The Desert Rogues Part 1

by Susan Mallery

  She waited for his kiss, but he didn’t touch her lips. Instead he nibbled on her shoulder, then moved lower, taking her nipple in his mouth.

  She still wore her silk chemise. As he suckled her, the thin, gossamer fabric dampened. When he raised his head she saw that the material was now transparent. She could see the peachy-pink bud puckering against the undergarment. He saw it, too. Holding her gaze, he deliberately touched the tip of his tongue to the sensitized peak. To see as well as feel his seduction was more than she could stand. She half raised herself, grasping his head, pulling him down so she could kiss him.

  Their mouths met in frenzied passion. She needed all of him. Next to her, in her, on top of her. More and more of him. She pushed at his clothes, fumbling for the ties of his robe. He shrugged out of them quickly, then pulled off his loose shirt. He had to leave the bed to remove his trousers, and she was shocked to hear herself whimper when he stood up to shed the garments.

  But then he stood before her, naked and so incredibly beautiful. She studied the hard planes of his chest, the thick coils of his muscles, the dark hair crowning his arousal.

  “Tell me,” he commanded, standing by the bed but just out of reach. “Say the words. Tell me that you want me.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Want me, or say it?”

  Both, she thought, but she wouldn’t tell him that. He moved closer…close enough that she was able to reach out her hand and stroke the powerful length of him. She encircled him with her fingers and moved back and forth, savoring the feel of him. Baby-soft skin over the unyielding pulse of his desire. She looked up at him and found herself caught in his hooded gaze. Only the tightening muscle at his jaw indicated that he was the least bit affected by her ministrations.

  Slowly, gently, she moved lower and slipped her hand to his hard thighs. The hair on his legs tickled her palms. She moved up and down, learning his textures, his body, and in the process, arousing herself even more.

  Without warning, he bent over and reached for her right foot. He examined the pattern made by the henna, tracing lines and circles with the tip of his finger. When he tickled her, she squirmed and laughed. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t release her. She was caught.

  “Tell me,” he commanded, moving onto the bed and settling between her ankles. “Tell me you want me.”

  She mutely shook her head, then closed her eyes when he pushed up her gown and kissed the inside of her thighs. Her legs moved of their own accord, falling open, knees pulling back. There were no panties to impede him, no reticence on her part. She wanted him to touch her and kiss her there. She wanted to experience the passion and then the release.

  He moved under her chemise and parted the secret folds of her flesh. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but she felt the first warm caress of his lips and tongue on that most sensitive spot. He teased her, touching her lightly, circling, moving away and then returning.

  It was more intense than it had been before, probably because she knew what to expect. She knew the glory at the end of the road and she tensed, rushing toward her paradise.

  Involuntarily her hips moved in time with his tiny strokes. Her breathing increased, and her body heated. The coldness was long gone, as was her anger and her pain. All that remained was the wanting, the needing, the man. Khalil. Her husband.

  He moved faster, bringing her closer to her release, then slowing, driving her mad. He pressed a finger into her, pushing up and teasing her from the inside. Then he slid that single finger in and out, imitating the love act to follow.

  Pressure increased. Need increased. She wanted, desperately, to find her peace. Her heels dug into the mattress, her hips raised. She moaned his name. He moved faster and faster, lighter, better, closer and closer and closer.

  In one quick movement, he sat back on his heels and pulled her into a sitting position. She stared at him unable to believe that he’d stopped what he was doing. Didn’t he realize that she was going to die?

  The wanting continued to grow inside of her. It became a hungry beast that consumed her. Desperately she reached for him, wanting more. Wanting it all.

  But he ignored her questing hands that would have urged him back into place. Instead he tugged until her chemise was free of her hips, then he drew it over her head and tossed it away. His gaze fell to her breasts, and pleasure lit his eyes.

  “So lovely,” he told her as he leaned forward and took a nipple in his mouth.

  It was as if there were a direct line from her breast to the very center of her being. With each tug of his lips, she felt an answering response between her legs. Even as his hands roamed up and down her back, even as he suckled her, she found herself spiraling closer and closer. She needed him, desperately.

  “Khalil, please.”

  He raised his head. Dark hair tumbled onto his forehead. Untamed desire tightened the lines of his face, leaving her no doubt that his ancestors were wild savages who had ruled fearlessly. Did she really think she could stand up to him and win?

  One of his hands slipped between their bodies. He rubbed her swollen point of pleasure until she whimpered, but stopped before she could climax.

  “Tell me.”

  He was the devil, and the price was her soul. Why hadn’t she seen what he wanted? “I can’t.”

  “But you do want me.”

  Their gazes locked. She could feel both their hearts beating. His arousal pressed against her belly. He pressed her onto her back and cupped her breasts. Finger and thumb teased her nipples. His hardness rode against her hot center, tormenting her by bringing her higher, but not allowing her to release.

  She raised her hands and brought his head down to hers, then she kissed him. With her lips and her tongue she told him that she wanted him, but she refused to give in verbally. Between her legs, he rubbed hard, faster, making her ache and want, but she would not speak.

  “Your will is not stronger than mine,” he growled against her mouth.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No!”

  He raised up and guided himself inside. As he filled her, stretching her, making her cry out with pleasure, he reached down and touched that one, tiny spot.

  The combination was too much. She felt herself collecting, rising, building, the tension growing until it exploded into light and glory.

  Khalil felt the first rippling response of her body. Her muscles convulsed, contracting and releasing in a perfect rhythm. He cursed, he resisted, and it was all a waste of time. He’d played the game too well. In his effort to force her to submit, he’d allowed himself to get too aroused. Now, in the vortex of her release, he felt himself being caught and flung into the same tornado. Even as he tried to withdraw and gain control, it was already too late. Clutching her, he passed the point of no return and cried out her name.

  The pleasure grew. He pumped harder, going deeper. Incredibly her contractions began again. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging, urging him on. Again and again she convulsed, until he had no choice but to explode his seed inside of her. They shuddered together, two people lost in a storm.

  When at last his breathing returned to normal, he raised himself up on his arms and stared at her. She lay with her eyes closed, her lips tightly pressed together. Tears flowed down her temples and into her hair.

  “Dora?”

  “Go away. You won.”

  “We both won,” he said, although technically she had been the real victor. He hadn’t been able to make her say that she wanted him.

  She pushed at his shoulder. He shifted off her, suddenly feeling as awkward as a teenager. What was wrong?

  When Dora was free of him, she sat up. “Is there a bathroom?”

  He pointed to several hanging rugs on the far side of the tent. “In there. We have running water, but not very much, so be cautious.”

  She nodded, but didn’t speak. As she climbed out of bed, she reached for her gown and covered herself. Khalil watched her slow progress across the
floor. She moved as if she were in pain. Had he hurt her? He shook his head. That wasn’t possible. At the end, she’d been clinging to him, wanting him as much as he wanted her. Women. They were all temperamental creatures.

  By the time she returned to the bed, he’d slipped under the covers and had arranged the pillows. He saw that she’d washed away all traces of her tears. She got in next to him, but instead of cuddling close, she curled up with her back to him.

  “You’re being a child,” he told her.

  “Leave me alone. You got what you wanted. The rest of it shouldn’t matter.”

  He stared at her for another minute, then flopped down on his back. Fine. If she wanted to be that way, he didn’t care. She was right. He’d gotten what he wanted. He’d made love with her. The rest of it was nonsense.

  Except he found himself aching to hold her. As the night wore on, his side of the bed seemed to grow until he felt he was in a separate country. Once, when he knew she was truly sleeping, he’d moved close and put his arm around her. But even in sleep she shrugged him off, so he retreated to his own side.

  Something cold and dark took residence in his chest. He hated the feeling that he’d acted rashly and had made a mistake that couldn’t be corrected. Involuntarily he raised a hand to his face and touched the thin scar on his cheek. History was not repeating itself, he thought grimly. He would make sure things were different. Of course they were different. The situations had nothing in common.

  And yet, far into the night, he wondered.

  Dora awoke in Khalil’s arms. As she stirred, she felt heat beneath her cheek and something heavy across her waist. She opened her eyes and saw that sometime in the night she’d rolled over and curled into his arms.

  She stiffened and started to pull away, but the hand on her waist tightened. She looked up and saw that he was awake.

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  She hated that just the sound sent a shiver through her body and made her want to melt against him. Wasn’t it enough that he’d humiliated her the previous night, tempting her until she’d thrown her convictions aside and had surrendered? Was this going to be an ongoing battle between them?

  A slow smile curved at the corners of his mouth. “You resist and you want in equal measures, my desert cat. Which part of you is going to win?”

  He shifted as he spoke, turning on his side until he faced her, slipping one knee between her legs and pressing it against her swollen woman’s place. It took every ounce of strength not to arch against him. The need was as instant as it was powerful. How could her body betray her this way?

  “I’ll never surrender willingly,” she told him, staring into his eyes. Her words were a vow. “You might be able to make my body react, but you’ll never touch my heart.”

  “Is that a challenge? Didn’t I warn you about making challenges? You are destined to be defeated.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “In the most delicious way possible, of course. Besides, the chase is part of the appeal.”

  She wanted to scream out her frustration. How could this be happening to her? How could she have allowed herself to get into this position—both figuratively and literally? Even as she lay next to him, she felt his growing arousal pressing into her hip. Her woman’s place dampened in response, readying for him. It didn’t matter that he’d hurt her and lied to her and used her—every cell of her body still ached for his possession.

  “You will be mine,” he said confidently.

  “Never. I’ll keep turning away from you.”

  “And night after night, I will seduce you.” He laughed. “If you’re looking to punish me, Dora, you’re going to have to find something better than that.” His humor faded. “Then, in time, you’ll grow to love me as a dutiful wife should.”

  She didn’t know if he was still teasing or not, but it didn’t matter. Inside she’d grown empty and cold again, as she had the night before. She knew that he would be true to his word. He would seduce her as often as it amused him, and regardless of how much she resisted, she would eventually submit. In time his relentless assault would leave her spirit crushed and broken.

  “I will never love you,” she promised.

  “You say that now, but I wonder if you’ve already fallen a bit in love with me. Am I your fantasy, my desert cat? Am I who you dreamed about in your lonely virgin bed?”

  She wrenched herself free of him and stumbled out of bed. As she glared at him, he merely smiled and tossed away the covers so that she could see that he was hard and ready.

  She turned her back on him and made a feeble effort to gather some kind of control. She had to learn how to protect herself from him. She had to be strong. If she didn’t figure it out, his words would become a prophecy. He was an arrogant, selfish bastard…and he was right. He was the kind of man she’d dreamed about through her loneliness. Not the self-centered prince who forced his will on his reluctant wife, but the charming lover who had seduced her that first night.

  She dreamed about the kind man who had rescued her in Kansas and the intelligent businessman she’d worked for in New York. Those were the men who had captured her attention and perhaps even a bit of her heart. But she did not love the Prince of El Bahar.

  She found her lace dress and drew it over her head, then pulled on the heavy silk robes. Only when she was completely covered did she turn back to face him.

  “I cannot speak for loving,” she said quietly, “but I will never like or respect you. If you insist on keeping me here, you will have to be content with duty.”

  He raised dark eyebrows. “A dutiful wife during the day and a wildcat in my bed at night. You, my dear, are my fantasy.”

  She felt the tears begin to burn, but she blinked them away. “How fortunate for you, Khalil. To me you are nothing more than a nightmare from which I can only pray to awake.”

  She continued to stare at him, but not even by the flicker of a lash did he betray his thoughts. Then she turned away because she could feel her pain growing stronger, and she was determined to never let him see her cry again.

  Chapter Eleven

  They drove back to the palace in silence. Khalil waited for Dora to comment on the beauty of the morning, or their four-car escort of guards, but instead she sat quietly in her seat, staring straight ahead, saying nothing. Fine, he thought angrily. If she wanted to play that game, he could do it as well…or better.

  What had started out as a simple, even logical arrangement had turned into something more—something difficult. Why did she have to be so emotional? Perhaps he had misled her about his feelings at the beginning, but why did that matter now? He’d married her. He intended to treat her with the respect and consideration his wife deserved. They would live at the palace, have many sons. By virtue of their marriage, she had entered a life of wealth and privilege. What was she so upset about?

  He gripped the steering wheel more tightly and told himself he would never understand women. They were difficult, emotional creatures, best left to their own devices. In time, Dora would see that this was all for the better. She would come around.

  Or would she, a voice in his head whispered. Dora was not like other women he’d known. She was by far the most intelligent and certainly more independent of all his female companions. He quickly glanced at her, then returned his attention to the rutted track that became paved road as they neared the palace. She would not allow herself to be manipulated, and while he respected her for that, he also resented the extra work it was going to mean for him.

  He would ignore her for a while, he thought. That would teach her. Except…visions of their lovemaking the previous night filled his mind. Memories of how it had been to touch her, to be touched. She’d been stubborn and unyielding to the end, refusing to tell him that she wanted him. But even without words, she’d let him know how much she desired him. Her body had spoken eloquently and without sound when she’d clung to him, begging him to go deeper, faster, harder.

  He shook off the ero
tic images filling his brain and had to consciously slow his breathing. Perhaps he was hasty in his decision to ignore Dora. Perhaps there was a better way to reach her. Perhaps he wasn’t giving her the benefit of the doubt—if she was so smart, she would figure out that he’d made the best decision for both of them. She would see that their marriage was the right thing for her, and she would be grateful to him for all that he’d done on her behalf.

  As they neared the palace, he glanced at her again. She wore a long-sleeved dress that Rihana had packed for her. Both of their wedding robes were in the back seat. She’d brushed her short, dark hair away from her face, exposing her profile to him.

  She wasn’t beautiful like Amber or many of the other women who had been a part of his life, but she was quite lovely in her own right. He liked the way her eyes flashed when she grew angry with him and the way her mouth betrayed her when she was trying not to smile. He looked forward to speaking with her, hearing both her words and the sound of her voice. He welcomed the feel of her soft skin pressing against his, and the hot dampness that greeted his entry. She might not have been his first choice, but she was all things a man could want in a wife. He’d been fortunate to find her.

  When they drove into the courtyard and he turned off the engine, he tried to think about what he should say to start their lives together on better footing. Some words of, if not atonement, then reconciliation. He could say that while he didn’t understand or agree with her position he believed she thought it was important, so he would respect that. Maybe if he mentioned—

  She opened the passenger door and stepped out. Instantly one of the servants was there to help her. She thanked the man and started walking toward the entrance to the palace.

  Khalil stared after her. She hadn’t waited for him. How dare she go striding off, as if he wasn’t anyone more important than the chauffeur.

  “Dora,” he called as he scrambled to open his door and step outside. He brushed off the servant’s greeting and hurried after her. “Dora, where do you think you’re going?”