by Avery Laval
In minutes he was free of his shorts, and pressing his hard shaft at her bikini-clad entrance insistently. She did nothing at all to restrain him, instead tilting her pelvis upward slightly to give him an easier vantage. He took it, pressing aside the thin fabric to thrust into her, and she gasped as the feeling of fullness and stretching abated, returned, and abated again. Holding onto the back of the ladder with one hand, Khalid used the other to reach between them, pressing his thumb over her most sensitive stretch of flesh, moving in rhythm to his thrusts.
Faster than she ever thought possible, she felt the vibrations moving into her, pushing through her stronger and stronger. She screamed noiselessly, then moaned his name, letting the shock and bliss run through every inch of her body as she came. She felt his body grow rigid, his thrusts grow more insistent, and heard a guttural growl from deep within him. Eventually, they were both still, their bodies limp in the bobbing ocean, the waves tracing a line over her sensitized nipples.
Her arms began to ache from clinging to the ladder. She shifted slightly, moving to ease the strain, and he moved too, slipped out of her and to the side. Then, using one hand braced against the deck to hold them both, he scooped her under her legs and let her lie there, one arm over his shoulders, weightless and exhausted.
They floated there, soundless, for a very long time. Then he spoke. “Well, I suppose the damage is done by now.”
“Would it be so bad?” she whispered, imagining the baby she’d lost, and the one she might be carrying now, especially if they kept sleeping together without birth control.
Khalid didn’t answer. And his silence was deafening.
8
Khalid’s words—and his silence—stayed with Marissa for the rest of the night. She ruminated over their conversation while the whole group ate dinner at a long glass table positioned on the uppermost deck, under an awning with a stunning view of the water and Dubai’s marina in three directions. She thought of them still when she went to bed, alone, in her small stateroom, just a short hallway away from his. There hadn’t been a chance to ask that he answer her question—they’d had to scuttle out of the water and to their separate cabins to avoid being seen by one of the yacht’s plentiful crew. But Marissa was able to speculate what his answer would be. They’d just inadvertently doubled their chances of a pregnancy.
And Khalid thought they were idiots for doing so.
And yet the thoughts of their lovemaking—and not regretful thoughts, either—kept Marissa awake late into the night. Those thoughts tortured her mind the next day, when she awoke to find that they’d made it to Rifaisa. The thoughts chased her off the yacht and into the limousine that waited to usher the entire party to the palace.
Only when they pulled into the long, long drive, past booths of guards, through gate after gate, and the palace came into view, did she think about anything else. The royal residence was magnificent, but nothing like what she’d expected. It was large but not enormous, and it seemed to be relatively recent construction—perhaps in the last hundred years at the outside. Three large sets of pillars rose to a striking angled roof in front, but they were the only nod to historical architecture. Behind them were walls of windows and vast stretches of verandas that wrapped around the high second story almost like on an old American plantation home.
Khalid must have seen the surprise on her face, because he laughed at her as they both slid out of the car. “Were you expecting the Taj Mahal?” he asked her.
Marissa made a face at him. “Maybe I was. But this will do,” she laughed back, happy for even a moment of lightness between them. “The grounds are spectacular.”
All around them were modern fountains, set to spray at a series of different heights that gave them an almost architectural feel, as if the walls of water were just another room in the palace. She longed to explore them more and see the exotic flowers that seemed to bloom around every corner.
“Wait until you see the orchard,” Khalid replied. “But the tour will have to wait. I’m behind a day in my schedule and will have to make it all up today. Tomorrow we’re expected in the north.”
“What do you mean, we’re expected?” Marissa asked, following him up the path and between the pillars.
He stopped, only for a second. “I mean, until we know what is going on down there,” with his words he pointed at Marissa’s belly like it was a bomb that could go off, “I’m not letting you out of my sight. I have business in the north. You’ll come along and try to stay out of the way.”
Marissa’s eyes widened at the admonishment, and she couldn’t hold her tongue. “I tried to stay out of your way on the yacht,” she said, lowering her voice so no one else could hear. “And look where that got us.”
Khalid was still walking to the palace as she spoke, so she couldn’t see the expression on his face when she’d brought up what they’d done in the water the night before. But she didn’t need to see him to know her words had angered him. He let out a low growl and stormed into an enormous, open hall that stretched out in every direction and soared up to the palace’s ceiling. Then he pivoted on her, and the intensity in his eyes was as startling as the beauty of the room.
“We’ll discuss that later,” he hissed. “In private.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but changed her mind when his staff appeared.
“For now, follow Jana.” He said, waving dismissively. “She’ll see that you’re settled, and give you the lay of the land. I’ve got work to do, and she does too, so try not to keep her long. There’s a library, and wifi, and a pool. You shouldn’t be bored.”
She nodded. “I may not rule an entire nation, your majesty, but I do have my own work to catch up on.”
“Fine,” he echoed, beginning to walk away but then stopping himself to add a final thought. “If you decide to swim, ask a maid to find you something suitable. I don’t want to see that bikini again. It’s counterproductive.”
Marissa felt her cheeks catch fire. “But you gave it to me.”
He was already walking away, leaving her fuming. How good he had gotten at cutting her down with just a few words. She thought of the things he’d said to her over the course of the last four days, and for the first time since this whole affair had started, she let herself get truly angry. So he found her “counterproductive.” Apparently she was getting in the way of his schedule. Well, then, maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her! Maybe he shouldn’t have pulled her into the sea with him. Maybe he shouldn’t have abandoned her in America without so much as a goodbye before marrying some Rifaisi social climber! Talk about counterproductive.
Marissa looked to her left and right and found she was, once again, surrounded by people. Her familiar bodyguard from the hotel headed her way, as did Jana. She wished she could scream. She wished she could rush after him and give him the good hard shove he deserved. She wished, more than any of those things, that she could bolt out the door, run like hell to the nearest airport, and get away from this damned country she’d never asked to visit.
But instead she took a very deep breath. She pushed down all the rage, tried to wipe the grimace off her face, composed herself as best she could, and smiled at the approaching aide. Things, she reminded herself, would surely get worse before they got better. She’d have to save her emotional energy if she wanted to get through what lay ahead.
She’d need every last drop of willpower in the coming days if she had any hope of keeping her head on straight and her heart intact.
The next morning, before the sun had made it very high in the sky, Khalid slipped out of his bedroom onto the expansive balcony that rounded the entire rear of the palace. Taking his coffee out here had become something of a ritual for him, a moment of perfect peace and privacy every day before he stepped into his role as leader and statesman. He cherished it, cherished the view of the beautiful date orchards and the sea stretching out behind it, and off to the south, the busy port already bustling with enormous tankers making their way to the mouth of the g
ulf. As long as there was peace in his country and that port was busy, he knew he was doing his job well. Normally, that thought satisfied him well enough.
But today, he was unsatisfied.
He looked down the long expanse of balcony to the farthest end, where she sat, perched on a teak bench working on her own cup of coffee. She took it with enough milk to turn it a pale shade of tan, he remembered, and without a grain of sugar. He hoped his staff had gotten it right this morning.
Then he wondered why on earth he cared.
He’d noticed her presence the moment he’d stepped outside, almost as though he’d felt, rather than seen, her. But she remained oblivious, staring out toward the port as though she understood just how important it was to the people around her. If she enjoyed this view, maybe she wouldn’t hate living here as much as he’d always assumed. Maybe she’d even come to like it over time. He supposed that would be for the best—life would be easier if his wife wasn’t miserable. If he did, in fact, have to make her his wife.
But he was fooling himself to think she could bear it here. She would be miserable. She’d miss her family. Family was everything to Marissa. And though he had no doubt she would make a good mother, he also knew she would make a terrible wife. One he would never be able to trust—one, he wouldn’t let himself trust.
Khalid shook his head. What did it matter, one wife or another? His last attempt at matrimony had been a sham, but that sham had produced no heirs. So even if Marissa were pregnant, and he had to marry her, he supposed it would be no different than what he’d already done for the sake of his country.
Only it was different. Very different. While Nuriyah had been beautiful and charming and seductive in her own heavy-handed way, Marissa was something altogether unique. She had a way of turning him on even without trying, and when they were together, he could think of nothing else but her. It was the residue of an immature first love, he told himself, but deep inside he wondered if the connection between them was something more than that. Their lovemaking was unlike anything he’d felt with any other woman. And try as he might, he couldn’t explain it away.
Nor could he resist her, he thought with a silent groan, wishing even now that he could go to her, pull that mug of coffee out of her hands and lead her into her own chambers, which lay through a door just inches from where she now stood, leaning against the balcony railing. If she were pregnant with his child, there would be that one silver lining—unlimited access to her bed. For he knew she wanted him, too, even if she wished to be anywhere else but here. When he touched her, he saw it in her eyes, that frisson of desire that stoked his own fires more.
There was no missing that want in her face. That look of need. And the need was mutual.
Exasperated, Khalid set his coffee on the thick stone balcony and turned, strode toward her, steeling himself for that look, mounting his resistance.
“Marissa,” he barked. He enjoyed watching her jump slightly when she heard him. She spun around, pulling up the long, loosely woven grey wrap that had slipped down on her shoulders.
“Good morning,” she said. “I was just watching the activity down at the ports.”
He rose his eyebrows. “It’s the heart of this city. I’ll take you down there and show you around so you can see the workings of it. If it turns out you’ll be living here—”
“About that,” she interrupted slowly, great hesitance in her voice. “If it turns out I’m, we’re, pregnant, what would you think of me traveling back and forth between Las Vegas and here? So the baby could know both sides of his family, and so I wouldn’t be so alone?”
“Absolutely not,” he declared, folding his arms to make it clear he was unwilling to discuss the matter further. “Your family can travel here if they want to spend time with the baby. The hypothetical baby. It’s too dangerous for you and the heir to Rifaisa to travel. Too costly to protect you.”
Marissa started to protest, but he held his hand up, dismissing her protests. “Enough. Go get ready to travel. We’re expected in time for lunch in the northlands.”
“I am ready,” she shot back. “I just need to put on a sweater.”
He looked her up and down, noticing her outfit for the first time since he’d seen her on the balcony. Under the wrap she wore a silky tank that exposed her arms and a long, soft-looking camel-colored skirt that glanced off her hips. A black headscarf partially covered her curls. She looked elegant and utterly appropriate for the less cosmopolitan region they were about to visit, but for her bare arms. He frowned. “I suppose that will do,” he said gruffly. He began to turn away from her, to return to his own chambers, but she grabbed him suddenly by the arm.
“I can dress myself, Khalid,” she told him through clenched teeth. “This situation is hard enough for me without this imperious act of yours. That’s not who you are. I know you. We were in love once. Treat me with the respect that deserves.”
He rolled his shoulder, yanked his arm out of her reach, irritated. She didn’t know him anymore. And he didn’t know her. But she was right about one thing. They had been in love. And it was an experience he didn’t care to repeat. “In Rifaisa, respect is earned, Marissa,” he uttered. “Earned. Not given.”
The moment she stepped into her chambers Marissa let out her frustration in a scream. She knew he could probably hear it out on the balcony, knew that the guard positioned just outside her bedroom door could hear it too. And didn’t care. She couldn’t think of another time in her life she’d been this frustrated. And not just frustrated with her circumstances, or with Khalid. Frustrated with herself.
For when he’d snuck up on her this morning she’d been looking out at the beautiful landscape around her and daydreaming about living here. At the palace. Like a little girl caught up in a princess fantasy, too young to understand that sometimes the fairy-tale prince might have a heart of ice.
There was a knock at the door. “Ms. Madden?” she heard a male voice say in a thick Arabic accent. “Ms. Madden?” he repeated.
She went to the door and opened it, seeing her bodyguard there, looking concerned. She smiled at him, nodded and gestured around to show that she was fine. He smiled back broadly and stepped out, closing the door behind him courteously, and she marveled at how kindly people were treating her, even though she was a stranger who couldn’t speak one word of the language. They showed her respect from the word go, she thought. It was only Khalid who was making her work for it.
Still seething, she pulled on her thin navy cotton cardigan, leaving the buttons undone to keep it from hugging her curves too tightly, and grabbed her overnight bag. Jana had warned her that this time of year weather in the desert could be uncertain, and it was better to plan for delays and be pleased when none presented themselves. There was a metaphor there, Marissa was sure. Plan to be cut down by Khalid, and then she would just be pleasantly surprised if he was nice to her. She frowned. She could live with that for a few weeks, sure. But certainly not for a lifetime.
She made her way down to the palace’s great hall, where Amid and Jana slowly explained their travel plans to her in English. They would travel to the residence of an important sheikh whose lands included a strip of beach Khalid wanted to convert into a protected national park. Mostly it would be a diplomatic trip, lots of smiling and politeness. She would be introduced as a college friend of Khalid’s who was here to visit the country and see its most beautiful sights—including the beach.
“Mr. Abbasi will explain the politics of the situation in more detail in the car,” Jana added, and Marissa couldn’t miss the slightest quirk of a frown on Amid’s face at the words. He had certainly been the least friendly of all the staff she’d met up to now, but that didn’t bother her. He was protective, she suspected.
She was herded into the passenger seat of a Range Rover, where she waited for only a moment before Khalid appeared, still clicking through emails on his mobile phone even as he buckled his seat belt in the driver’s seat.
“You’re driving
?” she exclaimed, surprised to see him there.
“I’m allowed to drive a car. After all, I am a prince.”
She quirked a brow. “I just didn’t realize you could set down your laptop and phones long enough to steer.”
He started the car and put it into gear. “I’ve found it works better if I do. Especially with a stick shift.” They pulled out of the drive and began to head out of the city. After a few moments of silence, he started pointing out sights, almost as though he couldn’t help himself.
“That’s the turn that leads to the port,” he said at a busy intersection. “And you can see from the traffic that it’s very much the hub of the city.”
Marissa was interested in learning about Rifaisa. But she was so tired of Khalid’s mercurial treatment of her that she couldn’t bring herself to speak to him.
He continued, though, without her encouragement. “All of the oil tankers are taxed and serviced by my people. Those taxes fund our schools, which are top-notch and—for the last fifteen years—bilingual. It’s why you are finding it so easy to communicate.”
She stared straight ahead, silent. His words from that morning—respect must be earned—churning through her head.
“Learning both English and Arabic gives us a leg up in industry and other areas, like banking,” he added. “And in addition the oil companies pay us hefty fees for what we call the Environmental Impact Adjustment. To make up for all the carbon they use and the pollutants that more often than not make their way into the gulf. That funds an enormous CO2 storage project offshore, as well as the water cleanup that keeps the sea safe and healthy. And creates endless jobs for Rifaisis.”