nude?”

      He frowned at her impudence. “Such a painting would never be seen by the world and would be burned upon my death.”

      Jasmine kissed his cheek, delighted by his acceptance, and scrambled off his lap before he could stop her. “There’s an easel, too.” She collected the materials. “I’ll put this in a corner of my workroom and come back to help you.”

      She ended up spending the rest of the day with him, reviewing reports. He told her she could leave at any time, but when she saw the amount of work that required his attention, she was more than happy to sit down and dig in.

      One of the reports gave her an unwelcome shock. “Tariq?”

      He raised his head at her sharp tone.

      “It says here that the sheik can have more than one wife.” Her brow furrowed.

      Tariq’s lips twitched a little. “That is an ancient law.”

      “How ancient?” She didn’t intend to share her husband. Ever.

      “Very. It is a historical oddity. Both my grandfather and my father had only one wife.”

      “Your great-grandfather?”

      “Four.” It seemed to her that his eyes were bright with withheld amusement. “Do not worry, I believe I have only enough stamina for one wife.”

      “I’m going to get this law repealed,” she declared.

      “The women of Zulheil would salute you. It only applies to the sheik, but the law seems to threaten Zulheil’s modern image, some say.”

      Jasmine nodded, her fears soothed by his practical words. At least another wife was one problem she wouldn’t have to contend with. She settled back to work. There was, she discovered, a kind of quiet satisfaction in helping her husband bear some of the burdens he carried on his shoulders.

      “Enough, Mina.” He stood up and stretched, his powerful body drawing her attention.

      She’d been sitting on the sofa in one corner of his study, curled up. Putting aside a report, she stood and stretched as well, loosening tight muscles.

      “You may regret your offer.” He came to stand by her. “I find your summaries excellent. I will conscript you often.”

      Pleased by his compliment, she smiled and put her hand in his. “Good. Now let’s go before someone else catches you.”

      Today, for the first time, she’d realized just how many people thought that Tariq was the only one who could possibly provide an answer to their problems. Often they turned up in person. Hiraz and Mumtaz deflected a lot of them, but some were insistent. The relaxed system of government in Zulheil astounded her. However, it appeared to work fantastically well for the small and sparsely populated land.

      “Would you protect me, Jasmine?” His smile said he found that a ludicrous idea, given that he was twice her size.

      “I think you need someone to run interference. Mumtaz and Hiraz have trouble because they’re not seen as royal.” She was serious about her observations. “But I am. I could deal with most of what they came to you for, leaving you free to take care of bigger matters.”

      Tariq was ominously silent. She looked up to find him staring at her, his expression thoughtful.

      “I mean, if you want me to.” She was suddenly uncertain. A lifetime of never being good enough tended to overcome her efforts at self-confidence. “I know I’m a foreigner…” With a corner of her mind, she shoved aside the secret that threatened to float to the surface. She didn’t want to think about that now, not when her husband was looking at her with eyes that held something close to tenderness.

      Tariq stopped her with a finger on her lips. “You are my wife. I have told you that my people have accepted you as such. What about your designing?”

      “I wanted to speak to you about that,” she said. “Would my having business interests damage the royal image?”

      He shook his head. “I have many such interests. You wish to develop your designs?”

      “I was thinking of a small fashion house. One that markets to the retail sector, but has no shops of its own.”

      “You will do well.” His answer was just a simple statement of confidence in her abilities, yet it filled her with immense joy. No one had ever believed in her.

      “But, much as I’ll miss not giving the majority of my time to design,” she ventured, “I think it’ll have to slip into second place.”

      “Second place?”

      “As your wife, my place is here, with you.” She didn’t betray the love driving her decision. Until she was sure of Tariq’s feelings for her, she’d keep that beautiful emotion to herself. Another rebuff, even a gentle one, would tear her to pieces. “My designing will have to be like your painting. Something I do for myself, after serving our people.” It was a sacrifice, but one she made willingly. By marrying Tariq, she’d accepted that the country’s needs would sometimes come before her own. And Tariq needed a partner who could bear some of the many duties of a leader.

      Approval glimmered in his eyes. She was encouraged. It was time for her to grow up and accept the responsibilities that came with being the sheik’s wife. He hadn’t pushed her, allowing her to do as she wished, but her place was with him.

      “If you wish to do this, then I accept.”

      Jasmine smiled and leaned closer. The slight tensing of his body was his only response. By the time they got to her workroom, he was relaxed again. She frowned in thought.

      “I’ll work here,” Tariq announced.

      She looked up, her introspection momentarily interrupted. Tariq was gesturing to the semicircle of windows in the southern end of the room. The light was brilliant in that corner. She nodded and helped him set up.

      “Now, you’ll recline on this.”

      Jasmine dutifully stretched out on the plush red chaise longue that he’d dragged opposite his easel. Before beginning to paint, he put a cushion under her elbow to prop her up. She knew that he never bothered with sketches, preferring a light watercolor outline on the canvas itself.

      He was, she thought with pride, very, very talented. She cherished the tiny painting that he’d given her a month before they’d separated. It was a Zulheil seascape that he’d painted from memory to show her his homeland.

      “You’re frowning.”

      She smiled. “Better?”

      “Hmm.”

      For some reason, his masculine murmur reminded her of her earlier thoughts. Tariq appeared to find physical affection from her somewhat disconcerting. No, perhaps that wasn’t the right word, she thought, stopping herself from frowning again. It was more that he seemed to be taken by surprise. He didn’t reject her touches, he just didn’t seem to expect them. She carefully thought back over the past weeks, and then over the six months they’d spent together four years ago.

      Tariq had always loved touching her. Though a highly sensual man, he liked to touch as a gesture of tenderness as well. He’d been autocratic and reserved with everyone else, but with her, he’d been very affectionate. Conversely, she’d been