by Cara Albany
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Dakota arrived back from the city in the early evening, Zariq immediately knew something was wrong with her. He was upstairs in their shared suite when she strode into the room. She looked troubled as she threw her bag down on the floor and flopped down onto the sofa.
"How did it go?" he asked.
She shook her head and sighed. "You don't want to know."
Zariq went across and sat down next to her on the sofa. Up close, he could see that the events of the afternoon had taken a lot out of her. There was a tiredness in her blue eyes and her face looked slightly pale and drawn. Even with that though, he was glad to see her. He'd missed her presence in the palace and he was pleased she was back home. Where she belonged. The frustrations of the night before had cooled, thanks to a long day spent on his own.
"What's the problem?" he asked. He leaned his arm against the back of the sofa.
When she glanced at him, she didn't do anything to let him know that the gesture was unwelcome. "I met Elena while I was there."
He frowned. "What was she doing there?"
Dakota's pretty brows furrowed. "She had something to tell me. A warning."
"What do you mean?" Zariq asked urgently.
He listened as Dakota told him about Elena's advice about the journalist who was digging into Dakota's past. He wasn't sure he could believe most of it. He wouldn't put it past Elena to fabricate a story like this just to get something for herself.
"What does this person think they're going to find out?" Zariq asked, genuinely puzzled.
Dakota looked thoughtful for a moment. "I got the impression it has something to do with my ancestry. Maybe someone doesn't believe I'm descended from the great chieftain." She glanced at Zariq. "You know how some people found it hard to believe that an American woman could be a part of something as important as that."
"Those people are just jealous they don't have such important family connections," he said sharply.
"I saw the way some folks were looking at me on our wedding day," she objected. "Not everyone approves or even believes."
"Are you saying they think it's all a lie?" Zariq asked. "We know it's true. The documents don't lie."
"Still, though," she sighed. "It's going to take a long time before I stop feeling like a fish out of water."
He shook his head. "You belong here as much as anyone," he murmured.
She glanced at him and he could see the sudden emotion in her eyes. She'd had a difficult day. He could see that. And, right now, he wanted to do whatever he could to make her feel better. To take away her doubts and fears.
Zariq reached across and rested a hand on her shoulder. Strands of her beautiful hair tumbled down to her shoulders. Her hair had been expertly done for the photoshoot and it still looked great. He wanted to take some of those loose curls of blonde hair and play with them in his fingers. Feel the softness. But he resisted the impulse. Just like he'd had to resist so many impulses in recent weeks.
He saw her close her eyes. Zariq ran his gaze down the length of her body. Her breathing was steady. Her breasts were rising and falling, gently and slowly, awakening tempting thoughts. He felt need stir inside him. Just like it had flamed into life last night when she'd caught him naked out on the terrace. He'd woken up in bed, tense and irritable, and had needed fresh air to calm his troubled spirits. It had been either great fortune, or its opposite, when she'd appeared in the living room and had seen him out on the terrace. The way it had ended, he felt he'd been the one who had lost out.
He moved his hand onto the bare flesh of her exquisitely long neck. He wanted to taste her skin, run his tongue up the length of her neck, all the way to the sensitive spot behind her ear. He knew that if he did that he might succeed in awakening her own desire. And then what? Would it end like last night? Would he have to accept dissatisfaction? He wasn't sure he could take that again.
She tilted her head as he caressed her neck. "You're muscles feel really tense," he observed.
"Must be all those hours posing for the camera," she replied. She closed her eyes and seemed to savor the way he was touching her. He loved the feel of her skin against his fingers. He pressed his fingertips into the muscles of her neck and she groaned appreciatively. He felt his body tighten with desire.
Suddenly, she stiffened and sat up. It caused him to shift his hand away from her neck and onto the back of the sofa. She glanced at him, an uneasy expression in her eyes. "What are we going to do?" she asked abruptly.
He thought for a moment. "I could try and find out who's behind this and get them to stop."
She shook her head. "I don't think that would work," she replied. "You know how journalists can be once they get a scent of a story. They don't stop. Especially if someone tries to interfere. It only makes them more determined."
"I have influential friends," he retorted. "You know that, don't you."
"I don't doubt you have," she replied. "But I don't want to make this situation worse than it is."
"They won't find anything, will they?" he asked and immediately regretted asking the question when he saw her brows furrow.
"It wasn't me who suggested this marriage in the first place, Zariq," she said, clearly irritated. "You came to me."
"At my father's behest. And his advisors. Most of them know more than I'll ever learn about such things as ancestry," he said.
"Nevertheless, I was chosen," she said. "Isn't that right?"
He nodded. "When these advisors start digging for suitable candidates for marriage, they seldom make mistakes."
She looked instantly offended by his last remark. "Do you think I'm a mistake, Zariq?" she asked. Her voice was filled with sudden emotion.
He leaned forward and smiled warmly at her. "How could I possibly think that about you, Dakota? Especially after what happened last night."
He saw her features flush with the memory. Her eyes widened and he gazed at her for a few moments, trying to judge whether she wanted more from him. Whether she wanted him to kiss her. His muscles were straining as he kept his desire on a leash.
Her gaze hardened again. "So what do we do?"
Zariq sighed heavily and thought for a few moments. It was clear that something was being set up. Now that he and Dakota were married there would be some in the media who would be desperate for a juicy story. Scandal wouldn't be forthcoming any time soon. Not now that Zariq and Dakota were married.
So, it had to be something else. It would have to be personal. And, since Zariq had too many powerful friends in Qazhar by virtue of his royal status, that made Dakota the only easy target. Apart from which, it seemed like every time her face appeared on the front page of a magazine, the sales of that magazine went through the roof. Money was behind all of this, Zariq told himself. Greed.
If the intention was to question Dakota's right to be Zariq's wife, then it made sense that the only way to head off such an accusation was to make a decisive gesture. Something which would show once and for all that Dakota respected her past. That she felt a part of it. That she had every right to be a Qazhar royal.
An idea floated into Zariq's awareness. He turned to Dakota. "Your ancestor has a shrine," he said quietly.
Dakota peered at him. He could see curiosity flicker into life in her eyes. "A shrine? Where?"
"In the north of the country," Zariq told her. "When he died, his body was taken back to his ancestral village, north of here. He was laid to rest there, inside a grand memorial. It's still there."
She squinted at him. "You didn't tell me that before," she said.
"There were too many other things going on," he replied. "Like a wedding to arrange," he added, lifting a brow.
She nodded. "What are you suggesting, Zariq?" She seemed genuinely curious now. For his part, he knew that there was only one thing they could do that would achieve the desired affect of proving Dakota's birthright.
"You know the press loves going places with the royals," he said. "Sometimes I hate it wh
en we have to do those public appearances. But it makes for good coverage in the media. And they leave us alone for a while afterwards."
She nodded. "It feels like we're feeding an insatiable beast."
"Perhaps, if we stage a trip to your ancestor's shrine, that will create an impression. A powerful one. Then any story that comes out afterwards will pale by comparison." He thought for a moment before continuing. "It's always best to get in first. Before your enemies."
She was thoughtful for a short while. He watched as she deliberated his suggestion. Of course, there would be difficulties if they went ahead with it. There would be a journey, by desert-worthy vehicles, for a few hours. Most of the media would follow in their own entourage. It would be a continuation of the media circus he'd endured recently. He and Dakota would have to put on a convincing show for the press who'd be watching for the slightest hint of difficulties between himself and Dakota. But, they were used to putting on such shows. They were both becoming experts at dealing with the media. Feeding the monster with pleasing images and happy stories.
And, there would be other benefits, too. Zariq knew he might get a chance to be alone in the desert with Dakota. There, in his own domain, the place where he felt truly a sheikh, he would be able to show her just how much he wanted her. How much she meant to him.
"Why don't we arrange a little outing," he said and smiled at Dakota. "Just you and me and as many of the press as want to come along."
She smiled at him, understanding dawning in her eyes. "And I'll get to see where my ancestor rests."
"Think of the photo opportunities," he said.
Dakota nodded and leaned closer to him, smiling. "You know. Sometimes you do have the best ideas, Zariq," she murmured.
She lifted her face up to his, her mouth opening slightly, her eyes filled with approval. Zariq dipped his head and kissed her lips. She tasted sweet. She moaned as he shifted himself closer to her. He cupped her jaw in his hand, holding her gently. He felt himself harden, tension taking hold of his body. He dragged in a deep breath as he continued kissing Dakota.
Suddenly, she lifted her head away from his and straightened her dress. Her abrupt ending of the kiss shocked him. He peered at her, watching as she stood quickly. He felt as if he'd been robbed and was sure the expression on his face told that story.
"Will you let them know what we're going to do?" she asked sharply. She seemed suddenly self-conscious, as if the kiss had awakened something which had made her feel uneasy. Or fearful?
He composed himself and nodded. "I'll do that. When do you want to go?"
"As soon as we can." Then she picked up her bag and strode off to her bedroom, leaving him wondering what he was going to have to do to claim his wife.
CHAPTER NINE
The inside of the four-wheel drive car was hot, even with the windows open. Dakota sat in the passenger seat and glanced across at Zariq. His hands gripped the steering wheel as he drove the car along the die-straight ribbon of tarmac which stretched ahead of them through the desert wilderness. It was a bright sunny afternoon and they'd already been traveling for a few hours.
Dakota glanced behind her. The entourage was there, a long line of cars. Immediately behind her and Zariq's vehicle were those carrying the security detail. Stretching further back were the media cars, almost a dozen of them. It looked like a procession, Dakota told herself.
"How long will it be until we arrive?' she asked.
"About a half hour," Zariq replied. He pointed toward the western horizon. "We'll have to go off road for a short while. There are no roads to the village. They prefer to live in the old ways," he added with a grin.
"If we go off road, isn't that going to get bumpy?" she asked.
She saw him glance in the rearview mirror. "That should shake up our unwanted companions back there," he said. "Besides, it'll give me a chance to show off my superior desert driving skills," he added lifting his brow mischievously.
"Just take it easy," she told him. "I don't like it rough."
He gave her a look which made her cheeks flush with heat. She turned away from him and gazed out across the desert. "It's beautiful out here. Why haven't you brought me before?"
He shrugged. "I was planning to do it. Soon. Just never had the chance. If you like it so much, maybe we can find an excuse to stay a bit longer."
"Out here?" she asked.
"I have an encampment. I've used it in the past," he said. "A kind of home away from home, if you like," he added.
She laughed quietly. "Does it have palm trees?"
He frowned and then smiled. "Of course. It wouldn't be a desert hideaway if it didn't."
"What are you planning on hiding from?" she asked.
Once again, he glanced in the mirror. "Do I have to answer that?"
She knew he was teasing her, and had been doing so since they'd left the palace a few hours before. He'd been in a good mood all day. She had to admit she preferred him like this, rather than when he was in one of his brooding phases.
It had taken a few days to arrange the trip to the village north of the palace. As usual, there had been issues of security to be put in place. And the media had needed time to get themselves in order so they would be able to make the most of the opportunity of witnessing the sheikh and his American wife visiting one of Qazhar's most sacred places.
Dakota had busied herself in the days leading up to the trip. More than once, she had questioned the wisdom of the whole idea. There had been times when it had seemed like the craziest idea Zariq could possibly suggest. But, she knew something had to be done. Grand gestures were often the most effective, especially when it came to dealing with the media. Hadn't her own story of the American model's marriage to the royal sheikh been something of a grand gesture? She certainly thought so.
Zariq slowed the car to a stop and got out. Behind them, all the other vehicles came to a halt. She watched Zariq talk with the head of the security detail, Ahmed, a burly, bald-headed man who, although intimidating to look at, had a sweet and generous nature whenever he was around Dakota.
Dakota watched, smiling as she saw the camera crews emerge from the other vehicles. Playing his part to the full, Zariq pointed grandly out at the desert while he continued talking with Ahmed. Dakota laughed quietly, enjoying the effort Zariq was putting in to impress the media. This was going to be his moment, she told herself. He'd get a chance to show off his manly qualities by leading the convoy across the rough terrain.
Dakota was well aware of Zariq's other manly qualities. Since he'd moved into the suite with her, she'd caught glimpses of his sexy body on plenty of occasions. Now it seemed like he realized there was no need to hide himself from her. She'd often bumped into him leaving the bathroom, his body still glistening after taking a shower. His dark hair damp and matted. They had an informal agreement that meant they would try not to share time in the bathroom. But it didn't always work out.
And, if she was being honest, she wasn't too upset about that fact. Sharing the same living space with Zariq had its advantages, as well as its dangers. She'd already experienced the perils and had managed to avoid falling into every one of the traps he'd set her. He was expert at teasing her into potentially compromising situations. Little, intimate moments on the balcony or in the sitting room came to mind.
Zariq came back and took his seat next to her. 'Ready?" he asked starting up the car.
She gripped the restraint on the car's roof above her head. "I suppose so."
He shifted the car into gear and smiled at her. "I'll try to be gentle," he joked.
