Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees...

by Clare Connelly

  “You already said that. That this is a thrill for him.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “That does not seem fair on you.”

  “Not in this case,” she agreed moodily, compressing her lips. “But he doesn’t think it through. He’s… just a bit… damaged.”

  “Why?” Tamir probed curiously. She was tired. Though he hadn’t known her long, he could see that her eyes had purple smudges beneath them, and her skin was so pale it was almost translucent.

  The urge to confide in Tamir was strange. It went beyond wanting to buy her freedom. It was a bigger requirement than that. “Jack and I lost our fathers at the same time.” She dropped her eyes away, and padded quietly over to the bed. She sat on the edge of it, and stared at the deep turquoise fabric of her dress. “My dad died suddenly. I wasn’t prepared. Jack’s father passed after a long battle with alcoholism. His demise had been obvious for years.”

  “I am sorry to hear about your father.”

  “I don’t want to talk about my dad,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

  “Why not?” Tamir demanded, refusing to soften his stance or voice.

  “Because if he weren’t already dead, seeing me like this would kill him.” She blinked away the tears that threatened to moisten her eyes. “Anyway, we were talking about Jack.”

  He nodded, but he felt something shift inside of him. “Go on.” Still, he didn’t move.

  “Jack’s father made his life a living hell. He was abusive. Physically and emotionally. He verbally eviscerated him at every opportunity he ever got.” She shook her head. “He drank far too much and he was not a kind man after a drink.” She shook her head wistfully. “The last thing he said to Jack was that his biggest regret in life was having Jack for a son.”

  Tamir shook his head. His own father had been an excellent man, and a guiding role model Tamir had admired hugely. “I can imagine that must have been difficult, but it does not justify such blatant disregard for decency. Not to mention the law.”

  “Don’t you get it? He’s trying to get in trouble. All his life, his father told him he was a piece of crap. That he was worthless and would never amount to anything. And even though Jack hated him, in my opinion, he misses him too. It’s like he’s trying to prove his dad right. Or something.” She shrugged. “I’m not a psychologist, but I know Jack. He’s got a fortune in the bank, yet he gets his kicks from criminal behaviour. He’s… kind of just broken.”

  Tamir rubbed a hand across his jaw. Was he crazy from exhaustion? Or had that made a strange sort of sense? “I do not condone theft,” he said, finally, uneasily.

  “Nor do I,” she whispered. “I am trying to help him through it, but there’s years of hurt to navigate.”

  “And why do you care so much?”

  She lifted her face, angling it towards his. Her eyes were sad, her mouth open in confusion. “Because he’s my friend. And I love him.” Tamir didn’t react, so Olivia was compelled to ask, “Don’t you have a friend like that? Someone you care about despite their imperfections? Someone who you can look beyond the crazy and see the goodness of their heart?”

  He laughed, and shook his head from side to side. “No. I’m not able to surround myself with people who might steal or murder me.”

  She shrugged. “You’re missing my point.”

  Tamir ran a hand through his hair, while his eyes studied every detail of his beautiful bride’s appearance. “I’m not, I assure you.” He wasn’t interested in hearing about Jack any longer. “You said your father would ‘die’ if he saw you like this. What did you mean?”

  Olivia closed her eyes and conjured the image of her father she always carried in her head. It brought a swell of emotion to her. “I was his little girl,” she said simply. “He wanted the best for me, and he was tireless in teaching me how to pursue that for myself. Being an antiquities appraiser was all I ever wanted. From childhood, I had a fascination for objects that were old. The way they can speak to you many years after their purpose has been answered.” She shrugged. “Dad saw it in me as a young girl. The way I’d traipse around flea markets, looking for buried treasure amongst the trash.” Her smile was whimsical. “He would not like to think of me having to… make decisions like this. To save a friend’s life.”

  Tamir angled his face so that she would not see the emotion her words had brought him. Shame, as strong as it was unfamiliar, almost buckled him. “There was nobility in your decision.” He said finally. And there had been. But not in his. What he had done, unashamedly, was to take what he wanted, anyway he could.

  She toyed with her fingers, in her lap. “I’m glad Jack is going to be okay.”

  Tamir cringed inwardly again. “You were close to your father?” He asked, trying to recollect the direction of their conversation.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He sighed. “It must have been hard for you, when he died?”

  “Why do you care?” She mumbled angrily.

  “Because you are my wife, and I wish to understand you better.”

  “Then perhaps you should have got to know me before kidnapping me and forcing me into a marriage I knew nothing about.” Her words were saccharine sweet, her lips pouted with frustration.

  He was unable to avoid the laugh that caught in his throat. “Perhaps I should have,” he agreed with a shrug. “But I didn’t. So answer my question.”

  She sighed heavily. She was rapidly coming to appreciate that Tamir was not a man who could be argued with easily. “Was it hard for me to lose my father as I did?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded slowly. “He was far more like me than my mother is. We were so alike. He was a feminist before his time.” She couldn’t help but smile as she remembered him. “Dad refused to allow me any girlish traits, as a child. While my friends did ballet and singing lessons, I was off doing three day hikes with dad.” She laughed. “He was a wonderful father, right up to the day he died.”

  “I see.” Tamir felt a pang of envy. For though he had loved and respected his own father, theirs had not been a close relationship. It was impossible to be truly close in the royal family. Their duties prevented it.

  Olivia was beautiful. A perfect bride; educated, intelligent and stunning. But she was exhausted and terrified. “You are tired. It is time for you to shower. Prepare for bed.”

  Her eyes were wide. “You mean… this bed? Here? With you?”

  He nodded, his expression mock-sombre as he closed the space between them and put his hands on her shoulders. “Relax, my beautiful princess. I have no interest in making your body sing as it can for mine. Not tonight. You’ve been through quite an ordeal today. You need to sleep.”

  She stood so that he wouldn’t see the searing disappointment on her face. As she scrubbed her body in the shower, she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of idiot she was. How could she still want him? Out of nowhere, her body seemed to burn with heat, as she recalled what it had felt like to have him moving inside her. His hands had tortured and pleasured her in equal measure. She moaned, remembering how desperately she’d wanted to stay in his bed forever and ever. Had that truly only been earlier that day? She shook her head, letting the water from the enormous shower run over her long blonde hair.

  When she emerged, warm and clean, and smelling like lavender, she wrapped herself in a towel and walked into their bedroom. Tamir was already in bed, sitting propped against the bedhead with a newspaper in hand. The gold and cream bedspread covered to his hips, but his chest was exposed, and bare. She gulped at the sight of his firm wall of muscles and looked away quickly.

  “Are there pyjamas in that wardrobe?”

  He didn’t look away from the paper. “Yes. Though don’t anticipate needing them too often, will you?”

  She sent him a withering look and waded into the wardrobe. It was enormous, and completely stocked. As she went through the clothes, she realised they were all in her size.

  “Tamir?” She asked, poking her he
ad around the wall. “Who organised this?”

  “One of my assistants,” he said disinterestedly. “Why?”

  “It’s just… it’s a lot of clothes. And they’re all in my size. It seems like a lot of work to have done very quickly.”

  “Not so quickly. It took us several hours to fly here.”

  She nodded. “Still…”

  Tamir put aside the newspaper he’d been reading with a sigh. “Though I would enjoy seeing you walk around naked all day, it didn’t feel entirely appropriate.”

  Olivia ground her teeth together. “And tricking me into marrying you is?”

  Tamir pushed the quilt aside. He was wearing white cotton boxer shorts, which showed off the deep caramel colour of his tan. He walked across to the wardrobe and stepped inside, immediately dwarfing it with his size. “Listen, Olivia. My security chief was braying for blood. He does not tolerate foreigners. And he has a particular dislike for foreign women. Though you don’t see it now, I have saved you and Jack from a world of hurt.”

  She shook her head. “Isn’t this your country?”

  “Yes. But the public reaction to the attempted theft would have been intense. The only way to ensure the news wouldn’t leak was by making you my wife. My people will now love and value you as they do me.”

  “So you really think you did me a favour?”

  He looked at her crestfallen face and mentally shook his head. Carefully, he responded, “I think I guaranteed your safety, yes.”

  She nodded, her heart squeezing in the hope that his motives hadn’t been so purely selfish after all. “Pyjamas?” She prompted throatily.

  He reached past her, for a drawer, and pulled a white cotton nightgown out.

  “See? How did you know that?”

  He laughed. “You’re so suspicious, aren’t you?”

  “Do you blame me?”

  He shook his head. “No. As for the pyjamas, they are in the same drawer in my wardrobe. It was a lucky guess.”

  “Oh.”

  “Put your arms up,” he said quietly, holding the neck hole above her head.

  Wordlessly, Olivia did as he said, and he slid the simple material down over her body.

  “I would have thought you’d choose some kind of satin negligee or something,” she murmured.

  He shook his head. “I wanted you to be comfortable for the desert nights.”

  Her stomach felt like she’d taken a dive on the rollercoaster. “I thought I wouldn’t need pyjamas.”

  He shrugged. “When you do, I want you to be comfortable.”

  Olivia frowned. Her gilded cage was seeming rather feathered with comforts. She reached down to pick up her towel and walked back to the bathroom, hooking it over the towel rack.

  “Someone will do that for you, you know,” Tamir smiled at her, when she returned to the bedroom.

  Olivia didn’t even want to start that conversation with him. She couldn’t imagine ever being comfortable leaving things lying around just because servants were able to pick them up.

  “Do you need to dry your hair?”

  She lifted a hand to her still-damp mop of blonde and shook her head. “It’s not too wet. Just damp, really.” She smothered a yawn. “I’m too tired tonight.”

  He frowned. It was late, and she needed to sleep. He had married her, meaning she was now his responsibility. He had to take better care of her. He reached over and lifted the quilt, so she could slip into the crisp white sheet.

  “Thank you,” she murmured tiredly, placing her head on the pillow.

  She would never have thought that she’d be able to sleep next to Tamir. He was too damned sexy to really make unconsciousness appealing. There were many things she’d prefer to be doing. Yet, within seconds of her head hitting the pillow, her eyes had drifted shut, and she was so asleep that she wasn’t even in a dream world.

  It happened so quickly. Tamir had just lifted his paper to return to the story he’d been attempting to read all evening, when Olivia’s breathing became rhythmic and regular.

  Asleep, she was even more beautiful than awake, for she was completely relaxed and contented. He stared down at her, with her fair skin and shining blonde hair, and he made a small sound of annoyance.

  He’d been acting on instinct all day, but now that she was asleep, he was alone with his thoughts. And one sentence kept banging accusingly around his brain.

  What the hell had he just done?

  Chapter Seven

  Tamir rolled over, surprised at first to find a warm body beside him.

  Olivia.

  Guilt washed over him, as he blinked and fixed her still-sleeping face with a gaze of curious fascination.

  Her blonde hair had been one of the first things he’d noticed about her. The night at the theatre, it had been a long mane of honey and sunshine. Now, it was a riot of corkscrew curls around her face. He reached out, unable to help himself, and lifted one, running his hands over it with a small frown of interest.

  Though his touch was gentle, it was sufficient to disturb his bride. “Tamir,” she said on a sigh, her eyes wide as she gazed up at his face. She smiled, slowly, invitingly, and then grimaced. He recognised the minute she remembered where she was, and why, and he regretted instantly the pain he’d brought her.

  However, it was done, and he could not simply ‘undo’ it.

  “Good morning,” he said quietly.

  She swallowed, and flicked her eyes away. “I slept so deeply,” she murmured. It had surprised her. She hadn’t stirred all night.

  “Your hair is different,” he pointed out quietly.

  “Curly.” She nodded, and lifted her eyes back to his face. She was self-conscious beneath his scrutiny.

  “It is lovely.”

  “Really?” She asked, pulling a face. “I always hated it.”

  “Please wear it like this from now on.”

  She pushed up onto her elbow, supporting her head with her palm. “Is that an order?”

  He smiled at her, and shook his head. “Did it sound like one?”

  “No,” she admitted begrudgingly. She ran her fingers through the curls. “They’re impossible to keep tidy.”

  “Then don’t be tidy.” He had decided, somewhere before the sun had risen over Liya and painted the city with its orange glow, that he would give her time to adapt to her new situation. That he would give them both time to accept their new situation.

  But her lips were so sweet and soft looking, and her hair so wonderfully distracting, that he couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. Slowly and wonderingly, tasting her in the morning, and reminding her that whatever else lay between them, their bond was undeniable.

  Olivia was surprised.

  She didn’t feel sexy. First thing in the morning, she felt like she had messy hair and sleep in her eyes and furry teeth. But the moment Tamir’s mouth connected with hers, her body seemed to spark with a current of electrical energy that demanded indulging.

  He had married her without her permission, and in his stupid country, that was apparently legal. She should hate him, but she didn’t. Oh, she didn’t. Her eyes shuttered closed, and her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down on top of her. She sighed as his chest pressed to hers, his weight a pleasing reminder of how his body felt.

  “You’re beautiful,” he groaned, running his hands over her skin, lifting the nightgown so that he could connect with her naked warmth. He pushed aside the quilt and came to straddle her, unwilling to remove his lips from hers. His tongue invaded her mouth, warring with hers, promising pleasure that only they could generate.

  She ran her fingers down his naked back, delighting in the smoothness of his skin. She shifted her head away, breaking their kiss, only so that she could lift her mouth to his shoulder and taste his flesh. So warm and clean. She sighed, breathing in his intoxicating scent. His erection pressed into her waist, and she wanted nothing more than to be with him.

  For though their predicament
was something she would have to address at some point, then, in that moment, she wanted to obliterate rational thought with sweet, intense sex.

  “I want you,” she whispered into his ear, sneaking her fingers into the waistband of his shorts and touching the curved muscle of his buttocks.

  He pulled away, looking at her with a warning glance. “I told myself I wouldn’t do this, you know.”

  She bit down on her lower lip, and pushed his shorts lower, until he was able to kick them away.

  “Why?” She whispered, tracing one of his nipples with her finger.

  He groaned. “Is it not obvious?”

  “Nope,” she said huskily. “You have me here. And we both want this. So why fight it?”

  Because he’d taken away her liberty and forced her into his bed.

  “You’re not making me do this, Tamir,” she said sharply, as though she’d read his thoughts. “I want you just as much now as I did in London.”

  “I have your body, but never your mind? I have your body, but I’ll never have you?” He repeated her words back to her. It surprised Olivia that they made her feel hollow in her gut.

  “Yes,” she said with a confidence she was far from feeling. “Exactly. And you know what else?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I have your body, and I don’t think anyone will ever have your mind. So we’re even.”

  He shook his head slowly, but she was right. Their sexual connection was too strong to ignore, even though it was all they’d ever share.

  Besides, he didn’t want more from Olivia than sex… and apparently marriage. He’d had many lovers in the past, and it had never occurred to him to mind if there were limitations on the relationship. So why did he care now?

  He intentionally entered her swiftly, removing any tenderness from their coming together. At least, that was his intention. But the way she arched her back with a swan like grace, and a lioness like growl, made him stare at her in total appreciation. He pressed a kiss to her décolletage and traced a line along the protruding bone with his tongue. His hands on her arms were gentle, whispering with his fingertips promises of desire.