The Harlot and the Sheikh

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Very much.’

  She licked the other one, but then she began to panic. What next?

  Rafiq must have sensed her hesitation. ‘You do not have to do anything you don’t want to,’ he said. ‘One word is all it takes, remember? There is no rush.’

  ‘I know, but I don’t want—it’s just that I don’t know what to do,’ she confessed.

  ‘I can show you, if you would like me to.’

  ‘I would.’ She wrapped her arms around him. ‘I would like that very much.’

  He eased her on to her back, one hand on one breast, his mouth on the other, sucking, licking, circling, setting up a fiery, tingling path of sensation from her breasts to her belly, between her legs. He lifted his head from her breasts and kissed her mouth. ‘An element of control heightens the pleasure, Stephanie. Let us test ourselves,’ he whispered, rolling her on to her stomach.

  ‘Rafiq, what...?’

  His body covered hers. His chest to her back. His mouth on the nape of her neck. His hands tracing the swell of her breasts at her sides, the dip of her waist. She could feel his arousal pressing against her bottom. His hands slid under her, untying the sash, and then he slid her pantaloons away. She could not see him. She could only feel him. And hear him. Rustling. The sound of clothes being discarded. And then he was on top of her again, quite naked.

  He did not move. She could feel him breathing, his chest rising and falling against her back, the shallow whisper of his breath on her neck. And then his mouth again, on her shoulder, and he eased her carefully on to her side, one leg over hers. His hand on her breast, his arm around her waist to steady her, and the thick, hard length of him between her legs.

  She shuddered. Instinctively, she arched her lower body against him, and felt him shudder too. ‘Rafiq?’

  She thought he was ignoring her, but when he spoke, his voice hoarse, she realised he was simply fighting for control. ‘Feel what you do to me,’ he said, taking her hand, wrapping it around his girth. Her fingers brushed her own sex. She was hot, wet. In contrast Rafiq felt silky, hard. He pulled her leg on top of his, angling himself away from her. ‘Slowly,’ he said, showing her how to stroke him. ‘When you do that to me, this is how it feels.’

  He slid his fingers inside her. Her muscles contracted instantly in response. His other hand still covered her breast, stroking her nipple into an aching bud. His breath was fast, shallow on her neck. And he pushed into her, his fingers sliding slowly in, her muscles clenching around them, holding them, turning the frisson when he removed them into a shudder. Encircled by her hand, his arousal throbbed with every slow stroke, as her muscles tightened with every thrust he made. She couldn’t hold out much longer. She could feel it, that exquisite tightening, that prelude, and she clenched tight. ‘Rafiq, I can’t...’

  His fingers thrust harder. Faster. Higher. And she stroked him, more urgently now. She felt him thickening. She felt herself losing control, and as she did, spiralling, shattering, into her climax, she felt him come too with a harsh groan, and he pulled himself free of her, though she felt him, his chest shuddering against her back, his hand still cupping her breast, as his climax gripped him.

  * * *

  A few hours later, it had grown quite dark while Rafiq sat alone, the Bharym Stud Book lying open before him. He turned the pages, looking despondently at the empty gaps waiting to be filled with the names of the new owners of Arabians which should have left the Bharym stables many weeks ago. Tomorrow, Stephanie had asked him to ride out to the stallions’ oasis. A potential breakthrough, she had called it. With only two months to the Sabr, he fervently hoped that she was right.

  He closed his eyes, lying back on the stack of cushions, and distracted himself by remembering their encounter earlier. The taste of her and the feel of her. The scent of her arousal. And his own. He didn’t remember ever being so hard. When he came...

  Groaning, Rafiq got to his feet, rolling out the kinks in his shoulders. Enforced abstinence—that would account for it. And he had never encountered anyone like Stephanie. There was that too. So bold and yet so innocent, so very alluring and yet so oblivious of that allure. So determined, tonight, to understand his needs, to make love with him, not to allow him simply to make love to her. Before tonight, he would never have believed that such lovemaking, without a true consummation, could be as satisfying. When he felt her pulsing around him, it had been every bit as arousing as if his shaft was inside her.

  The intensity of his climax unnerved him. Lovemaking was so very different with Stephanie from any other previous experience. The way she watched him while she touched him, the way their bodies communed, the way they talked, there was an intimacy between them which made him realise how oddly lacking in intimacy his lovemaking had been before. A physical connection, a joining of bodies, but not of minds. He had always remained a prince while playing the lover. A prince while playing the husband. Duty had drained the pleasure from lovemaking.

  His mind shied away from the memory. He would not permit that to happen again. Stephanie had reminded him of how it could be, and she had proved to him how much more it could be. A foretaste of his future, though of course, it would be a future without Stephanie in it.

  His mind rebelled at this thought too. Rafiq shook his head at himself in exasperation. Why couldn’t he simply enjoy what he had while he had it! A woman who spoke to him, as if she saw straight through his princely façade. No one had ever dared do that before. She forced him to look at the world afresh. His plans for Bharym and his people were no longer hazy, but shifting sharply into focus. The weight of his guilt was as heavy as ever, but it was no longer an intrinsic part of him. He carried it still, but it was a separate burden, one which he was preparing to discard for ever.

  When the sickness was cured. When the Sabr was won. He had faith in Stephanie. What he lacked was faith in himself. Gazing out the high window, Rafiq saw that the stars had made their appearance. The sky was inky blue. It was very late. Like Stephanie, he would learn from his mistakes. Like Stephanie, he would be become a different person.

  * * *

  Waiting for Rafiq at the stables the next afternoon, Stephanie was finding it difficult to remind herself that she was the Royal Horse Surgeon awaiting the Prince. Studying herself in the mirror last night, back in the harem, she had seen a wanton woman. A sensual woman, who was beginning to understand just exactly what the word sensual meant. When she touched him. When he touched her. There was a mutual delight in it. Last night, their bodies had communed. Their physical differences were fascinating, but their identical responses even more so. Pleasure echoing pleasure.

  Last night had not satisfied her curiosity, merely whetted her appetite. She had learned that lovemaking was about looking and touching and talking and listening, it was the taste of his skin and scent of him, and the shivering sensations they triggered and shared. She smiled to herself. Pleasure. Mutual pleasure. Those illustrations were no longer shocking, they were intriguing. She still wasn’t convinced by Tail of the Ostrich, but Love’s Fusion—yes, she could imagine that, and the other one, where his body was nestled into her back—that was a very delightful image indeed. Her body delighted Rafiq, and Rafiq’s delight delighted her. It was a heady feeling, knowing the effect she could have on him, it made her want to experiment further. It made her feel oddly powerful.

  Though it also meant that now, watching him cross the courtyard towards her, she was struggling to suppress all these feelings, and to remember that she was a Royal Horse Surgeon with a difficult task to perform. She felt so different, yet he looked exactly the same. Ridiculously handsome. Sinfully attractive.

  Stephanie got to her feet, pulling her keffiyeh over her face before he could read her thoughts. ‘The horses are ready, Your Highness. Let us make haste.’

  * * *

  After an hour examining the stallions’ enclosure, Stephanie coul
d find no evidence to back up her theory, but was reluctant to admit defeat. ‘We must be missing something. Every case of the sickness has occurred seven or eight days after one of the stallions has been brought into the stables to cover a mare. Batal was infected because he was with Anadil when she was covered.’

  ‘But we have lost only one stallion. And there has not been a case of sickness every time,’ Rafiq said. ‘If it is the water, as you suggest...’

  ‘I know, they would all be infected. It doesn’t make sense, yet there is a logic to it, Rafiq. It is the only discernible pattern. We must be missing something obvious.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is, we are not going to find it today. It is too hot to ride back at the moment, let’s rest in the shade for a time.’

  On the other side of the enclosure, away from the horses, the oasis was beautifully tranquil. The air was sweetly scented, the palm-covered island in the centre of the pool a lush haven. Perched on the low stone wall of the little bridge, Stephanie could see her reflection in the still blue waters, with Rafiq standing beside her, frowning over at the high wall. He wore English-style leather riding breeches today, and long boots. His shirt was white, with wide sleeves, open at the neck. He had discarded his headdress as soon as they had arrived. His hair was dishevelled, clinging damply to his brow, just as it had yesterday in the library, when he was naked and aroused. And then naked and sated. She had brought that about. Just thinking about it made her feel giddy. So she’d better stop thinking about it.

  A breeze flitted through the palm trees, making them rustle. In the paddock, one of the stallions whinnied. Rafiq sat on the wall beside her. Beneath them, the water was crystal clear, like a mirror.

  Exactly like a mirror. There was her face and Rafiq’s side by side. He smiled at her. She smiled back. Their heads drew closer until their temples touched.

  ‘I have been giving what you confided in me last week regarding your past a great deal of thought,’ he said. ‘I cannot accept that you were in any way to blame. Surely there must be some way of bringing this man who seduced you to book.’

  ‘Rafiq, I made love to him because I wanted to, and it was, frankly, now that I know better, a disappointing and frankly dreadful experience, but that is beside the point. It was my choice, and until lately I have deeply regretted it.’

  ‘What has made you think differently?’

  Stephanie chose her words carefully. ‘I too have thought about it a great deal since last week, more clearly than I have been able to since it happened. Distance gives perspective, and hindsight is a marvellous thing. You know, I wasn’t unhappy working with Papa, but I was beginning to question whether I wanted to spend my entire life doing so. I was looking for something more, something different, although I couldn’t articulate what it was. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I thought myself in love, I don’t know. But I do know that if I had not taken the path to ruin, I would not have been granted this opportunity, for Papa would never have permitted me to come to Arabia otherwise. What I’m trying to say, in a very roundabout way, is not that I would gladly make the same mistake again, but having already made it, I need have no more regrets.’

  ‘But that man...’

  ‘Rupert is weak, and he is dishonourable, and he is a liar The world did not extract a punishment from him for those sins, while I was forced to pay beyond price by my shame, but it’s that same shame which has obliged me to take responsibility for my own life. My total lack of judgement still takes my breath away. I will never, ever be so stupid again. But I’m done with looking over my shoulder, I want only to look forward, to the future. So I’m not in the least bit interested in revenge. Do you see?’

  ‘To be done with regrets, to be done with looking back—yes, that I do understand.’

  Though his eyes were hooded, his tone was bleak. ‘Fear not, I will help you cure this sickness,’ Stephanie said, touching his knee. ‘You will win the Sabr as you promised you would.’

  Her words, to her relief, had the desired effect. He smiled. ‘I cannot help but wish that blackguard could be punished for what he did to you, but I cannot bring myself to regret the fact that it has led to your presence here in my kingdom.’

  Their shoulders were touching. And their arms. And their thighs. Her heart began to race. He turned to her and stroked her hair. ‘Last night was utterly delightful.’

  ‘Yes,’ Stephanie said with a sigh, ‘it was. Will we ascend another step some time soon?’

  He kissed her tenderly. ‘Soon enough, but we both have business to attend to, and I will not rush this business. You are a woman who deserves to be savoured.’

  ‘I am not a banquet.’

  He laughed. ‘A feast. It is a very interesting idea.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He kissed her deeply. Then he helped her to her feet. ‘Patience is a virtue, don’t they say?’

  ‘I’m not feeling at all virtuous.’

  He laughed again. ‘No more am I, but we really must go. I have a banquet of a very different nature to attend. Besides, it will be dark soon, and the biting insects which infest this water will make their appearance. It is high time we returned to the palace.’

  * * *

  ‘What is going on, Stephanie?’

  She had not seen Rafiq for five days when he strode into the stables wearing his state robes, though he had discarded his headdress. He had been on a tour of the outlying villages. He looked tired and harassed and she was going to ignore that silly little lurch of her heart, because unless she had a tropical disease, she knew perfectly well that hearts did not lurch.

  ‘I take it Jasim has been to complain about me.’

  ‘With good reason, on the face of it. This is a stud, Stephanie. We breed horses. In order to breed horses, we need to bring the stallions in to cover the mares.’

  ‘But we have established that the source of the sickness is located at the stallions’ oasis, Rafiq.’

  ‘We don’t know that for certain. We searched the paddock thoroughly and found nothing to justify halting the main function of these stables, never mind the sweeping changes you are proposing. It can’t be done.’

  Jasim had done his work well, Stephanie thought. ‘If I had known you had returned, I would have discussed the matter with you personally as a matter of priority.’

  ‘In all fairness, the smooth running of the stables is Jasim’s responsibility.’

  ‘Curing the sickness and preventing its spread are what you appointed me to do. If that requires me to make temporary changes to the regime here, then that is my decision, not Jasim’s. And unless you wish to terminate my employment, it’s not your decision either.’

  Stephanie did not raise her voice. She mimicked the soft, deliberate tone Rafiq used when he was playing the Prince. She did not let the fury she was feeling show on her face, though she kept her balled fists hidden in the folds of her tunic. She held his gaze determinedly. His expression was always difficult to read, but she understood the nuances now. The way his sleepy lids flickered when he was challenged. The slight downturn of his mouth, when he was holding his feelings in check. And the lift of his brows, when he was forced into an unpalatable decision.

  ‘Explain to me, the rationale for these measures, if you please.’

  Tempted as she was, Stephanie refrained from pointing out that she would have been more than happy to, had he asked her. Though she didn’t doubt that Rafiq valued her honesty, he still found any questioning of his authority a challenge, to say the least. ‘Complete isolation,’ she said. ‘Now that we know that the source of the problem lies somewhere in the oasis, even though we do not know exactly what, we can prevent the disease from spreading. It is the same method I have seen used effectively in containing the spread of yellow fever or typhus among sailors in port. Your stallions at the oasis will still be at risk until we find the sourc
e, but there is no other secure place to move them. If we keep them isolated, we can protect the stables, and if we keep the Sabr horses isolated too, then there is no reason why you can’t race them.’

  Rafiq frowned, tapping his fingers against the gold buckle of his belt. ‘The work of the stud will be suspended.’

  Bloody Jasim! ‘But you won’t lose any more stock,’ Stephanie said through gritted teeth, ‘unless another stallion is infected.’ She sighed, pushing her hair back from her face. ‘It is a lot to ask. To suspend your breeding programme, to have different storage for foods, to keep so many different paddocks operating in isolation, but it means you can enter the Sabr, Rafiq, which is surely more important than anything else, including Jasim’s wounded pride.’

  ‘But there is no evidence. If I had proof...’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she exclaimed, finally giving way to her frustration. ‘Even if I could give you incontrovertible proof, Jasim would still not co-operate. It will be just exactly as it was before. You will take his side again, in the end.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’

  That soft whisper. That icy tone. Stephanie took an involuntary step back, but then she collected herself, crossed her arms, and held her ground. ‘He told me that you sided with him over Princess Elmira. He meant it as a warning. I thought you trusted me, but it seems he was right and I was wrong.’

  She turned away, but Rafiq caught her. ‘Wait.’ The blaze of anger in his face took her aback, but it quickly dissipated. ‘My Master of the Horse will not have his way this time. Implement your measures. I will speak to Jasim, tell him to hand over the stables temporarily to Fadil, while he remains at the training grounds. That way he will not interfere with your work. You understand the risk I am taking by placing my trust in you? I can ill afford to lose Jasim before the Sabr.’

  Stephanie threw her shoulders back, standing ramrod straight, as if she were on parade. ‘I understand perfectly, Your Highness.’