Captured by the Sheikh

Appreciation flared in his eyes. ‘I want you too.’

Want. So basic, so huge, yet Elena felt even more than just that. She felt gratitude and admiration, respect and joy, all because of what he’d done, who he was. How he’d helped and strengthened her. She’d never expected to feel that way about someone, to have that person fulfil a need and hope in her she hadn’t even known she had.

The need to tell him all that she felt was an ache in her chest, a pressure building inside her, so she opened her mouth to speak, to say even just a fraction of what was in her heart.

But Khalil didn’t let her.

He curled his hands around her shoulders and drew her to him, stealing her words away with a kiss. It was better this way, Elena had to acknowledge as she lost herself in the heady sensations. Khalil didn’t want her words, her declarations of emotion. He just wanted this.

And so did she.

He drew her to the bed and down upon the silken sheets, stripping the evening gown from her body with one gentle tug of the zip. Neither of them spoke, and the silence felt hushed, reverent. This time tomorrow they would lie in a bed like this one as husband and wife.

But Elena knew she already felt like Khalil’s wife in her mind, in her heart. She cared too much for him, she knew, but in this moment, when his hands were touching her with such tenderness and his mouth was on hers, she didn’t want to think about too much. She didn’t want to police herself, or limit her joy. She just wanted to experience all Khalil was offering her...however little that turned out to be.

And, in that moment, it felt like enough.

Afterwards they lay entwined among the sheets, her palm resting over his heart so she could feel its steady thud against her hand. Khalil stroked her arm from shoulder to wrist, almost absently, the touch unthinking and yet incredibly gentle. She felt almost perfectly happy.

If only, she thought, they could stay like this for ever. It was a foolish wish, nothing more than a dream, yet she was so tired of the scheming and trying, the politics and the uncertainty. She just wanted this. Him. For ever.

‘When will you speak with Aziz?’ she asked softly, because no matter what she wanted reality had to be faced.

‘As soon as we return to Kadar I will seek out a meeting. He will hear of our marriage, of course, and I will have to address that.’

‘Do you think he’ll be angry?’

She felt Khalil tense, and then he shrugged. ‘I have no idea. You know him better than I do.’

‘I do?’ She raised her head, propping herself on one elbow to study his face. ‘Did you not know him as a child?’

‘I left the palace when I was seven. I only met him once, from memory, when my father wished for his sons to see each other.’

He spoke evenly, but she could still feel the tension in his body, under her hand. She gazed at him, realising afresh how much she didn’t know...and how much she wanted to.

‘It must have been very hard,’ she said softly. ‘To have to leave everything you knew.’

‘It was strange,’ Khalil acknowledged. His expression had become shuttered, his eyes giving nothing away.

She eased away from him so she could look up into his face. ‘I know you don’t like to talk about it, Khalil, but what happened with your father must have been terrible.’ Her gaze fell on the scars that crisscrossed his wrists. ‘Why do you have rope burns on your wrists?’ she asked softly.

She thought he wouldn’t answer. He didn’t speak for a long time, and she wondered at the story those scars told, a story she had no idea about but knew she wanted and perhaps even needed to hear.

‘I was tied up,’ he said finally, his voice flat, emotionless. ‘For days. I struggled, and these scars are the result.’

She stared at him in helpless horror. ‘Tied up? When—?’

‘When I was seven. When my father banished me.’

‘But I thought you went to America with your aunt.’

‘She found me when I was ten. For three years I lived with a Bedouin tribe in a far corner of Kadar. The sheikh liked to punish me. He’d tie me up like a dog, or beat me in front of everyone. I tried to escape, and I always failed. So, believe me, I understood how you felt as a prisoner, Elena. More than you could possibly know.’ He let out a shuddering breath and unthinkingly, just needing to touch him, she wrapped her arms around him, held on tight.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘But something like that stays with you for ever, Khalil!’ She remembered now how he’d told her it mattered how she was treated. ‘But this man, this sheikh—why did he treat you so terribly?’

Khalil gave a little shrug. ‘Because he was a petty, evil man and he could? But, no, the real reason I suppose is because my mother was his cousin and she brought shame to his family with her alleged adultery. In any case, Abdul-Hafiz already had a grudge against her family for leaving the tribe and seeking their fortunes in Siyad.’ His arms tightened around her. ‘That’s why my father banished me to that tribe—he returned me to my mother’s people, knowing they would revile me. And so they did, at least at first. The irony, perhaps, is that I rule them now as their sheikh.’

He was trying to speak lightly but she still heard the throb of emotion underneath. Elena couldn’t even imagine all he wasn’t saying: the abuse, the torture and utter unkindness. To tie up a seven-year-old boy for days? To beat him so his back was covered with scars? Fury warred with deep sorrow, and she pressed her cheek against his back, her body snug against his.

‘I’m so glad you escaped.’

‘So am I.’

Yet could anyone really escape such a terrible past? Elena knew Khalil bore as many scars on his heart as he did on his wrists and back. No wonder he didn’t trust anyone. No wonder he had no use or understanding of loving relationships.

Could she be the one to change him? Save him?

She shied away from such questions, knowing how dangerous they were, yet already the answers were rushing through her.

Yes. Yes, she could. She wanted to try, she needed to try, because she loved him and couldn’t imagine a life without him. Without him loving her.

And she began in that moment, rolling onto her stomach and pressing her lips to his wrist, kissing the places where he’d been hurt the most. Underneath her, she felt Khalil shudder.

‘Elena...’

She kissed her way across his body, touching every scar, taking her time with her tongue and her lips, savouring him, showing her love for him with her body because she couldn’t with her words. Not yet.

And Khalil accepted her touch, his hands coming up to clutch her shoulders as she moved over him and then gently, wonderfully, sank onto him, taking him into her body, filling them both up to the brim with wonder and joy and pleasure.

His eyes closed and his breath came out in a shudder as she began to move, pouring out everything in her heart in that ultimate act of love—and praying Khalil understood what she was saying with her body.

* * *

Sleep was a long time coming that night. Khalil stared up at the canopied bed, his arms around Elena as her breathing evened out, and he wondered why on earth he’d told her so much, had said things he hadn’t admitted to anyone, not even Dimah or Assad. He hated to think of anyone knowing the truth of his utter humiliation as a child, yet he’d willingly told Elena. In that moment he’d wanted to, had wanted someone to understand and accept him totally.

And her response had nearly undone him. The sweet selflessness of her touch, the giving of her body... He still wasn’t sure he knew what love was, but he imagined it might feel like that. And, if it did, he wanted more. He wanted to love someone and know he was loved back.

Foolish, foolish, foolish. Insanity. This was a marriage of cold convenience, not love or trust or intimacy. He’d told Elena he wanted none of that, and he’d meant it.

How had he changed?

Yet he knew he had. He’d been changing since the moment he’d met her, since he’d seen a reflection of himself in her. She’d begun changing him even then, softening him, opening up his emotions, unlocking his heart.

How could he go back to the cold, barren life he’d once known?

How could he not?

He’d learned to trust her with so many things—with his feelings. With the truth. Could he trust her with his heart?

* * *

Their wedding took place in the palace chapel, with only the Council members and their wives, as well as a few ambassadors and diplomats, in attendance.

Elena wore a cream silk sheath dress and a matching fascinator, no veil or bouquet, or really anything bridal at all. She’d picked the outfit with the help of her stylist when she’d arrived in Thallia, thinking only of what image she wanted to present to her public. She’d wanted to seem like a woman in control of her country and her destiny, perfectly prepared to begin this businesslike marriage.

She hadn’t wanted to look like a woman in love, yet she knew now that was what she was. And as she turned to Khalil to say her vows she wished, absurdly, perhaps, for a meringue of a dress and a great, big bouquet, a lovely lace veil and a father to give her away.

Never mind, she told herself. It’s the marriage that matters, not the wedding. Yet what kind of marriage would she have with Khalil?

Last night had been so tender, so wonderful and intimate in every way, physically and emotionally. Yet this morning he seemed his usual, inscrutable self, stony-faced and silent, dressed in traditional Kadaran formal wear, a richly embroidered thobe and loose trousers. He looked magnificent—and a little frightening, because Elena had no idea what he was thinking or feeling.