by Laura Wright
“No. You need a friend right now even though you’re too damn stubborn to admit it.”
In one swift move, Sakir hoisted himself onto the back of the horse. “You should not be around me right now.”
“Why not?”
Damn her. Why could she not just do as he asked for once? “I am in a dangerous mood.”
She sniffed. “I’m not afraid of you, Sakir.”
“Perhaps you should be.”
She ignored him. “Well, I’m going all the same—on your horse or one of my own. And I’m not that good a rider. I have no idea how to put on a saddle, so I’ll have to go bareback like you. And I could fall and break a bone or get a concussion or—”
She never finished her sentence as Sakir growled with frustration, grabbed her under the arm, lifted her up and placed her behind him.
“Wrap your arms around me,” he ordered.
This time, she did as he commanded. It was a good thing, because when he bellowed at the stallion in Arabic, the animal nearly flew out of the stables, racing toward the desert and the coming sunset.
Ten
The stallion’s hooves pounded the sandy floor below as Rita and Sakir rode hard and fast with absolutely no communication. Rita could only guess at how long they’d been gone. A half hour seemed likely, as around them the sun set in a fiery dance of orange, pink and red. It was a jaw-dropping sight, and even though her backside felt bruised from the constant smack against the stallion’s spiny back, Rita wouldn’t have traded the view for anything in the world.
She’d seen many pictures of the desert of Joona, imagined its snakelike patterns in the sand and wondered if the air would be heavy with heat and spices. But as it was in the marketplace today, the reality was so far from the fantasy it wasn’t even funny.
The desert stretched for miles and miles, tawny in color with just a hint of rust thanks to the setting sun beyond. The air, as it brushed her face, was scented, not with spice, as she had imagined, but with the rain that had fallen so light and fresh that morning.
It was like something out of a movie to be riding bareback, behind a handsome sheikh, his white caftan whipping in the wind.
But this was no movie.
There were real feelings here, real emotions at play, and all of it was incredibly complicated. In the marketplace today, Sakir had practically seduced her and then pulled away, angry and unfulfilled—again. Then later, he’d been in one heck of a knock-down, drag-out fight with his brother, whom he then pulled away from, angry and disgruntled.
Rita tightened her hold on his waist.
Would he ever let anyone in? Would he ever let her get close enough to see what pain was in his heart?
The questions in her mind evaporated as Sakir slowed his horse and brought him to a stop. The beast was breathing heavy and glistening with sweat. He snorted and pranced in a circle, then came to a stop once again.
“Where are we?” Rita asked, her throat dry from the sandy wind.
“Mid-desert.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“And peaceful.”
Sakir slid easily off the stallion’s back. “Thankfully, it is that as well.”
“It’s so vast. You can’t see a thing but sand for miles.” She glanced down at him. “Are you sure you know how to get back?”
He offered her his hand. “I would never be lost in the desert.”
No, she imagined he wouldn’t. Where the heavy traffic of the Texas highways, even the moderate amble of the streets in and around Paradise, might pose a hazard to this man’s sense of direction—as he always relied on his chauffeur to get around—he was definitely at home here in this wild vastness.
And for Rita, nothing could be sexier.
Sakir helped her down from the horse, then released her and dropped to the sand. He lay back, looked up at the peach sky.
Rita sat down beside him. “Listen, Sakir—”
“I do not wish to talk.”
“I know, but—”
He sighed. “But you will continue anyway.”
“I think it’s a good idea.”
“And force me to speak, yes?”
She didn’t bother agreeing. “I heard what you and your brother were saying and—”
“Listening to another’s conversation—”
“It’s rude and dishonest, I know. I didn’t mean to listen.” She picked up a handful of warm sand and let it filter through her fingers. “I came to find you and didn’t know how to interrupt gracefully.”
He put a hand behind his head. “You would do best to forget what you heard.”
“From the way you two were arguing I’d say that’s easier said than done.” Without thinking too much about what she was doing, she lay down beside him and looked up at the same sky. She felt close to him, close enough to ask, “You had another brother?”
Sakir said nothing.
She tread lightly. “You accused Zayad of causing his death?”
He inhaled deeply. “I did.”
“Why?”
“Dammit, Rita.”
“I know. I’m a pain in the butt. But I think you need to talk about this.”
“You think?”
“Yes.”
“You are my assistant, not my psychologist.”
“Actually here in Emand, I’m your wife,” she said with a lightness in her tone. “And I think that entitles me to nudge you a little.”
Sakir groaned and cursed again. But to Rita’s amazement and satisfaction, he also began talking.
“Hassan, my younger brother, he wanted to follow in our father’s footsteps. He had the mind and the heart of a warrior. He wished to enter the army before he was of age. I opposed this, but Zayad allowed him to go.” Sakir paused. He seemed to be waiting for someone else to say what came next. But no one did. “Hassan was killed in a foolish training exercise only a few short weeks later. It was a training assault on several abandoned buildings near the east end of town. There were explosions and rifle fire, and the attack caused a nearby building to burst into flames. Hassan perished in the blaze.”
Rita turned on her side and faced him, touching his arm. “Oh, Sakir, I’m so sorry.”
“I want no pity from you, just as I want no explanations from Zayad.”
Rita held fast to his arm. She wasn’t put off by his abrasive words. She knew they stemmed from pain. She also knew that it was best for him to get everything off his chest. “Did you leave Emand when Hassan died?”
He nodded brusquely.
“Why?”
“After that, I wanted nothing to do with my family, with Zayad.”
Rita watched him, so proud and in such pain, and she wanted to comfort him. But how? This man was such an island unto himself, unapproachable at times. Could she cuddle up next to him? Kiss him? Tell him that she was here for him, if only he’d just accept her?
Slow and easy, she reached out and touched his face. She waited for him to flinch, to turn his head, reject her show of care. But he didn’t.
He let her touch him.
Rita smiled. He was so warm, and she reveled in the feel of his strong jaw and the roughness of his day’s growth of beard against her skin.
Sakir turned his head toward her, took her hand and kissed her palm. The simple gesture of acceptance and thanks was too much for Rita, and she released a soft sigh of pleasure. She silently prayed he wouldn’t stop there, that his mouth would search for hers.
“I have made a promise to you,” he whispered, his voice husky and tight.
“I know,” she said breathlessly.
“This is the danger I spoke of when you insisted on coming with me.”
“I’m not afraid of this happening.” Her gaze searched his, the ache in her body loud enough to echo over the miles of the desert. “But you are afraid.”
“Rita…”
“Why, Sakir?”
On a growl, Sakir rolled, was poised atop her in seconds. “It is the need I fee
l for you that I fear.” His gaze roamed her face, his eyes forest-green and heavy-lidded. “There is such desperation running through my blood that I fear.”
“What are you desperate for?” she asked him, her thighs brushing his as warmth surged into her.
“I have wanted you since the day we met. I want you now.”
Rita couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her illusive fantasy was admitting that he wanted her.
Was it the magic of the desert that had spurred this on or pure truth?
Well, she didn’t care what it was. She pressed her hips up, felt Sakir hard against her belly. “Take me, then.”
He said nothing, but his thigh moved in between her legs.
“Take what you need, Sakir.”
“And tomorrow?” he asked, his gaze steady, but passion-filled.
“I won’t question tomorrow,” she said in all honesty. “We’ll leave whatever happens between us right here.”
Sakir didn’t move for a moment. Then he lowered his face to hers and brushed his lips over hers. “It is impossible.”
She wasn’t sure what he was referring to. Maybe it was everything. A day making love in the desert was impossible to forget, or trying to stop what was happening between them. She didn’t know and didn’t care. She said, “Impossible, probably. But inescapable, I think.”
“Yes. I agree.”
Sakir watched the flush of desire surge into Rita’s cheeks. No woman made him feel as this one did, and he imagined no one ever would again. Life was unjust. In all things, he was master. Always controlled, always assured. But in Rita’s company, he became a man—just a man—with a lust so reckless he believed he’d be close to death if it were not satisfied.
At this moment, he cared not for promises made and broken.
He wanted her mouth, her tongue, her skin.
His hands went first to her face, then moved to her neck and threaded into her hair. On a soft sigh, she closed her eyes, parted her lips and smiled.
Such perfection made him mad and he covered her mouth with his.
Instantly, her hands wrapped around his neck. Sakir sunk into her warmth and deepened his kiss. She tasted like honey and heat, and he wanted more, more, all she would give him. He changed the direction of his head, slipped his tongue between her lips and met hers with wet, warm passion.
On a groan, Rita thrust her hips up. Sakir answered her call, pressed his thigh up between her legs.
Rita sucked in a breath, her hands raking down, gripping his backside.
Sakir moaned. “You demand and give at the same time.”
“To you, I would give anything,” she uttered breathlessly.
Her words filled his soul, made him want to rip her clothes from her body and plunge deeply inside her.
But he took his time.
She kissed him with such passion as she gripped his buttocks. “Do you like this, Your Highness?”
“I like it very much, as you most assuredly can tell.”
“I wasn’t certain,” she said coyly.
He took her hand and tunneled it between them, placed it on his shaft. “All you, my love.”
He felt her go still beneath him at his words. He was such a damn fool. He had to learn to curb his wicked tongue around her. What had made him speak so?
He knew the answer—the heat, the moment, her long, sensuous body wrapped around him.
He nuzzled her mouth, felt he should explain, say something. “Rita—”
“No, don’t.” She lifted her chin and lapped at his lower lip with her tongue. “Please.”
Sakir felt himself nod. All right. Yes. Forget. It was good for them both.
He sucked her tongue into his mouth, played with it, then kissed her intensely as the sand blew around them and as the sun dipped dangerously into the horizon. It would be twilight soon, but it mattered little to Sakir. He needed to feel Rita, taste her skin.
He eased to the side, took her face with him, his mouth working hers with needful passion. With true access to her now, he moved to the edge of her blouse, slipped his hand beneath and crawled up her hot skin. He felt her shiver and release a whimper into his mouth. The anticipation of cupping her breast and laving her nipple almost caused him to climax right then and there.
But he fought for control.
Up he moved, his fingers inching over her stomach until finally, finally he met with the silky fabric of her bra. With a quick snap, he released her heavenly flesh from its confinement and moved in.
His groin pulsed, seized with need as he cupped her breast. The heavy weight, the hard nipple stabbing into his palm. Madness took him and he ripped away from her mouth, whipped up her blouse and dipped his head.
Paradise was here.
His mouth closed around her nipple with perhaps too much force. But she didn’t cry out in pain. Instead, she took his head and pulled him closer.
Searing heat shot through Sakir and seed leaked from his arousal. With all thought gone, he found the button to her pants and tore, then tugged the flaps apart. He couldn’t get to her fast enough—to her heat—to see if she too burned with their shared passion.
And when his fingers finally found her, finally moved through the soft tuft of hair between her legs, pleasure suffused his lungs.
It was as he’d hoped.
She was soaking wet.
Without a word or a sound, he slipped two fingers inside her. He smiled against her breast when he heard her gulp for air, but quickly continued his ministrations to her taut nipple, suckling, nipping.
Around them, the desert warmth started to ease, but between them a fire raged.
Sweat broke out on Sakir’s forehead as he worked her body, his fingers plunging deep into her, further, higher, until his knuckles barred the way. Her hips pumped to his rhythm, as inside he felt her core begin to shudder. The walls around his fingers pulsated. Electricity ripped through her into him.
And she cried out into the desert air.
Sun faded, wind whirled around them as the moments passed, as hips slowed, as cries turned to whimpers, then to breathy sighs.
Sakir assumed that Rita would pull away when her body eased, when her body tired, but she did not. She turned to face him and frantically wriggled down his belly. Without a word, she undid his pants and released his erection.
He felt her warm breath and then her hand on him.
She wrapped the base of him in her fist, then began to move in slow, rhythmic strokes. Up, down. Her hand was so tight on him, he nearly passed out. But he kept his sanity.
For he needed it.
As only moments later, she took him into her mouth.
Sakir roared to the heavens in Arabic, asking for control. But no one answered him.
She played him, suckled him, her tongue dancing over the tip of his erection as her free hand cupped him.
An invisible fist slammed into his gut.
He would climax, lose his mind in mere seconds. Lose his control. Panic warred with desire beneath his skin.
He could not believe what he was allowing to happen. No woman had loved him this way in over ten years. It was the ultimate in power, in control. Could he allow the paltry grip he still held on control to be taken from him?
The answer was no.
“No further,” he called out, his voice husky, weak, frustrated.
He knew she would be angry with him and totally perplexed, but he could not help that.
Rita released him, sat back, her gaze fixed on him. “Sakir…”
“I did a very selfish thing in marrying you, Rita,” he said as he stood up, righted his clothing.
Rita said nothing, but he imagined she agreed with him.
He watched her snap and button her clothes, then scramble to her feet. She didn’t look at him.
Sakir breathed in the scent of her. Felt his muscles, his arousal, still desperately hard, stretch and pulse. He gazed heavenward, took a breath. All for the sake of a contract—and the proof to his brother that he was
worth something outside the gold gates of Emand—he had married this woman and turned her life upside down, possibly even damaged her heart in the process.
He was selfish.
He was ashamed.
Without further discussion, Sakir lifted Rita up, placed her on his horse and then swung up in front of her.
“I will ask you to hold on to me one last time,” he said.
The words held a double meaning, but Sakir brushed them aside as Rita encircled his waist. This time, her grip on him was just enough to keep her safe and held little warmth.
Around him, the desert grew as dark as his soul. But it was a path Sakir knew well and was comfortable taking. He gave the stallion a kick and felt the wind in his face once again.
Women’s lib had come to Emand in slow, though deliberate, strides, and Rita was happy to note that the movement hadn’t skipped over the aged man sitting before her and Sakir in the grand offices of the Emand Oil Company.
Asad Qahhar, the head of Emand Oil, was definitely old school in his dress and manner, but he had a warm, welcoming smile as he listened intently to their presentation.
Naturally, Sakir was doing most of the talking. Which might not have been the best idea, as he was slightly off in his pitch, a rarity for him. And although Rita still had a deep anger running through her veins regarding what she’d come to refer to as “his final rejection” last night in the desert, she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. She knew how badly he wanted this deal, and to what lengths he had gone—lengths they had both gone to—in order to get those papers signed.
Asad Qahhar placed the prospectus on the table in front of him, leaned back in his chair and addressed Rita. “I am delighted to see that you have traveled with your husband, Your Highness. It was certainly a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you, Mr. Qahhar.”
“Wife and business associate.” Asad grinned widely at Sakir. “You are a lucky man, Your Highness.”
“I think so,” Sakir said tightly before returning to the business at hand. “You have seen my proposal, what say you, Qahhar?”
Rita tried to not show her frustration. He’d never acted this way. He was always smooth and easy with clients, no rushing to the finish line. Not today. Today, he was blowing this deal with his cold, quick manner. Didn’t he realize this was why they’d come here, why they’d gotten married? His business. Emand Oil.