Читать книгу One Desert Night: Destined for the Desert King / Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem / Claimed by the Sheikh - Kate Walker - Страница 15

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘LET ME CONVINCE YOU.’

It was half-plea, half-enticement.

Unexpectedly she lifted her arms—spread them out on either side of her, leaving her whole body open to him. The movement lifted those lush breasts high, putting temptation right there in front of him and forcing him into a brutal fight against his natural impulse to give in to that enticement without thinking.

‘I know you believe that I could be planning to harm you, but I swear I’m not. So why don’t you prove it—search me. Go on,’ she urged when he didn’t move. ‘Check me out—you’ll not find anything. I’m not carrying any weapon.’

Nothing except those wide, beseeching eyes, that rich, soft mouth, those glorious breasts... Did she know what it would do to him to touch her now when he was already so hot and hard in arousal just from having her against him?

She was Aziza—had to be Aziza—and so she brought with her everything he had looked for, everything he needed in this marriage. As Farouk’s younger daughter, she ensured the benefits of the peace treaty, the alliance with her father, the future that this union offered for the country. Did he need to do this?

‘Do it,’ Aziza said sharply when he still hesitated, fighting a grim and brutal battle with himself against the urge to do just as she asked—more than she asked. To do what she was inviting.

But the truth was that it was what she was inviting that made him hesitate. Wasn’t this the best way to distract him?

‘I need to prove that I’ve not come here to harm you.’

If he was honest, Nabil acknowledged, then he would be all sorts of a fool to leave things just as they were. He needed to prove that she was harmless, that the pretence that she had been Zia the maid when really she was a member of the El Afarim family had been just an accident, not part of some other plot. But life had taught him that there were plots where you least expected them; and the most innocent, the most beautiful face could hide a lying, treacherous heart. It was the only safe, the only sensible thing to do. But he didn’t feel at all safe and he didn’t feel in the least bit sensible as he moved her slightly backwards, away from him, and, with the knife still held in one hand, carefully began to move the other hand across the glorious curves she offered him.

How the hell did security officers, his bodyguards, ever manage this? he asked himself as his fingertips patted over the silken robe, keeping to the safety of her neck and shoulders first, but then moving down, lower, over the slopes of her breasts, and underneath where the soft weight seemed to fall into his palms with wicked enticement.

He would have been all right then, too, if only he hadn’t glanced up. Hadn’t looked into her face and seen the way her eyes had darkened, their lids becoming heavy, hooded, as her breathing became deeper, slower too. He could feel her pulse, thick and heavy, and saw her head fall back, eyes closing slowly, her soft mouth opening slightly.

He was on very thin ice indeed. If he gave in too quickly to the hungry demands of his aroused body, he of all people knew how foolish that was. Hadn’t Sharmila taught him anything? In the back of his mind he could hear her words—the words he had believed to be motivated by love and caring.

Come to bed, my lord, and make me your wife.

‘Nabil...’

Aziza’s whole body was burning up in response to his touch, her breasts tightening, heated moisture gathering between her legs. The feel of those hot, hard palms against her body, even with the fine silk of her wedding dress between them, was like being branded for life. Branded as his. Wherever he touched she thought that a trail of marked skin would follow the path of those tormenting fingers and she could barely stop herself from pressing into that scorching connection. When his searching hands swept down from below her tingling breasts to smooth over the curves of her hips, the intimate response that shuddered through her had her doing a small, uncontrolled little shimmy against his touch.

‘As you see, I’m not hiding anything,’ she managed, her throat raw and dry.

‘No...’ He sounded worse than she did.

‘So take me to bed, my lord, make me your wife.’

Nabil’s shocking response was a violently muttered curse. Unbelievably, he suddenly stopped his search, his hands frighteningly still for a moment.

‘Enough,’ he declared harshly, cold and withdrawn.

Enough? Aziza blinked hard, tried to stare at him through unfocused eyes. How could that be enough? He must be as aroused as her. How could he switch it off, forget it in the space of a heartbeat?

But when she looked into his face it was as if it was dead, totally closed off and opaque. He had withdrawn into some secret space where she couldn’t reach him and he snatched his hands away sharply, letting the heat evaporate and leaving her cold, jolting her out of the sensual dream she’d foolishly let herself drift into.

‘I said enough!’

His hands came up between them, like a knife cutting off all connection; his face was so set and hard, each muscle taut.

‘We are done.’

She was back to being Zia, the unwanted maid.

You stupid little fool—you wouldn’t even know who you were kissing. What kind of man you wanted...

The words rang inside her head, harder now, more brutal than before and hitting home with cruel precision. Because this time she knew just who she had been kissing; and she very definitely knew what kind of man she wanted. She wanted Nabil and only him, her childhood crush flowering into a fully formed adult hunger. The trouble was that he couldn’t have made it any plainer that she was not the kind of woman he wanted.

At least not in any way that he would admit to. But he had wanted her before—hadn’t he? She had so little experience in these things so had she read it all wrong? Was it true that, as her father had always said, she was not the marriageable prospect that her sister was? Or had she shocked Nabil by appearing so forward, by displaying her need so openly?

‘But now that you know I’m not concealing any weapon? That I’m no danger to you...?’

‘Not unless that was your secret weapon,’ Nabil flashed back, stunning her.

His searing look that slid over her bewildered face, lingering at her breasts and hips, confused her even further until she realised just what he was saying and her blood ran cold.

‘You think that I was trying to seduce you into...’

‘You were not trying—you were succeeding,’ Nabil retorted but he managed to make it sound as if that was the greatest crime on earth.

She was forgetting that the man who had grabbed her hand and all but dragged her here from the banqueting hall had had his mind filled with thoughts of conspiracy and treachery. Did he really believe that she had set out to seduce him, to distract his thoughts from the realisation he had been deceived...betrayed? The memory of the moment he had pulled out the knife made it feel as if the weapon had twisted in her own heart.

She had tried so hard to make him believe that she was someone he could trust, even submitting to that brutally intimate search, letting his hard fingers go wherever they wanted on her body. She could still feel the scorch they had left behind.

‘As I said, we are done.’ The ultimate dismissal.

Just for a moment Aziza almost returned to the mood of the night when they’d met on the balcony. When she had been pretending to be Zia the maid. He had spoken in the same dismissive way then, wanting rid of her as quickly as possible. Once again she’d been ordered to leave the presence of the Sheikh, dismissed by him, and this time her response was very nearly the same. She even let her hands drop to gather the golden folds of her skirt, ready to dip into the respectful curtsey protocol demanded. But then she met Nabil’s cold-eyed stare once more and knew a welcome rush of rebellion.

No. The word reverberated inside her head so strongly that she felt sure Nabil must hear it too. But the brutal glare showed no response, no alteration in his expression. She felt the change in herself, though, and was determined to act on it. He had chosen her once even if the dark suspicions built by something in his past had caused him to go back on that decision. She would show him that, even if he didn’t believe it as yet, she had his best interests and that of the kingdom at heart.

‘So you want me to go out there...’

With a wave of her hand she gestured towards the closed door through which he had bundled her such a short time before.

‘And let everyone see that this marriage has failed already? To tell my father that the treaty is null and void—dead in the water?’

And that her father was correct when he’d said that his ‘other daughter’ was not a suitable wife for the Sheikh.

‘As you wish.’ She made her voice as cold as his had been.

Then she drew herself up, lifted her chin and turned on her heel. Not even glancing back over her shoulder to see his response, refusing to let it look as if she cared, she took one step away from him, then another.

‘One moment.’

It came from behind her, brutal and hard as a bullet hitting her between her shoulder blades.

‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’

Was he going to let her go? Nabil demanded of himself. Was he actually going to let her walk out of here and take with her everything that this whole marriage arrangement had been about? Was he really going to throw away the peace and prosperity of the country, the heir that his throne needed so badly?

‘I believe that you said we are done. If that is the case then I don’t intend to wait around for you to decide whether you trust me or not.’

It wasn’t her he didn’t trust, but her father. Farouk had been scheming for this wedding for so long that he could believe Aziza’s father would do anything to make it work. Even accept that the daughter Nabil had chosen had not been the one he had wanted him to marry. It was strange but now, when she was walking away from him, his mind was filled with the most vivid image of when they had first met, when she had fallen from that pony and broken her finger. She must have been in pain and distress, but her small back had been straight, her head held high as her nursemaid had hurried her away. She was so much taller now, her figure that of a woman, not a child. But it wasn’t the physical change that struck him. It was the proud defiance, the regal elegance of her figure.

He had spent too long thinking of the gentle child Aziza had been that it was a shock to realise she had become a woman—all woman. Even more of a shock to recognise that she was the woman he had lusted over when she had told him her name was Zia. If he let her go now then he was losing more than just the treaty and doing his duty by the country. This wasn’t for Rhastaan, this was personal.

But in that case, trust was all the more important. He’d rushed into this marriage with too little thought. He’d weighed the pros and cons of the arranged marriage with a cool head, but he’d chosen Aziza in a very different mood. The last time he’d done that it had ended with marriage to Sharmila, and the fallout from that had scarred so much more than his face. If there was one thing that experience had taught him, it was to be wary, that nothing was what it appeared on the surface.

He had time to spare on this. He could bank the treaty, play a careful game, and see if he might get more out of it than he had ever planned. One thing he was sure of was that he was damned well not going to lose the women who had sexually excited him most in years if he could help it.

‘Did I give you permission to leave?’

‘Do I need your permission?’

She wanted to resist—wished she had the strength to tell him to go to hell and turn and walk away. But she knew she wasn’t going to manage that. How could she try for any other reaction when she’d already given him the message he wanted simply by staying at all?

She had to prove to him that she could be trusted. That there was no conspiracy at all behind her appearance as his potential bride. What else could she do? If Nabil suspected her father, her whole family would be in danger, her mother and sister disgraced.

The memory of the moment he had taken her from the banqueting hall, the way that her father had had to bow as she passed, the look on Jamalia’s face when Farouk had said those words he has chosen you, all combined to put a touch of steel in her spine, fire up her blood. She could see his face reflected in a mirror on the wall, the dark scowl that brought his black brows together.

‘I am the King,’ he growled now.

‘And I am your Queen. Well, that’s true, isn’t it? Or was our marriage illegal in some way?’

She waited a nicely calculated moment, watched his face freeze, those black eyes flashing dangerously.

‘You wanted to know who I am—well, I’m not Zia the maid, or even just Aziza any more. I am the Sheikha, the Sheikh’s chosen wife, by marriage at least if not in actual fact.’

That hit home. She saw his eyes go to the bedroom door, then back again, fixing on her so strongly that she felt the force of his stare like a laser burn at the back of her head.

‘You took me as your wife today and as such I no longer need to bow down to anyone.’

His smile was deadly. A quick, rough quirk of his lips that warned of something dangerous to come.

‘Outside this room, perhaps. But surely you know that a marriage needs to be consummated before it becomes formally finalised—a fact rather than just a declaration of intent?’

‘Consummated...’

This time she couldn’t help herself. She turned partway, then froze again as she met the black ice of his stare. Just hours before, her foolish young heart had dreamed of sharing this man’s bed, of giving him her body, because he had made her feel special, chosen—wanted. It had been the fulfilment of her adolescent dreams. But that was when she’d believed he wanted her more than any other woman.

Now she dreaded the possibility because she knew that he saw her only as his to command. A pawn in the treaty negotiations. He didn’t even trust her and her attempts to explain had been dashed aside.

Did he really expect her to stay, to share his bed tonight? Of course he did. That was what this marriage had always been about. But that was before he had believed that she and her family had somehow deceived him.

Then there was that other vital reason he had married her. He needed an heir, so did that override his dark distrust?

‘Are you saying that you believe me now? That you don’t think that I married you under false pretences? So do I go or do I stay?’

Her thoughts dried up as Nabil prowled towards her, silent-footed, as sleek and dangerous as a beautiful black panther stalking his prey.

Coming level with her, he slid his hand under her chin to lift her face when she tried just to stare at the ground to avoid him.

‘You stay.’

His smile was deadly, steely-eyed, with a twist to his mouth that had nothing of warmth in it. It was a smile that spoke of possession, of ownership. The smile of a man who knew he was the ultimate ruler; that he held her fate in the palm of his hand.

‘Walk out that door and you take with you your own reputation and that of your family. As you are so determined to point out to me, you are now my Queen and as such you are expected to share my room. My bed.’

His cold-eyed gaze left her face and drifted over towards the door into his bedroom. If there was anything that brought home to her just how much things had changed since the moment they had almost stumbled through that door in a hot-blooded rush, she’d thought for the bed, it was the look that was stamped on to his stunning features. Every muscle in his face was set hard as stone, his jaw tight, those sensual lips clamped into a thin, hard line.

Did that twist of her heart, the sudden fluttering in her throat speak of excitement or fear? Was she always condemned to suffer ambiguous feelings about this man? At one moment wishing to be anywhere but here, at another knowing that she would be the target of bitter disappointment if she was never to know him fully.

‘Oh, you need not look so appalled, habibti.’

He actually smiled when he saw her expression.

‘I think that neither of us wants to rush into anything tonight. The country needs an heir but for tonight the country must wait. It has waited years already—what will one more night matter?’

He couldn’t let her go, Nabil acknowledged inwardly. He had known that as soon as he had seen her turn and walk towards the door. But he knew only too well where his reckless desire for another woman had led him. Once the ghost of Sharmila had come between them, everything had been blackened and distorted by those memories.

Aziza or Zia were one and the same it seemed, but he still had to question whether that meeting on the balcony had been as innocent as it had appeared or something else. He knew what he wanted to think, but what he wanted had only shown him in the past that where women were concerned he was a fool, and a blind one at that.

As a king, he needed a queen. As a man, he needed a woman. When he had seen Aziza walk away from him, her head held high, her back as straight as a spear, those lush hips undulating with every step she took, she had looked every inch a queen: beautiful, stately, regal. And he had wanted her like the devil.

He still wanted her. So much that his whole body hurt. Even as he had come out with that ‘one more night’ line, his unappeased desire had been like a scream in his head.

She was his wife for goodness’ sake! What he wanted to do was to grab hold of her, lift her from her feet and carry her into the bedroom—throw her down on to the black silk covers and lose himself in the heat and beauty of her body.

Hell, no! There was more to play for here than just a night of hot sex. This marriage was supposed to have been for the future of the country. He was not prepared to take risks with it.

‘We have all the time in the world. So you can have my bed tonight—without me in it. I will take the couch.’

‘Oh, but...’

The protest tumbled from those plump rose-tinted lips as her eyes widened in shock—distress at being caught out? Or was she really as concerned as she appeared?

‘Surely the couch will be too small—uncomfortable for you? I should sleep there.’

‘Still playing the dedicated maid, little one?’ he murmured, smiling down into her uplifted face. But it was a smile that chilled the evening air, her stomach twisting into tight, painful knots. ‘I’m flattered—but there is no need for your concern. Believe me, in the desert I have slept on far harder beds, or no mattress at all. I will be fine.’

If he slept at all. The thought of lying through the long hours of the night knowing that Aziza was only metres away amongst the soft cushions of his bed left him doubting that he would enjoy a moment’s sleep throughout the night.

‘And I suppose you still want to make sure that I don’t try to sneak out in the night, to meet with the fellow conspirators you have imagined I’m working with?’

Aziza’s head came up, golden eyes blazing defiance above pale cheeks that had been drawn tight across her fine cheekbones. The Queen was back and it twisted in his guts to see her there, cursing the need for caution that held him back from enjoying the wedding night he had anticipated.

‘It must be hell to be so cynical about people—and always looking for something underneath the surface, never trusting anyone.’

‘You get used to it.’

The admission shocked Aziza, stunning her into silence. Once again her thoughts were torn in two different ways, feeling both repelled at the black cynicism of his statement and troubled at the thought of what had made him live like this. When his hand went up to rub at the scar on his cheek, she was tormented by images of the day he had been injured, the way he still reacted to any possible threat.

In spite of herself her hand went up, wanting to touch his face, ease the discomfort of that wound—in all ways. But the look in his eyes, the way his head jerked backwards, stopped the movement as it began.

‘You can trust me.’

‘I will decide when—if—that is true. For now, this is how it is to be.’

Without warning he took one step forward and, bending his head, brought his lips down hard on hers, crushing her mouth open so that the intimate taste of him flooded her senses, weakened her knees. Just a couple of heartbeats and then it was over. He was retreating from her, pushing her towards the bedroom as he swung away to the huge windows that looked down into the courtyard where the wedding festivities were still going on, the celebrations mocking the reality of the way the promised wedding night had turned out for the bride and groom.

‘Go to bed, wife,’ he commanded harshly. ‘I will see you in the morning.’

Deliberately he turned his back on her, folding his arms across his broad chest as he stared out at the darkened city below. He obviously didn’t spare her a single further thought but, as Aziza stumbled wearily in the direction of the bedroom she had expected to share with her groom that night, that kiss left her knowing that even without trust, without any form of affection, one touch, one caress, could still set molten desire pouring through her veins in a way that left her hungering for more.