“It was exactly that simple.”
She sensed the latent power of his fist as it ground briefly against the doorframe before he turned away.
She had no fear for herself. She knew instinctively that he would never hurt her physically. It was what he could do to her emotionally that scared her.
“There’s only one simple fact here and that’s that Matta is my son and he will not be living here with you.”
He turned to face her, all signs of his anger masked once more. He shook his head. “The child stays.” His lips quirked into a chilling smile.
The chill turned to ice down her spine and destroyed all hope.
“You can’t take him away from me. You can’t.” She stepped towards him and clutched his arm in desperation, gathering the loose folds of his robe like a dying woman gripping tight to a lifeline. He stilled instantly as if electrified. He turned slowly to face her. His eyes were lowered, in disdain, she imagined. But she had nothing left. “What do I have to do to make you see?”
“You can do nothing.” He raised his hand slowly to hers, still clutching the soft silk of his robe, and then pressed it against hers. For one long moment she thought she might have got through—touched something inside of him—but then his hand grasped hers and dragged it away. “Begging won’t get you anywhere.”
“Then what will?” He was silent and she pressed her advantage. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. “Zahir, you can’t take him. He’s my life.” She shook her head and he closed his eyes briefly as her hair swept his cheek. He trapped a strand between his fingers but didn’t let it fall.
“And what is your life to me? Life in the desert, life at war, is worth only what it can be bargained for. What,” he added softly, “would you give in return for your son?”
“You want to bargain?” she asked, incredulous.
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
He let his hand trail down her arm.
“Why would you possibly want me when you have so little respect for me.”
He smiled. “Respect? More like unfinished business.”
Something, fear or lust, sliced through her deep inside and sent shivers radiating out to her skin. He lifted her hand and examined her forearm, now raised with goosebumps.
“Cold, Anna?”
“Disgusted, Zahir.”
“I think not. I think, I know, you want me still. If you live with me, here in Qarawan, you can still be with your son. Otherwise, you will never see him again.”
“It’s illegal, I’ll win him back.”
“I have the power, Anna. The law has nothing to do with it. You have my conditions, what is your answer?”
“Let’s get this straight. You want me for sex and in return I can live with my son? You’re a twisted man.”
“I am an honorable man. I will not force myself on you. You will come to me soon enough.”
She shook her head. “Never.”
“Four years ago I had to merely enter the room and you wanted me. You could barely wait to get me in the elevator, in the hotel room before your hands found my bare skin, before they explored my body, unzipped my trousers and before your lips—”
“Stop!”
“How many times did we make love that night, Anna?” His voice had dropped to a roughened whisper.
She swallowed hard and felt a surge of heat rise with the pounding of her heart and a dull ache of longing settle between her legs. It was true. She’d wanted him then and she wanted him now.
She shook her head helplessly. “I can’t remember.”
“I think you can. I think you do remember; I think you relive those moments because, like you, I can’t forget them either. You will come to me. Make no mistake.”
He was so close now that she could feel the quickened rise of his chest rub against her breasts, could feel the seductive slide of his silk robe brush her skin. Unable to meet his gaze, she kept her eyes lowered, focussed on his mouth, on lips so soft, so utterly at odds with the rest of him that they conjured up images she was desperate to forget.
She could see that he knew where her thoughts led by the smile that gently quirked those soft lips.
“You see? The needs of your body are greater than anything else. You want me and you shall have me.”
“How can you do this?”
He continued as if he’d not heard her words. “And then, you will also have your child. Only this time, I will not be your husband’s inconvenient brother. I will be your husband.”
“You want me to marry you?”
“Of course. Marriage is the only respectable way. We have my heir, your son, to consider remember.”
“But you don’t love me. Why marry me?”
“You are from the West. Marriage is not for life—surely you know that—and nowhere more so than in my country. When I tire of you I may take another wife. Or simply remove you to another palace. It is not a problem.”
“You are an immoral bastard.”
“That’s no way to talk about your future husband.”
“And you, such as you, want to be the father of my child.”
“I will care for him. He is of my blood.”
They were close now, their eyes trained on each other, holding both the power of attraction that had originally brought them together and the anger and bitterness that had followed. She could feel his breath quicken against her cheek, as he must have felt hers.
“No.” The single, despairing word floated between them—too soft to be any real show of force against him.
“Yes.” His voice was also soft—he had no need to prove anything. He moved even closer to her, until there was nothing between the two of them. No separation and no escape.
He dipped his head to hers, as if to inhale her and her breath caught.
In that one instant she absorbed the details of his face as if she could actually feel the dark stubble of his jaw roughly abrading her own jaw, could feel his silky hair fall gently against her own cheek. She closed her eyes in order to break the connection, willing herself to dispel the confusion of hate and need; the clash between mind and body.
When she re-opened them he’d stepped away, a defiant weariness in place.
“Come, you need to rest and then I will have Matta brought to you.”
She shook her head as if to free it of the nightmare that was unfolding. He was right. She had only one choice left open to her. She felt herself literally crumple then. Her legs buckled under her and all fight vanished.
Suddenly she felt his arm around her, steadying her, giving her the strength she needed.
“It will not be so bad, Anna. You will have everything you need, more than you could imagine. You will be gaining far more than you will be leaving behind.”
She pushed him away. “You know nothing. All I would be gaining would be my child. I would be losing everything else that I’ve treasured and worked towards my whole adult life.”
He swung open the double doors and stood back for her to pass.
“What could you possibly be leaving behind that you treasure so much?”
She walked out into the warm light of the evening sun and looked away, far away, out to the distant mountains now a bluish haze against a soft apricot sky.
“My independence.”
The hollow echo of the banging doors swallowed her words. She doubted he’d even heard them.
CHAPTER TWO
Anna watched the shadows slowly take form as the soft pre-dawn light revealed her bedroom in all its luxurious detail. Although ancient, it seemed everything in the palace had been designed to seduce the senses: from the fine, white silk curtains that shimmered in the fresh breeze, to the fragrance of the orange blossom that lingered in the air like an invitation.
But there was only one luxury that was a necessity. And he was now curled up in her arms. She sighed with pleasure and shifted her arm gently from underneath Matta’s head and looked down on
her sleeping son in awe.
Relaxed, his arms were flung either side of his head and his feet had kicked off the light covers. With the same rich, skin tones as his father, he looked as though he belonged amidst the exotic surroundings that were so strange to Anna’s eyes.
The thought twisted in her gut, creating a void she knew might never be filled. He was moving away from her. From the moment they’d been reunited, the previous evening, she’d seen that he was at home here in the palace. He’d heard the stories and poetry of Qawaran growing up and even knew a few words of the country’s language. Watching him run around, followed by a doting army of extended family and servants, she’d seen him settled in a way he’d never been before.
Once more her eyes absorbed his plump cheeks and the dark-fringed lids, lying in a peaceful crescent on his dark skin. She’d do anything to give him the best life possible. Even if it meant admitting Zahir was right. Perhaps this was where her son needed to be, where he belonged. Here, he would have so many opportunities that she could never give him.
She shivered and rose from the bed, drawn to the huge eastern window framed by once bold carvings that had been muted by the touch of generations. The window held an expansive view of the endless stony hammada plains contained by a horizon that was a mere charcoal line in the colorless, pre-dawn light.
It was a raw view of infinite monotony but yet of infinite power. It was mesmerizing.
She settled onto the window seat, pushed open the ancient lead-paned window and leaned out, gazing up at the austere walls of the palace. Where the palace began and the rock face ended was anybody’s guess. The palace and the rocky escarpment rose high above the plains, seemingly one, belying the luxury to be found within.
A suggestion of a shadow passed over her in the pale light and she looked up to the top-most crags that peaked high above the castle. A huge falcon wheeled silently in the high, eddying winds, lost in a world of casual freedom.
Only something that had never been held captive could take freedom so lightly. She would not take it so lightly.
“Mom!” Matta’s softly rounded body jumped into her lap, his chubby arms lifting to wrap himself trustingly around her body. His cheek pressed to her chest, he sighed, a deep, contented sigh and immediately fell asleep again. Curled within her arms, the void was filled. But for how long?
Zahir sat back, took a third sip of the coffee passed the dallah to Anna who, like him, sat cross-legged, her robes falling loosely around her slim frame.
If she was surprised at the traditional ceremony, at the sharing of a cup, of the strong, cardamom-flavored coffee, then she hid it well. His eyes followed her lips as they pressed to the small, white cup, the soft vertical lines slightly pursed as she sipped the hot coffee.
Had her face, her lips, always been so delicate? His time with her had been intense but brief. He didn’t recall the translucence of her skin with the dark smudges under her eyes and he didn’t remember her lips, from which he’d felt nothing but power, being so finely drawn.
“So, was the bargain a good one?” She looked up suddenly, her blonde hair—white blonde in places—shimmering around her face and he could see that her blue-grey eyes still held that same look of strength and challenge. “You’re checking me over like I’m some kind of possession. Just wondered if you think you’ve got your money’s worth.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have struck the bargain otherwise.”
“You mean you don’t notice the changes that sleepless nights and the death of a husband has brought? Not to mention your manhunt of me and my child. I mean, come on, Zahir, I’ve changed. I’m not the same woman I was nearly four years ago.”
“True. You are too thin. You no longer have the bloom of youth; the softness in your face has gone.”
He had to hand it to her. Most beautiful women wouldn’t have taken his comment well. But she wasn’t most women.
“Bad bargain, then. On both sides. Because while I’ve disappointed you by changing, you’ve disappointed me by not changing.”
“You are insulted. It is not beauty I seek. Beautiful women are easily attainable. No, it is you I want.”
“Why? Just tell me why. Is it anger that I was married to your brother? Is it for revenge because you believe me responsible for your brother’s death? Punishment for betraying him with you? Do you think you’re teaching me a lesson or something? What?”
A few days ago he’d wanted to do all of these things. But now? The intensity was still there but the hot anger had been replaced by something new. His body still stirred at her proximity, wanting to draw close to her, breathe her in, touch her skin, watch her emotions flicker across her grey-blue eyes. His heart still beat to be with her. But now he had her, now he’d won the battle for her and she was here, just as she should be, he felt her vulnerability. He simply wanted to hold her. But he couldn’t. Not yet.
He might have won the battle, but not the war. War came down to strategy. And strategy came down to tactics.
“Why do I want you? It is simple. I have spent every day of the last four years imagining making love to you; remembering your eyes, your mouth, open, moist, wanting. Your thighs, how they felt against my tongue, against my fingers.”
He paused briefly, arrested by the sight of her shocked expression as he took her back to the memory of their one night together. Her hand was frozen in the act of raising the coffee cup to her lips: lips, he noticed, that were lightly parted as if spellbound by his words. And her gaze held his with eyes that had become more violet than blue from the inner heat that he could see shimmering across her skin, pumping her body with awareness.
He smiled to himself. He simply had to give her time for her mind to allow what her body already knew.
“I cannot live like that,” he continued. “I have work to do, a people and a country to govern. I must have you to rid myself of this obsession.”
She took a deep breath as she placed the coffee cup carefully before her. “And how exactly do you propose to have me? You said that it would not be by force. Or have you changed your mind on that score?”
“You insult me. I would never do anything so dishonorable.”
“So let’s get this straight. You’d kidnap my son and blackmail me into marriage. And that’s not dishonorable?”
“No. That is a means to an end. Taking you by force would have no positive benefits, other than temporary. It is you,” he looked into her eyes, “who I must have. And it must be done willingly or it will be ineffective.”
“Zahir. You’re like a spoilt boy, wanting only what you can’t have. You think like one to. Once you get it then you won’t want it any more. I’ll be moved to a corner of the palace and forgotten about.”
“You understand perfectly.”
She shook her head. “I won’t play your games.”
“Then don’t. If you don’t wish to engage in this battle, you have already described your solution.”
“I have?”
“Come to me. Let us ride out this mutual obsession,” he held up his hand to silence her. “It is mutual. And then it will be over.”
Over. Could she do it? Swallow her pride and her dreams and give in to his wishes? But not just to his wishes, she was forced to admit. Her mind had been desperately trying to control her physical response to Zahir since she’d entered the room. And she’d succeeded at first. But his words of passion broke through that control, filling her mind with nothing but the memory of the heat of his naked body against hers, of the rhythmic movement of his hips as he drove into her repeatedly, sending her over the edge to a place that she dared not revisit. Without control she would be entirely at his mercy.
“I can see you like the thought.”
She could feel her cheeks burning.
“I won’t make it so easy for you.”
“Easy for you, I would have thought. Lie with me, then, when the obsession is vented—maybe months, maybe years—it will be over. You can do whatever you wish to do: stay here wi
th Matta, or not. You will be wealthy and have the freedom and independence you claim you’ve left behind.”
So he had heard her. And yet he’d made no sign or acknowledgement of her words last night.
His flippant use of the words that she held so dear angered her. What did he know about growing up, always on the outside of society, looking in? What did he know about studying all night in order to gain the education that she knew to be the key to independence? What did he know about letting her own dreams slip away from her, shifting them to her son? Matta would be loved. He would be respected. He would be a part of this world that had excluded her from birth, by virtue of her birth.
“I will keep my end of the bargain. I will marry you and live here, for one reason only—to be with my son. But I will not sleep with you, Zahir.”
He shrugged. “I am used to battles, to strategy, I will get what I want. It will maybe take a little longer. But there is something to be said for the anticipation.”
“This is a battle you will not win.”
“Ah, Anna, I have fought many battles and lost none. A knowledge of one’s opponent is vital.”
She passed the cup back to Zahir.
“The outcome doesn’t bode well for you then, does it? You don’t know me at all.”
“But I do. I know that there is a reason for your outwardly conciliatory behavior. You are wearing Qawarian robes; you are partaking in the ancient Bedu coffee ceremony without comment. You are doing this not because it is easy for you, because it is familiar. You are doing it for a reason.”
And Anna had no intention of telling Zahir the real reason why she preferred to wear clothes that were like a uniform, which hid her and made her anonymous.
“I have no problems adapting to other people’s cultures. I was brought up amongst people of all nationalities. You could say I had an early education in world culture and cuisine.”
If you could call scavenging food from the back door of different takeaways—Indian, Turkish, Chinese, Mexican—an education, then yes, her taste buds were educated alright. Educated in getting something for nothing, in survival.
The Sheikh's Bargain Bride (Desert Kings) Page 2
