Never Refuse a Sheikh

by Jackie Ashenden

  “Is it, though?” She put her glass down. “Tell me you are not happy. Then tell me whether or not it is irrelevant.”

  She couldn’t tell what was going on behind that shuttered amber gaze of his as he watched her. But she felt compelled to add. “Because I am happy, Altair. Here with you, for the first time in my life, I do not feel lonely. And that does not feel irrelevant to me.”

  He didn’t reply. Only put aside his plate, discarded his wine. Stood and crossed to where she sat, and took her in his arms.

  And in the depths of the night, in the silence of the desert, wrapped safe in his arms, she thought to herself that maybe, just maybe, she’d never have to be lonely again.

  Finally, she was where she belonged.

  * * *

  He’d never taken any time for himself, just to do what he wanted, not in the ten years he’d spent fighting to take back the throne, or the following five he’d spent steering the country back onto the path of peace. He’d snatched moments here and there, but he’d soon realized that the more private time he had, the harder it was to come back and pick up the mantle of sheikh again. So after the first year or two had passed, he’d stopped taking that time. Subsuming the wilder parts of himself in physical training or strategizing the next move to keep Al-Harah from consuming itself entirely.

  It was what his father would have done, after all.

  But when he’d woken up that morning with Safira nestled warm and soft beside him, he’d felt every second of those five years like a weight resting on him.

  Five years of not only battling the rebellious elements within his own country, but also the rebellious elements within himself. And he was tired of it. He hadn’t known how hungry he was for the things he’d denied himself. Warmth, softness, passion. Someone who accepted the man he was inside rather than the sheikh he’d turned himself into.

  Safira accepted that man and, more, she wanted that man. She knew his terrible secret and she forgave him. He didn’t understand her reasons for that, but he knew he wanted what she was offering. And as he swam with Safira in the cool waters of the oasis, or rode with her under the moon, the wind in his hair and the sound of her laughter in his ears he started to think that perhaps she was right.

  As he let her practice her knife fighting skills on him, while he showed her a few moves of his own.

  Or made love to her in the tent in the quiet of the early morning, when it was still cool and she was still sleepy and warm.

  Or at night, by the fire, listening to her stories of her life in the desert with the tribes, he began to understand that perhaps happiness wasn’t as irrelevant as he’d thought. She certainly deserved it, and perhaps he did too.

  Of course, it couldn’t last.

  Just after sunrise on the morning of the third day, he was woken by the sound of a car’s engine. It couldn’t be his aides coming to take them back to the helicopter—they weren’t supposed to arrive until the evening. Which meant it was … something else.

  Ignoring the cold feeling that settled inside him, Altair adjusted the quilt over Safira who was still asleep beside him, and slipped from the bed. He dressed quickly and went out of the tent, stepping into the cool of a brilliant desert morning.

  There was a dark SUV pulling up and as he strode toward it, the door opened and Hamiz, his main advisor, got out. And the cold feeling in Altair’s gut slowly solidified into ice.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, highness—”

  “What is it?” he interrupted brusquely. “Tell me.”

  Hamiz’s expression was tight. “There was a riot in the bazaar between Kashgari loyalists and our supporters. Some tourists were caught in it and several are in hospital. A Kashgari loyalist was killed by a police bullet and his family are out for blood.” The other man shook his head. “The tension in the city is volatile, highness, and anything could make it go up. I am sorry to cut short your time off, but you are needed back at the palace.”

  It would take him several hours to return, he had to go now and quickly.

  Regret pulled at his heart, made him ache. But for the first time in years, he didn’t bury the emotions or push them away, he let them sit there instead. Because no matter what was happening in the capital, he did regret leaving and he wasn’t going to deny that.

  For the first time since his father had died, he’d tasted happiness.

  And he wanted more.

  Altair pulled open the door of the SUV.

  “What about the princess?” Hamiz asked, glancing toward the tent.

  “Let her sleep,” Altair said. “Then come back in a couple of hours and transport her back to the palace.”

  He wouldn’t wake Safira for a goodbye. If he woke her and she wound her warm arms around his neck, he had a feeling it would only make it that much harder for him to leave.

  He didn’t look back as the SUV pulled out of the oasis.

  One day he would bring her back here, one day when their kingdom was secure. And he would give her the happiness she deserved.

  * * *

  Safira woke to find the tent empty and when she put her head out to see where Altair had gone, there was only one of the palace staff waiting by the remains of their evening fire.

  He’d said three days, hadn’t he? But they weren’t supposed to be leaving until the evening. Unless something had called him back early …

  Unease shifted inside her.

  She ducked back into the tent and quickly pulled on some clothes, then went back outside to confront the man waiting beside the fire.

  “Where is his highness?” she asked, trying to mask her unease and knowing she was failing. “We were not supposed to leave until the evening.”

  “I have orders to bring you back to the palace now, princess. His highness had to return early to deal with some urgent matters.”

  The unease shifted again. “What urgent matters?”

  “His highness does not wish to trouble you with them.”

  “Well maybe he should.”

  “My lady … I …” The man had obviously been given orders and was unhappy with being questioned.

  Part of her wanted to demand answers instantly, but maybe that could wait. She’d be better off getting those answers from Altair himself, rather than getting them secondhand from people who’d clearly been ordered not to tell her.

  Swallowing back her frustration, she let the man and another couple of palace staff pack up the little camp she’d shared with Altair. And as they rode back in an SUV to the helipad, she tried to ignore the strange lump sitting in her throat.

  The time she’d had with him had been special. Sleeping in that tent in his arms, talking with him beside the fire, swimming with him in the oasis and making love … Those had been the happiest moments of her life.

  And now they’re over.

  Her jaw hardened as she was strapped into the helicopter and it rose up over the desert, the sands spreading out beneath them like a great, golden carpet.

  No, they were not over. She would have those moments again, she’d make sure of it. In a few weeks she and Altair would marry and one thing was certain: she would not let him keep her at a distance again.

  A couple of hours later, the helicopter touched down and Safira debated heading straight to Altair’s offices to see what was going on, but then discarded that idea.

  She was always the one going to him to demand answers. Perhaps he could come to her for a change.

  So she went back to her apartments to shower and change. And then scour the news sites on the Web to see if she could get any information about what was going on.

  It was evident soon enough. The Kashgari loyalists were causing trouble and one of them had been shot by government forces. Tourists had been injured. The situation in the city was tense.

  Safira shut the laptop and cursed.

  No wonder he’d left the oasis early. This was the kind of situation that had the potential to blow up in everyone’s faces if it wasn’t managed correctly. An
d, even worse, it concerned the loyalists who had demanded her return to the throne. Which meant it concerned her.

  Why hadn’t he told her this? She could help him, couldn’t she? Speak to the loyalists, maybe? Listen to their concerns and show them that they’d been heard?

  Frustrated and worried, Safira paced around her apartments. He’d come to her, of course he would, especially after the connection they’d forged over the past couple of days.

  But as the hours ticked by, there was no sign of him and no response to the note she’d sent announcing she was back in the palace.

  Several times she decided to head straight to his offices anyway, only to change her mind angrily at the last minute.

  Why was it always she who had to go after him? Why was she the one who was always pushing? Wasn’t she important enough to be kept informed about what was going on or did he just not care? Or did he think she was too young and naïve, too unpredictable and unstable to handle it?

  Perhaps those things he told you, about you being strong, were a lie. You know he wants to fix the things he broke. You’re just one of those things.

  A cold seed of doubt began to grow inside her. Perhaps that was true. Perhaps the truth he’d told her, the heat with which he’d claimed her, perhaps even the time at the oasis were only his penance for his part in the deaths of her parents. His atonement.

  Perhaps it was his guilt that made him do those things and not because he actually wanted her.

  Dinner was served to her on her terrace and the chair opposite her remained empty. Disappointment gathered inside her, heavy and aching, like grief. She wasn’t hungry and ended up hardly eating any of the food that had been put in front of her.

  She didn’t want to be his penance and she didn’t want what they’d shared to be an expiation of his guilt. She wanted to mean something to him, the time at the oasis to be because he’d wanted to be with her, not because he was making peace with his demons.

  And then, as if she didn’t have enough doubts already, another thought floated back to her. He’d never answered the question as to whether she would be a suitable wife for him if she didn’t have the Kashgari name and blood.

  You know the answer to that already, don’t you?

  Yes, she had a horrible feeling she did.

  It wasn’t until she was getting herself ready for bed that there was a tap on her door. And by that stage, the doubts had grown so large she couldn’t ignore them.

  Angry and heartsick, Safira debated not even opening it, because if it was Altair at last, she didn’t want to see him.

  In the end though, curiosity got the better of her and she went, pulling open the door. And sure enough, Altair stood on the other side of it, his white business shirt open at the neck, dark trousers sitting loose around his hips. His black hair was disordered, like he’d put his fingers through it one too many times.

  The look in his eyes blazed and he didn’t wait for her to speak, coming through the doorway and sweeping her into his arms, kicking the door shut behind him as he bent his head, seeking her mouth. The kiss he took was wild, passionate, and set her heart pounding, making her almost forget her anger at him.

  Almost.

  Safira put her hands on his chest and shoved him away, trying to get her breath back.

  He didn’t let her go, lifting his head instead, frowning down at her. “You are angry. What’s wrong?”

  “Yes, I’m angry.” She shoved him again. “Let me go.”

  He did so and as soon as he had, she regretted the loss of his warmth. But no, she wasn’t going to let him make this all better with a kiss. Her doubts needed to be answered.

  As she looked up at him, a sudden fear gripped her. Did she really want to know? To have her fears realized? Because what if it was true? What if this was all his atonement? What if it had never been about her at all?

  The cold doubt grew roots of ice, threading through her blood.

  But no. She couldn’t go into this marriage with her eyes shut. She had to have the truth. She needed it.

  “What is this about, Safira?”

  “I understand why you left me at the oasis without a goodbye. But you left me here alone. All day. With no note, no information as to what was going on. I had to find out for myself on the Internet.”

  Something flickered in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was going to come and check on you earlier but I had some—”

  “Urgent matters that you had to attend to? Yes, I know.” She took a step back from him, suddenly needing the distance for once. “Did you think I wasn’t worthy enough to be kept informed? That I was too young and naïve to be told?”

  He frowned. “Of course not. I didn’t tell you because this is not your concern.”

  “Are you serious? Of course it concerns me! Who do you think the Kashgari loyalists are loyal to?” Her voice had risen, echoing off the hard, tiled surfaces of the room.

  Altair’s frown became ferocious. “You are not the sheikh here. I am. And this is my problem to deal with, not yours.”

  “No!” Anger flared hot inside her. “You said we would change things together, Altair. But this is not ‘together’. This is all you dealing with the problem while leaving me out of it.”

  His mouth hardened. “Because it is my burden to bear. Not yours.”

  “And am I another burden you have to bear? Am I also another thing you have to fix?”

  He stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know you’re trying to fix the country, Altair. But I did not ask for you to also fix me.”

  A bright flare of shock flashed in his eyes before it was swiftly masked. “I am not fixing you. I am only trying to give you back what I took from you. There is a difference.”

  Her heart grew tight in her chest, an inexplicable pain. “No, there is no difference. Because it’s not about me, don’t you see that? None of this is about me. It is all about you and your guilt.”

  The look on his face hardened, became distant, the cold coming back to swallow all his heat. “What is it you want from me, Safira? Because I do not understand what we are arguing about.”

  Good point, because neither did she. He desired her and at the oasis had shared things with her that no one else knew and yet … somehow it didn’t feel enough. She wanted more.

  Her throat tightened. “I asked you once whether you’d marry me even if I didn’t have Kashgari blood. You never answered the question.”

  He said nothing for a long moment, staring at her, his expression completely unreadable.

  The distance between them felt like a chasm miles deep.

  “That is a moot question because you do have the blood.” Heat gathered in his gaze, and he began to come toward her, slowly as a great cat stalking its prey. “What is it you need, kitten? To know that I want you? Is that it? Because I do. I have wanted you from the moment I saw you. Perhaps you need a reminder of how much?”

  Safira shivered. She could stand her ground and let him come, let him sweep her up in his arms, find the connection she craved in the physical joining of their bodies. In the heat and desperation of their chemistry.

  But that was not what she needed, not what she wanted, she understood that now.

  “Stop,” she said fiercely. “It’s not sex I need.”

  He halted, something glittering in his eyes. “Then what?”

  “I want someone to want me for who I am, Altair. Not because I’m a princess. Not because of the blood that runs in my veins.” Her voice started to shake. “I want someone to want me for me. Because they love me.” The word came out before she even knew she was going to say it and perhaps she should not have. It was revealing, too revealing. Yet she didn’t take it back.

  His expression became fierce and suddenly he was closing the distance between them, his arms coming around her, pulling her against him. “Love?” he demanded. “Love means nothing, kitten. The heart lies, don’t you know that? We have passion together, we do not need to be
lonely anymore. Isn’t that enough?”

  She put her hands on his chest, the heat and strength of him radiating through her, melting her resolve. It would be so easy to stop resisting, just give in to him and, God, she wanted to. Her eyes prickled. Only now did she understand why this hurt. Why it felt as if he was squeezing her heart inside her chest.

  Because the thing she wanted most, she wanted from him.

  “No,” she whispered. “It’s not.”

  He bent his head, his mouth brushing hers, a feather-light, tantalizing kiss. “Do not say these things. If it’s passion you need, you have it as well as all the freedom you require. You can go out into the desert to ride, visit the city, and if it’s a job you want, I can even arrange it for you. Anything, Safira. Anything at all, it’s yours.”

  She tipped her head back, looked up into his eyes. “And if it’s love that I want, Altair?”

  His hands moved, sliding into her hair, and ah, God, it was his gentleness that always undid her. “You are mine,” he said, as if challenging God himself. “And you cannot leave. Love be damned. You are my princess, my fiancée and soon you will be my queen.” The look in his golden eyes blazed, fierce and hot and possessive.

  But he still hadn’t answered her question. And she knew why. He couldn’t give her what she wanted.

  Blinking back unshed tears, Safira put her hands to his and pulled them from her hair. Stepped out of his arms.

  And this time it was she who put the distance there, not just miles but light years.

  “No,” she said softly, firmly. “I am not.”

  Chapter Ten

  Altair sat as his desk, staring at nothing in particular. He was supposed to be finalizing a government inquiry team into the shooting of the Kashgari loyalist, but he couldn’t even bring himself to look at the paperwork.

  He felt as if someone had dug right inside him and hollowed him out, leaving him nothing but a shell.

  He’d been so angry the night before, storming from Safira’s room after she’d refused him, issuing orders to double the number of guards around the palace just in case she took it into her head to leave.