She wanted him.
She wanted everything about Zahir, from his luscious, full lips to his strong arms, and from his intoxicating scent to his haunting eyes. Maybe she wasn’t ready to sleep with him, to fulfill her duty as the most unusual surrogate—well, now broodmare—in Jardanian history. But Felicia craved relief, to let herself feel something, if only privately.
With her door locked, Felicia pulled off her nightgown. She had never wanted to be naked so badly, never needed to pleasure herself so desperately. Now she felt free enough to do it, sure that no one would interrupt her.
Lying on the bed, her hair fanning out beneath her, Felicia reached down with one hand and stroked the ample curves of her belly. Then she eased one finger in and out of her belly button, just teasing herself in the slightest. With her other hand, she grasped her right nipple between her thumb and forefinger. But it wasn’t her hands touching her. No. In her mind’s eye, Zahir’s strong, masculine hands and his long, pianist fingers caressed her. He was the one fondling her nipples and, now, slipping those hands artfully between her most secret folds.
Licking her lips, Felicia closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to have his tongue snake patterns across her nipples, how it would feel to have the heft of him looming over her. Then she pressed one finger deep inside her channel and imagined that it was his thick member filling her. She added a second. The warmth she’d felt earlier seared through her, growing from the warmth of a fire on cold winter’s night to a forest fire ravaging her. As she bucked her hips, she placed her thumb over her clitoris and began to rock in earnest, two fingers plundering her core, her thumb rubbing hard against her clit. The fingers of her other hand frantically grasped her nipple, teasing and twisting it between them.
“God, Zahir!” she said, then bit her lip, cutting off her moans as the heat built within her.
When she hit just the right angle and pressure against her nub, Felicia came. Hard. Her body shook under the onslaught and the ecstasy, her nerves alight, consumed by the flames her touch and the image of Zahir had built up.
When she could move again, she rolled onto her side and draped the sheet over her. Her breath still came in shuddering gasps, and her bones still felt like wet noodles as she looked out at the Jardanian skyline through her window. The breeze had cooled now, the desert settling into its nighttime chill.
“The things even thinking of you does to me. What am I supposed to do, Zahir? I can’t be the right royal mother for you. But I don’t think I can leave you, either.”
Tears fell on her cheeks, and she wiped them away. Those were worries for another day. For now, she had her fantasies, and they would have to do until she and he truly met, until they were ready to conceive the heir to the throne.
Chapter Nine
“You know,” she said, gratefully holding hands with him. “I’ve been to the bazaar in Cairo more than once. I’m not the naïve American tourist who is going to gasp at the snake charmer,” Felicia said, gesturing to a woven carpet where a cobra swayed before a man in full costume—pipe, turban, and all. No real Jardanian would be seen in public in such a getup, of course.
Zahir smiled, though, pleased to see her in such high spirits. He’d had words with his mother this morning and told her that everything concerning his heir would be his business from now on. If she didn’t approve of Felicia, then that was too bad. He’d chosen her because she was the woman he wanted, the one he cared about. She would bring strength, integrity, creativity and beauty to the Ahmed line. If his mother’s heart was too hardened after Father’s death to see how much Felicia already meant to him, then she had no business dealing with the new sheikha-to-be.
And Felicia would be his sheikha.
She might be resisting anything more than a business arrangement right now, but he had a year or more to work on that. She wouldn’t want to leave the baby once he or she was born, at least not before the baby was weaned. He had time to woo her, to make her understand that she would be perfect as the next sheikha of Jardania. For now, he was treating her to the secrets of the market that she’d never been privy to before, no matter how extensive her experience in Cairo.
“You think you’ve seen everything, do you?” He pulled her down an alley shaded by the tall stone buildings and away from the usual tourist attractions of the capital city’s market.
“Oh!” she cried, batting her eyelashes at him. “You steered me off track before the man with the trained monkey. I wanted to see him! He had a little vest. The monkey, I mean.”
“You can go see Abu later.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Really?”
“Amull knows how to play to the crowds. He’s also a docent at the zoological park. With the generous American audience, playing to the Disney films does help. I’m sure the name has netted him and little Abu a lot of money and extra bananas over the years.”
“Fair enough, but why have I been diverted from seeing such a cute little fella so we can wander down an alley?”
“Because the best discoveries are in packages we never expect,” he said, grinning back at her. Then he turned into the nearest store front and nodded to the ancient woman behind the small display case. It held lovely, if conventional, pieces, designed to appeal to the tourists who wandered in wanting something “traditional” and reasonably priced. He’d known Fairuza for a long time; she’d been the preferred jeweler for his father. She always had something special waiting for her favorite customers.
“My dear Fairuza, it’s been too long,” he said in Arabic. “I trust you still have the best wares in the city?”
She laughed, an old creaky sound, before scratching at her nose. “I have the best jewelry in all of Jardania, as I always have, my sheikh.”
“Ahem,” Felicia said, quirking her head at both of them. “Maybe I’d like to understand the conversation too.”
“Do you not speak Arabic?” he asked. “We’ll have to get you a tutor at the palace for both that and Jardanian.”
“I speak French and chose to learn that at the university. You know, I’m not a psychic, and I didn’t foresee having to know Jardanian.”
“We were speaking Arabic,” he said, winking back at his flummoxed artiste.
“Can you tell me what you were saying?”
“Gladly,” he said, dropping his hand from hers and then, instead, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Fairuza is the premiere jeweler of the city, though she prefers to keep this low profile. I cannot offer you what I wish I could, but I would be honored if you would choose something.”
“Like what?” she asked, frowning up at him.
A ring.
He bit his tongue. Nothing that forward would ease Felicia’s worries or self-doubt. He could, however, give her something personal from him, something befitting the sheikha he knew she’d one day be. But he was already happily anticipating the way gold bought today would gleam around her neck, would mark her as his at the ball a month from now.
“Whatever you wish. She sells bracelets and charms, as well as necklaces.” He turned to the shop owner and asked her quickly in Arabic to get her case with her reserved wares.
Fairuza moved with speed and grace for someone her age and in no time was hefting a cumbersome, black trunk onto the glass case before them.
“Now, my dear,” she said, her voice like crackling leaves. “I have many options for you to choose from.”
Felicia’s eyes widened as she looked over the large gold cuffs, the fine filigree necklaces in gold and platinum, and the cataract of dangly earrings sparkling with precious stones. Her hand hesitated over one of the cuffs, enameled in deep cobalt, with the evil eye at the center of it, and accented with diamond and sapphire.
“It’s like it’s watching me.”
“Like it’s watching over you, my dear,” Fairuza corrected. “This is the evil eye. It will…”
“Keep me blessed and protected from spirits and those who wish to do me harm,” Felicia finished for her
. “I’d never seen one this big or so beautiful.”
He smiled. “You mean you’ve never seen evil eye jewelry rimmed with diamonds before.”
She nodded and pulled her hand back. “I can’t accept this.”
He turned toward her and narrowed his eyes, all the while reminding himself to approach her as he would a skittish colt. “Why? It would give me great pleasure.”
“You’ve already done so much for me.”
“Buying you a necklace or a bracelet won’t empty my bank account. Please, let me do this for you. Frankly,” he said, stroking her hair back from her face. “It’s not even for you. It’s for me.”
She laughed, a sound like tinkling bells that brought levity to his soul. “I don’t know if a big bracelet would look that great on you, Zahir.”
“No, I want it to be my gift to you. Soon you’ll be on my arm before every head of state in the Middle East and beyond. I want to show you off at the ball, and I can’t think of a better way to do it than to have you decorated in jewelry befitting a queen. I’ll get you something anyway.”
“But you don’t have to.”
“I want to, and the least you can do is make sure what I end up buying matches your tastes.”
“Then I’ll take this one,” she said, pointing to the glass case instead.
She’d chosen a tiered bronze necklace with five large, lapis lazuli stones set in it. Nice, it would complement her pale complexion and blonde hair, but it was still for everyday use, and it wouldn’t cost more than a hundred American dollars, if that. It wasn’t for the queen she’d be one day, but it was a start.
He offered her a small smile and completed the transaction. Once he’d paid, Felicia reached for the necklace and started to put it on herself. Zahir lifted it from her hands and shook his head. “Now, you can’t expect me to let you do that for yourself. I want to put it on you, my artiste, and see how well those deep blue stones set off your eyes.”
“My eyes are green.”
Fairuza winked at them. “At least they’re in the same family,” she said.
He pushed her hair over her left shoulder to sit against her chest. His fingers traced the fine, elegant lines of her neck. It was as delicate as any swan’s. “My artiste, you truly have no idea how beautiful you are.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “And you have no idea how wild you drive me, how you make the blood in my veins race.”
“Zahir!”
He smirked at her as he finished clasping the necklace over her pale skin and situated her hair into place over it. She’d even worn an indigo kaftan today, and the necklace highlighted it perfectly. Zahir only wished that she would take more from him, but he’d have to work in small steps. She had more than her fair share of walls around her heart. That much was clear.
“Well, my artiste,” he said, offering her his crooked arm. “Shall we go?”
“Of course. I still want to see that monkey!”
***
“Where are your guards?” she asked. The question had been eating at the back of her mind, along with his offer of the most expensive jewelry in the city. She’d loved that evil eye cuff, but couldn’t possibly have accepted it. And choosing the less extravagant necklace had perhaps been in denial of the looming ball and the pressure to take their relationship to the next level.
I’m not even sure what type of relationship we have now!
Zahir wrapped his arm more tightly around her shoulders. The sun was setting, and in the back alleys between the buildings a chill was creeping. The desert at night was always a cold mistress, which had surprised Felicia her first year in Cairo. Now she wished she’d brought a shawl to drape around her shoulders. Of course, Zahir was as warm as a furnace, and she relished snuggling up next to him and feeling his body along hers.
“Jaheer helped get them off our tail long enough to escape. I used to drive Father mad doing the same thing as a teenager, but that was one of the reasons I did it. I used to wander these backstreets all the time by myself. You see so much of the capital this way, it’s…”
“Real?” she offered, smiling at him. “There’s something so far away and removed about the palace; it’s like living in a fairy tale. At least, that’s how I think about it. But here…you’re right. You can see your people and the hustle and bustle with which they go about their lives. Even if this isn’t the safest idea.”
“I’ve slipped my guards for years and never had a problem,” Zahir said.
“Maybe you shouldn’t though, especially since, um, there isn’t an heir yet.”
He quirked his head at her. “Does that mean you’ve been thinking about that?”
“It’s the only thing on my mind right now,” she said, pulling away from him. “It raises so many worries—how I fit into your world or don’t, how I’ll be ready for the ball, even how not to lose myself in all of this. I know you’re already disappointed in me,” she said, gesturing to the lapis lazuli necklace. “I know you wanted me to go for something showy and gold, but that’s not me. It would never be me. I’m just Felicia Ryan, and I don’t know what it means yet to be the next mother of a sheikh. I’m not ready for gold to be showered all over me.”
“Well maybe I am,” a gruff voice said behind her.
She spun around quickly and jumped back when a man eased out of the shadows. His thick beard hung down to tattered robes. He brandished a knife with a blade at least six inches long.
“I’d like that necklace, American.” Then he looked at Zahir in his tailored, Western-style suit. “And I’m sure your wallet will be fat, big shot. Toss it to me.”
“No,” Zahir said, fisting his hands at his sides. “You don’t want to be on the receiving end of my fury, friend. I promise you that. Now, you have one chance to get out of here before I make mincemeat of you.”
Zahir shoved Felicia behind him.
“Please,” she whispered into his ear. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t,” he said and then glared at the mugger. “You’ve been warned. Get the hell out of here.”
“I don’t think I have much to worry about from some fancy moron like you,” the mugger said.
He leapt at Zahir, slashing his knife up and catching part of Zahir’s suit jacket. Felicia screamed. She wanted to run, wanted to find anything she could use to defend Zahir. But fear froze her to the spot. Zahir yelled when the man took another swipe, but this time he dodged the knife before grabbing the man’s arm in mid-strike. With a brutal blow, Zahir brought his hand down in a brisk chop; she heard the bone crack, the harsh sound of its snap echoing around her.
The mugger stumbled back, cursing in pain and clutching at his arm, but Zahir seemed to only be getting started. With a swift kick, he hit the other man’s solar plexus hard, sending the him spilling to the ground. Then he took one more measured kick against the man’s ribs.
“How dare you attack me. How dare you attack my artiste.”
He pulled his leg back to kick again, but Felicia finally broke from her fear, finally found the will to move. Stepping forward she grabbed him by the arm. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do any more. Zahir, he’s wheezing. You can stop.”
Her sheikh turned toward her, and for a moment, she was scared when she looked into his eyes. That piercing look held something wild and untamed. “He tried to hurt you.”
She gestured to where the injured mugger was gurgling in pain. “He can’t hurt a kitten now. Please, Zahir, I’m all right. Let’s just get out of here.”
He hesitated a moment longer, but then grabbed her hand and led her away. Zahir didn’t say anything for a long time, just pulled her through the rat’s maze of alleys and paths that snaked through the capital. Felicia could barely breathe as they rushed as far away from the mugger as possible. Finally, she pulled away from him. Shadows covered the alley, and they hadn’t seen another soul since they’d left the mugger.
“Stop. Just stop. We need to talk about this. I was scared too, but you just left him there. If I
hadn’t been there…I…would you have killed him?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I used to get in trouble for fighting in school, and I’ve had more than a few bar fights. But I’ve never felt anger like that before, not even with all my hotheaded tendencies.” He reached down to stroke her hair, and then set his other hand on her shoulder. “He was attacking someone I cared about, someone who truly matters to me.”
“We’ve only known each other four days,” she said, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. Her heart still pounded in her chest, and suddenly that heat was back, flaring white hot in her belly. “You can’t feel that deeply for me already.”
Because I think I feel the same for you, but I know that’s crazy.
His hand stroked lower down her cheek, and then he cupped her breast, his fingers straying over her right nipple. She arched her back and moaned in spite of herself. “I care so much for you that it’s changing me. Is that how you feel too? I just want you to let go, just right now.”
“I…I’m not sure that I can.”
His other hand left her shoulder and found its way to her hip and started pulling up her kaftan. His hands were surprisingly rough; maybe he’d done more physical labor somehow than she thought. There were stables on the grounds. Had he mucked those as a kid and teenager? What else had he done with such strong, rough-hewn hands?
It made her shiver just to think of it.
His hand slipped under the fabric, tracing the soft skin of her thighs up to their apex. His fingers slipped easily under the lace of her underwear, one finger rubbing slowly against the soft flesh of her most secret lips.
She moaned and bucked against him, trying to get as close to him as possible. Her body felt as if hundreds of electrical charges were surging through her, as if she’d accidentally grazed her finger against a light socket. It was dangerous; it was invigorating. It was him.
Bad Sheikh's Surrogate Mistress Page 6