Sheikh's Defiant Wife
He hadn’t imagined the white-hot feeling of lust which had flared between them last night and he was too experienced a lover to mistake the look of sexual yearning which had darkened her violet eyes. When she was standing in front of him in her embroidered robes—her hair woven with fragrant leaves—he had never wanted her quite so much.
Hadn’t he wondered whether her western sensibilities might make her take the initiative? Hadn’t he wondered whether she might boldly arrive naked at his tent under cover of darkness and slip into his bed without invitation, as so many women had done before?
He stared down at the senior bodyguard. ‘You have checked her trail?’
‘Yes, boss. She has headed due north—taking the same path by which we came, back towards the airbase.’
Suleiman nodded. It was as he had thought. She was trying to get back to England on her own—oh, most stubborn and impetuous of women! ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will follow her trail. And you will assign three men to take up the other three points of the compass and to set off immediately. But no more than three. I don’t want the desert paths disturbed any more than they need be. I don’t want any clues churned up by the damned horses.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘You will also send someone to find a high enough vantage point to try to get a mobile phone signal. I want the military base informed and I want every damned plane at their disposal out looking for her. Understand?’
The bodyguard nodded. ‘Understood.’
‘And believe me when I tell you that you have not heard the last of this!’
With his final, angry words ringing Suleiman galloped off at a furious pace, the warm wind streaming against his face as he followed the mixed track of the camels and the newer footprints of Sara’s horse.
He had already realised that there would be repercussions. By involving the military, word would inevitably get back to the Sultan that the princess was missing. But he didn’t care what criticism or punishment came his way for having lost the future Sultana of Qurhah. They could exile him or imprison him and he wouldn’t care.
He didn’t care about anything other than finding her safe and well.
He had never known such raw fear as he travelled beneath the heat of a sun which was growing ever more blistering. Even though she was out of practice, he knew that she was a sound horsewoman—a fact which had always been a source of pride since he had been the one to tutor her, but which now gave him only comfort. And he found himself clinging to that one small comfort. Please let her ride safely, he prayed. Please not let something have frightened the horse so that Sara might be lying there buckled and broken on the sand. Alone and scared while the sun beat down on her and the vultures waited to peck out her beautiful violet eyes...
He sucked in a breath of hot air which felt raw as it travelled down his throat. He should not think the worst. He would not think the worst. Think positive, he told himself. At least no snake or brown scorpion could touch her when she was high up on her horse.
But knowing that did not help him locate her, did it?
Where was she? Where was she?
His eyes trained unblinkingly on the ground before him—he saw the exact point where her path had veered off from the main route. Had something distracted the horse? Distracted her?
He pushed forward now, letting the powerful stallion stream across the sands until Suleiman urged it to a halt and then opened his mouth to call across the desolate landscape.
‘Sara! Sa-ra!’
But the ensuing response was nothing but an empty silence and his heart gave a painful lurch.
He forced himself to take a drink from one of the water-bottles he carried, for dehydration would be good for neither of them if he found her.
When he found her.
He had to find her.
The position of the sun and his wristwatch told him that he had been searching for her for over four hours. He could feel his heart pumping painfully in his chest. The heat of the midday sun was a tough enough combatant but darkness was a whole different ball-game.
He thought of the nocturnal creatures which came out in the cold of the desert night—dangerous animals which populated this inhospitable terrain.
‘Sara!’ he called again and then the horse’s ears pricked up and Suleiman strained to hear a sound that was almost lost in the distance. He listened again.
It was a sound. The smallest sound in the world. The sound of a voice. If it had been anyone else’s voice, he might not have recognised it—but Suleiman had heard Sara’s voice in many guises. He’d heard it as a child. He’d heard its hesitancy in puberty and its breathlessness in passion. But he had never heard it sound quite so broken nor so lost as it did right now.
‘Sara!’ he yelled, the word spilling from his lips as if it had been ripped from the very base of his lungs.
And then the shout again. Due east a little. He pressed his thighs against the flanks of the horse and urged it forward in a gallop in the direction of the sound. He heard nothing more and as the silence grew, so too did his fear that he had simply imagined it. An aural version of a desert mirage...
Until he saw the shape of a rock up ahead. A dark red rock which soared up revealing a dark cool cave underneath against which gleamed the metallic golden sheen of an Akhal-Teke palomino. He narrowed his eyes, for the horse carried no rider, and he galloped forward to see Sara leaning back against the rock. Its shadow consumed her with its terracotta light but he could see that her face was white with fear and her eyes looked like two deep pools of violet ink.
Grabbing a water-bottle, he jumped from the horse’s back and was beside her in a moment. He held the vessel to her lips and she sucked on it greedily, like a small animal being bottle-fed. He put the bottle down and as he watched the colour and the strength return to her all his own fear and anger bubbled up inside him.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ he demanded, levering her up against him so that her face was inches away from his.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Her voice sounded weak. ‘I was trying to get away.’
‘You could have died!’
‘I’m not...I’m not that easy to get rid of,’ she said, her lips trying for a smile but he noticed she didn’t quite achieve it—though nothing could disguise the flash of relief which flared briefly in her eyes.
‘Where were you headed for?’ he demanded, watching as he saw her face assume a look of sudden wariness.
She looked at him from the shuttered forest of her lashes. ‘Where do you think? Back to the airport.’
‘To the military base?’
‘Yes, to the military base. To demand to be taken back to England. I...I came to my senses, Suleiman. I realised that I couldn’t go through with it after all—no matter what you or the Sultan threatened me with, I don’t care. I don’t care about political dynasties or forging an alliance between my country and his. My brother will have to find someone else to offer up as a human sacrifice.’
Furiously, he stood up and pulled out his mobile phone and started barking into it in Qurhahian. Sara could hear him telling the military that the search should be called off. That the princess had been found and she was safely in his charge.
But when he terminated the call the look on his face didn’t make Sara feel in the least bit safe. In fact, it made her feel the opposite of safe. His black eyes were filled with fury as he slowly advanced towards her again.
‘So let me get this straight,’ he said, and she could tell that he was only just holding onto his temper. ‘You took off on your own into one of the most hostile territories in the world—even though you have not ridden for years and have been living a pampered life in London—is that right?’
Her gaze was defiant as she met the accusation in his eyes.
‘Yes,’ she said fiercely. ‘That’s exactly right.’
The absurdity of her quest infuriated him. He thought about the danger she’d put herself in and he felt the clench of anger—and fear too, at the thought of what could have happened to her. He intended to give her a piece of his mind. To tell her that he felt like putting her across his knee and smacking her. At least, that was what he thought he intended. But somehow it didn’t work out like that.
Maybe it was the sight of all that tousled blonde hair, or the violet glitter of her beautiful eyes. Maybe it was because he’d always wanted her and had never stopped wanting her. His desire for her had been like an endless hunger which had eaten him up from the inside out and suddenly there was no controlling it any longer.
He made one last attempt to fight it but his resistance was gone. He’d never felt so powerless in his life as he stared down into her beautiful face and caught hold of her by the shoulders again. Only this time he was pulling her towards him.
‘Damn you, Sara,’ he whispered. ‘Just damn you.’
And that was when he started to kiss her.
CHAPTER SIX
SARA GASPED AS Suleiman’s mouth drove down on hers. She told herself that this was crazy. That it was only going to lead to heartbreak and tears. She told herself that if she tore herself out of his embrace, then he would let her go. But her body was refusing to listen.
Her body was on fire.
His mouth explored hers and it felt like a dream. Or some hot, X-rated mirage. It surpassed every hope she’d nurtured during these desperate last few hours. Long, grim hours, as she’d realised the full extent of her plight—that she was hopelessly lost in the unforgiving desert. Until the stern-faced emissary had appeared on the empty horizon, astride a gleaming black stallion like her greatest fantasy come true.
And then he had taken the fantasy and given it a sexy embellishment, by pulling her into his arms and giving her this hard and seeking kiss.
Yet this was dangerous, wasn’t it? Dangerous for her heart. Dangerous for her soul. She couldn’t afford to love this man, no matter how much she wanted him.
She meant to push him away but he pulled her closer, so that she could smell his raw, male smell. He smelt of sandalwood and salt. The hard sinews of his body were pressed against hers and the proximity of his tight, taut flesh made her want to melt into him. His lips were hard and soft in turn as they kissed her. One minute they were cajoling, the next they were masterfully stating their intent to make love to her.
‘Suleiman.’ It didn’t come out like the protest she intended it to be—it sounded more like a plea.
‘Sara,’ he said, drawing his mouth away from hers and cupping her face with both his hands. ‘Foolish, beautiful, hot-headed Sara.’ His gaze raked over her with a mixture of exasperation and lust. ‘Why the hell did you take off like that? Why take such a risk?’
‘You know why,’ she whispered, moving her head fractionally as she sought out another kiss. ‘Because I wanted to escape.’
He brushed his lips over hers. Back and forth in a teasing graze. ‘Do you still want to escape?’
She nodded her head. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Stop it.’
‘I’m waiting for an answer to my question.’
She shook her head. ‘N-not any more. At least, not right now. Not if you keep on kissing me like that.’
‘That sounds very much like an invitation.’ He gave another groan as their mouths meshed together and his breath was warm in her mouth. ‘I should put you straight back on that horse and ride you back into camp.’
‘Then why are you unbuttoning my tunic?’
‘Because I want to taste your nipples.’
‘Oh.’
She tipped her head back as his lips trailed a fiery path over her neck, closing her eyes as sensation washed over her. His fingers felt hard and calloused against her delicate flesh. She could feel the slick, wet heat of her sex overwhelming her as he lowered his mouth to trail his tongue over one hardened nipple.
Her mouth grew dry as her lashes fluttered open to watch him. He kissed each breast in turn and then turned his attention to her tunic, peeling it off entirely—along with her slim-fitting trousers. He freed her aching body so that at last her skin was bared to the warm desert air. And to his eyes.
She heard him suck in a ragged breath as he looked down at her and she was glad she was wearing the provocative underwear she’d brought from England. The balcony bra in electric-blue lace and matching thong were both pretty racy, but she’d discovered a while back that she liked wearing expensive lingerie. It had been another aspect of the freedom she’d relished—that she could go into any department store and stock up on X-rated undies and nobody was going to tell her she couldn’t.
He said something she couldn’t quite make out and the expression in his slitted eyes was suddenly forbidding.
‘Is something wrong?’ she questioned tentatively.
‘Who buys your lingerie for you?’ His voice was dark with some unnamed emotion.
‘I do.’
‘But you buy it for you? Or do you buy it for the men who will enjoy watching you wearing it?’ he persisted, slithering his finger inside her thong where she was so wet and so sensitive that she bucked beneath his touch and gave a little cry. His finger stilled. ‘Do you?’
Sara nodded, so strung out with pleasure that she barely knew what she was agreeing to. But men liked women to indulge in fantasy, didn’t they? She’d read enough erotic literature to know that. Men liked you to pretend to be things and to do things. She read that normality was the killer in the bedroom.
Not that they were anywhere near a bedroom, of course—but who cared about that? Why not feed into his fantasies—and her own? Why shouldn’t she make love with Suleiman in the wild desert which had spawned her, on this shaded patch of sand? She might not like all the restrictions of life here, but she was sensitive enough to appreciate its beauty. And if Suleiman wanted her to play the femme fatale, then play it she would.
‘I’m enjoying wearing it for you,’ she answered coyly, her finger moving to trace the curving satin trim of her bra. ‘Do you like it?’
He made a sound mid-way between hunger and anger as he pulled off his crimson robes with impatient disregard, until he was also naked. She let her gaze drift over him, her eyes widening as her gaze locked onto the most intimate part of his aroused body—and suddenly she was a little daunted by what she saw.
‘Suleiman...’ she whispered, but her words faded because he was back in her arms and was touching her again. Moving his hand intimately against her sex and stroking her with pinpoint accuracy. She could smell the scent of her arousal on the air. She could feel the warm rush of blood flooding through her veins. And shouldn’t she be touching him? She reached down to whisper her fingertips against his silken length, but he stilled her movement by the abrupt clamp of his hand around her wrist.
‘No,’ he said.
She looked into his eyes, confused. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m too close to coming, that’s why. And I want to come when I’m inside you. I want to watch your face as I enter and hear the sounds you make when I move inside you.’
It was the most erotic thing she’d ever heard. Sara swallowed. Suleiman deep inside the one place where she had always longed for him to be. She could feel her skin burning as he spread his robes down on the shaded sand, like a silken blanket for them to lie on. His face was dark and taut as he peeled off her electric-blue underwear, until she lay before him like a naked sacrifice.
She could see the hardness of his erection and the dark whorls of hair from which it sprang. His olive skin gleamed softly in the terracotta light and his dark eyes were as black as tar as he reached for her, bending his lips to hers. The kiss which followed made her gasp with pleasure. It seemed to unlock something deep within her, but when he lifted his head she could see that his eyes were dark with pain.
‘My greatest fantasy and my greatest sin,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘And it is wrong. We both know that.’
Suddenly Sara was terrified he was going to stop. That she would never know what it was like to have Suleiman Abd al-Aziz make love to her. And she couldn’t bear it. She thought she could pretty much bear anything else, but not that. Not now.
Her hand reached up to touch the blackness of his hair, letting her fingers slide beneath the silken strands. ‘How can it possibly be wrong, when it feels so right?’
‘Don’t ask disingenuous questions, Sara. And don’t look at me with those big violet eyes, a colour which I’ve never seen on any woman other than you. Just stop me from doing this. Stop me before it goes any further because I don’t have the strength to stop myself.’
‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘Because I...’ She nearly said I love you, but just in time she bit back the words. ‘Because I’ve wanted this for so long. We both want it. You know that. Please, Suleiman. Make love to me.’
He tilted up her chin and gazed down at her. ‘Oh, Sara,’ he said, saying her name like an unwilling surrender.
He entered her slowly. So slowly that she thought she would die with the pleasure. She cried out as he made that first thrust—a cry which was disbelieving and exultant.
Suleiman was inside her.
Suleiman was filling her.
Suleiman was...
He groaned as he found his rhythm, moving deeper with each stroke. And Sara suddenly felt as if she had been born for this moment. She wrapped her legs around his back as he splayed his hands over her bare buttocks to drive even deeper. Her breath was coming in shuddered little gasps as he moved inside her. She’d had sex before, but never like this. Never like this. It was like everyone said it should be. It was...
And then she stopped thinking. Stopped everything except listening to the demands of her body and letting the pleasure pile on, layer by sensual layer.
She felt it build—desperately sweet, yet tantalisingly elusive. She felt the warmth flood through her as Suleiman’s movements became more urgent and she was so locked into his passionate kiss that the first spasms of her orgasm took her almost by surprise. Like a feather which had been lifted by a storm and then tossed around by it, she just went with the flow. She cried out his name as his own body suddenly tensed, and he shuddered violently as he came.
But it was over all too quickly. Abruptly, he pulled out of her—so that all she was aware of was a warmth spurting over her belly. He had withdrawn from her! It took a couple of disconcerting moments before she felt together enough to open her eyes and to look at him and when she did she felt almost embarrassed. As if the sudden ending had wiped out the magic of what had gone before.
‘Why...why did you do that?’
His voice was flat. ‘I realised that in our haste to consummate our lust, we hadn’t even discussed contraception.’
Sara did her best not to flinch, but it seemed a particularly emotionless thing to say in view of what had just happened. Consummate their lust? Was that it? ‘I suppose we didn’t.’
‘Are you on the pill?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘So we add a baby into the equation and make the situation a million times worse than it already is,’ he said bitterly. ‘Is that what you wanted?’
She flushed, knowing he was right—and wasn’t it the most appalling thing that she found herself wishing that he had made her pregnant? How weird was it that some primitive part of her was wishing that Suleiman had planted his seed inside her belly. So that now there would be a baby growing beneath her heart. His baby. ‘No, of course it wasn’t what I wanted.’ She met his eyes. ‘Why are you being like this?’
‘Like what?’
‘So...cold.’
‘Why do you think? Because I’ve just betrayed the man who saved my life. Because I’ve behaved like the worst kind of friend.’ His gaze swept over her and somehow she knew what he was going to say, almost before the words had left his lips. ‘And you weren’t even a virgin.’
It was the ‘even’ which made it worse. As if she’d been nothing but a poor consolation prize. ‘Were you expecting me to be?’
‘Yes,’ he bit out. ‘Of course I was!’
‘I’m twenty-three years old, Suleiman. I’ve been living an independent life in London. What did you expect?’
‘But you were brought up as a desert princess! To respect your body and cherish your maidenhood. To save your purity for your bridegroom. Your royal bridegroom.’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, I know you spoke freely of sex and that beneath your clothes you were wearing the kind of lingerie which only a truly liberated woman would wear. But even though I had my suspicions, deep down I thought you remained untouched!’
‘Even though you had your suspicions?’ she repeated, in disbelief. ‘What are you now—some sort of detective?’
‘You are destined to be a royal bride,’ he flared back. ‘And your virginity was an essential part of that agreement. Or at least, that’s what I thought.’
‘No, Suleiman, that’s where you’re wrong.’ Sitting up, she angrily brushed a heavy spill of hair away from her flushed face. ‘You don’t think—you just react. You don’t see me as an individual with my own unique history. You didn’t stop to think that I might have desires and needs of my own, just as you do—and presumably just as Murat does. You simply see me as a stereotype. You see what I am supposed to be and what I am supposed to stand for. The virgin princess who has been bought for the Sultan. Only I am not that person and I will never be!’
‘And didn’t it occur to you to have made some attempt to communicate your thoughts with the Sultan, before he was forced to take matters into his own hand?’ Suleiman demanded. ‘Didn’t it occur to you that running away just wasn’t the answer? But you’ve spent your whole life running away, haven’t you, Sara?’
‘And you’ve spent your whole life denying your feelings!’
‘I have never denied that!’ he flared back. ‘It’s a pity that more people don’t stop neurotically asking themselves whether or not they are “happy”—and just get out there and do something instead!’
‘Like you’ve just done, you mean?’ she challenged. ‘What, did you think to yourself? “Now, how can I punish the princess for running off? I know—I’ll seduce her!”’
For a moment there was nothing other than the sound of them struggling to control their breathing and Suleiman felt the cold coil of anger twisting at his gut as he looked at her.
He swallowed but the action did little to ease the burning sensation which scorched his throat. The acrid taste of guilt couldn’t be washed away so easily, he thought bitterly.
He had just seduced the woman who was to marry the Sultan.
He had just committed the ultimate betrayal against his sovereign—and wasn’t treason punishable by death?
Had she used him to facilitate her escape? Had she? Had this been a trap into which he had all-too-willingly fallen?
‘How many men have you had?’ he demanded suddenly.
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Have you heard a word I’ve just been saying? How many women have you had?’
‘That’s irrelevant!’ he snapped. ‘So I shall ask you again, Sara—and this time I want an answer. How many?’
‘Oh, hundreds,’ she retorted, but the expression on his face made her backtrack and even though she despised herself for wanting to salvage her reputation—it didn’t stop her from doing it. ‘If you must know—I’ve had one experience before you. One—and it was awful. An ill-judged foray into the sexual arena with a man I’d convinced myself could mean something to me, but I was wrong.’ Just as she’d been wrong about so many things at the time.
‘Who was he?’
‘You think I’m crazy enough to tell you his name?’ She shook her head, not wanting to reveal any more than she had to. She didn’t want Suleiman to know that at the time she’d been on a mission—trying to convince herself that there were men other than him. That she’d wanted another man to make her feel the way he did. But she had been hoping in vain because no man had even come close. He affected her in a way she had no control over. Even now, with this terrible atmosphere which had descended upon them, he was still making her feel stuff, wasn’t he? He still made her feel totally alive whenever she was near him.