In Too Deep

by Brenda Jackson; Olivia Gates

  He looked down the eight inches between them—even with her three-inch heels—the wealth of his rain-straight hair gleaming like a raven’s wing in the midday summer sun. She almost moaned as everything about him bombarded her. His scent, his size, his beauty. He’d changed out of the casual clothes he’d worn while piloting the helicopter out to the Hamptons into one of those designer suits that made him look almost intimidating. At thirty-four, he was the epitome of everything male, of what she’d never imagined could be gathered in one man. And he was her husband. Yet he wasn’t really hers at all.

  Suddenly, all thoughts, all existence disappeared.

  Adham was taking off his sunglasses, his golden eyes flaring with their emerald highlights, reaching out a hand to cup her face in a possessive palm. His thumb stroked her cheek, skimmed over her trembling lips, dipping into their moistness, spreading it over them, setting everything he touched on fire.

  “You look edible, ya jameelati.”

  Hearing him call her “my beauty,” and the way he was gazing at her as if he did want to devour her, thundered through her.

  Her response was so fierce, it sent indignation rippling through her. “I look exactly the same as I did this morning. I haven’t even changed out of my traveling clothes.”

  “Then I beg your forgiveness for not noticing. I had too many urgencies on my mind. But that’s no excuse. Nothing should have distracted me from kanzi, aroosi—my treasure, my bride.”

  Before she could process his words, or register the surge of joy they elicited, his hand slid to her nape, holding her head captive, the other gathering her around her waist and lifting her off the ground, plastering her against his steel-fleshed body.

  “Adham…” was all she gasped before his lips took hers.

  He drank her moans, thrusting his tongue inside her, occupying her, intoxicating her. “Aih, gooly esmi haik—say my name like that, like you can’t draw breath with wanting me.”

  “I can’t….” She writhed in his arms, not caring that they were out in the open. She’d starved for him.

  He turned, pressing her against the back passenger door, thrust against her, his daunting erection digging into her quivering stomach, his knee driving between her melting thighs.

  One thing was left inside her mind, looping in a frenzied litany. He wants me again.

  “I would say get a room, but we’re standing in front of a mansion with sixteen suites. And by the look of it, you’ve probably made thorough use of each and every one of them.”

  The words, spoken by a deep, amused male voice, trickled through Sabrina’s fevered awareness. She only understood that Adham was severing their meld and putting her back fully on her feet. She clung to him, panicked he’d drift away again.

  But he brought her in front of him as he turned to the speaker, his arms gathering her tight, linking over her belly.

  She blinked through the crimson haze of arousal at a tall, dark, handsome man standing a dozen feet away, his hands deep in the pockets of his ultra-chic pants. He looked highly entertained.

  “And hello to you, too, Seb.” Adham’s voice above her ear had more moist heat surging between her thighs. She struggled not to rub them together, to ameliorate the pounding there. “It’s great that you came, ya sudeeki, so I can have the pleasure—” his hands brushed her belly with insistent caresses, his hardness jerking against the small of her back “—of introducing to you the love of my life, my bride, Sabrina Aal Ferjani.” Sabrina didn’t know how she remained upright after such a declaration. “Ameerati, let me introduce Sebastian Hughes, my friend and associate. He runs the Bridgehampton Polo Club in his father’s stead.”

  She extended a trembling hand to Sebastian, overwhelmed at Adham calling her “my princess” on top of everything else.

  Sebastian placed a gallant kiss on her hand. “It’s an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Sabrina.” He raised green eyes full of mischief, before he straightened to a height a couple of inches shy of Adham’s six foot five. “And a shock. I never thought the day would come when Adham entered matrimony’s gilded cage willingly.”

  “I never thought it would, either.” Adham looked down, his gaze singeing her. “Until I met Sabrina. And then nothing could have kept me out of it. Not that anywhere she is could be called a cage, gilded or otherwise, but a haven.”

  Sebastian barked a laugh. “Oh, man. You’re spouting poetry! You must have potent magic, Sabrina. I can call you Sabrina, right?” Before she could blurt out an affirmation, Sebastian turned his teasing eyes to Adham. “You won’t make me call her Princess Aal Ferjani, will you, Adham?”

  Adham’s smile flashed, riddling her vision in spots. “He’s having a field day teasing me, since just before I met you, I told him that he’d never see me married. But then I can say the same about him. While we were falling in love, the world’s foremost confirmed bachelor had a change of heart, too. It took his assistant almost leaving him to make him realize he can’t live without her.”

  Sebastian nodded whimsically. “Yeah. One thing for sure, Sabrina, Adham and I are both lucky dogs. And you and Julia must be saints for not only putting up with us, but for forgiving our trespasses and loving us nevertheless.”

  “Why do you think Adham had any trespasses to forgive?” The question was out of her mouth before she could think.

  Sebastian’s lips twisted whimsically. “Because as an inveterate lone wolf, he must have committed some in his struggles not to succumb to his fate and his feelings for you. I know I did.”

  Suddenly it felt like floodlights went on inside her head.

  Could that be what the past weeks were about? Adham trying to adjust to being married, after a lifetime of thinking he’d never tie his life to another?

  “So what brings you here, Seb?” Adham asked, interrupting her musings. “I was just coming to the farm myself.”

  “I thought you wouldn’t make it out on Sabrina’s first day here, so I came to meet your bride and welcome her to our neck of the woods.”

  “And now you have.” Adham turned his eyes to her. “And now that you’re here, would you like to accompany me, ya ameerati? I’d love to give you a tour of the Seven Oaks Farm, where the polo club’s tournaments take place.”

  She almost jumped in his arms. “Oh, yes, please.”

  Sebastian laughed. “And in case things get too hot for you during the tour, you can borrow my personal quarters at the farm to…cool off.”

  Adham shook his head. “Suffering in utmost discomfort doesn’t matter, when one’s waiting for the time to be finally right.”

  She twisted to gaze into his eyes, and saw it again. The pure, unadulterated passion of the life-changing night when he’d possessed her.

  He meant those words. He had been waiting for her to heal, the incredible—if terribly misguided—man.

  And she felt her life begin. Finally. For real.

  Two

  The drive to the Seven Oaks Farm passed in a haze.

  All Sabrina felt was Adham sitting beside her, his body radiating command and control, all she saw was his sculpted profile, all she could appreciate was his profound beauty. The man was gorgeous down to his last hair and pore.

  And all she wanted was to carry on where they’d left off when Sebastian had interrupted them. She’d thought he’d intended to when he’d decided to have Jameel chauffeur them in a limo. But with the barrier between driver and passenger compartments down, and his bodyguards preceding and following them in other cars, she felt exposed. And then, even if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have acted on the desires churning in her mind, frying her body.

  She wouldn’t have run her hand up his inner thigh, wouldn’t have leaned over him to rub his hardness with her leg and catch his maddening lower lip in her teeth. She had to face it. She was too inexperienced; she’d probably botch any seduction attempt. Worse, she was too shy to try, even if she was assured of the desired results. She still needed him to initiate their intimacies.

  No su
ch luck. He’d been inundated with one phone call after another since they’d entered the limo. She could only watch him, vibrating with his nearness, with ratcheting need. “Zain, kaffa. That’s enough,” he growled under his breath as he ended the last call. “I’m turning the phone off. They’ll have to live without me for a while.” He turned to her. “Aassef, ya habibati. So sorry for all this. There will be no more interruptions. So tell me. What do you know about polo?”

  Heat rushed to her face at hearing him calling her “my love.” She’d memorized everything he’d said to her in his native tongue and investigated what it meant when he hadn’t provided the translation. He’d called her that only once before—when he’d been deep in her, turning her inside out with pleasure.

  She mumbled her answer. “Uh…not much.”

  “Let me guess. A group of men galloping on horses, hitting a tiny ball around a huge field with sticks to catapult it between goal posts.” Her heat rose another notch in embarrassment. That was exactly how it seemed to her. The amused indulgence in his eyes poured fuel on her conflagration. “And you wouldn’t be wrong. That’s basically it. Want to know more about the sport and the events I’m going to be involved in for the next few weeks?”

  “Please.” Her heart kicked with eagerness to know more of what he enjoyed, what made up his passions and occupations. “Tell me everything.”

  Something she couldn’t define came into in his eyes. He looked away for a moment, catching Jameel’s eyes in the front mirror. Before she could wonder, his eyes were back, snaring hers, wiping her mind clean of anything but her yearning for him.

  “I started playing polo when I was eight.” Her heart melted inside her rib cage at imagining him at that age, the most beautiful boy, the strongest and smartest, already such an accomplished rider that he could excel in the fierce sport. “And I started breeding my own horses at sixteen. For the past ten years, I’ve played an integral role in every major polo tournament in the world, as sponsor, horse supplier and player. But I have a special interest in the one that takes place here every summer, especially since Sebastian took over after his father was diagnosed with cancer. For the past three weeks I’ve been commuting here for the preseason tournament, The Clearwater Media Cup, a run-up to the main season. Clearwater Media is the company Sebastian owns with Richard Wells, who’s just become engaged to one of my best horse trainers, Catherine Lawson. Their engagement almost coincided with Sebastian’s to his assistant, Julia.”

  She wanted to blurt out, “And with our marriage.” But she hesitated, because it didn’t feel real yet. She only said, “And the season hasn’t even started yet.”

  “This summer’s tournament is going to be memorable. It’s always high stakes with the world’s best athletes competing for one of the sport’s most treasured prizes amid the splendor of the Hamptons summer scene.” He suddenly cupped her face. “But this year it will be the best ever because you’re here. With me.”

  She almost fainted with the surge of emotions as she gazed helplessly into the molten translucence of his eyes.

  A scratchy noise came from what felt like a mile away. She didn’t realize what it was until Adham withdrew his hand and sat back. Jameel’s discreet cough, alerting them that they’d arrived.

  She looked dazedly around. They’d stopped by a row of stables. There were people outside. Some seemed to be going about their business. Most seemed to be waiting for them. With cameras.

  She turned to Adham, apprehension shooting up her spine. She didn’t find him. Seconds later, he seemed to materialize at her other side. He helped her out and she stumbled up and into his containment as the glare and heat of the summer day and the cacophony of the newspeople bombarded her. He hugged her to his side as they walked inside the stables, preceded by rabidly eager faces, snapping photos and shouting questions.

  Adham calmly confirmed the date of their marriage, and that it had been a private ceremony because of her father’s condition. Then he nodded to Jameel, and bodyguards appeared as if out of nowhere, clearing their path of paparazzi.

  There were still too many people inside the stables, too many eyes, all on Adham and her. She felt more vulnerable by the second under their scrutiny. She’d always hated attention. She’d realized she’d get more than ever now that she was Adham’s wife, but realizing it was one thing. Experiencing it was another.

  A tremor shot through her. Adham’s arm tightened, making her feel he’d surrounded her with a protective force field, as if she were the most treasured thing on earth.

  “I want you to meet my most important colleagues.”

  Next second, all unease evaporated. It was replaced by wonder.

  His horses. Or as they were called in polo, his ponies.

  The sight of the mind-boggling collection of magnificent animals had delight bubbling inside her at being so close to such a manifestation of primal grandeur and beauty.

  Adham introduced her to each pony, telling her its name, breed, measurements, character, quirks and strengths on the field. And throughout, people came to salute him, awe for him as clear as their curiosity about her, the woman this desert prince and celebrity entrepreneur had picked to be his bride.

  He accepted their congratulations, deflected their adulation and introduced her with supreme pride, then made it clear that he expected privacy to show his bride around.

  Once everyone had retreated to an acceptable distance, Adham resumed his explanations. “My ponies travel with me wherever my team goes. Each member must have six to eight horses per game. But to make allowances for injuries and other crises, I transport around sixty to seventy horses during each season.”

  Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly see anything more perfect, he introduced her to his pride and joy, his prize ponies.

  “Aswad and Layl, ‘black’ and ‘night’ in Arabic, are brothers. Their sire was Hallek, or ‘deepest dark,’ my very first horse.”

  She caressed one glossy velvet neck after another in wonder, flashing Adham a delighted smile. “Any relation, since your own name means ‘deepest black’?”

  He let out a peal of laughter that had every head in the stables turning, relinquishing any attempt to appear as if they weren’t intently watching their every move.

  “My family always wondered if I have horse genes in me, the way I’m as one with them. But it’s true that I feel like they’re my kin, my children even. I oversaw the breeding of each and every one of my ponies myself, followed their lives since before they were born.”

  “You do share all of their unrivaled magnificence.”

  At her fervent statement, his eyes flared. He plunged his fingers into the mass of curls at the back of her head, cupped her neck in his large palm as he crowded her against Aswad. “It’s your magnificence that can’t be rivaled, ya jameelati.”

  At the periphery of her fogging awareness, she heard a whirring sound. It was only when Adham removed his hand and shifted his eyes to the source of disturbance that she realized what it had been. One of the paparazzi had managed to slip by the bodyguards.

  Adham glared at him. The guy only grinned, taking more photos. Adham advanced on him and the thin, seedy-looking guy clambered back out of the stables.

  Sabrina put her hand on Adham’s clenched forearm. “Aswad and Layl are Arabian?”

  He looked back at her, the knowledge that she was trying to defuse the situation filling his eyes.

  He let her have her wish, visibly relaxed, smiled. “All my ponies are purebred Arabian stallions and mares. You can tell by this.” He ran his hand lovingly down Layl’s head. The horse nuzzled him back in delight and affection. She knew exactly how he felt. “A refined, wedge-shaped head.” He grabbed her closer, pressing his length to her back, running his hands down her arms until he entwined their fingers before he raised her hands so they could caress each feature of Layl he mentioned.

  “They also have a broad forehead, large eyes and nostrils, small muzzles, an arched neck and a high tail ca
rriage. Most have a slight forehead bulge, what we call jibbah in Khumayrah.” He guided her fingertips in investigating the protrusion. “It’s an enlargement of their sinuses that helps them weather our desert climate. And with compact bodies and short backs, even small Arabians can carry heavy riders with ease. They’re known for stamina and courage. But I’ve never known a horse with half of Aswad’s and Layl’s endurance and fearlessness. I ride them in games at critical times. They play to win.”

  By now she was feeling he’d explored every inch of her body. Then he made it even worse, turned her to him. “The season’s tournaments are played on six consecutive Saturdays and proceeds benefit charities. A match lasts about two hours, divided into six ‘chukkers,’ seven minutes each. During half time, spectators indulge in the social tradition of divot stomping, or evening out the ground for the players.”

  His informative discourse clashed with the hunger in his eyes, the coveting in his touch. Her state was only ameliorated when he gave her space to breathe, to play with the horses.

  Then he hugged her off the ground, pressing his lips to her neck. “How about we meet my biped friends now?”

  She twisted around and looked up at him. The solitary dimple in his cheek had her heart revving like a car with its accelerator pedal floored.

  “Only if you promise I can see your ponies again.” She sounded as if she’d been running a mile.

  “I promise you anything you want, whenever you want it.” She wanted to cry out that she wanted only one thing—him. “Everyone must be at the VIP tent, and I’m certain they can’t wait to meet you. They’re a great group of people. My friends are, anyway. These tournaments are celebrity populated, and they can be a magnet for all kinds.”

  She nodded. She knew only too well what kind of people were attracted to fame and fortune.

  He hugged her to his side again, leading her out to the tent.

  She searched for something to say. Preferably something intelligent this time. She’d been a swooning idiot in his arms so far, and a giddy child with his horses. “So, what makes a good polo player?”