by Kay Thorpe
‘Wake up…wake up, Lucy.’
Reluctantly, Lucy opened her eyes. And then she leapt into an upright sitting position. She had been asleep in Kahlil’s arms, resting her head on his shoulder! Her flesh still burned with the touch of him—she raised her hand in astonishment to her mouth. Was it a dream? She was sure she could feel the ghost of a kiss on her parted lips.
‘What time is it?’ she said, surfacing fast from her drowsy state.
‘Almost lunchtime,’ Kahlil said. ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’
But he had removed the wrap from her shoulders, and, looking up, Lucy saw that an awning had been erected over their heads to keep them in the shade. Even so it was hot. ‘We haven’t talked yet,’ she said, fanning herself. All the good done by her sleep vanished as she remembered the events that had brought them to this point.
‘Not yet,’ Kahlil agreed, flexing his limbs and springing up. ‘It will have to wait now. Edward will be ready to eat—’
‘Edward! Where is he?’
‘Where we left him,’ Kahlil said, looking down at her, his expression hidden in the shadow cast by the giant canopy.
Lucy relaxed. ‘Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘He is well looked after, I can assure you. Your clothes will have been laundered if you would like to change back into them before lunch.’
Yes, she would like to change into something more conventional, Lucy thought, realising she was still wearing the exotic but rather impractical gowns. And as for lunch—Kahlil made it sound so civilised, so normal, but nothing about the situation was normal.
‘I thought we would have lunch with our son—unless you prefer not to?’
And be excluded totally? ‘Of course I’d like to.’
‘Good. Edward will like that.’
The ribbon of fear that had started threading its way through Lucy’s optimism drew tight. Kahlil sounded so confident, so sure. It was as if he had known Edward all his life and she was the outsider.
‘I want to see him now,’ she insisted, her throat tightening with apprehension. ‘Before lunch, before I change—’ She stopped, seeing the expression in Kahlil’s eyes harden.
‘Did you think I would have him stolen away while you were sleeping?’
Lucy reddened, knowing she had attempted to pull off something very similar.
‘Don’t worry, Lucy,’ Kahlil said, reading her like a book. ‘I don’t work that way. Whatever action I take regarding my son will be out in the open, for all men to see, all men to judge.’
The thought of Kahlil taking action against her with all the might of Abadan’s legal system behind him filled Lucy with dread. And then, gripping her arms, Kahlil looked deep into her eyes so she could not mistake the purpose in his.
‘You don’t know me at all, do you? Edward is fine. Safia is looking after him, as I told you she would. And when you are ready to go for lunch you will see him for yourself.’
It was subtle, but still there; Kahlil was dictating when she could and could not see Edward.
Her stomach contracted with resentment and with fear. Her escape attempt had failed utterly, and in fact she had only made things worse.
Lucy’s swift intake of breath as emotion overtook her drew Kahlil to her. She was so strong, and to see her brought low, and to know that he was the cause of her distress, aroused feelings in him that were new. He didn’t intend to kiss her. It was the last thing on his mind. He didn’t mean to frighten her either, or to threaten her, and what he saw in her eyes was fear. It made him recognise his wish to bring her under his protection.
Lucy Benson was like a madness that possessed him, Kahlil realised as he drew her close. He wanted his son more than anything in the world, but he wanted Lucy as well. One the laws of Abadan would secure for him, the other he might have to seduce into submission. But he would have them both.
Even now, even at her lowest ebb, she fought him off. But as he drank in her sweetness, and murmured soft words in his own language to soothe her, she grew calmer, until at last she melted against him and slowly turned her face up for his kiss.
Kahlil’s hunger surged when he saw the desire in Lucy’s eyes. He ached with the need to pleasure her, to comfort and protect her. He wanted her in his bed, awaiting the pleasure he would bring her night after night…until he tired of her.
He had been forced to amend his plan to make her his mistress. The Constitution of Abadan required Edward to be a legitimate heir: for that he would have to marry Edward’s mother.
It wasn’t a problem, Kahlil reflected, seeing how Lucy hungered for him. She would agree to anything he suggested. Better still, she was a successful career woman. She would see the sense in putting a time limit on their arrangement. She would be hugely flattered that he wished to elevate her above the rank of mere mistress. She had everything to gain: money, prestige, the throne of Abadan for her son, for goodness’ sake. What more could any woman want? And, although marriage with a woman like Lucy Benson would normally be unthinkable, it was expedient in this case, and would certainly legitimise their son as the law required.
And love?
Kahlil made a sound of derision deep in his throat as the crazy notion struck him out of nowhere. The lure of a throne, a fortune and a title would be more than enough for Lucy. He had seen the lie lived out in many other royal households. The stamp of royalty was all it took to convince even the most cynical of women that she was in love.
But now Lucy responded to his wordless growl with a soft, deep-seated whimper of her own, and Kahlil frowned, drawing back for a moment. In that instant she had seemed too trusting, too defenceless—
Love?
This time he dismissed the notion out of hand and kissed her again, passionately, hard, relishing the way she melted against him. Lust is not love, he scolded his inner voice triumphantly. And lust is something I know all about.
But as he deepened the kiss Kahlil wanted love on every level. He was hungry for it, starving. The erotic level was what he craved most now. He needed to lose himself in the silky darkness of her body, put thinking aside. He couldn’t wait to tutor her in all the seductive mysteries of the East—a day of passion to seal their bargain.
‘Lunch,’ Lucy told him softly when he let her go.
‘A late lunch,’ he growled, swinging her into his arms.
‘But Edward—’
‘Is being taken care of,’ he reminded her, dropping a quick, reassuring kiss on her brow as he carried her across the room.
It had been so long, too long, and the sexual attraction between them was explosive, their appetites insatiable. But both were aware of the clock ticking, and the promise they had made to share one meal together as a family for their son’s sake.
Lucy cried out in ecstasy as Kahlil swung her round. In one move he was inside her, before they had made it to the bed. Her silk and cotton gowns were roughly pushed up out of the way so she could wrap her legs around his waist and urge him on. She was barely aware of anything now, other than Kahlil’s full and total possession of her body, and her own overpowering need to find release.
Still pleasuring her, still sinking deep within her, Kahlil managed to shrug off his robe and mount the steps leading to the raised platform where they would lie together. Lucy lay heavily against his shoulder as he worked inside her, her mouth slack, her eyes glazed from a pure overdose of pleasure, and then she groaned as he lowered her down onto the very edge of the mattress. She was already tilted at an inviting angle, and uttered a small cry of alarm when he brought both her legs over his shoulders to open her wider still.
‘I would never hurt you. If you want me to stop—’
‘No!’ she exclaimed fiercely.
Did he think her brazen? The thought slipped in and out of Lucy’s mind like a shadow. But Kahlil knew her, he understood her needs…She let out a long, shuddering gasp as he began to tease her with shallow probes. She was reduced to crying out, to begging him for release with words she co
uld hardly believe she knew. And then he went deeper still, until he was groaning with pleasure as much as she was as they hovered in intensely pleasurable suspension over the edge of the abyss.
They both wanted the moment to last for ever, and both knew equally that it could not. Lucy struggled hard to make the exquisite feeling last, to hold back, to stop herself falling, to hold on to the blissful moments. But Kahlil refused her this last indulgence and thrust into her rhythmically, moving slowly at first, and then deeper than she had ever known or thought possible. When he picked up the pace she was finally defeated, and gave a long wail of ecstasy as she tumbled into an endless dark tunnel of pulsing sensation.
‘And now lunch,’ he murmured when she had quietened.
‘Lunch?’ she said groggily.
‘Take a shower,’ Kahlil said. ‘My bathroom is at your disposal.’
His words now were cold, so matter-of-fact it was as if another person entirely was speaking to her. Suddenly Lucy became aware that her clothes were bunched around her neck.
‘Don’t you want a shower?’ she said, finding her voice dry and hoarse as she hurried to straighten them. But Kahlil was already halfway across the room.
‘I have another bathroom through here,’ he said, turning briefly to stare at her.
Of course, Lucy thought, falling silent. She might have known Sheikh Kahlil would be prepared for every eventuality, even out here in the desert.
‘And don’t take too long,’ he said. ‘We have another appointment, if you remember?’
Remember? As if she could forget their planned lunch with Edward! Lucy made a sharp, incredulous sound, but Kahlil had already gone.
News that their Prince had arrived had spread like wildfire amongst the tribesmen of the desert, and the chance to discuss Edward’s future over a quiet family lunch was an impossible dream, Lucy realised as she emerged from the women’s pavilion and saw the crowds. The event she had imagined would be private had been transformed into a ceremonial occasion. Though, as such, it surely had to be one of the most spectacular of its kind. She could hardly believe how many people had assembled in the hope of seeing Kahlil.
The cruel heat of midday had eased considerably by the time Lucy carried Edward up the wooden steps to the canopied area outside the royal pavilion. The light had taken on a mellow honey colour that seemed to bring out the occasional splash of bright colour, so that what she saw in front of her resembled a scene from a film. Lucy looked around in wonder. At the silken cushions heaped where she would sit. Overhead, a richly tented ceiling of white and gold silk cast a shade over the eating area below, and there were two side walls of silk undulating lazily in the breeze. The front of the pavilion was open to the elements and to the vast sandy expanse of desert, where all the nomadic people of Abadan had gathered.
There was an incongruous mix of old and new, Lucy noticed: something she was becoming accustomed to in Abadan. The decking beneath her feet would have been just as happy in a suburban garden back home, but this decking was covered with fabulous antique rugs that sank like dense pads of velvet beneath her sandalled feet.
Safia, who had accompanied her, had thought to bring some toys for Edward, but all he wanted to play with was his father’s gauntlet.
There was still no sign of Kahlil, though Lucy guessed he would be amongst his people somewhere. Searching the crowds, she was surprised to see how many trucks were parked up alongside the camels at the edge of the assembly area.
‘Roads criss-cross the desert now,’ Safia informed her when she saw Lucy’s puzzled glance light on the car park. ‘Fuel is more readily available here in Abadan than water.’
‘Of course,’ Lucy said, realising this must be so in an oil-rich state. With a smile at Safia, she turned, shading her eyes, and stared out across the mass of people, still searching for Kahlil. And then she saw him—in the thick of it, a head taller than all the other men. He was examining some stallions that had been brought for his approval.
As if sensing her interest, he turned to look at her, and Lucy’s heart leapt as their eyes locked. Whatever he might think of her, she had never felt more proud of Kahlil in that moment, or more pleased to think he was the father of her son. He looked every bit the Prince of Abadan, but there was tenderness in his face as his gaze dropped to Edward, playing happily at her side. Then he turned back to talk to the tribesmen again, completely absorbed in whatever it was they were saying to him.
Kahlil’s sincerity shone through when he was speaking to them, Lucy realised with a pang of envy. The way banter passed easily between the men and their Prince showed how much they respected each other. This was what she wanted for Edward. She wanted him to grow up respecting others, and, in turn, to earn the right to have them respect him.
Kahlil had to do a double take when he noticed Lucy had arrived. And then he had to remind himself that duty took precedence over his personal life. Or had done up to now, he thought, as his astonished gaze swept over her again. Her resemblance to the photographs in his family archive had never struck him before, but it was quite incredible. He took in her casual attire, and the way she had swept up her long blonde hair into a no-nonsense ponytail, and didn’t have to move a step closer to know she hadn’t thought to put on make-up—a touch of lip balm, perhaps, but nothing more.
Lucy was thankful she had chosen to dress sensibly, in the freshly laundered clothes in which she had left the palace: a simple pair of cotton trousers, and a tailored shirt rolled up to the elbows. The very last thing she wanted was to cut a frivolous figure. She was a down-to-earth working mother, and she had no intention of behaving like an impostor to please her desert prince. Kahlil would have to accept her for who she was; there could be no compromise ever where that was concerned.
Lucy tensed as, having finished his conversation, Kahlil turned to her. Resplendent in his desert robes, with soft silk trousers showing beneath, he looked every inch the future ruler of Abadan. There was purpose to his stride as he came quickly towards her. The moment Edward saw his father crossing the sand towards them he started bunny-hopping with excitement. And, in spite of both Lucy’s and Safia’s best efforts, he refused to quieten down.
Taking the steps two at a time, Kahlil came over and, without a word to Lucy, claimed his son, sweeping him high into the air above his head. Holding him aloft, he turned to look down on the thousands of people gathered in front of him.
The massed tribesmen raised their fists high and gave a deep-throated roar of approval that ran a chill down Lucy’s spine. Edward had been claimed as one of them, she realised, feeling a confusing mixture of pride and fear. There could be no turning back now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEY ate a delicious meal, sitting cross-legged on cushions beneath the shady canopy. A vast selection of delicacies was brought to them, and the feast didn’t draw to a conclusion until purple shadows had started to track across the mustard-coloured sand.
Kahlil devoted most of his time to Edward—and, though Lucy was growing to enjoy watching them together because it made Edward so happy, she was becoming increasingly frustrated, sure Kahlil was deliberately evading her attempts to pin him down about the future.
‘There are some people I must talk to when we have finished eating,’ he said when coffee was being served. ‘Edward should leave us now. It will be tedious for him to have to sit still and listen.’
‘But I thought we were going to talk,’ Lucy said, conscious that the nursemaid was already moving to take Edward back to the women’s tent. She was torn, seeing how tired Edward was, but knowing she would never be ready to accept Kahlil’s orders where he was concerned. Moving to go with them, Lucy was surprised when Kahlil touched her arm, stopping her.
‘Edward is tired,’ he said. ‘The women can see to him. You can go to him later.’
‘But you have things to do here,’ she pointed out. ‘Surely it would be better if I went with Edward?’
‘We still have things to talk about, and Edward will sleep
now. There is nothing more you can do for him tonight.’
‘But I’d rather go with him—’
‘Sit down. Please, Lucy.’ Kahlil’s voice dropped a tone.
Reluctant to make a scene in front of all the tribesmen, Lucy settled back onto the cushions, watching Safia take Edward into the women’s tent, and noticing Kahlil was doing the same.
‘Before we talk, I must greet some of the elders of the tribe,’ Kahlil explained the moment Edward had disappeared from sight. ‘I will share a glass of tea with them as our custom demands.’
‘When will we talk?’ Lucy pressed.
‘As soon as this is over. If you would rather wait for me inside the pavilion—?’
‘No, this is fine,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ll stay here.’ Kahlil’s way of life fascinated her. This was a great opportunity to learn more about the father of her son. ‘Would you like me to move back,’ she offered, ‘so that you can speak to the other men in private?’
‘I have nothing to hide,’ Kahlil said dryly, ‘and neither do my kinsmen. You may stay where you are.’
Lucy’s pulse quickened when his hard mouth softened in the suggestion of a smile. And he was in no hurry to look away. It was she who broke eye contact first, her heart racing as her mind flashed back to their earlier passion. She could almost believe there was something more between them than their son and sexual attraction. She wanted to believe…
Then Kahlil turned away and made a sign to one of his attendants. At his signal, the line of men waiting at the foot of the stairs began moving slowly towards them.
‘What did he mean?’ Lucy said, turning to Kahlil as the last of the elderly tribesmen made a deep bow towards them both. ‘Who is Nurse Clemmy?’ She broke off to smile at the older man as he left them to join the others. He had stared at her throughout the audience with Kahlil, exclaiming in Abadanese under his breath, and then, when he’d spoken directly to Kahlil, had repeated the name ‘Nurse Clemmy’ over and over as he gestured towards her, his eyes bright with excitement.
