Susan Mallery - The Sheikh & the Princess In Waiting

by The Sheikh

  She returned to the kitchen where she dumped the old bandages and opened a can of soup. She ate it cold, too tired to bother with trying to heat it. After swallowing the contents and three full glasses of water, she made use of one of the luxury bathrooms, then returned to Reyhan’s room.

  He was still cool to the touch and there wasn’t any more bleeding. She had no way to tell about internal injuries, but she was hopeful that he’d been very lucky and that the bullet had missed everything.

  Weary behind words, she curled up next to him on the bed and closed her eyes.

  Just for a few minutes, she told herself. She still had to get the phone outside and figure out what she was going to feed him when he woke….

  Someone stroked her hair. Emma felt the light touch even in her sleep and smiled. She was warm all over and rested and in just a second she would open her eyes and see—

  Consciousness returned and with it the memories of what had happened the previous day. She sat up and realized it was morning and Reyhan was awake.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  She stared at him, at his bare chest and the clarity in his eyes. His color was good. Except for the white bandage at his waist, she wouldn’t have known he’d ever been injured.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Good. A little sore, but otherwise fine. I am hungry and thirsty.”

  “Positive signs.” She touched his forehead. “No fever?”

  “Not that I can feel.”

  Suddenly aware that she was pressed against him and that they were on a bed, she shifted toward the edge then stood.

  “Let me check your bandage. If there’s no sign of infection, we can all breathe a little easier.”

  She removed the dressing. The wound was clean, the surrounding skin pale.

  “It’s already healing,” she told him.

  “Good. Then we can eat.”

  He swung his legs to the floor and stood. She hovered by his side, but he seemed fine. Strong and capable. Once again the prince and no longer the man who needed her.

  “I would like a shower,” he said.

  “Me, too, but there’s no hot water. At least there wasn’t last night.”

  “The water heater needs to be turned on. I’ll take care of that if you want to start on breakfast.”

  She nodded and followed him out of the room. He didn’t even sway as he walked, she thought, amazed by his powers of recovery. As they passed the office, she remembered the telephone and collected it. Reyhan disappeared into a small room behind the pantry while she took the phone out into the courtyard and opened the case so the rising sun would charge the solar cell. Then she took a moment and looked around at the lush, nondesertlike garden in the middle of a three-story sand-and-stone house.

  Plants bloomed and trailed everywhere. She couldn’t name the various pink, red and white flowers, but she could inhale their sweet fragrance. Water trickled through several fountains and circled the garden before flowing into a stone-lined pond.

  No doubt the underground spring was responsible for the flow of water. Emma sighed as she caught sight of a bench in the corner and a small grassy patch.

  This was a dream house—somewhere she could happily stay forever.

  She left the courtyard garden and returned to the kitchen. By the time she’d put together a meal, Reyhan had returned with word that there would soon be hot water. He’d also started the generator.

  “We’ll have immediate electricity,” he said. “We have to use it sparingly until the solar panels start working. Hot water will take an hour or so.”

  “There’s nothing like a day in the desert to make one grateful for the little things,” she said, smiling as if being alone with him was no big deal. As if she didn’t remember how scared she’d been when she’d found out he’d been shot, and how much he’d hurt her, before they’d left, with his agreement that it was time for her to go home.

  As she sat across from him, she tried not to stare at his features. There was no need to memorize his face. Their time together had changed her forever and she would never forget what he looked like. Even now, without a shirt, in need of a shave and less than twenty-four hours after being shot, he still looked masculine, powerful and very princelike.

  Silence descended. She searched for a topic to keep the moment from being too awkward.

  “Whose house is this?” she asked as she sipped the coffee she’d prepared.

  “Mine. It belonged to my aunt. She left it to me when she died.”

  “This is where you came to after we got married,” she said as the pieces of the past clicked into place.

  He nodded. “I needed to be here for her funeral service and then I had to settle her affairs.” He stared past her, as if seeing into that long-ago time. “She and I were very close. My parents loved each other more than they loved their children. My brother Jefri didn’t seem to mind, but I noticed.” He shrugged.

  “When things were difficult, Sheza was there for me.”

  Simple words, she thought, reading the pain behind them. She could imagine a young, lonely prince, growing up in privilege, but without affection. The woman who took his parents’ place would always hold a special place in his heart. No wonder he’d been devastated by her loss.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I wish I’d known what you were going through.”

  He sipped his coffee. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. I would never have let you comfort me.”

  “Why not?”

  One corner of his mouth turned up. “I am Prince Reyhan of Bahania. I am not in need of comforting.”

  She leaned toward him. “I see. And who exactly buys into that line?”

  “You would have.”

  “You’re right. It’s something a child would have believed. But I’m not that little girl anymore. Now I know better.”

  His dark gaze settled on her face. “You were very brave yesterday.”

  “Not really. At first I was furious at being taken hostage. I knew they’d try to get money from you. They didn’t, did they?”

  “No. We were able to cancel the transfer. My security chief had a plan to get the money back even if the transfer had gone through. But if necessary, I would have paid.”

  “Nice to know,” she said, not surprised, but still pleased.

  “You are my wife, Emma. I could not let you be harmed.”

  She didn’t feel like his wife. She didn’t feel like anything except excess baggage.

  “Thank you for saving my life,” he said.

  “Thank you for saving mine.”

  “So we are even, which is better than one of us being in debt to another.” He smiled. “You did not expect danger to be a part of your visit to Bahania. This experience must make you eager to be back in Dallas.”

  So much less than he thought. “There are things I’ll miss about being here,” she told him. Mostly him.

  His smile faded. “I’m sorry I hurt you when we were at the palace.”

  When he’d rejected her, she thought. When he’d turned his back on her offer to make love.

  “Yes, well, it’s not a big deal.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said. “It was a big deal to both of us. There are things you don’t understand.”

  “Then explain them to me.”

  He glanced out the window. “There is a legend that the spring that runs under this house is the result of heartache. That a young man got lost in the desert and wandered for days. He was nearly out of water when he found a single blooming plant. So impressed by the beauty of the flower, he poured his last drops of water onto the parched leaves to give it longer life. Grateful, the flower became a beautiful woman. They made love but in the morning, the young man died from dehydration. The woman wept and her tears became a river.”

  He turned back to her. “The garden in the courtyard pays homage to them both.

  Some of the plants date back nearly a hundred years.”

  �
�That’s a very sad story.”

  “It is a lesson. We must pay attention to what matters. The young woman possessed magical powers. She could have restored the young man first. Instead she took what she wanted and as a result, lost him.”

  She shook her head. “I think the lesson is to seize whatever love we can find for as long as we have it.”

  “Perhaps you are right.” He rose. “The hot water should be ready soon. You may shower first.”

  As appealing as a shower sounded, she had other things on her mind. Maybe it was stupid to take another chance on him and lay her heart on the line. Maybe she didn’t have a choice.

  “You don’t have to let me go, Reyhan.”

  He stiffened slightly and didn’t look at her as he spoke. “Yes, I do.”

  “Why? Who is this other woman you plan to marry? What will she give you that I can’t?”

  “Peace of mind.”

  Chapter 14

  After her shower, Emma decided to explore the rest of the small palace. Reyhan had settled in the library and after the cryptic end to their breakfast conversation, she wasn’t sure what was left to say between them.

  She had a thousand questions, but what was new about that? She’d had questions from the beginning—such as why had he married her in the first place and why had he stayed married to her? Asking why he had to marry someone else for his peace of mind was way down there on the “questions to ask” priority list.

  She climbed to the second story and explored the amazing rooms. There was a large open area that had to be a ballroom, some kind of living room and four incredibly luxurious bedrooms that would rival the elegance of the famous pink palace in the capital city.

  Even without any knowledge about antiques, she recognized the beauty of the carved furniture and the glittering gold leaf edging the chairs. There were dressers and armoires and four-poster beds with stairs leading to high mattresses. Amazing murals covered the walls. In one bedroom, she found a pumpkin coach and six horses, all made of crystal. In another there was a carved set of toy soldiers.

  On the third floor were more spartan rooms, except for a round room in a tower.

  Stained-glass windows cast a rainbow of light on the marble floor. The room was completely empty except for a desk with a chest in the middle.

  Curious, she crossed to the desk and opened the chest. When she saw what was inside, her breath caught.

  There were pictures. Dozens of pictures, all of a young woman. In some she was laughing, in others serious. Sometimes she faced the camera, sometimes she hid her face. One had been taken while she slept.

  Emma felt her heart constrict as she recognized a much-younger version of herself. Reyhan had taken these pictures while they’d been dating and then after they’d married.

  Below the pictures were mementos from their dates, all the notes she’d written—and several detective reports. She flipped through them and read his messages to the company he’d hired to check on her for the first few months they’d been separated. He’d obviously wanted to know that she was all right. A few pictures of her had been included with the reports and they were as well-worn as the pages of the report.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered into the silence. Why had he done this? Why had he kept everything?

  Had he been any other man, she would have thought—hoped—that he cared about her.

  That she mattered. But he wasn’t. He was Prince Reyhan of Bahania and he didn’t let himself care.

  Or did he? Emma sank onto the floor and studied the detective reports more closely. Reyhan was proud. He would not give his heart easily, nor would he want it toyed with. Had he cared about her and had she not understood the depth of his feelings? He wasn’t the kind of man who would marry on a whim. He’d chosen her—only her. Now he didn’t want a divorce because he loved someone else but so that he could make a marriage of convenience to produce heirs. He didn’t want to fall in love again—was that because he still loved her, or because the first time things had ended so badly?

  She thought about all that had happened so long ago. How she’d hidden away from him, like a child afraid of being punished. How she’d let her parents convince her he didn’t care because it was easier than confessing her guilty secret.

  She claimed to be someone different from that scared young woman, yet was she any more willing to fight for what she wanted? If she loved Reyhan, she needed to tell him. If she wanted a chance at making their marriage work, then she would have to fight for him.

  She tossed down the report and scrambled to her feet. She wasn’t going to wait another second. They belonged together and she was going to help him see that.

  No matter how long it took.

  She raced down the stairs. Once she reached the main floor, she called out his name as she ran from room to room. She burst into the bedroom he’d been using just as he stepped out of the bathroom.

  He wore nothing but a towel, and both it and the bandage were white against his skin. Her throat closed as she remembered the last time they’d been in this position—how he’d rejected her. Determined not to be swayed by fear of rejection and his pride, she squared her shoulders.

  “We have to talk,” she told him.

  His dark eyes burned with a fire she recognized. Her insides quivered slightly and her thighs trembled.

  “No.”

  The single word didn’t frighten her. He wasn’t going to get his way—not anymore.

  This was too important to let his pride win. Of course if he really didn’t care about her at all, she was about to experience the most humiliating moment of her life, but she had to be willing to risk it all if she wanted to win it all.

  “I know you want me,” she said, crossing the room to stand directly in front of him.

  “Desire means nothing,” he told her, turning his back on her. “It is simply a reaction.”

  “To all women or just to me?” She walked up behind him and placed her hands on his bare shoulders. “What happens when I touch you, Reyhan? I know what happens to me. My insides melt while my whole body starts to ache with a hunger I can barely control.” She stroked the length of his spine. “My breathing quickens.

  There is fire everywhere.”

  His skin was smooth, his muscles unyielding. When her fingers reached the edge of the towel, he shuddered.

  “You’re so sleek and strong,” she murmured, then pressed a kiss to his back.

  “Straight to my curves, hard to my soft. Is it just me?” she asked. “Tell me.”

  He turned on her with a roar that could have been anger or passion or maybe both. He reached for her and hauled her against him, apparently unaware or unconcerned about his bullet wound.

  She was more than willing to ignore it, too, as he kissed her with a need that was even stronger than her own. There were no preliminarily kisses, no soft queries. Instead he took her mouth and claimed her. His lips pressed against hers with a pressure that had her arching against him.

  More, she thought frantically as she clung to him and kissed him back. She

  wanted it all.

  His tongue swept over and around hers even as he pushed and tugged at her clothing. She wore only a T-shirt and jeans, but they were too much of a barrier when all she had to do was tug at his towel to undress him.

  And then he was naked and she didn’t worry about her own clothing. Not when she could reach her hand between them and touch his arousal.

  As her fingers closed over him, he groaned, then swore and tore his mouth away.

  “Get these damn clothes off!” he demanded.

  She looked into his eyes and laughed softly. “Impatient, are we?”

  “I’ll die if I don’t have you now.”

  “Good. Because that’s exactly how I feel.”

  She pulled off her T-shirt and kicked off her sandals while he worked on her jeans. Her bra went next, then she pulled down her panties.

  The next second she was falling onto the bed and Reyhan was on to
p of her.

  “I want you,” he breathed. “Emma, I need you.”

  Uncontrollable desire tightened his features. She felt his need, because it was her own. She understood his dilemma even as she reached between them and guided him inside of her.

  “You’re not ready,” he protested, trying to hold back.

  She knew she was hot, wet and slick. “Yes, I am.”

  He plunged into her and they both cried out. Within seconds they were lost in a frenzy of sensation and wanting. She pulled him closer, wanting him deeper. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, before claiming her mouth. She wrapped her legs around him and as her orgasm approached had to break the kiss to gasp for air.

  “Reyhan,” she breathed as her body stiffened before convulsing into release.

  He continued to fill her over and over until the shudders faded. It was only then that he groaned out her name and was still.

  She closed her eyes and let herself relax into his embrace. Her need for him hadn’t faded, only shifted. Now she wanted to be as emotionally connected as they had been physically.

  Reyhan withdrew and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so that she draped across his chest.

  “We should not have done that,” he said as he stroked her hair.

  “Because you’re worried about me getting pregnant,” she said.

  “That is one consideration. Eventually the odds will catch up with us.”

  They already had. Emma felt time shift and bend and suddenly she was eighteen,

  alone in her room and crying. Pain filled her body, but not from a physical source. Instead she felt the ache of being alone and so lost, she would never find her way back.

  “What?” he asked, continuing to touch her hair. “Where have you gone? I see such sadness in your eyes.”

  She hadn’t been sure she was going to tell him. What was the point? But now, suddenly she wanted him to know. Not to make him feel badly but so that he would understand more.

  “I was pregnant before,” she whispered. “From our honeymoon.”