by Jane Porter
It was dark when the helicopter landed. The sky was the darkest of purple with pinpricks of light and the ground below was a deep shadow, no glow of street lamps, no hint of civilization.
In this shapeless, formless nowhere the helicopter began to descend, lowering straight down into a sea of black. This meant they were either landing in the middle of an ocean or a sea of sand.
Bryn heard the helicopter pilot speak, giving directions into his headset. She frowned as the helicopter lowered, then caught small points of light, shimmering light, like miniature flames. And as the helicopter touched ground, Bryn realized the shimmering light was actually flames, burning torches set in a large circle around the helicopter pad.
“Where are we?” she whispered.
“My hideaway.” He took her hand, and ducking beneath the still whirring blades, they ran through ancient stone arches into a very old fortress that had to date back at least a thousand years.
“This is yours?” she said, still breathless from the dash into the palace. Kahlil had swung her into his arms at the last moment before entering a high-ceiling bedchamber with silk pillows strewn across the floor and candles burning in rugged wall sconces. “Ah, and more candles. Didn’t realize you loved firelight so much.”
“No electricity,” he answered, drawing her down on the low mattress. “I don’t have a choice. If we didn’t have candles, I couldn’t see you, and believe me, I want to see you.”
She felt heat creep into her cheeks, her limbs suddenly weak. “You do?”
He reclined backward. “Yes, very much so. I’m actually dying to get you naked.” His voice lowered, turned husky. “Strip for me.”
“Wh…what?”
“I want to watch you undress and then inspect my wife.”
She was shocked, and yet strangely aroused.
“You said you’d obey me,” he quietly chided, reminding her of her promises. “You said we’d have a real relationship.”
“Yes, but…”
His eyebrow cocked. He simply looked at her, waiting.
Blood flooding her cheeks, fingers trembling, she reached for the narrow zipper at the side of her gown. Kahlil leaned back on the bed, watching. With short, nervous tugs, she worked the zipper down and then carefully stepped out of the lavishly embroidered dress.
Next came the narrow silk straps of her bustier. She pushed the satin fabric down, toward her waist, exposing her breasts.
“Ah.”
Bryn swayed beneath the intense scrutiny, feeling Kahlil’s heat and interest, aware of his gaze as he drank in her bared breasts, the pale skin taut, the pink nipples hard, aching, like the ache between the thighs.
“The rest, please.”
He sounded completely indifferent but he wasn’t; he was a study of concentration. Shyly she tugged her satin panties over her hips, to her knees, and pulled them from her ankles. Completely naked, except for the gold jewel-studded crown she still wore in her hair, she blushed, warm color rushing from her toes to her head.
Wordlessly Kahlil rose, drew her to him, pressing her naked length to his. He was hard everywhere, his chest, his abdomen, his thighs, but it was his erection that generated more heat in her, his own hunger throbbing at the V of her thighs.
His arms encircled her, his hands cupped her bare bottom, the curve of her derriere in each of his palms. He lifted her slightly, drawing her closer, pressing her against the thrust of his desire. Her inner thighs clenched. Her belly tightened. She felt empty inside, empty and deprived.
“You’re so warm,” he murmured in her ear, his voice rich, seductive. “You feel like heaven.”
“I think it feels like hell,” she protested, shiver after shiver racing through her, his chest brushing against her aching nipples, intensifying her sensitivity.
“You just need to learn patience.”
“I’m trying.” Bryn rose on her tip toes, slowly circling his neck with one arm, and then the other, drawing their bodies even closer. His chest crushed the bare fullness of her breasts. Her calves balled into hard knots of muscle and her abdomen stretched, long, lean.
“Lovely,” he murmured, fingers caressing the curve of her spine, then rising to play each vertebrae in her back.
She liked it better with his hand in her lower back, his hard length tight against her mound, her body desperately drinking him in. Feverish, Bryn nipped his beard-roughened chin and then his mouth. “Kiss me back,” she begged. “Kiss me like you used to.”
In response he swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed covered in luxurious silks and satin. She smelled his signature fragrance of sandalwood and citrus and cupping his face in her hands, kissed him deeply even as she tugged at his robe.
There were no more formalities, no more foreplay. It wasn’t long before both were swept away, carried to the highest peak of pleasure. And for the first time since returning to Zwar, she felt a wall come down between them, some invisible barrier breaking and Kahlil held her, kissed her, loved her with profound tenderness.
Warm tears pricked the back of her eyes but these were tears of hope. They would make this work. They would find happiness after all.
Shudders still coursing through her, Kahlil shifted Bryn in his arms, drawing her down to the mattress beside him. “You are mine, do you understand? Mine, all mine.”
“Yes, master.”
His eyes glinted, and smiling faintly he kissed the corner of her mouth, and then the soft full lower lip still throbbing with blood and passion. “I like the sound of that,” he murmured.
“I know you do.”
“Are you sure you’re not just humoring me?”
“Could I be any more obedient?”
“That’s different from a surrender.” But he laughed, the sound rich, deep, husky. “And I’ll just have to step up my training.”
Still smiling, he kissed her again, his laughter warming her mouth, stealing her breath. She felt tingles rush through her, pleasure and happiness. If Kahlil was letting down his guard enough to laugh with her, she knew she’d found her way back into his heart. He might not tell her in words he loved her, but the tenderness was there, hidden within him. She’d just give him time. Lavish him with love. It was all they needed—time and love.
He kissed her neck, and the hollow beneath her ear. She felt heat explode inside her, her desire for his insatiable. “Don’t start anything you’re not prepared to finish,” she softly teased, locking her hands behind his neck and drawing his mouth down to hers.
“Oh, I’m prepared,” he answered, shifting his weight, settling between her thighs, and from all impressive evidence, he most certainly was. He nipped at her lip, teeth sharp, hunger barely restrained. “You do know I’ve cheated to get you back, don’t you? I told a little lie—”
Bryn’s hands flew to his shoulders and pushed him back. “What?”
“It’s not a big deal. Practically a white lie.”
White lie? Kahlil? “And just what was this white lie?”
He kissed her again, ignoring her attempts to evade his mouth, and finally she melted beneath him, resistance fading. He smiled against her lips, acknowledging her feeble defense. “Well, I did pay a certain official to destroy a certain piece of paper. That document you never signed? My fault. I made sure it never reached you.”
“Kahlil!”
He clasped her face in his hands, kissed her fiercely. “I wasn’t going to lose you. I never wanted to lose you.”
Suddenly they were interrupted by a pounding on the bedroom door. “Go away,” Kahlil shouted, smiling wickedly at Bryn, his hand moving across her belly to her thighs. “I’m busy.”
“Forgive me, your highness,” the voice answered from the far side of the door. “But this is an emergency.”
Kahlil was gone less than five minutes. “A problem has come up in Tiva,” he said, returning to the bedchamber and flinging a shirt over his shoulders. “It’s urgent. I must return to the palace immediately.”
He was dressing
in Western clothes. His brow furrowed deeply, his expression was nothing but grim. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Something in his expression unnerved her. Bryn sat up in bed. “What kind of problem?”
“Can’t discuss it just yet. But I’ll send the helicopter for you first chance I get.”
“You’re going to leave me here, in the middle of nowhere?”
“It’s safe. It’s my home. I want you here.”
It was a no-argument tone, one of his submit-and-surrender expressions.
“At least tell me what you do know.”
“Bryn, I wish I could. I don’t have all the facts.”
“But something at the palace?” Immediately her thoughts turned to Ben. He was there. He was there without her. “Has there been an uprising?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Then what? My God, Kahlil, the baby—”
“I know.” He clasped her hard by the shoulders, kissed her forehead, his mouth a brief imprint of heat against her skin. “Be patient. I’ll learn more soon.”
He released her, grabbed an overcoat and swung toward the door.
Sixteen hours later Kahlil reappeared. He’d only just returned to the crumbling fortress. Bryn could still hear the rotary whir of the helicopter blades.
“It’s Ben,” Kahlil said sharply, without preamble. His complexion looked ashen, deep purple shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes. “He’s gone.”
Ben. Gone. Impossible. But that’s what Kahlil had said.
Through a narrow window Bryn saw clouds of red-gold spiral, desert sand swirling furiously. Her mind was like that, swirling, dizzying. “What do you mean gone? Gone where?”
“We don’t know.”
You don’t know? An irrational voice screamed inside her head. You’re the sheikh. The king. You must know. She wrapped her arms across her chest, lifted her chin, fighting for calm. “Did he run away?”
“No.”
“Then what? Are you telling me someone kidnapped Ben?”
“Yes.”
She staggered backward, eyes widening. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue like lead. Disbelief surged through her veins. “Who?” Her voice came out a whisper, airless, powerless, a flutter of sound.
“Amin.”
She took another half step backward and Kahlil’s shoulders shifted, an uneasy gesture that revealed more than his words could. “I have every resource working on this, Bryn. We will find them. That’s a promise.”
She felt as though she’d plunged into an icy river and her body was shutting down, legs numb, muscles numb, heart freezing.
This was her fault.
She hadn’t protected Ben, hadn’t confided her fears in Kahlil. She’d felt strong, impervious to Amin. She’d even challenged him, taunted him that he couldn’t hurt her, that he wasn’t powerful enough. My God. What had she done?
Helplessly she crunched her fingers to her palms, folded her arms against her breasts, fighting to stay warm. She felt cold, desperately cold, and desperately afraid. “What do you know right now? What are your leads?”
“Ben was taken last night after the ceremony. The maid was drawing his bath, had her back turned while filling the tub. When she went to fetch Ben, he was gone.”
Gone. The word conjured terror. Puff, gone. Puff, lost. Puff, her heart broken.
She pressed the tip of her tongue to the roof of her mouth but her mind went blank. What could she say? Nothing. Nothing. Finally, after long, impenetrable seconds, she stuttered, “How do you know Amin took him? How do you know he didn’t wander off? That he didn’t get out through an open door?”
“We have evidence.”
“What evidence?” She refused to be thwarted. This wasn’t a lost set of car keys, for God’s sake, but their child!
“Amin left a note.” Deep grooves formed on either side of Kahlil’s mouth. “It was cryptic. Didn’t really make sense. We just need to be patient and let my men continue their investigation.”
If he’d hoped to calm her, he’d failed. His words only incited greater alarm. Her stomach heaved. “Tell me, Kahlil. I want to know. I need to know.”
“The note was short. And as I’ve said, cryptic. Amin wrote that he was taking what was his. That’s all he said.”
Relief washed over her. “So we don’t know that Amin has Ben. We have two missing people. We don’t know they’re together.”
“But we do.” Kahlil’s lips compressed, the lines near his mouth almost white. “We have it on videotape, Amin bundling Ben up and carrying him from the nursery.”
“No! Not like that, he didn’t do that, tell me, Kahlil—”
Kahlil caught Bryn in his arms and drew her close, cradling her against her chest. “Shh, laeela, we’ll find them. We’ll have our son home soon. I swear.”
The helicopter returned them to Tiva, landing in the gated palace courtyard. The whirring blades blew the palms, creating a swish of green against the white plaster walls.
A scarlet-throat hummingbird buzzed past their heads, flitting to one of the pots of coral-red hibiscus flanking the door. Bryn paused for a split second to watch the emerald-green bird dive into the petals. That is how she’d been with Kahlil, the hummingbird unable to resist the nectar.
And look what her desire, her intense love, had done to them. Secrets, lies, a kidnapped baby.
It was almost too much to bear.
Kahlil gently touched her spine, prompting Bryn through the enormous door. He walked her to her suite of rooms, stopping outside the harem entrance. With a kiss on her upturned lips, he promised, “I’ll send word as soon as I hear something.”
He felt warm and solid, and she found comfort in his proximity. It was easier facing the future with Kahlil at her side. “I don’t want to be alone,” she pleaded, fingers grappling, tangling in his robe. “Let me stay with you.”
“This is a high-level security matter. I’ll be meeting with my advisors. It’s better if you stay here.”
“It’s not better for me. I’m scared.”
“Bryn, trust me.” He plucked her hands from his robe, gave her an encouraging smile, although the deep lines fanning from his eyes told another story. “I promise I’ll let you know as developments occur. Now try to rest. You need it.”
Lalia ordered a small dinner tray that Bryn didn’t touch. She didn’t want food. She wanted Ben home.
Minutes turned to hours. The wait grew intolerable. Two hours. Three. Her back ached, her head hurt. Her eyes felt like small rough pebbles, too dry from so little sleep.
Four hours passed. Bryn began to shake, the after shocks of adrenaline. Too little sleep. Too much anxiety. She felt as if she were turned inside out and about to break.
“You must sleep, my lady,” Lalia soothed, drawing down the cool sheets, dimming the bedside lamp. “Lie down. Rest.”
But Bryn couldn’t sleep, and she spent the night sitting against the wall of her bedroom, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon.
Amin was evil, the worst kind of evil, but not even he would actually hurt Ben, would he?
She tried to imagine where Amin had taken Ben, wondering if it was very dark, and if Ben was frightened. But her mind shied away from a morbid scenario. She had to remain positive, had to believe that Ben was fine and that Amin would be kind.
Comforted somewhat, Bryn watched the moon shift in the sky, arcing slowly through the night, the stars growing whiter, brighter, only to dim again, until at last the purple faded to violet and then to lavender.
The morning sun rose and Bryn still sat, her back against the wall, her arms encircling her knees.
The maid reappeared, shrouded in filmy veils. She, too, looked tired, as though she hadn’t slept. “Breakfast, Princess,” she said, delivering a tray with sweet breads, fresh fruit and hot mint tea.
“I can’t eat. Not until Ben’s home.”
“The sheikh will bring him home. The sheikh is all-powerful.”
All-powerful. If only it were true! Bryn
sipped her tea but didn’t touch the food, staring at the sliced mango on the tray, the fruit’s vivid flesh ripe and juicy. She wondered what Ben would have for breakfast. She prayed Amin would give him breakfast. If Ben were even still alive… No! You can’t think like that. Of course he’s alive. Amin is cruel and selfish, but he wouldn’t hurt a child.
Tears filled her eyes and she bit her knuckles, determined not to cry, not to give in to useless emotion. Tears wouldn’t help Ben.
A rustle of fabric, Lalia in the doorway. Her features were drawn. “My lady, Sheikh al-Assad is waiting in the main reception room. Please, I dress you quickly.’
Bryn fidgeted as Lalia dressed her in a simple apricot chiffon gown. “You must be brave, Princess,” Lalia urged, combing Bryn’s hair smooth and tying it with an apricot ribbon.
“I am very brave,” Bryn answered grimly. She wanted nothing so much as to be with Kahlil and to discover his news. She could only pray that he’d located Ben.
Rifaat waited for her at the entrance to the women’s quarters. “Good morning, Princess al-Assad.”
Bryn had grown so accustomed to his silence that his greeting startled her. “Good morning, Rifaat.”
“You look very tired. Are you not sleeping?”
How could she? How could anyone sleep when a three-year-old was missing? “Has his highness heard anything?”
“That I do not know.”
Her eyebrows arched, impatience, frustration balling into one. “Why must we play these games, Rifaat? You know everything that happens in this place. You’re Kahlil’s secret ears. You’re privy to all the servants’ gossip. You often know things before Kahlil!”
Rifaat almost smiled, but the expression in his deep brown eyes was infinitely sad. “A blessing, and a curse, my lady. Sometimes it is better not to know.” And with another slight bow he led the way through the gleaming marble hall, past the center pavilion and down another breezeway.
Bryn immediately spotted Kahlil at the far end of the reception room. He stood at an open window overlooking the private patio. Soft gold light washed the windowsill, the sky still the fairy-tale pink of early morning.
