A warrior’s yell drew her attention back to the two men. Diyari and Asad continued to move, each man ready to strike as soon as he zoned in on the other man’s weakness. Waiting. Hoping the other man would be the first to make a mistake. The whole scenario reminded her of a mental chess game playing out in front of her eyes. Frightened beyond reason, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Diyari appeared so primitive, stripped to the waist and with the lower part of his body clothed in flowing black pants, the folds of material flapping in the raising wind. Around his neck, that gold amulet of the Black Scorpion gleamed in the sunlight.
Blinded momentarily by the mirrored reflection of the sun glinting off the shiny metal of the blade, she lost track of him. She moved farther out of the tent, her guard on high alert. A mighty clang echoed through the camp, as their swords collided.
Her heart drummed heavily, threatening to burst from her chest. As Asad parried Diyari’s powerful thrust, bringing his sword up under Diyari’s defenses, she saw him jump slightly as the sword made contact with his flesh.
Then the bastard sliced into Diyari’s bicep. Blood immediately streamed from the wound. She screamed. Diyari’s gaze swung to her. Suddenly, Nina was beside her.
Putting an arm around her shoulder, Nina tried to detour her toward the tent flap. “Candace, get back inside. You’ll distract him. You’ll cost him his life.”
No way was she going inside. No way. Her gaze once again roamed over the crowd, watching for any movement.
Candace shrugged Nina off. “No!” she vehemently replied. Only an act of God could move her from this spot. But her scream had drawn Diyari’s attention. His gaze came back to her once again as he nailed her with his hunter gaze an instant before he barely side-stepped another vicious blow.
“Oh my God!” she yelled, unable to contain herself.
“Shhh, Candace, please!” Nina warned. “Your interference is going to get my brother killed!”
Diyari pivoted, drops of sweat flying from his hair. He raised the sword above his head and swung it toward the man’s mid-section, but the man parried the move. Metal slammed against metal, sending another ear-shattering clash echoing through the compound. Candace’s heart leaped into her throat as she swore under her breath.
Oh no! She caught a glimpse of the top of the king’s grey head moving about the crowd, shaking hands before he pushed to the front of the ring to see his son and heir fighting. The king was out in the open. Any moment now, she expected to hear the pop, pop, of a gun. As she continued to closely examine the area around them, she caught a silver flash in the distant mountains. A mirror burst—no, not a mirror, it was the glare off a set of binoculars. Someone or a group of people were watching the match. Fear iced her veins. Would they strike now? Or were they waiting like a fox waits for the unsuspecting rabbit to fall deeper into his trap?
Her gaze jerked back to Diyari. Both men advanced, Asad aiming for Diyari’s back. Diyari ducked out of his way, pivoted, then seized the opportunity Asad had foolishly allowed. Stepping into the blow, he swung his sword, bringing it down with a powerful slash, cutting across the man’s arm. Bright red, arterial blood spurted from the deep gash, dripping onto the sand. The man appeared visibly shaken as his life drained out. Pallor shaded his cheeks. Diyari poised to deliver the killing blow.
“Halt!” The king yelled, holding up his hand. He entered the center of the ring of onlookers. Stepping forward, the king examined the wound, before signaling for the physician. The physician glanced back at the king and nodded. Asad was too weak to continue the contest. Diyari had won. The king held up his hand, declaring Diyari the victor. Candace’s breath rushed out of her as everyone cheered.
“Has your family’s honor been served?” she heard the group of elders ask Diyari.
Breathless, his hands on his hips, Diyari replied, “Yes, my honor is satisfied.”
They held his arm up in victory. As the cheers from the crowd boomed in her ears, she sank to her knees. Relief flooded her. Nina pulled her back to her feet.
“That was so . . . so primitive. I never want to witness anything like that again.” She stared at her hands, watching them shake uncontrollably. She clasped them together, praying they’d stop. Her head shot up as she recalled the flash of the binoculars, but it had disappeared. Whoever was there was long gone. She needed to investigate that area as soon as it was dark. She’d been in plenty of fights herself, intense hand to hand combat training, but observing Diyari feign off his attacker’s blows was so elemental, so acute. The whole scenario brought back memories of the night Bobby was murdered, and she never wanted to live through that heartbreak again.
She snapped out of her stupor. “I need to freshen up,” she announced to Nina. Nina held back the flap of the tent for her to pass inside. She needed water, cold water, to splash on her heated face. To calm the fear anchored within her.
Their cultures were as different as night and day. She surveyed the decadent interior. The enchanting room resembled something right out of The Arabian Nights. Myrrh incense burned in a brass lantern in the middle of the room, its soothing scent unable to calm her, not today, not with the picture of Diyari being injured fresh in her mind. No. Nothing could calm her after what she just witnessed.
A huge palm-paddled electric fan rotated above Diyari’s oversized bed, littered with multi-colored pillows, silks, and animal skins. Purple silk shimmered on the walls and knotted in the center of the ceiling, dropping down to outline the interior of the tent. The room screamed seduction. Goose bumps raced across her skin. When Diyari was in the room, he heightened the beguiling quality a hundred-fold. Her room was similar to his, but a bit smaller. Partitioned off with a satiny curtain from the main room, it provided little protection from the Sheik.
She pulled her cell phone from her back pack and delivered vital information about what she’d witnessed in the mountains and promised John Grey she’d investigate as soon as darkness covered her movements. John was pleased with her observations and reminded her to stay vigilant. After speaking a few moments more, she hung up.
Walking over to the water pitcher, she poured its contents into the huge bowl. Dousing her face with cold water, she wrestled to expunge the events of the last hour. Covering her face with the oversized towel, she paused for a minute to regain her composure, sucking air in and out. When she removed the towel, Diyari stood in front of her, his chest crusted with blood and sand. Had he overheard her conversation with John Grey? She rested a hand on her hip and waited for accusations. None came. Instead, he smiled at her, and her body began to tingle. His nearness literally paralyzed her.
He chewed up the distance between them in four steps. He pulled her into his arms, his lips devouring hers in a blistering kiss. His hand cupped her behind, caressing the tender flesh, as he anchored her into his erection. He consumed her, body, mind, and soul. She wanted him. Anticipation of being beneath him sent a torrent of desire ripping through her. Arching into him, she drove her body closer. So close, not a breath of air could pass between them. The scent of his sweat, salty and musky, filled her head. Fire burned in the pit of her stomach. Hotter-than-hell lust spiraled through her veins. Take me, she silently begged. Now. Fresh from the fight.
He stepped back, holding her at arm’s length, surveying every inch of her. Suddenly embarrassed, she lowered her lashes as blistering heat curled up her neck and into her cheeks. Her gaze snapped to his. The carnal fire burning in his eyes wrapped around her like a warm blanket on a winter’s day. His lips bent to hers again in a drugging kiss. He ravished her lips, his hand bracing her head to hold her in place. For the first time in forever, peace settled over her.
He had fought for his family and his nation. Her most chivalrous knight. Now, his conquest turned toward her. She was the spoils of war.
Damn the consequences of falling for a prince already committed to someone else—
to hell with the repercussions. She’d deal with the outcome when she had to. She didn’t care anymore. Sliding her hands over the heated, gritty skin of his bare chest, she grabbed the back of his neck, forcing those beckoning lips of his back to hers. Surprise mirrored on his gorgeous face when she released a long surrendering breath. His lips claimed hers, pressing, probing, and velvety soft a moment before they turned savage, arousing her to a new level. She burned for him, everywhere. A hearty groan rattled his chest as he wrenched his lips from hers. His breathing irregular and harsh, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. He stepped back, a fierce inner fire raging out of control within his eyes as he proclaimed, “Ah, the sweet, sweet spoils of victory.”
Her lips lifted into a smile.
He inched closer, the erotic flame burning in his gaze brighter now, the heat of his body rocketing into her lower belly.
Hypnotic.
She took a step back from his sexual ferocity. He followed, moving with the finesse of a taunting animal. She wasn’t going to be able to escape him. Not today. He was the hunter—her the prey—caught within his heavenly snare. She was right where she wanted to be.
He paused, “I want to make sure you understand what you’re getting yourself into. This is all I can offer you. Me. Totally committed to you, me. But that is all. I can’t offer happily ever after, so if you require more, you need to stop me right now.”
She smiled at his unvarnished truth. “I understand, and I agree, wholeheartedly. I’m yours.”
In a flash, he pulled her roughly against him, molding their bodies. She squirmed to get even closer. He kissed her again. A new kind of kiss, a carnal and possessive kiss, his tongue plundering the depths of her mouth, backed up with an uncivilized, primal growl. He heightened her awareness of her own needs, driving her to satisfy her hunger. Her head spun, her heart slammed into the wall of her chest. Electricity arced the air around them. His hand closed around her breast, squeezing it tenderly. She moaned out loud, the sound inhaled within his divine mouth.
He kissed her senseless, everlastingly, prolonging moments that wiped out the sounds of the celebrating crowd. They were alone, two potential lovers exploring the first hint of sexual satisfaction. Ravenous for him, she clawed at the tie holding his pants up, tearing the material when she couldn’t get the tie undone fast enough. His pants hit the floor.
He was magnificent.
Naked.
Proud.
Warrior.
Completely hers, at least for a little while.
He remained still as her eyes embraced every aspect of his uncovered body. Her gaze tracked a droplet of sweat as it rounded his shoulder before descending the taut valley between his pecs, that simple drop as mesmerizing as a hypnotist swinging a medallion. The drop disappeared behind the gold amulet of a black scorpion before emerging again as it slid across his taut abs. She pressed her mouth to his tight stomach to intercept it. He murmured something under his breath as his flesh trembled against her mouth. A powerful, erotic shudder racked his body. She smiled against his sunbaked hard-as-brick abs, as the butterflies in her stomach stirred up and took flight like a swarm of birds. Michelangelo, with all his skill, could not have sculpted the perfection of Diyari’s body. Golden, bronzed, every muscle defined. An extreme sense of compulsion drove her. Brazenly, her fingers traced the black scorpion tattoo on his hip. Exploring the texture with her fingers, he bucked beneath the pressure as the tattooed animal jumped to life under the ministrations of her fingers. While one hand smoothed the flesh of his hip, the other wrapped around his surging erection.
Her eyes flew up to his. His moss-colored irises boldly assessed her with unbounded ardor. His feverish gaze seared her. Another curse word spilled from his lips when her hand began to move, his head dropping back against his neck. Then, her gaze focused on his bicep. Blood trickled down his arm, some caked and clotted. She released her hold on him and touched his wounded arm.
With a moan, he pulled his injured arm away.
She reached for his arm again, “This cut is deep. You need stitches.”
He hissed her name between his teeth. “Candace, right now I don’t care if my damn arm falls off. Come here, touch me again.”
He could be the big macho man, but she’d witnessed the pain ravaging his facial features when she touched his wound. She turned and grabbed the towel and a bottle of water. Dabbing the cloth over his injury, she swallowed hard when she pulled the towel away and saw the amount of blood. A lot of blood. His blood.
“Diyari?” She questioned, gently surveying the wound.
He swiped both his hands across his face. “It’ll be fine, it just needs to be cleaned and bandaged.”
She walked over to her backpack and pulled out her medical kit. Grabbing the cotton, she gently dabbed at his wound.
Standing next to his naked body made it impossible for her to concentrate on anything but him.
He swiveled his head toward her, a devilish gleam smoldering in his eyes. “I want you with an intensity that scares me.”
Her jaw dropped open at the bluntness of his statement. She paused, cotton ball in midair, her hand covered in his warm, sticky blood.
His uninjured hand rose to her cheek, smoothing his knuckles across her skin.
Tilting her head, she leaned into his touch.
He kissed her again, a long drawn out kiss that stole her breath. For a long moment, she clung to him, never wanting to let him go. Then, she pushed back as she said in a voice that trembled with emotion, “Do you plan on bleeding to death? Or can it wait until I fix this?”
“It can wait, the entire world can wait.” His voice was faint, seductive against her ear.
Unwinding the gauze, she began wrapping his bicep. Pulling a piece of surgical tape from the dispenser, she secured it in place. It wouldn’t last, but it would have to do for the moment.
He pulled the tape out of her hand, dropped it to the floor, and pulled her against him. The heat of his body consumed her. His fingers boldly caressed the fullness of her breasts, cupped them in his hands. An audible rush of air escaped her lips. He smiled, that half-smile that sent her pulse pounding against her temple. Pulling her T-shirt over her head, he bared her breasts to his gaze.
“Perfection,” he whispered, as he stared at her body.
A shiver of anticipation quivered through her. His agile hands caressed her soft flesh, worked their magic, and her nipples budded into tight peaks. An electric current fired from his fingers into her breasts. She gasped at the sensation.
Against her ear he murmured, “I want to see all of you. Every delicious inch.”
She slid her hands up his chest, pulled his head down for her kiss, the course hair of his chest teasing her nipples. A millisecond before their lips engaged, her head veered off, and she playfully bit his ear.
“Ouch!” he yelped, a deep, sexy groan actually, as he hooked his thumbs in her waistband and stripped her pajama pants from her. “Wicked, wicked girl. That will cost you.”
Without a thought to his injury, he lifted her in his arms and proceeded, moving to the bed, dark red blood already seeping through her hastily placed bandage. Taj’s voice from just outside the tent brought him to an abrupt halt. “Heads up! Dad’s on his way over to see if you’re all right. The doctor is with him.”
“Damn it!” His curse boomed against her ear. The heat of his lips pressed against hers one more time before he set her back on her feet.
She slid down the length of his body, scalding flesh melded to scalding flesh, as his masculine scent further muddled her senses.
She stooped to pick up her clothes. He smacked her on her butt. Grasping the offended flesh, she jolted upright . . . laughing at his playfulness.
Naked, with his legs spread into a fighting stance and his arms crossed over his muscular chest,
he smiled, “I couldn’t resist.”
Mimicking his sister’s action from the day before, she stuck out her tongue.
Diyari cursed under his breath, his frustration apparent. “I’m cursed. Will we ever get to be alone? It’s one interruption after another.” He stooped and picked up his discarded clothes and pulled his pants on. Straightening, he nudged her chin up with his finger.
“Later,” he promised, crossing his heart and giving her a sexy wink.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
The yearning within his eyes could blister the sun.
“Yes. Later I’ll explore every inch of you.”
Shaken by their explosive encounter, she walked over to her side of the tent, aware of his fiery gaze following her every move. Slipping behind the curtain, she disappeared just as the king and the doctor entered.
~ ~ ~
The hooded man pulled his Keffiyeh across his face as he crept through the sleeping compound, underneath the cover of an approaching sand storm. She was here. He’d seen her through his binoculars. Here. Within one of these tents, Candace Danvers slept all nice and cozy in her plush bed. A nasty smile creased his lop-sided lips. All he had to do was slip into the tent and slice her throat. He withdrew his Ka-Bar knife. With just a swipe of the long blade, he’d cut through her windpipe, muscle, and tendons, and laugh as she bled out. Then, he’d leave her for dead just like she left him. Payback’s a bitch.
For the Sheik's Pleasure (Sheiks in Love Book 2) Page 17
