Defiant in the Desert

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Suleiman—’

  His mouth was hard and hungry and she could feel his anger coming off him in waves. He slid towards her on the front seat of the luxury car, one hand capturing her breast, while the other began to ruck up the slithery silk of her dress. He stopped kissing her long enough to slide his hand up her bare thigh and stare down at her face.

  ‘Suleiman,’ she said again—as if saying his name would make some kind of sense of the situation. As if it would remind her that this was dangerous—in so many ways.

  ‘All I can think of is you,’ he said. ‘All I want is to touch you again. You’re driving me crazy.’

  She swallowed as he edged his fingertip inside her panties. ‘This isn’t the answer.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  He had reached her core now, touching her exquisitely aroused flesh so that the scent of her sex overrode the subtle perfume of the rose petals in which she’d bathed.

  ‘No. It’s...oh, Suleiman. That’s not fair.’

  ‘Who said anything about fairness?’

  His finger brushed against the sensitive nub. ‘Oh,’ she breathed. And again. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Still think this isn’t the answer?’

  She shook her head and Suleiman felt an undeniable burst of triumph as she fell back against the leather seat and spread her legs for him. But his mouth was grim as he rubbed his finger against her sex and all kinds of dark emotions stirred within him.

  He distracted himself by watching her writhe with pleasure. He watched the flush of colour which spread over her skin like wildfire and felt the change in her body as her back began to arch. Her little cries became louder. Her legs stiffened as they stretched out in front of her and he saw a flash of something—was it anger or regret?—before her eyelids fluttered to a close and she cried out his name, even though he got the idea she was trying very hard not to.

  Afterwards she smoothed down her tunic with trembling fingers and turned to him and there was a look on her face he’d never seen before. She looked satiated yes, but determined too—her eyes flashing violet fire as she lifted up his robes.

  ‘Now what are you doing?’ he questioned.

  ‘You ask too many questions.’

  She freed an erection which was so hard that it hurt—and sucked him until he came in her mouth almost immediately. And he had never felt so powerless in his life. Nor so turned on. Afterwards, he opened his eyes to look at her but she was staring straight ahead, her shoulders stiff with tension and her jaw set.

  ‘Sara?’ he questioned.

  She turned her head and he was shocked by the pallor of her face, which made her eyes look like two glittering violet jewels. ‘What?’

  He picked up one of her hands, which was lying limply in her lap, and raised it to his lips and kissed it. ‘You didn’t enjoy that?’

  She shrugged. ‘On one level, yes, of course I did—as, I imagine, did you. But that wasn’t about sex, was it, Suleiman? That seemed to be more about anger than anything else. I think I can understand why you’re feeling it, but I don’t particularly like it.’

  ‘You were angry too,’ he said softly.

  She turned her head to look at the endless stretch of sand outside the window. ‘I was feeling things other than anger,’ she said.

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Stupid things. Regret. Sadness. The realisation that nothing ever stays the same.’ She turned back to him, telling herself to be strong. Telling herself that the friendship they’d shared so long ago had been broken by time and circumstance. And now by desire. And that made her want to bury her face in her hands and weep.

  She forced a smile. ‘So now we’re done—are you going to take me to the airfield so I can go back to England?’

  He reached his hand out to touch her face, sliding his thumb against her parted lips so that they trembled. Leaning over, he hovered his lips over hers. ‘Are we done?’

  Briefly, Sara closed her eyes. Say yes, she told herself. It’s the only sane solution. You’ve escaped the marriage and you know there’s no future in this. Her lashes fluttered open to stare straight into the obsidian gleam of his eyes. His mouth was still close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath and she struggled against the temptation to kiss him.

  Were they done?

  In her heart, she thought they were.

  She ought to go back to England and start again. She should go back to her job at Gabe’s—if he would have her—and carry on as before. As if nothing had happened.

  She bit her lip, because it wasn’t that easy. Because something had happened and how could she go back to the way she’d been before? She felt different now because she was different. Inevitably. She had been freed from a marriage in which she’d had no say, but she was confused. Her future looked just as bewildering as before and it was all because of Suleiman.

  She had tried burying memories of him, but that hadn’t worked. And now that she’d made love with him, it had stirred up all the feelings she had repressed for so long. It had stirred up a sexual hunger which was eating away at her even now—minutes after he’d just brought her to orgasm in the front seat of the Sultan’s car. It didn’t matter what she thought she should do—because, when push came to shove, she was putty in his hands. When Suleiman touched her, he set her on fire.

  And maybe that was the answer. Maybe she just needed time to convince herself that his arrogance would be intolerable in the long term. If she tore herself away from him now—before she’d had her fill of him—wouldn’t she be caught in the same old cycle of forever wanting him?

  ‘Do you have a better suggestion?’ she questioned.

  ‘I do. A much better one.’ He stroked his hand down over her plaited hair. ‘We could take my plane and fly off somewhere.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Anywhere you like. As long as there’s a degree of comfort. I’m done with desert sand and making out in the front seat, like a couple of teenagers. I want to take you to bed and stay there for a week.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘SO WHY PARIS?’ Sara questioned, her mouth full of croissant.

  Suleiman leaned across the rumpled sheets and used the tip of his finger to rescue a stray fragment of pastry which had fallen onto her bare breast. He lifted the finger to his mouth and sucked on it, his dark eyes not leaving her face.

  And Sara wanted to kiss him all over again. She wanted to fling her arms around him and press her body against him and close her eyes and have him colour her world wonderful. Because that was what it was like whenever he touched her.

  ‘It’s my favourite hotel,’ he said. ‘And there is a reason why it’s known as the city of lovers. We can lie in bed all day and nobody bats an eyelid. We need never set foot outside the door if we don’t want to.’

  ‘Well, that’s convenient,’ said Sara drily. ‘Because that’s exactly what we’ve being doing. We’ve hardly seen any of the sights. In fact, we’ve been here for three days and I haven’t even been up the Eiffel Tower.’

  He kissed her nipple. ‘And do you want to go up the Eiffel Tower?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Sara put her plate down and leant back against the snowy bank of pillows. That thing he was doing to her nipple with his tongue was distracting her from her indolent breakfast in bed, but there were other things on her mind. Questions which kept flitting into her mind and which, no matter how hard she tried, wouldn’t seem to flit away again. She had told herself that there was a good reason why you were supposed to live in the present—but sometimes you just couldn’t prevent thoughts of the future from starting to darken the edges of your mind. Or the past, come to that...

  She kept her voice light and airy. As if she were asking him nothing more uncomplicated than would he please order her a coffee from room service. ‘Have you brought other women her
e?’

  There was a pause. The fingers which had been playing with her nipple stilled against the puckered flesh. He slanted her a look which she found more rueful than reassuring. ‘What do you want me to say? That you’re the first?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she said stiffly. ‘I didn’t imagine for a moment that I was.’

  But the thought of other women lying where she was lying unsettled her more than it should have done. Actually, it didn’t unsettle her—it hurt. The thought of Suleiman licking someone else’s breasts made dark and hateful thoughts crowd into her head. The image of him sliding his tongue between another woman’s legs made her feel almost dizzy with rage. And jealousy. And a million other things she had no right to feel.

  She should have known this would happen. She should have listened to all the doubts she’d refused to listen to that day in the desert. When she’d been so hungry for him and so impressed—yes, impressed—when he’d offered to fly her anywhere in the world that she’d smiled the smile of a besotted woman and said yes.

  And now look what had happened. Her feelings for him hadn’t died, that was for sure. She still cared for him—more than she wanted to care for him and more than it was safe to care. Yet deep down she knew that this trip was supposed to be about getting the whole passion thing out of their system. For both of them. Something which had begun so messily needed to have a clean ending so that they could both move on; she knew that, too.

  So what had happened?

  Suleiman had pulled out all the stops—that was what had happened. He was a man she had always adored, and now he had an added wow factor, because his vast self-made wealth gave him an undeniable glamour. And glamour mixed with desire made for a very powerful cocktail indeed.

  He had whisked her onto his own, private jet—and she’d got the distinct feeling that he had enjoyed showing it off—and flown her to a city she’d never got around to visiting before. That was the first mistake. Was it a good idea to go to the city of romance if you were trying to convince yourself that you weren’t still in love with a man?

  He had booked them into the presidential suite at the Georges V, where the staff all seemed to know him by name. Sara had been brought up in a palace, so she knew pretty much everything there was to know about luxury, but she fell in love with the iconic Parisian hotel.

  Next he took her shopping. Not just, as he said, because she had brought only a very inappropriate wardrobe with her—but because he wanted to buy her things. She told him that she would prefer to buy things for herself. He told her that simply wasn’t acceptable. There was a short stand-off, followed by a making-up session which had involved a bowl of whipped cream and a lot of imagination. And because she felt weak from all their love-making and dizzy just with the sense of being there—she went ahead and let him buy her the stuff anyway.

  The crisp January weather was cold so he splashed out on an ankle-length sheepskin coat and some thigh-high leather boots.

  ‘But you disapproved when I was wearing a very similar pair back in England,’ she had objected.

  ‘Yes, but these are for my eyes only,’ he’d purred, pillowing his head against his folded arms as he’d leaned back against the sofa to watch her slide them on when they had arrived back at the hotel with their purchases. ‘And they will look very good when worn with nothing but a pair of panties.’

  Ah, yes. Panties. That seemed to be another area of his expertise. He indulged her taste for lingerie with tiny, wispy bras designed to highlight her nipples. He bought her an outrageous pair of crotchless panties and later on that day proved just what a time-effective purchase they could be. Silky camiknickers and matching suspender belts were added to the costly pile he accumulated in the city’s most exclusive store, with Suleiman displaying an uncanny knack of knowing just what would suit her.

  Sara sat up in bed and brushed away the last few crumbs of croissant. ‘How many?’ she questioned, getting out of bed and feeling acutely aware that he was watching her.

  He frowned. ‘How many what?’

  ‘Women.’ She walked across the room towards the windows, wondering why she had gone ahead and asked him a question she had vowed not to ask.

  ‘Sara,’ he said softly. ‘It’s knowing women as I do which allows me to give you so much pleasure.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, staring fixedly out of the giant windows which commanded a stunning view of the city, where the Eiffel Tower dominated a landscape made light by the shimmering waters of the Seine. ‘I imagine it is.’

  She listened to the sudden sound of silence which had descended on the room. One of those silences between two people which she’d realised could say so much. Or rather, so little. Silences when she had to fight to bite back the words which were bursting to come out. Words which had been building up inside her for days—years—and which she knew he wouldn’t want to hear.

  Instead, she stared out at the cityscape in front of her as if it was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen, which wasn’t easy when her vision was starting to get all blurred.

  ‘Sara?’

  She shook her head, praying that he wouldn’t pursue it. Leave me alone. Let me get over it in my own time.

  ‘Sara, look at me.’

  It took a moment or two before she had composed herself enough to turn around and curve him a bright smile. ‘What?’

  His eyes were narrowed and speculative. ‘Are those tears I see?’

  ‘No, of course it isn’t,’ she said, dabbing furiously at her eyes with a bunched fist. ‘And if it is, then it’s only my damned hormones. You must know all about those.’

  ‘Come here.’

  ‘I don’t want to. I’m enjoying the view.’

  His gaze slid over her naked body. ‘I’m enjoying the view too, but I want you to come back to bed and tell me what’s wrong.’

  She considered refusing—but what else was she going to do in this vast arena of the bedroom, with Suleiman watching her like that? She felt vulnerable—and not just because she was naked. She felt vulnerable with each hour of every day, knowing she was losing her heart to him.

  He held out his arms and she felt as if she’d lost some kind of battle as she went to him, loving the way the flat of his hand smoothed down the spill of her hair as she climbed into bed beside him. She loved the feel of his naked body entwined with hers. She snuggled up to him, hoping that her closeness would distract him enough to stop asking questions she had no desire to answer. But no. He tilted up her chin, so that there was nowhere to look except into the ebony gleam of his eyes.

  ‘Want to talk about it, princess?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Shall I guess?’

  ‘Please don’t, Suleiman. It’s not important.’

  ‘I think it is. You’re falling in love with me.’

  Sara flinched. Maybe she wasn’t as good at hiding her feelings as she’d thought. But then, neither was Suleiman as clever as he thought. He’d got the sentiment right—but the tense was wrong. She wasn’t ‘falling’ in love with him—she’d always been in love with him. Fancy him not knowing that. She gave him a cool smile. ‘That’s an occupational hazard for you, I expect?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said seriously. ‘I’m afraid it is.’

  She shook her head, laughing in spite of everything. ‘You really are the most arrogant man I’ve ever known.’

  ‘I have never denied my arrogance.’

  ‘Admitting that doesn’t make it all right!’

  She was trying to wriggle out of his arms, but he was having none of it. He captured both her wrists in his hands, stilling her so that their eyes were on a collision course.

  ‘I can’t help who I am, Sara. And I have enough experience—’

  ‘And then some.’

  ‘To recognise when a woman starts to lose
her heart to me. Sweetheart, will you please stop wriggling—and glaring—and listen to what I have to say?’

  ‘I don’t want to listen.’

  ‘I think you need to.’

  She stilled in his arms, aware of the loud thunder of her heart. His hard thigh was levered between her own and a sadness suddenly swept over her—because wasn’t she going to miss being in bed with him like this? Cuddled up in his arms and feeling as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. ‘I don’t want to turn this into a long goodbye,’ she whispered.

  ‘And neither do I.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. ‘I thought I did.’

  ‘What do you mean, you thought you did?’

  Suleiman stared at her, as if unsure how much to tell her. But this was Sara—and hadn’t his relationship with her always been special and unique? The usual rules didn’t apply to this blonde-haired beauty he’d known since she was a mixed-up little kid. ‘Usually when a woman reaches this stage, I begin to grow wary. Bored.’

  ‘This stage?’ she spluttered indignantly. ‘You mean, as if this is some kind of infectious disease you’re incubating!’

  He laughed. ‘I know that sounds like more arrogance but I’m trying to tell you the truth,’ he said. ‘Or would you rather me dress it up with lavish compliments and make like you’re the only woman I’ve ever been intimate with?’

  ‘No,’ she said, unable to keep the slight sulk from her voice.

  ‘At this stage of an affair,’ he said, though his mocking smile didn’t lessen the impact of his words, ‘I usually recognise that it must come to an end, no matter how much desire I’m feeling. Because an inequality of affection can prove volatile—and I have never wished to play games of emotional cruelty.’

  ‘Good of you,’ she said sarcastically. Her heart was beating painfully against her ribcage as she waited to hear what was coming next. But she kept her face as impassive as possible because she wasn’t going to give him the chance to reject her. Not a second time. And if that made it seem as if all she cared about was her pride—so what? What else was she going to be left with in the long, lonely hours when he’d gone?