The Ice Maiden's Sheikh

by Alexandra Sellers

  “Jalia?” he murmured, in a voice of agonized longing, and her heart kicked so hard the blow would have felled her if she had not already been down.

  “Yes,” she whispered on a sob. “Yes.”

  “What the devil are you doing here?”

  She gasped with the shock of the changed tone. Latif sat up, wide awake and furious. The coverlet sliding down his naked chest, he shot one hand out to the lamp on the floor beside the bed.

  For a moment they blinked at each other in its glow, his arm still extended to the lamp, frozen in an uncomprehending tableau. Absently she noticed papers and books strewn on the floor beside him, as if he had been working in bed before he slept.

  His eyes went from black to green, and anger blazed from them so hot all the words of argument died on her lips. Jalia shrank from his anger.

  “Latif…”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Desperately she sought for courage. “Why shouldn’t I be here? I—”

  “Get out!”

  “It was all right for you to make love to me and try and break my resistance!” she pointed out hotly. “You have no right to react like an outraged virgin if I try to do the same!”

  He flung the coverlet aside. He was naked, a fact which seemed to make no impression on him, but the golden light and shadow playing with his lean and hungry physique made the breath catch in Jalia’s throat.

  He grabbed her upper arm in a tight clasp and stood upright, drawing her inexorably with him. “Out!” he said again.

  She lifted a hand to drag the heavy fall of hair off her face. “Latif! Can’t we—”

  Her jade eyes glistened, her full mouth trembled, with passionate tears. “Latif!” she cried. “I miss you so much! Can’t you just—”

  His hand tightened on her arm as he stooped again, to pick up her robe.

  “Can’t I what?” he growled savagely. “Forget that you belong to another man? Am I such a fool?”

  Her perfume rose from the garment’s silken folds, clouding his senses, and he cursed, like a man who does not know he is drunk till he stands up.

  “Latif!” she begged again, and watched, her lips parting, as his flesh responded urgently to the scent and the memory of the pleasure it promised.

  “Damn you!” he said and, tossing the robe away, he stepped towards her, drew her against him, wrapped her in a ruthless embrace. His mouth found hers with savage impatience, and then she was falling, dragged down to heaven by his arms.

  The hunger in his kiss made her senses swim, and his hands pressed her with the possessive strength that melted her. The heat of his thighs enveloped hers, his body hard and unforgiving as it crushed her.

  He lifted his mouth from hers and kissed her neck, her throat, her shoulder, and Jalia moaned with hungry abandon, her fingers twining and luxuriating in the thick curls of his hair as he drew his head up and kissed her mouth again.

  With a suddenness that made the breath rasp in her throat, his legs slipped between hers and jerked them wide, his hard body pressing against the million nerve ends that clustered there.

  There was a wildness in him, a fury almost, that she had half sensed before, but that he had always kept under tight control; now it was unleashed.

  “Love,” he murmured, as if the word were torn from his deepest being. “My Beloved.”

  Her heart soared and sang, and she gave herself up to his fierce embrace with joy like a tidal wave.

  He dragged, almost tore off the silk that covered her, till she was naked under his burning gaze. He ran his hand down her body, like a sculptor reminding himself of the lines of a statue he himself has carved, breast, waist, thigh, lost to everything except that she was here, in his bed. Then he drove into her, into that hot home that was his and his alone, over and over, while she moaned and cried out and pushed against him, seeking what he only could give her.

  His hands and his body pushed her, pulled her, clasped her, in a ruthless pleasure-seeking that kept her in that intoxicating borderland between pleasure and pain, till she was lost to everything except the world of the senses.

  He used all he had learned about her, and with every pleasure-drugged moment he taught her more. She hovered on the edge of blasting sensation for long, agonizing, thrilling seconds, crying and singing with its approach, and at last, with wild determination, he drove her over into ecstasy, and joined her there, so that they clung together as they soared, calling and crying, helplessly giving in to sensation, like two lovers who leap from a cliff.

  Drenched with sweat then, he slipped down beside her, and Jalia turned with a grateful sigh to seek his embrace.

  He sat up and gazed down at her in silence. She stared at him, seeing nothing but a dark shadow limned against the halo of light that surrounded him. His expression she could not discern.

  But his tone of voice said it all.

  “This changes nothing, Jalia.”

  It was like touching cold stone where you had expected living flesh.

  “What?” she faltered.

  “I play by your rules now. We make love, but it does not touch my heart. If you return to my bed another night, be sure to take no notice of anything I may say in the insanity of pleasure. It is meaningless.”

  Eighteen

  “Of course I had no hand in it,” Michael said. “Haven’t you noticed that the gossip has never been picked up by the Herald? Ellin’s livid about it.”

  “Ellin is?” Jalia exclaimed. “She’s not the one being made to look a fool!”

  “And what about me? Not that it’s not totally deserved.” Michael tossed down the paper, in which another columnist mauled the tasty story of the Princess’s passion. “You’re probably going to have to get used to it, Jalia. As I understand it, you should be grateful when what the papers say isn’t true. It’s when it’s true it really bites.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Michael looked up, his mouth slowly falling open.

  “Ah. My God, how thick I’ve been! Of course. It is true. That’s why you’re so bothered.”

  “No! At least, they’re wrong in saying that’s why I wanted the engagement. At that time I had no idea how I felt.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Latif was there at the airport, wasn’t he? I should have seen it then, the way he was… But didn’t he say he was your bodyguard?”

  “You said it. He only agreed.”

  “Christ! You should have told me, Jalia! Why didn’t you just tell me to get on my horse and—”

  “Because you had Ellin Black right beside you, Michael.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “From this moment I renounce champagne. But we’ve got to find a way out of this. Shall I talk to him? Would it help?”

  Jalia shook her head, perilously near tears. “He knows, he just—doesn’t care.”

  “You know, Jalia, now that Noor’s home safe, does it really matter so much if Ellin prints some story about a forced marriage? It’s what I said before, you know—as long as what they’re saying is not true, you should be grateful.”

  “My parents don’t deserve the humiliation. Michael. Not while they’re still in England, anyway. Imagine what the media attention would be like! I just—I wish there were another way out. For your sake, too.”

  “Don’t worry about me! You know I’m in discussions with the Sultana about old Hafzuddin’s collection. If that comes off I’ll consider it a fair trade. Anyway, I quite fancy the role of bruised, used, and castaway lover!” he said.

  One of her main concerns now, whether Latif liked it or not, was to find some solution for the various problems facing the women of Sey-Shahin Valley. She had discussed their issues with the Sultan and Sultana, but there was only so far she could go without the Shahin’s approval.

  “Why are you bothering with this?” Latif said, on a day when she had cornered him in his office in the palace and insisted on talking to him about it. “These women aren’t your concern.”

  “T
hey don’t seem to be yours, either, Latif!” she replied smartly. “These women came to me with their—”

  “Because they made an assumption that proved wrong,” he pointed out coldly. “My wife will be expected to concern herself with these problems. You are not.”

  “I am not going to be a slave to what is expected! Now, I have some practical suggestions and solutions to offer. When are you going to visit the valley again?”

  He drew himself up with righteous indignation. “Is one of your suggestions that you should accompany me again?”

  “Will you shut up and listen a moment?” She was nearly shouting. Oh, the Ice Maiden had lost her grip, for sure. Sometimes Jalia felt as if she’d spent her life half-asleep, dreaming she was a doe munching in a field, and had awakened to discover herself a tigress gnawing some animal’s flesh.

  “This could be important to a lot of people and you have no business standing in the way because of personal animosity to me!”

  His face hardened, his mouth narrowed, and his eyes glinted with an emotion she could only guess at.

  “I have no personal animosity, Princess. Fire away,” he said stiffly.

  “Thank you. Now, first of all, I’ve engaged legal advice, both here and in England, to try and sort out that one-sided contract that’s tying up the carpet weavers.

  “If we’re successful, and it’s still a big if, the women will need a new agent for their carpets. The Sultana and I have been talking, and we think what’s needed—not just in Sey-Shahin, but throughout the country—is a tribal cooperative agent appointed by the palace.

  “In other words, one body that will agent for any tribal group that needs representation in markets abroad. I’ll be helping Dana set up a team over the next few months. It will take operating expenses only, no commission.”

  Latif sat watching her, his face a mask.

  “We’re tentatively calling it the Tribal Arts Cooperative.”

  “I see.”

  “With the Sultana publicly involved, it should go over a treat. We think we can produce our own catalogue and organize worldwide distribution. Gazi al Hamzeh will be advising us about publicity on a pro bono basis.”

  “Gazi al Hamzeh?” he repeated, frowning.

  “Don’t you know him? He’s Prince Karim’s Cup Companion, and the hottest press agent going. Dana says he’s an absolute wizard at planting information so it gets reported as news, instead of sending out press releases, which get ignored. He organized Ash’s press campaign before Ghasib fell.”

  “I do know him.”

  “Dana said you did. We’re also thinking about a coffee table book of Marzuqi rugs—we’re hoping to get a lot of the world’s well-known women who own them to let themselves be photographed with their carpets, and give little interviews.”

  “And why are you telling me?” He hadn’t budged an inch.

  “Also a whole series of little cookbooks. If it goes over well, we’d make a complete set, one for each of the tribes. Not just recipes, but pictures of the women planting and picking and cooking, and the tribal area, and the food. Starting with Sey-Shahin Valley.”

  “Why are you telling me, Jalia?” he said again, with a curious intensity.

  “Surely you’ve noticed you’re the Shahin, Latif!”

  His eyes burned her. “And what are you, Jalia?”

  For a moment her throat caught with hope, but his jaw was clenched and angry.

  “At the moment, the Sultana’s representative,” she said.

  “THE PRINCESS I LOVE!”

  Forbidden Wedding Will Go Ahead!

  The marriage of Cup Companion Sheikh Bari al Khalid and Princess Noor al Jawadi Durrani, which was dramatically halted in Bagestan last month when the bride and groom mysteriously disappeared, is on again, according to sources.

  The truth behind the mystery of the wedding couple’s flight, only minutes before the ceremony was due to begin, has at last come out. Sources close to the couple have revealed that the Princess and her fiancé fled because Sheikh Jabir al Khalid, the groom’s grandfather, dramatically withdrew his permission and barred the union at the eleventh hour. The couple intended to undertake the ceremony elsewhere. But their plane was forced down in a storm, and the rest is history. The couple spent what would have been their honeymoon on an uninhabited island, surviving on turtle eggs.

  Their disappearance, the search, the dramatic rescue, and the couple’s continuing devotion have had no influence on the old Sheikh’s decision, however.

  Bari al Khalid will be forced to sacrifice his expected inheritance, consisting of vast property in Bagestan, in order to marry the woman he loves. The legacy will now probably go to a cousin.

  “My wife and I will build a new legacy together,” the handsome Cup Companion has been quoted as saying. The wedding is expected to take place next month.

  “Isn’t it brilliant?” Noor said excitedly. “Bari said Gazi was the man to sort it out. Talk about saving the brand from the burning!”

  It was the best news Jalia had had since the rescue.

  “Is it true that Bari won’t inherit if he marries you, or is that—?”

  “Not a penny! As if we care!” Noor laughed, and Jalia smiled. The changes to Noor went very deep. “I still get the ring, though,” Noor said, flashing the brilliant diamond, “because that he inherited from his father. Not that I care, but it is gorgeous, isn’t it? It’ll be a constant reminder to me of what’s not important in life.”

  “It is gorgeous,” Jalia agreed.

  “Oh, and did I mention that we love each other after all?”

  “Only a few dozen times. Was this story Gazi al Hamzeh’s idea? He seems to be an all-around genius.”

  “I think he and Bari cooked it up between them,” Noor said jealously. “And you’re saved, too, I hope you notice! Anything anyone now says about forced marriages is going to look pretty limp, with Bari actually being disinherited—and me so obviously thrilled, of course. Gazi says it’s the first time he’s ever sorted out two clients’ problems with one story.”

  “What?”

  Noor bit her lip, grinning. “It was him all along. Apparently, he’s been on your case for ages!”

  Jalia stared. “On my case?”

  “Don’t you get it? Gazi’s the one who’s been leaking all those stories about you having the hots for Latif!”

  Nineteen

  The sun was going from the garden, its deep golden light brushing the leaves, glinting from the long rows of arched glass.

  It lingered on Latif Abd al Razzaq’s black hair, brushing it with glowing fingers as he bent over his desk, working. Jalia thought foolishly, Even the sun can’t bear to leave him.

  She stepped through the open doorway from the courtyard, her bare feet silent on the tiles, and crossed to his desk. His fountain pen scratched across the document as she watched. Then her shadow fell within his line of vision, and he looked up.

  They looked at each other for a long still moment; then, as if there had been no pause, Latif carefully lifted his hand and capped the pen. Each movement was precise, as if it were necessary to maintain complete control over every tiniest muscle.

  “Was it you?” she asked softly.

  With the flick of an eye he dismissed the assistant who entered just then from the corridor. The man moved a fist to his breast, bowed and silently disappeared again.

  “Was it?”

  “You will have to explain what you mean,” Latif said, and Jalia dropped the paper with the latest gossip item about them in front of him. He picked it up and gazed at it.

  “Did you enlist Gazi al Hamzeh’s media manipulation machine to leak all those stories about me?”

  Latif abruptly pushed back his chair and stood, and in spite of herself Jalia stepped back a pace.

  “Of course I did.” As if he had suddenly tired of the game, he tossed the paper down on his desk and moved to stand in the open doorway.

  Outside, beyond the green branches of the trees, a
breeze was playing with the fountain. The courtyard was beguiling at this hour, shaded and sweet with the perfume of flowers that did not dare to open in the harsh glare of noon.

  It was a moment before the sense of his words sank in, so convinced had she been that he would deny all knowledge.

  “You did?”

  “The campaign has achieved its goal, hasn’t it?”

  “What was the goal, apart from humiliating me?”

  He glanced at her, then out at the garden again. “Gazi was of the opinion that we had to make a preemptive strike. The story about a forced marriage had to be discredited before it ran. Gazi knows his business.”

  “And how has it achieved that goal?” she asked.

  “Don’t you know? Your fiancé and his tame reporter were overheard having a loud argument in the Sultan’s Return Hotel this afternoon. She accused him of deliberately misleading her. She has booked a seat to London on the midnight flight.”

  “It’s the first I’ve heard,” she said.

  Silence fell. He watched the shadows in the garden, his jaw tight.

  At last he turned to face her.

  “What do you want out of life, Jalia?”

  She blinked and caught her lip between her teeth. A last stray beam of sunshine darted over the roof to catch a spray of water from the fountain and turn it into liquid fire.

  Like the beam of hope that suddenly pierced her heart.

  “You know what I want. You don’t—”

  “Tell me again.”

  “I want the life you offered me before. I want to make my home here, where my people are, where my heart is.” She had to press her lips together to stop them trembling. She swallowed.

  “I haven’t told anyone yet, Latif, but…the Sultana has asked me—she’s offered me a position as her Cup Companion. I’ve thought it over hard, and I’m going to accept it. I think it offers me the best opportunity to make the contribution I want to make.

  “So I’ll be moving to Bagestan, whether you love me or not. And I guess if you really don’t, it’ll have to be enough, knowing I’m doing what I can for the people and the country.”