Sexy Sheikh Bundle (Harlequin Presents)

by Sharon Kendrick

  Then the five camels set off, with Khaled in the lead, padding their way over the soft desert sands. The side-by-side motion of the camel was familiar. The feel of his body so close to hers was not. She was nestled into the space between his thighs, pressed close to the wall of his chest, her head perilously close to his shoulder, feeling the friction between them increase with every step. His scent, woody and masculine, surrounded her, spiking subtly with the motion, adding to the cocktail of sensory impressions.

  And there was no way she could hold herself aloof. There was no way she could keep her distance. If she wanted to stay on she had to cling to him, and cling tight.

  Not that she was likely to fall off, not with the band of his arm circling her waist. Every breath she took, every rise of her chest brought his arm closer, tighter. But she dared not squirm. Already heat gathered low inside her, alluring, seductive. To wriggle in the cradle of his thighs would be to invite disaster.

  ‘Are you not comfortable?’ he asked, bending his head low to her ear. ‘Maybe you should try to relax.’

  Relax? Like that was on the cards. ‘Why couldn’t we take the cars? I would have thought that with four-wheel drives and helicopters, camels would have been a thing of the past.’

  ‘Out here they still have some uses. There’s an escarpment coming up. We could drive around but the camels will take the most direct route and save us hours of travel.’

  ‘And helicopters?’

  ‘Not half as much fun, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Her dark silence seemed to amuse him and his chuckle welled up, rippling through his chest. ‘Besides, have you forgotten? The airport is closed. Such a shame.’

  She gritted her teeth. ‘A damn shame,’ she muttered.

  The ground became rockier. Pebbles took the place of sand and she became aware they were climbing, gradually at first, until they reached the escarpment and began the steep climb up the ancient track. Now she could see why they couldn’t bring the cars. The narrow path was barely wide enough for a man, let alone a camel. A vehicle had no hope.

  Below them the desert sands were spread out like a golden blanket, rippled and shadowed, warm and seductive in the fading light. It was beautiful and already she felt her life enriched, more textured by the experience.

  The camel’s movements became less rhythmic, more unpredictable as it ascended. Somewhere near the top of the escarpment, one plate-sized foot slid sideways on loose gravel and the camel lurched, jarring her out of Khaled’s lap and threatening to launch her over the side, but his strong arms only tightened around her, reeling her back in close to him again.

  She huddled close to his chest, waiting for her breathing to calm, her heart still racing from her narrow escape, but it was another rhythm that caught her attention. Outwardly he was so composed, so in charge. Yet inside she could feel his heart thumping wildly.

  Had he been taken by surprise as well?

  ‘Do not be afraid,’ he whispered as she clung on to his arm. ‘I would never let you fall. I would never let you get hurt.’

  Tremors shook her body, though whether from relief or the impact of his words she couldn’t be sure. For somehow she knew what he said was true.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she replied, thinking he might release his tight grip a fraction once he knew she was all right. But his arms stayed vice-like around her, even after they’d reached the summit and were finally nearing the collection of tents that made up the encampment. She couldn’t wait to get down. The dust of a day’s travel had worn into her skin and she was sure the smell of the camel had done likewise. But now she wouldn’t have long to wait.

  Small dark-haired children ran towards them, smiling and laughing, their long robes flapping around their bare shins and feet. A herd of goats looked up momentarily, checking out the latest distraction before losing interest.

  A taller youth met the camels, his eyes alert and intelligent, his smile genuine. Excitement fired his features as he pulled on the nose ring of the lead camel and urged him to sit. Sapphy felt herself rocked forward as the camel dropped to its knees but Khaled’s grip never let her fall. Then the camel was down. He released his hold enough for her to slip out of his grasp and onto the earth before he, too, dismounted.

  ‘Majeed,’ Khaled said, embracing the boy.

  ‘Good day, Sheikh Khaled,’ he replied formally, obviously working hard at his English. ‘You have brought my new teacher?’

  ‘Of course, Majeed. Didn’t I promise?’

  Moments later she noticed the youth leading away one of their fellow travellers. She wanted to ask Khaled about the exchange—she’d assumed their several accompanying riders were all guards—but she was surrounded by the young children, hanging on to her hands and chattering non-stop.

  ‘You might want to clean up now,’ he suggested to her, ruffling the children’s hair as he steered her through the throng and towards the camp. ‘Your bag will have been delivered already. I will show you to your tent.’

  He turned back to the children and rattled off something fast in his language. They all scattered immediately, heading for the tents like shot from a gun.

  ‘What did you say to them?’

  ‘I told them to tell their mothers the doctor will be ready to see them shortly.’

  ‘A doctor came with us? I thought those men were guards.’

  ‘We had one guard with us, it’s true. But guards won’t do my people much good. They need practical help if they want to keep this way of life for as long as they can. They need medical help and immunisation clinics. It is much too far for them to travel into the cities for such luxuries.’

  ‘Is that why you brought the teacher?’

  He nodded. ‘Exactly. The boy, Majeed, is very bright. He has already surpassed his previous teacher’s level. He needs new challenges and to learn new skills.’

  ‘Couldn’t he go to school in Hebra? Don’t they have boarding-schools in Jebbai?’

  ‘Of course. But then how could he help his family? He will go to university, when it is time and when his brothers are older. But his father needs him now and this way he can both study and help with his family.’

  ‘I see,’ she said, even though she didn’t. Oh, it made sense all right. But this was a completely different side of Khaled. She was used to the ruthless, authoritarian side of him, the Khaled who acted out of anger, with no thought to the feelings of those he trampled with his unreasonable demands.

  This was a different man. A real leader of his people, who ensured their ongoing existence in the style of life they had been accustomed to since ancient times. He could have forced them to abandon their way of life and move to the cities in the name of progress, simply by not supplying them with modern medicine and education. Yet he was ensuring the continued existence and preservation of their separate and special way of life. And from his reception here he was clearly well loved and respected as their leader.

  How could someone who was so considerate and generous towards his people act so unreasonably towards her? It made no sense. No sense at all.

  In the gathering dusk she noticed the women emerging from tents, their long robes flapping in the light breeze, babies in slings on their backs, many with young toddlers following in their wake.

  They converged on a small tent set to one side, where one of the men who had travelled with them—the doctor, it was now clear—was setting up his equipment. It couldn’t be an easy life for these people, always wandering and rarely settled, but they looked happy and healthy as they collected outside the tent, waiting for the doctor to attend to them.

  ‘After you,’ Khaled said and she realised he was holding open the tent for her. She stepped inside. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the lantern-lit interior and then her first reaction was to gasp.

  The tent’s interior bore no relation to its plain exterior. The floor was lined with carpets, woven and richly coloured. Curtains lined the walls, silks and gauzes softly draped in vivid jewel shades, and cushio
ns lay scattered around, inviting and sumptuous. Perfumed candles scented the air, sweet and fragrant. Beyond an open silken partition she could just make out a large bed, presumably her bed, given what looked like her bag placed on top.

  It was every little girl’s fantasy. And despite all the dreams she’d had from way back to be a fashion designer, she could even believe it was hers. She’d grown up surrounded by luxury, been raised in the most exclusive boutique hotel in Australia, but this somehow went beyond mere fantasy. This was pure magic.

  ‘Will you be comfortable here?’

  She spun around slowly, trying to take it all in. ‘Oh, yes. It’s beautiful.’

  His hand reached for her shoulder, stopping her right in front of him. His other hand tilted her chin. ‘Though nowhere near as beautiful as you.’

  Her breath caught as his face hovered above hers, his golden skin glowing and shadowed in the lamplight, a magic prince for a magic setting.

  It could have been a fairy-tale.

  Except she had no place in this story. She had already chosen her course. She would leave Jebbai, return to Milan, and before long all this would seem no more than a dream.

  She raised one hand to his chest, uncertain of whether she was trying to stop him or merely giving in to the temptation of touching him again, of tasting his muscled torso with her fingers, of reading the strong beat of his heart.

  The hand on her shoulder moved to cover hers, wrapping her fingers in his. His eyes still locked on hers, he lifted it from his chest and pressed the palm of her hand to his mouth. She sucked in air as his warm lips, his heated breath danced over her skin, as the merest trace of his tongue spread liquid warmth coursing through her.

  ‘And now,’ he said, his voice low and thick, ‘relax awhile. The women will help you. I have business to discuss with the men and then we will dine together.’

  Women? She looked around to see two women near the bed unpacking her bag. Unfamiliar blue fabric shot with gold floated over one woman’s hands. Sapphy frowned.

  ‘That’s not my bag,’ she said, stepping towards the partition. ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘You will find it is,’ Khaled responded.

  ‘But none of this…’ The women moved aside while she checked the bag—it looked like hers, yet nothing inside was familiar. She dug her hands through the gossamer fabrics, the golden tassels and belts, the heavier cloaks. She didn’t own these things. Yet, underneath everything else, there was her toiletry bag. It didn’t make sense.

  And yet all of a sudden it did.

  Icy realisation filled her veins. This was just the sort of thing she should have expected from someone who had frustrated her at every move. She turned, barely able to restrain the mounting hostility within.

  ‘What have you done with my clothes?’

  CHAPTER NINE

  KHALED dismissed the women with a flick of his hand.

  ‘You don’t like your new garments?’

  ‘These things aren’t mine. What have you done with the clothes I packed?’

  ‘I promised you a gift—the garments made by Hebra’s best seamstresses. Do you agree they are quite beautiful?’

  ‘I want my clothes.’

  ‘Your clothes were not appropriate for the desert. This isn’t Milan or Sydney or even Hebra. Aren’t you going to try these on? See how well they fit? See how well they become you?’

  ‘Why the hell should I?’

  ‘Because,’ he said, his dark eyes shiny with victory, ‘you have no choice. You have nothing else to wear.’

  ‘Then I’ll wear what I’ve already got on.’

  His nostrils flared. ‘It is entirely up to you if you wish to offend our hosts. For while we value the camel for transport, it is not a beast we would choose to eat with.’

  She spun away from him, determined that he wouldn’t see that she knew he was right. From the moment they’d arrived at the encampment she’d looked forward to the prospect of washing off the baggage of a long, dusty trip and changing into clean clothes. But her idea of clean clothes had more to do with a linen skirt and fresh blouse than the silky nothingness of the fabrics now contained in her suitcase.

  ‘You need not be concerned,’ he said, almost as if he could read her thoughts. ‘It makes no difference what you had planned to wear as no one would see it anyway. The women will provide you with an abaya and hijab, a cloak and scarf to cover your garments and head, and a burka to hide your face, as is the custom here in the tribes. All anyone will see of you is your eyes. So you see, you really have nothing to get upset about.’

  ‘In that case,’ she said at last, ‘it would appear that I don’t have much of a choice.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘you don’t.’

  And then he was gone, leaving her and her resentment simmering in his wake.

  All night long the blue eyes had captivated him. All night he’d wished for a halt to the seemingly endless cups of coffee, the conversation that lingered interminably, when all he wanted to do was be alone with her.

  Even covered from head to toe she stood out. There was simply no way Sapphire would blend in by dressing her in the local garb. There was no way she would not be noticed.

  All anyone could see was her blue eyes, clear and warm, shining from behind her cotton burka. Yet he could see the way they lit up when she laughed, the way they creased at the corners with delight, the way they reacted when others told their tales of desert wanderings or their children, the way they would fill with compassion when the story was sad.

  Most of all he liked the way they stilled when his gaze locked on hers, smoke suddenly swirling in their depths before they dropped or turned away.

  All he could see was her blue eyes and even they were enough to hold him transfixed. Yet the promise, too, of what was under the dark abaya intervened in his thoughts. He wanted to strip away the cloak, to find the woman under the dull garb, to explore her feminine shape and hidden curves.

  And now, when their hosts had finally called an end to the evening, now he finally had his chance.

  She clutched the sides of the abaya, avoiding looking at him directly as Khaled walked her to her tent, the soft maa-ing of the goats carrying gently across the crisp night air. It was cooler now although feeling warm didn’t seem to be a problem for her. Not given the way Khaled had made her feel through dinner.

  Tonight he looked more like a sheikh than ever. For the first time he had put aside the western garb she was used to seeing him in and that was so much a part of business in modern Hebra and instead he wore the traditional robes of the region. In the fine white shirt, the traditional headdress with its double cord of woven goat-hair and sheep’s wool, and the long black robes edged with gold braid, Khaled looked larger than life, a real desert king.

  She’d seen the way he’d watched her tonight, had felt his eyes on her, and on those times she’d been unable to resist looking his way she’d been held by the authority of his features, the sheer power of his eyes, the potent message they contained.

  He wanted her.

  Sure, she’d known it before, she’d felt his need on his lips and in his kiss, but never had it taken on the significance it had now, the way it rocked her as they made their way almost silently across the pebble-strewn sands to her tent. He knew she was leaving yet still he wanted her.

  Under her long robe a multitude of sensations beset her. Silk slid across her skin at every move, the metal belt shimmying softly over her hips, and tiny bells jangled softly on her ankles. She felt ultra-feminine, exquisitely sensual and sexy in a way she never had before.

  Was it the garments that lay hidden under the abaya or was it the way Khaled had looked at her through dinner, as though he was already slowly peeling off her clothes, that made her flesh tingle and gave her such a rush of moist heat?

  It didn’t matter. What suddenly did was the realisation that she could no longer deny.

  She wanted him too.

  It made no sense. She was leaving soon. Returning to
her fashion-industry life in Milan and leaving the desert far behind her. She was getting what she really wanted, wasn’t she? Escape and freedom. Whereas Khaled meant the exact opposite. Khaled would keep her here forever. Even though his crazy marriage plans had been aborted, she knew he would possess her if she let him. How then could she even imagine that she wanted any part of him?

  But imagination didn’t come into it. What she wanted was real.

  They reached her tent, and he followed her through the opening, the heaviness of her need threatening to swamp her, to drown all rational thought. Suddenly she didn’t want to say goodnight. Suddenly she wanted to prolong this moment, this time out here, in the soft lamplight of a lush Bedouin tent.

  He placed one hand on her shoulder, angling her towards him. ‘You have the most expressive eyes, did you know?’ He lifted the other hand to her mask, tracing her cheek through the fabric. ‘You didn’t mind wearing this? It must seem strange to you.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said. Her voice sounded clouded and thick. ‘It’s the custom here. I don’t mind.’

  ‘Well, you have no need of it now,’ he said, his hand reaching behind to release the tie that held it in place. It dropped to the floor at the same time he removed her scarf. Automatically she reached up a hand to smooth back her hair, suddenly nervous, expectant.

  ‘Your cloak too,’ he said, his voice heavy with need. ‘If you wish.’

  She hesitated fractionally. It was only an outer robe, but by taking it off, what was she saying to him? The silken garments that she wore beneath hardly constituted a barrier between them. But then, the way her body was humming, her need accelerating, maybe it was time the barriers came down.

  Her fingers fumbled their way to the closures that ran from her neck to her waist, undoing them in turn. Only when she had finished, her hands unsure of where to go next, did he put his hands to her shoulders, parting the robe and peeling it down her arms, finally letting go and allowing its weight to drag it to the floor, exposing her to his gaze.