by Trish Morey
He took everything she could give, wanting more. She felt his hand skim down her side, felt the slide of her abaya up her legs, and she shifted to enable him to slip it over her hips. She let him tug it over her shoulders, gazing down at her with broken eyes filled with ghosts and a savage, desperate need.
And, while he watched, she slipped off her bra and underwear and lay back on the grassy bank, offering herself to him.
With a groan etched in pain he tore at his shirt and his pants and in a blur of white linen, bunched muscles and golden skin he was back at her mouth, frantic now, his skin against her skin, his hardness pressing into her belly, his legs finding a home between hers.
She arched beneath him, her breath hitched as he found her pulsing core, aching now with her own escalating need, aching for completion. She moaned with the very closeness of it, with the absence and with the promise, forgetting for a moment that this was about pleasuring him.
‘Bahir,’ she whispered, the sound of his name laced with desperation.
He answered with a growl and a thrust of his hips that drove his hard length into her, filling her so deliciously, so exquisitely that it forced tears from her eyes.
It had always been good with Bahir, she remembered as he remained buried deep inside her. He had always been the best. But surely she would have remembered if holding him deep within her body had been this good?
Then he drew back and all that was good became better in the slide of flesh against flesh and the anticipation of his return. He captured a peaked nipple between his lips, drawing it into his mouth as he drove into her again, and sparks went off behind her eyes. His mouth captured the other breast in time for his next powerful lunge.
All of a sudden there was no time for niceties, no time to cosset. There was only time to cling onto him as she felt her peak building exponentially with every fluid thrust of his hips, every quickening stroke.
Until she could take no more and she shattered around him in a blaze of stars. From another galaxy it seemed she heard his cry, triumph in the desperation, victory in his anguish, and she reached for him as he too reached the stars, holding him close, comforting him as she guided him safely back to earth.
Loving him.
For, even though she knew she could never tell him, she knew in her heart that she loved Bahir. She had never stopped loving him.
They lay there in the dappled shade as day slipped away and the slanting sun turned the desert into a sea of gold.
‘I never cried for them,’ he told her, holding her tucked up against him, stroking her hair. ‘I couldn’t. I was too ashamed. I was too angry.’
‘It’s okay,’ she said, wanting to weep for a boy who hadn’t been able to bring himself to cry.
‘No.’ He sighed, taking his hand from her hair, dropping the back of his wrist on his forehead. ‘It’s not okay. That day you came, when I got angry …’
‘Hush,’ she said, with a finger to his lips. ‘It doesn’t matter. I understand.’
He grabbed her hand, curled it in his long fingers and pressed it to his lips. ‘No. There is more. After my family died, the college agreed to extend my scholarship. There was no point, they said, in sending me home. There was nothing for me there. And so a foster family was found for me, an Arab man working in London in corporate finance who claimed to be some distant relative. A cruel man. A man with a simpering excuse for a wife, a man who would beat me with a cane if I didn’t top every class, every exam. A man who thought he was grooming me for a career alongside him. I hated him.’
He shook his head. ‘I knew I had to get away but I needed money. That’s when I started gambling. That’s when I realised I had a gift for it. He beat me more when he found out what I was doing and that only made me more determined. By the time I was sixteen, I had made enough that I never had to go back there again.
‘That day you came over—that very morning—I had woken to the voices of my family in my head. I had dreamed of them that night, I had dreamed of the day twenty years before when I had stood here and been presented with the truth, that my family and everyone I loved, my whole world, had been taken from me.’
‘No wonder you were upset that day.’
‘But that wasn’t it. It was a package from a lawyer that came that morning—it contained a letter telling me my foster father had died. And it contained my father’s ring, a necklace of my mother and the amulet that had been around Jemila’s neck when he had died. My family’s things. My foster father had kept them all those years. He had never so much as told me they existed.
‘And I was so angry—with my foster father, yes, but with my family for leaving me to such a fate. And with myself, for lying and partying with a friend when I should have been with them. On that day, I hated them all and I hated myself, and then you walked in talking family.’ He shook his head. ‘I savaged you because you stumbled into my nightmare talking about things I never wanted any part of that day more than ever.’
He dragged in a chestful of air and let it go, as if letting the weight of the past go with it. She realised the full horror of her own blundering actions, that she had chosen that day of all days to declare her love and share the excitement of the child they had unwittingly made together. She raised herself up on her elbow and leaned over him. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I had no idea.’
‘How could you, when I had never spoken of these things, when I had buried the past under an anger so deep it could never resurface? But that day there was no forgetting any of it.’
She shook her head. She could not imagine.
‘To think, I was the chosen one,’ he said, bitterness infusing his words. ‘I was the great hope of the tribe, born with a gift for numbers and so sent off to school in England—a rare privilege for my people, one they hoped would bring the tribe great benefits and wealth. They were all so proud of me—my father, my mother …’
He shook his head and turned away. ‘And look how I have repaid them—by becoming a gambler. A wastrel. And, even though I finished school and paid for university with my winnings, what point was a degree when I turned straight to the university of spin? What point has been this life that was saved when all others were lost? What good have I ever done for them?’
‘What could you possibly do?’ she said, stroking the thick hair behind his ear, making circles with her fingertips at his pulsing temple. ‘Nothing would bring them back. What could you do?’
‘I should have done something! You’d think I would have achieved something other than notoriety in every gambling den in the world.’
‘But you had lost everything.’
She splayed her fingers though his thick hair, winding her fingers around its strong waves. ‘And maybe that’s why you gamble,’ she mused, wondering out loud, trying to fit the tortured pieces together. ‘Because money is not like people. Money can be won and lost and then won again, and the pain of losing it, if any, is transitory. Maybe because, ultimately, there is no real risk.’
He turned his head back to her, a frown at the bridge of his nose as though he didn’t understand, and she wondered if she’d been speaking a foreign language.
‘I never wanted a child,’ he said. ‘I never wanted family.’
‘I know. I understand.’
‘But I want Chakir. I want my son.’
She nodded, her chest too tight to speak.
Then he pulled her to him. ‘And I want his mother too.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘MARRY me,’ he said in the next breath, before she’d had a chance to absorb his previous declaration. Before the beat of her heart had had a chance to settle.
‘Bahir, I—’
‘It makes sense, don’t you see? Chakir needs a father. I never wanted a family, it’s true, but I can’t turn my back on what’s happened. And my father would be so proud to have a grandson and to see that I have done something good with my life.’
‘But marriage?’
‘I don’t want to be a part-time father.
I want to be there for him every day. And I swear I will try to be a good father to him. Besides, we’re good together, Marina, you know we are. We can make it work for Chakir’s sake.’
For Chakir’s sake.
How ironic. ‘Chakir’s sake’ was the very reason she’d decided to tell Bahir about their son’s existence in the first place, and now he was using it to convince her to marry him.
Was it reason enough?
Maybe it made sense for Chakir, but what about Hana? Wanting to take on Chakir was one thing, but had he even thought about what getting married would entail? That he would have to be a father to Hana too?
And what about love? Was there no place for love in this arrangement? Had he lost the ability to love when he’d lost his entire family?
‘I don’t know,’ she said, conflicted and floundering in uncertainty, only half-aware of the heated stroke of his hand down her body, lingering at her hip, his long fingers splayed over sensitive skin. ‘It’s too big a decision. I need time to think. And you need time to decide that’s what you really want.’
‘You’re right,’ he said, pulling her head down to his to brush his lips against her mouth. ‘I could use the time. To persuade you.’
They made love again as the golden desert turned to silver under the rising moon and the desert wind felt like the whisper of silk over their skin. Their love-making was slower this time, Bahir taking his time to taste, explore and revisit; taking his own sweet time to persuade, so that when they joined again, their bodies and senses were at fever pitch and release slammed through her like a thunderbolt in a desert storm. She lay there in the aftermath, her breathing ragged, her body humming, and knew that she was no closer to making a decision.
But there was one thing she knew: that persuasion had never felt so good.
It was only when they were on their way back to the camp, when she felt the warm trickle of his juices in her underwear, that she realised that neither of them had given a moment’s thought to protection.
She turned to him, stricken, wondering how either of them could have been so thoughtless—so irresponsible—half-wondering if this had been part of Bahir’s plan to force her hand. But no, she thought, thinking of the graveyard and Bahir’s intense grief, there had been no planned seduction. It had been an oversight, that was all. A foolish one but maybe one without consequences, she thought, rolling over the dates of the calendar in her head. It was late in her cycle. The chances would be slim. Surely fate would not deal her such a hand again …?
Bahir was not slow in backing up his words with action. He proved over the next few days that he would make an excellent father for Chakir. He showed him how to read the footprints on the sand, to tell a camel from a horse, a fox from a wild goat. She watched him teach their son things he would never have learned otherwise.
Even with tiny Hana he showed an interest as she trailed around after him and Chakir, wanting to be included in everything. She wondered and hoped that his resentment of Hana was waning, and that his rescue of her from the scorpion had established some kind of bond between them.
But Bahir saved his most persuasive arguments for their love-making. He was nothing if not resourceful, finding reasons for them to be alone so that he could work his potent brand of persuasion on her. Unlike that reckless evening in the desert, though, when neither had given a thought to protection, he took every care.
Every time they met he asked her if she had made up her mind, if she was closer to deciding.
And every time she shook her head and asked for him to be patient. There was no hurry, she told herself, waiting for him to give her the one thing she craved, to say those tiny words she so longed to hear.
She wasn’t brave enough to say them to him—the words he had once flung in shreds back in her face.
In the end, it wasn’t the sex that made her decide, or anything he said. It wasn’t even watching him with their adoring son, or lifting Hana onto a foal and showing her how to hold onto the reins when her tiny feet dangled way above the stirrups.
It was the new well he paid for and helped build, bare-backed and sweating, slogging it out on the rocky ground alongside the men from the tribe.
It was the books he ordered and had delivered so the children of the camp could learn to read and write at home and not be forced to go to school in Souza, far away from their families.
It was all the changes she witnessed in him that made up her mind.
This was a different man from the one she’d known and partied with all those years ago. This man seemed to have found purpose in his life, even taking to wearing the robes of his people when he was amongst them.
This man had discovered how to laugh and live and maybe, hopefully, how to love.
And she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.
‘He’s asked me to marry him,’ she confided to Catriona that night as they prepared the children for bed, before she was due to meet him. He’d planned a surprise, he’d told her, ‘something special’, and her senses were buzzing in anticipation.
The older woman smiled and hugged her. ‘I knew something must be happening because of the stars in your eyes lately. Have you said yes?’
‘I’m planning to tonight. Except it means leaving the children with you for a few hours, if that’s all right. Bahir has something special planned, apparently.’
Catriona squeezed her hand. ‘Of course you can leave them. They’ll be just fine! And just think how excited they’ll be in the morning when you tell them the news. Children need a father.’
Marina nodded. ‘I know.’ She’d been the best kind of mother she could be, but already she was seeing Chakir blossom into boyhood under his father’s guiding hand. Bahir would be a good father, she knew.
‘Does he know about Hana yet?’
She shook her head, setting the large golden hoops in her ear dancing. It was her one last concern—that a man who did not really want a child he had not fathered would turn away that child when he discovered the girl was not even hers. ‘Not yet. I didn’t want to betray Sarah’s confidence until I was sure. But I’ll tell him first, so there can be no misunderstanding. Sarah would want me to.’
Catriona smiled and wished her luck, hugging her younger friend again. ‘I’m so happy for you, Marina. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s you.’
Tonight he was certain she would say yes. Tonight he was taking no chances. The luxurious tent complete with plunge pool he had ordered had been delivered and set up on a ridge overlooking a palm-filled valley, an unexpected treasure in the desert, a relic from dinosaur times and one he’d been saving for a special moment to share. That moment was now.
Bahir took in the scene as he waited for her, smiling at his cleverness, confident that after tonight it would be impossible to say no to him. Inside that plushly decorated and furnished tent, atop the cushioned bed and in the cooling waters of the crystal-clear plunge pool, he would set about making his final assault on her senses, his final step in persuading her to marry him.
Why she was holding out was a mystery when it was so clear that getting married was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.
Yes, he had treated her badly in the past—horrendously, he knew—but she understood the reasons why now. If she hadn’t forgiven him, why was she so eager to share her body with him?
Because she wanted to be wooed?
He smiled as he surveyed the desert love-nest he had created, and waited for the car to bring her to him. So he would woo her tonight. Nothing would be left to chance. He had created the perfect place for them to escape to whenever they wanted. He had found a ring, set with an emerald the size of a bird’s egg and surrounded by sparkling diamonds. He had found them the perfect house, in the same region of Italy, because she seemed to love it so much, but closer to Pisa to make travelling time between their two homes in Italy and Jaqbar easier. Idly he flicked through the property portfolio, passing time until he heard the sound of an engine in the distance and saw the
headlights, and he shoved the brochure under a pile of towels and looked around one more time.
It was perfect.
He had left nothing to chance.
Together with the best sex in the universe, she would not be able to resist.
Tonight he could not fail.
Tonight she would be his.
She was sure it must be a mirage. They had travelled miles from the camp through nothingness, the moon obscured by a lonely cloud, when up ahead there appeared a strange red glow. A tent, she made out as they drew closer, a tent strung with colourful lanterns all around and a tall figure dressed all in white standing waiting outside.
Bahir.
Her pulse quickened. The sight of him in traditional robes, standing so straight and tall like one of the desert sheikhs of old, captured her imagination and stirred her senses. He looked so good in European clothes, in fine fabrics and designer-cut menswear, but in traditional robes he looked magnificent—a true Bedouin leader, standing there like a beacon in the dark.
She swallowed back on a delicious bubble of anticipation, glad she’d taken extra care with her own appearance tonight, her gold silk robe lavishly embroidered with intricate needlework and tiny precious stones that twinkled whenever she moved. She had known tonight would be special on so many levels. The effort Bahir had gone to to make it so proved it was for him too.
She smoothed her hands down the fabric, suddenly nervous. Tonight she would accept his proposal. Tonight she would agree to marry this man.
The car pulled up alongside the tent and Bahir stepped forward to open her door, his dark eyes glinting in the colours of the lanterns’ warm glow. She accepted his hand and stepped from the car, and his eyes turned molten, warming her from the inside out. ‘Welcome to my tent,’ he said, and in the next breath, ‘You look exquisite,’ before nodding to the driver to leave them.
It was only then, when he had taken his eyes from her, that she noticed the pool behind him. The coloured light from the lamps played on the water and then beyond that the deep valley cut between the cliffs where palm trees sway grew thick and dense down the sides of the valley.