Lost to the Desert Warrior

by Sarah Morgan

  There were so many issues demanding his attention, but the only thing on his mind was Layla.

  He’d felt nothing but contempt for her family for so long that when she’d arrived in his camp and offered herself to him he’d treated her proposal with suspicion. Even when it had become clear to him that her life had been very different from the one he’d imagined for her, his feelings towards her hadn’t warmed.

  But now?

  The scent of her clung to his skin and her soft gasps echoed around his head, refusing to be silenced by his own vicious conflict.

  As if sensing his tension, the horse under him stamped impatiently. Raz soothed him gently with his hands and his voice until Raja calmed and stood still.

  He had a sudden vision of Layla smuggling the Kama Sutra from her father’s library before leaving the only home she’d ever known. He thought of her climbing onto a horse, even though she didn’t ride, and then going in search of him even though she knew exactly how he felt about her family.

  And then he thought about her standing still and straight next to him, speaking her vows in the hope that the union would ensure the safety of her sister, and writhing under his hands as he’d shown her what her body could do.

  The thought of it sent heat rushing through him and he cursed softly.

  He told himself that respect and powerful sexual chemistry didn’t change the fact he wasn’t ready to feel anything for another woman. Nor did it change the fact that he didn’t want her feeling anything for him.

  Nothing changed the fact that this marriage politically motivated.

  Was she all she seemed to be, or was she a clever opportunist who had the sense to change sides for her own protection?

  His suspicions were deep-set, rooted in a lifetime of bitter feud.

  So why did the knowledge that he’d hurt her rub at his nerves like sand wedged in his boot?

  Staring at the sunrise, he told himself it was a good thing.

  He told himself that anger was a thousand times safer than those softer emotions that could fell a man faster than a samurai sword.

  ‘Your Highness.’

  It was Abdul, never far from his side and as much a father to him as his own had been.

  ‘You should not be out here alone.’

  ‘I don’t appear to be alone.’

  Ignoring the irony in his voice, Abdul touched his arm. ‘This is hard for you, but you did the right thing marrying her.’

  ‘Did I?’ He heard the harshness in his own voice and winced, because he wasn’t in the habit of revealing his weaknesses to those around him. ‘We need to keep an eye on Nadia.’

  ‘Yes. I can imagine she is very upset. But no doubt Her Highness will deal with that sensitively. She seems like a very sensible young woman.’

  Sensible? Raz could have agreed with him, but he knew it wasn’t her logic or her ordered thought-processes that teased and tormented his brain.

  It was something far more intimate and a thousand times more dangerous.

  * * *

  Layla awoke slowly, aware of the sounds of animals, the laughter of children, the hum of voices. None of them belonged to Raz.

  The side of the bed where he would have slept was cold, the pillow smooth and untouched.

  Her body ached from her night with him, making it impossible to blot it out or forget.

  He’d come to her in darkness and then he’d walked away.

  Had he known how his touch had made her feel?

  Of course he had. His expertise had never been in question. From the first touch to the last, he’d known exactly what he was doing to her.

  Layla rolled onto her back and stared up at the roof of the tent.

  But as for the rest of it—as for how she felt inside and in her head...

  How could he understand that when she didn’t understand it herself?

  She’d thought she knew herself very well but it turned out she didn’t know herself at all, because she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling like that.

  Sheltered by the silk sheets, she slid her hand over her breasts, still tender from the touch of his mouth and the roughness of his jaw. He’d touched her there and then he’d—

  ‘Your Highness?’ Nadia stood in the entrance to the tent, her expression frozen as she saw the clothes piled on the floor. ‘I have instructions to help you dress and fetch you anything you need.’

  What did she need?

  Layla had no idea. She felt like a jigsaw someone had dropped. She had no idea how to fit the pieces back together because she no longer recognised the picture. And she had no idea how to make peace with Nadia. It didn’t feel good to watch the other woman’s pain and know she was somehow the cause.

  It was the first time they’d seen each other since the incident in the pool, but Layla decided that Raz had already said whatever needed to be said so didn’t raise the topic.

  ‘There is nothing I need, thank you.’ She watched as Nadia moved around the tent, placing food on the rug and laying out fresh clothes. She wanted to ask where Raz was, but didn’t want to reveal how much she minded his absence— especially not to this girl, who clearly resented Layla’s presence and wished she were anywhere but there.

  Layla wondered again if she were in love with Raz herself. Was that the reason for the rigid expression and the fact she didn’t meet her eyes? Or was it because of who Layla was?

  In the end concern for him overruled pride.

  ‘Have you seen His Highness?’

  Nadia paused in the entrance of the tent. ‘The rumour is that he has gone to find Hassan and talk to him. If he is killed it will be your fault.’

  The girl blurted out the words and then left the tent, leaving Layla alone with nothing but her conscience to keep her company.

  The news that he’d gone to find Hassan disturbed her—not because she underestimated Raz’s strength, but because she knew just how duplicitous Hassan could be. He was neither honest nor honourable, and she knew better than most that he was at his most dangerous when he was cornered.

  Should she have voiced her suspicions to Raz?

  Weighed down by her worry, the hours dragged past. Without access to the library Layla had nothing to distract her from her thoughts, no hope of reaching a state of relaxation. She would have loved to talk to someone but no one came near her. Even Nadia stayed away, and Layla realised that when she’d suggested this marriage she’d given no consideration to how others would feel about it.

  Did they all think she’d put Raz at risk?

  What if Nadia was right and by coming to him she’d created trouble?

  What if Hassan found them here?

  It felt like the longest day of her life, and she spent most of it alone, sitting by the oasis, aware of the unfamiliar soreness and aching in her body.

  Several times she heard children laughing and the sound reminded her so much of her sister that a lump wedged itself in her throat. Where was she? Had Salem found her? Was she in trouble? Dead?

  If Hassan had found her before Salem then the chances were she was already in America.

  As darkness fell the noise of chatter faded, leaving only the sounds of the desert at night.

  Layla lay still on the bed, staring at the single candle that had been lit for her, so tense she could hear her own breathing in the silence of the tent.

  Would he come?

  Would it be like the night before?

  The question swirled around in her head until eventually she fell asleep. When she woke it was light, his side of the bed was still cold, and she had her answer.

  He hadn’t come.

  She was still alone in the bed and she had no idea if Raz had even returned.

  Seriously concerned, she swallowed her pride and sought out Nadia o
nce more.

  ‘I do not know where he is, Your Highness.’ Her voice was frosty and hovered on the edge of rude. ‘He never reveals his plans. And now he’s brought you here the risk to him personally will be even greater.’

  With no hard evidence with which to refute that challenge, Layla bowed out of the conversation. Guilt gnawed at her, driven by anxiety that Nadia could be right. Had she increased his problems? Had she made things worse, not better?

  Or did his unexplained absence have nothing to do with Hassan?

  What if it were driven by something even more personal?

  Something to do with the night they’d spent together.

  Was he thinking of his wife?

  Layla spent a second day alone, with only her imagination for company, and was beginning another night the same way when she heard the sound of horses and knew it was him.

  The rush of relief was quickly followed by other, more complex feelings.

  All day she’d wanted to see him, but now he was here she wished she were on her own again. She had no idea what to say or what to do. She was hardly in a position to play the role of concerned wife, but still she was concerned.

  Embarrassed, uncomfortable, and burning hot at the thought of the night before them, Layla sat rigid, wishing that there was a rulebook she could follow, an instruction manual—anything that might give her clues about how she was supposed to behave.

  She heard his voice, deep and instantly recognizable, as he responded to people around him, but still he didn’t appear in the tent. It seemed he had time for everyone except her. Or maybe he was once again waiting for darkness. Maybe he just couldn’t face looking at her.

  As that explanation occurred to her embarrassment turned to humiliation.

  Everyone would know the Sheikh had stayed away from his new bride.

  That indisputable fact was a stark reminder that physical intimacy didn’t mean emotional intimacy.

  Curled up in a ball under the covers, Layla felt more alone than she ever had in her life.

  At least back in the Citadel she’d had Yasmin. Her life had been wretched, but familiar. She’d known the rules, known what was expected of her and been able to rationalise every one of her thoughts and feelings.

  Here, she was totally isolated, living with a man who apparently loathed her so deeply he couldn’t bear to set eyes on her, tormented by emotions and feelings that were totally unfamiliar.

  She heard a splash from nearby and assumed he’d gone for a swim in the oasis.

  The fact that he hadn’t even greeted her first upset her more than she could rationalise. She shouldn’t care, should she? She wasn’t allowed to care.

  Layla hesitated for a moment, but then slid quietly out of the bed and peeped through the slit in the tent. It was dark, but without the pollution of the city there was sufficient light for her to make out powerful shoulders as he swam.

  She stared at those bare, powerful shoulders, fascinated and shocked in equal amounts. If anyone had told her days ago she’d be hiding in a tent in the hope of getting a glimpse of a naked man she would have laughed at them. But this wasn’t any naked man, of course. This was Raz. And because he’d blown out the candles she had yet to see his body.

  And she couldn’t really see it now—just the occasional tantalising hint of male muscle and power as he swam with smooth, steady movements.

  He reached the far side of the pool and turned. Layla shot back into bed, terrified of being caught.

  By the time he walked into the tent she was safely under the covers with her eyes closed.

  She heard his soft tread, then silence, and she knew he was looking at her although surely the lack of light would restrict his vision.

  Feeling as if someone had set fire to her, Layla kept her eyes closed and tried to breathe evenly. She stayed completely still. Even when the mattress moved under his weight she didn’t move.

  She lay rigid, churned up inside by his reappearance, shocked that he’d stayed away for two days and then not even greeted her on his return, and shocked that such an action on his part could hurt so badly.

  ‘A tip for the future. No one is that tense when they sleep.’

  His voice was deep and soft and she turned, giving up the pretence. What was the point?

  She saw that he had lit a single candle. Not much, but enough to send a golden shadow of light across the bed. Enough for her to see his face.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  Shock flared in his eyes. ‘I’m not in the habit of disclosing my plans to anyone—least of all to a woman I met for the first time only three days ago.’

  She wanted to point out that it might only have been three days but that he knew her more intimately than anyone, had revealed a part of her she hadn’t even known existed, but she realised there were dark depths to him she hadn’t begun to uncover.

  ‘Has there been any news of my sister?’

  His gaze was shuttered. ‘None.’

  Just one word but it made her feel sick, and suddenly all the daydreams were blown out of her head and replaced by stark reality. ‘That’s bad, isn’t it? We should have heard something.’

  ‘If she is alive then Salem will find her.’

  ‘If?’

  ‘Do you want false hope? Because I won’t give you that. Lies destroy trust and create nothing but confusion. But until we have evidence that something has happened to her I urge you to stay positive. We have to hope she will have found a way to survive.’

  ‘How? Neither of us spent any time in the desert when we were growing up.’

  ‘And yet Tazkhan is ninety-eight percent desert. How can you serve a country when you are ignorant of the life its people lead?’

  Thrown off balance by that unexpected attack, Layla sat up, clutching the silk sheet to her neck as she rose to her own defence. ‘That is an unfair accusation. You know nothing of the life my sister and I led.’

  ‘You were in a position of power and lived a life of luxury. There must have been something you could have done.’

  Luxury? ‘There was, and I did it. I came to you.’

  Cold black eyes met hers. ‘I am supposed to believe that was an altruistic act on your part? How do I know you didn’t just have the sense to move to the winning side?’

  It was like being slapped.

  ‘If you believe that, why did you marry me?’

  ‘Because your motivation has no impact on my decision. I am doing what is best for Tazkhan. My personal wishes have no part in this.’

  ‘So when we were in bed you had to force yourself to do those things to me?’

  His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. Two streaks of colour highlighted the hard, savage lines of his cheekbones. ‘For a virgin whose first glimpse of a naked man was from behind a curtain, you suddenly have a great deal to say for yourself.’

  She had the distinct impression that he was trying to pick a fight, and suspected she knew why. It was logical, wasn’t it?

  ‘You’re angry,’ she said softly, banking down her own feelings to try and understand his. ‘You feel guilty and it’s making you angry.’

  ‘You know nothing about my feelings, Princess.’

  ‘And you know nothing about my feelings, either. I may be inexperienced, and I admit I’m shy, but don’t ever assume you know what my life has been. The reason my sister and I have no knowledge of the desert is not because we weren’t interested but because we were unable to leave the city walls.’

  ‘Did you ever try?’

  Her heart was pounding. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  Her mouth was dry. The sudden emergence of a memory she’d squashed down brought sweat to her palms. ‘There are some aspects of our past neither one of us wishes to revisit. I think we should both
accept that and move on.’ Her desperate statement earned her a long, questioning look.

  ‘If your sister is in the desert then Salem will find her.’

  He blew out the candle, there was a rustle of clothing as he undressed, and then he joined her in the bed.

  Rigid with discomfort, heart pounding, Layla shot to the furthest end of the bed and lay still, hardly daring to breathe in case breathing brought her into contact with him. ‘You think I came here to guarantee the continuation of some glittering lifestyle you’ve imagined for me and yet, feeling that way, you still want to share the bed with me?’

  ‘We’re married.’

  ‘But you don’t trust me.’

  ‘Sharing a bed doesn’t require trust, Princess.’ Reaching for her in the darkness, he hauled her against him. ‘It simply requires sexual chemistry, and fortunately we have plenty of that.’

  Layla wondered if he could feel her shivering. Wondered if he could feel the heat of her skin and the rapid beat of her heart.

  She wanted to ask why he had to blow out the candle before he shared a bed with her, but before she could form words his mouth slanted over hers and his hand slid into her hair. As a concession to the desert heat and the sand she’d tied it back, but he freed it instantly and it tumbled down over her shoulders.

  She felt his hand, warm and strong against her bare back, as he pressed her down onto the soft mattress and shifted her underneath him. She felt the weight of him, the strength and the power. Felt his lips move over hers in a kiss that created an instant response. It started deep inside her and then exploded outwards.

  Intense excitement shimmered over layers of despair.

  Was this how their relationship was going to be?

  Days where they saw nothing of each other and nights spent in the dark?

  Intimate strangers?

  She wondered how his kiss could make her melt when her emotions weren’t involved and tried to control her response to him, but her nerve-endings were already on fire and the erotic skill of his mouth left her with no choice but to kiss him back.

  His mouth closed over her nipple and Layla moaned. Just like before, he used all his skill and knowledge to drive her crazy, until she was hot and desperate. The only difference was that this time she knew. This time she knew what was to come. And when he surged into her with sure, deep strokes she climaxed instantly, and again and then again, while he possessed and controlled her totally.