Desert Justice

by Valerie Parv

  “We’re wrong for each other in too many ways to list,” she said.

  “Then let me ask you this. Do you find me unattractive?”

  Her expression betrayed her even before she said, “No.”

  “Are you a virgin?”

  “N-no.”

  “Do you find lovemaking unpleasant?”

  A longer hesitation before he felt her fingers tense in his. Then she said, “No.”

  “Do you require the promise of marriage before making love?”

  She twisted in his grasp. “Obviously not, or I’d be married by now.”

  He let her create a heartbeat of space between them, but retained hold of her hand. Easy enough to reel her in when she was ready. “I feel exactly the same way. So what objections remain?”

  Control, she thought. Control was the issue. His interrogation only added to her panic that he could take over her life as easily as he commanded her physical responses. Already his questions had inflamed needs she couldn’t push away.

  She did find him attractive. More than attractive. Around him, she could hardly think of anything else. Away from him, she was consumed with wondering where he was and what he was doing.

  She enjoyed lovemaking with the right man. But how could she know if Markaz was the right man? By making love with him. A dilemma indeed.

  “Can’t you simply take no for an answer?” she snapped, as annoyed with herself as with him.

  He lifted their joined hands. “Not when your trembling tells me you want to say yes.”

  Her hand wasn’t the only part of her quaking. She was glad he didn’t know the full extent of his effect on her. “Then read my lips. I don’t want…”

  Before she could complete the sentence, his mouth crushed hers. As he deepened the kiss, the last of her resistance vanished. He felt the change when she stopped trying to free her hand and curled her fingers tighter around his.

  He lifted his head, his eyes flaming. “You were going to tell me something.”

  She shook her head, her expression dazed. “I was, but it’s gone now.”

  He trailed kisses along the line of her jaw, her shivers of pleasure echoing his own tremors as she arched against him. “Good. For now I want you to think only of me.”

  The gaze she directed at him was troubled. “And later?”

  “There is no later, only now.”

  “Only now,” she repeated. If only it were true. “Such a wonderful fantasy.”

  Through the silk of her galabia he molded her breast, thrilling to her softness contrasting with the pebbled nipple he felt pressing against his palm. “The fantasy has barely begun, my beautiful Sima.”

  She could do this. Live the fantasy. Revel in the moment. The days of women needing a promise of forever were long gone. Whether the hope of a happy ever after lingered at the back of her mind was for her alone to know and deal with.

  “Yes,” she said on a huge outpouring of breath. The rightness of the one word crashed through her. She wanted him here, now, no more dissembling. While he was still the man and not the sheikh of sheikhs.

  He’d said there was no later, but there would be. He would change back into the sheikh, and she into an independent Western woman. But that was no reason not to enjoy this time together. Choosing to surrender control wasn’t the same as having it taken from her. A fantasy, he called it. Surely every woman was entitled to one?

  She was quivering with anticipation as he took her hand and walked her toward a billowing curtain at the back of the dais. Pushing through the folds, he brought her into a room the size of a suburban bedroom back home. The walls and low ceiling were rough-textured plaster, painted white with a single high window letting sunlight slant through. Other than the inevitable Persian carpets layered over the marble floor, there was little in the way of furnishings. Only a table containing a carafe, a glass, a tray of refreshments and, on the far wall, a narrow couchette banked with cushions.

  She could barely mask her disappointment. This was his idea of a fantasy setting? Desire for him throbbed through her like a living thing. She could no more have gone away unfulfilled than she could have flown under her own power. But surely a more romantic backdrop wasn’t expecting too much?

  Perhaps it was better this way, she thought. Keep things purely physical so she didn’t lose sight of their true relationship. But as she moved toward the couchette, he tugged on her hand. “During the majlis, this is my retreat when I need to consult advisors or consider a decision.”

  She scanned the chamber, but saw no other doors. “That only leaves the floor.”

  The carpets were lovely and probably worth a fortune, but not in the least inviting for what he had in mind. She began to have second and third thoughts. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.”

  “Wait.”

  Too aroused and curious, she did as bidden. He went to what looked like a blank wall, tapped a point a few feet up from the floor and the same distance from the corner, and turned to her with an expression of almost boyish delight. “Watch.”

  She took the hand he held out, and gasped as a crack and then a hidden door opened in the wall. Feeling like Alice stepping through the looking glass, she walked through with him, hearing the door grate closed behind them. Turning, she saw that the door had disappeared again. Knowing the secret, she could probably find it if she had to, but wouldn’t count on doing so easily.

  Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t the chamber meeting her astonished gaze. Like something out of an Arabian Nights tale, the room was tented with filmy white fabric, with thick carpets underfoot and painted walls glowing like mother-of-pearl under concealed lighting. Low cabinets and a bar were along one wall. In the center, a carpeted platform supported a deep mattress piled with jewel-colored coverings and voluminous pillows. Through an archway she glimpsed an en suite bathroom. Cool air whispered against her heated skin from some hidden source.

  If ever a room was made for romance, this was the place. Utterly decadent, totally private. The pounding sensation inside her notched higher.

  “What is this place?” she asked, automatically lowering her voice although she was sure no one could possibly overhear.

  He confirmed it when he said, “There’s no need to whisper. This is known as the royal chamber. In earlier times, the sheikh and his family could hide out here if the lodge was attacked by marauders from the desert.”

  “Was the chamber ever used for that purpose?”

  “Many times. It was less lavishly furnished then, and provisioned for a siege.”

  She turned to him, struggling against jealousy of the women he must surely have brought here before her. “Whose idea was it to equip it as a bedroom?”

  His mouth turned up slightly, as if he sensed her suspicion. “Not mine, if that’s what you’re asking. It was my mother’s idea.”

  Simone felt her jaw slacken. Trying to imagine the cold, unapproachable Norah creating such a boudoir was almost beyond her.

  “She loved my father very much,” Markaz said quietly.

  Looking at the lovely, romantic furnishings, Simone felt a lump clog her throat. “So I see.”

  “Every sheikh passes on the secret of this room to his sons,” Markaz explained. “When my turn came, my father told me it had been used just once in his marriage, the night I was conceived.”

  The lump grew. “What about your older brother?”

  “My father spoke only of me.”

  Did Markaz wonder, as she did, at the significance of this? So much love and passion infused the chamber, she could feel it. Or was her own passion answering the siren call of the surroundings?

  “You are the first woman I’ve brought to this room,” he added.

  Her knees went weak and she stumbled.

  Instantly Markaz was there, sweeping her into his arms, setting off a fresh explosion of need inside her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, sensations tearing through her like wildfire. His muscular chest felt like a rock wall, making h
er ache to tear away the robes and connect with him skin to skin, flesh joining with flesh.

  “Does anyone else know of this chamber?” she asked.

  “Only my most trusted personal servant and Fayed and Hamal for security reasons. They can reach me here in a dire emergency.”

  The implication was clear. They would not be disturbed for anything less than a threat to national security.

  When he placed her on the bed, she released him with a reluctance he noticed. “It’s only for a moment, my Sima,” he said. “I have no intention of leaving you for long.”

  He meant for the duration of the fantasy, she knew, but chased the thought away. He didn’t want to love her or need her any more than she wanted to love him. No promises had been made, except the implied one of shared pleasure. The very thought made her womb clench, and she fisted the jeweled coverlet in shaking hands. No man had gifted her with unconditional pleasure before. All she had to do was accept his gift in the spirit he offered it, with no thought of tomorrow.

  “You’re thinking too much,” he said, his tone faintly accusing. He stood looking down at her, a small, mosaic-covered box in his hands. “For as long as we remain here, I want you thinking only of me.”

  Her throat dried. “I was thinking of you.”

  Placing the box on a side table, he sat on the platform and raised her hand to his mouth, his lips whispering over her fingertips. “Seeing you waiting for me, how can I think of anything else?”

  He raised her so he could slip the galabia off over her head. The modern lace bra she wore underneath seemed incongruous in this setting, but she heard his breath catch at the sight of her breasts cupped in white lace. The bra fastened at the front and he unhooked it so she spilled into his hands. “Your beauty takes my breath away,” he said, bending over her.

  The suckling sensation was almost too much. She gave up trying to keep her mind clear, and let her head drop back. When he trailed kisses down her body, every nerve short-circuited in unison and she bucked under his hands. She hardly felt him slide the silk sirwall down her legs, leaving her in the lace panties matching her discarded bra.

  A hint of breeze brushed over her as he stood up. First he removed the i’qal and headdress, setting them aside. Then he stripped off his robes, letting them pool on the floor. She could hardly take her eyes off his magnificence. His chest muscles were as sculpted as she’d suspected, veeing to narrow hips and strong legs. Seeing him naked for the first time, she knew he truly deserved the title, sheikh of sheikhs.

  She reached for his hands to pull him down beside her. And met resistance. “In good time, my beauty.”

  “If you’re trying to make me beg, you’re about to get your wish.”

  He smiled. “So soon? We’ve barely begun.”

  She was on fire and this was just the beginning? Anxiety fluttered in her chest at the reminder of how completely she had placed herself in his hands. She couldn’t even count on finding the way out of this room on her own.

  This was a fantasy, an interlude, she reminded herself to counter the uncertainty. Nothing would happen without her consent, and afterward she would be back in control of her life, the way she wanted to be.

  Didn’t she?

  His fingers played inside the lace edge of her panties, making her squirm. “The meeting of souls shouldn’t be rushed.”

  Her stomach muscles contracted at his touch. She pulled in air that didn’t reach the bottom of her lungs. “I’ve never heard lovemaking described as a meeting of souls before.”

  “You’ve never been with me before.”

  What could have sounded like arrogance, Markaz turned into a promise. She dragged her fingers through her hair, realizing belatedly that the move made her breasts more prominent. Resisting the temptation to cover them she said, “Not everybody is as sure of themselves as you.”

  He traced circles around her sensitized nipples, earning a sharply indrawn breath. “What are you unsure about, my beautiful Sima?”

  “Being here. Doing this.” Surrendering, she added silently.

  “We can stop anytime you want. Do you?”

  “No.”

  “Then tell me you want me.”

  He wasn’t making this easy. She didn’t want to want him, but her body—her soul?—had other ideas. “I want you to make love to me,” she said.

  “That isn’t what I asked.”

  She bolted upright against the pillows, confused by his comment. “Is there a difference?”

  “A difference as vast as the sands of the Lost Quarter. Wanting me to make love to you is no more than a mare wants from a stallion. Wanting me means your soul calling to mine, giving you no peace until we become one.”

  The distinction was the very reason for her ambivalence. Wanting him felt far safer than wanting to be one with him. She’d thought he would settle for the same deal. Was she being unfair expecting him to? “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “It’s yourself you insult. You don’t know how hard I’ve resisted bringing you to this room. Or what it means now that I have.”

  She moved her head from side to side. “I thought we could enjoy a romantic interlude, then go our separate ways.”

  “With us, there can be no separate ways. You sense the link between us as strongly as I do.” He rose to one knee on the platform. “What you choose to do about it is up to you. If you tell me truthfully that you don’t want me, I’ll open the secret door and let you go.”

  She swallowed hard. “But the link will still be there?”

  “Always.”

  The sensible move would be to let him open the door. She’d be back in control. Running her own life. Alone. Never knowing if the yearning she felt to the depths of her being was caused by his soul link, or simply by unfulfilled desire.

  She had to know.

  Chapter 12

  Drawing her legs up, she clasped her arms around them, trying to sort her body’s demands from her mind’s with little success. “You accused me of thinking too much. Isn’t this the same thing?” Trembling with arousal, the last thing she wanted was to talk.

  He wasn’t done yet. “I want you to think about me. Not the act of fulfillment, but the man giving you pleasure.”

  How could she not? She rubbed a finger along a furrow between her eyes. “Easy for you to say. You’re the one in control.”

  She saw understanding dawn. “Ah, that is what troubles you?”

  “Yes.” Her answer was a whisper of torment.

  He stroked his palm down the length of her thigh, eliciting a soft moan. “The only reason we struggle to maintain control is fear. You have nothing to fear from me, my beauty.”

  Offering his hand, he helped her off the bed and took her to the wall they’d come through. Was he going to send her away after all? But he placed her hand against the cool stone until she felt the texture of a mechanism. She smiled. “I can feel the lock.”

  “Good. By pressing it, you can open the door any time.”

  He understood. Not everything, but enough for relief to flood her. “This—fear—started with my father. He was so afraid of anything happening to my mother or me that he controlled every aspect of our lives. After he died, I got involved with someone who tried to do the same. But he was only living up to my expectation that a man would run my life.”

  Markaz cupped her face in two hands. “So you left him and came to Nazaar, where men have been running women’s lives for centuries.”

  She felt her eyes mist. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

  “Or a way of facing your deepest fear. That takes courage.”

  Unable to look away, she lowered her lashes. “I didn’t mean to get into this. We came here for sex.”

  “We came here to make love,” he said, his kisses smoothing out her frown. “Understanding you enables me to please you without scaring you. I’ll ask you again. Do you want me?”

  At the soft touch of his mouth, her heart hammered against her ribs. “Yes. I want you, Markaz.”
>
  “Then show me.”

  She knew what he was doing. After her admission that men had done the running of her life until now, Markaz was letting her set the pace. After a moment of uncertainty, she took his hand and led him back to the bed. “Lie down.”

  “All right.”

  He stretched out full length, his head filling the dent she’d left in the pillow. She allowed herself a long perusal of his beautiful body, then reached out. When she stroked his flank his breath caught, but he stayed quiet. Waiting. At least most of him did.

  The part that didn’t had her eyes widening. “Is this torture for you?”

  His eyes glittered. “In the most exquisite way. Fortunately, Nazaari men are taught agility and control as part of our education.”

  Starting to enjoy herself, she knelt on the platform and brushed her hands over his chest, playing her fingers down his ribs like a pianist. How lean and hard he was. She bent and kissed him, letting her tongue tickle the corners of his mouth. A low groan edged around her lips. His or hers, she wasn’t entirely sure.

  When she lifted her head, she saw his hands fisting the bedcovers. He’d bent one leg and his breathing was shallow, as if he hovered on the brink.

  She gulped. “I think I’ve had enough of being in charge for now.”

  He opened his arms. “We can take turns.”

  Now it was his turn. She’d already pushed his self-control to the limit. When she lay down beside him, he had to fight the urge to lose himself in her now. He forced himself to wait. To heighten her pleasure before claiming his own.

  Rolling onto his side, he slowly traced kisses down the cleft between her beautiful breasts, feeling her tremble. He allowed himself to taste the honeyed tips, to slide his teeth around the nubs and tease them with his tongue.

  “Markaz.” Part cry, part plea.

  He rested his head against her, breathing lightly. When he was sure he had himself under control, he began to outline her body in kisses, his mouth exploring every inch of her in luxurious detail.

  This was so new, so amazing. She could barely think for the sensations layering themselves one upon another, giving her no time to recoup in between. All she could do was feel.