ROMANCE: THE SHEIKH'S GAMES: A Sheikh Romance (83 page)

He laid her down on the soft bed, and Keisha felt that familiar slow boil of emotions begin within her. Her body began to heat, her skin warming against his smooth touch as his hands began a journey across her skin that was both new and familiar.

With such care, he removed her clothing. He revealed her body to his hungry eyes and allowed them to devour her with looks only at first. The heat in his gaze made Keisha squirm against the bed, silently begging for his touch and his love and his heat.

Letting out a shaking breath to steady himself, he obliged her. His hands reached for her body and began the slow, deliberate caress of her silky skin. They slipped over her calves and up her thighs, tracing over the wide curve of her hips and the small cut of her waist. They stopped only once they found her ample breasts, pausing there to worship the soft orbs. He palmed them and massaged them, pinching at her dusky nipples and then weighing each breast in his palms as though his hands might be scales.

When his lips finally encased a single nipple between them, Keisha let out the soft moan she had been restraining within her chest, her back arching towards him.

One of his hands left her chest to slip down along her body, pausing briefly over her still as of yet flat stomach, only to dip lower. He slipped between her legs and found her nether lips moist already from the want of him.

His fingers slid past them and she cried out again. “Ahmed, please, my love!”

She would not be pleased solely by his hands tonight. She needed more from him. She needed
all
of him.

Sensing her deepening desires, Ahmed pulled away from her, leaving her briefly bereft, only so that he might remove his clothing. He let it fall to the floor and when he came back to her, he was naked.

Her eyes drifted down over his muscled chest, lower and lower, over his slim waist to find his member already hard and jutting out from between his legs. She shivered in response to it, her body trembling with the need of him.

Leaning down over her so that his body covered hers, her breasts pressed tightly against his chest, she felt his length slide against her. The bulbous head slid across her inner thigh, searching for her most intimate parts, and within moments, had found them. She felt him press between her nether lips, the large head slipping past her lips to push into her already wet opening. When her body had accepted the tip of him willingly, he searched her out with his eyes. Their gazes locked. Then he thrust into her until there was none of his length that was not encased by her warm folds.

“Ahmed!” she cried out until his mouth crashed down onto hers, swallowing up her breaths and her words.

Then he began to move. His thrusts were deep and needy, urgent even, as though he needed this moment to claim her once again as his own and to prove it simultaneously to everyone. She did not mind. She accepted his urgency willingly, lifting her hips to match his thrusts as best she could, crying out in pleasure when his lips finally moved to lick and nibble at other parts of her body.

She gripped at his hair, but then his hands had grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. He stared down at her and thrust deeply inside of her, moving her until they were both pushed to the very edge.

When he finished within her, she felt that this was truly it. Their marriage was consummated and their love was recognized.

She did not give his parents even a single thought as they drifted off into the peaceful sleep that only came with two lovers indulging in each other.

The palace was frantic the next morning. Guards were running around, desperately in search of the crown prince. Aisha was crying, muttering about how it was all her fault, that she should have
known
her poor, sensitive boy would be swept away and stolen by the wiles of a lowly beggar woman. Itamar, however, was immune to remorse—at least, remorse for his own actions—and was spending the morning lecturing every guard in turn. When he was finished, he would send them off scurrying around in desperate search of his son.

It would be their heads if he did not return.

Ahmed’s three older sisters were alternating between crying over their missing brother and gossiping heatedly about where he might be. Naiad, the oldest, was the calmest of the group and assured her younger sisters that their baby brother would return in his own time.

“He has always been rebellious,” she told Lilac, the youngest, who could not stop crying. She was worse than their mother. A pretty young woman gently, but efficiently pulled back Naiad’s long, thick hair into a black plait that hung loosely down her back. “He’ll come when he’s ready—or when he’s sure mother is frantic enough over him that she won’t scold him for sneaking out without a guard.”

Lilac sniffled, hope shining through her tears. It was Mahira, the middle child, who spoke though. “Is not it enough that he’s everyone’s favorite?” she fumed, taking her seat next to Naiad once her older sister’s hair was done. She insisted hers be done the exact same way, but with flowers woven in.

“He is not everyone’s favorite,” Naiad countered mildly, examining the young maid’s handiwork in the mirror.

“That’s right,” Lilac piped up amidst her sniffles. “Mom and daddy love us equally.”

Naiad shared a look at Mahira, who merely rolled her eyes. Naiad sighed. “Yes, in a perfect world.”

Lilac shut her mouth after that, and let the older girls have their hair done and whisper about what a spoiled brat their brother was. Ultimately, though, as much as they each had their reasons to be annoyed with the youngest of the four siblings, each of them was also worried for his safety.

It was not until about ten in the morning that Ahmed Kandalama, only son of the Sheikh, came walking up the steps of the palace amidst a flurry of panicked guards. One by one as they saw him, and realized who it was, they froze, relief spreading instantly across their faces.

The problem, however, was that Ahmed was not returning alone. Beside him was an intense, glowing beauty, her head tilted ever so slightly downward as she walked only a couple of steps behind Ahmed. His hand was wrapped around hers tightly, and there was no mistaking their connection.

Or his intentions.

When he reached the great hall, his mother was still wailing and his father had found several new guards to take his anger out upon. When his parents finally tore their respective gazes away from their own lives and found him, they froze. Neither said a word, but the tears flowing freely from his mother’s eyes a moment ago had stopped instantly. His father’s angry, fuming expression had shifted to one that was as close to emotionless and blank as Ahmed had ever seen it.

They were in shock. Ahmed could see it as his mother’s eyes slowly slipped from her son to the beautiful woman next to him.

Then came the anger.

“What is this
harlot
doing here?” his mother demanded, rage overtaking her normally soft, bright features.

“She is not—!” Ahmed began, but his father was not about to let him get a word in to defend himself.

“You were out all night!” boomed his father, who stepped towards Ahmed and brushed aside the guard he’d been lecturing as though he were but an annoying fly. “Without a single
guard!
How is this appropriate behavior for the future Sheikh?”

“How can you bring
her
here? To our home!” Aisha continued, her eyes livid.

“What if something had happened to you?”

“She is a
beggar
!”

“My only son! My only heir!”

“She only wants your money!”

Squeezing Keisha’s hand tighter, Ahmed had finally had enough. His voice boomed out, ringing throughout the hall and causing all bodies within it to freeze. “ENOUGH!”

Silence filled the large room. Out of the corner of his eye, Ahmed caught sight of his three nosy older sisters lingering near the doorway. They, too, were silent and frozen, though it was more out of a desire to get information on Ahmed and his lovely woman rather than out of any respect or fear of Ahmed.

In the end, they were still older and he would always be the baby in their eyes.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Ahmed tugged Keisha to him, holding her close and he puffed out his chest, holding his chin high to show his parents that he was not afraid. Which was mostly a lie, but he was determined to keep Keisha in his life and as his wife. They could not stop him.

“This is Keisha Singh,” he introduced her. Then, his eyes slipping from his parents, he turned to Keisha and smiled at her tenderly. He corrected himself a moment later. “Keisha
Kandalama
. My wife.”

His mother fainted.

Keisha could not say what it was she had expected from Ahmed’s parents, but she had assumed it would not be welcoming. When Ahmed had insisted that they march to the palace that morning and show her to his family, well, she had been more than a little nervous. The idea of confronting his whole family seemed intimidating in and of itself, but then to add in that they had been married in secret the night before?

It would be madness.

And it had been. His mother had fainted. His father had roared profanities and insults and thrown contradicting orders all around until no one was quite sure what he wanted them to do. In the end, everyone was ordered out of the great hall save for the Sheikh, his wife (who was still fainted on the floor), and the couple. Even Ahmed’s sisters—three of them, all lovely, older, and with matching glares on their faces—were ordered away until a later date.

Keisha was not stupid enough to assume she might receive some sort of kindness from them either.

When the hall was empty, Ahmed and his father stared each other down fiercely, their eyes fighting a silent war as their bodies stood rigid as stones. Eventually, it was the Sheikh who actually broke their stare first, surprising Keisha.

He turned away and went to kneel beside his wife, stroking her face gently. She was breathing evenly and was clearly all right, but he wanted to be sure. His care of her was touching to Keisha and gave her hope that, perhaps, the softness towards his wife might be enough to melt his hatred of Keisha.

It was a foolish hope, but it was all she had.

When Ahmed’s mother was finally up again, they all took seats around a giant table. It had a polished, marbled surface that was more beautiful than anything Keisha had ever seen. And it was only a
table
. The whole palace was that way since the moment she stepped foot inside it. The floors were bright white and the columns were decorated like golden flowers at the bases. Out front there were gardens that spilled out for what seemed like miles, filled with bright colors that Keisha longed to spend the day staring at.

Beautiful. So beautiful.

Everything was. Even the people. The guards were tall and proud. The Sheikh was regal. His wife was undoubtedly lovely. Even Ahmed’s sisters with their deep scowls were lovely.

And then there was Keisha. She was very quickly beginning to decide that she had no business being there. None at all.

Across the table at the other end, Ahmed’s father sat stonily, his wife clutching his hand tightly atop the marbled table. She looked pale still after her fainting spell, but otherwise just seemed… hopeless. As though she was staring at the image of her dead son, rather than the living one who had just announced his marriage.

“This is my father,” Ahmed introduced into the cold silence, because he must have realized that neither of his parents were going to encourage conversation. “Sheikh Itamar Kandalama. Beside him sits his wife, my mother, Aisha Kandalama. My sisters are as of yet not present, but I will introduce you to them later.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” snapped his mother, Aisha.

Keisha flinched at the sudden venom in her voice, but tried to remain calm. She swallowed back the sense of sadness of being so wholly rejected by his parents.

“Mother,” Ahmed answered, a chiding tone lingering in his voice, though it was careful and calculated.

His mother fell silent only for his father to speak up once again. “How could you do this?” His deep voice was stern and unforgiving. His sharp eyes were fixed on Ahmed, pointedly refusing to look at Keisha. “This… this
woman
has no right to be here amongst we of noble blood. To marry her is ludicrous!”

“Call it what you’d like, father,” Ahmed answered. He sounded calm and collected, but Keisha could see the slight tremble in his limbs. “But she is my wife. And…” he hesitated. His gaze left his father briefly, darting to her. There was an uncertain frown on his face.

Keisha could not guess as to what was going through his head—there was so much to deal with just then to fathom which facet he was worried most about. When he spoke again, however, she could not have seen his words coming.

“And she is pregnant with my child.”

All of the air was sucked rapidly from the room as everyone in it froze. Keisha felt a blush rip across her cheeks, her skin burning with embarrassment, not from what they had done, but from what his parents would inevitably think. It took all she had to keep from tightly clenching her eyes shut against the inevitable reaction of his parents.

She did not even want to think of it.

Aisha looked about ready to faint once again, her face paling even further, her lips pulling together to make her look as though she were sucking a cut lemon into her mouth. For his part, Sheikh Itamar looked simply livid. And it would not be near as terrifying if it weren’t for the fact that he’d turned his gaze to Keisha instead of his son.

“I apologize for the… trouble,” he told her, sounding strangely soft. “I realize this must all be difficult for you and the adjustment is hardly expected to be easy.”

Keisha was surprised by the sudden… sweetness of the Sheikh, and it seemed like Ahmed was, too. It told her that this kindness was uncharacteristic and it worried her. As much as Keisha wanted to believe that it was out of some love for his grandchild growing in her womb, the tugging together of Ahmed’s eyes told her that it was unlikely.

Still, she hoped.