by Leslie North
Arif stood and put down his tea. Christine copied him. He said a few words to Nadira to assure her that he held her in esteem and payment would be forthcoming, and then he led Christine from the astrologer's house.
They had not even reached the street before Christine turned to face him. "I can't believe you're that superstitious. You seem a rational man. And what was all that about paths? Typical vaguely worded mumbo-jumbo. It's that kind of ploy that pulls people into believing this nonsense."
Skin heating, Arif pulled her with him, out of earshot of Nadira. "There is more to this world than can be seen. And you would do well to think on her words. Nadira has advised kings and has seen much in her life. She is respected by world leaders, and her advice has been invaluable to the royal family."
He stopped at the mouth of the alley and let go of Christine. She faced him, chin up and a frown in place. Throwing his arms wide, Arif asked, "Why is it so difficult for you to believe in fate? That the stars guide us?"
She turned away for a moment but then looked back. "I don't think fate had much to do with my mom dying of cancer. The problem was she didn't get checkups. And I don't think fate has much to do with my dad now fighting the same battle. Damn cancer. Science will find a cure—eventually. And that's not fate either."
Her voice broke, and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Arif forgot his irritation with her. He knew what it was to lose loved ones—his parents had died far too young in a car accident, a huge one that had taken a dozen lives in a smashup caused by a sandstorm on the only highway in Zahkim.
Shaking his head, he touched a finger to Christine's face. "I am sorry. I have no right to push my views onto you. You believe what you will."
Her shoulders sagged. "No, I should apologize. I…I have no right to step on your views either. Pax?" She held out her hand.
He took it and kissed the inside of her wrist. Under the press of his lips, her pulse jumped. He smiled and linked her arm with his.
"Come. Let us do something we both agree is wonderful. Let me take you to the Forum."
She had no idea what to expect from the name. The Forum could be anything from a nightclub to a school. She was not expecting Roman ruins.
The structures lay just south of the main city, off a two-lane highway that became an unpaved road. Arif parked his fancy SUV, got out, and came around to her side, but Christine was already out, shading her eyes. With the sun blazing overhead, tourists seemed to be intent on avoiding this barren stretch of desert, with its broken pillars and half-buried foundations. Christine was both entranced and ready to cry at the crumbling structures.
She narrowed her eyes, a lump in her throat and her heartbeat rapid. "This needs excavation work done. And restoration."
They walked into the ruins, the columns soaring up into the stark blue sky. A hawk soared overhead, crying out. A few lean cats, dusty colored with the angular faces of the cats in Egyptian art, glanced at them and then disappeared into the ruins.
Arif put a hand on one of the pillars that still stood, its lines elegant, the stone almost golden in the sunlight. "We do what we can to preserve it, but it is hard. Most of the structures date back to 30 BC, but we have remnants of Greek as well as Babylonian influences."
"It's…amazing," she said, barely able to get out the words. "To think this is still here after all these centuries." She leaned against the pillar. The hot stone warmed her back. "It's not my area of expertise—I specialize in texts—but have you ever thought about applying for grants to do a full dig here?"
He gave a laugh. "I adore that your mind always turns to the practical." Reaching up, he brushed the strands of hair the wind was pushing into her face. "My Christine." His voice dropped as he spoke those words, and a shiver ran through her.
She tipped her head back so she could see his face. "What is it like to have roots this deep? This old? To be part of a country where the history goes back to before memory?"
He leaned closer. His scent washed over her, along with the dry desert wind. Sweat glistened on his skin. "You know…for you belong here as well."
"I don—"
He stopped her words with a kiss.
Christine wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. She couldn't help it. This kiss wasn't anything like the others. This was need and passion and something else sparking. His mouth swept over hers, taking what she was offering and demanding even more. He nipped at her lower lip, took it between his teeth and sucked hard. She angled her head and tried to pull him closer to her. The breeze swept over her skin, warm and dry, but where Arif held her, she felt as if she was glowing hot.
Lifting her up, his lips still covering hers, he carried her a short distance into cooling shade. Smooth stone pressed into her back. She managed to get her eyes open long enough to see he'd moved them into a small grotto.
Pulling back, short of breath, her heart pounding, she stammered, "Snakes."
He gave a low laugh. "Why do you think the cats are here? Now I must have more of your skin." He pulled off his shirt, and she pulled in a breath. He had wide shoulders and more muscles than she would have thought. A dusting of black hair covered his forearms. She reached out and dragged one hand over his flat stomach, staring at the difference between her pale skin and his darker tones, seeing the sapphire ring wink from her finger.
Pulling up her shirt, he put his hands on her and stepped closer. She gave a gasp at the contact of warm skin against hers, at the feathering touches now sliding over her and upwards.
"This is crazy," she muttered.
He pressed a finger to her lips. "A sweet madness. Let it carry you away, habibi."
Just this once.
He didn't say the words, but they echoed in her head. Just this once, don't be sensible. Just this once, go with the flow. He swooped in again to kiss her, stealing the air from her lungs, leaving her dizzy and wanting. She gave a moan, and put her hands on his arms to feel all that glorious muscle and skin. And then her blouse hung open, and Arif lowered his mouth to her breast.
She'd done this much with one boyfriend, had done some serious petting with another, but nothing had ever set her skin on fire. Arif ran his teeth over her nipple, wet the fabric of her bra with his tongue, and she glanced down because she had to see.
He had his mouth on her and one hand behind her. Somehow, he got her bra unhooked, and he dragged the fabric down. He gave a soft growl, stepped between her legs and pulled her up to him, arching her back. She let her head fall back.
In his arms, her clothes half off, she felt more like a holy offering than anything else. Her head spun, and the world narrowed to just the sensation of his mouth on her, the rough heat of his tongue, the small nips from his teeth setting off sparks inside her.
Madness, yes, but a glorious one. It was as if the ruins had put them outside of time—outside of anything. It was just them and the desert heat.
Arif pulled back. His eyes had darkened. He smiled, stepped back, and lifted her foot. Slipping her sandal off, he kissed her instep and then ran a fingernail along the sole. A jolt ran up her leg and into her belly. She'd never known that could happen.
With a smile, he did the same to her other foot, and then ran his fingers up the back of her leg to her knee. "More?" he asked.
She nodded—she couldn't talk. Her mouth felt bruised, her tongue thick, and she was having trouble catching a deep enough breath. His touch was like magic—smooth, soft, teasing, and tempting. He found the waistband of her trousers, hooked in his thumbs and inched them down. Leaning over, he kissed every spot he bared, knelt before her like a supplicant to a high priestess. When her trousers pooled around her ankles, he pressed his mouth to her mound and licked inside.
She gasped. Her knees trembled. Standing, Arif swept her up and onto a smooth, flat stone—an altar or a bench, she couldn’t tell. The heat had warmed the stone, and Arif spread her legs and knelt again between her thighs. He licked in again, his tongue rough and searching. Christine couldn'
t help the jerk of her hips up to meet that demand of his for more.
"Ah, you are so wet—so welcoming," he said, his voice low and his breathing uneven.
Putting a hand on his shoulder, she told him, "You don't—"
"You are too fond of that word. This is do…no do not. Do enjoy." Before she could answer, he put his mouth on her again, and she lost her thoughts.
A jolt of pleasure ran through her. He'd found her clit, and he tugged on it now, licked and rubbed, and then slipped a finger inside her. She groaned and shifted, but he held her hip with his other hand. The musky aroma of her arousal filled the grotto. She gave herself over to the warmth of Arif's mouth, to the shivering sensations pulsing through her, to the sweetness of his touch.
She'd never felt worshipped—adored. She'd never known anything like this.
Another finger pushed into her—then a third, stretching her wide, pumping into her, pushing her to the edge. With a cry, she let everything go. The world turned white and hot and swept her into small spasms that rocked her body. But Arif would not let up. He pushed his fingers in again—four now. Pushed harder and deeper, hit some part of her core that left her shuddering.
And then he swept her up in his arms, pulled her onto his lap. His erection nudged her ass, and suddenly she wanted more. Wanted the feel of him inside her, stretching her even wider, pulsing even deeper. She wanted him as she had never wanted anyone.
Pulling back, she met his gaze. His lips glistened from her—from where he'd had his mouth. She wet her lips. "What about you?"
Arif smiled. "I am willing to wait. But not for long."
"How about long enough to get back to the palace?"
Chapter Seven
Arif tried to keep his speed under ninety on the drive back to the palace. Christine still smelled of sex, and his erection would not go down. He almost took her hand and put it on him, but he could wait. He kept telling himself that. He debated between going to her room or taking her to his and realized at the front door that while her room would offer fewer interruptions, his room had the condoms.
Taking her hand, he led the way, his heart pounding, nervous as a groom on his wedding night. His rooms overlooked the desert, and like all the royal quarters in the palace offered a sitting room and a bedroom with en suite bath. His also had an adjoining office. Once he had Christine inside his rooms, he leaned against the door and watched her.
She had buttoned her shirt unevenly, and her hair looked as if a sandstorm had swept through it. He could not imagine anything more beautiful. She walked the perimeter of the room touching things, as if they would reveal secrets to her fingertips. She stopped and absently turned the sapphire ring on her finger.
What did she see? A masculine room in dark reds and browns and golds, heavy leather chairs, and a bare tile floor. His diploma from Oxford—he'd taken a first in history—hung on the wall, and a few trophies from rugby tournaments gleamed in one display case. He kept a photograph of his parents—one from their wedding day—and a prayer rug, but otherwise the room seemed almost bare to him now.
He needed a woman in his life—someone to care for him. A woman such as his Christine, who would love him for himself and not for his position in Zahkim.
She glanced at the photo of his parents and looked over her shoulder at him, eyebrows lifted with a question.
He shrugged. "It is one of the things that binds me to my cousins, to Tarek and Nasim. We all lost our parents far too young. Tarek's grandmother raised us all, really."
"How?" she asked.
He came to her, took her hand, and led her into the bedroom. "This is not a day for sad memories."
She nodded, pulled away, and started to unbutton her shirt. Arif went into the bathroom, had to search for his condoms, and prayed they were not too old—Nasim was the man who always had fresh ones. He came back to find Christine lying on his bed, her pale skin a contrast to the red brocade bedspread, the sunlight picking out gold and red lights from her curls, both those on her head and between her legs. The breath caught in his chest.
He almost stumbled.
He shed his clothes as he came to her, and when he shucked off his shoes and pants, she propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes wide. "You're a little—"
"Nothing little." He palmed his jutting cock.
With a smile, she looked up at him. "I was about to say a little big. I'm not sure."
Taking her hand, he put her fingers on him. She gave a small gasp, and then her fingers wrapped around him, stroked his cock. Her voice took on an edge of wonder. "It's so…soft. And hard at the same time."
She wet her lips and looked up at him. "Maybe I should just…" Rolling up to her knees, she didn't finish her words. She took him in her mouth, and Arif could only gasp. He'd wanted to bury himself in her—to take her and give her pleasure. But he could no more stop this than he could stop his heart. She licked and sucked at his cock, and her fingers swept up his thighs to stroke his balls. He gave a groan and put one hand on her shoulder to steady himself.
"You will be the death of me."
She gave a laugh that he felt along the length of his shaft, and then she took him deeper. With a sharp groan, he pushed into her mouth. She seemed able to take him, and then he came, the wave of pleasure strong and sharp. Pulses ran through him. His hips jerked again, and he tried to pull back, but Christine put one hand on his ass and wouldn't let him move.
Slowly, he came back down, sweat cool on his skin, his breathing ragged.
Christine pulled back, looked up at him from lowered lashes, and licked her lips. "My boyfriend in college used to like that."
Jealousy swept through Arif like a wildfire. "Boyfriend?" The word came out clipped and harsh. Of course she must have dated before, but he hadn’t expected to have to think about it.
Christine sat back on her heels, her hands in her lap, her cheeks pink. "What? Do you think I'm a virgin?" She lifted her chin.
A shock ran through him. Why would she bring this up, unless…
He stared at her, eyes narrowed. "You are—aren't you?"
Red flamed from her neck to her cheeks. Rolling off the bed, she swiped up her shirt and threw it on. "That is none of your business."
He waved at the bed. "You brought it up. And we almost made love."
She grabbed her pants and stuffed one leg in. "No. We had oral sex, and it was really good, and now you're about to ruin it."
"Ruin?" He stiffened. "You're the one who brought up boyfriends."
Pulling up her trousers, she asked, "And you're some kind of monk are you?" She snatched up her sandals and pointed one at him. The sapphire ring winked in the fading daylight. "This…this is why it’s a good idea to keep some emotional distance. I suck at relationships. And I thought this was just about…about…about a stolen moment for us. I'm not looking for commitment. I have a life back home that I very much like."
Arif crossed his arms over his chest and realized he was naked. He strode into the bathroom to grab a robe. When he came out, Christine had fled.
Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he put his head in his hands. His Christine—a virgin. A touchy one, at that. And here he had been about to deflower her as if this was a simple affair and nothing else. He gave a groan and straightened.
It was time to start re-planning his campaign to win her heart.
He headed into the bathroom to shower and dress. He needed help. Which meant he needed to go to Nasim and ask how one courted and bedded a virgin. If anyone would know, it would be his cousin.
Christine retreated into the archives. Somehow a bath had not washed Arif's scent off her skin or out of her system. Why had she let him charm and seduce her? Relationships always went the same for her. They started off with good times, and then bam. Something went wrong, and the guy she was seeing would be out the door.
Except Arif couldn't go anywhere—this was his home. But she was not putting up with his jealous streak.
And so what if she was a virgin? Sh
e'd done everything except actual vaginal penetration—and yes, she was going to think of it like that, and not as fucking or making love. She was going to keep this scientific and rational. She'd had sex. Oral sex and hand jobs, and it all felt pretty good at times. Mostly. And so what if Arif was more than amazing with that mouth of his? She had work to do here, and the past was blessedly in the past.
For the next few days, she rose early, arranged for breakfast and coffee in her room, and buried herself in the archives. She skipped lunch, ate dinner in her room from a tray, and focused on her translations and notes. She had some very promising leads.
Obviously, she couldn't trust herself with Arif—he was too charming, too attractive. If he put the moves on her again, she would succumb again. Instead, she emailed her father about her progress in the archives and called him every evening.
On the fourth evening, he told her the doctors had cleared the cancer diagnosis.
"What? That's great."
Her father didn't sound excited. "The bad news is this means they have no idea what's wrong. I'm going back for more tests next week. And I am so damn tired of them drawing blood like they're vampires."
Christine chewed on her thumbnail. Was her dad's weakness and lethargy all a psychological problem? Their family doctor had been certain it was cancer. But if the oncologist had cleared him, what else could it be?
"Dad, I'm going to dive into one of the older histories in the archives tomorrow—it's more than promising. There's a reference to the pharaoh Menes, which is significant enough, given the only other chief reference to him is from that bit of inscribed ivory from Nagada."
Her dad's voice picked up some energy. "Menes? You’re sure? Can you send me the original text?"