He paused outside her door. The idea circled in his brain. He had to find a way to break off his engagement with Amber and do so without endangering her father’s position in his country’s government. He, Khalil, insisted on marrying a virgin. His bride-to-be would be a princess, which was more than license to be ornamental. She had to be intelligent and committed to the betterment of El Bahar. He wanted someone sensible, deferential and even-tempered, yet he wanted to enjoy her company. While marrying for passion would be nice, finding a woman who would be a good mother was more important.
He pictured Dora—her soft brown eyes and easy smile. Her body was harder to imagine, mostly because he’d not paid much attention to it. She had broad hips—childbearing hips. Unlike Amber’s slender frame, Dora had been built to give a man strong sons.
She was not deferential, nor was she likely to allow her will to bend to his, but she had nearly all the other qualities he sought in a wife, and she was a virgin.
He hesitated in the hallway, sorting through the information. His father would be furious. It would be some time before Khalil would be forgiven for such an impulsive act. Turning his back on his engagement with Amber would bring momentary dishonor to his family, and the king would not forget. Khalil drew in a deep breath. Perhaps in time he could explain why, but in the short-term, he would have to accept his father’s displeasure.
He turned the handle, and the door opened silently. Dora lay curled up on the bed like a child. She’d pulled her knees to her chest, and her hands covered her face. Her sobs had quieted, but her shoulders shook. Once again he could feel her pain and knew that she’d been stabbed down to her very soul. Perhaps she was not whom he would have chosen, but she was better than many others. A man could do much worse.
That decided, he crossed to her bed and sat on the mattress. She jumped and half sat up, then cried out and jerked the covers to her shoulders.
“Khalil, I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”
Tears covered her face. Her eyes and mouth were swollen. She was not at her most attractive, yet Khalil found himself strangely drawn to her. He reached out and cupped her cheek, then used his thumb to wipe away her tears. Her skin was soft and damp, and oddly appealing.
“I couldn’t stand it,” he said. “To hear your pain. Sweet, sweet Dora.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Her shock was a tangible presence in the room. He suspected that if he hadn’t caught her so off guard, she would never have allowed herself to be drawn against him.
She held herself stiffly. Instead of hugging him back, her arms hung limply at her sides. Yet the feel of her this close was not unpleasant. Until now he’d never noticed the feminine scent of her body. Instinctively he knew the smell didn’t come from any expensive store, but was instead her own private perfume. The heady fragrance made him think of warm sunlight and laughter. An odd combination considering it was the dead of night and she was in tears.
“I don’t…You can’t…” She sniffed. “Khalil?”
“I understand,” he told her, again cupping her face, but this time with the intent of kissing her. With the light spilling in from the hall, he could see the outline of her breasts under the cotton gown she wore. How innocent was she? Had any man seen those curves, touched them, tasted them?
He found himself aroused, not just at the thought of her innocence, but by the feel of her womanly body against his. He could already feel the heat of his own growing desire. Making love with Dora was going to be surprisingly easy. In one single act of possession, he was going to solve both their problems.
Dora fought against the emotional fog that clouded her brain. She couldn’t think clearly. Obviously she was caught up in some dream—or was it a nightmare—brought on by her own exhaustion and Gerald’s phone call. Because there was no other explanation. No way was Khalil actually in her bedroom, sitting next to her and holding her close.
Except her dream was far too real. She could feel the hard planes of his chest, the strength of his arms, and the fiery heat of his body. Long, male fingers stroked her face, brushing away tears she hadn’t realized still spilled from the corners of her eyes.
“Khalil?”
“Hush, my love. Hush.”
She couldn’t be quiet. There were too many questions. “What are you doing here?” she asked again, trying to ignore the fact that he’d called her “love.” She looked at him. “Are you drunk?”
For a second, something hot and wild tightened his expression. She had the oddest sensation that he wasn’t going to say a word, but instead pull her close and kiss her. Rather than being horrified, she found herself leaning toward him, wanting his kiss, regardless of whether or not this was a dream.
“Of course not,” he told her. He rose to his feet and crossed to her door. A protest formed in the back of her throat. Was he going to leave her? But he didn’t. He pulled the door shut, then flipped on the light switch. Instantly the lamp on her nightstand came on and flooded the room with light.
Dora briefly closed her eyes in horror at the thought of what she must look like. No doubt her skin was red and blotchy from her crying, while her hair was a mess, and she was curled up in bed like an invalid. What must Khalil think of her?
Before she could come up with an answer, or even speak the question aloud, her brain reasserted itself, and she realized she still didn’t know what he was doing in her room in the middle of the night.
“Khalil?”
She’d thought he might turn on his heel and leave. She’d thought he might start speaking. She even imagined him beginning a detailed conversation on crop management. But she never expected him to cross to the bed, sink back onto the mattress, take her hands in his and begin kissing her fingers.
She blinked several times, wondering if the blood flow to her brain had been interrupted by her crying jag. Or maybe she’d had a small stroke or seizure. There was no way she was really staring at Prince Khalil Khan of El Bahar sitting on her bed, holding her hands and deliberately, passionately kissing her skin.
But even as she doubted her eyes, she couldn’t doubt her senses. Shivers rippled up her arms as heat flooded her. He pressed his mouth to each sensitive fingertip, then nibbled on the pad of her thumbs. Sounds collected in the back of her throat, but she could not speak. Air filled her lungs, but she could not exhale. Her legs stirred restlessly as her brain jumped from sensation to sensation, not sure which to settle upon. Between her thighs she felt an unfamiliar pressure, a heaviness and warmth. Her breasts seemed to swell, her nipples ached. Was this really happening to her?
“I will destroy him,” he murmured against her skin. “I will have him shot.”
“What?” she breathed. “Shot? Who?”
“That son of a jackal. That eater of camel dung. Gerald.” He practically spat out the name.
She jumped. “Gerald?”
He raised his head and looked at her. His thick dark hair was no longer perfect and several strands fell over his forehead. His eyes burned with anger and possession. She blinked. Possession? Of her? Impossible.
“I heard you on the phone with him. He is a disgusting excuse for a man. How dare he treat you so badly? He is stupid and worthless. You, sweet Dora, you are a prize. Lovely and intelligent, you are all that a man could want in a woman. I swear I will have him shot, or if you won’t agree to that, I’ll at least have him horsewhipped.”
They’d fallen into an alternate universe. It was the only possible explanation for what was happening. Because this sure wasn’t her life. Men did not profess her to be a prize, and if one were to do that, he wouldn’t be someone like Khalil.
“I d-don’t understand,” she managed to say, her voice trembling.
“You’re better off without him,” he said. “Gerald doesn’t deserve you. Be happy that you’re free of him.” He gripped her hands more tightly. “I want you,” he told her hoarsely. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you at the airport. It’s been as tortu
rous as the fires of hell working with you these past two weeks, playing the employer when the role I truly sought was that of your lover.”
His hot, dark gaze held her captive. She wanted to look away, but she could not. She also wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t do that, either. Maybe he’d overheard part of her conversation with Gerald and felt sorry for her. While the sentiment was admirable, she wasn’t interested in anyone’s pity.
“I don’t understand what you think you’re doing,” she began. “It’s very nice of you to be concerned, but I’m fine.” She thought about her tears, then shrugged. “Okay, saying I’m fine is pushing it, but I will be fine, eventually. You don’t have to pretend that you—”
“No!”
His sharp word cut her off in midsentence. She gawked at him.
“Don’t patronize me,” he ordered harshly. “Don’t for a moment believe you understand what I’m thinking or what I want. And don’t you dare assume that this is out of pity. I’m not pretending anything.”
He stood up in one quick, fluid movement, then reached for the buttons on his shirt. “You believe him, this son of a jackal. You listen to his lies and make them your truth. Why? Why do you allow him to hurt you? He knows nothing of you.” Khalil jerked the last few buttons free then yanked off his shirt and tossed it on the ground. “He had his chance, and he destroyed it. Now it is my turn. I will not make his mistake.”
Dora half rose into a sitting position and scooted against the headboard. She wasn’t afraid, exactly, but it was clear Khalil was going to take off his clothes. Part of her thought it might be a good idea to make a timely escape but the rest of her figured she might not get another shot at seeing a naked man. Lord knows she’d been dying for the experience for years. Besides, he was so beautiful, she couldn’t find the strength to look away.
Light from the lamp illuminated his skin, adding shadows and hollows to the movement of muscles and bone. Dark hair began at the top of his broad chest, then narrowed down to his waist. As his fingers worked his belt, then unfastened his trousers, she found herself holding her breath in anticipation.
But he didn’t push them down or otherwise expose himself. Instead he drew off his shoes and his socks, then placed his hands on his hips as he stared down at her.
“I want you,” he told her. “Only you. I want you in my bed, in my arms. I want to touch all of you, caress you, with both my hands and my tongue. You are my heart’s desire. It is not pity, it is not to thank you or heal you. I’m not that selfless. I am here because of the ache in my body.” His gaze narrowed. “There are things a man can’t pretend. The desire must be real. You understand?”
She nodded slowly. She understood all too well. Gerald had cut her to the core when he’d told her that he’d thought it would be difficult for him to become aroused around her. She knew that she wasn’t the prettiest woman in the world, but she’d never thought of herself as so undesirable that no man could want her. Then Khalil tucked his thumbs inside the waistband of his slacks and pushed down.
The fine wool fabric bunched low on his belly. It was only then that she realized the unusual shape she’d barely noticed was the hard proof of what he said. He reached inside and drew out his erection. The trousers slipped un-hindered to the floor.
“I want you,” he said softly.
“Yes, I can see that.” She pressed her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled, “I didn’t mean to say that aloud.”
But he didn’t get angry. Instead he grinned at her. “You’re impressed.”
“Yes, well…” She waved in the general direction of his…his member. “It’s quite lovely.”
He took a step toward her. “Do you doubt me now?”
He’d given her fairly substantial proof. She wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t quite. There were the things Gerald had said, plus why on earth would Khalil be interested in her?
He growled low in his throat. “Stop,” he commanded, moving closer, then kneeling on the bed. “Stop the voices in your head and listen only to me. You will be my woman. Mine and only mine. Do you understand?”
She stared into his eyes. He was fierce and possessive, and as she looked at him she could see the wild desert behind the man. A shiver rippled through her. Anticipation? Perhaps. Fear? Certainly. But fear of the unknown, not fear of him.
“Be mine,” he whispered, moving closer. “Be mine, Dora. Let me love you.”
She was sure there was a perfectly witty response to all that he was saying, but she found herself at a loss for words. She could only wait until he drew his arms around her and pulled her down onto the mattress. Whatever protest she might have wanted to utter was lost at the first touch of his mouth on hers.
She’d been kissed before…at least a couple of times in high school, once at a frat party in her first year of college, and of course by Gerald. Gerald’s kiss had been practiced, almost clinical. She’d never been kissed by a wild, sensual man, and certainly not one as seductive as Khalil.
She expected an assault, perhaps with him pushing her, invading her, taking her, but it was nothing like that. His mouth was soft, yet firm, yielding against her own, but leaving her in no doubt of his mastery of the task. He learned the contours of her lips slowly, thoroughly. Every point of contact was fire and heat. He lay next to her, on top of the sheet and blanket, but she could feel the weight of him, and it was delicious.
One of his hands cupped her face as if he feared she might try to escape. Had she the strength or the will to speak, she would have told him that was not possible. She was trapped beneath him—more because she had nowhere else in her life she would rather be than because of his superior strength. She didn’t fear Khalil; she knew in her heart he would never hurt her.
“Dora,” he murmured against her mouth. “I want you. I want you, my sweet desert rose. You are so soft, so warm, so my match.”
His words were as heady as wine. She’d read about people getting drunk on words, but until this moment she hadn’t believed it possible. He made her writhe with undefined desire. She wanted without knowing what exactly would fulfill her. She needed desperately, but she could not describe the outcome that would most please her.
“Touch me,” he commanded, then stroked her bottom lip with his tongue.
She didn’t know which shocked her more—his request or the wet pressure on her lip. Instinctively she parted for him. At the same moment, she brought her free arm around and rested her hand on his shoulder. While his tongue slipped into her mouth, her fingers and palm absorbed the hot strength of him. He was all hard muscle and masculine scent. He was also wet and fiery and tempting as he stroked inside of her mouth. She found herself gasping in pleasure, in shock, in desperation that he never ever stop what he was doing.
He stroked his tongue against hers. The sensation and texture of him sent sparks dancing through her blood. He angled his head slightly and deepened the kiss. Fire boiled low in her belly. She couldn’t breathe, yet it didn’t matter. She was going to die this very moment, and she welcomed the experience. To have been held and kissed by this man was more than she’d ever expected from her small life.
He explored her mouth, learning details and discovering favorite places. He made her gasp and sigh and press up against him. She clung to his shoulder, urging him closer. She rubbed her tongue against his, circled him, then joined him in an erotic dance that left her legs trembling.
Between her thighs a rhythmic pulsing began. She felt blood pooling and a waiting dampness that signaled her readiness. Part of her was ashamed of her body’s reaction to this man, but most of her reveled in her awakening. She hadn’t known that such pleasures existed.
Khalil broke the kiss by moving his mouth to her neck. There he nibbled and licked the sensitive skin beneath her ear, then moved lower, to her collarbone. He rolled to the edge of the bed and pulled away the covers, tossing them to the foot of the mattress.
Instinctively Dora reached for the hem of her nightgown. It had cra
wled up until it was well above midthigh. But before she could push the fabric down, she felt a single male finger stroking her bare leg. Up and down, up and down, that lone point of contact moved from the inside of her knee to the top of her left thigh. She shivered. She bit her lower lip. She fought against the need to cry out his name.
The finger lifted, and the absence of his touch caused physical pain. Then he touched her again. One, brief, perfect caress on her erect nipple. As he stroked the tight bud, he stared deeply into her eyes. She found herself lost in his gaze, drowning in a pool so wet and welcoming that she could not imagine ever wanting to be free.
“Say my name,” he commanded, then touched her nipple again.
Electricity, pleasure, desire, heat seared through her. “Khalil!” she gasped.
He smiled. “What a passionate creature you are, my efficient Dora. I’m a most fortunate man.”
He pulled her up into a sitting position. Before she could gather her wits about her, he’d pulled off her nightgown, and her breasts were bare to his gaze.
She wanted to protest, or at the very least cover herself, but before she could think of the right words needed, he’d lowered her to her back and pressed his lips to her right breast. His hand closed over her other breast. Suddenly being topless didn’t seem like such a bad thing.
She closed her eyes and absorbed the wonder of his ministrations. His tongue and lips were soft and wet against her sensitized skin. His fingers matched their movements. He circled her, brushed over her, then suckled her. All the while her body turned to liquid.
Was this what happened between a man and a woman? she thought incoherently. Was this the wonder of which she’d read? So many things became clear to her. That lovers would move mountains to be together. That they would risk death. She would have done anything to prolong the magic.
The Desert Rogues Part 1 Page 5
