Читать книгу: «Claimed For The Desert Prince's Heir / A Shocking Proposal In Sicily», страница 3

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He knows.

‘It is barely a scratch,’ he said, releasing her. ‘I have survived much worse.’

‘Not from me,’ she said, appalled at the thought of all the other scars on his body. Was injury a regular occurrence for him? ‘I feel awful that I shot you.’

‘You did not shoot me, you missed. And you were scared. You were defending yourself. It is a natural reaction.’

‘No, it’s not,’ she said. ‘I’ve never shot at anyone before.’ He appeared unmoved.

Because he must live in another world. A harsh, cruel world where people shoot first and ask questions later.

‘Would you let me check the wound at least, Prince Kasim?’ she said, trying to maintain at least a semblance of decorum. Although decorum was the last thing she felt. ‘It would make me feel better.’

He stroked a thumb down the side of her face. ‘You can check the wound if you wish, but only if you agree to call me Raif.’ His hand dropped away, leaving a trail of goosebumps ricocheting down to her core. ‘Given how much of me you have already seen, there is little point in standing on ceremony.’

She shook her head, mesmerised by the husky tenor of his voice and the effect it was having on her.

It was only five minutes later, as he sat on the edge of his bed and she knelt beside him to bandage the wound again, that she realised her error.

Because the memory of his body, wet and naked, only made being with him in his bedchamber, inhaling the intoxicating scent of man and desert, all the more overwhelming.

So much so, she wasn’t even sure this was reality any more, because it felt like all her teenage fantasies come to vibrant, vivid life.

‘What is your name?’ Raif asked, needing a distraction as the girl’s fingertips brushed his biceps while she wound the new—and entirely unnecessary—bandage around his arm.

She’d been tending him for two minutes—and controlling the surge of heat to his groin each time she touched him had become excruciating.

Did she know the effect she was having on him? Surely she must.

‘Kasia. Kasia Salah,’ she said, concentrating on the bandaging. But he noted the bloom of colour darkening her cheeks.

‘You are Narabian?’ Why did that seem important? He’d slept with women of many different nationalities. He didn’t judge women by their geography but by how much he wanted them. And he wanted this woman, very much.

‘Yes, I was brought up in the Golden Palace. My grandmother worked there as a cook. I was one of the domestic staff.’

Something unlocked inside his chest. So she was of humble birth. Not unlike him.

‘Until I became Cat’s assistant,’ she added, the hint of pride unmistakeable.

‘Cat? Who is Cat?’

‘Catherine Smith, who is now Queen Catherine Ali Nawari Khan—you know, the Sheikh’s wife,’ she said, her chest puffing up. ‘She is my best friend. It is because of her I have spent the last five years studying abroad.’

‘Not because of yourself?’ he asked, annoyed by her willingness to give someone else the credit for her achievements.

Zane’s wife was beautiful and accomplished. But no more so than this woman. The only difference was that Catherine Khan hadn’t had to fight for her education, the way he would guess Kasia had.

The girl’s gaze flashed to his—direct and irritated at his observation.

The heat in his groin surged. Her golden gaze sparkled enticingly when it wasn’t shadowed with guilt or shame.

‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘But…Cat is the reason I sought an education. And she and Zane…’ She sank back on her heels, finally having finished caressing his biceps. ‘They made it possible for me to study abroad in a place called Cambridge University.’

A place called Cambridge University!

Did she think he had never heard of the British institution? What did she take him for? A savage?

His pride bristled—but he bit down on the urge to correct her.

She had been away from her homeland for five years, meaning all she would know of him was that he was the Sheikh’s bastard son—a primitive warlord, an unprincipled womaniser.

The rumours had some truth behind them, especially when he’d been a younger man, and he’d been more than happy to foster them because they had always given him a power and mystique he could use to his advantage—in politics, in business and in his bed.

Being the Bad-Boy Sheikh had been an advantage with women, because they loved the allure of the forbidden, the wild.

Why not exploit Kasia’s misconceptions about him? He had never been ashamed of that unloved child, who had been strong enough to survive thirst and starvation in the desert, or the angry teenager who had been savage enough to defeat the Kholadi’s greatest warriors and become Chief. His past still lived inside him—and defined him in many ways. It always would. Wasn’t it to reconnect with those parts of himself that he had returned to the desert?

Adrenaline raced through his bloodstream. This woman had seen him helpless, something that had made him uneasy. But being the womanising warlord would put the power back in his hands.

She took a tube of antiseptic cream out of the medical box. ‘I noticed some scrapes on your back, where you fell off the horse,’ she said as she unscrewed the cap. ‘Turn around and I’ll dab some of this on them.’ She held up a finger covered in ointment. ‘Before they get infected.’

‘Enough.’ Raif captured her wrist, satisfied when he felt her pulse pummel his thumb.

‘But I should treat the scratches,’ she said.

‘It’s not my back that hurts.’ He interrupted her nonsense.

Taking the hint, her gaze dipped to his lap. The blood pounded into his groin. He was as aroused now as he’d been during the depths of his nightmares.

She lifted her head.

Her pupils dilated, obliterating the rich amber of her irises. She was as aroused as him.

‘I…I see what you mean,’ she stuttered, desire colouring her skin.

‘We have had enough foreplay,’ he said.

He preferred to be open and honest with women about his appetites. When it came to sex, he never played games.

‘If you want me as much as I want you, we can take this ache away.’ He touched her cheek, not able to keep his hands off any longer, the heat rising at the way her breath hitched. ‘If you don’t, I will escort you back to the palace.’ He let his hand drop. He wasn’t usually so abrupt with women, but something about her made it hard for him to be subtle about his needs. ‘What is your choice?’

CHAPTER FIVE

I CHOOSE YOU.

‘I…I…’ Kasia stuttered, the heat in her cheeks nothing compared to the liquid tug in her sex.

Prince Kasim’s bold offer seemed to be genuine. With no ands, ifs or buts, just like the man himself.

The tug turned into a yank.

Not Prince Kasim… Raif. She corrected herself. Because he was the furthest thing from a prince at the moment. Even a desert prince.

He had no airs or graces, no polite manners, no etiquette. His desire was basic and unashamed, and so much more compelling because of that. His need was arrogantly displayed by the tension in his jaw, the direct gaze and the thick erection.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ she blurted out. Disconcerted by her own driving need.

She’d flirted with men before, even kissed a few. But she’d never been subjected to such a focused assault on her senses by a man like him—who was so bold and unambiguous.

Why did that seem refreshing, and yet disturbing?

‘It is a simple question, Kasia.’

Was it simple? Maybe it was to him. Because he had so much more experience. But she could hardly tell him she had never slept with a man before. It felt too revealing.

His lips quirked beneath the beard. ‘Let me make it simpler. Do you want me, Kasia? For I dreamed of having you last night.’

The raw declaration tugged at her romantic heart.

He cupped her cheek, and her breath seized, the rasp of his callused skin sending heat spiralling into her tender sex.

His thumb traced her cheekbone, then slid down her neck into the well of her collarbone. The rabbit punches of her pulse echoed in the sweet spot between her thighs.

‘I want to make you sob with pleasure.’ His thumb circled her breast through her T-shirt and bra. ‘To make your nipples ripen and swell beneath my tongue.’

Her nipples squeezed into peaks, as if already being subjected to the promised caress. She panted, unable to catch her breath under his intense gaze.

He chuckled, the sound arrogant, and so unbelievably hot she felt burned.

‘Tell me you want me, Kasia, and we can feed this hunger.’

‘Yes.’ The word popped out before she could stop it. ‘I want you.’

Surely this didn’t have to be wrong? They’d survived a sandstorm. They were young and alive. Their worlds might be miles apart, but here and now she wanted to feed the hunger, too. A hunger that had tantalised her all through the night.

She would return to the palace today. Cat and Zane would be frantic with worry—she’d been lost for over twenty-four hours already. She would go back to Cambridge at the end of the month. She had no intention of venturing into the desert alone after this, so she would be unlikely to see him again.

Why couldn’t she have this moment? When she wanted him so much? And what better person to initiate her than a man she had idolised? A man who was supposed to be an incredible lover? A man whose ‘assets’ she’d been assessing most of the night?

He nodded, accepting her surrender as if he had expected no less. Then he grunted something in his own dialect.

She didn’t need a translation, though, when his nostrils flared, his gaze becoming so focused her flesh felt scalded.

Standing, he tugged her to her feet. Framing her face in his hands, he positioned her head, then licked the seam of her lips. She opened for him instinctively. The kiss was firm, coaxing. The hunger roared from her core. She had expected him to devour her, but his tongue danced with hers, allowing her to follow his lead in subtle licks.

But as the hunger built, the driving need became more urgent, and the kiss changed, his tongue exploring her mouth and capturing her sighs as he demanded more.

His hands skimmed up her back underneath her T-shirt. The hook of her bra was released. She gripped his shoulders, overwhelmed by sensation as he cupped her breasts, playing with the responsive nipples until she was sobbing into his mouth, the tight peaks yearning for more.

He lifted his head, his eyes dark and unfocused. ‘I want you naked, Kasia.’

The gruff request shimmered across her skin, and the ache in her breasts intensified, the hot spot between her thighs throbbing.

She nodded, no longer capable of coherent speech.

Stepping back, he lifted the grubby T-shirt over her head, disposed of the bra.

She folded her arms over her chest, desperately self-conscious.

‘No,’ he said as he captured her wrists. ‘Do not hide, you are so beautiful.’

She felt beautiful as she forced herself to relax, to let him pull her arms gently away from her body. The morning sunlight gilded his chest, making her aware of the bunch of muscle.

The huge erection stood proud under the loose cotton pants and her mouth watered as she imagined seeing him naked and fully erect. But to her surprise, he sank to his knees in front of her. Undoing the buttons on her shorts, he watched her as he drew the denim down with her panties. His rough hands slid down her legs, stripping her bare with exquisite tenderness.

She stepped out of her shorts at his direction, the need charging through her system as he blew across the triangle of curls, then pressed his face into her sex.

She gripped his shoulders—so broad, so solid—to steady herself as he opened her with his thumbs and licked.

She shuddered, her ragged panting filling the tent as he lapped at the very heart of her. He held her firmly for the shattering exploration. Licking, sucking, discovering the root of her pleasure and ruthlessly exploiting it.

At last he captured the swollen nub of her clitoris and suckled.

The climax broke over her, the waves battering her body. She collapsed over his shoulder, the afterglow like an impenetrable cloud of bliss.

‘More,’ he grunted, as he stood, lifting her.

Within seconds, she lay on the bed as he stood over her, blocking out the sunlight. He shucked his pants.

Her gaze devoured his nakedness, her tender sex melting at the sight of that massive erection—even larger and harder than she had imagined.

‘I need to be inside you,’ he said, as he covered her body with his.

‘Yes,’ she croaked.

She wanted that thick length inside her. Wanted to recapture the glorious oblivion.

Hooking her leg around his waist, to leave her open to him, he angled her hips.

The pinch of pain made her stiffen as he thrust deep. She choked off a cry, struggling to absorb the overwhelming feel of him, lodged so fully inside her.

He swore, every sinew of his body going deadly still. She couldn’t read his features, cast into shadow by the dazzling sunlight, but she could feel his shock.

‘You were untouched?’ he said, the question coming out on a tortured rasp.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have told you.’

‘Yes, but it is too late now,’ he said.

She didn’t know what he meant. Was he angry with her? But he didn’t sound angry, just stunned.

He touched her cheek, cradled her face.

‘Am I hurting you?’

It did hurt a little, he was so large and hard inside her. But she didn’t want to lose the connection.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I want to feel the pleasure again.’

He buried his face into her neck, pressed his lips to the sensitive skin under her ear, and circled her breast with his thumb. Teasing, tempting, until the tendrils of sensation returned.

‘You must tell me if it hurts,’ he said as he grasped her hips, anchoring her to him.

The arrows of sensation darted into her sex, devastating and demanding, echoing the same relentless rhythm as he drew out and sank back.

He rocked his hips, further, faster, nudging a place deep inside her, triggering a new tsunami of sensation.

Kasia sobbed. The storm was so much stronger and wilder this time, whipping at her skin, making every pulse point ache.

The pleasure overpowered her, battering her body and making her heart swell. She clung to him, the only solid object in the storm—just like before, her staggered mind cried, when he had cocooned her as the sandstorm had raged.

She screamed as he drove her over that final ledge and she plunged into the abyss, exquisite joy bursting everywhere.

She heard him shout as he collapsed on top of her, and his seed spurted into her womb.

CHAPTER SIX

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

Raif struggled to control the vicious punch of his heartbeat, and forced his fingers to release their death grip on Kasia’s hips.

Shame and horror galloped on the heels of groggy afterglow as he withdrew from the tight clasp of her body and she flinched.

He had climaxed inside her, he had not intended to do so. But even as he grasped the humiliation of that, far worse was the knowledge that as soon as he had plunged into her to the hilt, and destroyed her virgin state, he had bound them both to a solemn covenant they could not break.

Why hadn’t he taken the precautions he always took, to research a woman’s background, to ask her the questions that would protect them both?

Because he had been desperate to have her, to claim her, something had been driving him as soon as he had stepped from the water this morning and seen her watching him, her eyes dazed with arousal. Maybe even before that. Had it been driving him as soon as he had spotted her, standing by her Jeep, her amber eyes sparkling with fear and defiance? Or as he had clawed his way back from the nightmare, coaxed by her soft voice and soothing fingers?

However, the beast had been awakened, and the destruction it had wrought—on his life, on hers—could not be undone.

Where he would have expected panic or even resentment, all he felt now was numb and strangely ambivalent about the inevitable repercussions.

Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling of the tent, the rich fabrics, the dappled sunlight. Everything looked as it had when he had woken an hour ago, but now his whole life, and hers, would be different.

He had played with fate too many times before, he had known the risks always, had been so careful to guard against them, but with Kasia it had never even entered his head. Was that significant? Was there some comfort in knowing their fates had already been sealed?

‘Is everything okay?’

He turned to find her watching him, her hands clasped against her breasts, the rings on her fingers glinting.

The surge of renewed yearning was unmistakeable even as his mind reeled with the implications of what had just transpired. He examined her artless expression, looking for signs of duplicity.

Had she planned this? To trap a prince? The broken-down Jeep, the gunshot, the long night as she’d helped him through the nightmare and then come to him at the waterside?

It seemed unlikely but plausible, until he remembered the storm.

No, she could not have planned that. Perhaps she had simply seen an opportunity and acted on it. Bitterness rose in his throat, but he swallowed it. Whatever her plots and schemes to get them here, he must take the lion’s share of the blame. He was in charge of his own libido.

He was the one who had chosen to seduce her without knowing enough about her. And had lost control so spectacularly—as soon as he had pressed his face into the sweet seam of her sex and tasted her arousal.

Whatever her reasons, her motives, whichever one of them was to blame, the consequences were stark and inescapable.

Shifting onto his side, he placed a hand on her cheek and hooked the riot of midnight hair behind her ear.

‘I should not have taken you without protection,’ he said, feeling humiliated all over again about his loss of control. ‘There is no excuse. But a pregnancy hardly matters. Now we are to be wed.’

Her eyes popped wide. She scrambled into a sitting position, her brows shooting up her forehead.

‘What?’ she said, her tone raw with shock.

Interesting. Either she was the greatest actress he had ever seen, or she had not planned to trick him into marriage.

He took some solace from that. He had not been the only one to lose their head in the intense heat of their lovemaking.

He propped his head on his hand and studied her, convinced her shock was entirely genuine. And actually quite beguiling.

A delicious blush darkened her skin. She was exquisite. Perhaps this marriage would not be such a hardship.

‘You were a virgin, Kasia,’ he said, because she looked as if she was waiting for an explanation. Although he did not know why. However long she had been out of the kingdom, surely she must know of the sacred marriage laws of the Sheikhs, being Narabian. ‘Even though I am a bastard, the blood of the royal house of Nawari flows in my veins,’ he prompted, but still she looked clueless. ‘So we must now be married.’

‘But I can’t marry you. I don’t even know you. There won’t be a baby, I’m right at the beginning of my cycle.’

He frowned. Okay, she looked more than shocked now, she looked panicked.

‘A pregnancy is not the reason. Honour dictates it,’ he continued, his throat closing on that one crucial word.

Honour. The one thing his father hadn’t been able to steal from him. His honour had sustained him, through the loneliness, the pain, the starvation, the thirst, and the many other humiliations of being a boy without a people. Honour had ensured his survival. Had driven him to fight and fight until he had eventually triumphed. Not just finding a people, but becoming their Chief.

His honour meant everything to him and he could not compromise it. Not for anything. Or anyone. Not even himself.

‘I have taken your maidenhead,’ he added. ‘To maintain my honour, I must make you my wife and my consort.’

‘But that’s…’ Kasia pulled in a few precious breaths, trying to stop herself from hyperventilating, not easy when she was edging towards hysteria. ‘You can’t be serious.’

Raif stared at her, his frown only making him more handsome. But she was so over the ripples of awareness making her sex throb.

‘I am absolutely serious,’ he said. ‘We have no choice now.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. There’s always a choice.’

‘Kasia.’ He pressed his palm to her cheek, making the traitorous ripples worse. ‘You must calm down…you are breathing too fast.’

She jerked her head back. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t have a sensible conversation with him, especially not when he was looking at her with that pragmatic intensity.

She’d heard of the Law of Marriage of the Sheikhs. The ancient, archaic law was written into the country’s scrolls. Scrolls she had studied along with Cat, once upon a time. She had once whispered about the old law furtively with her school friends. How it was a dream come true, a way for nobodies like them to become queens.

But it wasn’t a dream any more, it was a nightmare.

The old law hadn’t even occurred to her when she’d neglected to mention her virginity to Raif. Because she’d been far too caught up in the moment to think about anything. Not even contraception!

Standing up, she grabbed her T-shirt and tugged it on. She couldn’t stay here and have this conversation. It took a while for her to find the armholes because she was shaking so hard.

Why hadn’t she given a lot more thought to the repercussions of sleeping with Raif? He was clearly autocratic and arrogant. But what had been so exciting and seductive before she’d slept with him seemed fraught with disaster now.

She didn’t want to be married to a stranger. She was supposed to be returning to Cambridge. This trip was to do preliminary research for a PhD in the eco-systems of the Narabian desert she was hoping to get funding for.

The intimacy of what they had shared would be tarnished for ever by his callous demand that she succumb to his will. And for what? To maintain his honour? What about hers? She was a person, an individual, with her own free will. He couldn’t ride roughshod over her future, her choices, because she’d been too caught up in the moment to warn him of her virginity.

She’d always promised herself that when she married, if she married, she would marry for love. She wanted the kind of fairy-tale romance Cat and Zane shared. She would never marry for duty or honour. And especially not to a man who didn’t seem to know the difference between honour and duty and love.

She tugged on her shorts, suddenly desperate to escape the stifling tent, and the scene of her downfall, the lingering scent of sex only emphasising her stupidity.

If you slept with a man you didn’t know, what the heck did you expect?

That had been her mistake. Not just trusting him, but trusting her own judgement. Because there was an element of what she’d done that made her remember her mother. The woman she hadn’t seen since she was a girl.

‘I can’t be your mother any more, Kasia. Your grandmother will take good care of you.’

Her mother had abandoned her—because she could no longer bear the shame of having a child out of wedlock. Of being ostracised, vilified, damned for her pregnancy when she was alone. But Kasia had paid a far greater price, forced to grow up without her mother and battle for years the insecurities her absence had wrought—and all because of customs that punished people for loving in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

She did up the buttons of her shorts with clumsy fingers.

But as she went to leave the tent, he grasped her elbow.

‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.

‘I need some air, and some time to think. And to wash.’

He’d put on his pants, thank goodness, but even so desire echoed in her sex as her gaze connected with his broad chest. She could see the red marks etched into the tattoo covering his shoulder where she had held him in the throes of passion.

What had she been thinking? Giving herself to him, without a thought to any of the consequences?

‘Kasia, you must not panic,’ he said. ‘This is frightening, I understand that. It is not a choice I would have made either,’ he added, and she heard it then, the brittle note of judgement. Of accusation. Because she had been the one to keep her virginity a secret. ‘But we are bound now.’

She could hear the steely determination in his voice.

But this was madness.

Why should they honour a code that had been set down hundreds of years before they were even born?

‘I need to be alone for a bit,’ she said. ‘To consider all this. It’s a lot to take in.’

He let his hand drop. Then he nodded. ‘Okay, go to the pond and bathe, I will pack up here. We must travel to the Golden Palace before nightfall. Speak to your relatives.’

What? Panic clawed at her throat. ‘But I don’t have any relatives. Not since my grandmother died. Maybe if we just don’t tell anyone about…’

‘We cannot lie, that would be an even greater breach of honour,’ he interrupted her, his frown deepening. ‘If you have no relatives, then I will make the request for your hand to my brother. He is your employer, yes?’

He was moving too fast. She didn’t want Zane and Cat to know what she’d done. She certainly didn’t want to put them in the middle of this situation. They would, of course, support her decision. They weren’t barbarians like Raif. But from the few times Prince Kasim had mentioned his half-brother it was obvious their relationship was problematic at best, and probably delicately balanced politically.

Good grief, her stupidity could start a new war.

The panic started to consume her.

Breathe—just breathe. And don’t add any more drama than you absolutely have to.

She forced her lungs to function. Struggled to think. ‘How far are we from the palace?’ she asked, as a plan began to form in her head.

‘A day’s ride, to the north,’ he said.

Oh, thank goodness.

‘Okay,’ she said as a strange calmness descended. ‘I won’t be too long.’

He grasped her arm. ‘Do not despair, Kasia,’ he said, his voice strained.

Her heart beat heavily against her ribs.

‘We will find a way to make this work,’ he said.

She nodded. Because she couldn’t bring herself to speak.

Arguing with him was pointless. And she’d never been very good at disguising her feelings. If he knew how frantic she was, and how determined not to go through with this madness, he might not let her leave. But as she left, she couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder.

He stood, tall and proud and indomitable, trusting her to return.

She couldn’t help hating herself a little as she headed towards the oasis, then doubled back through the trees. She didn’t take any time to saddle his horse, simply used the corral’s railings to mount the huge beast.

She hadn’t ridden a horse for five years. But she had been an accomplished rider, as happy riding bareback as with a saddle. She prayed the ability hadn’t left her as she kicked her bare heels into the horse’s flanks. It snorted and reared, but she clung to its mane, her thigh muscles straining, the tenderness in her sex rubbing against the ridge of its spine.

She heard a shout and saw Raif run out of the tent, his face a mask of surprise and then fury as his stallion cleared the fence in one bound.

She dug her heels into the horse’s sides, bent her head low over its neck and allowed the beast to have its head, managing to direct it towards the north as it flew over the rocks and towards the dunes.

Tears blurred her eyes, but she didn’t look back this time.

She couldn’t.