Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride

by Marguerite Kaye

  She was relieved to see Kadar’s countenance clearing. ‘I don’t usually wear anything at all.’

  ‘Oh.’ Colour flooded her face, not because of what he said but because of the image it conjured, of those muscled shoulders, those long legs, his taut behind, wading into the pool. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting—that is I hope that you will not...’

  ‘Modesty and decency will be observed,’ Kadar replied, grinning. ‘Though I warn you, you will be hindered by your clothing, and it really would be much easier...’

  ‘Kadar!’

  He held up his hand in mock surrender. ‘Take off your tunic, but leave everything else on. Your clothes will dry quickly enough in the sun. Are you sure you wish to go through with this, Constance? I won’t think any less of you if you don’t.’

  She gazed at the pool, and then out at the sea. The chances of her being shipwrecked again were slim indeed, but knowing she could swim would certainly boost her confidence when she next had to board a seagoing ship. Which would be soon. She didn’t want to think about that. Neither did she want to be a hostage to her fears. ‘You might not think less of me,’ Constance said resolutely ‘but I would.’

  She unbuttoned her tunic and pulled it off before she could change her mind. The camisole she wore was made of muslin, a flimsy affair with narrow straps which left her arms and shoulders quite bare. No more so than a ball gown, she told herself, though if she were wearing a ball gown she would also be wearing corsets and a chemise. Her breasts were not actually exposed, though they were clearly outlined. She crossed her arms over them, relieved to see that Kadar had considerately turned his back to her.

  He too had unbuttoned his tunic, and was in the process of pulling it over his head. He wore nothing underneath. Her mouth went dry as she looked at him. Broad shoulders, tapering waist. The sash which tied his trousers was low on his hips. Her stomach flipped as he turned around. His body was not that of a Greek statue, all powerful over-developed muscle bulging unconvincingly, but that of a true athlete, with an aesthetic quality to his musculature. Though it was there, under that smooth chest and flat stomach, there was no doubt about it.

  ‘Ready?’

  Her face flaming, Constance nodded, and marched determinedly over to the shallow end of the bathing pool.

  * * *

  Had this been a mistake? It would certainly be testing his control to the limit, Kadar thought as he watched Constance walking across the sand. Though the material of her pantaloons and the tiny top she wore were not at all transparent, they were filmy, clinging to her curves, curves to which his body was responding with alarming speed. He dragged his eyes away from the beguiling contours of her bottom, forcing himself to concentrate on the swimming lesson ahead. Though she was concealing it well, Constance was afraid of the water, and with good cause.

  He started by teaching her to float. Seeing her jaw clenched, feeling the rigidity in her muscles, banished all thoughts of anything other than teaching her to swim. She was not afraid, she was terrified, panicking when the water lapped over her face, but she was equally determined not to give up. Slowly, she gained confidence and began to relax. Within half an hour, she was taking her first tentative strokes herself, and when Kadar suggested she might be tired she laughed.

  ‘I’m enjoying it,’ she said, and executed several more splashy strokes.

  * * *

  Another hour, and Constance managed a full length of the rock pool at the deepest end, with Kadar by her side. ‘I did it,’ she exclaimed, clinging to the rock, breathing heavily with the effort, but flushed with triumph. ‘I did it.’

  ‘You did,’ Kadar agreed, smiling. He had the oddest feeling, as if his heart was swelling in his chest. Pride? Admiration? He wanted to kiss her. Desire, banished for the duration of the lesson, came rampaging back. Constance was effectively naked under the water. Now that he was no longer holding her, supporting her, his body recalled exactly how she had felt, all soft flesh yet surprisingly firm muscles. A body accustomed to effort. Her nipples had brushed against his arms when he held her. Hard peaks.

  Stop! ‘You have done very well indeed, but that is enough for now,’ Kadar said, anxious to put some distance between them. ‘Go and sit in the sun, dry out your clothing while I take a swim.’

  She allowed him to help her into the shallows, though he kept himself immersed in the water and refused to allow himself to watch her as she waded ashore, diving back under as soon as he was sure she was safe. He swam powerfully, pushing himself to the limits, after two lengths of the pool losing himself in the rhythm of his swimming, emptying his mind of all thoughts but of the next breath and the next one, and the next.

  Finally, exhausted, he rolled onto his back. Sunlight glinted off the water, dazzling him. He closed his eyes and floated, recovering his breath, lulled by the merest whisper of the waves breaking on the shore as the tide receded to its furthest point. When he opened his eyes, he had drifted to the far end of the pool. Constance was seated on the rock edge on the other side. She was leaning back on her hands, her face tilted to the sun, her eyes closed. Her hair was wild, a delightful tangle of half-dried curls. Her hands, her forearms and throat were tanned golden brown, but the rest of her exposed skin was a smooth creamy colour. Her clothing, like her hair, was half-dried, and clinging to her body. She might as well have been naked. And he was once again aroused. Kadar groaned. All that effort wasted.

  ‘Constance, you should get into the shade.’ She opened her eyes, turning towards him. Her smile was lazy, sun-kissed, unbearably sensual. She looked like a mermaid, perched up on the rock. ‘The salt in the water will burn your skin as it dries. Get into the shade, please.’

  She sat up, dangled her feet over the edge of the pool, and jumped in. Though the water was not deep, Kadar cried out a warning, hurtling himself through the water towards her. ‘What are you doing? You could have...’

  She laughed. ‘Drowned? No, thanks to your expert tuition I will not drown. And now that I am wet again, I shall not burn.’

  But he was burning. He had an armful of wet, warm, voluptuous mermaid, and his body was on fire. Her skin was still hot from the sun. ‘The glare from the water,’ Kadar said, struggling to keep his thoughts on practical matters, ‘it makes it worse.’

  Constance ignored him. ‘I was watching you swim.’ Her smile, that mouth, she should not be allowed to smile at him in that way with those lips. ‘It was most impressive.’

  ‘I have been swimming since I was a child. With a little more practice...’ Her top was soaked through again. Her nipples were dark peaks beneath the fabric, her breasts clearly outlined, full and soft and—and they moved, when she did. He dropped his gaze. He could see the indent of her belly button too, and a strip of creamy skin where the top ended, above the sash which tied her pantaloons, mercifully below the waterline. ‘Practice,’ Kadar said. ‘That is what you need.’

  ‘You slice through the water like a seal, or an otter,’ Constance said. ‘Sleek. That is what I was thinking when I was watching you. Sleek.’

  She was not looking at him. She was gazing at his chest. There was a crimson flush on her cheeks. The effect of sun, nothing more, he thought desperately. But he knew differently because she was looking at him in exactly the same way as he was looking at her. He shifted on the sand, and his foot grazed hers. He felt her shudder. He watched, mesmerised at the way her breasts juddered under the wet, clinging fabric and his resistance crumbled. He cupped her breast, running his thumb over her nipple. She shuddered again, and her flesh quivered. She flattened her hand over his chest, the cool flesh of her sea-damp palm stroking over his nipple, and Kadar groaned, pulled her tight up against him, and kissed her.

  * * *

  He tasted of seawater. Constance met his kiss with her own, matching his passion with hers. She was long past reason. While she had been swimming she had been far too focuse
d on staying afloat to be distracted by Kadar’s presence, but afterwards, watching him swim alone, she discovered that she had noticed after all. She remembered the feeling of his hands gently supporting her, his arm brushing her breasts, her newly buoyant body bumping against his thighs. When he floated on his back, she watched his chest rising and falling, the water droplets glittering on his skin. Her leap from the wall back into the pool was instinctive, a response to a primal craving she could not ignore, which was to touch him.

  His tongue met hers. She pressed her body against him, her hands roaming feverishly over his damp skin. She was amazed that the seawater had not turned to steam, she was so hot. The world had turned blazing red with passion, and all she wanted was more. Kadar tore his mouth from hers, pressing kisses to her throat, to the wildly fluttering pulse at her collarbone, to the valley between her breasts. Her nipples were aching for his touch, for his tongue. He tugged the flimsy straps of her camisole top down her arms, rolling the fabric down to reveal her breasts. Colour slashed his cheeks as he gazed at her, his eyes dark with passion. She felt no shame, only a thrill of pleasure that she pleased him. He whispered her name before taking her nipple into his mouth and making her knees buckle.

  He picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and carried her to the hard-packed sand above the waterline in the shadow of the cliffs, setting her down beside him, and their kisses became deeper. She was wound taut, every part of her tingling, burning, and inside her, the thrum of arousal made her pant.

  ‘Kadar,’ she said, her voice both a plea for more, and for guidance. ‘Kadar, what should I...?’

  His breath was as rapid and shallow as hers. His chest was heaving. ‘Constance?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. She had no idea what she was agreeing to. Anything. Everything. She didn’t care. ‘Yes,’ she said again.

  He hesitated only briefly before undoing the sash which held her pantaloons at the waist, helping her to wriggle free of the pleated folds. She was beyond embarrassment. The blaze in his eyes was enough, and the slide of his tongue into her mouth was enough, and his finger slipping inside her was more than enough. Constance shuddered, clutched at his shoulders, shuddered again. ‘You,’ she said, grabbing him by the wrist to stop him before it was too late, ‘you too.’

  Her fingers were shaking on his sash. Her hand brushed his arousal, and he shuddered too, just like her. He struggled briefly with the knot, his teeth gritted. When it gave way she watched blatantly as he freed himself of the last piece of clothing between them, and discovered that there was a great deal of difference between a nude statue and a naked, flesh-and-blood man. She wanted to touch him, but she had no idea what to do, and there was a limit to her boldness, for she could not bring herself to ask.

  And then Kadar kissed her again, rolling her onto her back. Cool damp sand beneath her, and hard, hot man looming over her. She was melting. His kiss was making her bones melt, and his fingers, sliding inside her again, were rousing her at the same time to new heights. She moaned. She shuddered. His tongue and his fingers thrust, and Constance wanted only to make him feel the same way, to take him with her. She wrapped her hand around his arousal, momentarily distracted by the softness of the skin covering the rigid length of him. She felt him tremble at the contact. Was that good or bad. ‘Kadar?’

  He covered her hand, showed her what to do. ‘Slowly,’ he whispered, his fingers sliding over her again. Slowly, she thought, as his touch made her tighten, slowly, she moved her own hand to the same pace as his, and slowly their tongues touched to that same pace. Kisses. Sliding strokes. Slow strokes. More kisses, and more stroking, more sliding, until she could not bear it any longer and let go with a cry, the pulsing of her climax echoed by a shudder running through him before he rolled away from her and his own release shook him.

  * * *

  It took her long moments before she returned to earth. Kadar was lying on his side, looking at her, his grey-green eyes heavy-lidded. She reached over to push a lock of silky hair away from his brow. ‘Why are you frowning?’

  ‘You know that I did not bring you here to— It was not a ploy to—to initiate any further intimacy between us,’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘You did not initiate it.’

  ‘Constance...’

  ‘Of course I know that. I also know that you would not— It was a very considerate and chivalrous further intimacy,’ she said, flushing.

  He kissed her mouth softly. ‘But be assured, the pleasure was entirely mutual.’

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘You know that I never say anything I don’t mean.’

  She knew her smile must be ridiculously self-satisfied, but she didn’t care. ‘Good,’ she said.

  Kadar laughed, pulled her against him and kissed her again. Their bodies were damp, gritty with sand, her skin was tight with salt and too much sun, but still the contact made her shiver with delight. She wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with enthusiasm, and it started again, astonishingly, the tingling and the thrumming, and she could feel him stirring against her as his hand sought her breast again, and her leg curled instinctively around his, and his member nudged between her legs.

  Kadar pulled away instantly, muttering something under his breath. ‘I’m sorry, I did not mean—that we cannot do.’

  Registering the shock on his face brought her to her senses. She had not even considered the consequences of what they were doing, had been so carried away that she would have allowed him anything. Her naïvety took her breath away. The onus she had unthinkingly placed on him, the willpower he must have exercised to resist such innocent temptation. ‘I didn’t think,’ Constance said, appalled. ‘I was so—so—and I did not think. But you did, and I should thank you for being so careful.’

  His expression softened. He pulled her to her feet, taking her hands in his. ‘You have no need to thank me, Constance. That you trusted me is an honour.’

  She had trusted him, implicitly. The knowledge made her uneasy. She had the horrible feeling that a very unwelcome fact lay waiting to be uncovered in the recesses of her brain. As if to emphasise the point, a tiny cloud covered the sun, briefly casting a shadow over the pool, giving her gooseflesh. ‘Our clothes,’ she said, using the excuse to slip from his hold, picking up the wet sandy rag that used to be her pantaloons and looking at it with genuine dismay.

  She stumbled across the damp sand into the shallows and began to rinse the garment out, realizing then that her camisole was still wrapped around her waist. She was wriggling ineffectually, trying to free herself of it when Kadar’s hand on her shoulder made her jump. He was wearing only his tunic, and held hers out for her. ‘You must cover up or you will burn.’

  ‘I can’t get out of this thing,’ Constance said pathetically.

  ‘Stand still.’ He ripped the now mangled strip of fabric from her waist, then pulled her tunic over her head, helping her slide her arms into the sleeves. ‘Go and sit in the shade.’

  ‘But my pantaloons...’

  ‘Constance, I will tend to those. Go and sit in the shade by the boat. There is a flask in the hamper there, with lemonade. You need to drink, or you will get a headache. That is an order.’

  She opened her mouth to protest and changed her mind. Besides he was right. Beneath the tunic, her skin was hot and prickly, and her mouth was dry, and her legs were a bit shaky, and the blanket was in deep shade now.

  The lemonade was delicious. She drank two full glasses, pressing her forehead to the condensation on the outside of the flask with a grateful sigh. When she opened her eyes again, almost fully restored, Kadar was spreading out his trousers and her pantaloons on the rocks to dry.

  ‘If I told Mama that a royal prince had done my washing she would never believe me,’ she said, handing him a glass of lemonade.

  ‘If you told your mother what else the royal prince had done
she would hang me out to dry,’ Kadar replied, sitting down beside her. ‘Are you feeling better?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. You were right,’ Constance said with a mock sigh. ‘Would you like to eat now? My first swim has made me ravenous. Does swimming always do that?’

  ‘Many things can evoke an appetite,’ Kadar said, smiling wickedly as he lifted the hamper out of the boat.

  Together they laid out the food, which had been kept cool by a layer of ice packed around the metal box which lined the wicker exterior. There were pastries stuffed with nuts and pheasant, a salad of tomatoes, olives and orange, a rice pilaf scented with saffron and flavoured with dried fruits, and a delicious cake made with ground almonds, moist with lemon and honey. They ate in quiet contemplation, watching as the sun began its slow journey westward, the white-gold blaze slowly turning more golden, the tide turning, the waves growing white-crested, creeping their way slowly back up the beach towards the outer wall of the rock pool.

  ‘Did your mother ever join you here?’ Constance asked, when the remnants of the food had been returned to the hamper.

  Kadar shook his head. ‘She rarely left her quarters in the palace. Not because she was confined there, I hasten to add, but through choice. She was happiest in the company of other women, and seemed perfectly content to spend the day sewing, gossiping, reading. I think she would have preferred daughters to sons, though of course that would not have suited my father,’ he added wryly. ‘She died when I was ten. To be honest, I barely knew her.’

  ‘How sad. Perhaps that is where you get your love of books from.’

  Kadar shrugged. ‘Perhaps. What about you?’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘Does your mother like to read?’

  ‘Goodness, no. Mama thinks reading is a waste of valuable time.’

  ‘And your father thinks books are important only as a source of income,’ Kadar said contemptuously.