A Cinderella for the Desert King

by Kim Lawrence

  ‘Relax...?’ She managed a laugh at the idea. ‘I’m living in a velvet-lined box.’

  ‘I can have you moved to another room.’

  She gave a sigh of frustration. ‘Not the room! I mean the situation. The lying and the money and—’

  ‘Yes, I get it, but compared to escaping from desert pirates it should be child’s play.’

  ‘Pirates. I suppose they were, and the desert is a bit like the sea too,’ she reflected, a little shudder tracing a path up her spine as she recalled the vast emptiness. ‘I didn’t escape. I hung on, that’s all,’ she reminded him, a glimmer of a smile tilting one corner of her lips as she recalled that journey through the blackness of the desert.

  The memory reminded her too that she owed him, big time. He hadn’t played that card, he even seemed inclined to play down the fact he had saved her from a fate that Abby considered worse than death. Given how much she owed him, he wasn’t, when she really thought about it, asking so very much in return. So it didn’t sit well with her conscience; being uneasy was not much to ask of her in the grand scheme of things.

  ‘I signed on for this so don’t worry, I won’t wimp out.’

  ‘I like your hair that way...it is you.’

  Before she had the opportunity to decide if that had been a compliment or an insult he was opening the door for her to pass through. As she did he stopped her, patting his trouser pockets. ‘I’ve forgotten my phone...hold on...’ He paused. ‘What are you scared of?’

  ‘I’m not scared...just...people are going to be curious, to ask questions.’

  ‘I feel confident that they won’t, but if they do simply refer them to me.’

  Her little chin lifted in challenge once more. ‘I don’t need a man to speak for me! Do you even know how sexist that sounds?’

  ‘You were the one playing helpless,’ he pointed out.

  The term grated on Abby.

  She glared at him through narrowed eyes. ‘I wasn’t playing.’

  ‘So you are helpless, then?’

  Her exasperated glare morphed into confusion when instead of moving past her through the door he backtracked, heading towards the row of cupboards that lined the opposite wall.

  ‘What are you do...?’

  She stopped, her mouth ajar, as he opened one of the doors and stepped through.

  ‘What the...?’ She followed him, pushing the door wider and seeing that there was no closet behind it, there was another room. As she walked through to it, it became obvious that the room was a bedroom on the same palatial scale as her own but much more sparsely furnished than the one allocated to her and very definitely masculine.

  She stood there, frozen in the concealed doorway, as Zain went to a desk on one wall and shifted some papers to find what he was looking for. It took her a few seconds for the significance to sink in. When it did she experienced a flare of alarmed fury!

  ‘Got it!’

  Her jaw tightened—was that all he had to say? ‘This,’ she said in a frozen voice, ‘is a bedroom?’

  ‘Hard to get anything past you.’

  Her lips compressed. ‘Your bedroom?’ she added, her voice heavy with accusation.

  ‘Right again.’

  Her chest swelled. ‘Was anyone going to tell me that there was a secret door in my room?’

  The conversational tone didn’t fool him for a minute—he knew she was mad as hell and yet he appeared to enjoy watching her like this.

  ‘Oh, it isn’t a secret, cara, everyone knows it’s there. My great-great-grandfather had it put in when he moved his favourite mistress into the palace. And as we are married it is almost obligatory to share the same bedroom suite, if not the same bed...’ He paused, his gaze sliding down the long, supple curves of her body. ‘Unless, of course, you do wish to share...? Relax,’ he recommended before she could react. ‘There’s a lock on the connecting door. We can use it if you’re worried about your virtue.’

  His mockery stung colour into her smooth cheeks, or maybe it was the thrill of illicit excitement low in her stomach.

  ‘I am perfectly capable of defending my virtue, thank you.’ The question that was becoming more relevant, considering that even his voice had the ability to make her quiver, was, did she actually want to defend it?

  She lowered her gaze as the internal admission brought a rosy flush to her cheeks.

  ‘So I don’t need a lock.’ A bit of self-control might help though, she thought despairingly.

  * * *

  ‘I do not doubt it, but the lock is on my side.’ The lock might be on one side but the attraction, the same attraction that had flared into life in the desert, was mutual, and stronger than anything he had ever experienced in his life.

  If the circumstances had been different he would have enjoyed exploring it, and her. His chiselled jaw tightened as he reminded himself that they were to be together for eighteen months, and, while sharing sex might make the first couple of months easier and definitely more enjoyable, it still left the months that came after.

  In his experience, when lust burnt itself out the very things that had attracted you in the first place became irritants, and then there was the boredom... Under normal circumstances the solution was walking away, but in this situation that was not an option.

  Even this sobering thought did not stop his eyes making an unscheduled journey up the long, supple curves of her spectacular body once more, or the heat that pooled in his groin. Jaw clenched, he made himself walk past her before he did or said something he would definitely regret.

  The lightning-quick return sliced through Abby’s veneer of bravado.

  ‘In your dreams,’ she said contemptuously.

  He swung back without warning, the speed and fluidity of his action taking her unawares. He was standing so close, towering over her, and he could feel the heat of her body. She reacted instinctively to the force of his sheer male physicality, placing her palms flat and pushing hard against his chest.

  Her strength was nothing compared to his resolve and as her eyes became locked with his he slid a hand to the small of her back and pressed her against his chest, trapping her hands between them and doing nothing to hide his arousal.

  She struggled for breath, the air emerging from her parted lips in a series of stressed little gasps. Zain was breathing hard too, his breath warm on her face as he bent his head until there were only centimetres of air between their lips.

  The breathless stillness could have lasted a second or an hour before it was broken by Zain.

  ‘You want to know about my dreams, cara...?’ he said thickly. Alarm bells louder than those she had set off the previous day were screeching in his head but he tuned them out. This was just sex.

  Abby moaned, her eyelids closing as he moved his lips across her own so lightly it was agony as every nerve in his body tensed and started screaming.

  It was the little shudder, the warm lips that softened beneath his that cut through the last threads of Zain’s control. He slid his fingers into her silky hair, wrapping them through the fiery strands and letting instinct take over as he kissed her like a starving man.

  Abby responded to the searing contact, parting her lips under his probing pressure and welcoming the intimacy, craving it as she fell into the hard, hungry kiss.

  They were both breathing like marathon runners when his mouth finally lifted. Warm breath mingling with hers, Zain stood there, his fingers tangled in her hair, the side of his nose resting against her own.

  The muscles along his jaw quivered as he gently kissed the corner of her mouth. ‘You want to explore my dreams a little longer? Or maybe your dreams...?’

  ‘I don’t have those sort of dreams,’ she said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IGNORING HIS LOOK of disbelief, Abby barged past him and out of the door, mortified, ashamed by her response,
but much, much more disturbed by the illicit excitement that remained low in her belly.

  ‘So you’ve decided to take the lead?’

  She flashed him a look of dislike. Her insides were trembling. He looked totally cool and she resented and envied his ability to turn his passion on and off like a tap as if it meant nothing to him.

  It meant nothing to me, she added firmly to herself, and repeated it just to emphasise the fact—nothing. ‘Are they going to follow us all the time?’ she asked crankily.

  He looked blank; he was actually struggling to focus. ‘They who...?’

  ‘The two large men with granite faces and...at a guess, automatic weapons over their shoulders, who are ten paces behind us. Is that ringing any bells?’

  ‘Oh...you tune them out after a while.’ It was that or go mad. ‘Security.’

  ‘I didn’t think they were the entertainment...do they follow you everywhere?’

  You could get used to anything, she supposed, even the low, disturbing electric thrum in the air when Zain was around...so long as she didn’t touch him, she would cope.

  ‘They try to.’

  ‘It’s very intrusive...’

  ‘It’s the art of living in a velvet-lined box.’

  The reminder dragged a reluctant smile from Abby. ‘A figure of speech. It’s actually a very beautiful box.’ They were walking under arches of marble embellished with intricate carvings. Beneath their feet was a mosaic made of bright blues and golds, the colours so intense it looked as though it had been freshly laid, but it had to be ancient.

  ‘If you slow down you might actually get to see some of it.’

  With a slight tip of her head she acknowledged his comment.

  ‘Are you in much pain?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m on strong painkillers.’

  She tilted her head to look up at his strong profile. ‘But are you actually taking them?’

  ‘I put my comfort ahead of my macho reputation.’

  ‘Do you have a macho...?’ She caught her breath and rushed across to the archway that had given her a glimpse of the vista that had stopped her in her tracks. ‘Oh, my goodness!’ She put her hands on the wrought-iron rail that came up to hip height and leaned out.

  With a sharp admonition of, ‘Careful!’ he tugged her back from the railings embedded in the base of the opening that appeared to be cut into a single rose-coloured stone so massive it looked like a rock face.

  It took several moments for Zain’s heart to slide back down from his throat, where it had climbed, and into his chest—the image of her leaning out too far and simply falling out into space was hard to shake.

  His chest continued to heave like someone who’d just had to sprint ten kilometres, his breath hissing out in fast, measured gasps, his bruised ribs screaming in protest. As he turned his head to study her profile she appeared utterly oblivious to the fact she had ever been in any danger, and utterly oblivious to him, her enraptured gaze fixed on the panoramic vista.

  He’d wanted to surprise her, to see her reaction, but the plan had definitely backfired. He was the one who’d been surprised...and probably taken twelve months off his life in the process.

  The original city had been built up around the palace on three sides, and this side faced the desert, the endless sand dunes rising organically from the rock of the building’s foundations.

  Nothing broke the undulating miles and miles of red desert until it reached the mountains, blue in the distance against the even more vivid, eye-aching blue of a sky that seemed to go on for ever.

  * * *

  Abby was so completely enthralled by the dazzling vista that it took her a few moments to register that Zain was standing behind her, his hand on her shoulders. As compelling as the view was, her appreciation was drowned beneath the awareness of his warm proximity.

  She felt the shudder start in her toes and begin to rise... She stepped forward to break contact but instead his grip tightened and he swore softly as he turned her around to face him.

  ‘For God’s sake, woman, are you trying to kill yourself?’ Without taking his angry eyes from her face he jerked his head in the direction of the drop.

  She frowned in bewilderment at his stressed exclamation.

  ‘The drop is two hundred feet.’ He spaced the words, enunciating them slowly through his lips.

  Her expression cleared. ‘Oh, I’m fine with heights.’

  His chiselled jaw clenched. ‘Well, I am not fine with scraping up pieces of your stupid—’ He bit back any further remarks and shook his dark head, his big hands sliding downwards from her shoulders to her upper arms. He seemed at the point of jerking her towards him when instead he stepped backwards, releasing the breath that had clearly been trapped in his chest in a deep sigh.

  Relieved there was a barrier of air between them, she might have been able to clear the whirling fog of emotions in her head if he hadn’t continued to stare at her with daunting disapproval, mingled with something else she couldn’t quite name.

  The something else made her heart rate escalate, throwing the stressed organ against her ribcage as her eyes went to his mouth, remembering his kiss as she swallowed to relieve the contraction in her dry throat.

  She didn’t have a clue how long they stayed there, a frozen tableau, before he finally broke the silence, though not with a kiss this time.

  ‘You scared me witless...this place—’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  You’re beautiful, she thought, unable to stop staring at his face.

  He nodded. ‘Yes, but it is also dangerous.’

  So were the currents she could feel shimmering like silken ribbons in the air between them.

  ‘My ancestors used to bring their enemies here and push them to their deaths...’

  She gave a shudder at the image his words created in her head.

  ‘When I was a boy I used to be fascinated by the gruesome stories in the way that small boys are always fascinated by gruesome anything. On my twelfth birthday, my brother said he had a present for me...he brought me here...’ His head turned towards the ledge. ‘By that time I was as tall as Khalid, but two of his friends were waiting. They held me over the edge and threatened to drop me...they wanted me to say my mother was a slut... I wouldn’t, so they held me there until I passed out from fear.’

  She hadn’t felt dizzy standing at the edge but the furious reaction she felt in response to his matter-of-fact recounting of the story of bullying rose up in her now, so strong that her head spun. ‘Oh, that’s so terrible...wicked...no wonder you are scared of this place!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘I’m not scared of this place.’

  ‘It’s fine if you are,’ she soothed, taking his hand as she began to back away from the stone opening.

  It took him a moment to realise the astonishing truth: she was looking after him... With a twisted half-smile he allowed her to drag him away until she stood with her back to the wall and he was facing her a few feet away from the opening.

  ‘Is that better?’

  ‘I’m really not afraid of heights—my father cured me. Somehow, he heard about what had happened. I never questioned how, I just accepted his omnipotence.’ There was a wistful edge to his soft laugh. ‘Anyway, he brought me here and told me to look over the edge.’

  She looked up at him, eyes wide with shock and indignation.

  ‘That was brutal!’

  She couldn’t believe it when he shook his head in denial of her condemnation. He actually smiled, and the poignant quality of the motion made her ache with sadness.

  ‘I refused point-blank and so he brought a stone out from his pocket. It was large, smooth and black.’ He extended his hand, rubbing his thumb across his palm as though he was seeing it, feeling it there.

  ‘A stone?’

  ‘He gave it to me and told me t
hat it was very valuable, he explained that it had magical qualities, that the person who carried it would never fall. He said it had been given to him by a famous climber who had conquered Everest.’

  Abby’s shoulders relaxed as she smiled. ‘You believed him.’ She was taken by the story and the image in her head of Zain as a little boy.

  ‘I was still afraid of the drop, but yes, I believed him and actually more than that I didn’t want to disappoint him. So every day we met here and each day I looked over the edge with a little less fear than the previous day. After a week of coming here, only to have my father not show up, I got bored and curious so I took the stone from my pocket and climbed up onto the ledge. Did I mention I was a rather curious child? I wondered what would happen if I dropped it...so I did.

  ‘When I turned around my father was standing there. I told him the stone hadn’t worked. It had fallen.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He just shrugged and said, “Yes, but you didn’t.” And walked away.’

  Abby smiled at the story. ‘It sounds as though you had a great relationship.’

  ‘When I was a child, certainly.’

  ‘But not now?’ Even before his expression froze over she was regretting her probing. ‘I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.’

  ‘Why not? It is no secret.’ He turned away to stare out of the window, his face in profile remote, his voice devoid of expression as he continued. ‘My father was a good man, and at one time a good ruler. He was strong, everyone respected him and the people worshipped him. When I heard the stories of the early days of his rule I wanted to be just like him.’

  His bitter, reflective laugh made her wince. ‘What happened?’

  ‘There was an enormous scandal when he married my mother—she had a past and he had a wife, Khalid’s mother. But he didn’t care; his love for my mother was an obsession, a disease. He put his personal happiness ahead of his duty.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she began tentatively. ‘He felt he needed the woman he loved beside him to do his job as ruler?’

  He whipped around, his mouth twisted into a sneer as he responded to her softly issued suggestion. ‘She left him!’