by The Sheikh
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded as she pulled her hat lower over her forehead. All the sunscreen in the world couldn’t completely protect her fair skin. So to keep herself from reaching the crone years too early, she’d worn a loose fitting, long-sleeved white shirt and a hat. Beside her, Murat looked handsome and timeless in his black riding pants and tailored white shirt. His black stallion was so large and difficult to manage as to be a cliché. Her own mount, a gray gelding of particularly fine build, also danced impatiently but with a little more restraint.
“When did you last ride?” Murat asked, as he urged his horse forward. The stallion leaped ahead several feet before agreeing to a more sedate walk.
“A couple of months ago. I usually go regularly, but I’ve been caught up with work.”
“Then we will take things easily. This is unfamiliar country.”
She glanced at him from under her lashes. “I don’t mind if we go fast.”
He grinned. “Of course you don’t. But we will wait until you find your seat again.”
She wanted to point out that she hadn’t lost it in the first place—it was where it had always been. But she knew what he meant. That she had to get comfortable on her horse. So she contented herself with enjoying the scenery.
The royal stable sat on the edge of the desert, about a forty-minute drive from the Pink Palace. Daphne knew she could happily spend her life there, studying blood-lines and planning future generations of amazing Arabian horses. Not that she wanted Murat to know. He had too much power already—he didn’t need to discover more of her weaknesses.
She glanced around as the last bits of civilization gave way to the wildness of the desert. When their horses stepped onto sand, she couldn’t help laughing out loud.
“Whatever you thought about me,” Murat said. “You always loved Bahania.”
“I agree.”
“You should have returned for a visit.”
“Somehow that didn’t seem exactly wise.”
“Did you think I would make things difficult?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer that. If she said yes, it implied that he had cared for her after she left and she didn’t think that was true. If she said no, she risked going in the opposite direction and she didn’t think Murat would like that. As a rule, she didn’t much care about what he liked, but this afternoon was different. For once, she didn’t want to fight.
“I thought it might make things awkward,” she admitted.
“That is a possibility,” he said, surprising her. “But it is sad that you could not see this for so long.”
She glanced around at the beauty of the desert and had to agree. She loved the rolling hills that gave way to vast stretches of emptiness. She loved the tiny creatures who managed to thrive in such harsh surroundings. Most of all she loved coming upon an oasis—a gift from God plopped down in the middle of nothing.
“You can taste the history out here,” she said, thinking of all the generations who had walked this exact path and seen these same sights.
“We are closer to the past in the desert. I can feel my heritage all around me.”
She grinned. “You come from a long line of men compelled to steal or kidnap their brides. Why is that? Are you all genetically unable to woo women in a normal way?”
He made a noise low in his throat. Daphne grinned.
“I’m serious,” she said.
“No, you are tweaking the tiger’s tail. Take care that he doesn’t turn on you and gobble you up.”
As Murat wasn’t an actual tiger, she didn’t have to worry about being eaten.
Instead his words painted a picture of a different kind of devouring…one that involved bodies and touching and exquisite feelings of passion and surrender.
A dull ache settled in her stomach, making her shift on the saddle. Probably best not to think about that sort of thing, she told herself. Under the circumstances, sleeping with Murat would be a disaster. He would take her sexual surrender as a resounding “yes” on the marriage front.
But she couldn’t help wondering what he would be like in bed. So far his kisses had reduced her to a quivering mass. Ten years ago she’d been too innocent and out of her element to be much more than intimidated by the obvious sexual experience of the man. Now she found herself wanting to sign up for a weekend seminar on the subject.
Next time, she promised herself. When her future and her freedom weren’t on the line.
“Those marriages you mentioned may have started in violence, but they all ended happily.”
She glanced at him. “You know this how?”
“There are letters and diaries.”
“I’d like to read them sometime,” she said. “Not that I don’t trust you to tell me the truth…” She smiled. “Well, I don’t, actually.”
“You think I would lie?”
“I think you would stretch the truth if it suited your purpose.”
He muttered something she couldn’t hear. “How do you explain a relationship that lasts thirty or forty years and produces so many children?”
“Women don’t have to be happy to get pregnant.”
“I will give you the diaries,” he said. “You will see for yourself that you misjudge my ancestors as much as you misjudge me. Are you ready to go faster?”
The quick change in subject caught her unaware, but she immediately nodded her agreement.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Lead the way.”
He nodded then urged his horse forward. The powerful stallion leaped from walking to a gallop. Her horse followed.
Daphne leaned forward into the powerful gait. The ground seemed to blur as they raced across the open area. She wanted to laugh from the pleasure of the moment.
Pure freedom, she thought, wishing there was more of this in her regular life.
But her rides were sedate, on trails in well-known areas. There was little left to discover outside of Chicago.
Unlike here, where the desert kept secrets for thousands of years. While she could trace her family history back to the early 1700s, Murat could trace his for a millennium.
His name would be carved in the walls of the palace. His likeness stored, his life remembered. He had offered all that to her, as well. The privilege of being a part of Bahanian history. Her body could have been the safe haven of future kings yet to be born.
They sped across the desert for several miles. At last Murat slowed his mount and hers followed suit.
“We will walk them now,” he said. “Allow them to cool down. We are close to the oasis.”
She nodded, still caught up in her thoughts. What would it be like to be a part of something this amazing? Ten years ago she’d never considered all that he offered. Lately it seemed she could think of nothing else.
“The light is gone from your eyes,” he said. “What troubles you?”
“I’m not troubled, just thoughtful.”
“Tell me what you have on your mind.”
She looked at him, at his handsome, chiseled face, at the power in his body and the authority he wore like a second skin.
“You are Crown Prince Murat of Bahania,” she said. “You will one day rule all that we see and miles beyond. You come from a history that stretches back through the ages to a time when my ancestors lived in huts and shivered through the winter. Why on earth would you choose me to share all this? Why me? Why not someone else?”
Murat didn’t look at her. Instead he stared straight ahead. There was no way to tell what he was thinking.
“The oasis is just up there,” he said, pointing to the right. “Over that dune.”
“You’re not going to answer my question?”
“No.”
She wanted to push him for the truth, but at the same time, felt a reluctance to do so. There were many things she didn’t want to discuss, including the fact—which he’d already pointed out—that when she’d burst free of the harem, instead of heading out of the palace, she’d run directl
y to the man holding her prisoner. Talk about a mixed message.
They rode in silence until they reached the oasis. Daphne stared at the small refuge in the desert, taking in the cluster of palm and date trees, the clear blue water gently lapping against the grass-covered shore and the bushes that seemed to provide a screen of privacy.
“Lovely,” she said as she dismounted and pulled off her hat.
“I am glad you are pleased.”
“Oh, yeah, because my pleasure makes your day.”
She meant the comment as flip and teasing, but Murat didn’t smile.
“Perhaps it does,” he said. “Perhaps that is what you don’t understand.”
Before she could absorb what he’d just said, let alone think up a response, he led his horse over to a patch of shade. “We will rest here before heading back.”
She followed. When he stopped, she turned to her horse and began stroking the animal’s neck.
“Good, strong boy,” she murmured as she examined the shoulder muscles, then bent down to run her hands along the well-formed front legs.
“I assure you I have a most capable staff in my stable,” Murat said.
She straightened. “Oh. Sorry. Occupational hazard. I can’t help checking.” She patted the horse’s side. “He’s in great shape. Just like the cats back at the palace.”
“I will be sure to pass along your compliments,” Murat said dryly.
She loosely tied the horse to a tree, then joined Murat as he walked toward the water.
“It’s quiet,” she said.
“Yes. That is why I enjoy coming here.”
She glanced around. “No guards?”
“This area is patrolled regularly, but at the moment we are alone.” He glanced at her. “If you wish to kill me, now is the time.”
“Good to know, but I’m not that annoyed. Yet.”
He smiled. “How you continue to challenge me, but we both know who will be victorious in the end.”
“Not you.”
“Exactly me.” He moved close and stared down at her. “Your surrender is at hand.
Do you not feel it?”
What she felt was a trickle of something that could very well have been anticipation slipping down her spine. Her skin got all hot and prickly and she had the incredibly irrational urge to throw herself into his arms and beg for a surrender of another kind. Or maybe that was the surrender he meant. In which case she was more than willing to be the one giving in.
“I’m not going to marry you,” she said.
He rested his hands on her shoulders. “You say the same thing over and over. It grows most tiresome.”
“That’s because you’re not listening. If you were, I’d stop having to say it.”
“How like a woman to make it the man’s fault.”
“How like a man to be stubborn and unreasonable.”
“I am very reasonable. Right now you want me, and I intend to let you have me.”
Before she could even gasp in outrage, he claimed her mouth with his. His firm, warm lips caressed her own until she felt compelled to wrap her arms around his neck and never let go. The outrage melted away.
He kissed her gently, teasing her with light brushes that made her nerve endings tingle. He stroked her lower lip with his tongue, but when she parted for him he nipped her instead of entering. He dropped his hands to her hips and drew her against him so that her belly pressed flat against his arousal.
The hardness there made her gasp, but again he chose not to take advantage of her invitation. Instead he kissed along her jaw and nibbled the sensitive skin under her ear. He made her squirm and gasp as need swept through her with the driving force of a sandstorm. He licked her earlobe, then traced a path down the side of her neck to the V of her shirt where he sucked gently on her skin.
She felt hot and uncomfortable, as if she’d been wound too tight. Her breasts ached, her thighs trembled, and she really wanted the man to kiss her.
Unable to control herself any longer, she dropped her hands to his face and drew his head up.
“Now,” she said, her voice low and impatient.
“As you wish,” he murmured right before he claimed her mouth.
This time he did as she wanted. He swept inside with the purposeful intent of a man set on pleasing a woman. He circled her tongue with his own. He explored and danced and surged until she was breathless with wanting.
His hands moved from her hips to her back. One slipped around to her waist and she caught her breath in anticipation as he moved higher and higher. Closer until he at last cupped her breast in his long, lean fingers.
The pressure was unbearably perfect, she thought through a haze of desire. As his fingers brushed against her tight nipples, she withdrew from the kiss so she could focus completely on his touch. Her breathing increased. She looped her arms around his neck and held on as her knees began to give way.
He brought up his other hand so he could cup both breasts. The delicious torture make her shiver. He raised his head and looked into her eyes.
“You are more beautiful than the dawn,” he whispered. “I feel you respond to me.
Can you deny what you want?”
She shook her head.
At that moment she had the sense she could disappear into his dark eyes and that it wouldn’t be such a bad fate. Not if there were nights filled with this kind of attention. Not if he kept touching her.
She felt her body swelling in anticipation. Her panties dampened as flesh begged and wept for release.
He moved to the buttons on her shirt and quickly unfastened them. But he only went down to the waistband of her jeans and didn’t bother pulling the shirt free. Which meant when he tugged the garment down her shoulders, he pinned her arms at her side.
She knew she could free herself with a quick jerk against the fabric, but for the moment, she felt oddly trapped. As if she were at his mercy. As if he could take her against her will.
Crazy, she told herself. Yet…oddly erotic.
He moved to the hook between her breasts and unfastened it. She watched as he slipped the bra away, exposing her skin to sun and air…and to his heated gaze.
He stared at her like a hungry man facing a last meal. Slowly he traced her curves, touching so lightly he almost tickled her. When he touched the tip of his finger against the very tip of her nipple, she felt the jolt clear down to her thighs.
She groaned. His breathing increased, then he bent low and drew her nipple into his mouth.
The combination of damp heat and gentle sucking nearly sent her to her knees.
She struggled to free herself from her shirt so she could cling to him. The wanting grew. She didn’t remember ever being this aroused before. She wasn’t sure it was possible to need so much and stay conscious.
At last she was able to pull her shirt free of her jeans. She shrugged out of it and her bra, then clutched his head, holding him in place against her breasts.
“More,” she breathed as he circled with his tongue.
Tension filled her body. She felt herself getting closer and closer to her release. Passion spiraled out of control.
With her free hand, she tugged at his shirt. He straightened and pulled it off in one easy, graceful movement. Then he stood before her, bare-chested, his arousal clearly outlined in his dark slacks.
“Tell me you want me,” he demanded.
“How can you doubt it?”
“Say the words.”
She stared into his dark eyes and knew that there was no going back. She had to know what it felt like to make love with Murat. She had to have that memory to take with her when she left.
“I want you.”
For a heartbeat he did nothing. Then he gathered her up in his arms and lowered her to the ground.
“We must be practical,” he said as he sat next to her. “Riding boots are not romantic.”
She grinned as he pulled his off, then went to work on her. When their feet were bare, she stretched out
on his shirt and held open her arms.
“Make love with me, Murat.”
He claimed her with a soul-touching kiss and a growl. His clever fingers returned to her breasts where he teased her into a frenzy. She squirmed and writhed, wanting more, needing more to find her release.
At last he moved lower, to the button of her jeans. He unfastened it and lowered the zipper. She pushed down with him, helping him remove the heavy fabric, along with her panties.
And then she was naked before him. Rather than feel embarrassed, Daphne let her legs fall open in a brazen invitation for what she really wanted. He did not disappoint. Even as he lowered his head and began to kiss her breasts, he slipped his fingers between her thighs and into her waiting dampness.
He found that one perfect spot on the first try. Just the slight brush of skin against the swollen knot of nerves made her jump. He shifted slightly so that he could rub that spot with his thumb while slipping his fingers deep inside her.
This was too much, she thought as she found herself caught up in a sensual vortex. His mouth on her breasts, his thumb rubbing, his fingers moving around and around. She was slick and more than ready, and it was just a matter of seconds until the tension filled her.
She tried to hold back, to breathe, to do anything to keep herself from falling so quickly. But it felt too good. She clutched at him and gave up the battle.
“Now!” she gasped as her release washed over her. Wave after wave of pleasure surrounded her, filled her, caught her and then let her fall. She pulsed her hips in time with his movements, slowing as she neared the end. He slowed, as well.
When she’d finished, she sank back onto his shirt and draped one forearm across her eyes. It was one thing to impulsively give in to sex with a man. It was another when he was as imperious as Murat. What would happen now?
She braced herself for some comment about his prowess with women or how easily she’d surrendered, and tried to tell herself it didn’t matter.
But he said nothing.
The silence grew until Daphne finally dropped her arm and opened her eyes. Murat leaned over her, but he didn’t look overly pleased with himself. Instead he seemed…humbled.