by Diana Palmer
"He is young. He will recover swiftly now."
"He likes you," she remarked.
"And I like him, Brianna. He has character, that one. Like his sister."
His hands had gone to her waist, strong hands that tugged her back into the curve of his body. His cheek was against her hair, and he was breathing more heavily now. She couldn't move. She closed her eyes and savored the sweetness of the contact.
"What has gone wrong between us, chérie?" he asked quietly. "Why have you turned away from me?"
She bit through the skin on her lower lip and winced at the self-inflicted pain. "We're very different," she began.
"Different." His hands contracted roughly. "And yet, so alike in many ways. I am a Christian, did you know? I never accepted the Moslem faith."
"Yes, I remember." Her fingers rested lightly over his strong hands, feeling the roughness of skin and hair and the steely strength of them as they held her.
"I enjoy classical music, as you do," he continued quietly. "I would live a simple life if I could."
Odd phrasing, she thought curiously. "Why can't you?"
"Because of those duties and responsibilities I told you about," he replied. "Many people depend on me."
Her fingers had become involuntarily caressing over his. Her body throbbed with insistent pulses. She moved back toward him, a little stir of motion that aroused him viciously.
His lean fingers dug in at her waist and his mouth dropped to press hotly into the side of her neck. He nipped her with his teeth and, feeling her jump, slid his mouth to her ear.
"They have cameras and microphones in every room, even in this one," he said harshly. "Whether you realize it or not, that small movement which you have just made was a blatant invitation, one which I madly wish I could accept. But do you really fancy making love for the amusement of our hosts?"
She gasped and tore out of his grasp, facing him from several feet away with wide, shocked eyes. "You started it!" she accused.
He was rigid with desire and temper, his black eyes flashing, his fists clenched by his sides. "And you were an innocent bystander, led into sin?" he chided icily.
"You could lead a stone boulder into sin with a voice like that!" she snapped back. "I'll bet you didn't stop with one mistress, I'll bet you had twenty-five!"
His eyebrows arched. "Why should that matter to you? You have already stated, emphatically, that you have no interest whatsoever in my personal life."
"And I don't!" she assured him. Her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires in a face gone white with pain and hurt.
He said something she didn't understand. "What do you want of me?"
"I want you to go home," she said through her teeth, "and get out of my life!"
"Gladly," he agreed. "As soon as they catch the men who are trying to kill me!"
"Someone's trying to kill you, Cousin Pedro?" came a shocked voice from behind him.
He turned, and there was Tad, clad in pajamas and looking as if he'd been struck.
"Why are you awake?" he asked gently. "Could you not sleep?"
"Not with all the noise," he murmured dryly, glancing at his sister. "She never used to raise her voice at all, you know."
"Truly?" He looked at her, and there was something very speculative in his bold stare. "She raises it to me constantly."
"You should try to get along," Tad told him. "She's a nice girl, really."
"I know that, to my cost," Ahmed said with a speaking look in Brianna's direction that made her turn scarlet.
"Who's trying to kill you?" Tad persisted. Ahmed grimaced. "It was a figure of speech," he began.
"No, it wasn't, really," Tad said, grinning. "We've got men watching the apartment from across the way with high-powered telescopes, and I've spotted two video camera fiber-optic connections. And the telephone's bugged, because I opened up the mouthpiece and looked."
The two adults wore equally shocked looks. "How do you know what a bug looks like?" Ahmed asked him.
"There's these old spy movies I've been watching on television," Tad explained. "And there's been an ongoing documentary on the CIA that showed about bugs and stuff. Gosh, it's so exciting! I hope you don't get shot, of coarse. But If you do, I know what to do for a gunshot wound," he continued, while Ahmed buried his face in his hand and chuckled helplessly. "I watched a show about the medical corps, and they showed real gory pictures of how they treat wounds. It was great!"
"Oh, Tad!" Brianna groaned. "You shouldn't be watching that sort of thing!"
"I'm not squeamish," he muttered. "I want to be in law enforcement when I grow up. Forensics, maybe. Did you know how much you can learn about a body from examining the skull?" he continued excitedly.
"I think you should go back to bed," Brianna said gently.
"I guess I should," he said with a sigh of resignation. He glanced from one of them to the other. "Are you going to start yelling at each other again the minute I leave the room?" he asked politely.
"Not really," Brianna assured him. "I'm tired, too. I plan to go to bed very shortly."
"Okay." Tad stood in front of Ahmed, who towered over him again. "You don't have a Spanish accent," he said bluntly. "You speak English like Omar Sharif did in Lawrence of Arabia."
Ahmed's chin rose proudly. "You are intelligent," he told the boy. "And not easily fooled."
Tad smiled. "Thanks. Does that mean I get to hear what's really going on here?"
Ahmed smiled back. "No."
Tad shrugged. "You win some, you lose some. Good night."
He went away without another argument. Ahmed watched his retreat thoughtfully.
"He would make a fine diplomat," he remarked. "He is both intuitive and observant."
"What a delightful occupation to wish on him," she said curtly. "Look at what it's done for you!"
He cocked an eyebrow, turning to stare at her. "You have a very sharp tongue," he remarked. "It has been many years since anyone, much less a woman, dared speak to me as you have."
"They were probably afraid you'd chop their heads off," she muttered.
"In the distant past, that might have been a possibility," he told her. His eyes grew intent on her flushed face. "You have no idea what my culture is like, even today, have you?"
"You've got lots of oil in your country and everybody wants it," she replied. He smiled. "True."
"You have a king and a parliament, your country was created out of Arabia just after World War I, you import high-tech items from the United States and Western Germany, your universities are some of the oldest in the Middle East, and the majority of your people are Moslem."
He nodded. "Very good."
"We have a new set of encyclopedia that I'm still paying off. Why isn't there a photograph of your king in it?" she asked suddenly.
"Because of the increased risk such publicity would afford him," he said simply. "Our king has been the target of assassins before this."
The slip didn't get past her. "You mean they're after your king as well as you?"
He hesitated. "Well, yes."
"Oh, my. I hope he's well guarded."
"He is," Ahmed returned dryly. "Too well guarded," he added loudly.
In a nearby room, several dark-suited men with earphones almost rolled on the floor laughing.
"What do you mean?" Brianna asked with a frown.
"They have him in a hotel surrounded by bodyguards and security people, being fed very well. I expect when they let him out, he will be like your Old King Cole of fantasy."
She laughed. It was the first time she had, in several days. "Roly-poly? Is he short and stocky?" "The man in the hotel is, yes," he returned truthfully.
"I don't suppose there are many handsome kings around." She nodded and turned away.
He quickly composed himself. "I have a chessboard, if you play."
"I'm sorry," she replied. "I never learned." "I could teach you."
She shook her head. "I'm very tired. This has been a difficult week. F
or all of us," she added, lifting her eyes to his. "You look very tired."
"I am. Tired and a little disappointed."
"Why?"
He searched her face with eyes that adored it. "I had certain hopes, Brianna.They have come to nothing."
She stared back at him with curiosity. "This woman back home..."
"She is my ex-mistress," he said curtly. "There is nothing between us now."
"I didn't mean that one. The other one," she prompted.
He was very quiet. "Which... other one?"
"The one you're going to marry!" she said, exasperated.
His lips parted on a spent breath. He searched for words, but he couldn't find any appropriate ones. "Am I getting married, then?"
"You told Lang you were," she said quietly. She lowered her eyes. "He told me."
Ahmed's expression was briefly murderous. He looked around the room. "I hope he has no plans to visit the Middle East when this situation is over. I think he might look very interesting at the end of a scimitar!"
"Why are you angry with him? He only mentioned it."
"Only!" His eyes came back to her and calmed a little. She'd been jealous. Hurt, too, perhaps. Her recent behavior began to make sense. It would be all right. She wanted him. His heart felt suddenly light and carefree. He would have some very difficult arrangements to make. And then a quick trip to the altar was certainly in store, before anyone else could throw more spikes into his wheel.
He didn't stop to think if his plotting was fair to Brianna. He'd always done things to suit himself. He was doing it now. She would be well provided for, and so would her brother. She would adjust to life in another country if he could make her care for him enough. He was certain that he could.
"My marriage plans are hardly finalized yet," he said. "And the lady in question is unaware of my intentions."
"Does she love you?" she asked involuntarily, her sad eyes searching over his beloved dark face.
He saw for the first time what she couldn't hide, that she adored him. He smiled slowly. "Do you know, petite, I think she does,"
She made a faint smile. "I wish you happiness, then."
He couldn't drag his eyes away from her. She was so pretty. He moved toward her, lifting her chin with his fingertips to study her sad blue eyes.
"Will you miss me when I go back to my own country?"
"Tad and I both will," she said hesitatingly.
"And I shall miss you." He searched her face with faint misgivings. She cared for him. But could she love him? He bent slowly toward her mouth. Incredibly, as intimate as they'd been together, he'd never kissed her. He wanted to.
But she pulled back. "The, uh, the cameras," she said discreetly.
He muttered something in Arabic and took her by the hand, pulling her with him down the hall. "Where are we going... not in here!"
"It is the only place Lang is unlikely to put a camera," he returned, closing them up in the bathroom. He propped his hands on either side of her, where she stood with her back against the door, breathless and excited.
"I don't want this," she said unconvincingly.
"Yes, you do," he replied easily. "You think I am being unfaithful to the woman I intend to marry. It gives you a guilty conscience to consider allowing my embraces."
She didn't have to answer him. Her answer was plain on her face.
"As I thought," he said with a gentle smile. "You are so very young, chérie," he added solemnly. He searched her eyes and then let his gaze drop to her parted mouth. "So young ...so very, very young...."
The words went into her mouth as he brushed his lightly against it. She felt the warm hardness of his lips, the velvet tickle of the thick moustache. Then, slowly, his tongue probed her lips, parting them, darting past her teeth into the silky darkness of her mouth.
He felt her stiffen. He withdrew at once, and his mouth lightly brushed hers, teasing it back into submission. When she relaxed, he started again. She was totally innocent of such loveplay. He had to remember that, and be patient with her.
It was exciting to make love to such an obvious virgin. He smiled as he made her mouth lift to seek the deepening pressure of his. He felt her shy movements, the hesitant reach of her hands around him, against his silk shirt, warm through it as they sought contact with his shoulders. She came closer and he levered his body down into hers, using the door to hold her there while he maneuvered them into greater intimacy.
She wasn't protesting anymore. Her mouth opened to the darting sensual movements of his tongue. Her body submitted to the slow, blatant drag of his hips that let her feel the strength and power of his arousal. She tasted him, experienced him, as she'd never known another man. She gave him everything he asked for.
Even when she felt his long leg push between hers, when she felt him lowering against her even more, so that his hips were squarely over hers and they were as intimate as lovers except for the layers of fabric that separated them.
She made a husky, passionate little sound in his mouth, and shifted quickly to accommodate him. He pushed against her rhythmically, letting her feel how it would be.
It was almost too late to stop. He shuddered and she clung when he tried to draw away.
His lips moved against hers when he spoke. "For a thousand reasons, this cannot continue," he whispered unsteadily. "The pleasure is becoming too urgent, too sweet to deny. All I must do is loosen two fastenings, and you will know me completely, standing here against the door. Let me stop while I can. I am too aroused to give you tenderness. It will hurt."
She felt his mouth touching her face, gentling her, as he forcibly withdrew from temptation. He held her while he covered her eyelids with kisses to calm her.
She was shivering with reaction. But there was no shame in what she felt. Finally her eyes slid open and looked up into his, curious and shy and uncertain.
"You know very little of men, n'est-cepas?" he asked huskily, searching her face with quick, sharp eyes. "Do you really think that I have experienced such violent, sweet desire with a host of other women? Do you think this is such a routine experience for me that I am completely unmoved by it when I release you?"
"I don't know," she said shakily.
"Brianna, once in a lifetime a man may experience something so earth-shattering and passionate, if he is fortunate," he explained slowly. "I have no wish whatsoever to turn our magic into a sordid tangle of arms and legs in a bed."
She flushed. "Oh."
"It is not sex. That is what you thought?"
"You seemed not to want to be close to me, after the night we spent together," she said demurely. "I thought you'd decided it was all a mistake and you only wanted to forget it."
"I went up in flames and all I thought about afterward was how quickly I could strip you and relieve the ache you leave me with," he whispered wickedly. "But afterward, it made me ashamed to want something so physical, when I knew how fragile and vulnerable you were in other ways."
"So you ignored me completely," she agreed.
"It was the only protection I could manage," he told her with a long-suffering look. "Now that Tad is here with us at night, and Lang has cameras in most of the rooms, it would be quite difficult to find enough privacy to satisfy ourselves."
"You did maneuver us into a bathroom," she stated.
"Where I came to my senses in time," he reminded her. "I care too much for you to use you, no matter how much you inflame me," he added. "I meant what I told you. A man must not allow himself to reach such a frenzy of desire when he pleasures a virgin." He traced her flaming cheeks. "He must become as the wind across the desert, slow and tender and caressing until she is prepared to receive him."
She felt hot all over as he spoke. Her eyes fell to his throat, where a pulse throbbed visibly.
"You still avoid my eyes. Why?"
"It embarrasses me, a little."
"When we have been naked together in bed?" he teased softly.
"We weren't lovers."
He drew her head to his chest and caressed her hair. "Oh, we will love," he whispered. "But not as conspirators hiding in corners."
"I don't understand."
"Did you think me such a rake, Brianna, that I could make love to you while I had a woman waiting at home, expecting to become my bride?"
She hadn't thought about that aspect of his behavior. She lifted her head and looked up into his eyes with quiet curiosity.
"Well, no," she confessed. "It did seem rather out of character. But Lang said―"
He put his lean forefinger over her mouth. "Yes. Lang said that I was impatient for this charade to be over because I wanted to marry. Indeed I do, with all possible haste, and there are more obstacles and difficulties than you can possibly imagine because of my choice of brides."
She scowled. Her finger idly traced a button on his white shirt. Under it, his heartbeat was quick and hard. He caught her hand and she held his eyes while she worked underneath it to unfasten two buttons, then three, then four. His lips parted as she reached inside the shirt and began to slowly caress the hair-roughened muscles of his chest.
"I love to touch you," she said unsteadily.
"Wait."
She lifted her eyes again. "Is it so uncomfortable for you?"
Yes." He put her hand to one side, smiling ruefully. "I have no plans to marry a woman from my own country. Although it is of a certainty that the woman I marry past agree that the ceremony be performed there. I am a high public official. I cannot marry in this country in secret. Do you understand?"
"Yes. No. You said you were going to get married," she began.
"And I am. Oh, yes, I am," he whispered fervently and bent to kiss her hungrily.
"Then who...?"
"You, of course. Who else occupies my mind waking and sleeping...? Brianna, marry me!" he breathed into her mouth.
Chapter Nine
While Brianna tried to cope with what she thought she'd just heard, Ahmed made a much more thorough frontal assault on her soft mouth. She couldn't think at all. She answered his lips and her hands slid with waves of pleasure over his broad, hair-roughened chest, savoring the feel of his body under her sensitive fingers.