His mark.
His woman.
Their musky mating filled the air with the lusty scent of sex. She threw her head back. He kissed his way down her throat, his thrusts picking up speed. Faster. Deeper. Sweat covered his chest. He forced her attention back to him. “Candace . . . my Candace,” he whispered against her lips, kissing her.
Now she began to move, her body countering his motions, killing him with the furor. He’d never let her get away. He didn’t know how he was going to manage keeping her, but he was. She arched her back, giving him access to her breasts. His mouth closed over one perfectly rounded globe. His tongue flicked across the hardened nub. She jerked in reaction. Clinging to him, her fingers dug into his bicep.
Raising his head, he stared into her eyes, bright with passion.
She smiled, the enticing sounds of the desert night encapsulating them in their own world. He saw her tense, knowing she was seconds away from spilling over the edge into ecstasy. He wasn’t going to last much longer either. She felt so damn good surrounding him with her heated flesh. She beckoned him on, the smooth slide of her wet flesh moving him closer and closer to his pinnacle. Pumping into her, he continued his strong pace until she bellowed his name as an earth scattering orgasm rocked them. Pulling her tighter to him, they rode the sensual wave.
As he laid there still embedded deep into her, his whole being vibrated from the experience of loving her. Gathering the edge of the down coverlet, he wrapped it around them. He’d found his heaven, found it within her arms. Couldn’t imagine anything on this earth or in the universe better than being inside her. He kissed the top of her head as she snuggled deeper into his chest, his arms going around her, vowing to himself that he would never let her go. He’d protect this woman with his own life.
Three more times they made love. Rolling on top of her, he nearly exploded every time he entered her. The second time, their mating was frantic and uncontrolled, sweat glistening on their heaving bodies. Her hands were all over him. Sliding, molding, stroking, teasing him to heights he’d never reached before. When her hands slid over the cheeks of his buttocks, pulling him suddenly hard into her, she gasped at the sensation. Nothing would ever take her away from him. Nothing.
Moments later, famished, he reached over to the bedside table, snatching a peach from the fruit basket, along with a knife off the copper tray laid out for her enjoyment. Splitting it open, he fed a piece to her. The wayward juice dripped from his fingers, spilling onto her breasts. He bent, lapping up the tangy liquid. He didn’t stop there, but spilled the juice lower, kissing, licking, down the length of her stomach to her thighs. continuing to taste every delectable part of her with his tongue.
At dawn the storm reached its zenith. He didn’t care. The weather only let them linger here in the compound. He didn’t want to leave— didn’t want to break the spell binding them together in this enchanted place.
Candace made a small satisfied murmur in her sleep, as his eyes roved over her body. She was perfect. Fit his body like a glove. Unquenchable, he hungered to taste her charms again. Rolling over on top of her, he kissed her awake.
“As soon as this storm passes, we need to get back.”
“So soon?” She sounded sleepy, sexy. He loved this woman with his whole being.
His lips arched into a smile. “We still have today.” They both laughed. Then, he kissed away her objections. Fully awake now, they made love gradually, both of them intent on giving the other as much pleasure as possible.
Sweet.
Hot.
Slow.
They continued on until Candace begged for a break.
He didn’t need a break. He cherished every moment they could carve out for each other. He had absolutely no regrets for their intense lovemaking. Well, maybe one. During the night’s long session of lovemaking, twice they’d made love without protection. He’d been extremely careless, but his emotions ran wild when it came to Candace. Sometimes he even forgot to use good sense, but he wouldn’t exchange this night for all the gold in the world. He worshipped this woman.
When the storm ended, they packed up their belongings, casting one last longing look at the compound before they entered the car. He knew he’d never have her on this level again, and it weighed on his heart. Outside these walls, all their obligations would come roaring back. He’d do anything to remain with her, anything to have her in his life. The cost would be high. His marriage to Princess Naomi would suffer, but he couldn’t give her up. Wouldn’t. Despair at his limited options soured his stomach.
Chapter 11
“May I come in?” His voice was low, soft with a deadly undertone running through it. He was holding the tent flap with one hand while his forearm rested against the tent pole. The scent of burning wood melded with the delicious smells of the regional food cooking over an open fire clung to him. By the whoosh of his heavy sigh, she knew he wasn’t used to lingering on a lady’s doorstep. In fact, he wasn’t used to being kept waiting for anything. She could see the objections amid the emerald depths of his eyes. And she knew by the grimace on his face that Taj had told him the harrowing news. More than likely she was the core of his displeasure. After all, she hadn’t advised him of the alarming information. And the boundless frustration in his voice as he left voice mail after voice mail expanded with each passing day. But, in her defense, she’d been extremely busy. Tunneling through rumors and facts about the imminent assassination attempt on the king. They hadn’t seen each other for an entire week. He’d been in the southern part of the country, working with the tribes and scientists of the country on a water purification plan.
Birds cawing to each other mixed with the fragrant desert breeze and ruffled the midnight silk of his hair as they stared at each other.
Candace stepped back, giving him enough room to slide past her.
Just as he moved parallel to her, he turned, bent his head, and kissed her. She loved him so much, but their whole situation was right out of some tragic Shakespearean play. His destiny lay with a princess. She’d finish up the preparations for the wedding, continue her reports to the CIA, then go home. After that fateful night at his desert fortress, she and Taj had learned the name of the American heading up The National Resistance Group by watching the surveillance tape of her hospital room. The positive ID buckled her knees. Steve Forbes. The primary agent on her and Bobby’s mission in Istanbul. A mission, through no fault of their own, that went to hell in a matter of minutes. Shot up, and bleeding from multiple gunshots wounds, she and Bobby couldn’t fight their way close enough to save him. He’d been captured, carried off by nomads dressed in the robes of the desert. The official report stated he’d died in captivity. Well, obviously they’d been wrong . . . so wrong. Now, not only was he a traitor to his country, but he was using all his knowledge of explosives and strategies to push back at the CIA. Mainly her. Taj dug deeper and informed her that Steve Forbes was monitoring her every move, and he wanted her dead. And Taj informed Diyari of all his findings.
“So, tell me about Steve Forbes and why he wants you dead.” She smiled at him as he loomed closer. She opened her mouth to speak but he held up his hand. “No, you know what? Steve Forbes can wait. I missed you . . . terribly. I missed you in my bed, on our rides into the desert, and your face across from me at meals.”
His teeth made a grinding noise as he visibly battled his affection for her. Dressed in black jeans and a cobalt T-shirt which showed off his tanned skin deepened to a golden bronze from his time in the desert, he appeared even more seductive. His sex appeal, as always, was off the charts. Her gaze drank him in, cataloging this moment, embedding the all-so-consuming image for when she wasn’t with him anymore. A lump of emotion the size of a chicken egg clogged her throat.
As if reading her amorous thoughts, his hand shot behind her head, and he pulled her to him, kissing her senseless, as
he backed her, step by step, toward the bed. In one swift movement, he picked her up and laid her on it. She stretched out on the soft surface. His body followed, pinning her, enveloping her in his dangerous spell, his copper skin contrasting deeply against her porcelain coloring. Those lush lips of his lifted into a wolfish grin as a lock of his ebony hair bounced against his forehead. He literally stole her breath. He shattered her every time he was near. She blinked and continued to memorize every inch of him. This was pure torment, to be with him like this, knowing . . . knowing . . .
Yearning, blinding in nature, ripped through her as sharp as a chef’s knife. God, the way he kissed her. She soared into space, drifting along the stars, almost panting with anticipation. She had to be out of her mind to allow this . . . this love affair to continue, knowing the outcome, the massive heartache that would follow. But, she hungered for his touch, his kiss . . . completion. It had been too long since he’d touched her. Made love to her. She wanted to feel his oh-so-strong body pressed up against her, driving into her, especially with the knowledge that Steve Forbes was out there somewhere, lurking in the dark, waiting for his chance to kill her. But Diyari erased all of her troubling thoughts. At least for the moment. As she craved the masculine power of Diyari conquering her femininity, the magical moments when they came together as one.
Her heart would never survive the disappointment of losing him to his princess. His queen. That is, if she survived this mission. Steve Forbes had been one of the best agents the CIA ever trained. Tactical and clever, skilled beyond comparison in weaponry. Yes, she knew she was being careless. Even John Gray showed concern when he heard who headed that fateful organization. But she was determined to save the king, even if it took her life.
“Steve Forbes,” Diyari asked between kisses, “tell me about this snake.”
She raised her head and stared at him, “Later? Right now, I want to welcome you home properly.” She dissolved into a heap of longing only he could satisfy before he molded her back into a human, her instincts conquered – frayed to the bone. She was fatally wounded. Cupid’s wayward arrow struck swift and hard, ripping through her heart . . . destroying it, shattering all her emotions.
He was all around her, kissing her, stroking her, undressing her. When her head fell back, his full lips kissed a fiery trail along her neck. She trembled, as wave after wave of burning heat rushed over her. He was impossible to resist. Sadly, she loved him to the height and depth of her being. The frail red silk of her camisole and panties did nothing to prevent his virile steam from scalding her. He incinerated her on the spot, the fervor smothering and, oh-so-intoxicating. Diyari, Diyari, his name pounded through her brain like the rhythm of island drums. His scent, a unique mixture of desert wind and sand, besieged her, sexually immobilizing her. Her heart and soul gave in.
She loved him.
Checkmate.
He’d won her, body and soul.
How could she explain self-preservation to him? Of surviving when he walked away with his queen, leaving her with nothing but regrets?
He popped his finger under her chin, raising her eyes to meet his. “Candace, I love you.”
She wholeheartedly believed him. Too bad it wasn’t enough . . . too bad it couldn’t change their situation.
“I’m yours for eternity.”
She huffed her disbelief. “You’re mine until you become king, not one second more.”
He crooked his arm at the elbow and dropped his head against his hand, continuing to study her. “That’s years from now, light years away, after hundreds and hundreds of moments like this together.”
She rolled onto her back. “Please don’t paint me any pretty pictures of being together forever. Destiny won’t allow it.”
He shook his head. “Our destiny is yet to be written.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “No. Our destiny is carved in stone.”
“Candace . . . Please.” There was a tightness in his voice she hadn’t heard before.
He rolled onto her, pushing her further into the mattress, relentless in his pursuit, kissing her, stroking her, fanning the winds of desire. In one smooth, totally masculine move, he jerked his T-shirt over his head. Her hands automatically fused to the bare hard length of his chest, examining each curve and ridge with her rushing fingers, his skin warm, smooth, so much the warrior of the desert. Her fingers tangled in his chest hair as he hauled her forward, placing her in his lap. In the next moment, they were both naked.
Face to face, he rocked forward, his hardness grazing her pulsing femininity, the bed dipping with their combined weight. She closed her eyes, savoring their time together. Her head fell back with the pure ecstasy of the meeting of their bodies. He kissed her again. Burying his tongue in her mouth.
He plunged into her, rubbing against her apex. She gasped. Pure pleasure ricocheted around, through her. In the soft glow of the lantern, his determined expression seemed chiseled in granite. Concentrating solely on giving her pleasure and fulfillment, he slipped into a punishing rhythm, accelerating her body toward another of those earth-shattering climaxes only he could produce. Using his thumb against her bud, his acute pressure persisted, sending her over her pinnacle not once but multiple times, all the while clinging to him. Her nails ripped into his back. He grunted his approval as he continued his thrusts. She sunk her teeth into his wide shoulder to prevent the scream that bubbled up with her next orgasm. She begged him, literally begged him to take her again and again. And then, all her defenses melted as he climaxed.
He rolled onto the mattress beside her, his voice migrating into an extensive, satisfied groan. “The gods have fashioned you just for me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with longing.
“I love you,” he whispered against her ear, playfully biting her lobe. “With my whole heart.”
She reached out and stroked his face, his beard stubble prickling her fingers. Dear Diyari. Fantastic lover. She rolled into him, wanting to cuddle now that the passion, at least for the moment, ebbed. Wrapped around each other, they drifted into sleep.
~ ~ ~
The faint sound of people mulling around outside the tent jerked him awake. The massive rustle reminded him of soldier’s boots crunching the sand as they took up a post. Instantly awake, a coil of tension ripple through him. As he lifted his wrist to check the time, the glowing numbers blinking three-thirty a.m.
For a stunned second, amazement crossed his face before anger set his features in concrete. “Who’s there?” he bellowed, raising his head off the pillow. Beside him, Candace started to mouth her question, but he silenced her with a finger to his lips. Trepidation crawled over him like a slow-moving tarantula. His fingers groped for Candace’s Beretta underneath her pillow. In one fluid movement, he slid a bullet into the chamber.
The entire camp was stirring. His stomach sunk like a two-ton boulder in a lake. Something was amiss. For a brief moment, Candace’s eyes latched onto his. Yes, she shared his apprehension.
Outside the tent, they heard a distinct quiver in Taj’s voice as he belted out his request. “Your Majesty, your attention is needed. May we enter.”
Oh no! Oh no, no, no. Your Majesty, those two simple words, threw his world into a tailspin, erupting inside him like a blowing volcano. His head swiveled to Candace as a tremor the size of a boa constrictor rocked him.
Their eyes met, held, an odd tension stiffening his shoulders. She laid a hand on his forearm, comforting him. As if . . . He threw back the bed covers and stooped to retrieve his jeans off the floor. Stepping into them, he headed toward the tent flap.
“Get dressed,” he threw over his bare shoulder.
He stopped, turned around and stared hard at her before pulling the silk shade across the bedroom to shield her.
Outside, muffled voices were raised in alarm. Reaching the flap, he jerked it open. “What’s going o
n, Taj?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the Berretta enclosed in his fist.
“Our father is dead. Killed by an assassin’s knife.” Taj’s voice broke as he flung himself into Diyari’s arms. Diyari hugged his sobbing brother, patting him on the back like a father comforting a grieving child.
No, no, it can’t be true.
“Assassin,” he repeated, unable to comprehend what Taj was telling him. “Yes, he was murdered tonight while shaking hands with people at the Dancing Waters Festival.”
Dizziness swayed within as despair choked him. Releasing Taj, he dropped down on his haunches, covering his face with his hands, the crippling pressure in his chest too great to keep him upright. “Did they capture the bastard?”
The venomous expression on Taj’s face scared the hell out of him. He rose. They’d captured someone. From the way the blood was draining from Taj’s face, he knew them. “Who?” he demanded.
“A member of The National Resistance Group.” Taj spit out.
“Steve Forbes?” Diyari inquired, brushing at his cheeks.
“No, he’s still at large but the assassin was acting on his orders.”
Diyari’s stomach rolled with nausea. “I want this son of a bitch. Do you hear me? I want a nationwide hunt to commence, and when you find him . . . he’s mine. No one else is to touch him. Do you understand?”
Diyari staggered away from Taj, murmuring a curse under his breath. He turned suddenly and walked back to Taj. “I want the Black Scorpions to provide around the clock coverage for Candace. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” Taj managed, his shoulders shaking.
The tear-swollen eyes of Taj glanced up at him. “You’re King, Diyari. I have the Scorpions surrounding the tent.”
For the Sheik's Pleasure (Sheiks in Love Book 2) Page 24
