The lilac dress she wore had an excess swathe of fabric at the neck. She’d seen Fatima arrange her own dress when they’d arrived, so she knew it could be used to obfuscate her face. She pulled it up now, carefully concealing everything but her eyes, as still she inched nearer the man she would marry.
Finally, almost level to him but some way to the side, she stood just behind a group of men. Close enough to hear and see, and hopefully not be seen. Though she couldn’t understand a word of the dialogue, she could see from Rafiq’s expression that he was listening intently to the elderly woman in front of him. He was nodding, and murmuring in such a quiet tone that Emma knew he must have been comforting her.
It worked. The old woman, whose face was more lined than the fault line of San Andreas, crinkled a big smile up at him. And now she was speaking in tones of unmistakable gratitude, as Rafiq murmured quietly to his aides.
This was repeated again and again, with anyone from children to business men. He sat and he listened, and, she guessed, he helped where he could. And Emma watched, drinking in this facet of her indomitable sheikh.
The room itself couldn’t even distract her from the performance that was going on. Despite the gold pillars, and dark red and gold floor tiles, and ceilings that must have been three stories high, and enormous crystal chandeliers suspended down the centre, her whole attention was on Rafiq.
She couldn’t have said how long she’d been watching him. A long time, certainly. The room had halved in occupants, while she stood and observed. It was only when his dark head lifted and stared directly at her, that she realized she’d lost her cover. The group of men she’d hid behind had long since moved on, leaving her exposed at the border of the room.
Her outfit would have fooled many, but not Rafiq. His eyes narrowed perceptibly, and he summoned one of his aides. He spoke quietly, not taking his eyes off Rebecca. She felt her over-sensitive nerve endings go into overdrive as he stared at her.
“Madam,” the aide appeared at her side and she turned, her mind sluggish. “Sheikh Al Sadini has asked you to accompany me.”
“Oh.” Emma frowned. Was she not supposed to have watched? She bit down on her lower lip and looked back to Rafiq. He had returned to the crowd, and was now speaking with a young girl.
Emma obediently followed the aide as he led her out of the room and down the corridor. Several doors down, he pushed through a heavy oak door into a large, unmistakably palatial, office space.
“His highness will be with you momentarily. Would you care for any refreshments while you wait?”
“No, thanks,” Emma responded with a shake of her head.
This had to be Rafiq’s office. She looked around the room, feeling uncertain. While the room was opulent on an almost ridiculous scale, it was also clearly a place of actual business. A huge computer screen was on the desk, and there were documents piled everywhere.
She sat down on a silk chaise lounge in the middle of the room, and tried not to feel nervous. Rafiq was only a minute behind her.
He shut the door and she jumped as it clicked into place.
Emma, feeling like a kid on a first date, was besieged by nerves. “Hello,” she said in a voice that was croaky.
“Hello.” He responded thoughtfully, standing a meter away, still and oh, so stunningly regal. He simply stared at her for a minute, and then moved before her and knelt down. His fingers, long and confident, deftly removed the swathe of fabric that obscured her head. Her hair was loose around her face and he ran his hands over it now, looking every bit as mesmerized as she felt.
“What was that?”
“It is a monthly tradition, as old as the Kingdom of Amar’a.” He stayed on his knees, his face only inches from hers. “From the beginning of our country, the ruling Sheikh would use his power and wealth to better the lives of those less fortunate.”
“What kind of things do you do? To help them?”
He caught a curl of her hair between his fingers and twirled it distractedly. “Whatever I think will help them. Some need money, others need education, or access to medical services.”
She sucked in a deep breath as her over-active sex drive kicked into high gear. “What about people who can’t get here?”
“We also have a welfare system. It’s relatively new – my father established it. But it provides some sort of blanket for people who are in need. Those who come before me need greater assistance than the welfare system provides.”
Emma dropped her gaze, because the feelings she was experiencing were too intense, and she wasn’t ready to communicate them to this man. She suspected he knew, anyway. “It must take a long time. There were so many people.”
“I serve the people.” He said with a small frown, as though he didn’t understand why time was even an issue.
“I’m surprised. I suppose I would have thought you’d delegate much of that type of thing.”
“Do I really strike you as the delegating type?”
She shook her head. She would have smiled but the mood between them was heavy with a somber emotion she didn’t understand.
He paused, uncharacteristically uncertain. “Tomorrow I set off for the Western Desert, Emma. It’s an annual trip I make, to meet some of the tribal and regional leaders. For all our oil wealth and modern cities, we are still a desert kingdom at heart.”
She ignored the simmering feeling of disappointment. “How long will you be gone for?” She could have kicked herself for her air of desperation, but she was too far gone not to ask.
“A week or two. It depends on the issues I meet when I get there. Emma, you are to be my Sheikha.” He held a hand up to silence her usual contradiction. “I would like you to travel with me, for the first night. Simply to see more of the country that you will help oversee.”
Her heart ratcheted up a gear. “You’re actually asking me?” She lifted her blue eyes to his face. It was a mistake. His lips were only a smidgen away from hers, so close that with just the tiniest of movements she could have pressed her mouth to his, and felt his warmth once more.
“Yes. And I would like you to agree.”
Emma stared into his soul through the green windows before her, and felt like she’d fallen off the edge of a cliff. Somehow, stupidly, she realized that the emotions she felt for this man were, one by one, being replaced by love. Every moment she spent with him wiped out a swathe of her life before this. Knowing she was acquiescing to more than just a night in the desert, she nodded slowly.
“Yes, Rafiq. I’ll come with you.” To the ends of the earth.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“What is this place?” Emma asked, awe struck, as their jeep turned off the dusty track and made for a huddle of white and stone buildings.
Rafiq had surprised her by driving them himself. Heck, it had surprised her that he even could drive. When she’d said as much to him, he’d responded, in his trademark dry tone, that he could ‘drive’ airplanes and helicopters, too.
“The Ruins of Shilleth.” It might have just been the author in her, but she thought she could hear awe in even Rafiq’s voice.
“The Ruins of Shilleth,” she repeated, not taking her eyes of the buildings ahead. They were very old, and as they got closer, she could see that vines had grown to cover the walls. “What a magical name.”
He angled his head to her and smiled. “I thought you’d like it.”
“What are they?”
“Centuries ago, Shilleth was a town to rival Agbesh. Only easier access to the sea made Agbesh a more natural port city, and bit by bit, people deserted Shilleth.” He pulled the car to a halt in the shade of one of the three storey buildings. “Come. Explore.”
She felt like a kid in a candy store. She pushed open her door and stared up at the buildings. Knee high grass grew wild before her, bending in the breeze, and a colony of birds sat atop the highest building, watching them with lazy interest.
A security jeep had been following behind and it stopped beside them now. Rafiq instr
ucted his men to keep a distance. For some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, he wanted Emma to feel the same skin-prickling sense of wonderment he had experienced when he’d first come to the ruins.
Rafiq extended his hand to Emma. “These are very old buildings. Keep close to me, and do as you’re told.” He said with a warning note.
She nodded, dry mouthed, placing her small hand in his. He closed his fingers around it and led her towards the ruins.
“This,” he said, pulling her through a doorway carved into the stone, “is the old school. Look – some of the children’s toys were left behind.”
She took in a deep breath as she saw the carved blocks he was pointing at. Each one had an inlaid letter or number in an alphabet she didn’t understand. “Beautiful.”
“Yes.” A light breeze rustled past and fanned her hair about her face. Rafiq reached across and hooked it behind her ear, noticing the way her breath caught at the contact. He’d never needed a woman with this level of intensity. He didn’t know how much longer he could be patient for.
She liked the feel of her hand in his. And again, she felt with certainty that they were travelling down paths that were bringing them to the same place, exactly. She moved closer to the blocks and crouched down to inspect them, without touching. They were heaped in a corner. “How extraordinary that they’re still here.”
“As more and more people abandoned the city, those that were left were forced out, by royal decree. It is now designated royal land. Severe penalties would apply to anyone who came here.”
It was a reminder that she was in a very foreign kingdom, the legal system of which she didn’t comprehend. And she felt a shiver run down her spine. She looked up at him. “But you are very fair in how you apply penalties?”
“I haven’t been tested,” he said in response. “People always do as I bid.”
Another trickle of fear. “I bet they do.”
His laugh was throaty. “Do not look so alarmed, Emma. You will do what I say, but it is not because you fear the penalties. It is because you and I want the same thing.”
She felt heat in her face and he saw it. There would be time to talk later. He wanted to share this special place with her. “Come, see the residential quarter.”
The town was bigger than it had looked at first blush. He led her down a street that had, at one time, been paved. Now, it was tufted with grass, and a large lizard was baking itself in the center. Rafiq deftly stepped over it and Emma tried to look calm as she followed suit. “It will not bite, habibte,” he said teasingly.
She nodded and gingerly stepped over, letting out a small shriek as the lizard swished its tail as she passed.
“Don’t you dare laugh,” she said warningly. “That thing’s bigger than my cat.”
“But perfectly harmless unless you threaten it. Then, they spit venom that will blind you if it hits your eyes.”
She shuddered at the image he had invoked.
“I did not know you have a pet cat?”
“Minky,” she said. “He’s a little ginger I found at the shelter.”
“I can see you with a pet. You have great compassion and love.”
“You couldn’t not love Minky,” she demurred. “He’s a dear little thing.”
“Who will look after Minky now?”
“My neighbor, Mrs. James, is looking after Minky until I get back,” she said warningly. Though she knew, in her heart of hearts, that marriage was inevitable, his certainty and arrogance was truly frustrating, and she took every opportunity she could to let him know nothing was decided.
His compressed lips were the only sign that he’d heard what she’d said.
But she forgot what she had even been trying to achieve when they turned the corner, and stepped into a massive, paved amphitheatre, with sections of the roof still intact.
“This was the town square. Anything from markets to meetings to performances were held here.” Emma followed behind him as they skirted slowly around the edge.
“This is so beautiful. If I could, I would come here every day and write,” she said on a sigh. “What furtive grounds for inspiration. Even the air seems to sing with secrets.”
A type of wild lavender was growing and she bent down to sniff it, surprising a huge bumble bee. It flew at her and she shrieked again, stepping back.
Now, Rafiq did laugh, as he pulled on her hands and then closed his arms around her. Holding her to him like this felt so right. Again and again, he was surprised by how much his body wanted her. He had dated some truly spectacular women, all of them from impeccable families, and not one of them had driven him wild like this. In broad daylight, he wanted to rip her clothes off and make love to her against the warm stone pavers.
“I hate bees,” she said quietly, by way of explanation, and he knew she was embarrassed. “And I don’t normally scream every time I see an animal or insect, either,” she huffed.
He squeezed his arms tighter around her middle. “I like it. It gives me a chance to show you that I can protect you.”
“From a bee?” She said coolly, but inside, her nerve endings were alive with electricity.
“From anything that makes you feel scared.” He corrected, pressing his lips against her forehead.
“You scare me.”
“No,” he shook his head, and gently lifted her chin with his finger, so that she was facing him. “This scares you.” And he kissed her with all the pent up passion that was driving him wild. He needed her, and he needed her at that exact moment.
The dress she was wearing had a zip at the back and he eased it down slowly, refusing to let logic back into his brain. An excitement like he’d never known made him tremble, as reverently, he removed the fabric to reveal what was beneath. Emma. Her bra was a simple scrap of lace and he discarded it quickly, and stood back, to admire her.
She was so much more perfect than in his fantasies. Rounded breasts, skin the color of cream, nipples that were standing on end and begging to be sucked and teased. His whole body was thrumming with desire, and the knowledge that soon he would experience complete satisfaction. He lifted his hungry green eyes to her face, and saw only desire in her eyes.
“You want this.” It was a statement, but she knew he was asking. And so she nodded, and took a step towards him, closing the distance once more.
“Are you sure this is private?”
“Yes.” He took her back into his arms and felt the full warmth of her satiny skin. He plundered her mouth with his, tasting her sweetness, before lowering his lips and taking one of her nipples into his mouth. Her whole body jerked as he flicked her with his tongue, and his arousal likewise flared. She was so sweet. So sexy. He reached down and slid his hand in the waistband of her pants, feeling her smooth butt with his fingers, reveling at the sensation of her skin, finally, in the palm of his hands.
She moaned at the intimate connection, and he switched his attention to her other nipple, taking it into his mouth and letting it know, with his tongue, that it was wanted, too. His fingers kneaded her buttocks and she pressed herself into him, in a way he knew meant that she was wanting more. All of him.
“Undress me,” he said unevenly, stepping away from her. Her eyes were wild with desire as she lifted her hands to his robes. She had to stand up on tip toe to lift the garment over his head, and beneath it, he wore western clothes. Jeans, and a t-shirt. Her hands were unsteady as she undid his jeans and eased them down his legs. He stepped out of his shoes and jeans at once, then dispensed with his t-shirt himself. Only a pair of cotton boxers stood between him and total nakedness. Emma, suddenly shy, looked at him. The look he gave her was so devastatingly erotic that, without hesitation, she took the boxers in her hands and moved them down his long, muscular legs.
His penis was aroused and enormous. She gulped at the sight of it, assailed for the first time, with doubt about whether or not this would even be possible.
“It is almost time,” he said huskily, mistaking the look in her eyes.
He lifted her easily and carried her to the grass at the edge of the square. He laid her down and slipped her pants from her body, so that they were both naked, both ready. He wanted to make this last, but just one look at her, and he knew his control was already slipping away. Her body was a thing of beauty. None of this stick thin business that seemed to be popular the world-over. She was curved in all the right places, with womanly hips, mesmerizing breasts, and legs that he wanted curved around him.
Emma wasn’t sure why she was held mute. She knew she should say something. Should explain to him, but she couldn’t. Her body was so overcome with pure sensation, white-hot and mind-altering, that she seemed to lose the ability to speak. Her eyes, when she looked up at him, were filled with need, and trust.
Rafiq eased himself over her, laying kisses along her décolletage and breasts as his fingers dipped inside her very wet, very ready core. She bucked against him at the long overdue invasion, and moaned frantically, leaving him in little doubt that her control was as thin as his own. “Ah, Emma, soon,” he promised, and switched then, to his native Arabic, speaking to her in a language he knew she didn’t understand. He said everything he couldn’t say to her, the apologies he wanted to offer but couldn’t, the truth of their situation… and then, as she turned to putty in his hands, in the grip of an orgasm, he removed his fingers and nudged his penis towards her. Rafiq was always careful, and always practiced safe sex. But this time, he didn’t.
She was so tight, as he entered her, and he groaned with satisfaction. He felt her still beneath him and he whispered reassurances in his own language, stroking her breasts, and legs. He looked into her eyes, asking the question he couldn’t voice, and she nodded. “I want you.”
His eyes widened as he plunged the final length of himself into her. Unmistakably, she had been a virgin. He swore fiercely, but he couldn’t stop. The waves of sensation were already overtaking him and Emma reached up and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine,” she said, and as he moved inside of her, he watched pleasure dance on her face, on her lips as she called out in a fever pitch of longing.
The Sheikh's Virgin Hostage: Seducing her was never part of the plan... Page 8