Owned by the Sheikh: An Erotic Romance Collection

by Opal Carew

  “Darg’ra, Jakmerah,” Keern muttered under his breath. “Do something to stop this, or I will!”

  Keern hated the protective urges compressing his insides. He despised this woman. What did he care if she was humiliated? Of course, he was disgusted at the thought of any woman being put through such degradation. It wasn’t stronger because it was Shena, he assured himself.

  Jakmerah nodded and did a throat-cutting gesture to one of his guards. The guard signaled to the auctioneer, who glanced at Jakmerah, then nodded and stepped away from Shena. She hung now, motionless, eyes closed.

  The auctioneer started the bidding. Eager men called out their bids, the numbers going higher and impossibly higher. Keern glanced at Jakmerah, wondering if they’d lost her.

  After another minute of bidding, Jakmerah lifted one finger. The auctioneer nodded and announced the bidding closed.

  Jakmerah drew a horizontal circle with his finger, and the auctioneer rushed to Shena to release her and throw a rough blanket around her shoulders. Keern’s taut nerves eased a little once Shena was covered.

  “What happened?” Keern asked.

  “One of the advantages of social standing,” Jakmerah responded. “If I see a woman I want, I get her. Courtesy is to let the bidding rise, to see what price she would have brought, and that is considered their tribute to me. I rarely take advantage of such privilege, so they will feel highly honored by this transaction.”

  “And how will I repay you, my old friend?”

  “With your continued friendship. That is, after all, the true measure of a man’s wealth.”

  Keern slapped him on the back and nodded his thanks. He turned to see Shena being led from the stage, clutching at the blanket, just like she had clung to his cape after he’d swung it around her shoulders the first time they’d met. He slammed that memory aside, knowing images of the blood-boiling passion that followed would overtake him otherwise.

  Keern watched as two of Jakmerah’s guards went to fetch Shena. She would be transported in the utility vehicle flown by the guards, while Keern rode with Jakmerah in his luxury air car.

  When they arrived at Jakmerah’s palatial estate, the guards parked at the back entry with Shena while Keern and Jakmerah stepped out of the comfort of Jakmerah’s air-conditioned car at the front steps of the huge stone home. The oppressive heat of the day had cooled a little as the sun sank toward the horizon.

  “Do you want me to send her to your room, or would you like a special suite?” Jakmerah asked.

  The guest room Jakmerah had provided was a suite by anyone else’s standards, comprising a sitting room with two adjacent bedrooms, each with adjoining bathrooms. By a special suite, Keern knew he meant a sumptuous room set up for seduction.

  “My room,” Keern answered.

  “I know you said you wanted her brought to you this evening, but I wish you would reconsider. The woman has endured a terrible ordeal. I’m sure she is exhausted and frightened. Why don’t you let me send her to the women of my household? They will bathe her and give her clean clothing and a good meal. Let her rest tonight, and she will be much more enjoyable tomorrow, I promise you.”

  “Jak,” Keern said, through clenched teeth, “it is vengeance I seek, not a passionate romp.”

  “So you say, but I saw the way you looked at her, the way you strained to protect her. What has she done to deserve your need for vengeance?”

  “She killed my brother.”

  Jakmerah’s black brows rose. “This small woman wielded a sword against your brother?”

  “Her father actually drove the sword into Will, but it was her intentional lies that forced the act.”

  “What form will this vengeance of yours take?”

  Jakmerah’s intent gaze unsettled Keern. They both knew Keern had total control over Shena now that she belonged to him, a gift from Jakmerah. Keern could do anything to her, according to the laws of this planet, including torture, mutilation, even death. She was his property.

  Jakmerah squeezed Keern’s shoulder. “I know you, old friend. It is not like you to take vengeance on the helpless.”

  “You knew me, old friend. Before the wounds inflicted by that witch. Anything I do to her is a reflection of what she did to me.”

  Jakmerah sighed. “It is your business, Keern.”

  A servant opened the heavy, rounded oak door, and they strolled inside. The marble floors and a fountain splashing in the centre of the foyer added to the cool, pleasant feel of the room.

  “You will send her this evening?” Keern asked Jakmerah.

  “Will you agree to a bath and a meal?”

  “Yes. Whatever.”

  “And something to wear?” Her garment had been shredded on the auction block.

  “Fine. But no fancy clothing.”

  “Agreed. Something simple, but clean.”

  Shena followed the guard through the long marble hallways, preparing to meet her fate. Thank heavens some sort of wonderful technology kept the air cool inside this place.

  When she’d arrived here, some women had brought her a clean gown and some food, then led her to a bath where she could wash off the sweat that had clung to her ever since arriving on this oven of a planet. After her bath, the women had warned her that the man who’d bought her hated her and wanted to hurt her. It seemed he had known her father. Probably one of his many enemies. Apparently, her new owner had decided to exact revenge on her for whatever wrongdoing her father had wrought.

  As if being sold into slavery wasn’t bad enough, she had to be bought by some merciless man just like her father.

  The two guards led her through a sumptuous palace, which she hardly saw. They led her up a grand staircase and along a stately hallway, then another, until they reached a double doorway at the end of the corridor. They knocked, then opened the door and led her into a sitting room. The guards turned and left. She heard the click of the lock after they closed the door.

  She stood in the center of the finely appointed room, feeling a little faint. Two leather chairs sat facing a large window, the drawn curtains hiding whatever view lay beyond. She longed to sink into one of the chairs and fall into a deep, peaceful sleep, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep even if she dared to sit. Which she did not.

  Over the weeks aboard the trader ship, she had learned very well what happened when she disobeyed whatever man happened to be master at the time. Her back still stung from the lashes she’d received, a punishment she’d been told many slave owners preferred, probably for its entertainment value. Just like her father had. She preferred to avoid any more, and she felt certain sitting without being given permission would be considered disobedient.

  A door opened, not the one through which she’d entered. She did not look at the man. That would be a sign of insolence. She kept her gaze cast downward.

  “Look at me.”

  She glanced up at him with unfocused eyes, making out the vague image of a tall, bearded man with dark, piercing eyes.

  Keern stared at her, acutely aware of the hollows at the base of her neck and the gaunt look of her face. She had lost weight.

  She stared up at him with eyes dull and lifeless, until her gaze caught on his -- and held. A glimmer of fear and possibly ... pain? ... rippled across the placid blue pools, but no recognition.

  He strode toward her and grabbed her chin, a little too roughly, and locked gazes with her.

  “Look at my face. Do you remember me?”

  Confusion washed across her features, and then recognition sparked in her eyes.

  “Keern.” His name shuddered from her. Her voice, trembling with torment, quavered slightly.

  Chapter 9

  He savored the effect, committing it to memory, tucked away in a place he could retrieve it often to soothe the vivid recall of pain too long subdued. Inflicted by her. Of a heart too long shattered. Broken by her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  His gaze locked on hers and held tight. S
he shrank slightly.

  “I own you, and I intend to make you pay for the death of my brother.”

  She stood trembling.

  “You lied to your father. You told him I’d stolen your virginity. He and his men attacked my family. He killed my brother, thinking it was me.”

  She shook her head, her eyes wide and liquid. “I know, Keern. I’m so sorry. I --”

  “Shut up!” he barked.

  She flinched at his harsh words, and he pressed toward her.

  “There is one reason, and one reason only, why you are here. So I can punish you for the pain you have caused.” His jaw clenched around the words.

  “But I didn’t --”

  “Shut up! I don’t want to hear your lies.”

  “You won’t let me explain?”

  “Why should I? I remember all too well how good you are at deceit.”

  He stepped toward her. Her back stiffened, and she refused to step back, but she couldn’t quite hide the flicker of trepidation in her eyes.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

  She held up her chained hands, eyes glittering with defiance. The chain clinked together, swinging back and forth in an arc.

  “You hold the key to my destiny. You decide if I live or die. I’d be a fool not to fear you.”

  Unwanted admiration flickered through him.

  He took another step toward her, putting his chest within an inch of the tips of her breasts.

  Keern expected her to retreat, to step back from his looming presence, but she stood firm, claiming a small piece of ground as her own.

  Surveying her with a cool sweep of his eyes, intending to shake her damnable calm, he felt his body tense with anticipation of what was to come. Her simple white gown followed the curves of her body in an alluring fashion -- and only two thin straps held it up.

  He’d waited so long. He’d imagined his revenge a thousand times. Now he could barely restrain himself. But he would. He planned to enjoy this to the fullest. He would linger over every step. Her breasts rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm, though she held her head high and didn’t flinch at his perusal.

  He could wait. To feel her body writhe beneath his own as her vulnerable flesh succumbed to his strength. To taste her sweet flesh with his tongue, especially the honey-tipped nipples that remained in his dreams, perpetually glazed with shimmering droplets of water. To smell the womanly scent of her as she responded to him with the slippery glaze of feminine readiness. To see her face, tilted back in the agony of blissful passion, overwhelmed into vibrant submission. To hear her beg for the release only he could provide, as he was so sure she would, then the strangled moan of pleasure as she slipped from this reality to the “little death” of orgasm.

  Yes, he would enjoy this. But if his desire was for revenge, why did his fantasy include her pleasure? Perhaps it was simply the male need to know he could satisfy his woman.

  He grabbed her wrist and dragged her into his bedroom. “Are you going to fight me?”

  Fear sparked in her eyes, but she jerked her head up defiantly, her tumultuous mane of golden hair tumbling over her shoulders.

  “No,” she stated simply.

  Proud and beautiful. But also deadly, he reminded himself, pushing aside the reluctant admiration.

  “Really?”

  He grabbed her, dragging her into his arms. Her bound hands jerked up between them, sweeping across his groin, triggering a pulsing heat through him. Her palms jammed against his ribs, and she shoved against him, hard, but her struggles were insignificant against his greater strength. He loosened his hold on her, pleased to see the scarlet anger coloring her face as she realized she’d lost control of her composure and belied her claim.

  He brought his teeth to her neck and nipped.

  “I don’t mind if you fight. It’ll be all the more challenging. On the other hand, a quiet submission on your part could provide its own reward -- to us both.” His hand skimmed her form from her hip to the side swell of her breast.

  “If you actually participate, we might both enjoy this.”

  The stiffening of her spine gave him his answer -- the answer he wanted. She would not willingly enjoy this -- did not intend to give him the satisfaction. That would make his revenge even sweeter. Because she would enjoy it, making her humiliation more complete.

  “I won’t fight you. And I won’t enjoy this. If you prefer taking defenseless women against their will, that’s your weakness, not mine.”

  She glared into his eyes with a fierceness of utter strength, of spirit if not of body. Anger prodded him at his growing admiration of her, but he pushed it aside, not allowing anything to spoil this experience.

  “It’s no weakness to carry a battle through to completion. You started the war. I am simply finishing the fight. If I am victorious, you have no right to complain.”

  She sucked in a breath, seemed ready to say something, then shook her head and looked away. He stepped forward and tore the straps of her gown, shoved the fabric down her body until it slid to the floor. She stood before him, tall and proud, even with brief white panties her only protection from his eyes. The only sign of her trepidation was her averted gaze. Her breasts, as full and tempting as he remembered, swept forward in a graceful curve, the taut nipples beckoning to him. He covered her firm white breasts with his hands, pressing against the soft flesh, feeling her nipples peak in automatic response to his touch. The feel of her sent tremors of need thundering through him.

  He wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted any woman before. Once again he tried to convince himself it was because he wanted to hurt her, to make her pay for Will’s death. He wouldn’t take her life -- though as her master, he could do so legally -- but he could take her innocence. With one as strong as her, that would be worse than losing her life. Still, the pulsing need within him threatened to make him slave to her, not the other way around. It would be so easy to succumb to the desire to hold her close, to whisper sweet words of love in her ear, to beg her to love him with all the gentleness he knew she had inside her. Something deep inside him wanted to hear her speak words of loving encouragement, wanted her to want him in the most basic of ways. He wanted her to invite him inside her body, to beg for his love, not because he wanted her to submit, but because he wanted to fulfill her wish with loving intent.

  Anger flared as he realized how vulnerable he’d become to her. If she were a man, this would be simple. They would battle with weapons until only one remained standing.

  With a conniving woman like this one, things were far more complicated.

  Thrusting away the unwanted feelings she’d aroused in him, he similarly thrust her onto the bed. He flung her hands over her head, pinning them with one of his while he claimed one taut nipple with his mouth. He savored the feel of her soft skin pebbling under his tongue, the thrust of the nub hardening in his moist warmth. His teeth nipped gently, and she cried out in distress, though more imagined than real, since he’d been careful not to hurt her. Though she may deserve it, he would not hurt a woman as part of love play. He might enjoy her trepidation, but he would not inflict real pain. Turning his head sideways while he stroked her other nipple with his index finger, he watched as the flesh puckered erect. Her chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm under his cheek, and her heartbeat sounded erratic. Lifting his head to stare at her face, he saw her eyes scrunched tightly closed, as though she were undergoing some unbearable agony. Searing pain slashed through his chest.

  His whole world seemed to tilt beneath him, sending him off kilter. He had wanted her to fear him, had needed it for what seemed like forever, but now ... but now he needed her to want him. Needed it so desperately, it almost consumed him.

  As though his gaze touched her like a physical caress, her eyelids flipped open and she stared at him. He released her wrists.

  “Put your arms around me,” he commanded.

  She failed to comply, and he glared at her.

  “Do it!” he commanded tigh
tly.

  She shook her head. The clinking of the chain as she shifted her hands drew his attention, and he snatched the key to her cuffs from the shelf at the head of his bed. She flinched, shielding her face with her linked hands. Clearly, she’d thought he’d intended to strike her. His protective instincts lurched to the surface, unwanted and dangerous.

  “My God, you really are afraid of me.” The realization flashed like ice water through his veins.

  He grabbed her wrists and unlocked the bonds.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” She rubbed at the red, raw marks left on her wrists from the iron bands.

  It was. But now ...

  Darg’ra! He couldn’t let her get to him. On the other hand, he couldn’t look into those blue eyes -- calm surfaces that hinted at levels of pain so intense, he dared not allow himself to be drawn into them -- without wondering what had caused that intensity. He jerked to his feet, desperate to get away from her.

  “Yes, but I’ve tired of the game for now.” He strode across the room, toward the door. “Sleep. You’ll need your strength later.”

  He hazarded one last glance at the bed, to see her curled into a ball, her back toward him.

  Snaky red lines marred the surface of her soft white flesh. Most were the fresh markings of the lash, a result of discipline inflicted during her captivity with the slavers. As he moved closer, barely aware he’d changed direction, drawn to her like a mother grizzly to a wounded cub, he noticed older scars, healed over, but a map of previous ill-treatment. They were faint enough that he had not noticed them when he’d first seen her, but now, highlighted by the new scars, they stood out clearly.