by Jane Porter
“About what?” she demanded, her temper growing hotter.
“As a crown prince, the boy will need a very special education. He will require challenging coursework, intensive study of languages and exposure to European and Eastern cultures.”
“He’s three. Practically a baby!”
“I was sent to England not much older than Ben is now. It’s better if we begin preparing him for his duty soon—”
“No!” The protest was wrung from her, her voice strangled. “I will never send him away. I will not have strangers raise my son.”
Slowly he pivoted to face her, his gold gaze narrowing, black lashes lowering as he studied her reclining figure. Her knees, her pale bare thighs, her tummy, the rise of her breasts. “The matter’s out of your hands. We’re in Zwar. Your opinion holds no weight.”
She sat upright, anger jackknifing in her middle. “If you think I’ll bow and scrape like Lalia then you’ve another think coming, Sheikh al-Assad. I might be back in Tiva, but I’m not the clinging, fragile girl you married all those years ago. I’m stronger, and this time I have a voice.”
In the hours since she and Kahlil had been parted at the airport, her husband had showered and changed, leaving Western clothes behind to dress in a traditional robe. He looked distant, detached. “If you had a voice, wouldn’t I hear it?”
Confusion made her stop and think. “Yes…”
“Then why didn’t I hear it earlier when you screamed?”
He’d heard her this afternoon, heard her cry and ignored it. Brilliant pain, hot and blinding, shot through her. Cupping a handful of water, she threw it at him, and again, liberally splashing him.
Kahlil leaned over and hauled her out of the bath onto the cool, slick marble floor. “You’ve done it now.”
Goose pimples covered her flesh. “Be mad at me, but don’t take Ben away. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but it’s not fair, and it’s not right.”
He dragged her against him, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, their bodies pressed lightly. “This isn’t a game. The games are over. The consequences begin.”
Hot, cold, she felt feverish and sick. “Punishing Ben isn’t fair.”
“I’m not punishing Ben, I’m punishing you. You lied to me, deceived me, stole from me—”
Fear filled her limbs like cold wet cement. “If you’re talking about the jewelry—”
“I’m talking about my son. He is mine, isn’t he?”
“Of course he’s yours. Just look at him! Your eyes, your nose, your mouth. He’s you all over.”
“Then my actions are justified.”
Closing the last bit of distance between them, he pressed her naked, shivering body more tightly to him and covered her mouth with his. It was a soul-searching kiss, drawing her breath from her lungs, drinking her protests into him.
He kissed her until her legs buckled and tiny yellow spots danced against the darkness of her mind. She was trembling, clutching his robe, feeling the rapid thud of his heart through his chest.
“I am sorry,” he murmured, lifting his head, his golden eyes filled with a silent pain he couldn’t, wouldn’t articulate. “I have to do this for my country, and my people. There is no other way.”
His body was warm, the hard planes of muscle curving tautly beneath the press of her palms. She felt him against her, felt his heat and strength and remembered what it had been like to lie with him, and love him, and be loved by him. “If you try to take him from me,” she choked, “I will fight you for him, every second of every hour of every day.”
“And you will lose.”
“I have no choice but to fight. He is my hope.”
“Mine, too.”
CHAPTER SIX
BRYN couldn’t stop pacing her bedroom floor, replaying the scene in the bathroom over and over in her mind, trying to forget the feel of his lips against hers, the strength of his body. He’d kissed her to punish her and yet his mouth had been anything but hard, his touch anything but unkind. She felt the old desire flicker there and burst into flame. He still wanted her but this time he wanted her for revenge.
She shivered, appalled by her response to him, and the fact that she could be attracted to a man who could wrest her son away from her. But Kahlil wasn’t just any man. He was her husband. Ben’s father.
Ben’s father.
Oh God, what had she done? How could she have thought she’d get away with keeping Ben’s parentage a secret? Kahlil was one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the world. He was bound to find out. If not now, then later, when Ben was older and pressing to know more about his birth father. Children wanted to know these things. They had a right to know these things.
Bryn felt fresh guilt and concern. She knew instinctively that Kahlil would never hurt Ben…at least never consciously. But could he do so unconsciously? Unwittingly?
Arguing with Kahlil had always been difficult. He was intelligent, quick, eloquent. He mashed her words. Turned her arguments around so that in the end she was just contradicting herself, flustered and tongue-tied.
But now, Kahlil wouldn’t even argue. He stated his opinions as facts and expected her to submit. But this wasn’t the Middle Ages and she wasn’t a woman raised in a harem.
She understood Kahlil’s anger and frustration. She realized he needed time to sort his emotions out. But she wasn’t about to allow Kahlil to strip her out of her rights.
Ben was her son. He was only three and even though he was a bright, adventurous little boy, he was also quite sensitive. He must be wondering where she was. He must be anxious to see her.
If Kahlil wouldn’t bring Ben to her, then she would go to him.
The palace was dark. Serenely still. Bryn felt a thrill ripple down her spine as she tiptoed past Lalia’s cot in the outer room and into the shadowy hall.
Moonlight dappled the marble floor and Bryn crept from the women’s quarters to the main reception rooms and down another wing to the guest quarters. She was sure Kahlil had sent Ben there. There weren’t many options. The men’s quarter, the women’s, the guest rooms, and then the sheikh’s private suite.
She slowly opened the first door and peered into the room which was lit only by moonlight. The window was unshuttered and the large, low bed was empty.
Carefully she closed the door, moved to the next and repeated the inspection. Empty room. Empty bed.
At the third door she felt a tremor. Her senses were taut, her anxiety high. It was more frightening creeping around the palace than she’d anticipated and for a moment she had the unnerving sensation of being followed.
Ridiculous. Everybody was asleep. No one stirred.
Bryn pushed the door wider. The room looked inky and full of shadows. With the curtains drawn she could just make out a shape. She caught a sudden movement from the corner of her eye and her instincts screamed for her to run.
Lights flooded the spacious bedchamber, unusually bright lights blinding her. Hands clamped on her forearms, lifting her off her feet.
“Let me go!” Bryn swung out with her arms and legs, kicking, elbows flying. “Put me down!”
“Stop it, Bryn. You’re only making this worse.”
With a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, she heard the rasp of Kahlil’s voice and caught a glimpse of his profile. His jaw was shadowed with the beginnings of a beard. “How…what…?”
“Motion detectors,” he said shortly, making sense of her incoherence, even as he dragged her past a bevy of palace guards clustered in the doorway. Another cluster of guards stood at the far end of the marble hallway watching. “State-of-the-art security. The moment you left your room my surveillance camera turned on.”
Mortification flooded her veins with fresh adrenaline. He’d watched her tiptoe through the palace. He’d watched her search through the rooms. “You’re a Peeping Tom!”
“And you’re a sneak,” he retorted grimly, his white robe parted revealing far more skin than Bryn was comfortable with.
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He looked raw and primitive and incredibly male—which is exactly what had gotten her into trouble five years ago. “I wouldn’t have to sneak around if you’d just let me see my son!”
“I have never met such a disobedient woman in my life.”
“I’m sorry you’ve been so sheltered, but I have to tell you there are hundreds—thousands—of women who are certain to be more difficult than me.” Bryn yanked on her arm, struggling to free herself. “Now let me go!”
“Not an option.” He swung her into his arms and clasped her firmly against his chest. “I cannot sleep with you wandering the palace, and my guards will get no rest if I return you to your room. You’ll stay with me tonight. And I promise you, you’ll go nowhere.”
Kahlil kicked the door shut behind him. The tall tapered candles in the wall sconces flickered, casting dancing shadows on the smooth plaster walls and center columns. She shivered, feeling as though he’d carried her back in time. “Candles?”
“More restful.” He dropped her on his bed, the midnight-blue velvet coverlet creasing, the dark velvet gleaming like water beneath the moon.
It crossed her mind that she was truly in trouble now.
Kahlil would never hurt her—she trusted him with her life—but being alone with him like this was incredibly dangerous. She’d never been able to resist his warmth, nor his strength.
Bryn swallowed and grabbed handfuls of the velvet coverlet, crushing the soft fabric against her skin. “What do you intend to do?”
“Lock you up.”
Her heart did a painful leap, like a skydiver jumping off a cliff. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He shot her a peculiar glance as he drew a dark carved wood box from his ornate wardrobe. “Runaway wives ruin reputations.”
She cast a wary look at the wood box and then up into his face. His expression was blank, frighteningly so. “You don’t need to worry about my reputation. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s my reputation that concerns me.” He closed the wardrobe doors and turned toward her. The box in the crook of his arm was heavy enough to tense his forearm, muscles drawn, delineated, every part of him beautifully made.
“Just what is that?”
He shifted the box from his arm to the bed. “Instruments of my pleasure.”
“Very funny.” She stared uneasily at the lid of the box, the dark wood carved into fanciful designs; serpents encircling a tree, doves against a vine, the limbs of a man and woman intimately entwined. Not an innocent box. Not an innocent man.
“You think I’m joking?” His black hair gleaming in the candlelight.
Maybe not. He was seriously humor-impaired, but before she could say a thing, even as she touched the tip of her tongue to her rapidly drying upper lip, he snapped the lid open, revealing the contents.
Bright gold gleamed against scarlet silk.
Bryn blinked. Thick gold bands nestled against blood-red silk. Her heart did a second, but equally painful jump. What were those? What was Kahlil planning to do?
As he leaned forward, lifting the gold bangles from the box, his robe shifted, revealing more of the hard planes of his chest, the muscles taut beneath the gleam of skin. She could just catch a whiff of the sandalwood fragrance he wore, exotic, spicy, erotic. Heat flooded her veins, her body craving his.
But the rush of desire died a quick death when Kahlil opened one of the gold bangles and snapped it shut around her slim wrist.
“You’re handcuffing me?” Her voice rose to a fevered pitch. Just who the hell did he think he was?
“I’ll do what I have to do.”
“This in unacceptable, Kahlil, even from you.” She tried to shake off the band but he’d secured it tightly, clasping it on one of the smallest locks. It pinched, too, not terribly, but just enough to remind her she was trapped.
Furious, she shook her arm again. The blasted handcuff weighed at least a pound. Had to be solid gold. No other reason for it to be so heavy.
“I had to curtail your wanderlust.”
“I just wanted to see Ben.”
Utterly remorseless, he opened the second gold band, this connected to the one on her wrist by a long, thick gold chain. “And I’d already told you no. What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?”
Tears started to her eyes, tears of shame and anger. “The part where you tell me to jump and I’m expected to do your bidding.” She jerked on the chain, nearly pulling the second handcuff from his hold. “Do you enjoy degrading women?”
“Of course not, but I enjoy peace of mind, and you, woman, give me none.” He snapped the second handcuff to his own wrist, linking them together.
She’d expected him to shackle her to the bed. It hadn’t crossed her mind he’d lock her to him. She stared at the three-foot gold chain in alarm. Tethered. Trapped. His prisoner.
Could the punishment be worse? “I’m not going to spend the night locked up like a criminal!”
“You’re lucky I haven’t had you arrested. The thought has crossed my mind. Several times.”
“I haven’t broken any laws.”
“Any? Try a half dozen. You’d be treated harshly in our court, too. We don’t look kindly on rebellious women.”
“So send me to prison. Explain that to Ben!”
“I wouldn’t have to tell Ben you went to prison. I could always say you chose to leave. You wanted to go home, and so you did.”
“Leaving him here, without me?”
Kahlil shrugged, tightened the second shackle, and tugged on the heavy gold chain. Bryn fell forward, at the mercy of Kahlil’s whim. “Mothers are human. They make mistakes. Change their minds. Run from responsibility all the time.”
“Not me.”
He shrugged again. “To tell you the truth, Bryn, I don’t really care. I’ve been up over forty-eight hours without sleep, crossed the Atlantic twice, saved you from an imprudent wedding, discovered a son. I’m tired. I just want sleep.”
“I’d rather be thrown into a pit of vipers!”
An eyebrow lifted. “How melodramatic, even from you.”
She changed her approach, gentled her tone. She had to make him see reason. “Kahlil, you know I’m a light sleeper. How can I rest like this?”
“That’s your problem, not mine. You should have thought about the consequences before you snuck out of the harem. However, what’s done is done and now we’ll go to bed.”
“I will not sleep with you.”
“Bryn, you are trying my patience. Can’t you see I am doing my best to take care of you?”
She tugged furiously on the chain linking them. “This is your idea of taking care of me? My God, you aren’t fit to be a father!”
His expression suddenly darkened, brows lowering, his features hard and cold. She’d struck a nerve. Oh, how she’d struck a nerve!
“If you want to live to see the morning, I’d lie down, and be very, very quiet. I’m tired of you making a fool out of me. I need sleep. You need supervision. I’m sorry I’m forced to treat you like a farm animal, but this is the only solution I can think of.”
“A farm animal! I’ll show you a farm animal—” She broke off to give the chain a violent yank. His arm didn’t even move. He didn’t even wobble. She pulled harder, with every bit of her strength, fighting to knock him off balance but Kahlil didn’t budge. He simply stood there, immobile, allowing himself the smallest smile of pleasure.
Damn his six-foot-three-inch body. Damn his immense shoulders and solid thighs. Damn the muscles and skin and his incredible warm, spicy scent. “I hate you!”
He smiled, all teeth. “The feeling is mutual, darling. So go to bed and save us both another scene.” And with that, he tossed back the velvet comforter, revealing dark gold satin sheets and practically threw her into bed.
Then he stripped—stripped!—peeling his white cotton trousers off his lean hips and shrugging out of the white robe.
The gold chain linking them jingled as he slid into bed next t
o her, the mattress giving slightly, satin sheets cool and smooth against her heated skin.
“Do you have to sleep naked?” she gritted, trying to block out the image of his large body stretched carelessly next to hers.
He rolled to his side, the chain between them momentarily tightening, the gold satin sheet sliding low on his waist, emphasizing his deep chest and wide shoulders. “We’re married. This is about as sexless as it gets.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks. “What about the candles? Aren’t you going to blow them out?”
“Not tonight. I’m going to need them to keep an eye on you. Besides, they’ll burn out eventually. Close to morning.” He reached out, touched a long silvery-blond strand of hair. “And Bryn, you won’t be able to break this chain. Don’t try. It’ll just be a waste of energy.”
She glanced at the gold chain stretched between them, still shocked he’d actually handcuff her to him. What kind of man handcuffs a woman? A medieval man. That’s the kind of man, she answered herself darkly. And a man without the least bit of modesty. How could he climb into bed with her without a scrap of clothing on? For heaven’s sake, the satin sheet revealed far more than it hid, outlining the hard, carved planes of his body.
“If this is the way you hope to win me over, you’re wrong. Dead wrong.”
He shrugged in the semidarkness, candlelight dancing across the plastered wall, creating patterns on the stone floor. “I don’t need to win you over. I already own you.”
He touched her again, this time brushing her shoulder with the tip of his finger, his fingertip gliding across her heated skin. Bryn felt a ball of desire coil in her belly, the hunger so strong it sent a rush of blood between her thighs.
“Three years I’ve waited for you,” he continued softly. “Three years. You don’t think I’m going to let you escape now?”
“Loving someone isn’t about possession!”
His fingertip found her breast, slowly circled the budding nipple. “Who said anything about love? I’m thinking retribution.” He tweaked her pert nipple, not gently, and she gasped. “Now sleep. I’m tired. You’ve made it a very long day.” And with that he rolled over and closed his eyes. Within minutes his breathing changed, indicating he had really, truly fallen asleep.
