He moved inside of her, already so familiar with what made her cry out in a complete haze of enjoyment. She crinkled her nose as he exhaled a long, slow breath against the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck, and her body sprouted a delicate lace of goosebumps.
He tangled his fingers with hers, pulling her arms gently to her sides, as he lifted her body onto a wave of pleasure. They rolled as one, so that she was on top of him, riding him with her eyes closed and her soul commanding his. As her body crested to a height of desire, she lifted his arms, high to his side, and he swore in his native tongue as the needs of his body lusted out of his command. He orgasmed, pushing himself up, so that he could wrap his arms behind her back to form a single, pulsing being.
It was incredible, and incredibly wrong.
Olivia’s breathing slowly returned to normal and her eyes pinched open. The Sultan of Talidar stared back at her, impossible to comprehend and terrifying to behold.
She moved away from him, her heart racing, and her heart closing forever more.
She lay beside him, on her back, staring at the ceiling without seeing it. This was her new reality. A world she had no control over. Where only her body existed in any kind of meaningful truth.
How could she be so pathetic?
She flipped away from Tamir, turning her back to him in every sense. She stared at the embossed wallpaper opposite, her breathing still drawn from her in harsh bursts.
She hated him but in some ways, she’d become insanely dependent upon him.
It was just sex, she reassured herself.
Only it wasn’t. There was something incredibly compelling about the man. Something she could not easily put into words, but that her mind rushed to acknowledge.
And yet he had used her. He’d believed the worst in her, and instead of giving her any credit, instead of allowing her the briefest moment to explain, he’d forced her into a scenario that was both terrifying and terrifyingly permanent. A single tear escaped her eyes, but she dashed it away.
She could not cry.
She would not.
Not in front of Tamir.
Despite her brave determination, he heard her intake of breath and saw the way her back shuddered. She was crying. For the first time in his adult life, Tamir had no idea what to say.
Olivia pushed up from the enormous bed and moved towards her bathroom. She was sore. Muscles that had not been tested for many years were groaning after a day’s systematic exhaustion. She moved gingerly and shut the door behind herself gratefully. The shower was enormous, but the bath tub was beckoning. She began the water running, and placed the plug in. As she sank into the half-filled bath a few moments later, she made a low sound of relief.
“Are you in pain?”
Tamir. Just outside the door stood the man who had done this to her.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she shook her head from side to side. Then, she realised he could not see, and tried to find her voice. “I’m fine.”
“May I … May I come in?”
Olivia reached for the taps and switched off the water. It was fast flowing and had almost filled the bath to the top. The water was topped with fragrant bubbles.
“I thought you weren’t allowed.”
Somehow, though she knew it to be impossible, she heard his smile through the timber doorway. “It will be our secret.”
Olivia reached for the bar of soap. “Fine.”
The door pushed inwards, allowing Tamir to step into her bathroom. He’d pulled on a pair of boxers – this time black – and he looked dangerously attractive. He sat on the edge of the bath, staring down at her.
“I married you thinking that I hated you. I married you wanting your body, even though I judged you harshly for your crime. I thought the worst of you. Yet I worry I have hurt you, and it makes me feel… guilt.” He shook his head. “I do not want to hurt you, Olivia.”
The water lapped against her breasts, and she sank lower into it. “I hardly know you, but I find that hard to believe.”
He sighed. “Why?”
“When I was in Liya before – years ago, admittedly – I thought this was an incredibly beautiful country. Traditional and enlightened at the same time.” She bit down on her lip. “You scare me, Tamir.”
“Scare you? Why?”
She laughed, for it was such an absurd question. “Since the moment you saw me, you have bullied me and berated me. You have pursued me in a way that bore no opposition. And here I am. Your wife, though I did not know it until well after the fact.” She shook her head. “You have treated me like little more than an object, and yet still I don’t seem able to resist you.” She ran the bar of soap over her shoulders in an effort to distract herself. “Ours is not a marriage, and I am not your wife. And I wish, with all my heart, that you’d never married me.” Her voice cracked as the sob she’d been fighting found its way into her mouth. “I could have handled being your mistress. What we share, undeniably, is a mutual sexual interest. So we could have indulged it. I would have. Happily. And though I know it would have hurt, when you decided to end it, I would have walked away with my head held high.” She sobbed again. “But what now? What do I have?”
He refused to let her see that she was eating into his confidence. “What do you mean?’
She reached down and pulled the plug out. The water began to gurgle rapidly down the drain and Olivia stood, reaching for a towel in one smooth movement. She wrapped it around herself, then turned to face him. “I have nothing. I have no say over what we are. I have no ability to walk away from you. You own me, and always will.” She was shaking, so great was her rage. “I will always hate you for this.” Her eyes sheened with tears. “You have robbed me of so much. The ability to marry for love. The proposal I was due. The ability to look down at my wedding ring and sigh with happiness, for the moment of perfection that donning it had given me. I just don’t understand why you did this to me, Tamir.”
Nor, frankly, did he. But he’d never admit that to his wife. He couldn’t. On some instinctive level, he knew that showing her weakness would be the beginning of the end for them. “You are my wife. It is done.” He reached over and touched her curled hair, compelled to feel the soft blondness between his fingers. “Do not think about why. Or what if. Simply understand that this is now fact. Wishing it were different will change nothing, Azeezi.”
Her throat was raw from the pain of unshed tears, but she somehow kept a grip on her emotions. “Fine.”
He nodded, strangely proud of her. “You have much to do today. You will have your own assistants arrive shortly to prepare you.”
Olivia was stricken. “Tamir,” she murmured, reaching out for his hand. It surprised him, and he paused, looking down at her small, pale fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Are you going somewhere?”
A frown flicked across his face. “I have a meeting with the King of Janina.”
“Oh.” She looked away. “I see.”
He sighed wearily. Why had he married her? What had he been thinking? Love and affection had never entered his mind, and yet the thought of leaving her like this was a physical pain. “I must go, Olivia. It is an important discussion, and this meeting has taken months to convene.”
She squared her shoulders in an attempt at bravery. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Your assistants will be here shortly.” He turned to leave before her desperation could puncture his resolve completely.
He was doing the right thing, he assured himself, a little while later, when he sat in his breakfast meeting. King Kibab of Janina was across from him, broad and fat from years of ruling a thriving kingdom. They were in the final stages of negotiations, and Tamir’s attendance was almost a formality. Nonetheless, he listened intently as the final details were arranged, only allowing a small portion of his brain to dwell on the sadness he’d felt from Olivia.
Their marriage had been unavoidable, hadn’t it? Kalil was a distant cousin, and had served him conscientiously fo
r years. His position as security chief was highly regarded, and Kalil himself was a man of high esteem. Yet Kalil heralded from a far more conservative background. He had made his disapproval of Tamir’s moderate politics obvious, and Tamir had seen the pure delight Kalil had tasted at the discovery of Olivia’s crime. To discredit the lover of the Sultan in a multi-million pound theft would have been a sweet victory for the right wing puritans who lived in Talidar.
Might there have been another way to protect Olivia?
Perhaps.
But certainly not one that Tamir could easily have discovered. His authority was ultimate, but to let a woman get away with such a bold crime, simply because she had legs that went forever, would plant a seed of discontent in his people.
Tamir lifted his water glass and drank from it thoughtfully. At least in marrying her he had guaranteed her protection. As his lover, she had been vulnerable. He thought of his many other mistresses. Some had been able to remain secret in his life. Most – particularly those from the West, with hair like honey and skin like sand – had become objects of scorn. He’d never felt bothered by that. After all, they had all walked openly into their relationships with him.
But Olivia was so different.
He had singled her out and virtually hunted her. Oh, her desire had been real. From the moment they’d first touched, he had known she was as shocked by the overpowering current of electricity that ran between them as he had been. But he, Tamir, had made her a prisoner to it. He’d forced her to acknowledge it, and he’d made it impossible for her to resist.
He thought of her that very morning, when she’d woken and been so sweet and relaxed. It had only lasted for a brief moment, before the anxiety of her new position had broken through, but it had been there. And those moments of happiness were like sunshine yolking over the valley – perfect and serene.
Tamir realised, with a flash of blinding certainty, that he did care about Olivia. That her happiness was something he enjoyed experiencing. And that her sadness and worry were burdens he now carried equally. He had to remove them from her shoulders.
Fatima had the same jet black eyes as her son, and her daughter Selena. They were set in a face that had been wrinkled by life; a face that was beautiful despite those wrinkles, for it seemed to burst with brightness. And like Tamir, Fatima Al’ani was as astute as they came.
She sat in a gold chair that had a purple velvet cushion, a small figure in an enormous room. With the exception of the security personnel who lined the walls on both sides, they were alone.
Olivia hesitated for a moment on the threshold. She had already met with her staff, and been provided with a mind-blowing rundown of how her days were likely to operate. She’d been given a detailed tour of the palace, and she’d found it fascinating. But it had been too brief! Every room housed different tapestries and pieces of art, many of them unseen by the art world. How she’d wanted to linger, to examine and touch, to explore on her own! Only the certainty that she would one day have that opportunity had allowed her to continue with the tour without showing the extent of her frustrations.
Tamir had been right. His artefacts were stunning. His palace beautiful. And her day had been exhausting and enormous. Though it was nearing dusk, the heat of Talidar showed no signs of abating, and in this formal sitting room, overlooking a rolling green lawn, the heat seemed thick like a wall.
She looked to the ceiling, and saw that the fans were spinning, but all they seemed to be doing was circulating the warmth around the room.
“Innani,” the older woman spoke, her voice resonant and clear.
Innani? Olivia closed her eyes and tried to remember. Come? Welcome? Hello? She shook her head. Her grip on Talidarian had been slight, and it had been many years since she’d needed to use it.
Olivia moved across the room, impressing her mother-in-law with her graceful poise and elegant gait. She had been dressed in a ceremonial robe for her first day as a princess; it was cream, with gold running through it, and it flattered her complexion.
Olivia’s attendants had prepared her for this meeting. She knelt before Fatima, showing her respect, and only lifted her face to meet Fatima’s when the older woman had acknowledged her.
“Sit,” she said with a nod towards a second chair.
Olivia did, smiling nervously. “Do you speak English, ma’am?”
“Little,” the older woman said with a shake of her head.
“Oh dear,” Olivia laughed. “And I hardly speak Talidarian.” She frowned, and switched to French. “Perhaps another language will work?”
To her surprise, Fatima’s face lit up, and she responded in the same ancient language. “Why do you know this language?”
“Many of my clients are French,” Olivia said with a smile of relief. “And in England, it is routinely taught at school.”
“Your accent is excellent,” Fatima complimented.
“As is yours, your highness,” Olivia returned.
Fatima dipped her head forward in acknowledgement. “My mother was French. My father used to say he’d plucked her out of the middle of the Boulevarde st Germain when his cavalcade was driving down it. He saw her and knew that he wanted to marry her.”
“And so he did,” Olivia murmured, thinking of Tamir’s very similar arrogance and certainty.
“And so he did, yes,” Fatima smiled softly. “I understand my son has quite overpowered you with his own determination to turn you into princess of Talidar.”
Olivia’s cheeks flamed pink, and she lowered her green gaze from the Queen’s enquiring stare. She had not thought the subject of their hasty marriage would come up. Not so explicitly. She had no idea how to respond. The very small, very angry part of her wanted to pour scorn on Tamir’s head, and tell his mother just what an arrogant dictator he was. But when she thought of his handsome face, she was quiet. There was something about him that made her pause for far too long. Something about him that communicated a deeper sense of morality than she’d appreciated. Olivia lifted her face.
“We were both surprised by the speed with which everything developed.” It was a polite lie, wasn’t it? Olivia’s heart was pounding her chest. She couldn’t let herself think about Tamir as a true husband. As someone she might one day come to care for. He’d tricked her into this marriage, and he’d bullied her into being his mistress. Okay, she’d signed up for one night. And the sex had been amazing. But how could she actually like someone who had been perfectly complacent about taking her freedom from her?
Fatima’s cackle surprised Olivia. “An excellent answer.” She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I will not pry, daughter. But let me warn you. My son is a good man. An excellent man. Very like his father was. But he was born with the certainty that he would steer his kingdom. He has one great love in life, and it is for this land, and this palace, and the history that it is built upon. Do not expect more of him than he gives – he might care for you, but he will never love anyone as he does his duty.”
Olivia ignored the frisson of tension that sledged down her spine. She had no expectations of love from Tamir. And no desire for his love, she reminded herself fiercely. That was absolutely not what this union was about.
So what was it? She kept her expression neutral, but her mind was a swirling torrent of frustration. Tamir had claimed that he’d been protecting her by marrying her. That he’d saved her and Jack from prosecution in a country that would not give them an ounce of kindness. But how could that be the real reason? Surely, as Sultan, he would have had other ways to make Jack’s stupid attempted theft go away. What else did he gain from this marriage?
“I have upset you.” The older woman asked quietly, leaning forward. “You love him?”
Olivia shook her head, and forced a bright smile to her face. “You haven’t upset me, ma’am.”
She steered the conversation to safer ground, but nonetheless, she felt like she’d been through the ringer when she emerged from the salon less than an hour later. She h
adn’t seen Tamir all day, and it occurred to her that she needed to see him.
But she couldn’t need to see him. She couldn’t start to think like that! To let herself believe any part of this was real or good. It was all a terrible mess.
Two of her assistants, who had waited while she met with Fatima, followed in her wake, but their constant presence was enervating. She stopped walking abruptly and turned to face them. “I would like to walk on my own, please.”
They looked from one to the other, uncertainly. “I apologise, your majesty. We have been told to remain with you.”
Olivia narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
Neither spoke, but she could see by the way her primary aide, Yasmin, lowered her eyes, that they were embarrassed to announce their reasons.
“Why?” She pushed, more forcefully.
And then, she realised. She was a security risk!
Though she was technically a princess, she was still a prisoner. The possibility that she might steal, or do something equally nefarious, was a cloud of accusation that was following her everywhere. “Where is my husband?”
Yasmin looked to the other assistant, her expression concerned. “His highness is still in meetings, ma’am.”
“Where?” She hissed between two teeth.
“We will lead you to him,” Yasmin finally conceded quietly.
Olivia gritted her teeth. “Fine.”
His meetings were taking place in the other wing of the palace, and it took them almost ten minutes to walk there, even at a good pace. Yasmin cast Olivia one last look. “Are you certain you would like to interrupt?”
“Yes,” she muttered darkly.
Yasmin nodded and raised her fist to the door. She knocked on it three times, then stepped back guiltily. If Olivia had been less incensed, she might have stopped to realise that she was putting the poor woman in a position that was untenable. As her assistant, Yasmin was obliged to follow Olivia’s orders, but more than that, she served the Sultan and the palace.
Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees... Page 41
