Taking her cue from Khalid, Juliette too had tried to ignore what had happened between them in the harem, but it was impossible. He had awakened something in her, and it would not easily be put back to sleep. He had shown her what it could be like to experience passion, and she was aching with desire to know more. To know, specifically, what it would be like to be Khalid’s woman, share his bed.
In his harem, in the cool of the night, she would wake, hot and damp, her hand pressed between her thighs. Such dreams she had. Seeing him again in the light of the day, she wondered her desire was not etched upon her face for him to see. She could not look at him at first, without blushing.
It was near the end of the second day that he told her of Persimmanion’s existence, the morning of the third that he announced he intended to take her there. Alone, he said. He was having the site cleared. Taking a Westerner there—and a woman at that—would attract the disapproval of his people. So here they were, alone together in his desert, travelling towards a fabled lost city, his lost city. Juliette could hardly contain her excitement.
The ease with which he navigated fascinated her. The fluid, effortless way he held his seat on the thoroughbred camel with its silver-tasselled reins and velvet-padded box seat, made her feel gauche in comparison. They had left before dawn, heading east, away from the verdant surroundings of the royal palace, riding out into the desert over the softly undulating sands, passing a series of small oases, some no more than holes in the ground, and on, as the sun blazed down, more white than gold, bleaching the sky, making the sand glitter like a carpet of tiny jewels.
Juliette took another sip of water, and looked up to find Khalid watching her. Immediately, heat which had nothing to do with the scorching sun enveloped her. ‘How much longer?’ she asked, for something to say.
‘Two more hours.’
‘It will be dark.’
He nodded. ‘We will camp there, then explore the site in the morning.’ Khalid watched, fascinated, as Juliette licked a tiny droplet of water from her lips. The image of that tongue on his manhood had him hard in an instant. He ached with need for her. He desired her as he had never before desired any woman. It had been that mixture of defiance and innocence, her determination to retain some hold over her integrity despite all, which had first appealed to him. But as he came to know her, to admire her sharp mind, to experience the simple pleasure of sharing—thoughts, ideas, history—it was the person underneath the gamine face and the voluptuous figure who entranced him. She was dismissive of her difficult upbringing, and he admired her for that, too, especially when he recognized the loneliness there in those stormy grey eyes of hers. In many ways, Juliette had been as isolated as he.
All thoughts of taming her had fled after that first night. He would not change anything about her. A twin soul, a kindred spirit, Khalid did not believe in either. At least, he hadn’t until now. He honoured her, but that honour warred with an increasingly irresistible need to have her, to claim her for his own. So complementary were their minds, what would the joining of their bodies be like? To know and be known. To possess, and to be possessed in return. Such a strange, elemental need.
The pictures this conjured up obsessed him for the remainder of the journey. As he led the way carefully through the fissure in the rocks that had so effectively concealed the city from prying eyes for centuries, and Persimmanion appeared in the fading light, Khalid realized just how impulsive, and perhaps foolish, he had been in bringing her here.
Alone. They were quite alone, in the middle of his desert, in the middle of a lost city which, it seemed, was built to celebrate the essence of womanhood as embodied by the goddess he carried with him. Khalid pulled his camel to a halt beside Juliette. ‘See how the temple where Shal’aal was found stands apart from the rest of the site.’
Looking in amazement at the city, which seemed to be hewn into the red rock on at least three levels, Juliette was bereft of words. The drawings had not prepared her for the perfection of it, the beauty of it, the sultry sensuality of the ochre rock, the keyhole-shaped doors and windows. ‘It feels as if the people could return at any moment,’ she said with an awed smile. ‘It’s stunning.’
‘We will camp behind the main buildings.’ Khalid leaped down from his camel, clicking his tongue to bring Juliette’s mount to its knees.
She descended from the high box seat awkwardly, wincing at the stiffness in her legs. ‘That saddle looks a lot more comfortable than it is,’ she said with a grimace.
‘Would you like to bathe?’
‘You’re teasing me. There’s no water here.’
Khalid only smiled, leading her soundlessly through another passageway hewn into the rock. They emerged on the other side into something that resembled paradise. A secret oasis, not just one pool but three, each a step above the other, each step a waterfall. The water from the highest pool gurgled up from an underground spring. From the lowest pool, it went into an irrigation trough which had once fed the city. The pools looked dark blue in the silvering hue of the full moon. The water was unbearably tempting.
Khalid had already discarded his cloak and boots. Juliette did the same, unfastening the dusty cloak, bending down to pull off her shoes. Standing up, she saw that look on his face again. Eyes fiercely focused on her. His mouth set. His face etched into hard planes and striking lines in the ghostly light. Juliette caught her breath. Her heart skipped a beat, then began a slow, rhythmic pounding. ‘Khalid?’
‘Juliette.’ Her name felt so right on his lips. He forgot, seeing her in the moonlight by the pools, that she was his guest, that she did not belong in this world, that he had a duty to honour her. In that moment, he revered her, and wanted only to worship her in the most timeless of ways. To possess and to be possessed. To know and to be known.
‘Juliette.’ He reached for her, and she fell, unresisting, into his arms. ‘Juliette,’ he said again, for the simple pleasure of saying it, as he ran his hands down her arms, as he traced the line of her cheekbone with his finger, the delicate skin of her throat. ‘Parfait, ma belle,’ he said, tugging the clip which held her veil in place free from her black-as-night hair. ‘You are absolutely perfect.’
No words were necessary. He saw his desire reflected in her storm-grey eyes, and it was enough. He kissed her, and she opened like a flower thirsty for rain. Her kisses were innocent and yet urgent and passionate, coaxing him and entreating him. Her body, pressed against his, was like an inverse of his own, she all curves and pliancy against his hard planes. Two halves of something that should be joined.
He kissed her as if he had been thirsting for her, as if he would feast on her. Juliette felt as if she would dissolve under the onslaught of those kisses. The dark heat of his mouth, his lips, his tongue, a prelude to a darker, more sensual heat. He coaxed her mouth open farther, deepening the kiss, and she thought she would surely melt. Her body burned, as if she had been naked under the midday sun. Desire crimsoned behind her lids, in her blood, between her legs, stoked by his mouth, his hands, the hard length of him pressed into her stomach. Above them, the stars seemed diminished in comparison.
Her tunic dropped to the sand. Khalid dropped his mouth to her breasts, sucking on her nipples through the fine silk of her skimpy top, his hands on the bare flesh of her waist. His mouth drew such exquisite pleasure that she gasped. She too needed to touch. His back, the knotted line of his spine, the hard curve of his buttocks, his arms, his shoulders, the fascinating concave dip of his stomach.
He loosed her top and freed her breasts. She fumbled with the fastenings of his tunic, desperate now to feel skin on skin. Releasing her briefly, Khalid yanked it over his head to stand before her naked. Juliette’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. She had never seen a naked man in the flesh, but she could not imagine that any could be more perfect than Khalid. His manhood stood up proudly, thick and hard. Blushing but unable to look away, she stared at its curved length, trying to imagine how it would feel inside her.
&n
bsp; He took her hand and placed it there, encouraging her to hold him, to cup him, to caress him. Satin skin, pulsing slightly under her fingers. The pulsing was reflected inside her as she touched him. He untied the laces which held her sarwal pants in place. They slithered to the sand. He cupped her, too, and she felt the pulse quicken, deepen, into a throb as heavy and insistent as her heartbeat.
‘You are aflame for me,’ Khalid said, awed by the heat and damp, the vanilla scent of her sex. ‘Feel how my senses are aflame for you, too.’
She did, stroking him tentatively, moaning as he stroked her in return, as he slipped a finger into the damp of her curls, touching her intimately, so that the blood seemed to surge from everywhere else to that one spot. He stroked her again, and it was like the sponge only more shockingly intimate. His flesh. His fingers on her, inside her. Her hand on his engorged manhood, relishing the way it throbbed to her touch.
He touched and she echoed him. They were on their knees in the sand now, touching, kissing, pressing closer and closer. Hands and lips feverish, breath shallow and harsh, murmuring inarticulately, his name, her name, please, please, oh please.
She could not tell if it was Khalid or she who spoke. He slipped his fingers farther inside her, into the space which was surely made for him, and she arched with delight, flinging her head back with a wild cry, thrusting towards him, yearning for that ultimate coupling. ‘Please,’ she cried, and this time it was her, her voice husky with need, her hands clutching at his buttocks in an instinctive urging. ‘Please.’
Khalid hesitated, and in that fraction of hesitation, honour once more won the day. The primal urge to take her, to claim her for his own, was almost overwhelming, but instead he lay her down on the sand. It was his mouth, his tongue, his lips he buried in the hot pink of her sex, and not his aching shaft. She tasted so sweet. The little panting cries she was making, the way she was digging her heels into the sand, arching her back to thrust herself towards him, the dark areolas of her nipples contrasting against the creamy white of her skin in the moonlight, the stain of passion striping across her face—it was almost too much.
He kissed her intimately, his tongue circling over the hard nub of her, forcing himself to lick into her slowly, languorously, though she clutched at his back and his shoulders and his hair and urged him to hurry, hurry, please.
Her whole body was rigid with anticipation, every muscle clenched, tensed, waiting. There was nothing and no one in the world, save this place, this man, this feeling. She was like a bird about to take flight for the first time, clinging to the precipice, prolonging that agonizingly beautiful moment of anticipation, knowing that however hard she clung, she would be forced to jump soon, soon, soon. His mouth on her sex was almost too much. It happened suddenly, his tongue, her cry, the explosion of her climax, as she was flung into the air to soar, wildly soar, clutching handfuls of sand in her fists as he took her higher, and higher again, until she thought she couldn’t go any higher, then his mouth was on her again and she did.
She cried out. She cried his name. Blindly, as she began to float back down, she sat up, reaching for him, pressing herself to him, when the hard curve of his erection reminded her that it was not yet over. ‘Khalid?’
She pushed herself invitingly towards him. The tip of his shaft touched the wet folds of her sex, and a shiver of anticipation wracked him.
‘Khalid?’
He was an honourable man. He was! Though never before had honour had less value. ‘Not—I cannot—we cannot…’ Khalid said through gritted teeth, for she was already touching him, nestling herself closer.
‘Please.’
By the gods, was there a sterner test? He did not think so. With a moan, he edged away, took her hands, placed them on his shaft, shaking his head at the question in her eyes, encouraging her instead to stroke him. She did, gently, then with growing assurance as she read the pleasure in his face. He held her gaze as she tended to him, and it was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced, the feeling of her hands, the swelling of his erection, the deep, sensual connection of their eyes.
Knowing and being known. He did not need to possess her for it to be so. The thought flashed into his mind as he came, spilling and pulsing onto her, and he pulled her to him, kissing her passionately, endlessly, wanting, for the moment, nothing more than this.
Wordless with bliss, stepping naked together into the highest of the oasis pools, they learned how to speak with their bodies. The moon rose in the sky, the stars seemed to reach down to spread their silver light just for them. Behind them, the ancient city of Persimmanion was a seductive presence. The cool of the water lapped at their heated skin as they sank down into its depths, kissing. They kissed until they fell over, laughing. They stopped laughing as they kissed, and passion reared again. Tumbling from one pool to the next, they stood in the waterfall, still kissing, then licking, rousing each other to new heights as they discovered what this touch did, and what this, and this. Her second climax was more sudden than the first. She clung to him in the spray of the waterfall, pulsing around his hand, slithering down in the aftermath to bring him to his own orgasm with her mouth.
Afterwards, heavy with satisfaction, they sat wrapped in their cloaks by the light of a campfire and ate hungrily, feeding each other titbits before tumbling, exhausted into each other’s arms.
When Juliette awoke early the next morning Khalid was kissing her, feathering little kisses onto her brow. She wondered what it would be like, to have him wake up beside her like this every morning, and realized then, just like that, that she was in love. For the first time. For the last time. For the only time.
Chapter 5
She was in love. The knowledge thrilled her, for she had not thought it possible, nor herself capable. It seemed obvious to her then, that she had been waiting for him all her life. That everything she had ever done, everywhere she had ever been, every scrap of learning she had acquired, all the hardship her nomadic life with Papa had forced her to endure, his ill-fated decision to loot A’Qadiz and even its tragic consequences, all of it was designed to lead her to Khalid. She was destined for him.
Pouring her feelings into her kiss, Juliette nestled into Khalid’s embrace. If he knew how she felt then surely….
Surely what? Her mouth stilled. In the breathtaking journey of discovery that constituted the past few days, she had not thought beyond the next hour with him and the next. Now, reality came crashing down on her. He was a sheikh, an Arabian prince. She was a French orphan with neither dowry nor expectations.
Last night, when Khalid had refrained again from making love to her, he had recognized, as she had not, that they could have no future together. He had cared enough for her to keep her virtue intact. He was indeed an honourable man.
An unfamiliar burning sensation prickled behind her lids. Tears. She was crying. Blinking rapidly, terrified lest he see, Juliette sat up, turning her back to Khalid, struggling to contain the urge to throw herself back into his arms and beg that he keep her with him always. He would not, and her begging would merely embarrass him. Worse, may even hurt him, and she would not for the world have that. She loved him. She loved him far too much to allow that.
‘Juliette, what is wrong?’
His voice, unbearably tender, caused a tear to trickle down her hot cheek. ‘Nothing,’ she said dismissively.
He tried to pull her back in his arms. In the night, as she lay sleeping, utterly trusting, in his arms, he had recognized this feeling for what it was. Love. He, Khalid al-Raqam, Prince of Lash’aal, was in love. In love with a female so unsuitable that Farid, and his Council, and probably his entire kingdom would be horrified. The number of senior tribesmen, each with eligible daughters, he would offend, did not bear counting. Gone would be Farid’s grand plan for an alliance with one of their powerful neighbours. Khalid did not care. He was in love. Irrevocably in love. Deeply, truly, unbelievably in love. Only Juliette would ever live in his heart. Only Juliette would fill the void in his life
he had not even thought was there. Two halves of one. He and Juliette. What better place than here in the lost city to tell her that he wanted her to be his wife.
But Juliette resisted his embrace. She struggled, and wriggled, and got to her feet. Her face was set with some emotion he did not recognize. Her beautiful grey eyes failed to meet his. ‘What ails you?’ Khalid asked anxiously.
‘Nothing.’
She shrugged him away. She could never hope to share his life but she would not have his pity. That would be too much to bear. She must end this false idyll, this unsustainable fantasy, for both their sakes. ‘The sun is up. Soon it will be too hot to explore properly,’ she said, scrabbling into her clothes. ‘If we are to find any other evidence of Shal’aal we should start now. It’s what we came for, after all, isn’t it?’ Picking up her cloak Juliette made her way determinedly towards the rock passageway which took them back into Persimmanion. She knew Khalid was following her, but she daren’t look back. Across the central square, towards the temple she marched, biting her lip, trying desperately to focus on the task at hand.
The temple, unlike the rest of Persimmanion, was constructed of white marble. A simple building, the roof was long gone though most of the walls were still more or less intact. The huge doorway was supported by two ornately carved pillars representing a garden, in which several images of the goddess Shal’aal could be detected, hidden amongst the foliage. Juliette came to a halt in front of the altar, a long low marble slab. Behind her, Khalid’s footsteps stopped. ‘She belongs here, I’m sure of it,’ she said, forcing herself to turn around, unable to meet his eyes. ‘There must be a niche, a slot or something in which to place her.’
The Sheikh's Impetuous Love-Slave Page 4
