Desert Rogues Part 2

by Susan Mallery

  “Your Majesty,” she said, coming to her feet before dropping into a low curtsy.

  “Daphne.”

  Murat’s father walked toward her and held out both his hands. He captured hers and kissed her knuckles. “How lovely to have you back in Bahania.” The handsome older man chuckled. “Most young women today don’t know the first thing about a good curtsy, but you’ve always had style.”

  “I had several years of training in etiquette. Some of it had to rub off,” she said with a smile. While she might not be excited about what Murat was up to, she couldn’t help being pleased at seeing the king. He had always been very kind to her, especially when she’d been young, in love and terrified.

  “Come,” King Hassan said as he led her to the cluster of sofas. “Tell me everything. You and your family are well?”

  “Everyone is great.” Except for Laurel who was furious about Brittany not marrying Murat. “They send their best.” Or they would have if they’d known she would be speaking with the king.

  “I’m sure they’re very excited about what has happened.”

  Her good mood slipped. “Yes. My parents are delighted.”

  King Hassan had to be close to sixty, but he looked much younger. There was an air of strength about him. Authority and determination. No doubt that came from a royal lineage that stretched back over a thousand years. He was considered one of the most forward-thinking leaders in the world. A king who earned his people’s respect through his actions and loyalty to his country.

  Murat would be equally as excellent a leader, Daphne thought. He’d been born to the position and had never once stumbled. Which made him admirable, but not someone she wanted to marry.

  “My son sends you a surprise,” the king said as the gold doors opened again.

  Servants appeared with the carts they seemed to favor. But this time instead of food they brought clay and sculpting tools.

  Her fingers instantly itched for the feel of clay, while the cynical part of her brain wondered if he thought he could bribe her with her hobby.

  “You must thank him for me,” she said as the servants bowed and left.

  “You can thank him yourself. He’ll be by later.”

  Oh, joy, she thought as she smiled politely.

  “You are aware of the date,” King Hassan said.

  Daphne blinked at him. “Today’s date?”

  “No. That the wedding date has been set. It is in four months. The challenge will be to get everything done in such a short period of time, but I am sure that with the right staff, we will be successful.”

  She stiffened her spine and drew in a breath. “Your Majesty, I mean no disrespect, but the problem isn’t finding the right staff. The problem is I am not going to marry Murat, and there is nothing anyone can say to convince me otherwise.”

  She’d thought the monarch might be surprised, but he only chuckled. “Ah, two stubborn people. So who will win this battle?”

  “I will. It is the old story of the rabbit and the hound. The rabbit gets away because while the hound runs for its supper, the rabbit runs for its life.”

  “An interesting point.” The king took her hand again and lightly squeezed her fingers. “I have often wondered how things would have been different if you had stayed and married Murat. Have you?”

  “No.” Well, maybe a little, but she wasn’t interested in admitting it. “I wasn’t ready to be married. I was too young, as was your son. The position of his wife requires much, and I’m not sure I would have been up to the task.”

  “Perhaps. There are many responsibilities in being queen, although your questions and self-doubts make me think you would have done well in the position. He never married.”

  Daphne drew her hand from his and laced her fingers together on her lap. “Murat? I’m aware of that. Had he married I would not currently be a prisoner in the harem.”

  “You know that is not my point,” Hassan said humorously. “You never married, either.”

  “I’ve been busy with my studies and establishing my career.”

  “It is not much of an excuse. Perhaps each of you were waiting for the other to make the first move.”

  Daphne nearly sprang to her feet. At the last second she remembered that action would be a fairly serious breach of protocol. “I assure you that is not even close to true. Murat has enjoyed the company of so many beautiful women, I doubt he remembers them all, let alone a young woman from a decade ago.”

  “And now?” the king asked.

  “We barely know each other.”

  “An excellent point. Perhaps this is a good time to change that.” The king rose. “Murat wants this wedding, Daphne, as do your parents. As do I. Are you willing to take on the world?”

  She stood and tried not to give in to the sudden rush of fear. “If I have to.”

  “Perhaps it would be easier to give in graciously. Would marriage to Murat be so horrible?”

  “Yes. I think it would be.” She bit her lower lip. “Your Majesty, would you really force me to marry your son against my will?”

  His dark eyes never wavered as he spoke. “If I have to.”

  Murat found Daphne in the garden. The sun had nearly slipped below the horizon, and the first whispers of the cool evening air whispered against his face.

  She sat on a stone bench, her shoulders slumped, her chin nearly touching her chest. The only word that came to his mind at that moment was…broken.

  He hurried forward and pulled her to her feet. She gasped in surprise, but didn’t resist until he tried to draw her close.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, twisting free of his embrace.

  “Comforting you.”

  She glared at him. “You’re the source of my troubles, not the relief from them.”

  “I’m all you have.”

  She took a step back. “What a sorry state of affairs. What on earth does that sentence say about my life?”

  “That at least there is one person on your side.”

  Little light spilled into the garden, but there was enough for him to see her beautiful features. Her wide eyes had darkened with pain and confusion. Her full lips trembled. It was as if the weight of the world pressed down upon her, and he ached for her.

  “Come,” he said, holding out his arms. “You’ll feel better.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to,” she said stubbornly, even as she moved forward and leaned against him.

  He wrapped his arms around her. She was slight, so delicate and yet so strong. She smelled of flowers and soap and of herself. That arousing fragrance he had never been able to forget.

  Wanting filled him, but something else, as well. Something that made this moment feel right.

  He felt her hands on his back, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder.

  “No one will help me,” she said. “I’ve been making phone calls for nearly two hours. Not my family—which isn’t a big surprise—nor any of my friends. I even called my congressman. Everyone thinks us getting married is a fine idea. They refused to believe that I’m being held against my will, and they all hinted for an invitation to the wedding.”

  “Then you may add them to the list.”

  She raised her head. Tears glittered in her eyes. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

  He knew what she wanted him to say, but he would not speak the words. To set her free…it would not happen.

  “You will enjoy being queen,” he said. “There is much power in the position.”

  “I’ve never been that interested in power.”

  “You’ve never had it before.”

  “Murat, you know this is wrong.”

  “Why? You are to marry me, Crown Prince Murat. It is not as if you’re being asked to wed a used-camel dealer.”

  She gave a half laugh, half sob and pushed away from him. The tears had trickled down her face. He wiped them away with his fingers.

  “Do not cry,” he murmured. “I offer you the worl
d.”

  “I only want my freedom.”

  “To do what? To give shots to overweight dogs and cats? Here you can make a difference. Here you will be a part of history. Your children and grandchildren will rule this land.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  He growled low in his throat. Had she always been this stubborn? Was she trying to punish him for what had happened before? All right. Perhaps he could give a little on that point.

  “Why did you leave me?” he asked. “Before. Ten years ago. Why did you go?”

  Her shoulders slumped again, and the pain returned to her eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. I wish to know.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Then explain it to me. I am very intelligent.”

  “Not about me.” She swallowed. “Murat, you have to let me go.”

  Instead of answering her statement, he stepped forward and kissed her. He caught her by surprise—he could tell by the sudden intake of air and the way she hesitated before responding. But instead of retreating, he settled his hand on her hip and the back of her neck and brushed his tongue against her lower lip.

  She parted instantly. As he swept inside he felt the heat flaring between them. Wanting poured through him, making it difficult to hold back when he wanted to rip off her clothing and claim her right there on the bench.

  Instead he continued to kiss her, moving slowly, retreating, pulling back until she was the one to grab him and deepen the embrace. When he finally straightened, she looked as aroused as he felt.

  “You see,” he said, “there is much between us. We will take the time to get to know each other better. That will make you comfortable with the thought of our marriage.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” she said, but her swollen mouth and passion-filled eyes betrayed her.

  Murat brushed her cheek with his fingers, then walked out of the harem. Victory was at hand. He would wear away Daphne’s defenses until she understood that their marriage was inevitable. Then she would acquiesce and they would be wed. She would love him and be happy and he…

  He stepped through the gold doors and into the hallway. He would return to his regular life, content, but untouched by the experience.

  Chapter Six

  Daphne rolled the cool clay in her hands until the combination of heat from her skin and the friction of the action caused the thick rope to yield to her will. She tore off a piece of clay and pressed it flat, then added it to the sculpture in progress.

  The half-finished project had finally begun to take shape. There was a sense of movement in the way the man leaned too far to the right. His body was still a squarish lump, but she knew how she would slice away the excess clay and mold what was left. The head would follow, with the arms and the tray of dishes to come last. The tray that would be on the verge of tumbling to the ground.

  Around her, the garden vibrated with life. She heard the chatter of the parrots and the rustle of small creatures hiding in the thick foliage. Several of the king’s cats stretched out in the sun, the slow rise and fall of their chests the only sign of life.

  As far as prisons went, this wasn’t a bad one, Daphne told herself, as she picked up another clump of clay. Not that she had a whole lot of experience with which to compare. She’d never been held against her will before. Still, if one had to be, the Bahania harem was the place.

  She couldn’t complain about the service, either. Delicious meals appeared whenever she requested them. Her large bed was plenty comfortable, and the bathroom was so luxurious that it bordered on sinful. Still, none of these pleasures made up for the fact that she had been confined against her will with the threat of marriage to Murat hanging over her head.

  He had spoken of getting to know each other, but she wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. Men like him didn’t make a habit of letting just anyone see the inner person, and she doubted their engagement gave her extra privileges in that area. Which left her with the distinct impression that his request had been a lot more about giving himself time to convince her that this was a good idea than any desire he had to share his feelings.

  Even more annoying was the fact that a part of her was interested in learning more about the man. Life was never easy when the one who got away was a future king.

  She picked up a sharp piece of wood that was part knife, part chisel and went to work on the torso of the sculpture. When the rough shape was correct, she added features to the head, creating a face that was a fair representation of the man in question. A smile pulled at her mouth. She only had to complete the arms and the tray.

  “Men have died for less.”

  Daphne heard the voice about the same time the sound of footsteps entered her consciousness. She’d been so focused on her work that she hadn’t been paying attention. Now she pressed clay into the shape of a tray and did her best not to react to Murat’s nearness.

  “I thought there was artistic freedom here in Bahania,” she said, not looking up from her clay.

  “Most artists are too intelligent to mock me.”

  Daphne spared him a glance. As always he wore a suit, although this time he’d left the jacket behind. The crisp white shirt he wore contrasted with his dark skin. He’d rolled the sleeves up to the elbow, and she found the sight of his bare forearms oddly erotic.

  Sheesh. She really had to get out more.

  “My intelligence has never been an issue,” she said. “Do you doubt it now?”

  He glanced at the tray taking shape in her hands. “You sculpt me carrying dishes?”

  She grinned. “Actually I sculpt you about to drop the dishes you’re carrying. There’s a difference.”

  He made a noise low in his throat, which she knew she should take for displeasure, but there was something about it that made her stomach clench. Perhaps the noise was too close to desire.

  Stop that! She grabbed hold of any wayward emotions and reminded herself she needed to keep things firmly in check. Wanting Murat wasn’t in the rules. It would only make things difficult and awkward. Hadn’t she already had to deal with a broken heart once where he was concerned? Was she really willing to forget that the man held her prisoner and threatened a wedding, regardless of her wishes?

  “Why are you here?” she asked as she felt her temper grow and with it her strength to resist him.

  “Am I not allowed to come and visit with my bride?”

  She rolled her eyes and set down the small tray. Next up she began to form tiny glasses and plates.

  “I will take your silence as agreement,” he said.

  “You may take it any way you’d like, but you’d be wrong.”

  He sighed. “You are most difficult.”

  “Tell me about it. Of course you’ve made ‘difficult’ an art form. I’m still little more than a student.”

  He ignored that, saying nothing as he walked around her and the sculpture. “You have an energy I haven’t seen before,” he said. “Perhaps you needed this time to relax.”

  Perhaps, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. “Is there a point to your visit or are you simply here to annoy me?”

  “You will be visited by someone later.”

  “The first of three ghosts?”

  He frowned slightly, then his expression cleared. “Are you in need of a visit by the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future?”

  “No. I’ve always kept the spirit of Christmas in my heart.”

  “I am pleased to hear it is so. That will bode well for our children. They will have a festive season to look forward to.”

  Her jaw clenched. “Is this where I point out, yet again, that I haven’t agreed to marry you, nor am I likely to?”

  “You may if it makes you happy. However, I will not listen. Instead I will inform you that Mr. Peterson is an old and valued member of our staff here. He specializes in coordinating formal state events.”

  She got it right away. “Like weddings.”

  “Exactly
. I would appreciate it if you were polite and cooperative.”

  She formed a tiny clay bowl and set it on the tray. “I would appreciate being set free. It seems we are both destined for disappointment.”

  Murat moved closer. “Why do you attempt to thwart me?”

  “Because I can’t seem to get through to you any other way.” She wiped her hands on the damp towel on her workbench, then turned to face him. “I don’t get it, Murat. What’s in this for you?” She held up her hand. “Spare me the party line about marriage and destiny or whatever. Why on earth are you insisting on marrying a woman who doesn’t want you?”

  Her gaze met Murat’s with a familiarity that should have annoyed him, but this was Daphne, and he found himself enjoying most everything she did. Even her challenges.

  He smiled as he moved close, crowding her. Daphne, being stubborn and difficult and predictable, didn’t move back. She made it so easy, he thought with pleasure. He liked that about her.

  “You claim not to want me,” he murmured as he cupped her head in one hand and bent low to kiss her. “Your body tells me otherwise.”

  Then, before she could speak whatever nonsense she had in mind, he brushed his mouth against hers.

  She squirmed, but he wove his fingers through her hair to hold her in place. When she pressed her lips together to resist his claim on her, he chuckled, then raised his free hand to her breast.

  Instantly she gasped. He took advantage of her parted lips and swept inside. At the same time, he brushed his thumb against her hard nipple.

  She held out against him for the space of a heartbeat before she wrapped her arms around his neck and surrendered. Her mouth softened against him, her tongue greeted him with an erotic dance, and her entire body melted into his.

  Heat exploded between them, and Murat found himself fighting his own desire. He had touched her in an effort to teach her a lesson, but now he was the one being schooled on the power of unfulfilled need.

  Her hands clutched at him, pulling him closer. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss, even as she pressed into his hand. He explored her breast and found himself hungering to know the taste of her hot skin.