Forbidden: The Sheikh's Virgin

by Trish Morey

  He still wanted her. That felt different. Usually he could discard a woman as easily as he’d picked her up, his desire slaked. But Sera? How many times before his interest waned now that he had had her?

  They would be back at the palace tomorrow. He would go back to doing the job he was supposed to be doing—supporting his soon-to-be-crowned brother. Sera would go back to playing companion to his mother.

  Sera, who had never slept with anyone but him before.

  A gentle breeze stirred up from the desert sands—a warm, unsettling breeze that whispered around the tent, rustling around the edges and whistling low through the tiny gaps.

  Sera slept on—despite the steadily building wind and the flapping of canvas somewhere outside, despite the noises of his own mind that were too loud to let him sleep.

  And then the coronation would be upon them, and Kareef would be King. His duty here would be done and he would be free to return to Australia.

  Why did that thought suddenly leave him cold? And he looked down at the woman nestled into his shoulder and knew.

  It would be justice in a way to leave her cold now that he’d had her. He could walk away, abandon her just as she’d done to him all those years ago. And nobody would blame him.

  But he didn’t want that. Whatever this was—this obsession he’d had with her ever since he’d arrived, this need to have her, to possess her—he didn’t want it to end just yet. Maybe he should talk to Kareef. There might be something he could do here, to give him a reason to stay a few days longer. After all, his business was fine. It wasn’t as if he needed to rush back.

  Something crashed outside, blown over by the wind, and the woman in his arms stirred, her sleepy eyes blinking in the first grey fingers of dawn. She smiled that secret smile he’d so missed when she saw him, and stretched, pushing deliciously against him as she arched her back.

  ‘Good morning,’ he growled, kissing her tenderly on her forehead. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Excellent,’ she said, sliding one hand over his belly, her fingers stretched wide. ‘How do you feel?’ And then she encountered him and answered her own question, following it with a short, ‘Oh…’

  Not that she took her hand away. For the first time she did a little tentative exploration of her own, while his hardness danced and bucked under her inquisitive fingers. Rafiq was forced to grit his teeth as she tried and failed to complete a circle around him, before deciding that stroking him up and down was a more satisfying option. She flicked her thumb over the moist end and it was his turn to gasp.

  ‘So smooth,’ she said in awe, her teeth at her bottom lip. ‘Like satin. Do you think…?’

  ‘Do I think what?’ Rafiq groaned, only a few short seconds shy of forgetting how to think.

  Her cheeks flushed dark. ‘I liked it when you flipped me over that time. Do you think it would work if this time I started on top?’

  ‘I think,’ he said, grinding the words out between his teeth, ‘that would work just fine.’

  She straddled him, and the sight of her over him, her breasts firm and dusky, nipples peaked, her black hair in riotous disarray over her shoulders and her gold-skinned body the perfect hourglass, more curvaceous and beautiful than any statue, was nearly enough to bring him undone. She took him in both hands, lifting herself to guide him to her entrance, and he wanted to weep with the pleasure of it.

  And then, with a sigh, she slowly lowered herself, and he watched as he felt himself disappear deep into her honeyed depths.

  He closed his eyes, using his last remaining brain cell to make a decision while there was still time. He would talk to Kareef. Find any excuse. But he was definitely not leaving Qusay or Sera any time soon.

  The return trip to Shafar was uneventful, if you didn’t count the innumerable unspoken messages that passed between Rafiq and Sera, and if you didn’t count the number of times one or other of them found the flimsiest excuse to touch the other, to help locate a wayward seat belt buckle, or to brush a strand of hair from the other’s eyes. She was wearing the sunset-coloured gown today, and the colour suited her even more than last night’s ocean-blue—not that she’d actually worn that one for long. If he played his cards right tonight, and managed to shoehorn Sera out of his mother’s apartments as he intended, this gown would no doubt meet the same fate.

  He could hardly wait.

  The trip back felt much quicker, and it seemed hardly any time at all before they were through the desert and once again eating up the wide highway as they neared Shafar.

  Rafiq would have preferred them to stay another night at the beach encampment, but the dawn wind had blown itself out and come to nothing, and the day that had followed the dawn was still and bright. Besides, the coronation was tomorrow. Missing a state banquet was one thing. Missing his brother’s coronation would be inexcusable. But he wasn’t looking forward to their return. The palace would be heaving with preparations, the walls bulging with visitors and guests, and he cared for none of it. He was pleased for his brother, but he did not really feel part of the celebrations, more an interested onlooker. The only person he really wanted to be with right now was here, in this car, the one who had so aptly labelled him the tourist prince.

  So it would not hurt to play tourist a little while longer. His mother would approve of his staying longer, at least. She could hardly disapprove of his relationship with Sera—she had practically forced them together after all. Plus, if Tahir ever bothered to make an appearance, it would be an opportunity for all three brothers to catch up properly.

  But his plans to run the idea past Kareef when they arrived at the palace would have to be deferred.

  Akmal greeted them in the buzzing forecourt with the news that there was still no sign of Tahir, and that Kareef had taken himself down to Qais for the running of the Qais Cup. The fact that it apparently also had something to do with tonight’s wedding of Jasmine, Kareef’s former lover, surprised Rafiq—although Sera seemed strangely unaffected by the news.

  ‘I thought from what you were saying that Jasmine was a friend of yours,’ he said, as they retrieved their personal belongings from the car.

  ‘She is.’

  ‘Then how is it that you aren’t going to her wedding?’

  ‘Maybe I don’t enjoy seeing a friend forced to marry someone she doesn’t love.’

  And the way the shutters slammed down over her features, as if she was trying to shut out something she’d rather forget, told him it was true. He grabbed her hand across the seat as she reached for her purse. ‘You never loved him at all, did you?’

  Her eyes didn’t lift from the upholstery. ‘There was only one man I ever loved.’

  And before he had a chance to digest what she had said, let alone work out how to reply, she’d slipped her fingers from his and disappeared in a glide of sunset-coloured silk into the palace.

  ‘Did everything at Marrash go to your satisfaction, Your Highness?’ asked Akmal, who had suddenly reappeared at his elbow.

  Rafiq’s eyes were still on the doorway Sera had disappeared into. ‘Very well, thank you, Akmal.’ On all counts. Except one… He swung his head around. ‘Although I’m afraid we lost one of the cars.’

  ‘It broke down?’ The older man looked sceptical.

  Rafiq grimaced. ‘More like got bogged down. The last time I saw it, it was up to the windows in sand.’

  ‘Sinking sands!’ Akmal’s eyes opened wide, and for the first time Rafiq saw the unflappable Akmal, the man who oversaw the goings-on of an entire palace with the calm confidence of a born leader, actually look shocked—as if the prospect of losing one of Qusay’s princes was clearly not on his agenda. ‘I will speak to the drivers. I must apologise—it is unthinkable that something like that should happen.’

  Rafiq put his hand to his wiry shoulder. ‘They weren’t driving. It was my fault, Akmal. But we are all safe. It ended well—apart from the car, that is.’

  The vizier bowed slightly, and regained his calm demeanour. ‘I am
pleased to hear that.’

  ‘Oh, and Akmal?’ he said, suddenly remembering something else. ‘I need you to arrange something as soon as possible. But first, do you know if my mother is in the palace today?’ The older man nodded. ‘Good. Perhaps you might pass word that I’ll visit her after we’ve had our chat.’

  Rafiq allowed himself a smile as he slung his overnight bag over his shoulder, waving away the offers of assistance.

  Given Kareef was away, once his meeting with Akmal was finished there was little other choice left to him but to visit his mother. And if visiting his mother meant that he might also run into Sera, all the better.

  An hour later, the Sheikha greeted him with a smile and a song in her voice. ‘My son, you are home. And how did it go in Marrash? You must tell me everything.’

  Not a chance. He had no doubt she had already extracted what relevant details she could from Sera, and now it was his turn, so she could see if the pieces matched. It was a game they were playing, and who was he to throw the board into the air? At least until he knew exactly how much she knew…

  ‘It went well, Mother,’ he said, trying to deflect any underlying questions with an easygoing answer meant to show he had nothing to hide. The last thing he needed his mother knowing was that he had slept with Sera. Several times. And intended to sleep with her again. Several times.

  ‘And you have your contract?’

  ‘We made a deal, yes.’

  She clapped her freshly hennaed hands together in delight. ‘You did? How wonderful! This calls for a celebration.’ The ubiquitous coffee pot made another appearance, and while his mother was busy pouring, Rafiq was busy checking out the doors. Which one led to Sera? Where was she?

  He was about to take his cup when he remembered the small package he had brought. ‘I brought you a gift from Marrash,’ he said, handing it over. ‘Actually from Abizah, an old woman who refused to take payment. A gift for you, she said.’

  ‘For me? Thank you.’ His mother took the package, as delighted as a schoolgirl. ‘And thanks to Abizah.’

  ‘It’s just a trinket,’ he warned.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ his mother exclaimed, holding the tiny lamp up high, letting the encrusted gems catch the light. ‘It’s perfect! Thank you.’

  ‘Sera chose it. She said you would like it.’ He looked around. ‘Where is Sera?’

  His mother put the gift down, took a sip of her coffee, and looked nowhere in particular in the process. ‘I thought you might be more comfortable without her presence here. The last two days must have been difficult for you both.’

  ‘Most considerate,’ he replied, hooded-eyed, and sipped from his own cup. ‘But unnecessary. As it happens, Sera and I have come to an—amicable arrangement. In fact…’ he coughed ‘…Sera is the one who negotiated the deal.’

  ‘Sera did that? Well, didn’t I tell you that you would need a guide?’

  ‘You did, and you were right. I couldn’t have done it without her. She won the contract all by herself.’

  ‘Did she now?’ the Sheikha asked, clearly more delighted than surprised, and Rafiq could see she was already settling against her cushions for a long Q&A session. ‘She didn’t tell me that. How exactly did she do it?’

  Rafiq coughed again. ‘Just as you said might be the case, Sera was asked to negotiate with the women, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said his mother with an I-told-you-so shrug. ‘So what did she do to ensure you the deal? I told you there were others interested. I’m surprised the tribespeople made up their minds so quickly.’

  He hesitated, wondering if he wanted to reveal everything, but then it was a contract, the terms would soon be known far and wide, and then his mother would wonder why he hadn’t just come clean and told her in the first place. It wasn’t as if he had anything to hide.

  ‘Sera picked up on their being disappointed about it being too late to use the fabric they had sent down in the coronation. To sweeten the offer I was prepared to make, she suggested that at my wedding my bride will wear a gown made of their best golden fabric, for the eyes of the world to see.’

  His mother’s blue-grey eyes grew wide as she drew herself up straighter, and Rafiq was in no doubt that Sera had chosen not to share this particular snippet of news with her. To protect him from his mother’s over-active imagination? Or herself?

  ‘But you’re never getting married. At least, that’s what you told me. Have you changed your mind?’

  He had said that. He’d meant it. And he hadn’t changed his mind—although right now he just couldn’t summon the same level of absolute certainty. ‘I’ll have the lawyers look over the terms, see if there’s something else we can’t offer them instead. It’s too late for the coronation, but no doubt Kareef will have to marry soon…’

  But even as he said the words, a vision formed unbidden in his mind, of a black-haired, kohl-rimmed dark-eyed woman in a robe spun with gold and laced with emeralds, and he wondered where the image had come from—because there was no way that woman was marrying Kareef. So why…?

  He barely heard the door open, and his mother’s exclamation was just a spike in his thoughts until he caught her sudden movement as she uncharacteristically jumped to her feet. He glanced around to see what the problem was—only to see Sera standing inside the door, her eyes wild and wet, her skin an unnatural shade of grey.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DESPITE his mother’s head start, Rafiq had swooped her into his arms in a heartbeat. ‘Sera, what’s wrong? What’s happened?’

  His mother looked on, asking the same questions herself, but with more than a tinge of curiosity mingled with the concern. He couldn’t care less about his mother’s curiosity right now. All he knew was that Sera was hurting.

  ‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Tell me. Let me make it right.’

  ‘You can’t,’ Sera replied, her head rocking from side to side in his swaying arms. ‘No one can fix it. She hates me.’ And then, in a hollow breath, ‘She will always hate me.’

  And from his mother came the unfamiliar sound of air sucking over teeth. ‘Cerak has had the nerve to show her face here, at the palace?’

  ‘She has an invitation, she claims,’ Sera assured her, the colour returning to her cheeks, though she was still clinging to Rafiq’s arms. ‘There is no way she would miss the social event of the decade.’

  ‘Who is this woman and what did she do to you?’ Rafiq demanded, impatient with his own lack of knowledge, feeling excluded from the conversation. His voice growled with his dissatisfaction. ‘What did she say?’

  And Sera’s beautiful dark eyes shut down, her face as bleak as the deepest, coldest winter’s night. ‘She said that I had poisoned her son. That he would not be dead but for me, a barren woman with a poisoned womb, who had been like poison to his very soul.’ And her tears came, at first silently, her body buckling against his with the pain, but then giving way to sound as her sobs found voice.

  And even as he held her, even as he comforted her, his anger boiled and raged inside him. Hussein’s mother. He turned to his own mother then, his desire to find this woman and ram home a few home truths about her precious son paramount. ‘Where will I find this witch?’

  ‘No, Rafiq,’ said his mother, putting one hand to his forearm and one to Sera’s hair. ‘I will find Akmal and ensure the woman leaves immediately. You are needed here, with Sera.’

  She was at the door, almost gone, when he called to her. ‘Make sure she is told, when they find her, that there is recorded in history just the one virgin birth, and that if she dared to look more closely she would find that any poison was the product of her own fetid womb.’

  His mother did not blink. She looked from Rafiq to the woman nestled against his chest and nodded, before slipping silently from the room.

  ‘You told her,’ Sera said much later, after he had carried her to his room and laid her down on his wide bed, after he had kissed her hurt away with a thousand tiny kisses as he stripped her bare, after ma
king slow, deliberate love to her. ‘With that message for Cerak you told your mother about us.’

  And he shrugged as he ran one finger down her arm, relishing the way she shivered into his touch, her glorious dusky nipples peaking once more. ‘She would have found out soon enough. She was already wondering when you didn’t reel from my arms.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  He leaned over, unable to resist, his tongue circling that budded temptation, ‘Besides, even if that hug had never happened she would have put two and two together when she found out I was planning on staying a few extra days and spending them and the nights that followed in your company.’

  A pause. ‘You’re staying longer?’

  He heard the delighted note in her voice, how it rose at the end, her words delivered just a fraction faster, and it pleased him. ‘I was thinking about it.’ He targeted the second nipple, feeling spoiled for choice, loving the way she gasped as he suckled, drawing her in tight. ‘But I changed my mind.’

  ‘Oh.’ Exit delighted note.

  He slid first one leg between hers and then the other, pressing his lips to her softly curved belly and then lower, his hand sliding down, parting her, circling that tight bundle of nerve-endings that knew only his touch and which was guaranteed to have her arching her spine.

  ‘I had a better idea.’

  He dipped his head, working his teeth around a nipple, gnawing, nipping, laving with his tongue while his hand worked his magic below. She was panting now, her breath coming in ragged, frantic breaths as her fingers clutched at his hair, his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. But some part of her brain must have still been functioning.

  ‘Which was?’ she asked. And he had to switch gears in his mind to work out what he’d said before.

  Although his first priority right now was not with words but with actions. She was ready for him, and he could not wait. He sheathed himself in an instant and waited at her very cusp, his muscles bunched and readied as he sought her eyes. Only when he had them did he answer. ‘I want you to come back to Sydney with me.’