“Nick,” she moaned, just that, only that, but he could hear—he thought he could hear—everything a man could hope for, long for, in the way she said his name.
“Come with me,” he said, “Amanda, love…”
She wrapped her legs around his hips, sobbed his name, and Nick stopped thinking, stopped wondering, and lost himself in the woman in his arms.
Afterward, they lay in a warm, contented tangle, her head on his chest, his arms holding her close.
He gave a dramatic groan. “I’m never going to be able to move again.”
She laughed softly, propped her chin on her wrist and looked at him. “Be sure and explain that to the housekeeper when she finds your naked body in my bed.”
“I’ll just smile and tell her that I died and went to heaven.”
“Uh-huh. My mother will probably love that explanation.”
“Hell,” Nick grumbled. She squealed as he rolled her onto her back, gently drew her hands above her head and manacled them with his. “Let me be sure I understand this, Ms. Benning. You expect me to get up, get dressed and beat it back to my room before the sun rises.” He bent his head, kissed her mouth. “Is there no pity in your heart for a man who’s given his all?”
Amanda gave a little hum of satisfaction. “But you haven’t given your all,” she said huskily, and shifted beneath him. “Or am I imagining things?”
“What?” Nick said with mock indignation. “You can’t be referring to this.”
“But I am.”
And then, neither of them was laughing.
“Amanda,” he whispered, “sweetheart.”
He drew her into his arms and they made love again, slowly, exploring each other, tasting each other, coming at last to a climax no less transcendent for all the sweet, gentle steps that had led them to it.
Nick held Amanda close for long moments, savoring the slowing beat of her heart against his. How could he have thought he knew what sex was, when he’d lived without ever knowing this sense of completion in a woman’s arms?
He’d been with many women, all of them beautiful, almost all of them skilled in bed. Amanda was beautiful, yes. And she was eager, even wild in his arms, but skill…?
He drew her more tightly into his embrace.
She wasn’t skilled. There’d been moments during the night when she’d caught her breath at some of the things he’d done. “Oh,” she’d whispered once, “Nick, I never…”
Shall I stop? he’d said, even though stopping would have half killed him, but there was nothing he wouldn’t do to please her. And she’d sighed and touched him and said no, please, no, don’t ever stop.
Which, he thought, staring up at the ceiling, just about terrified him. Because he didn’t want to stop. Not ever. Not just making love to her, although he suspected he could do that for the rest of his life without ever tiring of it.
The thing of it was, he didn’t want to stop being with Amanda. Laughing with her. Talking with her. Even arguing with her. He didn’t want any of that to stop.
And it scared the hell out of him.
What was happening here? He’d met this woman less than two days ago under what could only charitably be called suspicious circumstances. He didn’t know very much about her. And now, he was thinking—he felt as if he might be—he had this idea that—
Nick slid his arm from beneath Amanda’s shoulders and sat up.
“It’s getting late,” he said, and flashed a quick smile as he got out of bed, stepped into his trousers and pulled on his shirt. “The sun’s coming up.”
“Nick?” Amanda shifted against the pillow, rose on her elbows and looked at him. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s the matter. I just, uh, I dropped a cuff link.”
He bent down, collected the rest of the clothing he’d practically torn off last night, then searched the carpet vigilantly for a cuff link that had gone astray. It was much easier to think he might have lost a cuff link than a far more vital part of himself, one he’d never given any woman—one he wasn’t sure he could retrieve.
“Found it,” he said, straightening up, holding out the link and smiling again as he quickly made his way to the door. “I’ll see you at breakfast. Okay?”
She nodded, then drew the blanket to her chin. She looked lost and puzzled, and he came within a breath of dropping his stuff, going back to her and taking her in his arms.
“Go on,” she said, “before you turn into a pumpkin. Or whatever it is sheikhs turn into when the moon goes down and the sun comes up. Dammit, Nick, I can smell coffee. Someone’s awake, and I don’t want them to find you here.”
Her voice had taken on strength. She looked neither lost or puzzled, just annoyed. Annoyed, because he wasn’t getting out of her room fast enough? Because someone might find him with her?
Nick’s mouth thinned. What if he told her he damned well wasn’t going anywhere? That he belonged in her bed just as she belonged in his arms?
“Will you please leave?”
“Of course,” he said politely, and shut the door after him.
Amanda stared at the closed door. She wanted to roll over on her belly, clutch her pillow and weep. Instead, she grabbed the pillows, first his, then hers, and hurled them at the door.
What a fool she’d been, thinking this had been anything more than sex to Nick. And what a fool she’d been, thinking she was in love with him. She was far too intelligent to fall for a man like Nicholas al Rashid. What woman would want a man who could never love anyone as much as he loved himself?
This, she thought grimly, this was what he’d been after, all along. To sleep with her and add another conquest to his list.
She hadn’t been a fool, she’d been an idiot.
No wonder he’d called off their wager. He’d known she’d sleep with him. After all, he was irresistible. He thought so, anyway. But why saddle himself with keeping her, or having her, or whatever the hell you called the responsibility a man like that assumed when he took a mistress?
Look at how easily he’d rid himself of Deanna. No second thoughts. No hesitation.
Amanda sucked in her breath. “Stop it,” she said.
She rose quickly, stepped over the little pile of silky clothing that lay on the carpet. She wouldn’t think about how Nick had undressed her, how they’d barely closed the door before he’d been pulling off his clothes and hers, arousing her so fast, so completely, that they’d only just made it to the bed before he was inside her again.
Don’t look, she told herself hotly, not at the clothes, not at the mirror…
Too late.
She’d already turned, sought out her reflection in the glass and found a stranger. A woman with tousled hair and a kiss-swollen mouth. With the marks of a man’s possession on her body.
There, on her mouth. At the juncture of shoulder and throat. On her thighs.
Amanda trembled.
Nick hadn’t hurt her, but he’d marked her. Marked her as his own. No man had ever done that. Well, there’d only been one other man. Her husband. And his idea of sex had been something done quickly, almost clinically. Like—like brushing your teeth. That was how she’d assumed it was supposed to be. A couple of kisses, a fast, slightly uncomfortable penetration.
How could she have known that making love could be wild one moment and tender the next? That nothing in the world could compare to what happened when you spun out of control in the arms of your lover, and he came apart in yours?
Tears blurred her vision. She swung away from the mirror and hurried into the bathroom.
What was done, was done. She didn’t regret it. Why should she? she thought, as she stepped into the shower. Actually, she owed Nick a debt of gratitude for the night they’d spent together. He’d taught her things about herself, about her capacity for passion and pleasure, she might never have known.
She turned off the water, reached for a towel and dried herself briskly.
This wasn’t some Victorian melodrama. She wasn’t a virgin
whose innocence had been sullied. Neither was she a woman who could possibly fall in love with a man in, what, forty-eight hours? She’d only told herself that because facing the truth—that she’d wanted to sleep with a stranger—had been too difficult.
“Silly,” she murmured, and looked into the mirror again and smiled at her self-confident, coolly-contained reflection.
She dressed quickly in a silk T-shirt and jeans and went down the stairs. Her mother was having coffee in the breakfast room.
“Good morning, darling,” Marta said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Very well,” Amanda replied. She could feel herself blushing and she went straight to the buffet and poured herself coffee. “Where’s Jonas?”
Marta smiled. “Oh, he was up hours ago. He’s outside somewhere, probably driving his men crazy.” She took a sip of coffee. “Have you seen Nick?”
“No,” Amanda said quickly. Too quickly. She saw her mother’s eyebrows lift. “I mean, how could I have seen him? He’s probably still sleeping.”
“He isn’t,” Marta said slowly. “Sweetie, he had a phone call a few minutes ago. I don’t know what it was about, but he said he had to leave for home right away.”
“Ah.” Amanda smiled brightly, as if the news that he hadn’t even wanted to say goodbye to her was meaningless. “I see. Well, that’s no problem. I’ll call the airport and book myself a seat—”
Strong hands closed on her shoulders. She gasped as Nick swung her toward him. His eyes were dark, his expression grim.
“Is that what you think of me?” he said coldly. “That I’d leave you without a word?”
“Yes,” she said. Her voice trembled, but her chin was raised in defiance. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
Nick’s mouth twisted. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and started for the door. “Excuse us, please, Marta.” He spoke politely, but there was no mistaking that the words weren’t a request, they were a command.
“Amanda?” her mother said.
“It’s all right, Mother.”
It wasn’t. Did Nick think he had to add to her humiliation by dragging her after him like a parcel? Amanda wrenched free of his grasp as soon as they were in the hall.
“Just who in hell do you think you are?” she said in an angry whisper. “Strolling out of my bedroom without so much as a look. Making some pathetic excuse so you can fly back to New York. Grabbing me as if you owned me, right in front of my mother—”
“I’m not flying back to New York.”
“Frankly, Lord Rashid, I don’t give a damn where you’re—”
“I’m flying to Quidar. My father’s having political problems. Serious ones.”
Amanda folded her arms. As excuses went, this was a good one but then, a man who was the son of an absolute monarch wouldn’t be reduced to pleading absence because of a sick grandmother.
“It’s the truth.”
It probably was. Nick might not have much loyalty to the women who warmed his bed, but she had no doubt that he was loyal to his king and to his kingdom.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” she said stiffly.
“I’ll be gone a week. Or a month. I can’t be certain.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Your Highness.”
“Dammit,” Nick growled, clasping her elbows and lifting her to her toes, “what’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing’s the matter with me.”
“Don’t lie to me, Amanda.”
“Why not? I asked you that same question a little while ago. Remember? ‘What’s the matter?’ I said, and you gave me the answer I just gave you.”
“Yeah, well, I lied.” His hands tightened on her. “You want an answer? All right. I’ll give you one.” He took a deep breath. “I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of…” He let go of her, ran his hands through his hair. Color striped his cheekbones. “I don’t know.” He hesitated. “Dammit, I was afraid of you.”
“The Lion of the Desert? Afraid of me?” She laughed and took a step back. “Nice try, Your Loftiness, but—”
Nick pulled her into his arms. “This isn’t a game! I’m trying to tell you what happened to me this morning. When I kissed you, when I knew it was time to leave you…” His throat constricted. “Amanda.” He drew her close, cupped her face and looked into her eyes. “Come with me.”
“Come with you?”
“Yes. I don’t want to leave you. I can’t leave you.” He kissed her, then looked into her eyes again. “Come with me, sweetheart.”
“No!” Marta Baron’s voice rang out like the hour bell from a campanile. Amanda spun around and saw her mother, standing in the entrance to the breakfast room. “Amanda, darling, don’t go. Please. I have this feeling…”
“Amanda,” Nick said softly, “I want you with me.”
What was the good of pretending? Amanda turned to the man she loved. “And I want to be with you.”
An hour later, they were in the air, en route to an ancient kingdom where the word of the Lion of the Desert was law.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NICK wasted no time once Amanda said she’d go with him.
They were in the air in record time. Shortly after takeoff, he took out his cell phone and made a flurry of calls. Then he sat back and took Amanda’s hand.
“Abdul will meet us in Quidar.”
“You’ve asked Abdul to fly to Quidar?”
“Yes, of course. He’s familiar with the situation back home. He’s worked with me for years, and before me—”
“I know. Your father, and your grandfather, too.”
“Exactly.” Nick brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You don’t like Abdul, do you?”
“I don’t know him well enough not to like him. It’s just…I get the feeling he doesn’t like me.” Amanda looked at their joined hands, then at Nick. “I doubt if he’ll be very happy when he sees you’ve brought me with you.”
“He’s my secretary. He’s not required to think about anything other than his duties. My private life isn’t his concern.”
“You don’t really believe that,” she said with a little laugh. “Everything about you is Abdul’s concern.”
“No, sweetheart, you’re wrong. The duties of the secretary to the heir to the throne are very clear. It is—”
“—the custom,” Amanda said, more sharply than she’d intended.
“Yes. Such things are very important in my country.”
“Customs. Duties. And rules.”
“Sweetheart, don’t look like that.”
“Like what?” she said, and even she could hear the petulance in her voice.
Nick put his arm around her. “You’ll like Quidar.” He smiled. “At least, I hope you will.”
Amanda sighed and let herself lean into him. “How long is the flight?”
“Too long for us to try to make it in this plane. We’d have to stop for refueling at least twice, and I don’t want to waste the time. We’ll board a commercial jet in Dallas. And…” He glanced at his watch. “And twelve hours from now, we’ll step down on the soil of my homeland.”
The soil of his homeland. A place called Quidar. A country so remote, so ancient, that it had only opened its borders to outsiders under the rule of Nick’s father…
Amanda sat up straight. “Nick. I just realized I don’t have my passport.”
He smiled and reached for her hand. “That’s not a problem.”
“But it is. They won’t let me out of the country without—’
“You only need a passport to get back into the States. And, of course, to enter Quidar.” He tugged gently on her hand and drew her close to his side. “You forget, sweetheart. You’re traveling with me. I’ll see to it you’ll have no difficulty reentering your country.” His smile tilted. “And I can guarantee you’ll be allowed to enter mine.”
“But…”
She hesitated, trying to find the right words. His explanation wa
s simple. What wasn’t simple was the sudden panic she felt at the thought of leaving everything familiar and going into the unknown with a man she hardly knew.
Without a passport, she’d be totally dependent on Nick. And she knew what that kind of dependency could do to a woman after seeing the mistakes of her mother’s two marriages and experiencing the problems of her own.
“I’d just feel better if I had my passport.” She tried to soften the words with a smile. “It would seem strange to travel abroad without—”
The phone beside Nick buzzed. He picked it up.
“Yes?” he said brusquely, and then he frowned. “Please tell my father I’m on my way. No, no, I’m glad you called. Yes. I understand.” He put the phone down slowly, his face troubled.
“Nick? What is it?”
A muscle knotted in his cheek, a sign she’d come to know meant he was worried.
“That was my father’s physician. My father hasn’t been well. And now this added stress…” He fell silent, then cleared his throat. “Well,” he said briskly, “what were we talking about?”
Amanda twined her fingers through his. “You were explaining why I didn’t need my passport.”
“And you were explaining why you did.”
“Well, I was wrong.” She brought his hand to her face and pressed it to her cheek. “Ah, the joys of traveling with the Lion of the Desert,” she said lightly.
Nick looked deep into her eyes. “I’m not the Lion of the Desert when I’m with you,” he said, and he drew her into his arms and kissed her.
* * *
They changed planes in Dallas and settled into the first-class cabin of the commercial flight that would take them to Quidar.
The flight attendant who brought them champagne recognized Nick and dropped a quick curtsy. “Your Highness. How nice to have you with us again.”
She turned brightly curious eyes on Amanda. Nick took her hand.
“Thank you,” he said politely, and asked something inconsequential about the projected flight.
“Forgive me for not introducing you,” he said softly when they were alone again.
“That’s all right.” It wasn’t. Amanda knew how stiff her words must sound. “You’re under no obligation to—”
Mistress of the Sheikh Page 14