How to Seduce a Sheikh

by Marguerite Kaye

  Definitely not sated, judging from the hardness she could still feel jutting against her back. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

  Zafar shook his head. ‘You have done everything perfectly.’

  ‘But you...’

  ‘We are not finished yet. The second lesson in the art of love, ma petite. Our mutual pleasure.’ Leading her gently over to the divan, he divested himself of his robe, lay down on the bed and pulled her on top of him.

  Chapter Six

  ‘We have had word from our contact in Cairo, Highness. The French consul is most grateful to hear that Madame Beaumarchais is alive and well. I have taken the liberty of making preparatory arrangements for her journey in line with his proposals.’

  Zafar scanned the papers Firas handed him. ‘But this suggests she will leave in less than a week’s time,’ he said, frowning.

  ‘It is already five weeks since she arrived, Highness. If you remember, your orders were to make the arrangements as speedily as possible. I thought you would be pleased to finally have the matter resolved.’

  Zafar got up from behind his desk and stared out of the window at the courtyard, where a bird was singing in the ancient cypress tree. ‘Has it really been five weeks?’

  ‘Indeed, Highness. Long enough for your people to speculate as to the...er...exact nature of Madame Beaumarchais’s position here. It has been a rare day when she has not been by your side, talking to you like a male courtier.’

  ‘Madame Beaumarchais is helping me with my plans for the establishment of a hospital, as you well know.’

  ‘Forgive me, Highness, but your people are wondering if you also have other plans for her? It has been two years since—It has been two years. It is not good for a man to be without the comfort a woman can provide, not good for Kharidja to be without the comfort of an heir. Every sovereign needs a consort. ‘

  ‘You would do well to remember that topic is taboo, Firas.’

  His man of business blanched but pressed on resolutely. ‘Forgive me, Highness, but I must speak up, for the good of our kingdom. You need a wife. I have seen how you are when you are together. There is clearly something between you. It would be unconventional to say the least, but taking the Frenchwoman as your wife would meet with your people’s approval, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Enough, Firas!’ Zafar interrupted tersely. ‘You go too far. I strongly suggest you restrict yourself to carrying out my wishes.’ Zafar handed the man the document outlining the proposals for Colette’s repatriation. ‘Make the necessary arrangements,’ he said, dismissing him with a curt nod.

  As the door closed, Zafar returned to the window, staring out sightlessly at the courtyard. Never had five weeks passed so swiftly. It was not just the pleasures of the flesh he and Colette shared, though each night it seemed that they reached new, unimagined heights of ecstasy. Just thinking about it made him hard. That first night together, the exquisite pleasure of their joining, it had been almost overwhelming. Almost. He had been so close to spilling himself inside her, to losing himself in her. He had taken care not to do so again, even though the primal urge to possess her completely was almost impossible to resist. He could not risk the consequences. He did it for Colette’s sake, he told himself, though he knew it was as much for his own. To surrender in such a way would be folly when he knew she must leave. They were from different worlds, he reminded himself, and soon they must each return to their own.

  Though he kept up the pretence of teaching her, he was learning far more from Colette than he cared to admit. Never before had he been with a woman so liberated by her sensuality, so unreserved in her expression of it. My pleasure is your pleasure, he told her, and never before had the words held such truth. Knowing that he had been her first true lover made him feel ridiculously pleased with himself. Thinking that she would take another... No, he could not think of that.

  But they had shared more than just passionate nights. As Firas pointed out, she was more often than not by his side during the day, a friend and a confidante. He had never had either. He had not realised how lonely and isolated he had become. Colette had blurred the boundaries between night and day, prince and man.

  He would miss her terribly. There, it was said. He would miss her, but there was nothing to be done about it. She did not belong here, and he could not, in any event, keep her with him. That, he had known from the beginning. Two years ago he had sworn never to take such a risk again. He would honour that vow.

  * * *

  Colette pushed the hospital plans to one side. She would never see it completed. It was unlikely that she’d even be here to see the foundations laid. A month, Zafar had said it would take to make arrangements for her return, and it had already been five weeks. How much longer did she have? She hadn’t asked, because she didn’t want to know the answer.

  How was it possible to fall in love in five short weeks? Sighing, she made her way out of her quarters to take her favourite walk along the battlements. It was impossible not to fall in love with a man like Zafar, she thought, leaning over the parapet to watch the date harvest. She had loved Leon in a gentle way, but she had never been in love before. With Zafar it was different. What was surprising was that it had taken as long as five weeks for her to lose her heart to him. Not that it made any difference at all, for he did not love her, and even if he did, he deserved much better than a penniless foreign widow. A prince deserved a princess.

  But he did not love her. Every time he made love to her, he gave a little less of himself, held himself back more. She no longer believed he did it for her sake only. It was a mental as well as a physical act, a retreat. It hurt, but she had only herself to blame for that fact. For her the passion between them had been a revelation, opening up the world of sensuality to her and in doing so giving her a new confidence in herself. She no longer felt incomplete, or that she was missing out on a secret. For her their lovemaking was just that, making love, mentally as well as physically. For Zafar it was merely physical.

  Last night, when she had been floating blissfully in the aftermath of her climax, she had reached for him, wanting to prolong the intimacy. He rolled away from her on the pretext of fetching her mint tea, but she knew she had overstepped a mark. He never spent the whole night in the harem, never slept there. She had given up hoping that he would.

  Yet in daylight, it seemed to her, they were truly intimate. He shared his thoughts, his ideas, his ambitions without reservation. She had never been with a man who was interested in her mind before. She had never had an intimate friend. With Zafar she had found both, and here was the root of the love that had blossomed in her for him. They were both by nature solitary. Together they had discovered the pleasure of not being alone, of sharing.

  With another heavy sigh, Colette pushed herself away from the parapet and completed her tour of the battlements. The sun was at its highest, so she returned to the cool terraces around one of the many courtyards in the palace, wandering aimlessly from one to another before heading back to the harem. Still restless, she climbed the stairs to the second terrace. Her footprints left a trail in the dust as she went from room to room stacked with furniture and boxes.

  Bending to examine a pretty inlaid chest, she caught her tunic on one of the handles. As she pulled open the drawer to free herself, something in the bottom glittered up at her. An ornate bracelet, made of gold and decorated with jewels. Blue, red and green, the royal colours. It was a beautiful piece, and undoubtedlyextremely valuable. She clasped it around her wrist and was admiring the intricate filigree work when the door to the courtyard creaked open.

  ‘Zafar, I’m up here.’ Colette ran lightly down the stairs to greet him. ‘You look very serious.’

  ‘Firas has had word from Cairo. You can leave within the week.’

  Her heart plummeted. ‘Within the week.’

  ‘Yes, it is good news. I know how eager you must be to finally return to your homeland. It has been a long time.’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded and summoned a
bright smile because it was what he wanted of her, though she felt like bursting into tears. ‘And anyway, our agreement was only for a month. We are already on borrowed time.’

  ‘Indeed, I—Where did you get that?’

  He was staring at her arm. At the bracelet. ‘Oh, I forgot I had put it on. I found it in a chest upstairs.’

  ‘Take it off. Immediately!’

  His face was set rigid. Obviously it was very valuable. ‘I wasn’t going to steal it, if that is what you are thinking,’ Colette said, struggling with the clasp.

  ‘I said, take it off.’ Zafar cursed.

  When she finally managed to undo the catch and hand it to him, Zafar stared at the bracelet as if it were cursed or possessed or both. Tentatively, she put her hand on his arm. ‘Zafar, what is it?’

  ‘It belonged to my wife. I gave it to her on our wedding day.’

  ‘But—you said you are not married.’

  ‘I’m not. Afifah is dead.’

  ‘Afifah,’ she repeated foolishly.

  ‘It means chaste and modest one. It suited her well.’

  ‘Afifah was your wife.’ Colette rubbed her eyes. ‘Why did you not tell me? Why has no one so much as mentioned her name? Why is there no trace of her here in the harem? I don’t understand, Zafar.’

  ‘I told you, this harem has not been used since my father’s time. My wife had her own quarters.’

  ‘Did you love her?’ The question was out before she could stop it.

  ‘Of course. She was my wife.’

  Of course. Colette clasped her hands together tightly under the folds of her tunic. ‘What happened?’

  What happened? Zafar stared down at the bracelet. Never since that fateful day had he talked about it. He could not think about Afifah without being overwhelmed with guilt.

  ‘Zafar?’

  Colette was pale, her eyes dark with concern. Colette, who had been through so much but who was so fiercely determined not to allow herself to be broken. He twisted the bracelet around and around, remembering the care with which he had chosen each of the jewels, emerald, ruby and sapphire, remembering Afifah’s delight when he presented it to her. She was a hothouse flower, his wife, charming but fragile. Colette was made of sterner stuff. Colette was determinedly independent, infinitely practical, and yet in some ways she was more of a woman than Afifah had ever been. She challenged him. She gave as much as she took, in the dark of the harem and in the light of day. Would she understand? She would not lie to him, of that he was certain.

  Zafar set the bracelet down on the edge of the fountain and sank down onto the cushions, holding his hand out in invitation. ‘I have never talked of this,’ he said.

  She took his hand and held it to her cheek, pressing a kiss on his palm. ‘Tell me.’

  He gazed into her eyes, the colour of the night sky. Tell me. It was like the rush of a wave formed from a swell, breaking suddenly and unstoppably to shore, the need to do just that, to unburden himself, to share the guilt in the hope that she might just be able to help him dissipate it. Clasping her hand tightly in his, he began.

  ‘We had been married for just a year. We were in the desert, making camp at an oasis in the next kingdom. It was a routine visit. We had been allies for some time. I would not usually have taken Afifah with me, but she had just discovered she was expecting our child and had developed a morbid fear of being alone. I thought it was safe.’

  He closed his eyes on the memory of that morning, Afifah teasing him, pleading to travel with him, torn between tears and laughter as she had been since first telling him about the baby. ‘Our tent was set apart from the others. There was no guard—I didn’t think we needed one. Afifah was having trouble sleeping. I had not thought she would be so foolish as to stray from the tent alone, but she was young. She had been raised in the old-fashioned way in a harem. She knew nothing of the dangers of the desert. And I—I thought there was no danger.’

  His brow was clammy with sweat. He felt sick. So many times he had replayed the chain of events in his mind, castigating himself at every point when he had missed an opportunity to change the outcome. Beside him, Colette sat silent. He could sense the tension in her. He raced on. ‘I heard Afifah call out. She was only a few feet from the tent, but it was far enough. There were five of them. She was thrown onto the camel as I reached her. I fought like a dervish. I killed two and mortally wounded a third, but the others spirited her away. By the time I had my own guards roused, we were miles behind them. But I followed them, Colette. I thought they were random marauders, but I was wrong. An old enemy with a long memory had commissioned some mercenaries to abduct her, knowing that I valued my wife’s life more than my own. They left her body where they knew we would find her. She was—She had been defiled. I cannot describe—When I saw her—When I saw her...’

  He dropped his head into his hands, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. Colette put her arms around him, trying to pull his head onto her breast. He was tempted to surrender to the comfort she offered, but he did not deserve it and would not give way to such weakness.

  Pushing her away, he sat up, taking jagged breaths. ‘What I saw will remain with me forever. I failed to save Afifah and must forever carry the burden of that failure. I vowed that day never to fail in my duty again.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘That was what prompted you to come to my rescue,’ Colette exclaimed. ‘That is where you got the scar on your face. And that is what you meant when you warned me of the dangers of the desert.’

  Zafar nodded silently.

  She was horrified by what he had told her. When he had seemed about to break down, she had assumed it was grief. But his grief had been replaced with anger and guilt, she saw now.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Colette said tenderly, ‘but you must see it was not your fault, Zafar.’

  ‘Afifah was in my care and I failed her. I dispensed with the guard. I did not accompany her when she left the tent.’

  ‘You didn’t know she had gone.’

  ‘They took her because of me, Colette. She died because they wanted to hurt me. All I want is to bring peace and prosperity to these lands, but Afifah paid the price for my ambition.’

  ‘Zafar, it is the noblest of ambitions. I wish the same could be said for the wars my father and husband fought for France. I have seen many innocents die for the sake of Napoleon’s hunger for power.’

  His smile was twisted. ‘Always you look at things from the best possible viewpoint.’

  ‘And always you look at things from the worst. Why not try my outlook for once? It was a terrible thing, a tragedy, but you must not let it dictate your life, Zafar.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He was frowning heavily, warning her not to step over the mark, but she loved him too much not to speak out. ‘You told me once that although you must appear infallible to your people, you know in your heart that you are not. You did everything within your power to save Afifah, but there are some things that are beyond even your powers. It was not your fault.’

  ‘If I had ordered a guard to stand outside the tent. If I had not fallen asleep...’

  ‘If Afifah had not chosen to go outside without waking you. You cannot take responsibility for the actions of others, Zafar.’

  ‘She was under my protection.’

  ‘She was a grown woman with a mind of her own.’ He had a stubborn set to his mouth. Obviously she would not succeed on that front. Thinking like a general’s daughter, Colette marshalled her thoughts and tried another line of attack. ‘You are afraid it might happen again, aren’t you? You must be, else you would have married again. You have dedicated yourself to Kharidja in every way, yet you have not provided the one thing that is essential for the future, an heir.’

  ‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’

  ‘I do, Zafar. I know you very well. I think you are afraid it would happen again, and it is that fear that keeps you solitary, isolated and lonely.’

  ‘H
ow dare you! I fear nothing!’

  She flinched in the face of his icy rage but would not back down, for she was now certain she was right. Face the enemy without fear. Good old Papa! ‘Since Afifah died, you have let your enemies win, Zafar,’ Colette said, meeting his angry gaze fearlessly.

  ‘That enemy no longer lives. My vengeance was swift and merciless.’

  ‘But he still lives in your memory. He is victorious in death because he rules your life.’

  ‘I am ruled by no one!’ Zafar exclaimed.

  ‘You are angry because I am right.’

  ‘I am angry because you have no understanding of the matter at all. It is a matter of honour. I may as well have killed Afifah with my own scimitar, but I should not have expected a mere woman to understand that. At least I will be spared your homespun philosophy when you are gone.’

  He turned on his heel and would have stormed out of the harem had she not caught his hand. ‘We have precious little time left, Zafar. Let us not fritter it away in pointless acrimony.’

  For a long moment he simply stared at her; then suddenly she was in his arms and he was kissing her hungrily, greedily, devouring her with the kind of kisses that were completely lacking in any restraint. Passion flared like a shooting star. She threw her arms around him and kissed him back just as avidly, knowing that it meant nothing to him, knowing it was merely a result of the emotional turmoil his confession had generated, knowing it may be her one and only chance to make love to him, to really make love to him, without reservation.

  His kisses were dark and deep. His hands moved feverishly over her body, tearing at her clothes in his hunger for her flesh. Colette was equally fevered, tugging so frantically at the buttons that held his tunic in place that they scattered across the tessellated floor of the courtyard. His belt dropped to the floor with a clatter. Her shoes, her sash, her pantaloons went the same way. He yanked his tunic over his head to stand before her naked, breathing harshly, his erection jutting. She pulled her own tunic away, casting it over her shoulder, wanting only to kiss, to stroke, to touch, skin on skin. His mouth brought her nipples to hard, aching peaks. She wrapped her hand around the silken hardness of his shaft, making him moan. His fingers slid inside her. She was hot, wet, tight. He was so hard he was pulsing in her hand. Their kisses grew wilder. She wanted no finesse this time, no slow climb.