Taken by the Desert Sheikh Page 8

  Amber lifted her head, her eyes meeting the scornful stare of the beautiful woman dressed in scandalously sexy see-through pants and a sparkling bra-top. A jewel glittered in her navel and even more jewels gleamed in her plaited midnight-black hair.

  Amber’s belly did a sick spin. She was clearly in the harem quarters of his palace otherwise Kaela would at the very least be wearing her hijab. Amber didn’t even want to acknowledge that this beautiful woman was one of Zafar’s sex slaves.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Kaela murmured in a throaty, bedroom voice that twisted Amber’s belly a little more.

  “And you are?” Amber demanded imperiously. She might look like a street rat tossed over Zafar’s shoulder, but she was still a sheikha!

  Amber yelped as the world abruptly shifted and Zafar placed her back on her feet. His big hands lingered on her hips even as his mouth twitched. “Kaela is here to ensure you’re scrubbed clean and dressed appropriately for dinner.”

  “How considerate of you,” Amber snarled. Sounding more like the street rat and less like a princess.

  He’d very smoothly navigated the conversation away from the fact Kaela was one of his many harem girls, a woman he fucked on a regular basis. Amber ignored the burning sensation inside. Her spine stiffened. She didn’t give a damn how many strokes of Zafar’s cock this woman, and all the other harem women, had experienced.

  He clasped her chin and tilted her face higher, as though he was fascinated by her eyes. Perhaps he got off on seeing them flash with hate? Then his other hand gently brushed the wound on her brow, before he murmured, “I look after my own.”

  She stood gaping after him when he spun on his heel and strode through the huge room, before he disappeared through twin pillars that supported the domed roof.

  “This way.” Kaela’s voice rang out haughtily, with undercurrents of disdain, as though it was she who was sheikha, not Amber.

  But still Amber found herself following the other woman whose sway of generous hips and tiny waist seemed the perfect framework for a woman out to seduce men like Zafar.

  Yet the sheikh had been distinctly disinterested in Kaela. Amber’s lips compressed. She had no doubt Zafar would discard her too once the novelty of taking his neighboring sheikha had worn thin.

  Her pulse thudded fiercely. She couldn’t stop Zafar from adding her to his harem, but he’d never get her heart. That part of her was sacred and would stay that way. He could take her virginity and use her body countless times, but he’d take nothing else.

  Kaela snapped her fingers at twin girls who walked toward them. The dark-haired woman spoke to them in their native tongue, making Amber feel even more like an outsider. Although her own people spoke Yheminic and she understood Qutum’s Arabic language, she had to concentrate to understand its flow.

  The twins stepped toward Amber with big smiles and clucking tongues. They led her away from Kaela and through half-a-dozen archways until they reached a square room, where tendrils of steam sat heavy in the air and a sparkling blue bathing pool took up much of the floor space.

  Before Amber could object, the twins set to work taking off her filthy clothes. The twins’ deft hands stripped her in less than a minute before they too undressed and grabbed Amber’s hands, tugging her toward the pool’s steps. When they walked with her into the warm water, she couldn’t help but sigh.

  This was her idea of heaven.

  Easing her onto her back, one twin proceeded to scrub her hair with shampoo, while the other soaped up her body, paying particular attention to cleaning the graze on her brow. Amber felt herself drift, enjoying the feel of the dirt, sweat and sand drifting off her body, and appreciating the twins’ intentions to revert her back to the clean, spoiled sheikha she’d once been.

  Another sigh shuddered out. Before the war she’d been so soft, her hands without scrapes and blisters, her skin clean, scented and without sunburn. But she’d also been as close to beautiful as she’d ever get with her overlarge eyes and high cheekbones, and a slightly jutting chin that, in her world at least, revealed a need to question and defy.

  Even as a sheikha she was too forward. In her world the most highly prized women were submissive and docile. And now that her country was constantly on the edge of war and destitution, she was even less attractive to her male counterparts.

  Odd how depressed she felt knowing the famed Zafar would likely close his eyes while he claimed her. She was a trophy fuck, a pawn in whatever game he was playing with her father and the near destitute Yhemen.

  The twins drew her out of the bath, then dried her thoroughly and wrapped her in a towel. She had little choice but to follow them into another room, this one much bigger with long length mirrors and chairs reminiscent of a hairdressing saloon. She knew right away it was where the harem women were primped and preened.

  She sat on one of the chairs that tilted back while the twins got busy tweezing and waxing every part of her body. Damned if it didn’t feel wonderful having it all stripped away and her skin bared to the cool air.

  After three days in the desert, not to mention almost fifteen months of forays in and out of the sandy wilderness, she was happy to be pampered. Even the lilac scented cream they rubbed into her skin made her feel more human, more womanly.

  She closed her eyes and drifted off for a little while they brushed out her hair and blow dried it, before pinning up the sides. She smiled at how soft and feminine she looked, wholly aware her hair wouldn’t stay pinned for long. It’d always had a mind of its own.

  One of the twins presented her with an outfit, and said in halting Yhemenic, “We hope you will wear our traditional dress.”

  She nodded. “Of course.” Did she have any choice? Not that she’d look anything like a harem woman.

  While Kaela had looked sexy and beautiful in her revealing, thin-as-gossamer clothes, the short, gold beaded top and white low-waisted pants with its belt of gold coins would only reveal Amber’s midriff. She scowled. It probably wasn’t a bad thing. The last few months had been grueling, where she’d eaten little and lived mostly on nerves and oxygen. Her body had grown harder, leaner, her soft curves long gone.

  Except by the time the twins had dressed her, applied kohl to her eyes and gloss to her lips, the woman staring back at her in the mirror didn’t look half bad. In fact she almost looked stunning.

  One of the twins clapped her hands in delight even before the other twin placed a glittering tiara on Amber’s head.

  Holy crap. The headwear wasn’t some low-budget affair, it was a quality piece worth a fortune. Her spine stiffened. The vaults in her father’s palace had once kept the family jewels, heirlooms and valuables safe. Now all but a few had been sold to help protect their province.

  This beautiful tiara would go a long way in helping feed Yhemen’s soldiers, not to mention their families they’d left behind.

  One of the twins motioned for Amber to again follow them. Brushing aside any further wishful thinking, she walked through the big rooms with priceless wall hangings and statues, before she stepped into a huge room with an equally huge and impressive table. The sheikh could hold a feast for an entire village here.

  Zafar sat at the very end of the table, and he pushed to his feet at seeing her arrival. Her throat dried and butterflies danced in her belly as she walked toward him, skirting the polished hardwood table with its row of chairs and ignoring the glittering chandelier overhead.

  Even before she stilled before him, she was aware his dark eyes had turned molten at her change of appearance. His big hands snared her waist and he stepped close, his nose brushing hers in traditional greeting, which felt way too intimate for her peace of mind.

  “My little dove. It seems you really have become my most precious jewel,” he murmured huskily.

  Chapter Three

  Zafar couldn’t stop staring at the stunning woman who’d strolled toward him with an inborn grace that showcased her birthright and belied her earlier soldier swagger.

 
; His breath caught. Fuck, she was magnificent.

  He might have been drawn to Amber from the start, but he’d never imagined this kind of transformation. Her eyes flashed with awareness. But he sensed her distance when she said, “Underneath I’m still the same feral sheikha you first met covered in sand and dirt.”

  He laughed, but the sound was startlingly husky and warm. Perhaps he was the one transformed from cold merciless leader to someone almost benevolent. Not exactly the notorious sheikh she seemed to imagine she knew.

  He reached for her hand this time, a frisson of electricity sparking through him even before he bent and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. It was a western touch that he hoped she’d appreciate. He lifted his head and reluctantly released her hand. “You’re a woman of many guises. I find it beyond intriguing.”

  Her eyes flashed and she compressed her lips. “But that’s not why I’m here, is it?”

  So she wasn’t quite as naïve as he’d first believed. His benevolence slipped away like a thief into the dying night. Was she even still a virgin? With her country at war and Amber taking on a role that wasn’t fitting for a woman, he wasn’t entirely sure it was possible her innocence, in that regard at least, had stayed intact.

  Despite sharing a border, he knew so little about her, only the latest rumors swirling around about the sheikha-turning-soldier with her country on the precipice of falling into rebels hands. But her bravery and her loyalty would speak volumes in uniting their people.

  He only wished he’d met Amber under different circumstances, before war had engulfed her country and built an invisible wall between them. But wishes were for dreamers and he didn’t have time for that. He had practical matters to contend with, like resolving once and for all the growing conflict that now threatened his province, perhaps even his entire country.

  Tension moved into place across his shoulders, his voice sounding terser than he wanted. “No, that’s not why you’re here.” He pushed away any lingering empathy and added, “But let’s not discuss this on an empty stomach. I presume you’re hungry.”

  She nodded, clearly relieved at putting off the inevitable. “Starved.”

  He brushed aside a far different hunger, one that involved hearing her little cries of pleasure. He’d always loved a challenge, and seducing the sheikha would be far and away the most enjoyable task yet.

  Ignoring his libido, he clapped his hands. Within seconds some of his servants filed into the room from the nearby kitchen with cloche-covered plates. “I’ve ordered a good selection.”

  He pulled out a chair and she dropped into the seat, undoubtedly weak-kneed with hunger after living outside his palace in the desert for too damn long. Three days if the reports were to be believed.

  He smiled grimly. Of course he could have escorted her into his desert palace much earlier, but he’d waited it out, allowed the sheikha to believe she had the upper hand. But she’d lost that the moment she’d believed kidnapping him for his riyals could save Yhemen.

  Little fool.

  Her royal guard, Lamar, was just one of the Grand Vizier’s network of many spies.

  Still, Amber’s courage counted for a hell of a lot in his books. He’d never truly admired the insipid women his culture encouraged. Give him fire and passion in a woman any day. His dick twitched again, and he hid a smile. Damned if he wasn’t looking forward to sinking balls-deep into the sheikha, and making her his once and for all.

  As one plate after the other filled the end of the table, each dish was promptly uncovered. Middle Eastern dishes consisted of hummus on pita bread, grilled halloumi, lamb kofta and fattoush salad. Knowing her background and that she’d spent some time in England, he’d also ordered western dishes. Pizza, battered fish and chips, roast beef with gravy. And last but not least, sugared cinnamon donuts.

  She turned to him as he sat. “Just so you know, I’m about to make an utter pig out of myself. If I’m lucky, it might even turn you off me.”

  He shrugged and smirked. “Quite the opposite, I admire a woman with a healthy appetite.”

  All too often he gritted his teeth at seeing any number of his twenty-three harem women ignoring yet another nice meal, which could feed many of those half-starved people bordering his province.

  The flash of annoyance in Amber’s eyes made it clear she wasn’t happy with his admission, but her hunger won over her hope to turn him off. She picked up a chunk of halloumi with her bare hands and bit into it, her eyes closing in rapture as she hummed approval.

  His throat closed. Is that how she’d look and sound having sex? Holy shit. What would she look like in the throes of an orgasm? If it wasn’t for his western education he just might have given into his own inner swine and found out sooner rather than later.

  She looked up, licked her fingers and asked, “You’re not hungry?”

  Not for food.

  He stabbed a piece of roast and bit into it without really tasting it. Which was a pity seeing as his chefs were some of the best in the world, who used the finest local and imported ingredients.

  “You like English food?” she asked, evidently shocked by his western taste.

  He shrugged. “Yes. I was educated in London and I grew to love their culture and diet.”

  She stopped chewing. “Really?” She sniggered and shook her head. “I’m guessing Oxford or Cambridge.”

  “Oxford.”

  She nodded. “It figures.”

  He arched a brow. “Oh?”

  She picked up her skewered kofta and bit into the juicy meat, her enjoyment obvious. He wondered if his erection was just as obvious behind his now too tight pants. Bloody hell. He should have worn his customary thobe.

  She shrugged, but there was an edge of disgust on her face when she explained, “A traditional man would never stand back and let his surrounding countries suffer at the hands of extremists.”

  He stifled sharp anger and instead arched a brow. “And you think someone whose beliefs might be skewed by western ideals would turn a blind eye?”

  “Yes.”

  Even a seasoned soldier wouldn’t dare stand up to him like this little chit did. His erection pulsed, hardening to bursting point. It took every bit of his willpower not to pick her up, bend her over the table and fuck her until they were both drained of the powerful desire simmering to boiling point between them.

  She had reason to believe the worst of him. With her country at war she’d probably had no idea what was happening across the border. Her brief foray into his province had been secretive and with seemingly few people aware of her mission. Lamar, one of his many spies, certainly wouldn’t have said anything to her that might give himself away.

  Amber would have no idea that the El-Amin siblings were doing everything in their power to regain peace after taking full reign of their respective provinces. They’d had no choice when their already ailing father had died in a freak helicopter accident, leaving Qutum in mourning and unrest.

  Zafar’s chest tightened with a loss that was still as raw and fierce now as it was the day of his father’s death. Though Sheikh Rafir had been ill with kidney disease, which had kept him bedridden some days, he’d still been young and full of life. He’d been a well-loved sheikh and his people missed him greatly.

  Zafar and his brothers now welcomed the sage counsel from Grand Vizier, Ahmet Khan, who’d helped keep Qutum war-free for many years. They’d even consented to the Grand Vizier’s suggestion of marriage to unite their people and help put a stop to the upheaval around them.

  The hill tribe elders were especially riled up with him and his brothers’ western ideals to educate women and bring their country out of the dark ages. But the marriages would appease the conservative elders who disapproved of everything El-Amin.

  His elder brother, Jamal, had already wed and cemented relations with the hill tribes, and now it was Zafar’s duty to do the same. Except the looming nuptials with Amber was no longer something to be dreaded. The Yhemen sheikha stoked a fire in his g
roin that he hadn’t experienced for quite some time.

  But right now he wasn’t inclined to tell the sheikha the sacrifices he and his brothers were undertaking to ensure no more innocent lives were lost. Instead he placed his knife and fork beside his plate and asked mildly, “Who said I was standing back?”

  Her eyes flashed, but the beat of the riqq and shake of its jingles interrupted whatever Amber was about to say. Zafar stifled a glower. He’d ordered entertainment. He could hardly demand the musician now leave.

  When four more musicians stepped into the room playing a jawzah, oud, nay and qanun to add to the riqq’s beat, he settled back to ostensibly watch them. Mostly though he drank in Amber’s not quite hidden delighted reaction. It was clear she missed the pleasant diversions of palace life, and the Middle Eastern sounds she’d grown up with.

  He picked at some more of his food, doing his utmost to enjoy his meal and focus on the sheikha. She wasn’t classically beautiful, her features were too big, her face too narrow. But it was as if a master craftsman had put all her odd parts together and made her flawless.

  A trio of his harem girls appeared, Kaela in the center. But his attention scarcely moved to the girls he’d all too often sampled between his sheets. He much preferred to watch Amber as the belly dancing began.

  A pity Amber’s beaming smile was soon counteracted by her pinched lips, as though she fought an inner battle between enjoyment and resentment.

  He took a sip from his cup of gahwa, the rich, strong coffee failing to distract him from the woman beside him. These last three days he’d researched Amber’s background and had found a plethora of information about her. But he’d yet to learn of her passion for dance.

  The harem girls completed their first exotic routine. When the music restarted again, he clapped his hands. “Girls, you may leave us now.”

  He didn’t fail to miss the spiteful gleam in Kaela’s eyes. He sighed. The woman was more trouble than she was worth. Little wonder Sheikh Shahzad, ruler of Omana, had sent Kaela to him. She was trouble with big ambitions and little of anything else except looks.