Charlotte reached inside and pulled out the tissue paper, unfolding it cautiously, as though it might be a snake about to bite her. Her fingers glided over the unmistakable sensation of lycra and now she moved faster, ripping the bag in her eagerness to see what was within.
A perfectly plain swimsuit, navy blue with white trim, one piece with boy leg. And in her size, too. She stared at it long and hard and then tossed it on the bed.
Because actually, of course, nothing about a swimsuit could be perfectly plain to Charlotte.
“You’d better not be suggesting I put that on.”
“Not only am I suggesting that, I’m going to see to it that you get it very, very wet.”
Her cheeks flushed and her pulse spiked at what had to have been an intentional double entendre.
“Ashad …”
“Do you trust me?”
Her heart flipped over in her chest but she nodded slowly, her eyes huge in her face. “I think I do.”
“Then let me share this with you.” He reached for her now, as though he could no longer help himself. His hand on her cheek was as gentle as a whisper. She pressed her face into it but he was gone again, moving away from her.
“Shall I wait outside?” A gravelled question that made her quiver. What would he do if she told him to stay?
“Uh huh,” she whispered, moving away from him.
He strode from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
It took no time to change into the swimsuit and adrenalin was moving her fingers, making them dance. She studied her appearance in the mirror, then lifted her hair into a bun high on her head. She secured it with two pins she had in her handbag and then looked around, bemused. She wasn’t going to go above deck in just a bathing costume. She reached for her kaftan and pulled it over the top, the light-weight fabric the perfect complement to the bathers.
But she wasn’t really going to swim, was she?
Ashad was waiting, as promised, just beyond the door to the bedroom. He’d changed too.
She hadn’t expected that.
Ashad was wearing only a pair of dark black board shorts. They fell to just above his knees; there was nothing revealing about them, per se, except for his torso. His muscled, defined, tanned chest with a ridged wall of abdominals and a sprinkling of coarse dark hair that went all the way to the waistband of his shorts, was at her eye level.
“Ready?” He asked.
“I don’t think so,” she smiled up at him weakly.
He laughed, though, and she laughed with him, caught up in the spontaneity and madness of what they were doing. He leaned forward, peering through a window that was visible in the lounge. “We are almost there. Come.”
“Where are we going?”
A grin tossed carelessly over his shoulder was the only answer.
She followed behind him, curiosity overriding fear as they moved back onto the deck. The boat was still travelling quickly, though it had pulled back a little, humming more quietly now as it navigating its way into a sheltered cove.
“What is this?”
“A private beach.”
She nodded. This section of the coast line was broken up by several coves, and many of them had been bought out by billionaire’s decades earlier. It was something her father frowned upon; he believed the beauty of the country should be available for all to enjoy.
“Are you ready?”
She blinked at him. “No, I can’t do this.”
His expression was sombre. “You’re overthinking it.”
“Yeah. Because I can still remember what it felt like to have water filling me up from the inside out.”
He grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him, moving to the edge of the boat. A ladder dangled over the side.
“All you have to do is climb down,” he murmured. “Can you imagine how nice the water feels? So cool on this hot morning?”
She bit down on her lip, shaking her head. “It’s not as simple as that. I’m really afraid …”
He squeezed her hand, and sensation radiated up her arm, warming her heart. “Follow me. Trust me.”
She nodded, but doubts were arrowing through her.
He released his touch so that he could scale the ladder, easing himself down with natural strength. She watched him and, at the bottom, he pushed out from the boat with a confident, relaxed stride. He seemed to tear through the water as though it cost him no effort.
She watched in awe, and envy zipped inside her. How she would love to move like that. Her body was honed and fit; she pushed it to its limits in other ways. But swimming …?
“Come on,” he called up, motioning at her to follow.
“I don’t think I can.”
“I promise I won’t let go.”
Her heart banged hard. He wouldn’t? So far as inducement went, it was exceptional. She put a foot on the first rung of the ladder, and then the next, but belatedly recalled she was still wearing her kaftan. She pulled at it, lifting it over her head by releasing only one hand at a time from the railing. She tossed it onto the deck and then continued moving down the ladder, until her toe touched the water and she jerked to a halt.
But his hands were there, curling around her ankles, stroking her flesh, encouraging her. They were lighting fires where the water had driven an arctic fear deep in her heart.
She took another step, and another, until her knees were in the water, and finally, all of her legs. Her fingers gripped the ladder like a lifeline. Which, she supposed, it was.
He was right behind her. She could feel his breath on her shoulder.
“Let go,” he murmured, so close that she knew if she turned around their lips would mesh. “I’ve got you.”
And, true to his word, his hands came around her waist, holding her tight. He was so strong. So capable. She peeled one hand off the ladder, and then, against her mind’s wishes, the other. Floating in the water, being guided by him, she was processing the shock of the sensations. He shifted a little, bringing himself to face her. His eyes scanned hers, reading them minutely, looking for details that she wasn’t sure she possessed.
“How do you feel,” he asked, kicking under water, keeping them afloat.
“Terrified,” she said honestly.
His hands stroked her back, slowly, deliciously, making her tremble with emotions that had nothing to do with her swimming phobia.
“Of what?”
Her eyes flew to his, the understanding hammered between them.
“I’m marrying your cousin,” she said, but it was a plea.
A muscle jerked in his cheek. “I don’t want you to.”
The sob surprised them both. Ashad, because he hadn’t expected Charlotte to cry – ever – and Charlotte because she wasn’t sad. She was confused. Lost. Literally adrift at sea.
“I have to.” She blinked, and curled her hands around his neck. “I have to.”
“And yet,” he murmured, reaching his hands lower, grabbing her legs and pulling them around his waist, so that she was clamped to his body and could feel for herself the strength of his need for her. Recognition flared dangerously in her eyes; an answering desire was coating her insides. “There is this.”
She sobbed again. “Are you just trying to distract me from the fact that I’m in the ocean?” She said, in an attempt to defuse the tension.
He didn’t want the topic to shift; nor did he want to frighten her. “Why do you have to?” He asked softly, kicking them through the water with an easy, powerful stride.
She swallowed, her fingers gripping him tightly. But she didn’t ask to go back to the boat.
She was brave.
Fearless? No. She had fears, but she faced them with resolution and determination.
“You know why,” her smile was weak.
“Tell me,” he insisted, his eyes burning into hers.
She bit down on her lip. “The marriage to Syed is important to my people. The financial arrangement is one that will enable my parents to improve ou
r infrastructure in vital ways.”
Ashad knew as much. The amount negotiated by Charlotte’s father was specific, and in addition to the financial settlement there were many agreements that would secure increased prosperity for the country of Falina.
“We have had a long period of civil war,” she said softly. “And war with Kalastan. Wars are expensive. Our people have suffered.” She shook her head slowly. “And our marriage – my marriage to Syed – will encourage a lasting sense of peace. Once we have children, they will become the first Falinese-Kalistani royalty. That matters.”
Jealousy fired inside him. “But to marry him for these reasons?”
“What do you want me to say?” She asked quietly. “What is the alternative?”
He ran his hand up and down her back, his eyes locked to hers. He wanted to ask her to marry him! The words thundered through his mind, begging to be released. But he couldn’t simply ask her! Not after Adin had been so insistent that the wedding go ahead.
The only way to free Charlotte, to free Syed, and to make it possible for her to accept his proposal, was to make it impossible for Syed and Charlotte to wed.
He stared down at her, his eyes seeing her soul and pain, her hopes and needs.
“What do you feel in here?” He brought his hand around to her chest and tapped lightly at her heart.
“Nothing.” She bit down on her lip and now there was a new air of determination on her face. “I feel nothing.” Her path was before her. She had known it for a long time. “I’d like to go back to the boat now, please.”
He shook his head. “You have choices here.”
“No, I don’t,” she whispered. “I have one choice.” She looked over her shoulder. The yacht was blocking out the sunshine and she shivered.
Ashad felt it ripple her flesh and it sent answering coldness through him.
“The thing is,” she spoke so softly he almost didn’t catch the words over the lapping of the waves. “I have disappointed my parents before. Enough times to know I don’t want to do that again.” She forced her eyes to meet his. “I am their only child. And I want them to be proud of me.”
“How can they not be?” He asked. “You are a wonderful person.”
She laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Please don’t do this. I know what’s expected of me, and yet, when I look at you…”
“Yes?” He kicked through the water, and turned around, spinning her, allowing her to feel the current and coolness.
“It’s ridiculous.” She compressed her lips. “Let’s go back.”
He nodded. “We will. But Charlotte?”
She bit down on her lip and he stared at the gesture, the soft flesh dragged between her white teeth.
“There is no escaping this. Whether you marry him or not, you will become my mistress.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
She froze, a hand midway through reaching for the rope ladder.
“You are mistaken.”
“Am I?” His handsome face darkened. She saw the intent in his eyes and lifted a hand, pushing it against his chest. But she could see that he was the Lion she’d heard of – the man who summed up his opponent’s weaknesses easily and exploited them to achieve his needs.
“I’m not going to sleep with you. I intend to marry your cousin. And I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I had done that.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to live with the wondering. The wanting. Marrying Syed will not make this go away.”
“Oh, and sleeping with you will?”
His eyes flared and he kicked them away from the boat, away from safety. Charlotte’s eyes flared and a long-ago dealt with fear swirled in her gut.
“No.” His eyes bore into hers, faintly mocking. “I think sleeping together will make us crave more and more and more.”
Charlotte clung to him as he took them into the deep waters to the side of the boat. What choice did she have? Fear of the water was stronger than a fear of what could happen if she let down her guard.
“All the more reason to avoid it. This is just curiosity now. Nothing more. I’m not going to lie to you. I’m … attracted to you. And if it weren’t for Syed, and the marriage that my parents and Kingdom is counting on, then yes, I would want to … get to know you better.”
“Get to know me better?” Such a lukewarm description for what he wanted.
He leaned closer, dropping his words close to her ear so that his breath would combine with truth and spear through her. “I am going to get to know you completely. Inside and out. And inside again.” He flicked her earlobe with his tongue and she bucked hard against him, shock at the intimate touch fanning desire.
“This is just … this is silly…”
He laughed, but it was a sound of disbelief rather than amusement. “Is it?”
“Yes. It’s just … something that will pass. I’m sure of it.”
“Charlotte?”
She blinked at him and felt like she was staring at the sun. She looked away again. He pressed his thumb beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes and she shuddered at the intensity she saw there. “I have had many lovers; beautiful women I have wanted and had.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to say something but he continued before she could formulate words.
“None has tormented me in the way you do. My dreams have become nightmares of need. My body pulses when you are nearby. I have been hard for a week.” He brought her legs around his waist so that she could feel for herself the strength of his arousal.
A noise, low in her throat, was her only response.
His fingers lifted to her lips and he traced the outline and then explored lower, teasing her shoulder before following the line of the bathers, dancing softly against the flesh of her décolletage. He lifted them higher, back to the strap of the swimming costume, and glided them beneath the flimsy, wet fabric.
“It is time to stop pretending.”
“Ashad,” she whispered urgently, but she was incapable of saying more or pushing him away.
“Come to the boat. Let me see you; touch you.”
Words died in her throat. She stared at him in anguish. Everything was wrong. She knew what was expected of her! What she had to do! She had to push him away and refuse to see him again. To ask her father’s council to finalise her betrothal arrangements and go away somewhere. Perhaps to Paris to shop for her trousseau.
But it was futile. No matter how far she went, and how long she was away, he would be with her. Inside of her head, her heart, her mind, her body. He controlled her wishes and desires.
Was it lust, a temporary insanity that she could starve of life and eventually forget? Or was it lust that needed feeding in order to burn itself out?
What if it was worse than that? What if it was something more? Something scarier?
What if the fabled love at first sight was actually true. What if it had happened to them?
“I want to see you here.” He dragged his finger lower, tracing the outline of her breast, swirling his touch over her sensitive nipple, making her gasp. “And here.” He moved to the other breast and his attention was equally arousing. She arched her back, her head falling back into the water.
She was his.
She couldn’t explain it. She couldn’t rationalise it and certainly there was no justification, but she wanted to be his in a way that would no longer be denied.
“Take me to the boat,” she murmured, but now, it wasn’t because she wanted to ignore what was happening between them. It was because she urgently, desperately, achingly wanted to acknowledge it.
There was no need for words. Ashad cut through the water, holding her close to his chest. He swam them to the ladder and as Charlotte climbed it, he was right behind her, his hands only inches from her legs, his mind blanking out the complications that would arise next.
Nothing mattered beyond this.
Everything they were necessitated that they make love. On the deck, she paused, reaching for a towel, but
Ashad was there first. He wrapped it around her and lifted her in one motion, carrying her against his chest.
“I can walk,” she said, not entirely sure if it was true.
He stared straight ahead. His face was unreadable. Curiosity was a beast inside of her. She lifted a finger, touching his lips as he had hers. He looked down at her with a searing heat and her stomach flipped. Anticipation flooded her.
At the bedroom she’d used earlier, he paused, shouldering the door inwards then placing her gently on the ground. He closed the door, sliding a latch in place to ensure privacy, despite the fact there was only a skeleton crew on board.
Charlotte watched him, her stomach in knots. He turned to face her slowly, his eyes sparking flame with hers. He prowled towards her with the same animalistic power that a cheetah in the desert would display. He was all muscle, broad shoulders, sinew, and he was dripping wet. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, his high forehead autocratic, his eyes dark and mysterious. His smile was sardonic; it stirred the butterflies anew that seemed to have moved into her stomach.
“Allow me.” His voice was a gravelled husk. His fingers, when they reached for the towel, were confident. Charlotte knew her fear must have been in her eyes. She expelled a long, shaking breath and Ashad’s eyes flew to hers.
“I didn’t misunderstand you?” His fingers slid beneath the straps of her swimming costume, the costume he had chosen with her in mind. He slid the fabric down her arms; the wetness offered resistance. “You have done this before?”
“I’ve never done this before,” she said, a watery smile on her face.
“You’re a virgin?” He paused, his eyes scanning her face.
Charlotte’s face was pale as she shook her head. “I meant … I meant that it was nothing like this.” She bit down on her lower lip. “I … don’t want to think about that now, anyway.”
“Nor do I.” His laugh sent tremors down her spine.
Charlotte stared at him, and he stared back.
“Yet you are nervous.”
“Well, unlike you, I haven’t had many lovers,” she snapped, unable to resist throwing the confession back in his face.
He continued to push the straps lower, until the fabric across her chest gave way and her breasts were freed, exposed to him. His eyes dropped to them, and the air around them charged with electricity. “Perfect,” he said with quiet seriousness.
The Sheikh's Stolen Bride: The only way to make her happy was to make her his... (The Sheikhs' Brides Book 2) Page 8