Tamed: The Barbarian King (5 page)

A slightly hysterical bubble of laughter escaped her. She could just imagine her father’s face if he found out that she was married to the king!

“What is making you smile?” Kareef demanded.

“I was just imagining my father’s face if I told him we’d been married for the last thirteen years. Do you think he’d find that respectable enough?”

Kareef paused, then laughed with her in a deep baritone, his eyes bright. “And Hajjar would find a way to incorporate the royal Qusani coat of arms onto his flag, or at least his business card.”

For a moment, they grinned at each other.

Then Jasmine’s smile faded. “Except no one must ever know I’ve been your wife.”

His eyes darkened. “Because?”

“There must be no scandal against the new king’s name. Not after the grief of your uncle’s death—the shock of your cousin’s abdication.” She shook her head. “The people of Qusay have been through enough in the last few weeks to last a lifetime.” She took a deep breath, raising her eyes to his. “And you must think of your bride.”

He frowned. “My bride? What bride?”

“The bride you will soon take, in your duty as king.”

He stared at her, clenching his jaw.

“A royal princess,” she said. “With a perfect reputation.”

He looked away.

“A beautiful virgin to give you children,” she continued, plumbing every depth of her own misery. “To be your queen and give you heirs. You will marry her, give her plump-cheeked, blue-eyed babies, and the whole country will rejoice.”

He jerked his head back to look at her, and his blue eyes seemed to glitter in the moonlight.

“Yes, Jasmine. Is that what you want to hear? Yes. I must take a royal virgin to be my queen. She will give me heirs. It is required of me as king. The Al’Ramiz lineage goes back a thousand years. I must have children
of my own bloodline. I
will
have them. Does that satisfy you?”

Her heart pounded painfully in her throat.

“Yes,” she choked out. “It’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Exactly what she needed: the finally crushing blow to any glimmer of hope. The brief illusion of being young again, of going back to the time they were in love, was gone.

Kareef wasn’t hers anymore. Married or not, he had never truly been hers.

A night breeze cut through the courtyard, causing her hair to whip darkly across her face. She heard the plaintive call of owls in the shadowy darkness. The spice and warmth of the air whirled around Jasmine. The memory of his touch a moment ago still burned her cheek.

She heard servants calling his name, louder this time. Any moment now, the servants would find them.

With a deep breath, Kareef stepped toward her.

“But the day of my marriage is far away,” he said, tucking her hair gently behind her ear. “And we will take the time we have. Tomorrow, I will take you to the desert.”

She shivered at his touch. “And there you will divorce me?”

He smiled, and the dark hunger in his eyes made her tremble. “Good night, my jewel.” Lowering his head, he kissed her cheek. “Until tomorrow.”

“Yes,” she whispered, pulling away. As the servants found Kareef, exclaiming excitedly that his brother, Tahir, had been found, she hurried back to her tiny room in the servants’ wing. She ran until she was out of breath. But even as she collapsed on her small bed,
she could still feel Kareef behind her, still feel his lips on hers.

She knew what awaited her tomorrow. She knew it by the dark hunger she’d seen in his eyes. He meant to take her in the desert.
To take her in his bed
.

No! She would not—would
not
—surrender!

I
T WAS
high noon the next day when Kareef arrived at Qusay International Airport.

He’d spent the whole morning in meetings with advisers and undersecretaries, signing papers and discussing upcoming treaties. But he’d smiled all morning. He couldn’t stop anticipating the pleasure that was to come.

Tonight, he would finally have Jasmine in his bed.

Kissing her last night had been incredible. If his servants hadn’t come out into the garden to find him—something he could not fault them for, since he’d ordered them to tell him if they ever got his youngest brother, Tahir, on the phone—Kareef would have thrown Jasmine over his shoulder and taken her straight to the royal bedchamber.

But this way would be much better. They would have privacy in Qais. And if there was one thing he hungered for almost as much as Jasmine in his bed, it was the freedom of the desert.

Jasmine was right. Their paths lay elsewhere. He
would allow her to follow the path she’d chosen for herself. He would give Jasmine her divorce.

But not yet.

For now, Kareef had only one desire. One need. To satisfy this all-consuming hunger of thirteen years.

For her.

Was she sleeping now in that little bed of hers in the palace? Was she naked? Was she dreaming? He closed his eyes, imagining her hair tousled, her soft body warm beneath the blankets. He growled. Every moment away from her seemed wasted.

But at least this particular royal appointment was one he’d looked forward to. As his chauffeur opened the door of the silver limousine, Kareef climbed out, the wind whirling his ceremonial white robes around his ankles as he glanced around him on the tarmac.

Behind him was the second limousine of his motorcade; to the left were four uniformed motorcyclists and his own Bentley, with flags bearing the royal insignia of Qusay whipping in the wind. Directly in front of him he saw his brother’s Gulfstream jet, newly arrived from Australia.

His spirits rose still higher.

A perfect day, he thought. Jasmine would soon be in his bed. Rafiq had just returned to Qusay, and even Tahir, who’d been in self-imposed exile for so many years, was on the way. Kareef’s heart suddenly felt as bright as the Qusani sun shimmering heat against his white robes.

Rafiq appeared at the door of his airplane. At thirty, there were faint lines at his brother’s narrowed eyes, a ruthless set of his jaw that hadn’t been there before.
Years building a worldwide business empire had changed Rafiq every bit as much as Kareef’s years in the desert had changed him.

But as his brother came down the steps to the tarmac, looking every inch the sleek, sharp tycoon in his gray Armani suit, Kareef took one look at him and grinned. “Rafiq!”

“It is good to see you, big brother,” Rafiq replied, taking Kareef by the arm. Pulling him close, he slapped him on the back, then teased, “Or should I call you ‘sire’?”

With a snort, Kareef waved the joke aside. He ushered his brother into the cool interior of the waiting limousine and the chauffeur closed the door solidly behind them. The motorcade pulled away, motorcycle lights flashing as they left the airport. “It’s good you could come at such short notice.”

“You think I would miss your coronation?”

“You almost missed Xavian’s wedding. How long were you here? Three? Four hours at most.”

“It is true,” Rafiq conceded. “Although as it turns out, he wasn’t Xavian, our cousin after all. But there was no way I was not coming for your coronation. And if there is one thing I am sure of, Kareef, it’s that you are indeed my brother.” They exchanged a grin, their eyes the same shade of blue, each with the same chiselled jawline. “Speaking of brothers, where is Tahir? Is our wayward brother to grace us with his presence this time?”

Kareef frowned. “I spoke with him….” Name of God, was it only last night, after he’d left Jasmine in the garden? It seemed far longer than that. He’d spent
all night dreaming of Jasmine—and all morning dealing with Akmal, his vizier, who was furious at Kareef’s plans to leave for the desert. He smiled broadly. “I spoke with him yesterday.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“It’s true. Though it wasn’t easy to track him down in Monte Carlo, he’s coming to the coronation.”

“All three of us, back here at the same time?” his brother said in amazement.

“It’s been too long,” Kareef agreed.

Rafiq suddenly gave him a sharp look. “That’s quite a smile.”

He blinked. “Of course I would smile. You’re here and Tahir is on his way.”

His brother narrowed his eyes, looking at him keenly. “You’re smiling with your whole face,” he observed. “I haven’t seen you do that for years. Care to explain?”

“You’ll know everything soon enough.” And he feared it was true. Rafiq had always been the sharpest—the most ruthless—of the brothers. To change the subject, Kareef leaned forward and slapped his hands on his thighs. “But you are here and that, my brother, is a good thing. I hear your business goes from strength to strength. Tell me more.”

The journey through the city was swift as traffic halted for the king’s motorcade. Kareef tried to pay attention to the details of the new emporiums Rafiq had just opened in Auckland and Perth, but his mind kept wandering to the woman who waited for him at the palace. And the night that awaited them in the desert.

Jasmine would resist him. He knew that. He also
knew she would fall. She would be in his bed—tonight. Tomorrow. And the day after that, if he still wanted her. He would make love to her until they were both utterly spent.

Then, and only then he would speak the words that would part them forever. And let her go on to her marriage.

His smile faltered. The motorcade went past the palace gate and stopped beneath a portico. A turbaned footman opened his door. As they went up the sweeping steps, Kareef glanced back at his brother. Rafiq seemed dazed as he stared up at the turrets and domes reaching into the sky, glowing like a pearl beneath the noonday sun.

Kareef stopped, taking his brother by the arm. “Here I must leave you, my brother. So if you will excuse me…”

Rafiq cocked a suspicious eyebrow. “Off to place a bet on the Qais Cup?”

Kareef laughed. “I haven’t gambled on a horse race in years.”

“Then it’s being crowned king,” he guessed. “All that raw power.” He winked. “I’m almost envious, my brother.”

“No.” That definitely wasn’t it. “Excuse me.”

“Then what is it?” his brother called after him. “What’s got you so damned
happy
?”

Kareef didn’t answer. He hurried down the stone cloister of ancient Byzantine arches around the courtyard. Servants stopped to bow as he rushed past them, his white robes whipping around his ankles. In the courtyard, the sun shone bright and hot. A warm breeze blew through the palm trees, rich with the fragrance of spice and oranges.

Her
scent.

He glanced at the bright blue sky, hearing birdsong from the garden. It was after noon, and he hadn’t yet eaten. But he hungered for only one thing.

He found Jasmine waiting in her small bedroom in the servants’ wing, sitting on the bed reading a paperback book, her packed suitcase at her feet. When he opened the door, she looked up, her expression grave and pale.

“Finally, I am ready.” He glanced around the tiny, shabby room, noticing it for the first time. He cleared his throat. “I regret this was the only room available in the palace….”

“That’s quite all right,” she said quietly, marking her place and tucking her book in her suitcase. “This room has suited me very well.” She rose to her feet. “Shall we go?”

Her wide eyes looked up at him, the color of sepia fringed in black. She was wearing a short modern dress in pink silk. Her dark hair was pulled back in a chignon beneath a little felt hat. Her look was retro, modern and with a quirky style all her own.

She looked sixteen still. The same pale, olive-hued skin. The same full black lashes, sweeping over high cheekbones. The same full, luscious lips, bare of makeup. The color of roses.

He longed to kiss those lips.

He was already hard for her.

No wonder. He’d been celibate for… He didn’t like to think about that. He’d thought he was too busy for women, or simply uninterested in the particular succession of gold diggers who threw themselves at royalty on a daily basis, even if he had been only minor royalty until recently.

Now he knew the truth. His body had hungered for only one woman. The woman in front of him now.

He could hardly wait to satiate himself with her. It was a journey of several hours to the desert. His eyes fell upon her tiny bed. He was not sure he could wait that long….

But even as he considered the size of her bed, she’d already left the room, dragging her tiny suitcase behind her. He caught up with her, lifting up the suitcase on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said gravely.

“It weighs almost nothing.” And it truly did. He carried it easily with one hand. “Why did you pack so little?”

“Um.” Her lips turned upward at the corners. “To avoid baggage fees at the airport?”

He snorted a laugh. “Hajjar has his own plane.” He shook his head. “You always enjoyed dress-up as a girl, always had your own style different from the rest.” He smiled. “Has so much changed for you? You’re too busy to worry about clothes, now that you run your own multimillion dollar company in New York?”

“Ah. Well.” Her eyes shifted away uneasily. “Umar has already picked out the clothes he thinks appropriate for me. They will arrive from Paris in a few days. So he didn’t—I mean,
I
didn’t—see much point in bringing my own clothes from New York, especially since we’ll only be in Qusay until we’re married.”

“I see.” He was suddenly irritated by the thought of anyone telling Jasmine what to wear. He tried to shrug it off. If Jasmine didn’t care, why should he? Her relationship with Umar was none of his business. In fact, Kareef was determined to make them both forget his existence for the next few days.

Outside the palace, a bodyguard hefted the small suitcase from Kareef and carried it to the bottom of the sweeping stairs. Another assistant packed it in the front SUV of the motorcade.

Jasmine looked at the SUV and limousine behind it, and all the many bodyguards and servants bustling around the motorcade, with palpable relief. “I see we’re not traveling alone.”

“Don’t get too excited. I travel as the king of Qusay.” He gave her a sudden wicked grin. “But in the desert, that will change. As you said, in the desert I’ll be just a man. Like any other…”

He let his voice trail off suggestively and saw her shiver in the sunlight. As his chauffeur opened the door, she was very careful not to touch Kareef as she scooted past him into the backseat of the Rolls-Royce.

Sitting beside her, Kareef leaned back, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as the motorcade drove out the palace gate. She was clinging to the farthest side of the car. It almost amused him. Did she really think she would get out of this without falling into his bed?

Well, let her continue to think so. He loved nothing more than a challenge.

And she had nothing to feel guilty about. Not in this case. Nor in the other—

Memory trembled on the edge of his consciousness, threatening to darken his sunshine. He pushed the troubling memory away. He wouldn’t think of what they’d lost in the past—what he’d caused her to lose. Today would be about one thing only: pleasure.

The motorcade moved swiftly out of the city, heading northeast along the coast. But with Jasmine
sitting against the opposite window, doing her level best not to touch him, every mile seemed to stretch out to eternity.

He should have listened to Akmal Al’Sayr, he thought grimly. His vizier had tried to convince him to use one of his royal helicopters or planes currently shuttling foreign dignitaries to Qusay, rather than waste time traveling by car. Now Kareef wished he’d taken that advice. Coddling diplomats suddenly seemed a much lower priority than getting Jasmine into his bed.

Kareef glanced at her. She refused to look in his direction, continuing instead to stare stonily out the darkly tinted window. Behind her, he could see the bright turquoise sea shining beyond the smooth, modern highway.

Neither of them moved, but tension hummed between them.

He wanted her. Wanted to take her right here and now in the backseat of this limousine. But was that the private, discreet affair he wanted? Tossing her like a whore in the backseat of a Rolls-Royce, with bodyguards surely able to guess what went on behind darkened windows?

Kareef cursed beneath his breath. He would just have to wait.

But as they approached a fork in the road, he suddenly leaned forward.

“Turn here,” he ordered.

“Sire?” His chauffeur looked back in surprise.

“Take the old desert road,” he commanded in a voice that did not brook opposition. As his bodyguard communicated the order over a walkie-talkie to the SUV in
front of the motorcade, his chauffeur switched lanes on the modern highway, heading toward the exit that would lead straight north through the sands and rock, toward the desert of Qais.

He sat back. He might have to be patient, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t get it over with as soon as possible, by taking the most direct route.

The modern highway of Qusay stretched around the circumference of the island, a new way to travel north to the principality of Qais, a harsh landscape of desert sands and cragged, desolate mountains. Only two years ago, Kareef, as Prince of Qais, had finished the highway with the new influx of money brought by his developments, including the blossoming sport of horse racing. Qais was now second only to Dubai as the emerging hotspot on the thoroughbred racing circuit.

Ironic, Kareef thought, that after personally giving up the sport, the thing he’d once loved the most in the world, he’d turned it into a thriving industry for others.

Although that wasn’t entirely true. There had once been something he’d loved even more than horse racing.

He glanced at Jasmine. Her beautiful face was wan. Dark circles were beneath her eyes, hollows beneath her cheeks.