by Trish Morey
His eyes seemed to glitter more brightly than any jewels she was wearing, his teeth shining white in his smile.
Staff appeared from nowhere, ready to serve and fill glasses and dishes, to perform every wish of their master, before fading back into the darkness of the night as the sea provided music, its endless swoosh and suck of the waves curling over the shore. Here, this night, she could believe he had embraced his role as prince. Here she could see the man had become more than a prince in name only.
‘Doesn’t it frighten you?’ she asked softly, when the staff had edged back into the night. ‘Knowing your brother will be king? To know that you are but one step from becoming king yourself?’
His face tightened. ‘Nothing will happen to Kareef. Before long he will marry and have the heirs he needs and I will no longer be second in line to the throne. Besides which,’ he said, attempting a smile, ‘there is always Tahir.’
‘Your younger brother? But nobody even knows where he is.’
Rafiq shook his head, not for the first time wondering where his wayward brother had got to. Maybe there would be some news when they returned to the palace. He shrugged. ‘It is all academic. Kareef will make a fine King.’
A servant bowed and approached the pair then, asking if they needed anything more. Rafiq waved the intrusion away. Neither of them seemed to be hungry, merely picking at their food despite the tender herbed meat and freshly spiced vegetables. Instead they seemed content to drink each other in with their eyes, as if that was all the sustenance they needed.
It was all Rafiq needed. To see her like this, her beauty emblazoned in colour, for once highlighting instead of dragging down her dark beauty, was enough to sustain him.
Almost enough.
‘Why did you do it?’ he asked softly, when it was clear both of them were finished with eating, even though their plates were still full.
‘Why did I do what?’
‘Why did you bother to make a deal with the women’s council? You could have accepted their position when they said they’d like to seek a counter-offer. You could have walked away then, knowing that Suleman had predicted such an outcome, knowing I’d half expected it. You could have walked away from the negotiation. After all, why should you care whether or not I got the deal? The way I’ve spoken to you, dragged you halfway across the desert against your wishes, why wouldn’t you want to sabotage my chances?’
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes thoughtful, though it was the way the fabric tugged across her breasts that captured his gaze, and he felt his hunger building—though not for food.
She paused before answering, as if measuring her words, wanting to make each one count. ‘I know it’s hard for you to believe, Rafiq, but I was hoping to make up a little for the pain I caused you in the past. I am truly sorry for what happened, and for the way you found out about my wedding.’
He growled, cursing himself for bothering to make conversation when all he wanted was to bury himself in her body. He wasn’t interested in hearing her lame excuses again. ‘You didn’t look sorry at the time! You didn’t sound sorry.’
‘I don’t… I can’t expect you to believe me.’
‘And how can I believe you? You keep saying you had no choice.’
If she’d looked away he might have felt differently. If she’d looked away he might have thought she’d had something to hide. But she held his gaze from under lids slumberous with intent, her eyes fixed level upon his. ‘I had a choice,’ she started, and he flinched and wished she had said something different. ‘A choice that was made plain to me. I could protect my family’s honour, with the promise of a plush job for my father, or he would ruin them for ever.’
‘He would ruin them? Who do you mean?’
‘Who do you think? Was he not there, gloating at the wedding, knowing it had all gone even more perfectly than he’d imagined?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Your father, Rafiq. Your own father threatened me, told me that a match between you and me would come to nothing. I already knew how badly Kareef had suffered, but when your father visited me, told me that he had plans for you, plans that included better than me, and that my entire family would suffer if I did not marry Hussein, what choice did I have? Do you really think I could have married Hussein otherwise? Do you really believe that?’
But Rafiq was still reeling from the discovery his father had had a hand in his betrayal. That it was his father who had been the one to force them apart. His own father.
Ever since their argument at the oasis yesterday it had bothered him. Sera had said then that she’d had no choice, that she couldn’t bring the shame of Jasmine’s family on her own, and in the white-hot heat of his fury he had refused to listen, refused to see her point of view.
But he had lived in Australia a long time. He had forgotten what life was like here—had failed to remember the expectations a father had for his daughters, had disregarded what it must have been like to live with the ever-present risk of shaming one’s family by one’s actions.
And he had never for a moment considered a father’s expectations for his sons. His father had wanted to control every aspect of his sons’ upbringing, had made every decision, and he had been beyond furious when Kareef had been rescued in the desert with Jasmine.
Of course he had wanted to choose their wives. Of course he would have considered it his choice. He had wanted to control their lives. Instead, he had driven them all away, one by one.
It made some kind of sense. Even his own mother taking Sera in. No wonder she felt responsible. No wonder she wanted to make amends.
Rafiq dragged fingers through his hair, nails raking his scalp. He had been blinded by his own hurt. His own pain. Rendered himself incapable of seeing anything else.
And while his mind reeled with his own inadequacies, another snippet managed to filter through. His mind spun backwards, desperate to replay the words…
‘…when your father visited me, told me that he had plans for you, plans that included better than me, and that my entire family would suffer if I did not marry Hussein, what choice did I have? Do you really think I could have married Hussein otherwise?’
A tidal wave could not have hit him with more force. ‘You didn’t want to marry him. You didn’t love him.’
And this time she did turn her head away, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him while she spoke of her husband. ‘I never loved him!’
There was a chill in her words that he didn’t understand, couldn’t compute, but there was no time to analyse that now, no time to think of anything but the incredible satisfaction of knowing she had never loved her husband. ‘And when you told me, in front of everyone, that you had never loved me…’
She dropped her face into her hands. ‘I lied.’ Her voice was as thin as the golden thread that held the tiny gems to her gown, and he felt her words run ice-cold through his veins.
He thrust his hands once more through his hair, the pain of his nails raking his scalp nowhere near enough to wipe away the pain in his heart. He wanted to believe her. So much. But still it wasn’t enough. Because it hadn’t just been the words she’d spoken. It had been the evidence of his own eyes that had damned her, and still did.
‘But it wasn’t just what you told me, was it? I saw you at the reception! I saw him pull you to him. I saw him practically thrust his tongue down your throat, his hand mauling your breast. And I saw you reaching out your own hand to his lap, squeezing him like you’d never touched me! Everyone was busy watching the dancers, but I witnessed it all. And I wanted to tear him limb from limb. It was only Kareef who managed to talk sense into me, holding me back and telling me to go, to leave you, to get out while I still could.’
‘And you would have seen me run out to be sick, but you had already gone!’ Her voice was but a whisper, a thin thread that sounded as if at any moment it might snap. ‘Hussein liked you watching. He revelled in the jealousy he saw in your expression.’
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��Why did you do it? How could you do it?’
‘He threatened me. Said if you kept coming after me he would hurt you. Not enough to enrage your father, but enough to teach you a lesson.’ Her head sagged further towards her lap. ‘I couldn’t let that happen. I had to convince you that we were over. If you wouldn’t believe my declaration that I’d never loved you, there was no other way but to do as he said.’
Mechanically he left his chair, crossed to her side, all without consciously thinking about what he was doing. He knelt at her side, took her wrists in his hands, and peeled her hands away. Moisture clung to her closed lashes; her lips were jammed together.
‘You did that to protect me?’
Her eyelids parted on dark eyes filled with pain. ‘I was afraid—too afraid of what might happen if I did otherwise. He scared me.’ She shuddered where she sat, her teeth biting her bottom lip white, the involuntary action telling him more than any words could.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, taking her by the shoulders, coaxing her to her feet. ‘It’s all right.’
But she was shaking her head. ‘It’s not okay. You were supposed to be away for a year. I thought you might forget about me in that time. I thought it might not be so bad. When you turned up unexpectedly at the ceremony I had to do something to make you hate me. Something to make you accept what had happened. And so I lied. I acted like I loved him, like I wanted to be with him. But I never did, I swear.’
Her liquid eyes looked too huge for her face, the misery they contained too much for any one person to have to bear. ‘And so you did love me. All along.’
Slowly she nodded, her lips tightly clenched between her teeth, tears once more flooding her eyes.
And he wanted to roar with possession, howl at the moon. For she had always been his. He had known it. She had been his from the very first moment they had laid eyes on each other.
And tonight he would take what had been rightfully his—would take what he had been denied, so long ago.
CHAPTER TEN
HE TOUCHED two fingers to her lips, smoothing away their tightness, taking her chin in his hand and guiding it higher. She was afraid, he could tell, her dark eyes filled with trepidation, her breathing jerky.
And her fear was no doubt his fault too, because every time she had tried to explain, to make amends, he had been blinded to her words and had refuted her every argument. He was the reason she had fled into the desert. It had been his words that had put her very life at risk.
‘I’m sorry,’ he told her, and her fear turned to confusion as he slid both hands over her slim shoulders into her thick black hair. ‘I would not listen to you yesterday when you tried to explain. I made no attempt to understand. And it was from me you felt you needed to escape. It was me who put you in danger. Is there any chance you might forgive me?’
Her eyes wavered with uncertainty, colour rising like a tide in her cheeks, and her lips parted, closed, parted again, as if she were searching for words. ‘I might,’ she managed tentatively, pausing for air. ‘If you… Do you think there is any chance you might still want to…kiss me again?’
And his lips turned into a smile as his eyes were drawn to her mouth, to her lips, lush and ripe, just as his body was drawn to hers, as it had been every single moment since they’d passed each other outside his mother’s suite. ‘You know that I want you,’ he whispered, his mouth hovering scant millimetres above hers.
This time when her eyes widened, their dark depths stirred with something other than fear. ‘I know.’
‘And you want me.’
A pause, a blink, and then came the halting response, ‘It’s…true.’
‘Because, like I said before, the next time I kiss you I won’t stop.’
A hitch in her breath, a flare of her nostrils. ‘I know. I’m scared, Rafiq. I’m scared I can’t do this.’
He had her in his arms before his blood had stopped its tidal surge through his veins, his lips on hers before the crashing had stopped in his ears.
And this time it was neither a kiss of anger, wrenched from her, nor a kiss of spontaneous relief, but a deliciously anticipated act that spoke of mutual need and mutual pleasure, a journey of rediscovery and shared desires and ten long years. His lips moved over hers in an unchoreographed dance that she somehow knew, matching him move for move. Fitting him perfectly. Suiting him perfectly. Hot breath and the sweet taste of Sera filled his senses and he could not get enough, could not think straight beyond wanting her. Except for knowing they could not stay here.
He growled, low in his throat, the vibrations rumbling into the kiss as he untangled his hands from her hair, battled to untangle himself from the kiss. Sera felt them through the hard wall of chest, rippling through her as he swept her into his arms. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘tonight you need not be afraid.’
And, suddenly uncertain, she felt the first seeds of panic worm their way into her bliss. ‘Rafiq, there is something—’
But he had no use for words. Not any more. Not when he had seen they could be used to distort and corrupt and crucify with such devastating effect. ‘Shh,’ he whispered as he parted the curtains to his tent with his elbow. ‘Enough of words.’
And so she fell silent. Except for the tiny mewls of pleasure that escaped unbidden when his mouth descended once more, this time to plunder hers with an even greater hunger.
He was right, she thought in one fleeting moment of clarity amidst a whirl of sensation. Why ruin this perfect moment, this perfect night? For maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t even know.
He lowered her to a bed, plush and welcoming, and richly adorned with pillows of satin and brocades in Bedouin shades, a combination rich in texture and colour. A lamp at the bedside was turned low, casting shadows around the room, turning colours deeper, accenting both the blue-black of his whiskered cheeks and the glint in his sapphire eyes.
He looked massive standing above her, tall and impossibly good-looking, and she caught her breath at the look in his eyes, at the raw desire she saw there.
Desire for her.
Desire that ramped up her own need tenfold.
It was surreal that after everything between them, after all the years and the angst and the pain of coming together again, this day had finally come. It would only be for a night. She knew it couldn’t last. But neither did she know what she had done to deserve this moment.
‘Beautiful,’ he growled, and it wasn’t just the word or the gravel-rich tones of his voice that moved her, but the way his eyes, dark with desire, drank her in, and the rigid set of his jaw and throat, as though it was taking every bit of control he possessed not to throw himself on top of her.
Time lost all meaning as he stood there. It could have been just a minute. It could have been an hour. But it was a moment of connection she recognised, a moment that had been inevitable from the very first moment they’d set eyes on each other.
I do love him, she acknowledged, in that one crystal-clear moment. And this time there was no fear to accompany it, no shame, just a rolling tide of heat that coursed through her. For she was with Rafiq, and it was right.
He smiled then, a tight, hard-won smile, as if he enjoyed the way her body reacted to him, before he pulled the pristine robe over his shoulders and tossed it unceremoniously aside.
Her brain shortened.
Her mouth went dry.
For he was magnificent.
Once upon a time she’d known him, ridden horses with him, swum with him. He’d been fit, his body muscled and toned, but he’d been a youth then, still a teenager. Whereas now…
Now he was a man in his prime. He had the same rich golden skin that she remembered, but the shoulders were broader, and dark hair patterned in whorls across his chest, circled his navel and sent an arrow pointing down his hard-packed stomach before disappearing under the band of his boxer shorts.
She swallowed.
His massively distended boxer shorts.
She shuddered, suddenly unsure, a new fear assailing her
even as the prospect of taking him—that—inside her body thrilled her at some primeval level she couldn’t quite comprehend. She wanted him—oh yes, she wanted him—but what if she couldn’t? What if he was too big?
‘Rafiq,’ she started breathily, caught between nervousness and heady excitement, her voice no more than a gasp as she contemplated the impossible. ‘I’m afraid.’
And he smiled the smile of a man who was used to being complimented. ‘There’s no need to be afraid,’ he said, before he placed one knee on the bed beside her, slipping the sandals from her feet and sliding one hand up her foot from toe to ankle, so slowly, so intimately, that she almost cried out with the sheer pleasure of his touch.
Pleasure or need? Both, she decided, as he trailed a line along her calf through the silk of her gown, the heat from his fingers warming her flesh and igniting fires under her skin as his voice washed warm like velvet over her. ‘I know it’s been a while, but it’s like riding a bicycle. You never forget.’
Assuming you’d ever learned. Should she tell him outright? And then his long fingers swept over her thigh, his thumb perilously close to touching her there, and the sensations he generated, the raw hunger that met her touch, made her think that maybe she might just be able to bluff her way through it after all. The flesh she’d hitherto been so ashamed of, the flesh she’d numbed into non-existence for so long, was willing, even if she herself was weak.
The bones at her hip had never felt so special, nor had the dip in her waist felt so curved as his hand slipped past, and she was breathless now, breathless with his slow ascent, and through it all he watched her, blue eyes on black, his smile like a victor about to enjoy the spoils. And then his thumb grazed one tight breast and she cried out with the unexpected and unfamiliar pleasure, her spine arching against the bed. He dropped himself over her and smiled. ‘You see? Like riding a bicycle.’