Duty, Desire and the Desert King

The ring inside was stunning, but it came nowhere near the splendid design of the mother-of-pearl and ruby jewelry box that caught the candlelight and reflected it like fire. “This is gorgeous,” she whispered, reverently turning the box this way and that. “Is it an antique?”

“It dates to 1534 and was designed by Pierre Mangot. It was a gift for the French king, Francis I.”

She tried to press it back into Zayed’s hands. “It’s too costly a gift—”

“Nonsense. In Sarq, the groom always showers the bride with extravagant gifts, and even if we were not here in Sarq, I would still be compelled to give you beautiful things. You are a beautiful woman. You deserve nothing less.”

Zayed’s words stayed with her the rest of the night, and she heard them repeat as he walked her back to her wing at one-thirty in the morning.

Zayed was quiet as they walked, and her nerves were wound so tight that she could barely breathe.

Tomorrow they’d marry.

Tomorrow she’d probably go with him to his room.

It was what she wanted, but her desires also filled her with fear. She wasn’t experienced enough…hadn’t dated enough…hadn’t been with enough men to approach sex with anything like calm or composure.

Suddenly Rou just wanted to be in her room and alone. She wanted to hide. Wanted to return to her self, her real self, the plain woman with the sober wardrobe and severe hairstyle.

She wanted the safe Rou, the predictable one, not this dress-up princess that wore elegant heels and delicate gowns and silver-and-diamond earrings on her earlobes.

But maybe Sharif would still return in time. Maybe he’d walk through the doors tomorrow morning saving them all from a dreadful mistake.

It would be a mistake, too.

Darting a glance at Zayed from the corner of her eye confirmed her worst fears. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He was beyond physical perfection. How could she trust a man like him? He had everything a man could want, everything a man could need. How could he, how would he, ever be content with her?

How could a man like that ever love a woman like her?

He might be intrigued, might see her as a challenge, or a conquest, but it’d never be love. He himself said he didn’t know how to love….

She was practically trembling in her shoes by the time they turned down the corridor that led to her wing, and as she spotted the now-familiar stonework that led to her sunken living room, she felt pure relief. Soon she’d be in her own pajamas, in bed, and at least for one night, away from Zayed and this terrible, oppressive sense of doom.

But once in her living room Zayed was in no hurry to leave. He wandered around the dimly lit room touching this and that before opening the French doors onto the moonlit garden, allowing them to hear the light, tinkling splash of the courtyard fountain.

Rou watched him stand in the doorway, drinking in the cool night air. The moonlight dappled his face light and dark. “Do you have any questions about tomorrow?” he asked, his deep voice unusually rough.

“No.”

He turned around to face her. “You understand the expectations? The morning ceremony and then the afternoon together…?”

She moved farther from him, retreating to the low white couches where she kicked off her shoes and sat down on one, her legs curling beneath her. “I believe so.”

“We must consummate the marriage for it to be valid.”

Her heart raced and her stomach knotted, screaming in protest. “We couldn’t just tell everyone we did the deed?” she choked.

He leaned against the open door frame, his mouth compressing, his expression strangely brooding for such a celebratory night. “Can’t lie. Karma and all.”

“How would such a little lie bring the wrath of the gods?”

He drew a fist across his mouth. “Little lies do,” he said, his voice so deep and hoarse Rou felt it scratch across her heart.

Afraid, but not sure why, she wrapped a protective arm around her legs. “You sound as if you speak from experience, my prince,” she said shakily, wondering at the tension coiling in the room.

Zayed closed his eyes briefly before looking at her, and yet even once he did look at her, he didn’t really seem to see her. No, he seemed to be somewhere else, seeing something—or someone—else. “Little lies are the worst. Those are the ones that appear so innocent, so foolish as to be silly, but the little lies are the ones that will break you. They’re the ones that will cut you, stealing your soul.”

He rubbed his fist across his mouth, eyes so dark with memories that they were nearly as black as the night outside. “In marrying you, I am pledging to you my fidelity, my respect and my protection. While we’re married, while together, I will never take another. You will be my only wife, and my only woman. And I mean that with every breath that I take, with every breath that I am.”

Rou sat very still as his words sank into her. She could feel truth and anger in the promise he made her, and she felt a lick of fear, wondering how everything had gotten so intense so quickly. They were back to emotions, very deep, very dark emotions, and this was definitely out of her comfort zone. But then everything here in Sarq was out of her comfort zone.

“You make me realize I do not even know you,” she said unsteadily, hugging her legs. “You seem so much the playboy, but I’m beginning to think that you’re nothing like a playboy…nothing like the image you’ve projected all these years.”

He laughed grimly. “Do not imagine me a hero. I am not Sharif, or Khalid, nor will I ever be.”

“Then who are you?”

He left the door and walked slowly, deliberately toward her. He was still so graceful, and yet his focus had an almost lethal quality. “The family shame,” he answered, reaching her side and towering above her.

Rou’s pulse quickened, and she had to tip her head back to see his face. “You are by far the most beautiful and financially successful of your brothers. How can beauty and wealth be a source of shame?”

He traced her profile, his finger lightly covering her brow, the length of her nose, the curve of lips and then chin. “Oh you of all people should know that beauty and wealth are deceitful gifts. Some of the world’s most evil men have hidden their true nature behind beautiful faces.”

Her skin flushed and burned beneath his light touch. “Are you evil, Zayed?”

He reached down and pulled her into his arms and lifted her to her feet, bringing her so close that she could feel the hard length of his body from his chest to his knees. “No,” he murmured against her cheek, his warm breath tingling her ear. “But I am cursed.”

Rou shivered against him. “Do not say such things.”

He wrapped an arm snugly around her waist, holding her in such a way that she could feel the size of his ribs, the lean hips, hard thighs, as well as the rigid male length between. “But I have promised to protect you,” he said, his lips trailing ever so slowly across her cheek to the edge of her mouth, “and that includes protecting you from me.”

And then he tilted her head back, and his lips covered hers, hungry and fierce, as if a man starved. She felt her own mouth tremble beneath the pressure of his, even as a terrible weakness filled her belly. She felt weak and empty and in desperate need of his arm holding her up, holding her against him, holding her as though he never intended to let her go.

Zayed kissed her thoroughly, parting her lips, taking her mouth, taking her tongue between his lips, kissing her until she shivered and shuddered, burning from the inside out. With veins hot and thick, veins that felt as though they were filled with stinging honey, Rou lost all track of time, lost track of everything but this fierce fire between them.

Long minutes later when Zayed lifted his head, he stroked her flushed cheek, as if marveling at its softness. “You are too good, too innocent, for a life with me, laeela,” he said regretfully, “but I cannot ignore duty. Not now, not after all these years. I have to honor Sharif, and that means I have to have you.?

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CHAPTER EIGHT

ROU slept fitfully, waking every hour from vivid, intense dreams. Zayed featured prominently in every one, and Rou didn’t know if it was the kiss or her feverish imagination, but she woke up afraid, terribly aware that today everything changed.

Today she became vulnerable. She married the man she loved, and yet he didn’t love her back. And she’d found what it was her clients all wanted, only for her, the wedding and marriage were just temporary.

Agitated, she turned on her side, her arm as her pillow, and she looked out the small, high window that showed the sky. It wasn’t dawn yet but the sky was lighter, the dark blue night sky giving way to a layer of light blue. Somewhere the sun was already up. Soon it’d be up here, too. Soon she’d be Zayed’s wife.

Her eyes closed, lashes fluttering against her cheek as she drew a frightened breath.

She didn’t know how to do this. Didn’t know how to become any man’s, not even his.

It wasn’t just consummating the marriage that filled her with anxiety, although that was terrifying in and of itself. At least she wasn’t completely inexperienced. She’d had sex a couple times many years ago, but it’d felt wrong—it’d hurt—and the doctor in her knew it was a combination of emotional and physical pain. She didn’t love either of the men, and she wasn’t properly aroused, which contributed to her discomfort. But her fear today was different. Her fear was disappointing Zayed. He’d called her beautiful, called her passionate, but what would he say when he discovered she was useless, ridiculous in bed?

Sharif had once asked her why she didn’t date more, and she’d answered that her work consumed her, but it hadn’t always just been about her work. In her midtwenties when she’d tried dating, she’d discovered she was hopeless at it. Everybody wanted casual sex. She couldn’t have casual sex. And those two times a relationship developed sufficiently that she thought she should try to have a physical relationship, it went wrong, so wrong. Sex itself felt invasive. A man on top of you, surrounding you, filling you.

But later today it wouldn’t be just anyone with her. Today it would be Zayed.