“Hey, it looks ancient. How old is it?” It’s more impressive than I’d thought.
He shrugs. “Well over a thousand years. Some parts date back even earlier than that. It was built round the oasis on an ancient caravan route to service travellers; people have probably been coming here for millennia. The earliest parts of the palace we use today are about nine hundred years old, but there was a building on the site long before then, and some of the ruins remain.”
Wow! So much history! “Is that it?” I point to a larger building now coming into sight, set just off the centre of the city, which I presume to be the palace.
Nijad grins at me. “Yes, that’s your new home. Better than a tent?”
He’s joking with me, of course. The palace is huge, almost rivalling the main Palace of Amahad in Al Qur’ah. Its size overwhelms me, so I answer him with a touch of seriousness.
“I’ll reserve judgement on that. I hope you have a map!”
Sprawing over perhaps an acre, I’m sure I’ll get lost. I watch as he lands the helicopter on the helipad with utmost competence, setting it down gently with hardly a noticeable bump. In front of me, the palace gleams white in the morning sun, and I can’t wait to see inside. I’m fidgeting in my seat as Nijad finishes what he needs to do and the rotors cease turning before he climbs out, then comes round and offers me his hand. I’ve eyes only for the beautiful building in front of me, framed by ornate gardens which take me by surprise. I didn’t expect such beauty and greenery here. Pulling my gaze away from the walls, which almost seem to sparkle, I walk over to examine some flowers. “Roses?”
He nods. “Planted last century by a favourite wife of the ruling sultan.” He turns to me with a crafty smile on his face. “She was English, kidnapped for his pleasure.” He takes in the narrowing of my eyes but then waves his hand, indicating the gardens around us. “We have to irrigate to keep the gardens growing. Sometimes I wonder whether it’s a waste of our most precious resource, but the city folk like it. The gardens are open to everyone.” He holds out his hand and I take it. “Come, let me show you your new home.”
He leads me through what he explains is the garden entrance. Apparently there is a finer entrance in the front, and as I walk into a large atrium, I wonder how anything could be more impressive than this. The palace might not be quite on the grand scale of the Palace of Amahad, but it’s striking nonetheless. While the emir’s residence in the Capital is intimidating, this feels far more lived-in and homely. As we walk Nijad explains the layout. Off to one side, there’s a wing set aside for offices, where Nijad tells me he spends a lot of his time. I know and accept, now we’re here, our ‘honeymoon’ is over, and he won’t be able to dedicate so much time to me. Despite the business area, I can see this is a palace meant to be lived in, rather than a statement of power and centre of government. As we continue along extensive corridors, we pass servants carrying out their business. Here, the servants just bob their heads as a mark of respect for the prince, or even just give him a verbal greeting, with none of the strict obeisance I saw in the main palace. Overall, it’s far more informal and relaxed, and I can see Nijad’s influence. He goes out of his way to treat the tribespeople in the desert as equals, and apparently extends the same courtesy to the people who work for him in the palace.
After a tour of the main areas, he takes me to the staterooms, a ballroom, and a large formal dining room where all the furniture is covered with dust sheets. He explains that I can have the rooms opened up if I want to. That’s up to me? His words bring home that I am a consort to a prince, and there’ll be expectations on me in that role. Could I ever see myself as a hostess, organising and entertaining? A brief wave of panic makes my steps falter. Somehow my position didn’t seem so overawing in the simplicity of the desert. Moving onwards again, I resolve that I’ve already come so far, I will conquer the demands of my role. Although it might take me some time to get used to it.
Nijad takes me next to a library, a room full of thousands of books. Seeing some of the English classics makes me feel more at home. Then, finally, he takes me on a tour of what is now our private wing. There are three bedrooms, a living room, a small kitchen and a dining area; a private home within a palace, richly furnished and surprisingly welcoming. I’m just admiring it when his phone rings. He glances at the number, smiles apologetically, and nods to show he’s got to take the call.
“Nijad. You what?”
I glance at him. Though he sounds annoyed, he’s got a big grin on his face.
“Bastard! You couldn’t wait, could you? Give me five minutes.” Turning to me, he explains, “My brother Jasim is here. Come, we’ll meet him.” Again he takes my hand, pulling me with him.
“Why is he here?” I’m confused.
Nijad sends me a quick look which I find difficult to interpret. “I asked him to set something up for me. He wasn’t supposed to oversee it himself, though. I think he’s just sticking his nose in.”
That’s all I get from him as he walks me quickly through corridors which seem like a maze, and back down to the atrium near the gardens. There I see one of my kidnappers for the first time since my marriage, and it strikes me again how much things have changed as I briefly recall our last meeting.
Jasim is staring at me intently; it seems he’s having difficulty recognising me. His eyes go to Nijad, and then swiftly down to our linked hands. A slow smile spreads across his face as he walks towards us. He gives a respectful bow, and then reaches out to take my hand. Instead of shaking it he raises it to his lips and plants a soft kiss on the back. Nijad gives a low growl which makes Jasim chuckle.
“Cara, Sheikha. You look wonderful.” He tilts his head as he examines me. “Marriage suits you.”
I’m pleased by the compliment and find it surprisingly easy to accept, and pleased it’s easy to suppress the automatic denial that enters my head. But although my marriage has turned out to be more successful than I ever could have imagined, I find myself reluctant to let him off the hook.
“Sheikh Jasim.” I address him formally, acknowledging his greeting. Then I allow myself to scowl as I add scathingly, “Kidnapped anyone recently?”
He has the grace to blush. Nijad raises an amused eyebrow as he waits to see how his brother will answer my challenge. But he doesn’t miss a beat.
“Firstly, you are to call me Jasim; no need for formality. You are my sister,” he nods at me. “And secondly, I would offer my apologies for bringing you to Amahad as we did, but I can’t.” He inclines his head towards Nijad. “Against all the odds, you’re a good match for my brother. I haven’t seen him this happy for a long time, so while I regret the manner and reason we brought you here, I have no remorse about the way things have turned out.” Narrowing his eyes, he confronts me. “And, Cara, honestly, where would you rather be?”
I smile, unable to maintain any grudge against him. Glancing at Nijad, I give the most honest answer I can to them both. “There’s no place I’d rather be than beside my husband.” My response elicits a deep kiss from the man in question.
When at last Nijad releases me, he turns his attention to Jasim again. “Is it done?”
Once he’s finished gaping at his brother’s public show of affection, Jasim replies, a large grin almost splitting his face. “It is. And I think you’ll be pleased with the result. We ordered and oversaw the installation ourselves. I must admit I’m impressed with some of the equipment.”
“We?”
Jasim turns and indicates a man standing in the shadows behind him, someone I hadn’t noticed on entering the room. I thought I recognised him, and as he came closer it fell into place. He was the pilot who flew the helicopter to the desert camp, the day I first met Nijad.
Nijad starts when he sees who it is. When he holds out his hand in greeting he seems tentative about it, and I realise there is something going on here that I don’t understand. “Jon.” His greeting sounds cautious.
“Sheikh.” The pilot at least takes his hand, an
d I see he holds it for a little longer than normal politeness requires, a gesture that leads Nijad to relax some of his tension.
“Allow me to introduce my very great friend.” Nijad gives a little tug on my hand. “Jon Tharpe. Sometime bodyguard and business partner of Jasim.”
Jon nods and shakes my hand, and his eyes flick to Nijad as he makes the introduction. He may be a great friend, but I can tell there is something amiss between them.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sheikha. I hope you will be very happy in your marriage.” He might have been addressing me, but there was an undertone of a message directed to Nijad in his words. And it is Nijad who answers him.
“I will do everything in my power to make Cara happy,” he says with a strange emphasis. Then he changes the subject. “How’s it going with Grade A Security? I’m surprised to see you here.”
Jon's gruff response confirms my feeling that the friendship is strained.
“Jasim wanted my help, and I was happy to advise on the” – he breaks off, glancing at me – “er, installation. And the company’s going well. Thank you.” The stilted words are spoken begrudgingly.
Jasim claps his hands, drawing our attention. “Do you want to see what we’ve done?”
Throwing me a strange look, Nijad hesitates before replying: “I think we’ll explore on our own, later.”
“You haven’t told her?” Jasim’s eyes open wide.
“Not in so many words,” Nijad confirms.
“Told me what?” I ask suspiciously. The talk of equipment has me confused.
“Hmm.” Jasim throws me a look that I can’t interpret. It seems to be a mix of amusement and compassion. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be delighted with the outcome, Nijad. But we’ll take our leave of you now. It seems you’ve got things you, er, need to explain.” He leans over and whispers something to Nijad that I can’t hear, but I don’t miss Nijad’s chuckle.
With a few more nods and handshakes, Jasim and Jon leave us. Shortly afterwards I hear the sound of a helicopter rising into the air. Alone, I narrow my eyes at my husband.
“What was all that about?”
His head dips and he looks thoughtful. Then a slow wicked smile lights up his face. Putting his arm around me, he hugs me to him. “There’s something we need to talk about, and something I want to show you. Let’s go to our private rooms.” Grabbing my hand, he turns and walks me swiftly back the way we came. He moves so fast, I have difficulty keeping up.
“Nijad, wait a moment. Where’s the fire?” I ask him, laughing.
He stops so fast I run into him. Taking hold of my shoulders he pushes me back against the wall, then takes my hand and places it on his rock-hard erection. “Here,” he answers, his eyes blazing into mine. “You set me alight.”
As he leans forwards, putting his lips on mine, demanding entrance and sweeping his tongue into my mouth, I feel a throbbing that suggests my urgency matches his. When he pulls away, we’re both breathing deeply. I don’t know what he’s got in store for me, but I’m certain I won’t be complaining about it.
“Come.”
Once again he catches my small hand in his much larger one. He slows his pace but only a little, and my curiosity sparks as I wonder what he’s going to show me. I feel tension radiating off of him which isn’t just sexual. His eagerness fuels my excitement.
When we reach our suite, Nijad swings open the door and ushers me quickly inside. Closing the door behind him he turns to me, his eyes dark, a formidable expression on his face. I’m not sure how to interpret it.
He stares at me, his gaze first on my face, then lowering to my breasts, then rising again. He nods slowly, as though appreciating what he’s seeing. Then he gives me an instruction.
“Strip.”
His voice is low deep and low, that tone which resonates within me. It’s not as if he hasn’t given me that instruction before; our foreplay has taken many forms, and always with Nijad, my experienced husband, in control. And I’ve been glad to follow his lead. But there’s something different about him today. And hadn’t we come here to talk about something? My forehead creases; I’m puzzled. But as I look at him quizzically, he is standing completely still, feet apart, his arms folded, waiting. His expression is hungry, hungry for me, and it fuels my passionate response. Suddenly, I’m impatient to comply, my hunger matching his.
Slowly I smile at him, not minding one bit if our conversation has to wait. I’ll never get enough of this handsome man who seems to want me as much as I want him. So, slowly, teasing him, I undo my tunic and fold it carefully, now knowing I can increase our anticipation by stringing this out. His eyes flare as I treat him to an unhurried striptease, and watch as a grin comes to his face. I hesitate before removing my underwear, still a little unsure about being naked before him, but I continue when he nods sharply once, in encouragement. Naked, I stand a little hesitantly before him. He’s still fully dressed, and I don’t know what he wants me to do. He doesn’t keep me waiting long.
“Kneel.”
I follow his command.
“Move your knees apart, and put your hands on your thighs, palms up. Lower your head.”
As I follow his instructions, I feel a rush of excitement and am embarrassed because my exposed position will show I’m already shining with arousal. I take an indrawn breath and hold it. I’ve read about this position in books. Before I can think too much about it, I feel his hand on my head.
“Cara, you are my wife.” He pauses, and I hear him breathe in deeply before he continues. “And my submissive. Eyes on me.”
I take a second to process what he means before I look up at him.
“Do you know what that means?”
Well, who in the world wouldn’t? Everyone must have read that book, and probably then a whole lot more in the same vein. I certainly have. A delightful shiver runs through me as I realise he might want to take our sex life up a notch. Am I ready for that? Realising he’s waiting for an answer, I respond with a question of my own. “You’re a Dominant? A Dom?”
He laughs softly. “I’m your Dom.”
His words send another flush of wetness through me. I know he can see the evidence of my arousal glistening as he tells me gently, “I think you might be happy with that idea, little one.”
Suddenly I recall all our previous lovemaking, how he takes control, holds my hands, leads me in everything. It all makes sense. It’s not just my innocence that makes him take command; it’s our preordained respective roles. I haven’t had a label for it before, not needed one. But now he’s named it I’m more than happy. I’m ecstatic. And eager to explore where this new development in our relationship is going to take us, wondering if it will be anything like I’ve read.
He slips out of his outer robe. Underneath he’s wearing Western-style jeans and a black figure-hugging T-shirt that highlights every muscle. I swallow rapidly, anticipation sending a tingling through my body. What woman wouldn’t be turned on by this example of perfect manhood standing in front of her? I watch as he takes the thin leather tie from his hair, letting it hang loose around his shoulders. It frames his masculine face perfectly, making my mouth water. I swallow as he moves behind me, and feel him gently pull my long hair back. He’s braiding it, and I realise he must be using his tie to keep it back. That one simple action seems so intimate, and makes me feel cared for.
“Do you know about safe words?” he asks as he expertly captures my hair.
I nod, not trusting myself to talk. He strokes my hair as though pleased.
“I use the traffic light system. It’s easy to remember.” Moving in front of me, he lifts my chin. “If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable you say ‘red’ and I’ll stop. Immediately. You have no need to worry; all the control is in your hands. I can only do to you what you permit me to do.” He waits for me to show I understand. “I’ll check in with you that you’re happy to continue, and for that you’ll use ‘green’. You can use ‘yellow’ if you are unsure or want a break.”
/>
He stares intently into my eyes as though seeking my agreement. Even his simple touch on my face is raising my arousal level further. I’m part nervous, part exhilarated. My whole body seems to throb with anticipation. I want to know where this is leading, what he is going to do.
He steps back from me. Putting his hand over his back, he removes his top, and I have the opportunity to study him. I’ve seen him naked before, but somehow the knowledge he’s a Dom, my Dom, has given him an increase in stature. He’s holding himself taller and looks even more imposing.
“These quarters,” he waves his hands around to indicate the room, “Were used by the sultan. The tradition goes back centuries.” I didn’t expect a history lesson, so am a little taken aback by the change in topic, but enlightened as he continues. “Below these rooms is the harem.” I start a little, immediately imagining a bevvy of willing women waiting for my sheikh in the rooms below, anxious that he expects me to join them. My concern must show on my face as he chuckles. “I can assure you it’s been unused for many decades now.” Quickly he grows serious again. “Jasim has made some changes and additions for me. I want you to come and see them with me.”
“Let me just get dressed.” I start to get to my feet.
“No!” He holds his hand up to stop me moving. “I didn’t tell you to move. Wait here.”
Perplexed, I watch as he crosses the room and opens a box I haven’t noticed before. While my eyes are following him, I’m wondering whether he really means me to walk about the palace naked. As he returns to me I can’t quite see what he is carrying. He tells me to bow my head, and I do. I next feel cold metal placed around my neck, and hear a snap as it is fastened. I put my hand up in wonder. It’s a necklace, not heavy. I feel a filigree pattern and I suspect it will be pretty.
He rests his hand on my head. “You wear my collar. As my wife, and as my submissive. You are mine.”
I turn my cheek into his hand, feeling a welling up of emotion for him, realising, without him having to say the words, that the collar sitting lightly around my neck symbolises so much more than the words on the marriage contract binding us together. It signifies that he has chosen me of his own volition. I go to speak, but his fingers touch my lips.
Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) Page 22
