One Desert Night: Destined for the Desert King / Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem / Claimed by the Sheikh
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‘Seeing that maid reminded me of Jamalia’s sister—of you. Had I but known it...’
And yesterday he’d had the evidence that his thoughts had been on the right track. The woman who hadn’t cared about her clothes, who had let the children swarm all over her and had laughed, was the woman he wanted as mother to his children.
With Sharmila it had seemed as if it was like that too. She had appeared to want a child so much—more than he had at the time. It was almost as if she had set herself to get pregnant as quickly as possible. She had set out to do that, he acknowledged bitterly. If they weren’t involved in the ceremony of court then they were in bed. It had suited him at the time, but that was before he had learned what was behind her apparent passion. The fact that she needed to cover up the betrayal she had already committed.
One thing Sharmila would never have done was kick off her shoes and curl up on a sofa as Aziza was doing now. They had never been able to share the quiet evenings when all the business of the court was done and they could just be the two of them. A man and a woman.
A sudden thought struck him, had him pausing and frowning. With a shock he realised that he had probably shared more with Aziza tonight than he had ever talked about to Sharmila. He had certainly never discussed his mother with his first wife.
‘Aziza...’ he began but as he looked at her he caught the way her hand flashed up to hide the yawn she was unable to hold back. Her eyelids were drooping heavily and she was practically dropping in her seat.
‘You’re exhausted,’ he said and saw his pronouncement confirmed even as she tried to deny it by straightening in her chair, forcing herself to stay awake to continue their conversation. The half-eaten plate of food was in danger of sliding off her knee and it was only by making a grab for it that he stopped it from tumbling to the floor.
‘Go to bed.’
The struggle he was having to hold on to his determination not to take a reckless step into a situation where he still wasn’t sure of his facts made it sound more like a command than he had intended. Tired as she was, he saw the way she fought to lift her head enough to glare at him in defiance, though those beautiful eyes were cloudy with fatigue. Something twisted deep inside him and in spite of himself a small laugh escaped.
‘You really need some sleep, Aziza,’ he said, holding out a hand to help her to her feet.
She hesitated, then put her hand into his, letting him pull her from the chair. When she swayed where she stood, he almost lifted her off her feet to carry her to the bedroom. Hell but he wanted to do that. But the touch of her hand on his, warm skin on skin, and the wave of perfume mixed with her own personal scent, was temptation enough and he knew that if he did then it wouldn’t stop there. He’d acted on these instincts before; he’d believed in Sharmila, had had his trust totally shattered. The report he had ordered would not be presented in its final form until tomorrow. Surely he could wait twenty-four hours for total peace of mind? Besides, Aziza was clearly so worn out it would be cruel not to let her sleep tonight.
But his hand felt empty, his spirit too, as she took her fingers from his and stumbled towards the bedroom, swaying with tiredness. It was only when the door swung to behind her, slotting into its frame with a bang, that he remembered earlier that night, when they had been busy with the farewells to their guests, that a car had backfired sharply close nearby. He had barely felt the old tension twist in his nerves before he had sensed Aziza’s fingers, small, soft and gentle, slide into his and hold them reassuringly. Just for a moment. Just long enough for her to feel that he had relaxed, and then she had eased her hand away and turned her attention back to the conversation she’d been having with the French ambassador’s wife.
He could wait twenty-four hours, but no more. That report had better say everything he needed it to say. The thought of anything else was the stuff of nightmares.
CHAPTER TEN
‘WHY ARE WE HERE?’ Aziza demanded as soon as it was safe to speak openly.
The day hadn’t gone anything like the way she had expected. She had woken to find that the maid Nabil had assigned to look after her was in her dressing room, putting clothes into a case.
‘Madam, His Highness says that I am to pack for you.’
‘Why, where are we going?’
‘To the mountain palace,’ another voice had joined in. A male voice, deep and vibrant.
Nabil...
‘But why?’
He hadn’t answered her then, nor had he offered a word of explanation during the journey here. Having gone to bed with the hope that they had at least made some sort of progress from the way that they had talked the previous night, Aziza found this silence oppressive and disturbing. But, short of making a fuss in front of their driver, she had recognised that it was far better to remain silent until they actually arrived, and so had had to sit stiffly beside her supposed-to-be husband, hiding everything she felt from him.
But now at last they had reached the smaller, less formal mountain palace and she was left alone with him in the royal apartments.
‘Why have you brought me here?’ she demanded again when Nabil did not speak.
Nabil turned a dark, sidelong glance on her.
‘So that we can begin again.’
That caught her on the raw because she didn’t know how to take it.
‘Don’t you think that “begin” is actually the correct term? After all, nothing really started between us—did it? So why have you decided that we can begin something now? What about all your suspicions—your belief that I was involved in some sort of plot against you?’
‘I had you checked out.’
Nabil showed no hint of any feeling and his statement was so matter-of-fact it was almost totally blank.
‘So I presume I passed the test, then?’
‘If that is how you want to see it.’
‘What other way is there to see it? I didn’t know that there was to be an examination into how to be a queen, or that I’d have to wait until you decided that I was worthy of your attentions. After all you picked me. Didn’t you?’
‘I did.’ If it was a concession, it didn’t sound like one.
‘Oh, that’s good—because I thought that you had a check list that you handed out to your ministers.’
Something in his face attracted her attention, had her frowning as she looked deep into his eyes.
‘You did, didn’t you? Well that’s a pretty cold-blooded way of going about things.’
‘It was a rational way of going about things. After all, this is an arranged marriage—I understood that you knew what was expected of you. Would it help if I said that you passed every test with flying colours?’
‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’
‘What do you think I was saying to you last night?’ Nabil countered. ‘Or were you too tired to take it in?’
Last night’s memories were hazy at best, the fog of exhaustion blurring them. But he had brought her food, had told her she had handled the ceremonials well. He had even shared the truth about his mother with her and so she had gone to bed feeling better than she had for days. But she had still gone to bed alone.
‘It wasn’t just you that I had to have investigated. I needed to know exactly what your father had planned.’
‘Oh, you needn’t have worried about that.’ Aziza refused to let that concession mean anything to her. ‘If he’d wanted to plan anything underhand, it wouldn’t have been me he’d have used. He’d never have expected that you’d choose me, for one, and he’d never believe I’d be capable of carrying it off. And, if you want to be sure that you can rely on him now, then the fact that you took his second daughter off his hands will probably ensure that.’
‘The spare...’ Nabil murmured, stunning her with the realisation that he really had been listening the night before. He was watching her, sharp, clear eyes, following every movement, every expression. It was as if he was waiting for something but she had no idea what.
‘I assume that you had my sister checked out too—but you didn’t choose her. So what made the difference?’
‘I would have thought that was obvious.’
‘Not to me.’
Nabil crooked a long finger, beckoning her. And this time his sensual mouth had softened into something close to a curve.
‘Come here and I’ll show you.’
She was almost trapped by his smile. But the memories of the wedding night were still too clear, too raw. She had no wish to fall into that trap again. To try to reach out and grasp some wonderful little thread of hope, only to have it snatched away from her, leaving her lost and empty as before. She’d been cleared by his investigators, so now she was expected to fall into his hands like a ripe little plum. The fact that she yearned to do exactly that only made her own inner turmoil so much worse.
‘I don’t want to,’ she tried now, determined not to give him the easy victory she knew he was expecting.
That curve grew, became a knowing smile.
‘And you, my lovely wife, are a liar. A very bad one.’
It was dangerously soft, almost gentle, but all the same it sent a shiver down her spine.
‘Will it help if I tell you how I feel? If I let you know the truth of what these past six days have done to me?’
He shouldn’t have reminded her of the six days since their wedding. Nabil might think he had her in his power by force of strength and control. If only he knew that she was there because of something much stronger, much more unbreakable.
Wasn’t the truth that she had stayed because she couldn’t bear to go? Because, in spite of everything, she still foolishly, impossibly, held on to those dreams she had had of him when she was young? There had been tiny moments when the hard, set mask he wore day in and day out had seemed to slip and there was a glimpse of someone else underneath. Someone she wanted to know more about.
She had wanted to stay to try to reach that Nabil. To reach him and show him that whatever had made him so cynical so young was not inevitable and unchangeable. She had wanted him to know that there was someone he could trust. But also, digging deep down and staring the truth right in the face, hadn’t she also wanted to stay because she couldn’t leave him?
She was here because she still loved him, never having lost that heartfelt crush she had held for him all those years ago; she had never grown out of it as she matured. And now, as a woman, she felt the same. But this time it was deepened and complicated by the recognition of the primitive call of his male body to hers, the power of sexual hunger that no one else had ever awoken in her.
And Nabil knew that. She didn’t have to say a word. It was there in every look she gave him, the way her eyes lingered on his body, the irresistible draw of his mouth, so that she felt her own lips tingle whenever she saw it, remembering the way he had tasted. And it was there in the way she tossed and turned at night, restless even on the silken sheets, waking in the morning feeling—and no doubt looking—like a zombie.
‘Why? What have they “done”?’
Her eyes went to his, dazed gold clashing with polished black so sharply that she could almost feel the sparks that flared between them.
‘Was it so very tiring to have me investigated? Did that snap of your fingers as you sent your minions out to hunt for scandal—look for something that might incriminate me—wear you out? And incriminate me for what? For pretending to be a maid one night rather than myself, and possibly get my family into trouble when you found me roaming about the palace on the night of the celebration? Dear me, you must have had long, sleepless nights planning and organising all that!’
To her astonishment Nabil’s response was the exact opposite of what she had been expecting. He laughed. He threw his head back and laughed loudly, the movement exposing the long, bronzed line of his throat below the rich, black beard, deepening the vee at the opening of his unbuttoned shirt so that her eyes were inevitably drawn over the tanned skin and down to where the crisp black hairs on his chest were revealed.
Since they had arrived at the mountain palace, he had abandoned the formal robes he wore when in the capital and adopted a more relaxed way of dressing, in jeans and a casual shirt. The way that the worn denim clung to his long legs and lean hips, belted close around his narrow waist, had set her pulse racing; but now the sight of him with his head thrown back, his chest expanding with laughter while his hands were pushed deep into the side pockets of his jeans, made her feel as if her legs might melt beneath her.
‘I had sleepless nights all right, lady,’ he managed at last when the laughter subsided and he caught his breath, eyes bright with amusement as he looked at her. ‘But they weren’t from planning any investigation into your behaviour.’
‘Then—what?’
Was she really that naïve? Nabil had to ask himself. Was it possible that she could actually be unaware of the effect she had on him, the way that he found it impossible to focus on anything but her if they were in the same room together? Had she really not noticed the way that he never slept at night, that he read or watched TV turned down low, or tossed and turned in a painful effort to force himself to stay where he was on the couch and not get up and make his way to the other room where she slept in his bed? Hellfire, was she so damned lucky that she slept too deeply to even be aware that he was so close?
‘I saw no sign of these sleepless nights you’re claiming. After all, by the time I got up and came out of the bedroom, the bedding on the couch was always folded and packed away...’
‘Exactly,’ Nabil cut in. ‘Do you think I wanted anyone to know how it was with us? To ruin your reputation with everyone there—let them think you were not to be trusted when I had no proof of that? If I was wrong—which I was—then I had to make sure you and I could start again, with no taint of distrust over our marriage.’
If I was wrong—which I was... The words rose up inside her like a golden bubble. Too fragile, too precious, so that she was afraid it might burst if she even looked at it too closely. She needed to hear the words; had to have them said out loud.
‘Tell me,’ she persisted. ‘What was it that kept you from sleeping?’
‘Just you.’
The look she turned on him from those golden eyes was so blatantly sceptical and yet tinged with a tiny hint of something that Nabil wanted to be fool enough to call interest glowing in the amber depths.
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘It’s the...’
Unexpectedly the word failed him. He wanted to be able to assert that it was the truth and nothing but, but there was no way he was going to admit that bruised pride had had a part in his sleeplessness, as well as everything else.
The newly woken physical hunger that tormented his days, heated his nights, was bad enough but the realisation that he had allowed the shadows of the past to reach out and enfold him, just when he had thought that he was freeing himself from them, had stirred the mix to toxic proportions.
He had wanted to believe her—hell, deep in his soul he had known she was innocent of the black suspicions that had risen up between them. But it was the fact that he wanted it so much that had forced him to take a step back and reconsider. He had rushed into marriage with Sharmila on just that assumption. With Aziza he had to get it right or it would ruin both himself and his country.
‘You think I was happy to settle and sleep after that night?’ he demanded, going on to the attack to hide the restless, scrambled thoughts inside his head.
‘You were the one who told me I was to sleep alone,’ Aziza pointed out now, making him curse his memories and the fact that he couldn’t deny her accusation.
In his dreams—in the rare times of sleep he managed—he could still taste the intoxicating blend of sugar from the grapes and the provocation that was pure Aziza, and his hands still burned from the intimacy of the search she had subjected herself to. A search that had had nothing to do with calm common sense and everything that came from need and desire—a desire that was still frustrated. And that was only his fault.
Stiff-necked pride had stopped him from admitting the truth. That he had made a mistake from the first, and regretted it in less than the space of a heartbeat afterwards. Sharmila’s toxic legacy still lingered so heavily, throwing black shadows over everything he did, and he had to rid himself of it before he could make a move into the future he had planned for himself.
But at the same time, by keeping him from the burning sexual fulfilment that he had known was just waiting for him in this woman’s bed, it had opened up another personal form of hell that had tormented his nights and shadowed his days.
Had he waited too long? Had he pushed Aziza too hard so that she was too far away from him ever to win back?
‘I’m sorry, Aziza,’ he said softly and the quiet use of her name seemed to drag her back from wherever her thoughts had drifted to. He saw her blink just once, slowly and thoughtfully, and then she lifted her head and turned to face him.
‘I was never asleep either,’ she said, stunning him so that his eyes narrowed sharply.
‘What are you saying?’
‘What do you want me to say, sire?’ she challenged him, her chin coming up in the defiant way that always hit him right in the guts. ‘That I was only waiting for you to get those reports you asked for so that you would know it was safe to be with me? Did I have any choice? Don’t you think it would have been fairer—more reasonable—to check me out before you married me? So that we could have had our wedding night uninterrupted—in peace?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes from her face.
A shake of her head sent the black silk of her hair flying, sliding over her face for a moment. The scent of its freshly washed softness caught on his senses, making his body ache. He could command her to come to him, he reflected. He could crook that finger again and insist that she come to him, as his wife, as his subject, but that was not how he wanted this. He wanted her to come to him of her own choice, her free will. He wanted her to hunger for him as much as he desired her, but he wanted her to crave him as a man, rather than a king. It was an odd feeling; one that made him feel strangely vulnerable in a way he had never known before.
‘So why didn’t you?’
‘I was a fool.’
Which one of them had moved? Aziza wondered. She knew she had taken a step forward, maybe two, unable to resist the invisible magnetic pull of his body on hers. But surely she hadn’t come so much closer to him as she was now, within touching reach, so that if she just put out a hand...
Her fingers tangled with Nabil’s, hard and warm, and a moment later she was pulled against him, the breath crashing from her lungs as she was crushed up against his chest. Her head went back, lifting her mouth to his, her eyes closing as she felt his lips take hers and she gave herself up to the sensation.
It was nothing like the kiss on the balcony. Or the feeling in Nabil’s room while she’d struggled with the veil that had concealed her face. That had had all the excitement of a new discovery, of tumbling into an unexpected hunger, an irrepressible need. It had been breathless and greedy, bewildering.
This hunger had been six days brewing. The waiting, the isolation, the separation, had left it to feed on itself so that it had grown, wild and blazing. They were both starving, desperate to finish what they had started on their wedding night, and what long hours apart in the heated darkness had built into an uncontrollable longing.
It was so very different somehow, but Aziza couldn’t put a name to what had changed. It was only when Nabil muttered, rough and low against her skin, that she realised.
‘Wife,’ he murmured, the heat of his breath feathering the curls of her ear.
She had never heard that note in his voice before and now, finally, she recognised it for what it was.
Trust.
It was just a little word. Just five letters, but it meant so much, changed so much. It meant that whatever darkness had shadowed Nabil’s thoughts of her at the beginning—on that first terrifying night they had spent together and yet so far apart—that darkness was now gone. He trusted her, wanted her, and she couldn’t ask for more.
His hands seemed to be everywhere, his lips following their path along her skin. She was stroked, caressed, tantalised, tormented, coming alive under his hands, plunging hard and fast and deep into what it meant to be a woman who was wanted by a man. And how it felt to be the woman who wanted the man she was with so much that she was out of her head with need.
‘My wife,’ Nabil muttered again, his voice dark and thick as he swung her up into his arms and carried her from the room and up the curving marble staircase to kick open the door into the bedroom. Never once in the whole of that hasty journey did his lips leave hers, his body making the climb surefooted and safely even though he was acting blind.
In the bedroom he dropped her down on to the cushioned softness of the bed, leaning over her as he did so to tangle his hands in her hair, pull her face up to his again for yet more of those overwhelming, demanding kisses. Until, in the space of a heartbeat it seemed, kisses were not enough and his hands plundered her body, the heat of his palms branding her as his with every touch.
‘You are wearing too many clothes.’
He ripped the soft, green silk tunic open down the front, baring her breasts to his burning eyes. A moment later, both sides of the top fell away, slithering to the floor to pool at her feet, to be joined just moments later by the white trousers she had been wearing, her underwear tossed aside with a total indifference to where it fell.
Then he was there beside her on the bed, his own clothes discarded alongside hers, the heat and hardness of his lean length stoking the fires that were already running wild through her yearning body. His kisses were more intimate now, lingering on each breast to swirl his tongue around the pouting nipples, drawing them into the heated cavern of his mouth and suckling hard until she was crying out with need.
But he was ahead of her there too, stroking his way down the length of her body and parting her legs, finding the most intimate part of her and making a raw, rough sound of satisfaction as his fingers encountered the moisture that told how ready she was for him there.
But then, just when she could least bear it, he suddenly hesitated and paused, looking down into her face. His eyes were glazed with passion, a heated blush streaking across high cheekbones above the rich growth of beard, but he held himself still for a moment, letting her know without words just what he was thinking. He was considering her inexperience; thinking of the need for care.
But care and consideration were not what Aziza wanted—not what she needed.
‘No!’ she ordered, her voice raw and high with a need that matched his. ‘Don’t stop now. Don’t!’
‘No chance, lady.’
Her legs were pushed apart by the pressure of his powerful thighs as he settled himself between them, the heat of his length coming up against the point where she most yearned for him. Fearful that he might hesitate once more, she found herself acting on instincts as old as time, lifting her hips slightly and opening herself to him until, on a groan that was a mixture of triumph and surrender, he gave himself up to the passion that controlled him, pressing in and up until he possessed her completely.
The sting of pain was only brief and soon forgotten as from then it was all fire and fury, passion and need taking over and driving every last thought from her mind. She didn’t know where she ended and Nabil began, only that they were together and together they were storming higher, higher, reaching for something she had never known existed but felt that now she would die if she never achieved it.