Their Impossible Desert Match (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Clare Connelly

  ‘Because we’re sleeping together.’

  ‘And we’re both aware that’s where this ends. I’m not harbouring a secret desire to marry you,’ he said, trying to make it sound as though the very idea was ridiculous.

  ‘I know.’ Her voice was quiet. Wounded? Now he felt like a jackass. ‘I guess I feel like there’s the whole duty thing. Paris is from a great family. Our marriage makes sense. I like him. I don’t know if I’d ever trust my own judgement again, when it comes to men, let alone trusting someone else after Matthew. Maybe Paris isn’t...’

  Amir had changed his mind. He couldn’t listen to her talk about the prospect of marrying someone else without wanting to burn the world down. He hadn’t expected to feel so possessive of her, but he did. He couldn’t fight that, or deny it.

  ‘You are a passionate woman, Johara. If you marry, it should be because your passions are aroused, because your heart is caught, and because you know—beyond a doubt—that the man deserves you. Not because he’s nice and your brother thinks he’s suitable.’

  Her lips parted, her eyes lifting to his. ‘And is that how you’ll choose a wife?’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s different.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m Sheikh. I don’t have the luxury of marrying a woman I choose for any reason other than her suitability to rule at my side.’

  They stood there on the edge of the forest, so close, eyes locked, hearts beating in unison, the conversation troubling to both for reasons they couldn’t fathom.

  Distraction came in the form of one of the juniya birds. It flew close to Johara’s head, drawing her attention, and she followed it beyond the last tree, her eyes catching the water for the first time. She gasped, shaking her head. Stars shone overhead, bathing the still water in little dots of silver.

  ‘What is this place?’

  He saw it through her eyes—the large stones that formed walls, creating the feeling of a fortress, the calm water on the edge of the desert, enormous trees that decorated the circumference but left space for the stars to shine.

  ‘My swimming pool.’ He grinned, willingly pushing their conversation aside as he pulled on her hand. ‘Are you game?’

  She flicked a nervous look at him. ‘I don’t have a bathing costume...’

  He drew her closer, pressing his nose to hers. ‘Didn’t you hear me? This is private...’

  Awareness dawned and she laughed, reaching for the bottom of her shirt. ‘I see.’

  He stepped back as she discarded her clothes, stripping down to her underwear, then removing that scrap of lace, so she was completely naked. He made a growling noise low in his throat, possession firing through him. She took a step forward, her eyes asking a question he answered with a nod. Her fingers caught the fabric of his clothes, lifting them from his body, more slowly than she had her own, so that he wanted to take over, to strip himself naked and pull her against him.

  He didn’t.

  He stood and he waited, his body being stirred to a fever pitch of desire he could barely handle.

  Slowly, painstakingly slowly, she undressed him, her fingers grazing his flesh as she went. Her eyes were huge in the moonlight, dark pools every bit as mesmerising as the water beyond them.

  ‘It’s beautiful here.’ Her voice was thick; he could only jerk his head in agreement.

  Her lips moved forward, pressing against his tattoo, and as she did so she whispered the words, ‘Amor fati’. They reached inside him, wrapping around his heart, his soul, the essence of his being.

  He loved his fate. He’d worked to love it, when it had been, at times, the last thing he wanted. His fate was not this woman; she was an aberration, a temporary pleasure—a guilty pleasure. One he found himself utterly powerless to resist.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘HOW LONG DID you live in New York?’

  Johara ran her fingertips over the water. It was sublime. She’d lost track of how long they’d been here. An hour? Less? More?

  ‘Almost four years.’

  His brows drew together.

  ‘You’re surprised?’

  He laughed. ‘Are you a mind-reader now?’

  She pressed her face closer to his. ‘Yours is easy to read.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘For me, at least.’

  ‘Ah.’ His grin sparked butterflies in her bloodstream.

  ‘I should have thought your brother would object.’

  She smiled indulgently. ‘Mal didn’t like the idea at first.’

  She felt Amir stiffen at Johara’s use of the diminutive of Malik’s name. ‘But you changed his mind?’

  ‘We came to a compromise.’

  Her smile became harder to keep in place. Her eyes shifted away from Amir’s.

  ‘And it was?’

  ‘That I should go. For a time.’

  Amir’s features darkened. ‘For a time? You mean until it suited him to have you come back?’

  She wanted to defend Malik but, in truth, the terms they’d struck—terms which had, at the time, seemed reasonable—now infuriated her. ‘More or less.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘I’m a princess of Taquul. My place is in my country.’

  ‘Where do you want to be?’

  Her eyes widened. No one had asked her that before.

  ‘Let’s pretend you’re not a princess,’ he said quietly. ‘Where would you choose to make your life?’

  Johara’s heart turned over in her chest. The first answer that sprang to her mind was ludicrous. Too fanciful to say, much less give credit to. She’d spent five days in Ishkana, and it was a country that would never accept or welcome her. Why should she feel such an immense bond to this place? Her eyes ran over Amir’s face without her meaning them to. The answer was right in front of her. Wherever you are.

  Stricken, she tried to smile and pulled away from him in the water, swimming towards the edge. He came after her.

  ‘You can’t answer?’

  Oh, she could answer, but the answer would terrify both of them. She bit down on her lip, and strove for a light tone of voice.

  ‘I am what I am, Amir. I’m Johara Qadir, Princess of Taquul, and while I loved everything about New York, I always knew it was temporary. I knew that, one day, he’d ask me to return home and assume the responsibilities that have been mine since birth.’

  But Amir was frustrated by that; she could read it in the terse lines of his face.

  ‘Don’t pretend that if you had a sister it would be any different,’ she teased, surprised she could sound so light when her heart was splintering and cracking.

  He frowned. ‘I cannot say what it would be like,’ he agreed. ‘I understand that he wants you back in Taquul. But marrying Paris is part of the agreement, isn’t it?’

  She dropped her gaze to the water. Tiny ripples moved from her fingertips towards the water’s edge. She watched their progress, thinking of how like life that was—a small action could have such far-reaching consequences. ‘Yes.’ Her eyes swept shut. ‘It’s what my brother intends for me to do.’

  ‘And what you want? Does it matter?’

  ‘I can say no,’ she murmured, meeting his eyes and wishing she hadn’t when a feeling of pain and betrayal lanced her. ‘He won’t force me. If he tried, I’d leave, and I’d leave for good,’ she promised. ‘The decision is mine.’

  Amir pulled her closer, into his arms, staring down at her for several long beats. The sky was silent; even the juniya were quiet in that moment.

  ‘And there was no one in New York?’

  Her breath snagged in her throat. ‘On the contrary, Manhattan is heavily populated.’

  He didn’t laugh. His thumb smudged her lower lip, his eyes probing hers. ‘You didn’t meet anyone that made you want to stay?’

  She shook her head. ‘There were children. The most
beautiful children. I fell in love with each and every one I worked with. I had friends—have friends. But no, there was no man.’

  ‘I find that impossible to believe.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re—’

  She held her breath, waiting, needing him to finish the sentence.

  But he shook his head, a tight smile gripping his lips. ‘Four years is a long time.’

  She exhaled slowly. ‘It is,’ she agreed. ‘But Matthew messed me up pretty good.’ She lay backwards in the water, and he caught her legs, wrapping them around his waist, holding her there as she floated, staring up at the sky. There was such safety in his hold on her. She felt—whole. Complete. Content. But not for long, because the realisation of those sentiments brought with it a crippling wave of concern.

  ‘Part of what I loved about meeting you was the anonymity. I felt such a connection with you, and all the better because you had no idea I was Johara Qadir.’

  ‘No.’ For a moment his voice broke through the serenity of the moment. She remembered his reaction that night, his assurance that if he’d known he would never have acted on those feelings. And none of this would have happened.

  ‘You couldn’t sell the story of what we’d done. You couldn’t hurt me.’

  Silence followed those words, so she began to regret them, and wish she hadn’t revealed so much of herself.

  But slowly, his hands curled around her back and lifted her from the water, bringing her body against his. His eyes latched to hers.

  ‘I never want to hurt you.’

  She swallowed, her throat thick with emotions. ‘I know.’

  Staring at him, bathed in moonlight, Johara felt as though every moment of her soul were shifting into alignment. Everything she’d ever been and whatever she was to become were resonating right there; she was her truest, purest form of self in his arms.

  ‘I hate that a man treated you like that.’

  ‘Yes.’ She tried to sound crisp and businesslike, but the truth was it still hurt. Not Matthew’s deeds so much as her own naivety and quickness to trust. She’d gone against her brother’s wishes, she’d ignored his warnings, and she’d paid the price.

  ‘I want to show you something tomorrow.’

  The change of subject surprised her. She lifted a single brow, waiting for him to continue.

  ‘The gallery, here in the palace. Will you come and see it with me?’

  Her stomach looped. ‘I’d like to,’ she said, truthfully. ‘But my schedule is already jam-packed.’

  ‘Your schedule has been revised.’

  She stared at him in surprise. ‘Revised why?’

  ‘In light of the security concerns today...’

  ‘That was an angry man with a coffee,’ she corrected, shaking her head. ‘You had no business interfering with the arrangements my state department made.’

  ‘Your safety is my priority.’ He lowered his voice. ‘As it is theirs—they were also anxious we limit your exposure to uncontrollable elements.’

  ‘You mean people?’

  He smiled, but she wasn’t amused. Frustration shifted through her.

  ‘Amir, I’m here to do a job. I want to do it.’

  ‘And you can,’ he promised. ‘The higher profile events are still there. Your schedule has been curtailed, that is all.’ He ran his eyes over her face slowly. ‘But if you disagree, then have it reinstated.’ He lifted his broad shoulders, but he might as well have been pulling on a string that ran right to her heart. She felt it ping and twinge. ‘I trust your judgement.’

  The string pulled again. Her heart hurt.

  I trust your judgement. No one had ever said that to her before.

  She lifted a palm to his cheek. ‘Thank you for caring.’

  His eyes widened and she saw something like shock in the depths of his eyes before he muted it, assuming an expression that was ironic. ‘You’re my guest in Ishkana. It’s my job to care.’

  Boundaries. How insistent he’d been on those boundaries, right from the start. He was insisting on them now, just not in so many words.

  ‘I’ll defer to you,’ she said. ‘On this matter only.’

  He laughed, shaking his head. ‘Heaven forbid you defer on anything else.’

  Her own smile came naturally, but she knew what was at the root of her capitulation. A lighter schedule meant she could sneak more time with him. Her time in Taquul was almost at an end. They had to make the most of the days they had left.

  ‘Your Majesty.’ Ahmed’s expression showed worry. ‘It’s four in the morning. Where have you been?’

  Amir hadn’t expected to be discovered returning to the palace. He stared at Ahmed, a frown on his face, wondering for a moment what he should say before realising he didn’t have to say anything. He answered to no one.

  ‘Did you want something?’

  Ahmed continued to stare at Amir. His hair was wet, and, while he’d pulled his pants on, he’d left his robe off for the walk back to the palace. He had it thrown over one arm now. He’d been too distracted to dress.

  ‘If you’re going to insist on monopolising me, then I shall have to think of a form of payback.’

  ‘Oh? What do you have in mind?’

  She’d straddled him, taking him deep within her, and leaned over him so her dark hair teased his shoulders. ‘What if I told you I have no intention of wearing underwear tomorrow, Amir?’

  A smile flicked at his lips as the memory seared his blood. Desire whipped him. It was practically daylight, and still he found he couldn’t wait to see her again.

  ‘Yes, sir. There’s been an intelligence report. A band of vigilantes is forming in the foothills.’

  Amir heard the words with a heavy heart, the statement jolting him back to the present, regretfully pushing all thoughts of Johara and her promise from his mind. ‘Well, that didn’t take long.’

  ‘No, sir.’ Ahmed’s voice was similarly weighted.

  ‘Damn it.’ Amir dragged a hand through his hair. ‘Give me twenty minutes then meet me in my office. Have Zeb join us,’ he said, referring to the head of the security agency.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Your hair is like a bird’s nest,’ Athena chastised with a smile. ‘What in the world happened?’

  Johara smiled, remembering every detail of the night before. ‘I went swimming.’ The words emerged before she could catch them. Her eyes met Athena’s in the mirror. ‘Alone. Last night. I found a stream and it was so hot, and no one was around...’

  Athena stared at Johara as though she were losing her mind. ‘Your Highness...’

  Johara sighed, reaching up and putting a hand on Athena’s. ‘It’s fine. No one saw me.’

  She could see the fight being waged inside Athena. Their relationship was strange. While they were friends, it was a friendship that existed in a particular way. Athena would never overstep what she considered to be her place, despite the fact Johara often wished she would.

  ‘What is it, Thena?’ She pronounced her friend’s name ‘Thayna’, as she always did when she wanted to set aside their professional roles and be simply two women who’d known each other a long time.

  Athena’s smile, though, showed the conversation was at an end. ‘I was just thinking how to style it. A bun will hide the mess.’

  ‘These are your parents?’ She stopped walking, staring at the beautifully executed portrait, her eyes lingering on every detail.

  ‘Yes.’ At her side, Amir was very still. ‘Painted the year of their marriage.’

  ‘She’s beautiful.’ And she was. The artist had captured something in his mother’s features that made Johara feel a tug to the other woman. She shifted her gaze to Amir’s, conscious that servants surrounded them so keeping a discreet distance and a cool look pinned to her face. ‘You have her eyes.’


  He returned her look but it was futile. It didn’t matter how cool either of them attempted to appear, heat sparked from him to her, making her fingertips tingle with an impulse to reach out and touch. She ached to drag her teeth across his collarbone, to flick her tongue in the indentation of his clavicle, to run her fingertips up his sides until he grabbed her and pinned her to the wall...

  Her cheeks flushed, and she knew he recognised it because his attention shifted lower in her face and a mocking smile crept over his mouth—mocking himself or her, she didn’t know.

  She turned away from him, moving a little further down the hallway, her gaze sliding across the next painting—another couple. ‘My grandparents,’ he supplied. The next had her feet stilling, to study it properly.

  ‘It’s you.’

  It jolted him—the painting had been done when he was only a small boy. ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘Your eyes,’ she said seriously. ‘And your smile.’

  Ahmed had moved closer without either of them realising, and caught her observation, a small frown on his face. ‘I beg your pardon, Your Majesty.’ He addressed Amir alone.

  ‘What is it?’ Amir’s impatience was obvious.

  ‘There’s an update, on the matter we discussed this morning. Zeb has the information. He’s waiting in your office.’

  Amir’s brow creased in consternation but he nodded, turning back to Johara. ‘I have to deal with this.’

  Disappointment crested inside her. Perhaps Amir sensed it because he lowered his voice, though Ahmed stood at his elbow. ‘I won’t be long.’

  It was too obvious. Heat sparked in Johara’s cheeks. She looked away, nodding with what she hoped appeared disinterest. ‘It’s no bother, Your Majesty. I have plenty here with which to occupy myself.’

  Amir didn’t stay a moment longer than necessary. He turned on his heel and stalked down the corridor. Johara watched until he’d turned a corner, before realising that Ahmed was still there, his eyes intent on her face.

  She forced a polite smile. ‘The artwork here is first class.’

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  Frosty. Disapproving. She turned away from him, telling herself she didn’t care. She continued to tour the gallery, each painting deserving far more attention than she gave it. She couldn’t focus on anything other than Amir.