Never Seduce a Sheikh (International Bad Boys Book 2) (18 page)

“I came into the dining room one morning to find Khalid threatening my mother with a riding crop,” he said, keeping his attention directed out into the desert night. “He had managed to get her a couple of times over the face and she was bleeding. I tried to protect her, but he turned on me and starting beating me too. And I . . . ” He stopped, trying to find the same detachment he’d had earlier and failed. Making himself go on anyway, he forced the words out. “I snapped. I hit him in the face. I was as tall as he was by then, so he went down easily.” Isma’il closed his eyes, trying not to see the images that refused to stay buried. “But I did not stop there. I was so . . . angry. So filled with rage. I did not want him to hurt me anymore. I did not want him to hurt anyone anymore. So I . . . ” The words would not come. He made them, ripped them from the part of his soul that he hated so much. “I picked up the riding crop and I hit him with it.”
The leather slippery under his fingers. Slippery with his blood. His father’s blood. His mother’s. So much blood. He’d never been able to wash the slick feeling of it away.
“And I kept on hitting him with it until he stopped moving.”

Silence behind him. But he could feel her shock like a physical thing.

“Isma’il . . . ” Her voice sounded thick, but he didn’t turn around. Didn’t want to see the expression on her face. See the warmth that had been there for him the night before die away and be replaced by something cold.

“Those are the details, Lily.” His own voice didn’t sound much better. “Don’t make me say them again.”

Another silence. Longer this time.

“You blame yourself.”

He found he was gripping the tent pole rather hard. “Of course, I blame myself.
I
picked up that riding crop.
I
hit him.
I
was the one who lost control.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t given you any provocation.” She sounded closer this time. “You were protecting yourself. You were protecting your mother.”

Isma’il turned sharply and the expression on her face was worse than he’d thought, because it wasn’t horror he saw there. It was understanding. “I nearly killed a man, Lily. My own father! It doesn’t matter who I was protecting. I lost control of my temper and I nearly beat a man to death!”

Any decent woman, any decent person, would have run from him. Turned around and walked away, but Lily didn’t. She came across the tent, dressed only in her towel, tall and beautiful and defiant, and stood right in front of him, dark eyes blazing into his.

“And so you did. And now you’re going to punish yourself for the rest of your life because of something you did as a bruised, battered and beaten teenage boy? You defended yourself from an animal, Isma’il! You fought back. Do you think I wouldn’t have done the same to Dan if I hadn’t been so scared and confused?” Color had come flooding back into her face, flushing her golden skin. Water still lay in the hollow of her throat and he wanted suddenly and desperately to yank away the towel. Lick the water from her skin. Bite her. Make her scream . . .

“That is not the same,” he said roughly, fighting back the hunger that gripped him.

“Isn’t it? We’ve both been taken advantage by men who should have known better. Both been hurt. But you fought back, Isma’il. You fought back and defended yourself and your mother.”

“It was not defense. I wanted to kill him, Lily. Do you understand? I wanted to make him hurt. I wanted to end it once and for all. The guards had to pull me off, otherwise I would have.”

Her hand rose and before he could stop her, she’d cupped his cheek, the warmth of her whispering along his skin like the brush of silk. “But you didn’t. You were a kid, Isma’il. An abused kid. And what you did then, in the heat of the moment, doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t make you him.”

He closed his fingers around her wrist, pulling her hand away. “But I should have known better. I learned how violent he was from an early age and yet, I used the same methods on him as he used on others. That makes me no better than he was. The potential is there, Lily. It is always there. And that is why this cannot happen between us.”

“No.” Her throat moved. “No. I don’t believe that. Just because you lost control once as a teenager, doesn’t mean it’ll happen again. You didn’t hold back last night and you didn’t hurt me. What’s different now?”

“What’s different? I liked it.” He should let her go and yet somehow, he only held her tighter, her skin so hot beneath his fingers, drawing her against him so he could feel her. “I liked that you resisted me. That you fought me.” He stared down into her eyes, letting her see the true heart of him, where the darkness lay. “It tempted me. Tempted my control and without my control, there is nothing to stop me from being Khalid. Nothing.”

He thought she’d pull away from him. Tell him to get out. Get away from her.

But she didn’t.

She rose up on her toes, staring straight into his eyes. “If you were anything like Khalid you’d want a victim in your bed, Isma’il. A vessel who’ll lie there meekly and take whatever you give her. But you don’t want that. That’s why you liked fighting me. Why you liked me resisting you. Because you like the challenge. You don’t want a submissive woman, Sheikh, you want an equal. Someone who can take your dominance but won’t break. Someone who can give it back to you too.” She took a breath. “Someone like me.”

“Lily . . . ”

“No. Don’t say anything.” She took hold of her towel and with a jerk, pulled the material away from her body, baring herself. “You told me last night to use you to reclaim my pride and I did. Now, it’s your turn.” She took his other hand, drew it to her naked breast. “Use me, Sheikh.” Dark chocolate eyes saw into him. Met the darkness head on. “Use me to reclaim your soul.”

The heat of her skin burned him, the hard press of her nipple against his palm.

His soul was tainted. It could never be reclaimed.

Leave her. Walk away. Safer for her. Safer for you.

But he couldn’t seem to bring himself to move. Fire burned in his veins, the hunger inside him demanding he do exactly what she asked. Take her. Use her.

“Do not offer this to me,” he said hoarsely, “I am dangerous.”

“You’re not.” She touched him again, her fingers against his jaw, her mouth close to his. “Trust yourself.”

A shudder went through him. “I cannot.” The denial torn from him. “That is the one thing I cannot do.”

“Then, trust me instead.” Her mouth brushed his, soft and so very sweet.

“Lily . . . ”

She moved, stepping back from him. Then, dropped to her knees in front of him, her gaze still on his. A submissive posture. But there was no submission in her eyes. “Surrender to me, Sheikh,” she whispered.

Naked, on her knees, demanding his surrender. Strong. Powerful. A combination he could not resist, no matter how much he wanted to.

Isma’il reached for her, gripping her chin in his fingers. Her eyes glittered, his desire mirrored back at him, the spark of challenge burning there. But no fear. No fear at all.

“You should be afraid,” he murmured.

“Why?” Her breasts rose and fell quickly, her breathing loud in the tent. “Do you have a riding crop handy?”

No one else could have said that to him so audaciously. No one but Lily.

His fingers tightened on her. “Have you no sense of self-preservation?”

“Why are you delaying, Isma’il? Anyone would think you’re the one who’s afraid.”

The breath heaved in his chest as desire gripped him and held on tight. Very well. If she wanted him to use her he would. He would show her exactly why he had tried to warn her.

He would show her exactly why she should be afraid.

Isma’il stared down into her dark eyes and this time he did not turn away from the darkness. From the hunger. This time he embraced it.

Releasing her chin, he went over to where her blue headscarf lay over a chair. Picked it up and brought it back to where she knelt. Held it out to her.

“Bind your hands.”

She didn’t even blink. Taking the scarf she wrapped it around her wrists, binding them together without hesitation. She used her teeth to pull the scarf tight, staring up at him, meeting his gaze and he could see the fire burning in her eyes. She was not afraid.

Not yet.

Her wrists dropped. Her chin lifted. Ready for the next command.

He could hardly breathe. “On the bed.”

Lily rose to her feet in a graceful, fluid move. Then, she turned and walked over to the big, white bed. Slowly. Pride in every line of her body, from the way she kept her chin high and her shoulders back, to the sway of her hips.

He followed her to the bed, enjoying the sight of her. Liking that even with her hands bound she was not cowed in any way. The part of him that loved the hunt found this intensely compelling, wanting to subdue her. Bend her to his will.

And he let it.

Lily slid onto the bed without any awkwardness, even though her hands were tied. “How do you want me?”

“On your back. Your hands above your head.”

She did as she was told, laid out before him like a feast before a starving man. A combination of exquisite curves and lean muscle. Her hair gleamed in the light, pale gold over the white cotton of the pillowcases, echoed by the soft gold of the curls between her thighs.

So beautiful. Desire burned hot inside him and yet he didn’t feel impatient. How strange. He’d never thought embracing this dark, violent side of him would make him feel as if he had room to breathe.

Reaching out, he ran a light finger down one of her arms, down her side, brushing the side of one perfect breast. Watching her shiver. “Are you going to fight me,
Habibti
?”

Her eyelashes fluttered, goose-bumps breaking out over her skin where he touched her. “Perhaps, Sheikh.”

“You are proud. Defiant. I can see it in your eyes.” He let his fingers trail over her nipple, hearing the breath hiss in her throat.

Gold lashes swept up. “Then you should punish me.”

“You would like that? You would like to be punished by me?”

Excitement sparked in night-dark eyes. Desire. “Yes.”

How was it that she could look at him, knowing what he was, and yet still ask this of him? She’d bound herself, was entirely at his mercy, and yet still she didn’t seem to be afraid.

“You’re hesitating again,” Lily said breathlessly. “What are you waiting for? I want this, remember.”

“I am not hesitating.” And he closed his hand on her breast, pinching her nipple lightly in his fingers. She gasped, her body arching. “What do you want for your punishment,
Habibti?
Pain or pleasure?” He would push her. Push her hard. Make her see. Make her understand why this was a bad idea, since she seemed bent on not listening to him.

She didn’t look away. “Pain.”

Heat went through him, along with a fear so intense he couldn’t seem to take a breath. Slowly, he put one knee on the bed and bent over her, hands on either side of her head, looking down into her eyes. “Pain, Lily? You are asking me for pain?”

Her breathing was fast, hard and her gaze seemed to sink into the depths of his soul. “Don’t be afraid, Isma’il. I’m not.”

“Turn over,” he ordered hoarsely.

She did, without question. Her body was golden in the light, the curve her buttocks inviting his hand. She should be afraid of him. She should know what he was capable of.

He brought his palm down hard on her skin.

The sound echoed through the tent along with her cry and he found himself shaking. With fear and loathing and disgust at himself. With unbearable, unquenchable desire.

And he waited for her to weep. Waited for the shouts. The screams. Waited for the guards to come and pull him off her. Take him away.

*     *     *

The pain felt
as nothing compared to the heat that licked along her skin. The fire that burned in her veins. She could feel the mark of his hand like a brand, marking her, and a part of her gloried in it, while another wanted to mark him the same way. Make him hers.

Lily lay on the bed waiting for him to strike her again. Dying for him to strike her again. Push her excitement higher. But it didn’t come.

She twisted, turning over to see what had happened. And her heart froze inside her chest.

He knelt at her side, looking down at the mark he’d left on her, his eyes the color of emeralds. The expression on his face was a twisted mask, intense emotions she didn’t understand carved into his features, his hand a clenched fist at his side.

He looked like a man at war with himself. A man who burned for what he wanted and yet was desperately afraid to take it.

She knew this would be hard for him. Had seen his fear. But he had to face this. Had to know that the passionate side of his nature was not something he should be afraid of. Just as she had embraced hers.

Lily turned over. “I’m okay, Isma’il,” she whispered.

“I hit you,” he said in a raw, guttural voice. “I hurt you.”

“I wanted you to. This is passion, Sheikh. This is desire. It isn’t anger or violence. It’s different.” She trembled, wanting so much for him to understand. Help him the way he’d helped her. “And what you feel, I feel too.” She raised her bound hands, looped them over his head, her hands tangling in the black of his hair. “Touch me.” She spread her legs in invitation. “Feel what you do to me.”