Bought by the Sheikh
Page 12
She softened slightly and couldn’t prevent a smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth. She was about to reply, but his thumb swept across her cheekbone as his gaze deepened into her eyes.
“Nor the luminous look in your eyes.” His eyes pinched at the corners as if trying to understand something inexplicable. “It’s… unquantifiable.”
The last of her tension left her and Gabrielle laughed. She shook her head. “I’m a woman, Zavian,” she said gently. “I’m not a thing, a box to be ticked or crossed off. People are far more complex than that.”
His frown deepened for a second and then lightened, and he did something she didn’t expect. He smiled. “Apparently. Particularly you.”
“Particularly when there are feelings involved.”
He rose and offered her his hand, and slowly she stood up. The palm fronds clattered overhead, and the night breeze quickened, bringing with it the scent of blossom. There were few people left seated around the fire now, but those that were glanced briefly up at them and smiled before returning to their reveries and conversation.
“You want me to come to your bed?” she asked.
“Only if you also want it.”
“I want to, make no mistake about that. It’s whether I should is the question.”
“What can I say to help you make up your mind?”
“Nothing.”
“Then I will do something to forget your thoughts.” With that, he slid his fingers through her hair and brought her head to his and kissed her. From the moment his lips touched hers, and she felt the sharp intake of his breath the hard knot of tangled thoughts unraveled. It was a kiss which obliterated all thought—both his and hers. It seemed, while people might be more complex, there were some things about them which were simple.
He pulled her close, as he explored her mouth with his tongue, his lips with hers, and caressed her cheek as he held her steady as if scared she’d run away. It was the last thing on her mind. It was as if he’d struck a match and tossed it into a landscape starved of water—a desert of emotion—and one which exploded at the first sign of fire. And there was nowhere else either of them could go now, except to feed that fire.
He gripped her hand, and they dissolved into the shadows away from the flickering firelight, unnoticed by the few who remained sleeping or drinking before the fire.
They wove their way through the tents until they reached his and entered the shadowy interior, lit by oil lamps, which shed a rich light onto the rugs and decorations which lined the tent.
Their hands were upon each other immediately, tugging at their clothes, slipping beneath the layers to feel the warmth and contours of each other’s bodies. Within moments they were stripped of their robes and underclothes, and Zavian carried her naked to the bed, lit only by a sidelight of brass lamps.
She took his hand and pulled him down to her, and they kissed as she wrapped her legs around him. With one swift movement, he was inside her. She cried out, and her head fell back as he pushed further, filling her completely.
He held her face, his eyes searching hers as if needing to know something only her body could tell him, as he thrust rhythmically into her. What he wanted to know from her, she couldn’t tell, but as she watched his expression change and intensify, she knew that, whatever he didn’t say, he was hers.
The thought gave her power, and she writhed in his arms, determined to break down the barrier he refused to drop and make him see what was before his eyes. Her. Not a woman to own, or to dominate, but a woman to love.
But in the end, it was her own barriers which dissolved under his skillful lovemaking, and she came first, her whole body—from the tips of her toes to her fingers—tingling as the orgasm rolled and coiled inside her and then doubled again as he came, filling her with himself.
They lay gaining their breath for a few moments, and then she slid on top of him, determined to gain the upper hand. After a long lingering kiss, he was ready for her again, and she sat astride him and slipped slowly onto him.
* * *
Zavian watched as Gabrielle rose and fell, her breasts peaked and rosy under the warm lamplight, her hair in messy disarray around her shoulders, and her eyelids fluttering closed. Her movement were so sensuous, so natural, so instinctive, so primeval that the setting seemed perfect. The flickering candles encased in their brass lanterns cast her moving shadows across the undulating walls of the tent, which moved slightly with the quickening breeze.
The music continued outside, the strains of the stringed violin echoing their own passion. Gabrielle rose and fell with the vibration of the music floating in on the wind. It felt as if they were one. Zavian was no longer aware of anything except for Gabrielle, at the center of the maelstrom of passion, her tight, wet body encasing him, shifting against him, his hands caressing her skin, his eyes drinking in the beauty of her slender body, so slight and yet so powerful. His control was fracturing at the onslaught of her power. He saw the moment she orgasmed, her body and face lit up with an ecstasy that was ethereal, other-worldly. And he desperately wanted to bring her back into his world.
She leaned over, her breasts brushing against his chest, and kissed him. He put his arms around her and their kiss deepened. As one they rolled over, and he withdrew and took satisfaction at the corresponding jerky movements of her body, as she reacted to his thrusts. He threaded his fingers through hers and spread her arms wide, pinioning with his hips, taking his pleasure just as she’d taken hers. Except this was no one-sided pleasure. It was as if they were one entity, each movement, each thought, each feeling echoed in the other, felt by the other.
Slowly, imperceptibly, they inched their way to the brink. Their eyes fastened onto each other with an urgency and intensity as if holding onto each other in a turbulent sea to save each other. They came as one, his seed spilling deep inside her, claiming her for his own. She opened her mouth in a soft moan, and his lips found hers.
He rolled to his side, Gabrielle captured tight in his arms, and he kissed her hair, her forehead, her closed eyelids. Then he settled back. There were no words between them because they’d communicated far more than words could. But as the music stopped and the wind picked up, and sand crept under the tent, reality seeped back in, and a sullen dread filtered through Zavian’s consciousness. His arms didn’t loosen their hold of Gabrielle, but his mind shifted away.
What had he done? He’d thought to bring her to Gharb Havilah, he’d thought to seduce her, to rid himself of the memories of her which had haunted his every waking and sleeping moment since she’d left him. He’d thought to cauterize the pain she’d caused by proving to himself that it was ephemeral, that it was a residue, a ghost in his mind which would be extinguished. Except it hadn’t.
Like some wandering seed, it had, instead, lodged deep inside of him, and it had proved not to be uprooted so easily. Indeed, it had blossomed. He could feel the tentacles of her growing inside, trying to take over his body and mind. The thought of being taken over, being under the control of someone else, terrified him.
He swallowed as he moved first his hand, then his arm from her body. She was fast asleep, but she shivered and snuggled against him. He closed his eyes and grimaced as he freed himself again. This time she didn’t move. Her breathing was regular, and a soft, rosy blush lay on her cheeks.
He shook his head and slowly got dressed. He wanted her in his life, of that he was clear now. The trouble was, she wanted something he couldn’t give. Because how could you give your heart when it was made of stone? His own hard heart lay between him and happiness, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Chapter 10
Gabrielle wasn’t sure where she was when her eyes flickered open to a gray and shadowy pre-dawn light that barely penetrated the tent. She’d dreamt she was with her grandfather after a day’s digging in the desert. That the fire had died down and they were talking with ease about everything under the moon before they retired to bed. The same sense of comfort and rest and love had settled over h
er, calming her unquiet spirit. The same feeling was still with her as she looked around, trying to make out the shapes of things within the tent to place herself. Then she heard a rustle of clothing, and she turned to see a dark shape of a man coming towards her. She wasn’t scared. She knew in an instant that it was Zavian, and everything else fell into place.
“You’re awake,” he said. There was a rasping sound as he struck a match and lit a candle before placing the brass cover back on the lantern. He stayed there for a few seconds, adjusting the flame, his face lit randomly by the darting flame, one moment casting his face into shadow, his strong features softened, the next highlighting the whites of his eyes, distorting his familiar features until he looked like the very devil. The thought made her sit up, now wide awake.
“Just,” she replied. “What time is it?” She groped in the shadows for her phone.
“Before dawn. I wanted to speak with you before the world awoke.”
She felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach. She sat up more and leaned back against the soft pillows, drawing the cover to hide her nakedness. “That sounds… serious.”
He smiled an enigmatic smile that told her nothing. “And I’ve brought coffee.”
“Um, you’re trying to soften me now, before you get to the serious stuff.”
“Maybe.” He passed her a cup.
She breathed it in, closing her tired eyes against the steam, feeling invigorated simply from inhaling its strength. She took a sip. “Well, it’s working.”
He sat down—not close to her, she noticed—but made no attempt to drink his own coffee. “Good. Then perhaps we can begin.”
“Begin… what?”
“To talk about our future. After last night you can no longer deny your future is here, in Gharb Havilah. You are accepted by our people, and you are accepted by me.”
His plainly spoken words fell like a challenge between them both. She placed her cup onto the side table with a shaking hand and swung her legs off the bed, still clutching the covers around her.
“On second thoughts, perhaps I should be dressed before you throw important questions at me.” She rose and walked over to where her clothes were scattered.
She heard a sigh from behind her. “You think your clothes will protect you from my questions?”
“No,” she said, deliberately dropping the awkward cover to pull on her top. If he thought he could side-swipe her with difficult questions, she knew she could divert him with one simple movement.
And, if his silence was anything to go by, it had worked. A shower would have to wait. Only when she was dressed did she turn around. And, yes, from his expression, she knew his thoughts had strayed. His eyes were dark, liquid and his lips were parted as if he imagined pressing them against her. She shivered.
He jumped up. “I’m sorry, you are cold. Please, drink your coffee.” He went and got a soft throw and gently pulled it around her shoulders. “Your clothes might not have protected you, but your nakedness very nearly did.” He kissed her gently and then withdrew back to his chair. “Nearly, but not quite. I repeat you’re acceptable to us both—my country and me—and you must see that now.”
“Acceptable,” she repeated with a soft grunt. “Now, that’s quite a word. Practically guaranteed to make a woman change her mind.”
He frowned, the darting shadows falling heavily now around his eyes and below his cheekbones. He looked… dangerous. But it didn’t matter how dangerous he looked, she wasn’t about to surrender herself to a man who found her simply “acceptable”.
“And what word, Gabrielle, would you prefer? Something suitably sentimental, like love?”
She shrugged, as if nonchalant, as if that word wasn’t the fulcrum of her life and her future. “It certainly has the ring of tradition about it. It’s usually mentioned when a man tells a woman she should stay with him.”
“Not this man. You should know by now that love is irrelevant to me. It has no meaning.”
She approached him. “It does if you have a heart.”
“Ah,” he said, his eyes still hard, despite the way she drew her head closer to his. “Now there is the crux of the problem. I have no heart. Only a body and a mind—both of which want you, no, need you to stay.”
She shook her head. “You have a heart, Zavian, whether you like it or not.”
He shook his head. “Only one which pumps blood around my body. It’s a functional heart, not a sentimental one. And why do you insist on this point? You are a scientist and believe only what can be proved.”
“And love can be proved, and it endures when all else fails.”
He grunted in disbelief and shook his head again, shifting in his seat. She knew he hated to discuss such things. She decided to press her advantage. “Thoughts and beliefs change, lust burns out—”
“But you think love lasts forever, hey?” He drank back his coffee. There was movement now from outside the tent. People had risen and were going to pray. He stood up. “You are innocent to believe such a thing.”
“You’re wrong. I have seen and felt too much in my life to be innocent, too much to not believe in love. It’s the only thing I have faith in. I might belong, but only to the country, not to you. I can’t be with you. I cannot trust someone who doesn’t love me, someone who I don’t even know can love.”
A tense silence fell. “I don’t know if I can love, either, Gabrielle.”
“Then you need to find out. Because, while I might stay here in this land—because you’re right, it is my home, and last night showed me that people I respect and admire, believe it to be my home, also—I can’t be with you, not with a man who doesn’t know his own heart.”
She stepped away and opened the flap to the tent where the sun rose at the same time as the call to prayer filled the air. She looked back. “You’re afraid, I get that.” He shook his head, incensed at the idea that he might be afraid. She held up her hand, something she never did, and his words died in his mouth with surprise. “But until you face your fears and figure out your feelings”—she tapped her heart—“what you have, here, then there is no way forward—for either of us.”
She didn’t wait for an answer but swiftly left the camp and secured transport for her return to the city. He might have got what he wanted from the trip into the desert, but she’d left him with something to think about.
Part of her had wanted to cave in and be with him. She loved him, and she loved this land. But she’d done enough soul searching over the past year to know that it wasn’t enough. Until he allowed her into his heart, their relationship had no future. He’d got it quite wrong. It was the other thing, lust, which was ephemeral. That could end, and if and when it did, so would their relationship. It was only love which endured. Her grandfather had taught her that.
It had all gone spectacularly wrong. For a man who prided himself on careful calculation, he’d completely misjudged the situation. Zavian picked up a pen and tapped it on the table, irritated beyond belief that instead of ridding himself of an obsession, being with Gabrielle had only increased it, creating a panic inside of himself which he’d managed to tie into a knot since he’d returned from his night in the desert. He refused to indulge it.
The tapping increased in intensity until he slid the pen away from him and jumped up from the table and strode to the window. He was suddenly aware of a silence which had descended on the room. He turned and glared at the people seated at the board table, aware that he had no idea what they’d been talking to him about.
“The meeting is concluded.”
There was avoidance of his gaze and some mutterings. His vizier frowned and picked up his papers. The others looked to him for guidance in their confusion but he gestured for them to leave. Naseer watched the door close and only then approached Zavian.
“Your Majesty,” he began.
Zavian raised his eyebrow. “Formality. This must be serious.”
“When you cannot concentrate in a policy meeting, it is serious.”
“Everything needs your comment.”
“You do not need to lecture me on the responsibilities of kingship, Naseer.”
“Unfortunately, it appears I do. You’ve brought that chit of a girl into our country, against my wishes I may add, and carry on with her as if you’re a teenager. Allah only knows why you brought her back into your life again.”
He turned to his trusted vizier and not for the first time wished he was a little less wise and bit more supportive. “Do you want to know why I brought her here? Hey?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Because I needed to rid myself of her. Absence didn’t work, so I thought familiarity might.”
“And did it?”
Zavian turned away again, back to the view of minarets and spires and towers mysterious in the soft, hazy light of early morning. “No.” His vizier gave a heavy sigh and turned away. It seemed this conundrum had even flummoxed his wily old advisor. “No words of wisdom, eh Naseer? No advice? No wise words about troubles of the heart?”
Naseer paused and looked away. In that one single movement, Zavian knew for sure. He turned to him.
“You put her up to it, didn’t you?”
If there had been any doubt in Zavian’s mind, it was wiped away when Naseer looked him in the eye. There was guilt, recognition of truth, but also something else, defiance. “Yes, I suggested it to your father as the only way out. Your father was a dying man, and with your brother gone, I knew you were the future. But not with her. You needed a suitable wife.” He waved his hand. “Not an English academic.”
“She’s more than that,” Zavian said quietly.
For the first time ever, Naseer bit his lip, and his eyes shifted, betraying his lack of certainty. Eventually, he nodded. “Yes, maybe she is. But at the time, your father and I saw her departure as the best thing for your country, and you.”