Handcuffed to the Sheikh, Too

by Teresa Morgan

  He narrowed his eyes at her. "If I say I have prepared a plane to return you home, you may trust it is done."

  Her voice rose an octave. "No, I can't. You set me up. You lied to me, Ithnan."

  "That is over now," he assured her. "I do not understand how to demonstrate my sincerity to you."

  "That's a problem. But it's your problem, not mine. I’m tapping out. It's all on you now." With those words, she slipped past him, leaving him alone. "I'll give you longer than you gave me. You've got ten days to show me you've changed. Then I'm gone."

  ELEVEN

  Everything could be lost or won tonight. He could leave nothing to chance. The evening must be perfect.

  Ithnan surveyed the work of his hands. In truth, the work of other hands, but he had conceived and directed the project.

  All afternoon, he had attempted to meditate. But his mind refused to focus. The clarity of emptiness eluded him. When he closed his eyes and stilled his breathing, Gwendolyn's face appeared before him and would not depart. In the moment, he had understood his own feelings and had applied himself to restoring their relationship.

  His room was filled with candles. Soft music played on a hidden music system. A private table had been laid out.

  Not being a very romantic man himself, he had researched many of these ideas on the internet. He could have ordered one of his many assistants to make all the arrangements, but he felt the importance of taking care of things himself.

  The helium balloons might have been overkill, he decided.

  But he was prepared. Now all he needed was his wife, and to tell her he loved her.

  A short knock on his door was the only signal she was about to enter. "You summoned me, oh great—"

  She stepped inside and froze in mid-sentence. Her gaze wandered up to the three hundred red and white heart-shaped balloons floating around the room. They left little room to walk.

  "Uuuuuuhhhhh," she said.

  She wore a loose-fitting blue tunic embroidered with traditional Zallaqi designs over a pair of white tights. Her high-heeled shoes tapped on the marble as she turned a circle to take in the changes to the room. To him, the style seemed like the ideal mix of old world and modern.

  He had intended to wait until after a romantic dinner. He meant to ply her with champagne and delicious food, to soften her heart with sensual touches and compliments. But he could wait no longer.

  He went to her and took her by her hands. This earned him a confused look.

  "Gwendolyn, I spent the night unable to sleep." He had banished himself to another apartment, leaving his bed to her, but his thoughts had crushed all attempts to rest. Her words had cut him to the core. Then, this afternoon, he'd realized the truth in what she had said. She had seen his true motives before he could see them himself.

  He could not lose her. She was the one woman in the world who had earned his trust. He trusted her now. She would forgive his mistake and take him back. They would be happy and make a life together.

  His perfect Gwendolyn would understand how difficult it was for him to admit such things to another person.

  "I can think about nothing but what you said yesterday." Her fingers felt small trapped in his own. "I believe you are correct. I do love you. Perhaps I have loved you since the night you returned the Heart of Zallaq to me."

  She did not speak, likely overwhelmed with tender emotions. Very well. He continued, pulling the jewel in question out of his jacket pocket. The candlelight reflected off the facets, making the ruby look like its core held thousands of tiny lights.

  "The Heart of Zallaq has not been worn by a queen since my uncle's wife died. Now it is my gift to you."

  A silent heartbeat passed. Then another. He had not dared to look into her eyes. He did so now. Instead of the melting affection he expected, she cocked her head in curiosity. His gut soured. "Did you not hear me?"

  "I heard fine. Unlike you, I guess." She slipped her hands from his. "See, we've established you're in love with me. I knew it already."

  "Arrogant presumption," he told her.

  She batted away a balloon that had floated between them. "Right, right. Because I'm the only one doing that around here. Ithnan, what do you want me to do? Fall into your arms and declare you've done enough? You see, normal people don't have a hard time admitting their feelings."

  "Saying such things is more difficult for me. My past—"

  She dared to interrupt him. "Your awful past is still a part of you every day. But I’m not going to spend my life accepting little tidbits of emotion from you because of what you had to live through. Your past is not my problem."

  How dare this woman, whom he had declared his love for, say such things to him? Not her problem. Hot rage threatened to burst behind his eyes. He had made himself vulnerable, as she had asked for, and she treated him with contempt?

  "Then go," he heard a cold voice say. "Leave my country. If you are still here in the morning, you will find yourself locked in the dungeon."

  For the first time since she'd entered the room, Gwendolyn smiled. "Now at least you're acting honestly."

  "You shall see how honestly I can act." Without a thought, he dropped the Heart of Zallaq and reached for her.

  ***

  Without warning, Gwen found herself pulled against her husband's hard body, trapped in his hold. She didn’t have the strength to resist him, and she didn’t want to. The nearly crushing embrace was the best thing she had felt since... since the last time she'd been in his arms.

  He kissed her, hard and full of promise. She tasted his desire and frustration—and gave him back even more of both.

  He devoured her, sending heat through her. She pressed closer to him, telling him without words that she wanted him more than anything.

  She felt the floor disappear from under her feet. She didn’t care, so long as she could kiss Ithnan, feel his hot lips against her own. And if he was carrying her toward the bed, even better.

  He dropped her on the mattress with such force she would have bounced if he hadn't pounced on her the instant she hit the duvet. His body covered her, held her down. He captured her wrists in his hands and stretched them over her head, out of his way, as he kissed and licked his way down her throat.

  She arched against him. Wherever he touched her, she heated as if burning from within. Without any instructions from her brain, her legs wrapped around the small of his back, trapping him, pulling him closer.

  His hardness strained against her sex even through the layers of their clothing. She dampened at the sensation, but with her hands trapped, she could do nothing to get what she wanted most—the feeling of him inside her.

  "Too... many... clothes..." she somehow managed, gasping between words at the rasp of his teeth against the skin of her neck.

  "I could not agree more."

  Without hesitation, he whisked her tunic over her head, tangling her arms. She ended up as trapped as she'd been before.

  Not that she was complaining.

  He had his shirt and her tights off before she could react. She had nearly freed her arms when he dropped his pants to the floor.

  "Do you think you shall escape?" he asked, a dark gleam in his eye. "You shall be punished for trying."

  "Do your worst," she challenged.

  Breaking into a grin, he grasped her wrists in one big hand and trapped them over her head once more. She'd never felt more vulnerable, yet she knew Ithnan truly loved her, in his own way. She could trust him. She couldn't be in better hands.

  Speaking of which... his clever fingers slid down her stomach, trailing hot excitement. For desperate seconds of torture, he rested his palm on her lower belly, almost touching her moist sex. Agony. All she wanted was his hand on her. Nearly mindless with wanting him, she wriggled and bucked, trying to get his fingers one inch lower.

  "Do you want something, Gwendolyn?" he asked conversationally. But his pupils dilated with desire almost swallowed up his golden genie irises.

  "Touch m
e," she demanded, somehow managing to get the words out through her constricted throat. You bastard, she didn’t add.

  "As you wish."

  Lying stretched beside her, he began to lick and suck at her nipple. Finally, he put his fingers on her.

  Warmth spread from his touch, growing outward through her body in waves. She nearly melted, then the pleasure was gone.

  "No, Gwendolyn, not that way. Not tonight." In an instant, he had himself positioned over her and was pushing inside.

  She closed her eyes, blocking out every sensation but the feeling of his tender invasion.

  If only she could feel as connected to him in real life as she did in bed...

  The tips of her breasts grazed the crisp chair of his chest as he began to move. Her sweaty skin stuck to him now. Her back arched, offering her up to him. With every plunge, the pressure built, stoking the coals inside her. Maddening desire set off sparks behind her eyes, taking her to new heights of pleasure. All she wanted was more. More of Ithnan touching her, more of his body against her own.

  The pressure reached an unbearable pitch. She heard her own keening gasp as if the sound came from someone else.

  With one last thrust, Ithnan shoved them both over the edge. She felt herself falling backward into an abyss, sharded into a thousand pieces. She barely heard him moan his own release as he spilled inside her body.

  For a long time after, she clung to him. His arm beneath her cheek, his regular sleepy breathing against her chest.

  When she knew he wouldn't wake up, she wiggled out from beneath his arm and left his bed.

  ***

  Nothing could be more pleasant than waking to the Zallaqi sun streaming through his bedroom windows, knowing Gwendolyn slept by his side.

  Ithnan smiled to himself, making an effort not to stir the sheets and disturb her. He would wake her soon, he promised himself, in a way she would find far more enjoyable. The Heart of Zallaq still lay on the floor, abandoned but not forgotten. She had refused the jewel last night, but things had changed now. She would wear the symbol of his nation by noon.

  For now, he reflected on last night's events. Despite the false start, his wife had ended up where she belonged—beside him. And on top of him and underneath him, he thought with satisfaction.

  She would no longer fight him. From now on, she might stand her ground, but she would remain loyal to him. He had won.

  Yet he would never cause her to regret yielding to him, he promised himself. Under his protection, he would be able to keep her away from those who would take advantage of her, and she would thrive. Her skills of openness, empathy, and diplomacy would be added to his traits of critical thinking, logic, and intelligence. Together, they would be a foundation to grow a country on, and perhaps a dynasty.

  He had never felt so... complete. No doubt Gwendolyn felt exactly the same.

  The rest of their lives could start. Eventually, she would forget the way she'd fallen in love with him. He could help the process along by treating her like the queen she now was, and by making love to her as often as possible. As for her discomfort with the upper level of society, she would quickly discover she belonged there once all of Zallaq was hers to command.

  Beginning now.

  He rolled over, already getting hard at the mere thought he could now have her whenever he wished...

  To find himself alone in his sheets.

  He stilled for a moment, listening for her, but did not hear her in his chambers. There was no familiar scent of citrus and soap. Strange. She had not shown signs of being an early riser over the last week. He hoped her departure was an anomaly—he would like to make love to her in the morning. Every morning.

  He rose and dressed, then checked his BlackBerry for his schedule for the day. Of course, his first order of business was to find his wife and inform her she was not to leave their bed before he did, though he would frame his words in a different manner.

  He texted her to ask where she was.

  The response came quickly. Your dungeon, she answered.

  Odd. She had gotten lost in the palace, he supposed. He assured her he would find her soon.

  He found his former security chief outside the door, wearing civilian clothing. The straight line of the man's back told Ithnan something was wrong. Of course, Jibril even being in the palace was wrong. His presence irritated, but Ithnan did not care to show that reaction.

  Instead he stayed on his course, striding toward his office. From there, he would have Zudora muster the palace servants to locate his wife.

  "Was this wise?" Jibril asked.

  The man questioning his actions—though he didn't know which actions Jibril meant—put him on the defensive. "Was it wise to enter my palace now that you are no longer authorized?"

  "The usual length of time of employment after a resignation is two weeks. I am overseeing the hand-off to my replacement," Jibril answered without hesitation. "Besides, you assigned me tasks after accepting my resignation."

  He could not dispute the facts. "You are out of uniform."

  "Then fire me," Jibril invited. "I feel a great deal more freedom since resigning. Including the freedom to ask the reasoning behind your decision."

  He knew he should not put up with this new, more casual Jibril. And yet he found the man's candor refreshing.

  "I do not know which decision you refer to," he admitted.

  "The one where you threw your wife in the dungeon."

  Dungeon? He would not place anyone in the dungeon. How could anyone believe it of him? He took a deep breath to control his temper before responding. "I have done no such thing."

  "Sir, your wife is in the dungeon. She said the your orders were yours. What is more, the media knows. The story was on television this morning."

  ***

  "What possessed you to do such a thing? Have you lost your mind?" Ithnan said to his wife through the rusted iron bars of the medieval prison on the lowest level of his palace.

  He had found her here, sitting with her legs crossed and eyes closed. The only sound came from rhythmic breathing. She appeared calm and focused. She had taken up his practice of meditation. He, on the other hand, had been unable to still his mind since she had discovered his deception.

  "You know," she said, as if the conversation made sense, "I always wondered why royals built dungeons in their castles. Seems to me you'd want to keep criminals far away from you, not in your basement. At least, I would."

  "Perhaps having the dungeons near allowed them to visit their wives more easily," he shot back.

  He heard a shuffle behind him, a scuffing of shoes against the stone floor worn nearly smooth by centuries of boots. Jibril, who had escorted him here, was leaving—which meant the man had witnessed his exchange with his blasted wife.

  Which also meant Ithnan had lost his temper in front of another person. He had not done such a thing since his early days in Hidd, when he had quickly learned his childish whining, anger, and tears produced no sympathy.

  Yet hadn't he always been comfortable showing Gwendolyn what he felt? From the moment she'd handed him the Heart of Zallaq, he had felt free to tease her, to let out his frustration.

  He had kept things from her, but not his emotions. Now he had shown his feelings in front of Jibril. What was happening to him?

  But here was Gwendolyn, behind iron bars in a dungeon unused for decades. At least the prison was scrubbed as clean as the rest of the palace. Uncle Sulaiman had ordered the locks removed from the cells many years ago, so she was not a prisoner.

  The sleeping plank had been furnished with silken pillows. He recognized a small table from one of the guest rooms. Someone had rigged a pair of lamps with extension cords stretching down the hall. He made a mental note to find out who was responsible and reward them, and to reward whoever had provided her with a plate of pastries and fruit from his kitchen, along with coffee and tea.

  From the discarded apricot stones, she had eaten. When they had been held captive, he had b
ullied her into taking food, as she did not eat when stressed. She had eaten now. Her situation did not cause her stress. He was not as fortunate.

  He refrained from hitting his forehead against the bars. A headache blossomed, a series of painful pricks behind his eyes.

  Gwendolyn squinted at him. "You okay? Do you need an aspirin?"

  "I do not understand. After last night, I assumed all was right between us. Do you imagine I am still lying to you? I told you I love you. What more do you require of me?"

  Gwendolyn's jaw went tight. "Nope, don't require anything more of you."

  "Then why would you do this?" He waved his hand to indicate her cozy dungeon nest.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. "I didn't. You did."

  "I did no—"

  She interrupted his rebuttal, raising her voice over his. "You ordered me to leave. Said if I was here in the morning, you would throw me in your dungeon. You're the sheikh. So here I am."

  The pain pounded in his head, a relentless sandstorm inside his skull. "You knew I had no intention of placing you here, Gwendolyn."

  She shrugged. "I believe everything you say, remember? Why wouldn't I trust you? You said I'd be down here, so here I am. Unless you were lying to me."

  Did she intend to willfully misunderstand everything he said? "Return to our chambers."

  She lifted her chin. "Nope. I like it down here. There's something honest about my cell. Think I'll stay a while."

  "You will not—" His teeth smashed together. His voice barely emerged. With each word, his headache grew and her eyes narrowed.

  He was on dangerous ground with Gwendolyn, he realized. Perhaps this was not the time to give commands counter to her desires, however strange those desires may be.

  And yet he did not miss the fact she had not left. She had the means to depart Zallaq at any time. She had stayed.

  That meant she still had hope for their marriage. Or she at least would give him the ten days she had promised.

  Nine remained.