To Tame a Sheikh Read Free

to marry—which seemed unlikely, since he hadn’t favored any particular woman of the reported hundreds he’d bedded in his thirty-six years—Harres would nevertheless be free to choose his own wife.
    So it fell to Shaheen to make a blood-mixing marriage that would revitalize the wavering pacts between factions. He was the last of the king’s “pure-blood” sons, born to a purely Zohaydan queen. Haidar and Jalal, Shaheen’s half brothers from the current queen, Sondoss, who was Azmaharian, weren’t considered pure enough for the unification the marriage was required to achieve.
    For years now, he’d known there was no escape from his fate, but instead of becoming resigned to the idea, he’d hated it more daily. It felt like a death sentence hanging over his head.
    Only days ago—the day following his thirty-fourth birthday, to be exact—he’d decided to get the suffocating suspense over with, turn himself in to the marriage pact. He’d announced his capitulation to his father, told him to start lining up the bridal candidates. The next day, the news that he was seeking a bride had been all over the media. As one of the most eligible royals in the world, his intention to marry—with the identity of the bride still undecided—was the stuff of the most sensational news.
    And here he was, enduring the party his associate was throwing for him to celebrate his impending imprisonment.
    He flicked a look at his watch, did a double take. It had been only minutes. And he’d shaken a hundred hands and grimaced at double that many artificially elated or intoxicated faces.
    Enough. He’d make his excuses to Aidan and bolt from this nightmare. Aidan was probably too far gone to miss him, anyway.
    Deciding to do just that, he turned around…and all air left his lungs. Across the room, he saw… her.
    The jolt of recognition seemed to bring the world to a staggering halt. Everything held its breath as he met her incredible dark eyes across the vast, crowded space.
    He stood there for a stretch that couldn’t be calculated on a temporal scale, staring at her. Hooks of awareness snapped across the distance and sank into him, flesh and senses, causing animation to screech through him for the first time in over twelve years.
    There was no conscious decision to what he did next. A compulsion far beyond his control propelled him in her direction, as if he were hypnotized, remote-controlled.
    The crowd parted as if pushed away by the power of his urge. Even the music seemed to observe the significance of the moment as it came to an abrupt stop.
    He finally stopped, too, just feet away. He kept that much distance between them so his gaze could sweep her from head to foot.
    He devoured his first impressions of her. Gold and bronze locks that gleamed over creamy shoulders and lush breasts encased in deepest chocolate off-the-shoulder taffeta the color of her eyes, the dress nipping in at an impossibly small waist then flaring over softly curved hips into a layered skirt. A face sculpted from exquisiteness, eyes from intelligence and sensitivity, cheeks from inborn class, a nose from daintiness, and lips from passion.
    And those were the broad brushstrokes. Then came the endless details. He’d need an hour, a day, to marvel at each.
    “Say something.” He heard the hunger in his rasp, saw its effect on her.
    She shuddered, confusion rising to rival the searing heat in her eyes.
    “I…”
    Elation bubbled through him. “Yes. You. Say something so that I can believe you’re really here.”
    “I’m… I don’t…” She paused, consternation knotting her brow. It only enhanced her beauty.
    But he’d heard enough of her rich, velvet voice to know it matched her uniqueness, echoed her perfection.
    “You don’t know what to say to me? Or you don’t know where to start?”
    “Shaheen, I…”
    She stopped again, and his heart did, too. For at least three heartbeats. He felt almost dizzy, hearing her utter his name.
    A finger