Damping down a sudden wave of claustrophobia, I return to the one cubicle that is habitable. In my absence a breakfast tray has arrived, along with new clothes for the day. How the bloody hell has the woman managed to do that without me seeing or hearing her? Resolving to keep my eyes and ears better peeled, I try to force myself to eat, but even the delicious fruits and pastries taste like straw in my mouth, and my stomach revolts at the thought of the digestive process. If I swallow anything, I know it won’t stay down long.
For the rest of the day I sit and wait, keeping my eyes open, not wanting to miss the entrance of the maid. I wait for Nijad, one of the other princes, or anyone to come to get me, to talk to me, to question me, interrogate me. Anything, anything at all …
The darkening skies tell me it must be evening when the maid appears again, as if by magic, with yet another tray of food. When she puts it down, I pick it up and throw it at the wall in frustration at not having heard her approach. My action enrages her and she shouts loudly at me in her language. I try to be forceful, insisting she takes me to someone I can plead my case with, but she refuses adamantly.
Her face sneers with disgust, as she points a gnarled finger towards me.
“You prisoner. Punished here. You stay.”
Her words and the vehemence in her voice shock me, but I remained focused on my primary objective and dog her heels as she makes to leave the harem. This time, I see her disappear through a doorway so well hidden and camouflaged I missed it in all my searches. Despite the slowness of her advanced years, she slips through before I can follow her. The door has no visible handle or way to open it from this side. I beat my hands on it in desperation, reopening yesterday’s grazes, but no one heeds my pleas.
The day sets the pattern for those that follow. Being alone shouldn’t bother me. I’ve been alone all my life, but here the solitude is different: oppressing, weighing down heavily on me because I have nothing to do but think.
I realise that the evidence against me would seem damning. Particularly if presented by the thief. Although the process was already in place to steal tens of thousands of pounds each month from the Amahad treasury, another forensic accountant, or maybe even Basheer himself, must have found my footprint there maybe as I’d diverted those funds to a different place. Basheer, or someone working for him, had to have some hacking skills to set up the back door in the first place. I hadn’t banked on Basheer exposing himself by reporting the crime. But then, he is the trusted minister of finance, and who am I? The daughter of a con man.
Basheer became my adversary when his additional income stream had disappeared, and I’d underestimated him. He had nothing to gain other than satisfaction by exposing me, he could hardly recommence his theft. He had to have done it purely for revenge. It’s to his advantage that I’ve been incarcerated here, given no chance to clear my name. He must know I’ll never be given the opportunity to speak.
Shit! Just how much power does that man hold? How much influence? A cold shiver runs down my spine as I realise how dangerous I’d be to a senior member of their government if I ever saw the light of day outside of the harem again. Would there be a plot to kill me? The next time she comes, I eye the servant woman suspiciously. She has no liking for me; she’s made that clear. Slipping poison into my food would be easy. But if I don’t eat what she delivers, I’ll starve to death. It hits me just how vulnerable I am.
Of course, I regret not speaking to Nijad and telling him what I’d set up, but I’d become a new person, content to bury the old Cara deep inside in a grave along with her secrets. But boy, am I paying for that mistake now.
Days pass, and my expectation of being released fades. I live in a state of fear and regret, and slip into the only routine I can. New clothes are exchanged for old each morning. The servant woman called Maysa, as I eventually manage to extract her name from her, silently brings my meals, and removes the used dishes, mostly laden with uneaten food. Of course I try to make my escape. To exit through the hidden door, Maysa knocks on it to be let out. One day I forcibly hold her back as it’s opened, but there is a guard on the other side who immediately moves to block my way. He is stout and formidable, and I know it will be useless to try to get past him. I beg and plead for him to step aside, but he simply gestures for me to move back inside, his stance indicating he wouldn’t hesitate to use force if necessary. But it doesn’t stop me checking the door a dozen times a day in the futile hope that sometime it might be left unlocked. I even bend forks and knives, trying to force them into the almost imperceptible gap, trying to ease the door open. It beats me every time.
Despite my fears that she might be working for Basheer, I try to make friends with the only other human being I see, but if she talks at all it’s only to rant about my crimes and tell me to accept my punishment. Maysa refuses my requests to bring me anything that would help me pass my time; no books, not even a magazine. The only things she does bring are the sanitary items I have to ask her for at the right time. Having to request them is embarrassing.
With nothing to do but think, at some point my despair turns to rage, and I rail against my unfair treatment. Any criminal should have the chance to be heard and, if imprisoned, told the likely length of their sentence. My emotions are all over the place; up one day, down the next, as I start to fear that everyone has forgotten about me. Despite its size, the harem walls feel like they are closing in on me, and my panic attacks return. My anger turns back to desolation, which infuriates me all over again. It isn’t fair to be sentenced without trial! I start to lose it, screaming for extended periods of time until my voice is hoarse, knocking against the doors, making my knuckles bleed. But nothing works. Days pass. Despite my determination, slowly I have to accept that this is my fate.
****
The first indication I find that tonight is going to be different from every other I’ve spent in this harem is when I rise from my customary evening bath to discover not the regular nightgown laid out on my bed, but a diaphanous robe and no undergarments. It is a beautiful dress, in shimmering purple, but almost entirely transparent. Standing by my bed, I finger the light material, wondering why I’m apparently supposed to wear this tonight. I shiver with anticipation tinged with an equal amount of fear. Something is going to happen; I know it.
Seeing that Maysa has removed all my other clothes, unless I’m going to sleep with a towel wrapped around me, I have no option other than to put on the sheer robe. With shaking hands, I dress and lie down on the bed to wait. I can’t sleep. My fists clench, my body is as taut as a bowstring. I’m anxious and sweating and scared. I’m completely at the mercy of Arabs in a foreign land. I’m incarcerated in the harem, dressed for sex, and with absolutely no idea with whom.
Chapter 21
Nijad
Fourteen days since I left Cara alone in the harem. Three hundred and thirty-six hours spent battling with emotions that fluctuate from intense anger to utter despair. I have driven my men hard, too hard. We routed a number of jihadists trying to cross the border, and I led an attack on them with such violence it shocked my senior officers, making sure none of the invaders were left alive. I wake each day angry, go to bed still raging, and then spend sleepless nights as thoughts of Cara fill my head. I miss her with a desperation that verges on insanity.
I no longer know where I should direct my wrath. At the betrayal of the woman who’s come to mean so much to me in such a short time, or at myself for letting her go? I want to scoop her up from the harem, take her away, tear up the contract and disappear into a European country where she would no longer be in danger – until I remind myself the greatest danger to her is me. What other secrets is she hiding from me? Would my rage destroy her, maim or even kill her? I have to keep her apart from me to protect her, but that fucking contract means I can’t stay away for ever, and today I had word from the palace it’s time. Maysa’s been keeping track. So tonight I have returned.
I sit still in the sultan’s peephole. In centuries past, the
ruler would sit here and spy on his concubines below, choosing one to be brought to him that night. From this vantage point, I can see into all the cubicles, most old and decaying almost as I watch. All except the one directly below me, where I can see Cara, lying still on the bed. Caught in a sliver of moonlight, the robe Maysa provided her with hides nothing from me. From this view, she might as well be entirely naked. My gut clenches in anticipation and blood rushes south as my cock hardens in readiness, pressing uncomfortably against the zip of my jeans. My breathing quickens, and I’m thrown back into the past, into the role of sultan where I would be instructing the eunuchs to have my selected concubine prepared and brought to me. My fantasy continues as my favourite, proud to have been chosen to warm her master’s bed, would come willingly, eager to serve her sultan. The vision fades as I wipe my hand over my face. Tonight, I’m simply a prince. There are no eunuchs, my choice is limited to one, and I have my doubts she’ll be eager to come into my arms!
My cock might be ready and willing, but the rest of me holds back. I don’t know the woman lying below me at all. I’ve seen the evidence against her. After my initial reaction, once I’d calmed down, I went through the documents again, line by fucking line by line trying to spot any mistake, just one that might have suggested her innocence. But the proof was indisputable, Basheer’s accusations substantiated. She could offer no defence; there’s no room for doubt. She’s a thief, just like her father. As the saying goes, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. But that doesn’t stop the voice inside me from whispering that this is the woman who’s stolen my heart. The pain makes me wish she’d taken my life instead.
Irritated, I force myself to concentrate on the reason I am here. I’m here to do my duty and try to survive with my emotions intact. I know exactly what I have to do, and she will be mine, whether willing or not. There can be no mercy; she’s made fools of us all. Drawing back my shoulders I stand, straightening my stance as though it will strengthen my resolve. Narrowing my eyes, I glare at the almost naked body lying in the room below and banish my inner yearnings by summoning up the rage which has driven me over the past few weeks. Forbidding myself to feel any fucking weakness, I descend the secret stairs which lead into the harem.
Chapter 22
Cara
It’s been hours since I lay down on the bed and with the passing of time I start to relax. Perhaps tonight’s attire wasn’t a signal of anything at all. Just a lavish joke played on me by Maysa, the one human being who currently has control over my life. My tension and fear recede and my eyes close. I’m not exactly asleep, but my mind is drifting away; in that space where thoughts flit without any real control, half-thinking, half-dreaming, and so it’s easy to believe it’s just my imagination when I have the sense of a presence standing by my bed. The feeling grows. Can I hear someone breathing? Sucking in a breath of my own I open my eyes. With a start, I realise the shape is real. Abruptly, I come swiftly to full consciousness, understanding this isn’t a dream. Someone has come to me. Fear rushes through me, causing my heart to beat at twice its normal rate. The silhouette is of a man and I reach out a shaking hand to switch on the bedside light, half-dreading who I might see there. I hope, oh God, do I hope … but I still can’t quite believe it when the dim light confirms my innermost desires. There he stands. Nijad. The release of fear coupled with my exhilaration makes my heart feel as though it stops, and then it starts beating again, the palpitation causing me to gasp.
Why is he here? Has he come to listen to me, to hear me out? I want to hate him for abandoning me here but know I’ll forgive him if he’s come to give me the chance to explain. Is he here to take me away? To the desert city or the primitive desert camp? I don’t care where we go as long as it’s anywhere but here and as long as I am with him. I open my mouth to say something, but it’s gone so dry, my tongue seems stuck to my teeth and I can’t speak.
He is standing at the foot of the bed, watching me. I draw in more air sharply as my eyes drink him in, and lick my cracked lips. He looks extraordinary. He is wearing those tight black jeans which fit his body like a second skin, and the same tight T-shirt that he wore when he tortured me so sensually in his dungeon, the material hugging his abs and stomach and framing his muscular arms. He looks dark and dangerous, a Dominant and Master. Familiar, yet not. His face is stern, hard and unyielding, and I notice a new angry scar running down his cheek. But it is Nijad, my desert warrior. He’s here. He’s come to me. It’s no illusion or warped fantasy, or hallucination arising out of loneliness. Slowly I rise, turning my body, putting my feet over the side of the bed so I can stand up, ignoring the flimsiness of the gown I’m wearing. He’s my husband and I’ve no false modesty. He’s seen me naked too often. I take a step towards him, automatically reaching out my arms to touch him.
He gives a sharp shake of his head, stopping me in my tracks. As he stares at me, I falter. Crease lines are evident around his hooded eyes and his expression is cruel as he examines me from head to toe, making me shudder. Suddenly I’m not sure I know the man standing in front of me at all. After he completes his inspection, his arms extend towards me. For a split second I think he’s reaching to pull me close. Then, without warning, he puts both hands on the neckline of my gown and roughly tears it from me, ripping it to the hem. Forcefully he pushes the ruined garment off my shoulders so it falls to the floor, leaving me completely exposed in front of him.
Shocked, I open my mouth and start to protest, my voice hoarse.
“Nijad, we must talk. I must tell …”
“Shut up! I’m not here to fucking talk.” His hands grab my shoulders and he shakes me. “Not one more word. Do you understand?”
He waits for my response, but I can only gasp. This man, who looks so familiar yet acts like someone I’ve never met, is frightening me.
“Do. You. Understand?” he repeats.
I swallow, and then nod, not daring to disobey while he is in this mood. I haven’t seen this side of him before, and it frightens me.
Relaxing his hold he brings his arms down the sides of my breasts and, with a gentler touch, weighs them in his hands. His thumbs brush against my nipples, making them harden. All the time he is watching my eyes.
“I’m not a monster, Cara, but there’s only one reason I’m here.” He toys with my nipples, and then closes the gap between us and sucks first on one then the other.
“I’m not a brute. I want you ready. I don’t want to hurt you.” His mouth twists. “But I will take you. Do not fight me.”
I have no intention of fighting. Just his first touch has reminded me how much I’ve missed his caress, and there’s nothing more I want but to be loved by him again. I’ll take anything he wants to give me, just for the chance to be close to him. If he doesn’t wish to hear the words, our bodies can do the talking. As his hands trace my skin, touching everywhere; my now even slimmer waist, and round to cup my bottom. I wonder if he notices the weight I have lost, the physical evidence of how being apart from him is slowly killing me. He’s studying me intently, watching my reactions. I gasp when he reaches the heart of me and touches my opening. I don’t need to hear his sigh of satisfaction to know that despite the circumstances, I’m already wet and ready for him.
I was expecting him to be gentle, to want this loving connection between us as much as I do, but having found I’m already prepared his eyes darken, and his features take on the countenance of his desert ancestry. With a start I realise he has no compassion, no forgiveness. It’s as if he has no emotion in him at all as he roughly pushes me down on the bed and unbuttons his fly. He doesn’t bother to remove his jeans, just takes out his already engorged and ready cock and covers my body with his. I wait for his kiss, but with a cold glance at my face, he pulls back on to his heels. With a complete lack of finesse, he opens my legs and pulls up my hips over his thighs so he has positioned how he needs me. Then, after a deep breath, he enters me in one long stroke, causing me to gasp. He’s so big, and I’m tight as we’ve b
een apart for so long, and this position allows him deeper penetration. But my desire has readied me so it doesn’t hurt as much as shock me. He’s never been so forceful with me before and I know my eyes hold a touch of nervousness as he glances at me; he recognises it and reacts to my concern as he waits, giving me time to adjust to his size. But that short moment uses up all his patience, and he begins to move. He pulls out and pushes in, repeating his action, thrusting again and again, hammering into me, pounding. Before, our lovemaking had been gentle and controlled compared to this. This coupling is animalistic. I feel my muscles clenching. It’s unexpected and he’s unnerving me. As if I’m being driven only by his will, my body starts moving with his, meeting his, pushing back at him as he drives in like a savage beast. He hits the sweet spot inside me over and over and I can feel myself tightening as he takes me with him, as though we both want to leave the civilised world behind, to give everything up, to just feel. I’m splitting apart with an intensity that frightens me.
Almost at once he goes rigid, the involuntary contractions of my muscles pushing him to his release, and he repeatedly pumps for moments as he empties himself, and I feel myself milking him as he stills. Leaning back on his heels, he pulls out and moves off of the bed. As his essence leaks out of me, I watch him coldly tucking away his cock, still coated with my juices, and refastening his fly. I realise we haven’t just made love. He just fucked me, pure and simple.
I’m still unable to move when I notice him watching me, wearing a detached expression.
“This is how it will be,” he tells me, his voice carrying no emotion. “I’ll visit you during your fertile times.”
Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) Page 26
