The sheikh's chosen wife Read Free Page A

invitation to arrive in style on his yacht and enjoy its many luxurious
facilities.
    'At a guess, I would say
it has to be the biggest in the harbour, considering its capacity to sleep so
many people,' Leona smiled.
    'Actually no, it wasn't,'
Ethan replied with a frown. 'There's another yacht tied up that has to be twice
the size.'
    'The commercial kind?'
Leona suggested, aware that the resort was fast becoming the fashionable place
to visit.
    'Not big enough.' Ethan
shook his head. 'It's more likely to belong to one of Petronades' rich cronies.
Another heavy investor in the resort, maybe."
    There were enough of
them, Leona acknowledged. From being a sleepy little fishing port a few years
ago, with the help of some really heavyweight investors San Esteban had grown
into a large, custom-built holiday resort, which now sprawled in low-rise,
Moorish elegance over the hills surrounding the bay.
    So why Hassan's name slid
back into her head Leona had no idea. Because Hassan didn't even own a yacht,
nor had he ever invested in any of her father's projects, as far as she knew.
    Irritated with herself,
she turned her attention to what was happening outside the car. On the beach
waterfront people strolled, enjoying the light breeze coming off the water.
    It was a long time since
she could remember strolling anywhere herself with such freedom. Marrying an
Arab had brought with it certain restrictions on her freedom, which were not
all due to the necessity of conforming to expectations regarding women. Hassan
occupied the august position of being the eldest son and heir to the small but
oil-rich Gulf state of Rahman. As his wife, Leona had become a member of
Rahman's exclusive hierarchy, which in turn made everything she said or did
someone else's property. So she'd learned very quickly to temper her words, to
think twice before she went anywhere, especially alone. Strolling just for the
sake of just doing it would have been picked upon and dissected for no other
reason than interest's sake, so she had learned not to do it.
    This last year she hadn't
gone out much because to be seen out had drawn too much speculation as to why
she was in London and alone. In Rahman she was known as Sheikh Hassan's pretty
English Sheikha. In London she was known as the woman who gave up every freedom
to marry her Arabian prince.
    A curiosity in other
words. Curiosities were blatantly stared at, and she didn't want to offend Arab
sensibilities by having her failed marriage speculated upon in the British
press, so she'd lived a quiet life.
    It was a thought that
made Leona smile now, because her life in Rahman had been far less quiet than
it had become once she'd returned to London.
    The car had almost
reached the end of the street where the new harbour was situated. There were
several large yachts moored up—and Leandros Petronades' elegant white-hulled
boat was easy to recognise because it was lit up like a showboat for the
party. Yet it was the yacht moored next to it that caught her attention. It was
huge, as Ethan had said—twice the length and twice the height of its neighbour.
It was also shrouded in complete darkness. With its dark-painted hull, it
looked as if it was crouching there like a large sleek cat, waiting to leap on
its next victim.
    The car turned and began
driving along the top of the harbour wall taking them towards a pair of wrought
iron gates, which cordoned off the area where the two yachts were tied.
    Climbing out of the car,
Leona stood looking round while she waited for Ethan to join her. It was even
darker here than she had expected it to be, and she felt a distinct chill
shiver down her spine when she realised they were going to have to pass the
unlit boat to reach the other.
    Ethan's hand found her
arm. As they walked towards the gates, their car was already turning round to
go back the way it had come. The guard manning the gates merely nodded his dark
head and let them by without a murmur, then disappeared into the