Her smile was wistful, her heart twisting.
“So you see, Khalifa, my memories of them are so beautiful, I can’t bear to disappoint them, even in death.”
He sipped his own coffee, keeping his eyes locked to her face.
“I get that the whole arranged marriage thing is weird to you. I get that you find it strange. But when I agreed to go through with it, I felt closer to them.”
Khalifa, for perhaps the first time in his life, bit back the opinion that had come to his lips. Her parents might have loved her, but they’d still sold her into a family that was as mysterious as it was duplicitous. They had banked on political and financial reward and he couldn’t ignore that.
But it wasn’t Kylie’s fault. She’d made a decision he wasn’t sure he’d ever understand, but somehow, talking to her was making it clearer.
He frowned, focussing on their conversation – the point of their meeting.
“We have several charities that are similar to this,” he said finally. “Aïna will provide you with the information and you may select whichever most closely aligns with your ideas. Becoming their patron will endow them with an annuity and a higher profile.”
“That’s amazing,” she said after several seconds. “Funding was something we really struggled with back home. I mean…orphans. It’s not exactly a sexy charity. It’s so sad and bleak and funding was incredibly hard to come by. We needed more therapists. More play spaces and sports programs. I love the idea of finally being able to make a difference.” A thought occurred to her and she spoke without thinking. “Could I… could be a patron for that charity? For Little Minds?”
He sat further back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “You are my wife. A Sheikha of Argenon. Your focus must be here.”
She nodded. He was right, of course. A sense of disappointment was swallowed by awareness, when he reached over and put his hand on hers. “This is your life now. It is better that you forget about Sydney, and look to the future.”
Chapter 9
KHALIFA STARED AT THE chancellor with every appearance of listening. But he wasn’t. Not really. His mind, usually as sharp as a tack and focussed on whatever he decided to turn his attention to, was slipping around like a fish on dry land.
He’d stayed with his wife an hour in the end, watching as she took dainty mouthfuls of her breakfast and thought through every answer she gave him.
Had she always been so cautious?
He thought back to Sydney, a frown on his face.
She’d been overwhelmed then, totally surprised by the chemistry between them. Had that been her inexperience?
He rubbed a hand over his square jaw, feeling the stubble with fingertips that ached to instead be enjoying the soft smoothness of his wife’s body.
“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?”
Her question, at the end of their meeting, had surprised him. The soft way she’d spoken, the hurt he’d caught in her eyes before she’d blinked and settled her features so that he wondered if he’d imagined the emotion altogether.
“Would you like to talk about it, azeezi?”
Dear God, the way her teeth sunk into the pillowy softness of her lower lip, and her eyes had flicked away from him. Her throat had moved, a delicate shift as she’d swallowed, it had brought his attention to the bruising from Fayez and his body had practically frozen. With a need to make love to her. Gently, softly, slowly. To bring her pleasure, and erase any pain she’d ever felt.
“I’m not sure.”
The ambivalence of her response had done something to him. Had made him wonder if far from removing her pains, he wasn’t inflicting new ones.
“Sir?” He frowned. A slash in his handsome face. “Would you like us to proceed?”
“I wasn’t listening,” he said, without feeling a need to apologise or explain. He scraped his chair back and addressed his Principal without looking in his direction. “Clear my afternoon, Thaida.”
“Yes, sir.”
The night before, Khalifa had told himself there was only one way to push unpleasant and unwanted thoughts from his mind.
And while satisfying, it wasn’t strictly true.
When Selena had first come to live at the palace, after leaving Fayez, Khalifa had needed to channel his rage and impotence into something. Something that would stop him from pummelling the other man into a bloodied heap.
He strode into the stables and towards his Arabian Steed. The servants bowed low but Khalifa ignored them.
Something was burning in his gut and if he didn’t ride, he knew it would control him. He took the steed’s bridle, guiding him out of the stall and then swinging up onto his saddled back.
The horse made a noise of greeting and Khalifa leaned lower, stroking the beast’s thick black mane. “Let’s go.” He spoke in his own language and kicked the side of the horse so that he set off sharply. Khalifa twisted the reins, guiding the horse out. Away from the palace, away from the chancellor, his Principal. And away from his wife.
He rode fast and hard, deep into the private royal desert. He rode until the wind had pulled his hair from the bun he wore it in, until the sun was heating his back and his body felt the heady pain that came with riding hard and furiously.
Then, he turned the beast around and stared back at his palace; his kingdom; his world.
“I just … I don’t really understand what you want from me.”
The quiet, plaintive statement as he’d been about to leave. The way she’d shown her emotions fully in that moment. Her sense of confusion; her need for him to reassure her.
But she hadn’t been the only one at a loss. He didn’t understand what he wanted from her. “I married you,” he’d shrugged. “I got what I wanted.”
“Because of the political stuff,” she’d nodded, her eyes wide in her face. “I was reading about it last night. About my family, that is, the Maha Ishans and the Haddids, and you. Your family…”
His eyes had glinted. “Then you know why I had to make you mine.”
Her face had paled at his use of the possessive phrase. He knew she didn’t like the idea of someone being owned. Hell, nor did he. But for a woman who’d willingly taken millions of dollars in payment for her eventual hand in marriage, the concept seemed utterly appropriate.
“Because if I’d married Fayez it would have been a threat to your rule?”
Khalifa hadn’t been able to meet her eyes then. The lie was not a difficult one to discover. His power was absolute. The Haddad family were no true threat to him, besides for riling up a few quarters of government that would always be looking to stir trouble.
No, wanting to marry Kylie had far more to do with hurting Fayez. It had everything to do with Selena.
And he didn’t want to admit as much to anyone; least of all his new wife.
And so he’d kissed her. Suddenly, quickly, giving her no time to recognise his intent, nor to react. He’d dropped his head and plundered her mouth, groaning as she’d submitted to him, as she’d offered herself to him instantly. Her body cleaved to his and her kiss was filled with the same passion that stirred in him.
Only a need to control that passion saw him step backwards just as suddenly as he’d kissed her, his eyes glinting unknowingly with speculation. “You have a busy day, lanaria. Dry your hair. Smile.”
And he’d left, without waiting to see if she did smile. If she did anything. If he’d stayed a moment longer, he might have seen bewilderment be chased from her face by frustration and annoyance, and then the way she’d leant back against the wall, needing its support badly.
Khalifa pulled the horse to a complete stop, his easy ability to control the enormous, elegant creature something he took for granted. He’d always been able to control everyone, everything. Except Selena.
And now, his desire for his wife.
It was unwelcome.
Surprising.
And utterly distracting.
* * *
Kylie
stifled a yawn. It was only four o’clock, but her night had been disturbed and her day had been busy. She was exhausted.
“That’s enough for today.” Aïna, ever watchful, emerged from the side of the room, her manner strict as she addressed the women who had come to speak to Kylie about the décor of her apartment. Apparently she could have it fitted out in any way she wished. The idea that she was happy with the existing furnishings was something people were finding difficult to grasp.
“We have only two more albums…” The older woman murmured, reaching into the portfolio at her side.
“Enough.” Aïna was firm. “The Sheikha is finished for the day.”
Kylie was. Her head was swimming with all the information she’d been presented with. So many decisions to make and none of them seeming that important to Kylie. She had tried to involve herself in matters such as when the public day of celebration would be for her birthday and when she might be able to sit for an official portrait, but apathy was seeping into her bones. Or perhaps it was boredom.
These matters were inconsequential.
They were not what filled her mind.
She stretched restlessly and stood, the beautiful dress from that morning still feeling like something floaty and magical; like something from a dream.
“It looks hot out there,” she remarked, moving towards the doors that led to her balcony.
“Yes, ma’am. A warm one.”
“Still…” She pulled a door inwards. Heat rushed her as though from an oven. She took a breath and stepped out. And smiled.
Though Sydney was humid and this was dry, the sun was the same. Strong and enlivening. She held her hands over her head.
“Can I send some ice tea up?”
“No, thank you. I thought… perhaps I might go for a walk.”
“Oh, yes.” Aïna nodded. “I’ll call for your maids.”
“No, no,” Kylie’s laugh was soft. “I don’t need maids. I’ll stay within the palace.”
“Oh…”
“Really, Aïna. I’ve spent the whole day in company. I’d like to be by myself for a while.”
Aïna’s indecision was obvious, but eventually, she nodded. “You will ask for help if you need it.”
“Of course. What do you think? I’m going to get lost? Perhaps I should leave a trail of breadcrumbs as I go.”
It was only a joke, but after half an hour of wandering, Kylie realised with bemusement that she had no damned clue where she was. She paused at a large window, trying to orientate herself from the location of the city and the desert, and drew a blank. To the best of her recollection, she was on the opposite side of the building to her suite of rooms. She could see the fringe of the desert, but there were trees too, hundreds of them, and they called to her.
Telling herself there’d be servants to help her find her way back, she kept walking until she came to a large, wide marble staircase. There were perhaps thirty steps, all sunken in the middle from years of use. She practically ran down and, sure enough, at the doors that led to the exit, four guards stood immobile.
Fear tripped in her heart, as though she was perhaps doing something wrong, something they would prevent her from completing, but they didn’t so much as acknowledge her as she moved through the door.
A small smile of satisfaction curled her lips.
Good.
The path beyond the palace was landscaped but it gave way quickly to the grove of trees she’d seen from inside. Up close, she realised it was an orchard of sorts, though not like the ones she’d seen back home. There was nothing organised or orderly about this. The fruit trees seemed to grow at random, forming a forest of sorts. Fragrant and heady, and utterly wild. She moved beneath the branches – the temperature dropped several degrees in the luxuriant shade – and she pulled a citrus from one of the trees as she passed. Strange that it was in fruit now, when the weather was so warm. She peeled its outer layer – a mottled orange and pink, and found it to be like a cross between a blood orange and mandarin. Easily segmented but with the most vibrant ruby cover.
She groaned as she ate the first quarter, then greedily finished it before reaching for another. She’d never tasted anything so incredible. The flesh was juicy and sweet and it dribbled down her chin. She actually laughed as she peeled the second orb, moving faster now, her energy returning. She breathed in the sweetness of the air, lifting a hand and tickling the underside of the trees. A bird made a squawk – it was faraway and she changed direction, moving out of the thickness of the fruit orchard and finding open sky.
She saw it overhead. An eagle? Something with an incredibly wide wingspan. She watched it circle and then move further into the distance. Towards the desert. Her heart was racing – but she wasn’t afraid.
She was alive.
The sky with its brilliant blue and the trees so green and lush, the fruit so sweet, the air so warm, the desert shimmering like diamond dust in the distance. She sighed, a blissful sound of contentment and rightness and then she was very still. A rhythmic noise she’d missed at first filled her eardrums. It was fast and far away. Curious, she moved further out of the trees, and scrambled up a grass hill, almost slipping and reaching out to steady herself with a thin branch of a tree.
It had a spike which slit her finger but she didn’t slow down, simply lifted her finger to her mouth and sucked the cut and then went higher, her eyes roaming the desert, seeking the source of the noise.
It was closer now. Louder. Like a fast-beating drum.
Her eyes chased it and then, she sucked in a breath.
Khalifa, looking more wild and regal than any man had a right to, on a horse that was at least twice the size of any she’d ever seen. She crouched down instinctively, but her eyes didn’t leave his body.
Magnificent.
It was the only word she could find to describe him as he rode, so fast, so hard, bent low over the beast. She could just make out his mouth’s movements, but of course not hear what he was saying. His hair was loose, and long, and it chased after him, a black curtain as wild as the man himself.
She stared – how could she not? He was the picture of strength and virility and on this hot day, her temperature soared. A rivulet of sweat ran between her breasts and she fanned her face, hunger swamping her, desire something she felt burst through her.
He turned the horse away from the palace, moving deeper into the desert once more. She crouched lower, her eyes chasing him all the way, hypnotised by the swift movements of the beast, the power with which it kicked sand behind itself, and the way Khalifa seemed almost to be a part of the horse.
He turned then, unexpectedly, running the horse at a right angle, parallel to the palace’s gardens, before swinging around, and for a moment, she lost sight of him. She stood on autopilot, refusing to relinquish the pleasure she’d gained from the sight of his strength and virility.
It was a need she couldn’t properly explain, but watching him had filled her with such a sense of pleasure. She needed more. She turned one way and then the other, unable to hear the horse now over the racing of her pulse - it was an angry torrent of ocean in her ears, as unrelenting as it was unavoidable.
The bird flapped overhead, its large wings momentarily blocking out the sun. Kylie looked upwards, a frown on her face as she tried to recognise it from the markings under its wings. Strange that she wasn’t at all afraid – had she known then that a deadly predator was eyeing her, she might have sought cover.
But in that moment, Kylie could simply stare at the bird, and yes, compare it in some ways to her powerful husband. The grace, the energy, the masculinity, the strength. It was a thing of intense fascination.
It was moving closer to her now. Not lower, but nearing her direction, and it occurred to her then that perhaps she shouldn’t be drawing its attention. She frowned, hands on hips, and returned her attention to the desert.
Just as Khalifa appeared to her right, his body hunched low over the steed until he pulled it to a stop, right beside h
er.
He was hot, his face beaded with perspiration, but he swung from the horse as though it weren’t almost two metres off the ground. His eyes held hers and he made a noise, something loud and deep. She startled at the newness and foreigness of it but didn’t otherwise move.
The bird, larger than it had seemed at first, circled directly above them now and then landed on his outstretched arm. He reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulled something out – dried food? – and gave it to the bird. Its eyes were yellow – as bright as sunflower petals, but more glistening. Kylie took a step closer, mesmerised.
“What is it?”
“A Pharoah’s Eagle,” he said, his own voice husked. “Bred for the Sheikh of Argenon for as long as there’s been one.” He made another noise and the bird flew off a little way, back into the sky, across the desert and then down, out of sight.
“It’s beautiful.”
“He is a dangerous predator, azeezi. You are fortunate to still have eyes in your head.”
She paled. “I didn’t know.”
“Obviously not.” He lifted a hand to the horse’s mane, stroking it and retrieving something else from the pocket of his robe. Another piece of dried food. He held it out for the horse, who took it gratefully, stomping his feet in appreciation and shaking his regal head.
“You’re hot.” Khalifa held a hand out to her then, and closer, the scent of him was knee-bucklingly perfect. Sand, heat, sweat, strength. She curved her cheek into his palm as he assessed her temperature for himself. “You shouldn’t be this far from the palace without your maids.“
MARRYING HER ENEMY & STOLEN BY THE DESERT KING Page 23
