Only there, in what he had once considered his sanctuary, her words hounded him. He heard them butting against the ancient tapestries, flying at him from all directions, her manner in issuing them so infuriatingly superior.
But it wasn’t that which had got under his skin.
It was her heartbreak.
The stoicism with which she tried to hide it – and failed. It was the way she invoked Addan so easily, as though he were still living, as though in talking to Malik she could keep him alive.
It was her grief.
A grief he understood, for it was one he shared.
In this, they were united. In this, they were alike.
But only this.
He looked down at his skin and an image came to him of her own, pressed against it, so pale and fair – the perfect opposite.
The first time he saw Sophia, she’d been just a girl. A tiny little sprite with blonde hair that fell all the way down her back, skinny with enormous blue eyes, half the size of her face it had seemed. Malik had been twelve, Sophia eight, and she had eyes only for Addan.
He came into the grand hall to find them bent over an ancient book, her hair falling like a curtain, sunlight streaming in through the window overhead, and he’d stood, frozen in the doorframe. All he could do was stare at this creature, who looked almost like a desert fairy brought to life- the same colour as the sands beyond the palace, and just as mysterious.
Addan whispered something and she laughed, her voice peeling towards him, and he instantly saw another little girl, a girl who’d been lost- like a fair ghost. She lifted her head to say something to Addan and Malik had instinctively shifted into the shadows, wanting to look and not yet be seen.
Her voice was too low to catch but it was obvious she was trying to speak in Abu Fayan, though her accent was dreadful.
Addan simply nodded encouragingly and answered in English.
She smiled, her cheeks glowing pink, and Malik felt something unpleasant and cross unfurl in his gut.
He left without introducing himself.
Later in her visit, he’d met her quite by accident. She’d been running through the marble corridors that were a feature of the East wing and he’d stepped out of the gym, having been playing tennis, and they’d collided.
She’d skidded across the corridor, bumping into an ancient statue and almost setting it flying.
He’d steadied it and crouched down to her at the same time. “You should not be running in here!” His voice had been furious, even to his own ears. He reminded himself of his uncle – how often had he been chastised for doing exactly that?
Her lower lip jutted out and for a second he thought she might cry. Then, she’d scrambled to her feet and slammed her hands onto her hips, glaring at him.
“Yeah, well, you should wear a cowbell or something, if you’re going to sneak around like that.”
“I was simply exiting a room and did not expect a little tornado to burst through me.”
“I’m not a tornado,” she snapped. “And I’m playing tag. Running is kind of the point.”
“Well take your game somewhere more sensible. Perhaps the courtyard?”
She pouted. “It’s hot out there.”
“Yes. This is a hot country. What’s your point?”
She’d glared at him and then laughed. “He was right about you. You can be a real grump.”
She had skipped away without waiting to see the look on his face.
Chapter Six
TWO DAYS PASSED AND she refused to go to him. She refused to seek him out. She refused to even let him know she was thinking of him.
Her temper didn’t abate.
How dare he act as though her only function within this marriage was to incubate a royal heir? She’d been chosen for this role by his father, and groomed for it almost since birth. She had studied this country, its politics, its history, almost her whole life. To be told she had no counsel to offer by its ruler – her own husband! – stung.
“You don’t think the necklace is too much?” she murmured thoughtfully, thinking longingly of the simple one Addan had given her that she preferred for all occasions, while staring at her reflection in the mirror as one of her servants clipped the diamond choker in place.
“It goes with the tiara,” the servant said, bowing low and stepping backwards.
Sophia’s eyes lifted to the delicate diamond crown that had been placed on her head. Despite its lace-like construction, it was heavy – filled with gems and cast of platinum gold – but her hair had been braided through it, weaving in and out of the bottom so that it was at one with her head. And yes, the servant was right. The choker was indeed a perfect match.
Her eyes shifted to the girl in the reflection. Since her marriage, this young woman had been attending to her every day. “What is your name?”
“Awan, your highness.”
“Awan,” Sophia smiled, barely recognizing her own image in the mirror. The dress was so formal, so beautiful. She looked every bit the princess she now was – the princess she’d been groomed to become, almost her whole life. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen, madam.”
Sophia’s smile was wistful. They were close in age but very different in terms of cares and responsibility.
“Have you worked at the palace long?”
“Yes, your highness.” Awan bowed. “I was hired two years ago.”
Sophia smiled. “And what did you do before this?”
“I was training for this,” she said earnestly. “To be one of your maids.”
The synchronicity of that wasn’t lost on Sophia. “So we’ve both been in training a long time.”
“Madam?”
“Never mind.” Sophia straightened, running her hands down the gown she wore. A royal blue with a sheen through the fabric, it showed off the creamy luminescence of her skin and complimented the sparkling blue of her eyes.
“His Highness is already at the car,” Awan said. “And awaits your arrival.”
Sophia lifted a brow. “I guess that’s a polite way of telling me to move my butt.”
Awan hid her smile – just.
He was waiting by the car and the second she saw him, her step faltered. She slowed, giving herself the maximum time possible to prepare for this, to prepare for being in his orbit again. Her insides looped in on one another. Her body swooped and roared.
His royal highness, Sheikh Malik bin Hazari was standing beside the limousine, wearing the traditional white robes of his people, his expression stern, his face mesmerizing with its harsh angles and planes and determined, sculpted lips. His eyes were constant, locked to her face. Her stomach looped and rolled as she got closer to him until, finally, at the car, she breathed in and the masculine fragrance that was so uniquely her husband infiltrated her blood and her senses, fairly bowling Sophia over.
“Malik,” she murmured, holding his gaze even when the force of desire she felt for him threatened to fell her at the knees.
“Sharafaha,” he murmured, dropping his head closer to hers for a moment, so she thought he might kiss her.
He didn’t. Instead, his eyes stared into hers, as though just by looking at her he could understand her, as though he could read everything she was feeling and thinking. Then, he straightened, his own expression inscrutable.
Disappointment sledged against her as he took a backwards step and gestured towards the limousine.
“After you.”
“Thank you.” She slid into the vehicle, her pulse hammering, her mind racing.
She’d been to parliament twice before. Once with Addan, to explore the ancient tunnels that ran beneath the building, tunnels that were built at the turn of the first millennia, to offer protection for the people of this city, when attacks were commonplace. And once, to sign the vows of marriage, to bind herself to this country and its Sheikh for all time.
Tonight would be her first time visiting as a royal.
How different she’d felt on her p
revious visit! Excited and overjoyed, on the brink of stepping into her new life, of formalizing this marriage she’d anticipated for so long. The world had seemed so simple, her purpose so clear. And now?
It was all as clear as river mud.
“It is just a dinner party,” his deeply-intoned words jolted her out of her reverie, as the car pulled away from the palace.
She turned to face him, her eyes round in her pretty face. “A cocktail party, I thought.”
“Yes.” He frowned, his eyes scanning her features, looking at her with the same intensity as moments earlier – as though he could decode her if only he stared long enough.
Sophia had no interest in being decoded, though.
She sat back against the seat and turned to look out of her own window.
After several minutes had passed, he spoke again. “You are annoyed at me.”
She wiped an imaginary piece of lint from her dress, keeping her expression carefully muted of any emotion. She wasn’t annoyed. She was livid and cross, angry and hurt. She was a thousand things, all bottled up inside of her. She remembered the way they’d parted, two nights earlier.
It will never be more than sex.
What had she expected? Passionate declarations of love? No. Nothing so juvenile. Only she’d entered this marriage presuming they could build on something, that they would find a way to have a real relationship. It had never occurred to Sophia that sex alone was all Malik would offer, nor that it would be all he sought from her.
With a steely gaze and a coldness to her tone, she arched a brow, turning her vibrant blue eyes to him with obvious derision. “Do you care if I am?”
Silence laced around them, thudding in the car, throbbing with words not spoken and questions not asked. “Yes.”
Sophia’s heart pounded against her ribs, his admission not at all what she’d expected.
“Surprisingly,” he tacked on, showing himself to be aware of how little sense that made.
“I am surprised,” she said, earning a tight grimace from him.
“A long time ago, I promised Addan I would be kind to you,” he said, after a moment. Sophia’s heart lurched, memories of her friend making her chest hurt. “It occurs to me I have broken that promise.”
“Addan wanted us to be friends,” she said softly, remembering his entreaties with a small shake of her head, the past like quicksand that would swallow her in its memories if she weren’t careful. “He could never understand why we…”
“Could not stand one another?”
She murmured her agreement. “Addan liked to think everyone could find common ground.”
“And what do you think, Sophia?”
She observed him through narrowed eyes and then shrugged her slender shoulders, as though none of this mattered. “I think you are determined not to like me, not even a little bit. Beyond that, what does common ground matter?”
He was quiet and watchful for several seconds before responding. “What do you base this opinion on?”
Her laugh was a short, sharp sound. “Don’t insult my intelligence by trying to deny it.”
“I’m not denying it,” he said quietly.
“Good. I know how you feel about me. I know how you felt about me as Addan’s fiancé. You could never understand the reason for our betrothal. You thought me undeserving of him and undeserving of this role, and now you’re stuck with me.” She crossed her arms over her chest, watching him through shuttered eyes.
“It would appear so,” he drawled, but there was ice in the statement.
“Can’t you see that you’re the only person fighting this?”
“I married you,” he said firmly. “We are doing what we can to provide this country with an heir. How exactly am I fighting this?”
“You’re boxing me up, keeping me in one tiny compartment of your life…”
“We have discussed this. Our marriage requires that we –,”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she interrupted crossly. “An heir. I get it. But Addan wanted me to be his equal in every way. That’s what I’m trained for, and I’m ready for that, Malik.”
The engine was cut. In moments, the door would be opened.
“You don’t care for me like Addan did. Fine. What he and I shared was completely different. With Addan and me there was such a meeting of the minds, we were so well-suited…”
Malik’s features tightened.
“Get to know me better, and you’ll see why Addan trusted me.”
“I know you.”
A shiver ran down her spine then – not of fear but of comprehension, because nothing about Malik’s statement rang false. He looked to her and she felt something lock into place, because he did know her. He didn’t like her, necessarily, but there was some kind of innate understanding between them, something that defied logic and sense. Perhaps it was their connection through Addan?
“And I know what you were to Addan, and how much he adored you. Do you think a single minute of this damned marriage passes without me remembering how he loved you?”
The window beyond Malik darkened – a sign that a guard was on the other side, poised to open the door, and the Sheikh reached for the frame and pressed the lock button down.
It was deftly done – for they were in privacy, with the windows shielded from the view of the crowds.
When he turned to face her, there was a tightness about his features, a look of absolute iron-like determination.
“Do you think a single minute of this marriage passes without me remembering that you were his fiancé?” The words were tortured, but his gaze locked to hers with clarity.
He bent forward and found the hem of her skirt, lifting it, bringing it higher up her body, his hand gliding over her calves, her knee, her thighs before brushing against her womanhood through the silk of her underwear.
She gasped and bit back a moan at his touch, her body breaking out with a feverish need. “But do not forget, Sharafaha, I am the only man who can make you feel like this.” And he slid a finger inside her moist core, swirling it around her tight, aching muscles and she bit down on her lip, lifting a hand to his robes and curving her fingers in the fabric there.
“You had his heart, I have no doubt,” he said, coldly, cynically, with very little emotion. “But your body is all mine, Sophia. Don’t forget that.”
It had all happened so quickly. One minute he was tormenting her with desire, pleasuring her in a way that made her soul sing, and the next, when she was frustratingly close to orgasm he pulled away, his expression constrained.
“Come to my room tonight, Sheikha.”
And he turned away, giving her a moment to straighten her skirt before knocking on the window and inviting the guard to open the doors.
Photographers were everywhere, and the adoring public here to catch a glimpse of their royal couple, out in droves. Thousands strong, lined on both sides of the street.
Sophia had walked the lines like an automaton, her knees shaking, her stomach in knots, her every thought on what had just happened.
Come to my room tonight, Sheikha.
Her stomach looped at the very idea that within hours they would be back at the palace and she could be in his arms once more, finishing what he’d just started.
And not finished, Sophia reminded herself forcefully, her lips compressing to form a grim line in her face. How dare he stir her up like that after two days of nothing and leave her without the big bang? She might be new to the whole sex thing but that smacked of bad etiquette.
She lifted her head, incensed, and across the street, where he was speaking with someone in the crowd, he turned to her at the same time. Their eyes met and Sophia would have sworn lightning struck from him to her. Localized and intense, it seared her nerve endings, but she couldn’t back away. She stared at him and he at her and then someone asked her a question, a child handed her a teddy bear, and she was jolted back to the present.
But her nerve endings were firing and her pulse was racing. Sh
e was humming with anticipation.
She needed … what?
She needed him.
The realization slammed against her sides and she hated it. She hated that for all his failings, all his faults, she needed this man with a visceral, undeniable ache.
It would have been so much easier if she’d married Addan. Darling Addan, who had been so kind and good, and uncomplicated; who had loved her like a sister. But that love had been just what Sophia had craved all her life. Dependable, steady, safe, not-going-anywhere love.
But he was gone. Nothing was safe, nothing was foolproof, least of all the future.
She forced a smile to her face as she moved down the line until she’d circled back and Malik was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs that led to parliament. It was a balmy evening, the sky tinged with purple and gold, and a red carpet was running down the steps all the way to the street. Candles were lit on the front of the building, enormous and flickering in the fading light.
At her side, he put a hand in the small of her back and shocks of desire arrowed through her veins, all the way to a heart that was beating far too fast.
She resisted the impulse to look at him, keeping a firm smile pinned to her face, lifting a hand and waving at their people. Huge signs were waving in the evening air, some with her photograph, others with her name. Whatever her husband might think of her suitability to be Sheikha, it was not – apparently – a sentiment the population of Abu Faya shared.
“I think education is a cornerstone of any civilized society.” The Sheikha’s voice carried to him even though she was across the room, and he was in the middle of his own conversation. It was as though she had the ability to tunnel right down inside of him, to speak to something deep in his being.
He lifted his head, pinpointing her with his gaze, curious as to who she was speaking to – curious and alive with a possessive heat he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees... Page 107
