Lord of the Desert

by Diana Palmer

  “So speaks the master,” she said with a wicked grin.

  He caught her arm and pulled her down onto him, rolling her under him with a graceful movement. He smiled at her consternation. “I am the master here,” he said in a deep, soft tone. “In every way, now.”

  She searched his dark eyes. “The women bathed me.”

  He nodded. He touched her hair lightly. “It is a tradition among my tribe. That, and the saving of the bridal sheet.” His eyes glittered. “It is proof that you came to the marriage bed a virgin and that any child that comes of it is mine.”

  Her eyes were sad. “I wish there could be a child, Philippe,” she said genuinely. “I would have loved having a son with you.”

  His face went hard as he looked at her. “One miracle in a lifetime is enough, don’t you think?” he asked quietly. “So you felt what happened to me?”

  She flushed. “Oh, yes.”

  He brushed his fingers over her mouth. “It was…unexpected. I knew that I could remain aroused long enough to pleasure you. But I didn’t realize that I could take pleasure from your body as well as give it.” He bent and kissed her tenderly. “You made me a man again,” he whispered. “It is a gift I will cherish all my life.”

  She smiled under his hard mouth, her hands tangling in his damp, thick black hair. “Can you, again, do you think?”

  He looked vaguely worried. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. He smiled a little stiffly. “The combination of danger, relief, desire, the aftermath of violence…it would be difficult to recreate such circumstances.”

  She traced the scar down his lean cheek and to the corner of his mouth. “I suppose so. But you didn’t think you could at all, before.”

  “That is true.” He bent and kissed her again, softly. “Nine years of celibacy, Gretchen,” he said roughly. “And in a space of weeks, you gave me life all over again.”

  Her arms linked around his neck. “Only because you let yourself go with me,” she pointed out. “Perhaps that was what was missing all along. You thought you couldn’t, so you didn’t even try.”

  “You realize that our marriage is binding only in Qawi?” he asked, just to make sure she understood.

  Something went out in her soft eyes. She pulled her arms from around his neck. “Yes, I remember what you told me,” she said, moving away. She forced a smile to her lips. “I’m starved. This looks good.”

  She began to eat, subdued now. He watched her absently while he, too, ate, his eyes bold on the soft contours of her body that were visible in the light from the ornate hanging lantern above them. She was beautiful in her way. And her body aroused him as no other body ever had. He felt himself tense with the same inexplicable stabs of pleasure that had sent him running to her bed earlier.

  She wasn’t noticing his preoccupation with her figure. She was thinking that he was anxious to send her packing, now that he was whole again. He probably had some other woman in mind to share his throne. Perhaps this Brianne Hutton wasn’t as happily married as he made out, and he had ambitions in that direction. She had a picture of a beautiful blond woman with Philippe straining her to his powerful body. She swallowed and put down the last bit of a flaky roll that she couldn’t manage.

  She sipped what Leila called “fizzy water” absently until she noticed that Philippe had called the servant to take the tray away, adding another curt command that she couldn’t hear. But she noticed that the big tent flap was quietly secured in place behind the servant.

  Philippe’s black eyes cut into hers in the sudden silence of the chamber. He got up without another word and lowered the chain that secured the hanging lantern so that he could extinguish the flame.

  He hung it once more, secured the chain, and then bent to draw Gretchen to her feet and tug her along with him to his bedchamber.

  With her heart shivering in her chest, she felt him search for the hem of the gellabia and strip her out of it. She was bare underneath, as his lean hands quickly discovered. They slid easily over her soft curves with the delicate scent of the powder Leila and the other women had dabbed on after her bath.

  “You feel like warm silk,” he murmured, drawing her to him. He bent his head and began to kiss her slowly, softly, tenderly. “I ache for you. Is it too soon? Do you need time to recover from the first time?”

  “No.” She linked her arms around his neck, eager for whatever he wanted of her. She was still a little sore, but not enough to discourage her from the pursuit of more delicious intimacies.

  “Wait,” he said gently. He moved away from her and there was another sound of fabric sliding away from skin.

  When he came back to her, she felt his nudity in close, thrilling contact with her own and she gasped with pure delight, reaching up to draw herself even closer to that power and heat.

  His hands slid down her long back to her hips and drew her hungrily to him. As he felt her against him, his body began to tauten and swell, and he laughed with delight, with pure joy in his returned manhood.

  Her arms went around him and she returned his soft kisses with equal pleasure, lingering on the soft contacts as he taught her to prolong the slow giving and taking of caresses that kindled raging fires.

  His hands caressed her soft, firm breasts lazily until he bent and his warm mouth replaced the silken caresses of his lean fingers. She lifted, catching her breath, to coax his lips even closer, to increase the soft suction that made her shiver with delight.

  He parted her lips with his and his hands contracted on her upper thighs, lifting her, pressing her down on him, so that they were suddenly in intimate contact. She gasped as she felt the hard probing of her softness, and the immediate invasion of herself in one long thrust that her body protested.

  She clung to his neck, shivering, lifting herself away because she was sensitive to this sort of invasion, and he seemed even more potent than he had the first time.

  “You flinched,” he whispered. “Are you sore?”

  “Not…inside,” she replied, glad that he couldn’t see her flush. “But you seem…more potent,” she added shyly.

  He inhaled sharply. “I am,” he murmured against her mouth. He eased her down onto the thick pallet and stretched out on her taut body, nudging her thigh aside to admit the slow descent of his masculinity. “Try to relax,” he whispered as his body fenced lazily with hers and began to probe it. “Your body clenches so tightly that it resists me.”

  “I’m sorry. It isn’t that I don’t want to, you know,” she whispered. “I love being with you like this.”

  He lifted his head and kissed her eyelids, his body resting intimately against hers. “I had forgotten the difficulties,” he murmured enigmatically, and a deep chuckle sounded at her forehead. “Especially with an inexperienced lover.”

  Her breath caught. “Difficulties?”

  “Never mind.” He nudged her long legs into parting even more and he moved sensuously between them, teasing her body in a new and very arousing way, so that she began to lift toward him. “I must be more patient, that is all. Here…”

  He moved her lazily from side to side while his mouth fed on hers. She moaned as the motions took her from one surge of hunger to the next, higher, one.

  She felt him move, lowered himself slowly onto her yielded body, coaxing her long legs to bend and lie close to his, so that they were cocooned together in the most poignant intimacy they had yet shared.

  Her breath was audible when he began to rock her under him, his tongue probing her mouth as his body tenderly probed hers.

  His hands were under her, between their locked bodies, touching her in ways he hadn’t before, making her shiver with little surges of quick pleasure.

  She wanted to touch him, too, but she was wary of it since their earlier conversations, so she contented herself with tracing lazy patterns on his shoulders while his body brushed hers in an increasingly arousing way.

  “Here,” he whispered, repositioning her. “There?” he asked tenderly when she stiffened
and moaned. “Yes. Don’t be frightened,” he whispered, and then he began to move again with skillful, quick motions that had her nails biting into his shoulders and her breath suspended in her throat as a new and alarming sensation began to build in her body. He moved closer and she felt her body accept the invasion of his with delight, felt herself lift to entice him even closer. The pleasure became violent, like jolts of high voltage, and the contact, even so intimate, was suddenly not intimate enough. She arched up to him with a harsh little moan.

  “Philippe!” she cried quickly, almost panicked by the surge of explosive pleasure, far greater than anything they’d shared before. “It’s not…close…enough!” she sobbed, clinging to him urgently.

  His hand shot out and grabbed a cushion. He lifted her abruptly and placed it under her hips and when he moved again, she cried aloud and shuddered.

  “Even this,” he whispered deeply into her ear, “is hardly close enough, is it?” He moved sharply and groaned as she shivered again. “I’ve never possessed a woman this completely,” he bit off. “I’ve never wanted to go so deep…!!”

  His hands hurt her hips as he tilted them and pushed down fiercely. His body arched with a pleasure that was almost painful. He shuddered and groaned into her open mouth. He felt her sharp little teeth biting into his shoulder and he laughed, deep in his throat as he moved more violently. “Yes, bite me,” he ground out. “Bite me, claw me…!”

  She lifted up to him with her last sane impulse, straining for the elusive pleasure that suddenly shot through her like silver fire as her sharp nails bit into his hips. She sobbed, her voice breaking as she stiffened and then convulsed under his powerful body, feeling him cover her mouth to silence her as he brought her to ecstasy.

  His own body rippled with the sensation of unbearably sweet tension. It climbed into a fierce spiral and suddenly snapped in explosions of pure delight. He felt the rigor lift him, arch him down into her own straining body. He whispered her name harshly, like a prayer, over and over again until finally he groaned it and his body shuddered rhythmically with the most exquisite fulfillment he’d ever had from a woman.

  He lay on her with his full weight, feeling himself pulse helplessly, feeling her around him, under him, part of him. His hands tangled in her cool, disheveled blond hair and his mouth searched hungrily for her own. He tasted it in an exhaustion that left him vibrating with the strain.

  Her mouth was against the hard arm she’d bitten. She was soothing it with her lips and her tongue in a silence that throbbed with spent pleasure.

  “I felt your teeth,” he whispered, lazily brushing his mouth over her parted lips. “Did you feel mine?”

  “Yes. Is it normal?” she asked hesitantly.

  His mouth smoothed over her eyelids, closing them. “If we have pleasure from it, yes.”

  She moved and shivered with the tiny little spasms that seemed never to end. She moaned. “It goes on and on,” she whispered.

  “Rarely,” he replied. His hips moved deeply and he laughed as she shuddered under him. “Yes. We could satisfy each other continually now with no more than these tiny movements.” He drew in a shaky breath. “And I am selfish enough to want that. But your body is raw and exhausted. It will make you very sore if we continue much longer.” He kissed her once more and slowly pulled away from her, noticing her tiny flinch when he rolled over onto his back and stretched lazily.

  She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but she heard him slip back into the thobe just the same. It had been heady and sweet to hold him in her arms like that, with nothing between them. But he was far too self-conscious about his scars to do it in the light, and she would have to accept that.

  He handed her the purple gellabia and drew her to her feet before he slid it over her head.

  “Come,” he said gently, and lifted her, carrying her back through the tent to her own chamber. He placed her tenderly on her own pallet and knelt beside her, watching her face in the dim light from the torch outside the tent.

  “Why can’t I sleep with you all night?” she asked.

  He touched her bright hair. “I have nightmares,” he said simply. “You would not sleep.”

  “You’re my husband,” she began.

  “In Qawi,” he said curtly. “And only in Qawi.” He got to his feet abruptly. “There has been a change in plans. We start home in the morning. Brianne will be at the palace by the time we arrive, and I must make sure adequate safeguards are in place. She arrives much sooner than I had expected.”

  “What about Brauer?” she asked worriedly.

  “We shelled his headquarters. Many of his men are missing, most of his equipment is destroyed. Even if he wishes to provoke another border skirmish, it will not be right away. He must raise more money for arms and men. In the meanwhile, all of us will be relatively safe. Especially with my uncle under guard, and his accomplices in prison.”

  “You had them arrested?” she asked.

  “Yes. They will be tried. As will he, if he is not careful.”

  “And I thought you needed protecting,” she mused, moving a little gingerly on the pallet.

  “Perhaps I do,” he mused. “You have an unexpected effect on me,” he added quietly. “I’m not sure I like it.”

  “What effect?”

  “These unexpected lapses of physical ravishment,” he said bluntly. “It was not what I intended when I brought you here.”

  “You wouldn’t have known you were still capable if you hadn’t.”

  His face would have shocked her, had she been able to see it. Capable. He was so obsessed by what had happened that he felt vulnerable. He’d never really known vulnerability in his rough, difficult past, but this woman could reduce him to his knees. She had power over him, and it was disturbing. He knew the treachery of women who used men for their own purposes. He didn’t think Gretchen would ever behave in such a manner, but how could he be certain? Rushing headlong into physical ravishment had not been wise, even if circumstances had sent him racing to her bed. Now he had to manage the aftermath, and he was too confused at the moment to make sense of it all. Brauer was still loose, and Brianne was on her way. He looked at Gretchen and his whole body clenched. He needed time…

  “You aren’t sorry about what happened, are you?” Gretchen asked, quickly reading his dark mood.

  He wouldn’t look at her directly. “I don’t know,” he said tautly. “It may prove as much curse as blessing,” he said curtly. “Sleep well.”

  He turned and left her without a backward glance. She huddled under a thin sheet and wondered what she’d said or done to make him suddenly so remote. The most wonderful experience of her life had turned him into a stranger. Something had changed drastically between them, and not just intimacy. He’d taken several mental steps away from her. She wondered if he hadn’t meant to seduce her at all now that Brianne Hutton was coming to stay, and if he felt guilty that he’d given in to desire now that his old love was making a reappearance in his life. Only time would tell, but she felt more dejected and uncertain than she ever remembered feeling in her life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning, Philippe was back in his flowing white robes, looking as much a part of the desert as his hard-bitten fighting men. He was still acting remote with Gretchen, although unfailingly polite and courteous. But she had her own horse going back, and he didn’t offer to share his. The Land Rover had been sent ahead, on its way to the airport to pick up Mrs. Brianne Hutton and her little boy, who were arriving ahead of schedule.

  By the time they arrived at the palace, the newcomers were already in residence. Brianne came out to meet Philippe, who took the palace steps two at a time to grasp her hands and kiss their palms warmly. He bent and picked up the little boy who was with the pretty blond woman, who looked no older than Gretchen herself. As Mrs. Hutton turned, Gretchen almost gasped. The woman could have been her sister, they resembled each other so much. While she stared, transfixed, without a backward glance or even an
introduction, Philippe took Mrs. Hutton and her son into the palace and he never looked back once.

  Hassan, Gretchen’s bodyguard, escorted her inside and let Leila take charge of her. But he stayed close behind as they went toward her quarters.

  “There is still danger,” Leila explained when they were sequestered in Gretchen’s suite. “The sidi has told Hassan to stay always near you, while Monsieur Brauer is free.”

  “They said he won’t pose much of a threat for a while, since Philippe blew up his base,” Gretchen said.

  “That is so. But it is never wise to take too much for granted.” Leila gave Gretchen a wise, quiet look. “You need to rest, Lady,” she said. “It has been an unsettling time for you.”

  Gretchen flushed, and averted her eyes.

  “There, there,” Leila said gently, and smiled. “It is something which all women share, this learning of men and their needs. It is not altogether a fearful thing, is it?”

  Gretchen smiled shyly. “No,” she admitted.

  “And the sidi is a man of great experience,” Leila chattered as she began to unpack Gretchen’s things and put them away in drawers. “When he was younger, there were always beautiful women stalking him. In recent years, he has been quite circumspect, especially since he assumed power in Qawi. But he will want an heir. And an American wife,” she added with a grin, “is quite a coup for him. It will be of great help when he asks for technical assistance from your government to help with his modernization programs.”

  Gretchen sat down in a low chair and smoothed her hands over the carved wood arms. “Mrs. Hutton is American,” she mentioned.

  “She is married, Lady,” came the surprised reply. “A guest, certainly, but hardly in the same class with the wife of the sheikh!”

  “Do you think so?” she asked absently, and sighed. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, seeing again the painful sight of her husband walking away with Brianne and her son. Remembered bits and pieces of conversation filtered through her misery, and she recalled what Philippe had said about Pierce Hutton’s young wife. Now that Gretchen could see the resemblance, she was frightened that what Philippe felt for herself was the desire he couldn’t express for Brianne. It didn’t help to wonder if he’d been pretending even in their most intimate moments that she was no more than a poor shadow of the woman he really wanted. She remembered his remoteness after they’d made love, and his sudden and total lack of awareness of her presence the minute he saw Brianne. She had a feeling that it wasn’t going to be an isolated incident.