“What happens now?” she asked, her voice terribly calm. “What can possibly be between us now?”
Makeen was still for a very long time. When he spoke, he kept his face turned away from her, as if it was simply too painful to look at her.
“Tomorrow, we are going to return to Zahar. What you do tonight determines what happens when we do.”
“What I do?”
“Yes. I am going to my study. You should return to your room. If you remain there, we will return to Zahar, and see what shall become of us together. I will help you grieve your brother. I will help you mourn, and together, we can decide if there is something between us.”
His voice hardened. “If you come to my study, be prepared to do so as a supplicant. You will make your case to me, you will explain yourself in excruciating detail, and you will do whatever it is in your power to win your brother free. Perhaps he will be free at the end of it, and perhaps not. However, what will certainly happen in this case is that I will know who you are and what you think of me.”
He paused. For a moment, she saw a flicker of softness cross his face, but then it was gone, as elusive as morning mist in a sunlit valley.
“Choose wisely,” he said. “Beyond that, it is all up to you.”
Chapter Nine
Olivia faced the door to Makeen's study, staring at the intricate carvings that she knew were well over a hundred years old. She could have stared at them all night, looking at the results of a long-dead man's hand, but she knew that she couldn't.
Instead, with a deep breath, she made herself raise her hand and knock on the door.
“Come.”
When she did, Makeen watched her from behind his desk, his long and elegant fingers templed in front of his face. From the grim expression he wore, she knew that he understood why she was there.
“I want you to let David off,” she said. “Please.”
There were a number of expressions that fluttered across Makeen's face. She saw pain and grief there, and sadness as well, but finally, it was replaced with a stony wrath.
“You don't know what you're asking me.”
“As a matter of fact I do,” she said, lifting her chin slightly. “He is my brother …”
“And what does that make me?”
The question startled her, throwing her off her stride. “What do you mean?” Olivia asked, her voice slightly shaky.
He stood with the slow and languid grace of a panther, coming around the desk towards her. She had to resist the urge to back up. There was something dangerous about him just now, something that made her swallow hard. She knew that he was a big man, but right now, he seemed enormous, taking up all of the air in the room and leaving her with nothing that she could breathe.
“I said,” he repeated, “what am I to you? Who am I, that you can ask me a question like that?”
“You're the Sheikh,” Olivia replied. “You are the one with the power to give me what I …”
“All right then,” he said, and there was something final to his voice that made her very nervous.
“Since I am the Sheikh, who are you?”
“Makeen, what are you—”
“No. At the moment, for you, whoever or whatever you are, you are not allowed to call me by my given name. The proper term of address, for you in this moment, is 'my lord.'”
A part of her cried out at this. This wasn't fair. This was a kind of torture. She didn't deserve this, but if she was honest with herself, he didn't either. All Olivia could do was play the hand that she had been dealt.
“My lord,” she whispered, and there was a savage triumph on Makeen's face, something that made the bottom drop out of her stomach even as she felt herself stir uneasily because of it. There was something in her that craved this, and she didn't know what to think of it.
“I see. And now, you, a woman with no rank, no family, and no money, have come to ask me a favor. What do you think you are going to use to secure my goodwill?”
The words were bland but the meaning was clear. Her eyes widened.
“Please,” she whispered, but his face was implacable.
“What do you have to bargain with?” Makeen asked, his words coldly furious. “What do you have, Olivia?”
There was only one response. She didn't have the backing of a noble family, she didn't have money, she didn't have any political position, any power at all except that which was held in her body. She felt something in her break as she realized what she was going to do.
Trembling, Olivia took a step forward, so close to Makeen that she could see the stitches in his buttons. “My lord …”
“Look at me when you speak, woman,” he said, his voice a low, smooth growl.
Swallowing hard, Olivia made herself look up at him. He towered over her, but there was something to his face, a kind of softness that touched something in her. She didn't understand it, but suddenly, she was no longer afraid.
“My lord, please … let my brother go.”
“And what will you give me in return?”
She couldn't say the words. They were ugly words, too ugly for something that had been an amazing, sensual, and beautiful experience. Though Olivia knew the reality of what she was doing and what she was offering, she couldn't bring herself to say those words.
Instead, she reached up, lacing her fingers behind his neck to pull him down to her. For just a moment, a bare heartbeat of space, she thought he was going to pull away. Perhaps all he wanted to do was humiliate her, and that it would be enough to send her on her way, grieving and empty handed.
She knew he wouldn't.
No matter what was passing between them now, no matter what was ending between them right now … Olivia knew Makeen well enough to count on one thing, and that was that he wanted her like breathing. Like she wanted him.
He might have wanted to pull away from her, but the moment she got her hands on him, he couldn't. The passion that sparked between them was too deep, the promise of desire fulfilled far too strong. Suddenly, his arms were around her, and it didn't matter why they were doing this, only that they were touching, only that they craved each other.
If she kept kissing him, she wouldn't hear the poisonous things he would say. If she clung to him, she could put off the time before he pushed her away. She could make their time together last a little longer, and then perhaps a little longer still.
“Goddamn you, you taste so good,” he growled.
His hands slid up her back to tangle in her hair. Now he was holding her still while he kissed her, devouring her the way he would a meal. He was famished for her, always had been, and she knew that she had won, even if victory was a terribly hollow prize.
“Take me,” Olivia whispered. “Take me, make me forget all this.”
He could have said that she was in no position to be making requests or giving orders. However, there was always something so splendidly raw about them, so very naked and real that there could be no lies here, no posturing, nothing but the purity of the two of them together.
The kiss went on and on, and then Makeen was pushing her back towards the desk. When the edge hit her back, he lifted her up on it. Olivia marveled at his strength even as he came to stand in front of her.
“I want to see you,” he said, the only thing he said by way of explanation.
With quick efficient movements, he stripped her clothes away from her, and silently, she allowed him to do so. There was something restrained to him now, as if he were exercising all of his power to hold himself back from ravishing her.
He wants to make this last, Olivia realized suddenly, and she didn't know if that should make her feel elated or devastated.
Soon she was seated naked on his desk, Makeen watching her with those dark, dark eyes. It should have felt invasive, being viewed like some sort of museum display. If she had learned about this earlier, she would have felt it was degrading, a display of Makeen's power. Instead, in the moment, being watched by the man she needed like she ne
eded no other, it only felt intoxicating. Without thinking of what she was doing, she straightened her back, pressing out her breasts and lifting her chin defiantly. She wasn't ashamed of her body, not in front of Makeen.
“So beautiful,” he said, and there was still a tremor there. The powerful sheikh might have wanted to hold himself aloof, but she could tell that there was a limit to how much he could do so when he wanted her so much.
He began to touch her, running his hands down her body, down her sides, up her back, through the long strands of her hair. Wherever he touched, Olivia could feel herself tingle, her skin remembering all too clearly the pleasure she took in his body. When she reached to touch him, however, he pressed her hands down to her sides.
“I want to touch you,” she whispered, but he ignored her.
Instead he focused on tantalizing her, tracing invisible patterns on the skin of her bare thighs. When he pressed them apart, she thought he would take her then, but his fingertips only trailed up closer to her most secret flesh before skimming away.
“You feel good, so good,” Olivia murmured. She knew that she was opening herself up to his mockery, but he only hummed with pleasure.
“I want you to feel good,” he replied, and for a moment, she could pretend that this was something other than what it was.
He stepped between her knees to kiss her. This time, it was slow and deliberate, something full of need and desire, but which had all the patience in the world. When he pressed his tongue between her lips, she opened for him, hot with need. He gasped when she suckled on his tongue boldly. She felt the tremor go through him, and she knew that he was far more affected than he was willing to let on.
Olivia realized, in a distant way, that she had power over him, just as he had power over her. She twined her arms around his neck, and in some ways, it was a gesture as defiant as rearing back to punch him. It told them both that she was no willing puppet, ready to sell herself for the right price. She was a woman acting out of desire, and that meant that she would take him just as he would take her.
“I want you, so much,” she whispered, and those words made him shudder in earnest, so she repeated them. She had never been one for dirty talk, but now, with this man, she wanted nothing more than to tell him how she needed him and what he made her feel.
“I want to feel your hands on me, I want to feel how hard and hot you are,” Olivia murmured, ignoring the red blush that flared up on her cheeks. “I want you to fill me up, and I want you to push me past anything that I have ever—”
“That is enough,” he growled, and she stopped, not out of fear, but out of concern for the ragged edge to his voice.
This is hurting him too, Olivia thought, and she would have done anything if she could have spared them both this terrible thing. Instead, she had set her course, and she knew that she had to see it through.
He took her chin between two fingers, bringing her face up to look at him.
“Stop talking,” he said. “I don't want to hear any words out of you …”
He brushed the back of his hand over the taut tips of her breasts, making her gasp out loud. Still, she held herself from speaking, and he smiled cynically.
“Good …”
His kiss overwhelmed her, sweeping her up before setting all of her nerves aflame. There was something about him that was done playing, and when she felt the press of his body against hers, she felt his aching hardness against her thigh. He couldn't wait much longer. She knew that she couldn't either.
With an abrupt movement, he pulled her off the desk only to turn around. One hand between her shoulder blades he pushed her down until she was looking at her own expression in the polished wood of the desk. Her eyes looked enormous in her face, her mouth as red as if she had painted it. When he pressed one foot between hers to make her spread herself open, her mouth opened in a red O.
“So goddamn beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself. “The most perfect woman I have ever had, the only one I have truly wanted …”
She started to turn her head to look at him, but his hand tangled in her hair, holding her down.
“I'll make this good for you,” he whispered. “God above, I want this to be good for you …”
She bit her lip, not understanding what he meant until he brushed his hand up her thigh. His fingers probed at her wet entrance, sinking one finger into her and then another one as she sighed. In a matter of breaths, he was pumping his fingers into her slowly and surely as he worked her clit with his free hand.
The pleasure he was forcing on her raised her up higher and higher until she reached her peak. Her climax, so long in coming, roared out of her, leaving her spent and sobbing on the desk, but he didn't stop then. Instead, his hands kept working, and he was half bent over her as well, his warm body pressed against hers. He was speaking to her in some combination of Arabic and English, and she knew that he was telling her how beautiful she was and how much he wanted her, telling her he wanted her pleasure more than anything else in the world.
Her body rocked again and again. She couldn't tell where one climax ended and the other began. It was a continuous string of pleasure that he drew from her with only his touch and his words, and it wasn't until she had collapsed boneless on his desk that he pulled away.
For a moment, Olivia had a horrified idea that he would leave her there, her humiliation complete. Then, to her relief, she heard him open his clothes, heard the tear of a foil packet, and his soft sigh as he sheathed himself.
Without a word, he stepped forward and pressed himself deep into her. He knew her body like he knew his own, and now he used that knowledge, pressing all the way into her in the way he knew she liked. She wanted more than anything to press herself back against him, but her position pinned on the desk gave her no leverage, no ability to move at all. Instead, she simply had to squirm and moan as he pushed into her over and over again, taking his pleasure with her body.
To Olivia's shock, she could feel her desire rising up again. After what he had put her through, she had thought that she would simply be too exhausted to move, let alone respond again, but something about his body called to her own, like the moon to the sea. As his motions sped up, her body started to rock back against him. She could feel his surprise, but in that moment, all she cared about was how their bodies worked together, bringing them into a harmony that their hearts simply could not sustain.
Perfect, so perfect, she thought, her emotions whipping up to a frenzy just as her body did. This was the man she wanted. This was the one who belonged to her, and after this, they might never speak to one another again. She couldn't understand it. The pain was simply too great. Instead, she focused on finding forever in their motions together, feeling the way he pressed into her, the way his hands closed on her hips with a strength just short of pain.
He quickened his thrusts, and she heard his deep growls of pleasure. Her own body tightened up, and then, almost to her shock, she was coming again, screaming into her hands as the sensations cascaded over her. In almost the same movement, he thrust into her savagely, holding her brutally still as he came to his own peak. For a moment, their cries mingled together in the still office air, echoing one another in a pleasure that seemed to go on and on.
When they were still, there was something terrible about it. She could feel tears in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She knew why she was here and what she was doing, and she felt as if her heart was going to break.
With a soft sigh, he pulled away. Olivia was still for a moment, and then, moving as if she was in pain, she pushed herself off the desk to land on her own two feet. She turned to see Makeen doing up his clothing as if nothing had happened at all.
She almost expected him to tell her to get out, but instead of doing that, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dampened it with a bottle of water he had on his desk. To her surprise, he started to clean her, starting with the seat on her body before finally dipping down between her legs. She squawked with em
barrassment, but he shushed her absently, holding her still until he was done. When he stepped back, she reached for her clothes, which he had dropped off to the side.
Despite everything that they had done together, Olivia felt exposed now, more naked than she had been when she was bent moaning and writhing on the desk. She could hear her heart too clearly, the same way she could feel his eyes on her.
“What happens now?” she asked, her voice soft and dull.
He was silent so long that she nearly started to cry. She was on the verge of turning to him, begging him for … for what, she didn't even know. All she knew was that he was a man of honor, of his word, but right now, she had no idea where she stood in that regard.
“I call the investigators. I tell them to release your brother. In the morning, we get on a plane to return to Zahar, and we never speak to each other again.”
She had expected no better, but she still flinched. “Makeen …”
The sound he made was more animal than man, a terrible growl that made her think of beasts that hunted in the mountains, hungry and lean.
“No. Do not. Do not speak with me as if you loved me, as if I were some pet that you could train to do your bidding. I have had enough of that. I am sick of it, and I am sick of your presence. Go to your room. Wait for the plane tomorrow. These are the last words that we will speak to one another.”
At last defeated, tears in her eyes, she fled back to her own bedroom. She felt as if she had been scalded. Pain filled her being, and she could barely think.
In her despair, she reached for the one thing that had always been there. Olivia's hands were shaking, but still she could undo the clasps on her violin case. Once she had her hands on the polished wood and familiar bow, she felt a calm settle over her. With motions of exaggerated calmness, she tuned her instrument and she started to play.
The wild music that poured out of her that night was like nothing she had ever produced before. It was fast, jagged, just barely melodic, but somehow it carried her feelings of pain out of her body, giving her some kind of rest.
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