"Kiss me properly," she ordered.
He obliged. In an instant, she was in his arms, pressed fully against him. One of his hands was at the small of her back, slipping under her pajama top, taking her shackled wrist with it. Her fingers felt the crisp hairs between his pecs.
He devoured her as if trying to suck the breath from her lungs. She did the same right back.
His magnificent lips went to her neck, licking and sucking her pulse points as if he knew every one by heart. The erotic sound of his mouth moving on her skin made her wet and ready.
"Max," he said, as if worshiping the word the way he was worshipping her body. "Hayati."
"What does that mean?" she whispered, despite gasping for breath. She recognized he ignored their bargain, and found she didn't care. She just wanted to savor his sweet words.
He stopped his attentions to her neck, which almost made her weep. He was on top of her now, his legs tangled in hers, his erection stabbing at her belly. He reared back to look down at her with heartbreaking honesty.
"It means 'my love.'" He drew a knuckle down her cheek in a sweet caress that made her shiver. "And it means 'my life.' They are the same to me. I'm dead without you, Max. I walk and I breathe, but I no longer feel, no longer care. I need you."
Aroused and terrified, her emotions rubbed raw by his, she barely had the power to speak. But his honesty deserved her own. "This is overwhelming. How can I believe it?"
"If it is hard for you, then put it from your mind and let me love you. Let me give you my body." He put his forehead to hers as he had after their last kiss. The gesture seemed even more intimate than his embrace. "Use me. You own me anyway. It makes no difference."
No man had ever spoken to her like this, his heart dripping out of his words. Perhaps that's why she'd never fallen for any of the men she'd dated. But Sayd was so different.
"My body pleased you once." His plain words went straight to her sex, making her clench. "Does it please you now? Do you want me, Max?"
"I think your insanity is catching," she said, grabbing a handful of hair to drag him down into a kiss.
He'd been right. He could take off her panties as well as anything else. In a fit of desire, he ripped open the pajama top, sending silver-colored buttons flying. She used both hands and feet to pull his silken bottoms off.
His skin felt amazing sliding against hers. He was all hard muscle, everywhere. God, she'd never felt anything like this, this hunger for him. Hunger. It was the only word for it. Like she'd been starving for ages and he was a buffet someone had put out for her.
Sayd might be crazy, but he knew how to turn her on. He licked her nipples, wetting them with his hot tongue just the way she'd always loved. When she thought the heavy ache deep inside her breasts would drive her over the edge, he massaged it away with masterful fingers.
She reached for his cock, desperate to feel the hard length of him, but he caught her left wrist in his right and drew it over her head. Her own right hand was still captured in the cuffs, and went along with it.
Sayd reared back and took a long look at her naked body.
So vulnerable. To a man she hadn't known yesterday. Her first one-night stand. She'd never done anything like this, and she definitely shouldn’t be doing it now. Embarrassment heated her skin. She pulled at her hand, trying to get back some control.
His grip was like a shackle. "Trying to escape me? It is too late for that now."
He, on the other hand, wasn't embarrassed at all. He raked her body with his eyes, lifted a breast in his free hand, toying with her. Her heart kicked into overdrive, thrumming like the engine of his motorcycle at being so exposed.
He could do anything he wanted now. And he was right, it was too late for her to protest. Except... she knew he would never hurt her. Something deep inside her told her that she could trust him. Maybe not to understand the line between fantasy and reality, but in this, at least. "You would stop if I told you to."
He paused, confirming everything she thought. He would stop if she asked. She knew it.
Then he lowered himself, resting his weight on her. His cock jabbed at her hip. He whispered in her ear, barely louder than a breath. "Tell me to stop. We will see what happens."
Her stomach clenched in anticipation. Either he'd seduce her no into a yes, or he'd actually stop. With her dry mouth, she couldn’t form words, so she shook her head.
That pleased him. Eyes bright with the thrill of domination, he drew his hand down her cheek and neck in a long caress. "Do you know what I’m going to do now?"
"No," she croaked, but the way his hand kept going down, caressing one nipple, blazing a fiery trail over her hip, she was starting to have an idea.
He didn't tease her, but buried his hand in her sex. He caressed inside with two fingers, stroking and filling her. And damn, just as she caught his rhythm and started moving against him, squeezing his hand with inner muscles, he flicked his thumb over her too-sensitive clit.
Her whole body shuddered. He growled in appreciation, as if he'd expected that reaction. Odd, since a full body quiver was new to her.
Soon, all thought was lost to her as sensation took over. Mindlessly, she locked her mouth on the nearest part of him, biting his shoulder blade while he stroked her into a frenzy.
And then just stopped.
"More," she demanded, nearly incoherent. She was on the edge. Why wouldn't he move his hand? "Now."
"Ask me," he said. "Ask me to—"
He used an Arabic word. She didn't have to know the language to know what he meant. "Yes, yes." She couldn’t get the words out fast enough. "Please fuck me. Do it now."
She just wanted to come, to release pressure he'd built inside her, and to share it with him. To feel his body against hers, for him to lose control inside her. Working together with their free and cuffed hands, they ripped open a condom package. She rolled it over his impressive length, wishing for time to linger on his cock, but not now. Later.
They fit together like they were designed for each other. She came the instant he was fully in her, her muscles clenching against the foreign hardness inside.
When the pleasure faded, he rocked inside her, urgent thrusts and soul-melting kisses. Somehow, through his lust for her body, he made her feel the kind of love she thought only existed in fairy tales. The sensation built in her again. As if he knew her body better than she did herself, he changed the angle of this thrusts and set off a second shower of sparks behind her eyelids.
When he announced his climax with one deep thrust and a heart-deep cry of her name, she felt she would never be the same.
Chapter Three
In his arms, Max dreamed of the gold sphere again. She knew it was precious, but no matter how hard she tried to keep it, she couldn't hold on. Over and over, the sphere slipped through her fingers like it was made of drifting sand.
When she woke, she found she had to wipe away tears.
Oh dear lord, what had she done? Beside her, in the bed, Sayd snored softly. Her logic came back to her, making her feel like smashing her brains out against the carved headboard. She'd made love to the crazy person. His insanity really was contagious.
Well, now she finally had the advantage over her sleeping captor. She stayed still, careful not to wake him. She scanned the room quickly for anything she could use.
His jacket hung over a desk chair, just out of reach. Except if she stretched out... Working quickly, she made herself as long as possible and managed to hook one leg of the chair with the tip of her toe.
Sayd stirred. She froze. He would wake. She knew it. He'd find her trying to escape and take it personally. Probably cuff her to the chair again instead of to his incredible body.
Didn't happen. He murmured something that might have been her name and fell back into slumber.
Heart pounding, she dragged the chair over. Inside pocket. That's where he'd kept the key to the cabin. And with any luck...
Yes. The handcuff key was there. Incredible.
He seemed like such a smart guy—but even the most intelligent person could overlook the obvious. Or maybe he was counting on their supposed relationship to keep her at his side.
Whatever. She unlocked the cuffs, slipped out of the bed and got her clothes on. If she could have cuffed him to something without risking waking him, she would have. But there was nothing. She was just going to have to learn how to drive a motorcycle on the quick, and hope to outrun him. Once she got back to civilization, she'd see that he got some help.
When she put on his jacket, the opposite inside pocket seemed heavy. A wallet, maybe? It didn't feel that bulky, though. More round and solid.
She shouldn't take the time. She should go. She should be on that bike right now.
She trembled as she dipped a hand into the pocket, as if she already knew what she'd find.
A heavy gold chain, designed for a man, trailed from her fingers as she drew them out. With a jangle, she pulled the medallion free from the pocket. The golden sphere swung in the darkness of the room.
All thought of escape fled her mind. It didn't matter. She was asleep, returned to her dream. The ghostly feeling of the endless dunes flowed over her and she stepped toward the window. She pulled back the curtains to let the moon shine on the sphere.
This time, when she took it in her hand, the medallion didn't melt away. She held its solid weight, burning to know its mystery. The moonlight showed her a seam down its center. Twisting the two halves separated them to reveal the treasure within.
A round of silver paper the shape of a nickel, but thicker and lighter. Unable to think, she pushed the folds of paper open to see what it contained, though in her heart, she already knew.
A translucent beige circle with a hole in the middle. A Butter Rum Life Saver.
She went numb. With her legs threatening to give way, she reached out to brace herself on the wall. She wasn't even surprised when Sayd put his arms around her to hold her up.
"Sally," she said to the Life Saver. "They called him Sally. They said it was because he was like a little girl. That's like Sayd."
"Hayati," he whispered, and kissed her ear.
"What does this mean?" Her voice came out hoarse. She couldn't drag her eyes from the candy. "What does it mean?"
"You know what it means, Max. Somewhere in your mind, in your memory that they have locked away, you know." His voice was tender. His meaning was terrifying.
"The Crimson Hand had deposed my father for his liberal reforms. They wanted a return to the old ways. He sent my mother and I to Newark, to stay with business partners in the U.S. who supported his efforts to modernize. I was six years old." Raw emotion tinged his words, threatened to crack his control. "I tried to forget those dark times in my life, but your kindness to me glowed like a star in a moonless night. I could never forget you. Not for eighteen years."
Could it be true? That she was Sayd's wife? That everything he said was real and everything she remembered wrong?
She stared down at her palm, at the candy cradled there, until a glowing red dot appeared. That didn't seem... right. She blinked at the scarlet circle, trying to make it make sense.
"Max, down," Sayd screamed, and dove the floor with her just as the bedroom window exploded into a thousand pieces with a deafening shatter.
"Dammit," he swore, when the shards had stopped falling. "That was meant to be bulletproof."
"The Crimson Hand," she said, weakly. It seemed too late to start believing, and to worry about things like keeping curtains closed. Then she saw the red stain spreading on his shirt. "Sayd, you're hurt."
"I don't—" He looked down at himself, at the wound under his rib. "Oh, this is nothing."
It wasn't nothing. There was a hole in him. In this man who might be more than just a man to her, as incredible as it seemed. But there was no time to think about that. Things started exploding around the room. Half a dozen more red dots appeared—the laser sights of rifles. The lamp by the bed burst and tumbled to the floor. The pillow where her head had just been sent a frenzy of feathers into the air. Three holes appeared in the headboard.
In the silence between the shots, she heard a hissing. It came from Sayd's wound. His face had gone ashen. She pulled him off the floor, keeping his head below the window frame. She managed to prop him against the wall.
"Your lung is deflating," she said, that First Aid course from college kicking in. She grabbed his tee shirt from the floor and pressed it to his wound
"I have another." The blood on his lips wrecked his joke. His eyes began to close.
"No. Sayd." She put her hand to one of his cheeks. "Tell me where your phone is."
He grunted, beginning to slump to one side.
She pressed his hand to the wadded tee shirt, now seeping crimson. Desperately, she cupped his jaw between her hands and forced him to look at her. She touched his forehead with her own in the gesture that had seemed far too intimate earlier that night. Had they done this a thousand times before? Would they ever get to again?
"Sayd." She softened her voice, forced a calm she didn't feel with the bullets flying. "It's your hayati. I need to use your phone. Where is it?"
He raised a weak finger to the bed stand, on his side where he had slept. Right in the line of fire.
Using the leather jacket to cover the glass, she inched across the floor on her hands and knees, aware that every second lost could cost Sayd his life. But he would also die if she didn't make that call—and he'd better have a security number programmed in.
After what seemed like a painful eternity, she lifted the phone from the drawer and moved her thumb over the unlock slider, only to face a password screen.
"Max," Sayd called, his voice weak. "Get under the bed."
Good plan. She crawled under. "What's your password?"
He didn't answer.
Fingers trembling, she typed in desperation.
Maxine. No.
Hayati. No.
One more chance before it locked her out.
Rosalie, she typed. The middle name she hated, never told anyone. That he had once used.
Welcome, said the screen.
She selected the number labeled "Security." The man on the other end answered in Arabic. She screamed curses at him for his clear incompetence, and said the word "cabin" over and over.
She swore into the phone as she crawled to Sayd's side. He was unconscious now. Laying him on the floor, she breathed into his opened mouth and prayed.
Five minutes later, she heard a helicopter land nearby.
***
Sayd was on a stretcher. Three Crimson Hand assassins were in body bags. Burly men in camouflage scrambled around the yard. She sensed, but never saw, many more of them in the woods.
Sayd was stable, with an oxygen tube under his nose. They were loading him into the helicopter. They were trying to load her into a car.
Guess what wasn't going to happen? But she had to be sneaky. "Let me say goodbye to him," she pleaded.
The biggest bodyguard in her way—probably the one she'd cussed out on Sayd's phone—nodded. "As you wish, Princess, but after what you have endured, you must not go with him."
She nodded and tried to look suitably sad as she sprinted to the helicopter.
Sayd, the man who just might be her husband, looked up at her with shining grey eyes. He opened his mouth, but his voice didn't even squeak out.
"I know," she said to him, over the noise of the chopper blades. "I'm a terrible liar."
He smiled with bloodless lips and shifted his hand an inch closer to her. She grabbed the open handcuff that would shackle her to him and slammed it around her wrist.
"Tough titties." She glared at the bodyguard. "I'm going with him."
Epilogue
A week later, Max stood with Sayd on the balcony of the palace of Ramadi for the first time. Or maybe the ten thousandth. She didn't know. But she was beginning to accept.
After Sayd was out of danger, she'd spoken to her parents and her sister.
They'd all shown her wedding photos. There were invitations. News stories. YouTube clips.
In the palace, she saw a room filled with her own stuff, including the quilt her grandma had made so long ago. The people of Ramadi had waved to her in the streets as if they knew her. The whole country had thrilled to the news that the leaders of the Crimson Hand had been arrested in the U.S. After being a threat for so long, they couldn't hurt anyone now.
She still remembered none of the last two years. Not the first time she'd made love with Sayd, not their wedding, not anything about their daily lives—which seemed the saddest part, the little every day moments erased from her brain.
They could only guess that the Crimson Hand had kidnapped her and intended some more elaborate scheme, but she'd escaped before they could implement it. With her brain missing two years, her subconscious had coped by starting where she left off. She'd gone back to the Dominican to reboot the machine.
The doctors, and there were a lot of them, shook their heads at her. They explained that there was no injury, no residual drugs in her system. They could do nothing short of opening up her skull to have a look, and Sayd wouldn't permit that. Her memory loss could end tomorrow or endure forever.
Throughout all of it, Sayd had held her hands. Even when he wasn't shackled to them.
He held them now, entwining his strong, dark fingers with hers, lending her his strength as he stood at her back. Together, they looked over the capital city with its mix of steel office towers and its mud brick homes. A warm wind swirled with the scents of exotic spices.
Another doctor had just told them there was nothing she could do.
"What if I never get it back, Sayd? Two years of our lives. Just gone."
He tightened his embrace. "It's not so very bad. I'll have the pleasure of making you fall in love with me all over again."
She sighed. "I'm halfway there already."
His scowl was instant. "Halfway? Three-quarters at least."
Handcuffed to the Sheikh (Hot Contemporary Romance Novella) Page 4