The Sheikh's Stolen Bride: The only way to make her happy was to make her his... (The Sheikhs' Brides Book 2)

by Clare Connelly

  It took no time. Minutes, if that, before she was cresting over a wave, pleasure soaking through her. She cried out, screaming, her words rushed and jumbled, incoherent, as stars danced on her eyes.

  “Ashad,” she dug her fingernails into his shoulder. He smiled against her mouth but didn’t stop kissing her. His hands reached for his belt; he removed it and discarded it, then his pants. So much for a slow seduction. He couldn’t wait to be with Charlotte.

  Literally, he could not wait.

  He broke the kiss only to lift his shirt from his head, and toss it across the room, then he was stripping his boxers, revealing himself to her at last. And though she’d felt his arousal on the boat, the sight of him naked filled her with doubt. Not doubts as to what she wanted, but doubts as to what she was capable of. He was enormous. Hard, long, big and tanned, like he was.

  She stared at him, and at her look of fear, he forced himself to slow down, to be gentle. He kissed her slowly now, letting her absorb the care he felt for her; the fact he was determined to give her an experience that defied even what they meant to one another.

  “All I want is to give you pleasure,” he said quietly. “You will tell me if you feel any pain. Any fear. Anything that isn’t good. Understood?”

  She nodded. “I’m not afraid,” she said honestly. “Not because of … my past, anyway. I’m … I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and am about to jump off… feet first… I feel crazy. But good crazy.”

  “You are good crazy,” he promised, and he nudged at her entrance. She stared at him, and he kissed her gently, tasting away her fears, promising her the world.

  And then, she lifted her legs, parting for him, welcoming him. He pushed into her, so gently, watching her face the whole time. Even when his own body was demanding that he thrust hard and fast he went painfully slowly, giving her a chance to adjust to the new sensations.

  She arched beneath him and finally, impatient herself, she wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him the rest of the way. Her eyes met his in silent challenge. “I want you,” she said seriously. “I want all of you.”

  He nodded, and now he pulled back a little, before taking her again. She moaned as sensations began to radiate through her. Pleasure was pleasure and Ashad was a master at giving it to her body.

  He watched her as he’d wanted to from the first moment they met. He saw the way pleasure made her nose crinkle and slammed her eyes shut. He reached for her hair and ran his fingers through it, and he kissed her neck, her shoulders, sought her breasts and rounded her nipples with his tongue. He moved inside of her slowly, carefully, and finally, he felt her muscles squeezing him in their sign of passion.

  She was close. He moved quickly now, sending her over the edge at last and she tumbled hard and fast, digging her nails into his back and dragging them down as pleasure sent waves of heat through her body. An intense pleasure that made her want to cry and scream and laugh and shriek. A pleasure that couldn’t be put into words. She held him tight and then he moved and all her pleasure receptors began to sparkle again. She wasn’t done yet, and he knew that.

  He stoked her flame anew, driving her to the edge of oblivion and beyond it, sending her into the universe like a shooting star, and then he exploded with her, holding her tight, needing her, wanting her.

  It was the middle of the night – no, it was the early hours of the morning, not the witching hour – and though they were both tired, there was an energy bouncing between them.

  Charlotte stared at him, her eyes enormous and blinking in her face. “That was beautiful,” she whispered. “Thank you.” Tears clogged the word. “You are … very good at that.”

  He laughed, and shook his head. “That wasn’t just me, Charlotte. It was both of us. It’s what we do to each other. What we just shared is not the norm. Trust me.”

  Pleasure turned her heart in her chest. “Really?”

  His laugh was warm butter. “Really.”

  She pushed up, straddling his naked chest. “You’re saying I’m special?”

  His eyes were diamond-like, challenging her. “Do you want to be special to me?”

  Her breath hitched in her throat. “Yes.”

  “And so you are,” he promised. Wild horses could not have prevented their coming together. It had been written in the stars from the moment they’d met. Perhaps, as Zahir had suggested, fate had even played a part. Maybe there was a reason Syed had sent him to find a way to cancel the wedding. Even the fact that Syed refused to marry Charlotte, despite the fact she was such a suitable bride. Perhaps it was all fated, or written by destiny.

  “I know I should be full of regret,” she said quietly. “But I’m not. Is that awful?”

  “No.” He reached up and cupped her cheek. “I’m not either.”

  Charlotte didn’t feel regret, but she did feel guilt. She hardly knew Syed and yet she had been promised to him. What they’d just done made the prospect of her marriage impossible to contemplate. There was no way Ashad could continue to live in Kalastan when she and Syed were married. How could she look at him and not want him? And not think of him as hers? And, heaven forbid, when he married someone? Would she be expected to socialise with his bride?

  Her heart, so flushed with fire, was turning cold.

  “What is it?” He asked, attuned to her every mood.

  “Nothing,” she promised, shaking her head, dispelling the dark storm clouds that were gathering on her horizon. Nothing important.

  And that was true. Nothing was more important than this.

  * * *

  Several hours later, she reached for Ashad, or perhaps he reached for her. But they tangled together, a knot of limbs and sheets and desire and lust. It was an insatiable need, and they came together as a flame with oil. It was not gentle and slow like the first time; it was explosive. He took her body and owned it. He marked himself on her in a way that was as permanent and undeniable as a tattoo. He was changing her, altering her forever. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and held him tight, and in those sleepy, sensual moments, she wondered how she’d ever turn her back on this. How could she possibly marry another man when there was this?

  * * *

  The sun broke through the curtains, colouring the room with yellows and gold. Someone was knocking at the door. Charlotte heard it and her heart began to pound. “Ashad!” She shook his shoulder. “Ashad! Someone’s here.”

  He was alert instantly. “It’s okay,” he said, but he was impatient with whoever saw fit to interrupt him. His eyes moved to the clock beside him. It was six, his usual hour of waking, and his valet frequently came to him at that time.

  He smiled at Charlotte and stood, pausing only to slide a pair of boxer shorts on over his nakedness. He pulled the door inwards and Charlotte slid lower in the bed, pulling the sheet over her head. It smelled of him. She smiled and moaned under her breath. Her insides clenched with desire and she wondered how quickly he’d be back in bed.

  She wanted him again.

  And again.

  And again.

  She heard mumbled voices and then the door clicking shut.

  He laughed as he ripped the sheet off her, and she joined him. “Who was it?”

  He fell on top of her, his smile touching her heart. “My valet.”

  “At this hour?”

  He shrugged. “It’s when I wake up. He was seeing if I wanted coffee.”

  “Mmm, coffee,” she murmured appreciatively.

  “A girl after my own heart.” He sobered, stroking her cheek. “How are you this morning?”

  Her smile was all confident ease. “I’ll be a thousand percent after coffee.”

  “And before it?” He prompted, pushing past her mask with ease.

  Her eyes flecked with amber as she met his gaze. “A thousand percent.”

  He relaxed visibly. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear it. I thought you might wake with remorse. Regrets.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Wo
rries, yes. But I don’t want to face them yet.”

  He cupped her cheeks, his smile giving her relief. “Nor do I. But Charlotte? We will face them together, yes?”

  That she could not promise him. After all, he was a part of her worry – a big piece of her problem. And yet she nodded. There was no sense arguing until she knew for certain how she would handle this development.

  Life, as she’d seen it, was no longer clear cut. Only a little over a week earlier she had been certain that she would marry Syed and take her place as Sheikh of Kalastan.

  Now?

  There was only Ashad. She couldn’t see past him. Or was it that she didn’t want to?

  He flopped down beside her and rolled her towards his chest, hugging her so tight she could hear the beating of his heart. It was steady and strong; she pressed her ear to his skin and with her fingertips distractedly traced circles up and down his abdomen.

  He caught her hand in his and lifted it to his mouth. His kiss was a soft exhalation of breath. It made her heart quiver.

  “These fingernails,” he murmured, studying their bright red colour. “From the moment I saw these nails, I knew I was in trouble.”

  Charlotte tilted her face so she could look up at him. Her heart thundered. Or was it just the cavity in her chest where her heart had once been? For Ash had stolen it and she didn’t mind a bit. “My nails?”

  He nodded. “Your nails. Your lips. Your eyes. The passion in your face; the strength in your soul. You stormed into my office and blinded me to anything but you.”

  He kissed each finger tip and then returned her hand to his chest, keeping his own locked over it. His face showed he was miles away, remembering that meeting.

  “I was angry,” she said quietly. “The idea of not being included in the discussions seemed archaic.”

  “The whole thing is archaic,” he said finally, remembering Syed had used that exact same argument when he’d convinced Ashad to intervene. But he didn’t want to sour their morning by discussing that can of worms. “I knew you were beautiful. I had seen photos of you. But when you came to me, you were more vibrant than I knew possible. I spent that entire meeting wondering how I could get you into my bed,” he laughed. “And berating myself for the inappropriateness of my thoughts.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink as she flicked her gaze up to his face. “You hid it very well,” she said with a hint of disbelief. “You were intimidating and imposing. I had expected that. I had heard that you were a ruthless negotiator and I was coming to insist you speak to me directly, rather than following protocol. I was terrified you’d be arrogant and rude, and tell me to get back to the palace and stay out of the negotiations.”

  “Ruthless?” He shook his head. “I am determined, but I am not ruthless, azeezi.”

  “I know that now.” His heart thumped louder beneath her. She wanted to take his heart, to make it hers, but that wouldn’t be fair. She was prepared to sacrifice her happiness – to marry a man she didn’t love for the sake of her parents and their kingdom. But she would not let Ashad love her and lose her. The grief needed to be hers alone to bear.

  “You are an excellent tennis player,” he murmured, running his hand through her hair, then down her back.

  It was a statement that came from nowhere. She blinked up at him in surprise and then grinned. “Not as good as you, apparently.”

  “I got lucky on the day,” he said. “Another time, I would like to play a full match with you.”

  Charlotte pushed past that comment. When they were in Kalastan, there would be time. Her gut swirled with agony at the foreshadowing of such a time when they would be able to see each other freely but never touch nor acknowledge what they meant to one another. “I had excellent coaches when I was young.”

  “Have you always liked athletics?”

  She nodded. “Rock climbing and tennis are my favourites, though I enjoy golf, horse-riding, running.”

  “Perhaps swimming one day?” He said seriously.

  “Mmm,” she lifted up and straddled him. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you’ll come with me. I don’t know if I could go in the water again without your arms holding me up.”

  He cupped her face, and then dropped his hands to her shoulders. She sensed he was about to say something. Something serious. “You can do anything you want. You are the most determined, courageous person I’ve ever known.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The city was so beautiful. She stared at it from the balcony, her knees curled up beneath her chin, a light breeze rustling past, brushing her hair to her cheek. It was going to be a warm day, but it was still early, and the sun was weakened by its sunken state.

  This city was her home. The thought of leaving it did strange things to her stomach. Could she demand that Syed come to Falina to live? Could she change the terms of her marriage contracts so substantially?

  “There you are, your highness,” Ashad appeared through the large glass doors, carrying a tray that smelled delectable.

  “Coffee.” Appreciation warmed the syllables. She eyed the tray and, the second he placed it on the top of the table, her hands reached for the mug.

  Ashad’s laugh was warmth on her skin. “That is the response of a true addict.”

  She poked her tongue out at him and sipped the heavenly drink. “I’m not an addict. I just need two cups each morning in order to survive.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a dependency at all,” he quipped, sipping his own coffee and scanning the horizon. “Breakfast will be along shortly. I wasn’t sure what you would feel like so I have asked for various dishes to be prepared.”

  “Yoghurt,” she said quietly. “Yoghurt is what I eat for breakfast. Sometimes fruit.”

  Ashad committed that to memory, adding it to the list of things he knew about Charlotte.

  “It’s a nice view,” she said, cupping the mug in her hands. “I love this part of town.”

  “Why?”

  She arched a brow. “You don’t think it’s nice?”

  He moved towards the balcony, resting his elbows on it and took a gulp of coffee. “I think it’s very nice,” he corrected. “I was asking why you love it.”

  “Oh.” She stood, moving to take a place next to him. “It’s full of very old buildings. Some of the oldest in the city. Of course, there are the settlements to the west,” she murmured. “The old clay villages that were built thousands of years ago. The huts half-carved into the mountains.” She turned that way subconsciously, even though the modern city blocked any view of the desert.

  “Have you spent much time out there?”

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’ve never been allowed.”

  “Never? For what reason?”

  “The wars are over,” she said with a small lift of her shoulders. “But the factions there are the last to comprehend that. Even now there is fighting and protest.”

  “And yet with your security,” he wondered aloud.

  “No.” She turned to face him. “I really am very sorry that my country claimed your parents.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw. He nodded, his eyes skimming the buildings. “It is not your fault. Nor the fault of your country. In every society there are madmen. People who funnel their worst impulses into a political discontent that they feel justifies what they really are.”

  “Which is?”

  “Murderers. Terrorism is simply legitimising murder and violence. People feel it becomes noble if they can give it a political bent. And it’s not. It never is.”

  Out of nowhere, tears prickled against her eyes. “Your parents weren’t the only ones who died that day.”

  “No. There were thirty-seven victims, including the terrorists. Such a waste of life and potential.”

  She nodded. “The square took years to rebuild.” She lifted a hand to his cheek and he turned to face her, surprised to see tears running down her cheeks.

  “What is it?
” He asked softly. “Why are you crying?”

  “Am I?” She ran her fingers over her cheeks, dashing away tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”

  “Don’t apologise.” A husked command.

  “I just keep thinking about the little boy you must have been. Seven years old. So young.” She shook her head, and out of nowhere, she thought of what their baby would look like. Would it have Ashad’s square jawline, or her dimpled chin? She frowned. They hadn’t used protection.

  It hadn’t even occurred to her.

  She gripped the railing tightly, her mind thundering through the risks they’d taken. True, she was on oral contraceptive – something she had decided to take after Marook, just in case such a thing were ever to occur again.

  But he hadn’t known that.

  “Ash?”

  He lifted a hand and padded away another tear. “Yes?”

  “We didn’t use any protection last night. Doesn’t that worry you?”

  “Why would it worry me?” His eyes scanned her face as though he genuinely couldn’t understand her conundrum.

  “What if I got pregnant?” She spluttered, sipping her coffee out of habit even though she felt like she was choking.

  “Would that be so dreadful?” He shrugged insolently. Confusion was swirling around her.

  “Well, given that I’m marrying your cousin, yes. I’d say it’s pretty damned inconvenient.”

  Ash compressed his lips, his eyes sparked with electric energy. “You will not marry Syed.”

  She stared at him, her heart hurting, her brain sore. “I have to,” she said, shaking her head. “This – what we are – can’t change that.”

  Ash stepped backwards automatically.

  “You know my reasons,” she spoke calmly – surprisingly so, when she felt like she was being torn apart. “The contract is virtually unbreakable. And besides that, my parents …”

  “Want you to be happy, surely,” he muttered, slamming his cup down loudly on the table. It was the first noise, but then there was another.

  A loud knock, coming from inside his apartment.