At the Sheikh's Bidding

by Chantelle Shaw

  ‘Neither, thanks.’ She tore her eyes from the formidable width of his chest and the tanned column of his throat, revealed now he had unfastened his top few shirt buttons. ‘I’ve decided to sleep in my dressing room tonight. I’ve got a headache.’

  Zahir’s eyes narrowed at her tone, but he shrugged and murmured coolly, ‘That is unfortunate, because I have spent an interminably long day, enlivened only by the promise of your delectable body. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you are my wife, kalila, and tonight I require you to share my bed.’

  His supreme arrogance acted like a red rag to a bull, and Erin tossed her hair over her shoulders with an impatient gesture and glared at him. ‘What is the point in taking me to bed when we both know you’d rather be with someone else? Or were you planning to have sex with me and pretend that I’m her?’ she accused wildly.

  Black eyebrows winged upwards. ‘Pretend that you are who, exactly?’

  ‘Jahmela al Nasser. Do you think I didn’t notice how you were all over her at the banquet tonight? The way you smiled at her?’

  Erin despised herself for the betraying note of jealousy in her voice. All night she had told herself she couldn’t care less about his seeming closeness to his exotic Arabian ex. But the idea that he must have once kissed Jahmela, perhaps made love to her, caused acid to burn in her stomach.

  ‘Fatima told me that Jahmela’s family expected you to marry her. I don’t know why you broke your engagement, but it was clear tonight that you regret whatever happened in the past. Jahmela is clever and beautiful and she comes from your world. She would have made you a far more suitable wife than me,’ she finished miserably.

  ‘Undoubtedly that’s true.’

  Zahir’s calm agreement pierced her heart as if he had fired an arrow through her chest, and the wave of desolation that swept over her made a mockery of her conviction that he meant nothing to her.

  He glanced at her speculatively. ‘Actually, I was never engaged to Jahmela—although it is true her family had hoped we would marry,’ he told her bluntly. ‘But I chose you to be my wife.’

  ‘Only because you wanted Kazim—you didn’t actually want me.’

  ‘I think our wedding night proved conclusively how much I want you,’ he murmured sardonically. He came to her with surprising speed and the lithe grace of a big cat, his midnight-dark eyes gleaming beneath heavy lids. ‘You know damn well that the moment I saw you I desired you more than I have desired any other woman. You are like a fever in my blood, an addiction I can’t control, and if you want the honest truth I resent the hold you have over me.’

  He gave a harsh laugh at the stunned disbelief in her eyes, and captured her chin between his fingers, forcing her face up to his. ‘My only consolation is that you burn with the same fever, kalila. This is just an attention-seeking exercise, isn’t it?’ he accused her contemptuously. ‘I warned you I would be busy once we returned to the palace, but you resent the fact that you are not my most important consideration. In case you’ve forgotten, my father is lying in the hospital wing recovering from a heart attack,’ he bit out furiously. ‘And you have no comprehension of my responsibilities as ruler of Qubbah.’

  He felt as though he had stepped back in time and was a small boy again, listening to his mother accusing his father of selfishly pursuing his own interests and not paying her enough attention. His parents had married after a whirlwind affair, and the cracks in their relationship had appeared early on—caused, he was sure, by his mother’s unrealistic expectations of love. But love played no part in his marriage to Erin, and she needed to understand the ground rules.

  ‘My life is bound by my duty to the kingdom of Qubbah and my responsibilities to my brother’s son. And make no mistake,’ he warned her harshly, ‘they take equal precedence in my priorities. But if you want more of my attention, kalila, you can have it.’

  ‘Zahir!’ Erin gave a cry of alarm as he swept her up and flung her over his shoulder, his hand clamped firmly on her bottom as he strode into the bedroom. Her temper exploded and she beat her fists on his shoulders. ‘How dare you? I demand that you put me down…’

  Her feet briefly touched the floor and he spun her round, tugged her zip down her spine and removed her dress before she had time to catch her breath. Her bra went the same way before he lifted her again and threw her onto the bed as if she was a rag doll, his eyes glittering with a mixture of anger and sexual hunger that made Erin’s stomach dip.

  ‘At night I’m happy to give you all the attention you could possibly want,’ he growled, his shoes, trousers and shirt hitting the floor with barely controlled savagery until he stood in his silk boxers. ‘This is the only bed you’ll ever sleep in.’ The boxers joined the rest of his clothes, revealing his powerful, unashamedly aroused body in all its glory. ‘But I wouldn’t bank on sleeping for many hours yet.’

  Erin stared up at him, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she struggled to control the wild excitement that was pounding through her veins. She was conscious that she was wearing nothing but a pair of tiny lace panties and the priceless pearl necklace, but before she could protest Zahir dragged her knickers down her legs and pushed her thighs apart, exposing her to his heated gaze.

  ‘Pearls suit you,’ he drawled lazily, lowering himself onto her so that Erin could feel the solid ridge of his erection stab the soft flesh of her stomach. ‘Whenever you wear that necklace to state functions in future I will have a vision of you wearing it as you are now—naked and ready for me.’

  She wished she could deny his taunt, but his fingers were probing between her legs and he laughed as he slid into her welcoming wetness. Her weakness for him was humiliating, but desire outstripped her pride and she lifted her hips while he explored her with a merciless skill that set her on fire. He took her to the edge, once, twice, creating a whole new set of sensations when he tormented her nipples with his wicked tongue, and only when she was writhing and sobbing his name did he relent, penetrating her with deep, hard thrusts.

  Again and again he drove into her, in a pagan rhythm that took her to a place where nothing mattered but Zahir and her desperate need for him to never, ever stop this wild dance. They climaxed simultaneously, a violent explosion of uncontrollable passion that drew a sharp cry from her as he kept her hovering on the brink and then thrust one final time, pumping into her while her muscles clenched around him and her entire body shuddered with sexual ecstasy.

  And when Zahir’s breathing finally became less ragged and he rolled off her, the slumberous heat in his eyes told her that they had only just begun. He had amazing stamina, and his high sex-drive would demand satisfaction several times before he would allow her to sleep. But of course that was why he had married her, Erin acknowledged bleakly as she rolled onto her side away from him, blinking back tears of self-loathing. Sex on tap with his dutiful wife. And in return she’d got Kazim and a life of unimaginable wealth and luxury.

  He had never offered her love and she hadn’t expected it—so why did she yearn for him to draw her back into his arms and kiss her with tenderness rather than passion?

  She could no longer deny that she had fallen in love with him the moment she’d seen him at Ingledean, totally and irrevocably, and she had been fooling herself that he meant nothing to her. But it was ridiculous to wish for the moon, she told herself sternly, swallowing hard so that he would not guess she was crying.

  She felt the mattress dip as he shifted closer, and held her breath when he traced his hand over her hip and then up to curve around one breast. She wished she could control her acute awareness of him, and despised herself for not being stronger. But she knew full well that she would not refuse him—and so did he.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ZAHIR shifted fractionally in his chair and nodded encouragingly to the group of school children who were performing a dance on the palace lawn. It had been a busy week, with four state functions including today’s garden party. But the past six weeks since he had taken his father’
s place as ruler of the kingdom had been the same—an endless round of receptions and dinners and meetings with government officials and visiting dignitaries.

  It was little wonder that Erin had grown increasingly quiet and withdrawn, he brooded grimly. And although she was smiling at the children, he knew that once she was alone with him she would revert to looking bored and unhappy. It was a look he remembered from his boyhood. His mother’s expression of utter tedium and her undisguised frustration with the constraints of palace life were etched on his memory—as were her frequent rows with his father.

  Not that Erin voiced her dissatisfaction, but her silent resentment when he made love to her every night evoked an irritating feeling of guilt that he had trapped her in a life she hated. Clearly his optimism during the first weeks of their marriage had been premature. His duties meant that he barely saw her each day, but at night she responded to him with an eagerness that left his body satiated with an excess of pleasure. He felt secretly pleased by her decision to learn Arabic, and he congratulated himself for choosing a bride who was happy to devote her days to their adopted son and her nights to pleasing him.

  So where had it gone wrong? Why had Erin suddenly started to pretend she was asleep when he came to bed—which admittedly was often past midnight, by the time he’d finished his discussions with members of his advisory committee. These were exciting times for Qubbah—or would be once he’d finalised his plans for new roads, schools and hospitals, and managed to convince his father and other key elders from the government of the benefits of foreign investment. Jahmela al Nasser’s advice was proving invaluable—even if she did talk for hours and drag each meeting on well past the time he’d hoped to finish.

  He needed Jahmela, but Erin’s unreasonable dislike of her meant that he could not speak of his plans. To his surprise he found that he wanted to share his dreams for Qubbah with Erin. But the only time they had alone together was in bed, and in the aftermath of sex the silence between them had grown increasingly tense. His desire for her had not lessened since their marriage, but he was sick of their soulless coupling, and for the past few nights had simply left her to her fake sleep and kept to his side of the bed.

  Would she stay, or would she abandon her son and go—as his mother had done? He told himself that he didn’t give a damn. He would keep Kazim, and he did not foresee any problems replacing Erin in his bed. For the past six weeks he had worked eighteen-hour days and spent every available moment of free time with his father. But mercifully the King had made a good recovery—so why did Zahir feel as though the weight of the world was sitting on his shoulders?

  He was suddenly aware that the children had finished their dance and everyone was waiting for his response. Erin had turned her head to him, frowning at his inattention, and he quickly clapped his hands in applause. Once the dancers had filed out of the marquee, his personal assistant Omran appeared at his side and informed him that a group of local potters had brought their best work for his gracious inspection. Stifling a sigh, he led the royal party out into the blazing sunshine.

  The garden party continued all afternoon, and Zahir was not in the best of moods when he strode back to the palace. He suddenly realised that he was too far ahead and slowed his pace, waiting for Erin to catch up with him. He frowned when he noted how pale she looked beneath her wide-brimmed hat. She made no attempt to speed up, and the dejected droop of her shoulders fuelled his impatience.

  ‘I appreciate that an afternoon spent admiring traditional crafts and customs is not likely to top your list of exciting activities, but must you look as though you’ve swallowed poison?’ he grated, when she glanced at him listlessly.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she replied shortly. ‘And I smiled so much this afternoon that my jaw aches.’

  ‘You have my sympathy, kalila.’ His tone was laced with sarcasm. ‘But as my wife and consort it is your duty to accompany me to such events.’

  ‘I’m fully aware of my duties, and I have never refused to fulfil them. Not even when you crawl into bed at two in the morning,’ Erin snapped, blushing furiously when Zahir gave a derisive laugh.

  ‘No, you have never failed to lie back and think of…Well, I’m not sure what you think of in bed, but recently I’ve felt like I’m making love to an automaton.’

  ‘Perhaps if you dragged yourself away from your beautiful advisor and came to bed earlier, you might find me less tired.’

  Zahir shrugged his shoulders dismissively. ‘You are always tired lately.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry if my performance between the sheets isn’t up to scratch.’

  Erin’s tone was icy, but Zahir glimpsed the sheen of tears in her eyes and something tugged at his insides. He hadn’t meant the words as a jibe—she really did look tired. There were faint bruises beneath her eyes, and her skin and hair seemed to lack their usual lustre. She’d lost weight too; her fitted green silk jacket emphasised her new slenderness, and her fragile air triggered his concern.

  ‘Erin—’ He bit back an oath when he stepped closer and she immediately jerked away from him.

  ‘I’m going to sit by the fountains for a while. It’s cooler there,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Don’t you want to give Kazim his bath?’

  She shook her head, and he sensed she was struggling for self-control. ‘Not tonight. He’d rather have you anyway. You’re his number one person at the moment.’

  ‘It’s a boy thing.’ He hated tears, but hers were getting to him, especially as she was trying so hard to blink them away. ‘I hero-worshipped my father at that age too.’ He watched her nod and turn away, but as she walked along the path towards the ornamental pools he called her name, and she looked back warily. ‘This evening’s banquet to celebrate my father’s return to health won’t finish late. We’ll have an early night, and if you are still tired we could just watch a film and relax.’ He hesitated, and then added quietly, ‘The past few weeks have been difficult for both of us.’

  Erin watched him walk up the palace steps, then stumbled along the path into a secluded area of the garden where the sound of water splashing into azure pools usually soothed her emotions. But after the unexpected gentleness of Zahir’s last statement nothing could prevent the tears from spilling down her face, and she sat on the wall and wept at the utter hopelessness of loving a man who had made her his wife but who treated her as his mistress.

  Eventually she blew her nose and scrubbed her eyes, and told herself it was her own fault that her head was throbbing. Hadn’t she learned as a young child that crying never solved anything? She didn’t understand why she felt so over-emotional. Yesterday she’d cried when Kazim had told her he loved her, and today she’d cried because Zahir hadn’t and never would. She’d walked into her marriage with her eyes wide open, she reminded herself sternly, and Zahir had always been honest about his reasons for marrying her.

  Footsteps sounded on the path, and her heart sank when she looked up and saw Jahmela al Nasser walking towards her. Zahir’s stunning advisor was the last person she wanted to see right now.

  ‘Erin! What are you doing out here? I thought you would be hosting the garden party with Zahir.’ Jahmela’s eyes narrowed on the faint streaks of tears on Erin’s face. ‘Oh, dear—not a lovers’ tiff?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Erin replied stiffly. ‘The party has finished and Zahir is with Kazim.’

  ‘Even so, you look tired. But I suppose that is to be expected while Zahir’s temporary fascination with you remains,’ Jahmela drawled, staring down at Erin with an expression of haughty disdain.

  ‘Temporary?’ Erin felt her temper stir, but forced herself to remain calm.

  Jahmela and her father had remained as guests at the palace since Zahir had taken over as ruler of Qubbah, and during the past weeks she hadn’t missed an opportunity to make Erin feel ill-educated and inadequate. Her spiteful barbs had always been carefully worded, and her hostility cloaked beneath exquisite politeness, but now the knives were out and Erin mentally braced
herself for battle.

  ‘I am Zahir’s wife—that makes our relationship rather more than temporary, wouldn’t you say?’

  The beautiful Arab girl gave Erin a condescending smile. ‘Not when you consider that Zahir only married you so he could be a father to Kazim. Under Qubbah law, when a marriage ends custody of any children is automatically awarded to the husband. The King has assured my father that Zahir will soon divorce you, as he has always planned, and then he will be free to marry me, honouring an arrangement made between our two families several years ago.’

  Despite the warmth of the early-evening sunshine, Erin shivered. ‘You’re talking nonsense,’ she said firmly, striving to sound confident despite the sudden lurch of her heart. She was perfectly aware of why Zahir had married her, but he had given no hint that he wanted a divorce. ‘Zahir told me he was never engaged to you.’ She lifted her chin and glared at Jahmela, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘He wasn’t,’ Jahmela agreed, looking surprised. ‘I was engaged to Faisal—Zahir was engaged to Maryam.’

  The world seemed to tilt alarmingly for a few seconds, and Erin actually gripped the edge of the wall for support. Zahir and Maryam! It couldn’t possibly be true—could it? ‘Bisma told me that Zahir was in love with his fiancée,’ she said faintly. ‘She doesn’t know why the marriage didn’t take place.’

  Jahmela gave a careless shrug. ‘Bisma knows. Everyone at the palace knows that Zahir adored Maryam, and that she eloped with his brother on the eve of their wedding. They were to be married first, and Faisal and me a week later. But instead Faisal and Maryam left a note, saying that they were in love, and then fled abroad, leaving me humiliated and my father furious that our family had been so deeply insulted by the royal family. That is why the King promised that Zahir would marry me,’ Jahmela said coldly. ‘But he suggested that we wait for a few years, until Zahir had come to terms with the fact that he had been betrayed by his brother and the woman he loved. My father allowed me to go to England to study, but now I have my degree and it is time for Zahir to honour the promise made six years ago and make me his Princess.’