by Heidi Rice
She had no idea how much of the myth was true. And she’d never given a lot of thought to the devastating effect a trauma like that might have, because the legend of Prince Kasim’s survival and battles to lead the Kholadi had been just that, a legend. A fairy-tale. A myth.
But the myth now seemed as real and raw as this man’s scars. Of course, his relationship with his brother would be strained, after being rejected so cruelly by their father.
He might seem strong and invincible, but he could be hurt, just like anyone else.
The wave of compassion washed over her as she took in the torn flesh on his upper arm from the injury she’d caused.
‘I should re-bandage your arm,’ she said, the guilt choking her. But as she went to touch him, his hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist.
‘There is no need,’ he said.
‘But what if it starts to bleed again?’ she said, tears of shame stinging her eyes.
Could he feel her pulse pummelling her wrist in staccato punches? Did he know how aroused she was? Even though he was hurt? And she was the one responsible?
The half-smile returned and spread across his impossibly handsome features, and her pulse sped into overdrive.
He knows.
‘It is barely a scratch,’ he said, releasing her. ‘I have survived much worse.’
‘Not from me,’ she said, appalled at the thought of all the other scars on his body. Was injury a regular occurrence for him? ‘I feel awful that I shot you.’
‘You did not shoot me, you missed. And you were scared. You were defending yourself. It is a natural reaction.’
‘No, it’s not,’ she said. ‘I’ve never shot at anyone before.’ He appeared unmoved.
Because he must live in another world. A harsh, cruel world where people shoot first and ask questions later.
‘Would you let me check the wound at least, Prince Kasim?’ she said, trying to maintain at least a semblance of decorum. Although decorum was the last thing she felt. ‘It would make me feel better.’
He stroked a thumb down the side of her face. ‘You can check the wound if you wish, but only if you agree to call me Raif.’ His hand dropped away, leaving a trail of goosebumps ricocheting down to her core. ‘Given how much of me you have already seen, there is little point in standing on ceremony.’
She shook her head, mesmerised by the husky tenor of his voice and the effect it was having on her.
It was only five minutes later, as he sat on the edge of his bed and she knelt beside him to bandage the wound again, that she realised her error.
Because the memory of his body, wet and naked, only made being with him in his bedchamber, inhaling the intoxicating scent of man and desert, all the more overwhelming.
So much so, she wasn’t even sure this was reality any more, because it felt like all her teenage fantasies come to vibrant, vivid life.
* * *
‘What is your name?’ Raif asked, needing a distraction as the girl’s fingertips brushed his biceps while she wound the new—and entirely unnecessary—bandage around his arm.
She’d been tending him for two minutes—and controlling the surge of heat to his groin each time she touched him had become excruciating.
Did she know the effect she was having on him? Surely she must.
‘Kasia. Kasia Salah,’ she said, concentrating on the bandaging. But he noted the bloom of colour darkening her cheeks.
‘You are Narabian?’ Why did that seem important? He’d slept with women of many different nationalities. He didn’t judge women by their geography but by how much he wanted them. And he wanted this woman, very much.
‘Yes, I was brought up in the Golden Palace. My grandmother worked there as a cook. I was one of the domestic staff.’
Something unlocked inside his chest. So she was of humble birth. Not unlike him.
‘Until I became Cat’s assistant,’ she added, the hint of pride unmistakeable.
‘Cat? Who is Cat?’
‘Catherine Smith, who is now Queen Catherine Ali Nawari Khan—you know, the Sheikh’s wife,’ she said, her chest puffing up. ‘She is my best friend. It is because of her I have spent the last five years studying abroad.’
‘Not because of yourself?’ he asked, annoyed by her willingness to give someone else the credit for her achievements.
Zane’s wife was beautiful and accomplished. But no more so than this woman. The only difference was that Catherine Khan hadn’t had to fight for her education, the way he would guess Kasia had.
The girl’s gaze flashed to his—direct and irritated at his observation.
The heat in his groin surged. Her golden gaze sparkled enticingly when it wasn’t shadowed with guilt or shame.
‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘But...Cat is the reason I sought an education. And she and Zane...’ She sank back on her heels, finally having finished caressing his biceps. ‘They made it possible for me to study abroad in a place called Cambridge University.’
A place called Cambridge University!
Did she think he had never heard of the British institution? What did she take him for? A savage?
His pride bristled—but he bit down on the urge to correct her.
She had been away from her homeland for five years, meaning all she would know of him was that he was the Sheikh’s bastard son—a primitive warlord, an unprincipled womaniser.
The rumours had some truth behind them, especially when he’d been a younger man, and he’d been more than happy to foster them because they had always given him a power and mystique he could use to his advantage—in politics, in business and in his bed.
Being the Bad-Boy Sheikh had been an advantage with women, because they loved the allure of the forbidden, the wild.
Why not exploit Kasia’s misconceptions about him? He had never been ashamed of that unloved child, who had been strong enough to survive thirst and starvation in the desert, or the angry teenager who had been savage enough to defeat the Kholadi’s greatest warriors and become Chief. His past still lived inside him—and defined him in many ways. It always would. Wasn’t it to reconnect with those parts of himself that he had returned to the desert?
Adrenaline raced through his bloodstream. This woman had seen him helpless, something that had made him uneasy. But being the womanising warlord would put the power back in his hands.
She took a tube of antiseptic cream out of the medical box. ‘I noticed some scrapes on your back, where you fell off the horse,’ she said as she unscrewed the cap. ‘Turn around and I’ll dab some of this on them.’ She held up a finger covered in ointment. ‘Before they get infected.’
‘Enough.’ Raif captured her wrist, satisfied when he felt her pulse pummel his thumb.
‘But I should treat the scratches,’ she said.
‘It’s not my back that hurts.’ He interrupted her nonsense.
Taking the hint, her gaze dipped to his lap. The blood pounded into his groin. He was as aroused now as he’d been during the depths of his nightmares.
She lifted her head.
Her pupils dilated, obliterating the rich amber of her irises. She was as aroused as him.
‘I...I see what you mean,’ she stuttered, desire colouring her skin.
‘We have had enough foreplay,’ he said.
He preferred to be open and honest with women about his appetites. When it came to sex, he never played games.
‘If you want me as much as I want you, we can take this ache away.’ He touched her cheek, not able to keep his hands off any longer, the heat rising at the way her breath hitched. ‘If you don’t, I will escort you back to the palace.’ He let his hand drop. He wasn’t usually so abrupt with women, but something about her made it hard for him to be subtle about his needs. ‘What is your choice?’
CHAPTER FIVE
I CHOOSE YOU.
‘I...I...’ Kasia stuttered, the heat in her cheeks nothing compared to the liquid tug in her sex.
Prince Kasim’s bold offer seemed to be genuine. With no ands, ifs or buts, just like the man himself.
The tug turned into a yank.
Not Prince Kasim... Raif. She corrected herself. Because he was the furthest thing from a prince at the moment. Even a desert prince.
He had no airs or graces, no polite manners, no etiquette. His desire was basic and unashamed, and so much more compelling because of that. His need was arrogantly displayed by the tension in his jaw, the direct gaze and the thick erection.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she blurted out. Disconcerted by her own driving need.
She’d flirted with men before, even kissed a few. But she’d never been subjected to such a focused assault on her senses by a man like him—who was so bold and unambiguous.
Why did that seem refreshing, and yet disturbing?
‘It is a simple question, Kasia.’
Was it simple? Maybe it was to him. Because he had so much more experience. But she could hardly tell him she had never slept with a man before. It felt too revealing.
His lips quirked beneath the beard. ‘Let me make it simpler. Do you want me, Kasia? For I dreamed of having you last night.’
The raw declaration tugged at her romantic heart.
He cupped her cheek, and her breath seized, the rasp of his callused skin sending heat spiralling into her tender sex.
His thumb traced her cheekbone, then slid down her neck into the well of her collarbone. The rabbit punches of her pulse echoed in the sweet spot between her thighs.
‘I want to make you sob with pleasure.’ His thumb circled her breast through her T-shirt and bra. ‘To make your nipples ripen and swell beneath my tongue.’
Her nipples squeezed into peaks, as if already being subjected to the promised caress. She panted, unable to catch her breath under his intense gaze.
He chuckled, the sound arrogant, and so unbelievably hot she felt burned.
‘Tell me you want me, Kasia, and we can feed this hunger.’
‘Yes.’ The word popped out before she could stop it. ‘I want you.’
Surely this didn’t have to be wrong? They’d survived a sandstorm. They were young and alive. Their worlds might be miles apart, but here and now she wanted to feed the hunger, too. A hunger that had tantalised her all through the night.
She would return to the palace today. Cat and Zane would be frantic with worry—she’d been lost for over twenty-four hours already. She would go back to Cambridge at the end of the month. She had no intention of venturing into the desert alone after this, so she would be unlikely to see him again.
Why couldn’t she have this moment? When she wanted him so much? And what better person to initiate her than a man she had idolised? A man who was supposed to be an incredible lover? A man whose ‘assets’ she’d been assessing most of the night?
He nodded, accepting her surrender as if he had expected no less. Then he grunted something in his own dialect.
She didn’t need a translation, though, when his nostrils flared, his gaze becoming so focused her flesh felt scalded.
Standing, he tugged her to her feet. Framing her face in his hands, he positioned her head, then licked the seam of her lips. She opened for him instinctively. The kiss was firm, coaxing. The hunger roared from her core. She had expected him to devour her, but his tongue danced with hers, allowing her to follow his lead in subtle licks.
But as the hunger built, the driving need became more urgent, and the kiss changed, his tongue exploring her mouth and capturing her sighs as he demanded more.
His hands skimmed up her back underneath her T-shirt. The hook of her bra was released. She gripped his shoulders, overwhelmed by sensation as he cupped her breasts, playing with the responsive nipples until she was sobbing into his mouth, the tight peaks yearning for more.
He lifted his head, his eyes dark and unfocused. ‘I want you naked, Kasia.’
The gruff request shimmered across her skin, and the ache in her breasts intensified, the hot spot between her thighs throbbing.
She nodded, no longer capable of coherent speech.
Stepping back, he lifted the grubby T-shirt over her head, disposed of the bra.
She folded her arms over her chest, desperately self-conscious.
‘No,’ he said as he captured her wrists. ‘Do not hide, you are so beautiful.’
She felt beautiful as she forced herself to relax, to let him pull her arms gently away from her body. The morning sunlight gilded his chest, making her aware of the bunch of muscle.
The huge erection stood proud under the loose cotton pants and her mouth watered as she imagined seeing him naked and fully erect. But to her surprise, he sank to his knees in front of her. Undoing the buttons on her shorts, he watched her as he drew the denim down with her panties. His rough hands slid down her legs, stripping her bare with exquisite tenderness.
She stepped out of her shorts at his direction, the need charging through her system as he blew across the triangle of curls, then pressed his face into her sex.
She gripped his shoulders—so broad, so solid—to steady herself as he opened her with his thumbs and licked.
She shuddered, her ragged panting filling the tent as he lapped at the very heart of her. He held her firmly for the shattering exploration. Licking, sucking, discovering the root of her pleasure and ruthlessly exploiting it.
At last he captured the swollen nub of her clitoris and suckled.
The climax broke over her, the waves battering her body. She collapsed over his shoulder, the afterglow like an impenetrable cloud of bliss.
‘More,’ he grunted, as he stood, lifting her.
Within seconds, she lay on the bed as he stood over her, blocking out the sunlight. He shucked his pants.
Her gaze devoured his nakedness, her tender sex melting at the sight of that massive erection—even larger and harder than she had imagined.
‘I need to be inside you,’ he said, as he covered her body with his.
‘Yes,’ she croaked.
She wanted that thick length inside her. Wanted to recapture the glorious oblivion.
Hooking her leg around his waist, to leave her open to him, he angled her hips.
The pinch of pain made her stiffen as he thrust deep. She choked off a cry, struggling to absorb the overwhelming feel of him, lodged so fully inside her.
He swore, every sinew of his body going deadly still. She couldn’t read his features, cast into shadow by the dazzling sunlight, but she could feel his shock.
‘You were untouched?’ he said, the question coming out on a tortured rasp.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have told you.’
‘Yes, but it is too late now,’ he said.
She didn’t know what he meant. Was he angry with her? But he didn’t sound angry, just stunned.
He touched her cheek, cradled her face.
‘Am I hurting you?’
It did hurt a little, he was so large and hard inside her. But she didn’t want to lose the connection.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I want to feel the pleasure again.’
He buried his face into her neck, pressed his lips to the sensitive skin under her ear, and circled her breast with his thumb. Teasing, tempting, until the tendrils of sensation returned.
‘You must tell me if it hurts,’ he said as he grasped her hips, anchoring her to him.
The arrows of sensation darted into her sex, devastating and demanding, echoing the same relentless rhythm as he drew out and sank back.
He rocked his hips, further, faster, nudging a place deep inside her, triggering a new tsunami of sensation.
Kasia sobbed. The storm was so much stronger and wilder this time, whip
ping at her skin, making every pulse point ache.
The pleasure overpowered her, battering her body and making her heart swell. She clung to him, the only solid object in the storm—just like before, her staggered mind cried, when he had cocooned her as the sandstorm had raged.
She screamed as he drove her over that final ledge and she plunged into the abyss, exquisite joy bursting everywhere.
She heard him shout as he collapsed on top of her, and his seed spurted into her womb.
CHAPTER SIX
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
Raif struggled to control the vicious punch of his heartbeat, and forced his fingers to release their death grip on Kasia’s hips.
Shame and horror galloped on the heels of groggy afterglow as he withdrew from the tight clasp of her body and she flinched.
He had climaxed inside her, he had not intended to do so. But even as he grasped the humiliation of that, far worse was the knowledge that as soon as he had plunged into her to the hilt, and destroyed her virgin state, he had bound them both to a solemn covenant they could not break.
Why hadn’t he taken the precautions he always took, to research a woman’s background, to ask her the questions that would protect them both?
Because he had been desperate to have her, to claim her, something had been driving him as soon as he had stepped from the water this morning and seen her watching him, her eyes dazed with arousal. Maybe even before that. Had it been driving him as soon as he had spotted her, standing by her Jeep, her amber eyes sparkling with fear and defiance? Or as he had clawed his way back from the nightmare, coaxed by her soft voice and soothing fingers?
However, the beast had been awakened, and the destruction it had wrought—on his life, on hers—could not be undone.
Where he would have expected panic or even resentment, all he felt now was numb and strangely ambivalent about the inevitable repercussions.
Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling of the tent, the rich fabrics, the dappled sunlight. Everything looked as it had when he had woken an hour ago, but now his whole life, and hers, would be different.