CHAPTER EIGHT
‘IS THIS ENOUGH?’
The sun slipped beyond the horizon, bathing the sky in the most magical, iridescent colours. The beating of the falcon’s wings was slow and rhythmic, lulling her even as she felt the urgency of what he was asking. She tried to swallow; her mouth was drier than the desert sands.
There was a small part of her capable of rational thought and it was telling her that no, what he was offering wasn’t enough. But it had to be. A little time with Amir was better than nothing; she knew it was temporary but she couldn’t muster the strength to object to that—not if the alternative was that they close the door on whatever this was once and for all.
She blinked up at him, the inevitability of this completely breathtaking, and swayed closer. He inhaled deeply, as though breathing her in, and she smiled.
‘Yes.’ Relief flooded her. It was the right decision.
He made a groaning sound as he dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her even as his hands reached for the bottom of her tunic and pushed at it, lifting it just high enough to expose an inch of midriff. It was like breaking a seal; the moment his fingertips connected with her naked flesh she ached for him in a way that wouldn’t be repressed. Her hands pushed at his robes, impatient and hungry, stripping them from his body as he did the same to her, revealing their nakedness simultaneously.
The sun dropped down completely; darkness began to curl through the sky. He drew her to her knees, kneeling opposite, kissing her, his hands wrapping around her as he eased her backwards: carefully, gently. The rooftop wasn’t large, there was just space for them to lie together, and little more. He brought his body over hers, his eyes scanning her features, searching for something she couldn’t fathom. Or perhaps she could, because she smiled and nodded, in response to his unanswered question, and then pushed up and kissed him, her mouth teasing him, her fingertips playing with the hair at his nape.
He drew his mouth from her lips to her collarbone, lighting little fires beneath her skin everywhere he kissed, his tongue lashing her to the edge of her sanity. She was tipped over the brink when he flicked one of her nipples; she arched her spine in a silent invitation, her fingernails dragging down his back. It reminded her of the way she’d marked him in the maze, making her smile—she lifted up and bit his shoulder, sinking her teeth into the flesh there and laughing as he straightened to fix her with a look that was equal parts smouldering and surprised.
His hands trapped hers, holding them over her head; she was no longer laughing. She couldn’t. The power of what they both wanted was almost terrifying. He pushed her legs apart with his knee then kissed her, hard, her body completely trapped by his, her needs driven by him.
‘No turning back,’ he said into her mouth, pushing the words deep into her soul, where they took hold and filled her with relief. She didn’t want to turn back. From the moment she’d discovered who he was, she’d wanted this—come hell or high water.
‘No turning back,’ she agreed, breaking the kiss just so she could meet his eyes, in the hope he would see the seriousness of her response.
He claimed her mouth as he drove his arousal between her legs and into her feminine core. The relief of welcoming him back brought tears to her eyes. She kissed him with all the fierceness of her desire, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his back, holding him deep inside, allowing her body to glory in his possession. He began to move, hard and fast, as though driven by an ancient tempo that only they could hear.
His body was her master, and hers was his. Beneath the darkening sky, Amir made her his, watching as pleasure exploded through her again and again before giving into his own heady release, filling her with all that he was, holding her to him, their breath racked, their pleasure beyond compare.
Amir lay atop Johara for several minutes after, but it could have been days or months; there on the roof of a tower in the middle of the desert, time had no meaning. They were particles of life in amongst the sand and the history, as utterly a part of the earth as the elements that made this striking, barren landscape what it was.
Johara felt every bit a desert princess, overcome with a sense of her own power. Seeing the effect she had on him—that they had on each other—made her wonder at how they’d been able to resist doing this for as many days as they had!
Her eyes found the stars overhead—the sky had darkened to an inky black now—and she smiled at the thought that the celestial bodies alone had witnessed this coming together. It made it feel all the more powerful and important; all the more predestined.
Eventually, he pushed up onto one elbow, his gaze roaming her face possessively, as if looking for a sign of how she felt. So she smiled, and lifted a hand to cup his cheek, drawing his attention to her eyes. ‘That was perfect.’
His features bore a mask of tightness but then he relaxed, smiling, rolling off Johara but simultaneously catching her and bringing her to lie with her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her. She curled her body to his side, and his hand stroked her hip, his fingers moving with a slowness that could have induced drowsiness. Except Johara wasn’t tired; far from it. She felt alive in a thousand and one ways. Her body had caught fire and she wasn’t sure those fires would ever be extinguished.
‘This is...complicated,’ he said with a shake of his head, and then laughed, turning to face her. She saw the same thing in his expression that she felt in her heart. Surrender. This was bigger than them, bigger than the war. It was something neither could fight.
‘No.’ She shook her head and smiled, pushing up to press her chin to his chest. ‘It’s the opposite of that—it’s so simple.’
He reached out, lacing his fingers through hers, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. ‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘It is also simple.’
She put her head back down, listening to the strong, steady hammering of his heart. All her life she’d been told that the Haddads were the worst of the worst—not to be trusted, not to be seen as anything but the enemy. Yet here she lay listening to Amir Haddad’s heart and she knew the truth—it was a good heart. A kind heart. A heart that lived to serve his people.
A heart that would never belong to anyone but his people.
Especially not her—a Qadir.
She pushed those thoughts away. They both knew what they were doing, and what the limitations of this were. That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it in the moment.
Her fingertips traced the inked words that ran across his chest. ‘What does this mean?’
He shifted a little, flicking a glance at his chest, then focussing his attention back on the stars overhead. ‘Amor fati,’ he said the words quietly.
‘Yes. I love...’ she translated with a small frown.
‘It’s Nietzsche,’ he said. ‘It means to love one’s fate.’ He turned towards her, scanning her face as if to read her reaction.
She was contemplative. ‘Your fate, as in your role as Sheikh?’
His smile was dismissive. ‘Partly, yes. All of it. My parents’ death, the duty that put upon me. There was a time when I felt that what was required of me might cripple me. I was only young—fifteen, or sixteen—and I remember riding out here and lying just like this. Well...’ a smile lifted his lips at the corners ‘...not quite like this—there was no woman.’
She smiled back, but didn’t say anything; she didn’t want him to stop speaking.
‘I lay here and looked at the stars and felt as though the sky was falling down on me, suffocating me with its vastness. How could I—a boy completely alone in the world, with no parents, no siblings, only paid advisors—possibly be what was best for the country?’
‘It was an enormous responsibility to bear at such a young age,’ she said quietly.
‘I felt that way then,’ he responded quietly. ‘I now realise that this responsibility was a gift. What a great thing, to be able to lead my people, to rule a
country such as this.’ He waved his hands towards the sand dunes that rolled away from these ruins.
‘Amor fati,’ she said simply.
‘Yes. I lay here and realised that I was being self-indulgent. There was no sense wondering if I could be Sheikh. I was. And so I had to be.’
‘If it makes any difference, you strike me as a natural at this.’
‘Oh?’
She nodded. ‘The night we met, before I knew who you were, I knew, somehow, what you were.’
‘And what is that?’
‘A ruler.’ Her smile was slow to form. ‘You have a natural authority that can’t help but convey itself.’
He laughed gruffly. ‘I’m used to being obeyed.’
‘It’s more than that. It’s the way you move, the way you speak. I think that your fate chose you.’
‘We could also say your uncle chose my fate.’
Her eyes flashed to his and pain sliced through her—brief and sharp. He saw it and shook his head by way of apology. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘No.’ She bit down on her lip. ‘But you’re right.’ Her fingers chased the tattoo, running over the inky black lines. ‘He was—is—an extremist. He always has been. He felt my parents were too moderate, that an all-out offensive was called for. He believed that only by destroying Ishkana could Taquul truly prosper. He wanted the war brought to an end once and for all—by any means necessary.’
‘He wanted genocide,’ Amir said quietly, but with a ruthless undercurrent to the words. ‘And it is best if we do not discuss Johar.’ The name was said with disgust.
She nodded. He was right. There was nothing she could ever say that would pardon her uncle’s sins; nor did she want to. She judged him as harshly as Amir did.
‘I am sorry,’ she said quietly.
That drew his gaze, and the look in the depths of his obsidian eyes did something funny to her tummy—tying it in a bundle of knots.
‘It was not your fault, Johara.’
He said her name quietly, without a hint of the anger he felt for Johar.
She expelled a soft breath. ‘I mean that I’m sorry you had to go through that. The grief...’
He pressed a finger to her nipple and drew an imaginary circle around it. She could barely concentrate. His touch was sending little arrows of need darting beneath her skin.
‘Why did you send for me tonight?’
He lowered his mouth, pressing a kiss to the flesh just above her nipple. She shivered.
‘I shouldn’t have.’ He lifted his head to smile. ‘I told myself—after the library—that I would stay away from you. But then I saw you looking at me and I knew you felt the inevitability of this.’ He lifted a finger, tracing her cheek. ‘I knew that if I sent for you and you came, it would be because you didn’t care about how forbidden and impossible this is.’ He brought his mouth to hers. ‘I sent for you because I found myself unable to resist.’
She moaned as he kissed her, her hands seeking his body once more, a new hunger growing inside her. She gave herself to the power of that, falling back against the cool granite of the tower as their bodies became one once more.
* * *
‘It’s best if I leave you at the West Gate.’
They hadn’t spoken since leaving the ruins. It was as though each step of the powerful horse brought them closer and closer to the palace and the reality that awaited them. Out there, in the wildness of the desert, nothing had seemed impossible, but the constraints of who they were grew more apparent as the palace loomed into sight.
‘Where will you go?’
‘I’ll take him to the stable yard.’
‘You’re afraid of being seen with me?’
She felt his harsh intake of breath. ‘We discussed this. What we just did has to be kept secret.’
‘I know.’ She swept her eyes downwards, studying the horse’s thick mane, wondering at the cloying sense of tears.
‘There are a thousand reasons we cannot let anyone know what we’re doing.’ He brought the horse to a step and leaned forward, pressing a hand to the side of her face, drawing her to look at him.
His teeth clenched as he saw the raw emotion on her features.
‘Johara...’
‘I know. The war. The peace treaty. I’m a Qadir, you’re a Haddad.’
‘Yes,’ he said, gently though, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to hers. ‘But it’s so much more than that. You are supposed to be marrying Paris. What would the press make of an affair with me while you are all but engaged?’
‘I’m not engaged,’ she said stiffly.
‘In the media’s eyes—and I believe your brother’s eyes—you are. Your reputation would be damaged beyond repair.’
‘This isn’t the eighteen hundreds, Amir. No one expects a sacrificial virgin at the altar.’
‘No, but you are a princess and people expect you to be perfect.’
She pulled away from him, jerking her face in the opposite direction.
‘And I suppose you have similar concerns,’ she said darkly.
Amir didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘One day I will marry. At present, my kingdom has no heir. But there is no one who would be hurt by our affair.’
‘Paris and I are not a couple.’
Amir compressed his lips. ‘As I said, I believe, in the eyes of your brother, your union is a fait accompli.’
‘So what I want doesn’t matter?’
‘It matters. To me, it matters a great deal. I cannot speak on your brother’s behalf.’
So measured! So reasonable! She wanted to scream.
And yet, he was right—she’d already felt the pain of being the press’s latest object of fascination. For months she’d been hounded after her break up with Matthew. Anyone who’d known either of them had been pressed to give a ‘tell all’ interview. Private photographs had been found and shared in the articles. The invasion had been unbearable. It had been the catalyst for her departure to America.
Regardless of Paris, having an affair with the Sheikh of Ishkana would be huge news. Her people would hate it. Her brother might never forgive her.
She turned back to face him, regretting the concern she saw on his features, because she’d put it there with her silly reactions.
‘You’re right.’ She nodded firmly. ‘I’ll go in the West Gate.’
His eyes lingered on her face a moment longer, as if he was reassuring himself before pulling on the reins, starting the horse back on the path.
At the gate, he paused in the midst of a row of pomegranate trees.
‘Your schedule is busy tomorrow.’
‘I know.’
‘I won’t see you until the afternoon.’
‘At the tour of the masjid?’
‘Yes, I’ll be there too. But we won’t be alone.’ He cupped her face. ‘Tomorrow night, meet me in the forest. Do you remember the way?’
She nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘Good. Just come to the edges of it. I’ll be waiting.’
‘What time?’
He thought of his own schedule, and knew he would clear whatever he needed to be available. ‘I’ll be there from seven. Come when you can.’
Her heart was speeding. Seven o’clock felt like a lifetime away.
He climbed off the horse then reached up and took her hips in his powerful hands, lifting her easily off the back of the stallion. He held her close, and everything that was primal and instinctive stirred to life inside her.
‘As soon as you can,’ he said with a smile, but there was a darkness to that—the overpowering need shifting through them.
‘I will.’
He kissed her—a light touch of his lips to hers—but it wasn’t enough for Johara. She needed more—she didn’t want to leave him. She lifted up, wrapping her a
rms around his neck, deepening the kiss, her body melded to his, and he made a thick noise in his throat as he held her tight to his body, kissing her back with the same hunger before pulling apart, wrenching himself free, breaking what was already becoming something neither could easily control.
They stared at one another for several seconds before a noise had her breaking away from him, moving quickly to the palace wall and pressing against it. He watched her for several beats before swinging onto his horse, pressing himself low to the neck and riding away.
Johara watched him go, her heart racing, her cheeks hurting from the ridiculous smile she couldn’t shake.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS AN hour into the tour of the masjid that Amir began to suspect Johara was a far better actor than he.
She was listening with all of her attention as the allamah showed them through the historic place of worship. It was Amir who was struggling to concentrate. He found his eyes straying to Johara when he too should have been listening. He found that he sought her out every few moments, trying to get her to look at him, wanting to see something in her eyes.
What?
Why did he need to look at her so badly?
To know that she didn’t regret it.
He compressed his lips and looked away, turning his attention to a piece of art he knew well—a seven-hundred-year-old tapestry weaved from bright and beautiful threads. He moved towards it, as if fascinated by the detail, when in fact he just needed some breathing space.
There was no denying their chemistry; that was clear and mutual. But the danger for them both was real and undeniable. Shouldn’t he be protecting her from that by fighting what he felt? For her sake, shouldn’t he be stronger?
He closed his eyes, knowing he couldn’t. They’d started on this path now and it wasn’t in his power to stop.
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