Midnight in Arabia
When the silence stretched between them as her thoughts whirled inside her head, Asad slipped his hand beneath the scarf covering her head and cupped her nape. “It is not in me to lose you again.”
Asad saw the flash of disbelief in Iris’s blue gaze before she pushed the peacock curtain aside to return to the feast.
He wanted to draw her back, demand she acknowledge the truth of his claim, but now was not the time. She was skittish, and perhaps he understood that better now. But he would woo her and convince her that the past’s mistakes could be left there.
He had brought her to Kadar for the reason he’d given her, to help her career, but also because he’d never forgotten her. Not her friendship and not her passionate fire in the bedroom.
He wanted to be warmed by that fire again.
Where that might lead, he did not know, but one certainty existed. He was no longer looking for a perfect princess to share his life.
Iris’s reflections on her childhood horrified him. If the two lived among the Sha’b Al’najid, they would have lost not just their daughter, but also their place in the tribe for such unnatural behavior. That parents could be so dismissive of a child was bad enough, but that the child should be his sensitive former lover infuriated him.
One of the first things he had noticed about Iris was the vulnerability she hid behind her shy demeanor. The sensitive child she would have been must have been tormented endlessly by her parents’ indifference.
He could not fathom it.
Iris had been right. Asad had not been pleased at his own father’s rejection of their heritage and he had determined at a young age never to make a choice that required leaving a child behind, as his parents had him. Yet Asad had never felt ignored by his parents, or that he did not matter to them.
They had made the journey back to the Sha’b Al’najid much more frequently than was convenient for them in order to spend time with their oldest son. And while they had agreed Asad would be raised to be sheikh of his people one day, his father had demanded Asad be allowed to come to Geneva at least one weekend per month throughout his childhood.
Though Asad was not supposed to know it, his mother cried when he left—each and every time.
Still, Asad had fought against more frequent visits, even at the earliest age. He was sure now that his parents had been hurt by that, but then the choice to leave the Sha’b Al’najid—and him, their son—had been theirs.
Regardless, they had been so different from the soulless couple who had given life to his beautiful geologist.
His parents’ choice had cost them. Of that he was certain, despite the fact he was equally certain he could never have made that choice himself. The thought of letting Nawar go had been thoroughly untenable from the first time he held her, despite the fact that they shared no actual blood tie.
An inexplicable protectiveness burning in his gut, Asad kept Iris by his side during the rest of the feast, thoroughly enjoying her reaction to his family’s way of celebrating.
Badra had always found the ways of the Sha’b Al’najid provincial and never hesitated to say so. The youngest, spoiled daughter of a neighboring country’s king, she had rejected Asad’s first proposal, saying she would never marry an ignorant goatherd.
Asad, who at eighteen had herded the animals only to learn lessons his grandfather said could not be taught with words, was hugely offended. And equally intrigued by this beautiful, spoiled creature who thought she was too good for him.
Any among the women of his people, or those he had met visiting his parents in Switzerland, would have been more than honored to receive such an offer of marriage. Badra, who was a year his senior, had unaccountably turned him down.
She couldn’t have conceived a move more suited to garnering his interest and determination to woo her successfully.
They’d met during a trade negotiation between Asad’s grandfather and Badra’s father. As was custom, the negotiations had occurred in the home of the king wanting his grandfather’s services in moving goods between his country and those nearby.
Asad had found the city-bred and sophisticated young woman fascinating. Besides, she was a princess, and as a future sheikh, he should marry a woman of such standing.
Asad allowed himself a small, bitter smile at his own naïveté and arrogance.
Badra had not been impressed with his pedigree, thereby cementing his interest in her. Then and there, he had determined to win her hand. He would attend university and build his tribe into a people others would envy.
And that the Princess Badra would want to belong to.
So he’d gone to university and graduate school, all the while working to build his family’s business interests with the help of his father and grandfather. When Asad returned to his desert family permanently, he was determined to do so with Badra at his side.
The only stumbling block to that outcome had been his growing affection for his lover, Iris Carpenter. But a man of considerable will, Asad had forced himself to cut her out of his life and pursue his original goal. It was what was best for his people.
Badra’s father would make a powerful political and business ally, the innocent and protected Badra a beautiful and admired lady of his people.
He shook his head. He’d been a fool.
Asad had not been in the least surprised when she accepted his second proposal. He’d assumed her father had convinced her of the advantageousness of the match. It was on Asad’s wedding night that he’d discovered the true reason for Badra’s capitulation.
Far from the innocent virgin he’d expected to bed, Badra was well versed in the art of sexual encounters.
She was also pregnant. Which he had realized when she woke the next morning nauseated in a way he had witnessed only among the pregnant women of his tribe.
He’d demanded to know the truth and she’d admitted everything amid floods of tears.
She’d had an affair with a married man who had seduced her from her innocence and now carried the man’s child. She said she was terrified of what her father’s reaction would be if he found out. Claiming to always have a soft spot for Asad, she said she’d learned her lesson and had eagerly accepted his marriage proposal.
She didn’t think she was doing him any true harm, as she’d discovered the babe’s sex was female. He would not reject a daughter simply because she had come to be as the result of her mother’s ignorance and naïveté, would he?
She played to Asad’s view of himself as a modern man who knew how to straddle the old world and the new. And he accepted her explanations and perceptions of him because his pride would not allow him to do otherwise, swallowing her words like a camel at an oasis after five days in the desert.
Though he had not forgotten the contempt she’d held for him at eighteen, he believed she had changed her views. He even accepted the role his own pride had played in the current circumstances. He’d been adamant he would marry this woman and no other. She would not reject him, the lion of his people.
He had put himself forward as her unknowing savior and he could hardly withdraw from the field at this point.
Badra claimed she’d broken it off with the married man when she agreed to become the lady of the Sha’b Al’najid, but he’d had his doubts—unspoken and unacknowledged. However, he’d made his vows just as she had. With that truth firmly in the forefront of his mind, Asad had directed his considerable will toward making his marriage with Badra work.
His doubts had come to fruition a month after Nawar’s birth when Asad’s head of security in the newly created command center had informed him of communications between Badra and her former lover.
But the knowledge of her continued perfidy had come too late. Asad loved his daughter and would not lose her to her mother’s selfishness.
He had not realized until much later, in a discussion with his sister during her first pregnancy, that Badra could not possibly have known the babe in her womb was a girl on their wedding night. Not unless she’d had an amniocentesis, which she had not. Badra had been a consummate liar.
And for the sake of that woman and his own pride, Asad had let go of his friendship with the one woman whose loyalty and integrity had never once come into question.
Unlike Badra with her deceits and machinations, Iris would always put others first. It was in her nature to do so. Knowing more about her past, he found that trait even more worthy of admiration.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FOR the second night in a row, Iris found herself walking with Asad toward her room at bedtime. It was much later this night though, the last of Asad’s guests having just left.
“There is one chamber you have yet to see in my home,” he said as they reached her door.
She’d spent the last hours of the party wrestling with what to do about Asad and had come to a decision.
One thing was certain—he wasn’t giving up. She knew how determined he could be and was under no illusions that this time would be any different. He wanted her. He would do his best to get what he wanted.
She could spend the next few weeks doing her level best to avoid him and stifle her own desire for him, but she was not convinced of her own ultimate success.
If she let herself love him again, she was lost. There was another option though, wasn’t there?
She’d come to believe that sharing his bed again would help heal her heart. Sometimes the only way to rebirth in life was through the fire. Just like a Phoenix. She would be the one to leave this time and because of that she would not spend the next six years seeing his face every time she looked with interest at another man.
She’d come to the conclusion that the way out of the isolated existence her life had become was the same way into it. Through Asad. This time she knew he wasn’t looking for a future with her and she would not allow herself to look for one either … or fall in love with him again.
That would dictate the difference in the outcome. It had to.
“You’re right.” Her voice was husky, but not tentative. One thing her feelings about this man had never been was tentative. “I haven’t seen your room.”
“Would you like to?”
“It will not offend your grandparents?” Iris was not naive enough to believe they would not figure it out, even if she left Asad’s bed in the wee hours as she meant to.
This kind of thing always seemed to get out eventually. Physical intimacy had a way of showing itself, even when those involved did their best to hide it. And Asad was too proud and arrogant to even try.
Iris was no good at hiding her emotions, even if she wanted to. She would show the change in her relationship with the sheikh, even if she did her best not to.
He pulled her around to face him, his expression dark and serious. “I am sheikh now. There is no offense in me doing as I see fit in my own home.”
She took leave to doubt that culturally it was easy as that, but then this man lived by his own rules, no matter how traditionally Bedouin he could be at times.
“Your arrogance is showing again.”
“I am certain of my place.”
She nodded, for the moment equally certain of hers. “Show me.”
His nostrils flared and his eyes burned her. “It will be my pleasure.”
“If I remember right, the pleasure was always very mutual.”
“Yes.”
He led her into his room and she was surprised to discover that the chamber was the same size as hers, but the bed was much bigger. Covered in pillows and a silk quilt embroidered with a roaring male lion in the center, it was easily twice the width of her bed. Between it and the sparse furniture, there was no extra room as in her chamber.
The sound of rustling clothes had her looking back toward him only to discover he was already disrobing, his kuffiya discarded, revealing dark hair that framed his fierce features even better than the head covering had done. He’d also tossed off the ornate robe he’d worn to the feast. Under it he had on the traditional loose trousers and … an Armani shirt?
She grinned.
“What?” he asked, arrested in his movements while looking at her.
“You’re wearing Armani with your traditional garb.”
He shrugged. “I prefer their shirts.” He dropped his trousers. “And their shorts.”
Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his muscular legs. Darker than they used to be, and rippling with even more muscle she wanted to touch.
There was a time when she had believed that body belonged to her. She knew now that it did not, but she could still revel in the knowledge that as long as she shared his bed, for all intents and purposes, it might as well be hers.
“Nice,” she said, unable to hide the catch in her voice.
His hardness pressed against the black silk of his Armani boxers, letting her know that his desire for her was real. He unbuttoned the shirt, letting it fall open to reveal the sprinkling of black curls that lightly covered his chest and abdomen.
“You used to shave that,” she observed.
He frowned momentarily. “I was trying to be more urbane.”
“But why would you want to? You were always so proud of your heritage.” It was one of many things about him that had impressed her.
Asad had known who and what he was in a way she had still been trying to achieve for herself. But maybe, he hadn’t had it as together as she’d believed. That knowledge cast the past in a different light once again, one that eased old hurts even further.
She’d made the right decision to let him make love to her. This coming together would be healing … it already was.
“Another time, we will discuss these things.” He moved toward her. “But now is not the time for talking.”
She wouldn’t argue. It had been six years since she felt the level of excitement coursing through her body now and he hadn’t even kissed her yet.
He rectified that with a swift movement, bringing their bodies flush and their mouths together in perfect union. Passion and need exploded inside her with nuclear power.
Everything she’d been suppressing for six years, but especially over the past two days broke through her mental restraints, making her body strain against his even as her lips gave him kiss for kiss, caress for caress.
He broke his mouth from hers, gasping. “It’s been so long. Too long.”
She had to agree. “Yes.”
“For you, as well?” he asked, his brown eyes almost black with the depth of his feeling.
And she could not deny him the truth. “For me, too.”
It had definitely been too long since she touched him, as the depth of her excitement showed. They’d had one explosive kiss and she felt like it would take only the slightest touch to her intimate flesh for her to climax.
He’d always known just how to touch her to bring her the ultimate in pleasure, but this was something different. This bliss was coming from deep inside her at the knowledge that, for a little while, they were going to be one again.
But she would not love him. Not this time. Their bodies would join, but not their hearts. She was too smart for that. Please, God, let her be too smart for that.
He shrugged his shirt off. “Come with me to my bed. Let us make new memories to supplant the old.”
He knew exactly what to say, but that should not surprise her. Other than when he dumped her, Asad had always known exactly what she needed to hear from him.
“New memories,” she agreed breathlessly as he gently pulled away the scarf covering her hair.
“I always loved your hair, the red is so rich and unique. It feels like liquid silk.” He combed through it with his fingers, his expression intent.
“That’s the shampoo and conditioner I use,” she said with a smile.
“You think?”
She nodded. She wasn’t a vain woman, she didn’t think, but Iris had always insisted on using salon quality products on her hair. The way it slipped through Asad’s fingers now made her little idiosyncrasy worth it.
“I think it is the magic of the woman, myself.”
“You think I’m magic?” she asked softly, tears stinging her eyes that she would not let fall.
“I do.” He stopped with his hands poised to undress her. “You are sure you want this?”
She was shocked by his question, but maybe she should not have been. No matter how determined Asad was, he was and had always been a man of honor.
She nodded.
“We will erase the ugly memories of the past.”
“What memories are you trying to erase?” she couldn’t help asking, though she so wanted to move forward with the seduction.
He shrugged, but then surprised her by following it up with words. “You were the last woman I bedded that brought nothing but honesty to our time together.”
“You were honest, too.” Though for a long time, she’d thought he hadn’t been.
“Yes.”
“So, this is a reset? For both of us?”
“Yes.”
She got that. He’d been hurt badly by Badra’s infidelity, Iris was sure. Asad wanted to go back to a time when he could trust the woman in his bed. Iris wanted the same thing. “Then, I’m sure.”
He nodded and then removed her galabia with reverent hands, his expression unreadable, but intense and primitive.
Was that possession glowing in his brown gaze? Or desire?
It didn’t matter. For a few brief hours, she would let her body be his, just not her heart.
He reached behind her to unclasp her bra. “You still wear such feminine underwear beneath your T-shirts and jeans.”
“I wasn’t wearing jeans tonight.”
“But you brought this with you regardless.” He drew the silky champagne lace bra down her arms and dropped it to the carpet under their feet.
She couldn’t deny it. She might dress like an asexual scientist most of the time, but underneath, her bras and panties were her one consistent feminine indulgence.
His large hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples.
She sucked in a breath.
Approval flared in his dark eyes. “So responsive.”
His gaze dipped low and she felt the caress of his eyes on her most sensitive flesh, though it was still hidden behind the stretch lace boy shorts that matched her bra. “This style is new for you. I like it.”
“It’s been six years since you’ve seen my underwear.”
“I’m keen to see what else you have in store for me.”
Which implied this was not a onetime deal. And she’d known that. He’d said as much when admitting he wanted her back in his bed, but this further proof that tonight was not their only and last night together still settled over her in an unexpected delight.
“Take off your panties,” he ordered in a guttural tone.
“Why don’t you?”
“I can’t stop touching you.” The admission affected something deep inside her she didn’t want reached and she almost pulled away.
But the way he played so intently with her breasts, giving her pleasure and so obviously taking his own from the caresses, made it impossible for her to deny him. Or herself.
Soon, they were both naked and lying together in the big bed, the covers tossed back. His hands mapping her body as if memorizing it, comparing it to memory and marking all the similarities and differences.
She could not remember a time they had made love before when he had been so intent on learning her every dip and crevice. Not even their first time together.
Something about tonight was different for him too, but she wasn’t about to speculate what that might be. She’d make the wrong assumptions as she’d done before and her heart couldn’t afford such mistakes again.
He leaned up over her, his regard serious. “You are the first woman I have brought to this bed.”
But he’d been married. “Badra?”
“Had her own room.”
Iris couldn’t imagine him having sex with his wife on that tiny bed, so Badra’s bed must have gone the way of her other things.
“Do you want me to be flattered?” she asked and then wished she could take back the facetious comment.
It might not be love, but this moment was too profound for sarcasm.
His tender smile said he was not offended. “It is I who am honored to have you here.”
So that was what he wanted, for her to feel honored by the distinction. And really? She did. Not that she was going to tell him so. It seemed like too much an admission to make after she’d opened herself to him in a way she’d been determined never to again.
“Kiss me, Asad.”
He did, a growl of desire sounding between them, his body moving over hers in that dominating way he’d always had. An aggressive lover, Asad filled her senses with his presence as he caressed her body with the clear intent to seduce and excite. He knew how to draw forth more than she ever intended to give and yet fill her with bliss in the way she responded to him.
She returned his touches, reveling in her ability to once again lay claim to the magnificent man above her.
Their kisses were incendiary, the fire burning inside her in no danger of being extinguished. Tense with need, her body remembered this man’s lovemaking and the capacity for pleasure he had taught her that she had.
He brought her to her first climax with his hand, his lips never leaving hers. Once he had swallowed all her cries as his due, he moved down her body, his mouth blazing a trail of heat and want that culminated in a renewed pulsing in the tender flesh between her thighs.
She found completion the second time with his mouth on her, his tongue lashing her clitoris with deft flicks, his hands roving her body and settling on her breasts as he manipulated her nipples to enhance her pleasure until she screamed with it.
She grabbed a pillow to stifle her cries, but he reared up and yanked it from her hand. “I want to hear every sound. I will have all of you.”
“But the tent walls …”
“Are far better at muffling sound than you would ever imagine, my sweet little Westerner.”
“That was the problem, wasn’t it?” she asked, her body still shuddering from the ultimate in pleasure, his resting between her wantonly spread thighs. “I was too Western for your people. Like your mother.”
“My grandmother was from the West, as well. She adapted.”
“But her son did not.”
“No. Why are we talking about my parents right now?” he asked as he thrust his hard and very impressive member against her.
“Because …” She let her voice trail off, unsure what she wanted to say, what she was willing to admit to.
Even though she didn’t want to be, she’d been trying to understand how he could let something so good go. What they’d had between them had been incredible, not just something that worked to relieve sexual tension.
“I might have been innocent, but even I knew we were amazing together. The sex was mind-blowing from the very first time.” And so had everything else between them been.
The dip of his head acknowledged the truth of her words.
“Why?” she asked, finally able to do so.
“I planned to marry Badra from the time I was eighteen.” And he was the type of man that when he had a plan, he stuck to it. Could it really have been that simple?
When she didn’t reply, he added, “There was no lack in you. Nothing missing from us.”
She just hadn’t been the Middle Eastern princess he’d wanted. “When you dumped me, I sure felt lacking.”
“No.” He kissed the join between her neck and shoulder, suckling up a love bite, and sent pleasure zinging through her. “You were the perfect lover.”
But not the perfect candidate for wife, even if Badra hadn’t been in the wings waiting. That much Iris understood.
Unwilling to dwell on a reality that she had no hope of changing, Iris offered, “You’re a pretty amazing lover, yourself, Asad.”