Hidden In the Sheikh's Harem

by Michelle Conder

  It was as if he’d only been using half his strength before, and irritation that he would go easy on her gave her a burst of energy and she rushed him, both exhilarated and appalled when she heard the rip of fabric.

  Absolute shock held them both immobile and, horrified, Farah watched as bright red blood bloomed from the dark sleeve of his robe.

  Oh, dear Allah... She hadn’t really meant to hurt him... Her appalled gaze rose to his. Instinct finally kicked in at his ferocious expression and she dropped the sword before taking off towards a nearby alley.

  Sweat and fear made her more clumsy than usual and she screamed when she felt a hand grab hold of her headscarf. Fortunately the fabric gave and Farah shot into the alleyway.

  The pounding of his footsteps behind her alerted her as to how close he was right before his arm reached around her and yanked her back against him.

  Incited by real terror, Farah fought him with all her might but it seemed to take him only seconds to subdue her and have her pinned face first against a rough wooden door, her hands stretched above her head and his hip angled sideways as he forced her legs apart to hold her lower body still.

  Completely powerless, Farah leaned her hot face against the rough cool wood and listened to her heart hammering inside her chest.

  * * *

  Zach steadied his uneven breathing as he held the little wild cat hard against the door, his eyes shifting to the cut on his arm. It stung but he knew it wasn’t deep because he’d felt her pull back at the last second. Really he should have disarmed her straight away but he’d been enjoying sparring with her too much. She was good—no match for his strength, but she was nimble and he’d felt that same exhilarating spark he had felt riding with her in the desert. It had been a long time since he’d felt this energised, this alive, and he wondered how much of it was the sense of danger or the woman before him.

  As if sensing his distracted thoughts, she suddenly bucked against him to try and dislodge him and Zach pressed her harder against the wood. It occurred to him that she might have more weapons on her and that he’d need to pat her down before he released her. The thought brought an image of his hands drifting over her lithe body, shedding her of her clothes as he went, and he hardened in anticipation. He cursed silently. For some reason her body acted like a lure for his and he was fast running out of plausible explanations to justify it. As far as sex went, he usually had to like a woman to want her.

  He eased back slightly and barely fought the urge to shift his stance so that his erection could nestle against her rounded backside. By Allah, that would feel good, soft and warm, and if he bent his knees a little he could push himself against the apex of her thighs. With his attention so acutely consumed by her femininity, he thickened even more, aching with a need he was hard-pressed to remember feeling before.

  He unconsciously breathed in her sweet scent from the oils used in her bath and he felt a sharp sting against his shin for his efforts. The little wild cat had kicked him and even managed to get a hand free as his hold had unconsciously slackened. By Allah, he needed to get a grip.

  Restraining her once more, he leaned in close. ‘You would have done better if you’d used that agile little body against me for pleasure, Farah, rather than trying to fight me,’ he goaded.

  Cocoa-brown eyes rounded, sparking with a mixture of fear and anger. And something else. Hunger? Need? He drew in a sharp breath. What would she do if he just said to hell with it and kissed her until she was moaning in submission as he’d wanted to do earlier in the harem, moaning for him to take her and pleasure her as no man ever had before?

  ‘I would rather boil myself in oil than try and entice you,’ she spat.

  Normally Zach had no trouble controlling his libido—his emotions—but this woman could incite a monk to forget his vows. ‘Liar,’ he said against her skin. He wanted to turn her so that he could feel her curved into him and before he could think of all the reasons why that wasn’t a good idea he had her in his arms and his mouth slanted over hers.

  He kissed her hard and mercilessly and he didn’t stop when she hissed a noise against his lips and thumped his shoulders. He didn’t stop as she squirmed to get away from him and he didn’t stop when the voice of reason rang out a warning inside his head.

  This thing between them had started the minute she’d put those slender fingers in his mouth, maybe even before, and he was uncaring that this was something he would normally never do—uncaring about anything but having her surrender to him. Of having her wind those long legs around his hips so he could satisfy the primal need that owned him and made him want to own her.

  When she moaned as if he was hurting her, it penetrated the fog of surging testosterone and he raised his head to look down at her. Her cheeks were flushed bright pink and strands of her silky hair clung to her neck. Her eyes looked too large for her face and her lips were moist and swollen from where he had ravished them. She looked wild and wanton and with every panting breath she took her breasts rose temptingly against his chest.

  Shaken by the strength of his reaction to her, Zach thought about releasing her right up until the moment her pink tongue stole out of her mouth and swiped his taste from her lips. It was then he realised she was no longer struggling against him and that her eyes were trained on his mouth in a way that said she wanted more. And, by Allah, so did he.

  With a pained groan he lowered his head and once more touched his lips to hers, only gently this time. He wanted to take his time to savour her lips, to feel their texture and taste their unique flavour. He wanted to feel her meet him halfway and he made a guttural sound deep in his chest when she tentatively rose against him in an innocent quest for more. Zach couldn’t remember a kiss ever feeling so intimate, so good, and he fell against her, pressing her back into the door.

  Thick lashes came down to shield her eyes as if the sensation was too much to bear, as if she could only focus on one thing at a time. He felt her lips give beneath his own, opening wider as he took the kiss deeper, the sensations shaking him to his core. Without even knowing it, he released her hands and wound his through her lush hair, cradling the back of her skull as he positioned her to take his tongue.

  He growled as she melted against him, her tongue gliding shyly against his, and his world shrank to encompass only this. Only her. He pulled her in tighter, hitching her higher. She gave a soft, feminine whimper, her fingers clenching at his shoulders as she quivered against him. Zach cursed the amount of clothing between them, unable to stop himself from grinding his erection against the juncture of her thighs. He swallowed the catch in her breath and chased her tongue into her mouth, his hands restless in her hair, restless on her body, as he sought to pull the blasted abaya up and over her head so he could get to her body.

  Dimly he became aware that they weren’t alone. A couple of his senior officers had gathered at the entrance to the alleyway to ensure his safety and were at this moment watching him make love to his little prisoner. It wasn’t the best behaviour he’d ever modelled and it took every ounce of willpower he had to let her go and step back from her.

  When he did she slumped against the doorway, her eyes wide, her lips swollen and wet. She looked beautiful. Wild and untamed and just as shocked as he was.

  It was the shock that finally brought him to his senses. ‘What the hell was that?’

  A surfeit of emotions charged across her face, wounded pride being one of them. ‘That was you being a bully,’ she accused hotly.

  Zach felt as if he’d been slapped. His father had been a bully; he wasn’t, and as for forcing her, her body had been primed for his kiss from the moment they met. ‘You wanted everything you just got,’ he snarled. ‘And if you try to tell me otherwise I’ll strip you naked and prove you wrong.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Zach placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her to precede him. ‘Consider yoursel
f warned.’

  * * *

  Oh? Oh? That was all she could come up with after he’d kissed her into a stupor and then insulted her?

  Oh?

  By Allah, she could come up with a hundred responses now and if he were here she’d give him every last one of them.

  Pacing the lavish harem she’d been locked back up in, with two guards posted inside the room, she spun around when she heard the lock turning in the door.

  She eyed Prince Zachim with open hostility as he stood in the doorway, flanked on either side by the two maids she’d sent away earlier.

  ‘I see your arm is still attached to your body,’ she said, still feeling a little guilty at having hurt him, even though he had completely deserved it. ‘What a pity.’

  ‘Yes. No thanks to you.’ He stepped into the room, his two lackeys shuffling to keep up. ‘I believe I left specific instructions for you to dress.’

  She felt her body tense as she took in his wide-legged stance. He was no longer wearing the black robes that had made him look like a menacing pirate earlier, but now wore a regal white one, the colour emphasising his swarthy skin and the deep amber tones of his eyes.

  By all that was holy, she still couldn’t believe the way she had responded to his kisses back in the alley, and her fingers curled into her palms in an attempt to stave off the memory.

  She’d never been kissed like that before. Certainly Amir had never tried to kiss her. In fact she’d only ever been kissed once before, by a youth from a neighbouring country who hadn’t had the sense to be afraid of her father. It had been rushed and impossibly chaste compared to the Prince of Bakaan’s kisses, which she was not going to think about any more.

  ‘I am dressed,’ she said, knowing that he was referring to the purple silk gown that had been brought to her earlier and which she hadn’t touched.

  His lips quirked. ‘So you are. Unfortunately your current outfit will not work for my brother’s wedding.’

  ‘What do I care about your brother’s wedding?’

  ‘Nothing. Obviously. But I find myself uncomfortable with the notion of leaving you alone again.’

  Farah crossed her arms over chest. ‘Am I supposed to feel sorry about that?’

  ‘No, my bloodthirsty little heathen, but given your recent behaviour I have no wish to be sitting at my brother’s wedding, wondering what plans you’re hatching down here in my absence.’

  Farah tried not to be pleased at causing him some measure of discomfort. ‘Just leave me with your guards. I’m sure we can find some way to occupy ourselves.’

  ‘No doubt,’ he murmured. ‘But I have no wish to have to discipline any more of my men.’

  ‘Am I really so dangerous, Prince Zachim?’

  His mouth kicked up into that crooked grin that made her heart trip just a little. ‘More like troublesome.’

  ‘My father won’t take the bait, you know,’ she asserted, hoping that it was true.

  ‘We’ll see.’

  Farah gnashed her teeth together at his cavalier attitude. He was so cool as to appear almost bored, but why wouldn’t he be? It wasn’t his life hanging in the balance.

  ‘In the meantime, Isla and Carine are here to prepare you to be my guest at the wedding.’

  Farah’s eyes cut to both the women and for the first time she noticed that they were carrying towels and drawstring bags that held goodness knew what.

  ‘And you will cooperate this time.’

  The prince’s insolent drawl brought her eyes back to his. He looked hard and unyielding, as if she had no choice in the matter. ‘There is no—’

  ‘Way you’re going to attend?’ He flicked his hand in her direction as if she were an irritating insect. ‘Yes, I know.’ He walked towards her and raised his hand to stay the women, who immediately obeyed. Farah’s eyes narrowed and she forced herself to remain rigid as he took the last two steps into her personal space. ‘But you will. And you will behave.’

  As she was about to tell him to go to hell, he shook his head slowly. ‘I can of course just lock you in a cell. Or perhaps it would be better to chain you to your bed. I’d hate you to be uncomfortable.’

  The air between them grew thicker, making it harder for her to breathe, and Farah automatically stepped back from him. ‘It would be better than having to endure your company for the night.’

  She heard one of the women gasp. The prince’s eyes narrowed. ‘But who said anything about you being alone in that big harem bed?’

  A dark, thrilling desire rose up inside of Farah as her head filled with all sorts of debasing images of her shackled to a bed with the prince gloriously naked and aroused in front of her. On top of her. Inside of her. Because he would be glorious naked; he would be... Farah clamped down on the thoughts running amok inside her head and tried to think straight.

  ‘What if I apologise on behalf of my father?’ she gushed, finally prepared to humiliate herself and bow and scrape for this man if it meant she could get her father out of trouble and her life back to normal. ‘What if I make up for what he did in some way?’

  He leaned back against the cabinet behind him, his fingers tapping a lazy beat against the curved wood. ‘What did you have in mind, habiba?’

  Farah glanced at the maids. ‘I could work for you. I could cook or clean or—’

  ‘I already have enough staff in my employ.’

  She bit her lip. ‘I could...’ She wracked her brain to come up with something else. Surely there was something? ‘I could train your horses. Your camels.’

  ‘The palace no longer keeps camels and my horses are well taken care of.’

  ‘Damn it, surely there is something you need?’

  His gaze ran over her body, lighting a fiery path as it went. ‘Keep going, I’m sure you’ll hit on something mutually agreeable at some point.’

  Farah frowned. Did he mean...?

  You wanted everything you just got...and if you try to tell me otherwise I’ll strip you naked and prove you wrong.

  Farah’s face flamed hotly as his words in the alleyway came back to her. ‘Not that!’ she cried. ‘Never that!’

  ‘Then we have nothing to discuss,’ he said in a bored tone.

  ‘You are every bit the tyrant your father was,’ she accused, turning away from him.

  Embarrassment and despair swamped her. If she had been a man, this whole situation would never have happened. She would have been by her father’s side when he’d come upon the prince’s SUV and been able to talk sense into him. And she certainly would never have given into this man’s challenge and tried to feed him. What had she been thinking?

  About his mouth, a little voice reminded her. You were thinking about his dreamy mouth.

  Self-disgusted, she was about to stalk over to her bedroom when the prince grabbed her and swung her back to face him, his fingertips digging into her upper arms.

  ‘Dammit, you know how to push my buttons but your father took me hostage for three days before I escaped. If you think that will go unpunished, you’re sadly mistaken.’ He glowered down at her. ‘Now get dressed. And if you cause either of these women another problem you won’t find me so lenient next time.’

  Farah swallowed hard, determined to show zero emotion in the face of his fury, while inside her whole being was quaking. Watching him stride from the room she waited for the resounding echo from the slammed door to pass before she turned to the two wide-eyed maids, who had probably never said a cross word to the prince in their lives. ‘I will bathe myself, is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘STOP FIDGETING,’ the prince whispered out of the side of his mouth for about the fifth time.

  Farah dropped her hands to her side once more and pretended to focus on the gorgeou
s wedding ceremony taking place in front of her. ‘This dress doesn’t fit,’ she complained under her breath.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ he growled.

  It wasn’t perfect. It was tight across the bodice, the slender straps exposing her arms and upper chest. The stiletto-heeled shoes she’d been given to wear were also surely torture devices with the way they made her feet ache. In the magazines they had always looked so glamorous and beautiful. On the feet they felt like pincers.

  ‘And smile.’

  Tired of his instructions—‘no sneering, no balled fists and no attacking anyone at the wedding’—Farah pinned a wide smile to her lips. ‘Like this?’

  The prince’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at her. ‘Better,’ he mumbled, followed by something that sounded like, ‘I’d hate to experience the real thing,’ before turning back to the proceedings.

  Farah surreptitiously studied him in his royal white robes and headdress. He was so virile and masculine and so utterly charming when he wanted to be that she almost believed he was as nice as he seemed.

  Except that he’d been grouchy towards her ever since he’d picked her up from the harem and she had no idea what she’d done to prompt his ire again other than exist. Earlier, after he’d stormed out, she had done everything that had been asked of her, intending to lull him into thinking that she would cooperate from now on. She’d let the women apply her make-up, dress her and brush her hair until it gleamed, pinning it up at the front and letting it fall down around her shoulders. When she’d finally looked in the mirror she had barely recognised herself. In fact, she’d thought she looked quite pretty until the prince had taken one all-encompassing glance at her and scowled—just like her father had, over her boots! She didn’t know why the prince’s bad opinion of her affected her so much but it did and the realisation had set her on edge all over again.

  She wondered if he believed her when she’d agreed to the truce he’d requested before marching her from the harem and decided that it didn’t matter right now. His brother was in the middle of marrying a Western woman so lovely that Farah had no wish to spoil things. There was just something so utterly romantic about the way Sheikh Nadir gazed at his bride that was totally riveting for Farah.