Читать книгу The Desert King's Pregnant Bride - Annie West - Страница 6

CHAPTER TWO

MAGGIE emerged from the bathroom swathed in soft white towelling, an oversized robe that swamped her. She hadn’t even noticed Khalid take her discarded dress. The plush robe was warm against her damp skin. She hiked up the collar and dug her hands into the deep pockets.

For a heartbeat she hesitated in the doorway, then swung round at the sound of his voice.

‘Feel better now?’ Khalid halted a few paces away, legs planted wide in a stance that was intrinsically male. He surveyed her from top to toe. Her pulse hammered hard and loud. ‘You look better. There’s colour in your cheeks.’

And no wonder! Maggie felt the heat sizzle under her skin. She was uncomfortable wearing his robe, but it was all she had to hide her nakedness.

Under his survey the brush of fabric against her bare flesh suddenly took on a new dimension. Tingles rayed out from her sensitive breasts, her stomach, thighs and buttocks as she shifted her weight uneasily.

Or maybe it was reaction to the sight of him, clad in black trousers and black shirt that emphasised his spare, powerful frame. Her glance dropped all the way down past his muscled thighs to his bare feet. Her breath stopped. He even had sexy feet. She hadn’t known that was possible.

Maggie snagged a desperate breath and jerked her gaze up to his, praying he hadn’t noticed her ogling him.

‘Thank you. I feel a lot better. Hot water works wonders, doesn’t it?’ Was she gabbling? For the first time since he found her, she felt truly nervous. She slicked her tongue over her bottom lip as her mouth dried.

‘Come.’ He held out his hand imperiously, and to her surprise, she reached out unhesitatingly. The hard heat of his palm and fingers enfolding hers was strangely comforting. If she could ignore the tendrils of shivery pleasure snaking up from their clasped hands.

He led her into a large sitting room. It should have been overpowering with its gilt-edged mirrors and elegant antique furniture. But it was lit by a fire in the grate and the mellow glow of lamps. The long sofa drawn up before the fire looked cosy with its many cushions and rich red throw rug.

‘Sit.’ He gestured to the sofa. ‘It will be a while before your clothes dry and we can get you home. In the meantime you need to keep warm.’

As she subsided into the soft luxurious cushions Maggie knew there wasn’t any danger of her growing cold. The hot shower, the fire, but most of all the way her blood heated at his touch, made her glow with warmth.

Wordlessly he covered her knees, then passed her a delicate glass in a filigree metal holder.

Maggie inhaled the steam rising from the glass. It smelt wonderful.

‘What is it?’

‘Sweet tea, Shajehani style. The perfect remedy for shock and exposure to the elements.’ He stood before her, his back to the fire. Maggie drank in the sight of him, his imposing frame, his obvious strength, the stance of a man utterly confident and in control. Something squeezed the pit of her stomach. Hurriedly she bent her head to drink.

‘It’s delicious!’

‘Surprising, isn’t it?’

‘No, I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s all right. Drink up and relax. I’ll be back soon.’ He moved away and her breathing eased.

This was what she needed, to be alone to collect her thoughts and overcome these unfamiliar emotions that tonight ran so close to the surface.

She stared at the blazing fire, sipped her tea and wondered at the intensity of her reaction to Khalid. He was a stranger. A breathtakingly gorgeous one. Yet it wasn’t just his looks she responded to. It was his easy kindness, that sense of rock-solid dependability, the way he took charge and looked after her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She wasn’t used to it.

Maggie blinked. She’d forgotten what it was like to feel cared for. To lean on someone else. No one had ever taken care of her like this. Not since she was eight and she’d arrived home from school to find her mother had walked out, taking Maggie’s little sister, but not Maggie.

There’d been no warmth at home after that day. Her father hadn’t been one for creature comforts, let alone a hug or a sympathetic smile. He’d been a hard man, dour and demanding. Even in those last months as she’d nursed him he hadn’t softened.

‘Is there anything else you need?’ Khalid’s deep voice came from beside her. She hadn’t heard him return.

To her horror, the hint of concern lacing his words opened a floodgate of raw emotion. Painful emotion that ignited a terrible weakness in her. She wasn’t accustomed to sympathy.

Her lips quivered. What was wrong with her? She’d discovered Marcus’s betrayal and she’d got a soaking. It wasn’t the end of the world.

She was made of sterner stuff than this. Maggie Lewis never cried. It was one of the reasons she’d been accepted so quickly into the male realm of the horse stud.

‘No.’ The word emerged as a raw croak and she tried again. ‘No, thank you.’ She relinquished her stiff-knuckled grip on the glass as a large, tanned hand took it from her.

‘In that case let’s get your hair dry.’

Maggie opened her mouth to object, but already he’d draped a towel over her head and shoulders. Long, strong fingers massaged her scalp through the thick towelling and her demurral dissolved on her tongue.

Whorls of sensation spread from his supple hands, sensation that made the last of her resistance melt like chocolate on a hot summer day.

Her head lolled back and forward, following the easy rhythm of his hands, till she forgot what it was she objected to. Ripples of delight spread out, down her spine, across her shoulders and lower, deep inside her.

She had to stifle a sigh of regret when he lifted the towel away. It felt so good, the warmth, the company, the comfort of his presence.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the awful sensation of loss and loneliness welling inside her. The aching void of emptiness that stretched all around her.

Quickly she shook her head, hoping to dislodge the ache, the unfamiliar need. Tonight had been a shock, a blow to her self-esteem and her hopes, but she’d get over it. This curious sense of frailty was a passing thing. She’d always been strong. Always coped.

‘Don’t cry, little one.’ His voice was so low it was a mere thread of sound, weaving into her consciousness. His touch was tender as he wiped moisture from her cheeks.

Maggie kept her eyes tight shut. For the second time tonight she had tears in her eyes. The second time in fifteen years. She hadn’t cried since her mother had deserted her all those years ago. Maggie had sobbed herself sick then and hadn’t cried since. Now in one night the dam had broken. A shudder of anxiety racked her.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

Khalid stared into the flames, legs outstretched in a casual pose that belied his inner turmoil. Tension pulled his shoulders tight and a charged sense of expectancy weighted his limbs.

Beside him Maggie sat with her feet curled beneath her. She was close enough for him to be aware of her every move and feel her beckoning warmth.

Yet he didn’t touch her.

He fought his instinctive reaction to reach out and hold her, comfort her. He had more sense than that.

Just sitting here was a test of his willpower, and his honour. His desire to pull her into his embrace wasn’t as altruistic as it should have been. Maybe bringing her here hadn’t been wise after all.

Instead of leaping flames the picture filling his brain was Maggie Lewis, standing in his en suite, wearing nothing but lace underwear and pride. She’d been brave, beautiful and hurting, unable to hide the raw anguish in her remarkable eyes.

But it wasn’t her eyes that had riveted his attention. Her lithe body was all elegant lines, pale skin that dipped and curved in exactly the right places. His hands had itched to reach out and take the weight of her high, proud breasts, to smooth over her narrow waist to the gentle curve of her hips. Hunger had surged in him so strongly that he’d been forced to leave the room, lest he do something unforgivable.

She’d looked so perfect, so pure, he could almost have believed her untouched.

Why was he imagining his hands, dark and hard, on her pristine flesh? He’d never fantasised about taking a virgin. His experience in that area was a lifetime ago.

His mind slammed shut on the old memory. There’d been women since Shahina. Beautiful, clever, accommodating women who gave him the satisfaction his body craved. But never had his mind or his emotions been engaged. That was exactly how he wanted it. Short, easy relationships built on physical pleasure were no threat to his heart. That was how he’d lived his life since the death of his wife and it was precisely how he intended to continue.

He frowned, recognising that tonight, with Maggie Lewis, something was different. Sexual need was there, a scorching spike in his bloodstream. But something else too, more complex than physical desire. A shadow, a hint of something more. Something that stirred his emotions, as well as his libido. Something he had no wish to feel.

He dragged in a deep breath, trying not to notice the way her clean, feminine scent stirred his senses.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ So much for his determination not to get involved.

He couldn’t contain his curiosity about the intriguing woman so innocently sharing his couch.

He rubbed his jaw. He couldn’t remember sharing anything innocently with a woman since Shahina.

‘Did someone hurt you?’ He’d make it his business to find the man and bring him to account.

‘It was my fault,’ she muttered, eyes downcast.

A chill iced his veins. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘It’s true. I was the one with expectations.’

‘If some man forced himself on you after you’d changed your mind, it’s not your fault.’

In the fire-lit shadows huge eyes met his. Her hands clenched tight together.

‘No. You’ve got it all wrong.’ Her words ended on a hiccough of unsteady laughter. ‘No one forced himself on me.’ Her voice was stronger, her mouth firm. ‘I wasn’t assaulted, if that’s what you think.’

On a surge of movement she wriggled higher, squaring her slumped shoulders. Unfortunately the movement made the collar of the robe gape to reveal a sliver of pale, enticing flesh. Khalid moved restlessly and shifted his gaze. But despite the thick towelling he could easily visualise her pert breasts and smooth, silken skin.

He turned to the fire, trying to ignore the rapid thump of his pulse and the heat igniting in his loins.

‘You don’t need to worry. Untouched by the hand of man. That’s me.’ Her voice was bitter and hard.

‘Pardon?’ For a moment he was startled, remembering his fantasy of her as virginal, awaking to his caress. He realised how unlikely that was. She must be talking about tonight. He swung around, unable to resist temptation.

She looked different, more alive, more vibrant. A flush of colour tinted her cheeks and her eyes were bright.

His belly contracted hard as desire stabbed him. She’d got under his skin when she’d been pale and fragile. Now her features were animated, renewed energy evident in her taut body. She was far too alluring.

‘Nothing happened tonight.’ She lifted a dismissive hand. ‘Nothing momentous, that is.’ Her lips twisted in a tight grimace that belied her words.

Taking in the determined jut of her chin, he knew she lied. He gave her full marks for her valiant effort. But something had happened, even if it hadn’t been rape.

‘You said you’d had a shock.’

She shrugged, pursing her lips. ‘Have you ever made an error of judgement?’ she asked at last.

‘Of course. Everyone has.’

‘There’s a comfort.’ She paused. ‘Well, I just made a mistake. A huge one.’ She drew in a deep breath. Khalid fought to stop his gaze straying to the shadow of her cleavage. ‘Tonight I found out just how stupid I’d been.’

Her words were defiant, her profile proud, yet Khalid had seen her at rock-bottom just an hour ago. He knew she must still be hurting badly.

Over the past eight years countless women had tried to snare him with guile, seduction and emotional appeals. He’d remained unmoved. His heart had died with his wife and he had no intention of laying himself open to the raw pain of loss again. But his experience had taught him to distinguish female wiles at a glance. As a result he knew Maggie Lewis was the genuine article. No hidden agenda other than concealing her own weakness.

That stubborn pride was something he knew all about. Hadn’t his father accused him of being too proud when Khalid had refused to live in indolent luxury? When instead he’d forged a life of hard work that brought its own rewards?

‘At least you won’t make the same mistake again.’

Solemn eyes met his before a shadow of a smile curved the corners of her mouth.

‘Absolutely not! I’ll never be that gullible again. I’ve learned my lesson.’

Intrigued, Khalid watched her rueful expression morph into one of determination. But even that was attractive…too attractive.

Her intelligence and character intrigued him as much as her vulnerability and her unvarnished beauty. She wasn’t conventionally pretty, but there was something about the spare elegance of her features that drew the eye again and again. He wished she’d sat beside him at tonight’s tedious dinner. Instead he’d been sandwiched between a yawning bore and a flirtatious airhead.

‘He’s a fool, whoever he is.’

‘He?’ She arched her eyebrows.

‘The man tonight. The one who’s caused you such grief.’

‘How did you know there was a man?’ She looked genuinely shocked.

He smiled at her naïvety. ‘It’s relationships between the sexes that cause most pain.’

‘I can’t imagine you having any such trouble,’ she riposted instantly. A moment later her expression changed to one of dawning horror, as if she couldn’t believe she’d just uttered the words. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I—’

‘You’d be surprised,’ he murmured as memories crowded in. ‘Wealth is no guarantee of happiness.’

Maggie watched with a pang of regret as the vertical lines reformed at his brow and bracketed his mouth. For a little while there the grimness had lifted from Khalid’s features. Now it was as if a storm cloud loomed, shadowing his face and blocking the hint of light she’d glimpsed.

She knew a crazy impulse to reach out and touch him, soothe away the pain she saw. But that wasn’t an option. Instead she changed the subject.

‘You’re from Shajehar, aren’t you?’

He nodded. ‘I am.’

‘Could you tell me about it? I’ve never travelled and it sounds so exotic.’

Dark eyes seared hers as if searching for an ulterior motive. Maggie shivered and rolled her collar higher against her throat. Perhaps she should go. It didn’t matter if her clothes weren’t dry, she’d been here long enough and that look made her nervous. But the raging storm and the long trip to her cold, empty house held no appeal.

‘It’s a country of contrasts and great beauty. Some parts are not unlike your Hunter Valley, though much is arid. There are wonderful riches if you care to look, and I’m not talking about oil revenue.’ His expression told her he loved his homeland.

‘The people are strong and proud of their traditions. But they’ re struggling now to meld their old ways with the best the modern world has to offer.’ He paused, focused on her. ‘You’ve never travelled overseas?’

‘I’ve never been anywhere much.’ At his curious look she continued. ‘I grew up on a small farm. Making ends meet was always a struggle. Travel was a luxury.’

‘And when you left home?’

She ducked her head, watching her hands fold the thick fabric in her lap.

‘I never left. I had plans to go to the city and study, but there was a drought and my father couldn’t spare me.’ He’d reminded her time and again that it was her duty to stand by him as he’d done his duty and kept her with him all those years. A pity his concept of duty didn’t include even a skerrick of warmth or love.

‘And now?’

‘Now? I work here.’

‘Helping your family?’

Maggie thought of the empty front bedroom in the old house, the echoing loneliness of the place she called home.

‘There was only my father.’ Maggie hadn’t had any contact from her mother or sister since the day they’d left. ‘He died a few months ago.’

‘You must miss him.’

Must she? Miss the stern lectures, the disapproving attitude, the dour temperament?

‘I… He wasn’t an easy man to live with.’ That had to be the understatement of the century. Nothing Maggie ever did had been good enough, even when her extra income had been all that kept the old farm afloat. ‘He should have had a son. A daughter is a disappointment to a man like that.’

‘I’m sorry, Maggie.’ The words were filled with understanding. She darted a glance at Khalid. Was that compassion in his liquid dark eyes? ‘Some of us aren’t blessed with the best of parents.’

‘You too?’

He paused, as if taken aback by the personal question.

‘My father had no time for his family,’ he said eventually. ‘No time for children. He had…other interests.’ Khalid’s tone made it clear those interests weren’t anything he approved of. ‘He was an absentee parent, rarely home. And when he was, let’s just say he had little patience with small boys.’

Reading between the lines, Maggie felt a sharp stab of fellow feeling, a sympathy for the suffering Khalid had skated over. For the stoic endurance not to collapse under the weight of a parent’s cruel neglect.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was husky. ‘Little boys need a dad.’

‘And so do little girls.’

To her horror, his ready sympathy cracked the brittle wall she’d built around her feelings. For years she’d struggled against the belief that she was unlovable, ever since her mum had rejected her, taking Cassie instead. Tonight her fears and pain had coalesced into an aching void of anguish that filled her very being. The force of it clogged her throat and fractured her breathing.

‘Maggie.’ Khalid must have seen the stricken expression on her face. He reached out and pulled her close, tucking her head into his shoulder. He rubbed her back with small, circular, soothing movements.

‘You’ve done this before,’ she murmured, trying to regain her composure and downplay her reaction to his touch. ‘Do you have sisters?’

‘No sisters.’

‘A wife?’

She was dimly aware of his pause before he said, ‘No wife.’

A heartbeat of silence and then he urged, ‘Hold me, Maggie.’

She needed no second urging. Maggie slid her arms around him and burrowed close to his heat. She knew later she’d be horribly embarrased but for now her need for comfort drove her beyond her usual diffidence.

His arms tightened around her and a shiver rippled through Maggie as his warmth seeped into her bones. The rock-solid strength of him, the tangible, living power of muscle and bone and sinew, were more real than anything else in the world. His unique spicy scent invaded her nostrils, making her nerves tingle into an awareness that had nothing to do with solace.

The scent, the feel, even the sound of him, the powerful throb of his heart beneath her ear, were all wondrous. She pressed her face to the fine silk of his shirt. Through the fabric his skin was hot, taut and inviting. She breathed deep, drawing in the heady aroma of warm, healthy male.

That was when she registered his quickening heartbeat, the changed tempo of his breathing. Tentatively she lifted a hand to splay over his chest.

The tiniest of tremors rippled across his skin. The hand palming her back ceased its movement and his other hand clamped down on her arm, as if to drag it away.

Thunder echoed in her ears as her pulse raced. Suddenly this innocent embrace had transformed into something charged with unspoken danger.

With excitement. And longing. It bubbled up inside her like a newfound spring—the need for more. The need for him. This was nothing like what she’d felt with Marcus. This was… elemental, as sudden as a thunderclap and just as unmistakable, even to someone of her limited experience.

Heat blossomed deep within as her breath caught, stilled by the stunning realisation of how much more she wanted from this man.

‘It’s time you moved.’ His voice sounded stretched.

Heat flamed her cheeks. What was she thinking? He’d offered her comfort, not a sexual invitation. Just because she felt that sunburst of white-hot desire didn’t mean it was reciprocated. Hadn’t she learned anything tonight?

‘Maggie, you need to sit up. You don’t want to do something you’ll regret later.’

She frowned. Something she’d regret?

‘What do you mean?’ she whispered at last.

Strong hands pried her away, gently pushing her back to her corner of the sofa. Ebony eyes met hers. His face was grim, his mouth a tight line.

‘You’re upset. You’re not yourself. It’s time to end this. You don’t want to play with fire.’

‘Fire?’ She wasn’t normally obtuse, but surely he didn’t mean what she thought he meant. Was it even remotely possible that he felt it too? The sudden overwhelming need for intimacy that ousted everything else? The consuming hunger? A need for her, for plain, no-frills Maggie Lewis?

His gaze narrowed, flicking down to her mouth, and lower to the V-neck of the robe she wore. Flames licked her skin beneath his trailing gaze and tension coiled tight in her belly as her breathing shortened.

‘I’m a man, Maggie. If we don’t stop now it won’t be comfort I’ll be giving you. It will be something much more intimate.’

The words echoed on and on in the silence between them. They should have shocked her, made her draw back. But instead the blatant weight of sensuality in his bald statement had the opposite effect. Excitement tingled down her spine and drew her stomach muscles tight.

Maggie strove to be sensible, careful, reserved, all the things she’d been before tonight.

But something vital had changed. Now, for the first time, she knew what it was to want a man. Really want, with every fibre of her body. It was an urgent, unstoppable force. A compulsion shuddering through her very bones.

She had two choices. She could pretend this wasn’t real. Shrug on her usual self-effacing persona and try to hide from this surge of powerful desire. Or she could welcome it; give in to the strongest need she’d ever felt.

She could be bold or she could be sensible.

She’d spent a lifetime being sensible and self-sacrificing. Where had that got her?

‘And you don’t want to do that?’

She didn’t recognise her hoarse voice. Excitement and anxiety closed her throat. She couldn’t believe she’d just invited another rebuff, but the new sensations heating her blood were too compelling to ignore. She had to know.

Hooded eyes surveyed her and she felt the distance grow between them. He was going to reject her. Something dimmed inside her.

Finally he spoke. ‘I shouldn’t.’ He raised his hand and thrust it back through his hair in a jerky gesture. ‘I shouldn’t but…yes, God help me, I want to.’