The Sheikh's Bargain Bride (Desert Kings)

by Fraser, Diana

  He opened his eyes suddenly and her breath caught in her chest, tying knots in her throat. There was a vulnerability and a tenderness there that she’d seen only occasionally as the weeks had progressed. It had shown itself in slight hesitations where before there were none, in a flicker in the depth of the eye. But now the eyes that looked upon her were unveiled and calling into the depth of her soul. She took a ragged deep breath and turned away. His gaze was too intimate. She felt it would annihilate her if she let it.

  She looked fixedly up at the stars, aware that he was now looking at her with the same intensity.

  She wanted him now. She didn’t want to build their life together on lies. She wanted the truth, she wanted to honor him as the Imam said.

  “I’ve never seen such stars.” She turned to him once more. “You know, as a girl I was obsessed with stars, I used to know them all, the constellations, the planets, the far-away stars, but I could only ever see a few.”

  “Why would you be so interested in what you couldn’t see?”

  “Because I knew that beyond the darkness were beautiful things, better and brighter than I knew. I needed to know that they were there. At university I still used to search for them but it was too bright in the city.”

  “You needed to go to the country.”

  “And I needed money for that so I never went.”

  “So are they as beautiful as you imagined?”

  She didn’t speak for a long time because her mind was a whirl of images and feelings that spun together, resolving themselves into a different shape: her love for her son, her need for freedom. Only weeks ago she’d been afraid she was losing both. Now she knew she’d never lose her son and she had a nagging feeling that perhaps she’d found more freedom here, with Zahir, than she ever had before. Perhaps not enough—but still more.

  “More so.”

  “You look thoughtful. What are you thinking of?”

  She smiled, not willing to open her thoughts so completely yet to him. “That I found it hard to leave Matta tonight.”

  “He reminds you of Abduallah, doesn’t he?”

  She looked up into his eyes unable to believe that he truly could not see that Matta was his child.

  “No. That wasn’t it. He really doesn’t look much like Abduallah.”

  “He has his coloring.”

  She briefly raised her eyebrows and sighed.

  “Zahir, I—”

  But he silenced her with a finger that brushed her lips and took away her thoughts. She closed her eyes, her mouth parting under the gentle pressure of his finger that circled her lips before the tip of his finger rubbed back and forward along her lower lip. The tip of her tongue found his finger, before her lips closed around it, sucking lightly before kissing it. She could feel the heat building in her, was aware of the sharp intake of his breath as she sucked his finger.

  All her thoughts and intentions slipped away as she felt his hot breath quicken against her skin. They moved together, their lips finding each other’s in a kiss that had none of the gentleness of their previous kiss, none of the delicacy and none of the hesitancy. Like the welling up of the thermal water from deep within the hot earth, their passion came from somewhere deep inside where it had been building its heat, heightening its pressure until it was ready to explode.

  As their mouths searched each other’s for the connection from which they’d both held back for so long, Zahir pulled her through the water into his arms. Straddled across his lap, his arms around her, the barrier between them broken at last, Anna wanted nothing more than for the final barrier between them to be gone. Her lips opened wide to allow his tongue entry to caress hers; her arms pulled him tighter to her so she could feel his hard, muscled chest pressing against her soft breasts and the strength of his arousal pressing against her body.

  But no amount of closeness seemed to be enough. They were both feverish with desire. His hands pushed up inside her bikini top, exposing her breasts to his lips, his mouth, his tongue. Lightning flashes fired through her as his impatient hands slid under her bikini bottom and tore them off, the loose knots easily giving way to his impatient hands.

  Naked, on top of him, Anna could feel his need for her clearly through his shorts. It was her turn to yank them off and as they floated down the pool to join her bikini, she eased herself forward until he was touching her: his breath upon hers, her breasts upon his chest and her sex upon his, touching him, driving them both crazy with need.

  The warm water surged around them as Zahir reached behind him and plucked a condom from a robe pocket. With shaking hands she tore the wrapper; with impatient hands he slid it into place and slipped back into the pool again. She raised herself into the cooler air, her skin and nipples peaking, before she plunged down on top of him.

  She trembled at the sensation of his flesh inside hers. Her skin felt tight with need. Her hands, her feet, her shoulders, her breasts, tingled with nerve endings made electric by the smooth slide of him against her most sensitive skin.

  She could feel the pulse of him from deep within him, surfacing deep within her. She hardly dared to move for fear of the devastating sensations that made her lose herself, made her feel that she was disintegrating.

  But she wasn’t disintegrating; she was complete. One look into his eyes in which she could see herself reflected back as if she filled him as much as he was filling her, told her that. As they moved together, she could feel the beat of his heart beneath her hands, echoing her own rapid heartbeat.

  But with each shift of her body up and down onto his, she felt her body lose that grounding connection with the physical as it turned as liquid as the water that pumped around them. It was only his strong arms holding her that kept her upright—and the fact that she could no more stop creating the sensations that devastated her body and mind, than stop breathing. He sat up and held her then and she fell back into arms that were strong and yet gave her the room to surrender to the feeling of total bliss that exploded inside and swept out and engulfed her whole being. Her cries, immediately followed by his, carried around the clearing, bouncing off the walls that enclosed them, before drifting up with the steam, up into the stars.

  She stopped moving and fell against him, still connected, still aware of every movement of his hard body inside her, on the edge of her. He lifted her chin and kissed her tenderly on the lips before he withdrew, picked her up in his arms and stepped out of the bath. Water fell from them both in heavy rivulets, withdrawing its heat from her overheated body and allowing the cooler air to spike her body with new sensations: sensations that the movement of Zahir’s hands only increased.

  Within minutes Zahir had set her down on a soft rug beside the pool, strewn with cushions. He kissed her once more but her hand sought out what she wanted and he groaned as she caressed him before pulling him closer to where she wanted him. He frowned briefly before ripping open another packet and this time her fingers didn’t hesitate as she pulled it down onto him with both hands caressing him. She dropped onto her back and he plunged deep within her as her legs came around to capture his body, pressing him into her. But any sense of capture was fleeting. He controlled her: physically, pushing her body rhythmically against the cushions, and emotionally, holding her gaze with eyes that held only a reflection of her own star-lit eyes, until the twisting spirals of sensation flared and shot through her body as she called out his name. Only then did he climax, pulsing into her with a cry that shot straight into her heart.

  She kept her legs wrapped around him tight, not wanting the intimacy to end, not wanting him to withdraw but he did. And he kissed her then with an all-encompassing tenderness that made her realize that the intimacy hadn’t ended, it had only just begun.

  She awoke inside the tent. She scarcely remembered returning there. But she remembered the love-making that had followed throughout the night. Thinking back to the weeks she’d spent at the palace, she couldn’t believe she’d waited so long for him. Yet she knew that she’d needed that t
ime to come to terms with her own emotions.

  As the soft grey light morning stole into the tent, she looked across at Zahir. He was sleeping peacefully but as soon as she sat up, his eyes flicked open. She laughed.

  “Don’t you ever sleep deeply?”

  He shook his head. “Years of living in the desert; years of having to be alert to danger—I cannot rid myself of the habit.”

  “It’s a useful habit because it makes things quite easy for me. Just one movement and I have you where I want you.” Her hand slid under the sheet and stroked him. He closed his eyes and groaned.

  “Haven’t you had enough for one night woman?”

  “No. And nor have you apparently.” She marveled at his rigid thickness that she held in her hand. It echoed the shape of his body: thick and strong and full of a simmering passion that needed only her touch to kick into life.

  Her naked breasts peaked with the chill of the morning air—and desire—and she wriggled closer to him until the heat that rolled off his body completely enveloped her and she sighed. She moved her hand up his body, over his hard-toned muscles and chest until her hand lay briefly over his heart. She wriggled closer again until her head lay against his chest and she could both feel and hear the quickened thud of his heart pushing the blood to where he needed it most.

  She reached over to the box of condoms and smoothly rolled one onto him before sliding one leg around him. Lying on top of him, her body tight against his, her head against his chest, she was filled with a sense of utter bliss—of warmth and comfort and simple rightness—that shocked her. Quickly she slid down onto him and stopped, watching his face. He watched her through narrowed eyes, the only movement coming from inside her, heightening the sensations that spread deliciously through her body. As she moved slowly, teasingly on him, his face tightened with pleasure. She continued to move on him determined to see him climax as he always did her. But her control was no match for his and the wave after wave of shimmering release hit her before he allowed himself the same release.

  She rolled over into his arms, their heads close. She’d never felt so close to anyone in her whole life. And this man was her husband.

  She trailed her fingertips along his body and watched the hair follicles rise in response to the light scrape of her nails. She moved and bent down and skimmed her lips along the same trail, kissing the skin, warming it with her breath. The tent was cool in the morning and her breath clouded slightly.

  “Anna. I need to tell you something. The first condom, I’m not sure if it protected you. The pressure of the water around us may have made it ineffective.”

  Anna didn’t move.

  “We risked much last time,” Zahir continued, “thank God nothing came of it.”

  She suddenly felt angry. How dare he say that? Matta had come of it and she couldn’t even begin to imagine not wanting Matta.

  “And I need to tell you something. I know I should be worried about the risk involved but I can’t be. Because a large part of me—not the practical part that’s for sure—doesn’t want anything to come between us. No barriers, no lies.”

  She paused, searching his face for a reaction, but finding only a blank mask that chilled her. “Go on.” His voice, too, was distant now.

  “Matta…”

  “What about Matta? He’s well isn’t he?”

  She nodded. “Of course. I need to tell you that Matta is your son. He was six weeks premature—a difficult pregnancy…”

  He continued to look at her but she could see the shock register in his eyes.

  “You need to tell me?” His voice was soft, holding within it a violence that frightened her. He turned from her then and shifted away from her awkwardly and sat up, looking away from her.

  “I tried to tell you.”

  “Obviously not hard enough.”

  She reached out to him. “Please, don’t do this. Not after what we have just experienced together. We have a new beginning, a new chance.”

  He swung around to face her then. “Based on lies? Anna, have you not understood anything about me and about the code by which I live my life? Lying has no part in it. I have always wanted the truth from you. And you have never given it.” He raked his fingers through his hair, moving away from her again. But she could see the vibration of the low groan filter down his back. He shook his head. “You tell me my nephew is in fact my son—a fact you have kept from me for four years—and think I should forget this small oversight of yours and continue as before?” He shook his head and stared at her. She flinched beneath his icy gaze. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  She fell back into bed under the blow of his gaze. She shook her head. “I thought—”

  “What exactly did you think?”

  “You said that nothing could come between us. You said you wanted to know the truth. I have told you the truth.”

  “All of it?”

  She couldn’t answer. Because telling the truth about Abduallah would betray his memory and destroy the image of Abduallah that had given Zahir his motivation and rationale all during the war years, and that still lingered now, like a silent sentinel to his heart. One word from her and the sentinel would disappear, destroying the strong, sure lines that delineated Zahir’s world.

  “I thought so. When will the lies cease?”

  Long silent moments drew longer but neither moved nor spoke before he rose, turning to her only once. “I will have a car come for you within the hour.”

  A cool blast of air enveloped her as he drew open the door to the tent and went outside without a further word.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Zahir watched Anna leave, her stiff figure unmoving in the back seat of the four-wheel drive. She didn’t turn around.

  He looked away deliberately. He chose not to see any more but he couldn’t choose not to hear the sound of the retreating vehicle as it revved and roared over the stony ground, down through the twists and turns of the wadi before emerging onto the plains. Taking his lying wife with it.

  Four years. For four years she’d kept the fact that he was a father secret from him. How could he ever forgive her?

  It was Anna being true to form: lying and disloyal.

  He’d thought he could overlook it, somehow come to terms with her character that was so opposite to his own. But now this, on top of his brother’s death.

  How could he ever trust her again?

  He looked out beyond the vehicle to the smudge of mountains that indicated where the palace was. There was nothing between the two sets of mountains except desert. He breathed deeply of the dry heat that swept off the plains, striving to neutralize the bitterness and anger that he could feel filling his veins.

  This was his life: guardian of his people and his family and his land. He’d never wanted a child. How could a cold man care properly for one? If ever he had any softer feelings, they had been knocked out of him by the loss of his mother and the fighting he’d thrown himself into for years. They’d made him the man he’d become; one not fit to be a father. And not fit to be a husband. But he was both now and his control of the situation was slipping away as surely as the sand through his fingers.

  Confusion, anger, frustration at his inability to control the situation engulfed him. But he’d never run, or hidden from anything. He’d face things but not yet, not while he couldn’t control his feelings.

  Anna closed her dry eyes against the stinging dust. She couldn’t have cried if she’d wanted to. The shock of his emotional retreat left her numb. How could she have been such a fool to believe he’d understand?

  When the car stopped she opened her eyes slowly and gazed up at the palace walls that soared high all around them, a soft yellow against a brilliant cerulean sky. It was the same place she’d come to weeks ago and yet it wasn’t. Now, it was home.

  She didn’t see the building in isolation any more, but in relation to the plains, to the hidden oases and communities of the desert. It was a part of Zahir’s world, not enclosed within itsel
f.

  She half-laughed to herself—another strategy no doubt, to make her feel she wasn’t trapped. But she felt more trapped than ever and it had nothing to do with any buildings or countries, any physical boundaries. She was obsessed with someone who didn’t care for her and never would.

  It was gone midnight by the time Zahir returned. But instead of going directly to his own room he went to Anna’s. He knew she’d be there—either not expecting his return or not wanting, or being able to, face him again. But she would have to face him because he wanted answers.

  Starlight lit Anna’s bright hair. Darkness and shadows pooled all around but her hair seemed to glow dull silver under the incandescent light of the stars. She looked like a fallen angel lying there, disheveled as if dreaming disturbing dreams, the sheet twisted around her shifting legs, her arms reaching out for something that was beyond her.

  He felt the now familiar grip in his chest as if whatever it was that she was reaching for she’d found—within him. He stepped back, shocked by the depth of his need. The sound of his feet on the floor must have awoken her because she suddenly sat upright, still dazed by sleep.

  “Zahir?”

  “How can you be sure he isn’t Abduallah’s child?”

  She pushed herself up in bed, pushed her hair out of her eyes and sighed. “Believe me, I know. I am one hundred percent positive that you are Matta’s father.”

  He felt his shoulders relax with relief. When she’d first told him he’d been angry because he was scared he wouldn’t be enough for Matta. But the anger had swiftly disappeared, followed by a fear that there may have been a mistake—that Matta wasn’t his—and he could no more bear that than live in exile from his home.

  “Did Abduallah believe Matta to be his?”

  “No.”

  Zahir felt a further surge of relief tainted with guilt.

  “He knew Matta to be mine?”