Sophia nodded slowly. “And Laith is determined that you will not go?”
“Yes.” Saliyah’s voice showed sadness. “And I cannot leave here knowing that my parents will suffer.”
“Of course you can’t.” She ran the palm of her hand over the camel’s neck, lost in thought. “My husband is progressive. I’m confident he’ll make Laith see sense.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“He will,” Sophia promised, her eyes showing determination. “I’ll make sure of that.”
“What do you mean, you do not know where she is?” Malik glared at the servants who’d been assigned to his wife, his expression one of fire and ice.
“She was resting!” The first proclaimed, not meeting Malik’s furious gaze. “And did not want to be disturbed.”
A muscle jerked in Malik’s jaw as he tried to constrain his temper. All afternoon, he’d butted heads with Laith and now, to return to his tent and find his wife lost? “We are in the desert,” he said with cold derision. “She has no knowledge of this place, of our ways, of this climate. There are eagles circling the outer reaches. Desert dogs that will tear a person from limb to limb. And you let her wander off?”
The Sheikh had never lost his temper before. His servants were struck dumb.
“Find her,” he roared. And then, “Power up the helicopter. I’ll find her myself.”
He strode from the tent just as a little girl from the community came running up, speaking rapidly and in a childish way that made comprehension difficult. “Look!” She pointed, her finger jerking. In the distance, Malik could see two camels loping slowly towards them.
Dusk was approaching, the light was dim, but he could still make out his wife’s pale blonde hair as clearly as if she were standing before him. Damn her!
“Bring me a horse,” he snapped, not moving his gaze from her. He could only stare at her, a sense of powerful fury and rage surging through him. Where the hell had she been? And with whom?
“That is Saliyah,” Laith grumbled, appearing at Malik’s side, holding the reins to an Arabian stud.
Malik didn’t offer a response. He threw his body onto the horse’s back, kicked its sides and tore through the desert, plumes of sand in his wake.
The camels moved slowly but the horse was all speed. He closed the gap on them in minutes, bringing his horse to them, his eyes fixed on his wife’s. She’d obviously seen his approach and had time to prepare, for there was only defiance in her expression, willing him to challenge her.
Oh, and he would. But not now.
“Saliyah,” he addressed the tribe girl. “You had no business abducting my wife.”
“She hardly abducted me, Malik—,”
He slid his gaze to his wife. “You, I will speak to privately.” The words were loaded with ice. He returned his attention to the young woman whose future he’d been discussing all day. “You are in enough trouble without adding kidnap to the charge sheet.”
“Oh, because she wants to do what any ordinary teenager wishes to do?” Sophia interjected, apparently not willing to be silenced.
Malik compressed his lips.
“Go ahead of us to camp. Laith is waiting.”
Saliyah’s expression was ash.
“She is not to be in trouble for this,” Sophia said firmly. “She asked if I wanted to see the ruins of Persimina. I did. It was very kind of Saliyah to entertain me.”
“The ruins?” Malik looked from one to the other. “That’s what you’ve been doing?”
Sophia tilted her chin.
“You still should have told someone,” he pushed, his expression unrelenting. “Her highness cannot simply climb onto a camel and set out into the desert. Did you think about the risks to her, Saliyah? She has no experience of this climate, the animals here, the heat…”
“She,” Sophia interjected, “was fine. And Saliyah brought water and food and hats and some kind of whistle that I gather is supposed to sound an alarm in case of danger.”
It was all so reasonable, but Malik was still furious.
“Go back to camp. Tell Laith my wife chose to come with you freely,” he said to Saliyah, moving closer to Sophia’s camel and reaching for her reins. “I will join you for the yashal.”
Once Saliyah was far enough ahead, Malik moved their animals, yet chose a different path to that which Saliyah had taken. He circumnavigated the constellation of Bedouin tents, bringing them around behind the settlement, directly to their private accommodations.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t trust himself to, until they were alone.
At the door to their tent, there were guards.
“Move out,” he snapped, as they approached. The guards saluted and stepped back to a wider proximity. He didn’t look at his wife but he knew she was right behind him. He held the tent flap wide for her, his gaze fixed into the distance. Only once she was inside did he turn his gaze on her, flicking it from the tip of her head over her sun-warmed cheeks and down her body.
And every feeling known to man burst through him. Desire, foremost. Anger. Fury. Impatience. Desperation.
He stepped into the tent, sucking in a deep breath, tying a knot in the braids that kept the flaps shut. And then he rounded on her, his expression a mask of fury.
“Do not ever do something like that again.”
She was completely unrepentant. If anything, he felt an equal anger emanating from her.
“Like what?” She demanded, reaching for the long-sleeved shirt she wore and stripping it from her body.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m hot! Stinking hot, okay?” She flung the shirt across the tent; it landed on the edge of the bed that had been laid out for her.
“You cannot simply disappear whenever you feel like it.”
“I went to explore some ruins with someone from the tribe. You trust these people? You like them? Why shouldn’t I?”
“She could have kidnapped you and held you to ransom for her own freedom!”
“She should never be in a position of needing to do that,” Sophia roared, her vehemence surprising him. “If a woman is driven to such desperate measures courtesy of an oppression you are facilitating, then she is hardly the problem, even if she were to have taken such desperate measures.”
He was, momentarily, shocked into silence. But her nakedness reminded him of the purpose of this marriage, the reason for their union.
“Do you forget, Sharafaha, that you may well carry this country’s future heir in your belly?”
He saw surprise whip across her features. “So?” But it was less vehement.
“So your life is no longer your own to do with as you please. You married me. You are this country’s Sheikha. People are looking to you for our future. You cannot simply ride off into a desert about which you know nothing –,”
“I was not alone!” She interrupted forcefully.
But that only angered him further. “You had no concept of what dangers were out there. Beasts, birds, Saliyah…”
“She was no threat to me!” Sophia snapped, lifting her fingers to her temples and rubbing them gently. She turned away, moving to the pitcher of water and pouring some into her hands, hands that were shaking slightly. She lifted the water to her face, splashing her sun-reddened cheeks.
“And how did you ascertain this, Sophia?” He asked, moving closer, his large body held taut, his gut throbbing with needs and wants that made no sense given his anger.
“I…”
“Did you speak to security about her? Did you ask for details about her? Did you do anything to ensure you weren’t riding off into the desert with a madwoman? Potentially with our baby growing in your belly?”
Her gaze dropped to the ground.
He moved closer, an arm clamping around her waist, drawing her body to his.
She gasped, her eyes lifting to his, and now he felt that she was trembling all over, like she had been right before their wedding.
“Did you think about wh
at you owe me, and this country? What you owe Addan?”
At that, she made a strangled noise of disbelief, her eyes lifting to his.
“Damn you, Sophia. Did you think how I would feel? Coming back here and finding you missing?”
She opened her mouth, perhaps to explain, perhaps to argue. He didn’t wait to find out. He dropped his mouth to hers, claiming her lips, his kiss hard and demanding. It was a kiss of punishment. A kiss of anger.
It was also a kiss of survival.
“Damn it,” he groaned, lifting her, wrapping her legs around his waist, his body hard for her, his mind still running over the fear he’d felt when he’d discovered she was missing.
“You cannot simply disappear on a whim.” He dropped her onto the low mattress and crouched at her feet, but even as he reached for her underwear, she was wriggling out of it, her hands fevered, her breath escaping in fast, desperate bursts.
“It wasn’t a whim!” Her hands glided over his back, finding his hips, holding him tight. “I was just…”
“Don’t.” The word was like a whip; he pushed up, his face level with hers, his eyes showing impatience. “Don’t say anything. There is no excuse for this, Sharafaha. You were wrong to leave here with her. Wrong to leave without alerting me. Wrong not to take a security guard. You are a Queen, Sophia, not some American tourist on a gap year. Start acting like it.”
She lifted up onto her elbows, glaring at him as he pushed out of his clothes. Her eyes dropped to his chest, her mouth dry – as though it were filled with sawdust. “That is incredibly unreasonable. I am a Queen. Just because I don’t conform to any ridiculous standards you have of what that should entail… well, newsflash, your highness. Being accessible to your people isn’t a bad thing. And I know you agree with me because look at how you live! You come out here all the time. You love to just be by yourself with these tribes. So why can’t I?”
“Because you could right this moment be pregnant with my child, Sophia. Do you not think that requires some consideration?”
She clamped her lips shut, because his observation was accurate – and she hadn’t stopped to consider that...
“And because you are not me,” he finished, growling the words with a low, deep husk.
“So I don’t have the same privileges as you?”
“No.” The word was said with sheer frustration. He brought his body over hers, his eyes locked in a battle of the wills with her pale blue gaze. “You begged me to bring you here. Fool that I am I thought you would respect the desert and its inherent dangers. I thought you would at least respect the difficult political situation we are in.”
“How is talking to Saliyah disrespecting that?” She demanded, her breath ragged, so her pert breasts moved up and down of their own accord. He brought a hand between her legs, spreading them wide.
“Because I am trying to get Laith to make this decision for himself,” Malik muttered.
“And if he makes the wrong decision?”
He rolled his tongue over one of her nipples and arrows of pleasure perforated her veins, filling her body with shark sparks of desire.
“Precisely why I am handling this with delicacy.”
But temptation and need had overtaken common sense. Sophia wanted to argue for Saliyah but rational thought was so far from possible.
Acting purely on instinct, she arched her back, the tip of his arousal so close to her womanhood. She wanted to beg him to take her, but the words stayed buried in her throat.
But he understood anyway. He stared into her eyes as he thrust deep inside her, hard and fast, so she dug her nails into his shoulder and bit back from crying out his name – damn her – knowing how much he needed to hear it.
He dropped his mouth forward and took her lower lip between his teeth, biting down on it to tease her.
She almost swore in surprise and he laughed, kissing her more gently. But it was Sophia who fired back, mashing her lips to his with all-consuming need.
He thrust into her again, the motion firm. Her body writhed beneath his, and suddenly, he could think only of this. Only of her.
He swore in his mind as he dropped his head to her breast, running his teeth over her nipples, his finger and thumb tormenting first one and then turning to the other, until she was moaning over and over. He thrust into her, his body dominating hers, and yet it wasn’t enough.
He needed… He needed to make her crazier than she’d ever been. He needed her to understand how terrified he’d been to come into this tent and find her missing. Those moments of her absence, before she’d been sighted, had filled him with ice. He needed to make love to her now to overwrite those fears.
“You should not have left the camp.”
She closed her eyes, her body quivering, a mess of desire.
He thrust into her, his possession absolute and she made a low, moaning sound of surrender, of acceptance.
He pulled out, bringing his hand between her legs, teasing her most sensitive cluster of nerves. “You are to be kept safe. Even if that means locking you in the tower in which we spent our wedding night and throwing away the key.”
“Are you actually threatening to imprison me?” She demanded breathily, her orgasm so close he could feel her nerves tingling.
He moved his hand away, bracing himself directly over her.
“Yes,” he said, simply. “If that’s what it takes.” And he drove himself into her, and her tight, wet core spasmed around his length as she exploded. He felt her come and he kissed her, tasting her exhalations, her cries, and swallowing them deep inside of himself.
“I am no one’s prisoner,” she moaned, as he lifted up from her.
He begged to differ. He thrust into her and she made a small keening noise of pleasure.
“Come here.” He stood, pulling away from her reluctantly, and moving to the small dressing table that had been set up along the edge of the tent. An ornate mirror hung at its centre.
He watched her in it, watched as she walked to him, her slender body marked with the signs of their lovemaking, which made his whole body jerk with renewed pleasures.
“Do you remember our wedding night?” He asked, positioning her in front of him.
She swallowed, her delicate throat moving visibly.
He held her hips, bending her forward so her arms were supported on the dressing table, then used her hair to pull her head up a little, so her eyes were level with the mirror.
“Watch what I can do to you, and tell me you’re not a prisoner to this.” He spread her hips wide, and thrust into her from behind. Heat contorted her features, stretching her lips, widening her eyes, colouring her cheeks. “Watch what you can do to me,” he groaned, as he buried himself deeper inside of her than ever before, his face tight, his expression almost pained. “And tell me I am not also a prisoner to this madness?”
Chapter 10
“THE YASHAL IS SOMETHING no outsiders ever get to see,” he murmured from where he sat beside her, their position separate to the tribe, set apart, honoured guests. They were on a bright burgundy carpet, with flickering gold candles spread about them. Sweet wine had been brought, and dried fruits which tasted like honey and vanilla.
Sophia watched as the tribe danced, ancient instruments being plucked to create a magical music, and darkness began to fall over the deserts, the stars shining in the heavens above.
She watched the way the tribe men and women danced, their bodies seeming to capture the desert winds, the ancient sands, the music itself. It was breathtakingly beautiful, but her mind was only half there.
Every time she blinked, she saw them.
Malik and her, the way he’d taken her from behind, his powerful body driving anything from her head and heart, making her exist purely for that moment. And she saw the truth in his words – that they were both of them a prisoner to this desire.
She sat beside her husband, and remembered everything. The way he’d always made her feel. The way his eyes had seemed to sear her from the insi
de out. As a teenager, she’d mistaken it for animosity. But now that she’d felt their incendiary connection, she had to admit – to herself at least – that it was so much more.
She’d wanted him for a long time. She’d desired him. She’d seen him with other women and hated him, hated them. On some kind of primal level, her body had craved his for years.
She turned to face him. He was staring straight ahead, his profile enigmatic. And then he shifted his gaze, suddenly, jerking it towards her, and her breath snagged in her throat.
They’d hated each other.
Except, what if they hadn’t?
Was it possible he’d desired her too? That he’d felt the same rush of need? Only she’d been younger and inexperienced, and had misunderstood what that feeling meant. But Malik? He was hardly a virgin. Surely he’d recognized it for desire?
It wasn’t possible that the strength of this, of what they felt, had sprung up out of nowhere. The simmering tension between them, the ever-present cold war, surely that had more to do with repressed need than anything else?
“If you keep looking at me like that, I will find a tent to drag you in to…” he warned, his lips twisting slightly in the corners, showing him to be joking.
Her smile was enigmatic. “Do you think I’d complain?”
And his smile dropped as the full force of desire sledged him from the sides and she knew, with absolute certainty, that the real fight they’d been waging all these years wasn’t about him not liking her and her not liking him. It was about this.
About them wanting each other and having no way to express it.
They’d both been a prisoner to this desire for years.
It all made sense.
And Addan?
Guilt sliced through her stomach. If he’d lived, she’d be married to him now. Happily married.
Except…
She whipped her head away, focusing on the dancers, her eyes filling unexpectedly with tears. Would she have really been happy?
She’d have been content. Was that the same as happiness?
Was this?
She reached for her wine, taking a small sip and replacing the goblet, her eyes lifting to Malik’s of their own volition. He was watching her, a heated possession in his gaze that curled her toes.
The Evermore Series II: Books 4, 5 and 6 Page 25
