Her breasts rose and fell with her uneven breathing, her pale nipples rising taut with expectation. The slow smile descended first upon one and then the other. A delicate nip and a long slow suckle before moving on to the other. The tension of his touch deepened inside her, stirring and tugging as if she were caught in a web of desire along which the slightest of movement created corresponding ripples that amplified the original stimulation.
She lifted her head to his but he merely moved back, smiling. “No, habibi, lay back. I want to make love to you.”
She melted at his words. They’d had plenty of sex but this was the first time those words had crossed his lips. And she wanted to be made love to—more than anything. So she lay, like an adored puppet, as he pulled her strings, bringing her to life with his lips, his touch.
He shifted down, pushing away her clothes, a little more quickly now, she noticed, as his own control began to slip. And his lips descended to her thighs, caressing them with a feeling that communicated itself through every single nerve ending in her body.
She fell back into a blissful half-state of submission to the shivers of desire that ran through her body and that absorbed every thinking part of her brain. There was only sensation now, and Zahir. The two were inextricably linked. They moved as one as Zahir created magic with his mouth and tongue that, with each touch shot her further to a place that had less connection with the physical and more with the emotional.
It spiraled quickly and, as she gripped his shoulders her cries filled the room. Only then did he rise, satisfied. With his characteristic minimal, effective movement, he turned and tore off his tie and slipped off his jacket and shed the remainder of his clothes.
She watched in a heavy state of relaxation, smiling at the beauty of his body as it was slowly revealed. The width of the shoulders and the strength of the muscles beneath. His waist was no tapered youth’s, but as strong and muscled as the rest of his body. It was a man’s body, with its scars, muscle and sinew. It was her man’s body.
He turned and looked down at her and his breath caught in his chest. She was so beautiful. He pushed the palms of his hands up her legs, her thighs, her sex, her stomach, her breasts before pushing his fingers into her hair and bringing her mouth to his in a kiss that was a promise of what was to come. Then he tasted her neck, her breasts, her shoulder—stopping every few seconds to watch her skin tense with goose-bumps—before moving on, burying his nose into her hair, breathing its fragrance in deep. It wasn’t the perfume, the shampoo, but her. She had a freshness of purity—of newly mown grass, of a day at the beach, of the desert after a shower. He had no need to know her more than this. This was her essence.
He drew back then and knelt before her, lifting her hips so he could slip into her. With her legs wound tight around him and himself buried deep within her, he felt the familiar sensation of intense excitement as well as intense relief. He felt as if he were home. She shivered over him and dropped her head back with an echo of the same bliss that filled him.
His body responded to the stimulation of his senses as it always did with her by pushing deep within her, wanting the most intense contact possible. She wriggled around him and against him, seeking yet more stimulation, and he marveled at the slightness of her under his hands. His fingers wrapped around her hips and bottom: so slight that he felt that he filled her completely.
He felt, again, the overwhelming need to care for her, to cherish her that he’d been fighting ever since he learnt that she could not be his. He’d fought it again when she’d come to Qawaran, believing that he felt nothing other than lust that had to be satisfied. But now he felt he could no longer fight it and, for the first time, allowed himself to be swamped by his need to hold and cherish.
His hands gathered her to him and, with each movement of her own against and with his thrusting, he realized that she was as much making love to him, as he was to her. And it felt right.
His lips sought hers and they kissed a kiss that was as different from their other kisses as light from dark. There was fire still, but also a desire that was not selfish, but giving and joyful. Connected, they fell onto their sides, moving against one another, not with abandon, but with sensuous care, as one.
Slowly, very slowly their lips parted and Anna fell back on the rug. There they stayed, their eyes focused as he continued to thrust and release, as rhythmic as the ebb and flow of the constant shift of sand forming and re-forming the sand hills that rolled like waves across desert. Only after she’d cried out did he allow his own control to slip and abandon himself to the bliss of overwhelming sensation.
They lay together watching darkness come in silence. Anna lay curled in his arms in a way that she’d never lain with him before. She knew something had changed for him and because of that, it had changed for her also. But she didn’t dare ask, question, or try to have him explain in case it killed something of the magic she felt. She knew it better if it wasn’t explained. Because what she knew was that they’d just made love for the first time. And things were never going to be the same again.
She wanted to hold and keep forever present the last twenty-four hours. They’d been the best in her life. She’d come to know Zahir and learn of his strengths and vulnerabilities. And it had been his vulnerabilities that had reached into her heart.
Her heart. She’d never imagined she would speak of her heart. She smiled, her lips shifting against his warm skin as they curved. Surely she hadn’t imagined their closeness? He was more than wanting to ride out his passion with her, he was kind and cherishing and considerate. No, it couldn’t be purely her imagination. Perhaps, just perhaps, she’d found a home with him.
CHAPTER NINE
Zahir lay awake for most of the night in a state of heightened awareness. He had heard the explosion of birds that inhabited his garden and the surrounding parks and squares and had watched the pale, milky dawn light of an overcast morning find its way through the tracery of branches outside the bedroom and into the large room, shifting shadows of light and dark on the white wall.
He’d been here hundreds of times, watching the same thing but had never felt like this.
Summer madness, he thought to himself, feeling the steady beat of Anna’s heart beneath his hand. Except that he knew it wouldn’t pass like the seasons. Autumn would come, leaves would drop, and he would still want Anna. Winter would wreak its devastations but his passion would remain intact. And then there would be spring again, bringing with it renewal and a strengthening of all that was good.
And he knew what was good now.
He felt her stir beneath his touch. She shifted sensuously in the bed. He loved how she moved, as if her body were relishing the contact with the sheet, finding pleasure in its touch, sensitizing it ready for whatever the day would bring.
She moaned lightly and rolled toward him, nipping him playfully on the side, while moving up her head until it was next to his. She smiled.
“Good morning husband.”
“Good morning wife.”
She rolled over as if to get up from the bed, laughing, except he held her hand tight.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Anna laughed and fell back into bed. “To Matta. He must be awake by now.”
“Let sleeping boys lie.”
“It’s not like him. He’s usually bouncing off the walls by now.”
“He’s still fast asleep, or else we would have heard him on the intercom. He’s tired from all the activity yesterday. He’ll need to sleep.”
“You mean it’s convenient if he sleeps.”
“As it happens, that is also true.” Zahir’s hand curled around the curve of her waist, and swept lightly up her body before pulling her to him once more. “Now, where were we?”
Before Anna could remonstrate Zahir’s lips made sure she wasn’t going anywhere.
It was another hour before she left to shower.
Zahir couldn’t remember when he’d felt so at peace. He listened to the sh
ower running, mingling with the rain that now angled against the window and relished the bone-deep, heavy feeling that swamped him. How had she done it? How had she got to the point where she’d captured his heart? He hadn’t even seen it coming. Because there was no strategy to be aware of. Because she did it simply by virtue of being Anna: giving and generous. Tricky. He smiled. He should have known that the only way to beat him was to use methods with which he was entirely unfamiliar.
He propped himself up in bed when she emerged from the shower and watched her dress.
“Do you think this is a spectator sport?” She said without looking over her shoulder.
“Very much so. Unless you’d like to make it an audience participation sport.” He started to get out of bed.
“No!” She giggled. “Get back to bed. I need to get Matta up and ready.”
“I told you we should have brought his nurse.”
She came and sat on the side of the bed. He pushed back a lock of her hair that fell over her shoulder. His finger caressed the bracket of her smile.
“Zahir. We are a family now. We don’t need a nurse.”
He hadn’t thought he could feel any more than he had. But he was wrong. He pulled her to him and kissed her gently on the lips.
As he leant back in bed again, his hand stroked down her hair, her back and lingered on her bottom.
“Then, go, get Matta ready and we will have a family day out.”
She laughed. “So normal.” She turned suddenly and stood up and began to walk away. When she turned back he could see a slight frown settle on her forehead. “You know, that was what I always wanted.”
“And now? Is ‘normal’ enough for you or is it freedom that you still crave?” He stopped smiling. “Tell me Anna. Which one do you want most?”
“I’m a woman, Zahir. I want everything.” She smiled over her shoulder. But he knew her light words covered the truth. He felt his light dim. Perhaps he would never be enough for her to wipe out her past, to believe that they had everything together, that she didn’t need to keep on looking for that elusive something that led her on and on to that goal of freedom.
Zahir and Anna lifted Matta on the count of three, swinging him between them as he squealed with delight.
The rain had diminished to a light drizzle and Matta, loving the novelty of it, had insisted they walk in the rain. Laughing they came to a halt outside a brightly-lit bar.
“Look, Mom, there’s Uncle James. He pointed to a tall man, with blonde carefully tousled hair and a huge, friendly grin, who was just about to enter the bar. “Uncle James!” Matta went running up to the man whose face lit up further at the sight of him.
“Mattie! Look at you! You’ve grown so tall. You’ll be as tall as your daddy soon.”
Zahir felt anger flood his body. Who was this stranger who was lifting Matta into the air? Frowning, Zahir looked at Anna who was smiling at the stranger before meeting Zahir’s gaze steadily.
“Zahir,” Anna walked across to Matta and the stranger, “this is James.”
James kissed Anna on both cheeks and Zahir could see a true affection existed between them. Then James turned to him.
“Abdie’s brother. It must be. You look so much alike.”
James extended his hand that Zahir reluctantly took.
“Abduallah’s brother, if that is who you mean.”
Matta hung on James’s arm.
James smiled, a wide disarming grin. “Sure is. And you’re just like he described.”
“Really.” Zahir’s chill response was restrained compared to the cold anger that filled his veins.
Anna looked from one to the other. “So, James, what brings you to Paris?”
“Work—and pleasure. Always pleasure.” He laughed.
Zahir watched them chat easily before Anna drew it to a close after a quick look at him.
“We must go. But take care.”
More kisses followed before they continued walking down the street. Zahir turned once to see James disappear into the bar—his eyes drawn to the briefly-glimpsed interior and the music thudding out into the street.
They walked in silence up the Champs-Élysées, busy traffic drowning out Matta’s ceaseless conversation with Anna and her patient replies. Zahir felt himself withdraw into himself. Always his first line of defense, he knew. But for the moment the implications of what he’d just seen made it necessary.
They turned down a side street and stopped before an impressive townhouse.
“This is it?”
“Yes.”
Anna’s eyebrows rose. “You mean all of it?”
“Of course. My sister lives in only one wing and the rest is for visiting family.”
The door swept open and they were ushered inside by a servant and shown into the elegant drawing room where Zahir’s sister, Firyal—larger than life—held court surrounded by her larger than average family.
Anna watched Zahir apprehensively. He couldn’t have failed to notice that Abduallah’s close friend James was gay and had been entering a gay bar. But he’d made no comment. Anna settled down to listen to her sister-in-law, whom she’d only met once at the wedding, and watch their children play.
She wasn’t surprised when Zahir didn’t join them.
“Firyal, I must go. I have business.”
Firyal nodded graciously, even though she was obviously expecting him to stay. It seemed his sisters and family all acted as if Zahir was God. No wonder he had such a shock with how Anna treated him.
“Anna,” he nodded and Anna jumped up and walked with him to the door.
“Zahir, do you want to talk? Do you want to know anything?”
He shook his head. “What I want is to get away for a while.”
“Shall I come? I’m sure Firyal will look after Matta.”
He shook his head and pulled the door closed in front of her. There was so much she needed to tell him, so much she wanted to reassure him. But she felt helpless before his intransigence. He was a loner. Used to doing things, working things out, alone. She turned and walked back into the drawing room. She just hoped he worked things out right.
The afternoon crawled by with Anna passing the time of day with Zahir’s sister—a woman with whom she had little in common except the children. Matta played and conversed easily with his cousins and aunt and her friends. She was proud of how easily he fitted in and relieved to see how his easy-going nature won people over to him. Life wouldn’t be so hard for Matta as it was for his father.
Anna couldn’t help gazing with increasing frequency at her watch. Hours had passed and still no sign of Zahir, no word on her phone. She knew him so well now and knew that he needed time alone. But she was also scared. What happened when the defined parameters of a strong man’s world disintegrated; when a strongly held belief evaporates before your eyes? The fact that there had been no external reaction, not even a flicker of expression to reveal the turmoil that she knew to be going on within him, only concerned her more.
“Do not worry about Zahir. He is a busy man.”
“I know. It’s just that—”
“You worry about him? That is a woman’s lot. Why don’t you leave Matta with me. Let him stay the night with his friends and attend his cousin’s birthday party. Then you can concentrate on Zahir.”
Anna smiled in agreement. Anna couldn’t say “no” even if she wanted to because she knew that Zahir needed her. Firyal didn’t understand what was going on but with Matta having fun, it was true, it would give them the opportunity to have the conversation that she knew she needed to have with him. To make sure he understood fully about Abduallah.
Zahir didn’t know how long he walked through the streets of Paris. His jacket collar up, slight protection against the drizzling grey rain. Once someone shouted and he looked up and stopped, just before a cab sped by in front of him. He waved in acknowledgement at the man who’d saved his life.
He raised his face to the rain, willing it to wash away the torment that h
ad been growing in him since the first sight of Abduallah’s friend James, so obviously from a world about which Zahir knew nothing: a world in which James had been intimate with Abduallah, a world from which Zahir had been excluded. Two worlds: poles apart and Abduallah had believed he couldn’t belong to both. If only Zahir had known. But of course he had known—deep down—he just hadn’t wanted to think about it. It didn’t fit into one of his neat boxes.
He closed his eyes and slumped against a tree trunk that edged the boulevard, oblivious to curious onlookers. The wet, slippery, yet coarsely textured bark dug into his spine and he relished the discomfort. At least he could feel something other than the pain of having let his dearest brother down.
He’d failed him.
He’d killed him. Anna hadn’t, her family hadn’t. He had.
And he would have to live with that knowledge every day of his life.
“No,” the word came out like a low moan. Zahir moved away from the tree and walked towards the Pont Neuf. He gripped the damp stone as if his life depended on it watched the Seine flow slickly under the bridge, its rain-pitted surface a grey-green under the lowering sky. And he thought of his brother: his pain, his suffering and his love. He felt the cold ache of pain fill him and he hoped it would never leave.
Anna waited as darkness gathered in the empty house. It wasn’t often she was alone and she felt the weightiness of the silence around her, allowing it to settle and to give her the time and peace to think.
She was afraid. How would Zahir take the discovery that Abduallah was gay? How would that affect the treasured memory Zahir had of him? Was he really as entrenched in machismo as Abduallah had believed? And what, above all else, would Zahir think of her? Married to a gay man—albeit only for a few weeks. Would he think she’d married him knowing this and wanting to be married to be part of Abduallah’s wealthy family? She had no idea. All she knew was that the revelation had shaken Zahir to the core and it would have a ripple effect on everything else. She just had to wait.
The Sheikh's Bargain Bride (Desert Kings) Page 11