Harlequin Presents January 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Sheikh's Desert Duty\Nine Months to Redeem Him\Fonseca's Fury\The Russian's Ultimatum (13 page)

This seemed like the right time. It seemed like the right place.

He seemed like the wrong man. Engaged to another woman, the ruler of a country worlds apart from her own. A man who controlled the fate of the nation, a man who held the fate of millions in the palm of his hand.

He seemed like the wrong man, but at the same time he seemed like the only man. Because no one else had come close to this, no one else had made her feel this way.

Attraction, lust, it always seemed like something terrifying to her. Something to be avoided. It had seemed like great bouts of weeping, depression and a stalled-out life that was enslaved by one person who held all the control, all in the name of something that was supposed to be love.

But this wasn't like that at all. This had been so easy. So easy to kiss him. So easy to take her clothes off for him. So easy to lay down with him, and let him take her into his arms. It was right in a way she had never imagined something like this could be.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before lifting his head and looking into her eyes, sweeping her hair out of her face. Yes, when she looked at his face it made it all feel very easy.

She had to wonder at who she was right now, at who this woman, lying in a desert tent in the arms of a man who should feel like a stranger, was. Because a week ago this wouldn't have been possible. A week ago she would never have been able to imagine this.

She didn't know what she was doing, and it was okay. For the first time it was okay. Because she had stripped off her clothes in the tent, but she had stripped off her armor down at the bottom of the mountain. And now she could feel everything. Every touch, every whisper against her skin, unprotected, vulnerable, exposed. But it wasn't scary.

It was right. It was everything.

“Sophie,” he said her name again, “I need you to say you want this. I need to know.”

“Of course I do, Zayn.” She put her hand on his cheek, kept her eyes on his. “How could I not? I think this was always going to happen. From the very first.”

Whether it made sense or not, there had been something compelling about him from the instant they'd laid eyes on each other. Something different. Whether it made sense or not, knowing him had begun changing her from that very first moment.

“Nothing is inevitable. Isn't it all about choices? Weren't you just saying that?”

Something shifted inside of her, an avalanche of feelings pouring through her. “Yes, it is about choices. I had a choice when we met. If I had told you I was leaving, you would have let me go. I'm confident in that now. You didn't force me, even if you did manipulate the situation. I chose to come with you. I'm choosing to be here now. I'm choosing this.”

“I shouldn't,” he said.

Her heart squeezed tight. “I know.” Because she did know, she knew that this didn't make sense. But she also knew she needed it. Needed him. “Doesn't it feel like we're the only ones in the world?”

“Out here it's easy to believe,” he said.

“Yes, a little bit too easy. But you have to know that I feel different right now. What you said about why I make choices... It was true. Everything I do has been in reaction to other people. But if other people didn't exist, if there was nothing but this, if there weren't kingdoms, and cities. If there weren't mansions and hovels, if there weren't haves and have-nots. If there was only this, I would want to be here with you. And I know that when we leave, all of that other stuff will come back. But right now, right now it's not here.”

He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back, his expression pained. Then he lowered his head, opening his eyes slowly, black fire blazing from them. “If there are no kingdoms, then there are no kings. And if there are no kings, there is no duty that must be kept. And if there is no duty, if there is only myself, then I choose you.”

She swallowed hard, an ache building in her chest, her throat burning. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, choose me.”

He groaned and cupped her cheeks, kissing her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opened herself to him. He tangled his fingers through her hair, let one hand slide down the curve of her neck, down her back, before he shifted position and cupped her rear, tugging her up against him. He kept on kissing her, the world beyond the desert a distant memory, and the desert itself slowly falling away, sand through an hourglass. It was a countdown timer that couldn't be denied. But she was also weightless, falling, all while being held in Zayn's arms.

He abandoned her mouth, kissed the hollow of her throat, before moving lower, tracing the valley between her breasts with his tongue before adjusting position and sliding the flat of his tongue over one hardened nipple. She gasped, arching her back, pressing herself more firmly against him.

A dull ache beat at the apex of her thighs, a deep feeling of emptiness at her core. She had no idea being hollow could be painful, but it was. In this moment it was.

He palmed her breast with his other hand, as he drew one tight bud into his mouth. She laced her fingers through his hair and held him tightly against her, not wanting the sensual assault to end.

He lifted his head, and she released her hold on him reluctantly. “Sophie, I need to ask you something.”

She shook her head. She knew whatever it was she didn't want to talk about it right now. Because she didn't want to talk about anything right now. She only wanted to feel, she didn't want to think. She didn't want to discuss.

Instead, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of her panties and shoved them down as far as she could, kicking them the rest of the way when she could no longer reach, her eyes locked with his as she did.

He nodded slowly, then he shifted, tugging his own underwear down. Then he bent to kiss her again, his lips soft and tender against hers. A surprise after the claiming from earlier. He shifted his weight, and put his hand between her thighs, guiding his fingertips through her slick folds. She was wet for him, ready for all of this, for everything.

A little shock of nerves went through her when she realized she hadn't even seen him naked. But there would be plenty of time for that, plenty of time later. She ignored the feeling of the sand shifting beneath them, more time running out.

She gasped as he slipped one finger deep inside of her, the invasion strange and foreign. But not unpleasant. Not at all. He moved his thumb over her clitoris in time with the thrust of his finger, winding up the tension that had already been building in her core.

He continued to apply steady pressure, continued to keep the rhythm going, drawing her closer and closer to an abyss she could not see the bottom of. To a point she could not envision. It was all beyond her, beyond her experience.

And she was finding power in that. Power in being at his mercy, power in allowing him to teach her. To show her what her body wanted, what her body was made for. For the first time in her memory she felt like she was simply existing, not striving, not hiding. She felt so gloriously out in the open, so wonderfully exposed. And she had never imagined either of those things could possibly be good. But Zayn made them good. Zayn made them wonderful.

He kissed her, deep and hard, as he intensified the pressure between her thighs. The subtle change was just enough to show her how deep the well was. To drag her all the way to the bottom, holding her under until she couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but simply allow the release to wash over her, pleasure overcoming her completely. When she surfaced, she was breathing hard.

“I don't know...I don't want to hurt you.” His voice was rough, his breathing ragged.

“You won't,” she said, the words meaningless, her lips numb. She didn't know if she was telling the truth, didn't know if it would hurt or not, but it seemed like the right thing to say. It seemed like the thing he needed to hear.

He slid his hand on her back, cupping her butt, and lifting her hips as he positioned the blunt head of his arousal against the slick entrance to her body. He met her eyes as he thrust deep inside of her, a shaft of pain shooting through her.

She gritted her teeth, screwing her eyes shut tight.

“Sophie,” he said, his voice gravel. “You said I wouldn't hurt you.”

“I was wrong. I'm sorry.” Her throat was tight, the words difficult to force through the lump that was forming there.

“Don't apologize to me.” His tone was regretful. “I should apologize to you.”

“Please don't apologize to me. Please. Let's just... Please.”

She was beyond speech, beyond thought. Yes, it had hurt, yes, it still hurt a little bit, but it was also wonderful. She had never felt so connected to anyone in her entire life. For the first time, she felt as though all of the pieces of herself and been swept up and pushed together. Made one. Not only was it impossible to tell where her body began and his ended, it was impossible to be anything but wholly her. Impossible to be false, impossible to be fragmented.

It was right. The most essentially right thing she had ever experienced.

He waited a moment, the tendons in his neck standing out, his jaw clenched tight. She noticed the muscles in his arms were trembling, as he held himself still.

“Zayn.” She said his name, and he started to move.

He started with slow, measured strokes, giving her time to adjust to the feeling of fullness, to the feeling of his body inside hers. Gradually, the discomfort began to recede, pleasure started to build.

She rocked against him, chasing the climax that was beginning to build inside of her again. His movements began to fracture, his control fraying, everything becoming harder, more desperate. And she was right there with him. She didn't want slow anymore, she didn't want gentle. She wanted it all. She wanted it fast, she wanted it now.

She clung to his shoulders, met his every thrust, her clitoris making contact with his pelvis, white-hot pleasure streaking through her body with each movement.

She could feel herself starting to slip, starting to head back toward the void. She tightened her hold on him, intent on dragging him down with her. This time, she wouldn't go alone.

“Zayn,” she whispered, her lips near his ear. “Zayn, come with me.”

He shuddered, his body shaking, the evidence of his loss of control the final ingredient needed to push her over completely. Climax ripped through her, harder this time, more intense than the first. That had only been preparation, it'd only been a primer. It had not prepared her for this. For what it was like to lose control completely, with Zayn. To shake as he did. To be drowning in the swell of pleasure, as he did, too.

When it was over, they clung to each other. She could feel his heart raging against her chest, could see his pulse beating at the base of his neck.

And she heard silence, no more rain, nothing at all.

And she could feel the final bits of sand slipping away.

Time had run out, and the world was encroaching. And she knew that she had been a fool. Because she had imagined that she would walk back into that world unchanged.

But she was changed. Utterly, irrevocably.

She had just made love with Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar, and everything inside of her felt new. Felt different. But the world, the monarchy, his engagement, all of the social hierarchy, stood firm. Unmoving, uncaring of everything that had passed between them.

“Zayn?”

He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her against his chest, reversing their position so that she was partially on top of him. “The roads will still be flooded for a while. You should rest.”

And with those words, he turned the hourglass again, granting them an extension on their time out in the wilderness.

CHAPTER EIGHT

B
Y
THE
TIME
the light of dawn broke through the edges of the tent door, Zayn had already been awake for hours. He was holding Sophie in his arms, warm, soft and bare, her skin pressed against his. Satisfaction flowed through his veins like warm honey, but then it hardened, turned bitter, as it mixed with the realization of what he had done.

Sophie did not deserve this. She did not deserve to have her virginity taken in a tent, in the middle of the desert, by a man who would have to ignore her when they returned to real life. She did not deserve to be the conduit by which he expended his frustrations. He had reached a breaking point, and it would've been far better for him to stand out in the rain and let it wash over him until he was numb again. Until he remembered who he was. And what his responsibilities were.

But she had been there, she had been there saying the things he wanted to hear, offering him the things he wanted most. And she had told him to pretend as though the rest of the world didn't exist, and he had been far too eager to refuse.

And then, rather than distancing himself the moment he realized his mistake, he had pulled her into his arms, granting them an extension. Granting himself an extension.

Were his spot in hell not already well assured, and likely well appointed in preparation for his arrival, a space would certainly be reserved now.

Where was his sense of duty now? Where was the honor in taking advantage of an innocent woman and using her to sate his own lust? There was none. Because while Sophie might have believed she knew what she wanted, she had no real way of knowing. A virgin had no way of knowing the ways sex might affect her emotionally. And he had suspected as much, especially given what she had told him about the kiss. Her one and only kiss, with one man. He had known what that meant, but he had chosen to ignore it. And when he had decided to ask her about it, at the worst moment possible, after turning back was impossible, he had known what her immediate deflection had meant. Still he had ignored it. Because of what he had wanted.

It was his greatest fear realized. That he had not changed at all. That he was still the same selfish, spoiled boy he had always been. The years of adhering to a code of honor could be undone by lust that was just strong enough.

A moment that his selfishness could not transcend.

He sat up, pushing his hands through his hair, looking down at the woman sleeping next to him. She moaned, and rolled over onto her side, drawing her knees up to her chest. She looked so young, so vulnerable. And he felt even more like an ass than he had only a few seconds ago.

He stood, as straight as he could in the tent, and found his pants, which were crumpled on the floor. They were wet, still, and he probably deserved that. He pulled them on quickly, and went outside.

The sun was up now, the sky clear. The roads below looked like they had dried. They had no excuse to linger here. And indeed, they should not. He would only do more damage out here away from reality. He had managed to trick himself, but he would do it no more.

He looked back at the tent and cursed. He would still have to go in there and face her, would still have to see her all rumpled, naked, and deal with all of the heady memories from last night. How wonderful it had felt to be inside of her, to be skin to skin with her.

He went to the SUV and opened the back, pulling out their bags and slamming the tailgate shut. He hefted both bags over his shoulder, and went back to the tent. When he opened the flap, Sophie was stirring, the blankets pulled up over her breasts, her shoulders bare.

She blinked sleepily and scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. She was everything fresh and sweet, perfect. Everything he had no right to touch. No right to ruin.

“Good morning.” He dropped both bags on the floor of the tent. “The weather is nice, so we should have no difficulty getting back into the city.”

She blinked more rapidly, trying to focus on him, squinting at the light that was filtering through the opening of the tent. “Oh.” She shifted, holding tightly to the blankets. “It is morning.” She looked like she was thinking deeply about something, and it disturbed him. Made something ache in his chest.

“I can wait outside while you get dressed if you like.”

She nodded wordlessly and he turned away from her, taking the bag that contained his clothes with him, walking back outside. He took in a deep breath of air. He hadn't realized he'd stopped breathing when he'd seen her. But now his lungs burned. He dressed quickly, out in the open, discarding the damp pants and trading them for a dry pair, and a T-shirt.

He waited a few moments, then went back to the tent, throwing the flap aside. She was dressed in a loose-fitting top and a pair of linen pants, sitting in the nest of blankets they had used as a bed the night before. She was looking at him, the expression on her face expectant, but of what he had no idea. He didn't know what she wanted from him, because the reality of what was possible in the fantasy that had been last night created a gulf between them that was so wide it could not be crossed.

There was no way to bring any of it back with them. There was no way to keep pieces of it, keep it hidden. Keep it going.

It was a clean break here, and there was no other option.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

She shook her head, looking away from him.

“Then we will leave soon.” She didn't rise from where she was nestled in the blankets. “And you will have to be out of the tent, so that I can dismantle it.”

“Is it cold outside?” she asked, not looking at him still.

“It is not cold.”

She sniffed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I don't like being cold.”

“Well, you will not be cold.”

She looked up at him, and stood slowly. “I had better not be.” Then she walked past him, her head held high, her chin pointed upward. She looked like a little
sheikha
, all haughty and defensive. And it made him want to kiss her lips until she was no longer pursing them. Until she was soft, until she was pliant and ready for him again. But he had no right to do that. None at all. It should not have happened last night, and it could not happen again.

* * *

Sophie held herself together as she waited outside the tent while Zayn took it down. She held herself together on the drive back to the palace. She held herself together until she was safely in the privacy of her own room. And then she wept. Great gasping sobs that seemed to come endlessly. And when she was done, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up, curling into a ball. She felt miserable. She felt changed.

Last night everything had made sense. It felt so amazing. But when they had come down the mountain she had failed to collect her armor. It was lost somewhere out there in the middle of the desert, and she did not know if she would ever be able to retrieve it.

But it was over now, that much was clear. Zayn had made that clear when he'd gone cold on her this morning. And it was for the best. Because it could not go on. Because they could not go on.

He was marrying another woman.

The thought sent a stab of pain straight through her chest. She should never have touched him. She didn't have the right.

She looked up at the ceiling, tears sliding down toward her temple, disappearing down into her hairline.

Unfortunately, though she knew she'd had no right to touch him, it didn't change the fact that she was afraid she might have fallen in love with him.

She had no idea how that had happened. It had something to do with the fact that he had managed to get beneath her protection, that he was the first person to ever reach beneath all the layers she had built up around herself. He had touched her heart. And once that had happened she never had a chance.

She loved this man who wanted nothing more than to serve those around him. Who had taken a tragedy and allowed it to turn and twist inside of him until it had wrapped itself around him like tree roots until they had taken control over him, worked their way in so deep they couldn't be extracted. Until they had changed who he was, controlled him in every way.

She had worked all of her life for recognition, for validation. While he gave everything in the service of his family, in the service of his country. How could she not be changed by knowing him? How could she not love him?

And yet, she would have to figure out a way not to love him. Because she would be leaving here soon and when she did she would need to leave these feelings behind, too.

No matter how difficult it was.

* * *

Sophie successfully avoided Zayn for the next few days. She busied herself writing up an article detailing what she had learned so far about Surhaadi and its culture. She couldn't bring herself to write about his personal tragedy. Couldn't bring herself to write about Zayn at all. Because she had a feeling that every word would bleed with her love for him, and that it would be obvious to anyone who saw it. And while she was exposing herself a bit more lately than she had ever done before, that was a step too far.

Part of her had hoped that Zayn would end the silence between them. That part of her was foolish, and she acknowledged that, but it didn't stop her from wishing he might.

She stood up from her computer and rubbed her fingertips over her forehead, trying to smooth out the lines she was certain were etched there permanently now. No matter how many days, no matter how much distance, between her, Zayn and that tent in the desert, her skin still burned with his touch. Her chest aching with the memory of what it had been like to be joined with him in that way. With what it had been like to feel so close to someone.

She hadn't realized how much of her life she'd spent alone until that moment. Until that moment of perfect togetherness.

If there is only myself, then I choose you.

His words played over and over in her mind, echoed in her heart. Made her hope where there should be none.

Before she realized what she was doing, she had walked over to the door of her bedroom and wandered out into the corridor. As usual, her end of the palace was empty, and only the sound of her footsteps kept her company as she moved down the long hall.

She continued to walk until she reached the entryway, where there were a few staff members still milling around. It was late, and it seemed as though nearly everyone had retired for the evening.

As usual, no one looked at her. She wondered what they really thought of her. Who they really thought she might be. If they had assumed from the beginning that she was Zayn's lover, if they cared either way.

She wasn't entirely certain of what she was doing, only that she needed to find him. Only that she needed to end this separation. They hadn't even seen each other for meals, so skilled was his avoidance. He was always consumed with something very important, something that always took precedence over sitting down with her again.

Because he was avoiding her, too. Which she actually found encouraging.

This love thing was a strange business.

Her stomach tightened as she got closer to Zayn's quarters. Anticipation, nerves, excitement, all vied for top position as she continued to walk through the palace.

When she came to the doors, she paused. Should she knock? Probably. But would he answer? Was he even in his rooms? If not, it was probably locked. That meant she could at least try the handle.

She did, and much to her surprise it gave. Heart thundering in her throat, she pushed the door open.

The lighting in his study was dim, and her eye was drawn to the brightest thing in the room—the fire, which blazed in the hearth. She was so distracted by that, she missed the dark outline of Zayn sitting in one of the chairs until he moved.

It was a subtle motion, his hand lifting his glass from the side table.

“Oh, I didn't expect to find you here.” She stood near the door, not sure if she should stay, or run. Although, since he had seen her already, running seemed a little bit of an overreaction. It wasn't as though he was going to throw her in a dungeon.

“If you didn't expect to find me here, what did you expect to find?” He took a sip of whatever drink he had in his glass, and set it back down on the table.

“Well, I hoped to find you, I just didn't expect to be successful.”

“I see.” He took another drink. “And why were you looking for me?”

“Because we hadn't seen each other. Because...because I thought we might do another interview.” She didn't know that's what she thought until she spoke the words out loud. But the moment she did, she knew it was true.

“I think I've told you all I can.” He looked up at her, his eyes dark, glittering hollows in the firelight.

“I haven't.” Her heart was pounding hard, her throat dry.

“Are you suggesting that I interview you?”

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm suggesting.”

He was silent for a long time, looking at her, his expression unreadable, shrouded in darkness. Then he finally spoke. “Have a seat.”

She obeyed, moving deeper into the room and settling in the armchair across from him. She clasped her hands in her lap, and waited.

“So I'm meant to ask you anything?” he asked, his eyes fixed on hers, unreadable.

“It's your interview.” The blood in her veins seemed to have slowed, breathing becoming difficult.

“I have nowhere to sell the story.”

“So, then I suppose it's up to you to decide what is most interesting.”

“Then I'll start with what interests me most.” She braced herself. “Why were you a virgin?”

Her stomach tightened, she might have known that this was the question he would ask. Well, she might have known that had she taken the time to think through where this might be going. The idea had come to her on the spur of the moment and she hadn't really thought it through to the end game.