Susan Mallery - The Sheikh & the Bride Who Said No

by The Sheikh

  No way, she thought, even as he brushed his mouth against hers.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Thank you for letting me pleasure you. I know that you could have held back and kept me from taking you to paradise, and you did not.”

  The man was crazy. She could no more have held back than she could have flown to the moon. But he didn’t have to know that.

  “I liked what you were doing,” she said.

  “Perhaps you would like something else, as well.”

  She thought about how hard he’d been, how long and thick. Then she thought about him inside of her.

  “I think I would,” she told him with a smile.

  He didn’t have to be asked twice. Seconds later he was naked and kneeling between her knees. He braced himself on his hands and slowly entered her.

  He felt exactly right, she thought as she reached up to caress his back. When he filled her, nerve endings cheered and began to do a little dance. Despite her first release, she felt the tension building again and knew it was going to be even better the second time around.

  He moved slowly, giving them both time to adjust and anticipate. About the third time he stroked all the way in, she gave up acting like a lady and pulled him down against her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. As their tongues mated, she shifted so she could hug his hips with her legs. That caused him to push in even deeper and she was instantly lost.

  Murat felt the first pulsing ripples of Daphne’s release. His plans to dazzle her with his stamina quickly faded as each contraction pushed him closer to the edge. She gasped and moaned and clung to him, begging him to continue. He forced himself to hold back until she had stilled and only then did he allow himself to give in to the building explosion of desire.

  Daphne knew that it was best to act as casual as possible, but she wasn’t sure how to accomplish the task, given what had just happened. She felt as if Murat had somehow touched every cell in her body and made it scream with pleasure.

  Still, as he rolled onto his back and drew her close so she could rest her head on his shoulder, she was determined not to gush. He hardly needed the increase in his already impressive ego.

  “You are amazing,” he said as he stroked her bare back.

  “Thank you. I could say the same thing about you.”

  “As you should.”

  She laughed. “How like a crown prince to insist on defining the compliments.”

  “You are made for pleasure.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I don’t mind giving in to it from time to time.”

  Especially to a man as skilled as he. He sure knew his way around the female anatomy. Did princes get classes in that sort of thing so they didn’t embarrass themselves? Were there—

  “You are not a virgin.”

  The unexpected statement nearly didn’t register. Daphne pushed herself up on one elbow and stared at him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You are not a virgin.”

  She laughed. “Murat, I’m thirty. What did you think?”

  “That you would not give yourself away so easily.”

  Her warm, fuzzy feelings began to fade. “You’re judging me?”

  He put his free hand behind his head and regarded her thoughtfully. “Even though we were engaged ten years ago, I never touched you. You left here as innocent as you arrived.”

  “So?”

  “So tell me the name of the man who has defiled you, and I will have him tortured and beheaded.”

  She started to laugh, then realized he wasn’t kidding. There was some definite rage bubbling under the surface.

  She sat up and stared at him. “Wait a minute. You’re serious.”

  “Deadly so.”

  “That’s crazy. You can’t kill every man I’ve slept with.”

  He frowned. “How many have there been?”

  “How many women have you slept with in the past ten years?”

  “That is not your concern.”

  “My answer exactly.”

  “Your situation is completely different. You are a woman. Men took advantage of you. Tell me who they are.”

  “You belong in the DarkAges,” she said as she scrambled to her feet and grabbed for her panties. She pulled them on, then found her bra and put that on as well.

  “You’re also making me crazy,” she continued as she glared down at him. “I am a modern woman and have lived a relatively quiet life. Yes, there have been a few men, but I was careful about whom I chose, and no one ever took advantage of me.” She threw up her hands. “Why am I explaining myself to you?”

  “Because you feel bad about what happened.”

  “I didn’t before, but I’m starting to now.”

  “I don’t mean here,” he said as he sat up. “Those other men…”

  “Are none of your business.” She stepped into her jeans. “You’re acting like an idiot. Worse, you’re acting like a sexist pig and that’s even more unforgivable.”

  “I care about you. I want to look after you.”

  She picked up her shirt and slipped into it. “I don’t need looking after. I’ve been fine for years. As for the men I slept with, I will never tell you their names. I don’t want or need your protection.”

  Murat stood. She hated how good he looked naked and the way her body responded.

  Get a grip, she told herself. He was nothing but trouble. Stupid, sexist trouble. To think she’d actually been attracted to him!

  While he collected his clothes, she pulled on her socks and boots.

  “You’re even worse than I thought,” she said when she’d finished. “I don’t care how good the sex is, I wouldn’t marry you if the entire fate of the human race depended on it. There is nothing you can ever say or do to get me to change my mind.”

  He paused in the act of shrugging into his shirt. “I am Crown Prince Murat of—”

  “You know what? I’ve heard the speech dozens of times and I’m not impressed. Not by it or you.” She glared at him. “You want to know why I left you ten years ago? It’s because you couldn’t see past who you were enough to notice me. You didn’t love me. You barely cared about me. I was just one more item on your royal to-do list. ‘Get married and produce heirs.’ Here’s a news flash, Your Highness. A woman needs to matter to the man she marries. She needs to be with someone who needs her. I wasn’t interested in marrying a man who thought of me as a mere woman.”

  She spied her hat and quickly scooped it up. “I left because you’re just not good enough for me.”

  Murat could not believe what Daphne had just said. How dare she say such things to him? But before he could voice his outrage, she walked away toward the horses, collected her mount and quickly swung into the saddle. When he realized she intended to ride off without him, he grabbed his boots.

  “Stop. You don’t know the way.”

  She didn’t bother answering or even looking back. Instead she gave the animal its head and took off at a canter.

  “Damn her stubbornness,” he muttered as he quickly pulled on his boots.

  Still buttoning his shirt, he hurried to his horse and went after her.

  But her head start and her mount’s speed meant it would be several minutes before Murat could catch up with her. By then she had already turned toward the east and the rocky part of the desert.

  “Do not go there,” Murat yelled into the wind. “Stay on the path.”

  But Daphne either could not hear or chose not to listen. Instead of staying on the marked dirt road cut into the desert, she headed directly toward the stables in what she most likely thought would be a quicker route back.

  His heart rate increased, and it had nothing to do with the speed of his horse.

  Instead he watched and worried until fear turned to horror as Daphne’s horse came to a sudden stop and she went flying over its head and landed heavily on the hard, stony ground.

  Chapter 8


  Murat lived an eternity in hell, with time crawling as he raced toward Daphne.

  He fumbled for his security beacon and pressed it in rapid, frantic movements, signaling an emergency. It seemed that days passed, weeks, until he could vault off his horse and crouch down beside her.

  Daphne lay on the rocky ground, her legs bent beneath her, her arm thrown over her face.

  He lowered it gently, then sucked in a breath as he saw her still, pale face and the pool of blood on the ground.

  “No,” he said to whomever would listen. “You will be fine. You must be fine.”

  But she did not respond, and when he touched her cheek, her skin felt cold.

  Pain filled him, and fury. That such a simple mistake could cause so much damage. Then he shook off all emotion and quickly went to work examining her.

  The only external bleeding came from her head and it had already begun to slow.

  He could not assess internal injuries but her pulse was steady and strong. If only she would awaken and start yelling at him again. If only…

  The distant sound of a helicopter cut through the silence of the desert. Murat rose and waved it in, shielding her with his body when the blades kicked up dust and sand.

  “She is injured,” he yelled to his men. “I cannot tell how badly. We’ll have to be careful of her neck and spine.”

  He waited until the men brought out the emergency equipment and went to work securing her before calling the stable and telling them about his horse and hers. His stallion was trained not to wander far, but her mount could be halfway to El Bahar by now.

  When she had been carried into the helicopter, he joined her and took her hand in his.

  “I command you to be healed,” he murmured, his face close to hers, his breath stirring her hair. “I am Crown Prince Murat, and I command that you open your eyes and speak to me right now.”

  Nothing happened. Murat swallowed hard, then pressed his lips to her cheek.

  “Daphne, please.”

  Murat paced the length of the main room in the harem. In the bedroom his personal physician recon-firmed what the doctors at the emergency room had told him. Murat tried to find a measure of peace in the knowledge that there were no internal injuries, no broken bones.

  “She was very lucky,” his father said from his place on the sofa. “I never thought of Daphne as a foolish young woman. To go riding off like that. You must have annoyed her.”

  Murat continued to watch the bedroom door. “I do so on a regular basis. It is one of my great talents.” Only this time it had had too great a price.

  Never again, he thought. He would not permit her to act so hastily. Left on her own, she could seriously hurt herself.

  “I will stay while the doctor examines her if you wish to shower and change,”

  the king said.

  “No,” Murat said immediately, then drew in a breath. “Thank you, Father, but I will stay. She is my fiancée, my responsibility.”

  “I see.”

  He doubted the king saw much, and nothing of consequence. This was Daphne. She could not be permitted to die.

  At last his doctor appeared. The older man smiled.

  “Good news,” he said as he crossed to Murat. “It is as the other doctors told you. She has a mild concussion and some slight trauma to the brain. She will stay unconscious for a few hours, maybe a day. Then she should awaken and begin the recovery process. Within a week she will be as good as new.”

  “Is she in pain?” he asked.

  “Not now, but when she wakes she will have a bad headache. I’ve left some medication to help with that. Once she’s awake, keep her in bed for a couple of days, then she should take it easy for the rest of the week. I, of course, will be back in the morning and each day until she is fit again.”

  Murat nodded. “Thank you.”

  The doctor touched his arm. “Your fiancée will live to give you many healthy children, Your Highness. Fear not.”

  Murat heard the words, but he could not let the fear go. Not until she opened her eyes and started calling him names again.

  He concluded his business with the doctor, wrote down the rest of the instructions, then hurried into the bedroom. Daphne lay in the center of the bed, hooked up to several monitors. A nurse sat in the corner. The king followed.

  When Murat nodded at the nurse, she stood and quickly retreated to the living room.

  “Daphne will be fine,” his father said. “You heard the doctor. A nurse will be here twenty-four hours a day until she wakes up.”

  “No.” Murat moved closer to the bed and reached for Daphne’s hand. “I will be here. The nurse can wait in the living room in case there is an emergency. But until she wakes, I will tend to her.”

  “Murat.”

  He glared at his father. “No one but me.”

  The king nodded slowly. “As you wish.”

  There was only one wish, Murat thought grimly. That Daphne open her eyes.

  Now, he willed her. Look at me now. But she slept on, unaware of his command.

  Even in illness she defied him. Pray God she lived to defy him another day.

  Daphne felt as if someone was banging on her head with a frying pan. She remembered a frat party she’d gone to years ago while she’d been in college. She generally avoided loud parties with alcohol, but fresh from her broken engagement, she felt the need to participate in something fun and mind numbing.

  So she’d gone with a couple of girlfriends and had stayed up way too late and had had too much spiked punch. In the morning she’d found herself with the mother of all hangovers and had basically wanted to die.

  This was worse.

  She struggled through what felt like miles of thick, sticky water, before finally surfacing. She felt bruised and sore everywhere, but it was her head that got her attention the most. Even her eyebrows hurt.

  She was also, she realized, starving and in bed. The thing was, she didn’t remember going to bed. She didn’t remember much of anything except…

  The horses. She’d been riding. She’d been angry at Murat and she’d gone on ahead, determined not to speak to him again, and then she’d been flying through the air and falling and falling and…

  She opened her eyes to find herself back in the bedroom she’d been using in the harem. The walls were familiar, as was the furniture. Lamps illuminated the large space.

  She glanced around, relaxing as the rest of her memory returned, only to stiffen when she saw a strange man dozing in a chair next to her bed.

  He was big—tall and powerful—-she could tell that even while he slept. But his hair was mussed and dark stubble darkened his jaw.

  A quick glance at the clock told her the time was two. The lamplight made her think it was probably two in the morning, and turning her head increased the pounding to the point of being unbearable.

  She sagged back against the pillow and studied the man. In a matter of seconds she recognized the shape of his firm jaw and mouth, the breadth of his shoulders.

  “Murat?” she whispered.

  Was it possible? In all the time she’d known him, both ten years ago and present day, she had never seen him anything but perfectly groomed. Why did he look so mussed, and why did he sleep in a chair beside her bed?

  One of his hands lay on the blanket. She reached out and rested her fingers against his palm.

  He woke instantly and glanced at her. His eyes widened.

  “Daphne?”

  “Hey.”

  He leaned forward and studied her anxiously. “How do you feel? Your head will hurt—the doctor warned me about that. I have medication for you. And if you’re hungry, you can eat, but only lightly for the first day or so. You are not to get up, either. I know you can be stubborn, but I insist you follow the doctor’s orders. Rest for two days, then you may begin to resume your normal activities through the end of the week. I will not accept any arguments on this matter.”

  Despite her aching head, she couldn’t help s
miling. “Of course you won’t.

  Because this is all about you, right?”

  He took her hand in both of his and kissed her fingers. “No. It is about you getting well.”

  His tenderness made her want to cry, which only went to show that her head injury had affected her brain.

  She squeezed his hand. “How long have I been out?”

  “Thirty five hours and—” he glanced at the clock “—eight minutes.”

  “Wow. What happened?”

  “You were thrown from your horse.”

  “I remember that.” She reached up with her free hand and gingerly touched the raised bump on her scalp. “I guess I fell headfirst.”

  “You did. I was concerned you had hurt yourself elsewhere, but you are fine. No broken bones, no internal injuries.”

  She returned her attention to him, then pulled her hand free and rubbed his cheek. The thick whiskers there grated against her skin.

  “You look terrible.”

  He smiled. “For a good cause.”

  She studied his shirt and pants. “You were wearing those clothes when we went riding.”

  “Yes.”

  “You haven’t showered or shaved since?”

  “I wanted to be with you.”

  She blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  “I have been here, with you, since we returned from the hospital.”

  Her head felt as if it might explode, yet she didn’t feel disconnected from the conversation. Which meant she should understand what Murat was saying.

  “In that chair?” she asked, trying not to sound incredulous.

  “Yes.”

  “Beside me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you were…”

  “Worried.”

  He kissed her fingers again.

  Something warm and bright blossomed in her chest. Murat didn’t have to stay here to watch over her. She was in his palace and completely safe. He could have an entire hospital medical team at his disposal and yet he’d stayed with her himself.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted.

  “Then do not speak. There is a nurse in the other room. Let me call her to bring you the medication for your headache.”