“Dora and I are very happy,” he said.
Fatima didn’t respond. First she nibbled on a shortbread cookie, then patted her mouth with a small, linen napkin.
Khalil wanted to stand up and start pacing, but he refused to let his grandmother intimidate him in his own office. He stayed silent. As did Fatima. The clock in the corner ticked off the seconds. Tension grew. He swore he wasn’t going to give in first.
Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore. He bounced to his feet and stalked to the window. “She’s stubborn and irritating,” he growled, his back to the room. He stared out at a view of the gardens, but didn’t see any of the lush plants. Instead he saw Dora turning away from him, as she had the previous night. Telling him silently that she didn’t want him, forcing him to reduce her to mindless pleading, until her body spoke a truth her lips refused to utter.
“At least she’s intelligent,” Fatima said calmly. “That’s something.”
“Not when the intelligence is used against me.” He turned to face his grandmother. “Her two weeks in the harem taught her nothing of being a good wife.”
“Oh, is that what we were supposed to be doing? How foolish of me. I arranged for her to learn El Baharian customs and history. Perhaps you should send her back to me. Then I can teach her all she needs to know about cleaning and cooking and mending. Would the young prince be more happy then?”
He glared at Queen Fatima and was reminded that his grandfather had always respected his wife…and with good reason. “I have no need for another servant. I want a wife.”
“Perhaps if you weren’t living in separate quarters,” she suggested.
Khalil stiffened. He hated that Dora refused to move into his suite. He was a married man, and it was damned humiliating to have to traipse halfway across the palace just to spend the night in his wife’s bed.
“She refuses to move in with me.”
“Really?” Fatima set down her cup and looked at him. “What did you do wrong?”
His hot temper flared. “Why do you assume that it’s my fault? She’s the one who won’t do as she’s told.”
“I see.”
Those two, short words spoke volumes. He hated the way Fatima could make him feel young and small again and had to resist the urge to remind her that he was Prince Khalil Khan of El Bahar. She’d never been much impressed by that.
“I thought you’d learned, Khalil,” Fatima said. She touched her left cheek, making him instantly aware of the faint scar on his own face. “I thought you would remember the lesson that some words come with a high price.”
“These situations have nothing in common,” he insisted.
“So you have said nothing to Dora that you might regret?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he turned back to the window, refusing to remember the words he’d spoken that first night they’d made love in New York. How he’d convinced Dora that he’d desperately wanted her when in fact he’d found her mostly convenient. But his grandmother’s arrow had found its mark, and he had the sharp cut to prove it.
Dora had told him she wanted him to apologize for what he’d said and to admit that he cared about her. That was her price for her affection. Until then she promised to turn away from his advances, resisting his lovemaking until he forced her to surrender. Every night she kept her word, as did he, breaking her will until she was weak with longing. In the test of stubbornness, they were at a draw.
“You have nothing to be concerned about,” Fatima said calmly. “Your wife is intelligent, healthy and well-mannered. She will not dishonor you or El Bahar. In fact, she is proving to be a great asset. In time she will bear you healthy sons.”
Something in her tone made him wonder where she was going with this. He looked at her. “I agree. All is well.”
Fatima took another sip of her tea. “In time, of course, she will grow to hate you, but this is the way of these kinds of marriages.”
“No!” Khalil said before he could stop himself. “I don’t want her to hate me.”
Fatima raised her eyebrows. “Khalil, you couldn’t possibly care about this girl, could you?”
“Of course not.”
But the words lacked conviction. He didn’t want to admit it, but he did care. He hated that night after night he had to seduce her into wanting him. More times than not, when they had finished making love, Dora turned away from him and cried. She made no sound, but he felt the sobs silently shaking her body. If he touched her face, his fingers grew wet with her tears.
“What do I do?” he asked the woman who had been a second mother to him.
“Oh, Khalil, why do you men make everything so difficult?” She gave him a kind smile. “You woo her. Be the kind of man she can admire. Be tender and attentive, and most of all apologize for whatever it is you have done to hurt her. Make amends. Bend a little. For once in your life, remember you are first a man, and second a prince.”
“Never. What you suggest is unacceptable.”
“Then get used to roaming the halls of the palace every night.”
He didn’t want that, either. “I will force her to move into my rooms.”
Fatima looked at him as if he were a very simple child. “Yes, I can tell how well that will work with Dora. Why did you ask me what to do if you’re not going to listen?”
“I have listened. You’re not giving me good advice. I am Prince Khalil Khan of El Bahar, and I do not woo women.”
“You are a stubborn fool who is going to live his life alone. Is that what you want?”
He didn’t answer the question and in time, his grandmother left. He paced his office searching for solutions that continued to elude him. He was not going to woo his wife. How degrading. How impossible. She would laugh. He refused to humiliate himself in such a manner.
And yet…the alternative was the standoff that existed between them now. Is that what he wanted? That and the very real possibility that Dora would grow to hate him?
Chapter Thirteen
Dora poured more iced tea into her glass and stared at the handsome man sitting across from her. Khalil was telling her about a meeting he’d had that morning with the American scientists who were working on desert reclamation.
“I should have let you deal with them,” he said as he set his fork next to his plate. “They were most difficult.”
“Oh, so now you’re going to give me your dirty work, is that it?” she asked with a smile.
His gaze settled on her face. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but his expression was affectionate enough to get her heart fluttering a little faster. It was early April. She’d been in El Bahar nearly three months. Khalil visited her room and her bed nearly every night, and he still had the power to make her weak with longing with just a glance or a light touch of his hand.
“Not my dirty work,” he told her. “You’re better with the scientists than I am. I think it has something to do with your being a woman. You lull them with humor or flash your ankles at them.”
She glanced down at the long skirt that fell nearly to the floor. As per El Baharian custom, and her husband’s request, she wore conservative clothes that covered her arms to the wrist and her legs almost to the ankle. In the privacy of her quarters she sometimes got wild and slipped on an old pair of blue jeans.
“That’s me, the ankle flasher,” she said with a smile.
She was only teasing, but Khalil frowned. “I do not want you exposing yourself to other men.”
She stared at the man she’d married and lived near and worked with for the past three months. At times she knew everything he was thinking, but every now and then, when he once again became the prince of El Bahar, she realized she didn’t know him at all.
“It was a joke, Khalil,” she told him.
“It is not humorous to me.”
“I don’t understand how you can be so possessive in some ways and so insensitive in others.” She paused. Their lunches together were one of her favorite times of the day. “I’m sor
ry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want to fight.”
He leaned across the small table set up in a corner of his office. “This isn’t fighting,” he told her. “We don’t fight, we talk.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You never throw anything.” His mouth twisted down at the corners. “You’re a Western woman, with coldness and propriety flowing through your veins.”
“You want me to start throwing dishes?” He couldn’t be serious.
“It would be preferable to the silences. Don’t you feel any passion?” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’m not talking about in bed, but in life. Do you fight for things?”
“Of course. When they’re important.”
She glanced around the well-appointed office. The hand-carved desk dated back to the seventeenth century. They were in the middle of a palace in the capitol of El Bahar. Life was different here, as were the people. Sometimes she forgot that.
“We have different styles,” she told him. “But that doesn’t mean that my way is wrong.”
“Perhaps. But what have you fought for in your life? Not this marriage.”
She straightened and raised her chin. “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s been many weeks but still you live on the other side of the palace. You haven’t once come to my room or touched me first. Every night I am forced to make the journey to your room, to hold you and kiss you until you finally surrender to me.”
“That was your decision,” she told him stiffly. “I swore I wouldn’t give in to you until you apologized for what you did and admitted that you cared about me. You said that you didn’t mind having to seduce me every time. That it was a challenge.”
He stared at her. Despite the tailored suit and tie, he was not like the other men she’d worked with. He was part successful businessman, part prince. For the first few weeks, she’d enjoyed the businessman and had tolerated the prince, but that was slowly changing. The more she learned about Khalil, the more she could care about all of him. But he was a difficult man and refused to ever admit that he was wrong. As much as she longed to give in to him, she knew it would be a mistake. She had to make him see that she was a person with feelings—someone worthy of his affection and consideration.
“You are most stubborn,” he complained.
She shrugged. “As are you. That’s probably why the trait is so irritating in me.” She drew in a deep breath. “Is it so very hard to apologize?” she asked. “All I want is for you to admit that you shouldn’t have lied to me that first night. If you’d come to me and explained the situation, I might have cooperated.”
“You would have thought I was crazy,” he said, dismissing her. “Or you would have put conditions on the marriage. No, my way was better.”
“What about my feelings? What about the fact that you lied to me and made me believe in you? What about being honest? I still don’t know why you wanted to marry me rather than Amber. All you’ve said is that she wouldn’t have been a good wife and mother. What does that mean? Why do you have to keep so many secrets?”
He glared at her. “I am most concerned about your feelings. Didn’t I give you this job? Don’t I allow you to work?”
“Allow? Allow? You’re kidding, right?” She rose to her feet and stared down at him. “I swear, Khalil, if you’re looking for me to start throwing things, you’re getting awfully close.” She placed her hands on her hips. “You might think you allow me to have this job, but you and your country are getting a hell of a lot of benefit, and you know it. If you gave me the chance, then I’ve more than earned my right to stay here. I’ve made a difference. I’ve gotten dozens of improvements on our contracts with foreign companies. Don’t for a moment think that you can dismiss my contribution.”
“I’m not saying you haven’t helped,” he hedged. “But I don’t understand why you have to be so difficult. You’re ruining things between us.”
She couldn’t believe the audacity of the man. “Me? No, Khalil, you don’t get to pass this one off on me. You want to ignore the ugly reality that is the foundation of our marriage. Until that is fixed, until the past is atoned for, nothing lasting can be built here. We can try, but whatever we build is destined to crumble.”
She dropped her hands to her sides. “I’m willing to meet you more than halfway, but I can’t do it all. You have to be willing to take responsibility for your mistakes. Is it so horrible to admit that you were wrong?”
He rose to his feet and glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting.”
Defeated, Dora nodded. Obviously there was no getting through to him. She walked out of the room and headed for her own office.
Once there she stood at the window and stared out at the garden. What was she doing wrong? Was she wishing for the moon? A part of her simply wanted to surrender. After all, Khalil wasn’t like other men. He was strong, stubborn, opinionated, difficult, a prince. Did the ordinary rules apply to him?
Dora rested her forehead against the cool glass. Outside the temperature had climbed into the nineties. Summer approached with a relentlessness that made her hope the air-conditioning never failed.
Was she wrong? Should she forget what had happened between them and start over? A part of her wanted to say yes. That soft woman’s place deep inside longed to have a real marriage with Khalil. She wanted to move into his suite and sleep with him every night. She wanted to live with him, laugh with him, see him first thing in the morning, feel his body close to hers, not just when they were making love, but at other times. She wanted to be free to touch him and tell him that she wanted him. She wanted a real marriage.
But if she gave in…Dora didn’t have a simple answer for that concern. If she gave in, how could she ever respect herself? She knew that it wasn’t enough that he was nice to her now; he had to understand that she was a person with feelings he had to respect. His casual disregard for her had hurt terribly. Even now the wounds remained raw.
If she gave in he would never treat her any differently. She would only reinforce the idea that if he was stubborn enough, he would get his way. She wanted a shared partnership, or as much of one as was possible with a living, breathing prince for a husband. For that to happen, she would have to be strong.
And if it didn’t, a voice in her head whispered. Another question that didn’t have an answer. If it didn’t, she would have to speak to the king about leaving El Bahar. If Khalil didn’t come around, she would have to get a divorce.
The night was cool after the heat of the day, and Khalil appreciated the sea breeze as he paced on the balcony facing the ocean. He walked back and forth, his hands shoved into his pockets, his mind swirling and racing as he grappled with the reality that was his life.
Damn her to hell, he thought grimly. Then he stopped and smiled. Yes, he wanted to curse his wife and somehow force her to obey him, but he also respected her in ways he never thought he could respect a woman. She was a hard worker—intelligent, resourceful, dedicated. As she’d pointed out at lunch that morning, she’d done great things for El Bahar. She made him proud. So why wouldn’t she surrender to him? Did she really think she could bend him to her will? She couldn’t and yet…
What he hated most was that her siege had started to get to him. Here he was, Prince of El Bahar, actually thinking about listening to his grandmother’s advice. He’d spoken to Fatima several weeks ago, but her words had not faded from his mind. Woo her. Woo Dora. Be all those things a woman wanted a man to be. Adore her, respect her, admire her.
Khalil glared into the darkness. Why should he have to woo his wife? He felt all those things for her already. He had great respect and admiration for her. He did adore her, and if she couldn’t see that, she wasn’t worth the trouble.
The words sounded perfect…in theory. But the truth was, he’d grown tired of their game. He wanted her to want him. He wanted her in his life and his bed, and not because he’d forced her. He wanted her willing and loving.
He f
roze in midstride. Loving? Did he want Dora to love him?
He physically took a step back. No, not love. He didn’t need a mere woman to love him. He was Prince Khalil Khan of—
“Khalil?”
He turned at the sound of his name and saw his brother, Malik, and his father standing on the balcony. He walked over to them.
Givon grasped his upper arm and squeezed. “My son, I was wrong to be so harsh with you.”
Khalil stared from one to the other. “What are you talking about?”
Malik leaned against the railing. “I went to our father and told him what happened with Amber. I don’t remember very much about the night. It was a long time ago, and I was quite drunk. At first I thought it was a dream. The betrothed of my brother wouldn’t have come to my bed and been with me. I told myself to forget it, but her scent lingered on the pillow.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know what to do, so I waited.”
Khalil knew that Amber’s behavior wasn’t his responsibility, but he still felt a sense of shame.
“I wanted to tell you before,” Malik admitted, “but I didn’t know what to say. I had no real proof, and it might have been someone else.” He looked up into the night. “How was I supposed to apologize to you for what had happened?”
Givon patted Khalil’s back. “He came to me earlier today and told me the truth.”
Khalil looked at his brother. “Why now?”
“Because I’m finally sure. Amber visited me while I was in Paris. I offered to take her to dinner. Before we’d left the hotel for the restaurant, she offered to ‘renew our acquaintance.’ I knew then that I hadn’t been wrong about that night.”
The king nodded. “So much makes sense to me. Khalil, you were trying to protect both the country and Aleser. You believed, and rightly so, that if he knew the truth about his daughter he would have to resign.” The older man shook his head. “I should have realized there was something amiss when you married impulsively.”
“Now what?” Malik asked. “I don’t think Aleser needs to know Amber’s real nature. He adores her—it would break his heart.”
The Desert Rogues Part 1 Page 17
