Taken by the Desert Sheikh Page 9

  He’d deal with Kaela later. There was a certain older guard close to retirement who was looking for a wife who could bear children. But unlike his forebears, he’d give Kaela the choice of marriage or freedom, along with a generous allowance.

  For now though he had much a more pleasant task. Anticipation burned through him as he turned back to Amber and ordered brusquely, “You will dance for me now.”

  ***

  With the harem girls gone and the musicians waiting for their next instruction, the silence was almost deafening. But it was Amber’s inner war that left her reeling.

  A part of her wanted to tell Zafar to go straight to hell, another part of her wanted to do as he asked and lose herself in the dance. More importantly, she realized being hostile toward him wasn’t going to work in her favor at all.

  She had her people to think about, not just herself.

  Though she might never get Zafar to love her, just the same as she’d never love him in return, she could make him want her physically. Make him want her so badly she might even be able to persuade him to help Yhemen and her people.

  She nodded once, and then pushed to her feet. She didn’t have her beautiful silk veils she’d once had in abundance in her huge closet at home, but she’d make do with the coins riding low around her hips.

  She sashayed toward the musicians, where only minutes earlier the harem girls had danced. She exhaled softly. She’d show Zafar exactly how good a belly dancer performed with passion for the dance.

  She turned his way, a fluid movement that would negate any of the masculine traits she’d picked up from being a soldier. She might know how to stride about like a man, and be tough and gritty, but zoning in on her pre-soldier days took very little effort.

  Going by the hot glint in Zafar’s stare, she’d succeeded in making him take notice. She hid a smile by tucking her head down and looking at the floor. Huh. Let him think she was some meek and timid girl, ready to serve her sheikh.

  She crossed her arms just as the music started, a slow beat that had her arms glide above her head while her hips rocked side-to-side, her gold coins jingling. The beat accelerated and so did her movements. She flowed to its rhythm, her hips twisting and lifting, her belly rolling even as she slowly turned, showing him not just the lithe muscles in her midriff, but the small of her back as well.

  At the height of the music her hips and belly undulated, her whole body a sinuous, continuous movement. When the fast strumming of the oud and the beat of the riqq, along with the jawzah, nay and qanun, hit fever pitch and then faded, Amber spun, tossed her head and bent back, her arms splayed above her.

  She was breathing heavily, adrenaline and pure joy flooding through her system at performing again. Much as she hated to admit it, Zafar’s slow clap of his hands only heightened the thrill of the moment.

  She sensed his approach, even as she sensed the musicians back away deferentially and leave the room. She stayed still, bent back at an angle that was becoming a little uncomfortable, but refusing to budge until Zafar made the next move.

  He stepped behind her, and her eyes fluttered closed even as every other sense felt his presence. He touched the side of her face with a callused hand, his voice deep and husky when he said, “That was exquisite, little dove. A performance I have no doubt will be forever etched into my brain.”

  She straightened and his hands settled on her hips as he tugged her close, ensuring the hard length of his cock throbbed against the small of her back. One of his hands lifted, straightening the tiara that must’ve come askew. “Let’s go to my bedroom where you can continue your dance.”

  Her eyes fluttered open, her voice caught between husky and hoarse at the sudden dryness in her throat. “The musicians are gone.”

  He chuckled darkly. “I don’t need musicians for what I have in mind.”

  She swallowed. Hard. “And what exactly have you planned?”

  His breath touched her ear lobe, sending ripples of pleasure down her spine even before he murmured, “I plan on having you writhe against the beat of my tongue.”

  Chapter Four

  Amber gasped when Zafar lifted her effortlessly in his arms and strode through an arched doorway that led into the cooler recesses of his palace, where even the heat of the desert sun couldn’t penetrate.

  She vaguely made out stone walls and flickering wall sconces as he turned down half a dozen different corridors before he opened a big wooden door and stepped into a bedroom that was modern and huge.

  It was only the dancing flames from a dozen fragranced candles that seemed yesteryear and romantic. Everything else was stark and masculine, from the lavish black cedar bar filled with quality liquors, a black quilted four-poster bed, marble floor and ceiling mirror to the elaborate home theater system.

  She’d bet he also had a sumptuous theater room somewhere in the palace, better than any cinema she’d been to in London. Her palace certainly didn’t. Everything there had been minimalist at best, their only valuables being the family jewels they’d sold.

  He placed her back on her feet. She stared up at him helplessly, mortified she’d noticed every hard ridge and plane under his white shirt and that she already missed his arms around her that’d carried her so easily. He wasn’t one of the fat, self-indulged sheikhs she’d met and loathed before war had taken her away from royal duties.

  But then she’d bet none of the three El-Amin brothers were anywhere near fat and lazy. Not if the rumors were to be believed. And going by Zafar’s gorgeousness, the reports hadn’t been wrong.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asked huskily.

  She blinked, dragging her wayward thoughts back to reality. Shit. What was wrong with her? She was with a man she despised and yet here she was with her tongue hanging out and her eyes on stalks!

  She sucked in a steadying breath and nodded. “Sure.” At least a potent drink might make her bolder and braver for her deflowering.

  “What would you like?”

  “Surprise me.”

  His teeth gleamed white behind his dark bristled face. “It would be my pleasure.”

  She shivered, fully aware he wasn’t referring to her preference in drinks. Yet she stood mesmerized, like a mouse watching a cobra as he poured amber liquid into squat glasses.

  Zafar clearly enjoyed his western vices, just the same as she did. Not that she’d had a drink in too many days—months?—to remember.

  He handed a half-full glass to her and then lifted his drink in a toast, “To many nights together,” he murmured, before he clinked his glass against hers.

  Her brows shot up. He made it sound like they were going to be…permanent. Fat chance. The moment he let down his guard, she’d find a way to escape.

  She tossed the whiskey down her throat in one swallow, then coughed at the feral burn that reminded her even the most expensive liquor was no longer to her taste. She coughed again. It might as well have been moonshine! She’d grown too used to hot, brackish water.

  She blinked back the tears threatening to stream down her face, tears that could easily have dried from anger when his husky chuckle filled the room at her plight. Except there was something vaguely erotic in seeing his amusement, something that pulled at her and made her want to hear him laugh even more, to see his face relax out of the hard lines and planes that made him look so forbidding.

  She ignored the silly fantasy. If he laughed only at her expense, then she wasn’t in any hurry to see him laugh again. Her chin tilted up, her face hot. “I really shouldn’t be surprised to see you enjoy my suffering.”

  His laughter faded away, though there was still a vague glint in his eyes that told her amusement was the last thing on his mind right then. He took a swallow of his drink and said darkly, “I would kill a person for offending you.”

  “If this is your attempt at humor—“

  “I couldn’t be more serious.”

  “So you’d jump off a cliff then? You know, being that you made me upset and all.”
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  This time his laugh burst out of him like a clap of thunder, and she stood mutely as he took away her empty glass and placed it on the bar with his. There was something about his spontaneous joy that left her speechless and weak at the knees. Something that made her feel less like a sheikha and more like a gawky teenager with a huge crush.

  Maybe it was because she perceived he rarely indulged in that kind of emotion in his life? He was a big powerful leader of his people, with many responsibilities on his broad shoulders. And though she hated to admit it, he had to be quite the diplomat to have kept her enemies out of his own borders.

  He clasped her hands and drew her to him. “You know, I think it’s past time I made you happy.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, her whole body running hot at his suggestion. Somehow she managed to squeak out, “You made me happy by asking me to dance.”

  “Then you’ll dance again,” he said hoarsely, his heated stare making her belly tremble right along with her thighs.

  Her eyelashes fluttered, then closed as he sank to his knees and his big hands outlined her hips. She gasped as he slowly pulled her pants lower still, exposing her smooth pussy and then her thighs and calves, before she stepped free.

  “Exquisite.” He looked up with glittering eyes and added, “Legs apart, little dove.”

  Her breath expelled sharply as his dark head zeroed between the petals of her sex. Her thighs trembled even before the first flick of his tongue shot a tingling bolt right through her.

  She pressed her lips together to stifle a groan as he suckled and tormented her clit with his teeth, lips and tongue. But electricity pulsed stronger and harder, and her juices flowed like a river until she was insensible with bliss. Holy crap, it was all she could do just to hang on for the ride.

  She wanted him to stop. No. She wanted him to lash her bud harder, faster.

  He did exactly that.

  His stubble prickled her sensitized flesh while he sucked and licked her like candy. Her gasp sharpened into a scream as she came, her thighs too weak to support her. But he didn’t stop; his mouth was merciless, sending her straight into another orgasm, a wave of pleasure that hit her even harder than the first.

  He released her only after he’d tasted all her essence, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he looked up at her, his lips wet and plump.

  “You’re more addictive than the finest wine. I want to taste you again and again.”

  “I should probably hate you, but right now I’m incapable of such a negative emotion,” she said in a quaking voice.

  He climbed to his feet and grinned. “Few would complain being at the receiving end of pleasure.” She looked up at him, feeling dwarfed and all too aware. He scraped his thumb over her bottom lip, his voice warm and husky, “And I plan on showing you more pleasure that you’ve ever dreamed possible.”

  Lethargic and drowsy from the aftereffects of orgasm, his remark only reminded her that his bedroom skills were from years of practice. She jerked her pants up. “As your latest harem girl isn’t it my duty to give you pleasure?”

  His eyes flared with shock. “You think a sex slave is what I have in mind for you?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  His whole body tensed. “You’re a sheikha, of royal blood!” he rasped. “Do you seriously imagine I’d stoop so low as to place you with my harem?’

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “Why else would I be here?” she asked, even as she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to learn the truth.

  He stepped toward her, all six feet three of him sexually charged and barely restrained. “I’m going to unite our provinces and make a stand against the insurgents.”

  She put a hand to her mouth. “You can’t be serious?”

  He stepped close, and clasped his hand beneath her chin even as he covered her mouth in a kiss that left her in no doubts of his intention. He groaned against her lips, pushing his tongue into her mouth and giving her a taste of her musky essence.

  Only when she made some kind of savage noise in return did he break away to stare down at her with a smoldering gaze. “Marriage will unify our people against the insurgents once and for all.”

  Chapter Five

  Amber was too dumbstruck to do anything more than stare into Zafar’s hot, possessive gaze. “Is this your idea of a proposal?”

  His eyes glinted. “You were hoping for me to bend down on one knee?”

  “I guess not,” she said faintly. She drew in a steadying breath. “My father would never allow this.”

  He nodded. “You’re right, he wouldn’t. It’s why this more drastic measure has been taken.”

  Realization hit her. “So you and Lamar cooked up this whole thing between yourselves?” she whispered.

  He cocked a brow. “The Grand Vizier and I made many attempts to reason with your father on uniting our people, but he wouldn’t be swayed. In the end I felt there was no other choice but to…coerce you.”

  He meant kidnap her, but she wouldn’t split hairs. She hadn’t exactly been planning a movie date with popcorn when she’d been surveying the palace.

  Zafar’s voice gentled. “Lamar wasn’t alone in resenting the fact your father put you before his own people.”

  She shook her head. “My father would do anything for his people.”

  “Sheikh Halim Al-Fayed would do even more for his beloved daughter. You are, after all, the only family he has left.”

  “It doesn’t mean—“

  “Your father decided you’d be miserable married to a sheikh. He said you were too westernized, too set in your ways.”

  She sank onto the mattress behind her, barely thinking straight. “He chose me over his own people,” she whispered hoarsely. “I can hardly believe it.”

  He brushed a hand under her jaw, tilting her gaze back up to his. “I can,” he murmured. “I hardly know you and yet I too feel compelled to protect you.”

  She blinked up at him, trying to think logically, almost impossible with the intimidating sheikh—her future husband—standing over her. “Will your people even accept me as their sheikha?”

  “How could they not? You’re already royalty, and have proven your devotion to your people. Of course some may not welcome your western ideals, in just the same way they struggle to accept my progressive views, but there is no way to please everyone.”

  “And if I don’t want this marriage, what then?”

  His smile was every shade of wicked. “I’ll have a lot of fun making you change your mind.” His eyes darkened, becoming somber. “But I have a feeling you will put your people before your own best interests.”

  She ignored the somersaults in her belly and instead zeroed in on all the old anger bubbling within. “What would you know of selflessness? You who’ve stood back and watched Yhemen fall into war and poverty!”

  He exhaled heavily. “You seem to know much about me.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  He shrugged, but there was tension in his gaze. “Would you believe me if I said you were?”

  She wilted onto the bed. “Nothing really matters anymore, does it? I will clearly be forced into marriage with a man who doesn’t want me.”

  His brow creased. “Why would you think for one second I don’t want you?”

  She snorted. “Your harem of women is a pretty good clue.”

  “Those women are to be released from their duties. Many have asked to go to other sheikhs, a few others asked to stay and marry eligible guards.”

  She shouldn’t feel so bloody relieved, after all words were just meaningless promises until they were carried through. But hope was spreading through her like wildfire. What if she really could make this work with Zafar? What if her people really did have a chance to live in peace? What if the rebels were pushed back once and for all?

  He shrugged. “And since I’ve yet to formalize any personal servants for you, the twin sisters who attended you earlier have asked to stay on in that position—if you want the
m.”

  “I’d like that,” she conceded. The girls had been happy and friendly, and heaven only knew she needed some people like that in this desert palace.

  His eyes glinted. “Your father should have given you more credit.”

  “I didn’t say yes.”

  “You didn’t say no, either.”

  She glared. “I’m not sure I have much choice either way.”

  “Ours could just as easily have been an arranged marriage, many of which have succeeded while western marriages so often don’t.”

  “Yes, except an arranged marriage would mean gaining my father’s approval.”

  Zafar grinned. “Then perhaps we can prove to him how wrong he was not to at least consider my proposal.”

  She bit into her bottom lip, the seriousness of the situation suddenly all but overwhelming her. If her father hadn’t believed she’d be happy with Zafar, how could she marry him? But if she didn’t wed the powerful sheikh then her country was doomed. She and her father were already fighting a losing battle to maintain control of Yhemen.

  Her people deserved better. Zafar’s soldiers would push the insurgents back beyond the borders where they belonged, and their marriage, not to mention his wealth and connections, would unite their people.

  Yet doubts still gnawed away at hope. Having just met and being the recipient of oral sex with a man didn’t exactly equate to a happily ever after. Not that she was well versed in relationships. She blinked up at him. “Do you really think we can make this work?”

  Zafar’s set jaw and strong posture gave away his confidence even before he said, “We’re attracted to one another, and we both want what’s best for our people. We can make it work.”

  He bent and his lips caressed hers in a soft, lingering kiss that showed his gentler side. And for a brief, foolish moment, she melted against him with a careless sigh, just barely stifling an urge to hand him the reins to her destiny.

  Zafar pulled back, his expression all too pleased. “Don’t worry about your father. I’m certain my mahr will sweeten the deal.”