Pregnant by the Desert King

She stopped in front of another framed photograph, showing him seated on rough wooden benches. She assumed this must have been taken at the sapphire mine. Surrounded by working men, he appeared as one of them, relaxed and at home, in dust-covered jeans and a ripped top, his face streaked with dirt. The photographer had caught him in a pose with his arms outstretched to encompass the men on either side of him, and they were all smiling. How she longed to have that uncomplicated relationship. She could feel the warmth between them, even through the impartial medium of a camera. If only she could see more of that side of him, she thought as Mrs Brown led the way. They had reached a broad, light-filled corridor, where one more framed shot made her pause. This one was of Tadj with his friend Sheikh Khalid. Both men were grinning with pleasure, as well they might, as they were holding up handfuls of the biggest sapphires she’d ever seen.

‘That photograph was taken in Qalala,’ Mrs Brown explained when she noticed Lucy’s interest. ‘His Serene Majesty loves anything that reminds him of his friends and his homeland. Have you been to Qalala? It’s very beautiful.’

As beautiful as here? Lucy wondered as she admired the craftsmanship around her that gave such a sense of history, of destiny.

‘His Majesty treats his staff to a holiday in Qalala each year,’ Mrs Brown continued as she walked on. ‘His Majesty is so generous.’

And so distant from me, Lucy thought with regret as Mrs Brown paused in front of a highly polished mahogany door. ‘It’s no surprise people love him as they do,’ Tadj’s adoring housekeeper went on. ‘You’ll have a wonderful time when you go to Qalala—and I feel sure the Qalalan people will love you.’

‘Oh, but I’m not—’

Too late. Mrs Brown had already entered the room, leaving Lucy to wonder if she’d been mistaken for more than she was. She couldn’t imagine the Emir’s official mistress had much of a public role, but what did she know?

A small yet luxuriously carpeted and decorated lobby promised a more than comfortable overnight stay at least. On top of a gilt and marble console table, one more photograph claimed Lucy’s interest.

Mrs Brown heaved a sigh when she saw Lucy looking at it. ‘His Serene Majesty asked me not to put so many photographs about, but I think it makes the place look homely.’

‘I agree,’ Lucy said politely, but with a warm smile for Mrs Brown. There was nothing remotely homely about the man in the photograph. Tadj sat astride a richly caparisoned black stallion. Wearing traditional robes, with his head and face partially concealed behind a flowing black headdress, he looked more like a formidable conqueror who took no prisoners than the genial employer Mrs Brown had described, though the housekeeper’s opinion of her regal employer was to Tadj’s credit, Lucy conceded. She would have known him anywhere. His eyes were unmistakeable, as were his bearing and uncompromising pose. A shiver of awareness ran down her spine as it occurred to her that Tadj might not be prepared to compromise in any way at all when it came to discussing the future of their child.

‘Where does this door lead?’ she asked to distract herself from such a troubling thought.

‘It’s a connecting door to His Majesty’s suite,’ Mrs Brown explained. ‘You can leave it locked, if you prefer, or open the door, if that suits you better.’

Delicately put, Lucy thought. ‘I see.’ She did see, and, though she might have stepped out of her world and into his, the door between them would remain firmly locked.

As soon as Mrs Brown had left Lucy to her own devices, she decided to freshen up first, and then change her clothes before going down to the library. Stripping off, she donned a robe, ready to take a shower before exploring her dressing room. She loved everything about her accommodation, especially the outlook over the lake. A lake...imagine that, she mused. This had to be one of the most beautiful and fabulous houses in the country. She found the pink marble bathroom and stripped off. After a moment or two of awestruck stillness, she ran the shower in a space that would easily accommodate a rugby team, and stepped beneath the warm, soothing water. She actually felt her shoulders sag as the tension dropped out of them. Bliss, she mused happily, relaxing for the first time since her shock encounter with Tadj in the restaurant. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the warm, refreshing spray. And then heard an unmistakeable footstep.

‘Tadj!’ She spun around on her heels as he joined her in the steamy cubicle. He was stark naked too. ‘You’ve got a nerve,’ she exclaimed as her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest.

‘Don’t I,’ he agreed.

Powered by surprise, she pressed her hands against his chest. Tadj was rock hard, and didn’t move. Tadj, hot, wet and hard, was enough to melt the firmest resolve. Animal instinct took over. Anger was a passion, and passion led to lust. They’d been too long apart, and she’d missed him too much. All they’d shared was too fresh in her memory. Yanking her close, he held her firmly against his hard length and kissed her, and within moments she was kissing him back.

There was no point trying to pretend she didn’t want this. Pressed up against him with those skilful hands resting on her buttocks, she could only think of one thing. But it pleased her to put up a token struggle, just for the friction of his body against hers.

‘Are you saying you don’t want this?’ he demanded harshly. Dipping at the knees, he teased her in the way she loved.

‘Tadj...’

‘Yes?’ he murmured, knowing she would soon be past speech.

‘What are you doing?’ she gasped, wanting to delay the moment of mating to make it all the sweeter.

‘Water saving?’ Tadj’s lips pressed down with irony. ‘Auditioning for my new role as your lover?’

No need for that, she thought. She wanted to say, ‘Hurry,’ but refused to give him the satisfaction. And this was Tadj, the man she loved, the man she would always love. ‘In your own time,’ she said, matching his cynical tone.

He was on fire for her. She was perfection beneath his hands. Every curve of her body might have been designed with him in mind. He might be bigger than she was, but they fitted together perfectly. She matched him in every way there was. Right now, it was her breasts claiming his attention. When he caressed them, her nipples pressed imperatively against his palms. Lucy was all heat. Her familiar wildflower scent intoxicated his senses. Slipping his hands beneath her buttocks, he positioned her, while she gripped his arms as if her life depended on it. The desire to possess her grew stronger with every passing second, as did his wish for the novelty of serving—for now—as her all too willing lover. He was so turned on he was in agony. Remembering the last time they’d had sex didn’t help, because it reminded him how big he was, how tight she was, and how it felt to be deep inside her. It was also a timely reminder to take things slowly so he didn’t hurt her.

This consideration went no way to discouraging Lucy, who commanded, ‘No, don’t take your hand away. I like it where it is. If you’re my lover, you have to do as I wish, which means following my commands to the letter.’

This was one instruction he had no difficulty obeying, and he laughed softly to see her reaction as he stimulated her the way she liked. ‘I’m yours to command,’ he said as he thrust her up against the wall. She wrapped her legs around him as he lifted her, and, with water cascading over them, he gave her what she wanted.

Some things would always overrule common sense, and even pride, Lucy thought as Ta

dj brought her to the edge of reason, and this was one of them. As she rocketed into the first noisy release, she had to accept that she needed this—him—so badly that she wouldn’t be able to think straight until he’d done with her. It was a long time before she quieted, then she realised groggily that Tadj was still kissing her, still moving, as he awakened her to the possibility of more pleasure.

‘How did I do?’ he asked dryly. ‘Do I get the job?’

‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she lied, smiling against his chest. She felt so safe in Tadj’s embrace, she never wanted to move—never wanted this to end, but it would end; it must, because Tadj was the Emir of Qalala, while she was an independent woman, building her life and career, who had no intention of throwing everything away on a passion that must surely burn itself out. Becoming his mistress was a short-term arrangement, while being a mother was for life. She must remain free and self-sufficient, though it was all too easy to think they were meant to be together. Reality was harsh, she accepted as he nuzzled her neck and prepared to take her again. Tadj’s life would move on, as would hers. ‘No,’ she whispered.

‘No, until Qalala?’ he suggested, the same irony colouring his tone, as if he doubted restraint was possible. ‘You do well to conserve your strength.’

‘I’m looking forward to visiting your country,’ she said honestly, ‘but I’m making one condition.’

Tadj’s brows shot up. ‘Which is?’ he pressed.

‘That no announcement is made about my becoming your official mistress.’

Tadj’s expression darkened. No one had ever given the Emir of Qalala instructions before, Lucy presumed.

‘You need to get away, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she readily accepted, ‘but I think more of you than to think you mean to hold me to ransom for that. I have a life, Tadj, as you do—Tadj, no!’ she insisted as he dipped at the knees to take her again.

‘Tadj, yes,’ he argued in a soft, husky tone that tormented her senses to the point of no return.