His golden flesh shimmered in the water as he pushed powerfully through it, his arms dragging the smoothness of the surface, his head a dark pelt. All the breath escaped Kylie’s body. She pressed a hand into the wall beside her for support, sucking in air desperately. What the hell was she doing?
He didn’t want her.
He didn’t want her heart.
And he no longer wanted her body.
Had she come to beg?
With a sense of frustration, she took a silent step backwards, and another, until she was almost level with the door.
But she didn’t move fast enough and he emerged unexpectedly from the water, spinning around almost as though he’d sensed her, his eyes locking to hers.
And she froze.
Her body was no longer capable of any movement other than trembling. She stared across at him, her stomach in knots, her lungs burning with every attempt at breath.
He had no such problems. The ability she lacked he had in abundance; he moved easily through the water, with a predatory grace and hunger that weakened her knees. His eyes pinned her to the spot so that, even if she were capable of thought and action, she would have found it impossible to escape the intensity of his hungry gaze.
He was naked. She noted the fact as he stepped from the water, striding across to her with his long gait. He was wet, too, something she didn’t fully appreciate until he caught her around the waist and pulled her to him, crushing his mouth to hers, moulding their bodies as if they were one.
She moaned into his mouth, the insanity of what they were doing something she was incapable of controlling; something she didn’t want to control.
Whatever else they were, this made sense. Blinding, clear sense. This was necessity and greed; hunger and desperation. He lifted her easily, wrapping her legs around his wet body. His arousal pressed against the fabric of her underwear and she ached to feel him – all of him. Her fingers tangled in his wet hair.
“Please,” she whispered.
He groaned though, a guttural sound of frustration. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You don’t ever hurt me,” she murmured with obvious confusion, her eyes heavy.
“I don’t mean here.” He thrust his arousal forward and ground his hips. “I mean here.” He dropped a kiss to her chest, and through the construction of her body her heart hammered so hard she knew he felt it. “I’m not a monster.”
Not like Fayez.
The words hung between them and Kylie swallowed, wondering at the wounds she’d unknowingly inflicted on her husband. Was there any path that wouldn’t see her hurt? She loved him. She couldn’t ignore that fact anymore. He might call it an infatuation arising from their physical relationship, and maybe he was right. But to Kylie, it felt like love.
And though she had no experience with the emotion – in the romantic or any other sense – she would have bet her life on it.
“Please.” A shuddering breath. She needed everything about him. His breath on her body, his kiss on her skin, his hardness inside her. “Please. Please. Please. Please.”
“Shush,” he soothed, understanding the fires that were ravaging her blood.
But she wouldn’t be silenced. Nor would she be ignored. She reached down, pushing at her underwear, sliding them aside. He watched her, holding her weight as she manouevered herself back down, sliding over his length with a low, sensual groan of fulfillment.
The possession was all the more perfect for the time apart. She pulled back and took him deep again, rolling her hips and whimpering as pleasure spiraled through her.
And Khalifa watched, his body still, allowing her to pleasure herself until her face was pink and her body coated in a sheen of perspiration and then he took over, digging his fingers into her hips and holding her low on his waist as he thrust into her harder and she cried out, tilting her head back with sheer relief. He grunted and took a long step, bringing her back into connection with a tiled wall of his bedroom. He braced her there so that he could free his hands, so that he could remove her damned nightgown. The impediment wasn’t wanted. He pushed it over her head and, in the same movement, dropped his head to her breasts, sucking her nipples, tormenting them with his tongue, his lips, marking her body as he ever had.
He drew his mouth to the other, and his fingers took over, rolling the exposed, aching nipple until Kylie was whimpering and whispering his name over and over again, her voice high-pitched and loud.
Her responsiveness was its very own torment. Had there been nothing else he desired about her, the way her body answered his would have been enough. But it wasn’t just that. He wanted all of her. Everything she offered, he would take greedily. Even her heart; even when his own wasn’t on offer.
He would enslave her. He would keep her. She was his.
The primal thoughts slammed into his brain as he moved through her, hard and fast, and her nails dug into his shoulders.
He had stayed away because it had been the right thing to do. The honourable thing.
He was done being honourable.
From now on, he would give her body everything it wanted so that she wouldn’t even realise what her heart was missing.
She made a keening noise low in her throat and he knew all of her noises, all of her wants, so that he understood – she was close to coming. He dragged his mouth up her décolletage, knowing her flesh would show rawness from his stubble, and he kissed her, his tongue slashing her mouth as his body moved within her. He kissed her, so that she groaned into his mouth, so that he tasted her pleasure as she exploded around him, her muscles tightening on his length so that it was only with the utmost discipline he didn’t join her in the euphoria of release.
But Khalifa wasn’t done.
Oh, no. The day was in its infancy and he planned to make up for lost time. The last five nights had been a torture.
He let her catch her breath – or at least catch some of it – and then he pulled her from the wall, stalking across to his bed. She was tired – the sweetness of satiation had weakened her limbs and she was wrapped around him as though he were her lifeline.
He would rouse her, though.
He slid her down his body and, standing, her underpants pushed aside, he gripped them in his large, broad hands and he pulled, so that the silk split in his grip. Kylie’s eyes were huge at the display of strength and a tight smile flickered on his face.
Had he been gentle with her for a particular reason? Her innocence, perhaps?
His wife wanted all of him. He wasn’t going to hold back any longer. It wasn’t until he gripped her hips that he understood he had been treating her with kid gloves, letting her get used to the newness of their sexual relationship without realizing that her hungers met his own.
He spun her without warning and slid a hand up her back, pushing her forward so that her hands rested on the edge of his bed.
“Please,” she groaned into the bed-linen and his arousal jerked.
He didn’t need to be asked twice. He held her still, teasing her with his tip before thrusting straight into her heart, letting her muscles squeeze and tighten around him, grinding his teeth to stop from exploding. But damn, he was close, and she was perfect. He ran his hands up her back as he moved, admiring the perfect curve of her arse as he took her, again and again.
Her arousal caught them both by surprise but she cried out, reaching her hand out in front of her and squeezing the sheets between her splayed fingers as an orgasm broke around her. He stilled, letting her muscles ride the wave, letting her ride the wave. He stroked her back gently, comfortingly, so that even at the height of her desire she would know it was okay. That this was normal. The intensity of what they were, though uncommon, was nothing to be afraid of. And then he caught the wave with her, riding it, holding her, his head tilted backwards as euphoria danced on the edges of his mind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Different.
Kylie stretched her arms over her head, blinking her blue eyes heavily in an
swer to the morning light. It streamed through the windows at her side like a blanket of gold, landing on her face and shoulder. What time was it?
The sun rose early in Argenon – or it did at this time of year, anyway. She pushed up on one elbow to check her beside clock and frowned.
Because the clock her eyes landed on had rubies set in its face.
And it all came flooding back, drenching her memory like the water beneath the bed. She was in Khalifa’s room. She’d fallen asleep?
Was that any surprise? They’d made love again and again, their bodies insatiable after several days apart. Her cheeks flamed when she recalled waking him up, her kiss on his chest dragging lower, to his belly, before his hands had snaked around her wrists and pulled her up, straddling her over him and taking her easily.
Heat wrapped around her and she looked for him instinctively, but the room was empty.
The bed too.
Except for … she frowned – a frown that quickly gave way to a smile when she spied the little piece of fruit on his pillow. It was orange and round, and she knew that if she peeled it it would be the sweetest thing she’d ever eaten.
He’d remembered?
Her heart did a little gallop in her chest. She grabbed the fruit in the palm of her hand and pushed out of bed, practically skipping back to her own room.
Aïna was tidying the bed, and Kylie’s blush deepened as she pushed the door shut. She had grabbed one of Khalifa’s robes without thinking and certainty that Aïna would know exactly where she’d been – and with whom – filled her with embarrassment.
But Aïna’s smile was the same as always, her eyes kindly. “Good morning, madam.” She went back to arranging the pillows and then straightened. “Your clothes have been laid out and breakfast is waiting.”
“Thank you.”
Kylie’s smile was still thick with self-consciousness as she slipped from the room and moved to her enormous bathroom. She shut the door behind her, clicking the lock into place and began the water running. She took the fruit with her, peeling it distractedly, leaving the outside on the bathroom vanity while steam filled the room.
They’d been married over five weeks and, besides the last week, they’d made love often. Always at his instigation. What did it mean that he’d left the door open? What did it mean that he’d welcomed her to his bed? Slept with his arm heavy across her chest, holding her close, breathing in synchronicity with her?
Did it mean anything? Nothing? Was it simply an extension of what they’d been?
She pushed a piece of the fruit into her mouth, groaning as the flavours travelled through her body, smiling as she thought of his sweetness in leaving it for her.
Was it normal for how they’d been apart?
But the door… the door had been open. Did that mean anything?
She gnawed on her lower lip, flicking it between her teeth. Water ran down her body – every nerve ending was hyper-alert, and though they’d made love again and again, she wished on every star in the heavens that he was there in that moment, touching her again, his hands on her body, feeling her softness, kissing the fruit from her mouth.
Her groan was almost primal; it came from the very centre of her being, the place where hopes, dreams, needs and genesis existed.
It was still so early in the day and suddenly the idea of spending at least twelve hours without her husband’s touch was unbearable.
She cut the water off and dried herself quickly, then dressed even faster, barely noticing the beauty of the pale yellow dress that had been selected for her. She slipped her feet into the matching shoes and looped her hair into a low bun.
She didn’t bother with makeup. Just a wipe of moisturizer and some gloss on her lips, then she moved out to Aïna. She was talking to three of Kylie’s maids but they paused when Kylie entered.
“Aïna? What is my husband’s schedule today?”
Aïna’s eyes widened with a hint of surprise – not once had Kylie bothered to ask about Khalifa’s movements, and then she nodded, dismissing the maids. “I will check.”
“Thank you.” She walked towards her balcony, staring out at the desert, her heart in her throat.
Aïna didn’t take long. She reappeared with an ipad and handed it to Kylie. The schedule was written in Argenese. Kylie studied it thoughtfully. It was a busy day, mainly filled with governance issues. She tapped her finger on the side, a frown scored on her face.
“Would you care for breakfast?”
Right on cue, her stomach gave a low-pitched growl and she nodded, still studying the day her husband had ahead of him. So many meetings and across so many issues. Questions formed in her brain faster than she could answer them.
She knew nothing of his duties and responsibilities, and suddenly, nothing mattered more to her than finding out.
“Aïna? I need your help with something.”
*
Khalifa pushed into his room late that night, still puzzling over the predicament of the fourteenth precinct. Crime on the rise, a police force that seemed at best inept and at worst corrupt and a funding issue that he couldn’t explain.
The unpleasant suspicion that government officials were mismanaging affairs sat heavily in his gut. So too the certainty that he would need to travel there himself to investigate.
He didn’t see the fruit at first. But when he registered the small orange orb, he frowned. Had Kylie missed it that morning? Had she failed to understand he’d left it for her?
He moved towards it unconsciously, lifting it before realizing it had been used as a paperweight. A single piece of paper sat beneath it, pale with golden edges.
A frown on his face, he lifted it and unfolded it, unaware that a smile smudged his lips to see her writing.
From here I can see the mountain you conquered;
From here I can see an ancient city.
There were few places in the palace that boasted a view of both the desert and the town. He replaced the fruit and moved through the corridor that joined their rooms, his eyes automatically scanning her suite when he entered, looking for a sign of his wife.
The doors to her balcony were open. He stepped out, looking for her. He found another piece of fruit and lifted it with undisguised curiosity.
Eyes like onyx, hair like ash;
Elegant and brave on a desert dash…
It took Khalifa a moment to decode the clue but then he closed his eyes and pictured a beast with dark eyes and silver hair and he spun, replacing the fruit as he made his way out of Kylie’s suite. No hint of the day’s weariness remained.
He practically sprinted out of the doors into the balmy night air.
His horse was waiting, standing in the stables, saddled up with a note tucked under the bridle.
Not quite as far as the mountains you showed me
Travel that way though and then you will see…
He laughed, lifting up onto the horse and giving him a kick forward. They rode as one, Khalifa low on the beast’s back, his eyes locked to the distance. It didn’t take long before he saw it – the glowing warmth of candles surrounding a calico tent.
A smile crossed his face and something warmed him from the inside as he bent lower and rode faster.
He dismounted at the same time he brought the horse to a stop, moving towards the tent with curiosity and … something else. Something he couldn’t quite put into words. Appreciation? Desire? A mix of the two?
Four servants stood to the side of the tent but he barely registered their presence. His entire being was focused on his wife. He lifted the flap to the circus tent; and laughed.
She was sitting in the middle of the space, legs crossed, in a long floaty dress, and balanced on her head was another piece of fruit.
“Are you my final clue?” he asked with a grin.
She nodded, dislodging the fruit so that it rolled over the brightly coloured mat beneath them, all the way to his feet. He crouched to scoop it up without taking his eyes off her.
He
peeled it, closing the space between them, his eyes locked to hers, then he pushed a quart of the fruit into his mouth. It was sweet, just as always. He knelt in front of her, and his lips sought hers, pressing the juice of the fruit into her, watching as she tasted it and surrendered to its sweetness.
“What is all this?” His question was gruff, surprising them both with an air of darkness to the words.
“Well, Your Highness,” Kylie murmured. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes? This much is obvious.”
She grinned, and before he knew what she was doing, she pressed her hands to his chest and pushed him backwards, so that he leaned against the ground. She straddled him, but their clothes were a barrier to what was, otherwise, an invitation he was desperate to take up.
“Over there,” she waved vaguely towards the palace, “you’re His Royal Highness Sheikh Sultan Khalifa Al Asouri. But here? You’re just a man who’s wandered into my tent.” She wiggled her brows and he laughed again.
And ignored the fact he felt like the very laugh – the fact he was enjoying himself – was a betrayal to everything he knew. To the truth he kept from her, the feelings he knew he could never return.
But was she right? Out here, beneath the ancient stars and inky sky, atop the sands that had seen wars and famine and triumph, could he simply be Khalifa?
“I’ve fallen in love with you.” She said the words factually, as though they were discussing something as banal as the construction of the desert tent. “I don’t know when. I sure as hell don’t know how, given the … erm … manner of our interactions.”
His eyes drew together and beneath her he shifted his weight, as though to dislodge her. But she stayed where she was, her finger pressed to his lips. “There is more going on here than either of us can explain. I have always believed my marriage to be a question of birthright and bloodlines – a matter of fate and destiny. Don’t you feel that, Khalifa? Don’t you feel the magic of what we are?”
His breath was rough in his chest. He stared at her, his young wife, his beautiful wife, and guilt crushed him. “It… isn’t like that. It is not so simple.”
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