She was quiet as the limousine pulled her through the small settlements that lined the airport, then the old city with its ancient, low-set buildings and familiar aroma of spice and heat. Before long, the road gave way to desert, and then, the palace loomed, a stronghold, a mythical centre of ancient lore, the home to the royal family of Ras el Kida, in one form or another, for as long as the country’s memory stretched.
The sun was setting low beyond the palace walls and a frisson of anticipation ran down her spine. It was almost night time, and night time meant Raffa.
Desire flared like a flame in her gut, heat ran through her veins and her face was warm with memories. Memories like splinters of photographs, showing passion from different nights. His tongue running along her jaw bone, his fingers at her waist, his body pressed to hers.
How could she still want him with this desperate, all-consuming need? Would it ever end? Would she ever be cured of her Raffa addiction?
The limousine drew to a close in the secure entrance of the palace – even at this hour, there was a handful of tourists and media milling about, looking to catch a glimpse of the royal family.
It was strange how she’d become used to that, used to the interest her being a princess could inspire.
It was why she could never have consulted a doctor locally – why she could never have risked being followed to a hospital that specialized in obstetrics. Even a hint of difficulties in that area would lead to gossip and the kind of political weakness that could potentially make things very difficult for Raffa. Worse – rumours that she were pregnant might begin to flow, and they’d be unbearable if there was no basis in fact.
The door to the limousine opened and she stepped out, expecting to see one of the servants who refused to meet her eyes. But instead, it was her husband.
Her husband had come to her car, and opened the door, and her heart, oh, her heart! It wasn’t prepared for that. She hadn’t yet marshalled her defenses and assembled her barriers. She wasn’t able to look at him with cool disdain when the memories of their intimacy had been burning her alive only moments earlier.
“What are you doing here?” The question was breathless.
She stepped further away from the car, towards the palace, waiting for him to walk with her. In those vital few seconds of space and distance, she got her raging pulse under control, steadying herself with several deep, calm inhalations.
“How was your trip?”
She plastered a smile to her face. “Very informative.”
Was she imagining the way his eyes clung to her for a second too long? Did he know the real reason she’d gone to Bern?
No.
She was imagining things; being paranoid. Her guilty conscience was fooling her, that was all.
“I’m glad. I’d like to hear more about your work here. I haven’t asked you enough about it.”
Chloe’s stomach rolled. “Oh. There’s nothing… interesting. It’s just fundraising.”
He pressed his hand lightly to her elbow, stilling her. The servants who followed stopped, leaving a respectful distance, so they had the semblance of privacy. “You’re being unnecessarily modest.”
Chloe met his eyes – it was a mistake. The moon had just crested over the palace, slicing through them, and the air was still heated with the balmy desert winds of the day.
When their eyes locked, she felt it.
Magic.
Destiny.
Fate.
Love.
She held her breath and spun away from him, moving faster towards the palace. She didn’t see the way Raffa’s expression darkened, the way he ground his teeth together as he followed her. She didn’t know that guilt and recriminations were heavy in his chest.
But as she moved ahead of him, almost as though she couldn’t bear to be with him, Raffa knew something had to change.
“Chloe?”
She paused, without turning to face him.
Here, inside the palace, they were surrounded by servants, guests, people were everywhere.
He lowered his voice accordingly. “I have a dinner to attend this evening.”
Something like despair kicked in her gut. “Oh.” She knew she hadn’t hidden it. She kept her eyes focused on something over his shoulder.
“But there’s something I’d like to show you tomorrow. I’ve had your schedule cleared. Can you be ready at dawn?”
“Dawn?” She frowned, the surprise enquiry jerking her gaze to his. “Whatever for?”
His smile was enigmatic and gave little away; nor did it reach the depths of his swirling, dark eyes. “You’ll see.”
And then, he leaned forward, just a fraction, as though he was going to kiss her. As though he was going to press a kiss to her lips and she braced for that sweet, unexpected gesture.
Yet it didn’t eventuate. He straightened again, blinking, his smile tight. He looked, she realized, like a man with the world on his shoulders – heavy with concern. “Goodnight, Sheikha.”
“Goodnight.” The word was cool enough, but there was nothing cold about the way she felt.
She tossed and turned all night, despite the exhaustion that had chased her back from Switzerland. It was no hardship to rise at dawn – she’d barely been asleep.
She dressed in a pretty robe, a pale blue with gold leaves printed across it, and her hair she styled into a simple bun. The sun was rising and the air was still cool, hanging on to the night’s respite from that desert sun.
He opened the door without knocking, and his eyes went straight to the bed, as though expecting her to still be asleep. Was that disappointment in his expression?
She arched a brow from where she stood, sipping a sweet tea near the balcony, watching day claim its place over the formidable lands of Ras el Kida.
“You’re awake.”
“As you asked me to be,” she pointed out archly.
He nodded. “Then let’s go.”
He gestured towards the door and with no hint of the confusion she felt, she walked through it.
He showed her through the palace, towards the garden that led to the cliff the palace backed against, to the trees and the river that Amit had skimmed stones over. But instead of pursuing that path, they turned in another direction, and within minutes, found themselves at a large stone building with several arches carved into its edges.
“What is this place?”
A loud neighing sound answered and she smiled. “Never mind.”
“Do you ride?”
Chloe lifted her brows. “I grew up in Seattle. The closest I ever came to a horse was the mounted patrol.”
“Your brother’s an excellent horseman,” Raffa said with a hint of disapproval in the words. Disapproval towards her? She flicked her gaze to her husband’s face, but saw something else there. Anger. Not with her – she didn’t know how she recognized that, but she did.
“My father had horses,” Chloe said, remembering wistfully the beautiful brown beasts that she’d seen photographs of when she’d been just a girl. Perhaps eight or ten?
“Yes.” There it was again! Disapproval! But why?
“Come.” He kept walking. “We have to hurry if we’re to beat the sun.”
She tossed a glance towards the horizon, where black was bleeding gold and pink, glistening with the promise of the new day.
“Beat it where?”
He sent her a glance that was teasing and birthed a million butterflies in her tummy. “You’ll see.”
When they rounded the corner, several servants stood, dressed in black with silver threads at their cuffs. It was a different uniform to what she was used to seeing.
“My stable team,” he said, waving a hand towards them. They bowed low; no one looked at her.
Chloe was used to that.
Raffa spoke in Ras el Kidan, the words fast so that Chloe – although proficient – caught only the gist of what he was saying. Saddle. One. Bag.
She followed the hasty movements of the men, as they led on
e horse away and focused on the other, removing the saddle, leaving only clips around his spectacular middle section, and a rolled bag on either side.
She had often thought Raffa was like a wild beast, and looking at this beautiful animal, the comparison was impossible to miss. The rippling, dark muscles, the intelligent, all-seeing eyes rimmed with dark lashes, the unmistakable strength and energy.
Within minutes, the servants were standing in a line. Raffa spoke to them curtly, “Away now.”
Chloe almost chided him for his rudeness, but when he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the horse without warning, she understood why he’d dispatched with the audience.
“Apparently there’s no elegant way to mount a horse in a dress,” she said, using humour to deflect her embarrassment. What must she have looked like as he settled her on the beast? She didn’t have long to recover. Within seconds he was right there with her, his own body easily lifting up onto the horse, so that he sat tightly behind her, his legs locking hers to the animal’s sides, one arm curling around her waist to steady her.
Every single nerve ending reverberated with awareness.
“Where are we going?” The question was husky and she was glad he wasn’t looking at her to see the way she’d sucked her lower lip between her teeth, the way her pupils were dilated in her eyes.
“You’ll see.” He breathed the words against her neck, and goosebumps chased themselves over her body in response. “Ready?”
“How can I be ready if I don’t know where we’re going?”
“You strike me as someone who’s ready for just about anything.”
It wasn’t necessarily a compliment and yet it fired pleasure inside of her. Before she could respond, he kicked the side of the horse and made a grunting sound, so the animal lurched forward. His other hand came around Chloe, taking the reins, so that she was firmly imprisoned by his body, held tight in a way that made every part of her aware of him.
And it wasn’t only his nearness, it was the magic of the morning. The clearness of the sky as he brought her out of the stable yard and down a narrow track that gave way to sand. It was the twinkling of stubborn stars overhead and the fragrance of the desert, the musty smell of the horse, and the man behind her, yes.
He rode hard and fast, racing the sun’s progress. It must have been at least an hour without a single word passing from him to her, and yet she felt every single shift of his body. The tightening of the reins, the lurching of his legs, and pleasure was coiling inside of her like a snake ready to strike.
She’d never been this far from the palace – not across the desert – and it was impossible not to be awe-struck by the sheer size of its expanse. In every direction there was sand, and more sand, and now that the sun was up, warmth was surrounding them. He rode harder and faster and the sameness of her view altered, showing a shape on the horizon. He was riding them towards it, so she watched intently, her eyes squinting as they drew nearer. Buildings!
No, ruins, she clarified, as they got close enough for her to make out the details. They were the colour of the desert, as if they’d organically risen from the ground, as though they were of this land. Perhaps forty houses, all two story, built side by side, with no roofs that she could see – flat at the top, and open windows. There was an odd kind of vegetation that had grown through the ruins, marking its ochre colour with green veins in places.
“What is this place?” She asked, her voice discordant from disuse.
“The ruins of Shakam al abut.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“I’m not surprised.” The horse’s hooves made a clicking sound and when Chloe looked down she recognised paved stones beneath them. Raffa stilled the beast and then leaped off with his easy athleticism, keeping a hold of the reins. Chloe felt his absence immediately.
He spoke a few words to the animal and then reached for Chloe. She wanted to tell him she could get down herself, but the horse was almost twice her height and if she’d felt inelegant being foisted onto him earlier that morning, she was pretty sure she’d look even worse dropping to her bottom.
Raffa gripped Chloe’s waist and lifted her easily, despite the fact she was higher than he, sliding her down his body in a way that was like striking a match to oil. She was already throbbing with need, the ride across the desert having been a form of sensual torture, so that now, feeling him so close, she ached to wrap her hands around his waist and stand up on tiptoes, to cleave her lips to his and taste him.
Perhaps something in her expression gave her away because he made a guttural sound and stepped back, as though she’d burned him.
He busied himself tethering the horse to the edge of a building and when he turned back to Chloe, she was herself again. Outwardly, at least.
“This settlement was built on a small spring – any of these places were. It was the only way they could survive out here.”
“It’s remarkable.”
“Yes.” He put a hand in the small of her back, guiding her forward and she inhaled deeply, breathing him in, reveling in the small contact.
“When was it built?”
“Some of the foundations date back to the twelfth century--,”
“So old?”
“Yes. Here, look.” He crouched down so Chloe had to use every ounce of willpower to ignore the way his powerful legs flexed, the way his body was athletic even in this simple motion. He scraped away some of the scrambling vines and tapped a dark stone. “This is Sharni rock, quarried from about twenty miles in that direction.”
“How on earth did they get it here?”
“How did they build the pyramids?” His eyes held Chloe’s so her stomach lurched and she looked away.
He stood, dusting his hands on the front of his pants. “Most of what you see though was built in the seventeenth century. It was a thriving community – a halfway point between the old city and the sea – where modern Qadim is. Trade thrived because there was a constant stream of travelers, moving south.”
“It’s amazing. I had no idea.”
He turned to look at her. “That’s my fault. I have not taken the time to educate you in the ways of my – our – people, as I should have. I expected you to love this country because I do, without making any effort to show you what is so unique about us, as a people.”
Her heart crashed into her ribs. “I do love Ras el Kida. I do love our people.”
“That is a reflection on the goodness of your heart.”
She bit down on her lip as she fell into step beside him. If only he knew! If only he knew how much she loved his country, his people… and him.
If only he knew that she was kept awake at night worrying that she wouldn’t be able to give him what he, and his people, needed most of all. And how, in her darkest moments, she chased that doubt down a deep, cloying rabbit hole of despair.
Only the knowledge that Amit was a viable heir kept her from pure panic.
“This was a lodging house,” he said, gesturing to a hole in the side of a building. She didn’t know if it had been destroyed by human hands, or the winds of time and this inhospitable desert, but the hole took up half of the building.
“Is it safe to go in?”
He nodded. “Engineers inspect the ruins each year, reinforcing any elements that are weakening. It’s an important part of our heritage; future generations should have an opportunity to see them for themselves.”
“So other people come here?”
“There are ruins in the East and North that are open to the public. These are on palace land. For security reasons, they’re kept empty most of the time.”
“I had no idea palace land stretched so far.”
“Much of this desert,” he said with a nod. “My father reduced it as much as was possible, but there is a great sense of pride in the palace and the heritage that accompanies it.”
She moved inside the ruin and drew in a breath. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it hadn’t
been this.
“There’s furniture in here!” She said excitedly. “And carpets. Oh, the most beautiful carpets.” She moved to one that was hanging on the wall, a rich burgundy with gold threads, an intricate pattern almost like water made when reflecting on a ceiling. “It’s stunning. Surely this should be in a museum?”
“This is a museum, of sorts. Look at how you felt, stepping into this other world.”
“It’s like walking into the past,” she murmured with a small nod, going from room to room, marveling at the enormous cushions that were scattered on the floor, tables made of dark timber, copper drinking vessels and shishas, and in the corner, a sita.
“I can close my eyes and see this as it would have been, hundreds of years ago.”
He was right behind her. “It’s just how I feel.”
“Do you come here much?” she asked, as she moved towards stones that were carved into steps.
“Less so now,” he said, the words deep and husky. “But as a child, I would ride out whenever I could.”
“Unaccompanied?”
His smile was distracted. “Yes. Not by design, but I was skilled at escaping.”
She lifted a brow. “You didn’t like being told what to do even then?”
“Never,” he agreed. “I worry for you, because I have no doubt our child will be just the same. Then you’ll have two of us to deal with.”
Chloe almost missed her footing. “You never know,” she said lightly. “Our child might take after me. I always did as I was told.”
Chloe moved ahead of Raffa, who froze on the bottom step. A metallic taste filled his mouth at her idle, throwaway comment.
Chloe was right; she was the quintessential good girl. She’d done everything that had been asked of her, including marrying him.
And now, giving him a baby.
God, how had he not seen it sooner? He was every bit as responsible as her father for this. He had taken her good-natured compliance and used it to his advantage every step of the way.
“Raffa! Look!” She squealed, and he knew why. The bedroom upstairs was the most well-preserved room in the town.
Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees... Page 14
