Forged in the Desert Heat

by Maisey Yates

  She dialed her father’s number with shaking fingers.

  When he answered, it was like a dam inside of her burst. “Dad,” she said, her throat tightening, a flood of tears pouring from her eyes.

  “Ana?” her father sounded desperate.

  “Yes.”

  “We were searching,” he said. “Please know that we were. But we didn’t want the media in on it. We couldn’t risk making your captors nervous. Where are you? Do they still have you?”

  “No,” she said, looking at Zafar, his eyes blank. “No. I’m free.” The word held so many layers, so much meaning. And all because of the man standing before her.

  “How?”

  She knew she couldn’t say. Knew she could never say. “I was ransomed by a stranger. I’m near the encampment where I was taken. Can you please come and get me?”

  Zafar handed her a paper with the GPS coordinates on it, silent, watchful. Ana read them off for her father.

  “I need to go,” she said.

  “Ana...wait.”

  She hung up. She knew Zafar wouldn’t speak to her while she waited. But she wasn’t going to spend her last moments with Zafar talking to someone else, no matter how much she missed her father.

  She would miss Zafar so much more.

  They were in a vast area, only an outcropping of jagged rocks there to provide shade. And it was almost like seeking shelter in a clay oven, the rocks absorbing the heat and radiating it outward.

  Still, Zafar stood by them, watching, and she stood with him, a small space between them, both of them looking in the direction her father and Tariq would be coming from. They didn’t speak; they didn’t touch.

  But she drank him in. She would have to fill herself now, because after this she wouldn’t see him again. Her life an endless, vast desert without him.

  “Only a minute now,” he said, finally.

  She turned to him. “Look at me.”

  He obeyed, and she let the image of his face burn into her. The hard planes and angles, his golden skin and dark eyes. Those eyes, which held so much pain, so much passion.

  “I need to memorize you,” she said.

  “I have already done so,” he said.

  Her heart squeezed tight. “I wish you the best,” she said. “I’ll be back in America. If you’re ever curious.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, as though blocking out an onslaught of pain. “I will forget that information. I can’t know. Then I might search for you. And it would be a disservice to you.”

  She heard the sound of helicopter rotors in the distance. “Go,” she said, feeling panicked. They couldn’t find him. They could never know.

  He nodded once and went back to Sadiqi, covering his face and head again, and riding off toward another rock formation. And then she didn’t see him anymore, as though he’d melted into the sand.

  Ana saw the helicopter now, drawing closer. Her salvation. Her family.

  And yet, for the first time she felt undeniably homesick. And when she thought of home, it wasn’t the old mansion in Texas, it wasn’t the boarding school in Connecticut where she’d spent much of her teenage years. It wasn’t even the palace in Al Sabah.

  It was in Zafar’s arms.

  And it hit her then that she would never be home again.

  Ana dropped to her knees as the helicopter descended to earth, and wept.

  * * *

  Zafar rode until his lungs burned, until his eyes were blinded by sharp, stinging sand. He suspected the sand wasn’t entirely responsible for the stinging in his eyes.

  Leaving Ana was like leaving behind part of himself.

  Parts of the heart he’d imagined he’d cut out. But no, it was there. It was beating. Beating for her. And it was why he had to leave.

  How could he consign her to a life with him? A life with a man so filled with darkness? A man who might wrap his hands around her throat in the night, thinking her an imaginary enemy?

  He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t love her right.

  He did love her. In a broken, selfish way. He would bring her back to his palace and keep her for himself. Keep her in his bed. Watch her stomach grow round when she was pregnant with his child.

  She could even be pregnant with his child now. But he thought of his hands, covered in innocent blood and the blood of the guilty, cradling a child, and he ached inside. How could he be a father? How could he ever be a man worthy of Ana?

  He looked into the distance, into the sun.

  He would be a man worthy of his people. And he would hope that someday she would read about him, about Al Sabah, and she would have something to be proud of him for.

  If that was all he could ever have, then he would take it.

  He didn’t deserve for her to love him, but he would try to earn it. He would try to be a man worthy of Ana’s love.

  It was the very best he could have. Somehow it still left him feeling cold inside.

  That night, he lay down without a tent, his eyes fixed on the inky black sky. His thoughts on Ana. His heart beating with love for her.

  And when he slept, there were no nightmares.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ANA SAT ON the edge of the bed. The room was large, light and airy. A room fit for a princess. Kind of Tariq, since last week she’d told him, officially, that she wouldn’t become his sheikha.

  He’d insisted that she stay until she’d had a full recovery. Whatever that meant.

  There would never be a full recovery. Not from this.

  Heartbreak wasn’t fatal. It was worse. It hurt all the time. And she had a feeling it wouldn’t just heal. Not when she was so changed from her time with Zafar. Not when her strength had been unveiled by him.

  She would be marrying Tariq in the next year if not for Zafar. And it would be the wrong decision. She would be making choices to please everyone else still. And now...now she couldn’t. She knew her father wasn’t happy about the dissolution of her engagement to Tariq, and how could he be? It was costing him millions in profits.

  But he was staying here in Shakar with her. And he’d never expressed his disappointment to her. She just knew it was there. But he hadn’t left. He hadn’t disowned her. He’d even told her he loved her several times.

  She looked out the window, at the gardens. At the beauty. She didn’t regret that this wouldn’t be her home. She felt nothing for Tariq now. Nothing except for a kind of...affection. Because she did know him, and she did like him. But she didn’t love him.

  That had been underlined by the fact that when she’d seen him, her thoughts had stayed firmly occupied with Zafar. That she’d never once wavered on her decision to break off the engagement. Not even when she was afraid of how her father would react.

  A clear head, time and distance had also made her sure of two other things: She wasn’t pregnant with Zafar’s baby. And she wanted to be with him more than anything.

  She let out a long slow breath and closed her eyes, picturing his face. So precious. So perfect. She missed him, and every second of missing him was a slow and painful hit on her heart. Each beat another punch against the bruise.

  There was a knock on her door and she stood, taking a deep breath. “Yes?”

  Tariq walked in, tall, broad and handsome as ever. And her heart did nothing. “Good afternoon, habibti.”

  “Please don’t call me that,” she said.

  He frowned. “I know things aren’t that way between us now. But I confess I keep hoping you might change your mind.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “No.” His answer was instant, void of venom or emotion.

  “Then I won’t.”

  “And I won’t lie to change your mind, on that you have my word.”

  “Thank you.
” She looked away from Tariq, out the window and past the gardens this time, toward Al Sabah. “Tariq, you’ve been good to my family.”

  “There is no honor in forcing a woman to marry you,” he said. “And no honor in treating you poorly for making the decision.”

  “You are a good man.”

  “It has been said, though I’m not certain I have reaped any particular reward for it.”

  “You could still make deals with my father.”

  He nodded slowly. “I intend to. It is wise, whether or not you’re my wife.”

  “Have you spoken to him yet?” For a moment she was afraid her father already knew. That he was already aware of the fact that he would have no bad consequences for her breaking the engagement, and that was why he’d been so quick to forgive her for it.

  “No,” Tariq said. “I will, over dinner today.”

  She let out a breath. “I’m so pleased to hear it.” And then she had a thought, one that might fix things. It might not fix them either, because in the end, Zafar was still the one who had to make the final decision. But she could take care of everything on her end.

  “Tariq, our marriage was supposed to ensure loyalty and fair treatment. And I would like for us to strike a deal together, separate from the deal you’re making with him.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Swear to me that you will be loyal to my family. That we have your protection. Always.”

  He regarded her closely, his dark eyes unreadable. “I swear it.”

  “No matter what. If, of course, we don’t mount an attack against Shakar.”

  He arched a brow. “If you do not mount an attack against Shakar?”

  “Covering the bases.”

  He looked at the wall behind her. “Especially for the indignity you suffered, I shall swear it. On my life, your family, however large it becomes in the future, has my protection. You have my word, and I am a man of my word. But if you would like it in writing...you may have that, too.”

  “I would,” she said, her heart lifting, tears stinging her eyes. “I would like that very much. And the use of a helicopter. For my indignity.”

  “For your indignity,” he said slowly.

  Her throat tightened, her hands shaking. “Appreciated.”

  * * *

  Zafar woke every night, but not to visions of death and violence.

  To the illusion of soft skin, soft sighs of pleasure. To the impression of Ana in his arms and in his bed.

  But she was never there.

  He closed his eyes against a wave of pain. It was a particularly bad one. Waves like that crashed over him a few times a day, in contrast to the low-level ache that hummed in the background constantly.

  He moved to the window of the throne room, the damned mausoleum. The scene of the most horrendous moment of his life. But fifteen years on, and that pain was finally fading. Because of the emotions he’d let in.

  There was no longer room for anguish, anger and pain to be the star of his heart. Not when he’d started loving Ana.

  Except he’d sent her away. But what other choice did he have?

  “Sheikh.” One of his men strode into the throne room, his expression fierce. “There is someone here to see you.”

  “May I ask who?”

  “Of course. It is the woman. The woman who came here with you the first day.”

  He shook his head. “No. It cannot be.”

  “But it is. I would not mistake her. Ever. I have never seen a woman so pale.”

  “It cannot be a hallucination, because you wouldn’t hallucinate on my behalf, would you?” he asked, feeling stunned.

  “Sheikh, do I send her away?”

  “No. No, send her to me.” Zafar’s heart was pounding, and as his man left the room, he thought of every possible scenario that might bring her here. To warn him of war, to share her engagement. To throw herself into his arms.

  Considering his treatment of her, the last was the least likely.

  It was only a moment, one that felt like an eternity, and she walked into the throne room, blond hair in a bun, her curves showcased by a knee-length dress that was sophisticated and sexy as hell.

  “Zafar,” she said, her expression neutral. “I came to deliver something to you.”

  “What is it?”

  “An agreement. From the Sheikh of Shakar.”

  “I see.” He wondered if that meant her engagement to Tariq remained intact. For all that he imagined she would be better off with the other man, the thought made him see red. Made him feel like his world was falling down around him.

  She held out a sheet of paper, folded in half. “Read it.”

  He took it from her and unfolded it. “This is...a pledge from the Sheikh of Shakar. To protect your family, as it is now and as it grows. Always. Why show this to me?”

  “Because I think I found a solution to your problem. But you have to hear me out. I’m not offering you this to fix your problems. I’m offering it to fix mine. This isn’t to make you love me.”

  “What do you mean, habibti?”

  She smiled. “I like it when you call me that.”

  “Explain,” he said, his heart pounding.

  “Become my family. Marry me. You will not have to worry about war breaking out over it. This—” she pointed to the paper “—protects you. It protects me. It protects Al Sabah. But only if you marry me.”

  “Are you proposing to me, Ana?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice choked. “Yes. And do you know why?”

  “Why?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “Because. More than a week away from you, and you’re all I can think about. Because, in spite of everything you said to me, I still love you. Because you helped me find my strength. Because you are a horrible dancer. Because you don’t respect the salad fork, and God knows there has been far too much respecting of salad forks in my life. You made me want more, Zafar. You make me want to do more, feel more, be more.”

  “Ana,” he said. “I...I want so badly to accept, not just the treaty offer, but your hand. Your love. But I’m so scarred inside. Why would you want me? You are everything beautiful and life giving. You talk about what I’ve done for you, but do you have any idea of what you’ve done for me?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “I have felt, for so many years, that death would have been the sweeter option for me. That I should have died that day. That the gates of hell were open and ready to pull me in. But you closed them. You did. When I sleep at night...I see your face and not that day. For years I didn’t sleep right, Ana, and it was worse when I came here. But today I stood in this room and I saw your face instead of the images of that day.”

  “What changed?” she asked. “Because that last night...it wasn’t me you were dreaming about.”

  “I let myself love you. And when I let that in, I couldn’t be filled with anger and hopelessness anymore. I could no longer wish for death with even the smallest part of myself. You filled too much of me. You filled this place with new memories. And you’ve made me want again. I’ve been so afraid of wanting, because I was so sure I was as weak as I had ever been and that if I wanted...I would crumble. I would destroy everything again. But I can’t call loving you a weakness, because I have never felt stronger. My heart, my soul...I no longer feel I’ve left them in the desert. I feel like they’re in me, where they belong.”

  “Zafar...if I ever had a doubt that you were the man for me, I don’t now. Because we healed each other. You were the man I needed. It was your brokenness that helped me see my own, that helped me find my strength.”

  “And it was your strength that lifted me out of the pit.”

  “Then stop talking crazy about why we can’t be together.”

  “Y
ou could have a better man than I am.”

  “I don’t want a better man. I want you.”

  He laughed. “Thank you.”

  “You know what I mean. I want to stand by you and help you fulfill your purpose here. I want Al Sabah to be my purpose, too. Your home is my home. Because it’s where you are.”

  “And my heart is yours,” he said, his voice rough. “It is damaged. I foolishly gave it to someone once before and saw my whole world crash down. I removed it from myself so I would never make the mistake again. Left it neglected and dying. And you revived it. Revived me. If you would take it, knowing all of that, then I would be the most blessed man in all the world.”

  “I will,” she said. “Gladly.”

  “Know this, Ana, my love, you will never have to be anyone but yourself with me. You will never have to quiet yourself. Whether we decide to be civilized for a ball or uncivilized in our bedroom, it will be fine, because I only want you. I don’t want you to simply please me or make me comfortable. I don’t want you to slot meekly into my life. I want you to challenge me, tell me when I’m wrong. Butt heads with me. I want you to be fire and strength. To be who you are.”

  She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, a smile curving her lips. “Those are the most wonderful words I’ve ever heard. And you are the first person to ever say them.”

  “I will never stop telling you,” he said. “Every day I’ll tell you how much I appreciate you.”

  “I love you,” she said. “I love you. I love you. One. Two. Three.”

  “Perfect.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, pouring all of his love into the kiss, all of his passion. “Oh, Ana,” he said, kissing her brow, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “Do you remember that day I took you from the kidnappers?”

  “No,” she said, smiling. “Forgot. Not a big deal. Of course I do.”

  He swung her up into his arms and pulled her against his chest, taking them down the corridor that led to his bedchamber.

  “I told you,” he said, pushing open the door. “I was your salvation.”

  “You did.”

  He crossed the room and laid her on the bed, pulling his shirt over his head and joining her. “I was wrong, Ana.”