by Leslie North
2
Gina didn’t keep a diary, but if she did, it would read: Dear diary, today I’m on the back of a horse—no, a pedigreed Arabian stallion—behind a very handsome sheikh who’s been tempting me for the last six days.
The stallion shifted underneath her and so did Skandar in front of her, the muscles of his back tensing as the horse sped up. The wind coming through the sides of her veil, meant to shield her from the sun, felt as delicious as having her arms wrapped around his body. Gina put a hand down to make sure the bag containing her research was secure, still slung across her body, then slipped her arm back around Skandar’s waist.
It was impossible not to think of him when she was pressed so close.
The past six days had been dreamlike to the point that Gina expected to wake up any second and find out it had all taken place in her imagination. She had wanted her first field project to be a success, and now she had the opportunity to make it a knockout hit. If only she could keep her attention on the plants and not the prince. Her goal was to identify, describe, and prioritize areas and habitats important for plants in the Middle East, and she’d promised to do more of it while she took the week off to participate in the rites. If it went well...
It had to go well, despite how utterly distracting Skandar was. It had been bad enough the first night when they’d lain in bed next to each other, the sheer intimacy of his breathing driving her wild, but the intensity of being close to him had risen to a fever pitch. As his honored guest, Gina accompanied Skandar everywhere. She sat next to him at meals. He accompanied her into the field, and she got to see him with his head bowed over the various species they collected, taking careful notes next to her when she collected something.
And then yesterday.
She tightened her grip almost unconsciously.
Yesterday, he had arranged a head massage for her and sat close by while a woman named Esme worked the tension out of Gina’s scalp and shoulders. Skandar’s dark eyes—so dark they were almost black—pierced hers. His jet-black hair fell in an elegant curve as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. It didn’t matter that they’d ridden most of the morning and spent the afternoon participating in a ritual banquet. With his broad shoulders and narrow waist, he was completely delicious—and completely disarming. He hadn’t looked away while she got her massage. It hadn’t mattered that Gina was fully clothed. She had the distinct impression that he could see everything he wanted to see. When a little moan escaped her as Esme worked, it sent heat down to the tips of her toes and curling low in her belly. Skandar had shifted, leaning forward, the lines of his body the picture of want.
She felt that same want.
It had drawn them together after Esme left the tent, as inexorably as gravity tugged rain to the ground, and before they went to bed Skandar had leaned down and kissed her.
A soft, dreamlike kiss.
So quick she could have imagined it.
But she was not imagining being on this horse with him right now, heading back to the settlement after the long morning ride. A shiver went through her at the echoes of the kiss, and Skandar turned his head.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m great,” she murmured into his back. “When does the ceremony start?”
“Sunset,” he answered. “You’ll have time to rest, if you’d like.”
She would like. But Gina would also like for him to stretch out beside her, preferably unclothed. That wasn’t something she was going to push for, however. She was his temporary—and pretend—guest, not his girlfriend, despite the kiss.
Fifteen minutes later they rode up to the settlement, and Skandar handed the stallion off to one of his grooms. He had a small entourage traveling with him, and it was clear they’d been by when she and Skandar entered the royal tent. The bed had been made up and the curtains tied back, letting a surprisingly cool breeze sweep through the tent. She stretched out on the bed with her notebook. They’d collected plenty of specimens this morning, and she needed thorough notes on all of them.
“How did we do?” Water dripped into a basin, and her mind raced ahead to picture Skandar in the shower.
Stop. “We did really well,” she answered, writing down her notes with deliberate patience. “I’m finding a lot of things I might not otherwise have had the chance to see.”
“Good.” His silence attracted her like a magnet, and when Gina looked over her shoulder she found him standing there shirtless, running a towel over the back of his neck and watching her. “You look lovely like that.”
She laughed. “Writing notes?”
“On my bed.” Skandar winked at her and disappeared into the tent’s hidden changing room. Another breeze blew in from the outside, cooling her cheeks. Wow. And this was the last day of the ceremonies. Why did they have to end so soon? Gina could live in this thrumming excitement forever.
Not really. But she wished. She wished that her job involved more of Skandar, but it couldn’t do that and still be her job.
The last ceremony began at sunset, and Gina joined Skandar in the circle wearing a traditional robe in coordinating colors with his. The fabric moved lightly in the breeze, caressing her bare legs underneath, and it was all she could do to keep her thoughts on observation and participation. That was, after all, what she was here to do—ensure that the rites went off without a hitch. Gina followed Skandar’s lead as she’d done for the last six nights, sitting down when he did and joining in the chant.
It seemed to go on forever.
The ancient, timeless words pushed out everything in her mind, even as they seemed to expand every moment. And every long heartbeat was another chance to be aware of Skandar sitting next to her. His voice rolled through her like thunder, though Gina knew by now that her spirit was supposed to be intently concentrating on the ritual and not just the sound of Skandar’s voice. Still. Still. Shame battled with desire in the pit of her gut. He was just so close. Nobody could blame her for feeling that closeness, could they? Well, yes.
The chant crested and fell away and finally they were left sitting in the clear silence of the night under the stars. That was it. She’d made it. The last of the rituals. A hollow ache glanced across her heart and she batted it away. There was no need to be disappointed.
Whispers rose from around the circle, and Skandar leaned in close, the heat of his breath on her ear. “I’ve arranged another massage for you. Full body.”
The hairs on the back of her neck rose. “I didn’t know Esme did full-body massages.”
“She doesn’t.”
He stood up with all the poise and grace of a king and offered her his hand. Gina took it, the heat of his palm pulsing through her hand and up her arm as they exchanged the ritual greetings with the rest of the tribe members. A clutch of elders called for Skandar’s attention, but he leaned into her again.
“You can get undressed in the tent. Cover up with a towel if you’d like. The massage will begin shortly.”
A pulse between her legs echoed his words. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
He gave her a wink, a low laugh following her as she went back to the tent. Gina’s heart beat faster. She didn’t want to be caught in the act of undressing, especially if the masseuse wasn’t Skandar as she was hoping. Heat spread across her cheeks again. Hoping it was him—why? Soon they’d part ways, and then all this would be over. She took one of the large towels from a shelf by the basin of water and arranged it over herself on the firm mattress of the bed. On the bedside table, oil was already warming. He’d thought of everything, hadn’t he?
Gina folded her arms underneath her head and closed her eyes. The perfumed air in the tent had begun to smell familiar—comforting, almost. And these late-night rituals made her tired. There was such a build-up, and not much of a release. But now that she thought of it, she was quite tired, her body aching from the field work and the horseback riding and, and, and...
A pair of hands folding back the towel pulled her from her reverie. Big han
ds. Big hands, gliding along warm oil. The scent of lavender fluttered down around her face, and a tension she hadn’t known she was holding released from her shoulders. Lavender and the particular scent that belonged only to Skandar.
His hands worked their way over her back, and she let out a low noise of approval. Yes—this felt good. As good as pressing her body against his on horseback. Better and better as he slid down, the massage becoming indistinguishable from a series of caresses down to her hips. He tugged the towel lower and lower until the air brushed the insides of her thighs and the aching place between them.
The bed shifted, and Skandar dropped a kiss onto the curve of one shoulder blade and a matching one on the other. He followed the path of his massage, kissing and nipping until Gina found herself rocking her hips into the bed, subtle movements that she couldn’t help. Skandar bit gently at the place where her back curved into her bottom, and then his hands were underneath her, lifting her up into a sitting position against the hard plane of his chest. His legs came around hers, hemming her in, and the contrast between their skin stole her breath. Skandar was always cooler. She felt almost feverish in his presence. Gina reached one hand up to run her fingers through his hair and leaned to the side by instinct. Skandar’s lips met hers, and the very last of her self-control blew away into the night like the scent of the oil.
He kissed her deeply, tongue teasing at her lips and exploring deeper. Those hands stroked down, down between her thighs and traced a delicate curl along that tender flesh while he kept kissing her, kept discovering her. This was what she’d wanted when they’d kissed before. This, and a thousand more nights like this. Gina inched her legs apart, giving him more access, and one quick stroke between her legs made her shiver. Skandar made a sound into her mouth, and then she was being shifted again, stretched out on the bed on her back.
She opened her eyes.
God, he was gorgeous, all firm muscles and pupils blown wide with need. The fine cut of his jaw was made elegant, almost epic, by the flickering candles in the tent. His black eyes swept down over her body and he opened her thighs another few inches, spreading her wide and biting his lip.
And then he lowered himself until all she could see was the fall of his black hair. His tongue danced against her slit, and she was lost. Lost to the desert night around them and the man between her thighs. Lost to the possessive licks and gentle kisses he covered her in. Lost to the way he pushed his tongue into her most secret places over and over and over until nothing existed except the flick of his tongue and the pressure of his shoulders between her thighs. Was that the earth quaking, or just her own body? It had to be her. Had to be. If the world shook like this for a man, it would come apart.
He licked her to one climax, then another, and she shuddered on the blankets, nipples drawing into tight peaks. Gina was swollen and wet in a way she’d never imagined, never thought—it just couldn’t be possible, but then it was.
Skandar gave her a last, lingering stroke of his tongue and lifted himself away. Gina heard someone mewling in protest. Her. It was her. But he only climbed over her, trailing kisses back up her neck, and his thick length met her entrance, and he pushed himself inside. If she hadn’t been lying down already, her head would have fallen to the pillow, but as it was she arched to meet him, taking him in. It was a delectable stretch, almost too much to bear, but then it wasn’t, it wasn’t. He was perfect. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she sucked in a breath. There he was, looking at her like the night sky itself. His strokes became harder, more intense, and she clenched around him—not another orgasm, no, she couldn’t, but it crashed over her, as unstoppable as the tide.
He rolled to his side, curling her into his arm, and Gina’s heart raced out over the desert even as a bone-deep exhaustion settled over her. Oh, she wished—she wished he’d lost more control. Sleep called to her, pulling her down into a dream that reminded her of the ritual and the chanting, but Skandar—was he awake?
Yes.
His breathing hadn’t slowed. His heart still pounded against her back. And the thick length of him was insistent against her ass. Gina stretched into his hands, which roamed over her breasts and her hips and everywhere he could reach, and pressed back against him. He wanted more. Yes. Yes. She needed it too.
“Like this,” she heard herself say, and then he thrust into her from behind, turning her in the next breath so that she was on her hands and knees, the desert air playing on her skin. “Harder. Harder, Skandar, please.”
She came hard, burying her face in the pillow while she felt his release, her whole body trembling with it. Gina had become an earthquake. And then she fell asleep just as hard. All at once, as soon as her head hit the pillow.
And it was interrupted by a voice outside the tent, calling for Skandar.
She blinked into the morning light. Late. It was too late to be getting up—they’d overslept. And Gina had stayed in the same position all night. Wow, he’d worn her out, and his arm was still heavy across her back. “Skandar,” she whispered. “Someone needs to talk to you.”
Skandar rolled out of bed in one movement, blinking as he searched for a pair of pants. He swiped a hand across his face and headed for the entrance. Gina curled onto her side and watched him pull back the heavy drape at the entrance of the tent. Watched as he straightened up and watched as the sleep fell away from his face and was replaced by a hard expression. She caught words like father and not well. The mood in the tent was like the sun being covered by clouds—suddenly serious.
Skandar waved the man at the door away and came quickly back to the bed, one hand running through his hair. He bent and pulled a suitcase from its place underneath the bed, then went back to the door. He opened it and called out to someone outside.
Gina sat up in the bed, heart pounding. “What’s going on?”
“I have to go.” He came to the side of the bed, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. “I have to go now.”
“Did something happen?”
A woman rushed into the tent, hurrying as fast as she could without actually running, and Skandar pointed her toward the suitcase with a murmured exchange.
“I have family obligations.” His hand lingered on her face, but the heat in his eyes had fled. “This time with you—it was great. Wonderful. Just like you are. If things were different—”
Take me with you. “Of course.” She smiled up at him. “I understand.” Her heart ached—she didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want this to be the last time she saw the strikingly handsome and sexy sheikh—but what choice did she have? She couldn’t ask him for that. Wouldn’t. “It was wonderful,” she agreed.
His hand dropped away from her face, and he turned toward a low bureau made from dark, shining wood. Skandar opened the top drawer and peered inside and then came up with...a bracelet. A tribal one from the looks of it, with sparkling jewels complemented by silverwork.
“Take this.” He held it toward her, but Gina couldn’t bring herself to accept.
“No, thank you.”
Skandar’s eyebrows shot up. “No?”
“I’d rather have my memories,” she told him. And then Gina sat in the bed, the sheet pulled up around her chest, until the memories of their week together were all that kept her company in the tent.
3
Six weeks later, Gina was still with the bin Shibanah tribe in a scenario that was both dream and nightmare. She sat in the bed she had once shared with Skandar in the royal tent, adding sketches to the maps she’d copied into her research notebooks. Dream, nightmare. Dream, nightmare. It was late, and her thoughts bounced between the two.
The dream? After she’d finished the original research that had led her to Skandar, the results had persuaded the higher-ups at the Centre to give her another two months in the Basran desert and an expanded project—research into local micro-climate conditions. That wasn’t all, either. Gina was now in charge of creating local agents in the desert area to feed data back to Paris HQ. It was a real
breakthrough, because during her years at the Centre, she had been sidelined into number-crunching desk work, and that wasn’t what she was here for. She wanted to add to the knowledge of species and ecosystem conservation and biodiversity in the area. Gina wasn’t much for sitting at a desk. In other words, a dream come true. More time in the desert. More work to do. Oh, and she was tracking a fire rose called the Sweetest Flame. It was highly romantic, but the plant was in considerable danger of extinction. It made her heart race to think about it.
Also, she was pregnant.
She’d known almost a month ago, when her period failed to show up. Gina had considered having the world’s most awkward conversation with Issam, who spoke the most English of all the elders, about a pregnancy test, but decided in the end that she didn’t need one. She knew.
And then she got back to tracking the Sweetest Flame. It grew in this area and almost nowhere else, and Gina felt almost obsessively curious about which other plants might grow here that nobody knew about. Her favorite part of the day was adding to the rough, hand-drawn maps the tribal members had made for her. Which, of course, was only her favorite because Skandar wasn’t there.
No matter. The time with the tribe was almost up. She had gotten so much more from this venture than she’d thought, and now she needed time to figure out what exactly she was going to do about it. Maybe that was why she focused so heavily on the maps. The baby—that was more complicated.
In a way, it was simple—she wanted her baby. She wanted the baby the instant she knew she was pregnant. But she’d also spent enough time with the local tribeswomen to know that if a woman became pregnant from a coupling during the fertility rituals, the couple was expected to get married, if they weren’t already. It was a sign the relationship was blessed. She could still see Skandar’s face in the moonlight that very first night, explaining urgently that they could not break with tradition, they could not disrupt the ritual.