Desert Orchid: The Desert Princes: Book 1 (7 page)

Her short little breaths panting into his mouth.

And reason finally battled through insanity.

No one was that good an actress.

She was unskilled.

The truth hit him hard.

What the hell was he doing?

This time when he thrust her away he took a careful step back.

She was too pale and her eyes appeared dazed with what looked like shock.

And, by the physical signals her body was sending, that she was aroused.

He could also see that she was frightened.

Well, that made two of them.

"Do you have
any
idea what you are doing? How dare you respond to me like that."

Unfair.

That comment hit well below the belt and he knew it.

He was being terribly unfair to her.

But the fear tickling his gut made him lash out. "If I wanted to I could take you now. Right here, on the floor."

He realised Charisse was breathing as if she couldn’t pull enough oxygen into her lungs, her small breasts rising and falling under her T-shirt.

The look in her eyes was fear warring with a vicious fury.

Fury won.

She looked magnificent.

Well, well, what a turn up for the books this was.

Who’d have thought his uncle Asim would have had the exquisite taste to take such a woman to wife? He took another step back even as his hand itched to smooth her hair. The heavenly scent of it spun around him. He wanted to feel that hair again, so soft and so silky, as it slid between his fingers. And the crazy need to bury his face in her hair had him take another very careful step back.

Now those blue eyes filled to the brim with absolute loathing mixed with utter contempt. A look that told him more than words ever could that she’d summed him up and found him wanting.

For an unremitting moment their eyes clashed in a silent battle of wills.

"You," she said. "Are a lower form of life."

Khalid never disputed a stated fact.

"Too true, baby."

"Why are there no children?"

Heart thundering in her ears Charisse stared up into that flushed but harsh face and wondered what had just happened? Her mouth felt swollen, throbbing with a pulse that matched her frantic heart beat as she licked her lips. She could still taste him.

Why wouldn’t her brain function?

Why were there black spots in front of her eyes?

The room spun.

Khalid pushed her down onto the couch and sat next to her as she blinked up into that incredible face.

His eyes went dark as they dropped to her mouth.

Then he drawled in that incredible voice, "Stop licking your lips, Charisse, or we
will
end up naked on the floor."

She pressed her burning lips together and found that her hands were shaking.

"I’m sorry," she said and clasped her hands tightly. "Did you just ask me a question? I can’t think."

"I know the feeling," he muttered. Then he shook his head as if to clear it and she caught the flash of a twisted smile. "I asked you why there are no children."

She had nothing to hide, so why was the truth so painful?

How could she tell him that her relationship with his uncle was one of a father and daughter rather than as husband and wife?

How could she tell him she’d never known a man?

That until a moment ago, she’d never even been kissed?

How could she have agreed to marry this man?

She couldn’t do it.

Then something like despair burned in her heart, her mind.

But where would she go?

Onuur was the only home she’d ever known and she loved the country and its people with her whole heart. But she couldn't think of all that now, he was waiting for an answer.

She took a shaky breath.

"Asim had a congenital heart condition. He was unable to father children. Or even..."

Her voice broke as the scorch of utter mortification burned her cheeks.

She stared down at her hands.

Khalid hissed out a breath. "Poor bastard. So he was married to you and couldn’t touch you?"

She shook her head, and risked a peek at his gorgeous face.

He was frowning now and that face appeared tougher, even more forbidding.

"We loved each other very much," she said. "He’d come to terms with his physical limitations many years before he met me."

As if he couldn’t help himself, Khalid's hand reached out and stroked her hair.

And that darkly possessive look in his eyes made her tremble. "Don’t kid yourself, baby. To see you every day and not be able to touch you must have been its own kind of hell."

She frowned.

And knew that this was the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth.

But when his eyes found hers Charisse found the words trapped in her throat as he took her in his arms and inhaled the scent of her hair. When his hand gently stroked the length of her from shoulder to hip and back again she found herself almost overwhelmed by the need to sink further into his strong embrace.

And that need made her pull back.

She stared up into that dark and brooding face and wondered what he was thinking.

"Have you settled into your rooms? The redecorating of the main apartments will take a few weeks."

Those grey eyes narrowed in a way that told her she'd annoyed him.

But why had her question annoyed him?

Taking her hand, he stood and pulled her to her feet.

"Actually, my rooms were not at all suitable. Let me show you where I live."

The dogs rose to accompany them, but Khalid simply sent them a glare.

Confused, they looked to Charisse to give them direction.

"Stay," she ordered, and felt her heart break at their woeful expressions.

The animals had no idea what was happening, and if the truth be told neither did she.

Hand in hand he led her out of her apartments.

They walked down the stairs to find Arabella studiously ignoring one of the ugliest men Charisse had ever seen in her life. His eyes, small and black, flicked to how Khalid held her hand.

"We don’t require you in our private apartments. You may both leave," Khalid commanded in a tone that told Charisse he was a man who gave an order and expected it to be obeyed without question.

Arabella’s eyes met hers and Charisse gave her an infinitesimal nod. The firm squeeze of her fingers told her that the nod had not gone unnoticed by Khalid.

He pulled her through large double doors.

She could smell fresh paint and turpentine.

Her gasp of alarm as the doors banged behind them made him smile as he backed her up against the wall.

He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to each finger sending fiery bolts of arousal through her system. Those grey eyes watched her with an intensity that dried her throat. They scanned her hair, her face, and settled hungrily on her mouth before rising to meet her eyes.

"When I give an order, I don’t expect your protection officer to look to you. If it happens again, she’ll be on the next flight out of the country. Do I make myself clear?"  

Again, she wondered what on earth she was doing to even think of marrying him. He was nothing like the man she'd imagined. He was harder, tougher, more uncompromising than she’d anticipated. From what she’d read in the press she’d expected the playboy prince to be so laid back he was horizontal. But this man appeared to have no soft edges and absolutely no empathy for her recent loss.

Irritation with him for treating her life a serf stiffened her spine.

Her chin lifted.

"Crystal."

He smiled, and it wasn’t nice.

His fingers stroked her cheek, her chin.

Those eyes lasered into hers.

"Brave little thing, aren’t you?" he said softly. The words held an implicit threat. But before she could wonder at their meaning, he spun to turn into the room. "Do you like what I’ve done to the place?"

She wasn’t sure what he referred to since the room was an empty space except for the most enormous four poster bed she’d ever seen in her life sitting slap bang in the middle of the room. The deep mattress was covered in white cotton sheets. A pile of fat, white pillows sat at one end.

The walls and ceiling had been lime washed white, which made the space feel bigger, lighter. Vast doorways were open to the elements and the wind sang its unique song through the palace rooms, stirring large ceiling fans made of hardwood. He’d turned the entire space into an artist’s studio. In one corner she noticed two large workstations, which held tubes of paint and jars of brushes grouped by size. Another workstation, organised to within an inch of its life, held pallet knives, tins of chalks, and sticks of charcoal. Enormous blank canvases were stacked against the walls. Four paintings in various stages of creation were propped against another wall.

Above the workstations were extensive white pin boards crammed with drawings and photographs. While across the room on a wide desk was a super-slim computer, state-of-the-art, along with a printer and phone connection. Running along the back wall were two massive sofas in soft suede the colour of dark toffee covered in throws of various materials in jewel shades.

Khalid, she realised, liked vivid colour and coarse textures.

Off to the right were the bathrooms and bedroom wing.

He’d taken up residence directly below her apartments.

She turned to find him watching her.

"I apologise for placing you at the wrong side of the palace. It didn’t occur to me you might need the correct light for your work," she admitted in a conciliatory tone.

She was prepared to compromise, but thinking of the type of subjects he painted, she couldn’t help but curl her lip.

Without taking his eyes off her face, he moved into her, lifted his hand and his fingertip tapped her chin.

"See, right there, that look in your eye is going to be a problem for me."

Alarm that he could read her so well made her eyes wide.

As if he’d read her mind, he continued in that slow drawl that already had the ability to make her system hum, "I’m an artist, baby. An observer of life. I adore women and can read them. You have a very expressive face."

Stung, she lifted her chin.

"I can’t be someone I’m not. My feelings, my thoughts, are my own."

Black brows winged into his hairline.

"Very true. And I wouldn’t want you to be anyone other than your authentic self. But I’m warning you now to dump the preconceived ideas and very low opinion you have of me. It’s not as if you are as pure as the driven snow, is it? From the glowing reports of you I received from my aunt Yasmin I'd expect you to at least give me a chance. Get to know me, before judging me."

The truth of his argument struck her with incredible force.

He was right.

She had pre-judged him.

And she’d found him wanting.

The contents of Asim’s letter spun through her mind reminding her of his sentiments that Khalid had potential. She had a huge respect for her late husband's opinion of others. He'd never been wrong, yet.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for Khalid's hand and his fingers found hers.

"I apologise. You are correct. I have not been fair to you."

A wicked glint appeared in his eyes as he gave her his first genuine smile.

Long fingers squeezed hers.

And her breath hitched.

The smile changed his whole face and made him look much younger, kinder.

"I bet that statement stuck in your throat, honey."

Still reeling from being called
‘honey’
for the first time in her life, she couldn't help but admit the truth. "It almost choked me."

He laughed. "Ahh, a sense of humour. Excellent."

Wondering why she was breathless all of a sudden, Charisse reclaimed her hand and wandered through the space.

Khalid simply stood and watched her.

"What’s the bed for?" And as soon as the stupid words were out of her stupid mouth she wished she’d kept it shut.

He leaned his shoulder against the wall.

The glint in his eyes was more pronounced now.

He loosened his tie, slid open the top buttons of his shirt.

"It’s for my muse to lie on while I paint her," he said in a silky voice.

She frowned.

No way.

Her eyes flew to his and he bit his lip as if trying too hard not to laugh.