Zakir spun the sword in his hands, moving into another series of movements as Jamal brought her in, then left, closing the doors behind him.
Felicity stood with her arms folded, her chin jutting at its usual stubborn angle. A defensive posture, he was starting to recognize. She wore again the clothes he was beginning to associate with her, a T-shirt and jeans, basketball boots on her feet. Like a teenager.
She is definitely not a teenager.
The night before she hadn’t been any kind of child. Her mouth under his had been open, letting him in to taste her. So sweet and hot. She’d curled her fingers into his tunic, holding on, her body melting against his. Inexperienced yes, but all woman that was for certain.
The memory of the kiss hit him hard once again, the heat already simmering inside him built, and his hold on his sword wavered, his footwork faltering.
You should not have seen her yet.
His jaw hardened. This was insanity. He wasn’t a teenager either, getting hard at the memory of one kiss. No, he was thirty-five. He was a man, a king. He was in supreme control of himself both physically and mentally. And nothing would happen unless he willed it.
Turning, Zakir brought the sword around in an arc, the blade slicing through the air, stopping right in front of her.
She didn’t flinch. “That’s pretty cool,” she said, looking down at the blade in front of her. “But you don’t actually use swords nowadays, do you? I mean, they’re just ceremonial, right?”
He lowered the weapon. Yes, he felt calm. He felt in control. She wouldn’t get under his skin again; he wouldn’t let her. “They can be useful in certain situations.”
“Like when? In an actual war?”
“Whatever kills the opposition the quickest and with the least number of fatalities to your own side is usually the best weapon. Sometimes that is a blade. Sometimes it is not.”
Curiosity gleamed in her eyes. “Oh. Well. I guess that makes sense. And you’ve been in a war too, haven’t you? Five years ago, right?”
How would she know that? Perhaps she had looked it up? “I see you have been making use of my private archive.”
Her mouth turned up, excitement glittering in her eyes.
The animal inside him growled, low and deep. She would look like that in his bed, as he moved in her. If she was on her back. Or on her hands and knees. Perhaps he would take her in front of a mirror so he could look at her face. Watch her. See that excitement turn to ecstasy as he pushed hard and deep.
Stop. You were supposed to be in control of yourself.
Ah, holy God. An hour and a half’s practice should have dealt with any rogue thoughts, and yet she’d only been in the room a minute and already all he could think about was how her mouth had tasted. How her body had felt against his.
Where was his strength? Where was his control?
You are more like Farid with each day…
He turned sharply away, going over to the heavy metal cabinets that housed his training weapons. Wiping the sword down with a cloth, he then pulled open the cabinet and took down the scabbard that belonged with the blade, sheathing it soundlessly.
Behind him, he could almost feel her surprise. He ignored it.
“Uh,” she said when he didn’t speak. “Yes, I made my calls then spent this morning looking through your archives. That’s why I came down here. To thank you. You did what you promised and I just wanted to say—”
“You did not pass on any messages to anyone?”
There was another small silence, the briefest hesitation.
“No.” She said the words quietly and with some dignity. “I didn’t tell anyone where I was or what had happened. It would have been a bit difficult with Jamal standing guard over me. Anyway, as far as my company is concerned, I’m pursuing a new business opportunity and I’ll keep them updated as things develop.”
A tightness he hadn’t been previously aware of eased somewhere inside him and he wasn’t quite sure why. Not because he’d been afraid she’d make things difficult for him diplomatically, but for some other reason. As if she’d made a choice. And that choice had been him.
Slowly, he closed the doors to the cabinet. “And why did you say that?”
“Because now that the deal with Al-Harah has fallen through, you’re going to have to help me save my company.”
He turned. She stood not far away, the blue of the pool at her back, her gray eyes very clear, very direct.
“Do I?”
“I told you I needed that deal. And since you’re the one who effectively killed it, you’re the one who’s going to fix it. My company can help your country and we can do it without this marriage thing.”
He straightened, watching her. She had no idea how very desirable she was to him right now, that direct, almost challenging expression in her eyes. Reminding him of how she’d looked in his arms as he’d kissed her. Of how she would look as he stripped her clothes away and took her.
In fact, he could do that right now. Right here. Peel her tight, little T-shirt off over her head, strip away her jeans. Leave her naked but for her ridiculous basketball boots. Those he would keep on, because he could. Then he’d lay her down on one of the long couches near the pool—
Remember Farid. Remember what he did. Passion is the downfall of the Al-Nazari, this you know.
“You are aware of what I want.” His voice sounded rough. Of course she would not know what he truly wanted. Not really. “This ‘marriage thing’ is nonnegotiable.”
He expected an angry response, but all she did was narrow her gaze, staring at him silently. “Why?” she asked after a moment. “What’s so important about marriage to you?”
“Marriage is always important to a king, especially when he needs an heir.”
She tilted her head like a curious bird. “So it’s just that? What about love? Companionship?”
A thread of irritation wound through him. Where was she going with this? “Those things are irrelevant when it comes to royal marriages.”
Felicity stuck her hands in her pockets, scuffing the floor with one shoe. “Not for normal people, it isn’t. Love is pretty important when it comes to getting married.”
“You and I are not normal people.”
“Speak for yourself.” Her gaze dropped away from his, her foot moving restlessly on the floor. “Did…your brother love his wife?”
Shock arrowed down his spine, stealing his breath. Of course she would know about Farid and Maysan. He’d forgotten his archivists would have gathered all those lurid headlines. There were reasons he kept those archives closed.
You should have told her.
Perhaps. But what would it have benefitted her to know the horrific crime his brother had committed? She needed to feel at home here, to settle in. Rather difficult to do that knowing what had happened to the last sheikha within these walls.
Except now she did know. And she had questions. Questions he did not want to answer.
“We will not discuss my brother,” he said, making his voice hard and cold.
But perhaps she didn’t hear the warning, because she asked instead, “Why not? Don’t you think that’s something I should know about?”
“All you need to know is that my brother was not a violent man. He was sick.”
“But what happened? I mean—”
“I said we will not discuss it,” he cut her off, his tone as sharp as the blade he’d been practicing with. “If you are afraid, know this. I am not my brother and I will not hurt you.”
A frustrated look crossed her face. She glanced back down to the floor again for a moment, as if she was trying to decide something. Then she looked up at him, straightened her shoulders, and began to walk toward him.
Zakir stilled. There was a determined glint in her eyes as she closed the distance between them, and this time she didn’t look away, holding his gaze as she got closer and closer.
A flush had risen in her cheeks and he couldn’t stop staring at her. At the way t
he cotton of her T-shirt pulled tight over her breasts. How the denim of her jeans clung to her slender thighs. And all he could think about was what he wanted to do to her.
“Stop.” The sharp edge to the order echoed around the cavernous room.
And she came to an uncertain halt, watching him, those glittering silver eyes of hers seeing far, far too much. “What? What’s wrong?”
Abruptly he turned back to the cabinet so he didn’t have to look at her, unwilling to let her see the hunger in his eyes. Unwilling to give her the truth.
Training hadn’t helped. Even the mention of Farid hadn’t been enough to hold this clawing desire at bay. His control was being slowly undermined by one small, redheaded westerner, and he had no idea why.
She couldn’t be here. She wasn’t safe around him.
The unsheathed blades in the cabinet gleamed, the light running across the sharp edges. Another subtle reminder, as if he needed one. Farid had used a ceremonial dagger to take Maysan’s life. And all because she’d smiled at one of his guards. He was supposed to have gotten better, the imported drugs Zakir had gotten for him working so well that he’d almost been like his old self again.
Until love had changed him. Love had been the one factor Zakir hadn’t taken into account. If his brother hadn’t loved Maysan quite so much, she’d probably be alive and so would he.
Slowly, Zakir picked up a dagger, looking down onto the polished steel blade. He’d killed with this. He probably would kill again. He’d always been a soldier at heart. A killer before he’d been a king.
“Get out.” His voice didn’t sound like his, rough as the sands of the deep desert. “Leave me.”
There was silence behind him.
“Why?” Felicity asked.
“I said, get out.” The dagger glittered in the light. Tension crawled over his shoulders and down his spine, gathering tight inside him. The animal gathering itself to pounce.
“No. I’m not—”
“Get out!” It came out as a roar, the words echoing off the hard surfaces of the room and bouncing back. She needed to leave now before he did something both of them would regret.
Another silence behind him. And he caught the subtle scent of her, some kind of flower with a hint of feminine musk. A key. To unlock the doors of the cage that had his hunger bound.
He whirled around, the dagger still in his hand, to find her standing right behind him now, only inches away, her gaze so sharp it pierced him right through.
“What’s wrong?” She demanded, completely disregarding the fact that he was several times bigger than her and infinitely more deadly, especially while he was holding a dagger. “Why are you shouting at me? What did I do?”
She was too close. Far, far too close. And that scent of hers was weaving spells around him. Spells he wasn’t going to be able to resist.
Anger rose and he grasped it tight, using it to mask the desire that burned like acid inside him, eating away at him like the dry desert wind eats away at the rock.
“You are foolish,” he said harshly and took a step toward her, closing the remaining distance between them. “You should listen when I speak. You are not safe around me. So when I tell you to go, you should go.”
He wanted her to back away, turn tail and run. But she didn’t. She held her ground instead, staring up at him, a fierce frown on her face. “Why?” she asked again. “Why aren’t I safe? You just told me you wouldn’t hurt me.” Her gaze dropped to the dagger in his hand. “Are you going to stab me with that or something?”
She didn’t sound even the remotest bit afraid. Only curious. Foolish woman.
“No.” He threw the dagger away, the metal chiming on the stone as it slid across the floor. “I will do something much worse.”
She blinked, as if she’d only now just realized how close they were standing. And her gaze widened, dropping slowly down the length of his body then back up again. A flush rose to her cheeks. “W-what’s worse?”
He should stop this. Step back. Walk away. But he didn’t. “I am.”
She was looking at his mouth, her eyes slowly darkening like they had on the terrace the night before. “Are you?” Her voice was husky too, taking on that soft, erotic quality that had gotten him so hard before. “How?”
“You should leave, Felicity.” She had to, because God alone knew he could not.
Her throat moved and with obvious effort, she lifted her gaze to his. And for a second, he thought she’d seen sense and was going to do what he asked. Then she sealed her fate.
“No,” she said. Very clearly.
So he moved, looping one arm around her waist, bringing her hard against him. Gripping her coppery red braid in one fist, he pulled her head back.
Then he kissed her. Hard.
Chapter Seven
Felicity’s mind blanked as his hand wrapped around her braid. As he pulled her head back and devoured her completely, his kiss full of dark heat and hunger. Taking her mouth like he owned her, as if she was a city he’d just conquered and was now intent on razing to the ground.
She’d wanted to get answers from him and maybe she’d been too blunt. But her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she hadn’t been able to help herself. As soon as she’d mentioned his brother’s name, she’d seen something flash in his dark eyes. Pain and anger and what she thought was fear. And it hooked her. Made her want to know everything.
Made her stay when perhaps she should have done what he’d roared at her and gotten out while she could.
But she hadn’t. Because something had made her stay. Not just curiosity but something else. Something hot.
He’d been shirtless and she’d been painfully aware of that from the moment Jamal had shown her into the room. Stripped to the waist and wearing only the familiar black combat pants, that massive sword in his hands. A tall, powerfully muscled figure shifting fluidly through a series of movements so graceful it had almost looked like a dance. A lethal, deadly dance.
That had been the flashpoint, the ignition. The spark that had lit the hot, burning thing inside her. And she’d tried to push it to one side because it got in the way of her thinking and made her feel so horribly out of her depth.
But then he’d lost his temper, getting close to her and, by rights, she should have been afraid of him, so massively built and with a dagger in his hand. Except she hadn’t been afraid. Only…fascinated by the sense of barely contained violence running through him like a subliminal hum. By the sharp obsidian of his eyes and the black flame burning in them.
He was beautiful, dangerous. And she hadn’t wanted to leave.
So she hadn’t and now she was trembling, that hot thing igniting into a conflagration that felt as if it was searing her from the inside out. And it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.
Her mouth opened beneath his, letting his tongue push inside, exploring her, tasting her. And she was kissing him back, with no idea what she was doing; only that the flavor of him was so hot, spicy, and delicious, and she couldn’t stop herself.
His arm around her waist was so strong, so heavy, a manacle binding her to him, while her fingers gripped tightly onto his powerful shoulders. Her heartbeat was louder than thunder in her head and so fast she thought she might pass out.
This was as deadly a dance as the moves he’d made with his sword. Because all there was under her hands was his skin. Smooth and slick with sweat, and so hot it felt like she’d put her hands on a heated element. It burned. He burned.
And so did she.
The hand holding her braid pulled tighter, enough to cause a few pinpricks of pain, and yet that only seem to add more fuel the fire.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her body arching against his, desperate for something she didn’t quite have a name for. Desire had always seemed so abstract and faintly ridiculous before, but now… God, she couldn’t get enough.
He kissed her harder. Taking and taking and taking. As hungry as he’d been last night. God, if he didn’t stop…
What would happen? She’d be burned to ash.
“Zakir,” she gasped desperately, suddenly frightened. Not of him, but of what was taking place inside her, of the intensity of her own hunger. Of the ache down low between her thighs and the way her nipples seemed so exquisitely sensitive.
He didn’t reply, his mouth trailing down her neck to her throat. Pressing there, tasting her skin, making her heart thump in a hard, fast beat, echoing in her ears.
Overwhelming her.
She was panting, her breathing loud and ragged in the silence of the room. Her breasts were pressed up hard against his chest, her fingers digging into his slick skin, and she was shaking so badly she thought she would shake herself apart.
Then he pushed one hand down beneath the waistband of her jeans, sliding his palm over one buttock at the same time as he gently bit down on one of the tendons of her neck. And all the remaining breath went out of her. She gasped aloud, the sound sliding into a moan as he exerted pressure, bringing her hips against, the long, hard length of his erection pressing against the seam of her jeans.
Pleasure shot like wildfire through her, so strong she felt dizzy with it.
“I told you I wasn’t safe.” His voice was a growl, his breath hot against her skin. “I told you that you should have gone. And now it’s too late.”
Too late? Too late for what?
But she couldn’t seem to form the words or even bring herself to care. Because that amazing, powerful brain of hers could only seem to think of one thing. More.
Felicity closed her eyes, arching her back, blindly rolling her hips. Rocking against the tantalizing hard ridge pressing between her thighs.
He said something low and vicious in Arabic that she didn’t understand and then she was being lifted into his arms and carried over to one of the low couches beside the pool. Being laid on the soft cushions with him crouching over her, his hands on either side of her head, black eyes staring down into hers.
The look on his face was pure predator, a lion finally having run down its prey and now ready to feast. “You will do as I say,” he said in a voice so deep and dark it sounded as if it had been dragged from the bottom of the ocean. “You will follow my orders as if I were God himself. Do you understand?”
Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) Page 10