Desert Jewels & Rising Stars

by Sharon Kendrick

  He extended his hand and ran his fingers along the edge of the nightie’s neckline, his callused fingers abrading the delicate fabric, the sound sending a faint shiver through her. His eyes were locked with hers, the dark intensity in them robbing her of the ability to breathe.

  He slid his fingers down over the negligee, his thumb caressing the part that would have been covering her breasts had she been wearing it.

  It was far too easy to imagine those rough fingers moving over her body, imagine how his fingers would feel against her soft, tender skin. Evidence of his strength, his hard work, his character.

  Her breasts suddenly felt heavy, her nipples stinging as they tightened into hard points. She was absolutely, completely disturbed by what he was making her feel. But she was also captive to it, spellbound by the power he had over her body. He could make her feel more than any fantasy or real-life person ever had without even touching her.

  Her breath was caught in her throat, every nerve, every cell in her body waiting to see what he would do next.

  “I don’t know that it’s your color,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “You should try for something more daring.”

  For a moment—one heady, wonderful moment—she thought he was going to lean in and capture her lips again. He was so close. It would have been the easiest thing to close the distance between them, for her to touch her lips to his.

  “A brighter shade, I think,” he said, his voice rough. “Sheikh Hassan prefers women who wear vivid colors.”

  He stepped away from her then, his eyes flat, all the heat gone. She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d dumped a bucket of ice water over her. He’d had her spellbound, unconscious of where she was, who she was. It was a shock to find out that she was still standing in Printemps, beneath the bright lights, with other shoppers milling around them as though they weren’t there.

  And she was still wearing Hassan’s ring.

  “I like this one,” she said, trying to inject authority into her voice. Difficult when she could hardly catch her breath.

  She held the negligee tightly to her chest and clutched the panties in a bundled-up knot of fabric as she headed to the register to pay for her lingerie. He had been trying to put her off, but she wasn’t going to let him.

  She imagined he’d also been trying to show her that he was in control, that she was out of her depth. And that he had succeeded in, she hated to admit.

  She’d felt confident enough in her knowledge of men and sex to tease him, torment him a bit as he’d been doing to her. She’d gleaned enough knowledge from her time away at school, from late-night chatting sessions with her friends, and then, more recently, from her sister-in-law Alison. But with one searing look, with the effect he’d had on her body, Adham had proved to her that she knew nothing. Nothing real, anyway.

  Romance novels and jokes with friends were one thing, but actual sexual attraction, need, desire was quite another. She’d never really realized just how different the two were until she’d watched him stroke his fingers over the silken material of the nightgown. As she’d imagined him touching her in the same manner.

  The thought made her hot all over.

  She handed the clerk her credit card—no point being discreet now that she’d been found—and waited while her sexy new nothings were packaged into two neat little boxes with satin ribbon handles. She added those to her other shopping bags, a small feeling of accomplishment swelling in her chest.

  Maybe Adham thought shopping was stupid, but she felt as if she’d claimed some small portion of her life for herself, and there was nothing stupid about that.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked, his voice rougher than normal, his accent thicker.

  “I am getting hungry. But we could just eat here …”

  “I have my limits on shopping,” he said, his lip curled slightly. “Normally I hand women my credit card and send them on their way.”

  He started to walk toward the exit doors and she followed him quickly. “What? Women you date?”

  He turned and looked at her for a brief moment, his dark eyebrows drawn together. “I don’t know that I would call it that.”

  Of course not. Men like him probably had affairs. He’d probably had lots of rich lovers who reveled in having such a tough, macho man for a bedmate. Except he really didn’t seem like the sort of man who would be content to be a woman’s plaything. And, as he’d said, he was the one handing out credit cards.

  She looked at him, her heart stuttering as she took in that broad, muscled back, his tapered waist and slim hips. Oh, no, Adham wouldn’t be any woman’s plaything. He was too much a man for that. He would want the upper hand in every way. He would be dominant in every situation.

  Not for the first time she thought he seemed nothing like the staff at the Turani palace. He didn’t defer to her. Ever. He acted like a man who was used to being in control, used to having his orders unchallenged, used to having his way. But then, he’d been in the military—likely as a leader—so it could be true.

  “What would you call it, then?” she asked, curiosity demanding more than speculation.

  “I don’t know that I’m ever in one place long enough to date. I have arrangements.”

  That hot emotion stirred her stomach again, and this time she recognized it. Jealousy. Not really directed at the women, but because it was such a casual thing to him. He had arrangements. No one dictated to him whether or not he could have them, who he could have them with, how he conducted them.

  Isabella was reasonably certain that even if she’d been given carte blanche to have relationships with men they wouldn’t have been casual arrangements, but having the freedom would have been nice. Learning her own moral code, her own limits—that would have been nice too.

  It would be nice to know her parents had that kind of trust in her.

  Of course relationships hadn’t been feasible, because an arranged marriage had always been a foregone conclusion. She’d been ten when it had been decided that Hassan al bin Sudar would be the man. There would never have been any point to her dating anyone. Even so, she was jealous of Adham’s freedom, of the casual way he spoke of it.

  “I’ve never had a relationship,” she said, closing her eyes as they exited the store, as the cool air hit her face, the slight breeze ruffling her hair.

  “You’re engaged. Most people would count that as a relationship,” he said, his voice tight.

  “Well, most people who are engaged have met their fiancé, or at the very least selected him.”

  “It’s different for royalty, Isabella. You know that.”

  “Of course I do.”

  Adham halted mid-stride and turned, taking her bags from her hands, his fingers brushing hers, sending a shock of heat straight to her toes. Then he turned and started walking again, as though the world hadn’t just tilted a little. Although she supposed the world had remained upright as ever to him.

  “What about you?” she asked, suddenly wanting to know more about her scarred guardian. “Do you ever plan to marry?”

  “No.”

  “Just … no?”

  “My life isn’t suited to marriage and family. It is full. And I have no desire for a wife.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t the High Sheikh, or you would be required to marry me.”

  He paused slightly, his shoulders tensing. It was a small reaction—one she would have missed if she weren’t so tuned into him. “If it were required of me, I would do it.”

  “That’s it? If it were required of you, you would change all of your expectations to fulfill your duty?”

  “I would.”

  He said it with such certainty that she didn’t doubt him. But it was easy for him. He didn’t have dreams of love and romance. Even knowing she’d had an arranged marriage, part of her had always harbored fantasies of love. It was normal for women—for most people, really. Everyone wanted to be loved.

  Except Adham, apparently. He only needed
lovers. A thought that was much more intriguing than it should be. Because her thoughts had no place wandering down that road—not with Adham. Not with any man other than her chosen fiancé.

  Even knowing that, when they rounded a corner and she closed her eyes against the harsh shaft of afternoon light that shone between the tightly packed buildings, it was an imprint of Adham’s face that she saw.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ADHAM was taking her to the cinema, and she was unaccountably nervous. It felt like … like a date—even though the very idea was completely ridiculous. He’d all but ignored her for the past few days—conducting business in his office, checking on his oil field, making contact with other security officers, and leaving her to fend for herself.

  But that morning she’d brought up the subject of the movie theater, and he’d agreed.

  She’d been trying to decide on an outfit for nearly forty minutes. Which was ridiculous, because it shouldn’t matter what she wore so long as she was happy with it. But she kept picturing Adham’s face, his reaction to her, wondering if any of that smoldering heat would flare in his eyes when he saw her, and what article of clothing might help her accomplish that.

  It was not a productive line of thinking. But she was wandering down the rabbit trail anyway.

  She rifled through her new things and finally decided to put on the sexy crimson wrap sweater she’d purchased on their shopping excursion. The soft, clingy material hugged her curves and had a neckline that dipped low, showing just the right amount of cleavage. She decided to pair it with dark-wash jeans and some strappy heels that would no doubt make her feet ache after a few hours. But they would be worth it.

  The underwear was almost as big a decision for her—which was more ridiculous than being so indecisive over the outerwear. But it mattered. Adham had seen them, had watched her purchase them. She didn’t think a man had ever seen her underwear before, even when she wasn’t wearing it. Knowing he would know what they looked like … the thought that he might try and guess which ones she was wearing … well, that made her feel wicked. And edgy. And just a tiny bit guilty.

  She selected an ivory-colored bra, made from web-fine netting. Intricate flowers added provocative detail, framing her dusky nipples, which were clearly visible through the sheer fabric. The panties were no better—framing rather than concealing.

  She looked at herself for a moment, stunned by the fact that she could look so … provocative. She’d almost entirely ignored her own sexuality because it had always seemed inextricably linked to her unknown, pre-selected future husband. But now, despite the fact that Hassan’s ring was on her finger, that part of her so long denied was becoming tethered to the man who was out in the living area.

  The attraction had been instantaneous. But she had been confident that once she’d spent some time with him it would diminish. It seemed as though she’d have to become accustomed to his sex appeal after all. But his appeal hadn’t diminished. And her attraction was growing. Being stuck with him certainly didn’t help.

  She looked down at her breasts, at her nipples pushing against the gauzy fabric. She couldn’t even think about him without having an actual physical reaction.

  She huffed out a disgusted sound and pulled her jeans, top and shoes on quickly. Anything to disguise that sensual image she made, standing there in her underwear. Underwear that was definitely meant to be seen.

  Her mouth dropped open with shock and a mild amount of pleasure as she took in her fully dressed reflection. She’d never looked so … so outright sexy in her entire life. She turned and admired the view from the back in the mirror. Yes, she looked totally sexy. But … more than that … she looked like herself. She was different, but totally familiar. It was as if that other version of herself—the one who’d been wearing khaki slacks and a matching jacket—had been the stranger. And this was Isabella.

  She stepped up to the mirror and looked at the woman staring back at her. Her make-up was lighter than the way her personal servant did it, and her hair was left natural. Loose curls tumbled past her shoulders.

  For the first time she felt as though she matched her reflection. This wasn’t the glossed-up princess, made to look so much older and more sophisticated than she was. This was the woman that she was inside.

  She took a deep breath and got ready to go back into the main part of the penthouse. She was nervous, she realized. Because she’d only just seen herself for the first time, and now Adham would see her too—with no façade to hide behind.

  She turned the handle and opened the door. Adham was sitting on the couch when she came into the main living area. His eyes were closed, his hands clasped behind his head, and his black T-shirt stretched tightly across the hard muscles of his broad chest. The sight of his tanned, toned arms made her stomach knot.

  Once again she was very conscious of the fact that he’d seen her underwear. Which was stupid. It wasn’t as if he’d seen her in it. Or as if he’d want to.

  Except when he opened his eyes and looked at her, his dark gaze taking a slow tour of her body, there was heat there. Unmistakable, undeniable heat, that burned down to her toes and every interesting spot in between.

  “I’m ready,” she said, aware that her voice sounded husky, affected.

  The heat in his eyes intensified, and she realized her words could be interpreted to mean something different. She also realized that part of her meant them in that way.

  That was wrong. Even if she wasn’t happy about her engagement to Hassan, she was committed to it. The expectation was that she would go to her marriage bed a virgin—something she’d tried decently hard not to think about, if only because it was frightening to think of sharing such a momentous thing with a man she didn’t love or even know.

  But now it seemed … it seemed worse, somehow. Maybe because when she thought of kissing she could still feel Adham’s lips moving against hers, still feel the hard press of his chest, the way it had felt to be in his strong arms. As though she were something exquisitely special and fragile. He’d held her firmly enough to keep hold of her, gently enough that she wouldn’t break.

  It was him she wanted to touch again. Not just a random man—even if that man had given her a ring. Hassan still seemed random to her. A stranger. While Adham … she felt as if she was starting to know him. To care about him in spite of his hardened nature. Or maybe because of it.

  She wanted to reach him, to find out if there was anything soft behind the hardened wall he placed between himself and the world. She wanted to find the root of his scars—not only those he bore physically, but the ones that ran far beneath the surface of his skin. She wanted to soothe his pain.

  She looked at him again. The heat had been extinguished, his eyes now cool, flat and black. Perhaps she was imagining everything. The heat and the softness. Maybe he was all rock. But she didn’t really believe that.

  “Do you want to walk or drive?” he asked, pulling her coat from the peg and handing it to her, his fingers brushing hers. The sweet, unexpected contact giving her body a jolt.

  “Always walk. I love taking in the sights.”

  The evening air was crisp, and she enjoyed the bite of it on her skin—especially with Adham’s solid warmth so close to her. It was easy to pretend that it was a date.

  Now, dating she’d dreamed of—and often. She’d shut out thoughts of sex, because in a lot of ways it was too challenging, since she knew she would only ever experience it with one man—a man selected by her family for his status, not for any other reason. But dating.

  Just being with a man—the companionship, the romance. She’d thought about that so often late at night. Wondered what sort of man she would pick for herself. What it would be like to hold hands, to have her first kiss.

  Well, kissing accomplished—even if it hadn’t been anything like she’d imagined—but no hand-holding. That seemed a bit backward. But she was certain Adham wouldn’t be looking to remedy it.

  She forgot about hand-holding—well, she di
dn’t forget, but she shuffled it to one side—when she saw the cinema. It was everything she’d imagined, with neon lighting and brightly lit posters that reflected off the pools of rainwater on the sidewalks, adding a dim glow to the darkening streets.

  “Wow. It’s gorgeous,” she said, then felt embarrassed—because it was such a typical thing for most people, yet it was amazing to her in that moment.

  “You want to take a picture, don’t you?”

  “It’s only a movie theater, Adham,” she said pragmatically, arching her eyebrow.

  “Yes, but you still want a photo. Just like you needed to take a picture of your blue door.” He said it now as though he understood, and that made her heart ache with a need that frightened her. It was intangible, something she hardly understood, but so raw, so real, she thought she might double over with the intensity of it.

  She couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat as she pulled her camera from her purse and clicked off a dozen pictures of the posters, the lights, the curve of the architecture. She would always remember how she’d felt as she’d stood and looked at this theater. Every time she saw the photos she would remember. Adham’s warmth. His unexpected understanding. The pain in her chest.

  She looked at the screen on the camera, at the pictures she’d taken. He positioned himself behind her, studying the photos. His fingers bruised the tender hollow of her neck as he brushed her hair back. “You see beauty in so many places. So many things,” he said, his voice husky.

  Her heart thundered heavily in her chest. “Sometimes people miss beauty because it’s buried in everyday objects. But none of this exploration is everyday to me.”

  He laughed softly, his breath hot against her cheek. “There is certainly nothing everyday about you.”

  She turned to face him then, and she caught the barest hint of warmth in his expression before the hardened mask returned and he stepped away, his body tensing.

  “We should go in, or we’ll miss our showing,” he said, moving away from her and opening the door to the theater, allowing her to go in first.