Forbidden: The Sheikh's Virgin (10 page)

‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Her voice was hushed but the tone was rapier-sharp. ‘Don’t you think I’ve lived with the knowledge that you must surely hate me for what happened all those years ago? I realise that. I understand it. And what makes you imagine for a moment that I need another man in my life? What makes you think I need or want
you
? I came up with the idea of the wedding gown for your bride so that you might win the deal. Not because I was somehow trying to engineer a wedding between the two of us.’

And his barb of irritation grew sharper and more pointed, working its way deeper into his flesh. She was a widow and he was now a prince—a wealthy prince. He could give her everything she wanted: status, money and privilege. And now she was saying she didn’t want him.

She did. Of that he was sure.

So he didn’t let her go. Instead, he toyed with her hair with a playfulness he didn’t feel, weaving his fingers through its heavy silken curtain, trying hard not to pull it tight, trying hard not to pull her face against his. ‘That’s not how it looked to the Marrashis.’

She kicked up her chin, glared at him, resentment firing her eyes. ‘And whose fault is that?’

His fingers curled and flexed with aggravation before they would relax enough for him to be able to stroke her neck, and he felt the tremor under her skin even as she tried to suppress it. ‘I’m not the one who put the wedding idea into their heads.’

‘And I’m not the one who kissed you!’

His eyes dropped to her lips, slightly parted. Her breathing was fast, her chest rising and falling with the motion.

Maybe not
, he thought, but she hadn’t been an unwilling
party. He remembered the feel of her mouth under his own, her delight at her success right there to be tasted on her lips, and the way she had so easily melted into his kiss. Neither would she be an unwilling party now—he’d bet on it.

All it would take would be to curl that hand around her neck and draw her closer.

He breathed deep, looking for strength but instead filling himself with her beguiling scent, the herbs that she used to rinse her black hair, the soap she used against her satin skin.

Twice now he’d kissed her—impulsive, unplanned kisses that had ended abruptly, leading nowhere but to frustration—kisses that had been doomed to come to nothing from the very beginning because they had not been alone.

But still those kisses had given him something. Two things. A taste for more, and the knowledge that she wanted him. She might say she didn’t want to marry him, but she wanted him. He’d as good as read her confession in the tremors that plagued her skin when he touched her—he’d read it in the way her mouth opened under his. Her melting bones had told him. She wanted him. Of that he was sure.

And right now that was the only truth that mattered.

He smiled at her, finally tearing his eyes from her lips to see her looking uncertain, bewildered, almost as if she had expected he was going to kiss her again, almost as if she had anticipated the press of his lips against hers.

And his smile widened.

‘Don’t be disappointed,’ he whispered, so close to her ear that he could feel the soft down of her earlobe, his lips tickled by the cool gold of the hoop that circled through it. ‘I will kiss you again. But not now. Not yet. For the next time I kiss you it will be somewhere we cannot be interrupted.’

And this time she trembled in his embrace, her dark eyes conveying surprise. More than surprise, he noticed. For there
was the smoke of desire there too, turning them cloudy and filled with need.

He breathed deep, dragging in more of the air flavoured with her signature scent, letting it feed his senses. For now, in the back seat of a car, descending a mountain track, it would have to be enough.

He squeezed her shoulder one last time before sliding his arm out from behind her, stretching back into his own seat, for the first time noticing the sunset that blazed red and gold in the distance as the vehicle wound its way down the switchback road. Soon it would be night, and they would stay once more at the encampment by the sea. Which meant that soon he would have her.

He took another desperate gulp of air, suddenly needing the oxygen, needing to shift in his seat to accommodate his growing tightness. Maybe he should concentrate on the sunset for now, instead of what might come after. But knowing that made no difference. For it was near impossible to drag his mind away from thoughts of Sera in his arms, her long limbs naked and wound around him as he plunged into her silken depths.

How long had he dreamed about this night? How long had those visions plagued him? Tonight, though, the dreams would become reality. Tonight she would be his.

He growled on an exhale, trying to dispel some of his burgeoning need. Admiring the sunset would be safer. For it was a stunning sunset: the sun a fireball sinking lower, the sky awash with colour.

Colour.

Which reminded him of the package he’d brought with him—the only purchase Suleman had permitted him to negotiate himself. He reached behind the seat for it, but stopped when he saw Sera huddled alongside, pressed tight against the door, her eyes lost, her expression bleak as her hands twisted first at her necklace and then in her lap.

And something shifted in his gut: guilt, emerging in an unfamiliar bubble. What had caused her sudden misery when so recently she had been warm for him? Had he provoked this slide into desolation?

He almost reached out to her. Almost lifted a hand to touch her. To reassure her.

But just as quickly he snatched his hand back, snuffing out the notion. Because that would mean he cared. And he didn’t care. Not really. He wanted her—there was no doubting that. But caring? He had long since given up caring about Sera.

Besides, he thought, shrugging off the unfamiliar sense of guilt, what evidence did he have that he had upset her? For all he knew she could be thinking about Hussein and wishing he were still here.

He swung his head away, disgusted with himself. That thought was no consolation. Hussein might have been her husband for a decade, but he did not want her so much as thinking about the man.

Not that it would last. Tonight he would drive every memory of Hussein from her thoughts.

Tonight she would discover what she had missed.

I
T WAS
impossible. Sera shrank further back into the leather of her seat, not understanding what had just transpired. There had been brief moments today when Rafiq had seemed different, when they had seemed to be able to share the same planet without sniping at each other. But they had gone from discussing the day’s success to suddenly being at each other’s throats—before the atmosphere had changed again and suddenly become more charged. More intense.

More dangerous
.

She fingered the emerald choker at her neck as she stared out of her window, remembering the feel of Rafiq’s fingers as he had secured it around her neck—more a lover’s caress than that of a man who abhorred her. She despaired of the inconsistency, wishing she could focus on the glorious sunset instead of having these thoughts constantly thrashing through her mind. Wishing even more that she could control her own wayward emotions. But there was no focus. No control.

For every time he had looked at her today, every time he’d been near, she had felt the increasing pull between them, the flare of desire that charged the air with a shimmering need, a force that served to draw them together.

And when he touched her—the pad of his fingers against
her neck, the lacing of his fingers through her hair—it was simply electric.

Had anyone else around them felt it? Could anyone else tell?

She sighed against the glass. Of course they could. They all could. The women had seen him kiss her. Everyone had seen the way she’d spun in his arms as if she belonged there.

Everyone
knew—even, it seemed, a woman whose cataracts had nearly blinded her. And was it any wonder, when she felt her own need so badly?

For how had she reacted when he had told her he would kiss her again? Not with outrage or anger, or even offence at his arrogant statement. No! Instead she’d looked at him with big puppy eyes, sad because she’d missed out on the treat of him kissing her then, suddenly excited because he’d given her the promise of a kiss later,
when there was no chance they would be interrupted.

Tremors ran down her spine anew, shooting out laterally through soft tissue to find nerve-endings too receptive, too ready to surge into life. She squeezed her eyes shut, dragged in air, trying unsuccessfully to deny the sensory assault. Why did his promise fill her with such fear and such anticipation at the same time? Why was she so suddenly conscious of her swelling breasts, her nipples, and the insistent yearning between her thighs? How could he reduce her to this when she felt so ashamed?

She had to stop herself from crying out with the unfairness of it all. Why should she feel so much, so intensely? She was no teenager any more. She was a mature woman. Perhaps not as experienced as most, but she’d been a wife, a married woman, for almost a decade. She’d long since buried her teenage hopes and wishes, just as she’d buried her body’s needs and desires under a public face that aimed for serenity. Control. Cool composure.

Why, now, should her body betray her?

For ten years she had felt nothing, suppressed all her desires and wishes and needs until she was sure they were banished for ever. And now, instead of serene and cool and calm, she felt hot and agitated, her skin tingling in places she’d thought long since devoid of feeling, as if all the emotions and unrecognised desires of the past ten years were welling up to engulf her in one tidal wave of emotion.

She was like that teenager all over again—the girl who had fallen head over heels in love with a tall, golden-skinned Qusani, with piercing blue eyes and a magnetism that had bound her to him from the first instant they’d met.

Even then she’d felt this way around him—this heightened sense of awareness, as if he was caressing her without even touching her. But why, more than ten years on, should he still affect her this way? It wasn’t as if she was still in love with him.

And she gasped, a new realisation slamming through her like a thunderbolt.

She couldn’t be!

Surely there was no way?

She squeezed her eyes shut, prayed she was mistaken. She was taken aback, that was all—taken aback at his sudden reappearance. Thrown off-balance at their forced proximity these last few hours.

It could be nothing more than that, surely?

For once before she had lost him; once before she had seen him go. And once before it had all but ripped her heart from her chest.

Soon he would return to his business in Australia and she would watch him leave once again.

No, she could not love him. She dared not.

Oh, no, please not that!

But there came no denials, no safety ramp to save her as the brakes failed on her reason. Instead came only the constant
thrum beat of her heart, pounding out what she had denied for so many years, what she had hoped to suppress for ever.

She loved him.

The rest of the journey down the mountainside passed in a blur, a jumble of confused emotions and tangled thoughts. None of them helping. None of them sorting out the morass that had become her mind. But at least Rafiq left her to her despair. She could not have handled conversation when her mind was in such turmoil, her thoughts in such disarray, disbelief the only continuous thread. They’d stopped at the campsite before she’d even realised.

It was Rafiq who opened her door, his blue eyes moving to a frown as he took in her startled face. ‘What’s wrong?’ he growled.

She blinked and took a deep breath of the warm sea air, unlatching her seat belt, realising that even by merely drifting off she had annoyed him. Although maybe sleep was what she needed? Maybe it would make some sense out of the tangle of her thoughts.

And then she put her hand in his to climb down, and felt the charge like a shockwave up her arm. She gasped, and his eyes snagged hers, and the hungry gleam in his eyes told her that he’d felt it too.

So much for making sense.

She moved away as soon as she could, putting distance between them, confused when she saw the drivers already unloading things from the back of the car. Other servants who had stayed at the camp today were coming to assist, making long shadows against the tents in the light of the torches. She was further confused when she detected the aroma of lamb mixed with herbs on the breeze.

‘How long are we stopping?’ she asked, as she stood on a dune overlooking the long, pristine beach, under a sky embla
zoned with stars. But they did not hold her attention—not when she became more concerned as more and more was unloaded from the car.

‘Until morning. We are camping here again overnight.’

She turned, surprised to find that he was so close, surprised even more by his answer. She’d hoped they’d be back in the palace tonight. She’d hoped she’d be once again tucked away in her room in the Sheikha’s apartments, where she could lie in her bed and try to forget about Rafiq all over again. But another night out here with him, after what he’d told her…

Would he kiss her tonight? Here in the camp? Was that his intention, before she could be tucked safely away in his mother’s quarters at the palace?

She swallowed. She remembered last night, when he’d hijacked her peaceful swim at the end of the beach and refused to give her back her
abaya
. She remembered the way his eyes had seared a trail over her skin—how it had made her breasts come alive, her senses buzz and quicken with expectation. No way would she risk that tonight! For tonight she wouldn’t trust herself to coolly walk away.

‘I thought you wished to return to Shafar as soon as possible once the deal was done.’

‘It is not safe to drive through the desert at night with only one vehicle.’ He raised an eyebrow, the flickering torches turning his golden skin to red, making him look more dangerous than ever. ‘Some might say it is not safe even to drive through the desert during the day.’

Heat flooded her cheeks at the reference. Was it only one day ago that she’d driven the other car into the sinking sands? So much seemed to have happened since then. So little time, but enough to throw her entire world upside down.

‘But is there not a state banquet at the palace tonight? We should press on, return to the palace as soon as possible, surely?’

He shrugged, unmoved by her need to return to Shafar. ‘It is too late to get there, even if we left now. Besides, it will not be the first or the last time that I miss a state banquet. After all, I am merely—what did you call me?—a tourist prince…’

This time she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. ‘Rafiq, I was so wrong. I saw you with the people of Marrash. I saw how you related to them and how they took to you. I should never have said such a thing. I had no right.’

He hushed her words by holding two fingers to her lips, enjoying the way they parted underneath his fingers, as if she were shocked by his touch. ‘No. You had no right. But you did make me think. Last night at the beach, for the first time you made me think about what kind of prince I could be. I have not lived here for many years. I know nothing of politics, or the things that matter to the people. But I have not got to where I am now without knowing that I will succeed at anything I turn my hand to. I will be a good prince of Qusay, Sera, a strong prince.’

She swallowed. ‘I can see that.’

‘And I will start now, with my first royal command. You will dine with me tonight, in my tent.’

His voice was gruff and low, his command scraping against her senses, and his eyes, his blue eyes, were heavy with want. The combination sent vibrations deep down inside her. ‘Is… Is that wise?’

And he smiled—a lean, hungry smile. ‘It is what I command. That is all you need to know.’

She dropped her eyes to the ground. ‘Of course.’

‘And Sera?’ He retrieved a package from the back seat of the car and returned to where she stood, almost invisible in her dark gown, knowing if just for that reason that he was right about this.

‘What is it?’

‘Open it and see for yourself. Suleman would not let me negotiate on anything but this.’

She slipped the tie binding the package slowly off its ends, unwrapped the paper, and gasped as a burst of blue, bright and sparkling in the flare of the torchlight, met her eyes. For a second she thought it was merely fabric, and then she recognised it.

‘The dress,’ she cried, recognising one of the gowns she’d seen on the models in the small corner display. She lifted it by one shoulder, admiring how the stones winked at her in the light from the torches, before noticing the flash of red below it. The weight of the package told her there was more. She dug deeper and caught a hint of sunset-gold. ‘You bought all three?’

‘I wanted all three.’

‘They’re so beautiful.’ Suddenly she frowned. ‘But will such garments sell well in your country?’

He shook his head. ‘These garments are not destined for my stores.’

The smooth skin between her eyes creased a fraction more. ‘For the Sheikha, then?’

‘I’m sure she would love them, but no.’

‘Then why?’

‘They are a gift. For you.’

And once again he had taken her unawares; once again he had sent her spirits into confusion.

She pressed the package back, the silken fabric heavy with gems sliding downwards. ‘Rafiq, I cannot accept such a glorious gift.’

He pressed the package to her, scooping up the ends and bundling them into her hands. ‘You can, and you will. For too long now you have buried your beauty under the colour of mourning. I knew it the moment I saw the emerald-green choker at your neck. It is time for you to reveal your beauty once more.’

His words hit a nerve she’d thought long buried. He knew that? She’d worn black initially out of the respect she must
show for her dead husband, but then it had come to suit her, reflecting the dark hole her life had been, the dark hole her life had become. It had become a dark hole too deep, too convenient, to climb out of.

‘But Rafiq…’ She tried to hand the package back. She couldn’t accept anything from him. No gift. Nothing.

‘Take them, I command you.’

Her head tilted, the heavy curtain of black hair sliding over her shoulder with it, so sleek and shiny that he was tempted to run his hand through its weight, to feel the slide of its silken length through his fingers.

She had no choice but to accept the package. What was the point of objecting? How could she object? He was a prince.

But
colour
. She stroked the fabrics, drinking in their feel with her fingertips. For so long her life had been black and white, her feelings neutral to numb the pain. But now her senses had been reawakened, along with a yearning for the things she’d missed. Colour was one of them.

‘Tonight you will wear the blue gown.’

She looked up at him, uncertain, her dark eyes wide. The stars in the night sky were reflected in their depths, he noticed, a galaxy of stars that along with the flicker of torchlight gave her eyes a molten glow. Soon, he knew, it would be him who turned them molten.

Later, in her tent, bathed but still shaking and breathless from the unexpected encounter, Sera held the blue gown up in front of her. What would it be like to wear such a bold colour? As much as she was tempted, after so many months of covering herself in black the idea of colour seemed somehow daring. Provocative.

Or was it just because of the way Rafiq had looked at her, with hunger in his eyes and a wicked smile curving his lips?

She dragged in air, needing the burst of oxygen. How could she decide when she could not so much as think rationally?

So, instead of thinking, she shrugged the gown over her shoulders, letting the weight of the stone-encrusted fabric pull it down over her skin. She felt the whisper of silk, the weight of tiny stones, and the close-fitting gown moved against her like the slide of a thousand fingers. And then it was on, and she looked once more in the small mirror and she saw someone else—a stranger, a woman she hadn’t seen for more than a decade—standing before her. A few years older, maybe, but not so markedly different that she couldn’t recognise the girl who had come before.