The Sheikh's Wife

by Jane Porter

  Bryn stretched out her legs, her body aching, trembling, every muscle tight and unsatisfied. There was a special hell for men like Kahlil and Bryn wished her husband there with every beat of her heart.

  Later, much later, a sinfully delicious warmth stole over her and she stirred, although only a little, unwilling to lose the pleasure. She felt wonderful, her skin felt wonderful, her body sensitive and alive. Sleep or dream? she asked herself, giving over to the heat and pleasure, not wanting to open her eyes in case it was just a dream.

  Hands slid across her middle, over her breasts, a knee parting her own.

  This was no dream. Immediately she remembered where she was, who she was with, and eyes flying open she gazed into Kahlil’s gold eyes. The candles had burned low, most having extinguished themselves, and Kahlil’s face was heavily shadowed.

  He cupped her breast, his rough palm grazing her nipple and her lips parted, first a protest, and then a sigh.

  Helplessly she arched her back, as her body stirred to life. She lifted her lashes to stare at his mouth, longing to be kissed by him again, wanting his lips against hers.

  Kahlil shifted, kicking aside the satin sheet, his strong, naked thigh planting between her knees, parting her legs and moving between her thighs.

  Her nightgown hiked up, tangling around her hips. She wanted nothing more than to circle his neck with her arms and draw his head down to hers. She craved his mouth, his tongue, his touch.

  But instead of covering her mouth, his lips found the sensitive places on her neck, secret nerve endings that responded only to him. His tongue circled from earlobe to collarbone and she breathed faster, shallowly, head spinning with the dizzy pleasure.

  Bryn worked her arms free and immediately wrapped her arms around his shoulders. They were broad, and she held him as if she were drowning. Being this close to him, being celibate so long, unleashed powerful emotions that had nothing to do with mere physical desire.

  She needed him—needed to be a part of him, loved by him the way only he could love her.

  “You’re on fire,” he whispered, his voice husky.

  “I need you.”

  He didn’t need any other encouragement. Impatiently Kahlil stripped her of her panties and slid his palm up the inside of her thigh, setting off a riot of sensation. Every place he touched burned, her skin glowing hot, then cold and hot again.

  She trembled, waiting for his touch, knowing he’d touch her intimately and when he did, it would be intense, and intensely erotic.

  At last his fingers cupped her mound, pressing against her heat before parting her to discover her softness and moisture. Bryn bucked, her body tense, her nerves straining. She was too excited, too aroused, finding the gentleness of his touch as painful as it was exciting.

  “Please, please—” she begged, inarticulate, her brain clouded and unable to think. All she knew was that she’d waited forever to be with him, she had dreamed of him, dreamed of this night after night, year after year, and to finally be with him and not part of him… “Kahlil.”

  “Patience,” he answered, easing his hand in her, over her, awakening her again, pushing her to a brittle brink.

  Bryn clasped his ribs, lifting her mouth to his chest, holding him hard and close, as if she could melt into him, become one with him, escape the limitations of skin and bone.

  She felt him harden, his arousal more ardent, his body tensing. She felt a smile inside of her, enjoying her own brief glimpse of power, and parting her lips, she kissed his chest, tongue teasing across the ridge of muscle, down the breastbone and across to one contracted nipple.

  Subtle spice filled her nose, his warm skin fragrant, his body deliciously put together. Sucking his nipple, she heard him groan. Her small smile became a thrill of pleasure. She was exultant that she could make him ache, make him feel, make him reach for her.

  His pleasure fed hers, shooting hot darts of sensation from her breast to her belly, her lower abdomen tight and heavy. She needed him inside her now.

  Bryn wrapped her hands around his back and dragged him closer. She felt his erection brush against her sensitive folds. “Now, Kahlil, please.”

  He moved, parting her knees wider, sliding her feet up to create more tension. The gold chain swinging between them clinked, rattling, a stark reminder of the bitter ties binding them.

  Kahlil frowned, his features dark, his expression forbidding. She felt his tension, felt the anticipation, but realized with a glance at his narrowed eyes and thin-lipped mouth that he would take her but not love her.

  And still she wanted him.

  Clasping her bottom, he lifted her hips higher, hesitating just a second before driving deep inside her. This was no gentle lovemaking but a statement of ownership. He was branding her his with each hard, penetrating thrust. He filled her completely, her body tender, tight stretching to accept him. She felt like a virgin, inexperienced and overwhelmed by his strength and driving passion.

  She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t hold his shoulders, kiss his lips. He was taking her his way, filling her, dominating her, and she shuddered beneath him as his hips rocked against her, each deep thrust felt more raw, more intense, more powerful than the last. She felt alive, too alive, her skin, her bones, her muscles tightening, tensing, every nerve ending concentrating. Suddenly it was too strong, too real, the flood of emotion rising swiftly within her made her oblivious to all but this razor-sharp sensation.

  Kahlil arched into her, straining, pushing her to the surface. That last thrust threw her from control into the wild beyond. She would have screamed if his mouth hadn’t covered hers, sucking the brilliant pleasure from her lips into his mouth.

  She felt utterly lost, shudder after shudder coursing through her, tears filling her eyes. She’d wanted him, she needed him…she would always need him. She could never deny him anything. Not even her heart.

  Kahlil sighed, a sound of pure exasperation and Bryn felt his reluctance as he drew her close to him, forming a safe, protective circle around her with his arms.

  Yet he didn’t say a word. And he gave no other caress.

  Tears stung the back of her eyes and she bit her lower lip, fighting to hang on to her last vestige of pride. They’d made love many, many times before, but it had never felt so empty afterward, never so naked and needy and…desperate.

  Bryn longed to grab the sheet and cover them, or find a corner and hide, but the handcuff chafed her wrist, a heavy reminder that she was tied to him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “LAST night was a mistake.” Kahlil wouldn’t even look at her, his back turned to her, his shadow stretching long across the sunlit courtyard. “It can’t happen again, and it won’t. From now on you will sleep in the women’s quarters, even if I must chain you to the floor.”

  Making love last night had only increased the tension between them. Anger crackled from him in invisible electric waves. “You don’t have to chain me to the floor. You have Ben. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “As if I trust anything you say.”

  Bryn ignored his contemptuous snort, keeping her own emotions carefully checked. It had been painful last night to be in Kahlil’s bed. Realizing too late that she hadn’t sufficiently hardened her heart had done nothing to assuage the aching emptiness in her heart. If this was love, she could live without it.

  “You don’t trust me, but you’ll make love to me.”

  “I’m sorry. I lost control. I’ll do my best to make sure it never happens again.”

  If he was trying to hurt her, he was succeeding. Chaining her to him wasn’t punishment enough. He’d degrade her now. Humiliate her after sharing the most intimate act of all. Pain splintered within her, fresh realization at the depth of his hatred for her. “Well, I won’t apologize. What happened between us was lovely.”

  “It was sex.”

  Her cheeks burned, heat surging to her face. She wouldn’t back down. Refused to let him turn their lovemaking into something ugly and sordid. She’d
been a willing partner last night. And so had he. “Then it was good sex, great sex.”

  He cast her a dubious glance over his shoulders, lips twisting grimly. “You speak for me, or just yourself?”

  A second surge of blood followed the first. Stand firm, she seethed. Don’t roll over and die. “Why not? You said we’re still married, so why shouldn’t we find comfort in each other’s arms?”

  “I find no comfort in sleeping with you. Just release.”

  She’d vowed not to cry, and she’d meant to keep her vow, but his harshness hurt, cutting deep. She ached at the change in him, the change in them. She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t stay frozen emotionally. Not when he was making her feel so much and reminding her of how things had been.

  Years ago when they made love, he’d murmur endearments in his native tongue, Sweet flower of the garden; most beautiful night star; treasure of the desert. No longer. His hatred was palpable.

  If she didn’t have Ben, she might have run from his anger, but she couldn’t run. She needed to win Kahlil’s trust, and custody of Ben. Ben needed his daddy, and she needed Kahlil, too.

  Heartache gave way to action. Bryn stiffened, her shoulders squaring. She’d do what she had to do. She’d make her marriage work, by hell or high water.

  By hell or high water, she repeated silently, fiercely.

  No regrets. No turning back. “Tell me what you want from me. I shall do whatever you wish. I shall be exactly as you want me to be.”

  “Such a change of heart.”

  “It’s the conviction of my heart.”

  “You do this for me?”

  “And my son.”

  “Ah, your son.” His smile was flinty, his gold eyes icy. “I wondered when you’d return to that theme. This isn’t about me, is it? It’s about you, and you getting your way.”

  “I just want to see Ben. Even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

  “You’re in no position to make demands.”

  “I realize that. I’m prepared to bargain.”

  “Bargain or beg?”

  “Either,” she answered wearily. “I’ll do anything to see him.”

  “Anything?”

  The coldness in his voice stole her breath but she held her position, hands pressing together for courage. He’d push her, she realized, push her to the brink and beyond. “Anything.” She clung to her resolve. It was all she had left. “I will accept whatever punishment you give me, and I will serve you in whatever capacity you request, provided you let me see my son. Soon.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Does that mean I might be able to see him today, or tonight?”

  “It means I’m thinking about it.”

  It didn’t answer the burning loneliness. “I need to know he’s okay.”

  “He is fine.”

  “I don’t know what fine means.”

  “I do, and I tell you he’s fine.”

  “Not good enough!”

  “It’s all the reassurance you’re getting.”

  She shivered inwardly, hurting in ways he couldn’t imagine. He hadn’t known Ben long enough to feel the intense and desperate need to love and protect one’s child. Every nerve in her body screamed to bridge the distance between her and Ben, every muscle ached to just hold him against her chest. It was such a primitive instinct, but truer than anything else she’d ever felt. “Tell me what you want me to do, Kahlil, and I shall do it.”

  “There’s nothing you can do.”

  “Don’t say that, there must be a task, give me one, let’s think of one.”

  “Baraka! Stop.”

  Bryn felt as though she was losing control, her emotions dangerously unhinged. “Let me prove myself, let me prove I can be trusted.” She fell to her knees and clasped her hands, begging. “I will serve you, obey you—”

  Kahlil hauled her to her feet, scorn blazing in his eyes. “How can I respect you, if you insist on behaving like a madwoman? I did not marry you for this, I do not desire a wife without control—”

  “But you’ve reduced me to this! To begging, groveling, pleading. I am yours. I am no better than your handmaidens in the harem. I will do whatever I must to please you. Now let me prove it.”

  A tiny muscle in his jaw popped. He reached inside his outer robe, drawing papers from a pocket sewn on the inside. “Then sign it. Let’s get this over with.”

  Her fingers curled into her palm. She didn’t dare touch the papers, viewing them as something inherently offensive. “What are those?”

  “Divorce papers.”

  His voice shivered down her spine, his tone incredibly cold and unfeeling.

  “I’ve been advised by my cabinet to move forward with the divorce,” he continued. “I’ve lost too much face with my people. My staff and servants know I cannot manage you. Word has spread about your disloyalty and there is no place for you here anymore.”

  She didn’t speak, didn’t trust herself to answer. After last night, after the passion in his bed…he’d do this?

  He edged towards her, the papers rustling in his hand. “I will take care of you financially, of course.”

  Chilled from head to toe, Bryn wrapped her arms around herself, gold bracelets tinkling like water splashing from the fountain. “And Ben?” Her voice sounded like a flutter, a whisper of wings on the sun-kissed morning.

  “He’d remain with me.”

  Of course.

  “Sign them,” Kahlil ruthlessly continued, “and by this afternoon you’ll be on a plane home. Free.”

  Bryn heard a faint, dull buzz in her head, rather like the hum of a vacuum. She gave her head a slow shake to dislodge the buzzing noise. “Won’t sign that. Ever.”

  “It’s in your best interest.”

  “No, it’s in yours.” She felt warmth bead her brow, her body growing hot where moments ago it had been cold. “What kind of mother do you think I am, to turn my back on my child?”

  “I’d arrange visits.”

  “Unacceptable.”

  “Mothers do it all the time.”

  “Not this one. Not ever.”

  “The child would adjust, better than you think.”

  “The child.” Fury rocketed through her. She clenched her hands, resisting the urge to lash out at him, physically and emotionally. “Not the child, but Ben. Your son, my son, our son. I won’t leave here without Ben.”

  “And I won’t let him go.”

  “Then I stay.” Shaking, she grabbed the documents from his hand, tearing them into little bits before he could stop her. “I’ll never divorce you. If you want to keep him here, then you keep me as well. It’s a package deal, Kahlil. Ben and I stay together, always.”

  She’d rendered him speechless. Good! Because anything he said just now would seriously push her over the edge.

  The strained silence enveloped them in a cloak of quiet that stilled the distant chirping of birds and splash of fountain.

  When Kahlil finally broke the silence, his voice was quiet, almost thoughtful. “Always?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d do that for your son?”

  He knew so little about the power of love! The papers scattered from her fingers and she threw her head back, the sun dazzling her, blinding her eyes. She couldn’t see him clearly, only felt him, huge and overpowering. “I would die for him. In a heartbeat.”

  “Just like that?”

  “No question in my mind. Is that what you want me to do? Pay the ultimate sacrifice?”

  “God, no!” Kahlil visibly drew back, his expression closing, lashes lowering. He turned away to gaze across the protected courtyard. “How far we’ve come from what we were.”

  His voice, a mere whisper, wafted in the warm sunlight, wound its way into the tenderness of her heart. How far we’ve come from what we were.

  Was that really regret she heard? Was that sorrow she saw in his eyes?

  Her own eyes burned and a knot formed in her throat.

  Kahlil turned his back t
o her. “I think it’s best if you returned to your quarters. We’ll talk later. I promise.”

  It wasn’t the way he’d planned the meeting. He’d expected tears, yes, and angry accusations, but not her willingness to beg—beg!—at his feet, to kneel before him and offer herself, a sacrifice at the altar.

  His gut burned, his eyes burned, his heart burned. Fire in his chest. Fire in his head. Fire everywhere. Kahlil swallowed with difficulty, his mouth tasting sour. He found no pleasure in his victory, no joy in his power, especially after what had taken place between them the night before. He’d wanted her, needed to feel her, touch her, taste her, but his desire infuriated him.

  How could he want a woman he didn’t trust? How could he desire her when she’d betrayed him both privately and publicly, breaking every sacred vow?

  He’d wanted to punish her this morning, force her to submit, and yet when she did…it made him even angrier.

  Kahlil slumped against the marble pillar, his head aching, his temper barely leashed. He was furious, but tonight his anger was directed entirely at himself.

  Bryn had never been like the other women he’d taken to bed. From the beginning she was different, exciting, innocent, passionate, daring. She’d wanted the world and he’d been eager to give it to her. He’d thought he could give it to her. He’d failed.

  A knock sounded on the outer door of his chamber. Kahlil called out, knowing it was his valet, and welcomed Rifaat to enter.

  “The new papers,” Rifaat said, walking the documents to Kahlil’s large ornate desk in the center of the room and setting them down. “They just need your signature.”

  Perplexed, Kahlil stared at the sheath on his desk. He knew what his advisors had suggested but he wasn’t sure he could follow through with it. “Thank you.”

  “I suppose you could force her to sign.”

  Force, there it was again. Force her to submit, force her to bed, force her to break. The use and abuse of his position disgusted him. Why didn’t revenge taste sweeter? Why didn’t he relish his power? “She won’t leave Ben.”