Desert Destiny

by Sarah Holland

  ‘You didn’t ask me to marry you,’ she said fiercely, ‘you just bombarded me into it!’

  ‘And how you protested!’ he bit out. ‘Until you were in my bed!’

  ‘Shut up, you——’

  ‘And once you had had your pleasure you started talking of home again! Of London and Christopher Burton and your career!’

  ‘I feel awful about leaving him like this!’

  ‘But you feel no compunction about leaving me!’ he shouted hoarsely, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring, magnificent in his rage. ‘You would leave me without a second thought!’

  ‘They’re relying on me!’ she whispered, unable to tell the truth, to tell him she had to leave because she had committed the ultimate folly of falling in love with him. ‘It’s not just my career—hundreds of other people are wrapped up in it, and I’m the central pivot! How can I just walk out and——?’

  ‘Liar!’ he bit out, eyes hating her. ‘You want to go back! Now that you have had your little…’ his lips curled with contempt ‘…desert adventure! You want to go back and test your hard-won experience on other men! On the Western men who would be so much more acceptable to you!’

  She broke away from him, gold eyes flaring with rage. ‘You don’t love me, Suliman!’ she accused shakingly. ‘You don’t love me and you never could! You only want me because I look like Sheba! But I’m not Sheba! I’m myself!’ Tears stung her eyes and she whispered hoarsely, ‘Myself; I’m myself!’ She repeated, ‘Myself, Suliman!’

  ‘And you only want me when I am the sheikh of your primitive fantasies!’ he bit out thickly. ‘You want me to make barbaric love to you, then disappear into the night as fantasies so conveniently do! As the sheikh, you rejected me—rejected my world, our marriage, and everything I offered you!’ His eyes burnt her with contempt. ‘Now that you see my jet and my power and my Western clothes you find me more acceptable!’

  ‘You dressed me up as an Arabian queen before you married me!’ Bethsheba shouted angrily. ‘You didn’t find me very “acceptable” as myself!’

  ‘You do not behave like an Arabian queen,’ he bit out, ‘and it is time you were disrobed!’ One hand ripped the yashmak and veil from her, flinging them to the floor.

  ‘Oh!’ She backed, gold hair tumbling around her shoulders. ‘You—barbarian!’

  Rage turned his eyes black. ‘Barbarian?’ he shouted. ‘I will give you the barbarian you want so badly!’ And his hands tore the cloak from her, ignoring her angry cry.

  ‘I don’t want the barbarian in you!’ she screamed, hatred welling up in her as she backed in the diaphanous white-gold gown. ‘I don’t want anything more to do with you ever again!’

  ‘Do you not, bint?’ he bit out thickly, and one hand shot around her waist, pressing her wriggling body against his. ‘Shall we put that to the test?’

  ‘No, don’t…!’ She sucked her breath in as his other hand touched her breast, bare and ripe beneath the white silk bodice.

  ‘Yes!’ he said under his breath, stroking her nipple to erect obedience, his eyes ruthless as he saw her quivering response and the hot flush that stained her cheeks. ‘You want it badly!’ His hand angrily tugged the bodice aside, baring her to his gaze. ‘And you will admit it, Sheba—or find yourself raped on the desk of my Western power!’

  ‘Stop it!’ she shouted hoarsely, but he was pushing her against the desk, his eyes murderous, and those strong thighs were parting hers as he cupped her buttocks and lifted her on to the desk. ‘Don’t…’ her whispered plea was despairing ‘…please!’

  His head swooped, that hot mouth taking her nipple, and Bethsheba gave a hoarse moan of pleasure, her hands thrusting into his thick black hair and her body arching towards him as images of what he wanted to do to her flickered through his mind vividly, and she knew the thought of being raped on the desk by him was intolerably exciting.

  His mouth lifted, covered hers, and as her lips opened with a moan of fierce pleasure beneath his her blood pulsated through her body and she was gasping as his strong hands yanked the bodice right down, trapping her arms at her sides with the sleeves and baring her to the waist, a helpless captive as his strong hands felt the taut hardness of her nipples and the fierce bang of her heart.

  ‘You want me!’ he said harshly, his breathing ragged and his face darkly flushed. ‘You would like me to take you—now; here on this desk without ceremony!’

  Consumed with molten desire, she whispered fiercely, ‘Yes…yes!’

  ‘Then prove it, Sheba!’ he said hoarsely. ‘Press yourself against me and beg me to do it!’

  Moaning, her voice whispered, ‘Take me…take me…’ and her hands stroked his neck as she kissed him fiercely, running her fingers through his dark hair, arching her body against him and feeling the sharp needles of excitement burn her as her erect nipples rubbed against the expensive material of his waistcoat.

  She lifted her hand and pressed it to her breast, arching again as she offered herself to him, and he bent his head and took her nipple, her moans of need growing as the emotions that blazed inside her began to coil to tension again and she knew the release would blast them out of her system, knew that Suliman’s lovemaking would force those violent emotions from her body as he took command of her again.

  ‘Take me!’ she whispered fiercely, blood pulsating like wildfire through her body. ‘Take me!’

  Suliman was breathing harshly, his face flushed dark as he pushed the white silk skirt up over her hips, and when she begged him again to take her, he slowly eased the white silk briefs down over Bethsheba’s thighs, watching her with dark anger as she began feverishly to unbutton his expensive Western suit.

  ‘I will be clothed, bint!’ he bit out thickly, hands hurting her wrists as he stopped her undressing him. ‘I am the master, and you the whore!’

  Rage flashed in primitive desire through her and she tried to hit him, saying fiercely, ‘You bastard!’

  His hands went to the grey trousers, unzipping them as he spreadeagled her, and pushed them hard down over his hips, ‘Bastard or no, you still want me!’ he said hoarsely, and the hard jut of his manhood against her softness made her cry out in harsh, fierce pleasure as he entered her and found her more than willing. ‘Oh, yes…!’ he said thickly, inhaling sharply, gripping her buttocks, his eyes blazing. ‘Yes!’

  He impaled her with one thrust, and her guttural cry of pleasure matched his own as he held her tight against him, his face contorting as he began to thrust into her, the desk slamming with each movement, the lamp falling to the floor and shattering, unnoticed.

  They clung to each other, hatred and rage and desire blending into one as they made love like enemies, their bodies unleashing violent passion as the harsh cries they made were issued against sweat-damp skin, their mouths colliding in a ferocious kiss of intolerable emotion.

  The excitement was so fast and violent that she could not hold out against it.

  Bethsheba jerked in mind-blowing release, dark pleasure flooding the caverns of her mind and body as she gasped and writhed against him, her eyes rolling up into the back of her head and her heart banging out of control.

  Suliman was snarling as he thrust harder and harder until he snapped into a harsh cry of agonised pleasure, and then he too was lost in the ferocious violence of his release.

  It felt as though every emotion in them both was being channelled between them in a vast current of energy, blazing between their bodies in those precious moments, like an electric storm flaring up to almost kill them as they jerked and writhed their way to peace.

  But it was not peace that filled Bethsheba when at last Suliman rested his head on her shoulder. It was pain. Oceans of pain, flooding her as she held him, her body damp and throbbing with a sense of loss as she felt that sweat-damp head on her bare shoulder, felt the flickering of his wet lashes against her throat.

  He pulled away without looking at her, as she had known he would, and the tears that stung her eyes were blinked back in fierce prid
e as he turned from her, adjusting his clothing with a grim expression and running a hand through his dark hair when he was once again the man of power, his clothes as immaculate as they had been when he had first arrived.

  Silence filled the room. Bethsheba tugged her bodice back up and her skirt down: shame was too easy an emotion to deal with when contrasted with the pain.

  ‘My plane will take you to Tangier in the morning.’ Suliman’s voice was without emotion. He stood with his back to her. There seemed nothing more to say.

  Bethsheba slid shakily off the desk, retrieved the rest of her clothes and moved to the door, her face white with pride. Slipping out into the corridor, she felt the hot tears slide over her lashes, felt her mouth tremble, and walked quickly to the nearest sanctuary: the courtyard close by with its plants and flowers and fountain.

  Like a dam bursting, the tears came, and she sank blindly on to the ancient wall beside the fountain, burying her face in her hands.

  Later, in her private quarters, Bethsheba sat on the windowsill, red-eyed, and watched the sun set. It had a golden glow about it tonight; a fiery disc sinking behind the yellowing walls of the palace and turning them shimmering gold.

  How could she leave Suliman and all he had given her? Meeting him had been like being reborn. Meeting him had been like meeting her mirror image. Her other half. The male side of her that would never be given physical life.

  Bethsheba was a child of two nations: kissed by the sun of Arabia, tempered by a formal education in England, strengthened by the bitter fight for survival after her parents’ death and, finally, polished by Chris Burton into the acclaimed singer-superstar she was now.

  Yet the desert called her: those first, vital years were not to be denied. The secret longings of her childhood in Arabia had exploded from the moment she had met Suliman, and she felt alive for the first time in her life.

  Tears pricked her eyes. Sighing heavily, she let them fall. Her eyes were swollen with weeping. She hiccupped softly every now and then, a hand at her red eyes like a sad child’s.

  ‘Suliman…’ she whispered.

  A knock at the door made her jump. Not Suliman! She couldn’t let him see her like this! He didn’t know she loved him, and he must never know—never! Terrified, she wiped the tears from her eyes and struggled to appear composed.

  ‘Come in!’

  A handmaiden entered, gave a deep bow, and approached with a note in one slender hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ Bethsheba said thickly, accepting the note and staring at it. The handmaiden hovered, smiling. Bethsheba had to open the note in front of her, though her stomach felt as though she were going down too fast in a lift.

  Of course, it was from Suliman. ‘Dine with me tonight. We will discuss divorce proceedings.’

  So cold, curt, clinical. It hurt to look at it and to see how utterly detached he was from the whole thing. Icy and precise like a surgeon cutting out a cancer.

  How unlike the man she had come to know. The man with the dark, dangerously intense eyes who had kidnapped her, flung her head first into excitement, adventure and wild, heady desire.

  Suliman.

  Tears stung her eyes. She wished the damned handmaiden would leave her! Her hand crumpled the cold, cutting note and she thought, I hate him! How could he do this to me?

  The argument with him still rang in her ears. How the hatred had poured out of him! Biting out angry remarks, insulting her deliberately, mocking her every word, and, finally, taking her with hot rough anger across his desk.

  Oh, she had begged him to do it and begged willingly. The thought of the hard, sexy body encased in that formal suit had made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end with excitement.

  But she had also known they had to be earthed: both of them. The emotion flying around in that room had been like a pressure cooker, and the ultimate explosion like megawatts of electricity suddenly released in a flash of power between them as they’d climaxed in violent paroxysms of ecstasy.

  The note was still in her hand. She looked down at it.

  Suddenly her lashes flickered and she was still.

  Slowly, she smoothed out the note.

  Was this really from Suliman? This icy and emotionless note? Even if he hated the sight of her he would show more than this. This note was so icy that it wasn’t even businesslike.

  It was as though he was hurt.

  ‘Oh…!’ Inhaling sharply, Bethsheba stood up. He couldn’t be hurt! It wasn’t possible! Suliman? Hurt? But he didn’t love her! He had only wanted to bed her! She meant nothing to him! Nothing at all…

  ‘But what if he’s hiding it?’ she said aloud. ‘I’ve been hiding it for days! Why shouldn’t he?’

  She broke off, suddenly meeting the concerned gaze of the handmaiden. There was a brief silence. The woman thought she was mad, obviously, and Bethsheba almost agreed with her.

  The handmaiden motioned for Bethsheba to follow her. Judging from the sky, it must be bath-time, she guessed, and her heart leapt at the prospect.

  Now she had a chance! She would see Suliman tonight for dinner—it wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, and maybe she could even win him over if she tried hard enough.

  The scented bathroom gave her time to think. Naked, she floated in the warm water, turning this way and that, staring at water-lilies beside her and the gold-domed ceiling above.

  Suliman must feel something for her. His emotional outburst this afternoon proved that. He had been enraged, furious, his passion more dark and violent than ever before.

  But how could she tell him she loved him? Her heart ached and she closed her eyes, despairing. Her pride was at stake! Love was a no-pride situation sometimes, but in this case the knife-edge of rejection was so dangerous that she could not risk it.

  No, there had be be another way. A way to say ‘I love you’. A way to say it without risking total humiliation and rejection. But how? How could she do it?

  Suddenly she saw Sheba.

  Gold-almond eyes watched her serenely from a ravishing gold metal face of high cheekbones and full, pouting mouth, her hair long strands of pure gold coiling around nude shoulders and bare breasts.

  That’s it! That’s how I’ll win him over!

  Bethsheba swam to the far end of the bath, climbed up marble steps and went to the private gardens to stare at the statue. She couldn’t go dressed as a cat, but she could wear those ruby scimitar earrings and the ruby necklace around her lovely throat.

  Suddenly she turned, motioning the women to come to her. They clustered around her, staring at the statue as she indicated what she wanted, and the laughter that echoed around the courtyard was wonderful, for it made Bethsheba feel, at last, a real part of life here.

  They had such fun together that evening, laughing as they dressed her as Sheba. The earrings were brought to her, and the necklace, and one of the women rushed off to find the right dress for Bethsheba to wear with it to please her royal husband.

  The gown was breathtaking. A gold-belled skirt and gold silk bodice made her gleam from head to foot like that statue come to life. Kohl lined her beautiful gold-almond eyes, and the rubies at her ears and throat flashed blood-red warrior colours as she moved.

  Suliman awaited her in the great banqueting hall.

  Heart thudding, Bethsheba walked in her open red sandals, bells jangling softly against bare thighs and ankles as she moved. If this didn’t work, nothing would. She had to persuade him she loved him, and that the Eastern side of his personality was what she loved most of all: not the Western.

  Suliman stood at the far end of the arabesque hall.

  He stood with his back to her, but even thus she could see the proud arrogant nobility of the man she loved. The black evening suit he wore had Savile Row stamped all over it. He was magnificent, his wealth and power an aura around him; a passionate man tempered by the majesty of his character.

  He turned and saw her.

  Lifting her head proudly, Bethsheba met his powe
rful stare with courage, and as his eyes raced over her she was Sheba; for one brief moment his destiny stared him in the face.

  The recognition flashed between them. Then it was gone as Suliman hardened his heart to her, and the icy tones of his voice almost cut her as he said, ‘Everything is arranged for your departure. You will fly to Tangier at 09.00 hours tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh…!’ The disappointment was a sledge-hammer in her stomach. ‘I—I see.’

  ‘It is quite safe. My pilot is well-trained; the jet checked thoroughly before each take-off.’

  Struggling not to show the hurt that raged in her, she said thickly, ‘Thank you. I—don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Say nothing.’ His mouth was as hard as his eyes. ‘You will be gone from here and we shall never meet again. No words are necessary.’

  She nodded. Speech was impossible.

  ‘We must discuss the divorce arrangements.’ Suliman thrust his hands into the pockets of the black evening suit. ‘It can be arranged discreetly. No one need know. I will have the papers sent to you. You will sign and return them. It could all be resolved in a matter of weeks if you co-operate.’

  Again she nodded. Her face was white and she was shaking. Was her skin always this cold?

  ‘If there is a child from the union…’ Suliman began to say, but broke off, glancing away, his mouth tightening.

  The emotion in his voice made her stare, breathless with hope. Surely he couldn’t be as distressed by this as she? The silence lengthened. She could be still no longer.

  ‘Yes?’ she asked huskily, staring at the hard averted face. ‘If—if there is a child?’

  He looked at her suddenly, his eyes hard, and bit out, ‘You come to me as Sheba! Why?’

  Her courage vanished. ‘I felt like it.’

  Fury blazed out of the dark eyes. ‘A whim? A little diversion? An amusement?’

  ‘N-no,’ she stammered, grabbing her courage by the scruff of the neck and dragging it back, ‘be-because I thought it would be fitting.’