Sheik's Bed: A Sahara Night

by Cade, Rachel

  Sheik’s Bed

  Rachel Cade

  Copyright © 2014 Rachel Cade

  Chapter One

  The Sahara, 1987

  He was her father’s friend, surely that would give her some leverage? Her hands were tied behind her back, the thick rope cutting into her skin. Weariness hunched her shoulders. Sweat and dirt made her button down safari top and shorts cling to her body like a second skin.

  Three hours ago, Karen Wexler and four colleagues from Travel magazine were in a jeep snapping photographs for their anniversary issue near the Libya border. The next thing they knew twenty armed men were ambushing them. They were yanked from the vehicle and ushered into separate tents like livestock. In the melee, she’d heard one of the men say his name: Sheik Tamir Rahman.

  Screaming could have been an option, but in this part of the world, keeping your mouth shut was usually the best. Though her legs weren’t tied, the armed guard standing near her was probably well versed in the use of his AK-47.

  Karen had no desire to test him.

  Would she even be allowed to plead her case? She had no idea what to expect. It had been a bad idea to let her friends talk her into flying over Algeria. With a margarita and a couple of beers, her conscience had proved pretty useless and she agreed to go. Her father had been the U.S. Ambassador to Morocco ten years ago, but that didn’t give her any clout here.

  Smart move.

  The rustling of fabric behind her signaled someone else had entered the tent. When the man next to her moved, it took every ounce of her resolve not to scream and beg for her life. At four feet away, his gun was far too close for her liking.

  He spoke to the other man in Arabic, and she vaguely recognized the word “yes” as she strained pointlessly to hear their rapid exchange.

  Karen squeezed her eyes tightly together, vowing if given the opportunity, she would never drink again. The colorful rug beneath her shifted several times to the thump of her heartbeat as someone closed in on her.

  Head bowed from fright more than custom, she watched as a pair of shining brown boots appeared in front of her. Licking dry lips, she refused to look up from them.

  “American.”

  Her stomach sank, he was not pleased, and she wasn’t sure if he’d made a statement or asked a question. What would the punishment be if her guess was wrong?

  “Constantly testing your boundaries.” Each word was clipped as though he was seething with anger.

  She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, despite the fact that the tent was surprisingly cool compared to the over one hundred degree temperatures that sweltered the sands outside. She was stifling, her mouth parched. Karen’s breath and thoughts were both erratic, and she was helpless to control either of them.

  This was the first time in her adult life that she was completely out of control.

  Her camera dropped to the ground, hitting her exposed knee against the bone, making her flinch. The exposed negatives of her film came next, hitting the other knee.

  For a moment, she felt her lips tremble as two months of work was destroyed right in front of her. Karen bit down on her tongue, to the point tears threatened to moisten her lashes.

  “You are a reporter?”

  “Yes,” she answered reluctantly.

  “And how has that been working out for you?”

  Karen looked up, and her scowl could have deflated the tent. Her eyes made contact with the dark, glittering irises of Sheik Tamir Rahman.

  He was her father’s friend.

  It became a mantra in her head.

  He was her father’s friend, that had to mean something to him. The last time she’d seen him she’d been on a landing strip, a girl of fifteen standing next to her father as a twenty-seven-year-old Tamir had pecked her on her cheek and walked out of her life to get married.

  She’d cried for almost a week. He’d been her only friend.

  That was ten years ago, and she’d all but forgotten about it until now.

  He stood over her, live in the here and now, no longer a memory. Time had barely touched him, though he’d cut the long waist length hair she used to yank on like a rope before charging off into a dead run—he always caught her. It now rested in feathered layers, falling to his shoulders. Instead of a clean face, he carried a neatly trimmed beard that accentuated a sharp jaw line.

  “Uh, my God,” she mumbled unintentionally, casting her head back down.

  ***

  Her thoughts might as well have mimicked his own. Tamir’s breath caught in his throat, and he was almost unable to breath when the deep brown face tilted up at him and her dark brown eyes met his.

  Karen Wexler, he recognized her immediately. Her eyes still wide and expressive, thin brows arched above them. The cherub quality of her cheeks and mouth were fading, but still made her appear younger than her years.

  By her reaction, she’d recognized him as well. Placing his hands on his hips, he used the seconds to regain his composure.

  “You took my camera,” she said quietly. “That was all I had, can I please go?”

  “No.”

  “Why?” Karen asked, staring at him with the same intuitive eyes that constantly read him all those years ago. “I don’t have anything else you want.”

  She is afraid, the thought made him frown. But their past didn’t matter, the times had changed, she was a foreigner trespassing on his lands, nothing more.

  Moving behind her, he felt her start when he cut the ties from her wrist. “I trust you know how pointless it is to run.”

  Tamir didn’t look at her while speaking, and she scrambled away from him before massaging her lightly bruised wrists. Holding his head low, he quickly left the tent; only outside could he manage to take in an easy breath.

  He stayed away for a while in a separate tent after he had his men bring her things to him. He now had her entire life splayed out in front of him. Aside from the broken camera and useless film he’d left with her, all she had was an empty canteen, her passport, and several magazines in her bag.

  When she barely passed his waist she had insisted on being called Kari, and she’d always been more boy than girl, never content unless she was dirty and fighting with all the males. It had been acceptable then to him because she was just a kid, but now … He sighed as he stared at her passport picture.

  She was going to have to be made to understand that she couldn’t do everything she wanted. A lesson her father should have taught her a long time ago. It would have been easy for Tamir to have one of his men contact Bruce Wexler, now retired and living in Los Angeles. But Tamir didn’t. Instead, he had Nidal make a bath, and then he had Karen fetched and brought to him.

  Nidal had no love for Americans and his regard for women was questionable. One look from Tamir as he brought Karen into the tent made him promptly take the woman off his shoulder and place her in the center of the room. She stumbled slightly, her short curly hair looked tousled, and she appeared to be repressing what he guessed was a barrage of curses.

  It was then that Tamir came to realize the true change in her. Gone were the short stubbly legs and arms that were constantly grabbing what they wanted, in their place were long well-toned athletic limbs, but she obviously still had plenty of spirit about her.

  “Leave us, Nidal.” The younger man nodded, briefly glancing at Karen, and Tamir almost rolled his eyes at the gossip that was surely spreading through the camp. It didn’t matter, his authority would never be questioned.

  “Is it all right for me to speak?” Her voice was low, barely constrained sarcasm and anger spiced her words.

  Shrugging he answered. “I suppose.”

  Her words rushed out. “Can I see my friends? I just want to know�
�”

  “No harm has come to them.” He calmly spoke over her, cutting her off.

  “Am I supposed to take your word for that?”

  “What else are you going to take?” he challenged.

  ***

  Karen wished the earth would swallow her up. Of all the places she could be. Had he even recognized her? She doubted he cared either way.

  God, why hadn’t he aged badly?

  Why hadn’t he gotten fat and lost most of his hair?

  A wheeze when he talked wouldn’t have hurt either. Instead, he had to be even more devastatingly gorgeous than the man she remembered. Despite the situation and her uncertainty of the outcome, standing there under his gaze reminded her of the carefree girl she was, and the playful wonderful man he used to be.

  He’d been sweet enough to blush when she dared kiss him on the cheek. To think of it now made her want to bury her head in the sand. Lord knew there was plenty of it around. She’d sneaked into her father’s study and drank two glasses of sherry the night before he was set to leave.

  How he could have put up with that, she didn’t know. What a silly little girl she’d been.

  “Why would you stare at me so long?” he asked quietly.

  It irritated her not knowing if he remembered her, but if she cut the bull and just asked him, how would she put it? Oh, Sheik Rahman, you must remember me, the girl you almost convinced to put a frog in her mouth—

  “Are you annoyed by me?” he asked, leaning forward, lacing long bronzed fingers together. “You rolled your eyes just now.”

  “No.”

  “Good,” he said, standing. “That benefits you, since I am to be your only company tonight.”

  The white pants he wore snuggled up against his thighs, and Karen could have been a nun and still noticed and reacted to the bulge that rested between them. The sleeves on his soft olive shirt revealed well-muscled forearms that carried fine, soft dark hair. Ordering herself to stop staring was pointless; she’d always been aware of Tamir’s beauty, but this was the first time she desired it with a woman’s eyes.

  God, girl, what are you doing? You’re lucky if you get out of here with your hands, hell your life! Stop ogling him, he’s married.

  And then her stomach clenched hard.

  Damn, that’s right. Maybe his wife was even at the camp.

  “You can bathe and change your clothes. I will be back later and we will dine together.”

  “Dine?” she asked dumbly, not paying attention to the tub he revealed behind a screen as she stared him down more openly. His hair reminded her of a raven, the way it whisked out from the nape of his neck.

  Muscles were pronounced even through the loose linen shirt he wore, daylight outlining the v-shaped torso beneath.

  He squinted briefly before repeating himself. “Yes, dine. Or what is it you Americans say? Eat? Very well then, I will eat with you.”

  He left her to her vices. But Karen could have sworn before he turned from her, a shadow of a grin passed his lips.

  Chapter Two

  Once left alone, Karen was able to breathe without feeling like her lungs were being crushed. Damn, she wasn’t a kid anymore, she had to get control over herself and her libido. Counting down from ten with her eyes closed was the best technique she could think of, outside of being in Tibet.

  Semi-relaxed, the sweet smell of the bath reminded her of the sweat and grime that coated her clothes and body. And without Tamir’s presence dominating the room, she was able to appreciate its beauty. It was a palace room erected in the middle of the desert. Dark, intricate Persian rugs covered the floor, and behind his small collapsible desk lay what she guessed was a bed.

  His bed.

  Sidestepping to the right she glanced at the closed tent flap, then back to the bed. Soft silken pillows, some embroidered in gold designs, some not, made a circle of fuchsia, gold, burgundy, and green against the floor. The space was decorated better than most hotels. And the gentle sway of the white cloth that was her barrier to the harsh conditions outside brought an ethereal quality to the room.

  Karen debated whether or not to take the bath. As inviting as it looked, caution warned her it wasn’t wise to indulge in any hospitality from him. She had no idea what was going on with her friends. Had they been offered baths? Were they even still alive? Exhaling, she banished the thought. Tamir would never be so barbaric.

  If he had been, they would have been shot on sight and never brought to the camp.

  She was forced to except his word that they were okay.

  After more internal argument and a frustrated grunt, hygiene won out and she quickly stripped out of her clothes and got into the tub. The water sank into her skin like heated lotion. He’d even had a sponge and soap laid out for her, but she didn’t touch either of them. The rigidity in her back was made worse by her position in the small tub, her thighs pulled in tightly to her stomach, and she realized she was completely naked in the middle of nowhere in a dire situation.

  And it wasn’t the possibility of her life ending, no, it was the idea of being attracted to a man who hadn’t the remotest of feelings toward her. She wasn’t even a memory.

  Weariness forced her to relax. Resting against the tub, she let the sweet perfumed water infuse itself into her senses. Closing her eyes, she had the audacity to forget where she was, and dreamed …

  ***

  Tamir was standing over her, clad informally in a black suit shirt with no tie. His hair was slightly disheveled, windblown by the cooler temperature that came with sunset.

  Behind his wide shoulders, the tent silhouetted him with orange flame, illuminating his copper skin.

  Karen’s whispered sigh lengthened as she stared into astute, curious eyes that refused to waver from hers. They appeared deeper now than they had before. Time had not changed them much physically, but perhaps they had emotionally, and she found herself wondering what he’d experienced since she’d been out of his life.

  It was the fractional shift in his gaze that evaporated that thought, and for the next aching breaths, raven irises intently measured her form; the only thing stopping him from having full view of her body was the heavy soap bubbles wading along the surface of the water. Beneath it, Karen shifted her leg, her body completely not used to a man attempting to devour her by sight. Relaxed posture, with his hands in his pockets, Tamir made no move, taking in her newly exposed knee as suds cascaded down her shiny skin …

  ***

  “Enjoying your bath?”

  Karen almost drowned from her gasp. Shifting erratically in the tub, splashing water over the sides, she realized this was no dream she’d been having.

  Though her breasts hadn’t been exposed, she covered them anyway. “What the hell!” Her voice trembled as she spoke. Tamir was leaning down to wipe stray bubbles off the front of his slacks. “Why are you—in here?” she demanded.

  As he straightened, she clenched her hands against her shoulders. The throbbing in the center of her legs almost made her whimper out loud.

  “I told you we would be dining together. I had no idea you had fallen asleep.”

  Karen pushed her leg back down away from his view. Married man, she reminded herself.

  “It appears you have a dilemma.”

  “What?” He couldn’t have possibly been reading her thoughts.

  “You need to come out of the bath, but you don’t have anything to wear.”

  Reaching down he picked up her top and shorts, glancing at her when she made a sound of protest. “Those are my clothes,” she snapped, reaching. “Give them to me.”

  “Um, no.”

  ***

  Her eyes flashed angrily at him, and it appeared she might be willing to fight him for them. Hands clenching on either side of the tub she pushed herself up, clad in nothing but bubbles and a thin gold necklace. Tamir froze, the suds slipping from her body coincided with his burgeoning erection.

  Common sense got the better of Karen and she sank back into the
water.

  Tamir’s mouth was set in a hard line as he shoved her clothes into a bag with more force than necessary.

  He’d been foolish, having a bath drawn for her. He’d done it as a gesture of kindness, but now he realized he should have let her stay in what she’d been wearing.

  He hadn’t expected to come back and find her still in the tub. But when he did, as much as he knew he should have backed away, he didn’t. His eyes followed the contours of her shoulders down to the swell of her breasts forcing him to avert his eyes from her more than once.

  This was Kari, short, annoying little brat, Kari Wexler.

  It didn’t sober him.

  The tight onyx coils that made up her hair glistened and dripped occasionally from the water. Had she dunked her entire head in?

  He thrust a white towel at her.

  Forearm covering her breasts, she leaned forward to reach for it. Tamir granted her no leeway by stepping forward, and when their fingertips touched, he felt her tremor before snatching the towel quickly.

  Nostrils flaring, he quickly moved behind the screen, closing his eyes as he caught his breath.

  He found himself entering new territory, the feel of her warm wet skin as it touched him sent fire licking over his entire body. It was startling to say the least, exhilarating to say the worst.

  The sound of water splashing drew his attention, backing away from the screen he was greeted with the shadowed silhouette of her drying off. First her arms, then her shoulders before making her way down to the gentle swell of her hips.

  Tamir stalked to the medium sized chest opposite of him and yanked out a white robe. To make sure he didn’t touch her again he tossed it over the screen.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, snatching it off.

  When Karen stepped from behind it, she wore the robe, having to wrap the sash around her twice before tying it.

  “We’re eating on the floor?” she asked, looking at the spread Nidal put out.

  “Yes? Is that going to be a problem?”