Taken by the Desert Sheikh

by Mel Teshco

  Husband. Her belly cramped with denial, even as a piece of her died a little knowing how naïve she’d been, and how effortlessly she’d been duped. It would have been all too easy to fall in love with Zafar. Now she’d do everything in her power to find a way to divorce the sheikh.

  And if you’re with child?

  She spread a hand over her stomach, unable to withhold a sudden, strong yearning that it might be true. Zafar might have deceived her, but their child would be taught respect, values.

  “Amber, hurry,” her father hissed from the doorway as Nada laid out the clothes.

  It was only when she stood and swept a quick glance around the room that she realized she’d left the priceless tiara on the bar. She squeezed her hands into fists. She’d bring it with her. Her father would know where to sell it and get the most money to aid their people.

  She ignored a twist of loss and bitter defeat inside at knowing she’d have to part with the one and only gift Zafar had bestowed her. Her chin lifted. It was surely a small price to pay compared to losing more of her people.

  A few minutes later she followed her father and Nada through the corridors. They passed two men in thobes, but the pair barely glanced their way. The same couldn’t be said a minute later when they passed the Grand Vizier. His shrewd eyes scanned the trio before he called out, “Wait!”

  Amber’s heart rate accelerated as she, her father and Nada instead picked up their pace and ran through an opened archway, then outside to a huge mosaic paved courtyard.

  A couple of hundred yards further ahead a helicopter sat idly on its raised landing pad. The moment the waiting pilot saw them approach he flicked on the helicopter’s electronics and the rotors immediately started their noisy rotation.

  “Hurry,” her father urged again.

  Amber ran faster, but tripped on the long material of her unwieldy garment and fell heavily to the ground. Pain exploded through her leg, her knee, and she gritted her teeth as she cried out. Shit. As a soldier she’d been kicked, punched and even stabbed, and yet one fall to the ground and she’d reverted back to the tender sensibilities of a princess.

  A shout sounded from behind them even as her father turned back for her. A bullet cracked nearby and she turned frightened eyes to the guards bursting from the palace.

  Her stare unconsciously zeroed in on her husband. In his thobe and headgear he was every inch a sheikh. Every inch a man whose rage was barely contained. A man on a mission.

  His stare clashed with hers, then glittered with stark emotion. “Don’t shoot!” he shouted at his men.

  Her father dropped beside her and clasped her arm. “We have to go now!”

  He pulled her to her feet and she bit back a scream as agony shafted through her leg. She fell back to the ground and looked at him, her vision blurring with tears. “I’m sorry Daddy, I can’t move. And there’s no way you’ll carry me before the guards catch up. Go now. Save yourself and get Nada out of here.”

  Her father’s face crumpled. “There’s no telling what that man—your husband—is capable of doing to you!”

  Adrenaline for the moment assuaged some of the pain shooting through her knee. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  “I can’t leave you here,” her father rasped.

  She pulled the tiara free from inside her concealing robes and handed the expensive trinket to him. “You can and you will. Now go, please, before it’s too late!”

  The soldiers were only yards away.

  Her father’s face paled even as his hand closed over the tiara. He knew exactly what he had to do with it. “We’ll find another way, I promise.”

  It wasn’t until after her father turned and ran that she whispered, “We both know that’s not likely.” Not now she’d tried to escape once. She had no doubt Zafar would place round the clock surveillance on her now.

  But still gladness filled her as her father raced to the helicopter, which lifted into the air the moment he climbed inside. Her tension eased only once the helicopter was a speck high in the sky.

  Zafar could’ve ordered his men to shoot it down, it was within his right, instead he was grim and silent as he knelt beside her, then carefully picked her up to carry her back inside the palace. He didn’t say another word to her, but the tautness of his body, along with his compressed lips and the pulse jerking erratically in his jaw, revealed his ragged emotions.

  But of course he was angry at her. She’d defied him, her husband, just hours after marriage. It seemed he wasn’t as western as she’d first imagined, he was still a sheikh first and foremost, a ruler of his people.

  Inside the palace he turned to his guards. “No one says a word about this to anyone.” His voice vibrated with tension, a threat of reprisal to any one of his men who disobeyed. “The future of our people depends on it.”

  His men vowed their loyalty before they dispersed and Zafar continued alone through the palace corridors. He turned a corner, a tiny jolt in his step sending a shockwave through her knee.

  A whimper escaped her compressed lips, but it was as much from a deep abiding fear of what he’d do to her as it was her present pain. He might have shown a tender side, but there was nothing tender or gentle about his set face, his stiff body.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her, but then the Grand Vizier was hobbling toward them with more haste than good sense.

  “Your Highness, you have her. Good.” His gaze roamed disapprovingly over Amber before he focused on Zafar once again. “I’m afraid your guests are getting impatient.”

  “Then they’ll have to learn patience,” Zafar growled. “I need a doctor to check my wife over.”

  She swallowed. My wife.

  She wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about that.

  The Grand Vizier nodded deferentially. “Of course, Your Highness. I’ll get that organized right away.”

  Zafar said something else but now that adrenaline had faded and pain was setting in with a vengeance, Amber was barely capable of making sense of anything. She was only distantly aware of her husband striding into a bedroom and laying her carefully onto the bed.

  A sob threatened. How different her perspective was in just a few hours. When he’d last carried her into this bedroom and laid her down she’d been burning with desire, not pain and misery.

  But if it was guilt motivating his gentleness, he didn’t let on as he undressed her and took off her headwear. He stayed tight-lipped and silent even when someone rapped on the door and he covered her nudity with a sheet.

  Ten to fifteen minutes later, after a careful check-over, the elderly doctor stood back, informing Zafar of Amber’s prognosis. “It appears no bones are broken, but going by the knee’s swelling and bruising I’d say the posterior crucial ligament is torn. I also suspect the sheikha used her arm in breaking her fall, and also sprained her shoulder.”

  “So nothing is broken?” she cut in, mortified that she hadn’t found the soldier strength and the grit she was renowned for to get to the helicopter.

  Or maybe you just didn’t want to leave?

  The doctor quietly shook his head, then opened his bag and set about bandaging her knee and giving her a morphine injection. When she was finally comfortable and no longer hurting, he left her with some strong pain killers and an instruction to rest for a few weeks, with no physical activities.

  Zafar smiled tightly at her and murmured, “I’m sure the insurgents will keep me busy and away from you for those weeks.”

  She pressed her mouth together to keep from saying something she shouldn’t. But rage was a snarling beast inside her knowing she’d been so easily duped.

  Not that Zafar pretended he cared. Instead he ended their conversation with, “I’ll attend to our guests, and let them know you’re injured and unable to join in the celebrations.”

  She lifted her chin. “Please do.” But as he spun on his heel and headed toward their bedroom door, she called out, “I guess now you’ll be spending the night with one of the harem girls?
Good thing you haven’t yet sent them away.”

  He paused, and for a moment she didn’t dare breathe the tension was so thick. But then he strode out of the bedroom and clicked the door shut behind him. And somehow his forced calm shattered her far more than any rage could have.

  She squeezed her eyes closed, trapping in the tears while she quietly sobbed.

  Chapter Seven

  Two days passed by without any dramas, with Amber’s shoulder healing nicely, even as her knee refused to cooperate and forced her to use crutches.

  She hadn’t seen Zafar since their wedding night and she told herself she was glad. But although she despised Zafar, his absence left her feeling empty and alone.

  She narrowed her eyes. Perhaps he’d meant to cut her off from everyone and leave her isolated and vulnerable? If he had it was working. When she wasn’t thinking about her damn marriage, her mind worked overtime wondering what was going on with her people and the war.

  She tossed aside a tasseled pillow and carefully swung her legs to the side of the bed. With no window to see directly outside, she was beginning to go stir crazy. She sighed fitfully. She couldn’t spend another day moping in her bedroom.

  But she didn’t move any further. Instead she curled her hands into fists and stared balefully at the crutches leaning against the wall. She hated feeling so impotent. But at least she wasn’t wheelchair bound now that her shoulder had healed.

  The servant who Zafar had left her with to see to Amber’s every need, stepped inside and bustled around the room. Amber wanted to scream. She’d been stuck in the bedroom with only the servant—Makina?—whose Yhemenic was non-existent, and a few books for company.

  Perhaps the twin girls who’d asked to be her servants were now back in Zafar’s bed? She squeezed her eyes closed, but she couldn’t fight off the savage jealousy coursing through her veins. The fact two soldiers guarded the bedroom outside the door set her teeth on edge even further. She was nothing but a prisoner here now.

  Did Zafar think she’d hobble into the desert to escape him?

  Makina approached Amber’s bed and stood deferentially before her, holding up two outfits. One was western wear, a pretty cream dress with sprigs of color. It was most definitely Amber’s first choice.

  The other outfit was more traditional. The long cloak-like abaya would cover her adequately and be rather comfortable, and its bright orange and pink tones might even improve her mood.

  The thump-thump of helicopter rotors abruptly broke the silence. Amber’s pulse jerked into a frantic beat and she pressed a hand to her mouth, covering her relieved cry. Zafar had returned.

  Home now after assisting the insurgents?

  Excitement withered in her chest. Her husband was her father’s enemy now, her people’s enemy. That made Zafar her enemy too.

  She focused back on the outfits, and pointed to the abaya, then tapped her head and face to indicate she wanted its matching hijab and niqab to fully cover herself.

  Makina smiled and nodded, clearly pleased by her mistress’ wish to demurely cover-up.

  A few minutes later Amber gritted her teeth and lay back on the bed with her knee throbbing in pain. The simple task of dressing had irritated the torn ligaments. Makina offered her some pain killers with a glass of water and Amber shook her head. The pain would serve to remind her of the devastation her husband inflicted on Yhemen and its people.

  Her bottom lip quivered. She had no way of knowing if her father was even safe. Had Zafar put a target on him now? She swallowed back the sudden nausea traveling up her throat. Zafar could easily afford an assassin, but she’d bet any number of insurgents would gladly shoot her father for free.

  A footfall alerted her to her husband’s presence even before the door opened and he stalked into the bedroom. Her heart jerked erratically, her breath ragged in her ears. She bit into her bottom lip and focused on her breathing. She would not look at him, she wouldn’t even acknowledge him.

  He spoke something low and a little harsh to Makina, and the servant fled from the room. The door closed behind her and Amber could no longer resist turning to stare at the sheikh, drinking him in.

  His thobe and keffiyeh made him look every inch a sheikh warrior, his proud bearing only enhancing his arrogant maleness and making her more aware than ever of his treachery.

  His smile was a hard twist of his lips. “I see you wish to displease me further by covering your hair and face?”

  She lifted her chin. “I had no idea my dress sense would disappoint you so greatly, dear husband.”

  His eyes flashed at her derisive term of endearment. He fisted his hands. “Was it not enough for you to dishonor me by trying to escape—on our wedding day no less?”

  “If I recall correctly, my freedom was forcibly taken away from me, along with my innocence.”

  Two long strides had him right by her side, his dark stare glittering down at her. “And as I recall you had planned on kidnapping me first and trading me in for riyals.”

  Of course Lamar, the traitor, would have told Zafar everything. She swallowed, she couldn’t deny it. But maybe she could bluff her way through. “It’s hardly the same thing—“

  “Isn’t it?” he grated. His eyes glinted. “Either way, I don’t recall you once protesting when we made love.”

  Her pulse jerked at the memory, but it was now a memory tainted by his lies. “We fucked,” she corrected disdainfully.

  “Is that what you call it?” he rasped. Her eyes widened when he dragged off his keffiyeh, then began stripping off his thobe and loose pants. “Because right now a fuck is exactly what I’m in the mood for.”

  She drew in a sharp breath, hating that beneath her demure abaya her nipples tightened and her pussy cramped with heat. Never mind that he was now her sworn enemy. Never mind that his giving a damn for her and her people was all a lie.

  When he bared his hard, muscular body to her, she stared helplessly, transfixed by his masculinity even as a drugging weakness flooded through her mind, her body.

  His grin didn’t warm his eyes. In fact he looked cold and distant, even with his cock standing hard and excited. “Take off your clothes,” he commanded.

  She could refuse him, but what would that achieve aside from his wrath? Because right now he looked every inch like a man who wouldn’t tolerate disobedience and who maybe even hoped to punish her for it.

  She drew off her abaya and her headgear, hating that her hands trembled with excitement far more than any fear. That her husband’s cock jerked harder still as he stared down at her nakedness only increased her desire that escalated within.

  “You want to leave me, little dove, and yet your body tells me otherwise.” He kneeled on the edge of the bed and gave his cock a slow stroke up and down. “You want me as much as I want you.”

  She couldn’t deny it and the truth made her wretched even as it instinctively propelled her closer to him, reaching out then to touch his cock.

  He expelled a rough breath, before trapping her hand beneath his to guide her hand up and down the velvet-smoothness of his shaft. Her mouth dropped open and sharp need throbbed within. His cock was warm, and harder than steel beneath, and so big she wondered how it had fit so perfectly inside her.

  He closed his eyes and his nostrils flared. “Fuck,” he uttered, his cock throbbing beneath and his balls tightening. “I’ve lost my mind to the one woman on the planet who doesn’t want me as her husband.”

  “Perhaps that is what turns you on?”

  “Maybe you’re right.” He snapped his eyes open and looked down at her with blazing intensity. “Are your injuries healed?”

  She blinked. Had she become so aroused her pain threshold had increased? Or had a rush of dopamine hormones kicked in to make her notice nothing but her lust? Sex was clearly far more productive than swallowing pain killers.

  She finally found her voice. “My shoulder is healed, my knee still hurts.”

  “Then I will try to be gentle,” Zafar rasped,
his jaw tight and his cock tighter. “Lie back and get comfortable.”

  She’d told him they’d fucked, not made love, and it was a stab in her heart knowing he’d happily fuck her now instead. Yet even knowing that, she didn’t want gentleness. She wanted rough, hard and fast, anything to take away the ache building inside. Anything to make her forget all her fears, even just for a moment.

  Carefully spreading her legs wide, he kneeled between her thighs. His breath rasped, his eyes blazing. “Your clit is already plump and swollen,” he said thickly. He touched her little nub of nerves and she jerked at the electric charge pulsing through her even before he speared a finger deep inside her. “You’re so fucking wet. So ready for me.”

  Her breath hissed, and she arched her back a little, wanting desperately to get closer and feel the press of his cockhead at her pussy.

  His stare locked with hers. “Ask me to fuck you.”

  She stifled a whimper. Now wasn’t the time to rebel. In fact a part of her thrilled at his demands. “Fuck me.”

  “Fuck me—who?”

  “Zafar,” she whimpered, so needy she was close to losing all her inhibitions and masturbating to take the edge off.

  “Wrong, little dove. What name did I want to hear spilling from your lips when you climax?”

  She lifted her hips. He pulled back just enough so that his cock, already oozing a droplet of pre-cum, didn’t quite touch her sensitized flesh. His knuckles whitened around his shaft and his eyes burned, his jaw clenched.

  She knew in that moment he wouldn’t touch her again until she said the words. “Husam!” she gasped. “Fuck me, Husam!”

  His sharp inhalation exposed his triumph. But she didn’t have any inclination to think on his reaction. She was lost the moment he kneeled closer and thrust forward, his cock driving in balls-deep even as he rocked his head back with a savage groan. His strokes in and out caused every one of her nerve endings to flare into life, his flesh rubbing hers in a friction that tingled and burned, even while her wetness lubricated.