Surrender to the Sheikh

‘I don’t know—shocked—surprised.’ She shrugged. ‘Something, anyway.’

‘Is there anything which escapes those perceptive eyes of yours?’ he demanded.

‘And she said something to you, too—something in Marabanese which I couldn’t understand.’

He nodded.

‘What was it, Khalim?’

He gave a painful sigh, knowing that he could not be evasive with her, could not resist the sapphire appeal in her eyes. Was this destiny he was about to recount, or simply history? Coincidence, even? ‘You bear a strong resemblance to a woman my great-great-grandfather knew.’

She stared at him, wondering what he wasn’t telling her.

He seemed to make his mind up about something. ‘Come with me,’ he said, and changed the direction in which they were walking.

Intrigued, Rose quickened her step to match his. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she whispered.

‘You will see.’

The chamber he took her to was so carefully hidden that no one could have found it, certainly not unless they were intended to. A small, almost secret chamber containing nothing other than books and a desk, with a carved wooden stool.

And a portrait.

‘Look,’ said Khalim, very softly, and pointed to the painting. ‘Look, Rose. Do you see the resemblance now?’

The air left her lungs of its own accord, and Rose sucked in a shuddering gasp of astonishment.

A portrait of a woman, whose flaxen hair was contrasted against a gown of crimson silk, her blue eyes capturing the viewer—mesmerising, bright blue eyes which seemed to see into your very soul. Her face was pale, almost as pale as Rose’s own skin and she knew without a doubt that this was no Marabanesh woman.

‘Wh-who is it?’ she whispered, and she only just prevented herself from saying, Is it me?

‘A woman that Malik loved,’ he told her tonelessly.

‘And lost?’ she guessed.

He shook his head sadly. ‘She was never his to be had, Rose,’ he said. ‘The cultural differences between them were too great. And they discovered that love, in this particular case, could not conquer all. She returned to America and they never saw one another again.’

‘Oh, but that’s terrible!’ she breathed.

‘You think so? It was the only solution open to them, my sweet, romantic Rose.’

She discerned in his voice the emphatic acceptance of his own destiny, and she didn’t say another word as he ushered her out of the room and back towards her own apartments.

‘We are here.’ He stopped outside her door and stared down at her for one long moment. ‘And now…’ he was aware of the sudden rapidity of his breathing, the erratic thundering of his heart ‘…you must sleep, or…’

‘Or what?’ she asked breathlessly.

He didn’t answer at first, just raised his dark hand to lift a strand of the blonde hair which rippled down over her shoulders. ‘So pale. Pale as the moon itself,’ he whispered.

She stared up at him, too excited to be able to say a single word, other than his name. ‘Khalim?’ And it came out like a prayer.

He looked down into her eyes, read the unmistakable invitation in them and felt a heady rush of triumph wash over him, knowing that she wanted him, that he could pin her up against the wall and make her his.

He felt himself grow exquisitely hard in anticipation, until he drew himself up short and reminded himself that this was no ordinary woman. She was more beautiful than most, for a start. And a woman like this would surely spend her life warding off advances from men. Not that she would ever reject him, of course—but how many times would she have been made to wait for something she wanted? To simmer with desire? Until the slow heat of need became unbearable and boiled over into a heated fire?

And hadn’t he become curiously intimate with this Rose? Confided in her in a way which was unknown to him? He had heard men say that sex combined with intimacy was the most mind-blowing experience of all. Could he not taste that pleasure once, just once, before his inevitable marriage?

He curved his mouth into a slow, almost cruel smile as he bent his head and briefly touched his lips to hers, feeling her instinctive shudder of elation being quickly replaced by one of disappointment as he swiftly lifted his head away from hers.