Sheik

by Mason, Connie

  “I have eaten, thank you. May I leave now?”

  “Nay, you may not. Sit here.” He patted the cushion beside him.

  She eyed him warily. “Why?”

  “I do not like to eat alone.” When Zara made no move to join him, Jamal grasped her wrist and pulled her down beside him. “There, that’s better.”

  “Saha would love to join you. So would Leila or Amar.”

  “Perhaps later. It’s you I want now. Is your room satisfactory?” he asked conversationally.

  “It will do.”

  Suddenly he pushed the food away and leaned over to kiss her shoulder. “I find I’m no longer hungry.”

  “Shall I return the dishes to the kitchen?”

  “I had no idea you’d be such an obedient slave, princess. What do you have up your sleeve?”

  “Nothing, my lord,” she said sweetly. “I’m not even wearing sleeves.”

  His black eyes glittered wickedly. “So I noticed.” His hand traveled the length of her bare arm and back, sending ripples skittering over her sensitive flesh. Two tiny pearl buttons held the edges of her abbreviated vest together, and before Zara could protest, Jamal had released them. Her breasts literally popped into his hands. His sudden intake of breath told her how much he enjoyed the view.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to seduce you, what else?” He pushed her back against the cushions and lowered his head to lick at her nipples. “You know I want you.”

  “Take me against my will and you lose the wager,” she challenged, gritting her teeth against the sudden jolt of pleasure he had caused with his tongue.

  “I never should have made that wager,” Jamal muttered sourly. He raised his head to stare at her mouth. It was adorably lush and red and he wanted to kiss her senseless. But most of all he wanted to sheath himself inside her, to feel her heat contract around him, to taste her passion, to give her pleasure.

  “Feel how much I want you,” Jamal said, grasping her small hand and placing it upon his erection.

  Zara inhaled sharply. His caftan provided a scant barrier between her hand and the hot, pulsating length of him. Her fingers tightened involuntarily and she heard him groan. In seconds he had removed her hand and stretched out full length on top of her.

  “You want me,” he said triumphantly.

  “Nay, I do not.”

  Her answer seemed to amuse him and he chuckled. “Open to me, Zara. Take me inside you. I promise you won’t be sorry.”

  She sighed raggedly. “Nay, I cannot.”

  His eyes turned dark with desire as his mouth crushed down on hers, kissing her fiercely, willing her to respond as he molded her breasts with his palms. His lips left her mouth and followed the graceful line of her throat to her breasts. He kissed and licked the perfumed flesh, the scent of jasmine heightening his desire for her. His mouth closed over an erect nipple, sucking hard on it, then biting down lightly, and she cried out softly.

  “Yield to me, sweet houri,” Jamal whispered hoarsely.

  “I cannot lose the wager,” Zara replied in a strangled voice. She was aroused, painfully so, but losing the wager and remaining Jamal’s slave was abhorrent to her.

  “Forget the wager,” he said fiercely. “You are my possession. Give to me. Let me taste your passion.”

  “You are demanding more than I can give. You’re asking for my soul,” Zara declared passionately.

  “Nay, I want only your body,” Jamal denied.

  His words sounded flat and without substance. In truth he wanted much more from the Berber princess. He wanted her body, her soul, her joys, her sorrows. He wanted to possess her very essence, to give her his in return. When he thrust into her tight sheath he wanted her to forget any past lovers and cling to him in sweet passion.

  Allah help him. He wanted her so desperately his concubines held no appeal for him.

  That terrifying thought made him pull away and stare at her. What had Zara done to him? She had turned him into a eunuch; he wanted only one woman. Zara. What in the blessed name of Allah was he going to do? He could force her and lose his wager. And lose her forever. Or he could continue his seduction, which seemed to be failing.

  “You have bewitched me,” he said harshly. “Leave me! Return to the harem. I need to think.”

  Zara scrambled to her feet and stumbled toward the door.

  “On second thought,” Jamal said thickly, “send Saha to me. Perhaps she can quench the fire you have started.”

  Zara turned and raced from the room, her cheeks burning. Let him vent his lust with Saha, she thought dully. Let the redhead pleasure him all night long; she didn’t care. But for some obscure reason, she did care.

  “Sheik Jamal is an extraordinary lover,” Saha told Leila and Amar as they sat beside the pool in the small garden outside the harem. “He was tireless last night,” she lied. It wouldn’t do to tell her companions that Jamal had dismissed her, telling her he was too tired to do either of them justice. “There was no end to his loving. I was quite exhausted when he sent me back to my room.”

  Leila and Amar sighed dreamily, wishing it were they who had spent the night in Jamal’s arms.

  “Do you not think our sheik is a magnificent lover, Zara?” Saha baited.

  Zara, who was serving refreshments to Jamal’s concubines, paused, sending Saha a withering smile. “I do not know, Lady Saha.”

  “You have spent many hours alone with Jamal,” Leila contended. “He must have found you unworthy of his attention if he did not let you pleasure him.”

  “Jamal does not like blondes,” Amar said smugly. “Zara is not beautiful as we are, and she is far too skinny and tall to attract a man such as our master.”

  “I do not like mint tea, Zara,” Saha said. “Fetch me something cool to drink. Perhaps a fruit sherbet.”

  “These apples are bruised, Zara, bring fresh ones,” Amar ordered.

  “I need a wet cloth to wipe my face, Zara,” Leila said. “Be sure it is scented with my special fragrance.”

  Zara had taken just about all she could from Jamal’s spoiled women. They were indolent, pampered creatures with mush for brains. They didn’t have a thought in their heads that wasn’t of a sexual nature.

  “I’m busy,” she said, deriving great pleasure from the shocked silence that followed her words. “Do it yourselves.”

  “I said I wanted something cool to drink,” Saha repeated, thrusting her cup of tepid tea at Zara. “Take this away.”

  A sly smile turned up the corners of Zara’s lips as she took the cup and deliberately emptied it into Saha’s lap. Saha leaped to her feet, her eyes brilliant with hatred as Zara gave her a wicked smile.

  “I’ve never seen you move so fast, Saha,” she taunted.

  “Berber bitch! How dare you treat me with disrespect? Wait until I tell Jamal. Then we’ll see who has the last laugh.” She charged across the garden, and ran headlong into Jamal.

  “Oh, my lord, praise Allah you’re here.”

  Jamal’s knowing gaze traveled over Saha’s drenched caftan, and he knew without being told that Zara was the cause of her vexation. “What has upset you, Saha?”

  Saha pointed an accusing finger at Zara. “Your Berber slave has insulted me. Look what she did to me!” She held out her damp caftan with thumb and forefinger. “The witch threw tea in my lap.”

  Jamal wanted to laugh but knew it would only make matters worse. Zara would never learn obedience if he made light of her escapades, though in truth they amused him.

  “What do you suggest I do, Saha?”

  Saha’s smile was not pleasant. “The bastinado, my lord. Ten strokes on the soles of her feet should be sufficient.”

  Jamal blanched, stunned by Saha’s viciousness. Ten strokes of the wooden rod upon the soles of Zara’s tender feet would cripple her. “Aren’t you being a bit harsh?”

  “Zara deserves it, my lord,” Leila contended. “She refused to serve me when I bade her bring me a wet cloth to bathe my
face.”

  “She would not fetch me a fresh apple,” Amar added. “Zara is a slave, is she not? She has been disobedient and sullen. After she is severely punished, you’d be wise to sell her.”

  Jamal turned his dark gaze on Zara, who didn’t seem at all repentant. “You have displeased my women, Zara,” he said sternly. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Zara gave him a contemptuous smile. “I have no desire to please your women. You do that well enough without my help.”

  Jamal nearly burst, trying to contain his laughter. Attempting to sound stern, he said, “Sarcasm does not become you, Zara.”

  “Zara is stubborn and fractious,” Leila said sulkily. “Send her away.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Zara agreed sweetly. “Send me away. Your wager is all but lost, and I will be free shortly anyway.”

  “What wager?” Saha wanted to know.

  “Enough of this bickering,” Jamal ordered. He preferred not to divulge the terms of the wager he’d made with Zara. He was having such dismal luck seducing her that he’d rather it didn’t become common knowledge.

  “You are going to punish Zara, aren’t you?” Saha asked, clinging to Jamal as she stared meltingly into his eyes.

  “Aye, Zara will be punished according to her infraction,” Jamal intoned grimly. “Come with me, Zara.”

  Zara wondered if she had gone too far. She didn’t relish being punished, but the look on Saha’s face when she’d dumped tea in her lap was almost worth it.

  Chapter Six

  How angry was Jamal? Zara wondered as she followed him to his chambers. Angry enough to use the bastinado on her? She shuddered. Would she be able to withstand the excruciating pain of being beaten upon the soles of her feet? Allah help her.

  Once inside his chamber, Jamal rounded on her. Zara’s fear escalated when she noted the fierce expression on Jamal’s face.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “The bastinado seems an appropriate punishment for your insolent behavior toward my women, don’t you agree?”

  Zara swallowed visibly. She had seen the damage done by a bastinado and it wasn’t pretty. “No, I do not agree. ’Tis much too harsh for my minor offense. Your women are a lazy lot whose brains are situated between their legs.”

  Jamal couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter. Zara’s canny assessment of his women was accurate. His new slave was truthful to a fault. Unfortunately, she must be punished for her disobedience. He couldn’t have her upsetting his household with her disruptive behavior.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Jamal agreed, “but ’tis not your place to judge my women. I did not acquire them for their intelligence.”

  “That’s obvious, my lord,” she said sweetly. “You think on the same level as they do, only your brains are in that appendage between your legs.”

  Jamal’s expression turned from amusement to anger in the blink of an eye. “You go too far, slave! If you do not curb your tongue I will have it cut out. ’Tis back to the stables with you. Obviously, you would rather wallow in dung than take your ease in comfortable quarters.”

  Through some kind of silent communication, Hammet appeared at Jamal’s elbow.

  “Fetch Zara clothing that is more appropriate for work in the stables, Hammet. She is to resume her chores there until she has learned humility. Take her away; she offends me.”

  Back to the stables, Zara thought dismally as Hammet escorted her from Jamal’s chambers. She supposed she deserved it. Her sharp tongue had pricked Jamal’s anger and she must pay the consequences. But at least she’d been spared the bastinado. She tried to convince herself that the stables were better suited to her tastes than the harem, but it didn’t work.

  Hammet plucked a set of rough clothing from a nail just inside the stables and thrust it at her. “You can change in an empty horse stall while I find Ahmed and tell him you’re back. Be quick about it.”

  Zara stumbled into an empty stall and quickly donned the shirt, baggy pantaloons and djellaba, feeling more at ease in the familiar robes that all but obscured her figure than in the fancy harem clothing that displayed far too much skin. She had just pulled the djellaba over her head when Hammet pulled open the stall door.

  “I have spoken with Ahmed. Your duties will begin immediately. They are the same as before.” He handed her a rake. “I personally don’t think this is woman’s work, but the master isn’t a man to be crossed. You have a vicious tongue, Zara. Learn to curb it and you can become our sheik’s favorite. You have more brains than Saha, Leila and Amar put together.”

  Having had his say, Hammet turned on his heel and left her to contemplate her dismal future as a stable slave.

  None of the stable slaves bothered Zara that night. Or the next. Or the night after that. Zara assumed they feared reprisal from Jamal and was grateful for that much at least. But stable work was backbreaking toil, and as each day passed, Zara had cause to regret her disrespect toward Jamal’s concubines. When would she learn to curb her sharp tongue? she wondered grumpily. Never, she supposed. Though she missed her soft bed in the harem, she was too proud to ask for it back.

  Zara had claimed an empty stall for herself and forked fresh straw in it for her bed. It provided the only bit of privacy she had enjoyed since being assigned to the stables three days before. She had just eaten her supper, washed her hands and face, hung a lantern from a hook and was preparing to bed down for the night when she sensed someone staring at her over the low wall of the stall.

  “Are you ready yet to admit defeat and act like a lady?” Jamal asked. His eyes glowed like polished ebony in the lamplight.

  Zara glared disdainfully at Jamal. “Youssef’s daughter will never admit to defeat. As long as I do my work, you have nothing to complain about. Two weeks have already elapsed since we struck our bargain. Soon you will be forced to free me.”

  Jamal spit out an oath. That cursed wager again! He’d never encountered a more provoking female. He didn’t want Zara sleeping on a bed of straw in the stables. He wanted her in his bed, in his arms, her body sated with his loving.

  Jamal unlatched the gate and stepped into the stall. “Yield to me, vixen. I will swathe you in fine silks and brocades and give you jewels that match your green eyes.”

  He pulled her against him so that she could feel the hard ridge of his need against her soft belly. “Can you not feel how much I want you?”

  “I suggest that you visit your harem,” Zara countered. She hated the way her body betrayed her each time Jamal touched her, and she tried to pull away from him. He would not allow it.

  “’Tis you I want, Zara. I have already tried to assuage my need for you with my concubines, but they failed to quench the fire inside me.” His arm curved around her waist. “Come, I will teach you delights beyond those you achieved with your bandit lover.” His piercing gaze held her suspended. “Have you ever had tiny silver balls slipped inside you? When you move, or even breathe, they hit against one another, creating an erotic clamor that will bring you sublime rapture beyond anything you have ever known.”

  Zara shuddered, aroused by Jamal’s seductive words and the tone of his voice. They were more arousing than the most intimate of caresses. If she didn’t put a stop to it soon, she’d be begging him to show her all the delights of which he spoke.

  “Save them for your concubines,” Zara countered freeing herself from his grasp. “I am extremely happy where I am. You can take those little silver balls and—”

  “Enough! You are a willful vixen with the heart and soul of a Berber warrior. I will leave you for now, Zara, but mark my words, you will be mine, in every way possible for a man to have a woman. When I place those silver balls inside you, you will beg for release that only I can give you. Good night, sweet vixen. Pleasant dreams.” Her shocked expression amused him. He hoped her dreams tonight were erotic ones.

  “Cur! Camel dung!” Zara flung at him. No man had ever spoken to her of such things. Were there really erotic toys such a
s silver balls? Just thinking about them moving against one another inside her made her feminine parts tingle and weep.

  “Why? Why do you want me when there are willing women within your household?” Zara wanted to know.

  Suddenly he grew serious, his expression grim. “I wish I knew. Perhaps Allah in his wisdom will reveal the answer to me one day.” He turned on his heel and left.

  Sleep that night was a long time coming for Zara.

  Jamal was having even greater difficulty finding sleep. He summoned Leila to his bed and then dismissed her when he found she did not appeal to him. He considered calling Amar or Saha but realized it wasn’t his concubines he wanted. Only Zara would satisfy him, and he had no stomach for forcing a woman to his bed. The Berber vixen had turned him into a cursed eunuch!

  Having finally found sleep, Zara wasn’t prepared to be awakened a short time later. A hand came down over her mouth, and she felt a warm breath next to her ear.

  “Awaken, Princess. I bring a message from your father.”

  Full awareness came swiftly at the mention of her father.

  “I will remove my hand if you promise not to cry out.”

  Zara nodded vigorously and the hand came away. “Who are you?”

  His words were a mere whisper of sound against her ear. “I am Rachid the camel trader, one of your father’s spies. I heard a rumor that you were a stable slave but didn’t want to believe it. The sheik is a fiend to force you to perform such menial work.”

  “From whom did you hear the rumor?”

  “The sheik’s concubines spoke of you when they visited the souk yesterday. But I heard it from other sources, too. I promptly relayed the news to Youssef. He is camped in the mountains just beyond the oasis. His reply came today. He wants you to be prepared for a rescue attempt tomorrow night. The Blue Men will come in the darkest hours before dawn.”

  “How will it be accomplished?” Zara wanted to know. She was literally shaking with excitement.

  “Youssef and his men will scale the walls. Be prepared.”

  “What can I do to help? They must be careful; guards are everywhere.”