Master of the Desert

‘Let me ride you!’ she demanded, desperate to feel him deep inside her.

‘You set the pace,’ Ra’id agreed, settling back on the cushions.

She lowered herself cautiously. Ra’id was huge, and she had to take him in gradual stages. His touch was tantalisingly light on her hips as she sank slowly down. Then he was touching her, delicately, skilfully with one fingertip, and she was moving faster, with more confidence…wildly, and with abandon.

He turned her so fast she had no chance to protest—and why would she, when he was giving her exactly what she needed firm and fast?

Ra’id climaxed violently with her, and they clung to each other for minutes that turned into drowsy hours; two people, so close they were one.

‘Do you ever tire?’ she asked him a long time later.

‘With you?’ Ra’id gave her an amused glance. ‘Never.’

This time he made love to her tenderly, as if he cherished her above all things. She wouldn’t allow herself to believe that, of course. She knew it was some primal instinct at work that prompted a man to feel that way about the mother of his child. If she allowed herself to believe in his feelings for her, Ra’id really would possess the means to break her heart.

But he didn’t make it easy for her. Brushing her hair back from her face, he moved slowly and deeply, kissing her eyelids, her lips and her neck, making love as if they had all the time in the world and he rejoiced in that as much as she did.

Dawn was busily brushing away the clouds of night when she woke in his arms. Would she ever become used to Ra’id’s strength, or his beautiful body? Antonia wondered, snuggling close, determined to make the most of whatever time they had.

‘So, you’re awake,’ he murmured.

‘Just,’ she admitted, loath to be the first one to break the spell.

‘It can be like this always, Antonia. For you and me.’

‘What do you mean?’ She turned to look at him.

‘We can be together,’ Ra’id said, as if that were obvious.

‘And the baby?’

‘Of course the baby,’ he exclaimed softly. ‘We would be a family.’

She rested against him, thinking how wonderful that would be—how perfect. But life was never perfect. Ra’id was a king, and whatever plan he had brewing in his head she wanted to hear it before she agreed. ‘Tell me more,’ she said.

‘Not now.’ He smiled a slow, sexy smile. ‘It will be a surprise.’

When had she learned to be such a pessimist? Antonia wondered, moving away. How much more did she want than this? Coming back to rest her head against Ra’id’s naked chest, she inhaled his familiar scent, telling herself that nothing could be more perfect than this. She should be happy. She should be optimistic about the future.

So why wasn’t she?

Because this was all an illusion, Antonia admitted; this wasn’t right. Or, rather, she wasn’t right for this. She wasn’t her mother, and she wanted more than to be hidden away—the sheikh’s plaything. She wanted a family. She wanted to work. She wanted to make a difference.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HE SENSED the change in Antonia and knew he would have to work hard to reassure her that his plan for her would work. His father had blanked out a son and had dumped his discarded mistress in the desert, but he would never do that. Freedom was as important to him as it was to Antonia, and was the bedrock of the constitution he had installed in Sinnebar. ‘I’m going to take another swim,’ he told her, ‘While you can have your own private stream to yourself.’ She smiled at him as he glanced towards the back of the tent where the luxurious bath-house was situated.

His life was nothing without Antonia’s bright flame in it, Ra’id realised as he grabbed a towel and strode away. She consumed his every waking moment and invaded his dreams at night, filling him with hunger for her, as well as the absolute determination to keep her at his side.

She found what looked like a page from a diary underneath the robe Ra’id had worn the day before. She guessed he had found it in her mother’s room at the fort and the sheet of paper must have fallen out of his pocket. Backing deeper into the pavilion, she began to read it.

She’d never tidy up again, Antonia determined, biting back tears. Like so many things at the fort, it must have been churned up, passed over and forgotten. She handled the single sheet of paper carefully, sniffing it, studying it, imagining her mother writing it, knowing it had been written in despair, and in hope that one day someone would read it.

I wanted everyone to know how I had to live in the last few years, so you would understand why I went to Rome.