The Harlot and the Sheikh

by Marguerite Kaye

  * * *

  Stephanie awoke to find herself held in the tight embrace of a soundly asleep Rafiq. His breath was soft on her neck. His arms were wrapped around her waist. Her bottom was curved into his groin. And his fully aroused manhood was snuggled against her bottom. It was the most delightful feeling. More intimate in a way than any lovemaking, and arousing in a drowsy, sleepy way. If she turned around, he would kiss her and they would make proper love. How wonderful it would be, to be woken in this way every morning.

  Her eyes snapped open. She eased herself out from his embrace, grabbed her tunic and headed for the icy waters of the oasis. By the time Rafiq awoke, she had dressed and reminded herself very firmly that there were a strictly finite number of mornings left to her in Arabia. She wasn’t going to be waking up on any of them with Rafiq lying by her side again.

  * * *

  ‘I have made a decision regarding the Sabr,’ Rafiq said, as she handed him a cup of the bitter, thick black coffee Mama had taught her to make. He was smiling. He made no mention of their night spent sleeping together. Perhaps like her, he thought it better to ignore it. Though that would be to assume he cared, as she did. Not that she did. Stephanie gave herself a little shake. ‘I know, you said at the horse fair that Bharym would compete and you expected to win.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not the decision I was referring to.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘I’m going to compete in the Sabr myself. I will be Bharym’s rider.’

  ‘You!’

  ‘Don’t you think I am up to it?’

  Stephanie threw her arms around him, knocking his coffee flying and toppling them both over backwards into the tent. ‘I can think of no one better suited, or qualified. When you first told me the story of the Sabr I pictured you on the back of one of your thoroughbreds, riding like the desert wind towards the finishing post.’

  ‘Bareback,’ Rafiq said, laughing.

  She was sitting on top of him. He had washed, but he had not shaved. What was it she had been telling herself when she woke up? She had the logic all wrong. She shouldn’t be avoiding intimacy with Rafiq. What she should be doing was making the most of the opportunity while she could. She ran her palm over the rough hair on his chest. ‘Bareback. That will be quite a spectacle.’

  Rafiq laughed again. She felt his chest rumbling. ‘I was referring to the horse, as well you know.’

  She settled herself on top of him. ‘You slept with me last night.’

  ‘I didn’t intend to.’

  ‘I’m glad you did, I liked it.’ She leaned over, letting her hair tickle his face, and kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘I was thinking, there are only a dwindling number of days left, before I return to England.’

  ‘Four months is not an insignificant amount of time.’

  ‘If you intend to ride the Sabr, you will need to dedicate yourself to a rigorous training regime. There will be precious few opportunities for us to spend time together.’

  When she kissed him again, he put his arms around her waist and pulled her down. ‘When you put it like that.’

  ‘Precisely. And there is the small matter of the promise you made me yesterday.’

  ‘I promised you kisses, and I am a man of my word.’ His beard was rough on her skin. It made his mouth seem so much softer in contrast. He slid his hand up her side, to cup her breast. ‘I did kiss you last night, but you didn’t wake up.’

  ‘You can’t have kissed me properly, else I would have.’

  He teased her nipple into a peak. She could feel the ridge of his arousal between her legs. ‘Do you want me to kiss you properly now, Stephanie?’

  ‘Yes, I do, Rafiq,’ she whispered, nipping his ear. ‘I want you to kiss me very, very properly.’

  He did. Pulling her on top of him, he kissed her. Rolling her on to her back he kissed her, and she kissed him back, pulling him against her, wrapping her legs around him. Wild kisses that lacked all the control of their other kisses, as they snatched at each other’s clothing, tearing buttons, tugging themselves free, kissing themselves naked.

  His beard grazed the tender skin of her breasts, and she shuddered. He took her nipple in his mouth, tugging and teasing, making her moan. She arched under him, shuddering at the hard silky length of him between her legs. ‘Rafiq,’ she urged, clutching at the taut muscles of his buttocks.

  ‘Wait.’ He was breathless. His chest was heaving. ‘Wait.’

  ‘No.’ She pulled his mouth to hers again, savaging him with a kiss. ‘We’ve waited long enough.’

  ‘Stephanie, I want this to be—wait.’

  ‘I don’t want to wait, and I’m pretty sure that you don’t want to either.’ She smoothed his hair back from his brow and kissed him deeply. ‘I want to. I am very sure. I promise you. Very, very sure. Now, can we stop talking? Didn’t you tell me that actions—?’

  He cut her words short with a kiss. Then he kissed his way down, to the valley between her breasts, to the dip of her stomach, licking into her navel, then down, but this time it was no slow wooing. This time he sensed her urgency. This time when he licked into her, it was not teasing, but purposeful. She forgot to protest that it wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t care whether it was his mouth or his tongue or his fingers which brought her straight to the edge, which made everything inside her tense, which sent her spinning out of control with a wild cry.

  Then his mouth covered hers again. And his tongue touched hers. And finally he entered her, slowly, smoothly, the pulsing of her climax drawing him higher. She shuddered as he moved inside her, a slow withdrawal followed by a slow, delicious thrust back inside her. Another kiss. He slid his hands under her bottom, tilting her upwards, and she instinctively tightened her legs around his thighs. When he thrust into her this time, it was faster, higher, and this time she thrust back in rhythm, seeing the reaction on his face, feeling it inside her. She thought her release was over, but it was building again. She moaned, gripping his shoulders, kissing him urgently, sliding her legs up around his waist, moaning again when he slid higher, and again as she tightened around him, and again as his final thrust tilted her over the edge, sending him over too, pulling himself free of her with a harsh cry.

  * * *

  She was sprawled on a tangle of cushions and blankets. She was completely naked, and she was completely sated. She felt utterly wanton. Lying at her side, Rafiq looked just exactly as she felt, his eyes dark with passion, his cheeks slashed with colour, his chest heaving, his skin damp with sweat.

  ‘I am a harlot and a brazen hussy,’ Stephanie said, leaning over him to kiss him languorously. ‘I find it is a very delightful thing to be.’

  Rafiq smiled. ‘Delightful,’ he said.

  ‘Was it? Truly?’

  ‘Stephanie. Truly.’

  Chapter Ten

  After the euphoria of their lovemaking, the melancholy that settled on her like a wet blanket took Stephanie unawares as they made their belated way back to the palace, leaving one of Rafiq’s army of invisible servants to retrieve the tent. She couldn’t understand it. She didn’t doubt that Rafiq had found the experience every bit as pleasurable as she. She had known it would be pleasurable, but she hadn’t dreamt it would be quite so—magical?

  The word brought with it a sense of foreboding. No, not magical. Magical implied all sorts of the wrong things. Lovemaking was a physical experience. A sensual experience. A delightful, delicious experience. But it was not a magical one. It simply felt magical compared to the first time. But she couldn’t remember the first time now. She didn’t want to try. Her ambition to replace that memory had been fulfilled.

  Glancing over at Rafiq, she felt her sense of foreboding increase. She didn’t want to replace her memories of him with any others. Most likely she wouldn’t have to. When she returned to England, she would have to
be very careful of her reputation. Another melancholy thought. England. Grey skies. No Rafiq.

  ‘Oh, no, Stephanie Darvill,’ she muttered under her breath, making the camel’s ears twitch. ‘You would not be so foolish.’

  No, she would not! She would not forget what she was here to do. She would not forget that when she had done it, she was going back to England. She would not forget that he was a prince and she was a farrier’s daughter. And even if she was so incredibly foolish as to forget all these things, she would remember that she was a fallen woman, and that, ironically, the downfall which had freed her to play the harlot would be her downfall, because no man, and especially not a prince, would actually marry a fallen woman. Dally with her perhaps, but marriage would be out of the question.

  All of which should reassure her, yet as they approached the palace, Stephanie could not recapture her elation. Perhaps it was because they were returning to the palace. Rafiq would turn back into a prince, and she would once again be his veterinarian. Yes, that could be it. Then there was the fact that he was going to start training for the Sabr, which was bound to leave him with even less time to throw off his princely mantle than before. That also, was a sound reason.

  They arrived at the stables. Rafiq helped her down. ‘I will leave you to your duties, you will no doubt be anxious to check what has transpired in your absence,’ he said, making straight for the palace.

  Not a trace of the turmoil she was feeling. It had been a pleasure for him, but no more. ‘What more could there possibly be?’ Stephanie muttered under her breath. She knew the answer, but she refused to countenance it. She would content herself with what she had. It was a great deal more than she could have imagined a few months ago, the promise of a future where she was no longer a burden, where she had the freedom to do what she loved best. She wasn’t going to jeopardise it by giving way to feelings which had no future at all.

  As she handed the camels over to one of the stable hands, Stephanie was about to head to the harem to take a bath, when Fadil accosted her. ‘If you please, Miss Darvill, could you take a look at the new foal? I don’t think it is the sickness but there is something wrong.’

  * * *

  Rafiq lay in his bathtub. In his bedchamber, his man would be laying out his formal robes for the Council meeting he had called this afternoon. In his office several secretaries would be cancelling, delegating, rearranging his official engagements from now until the date of the Sabr. Another team of secretaries would be in charge of the Sabr itself. This year, his people would throng to the race. The celebrations would have to be arranged well in advance. He would not allow himself to think of failure. He would meet with Jasim in half an hour’s time. A meeting of extreme import to discuss Rafiq’s personal training regime and the progress of his crack team of horses. A few months ago, a few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have dared hope. Now, he was relying on it.

  Actions spoke louder than words. Stephanie. He sank further into the hot water, draping a wet flannel over his face. Such actions. He had known from the moment they first kissed how it would be. It had been better. Better than he had imagined. Better than any other time before. Better than he had thought possible.

  She was so bold. There were no half-measures with Stephanie. When he touched her, she made no attempt to disguise the effect he had on her. And when she touched him—the way she looked at him, as if she were trying to read his thoughts, as if every thought mattered. Wanting to understand him.

  Rafiq sat up, snatching the flannel from his face. They had made love—that was all. It had been highly satisfying, but that was all it had been. A distraction. A very pleasant distraction. But none the less, a distraction is what it was. He had no time to be wallowing here reliving it. He had a race to win.

  * * *

  The foal had been born while Stephanie and Rafiq were away at the horse fair, suffering its first seizure the day they returned. She was not surprised when he suffered a second seizure at eight days old, and although it left the beautiful young creature exhausted, she and Fadil had been able to prevent him doing any damage to himself. She had seen such seizures occasionally afflict thoroughbred foals during her time at the Newmarket stud. They were not fatal and the foals eventually grew out of them naturally. ‘A watchful eye to manage him through any further seizures, guard him carefully if they occur, just as we did just now, and with a bit of luck, when he is a year, eighteen months at the most, he will mature into a fine, healthy stallion,’ Stephanie told Fadil.

  But someone must have informed Jasim, because he was waiting for her when she arrived at the stables the next morning. ‘Why are you wasting my men’s time on a weakling?’ he demanded.

  They were in the middle of the courtyard and quite alone but Stephanie knew that every single stable hand, the men she had worked so hard to win over, would be watching. She stepped forward. ‘You should not be here,’ she said.

  As usual, Jasim’s long fingers were working incessantly at a set of worry beads. As usual, his expression was one of contempt. ‘These are my stables. The foal is under my jurisdiction. I am affording you the courtesy of informing you personally before I have my orders carried out.’

  ‘What orders?’

  ‘To have the foal destroyed. This is a stud farm, Miss Darvill. We breed thoroughbreds as a business. Sentiment has no place here. We do not harbour weaklings.’ He eyed her up and down disdainfully. ‘Nor the weaker sex. It is not long until the Sabr. Then your presence here will be nothing but an unpleasant memory.’

  Jasim snapped his fingers, and one of the stable hands appeared. The tall, surly one, Stephanie noticed, the one who was always lurking. He was carrying a gun. ‘No!’

  The man looked to Jasim. ‘Do as I instructed and despatch the foal.’

  ‘No!’

  Jasim turned away. The stable hand began to make his way inside. ‘No!’ Stephanie rushed at him, grabbing the gun. Taken by surprise, the man loosened his hold on the weapon, but before she could grab it, he had recovered. ‘No,’ she cried out. ‘Why won’t one of you help me? I will not let you...’

  He let go of the gun so suddenly that Stephanie fell backwards, clutching it. Fortunately, it did not go off.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  The reason for the man’s sudden compliance helped her up. ‘Fadil came and fetched me. He seemed to think that you needed help. You are hurt,’ Rafiq said, seeing her tear-streaked face. ‘Stephanie...’

  ‘No, no. I am perfectly fine, but—Rafiq, it is the foal. The one born eight days ago, to Dameer. He has been having seizures. I have seen it before, it is something which affects thoroughbreds, a problem with the bloodline, but the foal will grow out of it. There is no need to have him shot.’

  ‘Stephanie,’ Rafiq said gently, ‘you must know that sometimes it is better to put an animal out of its suffering, especially if it is liable to hurt itself.’

  She drew herself up to her full, short height. ‘It is my vocation to prevent suffering, but it’s also my vocation to save lives, where possible, and I think this foal’s life should be spared.’

  ‘Your Highness.’ Fadil stepped forward, trembling but determined. ‘Miss Darvill has—she is right, Your Highness. The foal is perfectly healthy, save for the occasional seizure, which she has shown me how to deal with in such a way as to avoid injury. There is no reason why he will not make a fine addition to your stables. In effect, Your Highness, I would endorse Miss Darvill’s suggestion.’

  ‘Thank you, Fadil,’ Stephanie said, quite overcome by this brave testimonial.

  ‘Very well,’ Rafiq said to Stephanie, ‘it seems you have spared a life, though why I must be summoned from my breakfast with such urgency...’ Frowning, he turned to Fadil. ‘Who gave the order to have the foal put down, if not you?’

  ‘I did, sire.’ The Master of the Horse had been lurking in the shadows of the main doorway. Now h
e came forward, making a bow. ‘I was forced to come to the stables personally, in order to ensure my orders were implemented, Your Highness. When I was informed that Fadil had fallen under the spell of this woman...’

  ‘You have been given specific instructions to remain at the training grounds. Your only concern for the present is the Sabr horses.’ Rafiq spoke in his soft, icy tone that made everyone shrink back. ‘Why have you seen fit to disobey me again?’

  Jasim dropped his worry beads. ‘Your Highness, my own orders were being disobeyed. My own Head Groom had the nerve to suggest that I—I, the most respected trainer in the whole of Arabia, should pay heed to what that—that woman suggested. To imagine that a woman, that she could think to know better than I! These are my stables. My own Head Groom...’

  ‘My stables, Jasim. My Head Groom, Jasim. You have not answered my question. This is not the first time I have had occasion to speak to you. Why have you seen fit to disobey me?’

  The silence which followed was terrifying. Stephanie was afraid to breathe. Only Rafiq seemed unaffected, waiting still as a statue, his eyes hooded, the slight thinning of his mouth betraying his fury.

  When Jasim spoke, it was in a broken whisper. ‘It will not happen again, Your Highness.’

  ‘No, it will not,’ Rafiq said curtly. ‘Pack your things. I will have one of my secretaries arrange to pay you what you are owed.’

  ‘Highness! I beg of you—you cannot mean this.’ Jasim threw himself to the ground. ‘You cannot have thought—the Sabr...’

  ‘Three times, I have warned you. I have granted you considerable leeway because there is no doubt as to your horse-training expertise, but you have gone too far. Now get out, your services are no longer required.’