Captured by the Sheikh

Then Khalil rose from the table. ‘It is late. You should return to your tent.’

He reached for her hand, and Elena let him pull her up. She felt fluid, boneless; the wine must have really gone to her head.

He kept hold of her hand as they stepped outside the tent, the night dark and endless around them. The air was surprisingly cold and crisp, which had a sobering effect on Elena.

By the time they’d crossed the camp to her tent, Khalil’s hand still loosely linked with hers, she wasn’t feeling tipsy at all, just embarrassed. The evening’s emotional intimacies and revelations were enough now to make her cringe.

‘Goodnight, Elena.’ Khalil stopped in front of her tent, sliding his hand from hers. He touched her chin with his fingers, tipped her head up so she was blinking at him, the night sky spangled with stars high above him.

For a moment as she looked up at him, just as when they’d been in his tent, she thought he might kiss her. Her lips parted and her head spun and her heart started thudding in a mix of alarm, anticipation and a suspended sense of wonder.

Khalil lowered his head, his mouth a whisper away from hers. ‘Elena,’ he murmured; it sounded like a question. Everything in Elena answered, yes.

She reached up to put her hands on his shoulders; her body pressed against his, the feel of his hard chest sending little shocks of sensation through her.

His hands slid up to frame her face, his fingers so gentle on her skin. She felt his desire as well as her own, felt his yearning and surprise, and thought, We are alike in this too. We both want this, but we’re also afraid to want it.

Although perhaps Khalil didn’t want it, after all, for he suddenly dropped his hands from her and stepped back. ‘Goodnight,’ he said again, and then he started walking back to his tent and was soon swallowed up by the darkness.

CHAPTER SIX

ELENA DIDN’T SEE Khalil at all the next day. She spent hours lying on her bed or sitting outside her tent, watching the men go about the camp and looking for Khalil.

She missed him. She told herself that was absurd, because she barely knew him. She’d only met him two days ago, and hardly in the best of circumstances.

Yet she still found herself reliving the times he’d touched her: the slide of his fingers on her jaw; the press of his chest against her cheek. She replayed their dinner conversation in her mind, thought about his lonely childhood, his determination to be Sheikh. And realised in just three days he would let her go and she would never see him again.

A thought that made a twist of bewildering longing spiral inside her.

Then the next morning Khalil came to her tent. He loomed large in the space and shamelessly she let her gaze rove over him, taking in his broad shoulders, his dark hair, his impossibly hard jaw.

‘I need to go visit some of the desert tribes,’ he told her without preamble. ‘And I’d like you to go with me.’

Shock as well as a wary pleasure rippled through her in a double wave. ‘You...would?’

He arched an eyebrow and gave her a small smile. ‘Wouldn’t you like to see something other than the inside of this tent?’

‘Yes, but...why do you want me to go?’ A terrible suspicion took hold of her. ‘You aren’t...you aren’t going to show me off as some trophy of war, are you? Show your people how you captured Aziz’s bride?’ Just the idea made her stomach churn. Why shouldn’t he do such a thing? He’d captured her, after all. She was his possession, his prize.

Khalil’s face darkened, his eyebrows drawing together in a fierce frown. ‘No, of course not. In any case, the people I’m visiting wouldn’t be impressed by such antics.’

‘Wouldn’t they?’

‘They are loyal to me. And I would never act in such a barbaric fashion.’

‘Then why are you taking me?’

* * *

Khalil stared at Elena, the question reverberating through him. Then why are you taking me?

The simple answer was because he wanted to. Because he’d been thinking about her since they’d had dinner together, since she’d shown how she believed him. Believed in him. And having someone’s trust, even if it was just a little of it, was as heady and addictive as a drug. He wanted more. He wanted more of Elena and he wanted more of the person he felt he was in her eyes. The man he wanted to be.

The realisation had kept him from her for an entire day, fighting it, fighting the need and the desire, the danger and the weakness of wanting another person. Of opening himself to pain, loss and grief.

By last night he’d convinced himself that taking her to see the desert tribes who supported him was a political move; it would strengthen his position to have Aziz’s former bride on his side.

Gazing at her now, her hair tumbled over her shoulders, her heavy-lidded eyes with their perceptive grey-gold gaze trained on him, he knew he’d been fooling himself.

This wasn’t some political manoeuvre. This was simply him wanting to be with Elena.

‘I’m taking you,’ he said, choosing his words slowly, carefully, ‘because I want you to meet the people who support me.’

Her eyes widened. Her lips parted and then curved in a tremulous smile. ‘You do?’

Khalil’s hands curled into fists. Everything in him resisted this admission, this appalling weakness. Where was his ruthless determination now? All he wanted in this moment was to see Elena’s smile deepen. ‘I do.’

‘All right,’ she said, and Khalil felt relief and even joy pour through him. He smiled, a wider smile than he’d ever felt on his face before, and she grinned back.

Something had changed. Something was changing right here between them and, God help him, but he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t even want to.

‘We should leave within the hour. Can you ride?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then dress for riding. Leila will find you the appropriate clothes.’ With a nod, he started to leave, then turned back to face her. ‘Thank you, Elena,’ he said quietly, meaning it utterly, and the smile she offered him felt like a precious gift.

An hour later Elena met him on the edge of the camp, where he was saddling the horses they would take. Khalil nodded his approval of her sensible clothing, headscarf and boots, a familiar tightness in his chest easing just at the sight of her.

‘We should waste no time in departing. It is half a day’s ride and I intend for us to arrive before nightfall.’

She glanced, clearly surprised, at the two horses. ‘We’re going alone?’

‘Three men will accompany us, but they will ride separately. We will meet up with the guards before we enter the camp, so all will be appropriate.’

‘Appropriate?’

‘In the desert, a man and woman generally do not ride alone.’

She nodded slowly, accepting, her gaze darting between the horses and him.

Khalil acknowledged he was breaching protocol in so many ways. ‘You’ll be safe with me, Elena,’ he said and she looked back at him.

‘I know that.’

‘Do you?’ He felt a smile spread across his face. ‘Good.’

‘I trust you,’ she said simply, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. He’d kidnapped her, after all. He didn’t deserve her trust, yet she gave it. Freely. Wholly.

‘Thank you,’ he finally said.

She stepped closer to him, so he caught the scent of roses. ‘Are we travelling alone because it’s safer? I mean, so Aziz won’t find us?’

She spoke without any rancour, yet Khalil felt that churning guilt once more, and more acutely this time, because for the first time something felt stronger than his burning need to be Sheikh.

He refused to name just what it was.

‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Does that...distress you?’

Her clear gaze searched his and she smiled wryly. ‘Not as much as it should.’

He acknowledged her point with a small nod. ‘Things are changing.’

‘They’ve already changed,’ she said quietly, and something in him both swelled and ached.

He shouldn’t want things to change. Change meant losing his focus, losing his whole sense of self. What was he, if not the future Sheikh of Kadar? Everything in his life had been for that purpose. He’d had no room for other ideas or ambitions, and certainly none for relationships.

Yet he knew Elena was right. Things had already changed...whether he’d wanted them to or not.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, a bit more gruffly than he intended, and he laced his fingers together to offer Elena a foothold.

She rode just like she walked or stood, with inherent elegance and pride. Her back was ramrod straight as she controlled the excited prancing of her horse.

‘How well can you ride?’ he asked and her eyes sparkled at him.

‘Well.’

Khalil’s mouth curved. ‘Let’s see about that,’ he said, and with a shout he took off at a gallop. He heard Elena’s surprised laughter echo behind him as she gave chase.

* * *

Elena felt the kind of thrill of exhilaration she hadn’t experienced since she’d been a child riding in Thallia as she followed Khalil. It felt wonderful to be on a horse again, the desert flashing by in a blur of rocks and sand. She had had no time for such pursuits since she’d been queen. She hadn’t ridden like this in years.

The only sound was her horse’s hooves galloping across the sand. She spurred the beast on, eager to catch up with Khalil—or even pass him. Although he hadn’t said, she knew it had become a race.