“Their way of life is unique,” he agreed.
“What did you decide with Laith?”
Malik expelled a long breath. “He is going to permit Saliyah to leave.” His smile was grim. “With his blessing, and that of the tribe. But privately, he is going to beg her to return when she has completed her studies.”
Sophia tilted her head. “Do you think she will?”
Malik was quiet on that score. He had his doubts. “I hope so.”
Sophia tilted her head in agreement, then turned away from him a moment. When she spoke, he could hear her courtesy of the headsets they both wore. “I met an interesting woman today. Fatima.”
“Ah. The tribe’s naraan. Their Seer.”
“Yes, she told me.” Sophia cleared her throat. She seemed hesitant – unusual for her. “Do you believe in that stuff?”
“Yes.”
Her surprise was obvious.
“But it’s kind of voodoo, don’t you think?”
“I think not knowing how something works doesn’t invalidate it,” he corrected.
“So if you were unwell, would you go to her?”
He leaned back in his seat, focusing straight ahead. “When Laith’s grandson was four years old, he became very tired. It happened fast. Within weeks. At first they thought it was a fever. Or that he’d eaten something which did not agree with him. But Fatima knew. From the start, she said something was different in his blood; it had changed its rhythm. It felt thick and discordant with his body.”
Sophia’s heart turned over. “And?”
“He had leukemia.” Malik turned to face Sophia. “Laith sent him to the city for treatment and he is now a healthy eight year old.”
“I met him today,” Sophia murmured softly, something like excitement in her voice.
“I have no idea how it works, but yes, Sophia, I believe Fatima’s family has this ability, much like some people can divine the source of water, far beneath the surface. It is one of the many things I seek to protect, when I talk about preserving this way of life.”
But Sophia no longer seemed to be listening.
Chapter 12
“I HAVE A MEETING,” he said, as the helicopter came over the palace. “Hereth messaged while we were out there. I’ll be a while.”
Sophia nodded, but she was distracted. All she could think about was Fatima, and her insistence that Sophia was pregnant.
But Malik was intent. He reached across, putting a hand on Sophia’s knee. “You will move to my room.”
The words were spoken as an order, but she felt the hint of a question there. The helicopter dropped lower, closer to the palace. Dusk was drawing in. The sight was incredible.
“Sophia?”
She hadn’t planned to keep her own rooms once they were married. It had just happened that way.
She opened her mouth to agree, but he spoke first.
“I will have your rooms locked up if you do not say ‘yes’,” he muttered, and she jerked her eyes to his. She should have been annoyed, but she wasn’t. He was half-joking, but she heard the madness in his voice, the sound of desperation and her heart turned over. He wanted her with him.
But just in his bed?
Probably.
She didn’t know how she felt about that – not good. And yet, his desperate, aching need filled her with a fierce glow of possession.
“That won’t be necessary, your highness,” she murmured.
Victory flashed in the depths of his eyes.
“I’ll be late. But you’ll be there?”
It was a simple question yes it didn’t feel so completely simple to answer. She nodded, slowly, and it was like she was sealing her fate in some vital way – more so than when they’d said their vows.
The helicopter touched down and the rotor blades began to slow.
He leaned forward, to get a better view through the window. His aids were approaching. Some other urgent matter apparently called him.
He turned to her and lifted off the headset, his palm brushing her cheek for a brief moment, sending goose bumps down her spine. It was an accidental touch. He removed his own headset but then looked at her, his eyes boring directly into hers.
“I didn’t want your help, Sophia. I resented your offer. But your counsel, in the desert, was… it was what I needed to hear.” A muscle jerked in his jaw and he looked away for a moment, giving her stunned heart a moment to recover. “You said exactly what Addan would have said, had he lived.”
She swallowed, her eyes unconsciously reflecting the complexity of that compliment. “We spoke often. I suppose much of my opinion is informed by him.”
Malik’s smile was grim. “Undoubtedly.”
The door was opened and Malik stepped out of the helicopter, waiting with a hand held up for her. She sucked in a fortifying breath, her emotions tumbling all over themselves, and then she moved. She put her hand in his, and a bolt of electricity slammed up her sides. She jerked her eyes to his; had he felt it?
It was impossible to tell.
He was the exalted ruler Sheikh Malik bin Hazari again, the man who’d just thanked her for her advice nowhere in evidence. He waited for her, walking beside her to the palace, but his attention was held by Minister Hereth as he went, and as they swept inside, he paused for the briefest of moments to fix her with an intent look.
“Tonight,” he said, scanning her face, as though she might have changed her mind between the helicopter arrival and now.
She nodded.
He spun on his heel and moved down the corridor, the robes he’d worn in the desert flying behind him, loose and spectacular. Surrounded by other men, she couldn’t help but see how different he was. How much bigger, stronger, how much more regal and masculine.
He was spectacular.
She stood there, staring at him, for several long moments, until he reached the end of the corridor and turned from view.
It was only then that she realized her heart was racing.
She ate alone and picked up a book – one of her favourites. She’d lost count of how many times she’d read it – The Republic, by Plato. She turned to the frontispiece and read the inscription from Addan.
‘The beginning is the most important part of the work.’ And now is our beginning.
Rex.
She ran her finger over his bold, confident writing and swept her eyes shut. He’d given it to her for her seventeenth birthday.
God, she’d been such a child! It had been the night he’d told her of their parents’ wishes, the night he’d asked if she would like to take up her place at his side, as his Sheikha. They’d dined with his family afterwards, and Malik had gone to no effort to hide his disapproval of the betrothal. He’d left almost as soon as dinner was finished, and not come back for months.
Looking back, their betrothal was as unromantic and business-like as it got – and that befit what they were to one another. Dear, dear friends. Their engagement had been sensible. Reasonable. Measured.
Everything about her friendship with Addan had been smooth seas for as far as the eye could see. They’d never argued. Never. There’d been no passion between them. Had she thought it would grow? Or did she not care that it was absent?
It was so hard to know now.
Certainly, she’d loved him. Oh, she’d loved him with all of herself, but not in the way a woman loved her husband.
She swallowed, her mind pulling her toward Malik, her pulse picking up, racing harder, faster. There were a thousand words she could use to describe what she felt for Malik, but not one of them fit perfectly. It wasn’t easy and smooth sailing as it had been with Addan. It was the exact opposite. She lusted after him, absolutely. She desired him, completely. But it was more complex than that.
She… craved him. Not just his body. His presence. When he was with her, looking at her, talking to her, when they were in the same room together, she felt like she was vibrating on a wholly new frequency.
She felt… everything.
> Her stomach swooped like she’d dived out of an airplane, and she blinked her eyes shut, trying to bring order to her chaotic thoughts.
She didn’t love her husband. She couldn’t. They were so different. He was nothing like Addan, and she had loved Addan, yet it hadn’t been like this. Not even a little. She couldn’t begin to compare the way she felt for the two brothers.
Unconsciously, her hand curved over her stomach and she wondered at what Fatima had felt there. Was it possible there was a child growing inside of her?
She’d been dubious, but something felt different.
And the idea of having Malik’s baby made her heart soar. She smiled unconsciously, her head spinning, her eyes wandering to the watch she wore, checking the time frequently.
She turned the first page with exasperation, needing a distraction, and read the opening, her mind absorbing the words even as all of her was attuned to the palace and its sounds. An hour or so later, she stood, moving to the balcony, bringing the book with her. The night was dark and still, no hint of the desert breezes to bring relief. She stared up at the constellations, stars that were so different to what she’d grown up with, stars that were shimmering and beautiful, with their pulsing lights against the ink black of the night sky.
She breathed in, and ran her hand over her stomach again.
What had Fatima said? Something about the continuity of things, and this baby would indeed be that. Their loved ones were out there, up in heaven, looking down on them, and through this baby, they’d be brought back to life in some way.
Whenever she and Malik had a baby, even if she weren’t pregnant now, that baby would grow up hearing stories of his uncle Addan, his grandfathers, all the people who would have loved that baby to bits and who weren’t here to do so.
She continued reading, her eyes growing heavy as she reached the halfway point of the book.
She stood, making a cup of spice tea, and taking it to the bed. She lay down, reading, sipping tea, and within a few minutes her eyes grew heavier still and she fell asleep, the book open on the pillow beside her.
It was the soonest he could get away. He worked through the afternoon and evening, eating amashyr for dinner, something simple he could manage with his hands alone, dealing with the matters that had arisen in his absence. And finally, a minute before midnight, he closed his laptop, pushed back from his desk and addressed the staff who were working around him.
“That’s enough for now. Go. We can resume in the morning.”
And he’d walked out without waiting for a response.
As he neared his suite of rooms, he felt like a spring was coiling tighter and tighter inside of him. Only a few paces from the enormous doors that heralded the entrance to his room, he understood why.
Despite what she’d said, he had no idea, he couldn’t have known with any certainty that he’d find her sitting there waiting for him, or not.
And if she wasn’t?
He braced himself on the exterior to his apartment, uncaring – barely noticing – the guards who stood sentinel on either side.
If she wasn’t?
An image came to him out of nowhere, of him going into her room, lifting her sleeping body over his shoulder and carrying her to his room. Of having her suite locked up for good.
A muscle jerked in his cheek because he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was capable of such an act. He knew that his need to have her within reach every night was primal and physical and absolute, and that he would do just about anything to achieve it.
But the part of him that wasn’t a beast, that wasn’t an animal acting on instincts, the part of him that was educated and had at least a degree of civility, knew forcing her into his suite of rooms wasn’t the answer. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – do that.
Not to any woman, but especially not to the woman who – were it not for a twist of fate – would have been married to his brother.
He stifled a groan and pushed the doors open impatiently, sweeping into his rooms and looking around. Darkness surrounded him, but there was the hint of a glow coming from his bedroom.
Hope surged in his chest. He strode through, the tension in his body growing with every step.
He paused inside the door jamb, and simply stared.
She was beautiful – always beautiful. But asleep like this, she looked so young and so fragile. Awake, she was feisty, combative, sweet, smart – she was so vibrant. But asleep?
Something pulled inside of him.
Something dark.
Something that troubled him.
Something that reminded him of that night he’d taken his stallion and run, fast, to the caves near the Oasis of Manama. A doubt, an uncertainty, and an ache.
He looked at her and remembered her as she’d been then. Remembered how he’d felt when he’d first seen her.
And he remembered every reason he’d had for keeping her at a distance all these years.
He circumnavigated the bed, moving to his side, picking up the book she’d been reading absentmindedly, and smiling to himself when he saw what it was.
The Republic had been one of his favourites. As a child, their mother had read it to them, both Malik and Addan adoring the wisdom, feeling its relevance and insight. Her own cover was well-worn, as though she read it often.
He turned to the front page, and saw the hint of scribble through it.
At his brother’s familiar hand, he stilled.
Addan.
Addan had given this book to her.
It was yet another thing she shared with his brother – because she was his. She always would be. She was an inherited bride, a borrowed wife.
She wanted them to be ‘friends’, but that had never been enough for him.
With a sinking heart, he moved towards the bathroom, stripping naked and starting the shower running.
He stood under the water for a long time, his mind working double-time, trying to make sense of the fact that he was married to the woman who had been hand-picked to marry his brother.
Trying to make sense of any of it – and failing.
She reached for him on autopilot, somewhere in the very middle hours of the night, when dawn was still a long way off and the night’s magic was at its thickest. She reached for him from the depths of her sleep, her hands finding his chest, running over his muscles, her fingers seeking every ridge and curve, her palms flat against his muscular abdomen. Lower, to the curve of his rear.
“Sophia,” he murmured, low and throaty, his eyes firing open, pinning her with the strength of their inquisition.
She didn’t say anything, at first. She pushed up, straddling him, her long hair falling over her shoulders in curtains. “You didn’t wake me,” she said quietly, dropping her mouth, kissing him, tasting him.
He groaned. “No.”
She reached for the hem of her nightgown and lifted it, casting it across the room, and he sat up, bringing his mouth to her breasts, flicking her nipples with his tongue until she was incandescent with desire.
“Please,” she groaned, lifting up so his hands could slip inside the elastic of her underpants and push them down. She stepped out of them, bringing her body back over his, craving him, needing him, every ounce of her aching for him. She took him deep inside, and he thrust his hips, so she arched her back, her body falling apart, desire like a firework in her gut.
She dug her nails into his shoulder and he pulled up, kissing her again, kissing her breasts, her mouth, her throat, sucking on her flesh and gripping her hips so hard and with all the desperation he felt – that was deep inside her too.
Their explosion was quick and simultaneous. Holding one another tight, they tipped over the edge, with the evening’s magic thick around them, the heat of the day nothing compared to the fire they generated.
Her breathing was raspy, her skin covered in perspiration, her heart racing. She looked down at him, and her heart skipped a beat. Because there was something in his expression she hadn’t expected.
Something she couldn’t make sense of, that filled her with a sense of apprehension.
It was compounded when he shifted his weight, gently tumbling her onto the bed beside him. He pulled the cotton sheet up, laying it gently over her shoulders.
“Go to sleep, Sheikha.”
Dawn yoked slowly over the desert, passing gold and violet hues over the palace. She looked out at it, her eyes watching the changes in colour, the gradual bringing of light, and she thought of his tattoo. She thought of the idea behind it, of light coming after dark. That even the worst storms lead to a clearing, eventually.
But when you were in the middle of a storm, how could you find the light?
She rolled over gently; he was facing her, his eyes shut.
She stared at him, her heart beating faster, harder, and she knew where the light was. She knew where it had always been.
Love.
She loved him.
Her breath caught in her throat as she turned that idea over, and it was like every single piece of a puzzle was clicking instantly into place. She felt it with a visceral, absolute truth.
She loved him.
He was her husband, and circumstance alone had led to their marriage. She’d never expected to feel anything for him but desire – a desire she’d become adept at concealing. She hadn’t expected to find him captivating and enchanting and enigmatic. She hadn’t expected to hear the struggles he dealt with and to want to reach out and wrest those troubles from his shoulders. She hadn’t expected to want to sleep with him and wake up with him, to be with him, always.
She reached out, a smile on her lips as she pressed a finger to his nose. He lifted his hand, swatting hers away, before opening his eyes with confusion. Confusion gave way to something else. A smile hinted at his lips before it was flattened.
“Sophia.”
“Uh huh.”
Silence. But a silence that crackled with words not spoken. And suddenly, her conversation with Fatima sat inside her like a butterfly’s chrysalis on the day of emergence. She felt it weakening and giving way and she bit down on her lip, to hold it steady for a moment or two, and then, she cleared her throat. His eyes latched to hers.
Billionaire Brides: An Anthology Page 14