Innocent's Desert Wedding Contract

by Heidi Rice

  He’d never gone back on a contract, never reneged on an agreement. That wasn’t how he did business. But this had stopped being a business deal a week ago. This was about need and desire and chemistry as well as expediency now.

  This hunger was visceral and real and all-consuming. For them both. And if they didn’t feed it soon it would only become more so.

  He could hear the speeches being made by the director at Hammonds and then the auction began. The auctioneer listed the first horse up for sale: a two-year-old filly who had run some good races.

  Orla’s gaze flickered away from his face. She looked down at the brochure in her hands, avoiding his eyes. ‘You should buy her. She’s a good prospect.’ She flicked through the pages, her fingers trembling. ‘And number five, Debonair Boy, is a good colt,’ she said, her cheeks glowing as she struggled to fulfil the role he’d once given her… A role that he now didn’t give a damn about. It wasn’t her expert racing advice he wanted. If it had ever been.

  He signalled to his assistant, who was hovering nearby. The man appeared by his side instantly. ‘Jason, buy this filly. And the fifth horse on the docket,’ he said, not taking his gaze off his fiancée.

  ‘Yes, Mr Khan,’ the man replied.

  ‘And make my excuses to Devereaux,’ he added, surprised he could even remember the commitment he’d made earlier when all he could seem to focus on was the staggered rise and fall of Orla’s breathing, the sultry scent of her perfume and how much he wanted to strip her out of the summer dress and lick every inch of her fragrant flesh. ‘I won’t be joining him for dinner after all.’

  His assistant nodded and left. Karim gripped Orla’s elbow and began to direct her through the crowd, back towards the entrance she’d come out of less than fifteen minutes before.

  ‘Karim, is everything okay?’ she asked, the nervousness in her voice only making him more aware of the arousal darkening her gaze.

  ‘No, everything’s not okay,’ he managed. ‘But it soon will be.’

  He walked past the cloakroom set up by the entrance. ‘Wait, Karim, I left my—’

  ‘I’ll get Jason to collect it,’ he snapped. He could feel her pulse battering his thumb as he pressed it into the soft inner flesh of her elbow—trying not to grip her too hard.

  ‘Tell my driver we’re ready to leave,’ he said to one of the doormen.

  ‘But, Karim, we’re going to miss the auction,’ Orla said, then chewed her damn lip.

  His gaze fixed on the plump flesh trapped between small white teeth. The desire to touch his tongue to the reddened skin was so strong he spoke through gritted teeth.

  ‘Are there any more horses you think we should bid on?’ he asked.

  She shook her head, but the flush of pleasure—because he had asked for her advice—only made him feel more on edge.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then there is no need for us to remain here.’

  He stood on the grassy verge at the entrance to Kensington Gardens waiting for the chauffeur-driven Mercedes to arrive, aware of her starting to tremble beside him. He probably ought to reassure her. But how could he, when he couldn’t even reassure himself?

  He was behaving like a madman, the way he had at the ball. But he couldn’t wait any longer to get this damn desire out of his system. Why hadn’t he done this a week ago? Or any of the nights since? Instead of torturing himself for days? He would be over this driving hunger now if he had… Surely.

  The car pulled into the park gates what felt like several eternities later.

  After they were finally inside, cocooned in the leather interior, he tapped on the driver’s window. ‘Take us back to the house, Mark, park in the back and don’t disturb us.’

  The driver nodded, then closed the partition.

  Finally they were alone. The spurt of adrenaline—and anticipation—had his heart beating heavily as the car drove off.

  ‘Are you angry that I came?’ she asked as she reached for her seat belt.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Come here,’ he added, gripping her arm before she could anchor the belt.

  He dragged her up, and over him, until she straddled his lap. Her knees dug into the leather on either side of his hips, her fingers grasped his shoulders and the colour on her face intensified as he ran his hands up her thighs, felt the shudder of reaction. And caught the musky scent of her arousal.

  Shock flickered across her face, but did nothing to lessen the vivid desire he could see in her eyes. Or the rush of blood pounding into his pants and thickening his shaft.

  ‘Karim, what are you doing?’ she gasped.

  He caressed the glorious curve of her bottom through her panties and tugged her closer to murmur against the pummelling pulse in her neck: ‘Changing the terms of our agreement.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NEED RUSHED THROUGH Orla’s system like wildfire, scorching everything in its wake, the hard press of his erection against her thigh only increasing the giddy sense of desperation—and validation—at his murmured comment.

  His thumb glided beneath the leg of her panties, finding the slick seam of her sex as his lips devoured her neck, her collarbone.

  ‘Tell me you want me, too,’ he growled, his voice a husky rasp of command.

  ‘Yes, yes, I do,’ she said.

  ‘This changes nothing,’ he said as he deftly undid the buttons at the front of her dress, exposing the white lace bra. ‘Tell me you understand that.’

  She nodded, unable to speak now, the anticipation starting to choke her as she heard the snap of her bra releasing in the quiet interior of the car.

  They struggled for a moment, as he adjusted her on his lap, so he could release her arms from the confines of the dress, and free her breasts.

  Her nipples throbbed, so hard they were already begging for his attention.

  She sat on his lap, topless and exposed and so needy she thought she might actually die from the desperate need to feel his lips on her. The solid erection felt huge trapped between her legs, but only increased her desire. She wriggled, instinctively trying to alleviate the pressure against the hard ridge.

  He groaned, the raw sound a sop to her ego, making her feel powerful… Or at least less powerless.

  His dark eyes met hers as he cradled the swollen weight of her breasts in his palms, traced the edges of the areolae. ‘Don’t move, Orla. Or this will be over far too soon.’

  She stilled, the agony intensifying.

  Then he bent forward and licked across the turgid tip of one nipple. She moaned, bucked, unable to do as he demanded, rubbing against the ridge trapped in his pants. The exquisite torture continued as he captured the stiff peak with his mouth and suckled hard. The pressure built and twisted at her core, her skin tight, raw, aching, her breasts on fire as he tormented one nipple, then the other.

  Her soft, guttural moans echoed around the car, flagrant, uninhibited, desperate.

  He bucked his hips, and finally released her from the torture, rearing back to press his hands to her burning cheeks.

  ‘Release me,’ he said.

  She nodded, eager and yet unsure. Aware of him watching her, she tried to look as if she knew what she was about as she fumbled with his zip, concentrating hard. At last she managed to locate the tab and draw it down, her fingers shaking. As she undid the zip, revealing black boxer briefs, the defined outline of his erection took her breath away.

  Good Lord, that’s… Impressive.

  She pulled the waistband down and the erection leapt free, so hard, so long, so thick, so beautiful.

  Her breathing clogged in her lungs, the air conditioning chilling her damp breasts only adding to the barrage of sensations as she stared at the magnificent length.

  Had she done that to him? Did he want her that much?

  ‘Does it hurt?’ she said, then realised her mistake when he gave a strained chuckle
.

  ‘Yes, it does. I’d love nothing more than for you to ride me right now,’ he said, the explicit language only making her feel more needy, more desperate and like more of a fraud. ‘But I don’t have protection with me. So we’ll have to be creative.’

  She wanted to ask his permission, to touch him, but forced herself to trail a finger down the solid length, gasping when it jumped, bending towards her touch.

  ‘Hold me,’ he said, his voice a tortured husk of breath. It was all the encouragement she needed, fascinated and so turned on her thoughts were no longer her own.

  She wrapped trembling fingers around the thick girth, marvelling at how soft and strong he felt—like steel encased in the finest velvet. Her thumb captured the bead of moisture leaking from the crown, lubricating her fingers, allowing her to slide them up, then down.

  ‘Ah, yes…’ He shuddered, shifted. The feeling of power built but then he moved the hand he still had in her panties. She bucked against his hold, his touch sure and firm and unflinching as he pressed the heel of his palm into her vulva then teased the swollen nub. He circled and stroked, expertly stoking the fire until it burned and stung.

  But even as the rush of desire hit her, so did the terrifying rush of emotion.

  ‘Tell me what you want,’ he demanded.

  So many things, too many to count.

  ‘I…’

  I don’t know…

  ‘Is this good?’ he asked.

  She nodded, round a choking sob, just as he swirled and stroked over the very heart of her.

  She jolted, panting now, trying to concentrate on him, but too aware of his devious, devastating touch. She was caught in a battle of power, and passion and submission. A battle she was desperate to wage, but soon realised she didn’t know how to win.

  For while her movements became more clumsy, his were sure and true—torturing, tantalising, tormenting her.

  She bowed back, forced to release her hold on him as the shattered sobs gathered in her lungs. The waves were building too fast for her to breathe, to think, to concentrate, to focus on anything but the tumultuous swell of pleasure. She moaned as the pulsing heat rose up from her core like a tsunami, destroying everything in its path.

  He planted a hand on her back to bring her forward, to suckle her nipple, deep into his mouth at the exact moment the wave crashed through her.

  She cried out, seeming to ride on the crest for what felt like an eternity. His fingers driving her up, and over, again.

  At last she collapsed against him. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back furiously.

  Don’t cry, or he’ll know you’ve never done this before.

  ‘Shh…’ he murmured against her cheek. He gathered her hair in a tail with one hand and gently tugged, forcing her to raise her head, so he could stare at her with those dark eyes.

  But where she had expected to see accusation, disgust—she hadn’t upheld her part of the bargain after all, had left him wanting—instead a sensual smile curved his lips.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, that was…’ she had no words, she realised ‘…really hot.’

  He barked out a laugh.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Because it was really hot to watch.’

  ‘You’re not angry?’ she blurted out, still confused by his reaction.

  His shaft was still so hard, so huge, pressed into her belly.

  Patrick had been furious with her, when she had failed to get him off once, while they necked. Although that had been nothing like this. Patrick had never touched her, or tasted her the way Karim had, had never even seen her naked, or semi naked. But he’d told her men had expectations, surely Karim would have them too—why wasn’t he mad at her? For prioritising her own pleasure?

  ‘Are you joking?’ he said. The puzzled frown only made him look more seductive and made her feel more insecure.

  ‘I didn’t…’ She glanced down, seeing the hard length still trapped between them. ‘I didn’t take care of you.’

  He chuckled, the sound strained but no less amused. The sound reverberated off the leather seats, making her both painfully embarrassed, but also strangely comforted. At least he definitely wasn’t mad with her.

  ‘You’re such a surprise,’ he said when the chuckles had finally stopped.

  For a heartbeat, maybe even two, she thought she saw genuine affection in his eyes, as he ran a thumb down the side of her face and stared into her eyes. Her heart swelled painfully into her throat, with a yearning far stronger than the one she’d just experienced.

  ‘It’s not an obligation, Orla. Or a race. We can easily remedy that once we’re in a bed and I can take you properly. This was just a taste. Suffice it to say, what you did do will probably keep me hard until then.’

  She nodded, the yearning, and the fear that went with it, starting to choke her.

  Don’t need more from him, Orla. Don’t you dare. This is just sex. No biggie.

  The sudden tap on the door had them both jumping. It was only then she realised the car had stopped moving. When had that happened?

  Mortification hit and she scrambled off his lap, trying to tug up her dress.

  Karim chuckled again before shouting, ‘Mark, I told you not to disturb us.’

  He readjusted his own clothing, with a nonchalance that suggested how commonplace the experience they’d just shared must be for him. She tried not to let it derail all her happy thoughts, or the endorphins still charging through her system.

  He probably turned women to mush in the back seat of his limo every other day of the week. Didn’t mean this couldn’t be special, precious, for her.

  Still just sex, remember.

  ‘I’m sorry, Your Highness, it’s not Mark, it’s Muhammed,’ came the reply from outside the car. ‘We have just received urgent news from Zafar. News I thought you should hear immediately.’

  The atmosphere in the car changed, a dark frown marring Karim’s brow, the smile dying on his lips. ‘Okay, wait there.’

  He glanced at her as she struggled to do up her bra. ‘Do you need help?’

  ‘No, I’m… I’m grand,’ she said as the damn thing finally snapped into place, the mortification starting to outweigh the endorphins.

  He nodded, then, grasping her neck, he tugged her towards him for a kiss.

  ‘Stay here,’ he said. Then opened the door. He slammed it shut again after stepping out of the car and she acknowledged the pulse of regret that, whatever had just happened between them…nothing had really changed. She still wasn’t an important part of his life. Certainly not important enough to know what had put that dark frown on his face.

  But as she buttoned the front of her dress, her nipples still raw from his ministrations, she could overhear the conversation outside.

  ‘What is it, Muhammed?’ Karim commanded. ‘I told you I don’t receive my father’s calls and I don’t want to be bothered with his messages or demands.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Your Highness,’ the butler replied. ‘But this was a message from the head of Zafar’s Ruling Council. The news will be released tomorrow morning to the world’s press, but Mr Abdallah wished to inform you immediately, your father died twenty minutes ago, and you are now the new King of Zafar.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘KARIM, HOW ARE YOU?’

  Karim looked up from his desk to see Orla silhouetted in the doorway of his study.

  Heat surged, inevitably, making him tense, but the sight of her also lifted the weight that had been sitting on his chest since yesterday, ever since he had walked away from her—and into a nightmare.

  ‘Good,’ he lied.

  He dropped the papers he had been reading—the contents of which had begun to blur in front of his eyes about half an hour ago—and thrust his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t slept in close to thirty-six h
ours. Probably not the best time to have her in his office.

  Orla was a problem, just like every other damn thing in his life right now, and he still hadn’t decided what to do about her. By rights he didn’t need her any more—or their fake engagement—his father was dead. And he was going to have to take his place on the throne, for the next few months at least—which meant he was being forced to return to Zafar tomorrow.

  He had sworn he would never return to the desert kingdom, had never intended to succeed his father. But the old bastard had had the last laugh, his untimely and unexpected death at only sixty making it impossible for Karim to escape the responsibility.

  A delegation had arrived that morning from Zafar, explaining that a constitutional crisis would engulf the country if he did not take his place on the throne. His father had ruled Zafar for years with an iron fist—as a result the institutions of state, including the Ruling Council, were no longer fit for purpose. Karim planned to bring democratic rule back to the kingdom, as soon as possible, but until that was done—and it could take months, given the state of the country’s infrastructure and institutions—he would have to be a monarch in a lot more than name.

  As she stood on the threshold of his study, the spark of attraction—and something more, that strange yearning that seemed to go beyond the physical—spread through his system.

  Leaving his life behind in the UK, turning the management of his businesses over to his board while he concentrated on freeing Zafar from his father’s brutal legacy, was going to be tough enough. But more than that, it wasn’t going to be easy to explain Orla’s sudden disappearance to the council members he’d spoken to that morning, who had suggested the engagement was something that would move the country forward.

  Of course, he knew it wouldn’t, because it was not going to lead to marriage, but ending it so abruptly and sending Orla back to Kildare might well be premature.