Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees...

by Clare Connelly

  The words he had spoken. Not the sentiment behind them, she noted with the small part of her brain that was still capable of logical thought. Nonetheless, she recognised what an uncharacteristic gesture it was for this man, and she nodded slowly.

  “Thank you for the apology.”

  He tightened his legs, pulling her even closer. “It was wrong of me to judge your motives. I was carrying on like a spoilt child.”

  She bit down on her lip, and a question that had been dancing on the frayed edge of her consciousness since that night bubbled into words. “Were you terribly disappointed that your parents chose me?”

  He looked away from her, shielding his expression. “You were not what I expected,” he finally admitted gruffly. Seeing the way her face fell, he pressed a finger underneath her chin and lifted her face, so that she could see the truth in his eyes. “That is not the same as being disappointed.”

  Bitter hurt, fierce and strong, wrapped around her heart, protectively coating it in reality. He was a natural born diplomatic, but there was no sugar coating the truth. He’d expected someone different. Undoubtedly someone better.

  Since her parents’ death, she’d been foisted on people who hadn’t loved her. The experience was not a new one. Winona and Greg had borne her presence with a clear dislike. And now her husband had the same fate ahead of him. It was all too familiar.

  But familiarity with the sensation did not inure her to the pain it caused. Her husband didn’t want her. He was simply making the best of her willingness to jump into his bed. And she was just fool enough to do it anyway.

  Chapter Five

  “Hey,” He pressed another kiss against the base of her neck, and her pulse leaped as he did so. “You’re a million miles away.”

  She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. “Such an American expression,” she observed distractedly. “Sometimes I could forget you are even from Assan. You speak with an American accent. You seem so Westernised.”

  Another conversation change. He was growing used to the way Rebecca would jerk subjects when she didn’t like the direction he was guiding them. Again, he allowed the diversion. “In many ways, I am. I spent a considerable amount of my life abroad. However, I never forgot I was born to be King of Assan. It is in my blood.”

  She nodded. She could see how his purpose was inherent to his personality. “Were you able to have a mostly normal life, then?”

  He shook his head. “No. I always had a small band of security. Plain clothed, but ever present. My destiny made me famous even before I’d arrived on campus.”

  She grimaced sympathetically. Tariq brought a hand up and ran a finger along the straight scar that ran from the centre of his eyebrow to the top of his forehead. She watched the unconscious gesture. The scar was so feint it was barely recognisable, but she had noticed it immediately. It was the single impediment to an otherwise perfect face. Only it didn’t detract from his appeal. On the contrary. It enhanced it ten fold.

  “What happened?” She nodded towards the scar.

  He shook his head. “It was a lifetime ago.”

  “Now who’s being evasive,” she teased, and tried to twist out of his legs.

  He shook his head. “You aren’t going anywhere, Sheikha.”

  Her heart pounded against her chest, so hard it must have been audible to him, too. “Keeping me prisoner?” She asked with an arch of her perfectly shaped brow.

  “I told you it was tempting...” He ran his hands down her back, linking them behind her.

  She felt her brain immediately refute his words. Tempting? To a man like him? Hardly.

  She swallowed hard and looked beyond him with effort. The pool was in the middle of a courtyard, with palace walls lining every side. “You said this was a private pool,” she queried, noting the hundreds of stained glass windows that overlooked them.

  “It is. Completely. These rooms are all part of the private royal residence.”

  “Really?” She drew her brows together. “I didn’t realise it was so expansive.”

  He shrugged. “Most of the rooms are reserved for when the royal family is in residence. We are presently only a royal couple.” He gave her a pointed look as his meaning swamped down through the layers of her brain.

  “Children.” She stumbled. “Yes. Of course.” She had known children were a part of the reason they had married. Why his parents had sought her as a bride at that time. At thirty four, she supposed the time for Tariq to produce an heir was now. The thought of growing fat with his baby made her ache with a need she hadn’t known she’d possessed.

  Misreading her response, he spoke quickly to reassure her. “Not immediately. There is no rush.”

  His words had the opposite effect. Instead of feeling calmed, a sense of despair ate through her. He was hardly champing at the bit to breed her commoner genes into the royal pool, was he?

  “There is staff though. Up there?” She nodded towards the building overlooking the pool.

  He nodded. “I’m so used to being surrounded by staff and security that I consider that to be private.” He regarded her carefully. “I suppose it will take a period of adjustment for you.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever grow as used to it as someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?”

  “Born to a position such as this. From the moment you first took breath you have been coddled and surrounded by wealth. It’s a very different way to live.”

  “You are dodging the subject of children,” he said in a gently mocking voice. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  She felt a wave of nausea. Of course she wanted children. It’s just that to become pregnant they would need to... consummate their marriage... and that made her very, very nervous. And very, very excited, too.

  When she didn’t respond, he dipped his face, so that their eyes met. “You must like children?”

  “Yes. I always wished I had a brother or sister, but my mum – my real mum – used to say I was enough of a handful for six kids.”

  He raised his brows. He couldn’t quite reconcile that image of Rebecca with the very calm and in-control version he had married.

  As if reading his mind, she shook her head slowly. “Winona and Greg very quickly taught me that the kind of backchat I used to give my parents wouldn’t fly in their home.”

  “They were strict.”

  “Strict doesn’t begin to describe it.” She shivered involuntarily and fixed him with a small grimace. “I prefer not to speak about them.”

  He dipped his head in assent but his mind was ticking over this information. He knew she had lived with them until she’d come to Assan. Why would any woman of twenty four choose to continue living with guardians who were apparently so unpalatable? There was a bleakness in her brilliant blue eyes, as though someone had tamped down on the sparkle that usually danced within her irises.

  He watched her face empty of light and felt a sort of constriction in his chest, as though a band had been wrapped around his midsection. He brought his hands to rest on her cheeks, one on either side of her face, fingers splayed wide. He lowered his mouth and pressed his lips lightly to hers, tasting the salty water from the pool on her.

  The black lycra she wore covered her body modestly, but he could still feel. He could feel the swell of her pert breasts, the indent of her waist, and the curve of her bottom. He ached to slip his fingers inside the swimsuit and touch her soft flesh, but he didn’t want to simply obliterate her sadness with sex. He wanted to comfort her, too. It was a new sensation for him, to feel so protective of a woman. It made him pull back, slowly, watch her face as she lifted her eyelids and stared straight back at him.

  She turned her face away and bit down on her lower lip. He was trying so hard to feel attracted to her, but despite his best efforts, obviously he didn’t feel the same overpowering urge that she did to remove clothes and entwine limbs and bodies. Why would he? Compared to the women he was used to, she was a very, very poor se
cond choice.

  She breathed out, shakily, then turned a watery smile on him. “I am going to turn into a prune if I don’t get out of this water.”

  He nodded. “Come. Let’s get you dried off.”

  She shot him a quizzical look as she pulled herself out of the pool and wrapped a large beach towel around herself.

  He followed suit and she had to look away or the sight of him in a pair of brief black swimmers would have made her melt into a pool of desire. It was the most flesh a man had ever revealed to her, and just the sight of his broad chest, slim waist and strong thighs made her pulse race like fireflies beneath the skin.

  “Look at me,” he commanded huskily. She swallowed, but did as he said. Her pupils dilated with desire as she stared at him, covered in water, his black hair slicked back from his face. Realisation dawned on him as he saw her obvious inexperience communicated by everything from her stance to her wide eyed surprise. “You’ve never seen a naked man.” He surmised, and again, he felt that swelling feeling inside of his chest, that she had been waiting for him. Ludicrous, but a carnal thrill of ownership came over him.

  She shook her head. “You’re not naked.” She pointed out stiltedly, her eyes dropping to the scrap of lycra. It was a mistake. His manhood was unmistakably outlined by the skin tight material. She gulped in air and looked away again.

  Tariq stepped closer, then took hold of one of her slender wrists. “Touch me.” He said authoritatively, placing her fingertips lightly on his chest.

  Her hand was shaking. She was nervous. He made her nervous! He hadn’t been with such an innocent since, well, ever. The pressure to make their physical relationship special for Rebecca was onerous, when all he wanted to do was strip her naked and lay claim to her right here.

  “Touch me,” he said again, through gritted teeth.

  Hesitantly, she lifted the other hand, and pressed her fingertips into his tightly sculpted stomach. She ran her palm across each muscular abdominal ridge, gasping in awe at the finely honed strength beneath his olive skin. She dragged her hands over his pecs, to his shoulders, and then back down his back, but pulled away when she reached the top of the bathers. It felt like her fingertips had been burned by a million volts of electricity.

  “My turn.” He growled, and knelt down, so that he could start his slow exploration at the delicate curve of her ankles. He ran the tip of his fingers up each leg, pausing when he got to the soft flesh of her inner thigh. He padded a thumb across her most feminine core, but, as she sucked in a deep breath of air, he skated further north, running his hands over her narrow hips, her waist, and up to her breasts. Standing now, he ran his thumbs in small, tight circles around her nipples, feeling them budding beneath his touch. She tipped her head back on a whimper, exposing the slender column of her throat, and he kissed it hungrily, flicking the pulse point at the base of her neck with his tongue.

  He wanted to undress her. He needed to see her naked again.

  He lifted her easily and pressed her against his chest. She stared at him dazedly. “What are you doing?”

  He stared resolutely ahead. He was wondering the same damned thing. What happened to taking it slow? He would need to employ a monstrous amount of will power to get out of this with his honour intact. He shouldered open the door to his own bedroom, and placed her down in the centre. She stared up at him in confusion and he felt a small wave of doubt.

  “I’m making sure you don’t catch a cold.” He said, more harshly that he’d intended.

  But his words robbed Rebecca of the temporary fog of desire he’d swamped her with. She shook her head and wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. “I’m fine.” She said emphatically. “It’s a balmy evening.”

  His expression softened. “You will only learn to be less shy when you are more accustomed to this,” he promised sensuously, latching his thumbs beneath the wide straps of her bathers and flicking them off her shoulders. He pulled gently until her breasts were exposed.

  She caught her lip between her teeth as he took one nipple in his mouth, sucking at it until little darts of intense need were shooting outwards from the dusky aureole.

  Rebecca thought she was going to collapse with the scorching heat he generated. He lifted his head and smiled at her, such a smile of promised pleasure and mutual lust that she answered it with a grin of her own. She forgot to be self-conscious. She forgot that he was probably just faking an attraction. And she simply felt.

  Tariq brought his hands back to the wet material of her bathers and pulled them down her hips, away from her bottom and slid them the length of her legs. Then, he lifted her naked body and carried her through to his luxuriously appointed en suite.

  She frowned as he broke their physical connection by placing her in the shower. He took a step back to turn on the taps, and warm water rained down on her from an overhead showerhead. “Allow me,” he murmured quietly, taking a loofah in his hand and adding a gel that smelled like citrus and summer.

  She nodded mutely, and Tariq began to lather her body, starting at her back, and working his way downwards. Then, he gave his attention to her stomach, her breasts, and the special place beneath her legs. She leaned back against him as his fingers danced tantalisingly close to the part of her anatomy that she knew he could make sing. But he was careful to avoid a repeat of their wedding night. Rebecca groaned as again, he teased her, brushing a finger across her so lightly she almost didn’t feel it.

  And although this was totally new to her, she itched to make him feel what she did. Could she do it? Could she make him want her? Really want her? She spun around in his arms, and her chest was slick with water and the spicy shower gel. “Allow me,” she repeated his words back to her, as she eased the loofah from his grip.

  He closed his eyes as she began to sponge his body, carefully washing his chest and stomach. His face was drawn. His cheeks were flushed. Yes. He was definitely feeling something. Trying not to let the uncertainty take over, she followed her instincts and knelt on the mosaic tiled floor of the shower.

  “Rebecca...” he breathed warningly. Did she have any idea what her proximity alone did to him?

  The look she gave him was one of such innocence that he almost laughed. “Butter wouldn’t melt, huh?” He joked, but he was finding it almost impossible to control his appetite for her. Her hands weren’t at all steady as she slipped his bathing costume down, to reveal his glorious naked self. She gulped. Having never seen the necessary equipment, she was filled with doubt. How in the world was that ever going to... she coloured. This wasn’t about sex. It was about turning the tables on him. He touched her and her whole body felt like it was going to ignite in flames. Could she do the same to him?

  She lifted her eyes to his face so that she could watch his reaction as she gently touched his length with her fingers. She wrapped herself around him, marvelling in the strength of his erection. His dark brown eyes flared as she grew more confident, every touch making him jerk a little unsteadily.

  “Okay—.” He exclaimed, taking hold of her wrist and pulling her to standing. “Enough.” His words were like ice and she frowned, feeling instantly embarrassed. Had she bored him? He had seemed to enjoy it, but... She turned away from him and he ran a hand through his hair.

  “Rebecca,” He breathed out slowly, “that was good.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Just not good enough to want to continue.”

  He scanned her face. Surely she couldn’t be left in any doubt of just how much he wanted her? She was inexperienced, but he’d been seconds away from exploding. Only fierce concentration had kept the inevitable at bay for as long as he had.

  First in the office downstairs, and now here. He was making a habit of stirring them up and walking away. It wasn’t intentional. Any other woman, any other time, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to carry her to his bed and make love to her all night long. But he’d never had a wife before. And he’d never known Rebecca before. Because she was his wife, and also just because of who
she was, he wanted it to mean more than that.

  But he couldn’t be near her without wanting to touch her, and he couldn’t touch her without being lit alight by desire. What he needed was a way to get to know her that wasn’t so bloody incendiary. Being alone with her was just not a good idea. Not yet.

  He switched off the water and wrapped a fluffy beige towel around her. Despite her height, it seemed to swamp her.

  “Go, get dressed,” he started to say, but she turned around to face him, and her face was filled with an unexpected fury.

  She was stunningly beautiful, and never more so than when enraged. Entranced, he watched, as her eyes spat at him like ice chips. “You are dismissing me again?” She demanded hotly, clutching the towel to her chest. “What kind of sicko are you? To keep turning me on then switching me off like this? Does it amuse you?”

  He shook his head with a small smile. “You amuse me endlessly, Sheikha.” He pulled her into his arms but she squirmed away.

  “No!” She shouted. “I’m not some toy that you can blow hot and cold with. Stop playing games with me.” She wrenched open the door to their hidden passage and stormed through it, slamming her own door shut as she entered her room.

  He pulled a pair of jeans on and then followed her, his own temper sizzling away at her habit of storming out on him.

  She was standing in the middle of her room, being wrapped in a robe by three of her attendants. Monique was amongst them, and he felt a small pang of guilt at having thrown these two women together like that. His eyes didn’t quite meet Monique’s as he only had eyes for his wife.

  “Leave us,” he commanded, waving a hand at the attendants.

  Wordlessly, they stopped what they were doing and filed from the room. Neither of them noticed the way Monique’s cheeks flamed.